the hollow land william morris "we find in ancient story wonders many told, of heroes in great glory, with spirit free and bold; of joyances and high-tides, of weeping and of woe, of noble reckon striving, mote ye now wonders know." - niebelungen lied (see carlylefs miscellanies) struggling in the world. do you know where it is -- the hollow land? i have been looking for it now so long, trying to find it again the hollow land for there i saw my love first. i wish to tell you how i found it first of all; but i am old, my memory fails me: you must wait and let me think if i perchance can tell you how it happened. yea, in my ears is a confused noise of trumpet-blasts singing over desolate moors, in my ears and eyes a clashing and clanging of horse-hoofs, a ringing and glittering of steel; drawn-back lips, set teeth, shouts, shrieks, and curses. how was it that no one of us ever found it till that day? for it is near our country: but what time have we to look for it, or any good thing; with such biting carking cares hemming us in on every side-cares about great things-mighty things: mighty things, my brothers! or rather little things enough, if we only knew it. lives passed in turmoil, in making one another unhappy; in bitterest misunderstanding of our brothers' hearts, making those sad whom god has not made sad, alas, alas! what chance for any of us to find the hollow land? what time even to look for it? yet who has not dreamed of it? who, half miserable yet the while, for that he knows it is but a dream, has not felt the cool waves round his feet, the roses crowning him, and through the leaves of beech and lime the many whispering winds of the hollow land? now, my name was florian, and my house was the house of the lilies; and of that house was my father lord, and after him my eldest brother amald; and me they called florian de liliis. moreover, when my father was dead, there arose a feud between the lilies' house and red harald; and this that follows is the history of it. lady swanhilda, red harald's mother, was a widow, with one son. red harald; and when she had been in widowhood two years, being of princely blood, and besides comely and fierce. king urrayne sent to demand her in marriage. and i remember seeing the procession leaving the town, when i was quite a child; and many young knights and squires attended the lady swanhilda as pages, and amongst them, amald, my eldest brother. and as i gazed out of the window, i saw him walking by the side of her horse, dressed in white and gold very delicately; but as he went it chanced that he stumbled. now he was one of those that held a golden canopy over the lady's head, so that it now sunk into wrinkles, and the lady had to bow her head full low, and even then the gold brocade caught in one of the long slim gold flowers that were wrought round about the crown she wore. she flushed up in her rage, and her smooth face went suddenly into the carven wrinkles of a wooden water-spout, and she caught at the brocade with her left hand, and pulled it away furiously, so that the warp and woof were twisted out of their place, and many gold threads were left dangling about the crown; but swanhilda stared about when she rose, then smote my brother across the mouth with her gilded sceptre, and the red blood flowed all about his garments; yet he only turned exceeding pale, and dared say no word, though he was heir to the house of the lilies: but my small heart swelled with rage, and i vowed revenge, and, as it seems, he did too. so when swanhilda had been queen three years, she suborned many of king urrayne's knights and lords, and slew her husband as he slept, and reigned in his stead. and her son, harald, grew up to manhood, and was counted a strong knight, and well spoken of, by then i first put on my armour. then, one night, as i lay dreaming, i felt a hand laid on my face, and starting up saw arnald before me fully armed. he said, "florian, rise and arm." i did so, all but my helm, as he was. he kissed me on the forehead; his lips felt hot and dry; and when they bought torches, and i could see his face plainly, i saw he was very pale. he said: "do you remember, florian, this day sixteen years ago? it is a long time, but i shall never forget it unless this night blots out its memory." i knew what he meant, and because my heart was wicked, i rejoiced exceedingly at the thought of vengeance, so that i could not speak, but only laid my palm across his lips. "good; you have a good memory, florian. see now, i waited long and long: i said at first, i forgive her; but when the news came concerning the death of the king, and how that she was shameless, i said i will take it as a sign, if god does not punish her within certain years, that he means me to do so; and i have been watching and watching now these two years for an opportunity, and behold it is come at last; and i think god has certainly given her into our hands, for she rests this night, this very christmas eve, at a small walled town on the frontier, not two hours' gallop from this; they keep little ward there, and the night is wild: moreover, the prior of a certain house of monks, just without the walls, is my fast friend in this matter, for she has done him some great injury. in the courtyard below a hundred and fifty knights and squires, all faithful and true, are waiting for us: one moment and we shall be gone." then we both knelt down, and prayed god to give her into our hands: we put on our helms, and went down into the courtyard. it was the first time i expected to use a sharp sword in anger, and i was full of joy as the muffled thunder of our horse-hoofs rolled through the bitter winter night. in about an hour and a half we had crossed the frontier, and in half an hour more the greater part bad halted in a wood near the abbey, while i and a few others went up to the abbey gates, and knocked loudly four times with my sword-hilt, stamping on the ground meantime. a long, low whistle answered me from within, which i in my turn answered: then the wicket opened, and a monk came out, holding a lantern. he seemed yet in the prime of life, and was a tall, powerful man. he held the lantern to my face, then smiled, and said, "the banners hang low." i gave the countersign, "the crest is lopped off." "good my son," said he; "the ladders are within here. i dare not trust any of the brethren to carry them for you, though they love not the witch either, but are timorsome." "no matter," i said, "i have men here." so they entered and began to shoulder the tall ladders: the prior was very busy. "you will find them just the right length, my son, trust me for that." he seemed quite a jolly, pleasant man, i could not understand his nursing furious revenge; but his face darkened strangely whenever he happened to mention her name. as we were starting he came and stood outside the gate, and putting his lantern down that the light of it might not confuse his sight, looked earnestly into the night, then said: "the wind has fallen, the snow flakes get thinner and smaller every moment, in an hour it will be freezing hard, and will be quite clear; everything depends'upon the surprise being complete; stop a few minutes yet, my son." he went away chuckling, and returned presently with two more sturdy monks carrying something: they threw their burdens down before my feet, they consisted of all the white albs in the abbey: "there, trust an old man, who has seen more than one stricken fight in his carnal days; let the men who scale the walls put these over their arms, and they will not be seen in the least. god make your sword sharp, my son." so we departed, and when i met amald again, he said that what the prior had done was well thought of; so we agreed that i should take thirty men, an old squire of our house, well skilled in war, along with them, scale the walls as quietly as possible, and open the gates to the rest. i set off accordingly, after that with low laughing we had put the albs all over us, wrapping the ladders also in white. then we crept very warily and slowly up to the wall; the moat was frozen over, and on the ice the snow lay quite thick; we all thought that the guards must be careless enough, when they did not even take the trouble to break the ice in the moat so we listened- there was no sound at all, the christmas midnight mass had long ago been over, it was nearly three o'clock, and the moon began to clear, there was scarce any snow falling now, only a flake or two from some low hurrying cloud or other: the wind sighed gently about the round towers there, but it was bitter cold, for it had begun to freeze again; we listened for some minutes, about a quarter of an hour i think, then at a sign from me, they raised the ladders carefully, muffled as they were at the top with swathings of wool. i mounted first, old squire hugh followed last; noiselessly we ascended, and soon stood altogether on the walls; then we carefully lowered the ladders again with long ropes; we got our swords and axes from out of the folds of our priests' raiments, and set forward, till we reached the first tower along the wall; the door was open, in the chamber at the top there was a fire slowly smouldering, nothing else; we passed through it, and began to go down the spiral staircase, i first, with my axe shortened in my hand.-"what if we were surprised there," i thought, and i longed to be out in the air again;-"what if the door were fast at the bottom." as we passed the second chamber, we heard some one within snoring loudly: i looked in quietly, and saw a big man with long black hair, that fell off his pillow and swept the ground, lying snoring, with his nose turned up and his mouth open, but he seemed so sound asleep that we did not stop to slay him. praise be! the door was open, without even a whispered word, without a pause, we went on along the streets, on the side that the drift had been on, because our garments were white, for the wind being very strong all that day, the houses on that side had caught in their cornices and carvings, and on the rough stone and wood of them, so much snow, that except here and there where the black walls grinned out, they were quite white; no man saw us as we stole along, noiselessly because of the snow, till we stood within yards of the gates and their house of guard. and we stood because we heard the voice of some one singing: "queen mary's crown was gold, king joseph's crown was red, but jesus' crown was diamond that lit up all the bed mariae virginis" so they had some guards after all; this was clearly the sentinel that sang to keep the ghosts off;-now for a fight.-we drew nearer, a few yards nearer, then stopped to free ourselves from our monks' clothes. "ships sail through the heaven with red banners dress'd, carrying the planets seven to see the white breast mariae virginis" thereat he must have seen the waving of some alb or other as it shivered down to the ground, for his spear fell with a thud, and he seemed to be standing open-mouthed, thinking something about ghosts; then, plucking up heart of grace, he roared out like ten bull-calves, and dashed into the guard-house. we followed smartly, but without hurry, and came up to the door of it just as some dozen half-armed men came tumbling out under our axes: thereupon, while our men slew them, i blew a great blast upon my horn, and hugh with some others drew bolt and bar and swung the gates wide open. then the men in the guard-house understood they were taken in a trap, and began to stir with great confusion; so lest they should get quite waked and armed, i left hugh at the gates with ten men, and myself led the rest into that house. there while we slew all those that yielded not, came arnald with the others, bringing our horses with them; then all the enemy threw their arms down. and we counted our prisoners and found them over fourscore; therefore, not knowing what to do with them (for they were too many to guard, and it seemed unknightly to slay them all), we sent up some bowmen to the walls, and turning our prisoners out of gates, bid them run for their lives, which they did fast enough, not knowing our numbers, and our men sent a few flights of arrows among them that they might not be undeceived. then the one or two prisoners that we had left, told us, when we had crossed our axes over their heads, that the people of the good town would not willingly fight us, in that they hated the queen; that she was guarded at the palace by some fifty knights, and that beside, there were no others to oppose us in the town; so we set out for the palace, spear in hand. we had not gone far, before we heard some knights coming, and soon, in a turn of the long street, we saw them riding towards us; when they caught sight of us they seemed astonished, drew rein, and stood in some confusion. we did not slacken our pace for an instant, but rode right at them with a yell, to which i lent myself with all my heart. after all they did not run away, but waited for us with their spears held out; i missed the man i had marked, or hit him rather just on the top of the helm; he bent back, and the spear slipped over his head, but my horse still kept on, and i felt presently such a crash that i reeled in my saddle, and felt mad. he had lashed out at me with his sword as i came on, hitting me in the ribs (for my arm was raised), but only flatlings. i was quite wild with rage, i turned, almost fell upon him, caught him by the neck with both hands, and threw him under the horse-hoofs, sighing with fury: i heard arnald's voice close to me, "well fought, florian": and i saw his great stern face bare among the iron, for he had made a vow in remembrance of that blow always to fight unhelmed; i saw his great sword swinging, in wide gyres, and hissing as it started up, just as if it were alive and liked it. so joy filled all my soul, and i fought with my heart, till the big axe i swung felt like nothing but a little hammer in my hand, except for its bitterness: and as for the enemy, they went down like grass, so that we destroyed them utterly, for those knights would neither yield nor fly, but died as they stood, so that some fifteen of our men also died there. then at last we came to the palace, where some grooms and such like kept the gates armed, but some ran, and some we took prisoners, one of whom died for sheer terror in our hands, being stricken by no wound; for he thought we would eat him. these prisoners we questioned concerning the queen, and so entered the great hall. there arnald sat down in the throne on the dais, and laid his naked sword before him on the table: and on each side of him sat such knights as there was room for, and the others stood round about, while i took ten men, and went to look for swanhilda. i found her soon, sitting by herself in a gorgeous chamber. i almost pitied her when i saw her looking so utterly desolate and despairing; her beauty too had faded, deep lines cut through her face. but when i entered she knew who i was, and her look of intense hatred was so fiend-like, that it changed my pity into horror of her. "knight", she said "who are you, and what do you want, thus discourteously entering my chamber?" "i am florian de liliis, and i am to conduct you to judgment." she sprang up, "curse you and your whole house, you i hate worse than any -- girl's face -- guards! guards!" and she stamped on the ground, her veins on the forehead swelled, her eyes grew round and flamed out, as she kept crying for her guards, stamping the while, for she seemed quite mad. then at last she remembered that she was in the power of her enemies, she sat down, and lay with her face between her hands, and wept passionately. "witch," i said between my closed teeth, "will you come, or must we carry you down to the great hall?" neither would she come, but sat there, clutching at her dress and tearing her hair. then i said, "bind her, and carry her down." and they did so. i watched arnald as we came in, there was no triumph on his stern white face, but resolution enough, he had made up his mind. they placed her on a seat in the midst of the hall over against the dais. he said, "unbind her, florian." they did so, she raised her face, and glared defiance at us all, as though she would die queenly after all. then rose up arnald and said, "queen swanhilda, we judge you guilty of death, and because you are a queen and of a noble house, you shall be slain by my knightly sword, and i will even take the reproach of slaying a woman, for no other hand than mine shall deal the blow." then she said, " false knight, show your warrant from god, man, or devil." "this warrant from god, swanhilda," he said, holding up his sword, "listen! fifteen years ago, when i was just winning my spurs, you struck me, disgracing me before all the people; you cursed me, and mean that curse well enough. men of the house of the lilies, what sentence for that?" "death!" they said. "listen! afterwards you slew my cousin, your husband, treacherously, in the most cursed way, stabbing him in the throat, as the stars in the canopy above him looked down on the shut eyes of him. men of the house of lily, what sentence for that?" "death!" they said. "do you hear them. queen? there is warrant from man; for the devil, i do not reverence him enough to take warrant from him, but, as i look at that face of yours, i think that even he has left you." and indeed just then all her pride seemed to leave her, she fell from the chair, and wallowed on the ground moaning, she wept like a child, so that the tears lay on the oak floor; she prayed for another month of life; she came to me and kneeled, and kissed my feet, and prayed piteously, so that water ran out of her mouth. but i shuddered, and drew away; it was like hav ing an adder about one; i cou'd have pitied her had she died bravely, but for one like her to whine and whine! pah! then from the dais rang amald's voice terrible, much changed. "let there be an end of all this." and he took his sword and strode through the hall towards her; she rose from the ground and stood up, stooping a little, her head sunk between her shoulders, her black eyes turned up and gloaming, like a tigress about to spring. when he came within some six paces of her something in his eye daunted her, or perhaps the flashing of his terrible sword in the torch-light; she threw her arms up with a great shriek, and dashed screaming about the hall. amald's lip never once curled with any scorn, no line in his face changed: he said, "bring her here and bind her." but when one came up to her to lay hold on her she first of all ran at him, hitting with her head in the belly. then while he stood doubled up for want of breath, and staring with his head up, she caught his sword from the girdle, and cut him across the shoulders, and many others she wounded sorely before they took her. then arnald stood by the chair to which she was bound, and poised his sword, and there was a great silence. then he said, "men of the house of the lilies, do you justify me in this, shall she die?" straightway rang a great shout through the hall, but before it died away the sword had swept round, and therewithal was there no such thing as swanhilda left upon the earth, for in no battle-field had arnald struck truer blow. then he turned to the few servants of the palace and said, "go now, bury this accursed woman, for she is a king's daughter." then to us all, "now knights, to horse and away, that we may reach the good town by about dawn." so we mounted and rode off. what a strange christmas-day that was, for there, about nine o'clock in the morning, rode red harald into the good town to demand vengeance; he went at once to the king, and the king promised that before nightfall that very day the matter should be judged; albeit the king feared somewhat, because every third man you met in the streets had a blue cross on his shoulder, and some likeness of a lily, cut out or painted, stuck in his hat; and this blue cross and lily were the bearings of our house, called "de liliis." now we had seen red harald pass through the streets, with a white banner borne before him, to show that he came peaceably as for this time; but i know he was thinking of other things than peace. and he was called red harald first at this time, because over all his arms he wore a great scarlet cloth, that fell in heavy folds about his horse and all about him. then, as he passed our house, some one pointed it out to him, rising there with its carving and its barred marble, but stronger than many a castle on the hill-tops, and its great overhanging battlement cast a mighty shadow down the wall and across the street; and above all rose the great tower, or banner floating proudly from the top, whereon was emblazoned on a white ground a blue cross, and on a blue ground four white lilies. and now faces were gazing from all the windows, and all the battlements were thronged; so harald turned, and rising in his stirrups, shook his clenched fist at our house; natheless, as he did so, the east wind, coming down the street, caught up the corner of that scarlet cloth and drove it over his face, and therewithal disordering his long black hair, well nigh choked him, so that he bit both his hair and that cloth. so from base to cope rose a mighty shout of triumph and defiance, and he passed on. then arnald caused it to be cried, that all those who loved the good house of the lilies should go to mass that morning in saint mary's church, hard by our house. now this church belonged to us, and the abbey that served it, and always we appointed the abbot of it on condition that our trumpets should sound all together when on high masses they sing the "gloria in excelsis." it was the largest and most beautiful of all the churches in the town, and had two exceeding high towers, which you could see from far off, even when you saw not the town or any of its other towers: and in one of these towers were twelve great bells, named after the twelve apostles, one name being written on each one of them; as peter, matthew, and so on; and in the other tower was one great bell only, much larger than any of the others, and which was called mary. now this bell was never rung but when our house was in great danger, and it had this legend on it, "when mary rings the earth shakes;" and indeed from this we took our war cry, which was, "mary rings;" somewhat justifiable indeed, for the last time that mary rang, on that day before nightfall there were four thousand bodies to be buried, which bodies wore neither cross nor lily. so arnald gave me in charge to tell the abbot to cause mary to be tolled for an hour before mass that day. the abbot leaned on my shoulder as i stood within the tower and looked at the twelve monks laying their hands to the ropes. far up in the dimness i saw the wheel before it began to swing round about; then it moved a little; the twelve men bent down to the earth and a roar rose that shook the tower from base to spirevane: backwards and forwards swept the wheel, as mary now looked downwards towards earth, now looked up at the shadowy cone of the spire, shot across by bars of light from the dormers. and the thunder of mary was caught up by the wind and carried through all the country; and when the good man heard it, he said goodbye to wife and child, slung his shield behind his back, and set forward with his spear sloped over his shoulder, and many a time, as he walked toward the good town, he tightened the belt that went about his waist, that he might stride the faster, so long and furiously did mary toll. and before the great bell, mary, had ceased ringing, all the ways were full of armed men. but at each door of the church of saint mary stood a row of men armed with axes, and when any came, meaning to go into the church, the two first of these would hold their axes (whose helves were about four feet long) over his head, and would ask him, "who went over the moon last night?" then if he answered nothing or at random they would bid him turn back, which he for the more part would be ready enough to do; but some, striving to get through that row of men, were slain outright; but if he were one of those that were friends to the house of the lilies he would answer to that question, "mary and john." by the time the mass began the whole church was full, and in the nave and transept thereof were three thousand men, all of our house and all armed. but arnald and myself, and squire hugh, and some others sat under a gold-fringed canopy near the choir; and the abbot said mass, having his mitre on his head. yet, as i watched him, it seemed to me that he must have something on beneath his priest's vestments, for he looked much fatter than usual, being really a tall lithe man. now, as they sung the "kyrie," some one shouted from the other end of the church, "my lord arnld, they are slaying our people without;" for, indeed, all the square about the church was full of our people, who for the press had not been able to enter, and were standing there in no small dread of what might come to pass. then the abbot turned round from the altar, and began to fidget with the fastenings of his rich robes. and they made a lane for us up to the west door; then i put on my helm and we began to go up the nave, then suddenly the singing of the monks and all stopped. i heard a clinking and a buzz of voices in the choir. i turned, and saw that the bright noon sun was shining on the gold of the priest's vestments, as they lay on the floor, and on the mail that the priests carried. so we stopped, the choir gates swung open, and the abbot marched out at the head of his men, all fully armed, and began to strike up the psalm "exsurgat deus." when we got to the west door, there was indeed a tumult, but as yet no slaying; the square was all a-flicker with steel, and we beheld a great body of knights, at the head of them red harald and the king, standing over against us; but our people, pressed against the houses, and into the comers of the square, were, some striving to enter the doors, some beside themselves with rage, shouting out to the others to charge; withal, some were pale and some were red with the blood that had gathered to the wrathful faces of them. then said arnald to those about him, "lift me up." so they laid a great shield on two lances, and these four men carried, and thereon stood arnald, and gazed about him. now the king was unhelmed, and his white hair (for he was an old man) flowed down behind him on to his saddle; but amaid's hair was cut short, and was red. and all the bells rang. then the king said, " arnald of the lilies, will you settle this quarrel by the judgment of god?" and amaid thrust up his chin, and said, "yea." "how then," said the king, "and where?" "will it please you try now?" said arnald. then the king understood what he meant, and took in his hand from behind tresses of his long white hair, twisting them round his hand in his wrath, but yet said no word, till i suppose his hair put him in mind of something, and he raised it in both his hands above his head, and shouted out aloud, " knights, hearken to this traitor." whereat, indeed, the lances began to move ominously. but arnald spoke. " you king and lords, what have we to do with you? were we not free in the old time, up among the hills there? wherefore give way, and we will go to the hills again; and if any man try to stop us, his blood be on his own head; wherefore now," (and he turned) "all you house of the lily, both soldiers and monks, let us go forth together fearing nothing, for i think there is not bone enough or muscle enough in these fellows here that have a king that they should stop us withal, but only skin and fat." and truly, no man dared to stop us, and we went. failing in the world now at that time we drove cattle in red harald's land. and we took no hoof but from the lords and rich men, but of these we had a mighty drove, both oxen and sheep, and horses, and besides, even hawks and hounds, and huntsman or two to take care of them. and, about noon, we drew away from the cornlands that lay beyond the pastures, and mingled with them, and reached a wide moor, which was called "goliath's land." i scarce know why, except that it belonged neither to red harald or us, but was debatable. and the cattle began to go slowly, and our horses were tired, and the sun struck down very hot upon us, for there was no shadow, and the day was cloudless. all about the edge of the moor, except on the sidefrom which we had come was a rim of hills, not very high, but very rocky and steep, otherwise the moor itself was flat; and through these hills was one pass, guarded by our men, which pass led to the hill castle of the lilies. it was not wonderful, that of this moor many wild stories were told, being such a strange lonely place, some of them one knew, alas to be over true. in the old time, before we went to the good town, this moor had been the mustering place of our people, and our house had done deeds enough of blood and horror to turn our white lilies red, and our blue cross to a fiery one. but some of those wild tales i never believed; they had to do mostly with men losing their way without any apparent cause, (for there were plenty of landmarks,) finding some well-known spot, and then, just beyond it, a place they had never even dreamed of. "florian! fiorian!" said arnald, "for god's sake stop! as every one else is stopping to look at the hills yonder; i always thought there was a curse upon us. what does god mean by shutting us up here? look at the cattle; christ, they have found it out too! see, some of them are turning to run back again towards harald's land. oh! unhappy, unhappy, from that day forward!" he leaned forward, rested his head on his horse's neck, and wept like a child. i felt so irritated with him, that i could almost have slain him then and there. was he mad? had these wild doings of ours turned his strong wise head? "are you my brother arnald, that i used to think such a grand man when i was a boy?" i said, "or are you changed too, like everybody, and everything else? what do you mean?" "look! look!" he said, grinding his teeth in agony. i raised my eyes: where was the one pass between the rim of stern rocks? nothing: the enemy behind us- that grim wall in front: what wonder that each man looked in his fellow's face for help, and found it not. yet i refused to believe that there was any troth either in the wild stories that i had heard when i was a boy, or in this story told me so clearly by my eyes now. i called out cheerily, "hugh, come here!" he came. "what do you think of this? some mere dodge on harald's part? are we cut off?" "think! sir florian? god forgive me for ever thinking at all; i have given up that long and long ago, because thirty years ago i thought this, that the house of lilies would deserve anything in the way of bad fortune that god would send them: so i gave up thinking, and took to fighting. but if you think that harald had anything to do with this, why-why-in god's name, i wish i could think so!" i felt a dull weight on my heart. had our house been the devil's servants all along? i thought we were god's servants. the day was very still, but what little wind there was, was at our backs. i watched hugh's face, not being able to answer him. he was the cleverest man at war that i have known, either before or since that day; sharper than any hound in ear and scent, clearer sighted than any eagle; he was listening now intently. i saw a slight smile cross his face; heard him mutter, "yes! i think so: verily that is better, a great deal better." then he stood up in his stirrups, and shouted, "hurrah for the lilies! mary rings!" "mary rings!" i shouted, though i did not know the reason for his exultation: my brother lifted his head, and smiled too, grimly. then as i listened i heard clearly the sound of a trumpet, and enemy's trumpet too. "after all, it was only mist, or some such thing," i said, for the pass between the hills was clear enough now. "hurrah! only mist," said amald, quite elated; "mary rings!" and we all began to think of fighting: for after all what joy is equal to that? there were five hundred of us; two hundred spears, the rest archers; and both archers and men at arms were picked men. "how many of them are we to expect?" said i. "not under a thousand, certainly, probably more, sir florian." (my brother arnald, by the way, had knighted me before we left the good town, and hugh liked to give me the handle to my name. how was it, by the way, that no one had ever made him a knight?) "let every one look to his arms and horse, and come away from these silly cows' sons!" shouted arnald. hugh said, "they will be here in an hour, fair sir." so we got clear of the cattle, and dismounted, and both ourselves took food and drink, and our horses; afterwards we tightened our saddle-girths, shook our great pots of helmets on, except amald, whose rustyred hair had been his only head-piece in battle for years and years, and stood with our spears close by our horses, leaving room for the archers to retreat between our ranks; and they got their arrows ready, and planted their stakes before a little peat moss: and there we waited, and saw their pennons at last floating high above the corn of the fertile land, then heard their many horse-hoofs ring upon the hard-parched moor, and the archers began to shoot. it had been a strange battle; we had never fought better, and yet withal it had ended in a retreat; indeed all along every man but arnald and myself, even hugh, had been trying at least to get the enemy between him and the way toward the pass; and now we were all drifting that way, the enemy trying to cut us off, but never able to stop us, because he could only throw small bodies of men in our way, whom we scattered and put to flight in their turn. i never cared less for my life than then; indeed, in spite of all my boasting and hardness of belief, i should have been happy to have died, such a strange weight of apprehension was on me; and yet i got no scratch even. i had soon put off my great helm, and was fighting in my mail-coif only: and here i swear that three knights together charged me, aiming at my bare face, yet never touched me. for, as for one, i put his lance aside with my sword, and the other two in some most wonderful manner got their spears locked in each other's armour, and so had to submit to be knocked off their horses. and we still neared the pass, and began to see distinctly the ferns that grew on the rocks, and the fair country between the rift in them, spreading out there, blue-shadowed. whereupon came a great rush of men of both sides, striking side blows at each other, spitting, cursing, and shrieking, as they tore away like a herd of wild hogs. so, being careless of lfe, as i said, i drew rein, and turning my horse, waited quietly for them. and i knotted the reins, and laid them on the horse's neck, and stroked him, that he whinnied, then got both my hands to my sword. then, as they came on, i noted hurriedly that the first man was one of arnald's men, and one of our men behind him leaned forward to prod him with his spear, but could not reach so far, till he himself was run through the eye with a spear, and throwing his arms up fell dead with a shriek. also i noted concerning this first man that the laces of his helmet were loose, and when he saw me he lifted his left hand to his head, took off his helm and cast it at me, and still tore on; the helmet flew over my head, and i sitting still there, swung out, hitting him on the neck; his head flew right off, for the mail no more held than a piece of silk. "mary rings," and my horse whinnied again, and we both of us went at it, and fairly stopped that rout, so that there was a knot of quite close and desperate fighting, wherein we had the best of that fight and slew most of them, albeit my horse was slain and my mail-coif cut through. then i bade a squire fetch me another horse, and began meanwhile to upbraid those knights for running in such a strange disorderly race, instead of standing and fighting cleverly. moreover we had drifted even in this successful fight still nearer to the pass, so that the conies who dwelt there were beginning to consider whether they should not run into their holes. but one of those knights said: "be not angry with me. sir florian, but do you think you will go to heaven?" "the saints! i hope so," i said, but one who stood near him whispered to him to hold his peace, so i cried out: " friend! i hold this world and all therein so cheap now, that i see not anything in it but shame which can any longer anger me; wherefore speak: out." "then, sir florian, men say that at your christening some fiend took on him the likeness of a priest and strove to baptize you in the devil's name, but god had mercy on you so that the fiend could not choose but baptize you in the name of the most holy trinity: and yet men say that you hardly believe any doctrine such as other men do, and will at the end only go to heaven round about as it were, not at all by the intercession of our lady; they say too that you can see no ghosts or other wonders, whatever happens to other christian men." i smiled. "well, friend, i scarcely call this a disadvantage, moreover what has it to do with the matter in hand?" how was this in heaven's name? we had been quite still, resting while this talk was going on, but we could hear the hawks chattering from the rocks, we were so close now. and my heart sunk within me, there was no reason why this should not be true; there was no reason why anything should not be true. "this, sir florian," said the knight again, "how would you feel inclined to fight if you thought that everything about you was mere glamour; this earth here, the rocks, the sun, the sky? i do not know where i am for certain, i do not know that it is not midnight instead of undem: i do not know if i have been fighting men or only simulacra but i think, we all think, that we have been led into some devil's trap or other, and- and may god forgive me my sins! i wish i had never been born." there now! he was weeping - they all wept - how strange it was to see those rough, bearded men blubbering there, and snivelling till the tears ran over their armour and mingled with the blood, so that it dropped down to the earth in a dim, dull, red rain. my eyes indeed were dry, but then so was my heart; i felt far worse than weeping came to, but nevertheless i spoke cheerily. "dear friends, where are your old men's hearts gone to now? see now! this is a punishment for our sins, is it? well, for our forefathers' sins or our own? if the first, brothers, be very sure that if we bear it manfully god will have something very good in store for us hereafter; but if for our sins, is it not certain that he cares for us yet, for note that he suffers the wicked to go their own ways pretty much; moreover brave men, brothers, ought to be the masters of simulacra come, is it so hard to die once for all?" still no answer came from them, they sighed heavily only. i heard the sound of more than one or two swords as they rattled back to the scabbards: nay, one knight, stripping himself of surcoat and hauberk, and drawing his dagger, looked at me with a grim smile, and said, "sir florian, do so!" then he drew the dagger across his throat and he fell back dead. they shuddered, those brave men, and crossed themselves. and i had no heart to say a word more, but mounted the horse which had been brought to me and rode away slowly for a few yards; then i became aware that there was a great silence over the whole field. so i lifted my eyes and looked, and behold no man struck at another. then from out of a band of horsemen came harald, and he was covered all over with a great scarlet cloth as before, put on over the head, and flowing all about his horse, but rent with the fight. he put off his helm and drew back his mail-coif, then took a trumpet from the hand of a herald and blew strongly. and in the midst of his blast i heard a voice call out: " florian! come and speak to me for the last time!" so when i turned i beheld arnald standing by himself, but near him stood hugh and ten others with drawn swords. then i wept, and so went to him weeping; and he said, "thou seest, brother, that we must die, and i think by some horrible and unheard-of death, and the house of the lilies is just dying too; and now i repent me of swanhilda's death; now i know that it was a poor cowardly piece of revenge, instead of a brave act of justice; thus has god shown us the right. " florian! curse me! so will it be straighter; truly thy mother when she bore thee did not think of this; rather saw thee in the tourney at this time, in her fond hopes, glittering with gold and doing knightly; or else mingling thy brown locks with the golden hair of some maiden weeping for the love of thee. god forgive me! god forgive me!" "what harm, brother?" i said, "this is only failing in the world; what if we had not failed, in a little while it would have made no difference; truly just now i felt very miserable, but now it has passed away, and i am happy." " brave heart!" he said, "yet we shall part just now, florian, farewell." "the road is long," i said, "farewell." then we kissed each other, and hugh and the others wept. now all this time the trumpets had been ringing, ringing, great doleful peals, then they ceased, and above all sounded red harald's voice. (so i looked round towards that pass, and when i looked i no longer doubted any of those wild tales of glamour concerning goliath's land; and for though the rocks were the same, and though the conies still stood gazing at the doors of their dwellings, though the hawks still cried out shrilly, though the fern still shook in the wind, yet beyond, oh such a land! not to be described by any because of its great beauty, lying, a great hollow land, the rocks going down on this side in precipices, then reaches and reaches of loveliest country, trees and flowers, and corn, then the hills, green and blue, and purple, till their ledges reached the white snowy mountains at last. then with all manner of strange feelings, "my heart in the midst of my body was even like melting wax.") " you house of the lily! you are conquered yet i will take vengeance only on a few, therefore let all those who wish to live come and pile their swords, and shields, and helms behind me in three great heaps, and swear fealty afterwards to me; yes, all but the false knights arnald and florian." we were holding each other's hands and gazing, and we saw all our knights, yea, all but squire hugh and his ten heroes, pass over the field singly, or in groups of three or four, with their heads hanging down in shame, and they cast down their notched swords and dinted, lilied shields, and brave-crested helms into three great heaps, behind red herald, then stood behind, no man speaking to his fellow, or touching him. then dolefully the great trumpets sang over the dying house of the lily, and red harald led his men forward, but slowly: on they came, spear and mail glittering in the sunlight; and i turned and looked at that good land, and a shuddering delight seized my soul. but i felt my brother's hand leave mine, and saw him turn his horse's head and ride swiftly toward the pass; that was a strange pass now. and at the edge he stopped, turned round and called out aloud, "i pray thee, harald, forgive mel now farewell all!" then the horse gave one bound forward, and we heard the poor creature's scream when he felt that he must die, and we heard afterwards (for we were near enough for that even) a clang and a crash. so i turned me about to hugh, and he understood me though i could not speak. we shouted all together, "mary rings," then laid our bridles on the necks of our horses, spurred forward, and in five minutes they were all slain, and i was down among the horse-hoofs. not slain though, not wounded. red harald smiled grimly when he saw me rise and lash out again; he and some ten others dismounted, and holding their long spears out, i went back -- back, back, i saw what it meant, and sheathed my sword, and their laughter rolled all about me, and i too smiled. presently they all stopped, and i felt the last foot of turf giving under my feet; i looked down and saw the crack there widening; then in a moment i fell, and a cloud of dust and earth rolled after me; then again their mirth rose into thunder-peals of laughter. but through it all i heard red harald shout, "silence! evil dogs!" for as i fell i stretched out my arms, and caughl a tuft of yellow broom some three feet from the brow, and hung there by the hands, my feet being loose in the air. then red harald came and stood on the precipice above me, his great axe over his shoulder; and he looked down on me not ferociously, almost kindly, while the wind from the hollow land blew about his red raiment, tattered and dusty now. and i felt happy, though it pained me to hold straining by the broom, yet i said, "i will hold out to the last" it was not long, the plant itself gave way and i fell, and as i fell i fainted. i had thought when i fell that i should never wake again; but i woke at last: for a long time i was quite dizzied and could see nothing at all: horrible doubts came creeping over me; i half expected to see presently great half-formed shapes come rolling up to me to crush me; some thing fiery, not strange, too utterly horrible to be strange, but utterly vile and ugly, the sight of which would have killed me when i was upon the earth, come rolling up to torment me. in fact i doubted if i were in hell. i knew i deserved to be, but i prayed, and then it came into my mind that i could not pray if i were in hell. also there seemed to be a cool green light all about me, which was sweet. then presently i heard a glorious voice ring outclear, close to me "christ keep the hollow land through the sweet spring-tide, when the apple-blossoms bless the lowly bent hill side." thereat my eyes were slowly unsealed, and i saw the blessedest sight i have ever seen before or since: for i saw my love. she sat about five yards from me on a great grey stone that had much moss on it, one of the many scattered along the side of the stream by which i lay; she was clad in loose white raiment close to her hands and throat; her feet were bare, her hair hung loose a long way down, but some of it lay on her knees: i said "white" raiment, but long spikes of light scarlet went down from the throat, lost here and there in the shadows of the folds, and growing smaller and smaller, died before they reached her feet. i was lying with my head resting on soft moss that some one had gathered and placed under me. she, when she saw me moving and awake, came and stood over me with a gracious smile. she was so lovely and tender to look at, and so kind, yet withal no one, man or woman, had ever frightened me half so much. she was not fair in white and red, like many beautiful women are, being rather pale, but like ivory for smoothness, and her hair was quite golden, not light yellow, but dusky golden. i tried to get up on my feet, but was too weak, and sank back again. she said: "no, not just yet, do not trouble yourself or try to remember anything just at present." there withal she kneeled down, and hung over me closer. "to-morrow you may, perhaps, have something hard to do or bear, i know, but now you must be as happy as you can be, quietly happy. why did you start and turn pale when i came to you? do you not know who i am? nay, but you do, i see; and i have been waiting here so long for you; so you must have expected to see me. you cannot be frightened of me, are you?" but i could not answer a word, but all the time strange knowledge, strange feelings were filling my brain and my heart, she said: "you are tired; rest, and dream happily." so she sat by me, and sang to lull me to sleep, while i turned on my elbow, and watched the waving of her throat: and the singing of all the poets i had ever heard, and of many others too, not born till years long after i was dead, floated all about me as she sang, and i did indeed dream happily. when i awoke it was the time of the cold dawn, and the colours were gathering themselves together, whereat in fatherly approving fashion the sun sent all across the east long bars of scarlet and orange that after faded through yellow to green and blue. and she sat by me still; i think she had been sitting there and singing all the time; all through hot yesterday, for i had been sleeping day-long and night-long, all through the falling evening under moonlight and starlight the night through. and now it was dawn, and i think too that neither of us had moved at all; for the last thing i remembered before i went to sleep was the tips of her fingers brushing my cheek, as she knelt over me with downdrooping arm, and still now i felt them there. moreover she was just finishing some fainting measure that died before it had time to get painful in its passion. dear lord! how i loved her! yet did i not dare to touch her, or even speak to her. she smiled with delight when she saw i was awake again, and slid down her hand on to mine, but some shuddering dread made me draw it away again hurriedly; then i saw the smile leave her face: what would i not have given for courage to hold her body quite tight to mine? but i was so weak. she said: "have you been very happy?" "yea," i said. it was the first word i had spoken there, and my voice sounded strange. "ah!" she said, "you will talk more when you get used to the air of the hollow land. have you been thinking of your past life at all? if not, try to think of it. what thing in heaven or earth do you wish for most?" still i said no word; but she said in a wearied way: "well now, i think you will be strong enough to get to your feet and walk; take my hand and try." therewith she held it out: i strove hard to be brave enough to take it, but could not; i only turned away shuddering, sick, and grieved to the heart's core of me; then struggling hard with hand and knee and elbow, i scarce rose, and stood up totteringly; while she watched me sadly, still holding out her hand. but as i rose, in my swinging to and fro the steel sheath of my sword struck her on the hand so that the blood flowed from it, which she stood looking at for a while, then dropped it downwards, and turned to look at me, for i was going. then as i walked she followed me, so i stopped and turned and said almost fiercely: "i am going alone to look for my brother." the vehemence with which i spoke, or something else, burst some blood-vessel within my throat, and we both stood there with the blood running from us on to the grass and summer flowers. she said: "if you find him, wait with him till i come." "yea," and i turned and left her, following the course of the stream upwards, and as i went i heard her low singing that almost broke my heart for its sadness. and i went painfully because of my weakness, and because also of the great stones; and sometimes i went along a spot of earth where the river had been used to flow in flood-time, and which was now bare of everything but stones; and the sun, now risen high, poured down on everything a great flood of fierce light and scorching heat, and burnt me sorely, so that i almost fainted. but about noontide i entered a wood close by the stream, a beech-wood, intending to rest myself; the herbage was thin and scattered there, sprouting up from amid the leaf-sheaths and nuts of the beeches, which had fallen year after year on that same spot; the outside boughs swept low down, the air itself seemed green when you entered within the shadow of the branches, they over-roofed the place so with tender green, only here and there showing spots of blue. but what lay at the foot of a great beech tree but some dead knight in armour, only the helmet off? a wolf was prowling round about it, who ran away snarling when he saw me coming. so i went up to that dead knight, and fell on my knees before him, laying my head on his breast, for it was arnald. he was quite cold, but had not been dead for very long; i would not believe him dead, but went down to the stream and brought him water, tried to make him drink-what would you? he was as dead as swanhilda: neither came there any answer to my cries that afternoon but the moaning of the wood doves in the beeches. so then i sat down and took his head on my knees, and closed the eyes, and wept quietly while the sun sank lower. but a little after sunset i heard a rustle through the leaves, that was not the wind, and looking up my eyes met the pitying eyes of that maiden. something stirred rebelliously within me; i ceased weeping, and said: "it is unjust, unfair: what right had swanhilda to live? did not god give her up to us? how much better was he than ten swanhildas? and look you -- see! he is dead." now this i shrieked out, being mad; and though i trembled when i saw some stormy wrath that vexed her very heart and loving lips, gathering on her face, i yet sat there looking at her and screaming, screaming, till all the place rang. but when growing hoarse and breathless i ceased; she said, with straitened brow and scornful mouth: "so! bravely done! must i then, though i am a woman, call you a liar, for saying god is unjust? you to punish her, had not god then punished her already? how many times when she woke in the dead night do you suppose she missed seeing king urrayne's pale face and hacked head lying on the pillow by her side? whether by night or day, what things but screams did she hear when the wind blew loud round about the palace corners? and did not that face too, often come before her, pale and bleeding as it was long ago, and gaze at her from unhappy eyes! poor eyesi with changed purpose in them- no more hope of converting the world when that blow was once struck, truly it was very wicked-no more dreams, but only fierce struggles with the devil for very life, no more dreams but failure at last, and death, happier so in the hollow land." she grew so pitying as she gazed at his dead face that i began to weep again unreasonably, while she saw not that i was weeping, but looked only on arnald's face, but after turned on me frowning. "unjust! yes, truly unjust enough to take away life and all hope from her; you have done a base cowardly act, you and your brother here, disguise it as you may; you deserve all god's judgment - you" but i turned my eyes and wet face to her, and said: "do not curse me there - do not look like swanhilda: for see now, you said at first that you have been waiting long for me, give me your hand now, for i love you so." then she came and knelt by where i sat, and i caught her in my arms and she prayed to be forgiven. " , florian! i have indeed waited long for you, and when i saw you my heart was filled with joy, but you would neither touch me nor speak to me, so that i became almost mad, forgive me, we will be so happy now. ! do you know this is what i have been waiting for all these years; it made me glad, i know, when i was a little baby in my mother's arms to think i was born for this; and afterwards, as i grew up, i used to watch every breath of wind through the beech-boughs, every turn of the silver poplar leaves, thinking it might be you or some news of you." then i rose and drew her up with me; but she knelt again by my brother's side, and kissed him, and said: " brother! the hollow land is only second best of the places god has made, for heaven also is the work of his hand." afterwards we dug a deep grave among the beechroots and there we buried amald de liliis. and i have never seen him since, scarcely even in dreams; surely god has had mercy on him, for he was very leal and true and brave; he loved many men, and was kind and gentle to his friends, neither did he hate any but swanhilda. but as for us two, margaret and me, i cannot tell you concerning our happiness, such things cannot be told; only this i know, that we abode continually in the hollow land until i lost it. moreover this i can tell you. margaret was walking with me, as she often walked near the place where i had first seen her; presently we came upon a woman sitting, dressed in scarlet and gold raiment, with her head laid down on her knees; likewise we heard her sobbing. "margaret, who is she?" i said: "i knew not that any dwelt in the hollow land but us two only." she said, "i know not who she is, only sometimes; these many years, i have seen her scarlet robe flaming from far away, amid the quiet green grass: but i was never so near her as this. florian, i am afraid: let us come away." fytte the second such a horrible grey november day it was, the fog-smell all about, the fog creeping into our very bones. and i sat there, trying to recollect, at any rate something, under those fir-trees that i ought to have known so well. just think now; i had lost my best years some- where; for i was past the prime of life, my hair and beard were scattered with white, my body was growing weaker, my memory of all things was very faint my raiment, purple and scarlet and blue once, was so stained that you could scarce call it any colour, was so tattered that it scarce covered my body, though it seemed once to have fallen in heavy folds to my feet, and still, when i rose to walk, though the miserable november mist lay in great drops upon my bare breast, yet was i obliged to wind my raiment over my arm, it dragged so (wretched, slimy, textureless thing! ) in the brown mud. on my head was a light morion, which pressed on my brow and pained me; so i put my hand up to take it ofi; but when i touched it i stood still in my walk shuddering; i nearly fell to the earth with shame and sick horror; for i laid my hand on a lump of slimy earth with worms coiled up in it i could scarce forbear from shrieking, but breathing such a prayer as i could think of, i raised my hand again and seized it firmly. worse horror stilll the rust had eaten it into holes, and i gripped my own hair as well as the rotting steel, the sharp edge of which cut into my fingers; but setting my teeth, gave a great wrench, for i knew that if i let go of it then, no power on the earth or under it could make me touch it again. god be praised! i tore it off and cast it far from me; i saw the earth, and the worms and green weeds and sun- begotten slime, whirling out from it radiatingly, as it spun round about. i was girt with a sword too, the leathern belt of which had shrunk and squeezed my waist: dead leaves had gathered in knots about the buckles of it, the gilded handle was encrusted with clay in many parts, the velvet sheath miserably worn. but, verily, when i took hold of the hilt, and pent in my hand; lo! then, i drew out my own true blade and shook it flawless from hilt to point, gleaming white in that mist. therefore it sent a thrill of joy to my heart, to know that there was one friend left me yet: i sheathed it again carefully, and undoing it from my waist, hung it about my neck. then catching up my rags in my arms, i drew them up till my legs and feet were altogether clear from them, afterwards folded my arms over my breast, gave a long leap and ran, looking downward, but not giving heed to my way. once or twice i fell over stumps of trees, and such- like, for it was a cut-down wood that i was in, but i rose always, though bleeding and confused, and went on still; sometimes tearing madly through briars and gorse bushes, so that my blood dropped on the dead leaves as i went. i ran in this way for about an hour; then i heard a gurgling and splashing of waters; i gave a great shout and leapt strongly, with shut eyes, and the black water closed over me. when i rose again, i saw near me a boat with a man in it; but the shore was far off; i struck out toward the boat, but my clothes which i had knotted and folded about me, weighed me down terribly. the man looked at me, and began to paddle toward me with the oar he held in his left hand, having in his right a long, slender spear, barbed like a fish-hook; perhaps, i thought, it is some fishing spear; moreover his raiment was of scarlet, with upright stripes of yellow and black all over it. when my eye caught his, a smile widened his mouth as if some one had made a joke; but i was beginning to sink, and indeed my head was almost under water just as he came and stood above me, but before it went quite under, i saw his spear gleam, then felt it in my shoulder, and for the present, felt nothing else. when i woke i was on the bank of that river; the flooded waters went hurrying past me; no boat on them now; from the river the ground went up in gentle slopes till it grew a great hill, and there, on that hill-top, yes, i might forget many things, almost everything, but not that, not the old castle of my fathers up among the hills, its towers blackened now and shattered, yet still no enemy's banner waved from it. so i said i would go and die there? and at this thought i drew my sword, which yet hung about my neck, and shook it in the air till the true steel quivered, then began to pace towards the castle. i was quite naked, no rag about me; i took no heed of that only thanking god that my sword was left, and so toiled up the hill. i entered the castle soon by the outer court; i knew the way so well, that i did not lift my eyes from the groimd, but walked on over the lowered drawbridge through the unguarded gates, and stood in the great hall at lastmy father's hall as bare of everything but my sword as when i came into the world fifty years before: i had as little clothes, as little wealth, less memory and thought, i verily believe, than then. so i lifted up my eyes and gazed; no glass in the windows, no hangings on the walls; the vaulting yet held good throughout, but seemed to be going; the mortar had fallen out from between the stones, and grass and fern grew in the joints; the marble pavement was in some places gone, and water stood about in puddles, though one scarce knew how it had got there. no hangings on the walls- no; yet, strange to say, instead of them, the walls blazed from end to end with scarlet paintings, only striped across with green damp-marks in many places, some falling bodily from the wall, the plaster hanging down with the fading colour on it. in all of them, except for the shadows and the faces of the figures, there was scarce any colour but scarlet and yellow. here and there it seemed the painter, whoever it was, had tried to make his trees or his grass green, but it would not do; some ghastly thoughts must have filled his head, for all the green went presently into yellow, out-sweeping through the picture dismally. but the faces were painted to the very life, or it seemed so; there were only five of them, however, that were very marked or came much in the foreground; and four of these i knew well, though i did not then remember the names of those that had borne them. they were red harald, swanhilda, amald, and myself. the fifth i did not know; it was a woman's and very beautiful. then i saw that in some parts a small penthouse roof had been built over the paintings, to keep them from the weather. near one of these stood a man painting, clothed in red, with stripes of yellow and black: then i knew that it was the same man who had saved me from drowning by spearing me through the shoulder; so i went up to him, and saw furthermore that he was girt with a heavy sword. he turned round when he saw me coming, and asked me fiercely what i did there. i asked why he was painting in my castle. thereupon, with that same grim smile widening his mouth as heretofore, he said, "i paint god's judgments." and as he spoke, he rattled the sword in his scabbard; but i said, "well, then, you paint them very badly. listen; i know god's judgments much better than you do. see now; i will teach you god's judgments, and you shall teach me painting." while i spoke he still rattled his sword, and when i had done, shut his right eye tight, screwing his nose on one side; then said: "you have got no clothes on, and may go to the devil! what do you know about god's judgments?" "well, they are not all yellow and red, at all events; you ought to know better." he screamed out, " you fool! yellow and red! gold and blood, what do they make?" "well," i said; "what?" "hell!" and, coming close up to me, he struck me with his open hand in the face, so that the colour with which his hand was smeared was dabbed about my face. the blow almost threw me down; and, while i staggered, he rushed at me furiously with his sword. perhaps it was good for me that i had got no clothes on; for, being utterly unencumbered, i leapt this way and that, and avoided his fierce, eager strokes till i could collect myself somewhat; while he had a heavy scarlet cloak on that trailed on the ground, and which he often trod on, so that he stumbled. he very nearly slew me during the first few minutes, for it was not strange that, together with other matters, i should have forgotten the art of fence: but yet, as i went on, and sometimes bounded about the hall under the whizzing of his sword, as he rested sometimes, leaning on it, as the point sometimes touched my head and made my eyes start out, i remembered the old joy that i used to have, and the swy, swy, of the sharp edge, as one gazed between one's horse's ears; moreover, at last, one fierce swift stroke, just touching me below the throat, tore up the skin all down my body, and fell heavy on my thigh, so that i drew my breath in and turned white; then first, as i swung my sword round my head, our blades met, oh! to hear that tchink again! and i felt the notch my sword made in his, and swung out at him; but he guarded it and returned on me; i guarded right and left, and grew warm, and opened my mouth to shout, but knew not what to say; and our sword points fell on the floor together: then, when we had panted awhile, i wiped from my face the blood that had been dashed over it, shook my sword and cut at him, then we spun round and round in a mad waltz to the measured music of our meeting swords, and sometimes either wounded the other somewhat but not much, till i beat down his sword on to his head, that he fell grovelling, but not cut through. verily, thereupon my lips opened mightily with "mary rings." then, when he had gotten to his feet, i went at him again, he staggering back, guarding wildly; i cut at his head; he put his sword up confusedly, so i fitted both hands to my hilt, and smote him mightily under the arm: then his shriek mingled with my shout, made a strange sound together; he rolled over and over, dead, as i thought. i walked about the hall in great exultation at first, striking my sword point on the floor every now and then, till i grew faint with loss of blood; then i went to my enemy and stripped off some of his clothes to bind up my wounds withal; afterwards i found in a corner bread and wine, and i eat and drank thereof. then i went back to him, and looked, and a thought struck me, and i took some of his paints and brushes, and kneeling down, painted his face thus, with stripes of yellow and red, crossing each other at right angles; and in each of the squares so made i put a spot of black, after the manner of the painted letters in the prayer-books and romances when they are ornamented. so i stood back as painters use, folded my arms, and admired my own handiwork. yet there struck me as being something so utterly doleful in the man's white face, and the blood running all about him, and washing off the stains of paint from his face and hands, and splashed clothes, that my heart mis- gave me, and i hoped that he was not dead; i took some water from a vessel he had been using for his painting, and, kneeling, washed his face. was it some resemblance to my father's dead face, which i had seen when i was young, that made me pity him? i laid my hand upon his heart, and felt it beating feebly; so i lifted him up gently, and carried him towards a heap of straw that he seemed used to lie upon; there i stripped him and looked to his wounds, and used leech-craft, the memory of which god gave me for this purpose, i suppose, and within seven days i found that he would not die. afterwards, as i wandered about the castle, i came to a room in one of the upper storeys, that had still the roof on, and windows in it with painted glass, and there i found green raiment and swords and armour, and i clothed myself. so when he got well i asked him what his name was, and he me, and we both of us said, "truly i know not." then said i, "but we must call each other some name, even as men call days." "call me swerker," he said, "some priest i knew once had that name." "and me wulf," said i, "though wherefore i know not." then i tried to learn painting till i thought i should die, but at last learned it through very much pain and grief. and, as the years went on and we grew old and grey, we painted purple pictures and green ones instead of the scarlet and yellow, so that the walls looked altered, and always we painted god's judgments. and we would sit in the sunset and watch them with the golden light changing them, as we yet hoped god would change both us and our works. often too we would sit outside the walls and look at the trees and sky, and the ways of the few men and women we saw; therefrom sometimes befell adventures. once there went past a great funeral of some king going to his own country, not as he had hoped to go, but stiff and colourless, spices filling up the place of his heart. and first went by very many knights, with long bright hauberks on, that fell down before their knees as they rode, and they all had tilting-helms on with the same crest, so that their faces were quite hidden: and this crest was two hands clasped together tightly as though they were the hands of one praying forgiveness from the one he loves best; and the crest was wrought in gold. moreover, they had on over their hauberks surcoats which were half scarlet and half purple, strewn about with golden stars. also long lances, that had forked knights'-pennons, half purple and half scarlet, strewn with golden stars. and these went by with no sound but the fall of their horse-hoofs. and they went slowly, so slowly that we counted them all, five thousand five hundred and fifty-five. then went by many fair maidens whose hair was loose and yellow, and who were all clad in green raiment ungirded, and shod with golden shoes. these also we counted, being five hundred; moreover some of the outermost of them, viz., one maiden to every twenty, had long silver trumpets, which they swung out to right and left, blowing them, and their sound was very sad. then many priests, and bishops, and abbots, who wore white albs and golden copes over them; and they all sang together mournfully, "propter amnen babylonis;" and these were three hundred. after that came a great knot of the lords, who were tilting helmets and surcoats emblazoned with each one his own device; only each had in his hand a small staff two feet long whereon was a pennon of scarlet and purple. these also were three hundred. and in the midst of these was a great car hung down to the ground with purple, drawn by grey horses whose trappings were half scarlet, half purple. and on this car lay the king, whose head and hands were bare; and he had on him a surcoat, half purple and half scarlet, strewn with golden stars. and his head rested on a tilting helmet, whose crest was the hands of one praying passionately for forgiveness. but his own hands lay by his side as if he had just fallen asleep. and all about the car were little banners, half purple and half scarlet, strewn with golden stars. then the king, who counted but as one, went by also. and after him came again many maidens clad in ungirt white raiment strewn with scarlet flowers, and their hair was loose and yellow and their feet bare: and, except for the falling of their feet and the rustle of the wind through their raiment, they went past quite silently. these also were five hundred. then lastly came many young knights with long bright hauberks falling over their knees as they rode, and surcoats, half scarlet and half purple, strewn with golden stars; they bore long lances with forked pen- nons which were half purple, half scarlet, strewn with golden stars; their heads and their hands were bare, but they bore shields, each one of them, which were of bright steel wrought cunningly in the midst with that bearing of the two hands of one who prays for forgiveness; which was done in gold. these were but five hundred. then they all went by winding up and up the hill roads, and, when the last of them had departed out of our sight, we put down our heads and wept, and i said, "sing us one of the songs of the hollow land." then he whom i had called swerker put his hand into his bosom, and slowly drew out a long, long tress of black hair, and laid it on his knee and smoothed it, weeping on it: so then i left him there and went and armed myself, and brought armour for him. and then came back to him and threw the armour down so that it clanged, and said: "o harald, let us go!" he did not seem surprised that i called him by the right name, but rose and armed himself, and then be looked a good knight; so we set forth. and in a turn of the long road we came suddenly upon a most fair woman, clothed in scarlet, who sat and sobbed, holding her face between her bands, and her hair was very black. and when harald saw her, he stood and gazed at her for long through the bars of bis helmet, then suddenly turned, and said: "florian, i must stop here; do you go on to the hollow land. farewell." "farewell." and then i went on, never turning back, and him i never saw more. and so i went on, quite lonely, but happy, till i had reached the hollow land. into which i let myself down most carefully, by the jutting rocks and bushes and strange trailing flowers, and there lay down and fell asleep. fytte the third and i was waked by some one singing; i felt very happy; i felt young again; i had fair delicate raiment on, my sword was gone, and my armour; i tried to think where i was, and could not for my happiness; i tried to listen to the words of the song. nothing, only an old echo in my ears, only all manner of strange scenes from my wretched past life before my eyes in a dim, far-off manner: then at last, slowly, without effort, i heard what she sang. "christ keep the hollow land all the summer-tide; still we cannot understand where the waters glide; only dimly seeing them coldly slipping through many green-lipp'd cavern mouths. where the hills are blue." "then," she said, "come now and look for it, love, a hollow city in the hollow land." i kissed margaret, and we went. through the golden streets under the purple shadows of the houses we went, and the slow fanning backward and forward of the many-coloured banners cooled us: we two alone: there was no one with us. no soul will ever be able to tell what we said, how we looked. at last we came to a fair palace, cloistered off in the old time, before the city grew golden from the din and hubbub of traffic; those who dwelt there in the old ungolden times had had their own joys, their own sorrows, apart from the joys and sorrows of the multitude: so, in like manner, was it now cloistered off from the eager leaning and brotherhood of the golden dwellings: so now it had its own gaiety, its own solemnity, apart from theirs; unchanged, and changeable, were its marble walls, whatever else changed about it. we stopped before the gates and trembled, and clasped each other closer; for there among the marble leafage and tendrils that were round and under and over the archway that held the golden valves were wrought two figures of a man and woman winged and garlanded, whose raiment flashed with stars; and their faces were like faces we had seen or half seen in some dream long and long and long ago so that we trembled with awe and delight; and turned, and seeing margaret, saw that her face was that face seen or half seen long and long and long ago; and in the shining of her eyes i saw that other face, seen in that way and no other long and long and long ago - my face. and then we walked together toward the golden gates, and opened them, and no man gainsaid us. and before us lay a great space of flowers. the secret chamber at chad by everett evelyn-green. table of contents chapter i: a mysterious visitor. chapter ii: the household at chad. chapter iii: brother emmanuel. chapter iv: the travelling preacher. chapter v: a warning. chapter vi: watched! chapter vii: an imposing spectacle. chapter viii: hidden away. chapter ix: the search. chapter x: from peril to safety. chapter i: a mysterious visitor. the great house at chad was wrapped in sleep. the brilliant beams of a june moon illuminated the fine pile of gray masonry with a strong white light. every castellated turret and twisted chimney stood out in bold relief from the heavy background of the pine wood behind, and the great courtyard lay white and still, lined by a dark rim of ebon shadow. chad, without being exactly a baronial hall of the first magnitude, was nevertheless a very fine old house. it had been somewhat shorn of its pristine glories during the wars of the roses. one out of its original two quadrangles had then been laid in ruins, and had never been rebuilt. but the old inner quadrangle still remained standing, and made an ample and commodious dwelling house for the family of the chadgroves who inhabited it; whilst the ground which had once been occupied by the larger outer quadrangle, with its fortifications and battlements, was now laid out in terraces and garden walks, which made a pleasant addition to the family residence. the seventh henry was on the throne. the battle of bosworth field had put an end to the long-drawn strife betwixt the houses of york and lancaster. the exhausted country was beginning to look forward to a long period of prosperity and peace; and the household at chad was one of the many that were rejoicing in the change which had come upon the public outlook, and was making the most of the peaceful years which all trusted lay before the nation. several changes of some importance had passed over chad during the previous century. the wars had made gaps in the ranks of the family to whom it had always belonged. there had been sundry edicts of confiscation--as speedily repealed by the next change in the fate of the day; and more than once the head had been struck down by death, and the house and lands had passed either to a minor or to some other branch of the family. there had been the confusion and strife betwixt the various branches of the family which was a characteristic of that age of upheaval and strife; but the present owner of the estate, sir oliver chadgrove, seemed firmly settled in his place. he had fought on henry's side at bosworth, and had been confirmed by that monarch in the possession of the estate of chad; and since that day none had tried to dispute his claim; nor, indeed, would it have been very easy to do so, as he was undoubtedly the rightful representative of the older branch of the family. a just and kindly man, he was beloved of those about him, and would have been staunchly supported by his retainers had any adversary arisen against him. his only enemy was the lord of mortimer, who owned mortimer's keep, the adjoining property, and had cast covetous eyes on chad during the stormy days of the late wars, more than once trying unsuccessfully to step in between the disputing parties and claim it as his own, not by the power of right, but by that of might alone. however, he had not been successful in this attempt; and for the past few years there had been a semblance of friendliness between sir oliver and his proud and powerful neighbour. the knight was well aware that the friendliness was more a seeming than a reality. he was perfectly well acquainted with the rapacious character of the owner of mortimer's keep, and with his covetous designs upon chad. he knew he was a secret foe, always on the watch for any cause of complaint against him; and he could often feel that it would take very little to stir up the old jealous strife and hostility. still, for the present an armed truce was the order of the day, and sir oliver, knowing his own loyalty, the cleanness of his hands, and the uprightness of his dealings, was not much afraid that his enemy would ever succeed in ousting him from his lands, or in gaining possession of the fair park and house of chad for himself. sir oliver was personally liked by the king, which was another point in his favour. without being a brilliant ruler like his successors, the seventh henry had the faculty of choosing men of parts to place about him, and he had recognized in sir oliver chadgrove certain qualities which he approved, and of which he wished to avail himself from time to time. so the knight was frequently summoned to attend the king, and occasionally his wife went with him and appeared at court. on this particular bright june night, both the master and the mistress were absent, being at windsor with the king's court; and the three boys--the children with whom providence had blessed them--were the only members of the family sleeping beneath the roof of the great house. the bedchamber of the three boys was a large, bare room looking out across the wooded park and ridge of hills, through which the little river of chad meandered leisurely. the boys would have preferred the courtyard for their lookout; but a lover of nature could not but be struck by the exceeding beauty of the view from this row of latticed casements. and indeed the green expanse of home-like country had its charm even for high-spirited boys; and edred, the second child of the house, often sat for hours together on the wide window ledge, gazing his fill at the shifting lights and shadows, and dreaming dreams of his own about what he saw. the long room contained three small narrow beds, and very little furniture besides, in each of these beds a boy lay sleeping. the moonlight streaming in through the uncurtained windows illuminated the whole room, and showed the curly heads, two dark and one fair, lying on the hard pillows, and shone so straight into the face of the eldest boy, that he stirred a little in his sleep, and half turned round. he was a handsome lad of some eight or nine summers, with regular, strongly-marked features, and dark hair and eyes. the brown hand and arm which lay exposed to view showed a muscular development that betokened great strength to come when the boy should be grown to manhood, and the face exhibited a like promise of strength of will and character. bertram chadgrove, half aroused by the strong light of the moon in his face, opened his dark eyes sleepily for a few minutes, and then turned over towards the wall, and prepared to slumber again. but before he had sunk to sleep he became further aroused by a very peculiar sound in the wall (as it seemed), close to which his bed was stationed; and instead of drowsing off again, he woke up with all his faculties on the alert, much as a watchdog does, and sitting up in bed he listened with all his ears. yes; there could be no mistaking it! there was certainly a sound--a muffled, curious sound--within the very wall itself. he pressed his ear against the panel, and his eyes shone brightly in the moonlight. "it is some living thing," he whispered to himself. "methinks it is surely some human thing. rats can make strange sounds, i know, but not such sounds as these. a human being, and within the thickness of the wall! how can such a thing be? i never heard the like before. it comes nearer--i hear the groping of hands close beside mine ear. heaven send it be not a spirit from the other world! i fear no mortal arm, of flesh and blood, but i desire not to see a visitor from the land of shadows." for a moment the boy's flesh crept on his bones, and the hair of his head seemed to rise up from his scalp. the groping of those phantom hands against the wall just beside him was enough to fill the stoutest heart with terror, in an age when superstition was always rife. he strove to call to his brothers; but his voice was no more than a whisper, and his throat felt dry and parched. failing in making himself heard by his companions, he cowered down and drew the clothes right over his head, shivering with fear; and it was several minutes before his native courage came to his aid, and he felt ashamed of this paroxysm of terror. "fie upon me for a white-livered poltroon!" he cried, as the chill sweat of fear ceased to break out upon him, and he rallied his courage and his determination. "i am no better than a maid! shame upon me for a coward! i will not call to edred and julian. it shall not be said of me, even by mine own self, that i dared not face even a spirit from the lower world alone. i will find out what this sound is, and that without the help of any other living soul, else shall i despise myself forever!" and with that resolve hot within him, bertram threw back his coverings and prepared to rise from his bed, when his attention was arrested by some strange stealthy sounds close against the great carved chimney piece, on the same side of the room as his own bed. his brothers slept on the opposite side of the big room. none of the sounds which were so astonishing bertram would penetrate to their sleeping senses. had the eldest boy not been awake at the beginning, he would scarce have heard the sound, so cautious and soft it was. but this noise was something new. it was like hands fumbling and groping in search of something. bertram held his breath to listen, growing hot and cold by turns. but he drew some of his clothes cautiously towards him, and silently slipped into his nether garments. he felt that if there were some unseen enemy striving in mysterious fashion to penetrate into this room, he could better meet him if he were clothed, however scantily, than he could do as he was; and he had ample time to put on even his doublet and hose, and to cover himself up again in bed, with his small poniard closely held in his hand, before there was any further development of that strange night's drama which he was so breathlessly watching. that something or somebody was seeking to find entrance into the room, he could not doubt for a moment; but, on the other hand, it seemed an incredible surmise, because the wall along which the unknown visitor had plainly felt his way was an outside wall, and if there really were any person thus moving, he must be walking along some secret passage in the thickness of the wall itself. such a thing was not impossible. bertram knew of more than one such passage contrived in the thickness of the wall in his ancient home, and all the family were acquainted with a certain secret hiding place that existed, cleverly contrived in the rambling old building, which, with its various levels and its wilderness of chimneys, might well defy detection, even with the most skilled search. but the boy knew of no such passage or chamber in connection with their sleeping room, and he was sure his parents did not know of one either, or any member of the household. therefore it was immensely surprising to hear these uncanny sounds, and it was small wonder if they did give rise to a wave of supernatural terror, of which the boy was man enough to feel ashamed the moment reason had time to assert her sway. "i have done no wrong; i confessed but three days since, and received blessing and absolution. if any spirit were to come to visit this room, it could do me no hurt. besides, methinks a spirit would pass easily along the straightest place, and would not need to fumble thus as if in search of hidden bolts. "ha! what is that! methought some spring shot back. hist! here it comes!" the boy lay back upon his bed, drawing the clothes silently up to his very eyes. the moonlight had shifted just a little, and no longer illumined his face. that was now in shadow, and would scarce reveal the fact that he was awake. he lay perfectly still, scarce daring to draw his breath, and the next moment a strange thing happened. the whole of one of the great carved pillars that supported the high mantle shelf swung noiselessly forward, and stood out at right angles to the wall. from where he lay bertram could not see, but he could well understand that when this was done a narrow doorway had been revealed, and the next moment a shadowy figure glided with noiseless steps into the room. the figure was poorly clad in a doublet of serge much the worse for wear, and the moonlight showed a strangely haggard face and soiled and torn raiment. yet there was an air of dignity about the mysterious visitor which showed to the astonished boy that he must at some time have been in better circumstances, and lying quite still bertram watched his movements with breathless attention. with a quick, scared glance round him, as though afraid that even the silence might be the silence of treachery, the gaunt figure advanced with covert eagerness across the floor, leaving the door wide open behind him, as if to be ready for him should he desire to fly; and precipitating himself upon a ewer of cold water standing upon the floor, he drank and drank and drank as though he would never cease. plainly he was consumed by the most raging thirst. bertram had never seen anything but an exhausted horse after a burning summer's chase in the forest drink in such a fashion. and as he watched, all fear left him in a moment, for certainly no phantom could drink dry this great ewer of spring water; and if he had only a creature of flesh and blood to deal with, why, then there was certainly no cause for fear. in place of dread and terror, a great pity welled up in the generous heart of the boy. he had all the hatred for oppression and the chivalrous desire to help the oppressed that seem born in the hearts of the sons of british birth. who and what manner of man this was he did not know; but he was evidently some poor hunted creature, going in very fear of his life, and as such the boy pitied him from the very ground of his heart, and would gladly have helped him had he known how. he lay for a few moments wondering and pondering. certainly his father was no foe to any man. he could not be hiding from his displeasure. the fugitive had rather taken refuge in his house; and if so, who better could be found to help him than the son of the owner? "our father and our mother alike have always taught us to befriend the stranger and the oppressed," said the boy to himself. "i will ask this stranger of himself, and see if i may befriend him. i would gladly learn the trick of yon door. it would be a goodly secret to have for our very own." it was plain that the fugitive, though aware that the room was tenanted, had satisfied himself that the occupants were all asleep. he had ceased his frightened, furtive looks around him, and was quaffing the last of the water with an air of relish and relief that was good to see, pausing from time to time to stretch his limbs and to draw in great gulps of fresh air through the open window by which he stood, as a prisoner might do who had just been released from harsh captivity. the moonlight shining upon his face showed it haggard, unkempt, and unshorn. plainly he had been several days in hiding; and by the gauntness of his figure, and the wolfish gleam in his eye as it roved quickly round the apartment, as if in search of food, it was plain that he was suffering keenly from hunger, too. bertram's decision was quickly taken. whilst the man's face was turned the other way, he quickly rose from his bed, and crossing the room with noiseless steps, laid a hand upon his arm. "hist, friend!" he whispered whilst the start given by the other, and the hoarse exclamation that broke from his lips, might have wakened sleepers who were not healthy, tired boys. "fear not; i am no foe to betray thee. tell me who and what thou art, and i will help thee all i may." the frightened eyes bent upon him bespoke a great terror. the man's voice died away as he tried to speak. the only word bertram could catch seemed to be a prayer that he would not betray him. "betray thee! never! why, good fellow, dost not know that the chadgroves never betray those who trust in them? hence sometimes has trouble come upon them. but before we talk, let me get thee food. methinks thou art well-nigh starved." "food! food! ah, if thou wouldst give me that, young master, i would bless thee forever! i have well-nigh perished with hunger and thirst. heaven be thanked that i have tasted water once again!" "come hither," said bertram cautiously. "first close this narrow doorway, the secret of which thou must teach me in return for what i will do for thee, and then i will take thee to another chamber, where our voices will not disturb my brothers, and we can talk, and thou canst eat at ease. i must know thy story, and i pledge myself to help thee. show me now the trick of this door. i swear i will make no treacherous use of the secret." "i will trust thee, young sir. i must needs do so, for without human help i must surely die. "seest thou this bunch of grapes so cunningly carved here? this middle grape of the cluster will turn round in the fingers that know how to find and grasp it, and so turning and turning slowly, unlooses a bolt within--here--and so the whole woodwork swings out upon hinges and reveals the doorway. where that doorway leads i will show thee anon, if thou wouldst know the trick of the secret chamber at chad that all men have now forgotten. it may be that it will some day shelter thee or thine, for thou hast enemies abroad, even as i have." bertram was intensely interested as he examined and mastered the simple yet clever contrivance of this masked door; but quickly remembering the starved condition of his companion, he led him cautiously into an adjoining room, where were a table and some scant furniture, and gliding down the staircase and along dim corridors just made visible by the reflected radiance of the moon, he reached the buttery, and armed himself with a venison pasty, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine. hurrying back with these, he soon had the satisfaction to see the stranger fall upon them with the keen relish of a man who has fasted to the last limits of endurance; and only after he had seen that the keen edge of his hunger had been satisfied did he try to learn more of him and his concerns. "now tell me, my good friend, who and what thou art," said the boy, "and how comes it that thou seekest shelter here, and that thou knowest more of chad than we its owners do. that is the thing which has been perplexing me this long while. i would fain hear from thy story how it comes about." "that is soon told, young sir. thou dost not, probably, remember the name of warbel as that of some of the retainers of thy grandsire, but--" "i have heard the name," said the boy. "i have heard my father speak of them. but i knew not that there were any of that name now living." "i am a warbel--i trow the last of my race. i was born beyond the seas; but i was early brought to england, and i heard munch of the strife that encompassed chad, because my father and grandfather both knew the place well, and would fain have gone back and lived in the old country had not fortune otherwise decreed it. to make a long story short, they never returned to the place. but when i was grown to man's estate, i was offered a post in the household of the lord of mortimer, and as it was the best thing that had fallen in my way, i accepted it very gladly; for i knew that name, too, and i knew naught against the haughty lord, albeit my father and grandsire had not loved the lords of that name who lived before him. "for many years i have been in his service, and for a while all went well with me. i was made one of his gentlemen, and he seemed to favour me. but of late there has been a change towards me--i know not how or why. i have offended him without intending it, and he has sometimes provoked me almost beyond endurance by his proud insolence. but that i might have borne, for he was my master, had it not been for the insolence and insults i had to bear from others amongst his servants, and from one youth in particular, who seemed to me to be trying to oust me from my place, and to get himself the foremost place in his master's favour. that made my hot blood boil again and again, until at last the thing i believe they had long planned happened, and i had to fly for my life." the man paused, and bertram, who was drinking in this story, asked eagerly: "and what was that?" "it was four days ago now, in the hall where we had supped. we had drunk much wine in honour of our master's birthday, and then we began playing and dicing to pass the time till we retired to bed. my adversary was this youth whom i so greatly distrust. as we played i detected him in unfair practices. he vowed i lied, and called upon me to prove my words at the sword's point; but in my fury and rage i sprang upon him with my bare hands, and would have wrung his neck--the insolent popinjay--had i been able. as it was, we struggled and swayed together till my greater weight caused him to fall over backwards against one of the tables, and i verily believe his back is broken. i know not whether he is living yet. but as he is not only a great favourite with the lord of mortimer, but a distant kinsman to boot, no sooner was the deed done than all in the hall called to me to save myself by flight, for that the master would revenge such a death upon the perpetrator of it without mercy, and that if i wished to spare my neck i must fly without an instant's delay. "i knew this but too well myself. the baron was a fearful man to meet in his rage. where to fly i knew not, but stay i could not. i had bare time to rush to my room, don a dress that would not excite inquiry if i had to lie hid in the forest a few days. i did not think flight would be so difficult a matter, but i knew that every moment spent in mortimer's keep was at peril of my life; and i had but just made my escape through a small postern door before i heard the alarm bell ring, the drawbridge go up, and knew that the edict had gone forth for my instant apprehension." he paused with a slight shudder, and seemed to be listening intently. "there is naught to fear here," said bertram. "tell me more of thy flight." "it was terrible," answered the man. "i had not looked to be hunted like the wild beasts of the forest; and yet an hour had not gone by before i heard, by the baying of the fierce hounds that are kept at mortimer, that a hunting party had sallied forth; and i knew that i was the quarry. i doubled and ran like any hare. i knew the tricks of the wild things that have skill in baffling the dogs, and at last i reached the shelter of these walls, and ran there for protection. i had thrown off the dogs at the last piece of water; and in the marshy ground the scent did not lie, and could not be picked up. for a brief moment i was safe; but i was exhausted almost to death. i could go no further. i lay down beneath the shadow of some arbour within the sheltering precincts of chad, and wondered what would become of me." "yes, yes! and then--?" "then i remembered a story told me by my grandsire, years and years gone by, of a secret chamber at chad, which had sheltered many a fugitive in the hour of peril. lying out in the soft night air, i recalled bit by bit all that i had been told--the very drawings the old man had made to amuse me in a childish sickness, how the door opened, and how access was had to the chamber. i knew that the country round would be hunted for days, and that i could never escape the malice of the lord of mortimer if i pursued my way to the sea. he would overtake and kill me before i could make shift to gain that place of refuge. but i bethought me of the secret chamber and its story, and methought i might slip in unseen did i but watch my opportunity, find my way up the winding stair to this room, and so to the secret chamber beyond." "and thou didst?" "ay, i did, the very next morning. i saw thee and thy brothers sally forth a-hunting. i saw the men follow in thy train. i had heard that the knight and his lady with their retinue were absent at windsor. it needed no great skill to slip in unseen and gain the longed-for hiding place. i had some food in my wallet. i fondly hoped it would prove enough; but the sounds of hunting day by day all around have told me too well that i must not venture forth; and as this room was slept in by night, i feared to sally forth after food, lest i should be found and betrayed. i had heard of the merciful nature of the master of chad; but in his absence i knew not what his servants might say or do. doubtless there is a reward offered for my apprehension; and if that be so, how could i help fearing that any hired servant would betray me to my lord?" "and thou thoughtest that servants slept in this room, and dared not show thyself either by day or night for fear thou mightest be betrayed! and only hunger and thirst drove thee forth at length?" "ay. and from my heart do i thank thee for thy kindness, young sir; and gladly will i show thee in return the trick of yon chamber. if thou canst kindle a torch it will light us better, for the way thither is wondrous tortuous and narrow." bertram had a little lantern--a very treasured possession of his--and after the usual tedious process of lighting had been gone through, he softly led the way back to the sleeping chamber. with his own hands he undid the fastening of the door and saw it swing open, and then the two passed through into a very narrow aperture, which proved to be a long narrow gallery contrived in the thickness of the wall, which would only just admit of the passage of one figure at a time. as they went in they drew to the door, and the fugitive showed his young companion how the bolt upon the inner side might be unloosed. "it is easy enow in the light, but hard to feel in the black darkness," he remarked; and then they pursued their devious way on and on through this strange passage, which wound up and down and in and out, and landed them at last at the foot of a spiral staircase, so narrow and squeezed in by masonry as to be barely serviceable for the purpose for which it was contrived. it led them to a small door, through which they passed, to find themselves in a room of fair size but very low, and without any window, which seemed to occupy (as indeed it did) a portion of the house between two of the other floors, and was so contrived as to absolutely defy detection be the examination of the structure of the house never so exhaustive. if the secret door were not found, nothing else would ever betray this cunning hiding-place. doubtless that was why, during the many changes that had prevailed at chad during the past fifty years, the knowledge of its very existence had been lost. "air comes in freely through many cracks and slits," explained the prisoner. "it is not an unpleasant place save in the heat of the middle day, when it becomes like a veritable oven. that is why my thirst was so unbearable. there is a bed, as thou seest, and a chair and a few other things. one could be comfortable here were it not for starvation and thirst." "i will feed thee so long as thou remainest hid," cried the boy, with generous ardour. "thou shalt hide there by day, and by night shalt wander abroad an thou wilt, to breathe the air and stretch thy limbs. my brothers and i will be thy friends. thou needst fear nothing now. we will find out when it is safe for thee to leave thy retreat, and then thou shalt go forth without fear; or, if thou likest it better, thou shalt abide here till our father returns and take service with him. i doubt not he would be glad enow to number a warbel again amongst his trusty servants." the man's face lighted up wonderfully. "if he would do that," he cried eagerly, "i should have no wish for anything better. but my master, the baron--" "my father fears not the baron!" answered the boy proudly; "and, besides, his young kinsman is not dead. we heard something of his side of the tale, and the youth is not even like to die now. my father could protect thee from his wrath. stay here, and thou wilt have naught to fear." the fugitive took the lad's hand and pressed it to his lips. "i will serve thee for ever and ever for this boon," he answered; and bertram went back to his room, to lie awake and muse over what had befallen till the dawn broke and his brothers awoke to the new day. to keep any secret from his two brothers was a thing impossible to bertram, and before they had finished dressing that morning, edred and julian were both made aware of the strange adventure of the night previous. looking up to bertram, as they both did, as the embodiment of prowess and courage, they did not grudge him his wonderful discovery, but they were eager to visit the fugitive themselves, and to carry him food and drink. the days that followed were days of absolute enchantment to the boys, who delighted in waiting on warbel and passing hours in his company. he told them entrancing stories of adventure and peril. he was devoted to his three youthful keepers, and wished for nothing better than to enter service with their father. later on, when all hue and cry after the missing man was over, and when lord mortimer's young kinsman was so far recovered that it would be impossible to summon warbel for any injury inflicted on him, bertram conducted him to the hut of one of his father's woodmen, who promised to keep him safe till the return of the knight. when sir oliver came back, warbel was brought to him, told a part of his tale, and was admitted readily as a member of the household; but the story of his incarceration in the secret chamber remained a secret known only to himself and the three boys. so delightful a mystery as the existence of this unknown chamber was too precious to be parted with; and it was a compact between the boys and the man, who now became their chief attendant and body servant, that the trick of that door and the existence of that chamber were to be told to none, but kept as absolutely their own property. chapter ii: the household at chad. the office of mistress of a large household in the sixteenth century was no sinecure. it was not the fashion then to depute to the hands of underlings the supervision of the details of domestic management; and though the lady of the hall might later in the day entertain royalty itself, the early hours of the morning were spent in careful and busy scrutiny of kitchen, pantry, and store or still room, and her own fair hands knew much of the actual skill which was required in the preparation of the many compounds which graced the board at dinner or supper. lady chadgrove was no exception to the general rule of careful household managers; and whilst her lord and master went hunting or hawking in the fresh morning air, or shut himself up in his library to examine into the accounts his steward laid before him or concern himself with some state business that might have been placed in his hands, she was almost always to be found in the offices of the house, looking well after the domestic details of household management, and seeing that each servant and scullion was doing the work appointed with steadiness and industry. there was need for some such careful supervision of the daily routine, for the large houses in the kingdom were mainly dependent upon their own efforts for the necessaries of life throughout the year. in towns there were shops where provisions could be readily bought, but no such institution as that of country shops had been dreamed of as yet. the lord of the manor killed his own meat, baked his own bread, grew his own wheat, and ground his own flour. he had his own brewery within the precinct of the great courtyard, where vast quantities of mead and ale were brewed, cider and other lighter drinks made, and even some sorts of simple home-grown wines. chad boasted its own "vineyard," where grapes flourished in abundance, and ripened in the autumn as they will not do now. nothing, perhaps, shows more clearly the change that has passed upon our climate by slow degrees than a study of the parish records of ancient days. vineyards were common enough in england some hundreds of years ago, and wine was made from the produce as regularly as the season came round. then there were the simpler fruit wines from gooseberries, currants, and elderberries, to say nothing of cowslip wine and other light beverages which it was the pride of the mistress to contrive and to excel in the making. our forefathers, though they knew nothing of the luxuries of tea and coffee, were by no means addicted to the drinking of water. considering the sanitary conditions in which they lived in those days, and the fearful contamination of water which frequently prevailed, and which doubtless had much to do with the spread of the black death and other like visitations, this was no doubt an advantage. still there were drawbacks to the habit of constant quaffing of fermented drinks at all hours of the day, and it was often a difficult matter to keep in check the sin of drunkenness that prevailed amongst all classes of the people. at chad the gentle influence of the lady of the manor had done much to make this household an improvement on many of its neighbours. although there was always abundance of good things and a liberal hospitality to strangers of all sorts, it was not often that any unseemly roistering disturbed the inmates of chad. the servants and retainers looked up to their master and mistress with loyalty and devotion, curbed their animal passions and wilder moods out of love and reverence for them, and grew more civilized and cultivated almost without knowing it, until the wild orgies which often disgraced the followings of the country nobility were almost unknown here. possibly another humanizing and restraining influence that acted silently upon the household was the presence of a young monk, who had been brought not long since from a neighbouring monastery, to act in the capacity of chaplain to the household and tutor to the boys, now fast growing towards man's estate. there was a beautiful little chapel connected with chad. it had fallen something into neglect and ruin during the days of the civil wars, and had been battered about in some of the struggles that had raged round chad. but sir oliver had spent both money and loving care in restoring and beautifying the little place, and now the daily mass was said there by brother emmanuel, and the members of the household were encouraged to attend as often as their duties would permit. the brother, too, would go about amongst the people and talk with them as they pursued their tasks, and not one even of the rudest and roughest but would feel the better for the kindly and beneficent influence of the youthful ecclesiastic. brother emmanuel had one of those keenly intelligent and versatile minds that are always craving a wider knowledge, and think no knowledge, even of the humblest, beneath notice. he would ask the poorest wood cutter to instruct him in the handling of his tool or in the simple mysteries of his craft as humbly as though he were asking instruction from one of the learned of the land. no information, no occupation came amiss to him. he saw in all toil a dignity and a power, and he strove to impress upon every worker, of whatever craft he might be, that to do his day's work with all his might and with the best powers at his command was in truth one excellent way of serving god, and more effectual than any number of paters and aves said whilst idling away the time that should be given to his master's service. such teaching might not be strictly orthodox from a monkish standpoint, but it commended itself to the understanding and the approval of simple folks; and the brother was none the less beloved and respected that his talk and his teaching did not follow the cut-and-dried rules of his order. sir oliver and his wife thought excellently of the young man, and to the boys he was friend as well as tutor. on this hot midsummer day the mistress of chad was making her usual morning round of the kitchens and adjoining offices--her simple though graceful morning robe, and the plain coif covering her hair, showing that she was not yet dressed for the duties which would engross her later in the day. she had a great bunch of keys dangling at her girdle, and her tablets were in her hands, where from time to time she jotted down some brief note to be entered later in those household books which she kept herself with scrupulous care, so that every season she knew exactly how many gallons or hogsheads of mead or wine had been brewed, what had been the yield of every crop in the garden or meadow, what stores of conserves had been made from each fruit as its season came in, and whether that quantity had proved sufficient for the year's consumption. the cherry crop was being gathered in today. huge baskets of the delicious fruit were ranged along one wall of the still room, and busy hands were already preparing the bright berries for the preserving pan or the rows of jars that were likewise placed in readiness to receive them. the cherry trees of chad were famous for their splendid crop, and the mistress had many wonderful recipes and preparations by which the fruit was preserved and made into all manner of dainty conserves that delighted all who partook of them. "i will come anon, and help you with your task," said the lady to the busy wenches in the still room, who were hard at work preparing the fruit. "i will return as soon as i have made my round, and see that all is going well." the girls smiled, and dropped their rustic courtesies. some amongst them were not the regular serving maids of the place, but were the daughters of the humbler retainers living round and about, who were glad to come to assist at the great house when there was any press of work--a thing that frequently happened from april to november. none who assisted at chad at such times ever went away empty handed. besides the small wage given for the work done, there was always a basket of fruit, or a piece of meat, or a flagon of wine, according to the nature of the task, set aside for each assistant who did not dwell beneath the roof of chad. and if there was sickness in any cottage from which a worker came, there was certain to be some little delicacy put into a basket by the hands of the mistress, and sent with a kindly word of goodwill and sympathy to the sufferer. it was small wonder, then, that the household and community of chad was a happy and peaceable one, or that the knight and his lady were beloved of all around. the morning's round was no sinecure, even though the mistress was today as quick as possible in her visit of inspection. three fat bucks had been brought in from the forest yester-eve, when the knight and his sons had returned from hunting. the venison had to be prepared, and a part of it dried and salted down for winter use; whilst of course a great batch of pies and pasties must be put in hand, so that the most should be made of the meat whilst it was still fresh. when that matter had been settled, there were the live creatures to visit--the calves in their stalls, the rows of milch kine, and the great piggery, where porkers of every kind and colour were tumbling about in great excitement awaiting their morning meal. the mistress of the house generally saw the pigs fed each day, to insure their having food proper to them, and not the offal and foul remnants that idle servants loved to give and they to eat were not some supervision exercised. the care of dogs and horses the lady left to her husband and sons, but the cows, the pigs, and the poultry she always looked after herself. her daily task accomplished, she returned to the still room, prepared for a long morning over her conserves. it was but half-past nine now; for the breakfast hour in baronial houses was seven all the year round, and today had been half-an-hour earlier on account of the press of work incident to the harvesting of the cherry crop. several of the servants who were generally occupied about the house had risen today with the lark, to be able to help their lady, and soon a busy, silent party was working in pantry and still room under the careful eye of the mistress. one old woman who had been accommodated with a chair, though her fingers were as brisk as any of the younger girls', from time to time addressed a question or a remark to her lady, which was always kindly answered. she was the old nurse of chad, having been nurse to sir oliver in his infancy, and having since had charge of his three boys during their earliest years. she was growing infirm now, and seldom left her own little room in a sunny corner of the big house, where her meals were taken her by one of the younger maids. but in the warm weather, when her stiff limbs gained a little more power, she loved on occasion to come forth and take a share in the life of the house, and work with the busy wenches under the mistress's eye at the piles of fruit from the successive summer and autumn crops as they came in rotation. "and where be the dear children?" she asked once; "i have not set eyes on them the livelong day. methought the very smell of the cherries would have brought them hither, as bees and wasps to a honey pot." the lady smiled slightly. "i doubt not they will be here anon; but doubtless they have paid many visits to the trees ere the store was garnered. i think they are in the tilt yard with warbel. it is there they are generally to be found in the early hours of the day." "they be fine, gamesome lads," said the old woman fondly--"chips of the old block, true chads every one of them;" for the custom with the common people was to call the lord of the manor by the name of his house rather than by his own patronymic, and sir oliver was commonly spoken of as "chad" by his retainers; a custom which lingered long in the south and west of the country. "they are well-grown, hearty boys," answered the mother quietly, though there was a light of tender pride in her eyes. "bertram is almost a man in looks, though he is scarce seventeen yet. seventeen! how time flies! it seems but yesterday since he was a little boy standing at my knee to say his light tasks, and walking to and fro holding his father's hand. well, heaven be praised, the years have been peaceful and prosperous, else would not they have fled by so swiftly." "heaven be praised indeed!" echoed the old woman. "for now the master is so safely seated at chad that he would be a bold man who tried to oust him. but in days gone by i have sorely feared yon proud lord of mortimer. methought he would try to do him a mischief. his spleen and spite, as all men say, are very great." the lady's face clouded slightly, but her reply was quiet and calm. "i fear me they are that still; but he lacks all cause of offence. my good lord is careful in all things to avoid making ill blood with a jealous neighbour. that he has always cast covetous eyes upon chad is known throughout the countryside; but i trow he would find it something difficult to make good any claim." "why, verily!" cried the nurse, with energy. "he could but come as a foul usurper, against whom would every honest hand be raised. but, good my mistress, what is the truth of the whisper i have heard that the lord of mortimer has wed his daughter to one who calls himself of the house of chad? i cannot believe that any of the old race would mate with a mortimer. is it but the idle gossip of the ignorant? or what truth is there in it?" "i scarce know myself the rights of the matter," answered lady chadgrove, still with a slight cloud upon her brow. "it is certainly true that lord mortimer has lately wed his only child, a daughter, to a knight who calls himself sir edward chadwell, and makes claim to be descended from my lord's house. men say that he makes great boasting that the chadwells are an older branch than the chadgroves, and that by right of inheritance chad is his. "methinks he would find it very hard to make good any such claim. belike it is but idle boasting. yet it may be that there will be some trouble in store. he has taken up his abode at mortimer's keep, and maybe we shall hear ill news before long." all eyes were fixed for a moment on the lady's face, and then the hands moved faster than before, whilst a subdued murmur went round the group. not one heart was there that did not beat with indignation at the thought that any should dare to try to disturb the peace of the rightful lord of chad. if the loyalty and affection of all around would prove a safeguard, the knight need have no fear from the claims advanced by any adversary. "there has been a muttering of coming tempest anent those vexed forest rights," continued the lady, in reply to some indignant words from the nurse. "i would that difficult question could be settled and laid at rest; but my good lord has yielded something too much already for the sake of peace and quietness, and at each concession mortimer's word was passed that he would claim no further rights over the portion that remained to us. but his word is broken without scruple, and we cannot ever be giving way. were no stand to be made, the whole forest track would soon be claimed by mortimer, and we should have nothing but the bare park that is fenced about and cannot be filched bit by bit away. but all the world knows that chad has forest rights equal to those of mortimer. it is but to seek a quarrel that the baron continues to push his claims ever nearer and nearer our walls." another murmur of indignation went round; but there was no time for further talk, as at that moment the three boys entered from the tilt yard; hot, thirsty, and breathless, and the fair-haired lad with the dreamy blue eyes held a kerchief to his head that was stained with blood. "art hurt, edred?" asked the mother, looking up. "'tis but a scratch," answered the boy. "i am not quite a match for bertram yet; but i will be anon. i must learn to be quicker in my defence. thanks, gentle mother; belike it will be better for it to be bound up. it bleeds rather too fast for comfort, but thy hands will soon stop that." the other boys fell upon the fruit with right good will, whilst the mother led her second son to the small pump nigh at hand, and bathed and dressed the rather ugly wound in his head. neither mother nor son thought anything of the hurt. it was easy enough to give and receive hard blows in the tilt yard, and bruises and cuts were looked upon as part of the discipline of life. as soon as the dressing was over, edred joined his brothers, and did his share in diminishing the pile of luscious fruit. and as they ate they chattered away to the old woman of their prowess in tilt yard and forest, relating how bertram had slain a fat buck with his own hands the previous day, and how they had between them given the coup-de-grace to another, which had been brought to bay at the water, father and huntsmen standing aloof to let the boys show their strength and skill. nine years had passed since that strange night when bertram had been awakened by the advent of the mysterious stranger at his bedside. he had developed since then from a sturdy little boy into a fine-grown youth of seventeen, who had in his own eyes, and in the eyes of many others, well-nigh reached man's estate; and who would, if need should arise, go forth equipped for war to fight the king's battles. he was a handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed youth, with plenty of determination and force of character, and with a love of chad so deeply rooted in his nature, that to be the heir of that property seemed to him the finest position in all the world, and he would not have exchanged it for that of prince of wales. the second son, edred (ethelred was his true name; he was called after his mother, etheldred), was some half-head shorter than his brother, but a fine boy for all that. he was fifteen, and whilst sharing to a great extent in the love of sport and of warlike games so common in that day, he was also a greater lover of books than his brothers, and would sometimes absent himself from their pastimes to study with brother emmanuel and learn from him many things that were not written in books. the other lads gave more time to study than was usual at that period; for both sir oliver and his lady believed in the value of book lore and the use of the pen, deploring the lack of learning that had prevailed during the confusion of the late wars, and greatly desiring its revival. but it was edred who really inherited the scholarly tastes of his parents, and already the question of making a monk of him was under serious discussion. the boy thought that if he might have a few more years of liberty and enjoyment he should like the life of the cloister well. julian bore a strong resemblance to bertram both in person and disposition. he was a very fine boy, nearly fourteen years old, and had been the companion of his brothers from infancy, so that he often appeared older than his age. all three brothers were bound together in bonds of more than wonted affection. they not only shared their sports and studies, but held almost all their belongings in common. each lad had his own horse and his own weapons, whilst edred had one or two books over which he claimed absolute possession; but for the rest, they enjoyed all properties in common, and it had hardly entered into their calculations that they could ever be separated, save when the idea of making edred into a monk came under discussion; and as that would not be done for some years, it scarcely seemed worth troubling over now. perhaps things would turn out differently in the end, and they would remain together at chad for the whole of their natural lives. nurse never wearied of the tales told by her young masters, and listened with fond pride to the recital. so eagerly were bertram and julian talking, that they did not heed the sound of the horn at the gate way which bespoke the arrival of some messenger; but edred slipped out to see who could be coming, and presently he returned with a frown upon his brow. "there is a messenger at the gate who wears the livery of mortimer," he said. "an insolent knave to boot, who flung his missive in the face of old ralph, and spurred off with a mocking laugh. i would i had had my good steed between my knees, and i would have given the rascal a lesson in manners. i like not these messengers from mortimer; they always betide ill will to my father." lady chadgrove looked anxious for a moment, but her brow soon cleared as she made answer: "i shall be sorry if aught comes to grieve or vex your father; but so long as we are careful to give no just cause for offence, we need not trouble our heads overmuch as to the jealous anger of the lord of mortimer. i misdoubt me if he can really hurt us, be he never so vindictive. the king is just, and he values the services of your father. he will not permit him to be molested without cause. and methinks my lord of mortimer knows as much, else he would have wrought us more ill all these past years." "he is a tyrant and an evil liver!" cried bertram hotly; "and his servants be drunken, brawling knaves, every one--as insolent as their master. if i had been old ralph, i would have hurled back his missive in his face, and bidden him deliver it rightly." "nay, nay, my son; that would but be to stir up strife. if others comport themselves ill, that is no reason why our servants should do the like. i would never give a foe a handle against me by the ill behaviour of even a serving man. let them act never so surlily, i would that they were treated with all due courtesy." bertram and julian hardly entered into their mother's feelings on this point; but edred looked up eagerly, and it was plain that he understood the feelings which prompted the words, for he said in a low voice: "methinks thou art right, gentle mother; albeit i did sorely long to give the varlet a lesson to teach him better. but perchance it was well i was not nigh enough. surely it must be nigh upon the hour for dinner. our sport has whet the edge of appetite, and i would fain hear what the missive was which yon knave brought with him. our father will doubtless tell us at the table." it was indeed nearly noon, and mistress and maids alike relinquished their tasks to prepare for the meal which was the chiefest of the day, though the supper was nothing to be despised. the long table in the great banqueting hall was a goodly sight to see when the dinner was spread, and the retainers of the better sort and some amongst the upper servants sat down with the master and his family to partake of the good cheer. at one end of the long board sat the knight and his lady side by side; to their right were the three boys, the young monk, and warbel the armourer, who now held a post of some importance in the house. opposite to these were other gentlemen-at-arms and their sons, who were resident at chad; and at the lower end of the table, below the great silver salt cellars, sat the seneschal, the lowlier retainers, and certain trusted servants who held responsible positions at chad. the cooks and scullions and underlings dined in the great kitchen immediately after their masters' meal had been served. the table at chad always groaned with good things, except at such seasons as the church decreed a fast, and then the diet was scrupulously kept within the prescribed bounds. sir oliver and his wife were both devout and earnest people, and had every reverence for their spiritual superiors. the benedictine priory of chadwater stood only a mile and a half distant, and the prior was on excellent terms with the owner of chad. brother emmanuel had been an inmate of the priory before he was selected by sir oliver for the education of his sons. he was considered a youth of no small promise, and the knight was well pleased at the progress made by his boys since they had been studying with him. today there was a look of annoyance upon the handsome face of sir oliver chadgrove. it was a striking countenance at all times, in which sternness of purpose and kindness of heart were blended in a fashion that was both attractive and unusual. he had the same regular features, rather square in the outline, which he had transmitted to his children; and his hair, which was now silvered with many streaks, had been raven black in its day. his carriage was upright and fearless, and he was very tall and powerfully proportioned. it was bertram's keenest ambition to grow up in all points like his father, and he copied him, consciously and unconsciously, in a fashion that often raised a smile on his mother's face. "i have been favoured with another insolent letter from my lord of mortimer," he said. "he had better take heed that he try not my patience too far, and that i go not to the king and lay a complaint before him. i will do so if i be much more troubled." "what says he now, father?" asked bertram eagerly, forgetting in his eagerness the generally observed maxim that the sons spoke not at table till they were directly addressed. but the knight did not himself heed this breach of decorum. "it is the same old story; but every year he grows more grasping and more insolent. today he complains, forsooth, that the last buck we killed was killed on his ground, and by rights belonged to him. he threatens that his foresters and huntsmen will wage war with us in future if we 'trespass' upon his rights, and wrest our spoil from us! beshrew me if i submit to much more! patience and forbearance are useless with such a man. i would i had not conceded all i have done in the interests of peace." bertram's face was crimson with anger, edred's eyes had widened in astonishment, whilst julian burst out in indignant remonstrance and argument. "his ground! his rights! how can he dare say that? why, the buck was killed at juno's pool; and all the world knows that that is within the confines of chad, and that all forest rights there belong to the lord of chad! i would i could force his false words down his false throat! i would i could--" but the boy suddenly ceased, because he caught his mother's warning eye upon him, and saw that his father had opened his lips to speak. "ay, and he knows it himself as well as we do; but he is growing bolder and bolder through that monstrous claim he is ever threatening to push--the claim of his son-in-law to be rightful lord of chad! phew! he will find it hard to prove that claim, or to oust the present lord. but mortimer has money and to spare, and chad has long been to him what naboth's vineyard was to king ahab-- "brother emmanuel, that simile is thine, and a right good one, too. "he will seize on any pretext to pick a quarrel; and if he dares, he will push that quarrel at the point of the sword. i do not fear him; i have the right on my side. but we may not blind ourselves to this: that he is a right bitter and treacherous foe, and that should we give any, even the smallest cause of suspicion or offence, he would seize upon that to ruin us." sir oliver looked keenly round the table at all assembled there, and many knew better than his sons what was in his mind at the time and what had caused him to speak thus. for a long while now the leaven of lollardism had been working silently in the country, and there were very many even amongst orthodox sons of the church who were more or less "bitten" by some of the new notions. it need hardly be said that wherever light is, it will penetrate in a mysterious and often inexplicable fashion; and although there was much extravagance and perversion in the teachings of the advanced lollards, there was undoubtedly amongst them a far clearer and purer light than existed in the hearts of those of the common people who had been brought up beneath the sway of the priests, themselves so often ignorant and ill-living men. and so the light gradually spread; and many who would have repudiated the name of lollard with scorn and loathing were beginning to hold some of their tenets, and to wish for a simpler and purer form of faith, and for liberty to study the scriptures for themselves; and no one knew better the leavening spirit of the age than did sir oliver chadgrove, himself a man of liberal views and devout habit of mind, and his wife, who shared his every thought and opinion. they had both heard the stirring and enlightened preaching of dean colet, and were great admirers of his; but they took the view that that divine himself held--namely, that the church would gradually reform herself from within; that she was awakening to the need of some reformation and advance; and that her sons were safe within her fold, and must patiently await her own work there. this was exactly the feeling of the knight and his lady. they rejoiced in the words they had heard, and in the wider knowledge of the scriptures which had been thus unfolded; but that any such doctrine, when preached and taught by the lollard heretics, could be right or true they would have utterly denied and repudiated. the lollards had won for themselves a bad name, and were thought of with scorn and contempt. nevertheless, in country places the leaven of their teaching permeated far and wide, and sir oliver had more than once occasion to fear that amongst his own retainers some were slightly tainted by heresy. of course if it could be proved against him that his followers were lollards, his enemy might take terrible advantage and deal him a heavy blow. it was the one charge which if proved would strike him to the earth; even the king's favour would scarce serve him then. the king would not stand up in opposition to the church; and if the church condemned his house as being a harbouring place for heretics, then indeed he would be undone. it was this thing which was in his mind as he glanced with keen eyes round his table on this bright midsummer day; and his wife, and the monk, and the bulk of those sitting there read the true meaning of his words and of his look, and recognized the truth of the grave word of warning. chapter iii: brother emmanuel. the hush of a sabbath was upon the land. the sounds of life and industry were no longer heard around chad. within and without the house a calm stillness prevailed, and the hot summer sunshine lay broad upon the quiet fields and the garden upon which so much loving care had of late years been spent. the white and red roses, no longer the symbols of party strife, were blooming in their midsummer glory. the air was sweet with their fragrance, and bees hummed drowsily from flower to flower. in the deep shadow cast by a huge cedar tree, that reared its stately head as high as the battlements of the turret, a small group had gathered this hot afternoon. the young monk was there in the black cassock, hood, and girdle that formed the usual dress of the benedictine in this country, and around him were grouped his three pupils, to whom he was reading out of the great latin bible that was one of the treasures of sir oliver's library. all the boys were latin scholars, and had made much progress in their knowledge of that language since the advent of the young monk into the household. they had likewise greatly increased in their knowledge of the scriptures; for brother emmanuel was a sound believer in the doctrine preached by the dean of st. paul's, and of the maxims laid down by him--that the scriptures were not to be pulled to fragments, and each fragment explained without reference to the context, but to be studied and examined as a whole, and so explained, one portion illuminating and illustrating another. after such a fashion had brother emmanuel long been studying the word of god, and after such a method did he explain it to his pupils. all three boys were possessed of clear heads and quick intelligence, and their minds had expanded beneath the influence of the young monk's teaching. they all loved a quiet hour spent with him in reading and expounding the bible narrative, and today a larger portion than usual had been read; for the heat made exertion unwelcome even to the active lads, and it was pleasanter here beneath the cedar tree than anywhere else besides. "now, i would fain know," began julian, after a pause in the reading, "why it is that it is thought such a vile thing for men to possess copies of god's word in their own tongue that they may read it to themselves. it seems to me that men would be better and not worse for knowing the will of god in all things; and here it is set down clearly for every man to understand. yet, if i understand not amiss, it is made a cause of death for any to possess the scriptures in his own tongue." "yea, that is what the heretic lollards do--read and expound the scriptures in the vulgar tongue and after their own fashion," said bertram. "have a care, julian, how thou seemest to approve their methods; for there is a great determination in high places to put down at once and for all the vile doctrines which are corrupting all the land." "i approve no heresy," cried julian eagerly. "i do but ask why it be heresy to read the word of god, and to have in possession a portion of it in the language of one's country." "marry, dost thou not know that one reason is the many errors the translators have fallen into, which deceive the unwary and lead the flock astray?" cried edred eagerly. "brother emmanuel has told me some amongst these, and there are doubtless many others of which he may not have heard. a man may not drink with impunity of poisoned waters; neither is it safe to take as the word of god a book which may have many perversions of his truth." edred looked up at brother emmanuel for confirmation of this explanation. it was the monk's habit to encourage the boys to discuss any question of interest freely amongst themselves, he listening in silence the while, and later on giving them the benefit of his opinion. all the three turned to him now to see what he would say upon a point that was already agitating the country, and was preparing the way for a shaking that should lead to an altogether new state of existence both in church and state. even out here in the garden, in the sanctuary of their own home, with only their friend and spiritual pastor to hear them, the boys spoke with bated breath, as though fearful of uttering words which might have within them some germ of that dreaded sin of heresy. as for brother emmanuel, he sat with his hands folded in his sleeves, the great book upon his knees, a slight and thoughtful smile playing around the corners of his finely-cut mouth. his whole face was intensely spiritual in expression. the features were delicately cut, and bore the impress of an ascetic life, as well as of gentle birth and noble blood. he was, in fact, a scion of an ancient and powerful house; but it was one of those houses that had suffered sorely in the recent strife, and whose members had been scattered and cut off. he had no powerful relatives and friends to turn to now for promotion to rich benefice or high ecclesiastical preferment, and he had certainly never lamented this fact. in heart and soul he was a follower of the rules of poverty laid down by the founder of his order, and would have thought himself untrue to his calling had he suffered himself to be endowed with worldly wealth. even such moneys as he received from sir oliver for the instruction given to his sons were never kept by himself. all were given either to the poor by his hands direct, or placed at the disposal of the prior of chadwater, where he had been an inmate for a short time previous to his installation as chaplain at chad. he had not sought this office; he would rather have remained beneath the priory walls. he thought that it was something contrary to the will of the founders for monks to become parochial priests, or to hold offices and benefices which took them from the shelter of their monastery walls. but such things were of daily occurrence now, and were causing bitter jealousy to arise betwixt the parochial clergy and the monks, sowing seeds of strife which played a considerable part in the struggle this same century was to see. but it was useless to try to stem the current single-handed, and the rule of obedience was as strong within him as that of poverty and chastity. when sent forth by his prior (who secretly thought that this young monk was too strict and ascetic and too keen-witted to be a safe inmate of a house which had long fallen from its high estate, and was becoming luxurious and wealthy and lax), he had gone unmurmuringly to chad, and since then had become so much interested in his pupils and in his round of daily duties there that he had not greatly missed the life of the cloister. he had leisure for thought and for study. he had access to a library which, although not large, held many treasures of book making, and was sufficient for the requirements of the young monk. he could keep the hours of the church in the little chantry attached to the house, and he was taken out of the atmosphere of jealousy and bickering which, to his own great astonishment and dismay, he had found to be the prevailing one at chadwater. on the whole, he had benefited by the change, and was very happy in his daily duties. he rejoiced to watch the unfolding minds of his three pupils, and especially to train edred for the life of the cloister, to which already he had been partially dedicated, and towards which he seemed to incline. and now, eagerly questioned by the boys upon that vexed point of the translated scriptures and their possession by the common people, he looked thoughtfully out before him, and gave his answer in his own poetic fashion. "the word of god, my children, is as a fountain of life. those who drink of it drink immortality and joy and peace passing all understanding. the saviour of mankind--himself the word of god--has given himself freely, that all men may come to him, and, drinking of the living water, may find within their hearts a living fountain which shall cause that they never thirst again. but the question before us is not whether men shall drink of this fountain--we know that they must do so to live--but how they shall drink of it; how and in what manner the waters of life shall be dispensed to them." the boys fixed their eyes eagerly upon him. julian nodded his head, and edred's eyes grew deep with the intensity of his wish to follow the workings of the mind of his instructor. "for that we must look back to the days of our lord, when he was here upon earth. how did he give forth the word of life? how did he rule that it was from that time forward to be given to men?" "he preached to the people who came to him," answered edred, "and he directed his apostles and disciples to do likewise--to go forth into all lands and preach the gospel to every creature." "just so," answered brother emmanuel, with an other of his slight peculiar smiles. "in other words, he intrusted the word--himself, the news of himself--to a living ministry, to men, that through the mouths of his apostles and those disciples who had received regular instruction from him and from them the world might be enlightened with the truth." the boys listened eagerly, with mute attention. "go on," said edred breathlessly. "prithee tell us more." "our blessed lord and master laid no charge upon his apostles to write of him--to send forth into the world a written testimony. we know that the inspired word is written from end to end by the will of god. it was necessary for the preservation of the truth in its purity that its doctrines should be thus set down--that there should be in existence some standard by which in generations to come the learned ones of the earth might be able to judge of the purity of the doctrines preached, and refute heresies and errors that might and would creep in; but it was to men, to a living ministry, that our saviour intrusted the precious truths of his gospel, and to a living ministry men should look to have those truths unfolded." "i see that point," cried edred eagerly. "i had never thought of it quite in that way before. does it so state the matter anywhere in the holy book? i love to gather the truth from its pages. thou hast not told us that we are wrong in that." "nay, under guidance all men should seek to those holy truths; but will they find the priceless jewel if they seek it without those aids our blessed lord himself has appointed? wouldst thou know more of his will in this matter? then thou shalt." the monk turned the leaves of the book awhile, and then paused at an open page. "on earth, as we have seen, the blessed saviour intrusted his truth to the care of chosen men. now let us see how he acted when, ascended into the heavens, he looked down upon earth, and directed from thence the affairs of this world. did he then ordain that a written testimony was to be prepared and sent forth into all lands? no. what we learn then is that when he ascended into the heavens and received and gave gifts to men, he gave to them apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers--a living ministry again, a fourfold living ministry--that by this living ministry, surely typified in the vision of st. john by the four living creatures with the fourfold head, the saints were to be perfected, the unity of the faith preserved, and the body of christ edified and kept in its full growth and perfection till he come himself to claim the bride." edred's eyes were full of vivid intelligence. he followed in the latin tongue the words as brother emmanuel spoke them, and looking up he asked wistfully: "but where are they now, the apostles and prophets, the evangelists and pastors? have we got them with us yet?" "we have at least the semblance of them; doubtless but for our own sins and shortcomings we should have a fuller ministry--a fuller outpouring of the water of life through those four god-given channels by which the church is to be fed. we have the apostolic office ever in exercise in our spiritual head at rome. st. peter has left us a successor, and his throne shall never be empty so long as the world lasts. now and again the prophetic fire bursts forth in some holy man who has fasted and prayed until the veil betwixt the seen and the unseen has grown thin. would to god there was more light of prophecy in the earth! perchance in his grace and mercy he will outpour his spirit once again upon the earth, and gather about his holiness a band of men lighted by fire from above. in our wandering friars, ever going forth to the people with the word of the gospel, we have the office of evangelist in exercise; and the priest who guides the flock and dwells in the midst of the people of the land, surely he is the pastor, the keeper of the sheep. and thus we see that our blessed saviour's gifts to men have been preserved all through these long centuries, and are still amongst us in greater or less degree; and we can well understand that having given us these channels, by which his vineyard is to be watered, by which the living waters are to flow forth, it is not his will that every man should be his own evangelist or pastor, feeding himself at will, drinking, perhaps to surfeit, of the precious waters which should be conveyed to him through the appointed channel, but that he should be under dutiful obedience and submission, and that thus and thus only may unity and peace be preserved, and the body grow together into its perfect stature and fullness." "i see all that exactly," cried bertram, "and i will strive to keep it in mind. i mislike the very name of lollard, and i well know that they be a mischievous and pernicious brood, whom it were well to see exterminated root and branch. yet no man can fail to see that they love the scriptures, and i felt they were in the right there. now i well see that they may love the word as much as they will, but that they must still seek to be taught and fed by those who are over them in the church, and not seek to eat and drink (in the spiritual sense of the word) at their own will and pleasure. that is truly what the church has ever taught, but i never heard it so clearly explained before. "come, julian; the sun is losing much of its power now. let us stroll along the margin of the stream, and see where best we may fish upon the morrow. "edred, wilt thou come? no; i thought not. thou art half a monk already. we will leave thee with brother emmanuel to talk more on these hard matters. i have heard enough to satisfy me, i shall never want to turn lollard now. the name was always enough, but now i see more and more clearly how wrong-headed and wilful they be." julian, too, had got an answer that completely satisfied him, and he readily rose to go with his brother. those two found an hour or two of thought and study as much at a time as they cared for. they called their dogs and sallied forth over the fields towards the shady, well-fringed river banks, and brother emmanuel was left alone with his second pupil, edred, whose eyes were still fixed upon the black lettering of the great bible open at the last passage under discussion. the monk bent an earnest glance upon the boy's face. he saw that an argument which had completely satisfied the other two had not satisfied this other keener mind. but he asked no questions, leaving the boy to speak or not as he chose. these were days in which too much questioning was a dangerous thing. many men felt as though they were treading the crust of a volcano, and that a single unwary step might plunge them headlong into the burning gulf. when even such a man as bishop peacock had been threatened with the stake, and sent into perpetual imprisonment, even after having "recanted" his errors, no wonder that all men holding broad or enlightened opinions trembled for themselves. and yet, as thought will not be bound, and the young are ever the most ardent in the pursuit of truth, and the most impatient under the yoke of fetters unwillingly worn, so neither this young monk nor his still more youthful companion could be content to drift on without looking into the stirring questions of the day for themselves. edred's mind at this moment was working rapidly and following up a train of thought as fascinating as it was new. he suddenly turned back to the very beginning of the book, and began reading to himself some words he found there. presently he looked up quickly into his instructor's face. "thy words about four channels put me in mind of the four streams we read of in the beginning, that watered the garden of the lord. it seemed to me as if perchance there was some connection betwixt them--that the lord's plan has ever been the same. surely he led forth the children of israel through the wilderness beneath four standards. and here the four streams are all given. but we hear no more of any of them later, do we, save the river euphrates. out of the four three seem to have been lost," and the boy raised his eyes with a perplexed expression and looked earnestly at his teacher. between those two existed one of those keen bonds of sympathy that often enable persons to communicate their thoughts without the medium of words. in a moment the monk had read what was in the boy's mind, and in a fashion he answered as though edred had spoken. "thou thinkest that even as some of god's watering rivers ran dry, so some of his channels of grace, whereby he meant all men to be replenished with heavenly light and grace, may perchance have become choked and useless. is not that thy thought, my son?" "my father, is it sin thus to think?" asked edred, almost beneath his breath. "i cannot shut mine eyes and mine ears. i have heard whispers of terrible corruption in high places even at rome itself. i try not to hear or to think too much, but i cannot help my burning desire to know more of what passes in the world. it was but a short year ago that a godly man coming from foreign lands told us fearful tales of the corruption even of the papal court. o my father, i fear to whisper it even to thee; but i cannot but ask in my heart, can the popes be truly apostles? and if not, can we say that the channel of grace once given to men is open yet for us to drink from? ah, pardon me if i err! i will do penance for my evil thoughts. but where may we find now those four life-giving streams by which christ purposed to keep his body, the church, nourished and sustained? prophets there be none, save here and there a spark of the old fire. those travelling friars are sometimes holy men; but, alas! they are bitter foes of the very church from which they profess to be sent out, and are oft laid under the papal ban. we have our pastor priests; but do they feed the flock? o my father, how can i walk with closed eyes through this world of sin and strife? if the channels run dry, if the pastors refuse food to the hungry people, can it be sin if they strive to feed themselves, even though they be something too ignorant to do it wisely and well?" a very grave, thoughtful, and austere look was stamped upon the face towards which edred directed his gaze. it was long before he received any answer, and then it was but a sorrowful one. "my son, i will not blame thee for these thoughts, albeit they be charged with peril in these days. it is human nature thus to question and thus to doubt. we may not blind our eyes, though we must ever strive to chasten our hearts, that we fall not into the condemnation of those who speak evil of dignities, and bring a railing accusation against those set over them. i, too, have had my period of storm-tossed doubts and fears; but i have learned to fix mine eyes upon the holy one of israel, who never slumbers nor sleeps--upon the crucified saviour, who has suffered that death of agony and shame that he may draw all men unto himself. how he will do it i know not. how he will open up again the closed channels, and make ready his church to meet him and receive him, i can not even conjecture. but his word cannot fail; and in his own appointed time, and in his own appointed way, i verily believe that he will draw unto himself all men who have ever called upon his name, and all those unto whom his name has never been proclaimed, and who, therefore, have never rejected him. in that hope and that belief i try to rest; and fixing my eyes and thoughts upon him and him alone, i strive to forget the chaos and the strife of earth, and to look upon all men as brothers in christ, if they will but bow the knee at that thrice holy name." edred looked at him with wide-open eyes. "heretics call upon the name of jesus. thinkest thou that heretics will be saved? i thought they were doomed to hellfire forever!" the boy spoke in a voice that was little more than a whisper. he was almost afraid to hear the answer, lest it should convey a germ of the dreaded heresy, and yet how eager he was to know what brother emmanuel really thought. "it is not for me to say who will and who will not be saved," he said, slowly and thoughtfully; "and we are expressly told that there will be punishment for those who fall away from the faith. yet we are not told that error will be punished with everlasting death. and there be places in holy scripture which tell us that 'whoso believeth and is baptized shall be saved;' and heretics believe that christ died for the world. it says, again, that those who love the lord are born of god; and shall they perish everlastingly? my son, the mercies of god are very great; from end to end of this book we are told that. knowing so much, need we ask more? with him rests the judgment of all mankind. he alone can read the heart. let that thought be enough for us. whether the sin of heresy is as vile in his eyes as in those of man, he alone knows; we do not. let us strive for our own part to keep the unity of the faith in the bond of peace, and leave all else to him." as he spoke, brother emmanuel gently closed the book, as though to close the discussion likewise; and edred, looking up and round about him, drawing a long breath meantime, suddenly gave a start, which attracted the attention of his preceptor. a short distance away--how he had got there neither of the pair knew; they had been too much engrossed in their talk to take much heed of external impressions--was an elderly monk, clad in the same gown and hood as brother emmanuel, betokening that he too was of the benedictine order; and his face, shrouded in its cowl, was turned towards the pair with a very peculiar expression upon it. a sinister smile was in the narrow beady eyes; the features, which were coarse and somewhat bloated from luxurious living, were set in a look of ill-concealed malice; and the salutation addressed to the pair when he saw himself perceived had in it something of an incongruous sound. "pax vobiscum!" said the newcomer, lifting his hand as if to impart a blessing. edred instinctively bent the knee, but brother emmanuel's face did not move a muscle. "hast thou come with a message for me from the reverend father?" he asked quietly. "nay, not for thee. my message was to sir oliver; but i will report to the father how excellently i found thee employed--training thy pupils in all godliness and honesty, and in that hatred of heresy which it behoves all true sons of the church to cherish." there was a spiteful gleam in the man's eyes as he spoke these words that made edred shiver; but the calm regard of the younger monk did not waver. "i have taught him nothing but what i have heard our good dean of st. paul's speak before princes and prelates in the pulpit," answered brother emmanuel, not pretending to misunderstand the innuendo conveyed. "methinks it would profit many of our brothers in country places to hear what is being thought and taught in oxford and london, in all the great centres of the country. the reverend father knows well what i hold and what i teach." so clear and steadfast was the light in the young monk's eyes, that the regard of the other fell before it. he made a gesture, as if to repudiate the defence as a thing quite superfluous. "the piety and orthodoxy of brother emmanuel are known far and wide," he answered, in a tone that was half cringing, half spiteful; "no truer son of the church than he lives in all the land." and then with another salutation he turned and glided away in the lengthening shadows, whilst edred turned to brother emmanuel with rather a scared face, and asked: "dost think he heard what we were saying?" "belike he caught a phrase or two," was the answer, spoken gravely but quite calmly. "i would not speak words of which i am ashamed; at the same time, it is well in these perilous days to use all caution, for an enemy can well distort and magnify the words he hears, till they sound like rank heresy. for myself i have no fear. i prize not my life greatly, though to die as a heretic, cut off from the church of christ, is a fearful thing to think of. yet even that might be better than denying the truth--if indeed one believes the truth to lie without, which assuredly i do not. but thou, my son, would do well to think something less of these matters. thou art but a child in years, and--" "i am quickly rising to man's estate," answered the boy, rather impetuously, "and my thoughts will not be chained. i must give them liberty to rove where they will. all men are talking and thinking of these things, and wherefore not i? but, brother emmanuel, tell me, who was yon black-browed brother? methinks i have seen his face before; but beneath the cowl many faces look alike. who was he? and wherefore looked he so askance at thee?" "brother fabian loves me not," answered the monk with a slight smile. "i scarce know how it began; it seemed to commence from the day i entered the priory. i had looked to find things there somewhat different. perchance i spoke more than i should, being young and ardent, and fresh from places where a different order reigned. brother fabian holds various offices in the priory. he liked not my words. methinks he has never forgotten or forgiven. he has always sour looks for me, and ofttimes sneering words. but i heed them not greatly; they do not touch me near." edred was looking straight out before him, with a gaze in which there was much of shrinking and surprise. "brothers in the same monastery at enmity one with the other!" he said slowly, grasping more than had been spoken, with that quick intuition which existed between tutor and pupil. "some, leading lives of luxury, indignant with those who would protest against them. brother emmanuel, my father, my friend, when these things come before me, i turn with loathing from the thought of entering the life of the cloister; and yet how i long to give myself wholly to the cause of god! how can i judge? how can i choose aright?" "thou must not try to choose," answered the young monk, with a touch of austerity in his tone; "thou must await that leading and that guiding which never fail those who truly wait upon the blessed son of god, and strive to do not their will but the will of him who pleased not himself. at the foot of his cross--before the altar, where his precious body and blood are ever abiding in memorial of his one sacrifice for sin--there is the place to seek grace and guidance; there is the place where peace may be found. because man is frail, shall we despise the ordinances of god? because men are able to make (if such be their will) a hell upon earth even of holy places, is that any reason why we shall think scorn of those sanctuaries, provided by the merciful goodness of god, where men may flee for shelter from the world, and lead a life of devotion and fasting and prayer? my son, beware of the manifold snares of the devil. the young are ever ready to condemn and to revolt. it is the nature of the unchastened will of man. be patient, and watch unto prayer. the day will surely come when (if thou wilt but listen for it) the voice will speak in thine heart, and tell thee what thou art called upon to do, even as it spoke in mine, and called me from the snares and enticements of the world to the haven of the cloister. i know not yet what my work in this world will be; but it is enough that my lord and master knows. i am here, abiding in my place and awaiting my call. may he grant that whensoever and howsoever that call may come, i may hear it and be ready for it, and may follow the guiding voice even to the end." a rapt look was in the dark eyes. edred caught the enthusiasm of that look, and half unconsciously sank down upon his knee. "bless me, even me also, o my father!" he cried, scarce knowing what words he chose; and the thin, strong hand was laid upon his head. "god be with thee and bless thee, my son," said the monk, in grave, steadfast tones; "and may he be thy guide and thy portion henceforth and forever. may he show thee the way in which he would have thee to go, and give thee grace and strength to follow it unto the end." for a moment deep silence prevailed. both were rapidly reviewing the words that day spoken, and the thoughts suggested by the bare discussion of such subjects; and edred, rising and looking with a strange smile into the monk's face, said softly: "methinks it would not be hard to die in a righteous cause; but to be hunted to death through the spite and malice of a treacherous foe, that would be an evil fate. i would fight with the best member i possess against such an one, were he to be mine own enemy or thine." a smile crossed brother emmanuel's face. "go to, boy! thou art more soldier than monk yet. methinks thou wouldst fight bravely and well in a good cause. perchance that would be the best and happiest lot for thee-- "there be thy brothers coming up from the water. go join them, and think not too much for thy years. be a youth as long as thou mayest. manhood's cares will come all too fast." with that he turned and went quietly towards the house, whilst edred went forth to meet his brothers. chapter iv: the travelling preacher. perhaps it was the memory of those spiteful and malicious glances bent upon his preceptor by brother fabian that suggested to edred upon the day following to pay a visit to the secret chamber that had once before so well sheltered a helpless fugitive. the secret of that chamber still remained with the three boys and their faithful esquire, warbel. to no other living soul in the house had any of these four ever named the matter. the boys might not have been able to give any reason for this reticence towards their parents, but the fact remained that they had never revealed the secret to them, and that although tradition still spoke of a cleverly-masked chamber somewhere at chad, it was now popularly supposed to have been in that part of the house which had boon demolished during the wars of the roses. children did not chatter to their parents in days of old as they do now. they might love them never so well, but they held them in reverence and even in awe. they were silent in their presence, as a rule, unless spoken to first, and the habit of conversational intimacy did not grow up until a much later period in their lives. thus the adventures of warbel, and his strange midnight visit to their bedchamber, had never been told to sir oliver or his wife. all they knew was that the man had taken refuge from the anger of the lord of mortimer in one of their woodmen's huts. they were glad to give him shelter and employment at chad, and had never regretted the hospitality extended to him; for he had proved the most faithful of servants, and his devotion to the boys was so great that they could be trusted anywhere in his keeping. as for the anger of his proud neighbour, sir oliver had made light of that. the lord of mortimer could not make any thing out of so small a matter, and at that time had other more weighty affairs on hand. warbel's stories to his fellows of the harshness and tyrannical rule at mortimer made his own servants more loyal and stanch than ever. chad was a peaceable and happy abode for all its inmates, and the need for secret hiding places had so far never arisen. the boys in years gone by had almost regretted this fact. they had pictured so vividly how they would hide their father or some friend of his in this secret chamber, should peril menace them from any quarter, that it had seemed sometimes almost a pity that so secure a hiding place should be of so little use, when it might have done such excellent service had the need arisen. however, as years sped by and the lads began to know more of life, they ceased to regret that the secret chamber remained without an occupant. from time to time they visited it, swept out the dust and cobwebs that had accumulated there, and bit by bit collected a few more odds and ends of furniture, so that the place now wore a look of greater comfort and habitation than it had done when they saw it first. once when edred had been laid up by an accident to his foot, he had amused himself by making a number of feather pillows from the feathers of the birds his brothers shot and brought home to him. these feathers were dressed in the proper way by the boys themselves, and then made up into large pillows or cushions, which were then taken up to the secret chamber (at that time the favourite hobby of the boys), in order to make restful and comfortable the hard pallet bed, in case any fugitive were forced to take shelter there. in the same way had several rudely-made rugs, formed of the skins of wild bears taken in the woods, and tanned by the boys in a fashion of their own, found their way thither; and altogether the place had assumed an aspect of some comfort and even luxury, although it was now several years since any further additions had been made to its plenishings. edred looked round the strange apartment with a thoughtful air as he emerged into it from the long, dark, twisting passage he had threaded with the security of one to whom every winding and turn was known. it was dim and dark there, but sufficient light filtered in through cracks and cleverly-contrived apertures to render it easy to move about; and when the eye grew used to the dimness, everything could be seen with pretty fair distinctness. "it would not be a bad hiding place," mused the boy, speaking half aloud. "methinks over there one could even read without much trouble. yes, without doubt one could; and that crack might be judiciously enlarged without any peril. it does but give upon the leads behind the main chimney stack, and the tiles would cover any aperture i made." he took out his large hunting knife from his girdle as he spoke, and worked away awhile in silence. very soon he had considerably added to the amount of light in the strange room. he eyed his handiwork with considerable satisfaction. "that is better. it would be something gloomy to be shut up here without light enough to study by; but with books and food one might spend many a week here and not be overwhelmed with dullness. the place is something straight, to be sure, and there is bare room for a tall man to stand upright." edred drew himself to his full height, and found that his head did not quite reach the beams which formed the ceiling. "i trow brother emmanuel could just stand; he is not greatly taller than i. and he is marvellous contented with a very little, and has been used to passing days and weeks in the solitude of his cell. sure this would not be to him an evil place. if he had but a book or two and the needful food, he would be vastly content. "i wonder if he can be in any sort of peril. i liked not the looks or the words of you malicious monk. our father and mother often say that these be times when men must walk warily, and ofttimes they tell of godly men even in high places who have fallen into disgrace and been accused of fearful sins. it is not safe in these days to have for enemies those who are within the pale of the church--monks and priors, men who are held up as examples and models of true faith and piety. "i know not whether they merit the praise men give to them. methinks brother emmanuel could teach them many things both in precept and practice. but it is not for me to be the judge in such matters; yet if he were in any kind of peril, i would lay down my life to save him!" the boy's eyes kindled at the thought. he cherished for his preceptor an ardent and enthusiastic love, and he had his share of that chivalrous devotion and self-sacrifice which has been the brightest ornament of days that have much of darkness and cruelty to disgrace them. his face wore a very earnest look as he set about his homely task of cleaning and setting in order this secret chamber. he was more than two hours over his task, for he went through it with unwonted energy. the place looked almost tempting before he had done with it, and he looked about him with satisfied eyes at the close of his labours. there was a convenient spout, meant to carry off the rain water from the complex level of the old roof, which made an excellent substitute for a dust shoot. it could be got at from this place without difficulty, and edred shot down his rubbish without any trouble through a funnel-like piece of wood he and his brothers had contrived for the purpose many years before. then he stood quite still at the aperture whence the soft breeze came blowing in, lost in thought. "it doth get very hot here in the summer days," he remarked, "and in especial at this end of the room, where it abuts upon the leads. it is cooler yonder, but then it is also darker. the air and the light come in at this side, but so does the heat likewise. and how thirsty one gets, too! my throat is parched and dry. i mind me how poor warbel suffered in like manner when he was here. food could be brought in without trouble. i will amass even now by slow degrees some of those hard oaten cakes that keep good for weeks, and some salted venison that would last the winter through. "but water--how could that be brought? suppose that we too were watched; suppose we dared not go through the secret door? what would become of the prisoner? "i must talk to bertram and julian about that. bertram has a wonderful gift for getting out of such difficulties; he has a marvellous quick wit. we never thought in old days how the water was to be conveyed; we thought a few bottles of wine would last a lifetime. but to die of thirst would be worse than to face one's foes. i shall not really rest till i have thought how such a danger might be guarded against." edred left the place with a thoughtful air. he gained their own long sleeping room without adventure. nobody was ever there at this hour of the day, and he sat down on his bed to think and plan. there his brothers found him later when they came rushing up tumultuously to find him. "ha! thou art there. we have been seeking thee everywhere. what hast thou been doing, brother?" "i have been up to the room," answered the boy. "i have been making it all ready. i was something disturbed by what chanced yester-afternoon. i told thee of brother fabian and his evil looks?" the other two nodded. "yes, verily; but they be brothers of one fraternity. surely one benedictine would not hurt another?" "i know not that. i was talking this day with warbel. he has been about in the world. he has seen priests and monks accused of heresy the one by the other; and none are so fearfully persecuted as those who wear the tonsure, if men do but suspect them of that sin. "brother emmanuel a heretic!" cried bertram, with flashing eyes. "i would force the word down the false throat of any who dared to say so! brother emmanuel is a right holy man. art thou mad, edred, to think such a thing?" the boy shook his head doubtfully. "i would i were," he replied; "but methinks brother emmanuel himself thinks that peril may menace him. i understand not rightly these matters; but i saw that yesterday upon his face which showed me that he felt he stood something in peril, albeit he has no fear. he is not of the stuff of which cowards are made." julian's eyes were wide with affright. "they say the lollards and heretics are to be sought out and burned, and that right soon," he said, in low, awe-struck tones. "some of our people heard it today from those at mortimer. the lord of mortimer has become very zealous to help the priests and monks to scent out all suspected of heresy and make a great example of them. "edred, thou dost not think they will take brother emmanuel--and--burn--him?" the last words were little more than a whisper. "i will die sooner than see it done!" cried the boy passionately. "but in these days no man may say who is safe. therefore went i up to the chamber this very day to set it in order;" and then he told his brothers of the difficulty that had beset him there, and how he felt no security for any person in hiding there so long as the difficulty of conveying water to him remained so great. bertram grasped the situation in a moment. he well knew that if any person were suspected of lying hidden in the house, a close watch might well be kept upon every member of the household, and that it might be hard indeed to pay more than a very occasional visit to the prisoner. if, for instance, suspicion were to fall upon the boys in this matter, it would be probable they would be placed under some restraint; they might be carried off to the priory and forced to do some penance there. it would never do for the prisoner to be entirely dependent upon them for supplies of the precious commodity; and yet what else was to be done? "i must think about it," cried bertram. "i shall never rest till i have thought of some method. would we had not left it so long! we have had all these years to make our plans, and we have never thought of this thing till trouble seems like to be at the very doors. "still it may but be our fantasy. neither brother emmanuel nor any other may need the shelter of this room. we will trust it may be so. "yet i will cudgel my brains for a plan. it would be a fearful thing to know him to be shut up here, and yet to be unable to visit him with the necessaries of life. how poor warbel drank when he issued forth that night. methinks i see him now. one would have thought he had never tasted water before." "but we came not to talk of all this," interrupted julian, who had been evincing a few signs of impatience latterly; "we came to tell of the fair held today and tomorrow at chadwick. our father says we may go thither tomorrow if we will. warbel says they will bait a bull, and perhaps a bear; and that there will be fighting with the quarterstaff and shooting with cross and long bow, and many other like spectacles. he will attend us, and we may be off with the light of day, an we will. that is what we came to tell thee, edred." edred was boy enough to be well pleased at this news. any variety in the day's round was pleasing to the lads, who found life a little monotonous, albeit pleasant enough. it was a relief, too, to turn from grave thoughts and anxious forebodings to the anticipation of simpler pleasures, and the boys all ran to seek warbel and ask him what these village fairs were like; for they had been much interrupted during the recent wars, and only now that peace had been for some years established did they begin to revive and gain their old characteristics. at break of day on the morning following, the little party started forth on foot to walk the five miles which separated them from the village of chadwick. it was a pleasant enough walk through the green forest paths before the heat of the day had come. the three boys and warbel headed the party, and were followed by some eight or ten men of various degree, some bent on a day's pleasure for themselves, others there with a view of attending upon their master's sons. bertram felt that he could have dispensed with any attendance save that of warbel; but sir oliver had given his own orders. with so powerful and jealous a neighbour within easy reach of the village, he felt bound to be careful of his children. they were but striplings after all, and doubtless his unscrupulous neighbour would be delighted to hold one or more as a hostage should excuse arise for opening hostilities of any kind. he knew well the unscrupulous character of the man with whom he had to deal, and he acted with prudence and foresight accordingly. the little village when reached proved to be all en fete. rude arches of greenery crossed every pathway to the place, and all the people had turned out in their holiday dresses upon the green to join in the dances and see the sights. there was a miracle play going on in one place, repeated throughout the day to varying groups of spectators. in another corner some rude gipsy juggling was to be seen, at which the rustic yokels gazed with wondering eyes. there were all the usual country games in full swing; and the baiting of a great bull, which was being led to the centre of the green, attracted the attention of the bulk of the spectators, and drew them away from other sports. the actors in the miracle play threw off their dresses to come and witness this delightful pastime, and hardly any of those present seemed to regard for a moment the sufferings of the poor brute, or the savage nature of the whole performance. edred, however, belonged to that very small minority, and whilst his two brothers pressed into the ring, he wandered away elsewhere to see what was to be seen. his attention was attracted by a little knot of persons gathered together under the shade of a great oak tree, rather far away from the green that was the centre of attraction. the shade looked inviting, now that the heat was growing greater, and the boy felt some curiosity to know what was the attraction which kept this little group so compact and quiet. on the green were shouting and yelling and noise of every description; but edred could hear no sound of any kind proceeding from this little group till he approached quite near, and then he was aware of the sound of a single voice speaking in low tones and very earnestly. when he got nearer still he saw that the speaker was a little hunchback, and that he had in his hand a small book from which he was reading aloud to the people about him. and this fact surprised the boy not a little, for it was very unusual for any person in the lower ranks of life to be able to read; and yet this man was evidently in poor circumstances, for his clothes were shabby and his hands were hardened by manual toil. drawing nearer in great curiosity, edred became aware that what the hunchback was reading was nothing more or less than a part of the gospel narrative in the english tongue, to which the people about him were listening in amazement, and with keen curiosity and attention. edred was familiar enough with the latin version of the scriptures, and had studied them under the guidance of brother emmanuel with great care and attention; but he had never yet heard the words read out in their entirety in his native tongue, and he was instantly struck and fascinated by the freshness and suggestiveness of the familiar language when used for this purpose. he was conscious that it gave to the words a new life and meaning; that it seemed, as it were, to drive them home to the heart in a new fashion, and to make them the property of the listener as they could never be when a dead language was used as the medium of expression. he felt a strange thrill run through him as the story of calvary was thus read in the low, impassioned tones of the hunchback; and he was not surprised to see that tears were running down many faces, and that several women could hardly restrain their sobs. now and again the hunchback paused and added a few explanatory words of his own; now and again he broke forth into a rhapsody not lacking in a certain rude eloquence, in which he besought his hearers to come to their saviour with their load of sin--their saviour, who was the one and only mediator between god and man. were not his own words enough--"father, forgive them"? what need, then, of the priest; the confessional; the absolution of man? to god and to him alone was the remission of sins. let those who loved their lord seek to him, and see what bliss and happiness resulted from this personal bond between the erring soul and the loving saviour. edred shivered slightly as he stood, yet something in the impassioned gestures of the hunchback, and the strange enthusiastic light which shone in his eyes, attracted him in spite of himself. that this was rank heresy he well knew. he knew that one of the lollard tenets had always been that confession was a snare devised of man and not appointed by god. edred himself could have quoted many passages from holy writ which spoke of some need of confession through the medium of man, and of sins remitted by god-appointed ministers. he had been well instructed in such matters by brother emmanuel, who, whatever his enemies might allege against him, was a stanch son of the church, even though he might be gifted with a wide tolerance and a mind open to conviction; and his pupil was not to be easily convinced against his will. nor was edred convinced of the justice and truth of many things that this ignorant man spoke; but what did strike him very greatly was his intense earnestness, his fiery and impassioned gestures, the absolute confidence he possessed in the righteousness of his own cause, and his utter freedom from any kind of doubt or fear--the eloquence of one of nature's orators that carries away the heart far more than the studied oratory which is the result of practice and artifice. whilst the man spoke, edred felt himself carried away in spite of his inner consciousness that there was a flaw in the argument of the preacher. he was intensely interested by the whole scene. he could not help watching the faces of the group of which he made one, watching the play of emotion upon them as they followed with breathless attention their instructor's words, and drank in his fiery eloquence as though it were life-giving water. and was it wonderful this should be so? the youth asked of himself. were not these poor people fairly starving for want of spiritual food? and what food did they receive from the hands of their parish priest? edred knew the old man well. he was a kind-hearted sexagenarian, and in those days that was accounted an immense age. he mumbled through the mass on sundays; he baptized the children and buried the dead when need arose; and if sent for by some person in extremity, would go and administer the last rites of the church. but beyond that his duties did not go, and no living soul in the place remembered hearing him speak a word of instruction or admonition on his own account. he had a passion for gardening, and spent all his spare time with his flowers; and his people went their way as he did his, and their lives never touched on any point. such being the case, was it wonderful that the people should come with eagerness to hear of the saviour from whomsoever would tell them of him? edred well remembered brother emmanuel's words about the four god-given channels of grace--the living ministry by which he had meant his church to be perfected. but how when the streams grew choked? how when the ministry had become a dead letter? was the church, were the people, to die of inanition? might not god pardon them for listening to any messenger who came with his name upon his lips? surely he who lived in the heavens would pardon them even if it were sin, seeing that it was the instinctive love of his own wandering sheep which brought them crowding round any shepherd who would teach them of him, even though he did not come in the god-directed order. some such thoughts in a more chaotic form surged through edred's head as he stood listening, almost causing him to lose the words of the preacher, though the tenor of his discourse was plain. he almost wished he might enter into a discussion with this enthusiast, and point out to him where he thought him extravagant and wrong; but young as he was, edred yet knew something of the futility of argument with those whose minds are made up, and caution withheld him from entering into any argument with one who was plainly a lollard preacher. so, after listening with sympathy and interest for a long while, he quietly stole away again. the bull baiting was over by this time. the games and other sports were recommencing with greater energy after this brief interruption. the miracle play was again represented, and edred stood a few minutes to watch, thinking within his heart that this representation, half comical, half blasphemous (though the people who regarded it seemed in no way aware of this), was a strange way of bringing home the realities of the scriptures, when it could be done so far more faithfully and eloquently by simply reading the gospel words in the tongue of the common people. his eye roved from the actors, with their mincing words and artificial gestures, to the group still collected beneath the tree, and he could not but contrast the two methods in his own mind, and wonder for a moment whether the lollards could be altogether so desperately wicked as their enemies would make out. he was half afraid of allowing himself to think too much on such themes, and went in search of his brothers. he found warbel looking out for him in some anxiety. he had missed the boy for some little while from his charge, and as the field was filling fast with followers and servants wearing the mortimer livery, he was glad to have the three boys all together beneath his care. he would have been glad to get them to leave the place, but bertram would not hear of it. he wished to try his own skill at some of the sports; and julian, of course, must needs follow his example. the skill and address of the chadgrove brothers won the hearty admiration of the rustics, but it also brought them more than once into rivalry and collision with some of mortimer's gentlemen-at-arms, who were not best pleased to be overmatched by mere striplings. it was also galling and irritating to them to note the popularity of these lads with the rustics. any success of theirs was rewarded by loud shouting and applause, whilst no demonstration of satisfaction followed any feat performed by those wearing the livery of mortimer. and if the lads scored a triumph over any of these latter, the undisguised delight of the beholders could not pass unnoticed by the vanquished. altogether there were so much jealousy and ill will aroused that little scuffles between the followers of chad and mortimer had already taken place in more than one part of the field. warbel was getting very uneasy, and had persuaded edred to use his influence with his brothers to return home before any real collision should have occurred, when a great tumult and shouting suddenly arose to interrupt the whispered colloquy, and edred saw a great rush being made in the direction of the oak tree, where the hunchback preacher had been keeping his station the whole day long, always surrounded by a little knot of listeners. shouts and yells were filling the air, the voices being those of mortimer's following. "a lollard, a lollard! a heretic! down with him! away with him! to the fire with him! a lollard, a lollard!" a deep flush overspread edred's face. he made a spring forward; but warbel laid a detaining hand upon his arm. "it is no case for us to interfere in," he said, with clouded brow. "if they have a heretic to deal with we must not meddle. it is not england's way for a score to attack one; but we must not interpose betwixt mortimer and a heretic. that would be too much peril." but almost before the man had done speaking edred broke away, crying out excitedly: "my brothers, my brothers! they are there in the thick of it!" and with a groan of terror and dismay warbel recognized the voice of bertram raised in angry scorn. "stand back, you cowards! who ever heard of fifty men against one, and he a cripple? the first who touches him i strike dead. a heretic! pooh! nonsense. he is but a poor travelling peddler with his pack. see, here is the pack to speak for itself. for shame to mar a merry holiday in this unmannerly fashion! no; i will not give him up! ye are no better than a pack of howling, ravening wolves. i am the lord of chad, and i will see that no violence is done this day. back to your sports, ye unmannerly knaves. are ye fit for nothing but to set upon one helpless man and worry him as dogs worry their helpless prey?" howls, execrations, oaths followed freely; but the village people were to a man with their young lord, and the scions of mortimer felt it by instinct. "who is he? whence came he?" was being asked on all sides; but none could give an answer. he was a stranger to the village, but all those who had been drinking in his words rallied round him, and declared he was but a simple peddler whose wares they had been buying; and bertram, who really thought so, stood beside the tree, opened the bundle, and showed the innocent nature of the wares. his brothers had forced their way to his side by this time, and helped to make a ring round the poor hunchback; and edred kept a very sharp eye upon the emptying of the pack, resolved if there should be any book at the bottom to contrive that it should not reach the eyes of any of the vindictive followers of mortimer. but there was nothing of the sort to be seen. the man was both too poor and too wary to carry such dangerous things with him. his own thin volume had been slipped into some secret receptacle about his person, and his calmness of bearing helped to convince all who were open to conviction that he was innocent of the charge brought against him. with dark, lowering faces, and many muttered threats, the mortimer retainers drew off, seeing that with public feeling dead against them they could not prevail to work their will upon the intended victim. but warbel was made very anxious by the words he heard openly spoken on all sides, and he would have given much to have hindered this act of bertram's, generous and manly though he knew it to have been. "it is ill work drawing down the charge of heresy," he remarked, as he got the boys at last in full march homeward. "any other charge one can laugh to scorn; but no man may tell where orthodoxy ends and heresy begins. godly bishops have been sent to prison, and priests to the stake. how may others hope to escape?" "tush!" answered bertram lightly; "there was never a heretic at chad yet, and never will be one, i trow. was i to see a poor cripple like that done to death without striking a blow in his defence--he in chadwick, of which my father is lord of the manor? was i to see mortimer's men turning a gay holiday into a scene of horror and affright? never! i were unworthy of my name had i not interposed. the man was no heretic, and if he had been--" "have a care, sir, how thou speakest; have a care, i entreat thee! thou knowest not what ears may be listening!" cried warbel, in a real fright. bertram laughed half scornfully. "i have no need to be ashamed of what i think. i am a true son of the church, and fear not what the vile mortimer scum may say. but to pleasure thee, good warbel, i will say no more. we will make our way home with all speed, and tell the tale to our father. i doubt not he will say it was well done. the lord of chad would ever have the defenceless protected, and stand between them and the false and treacherous bloodhounds of mortimer. i have no fear that he will blame me. he would have done the same in my place." "i trow he would," answered warbel in a low voice; "but that does not make the deed done without peril of some sort following to the doer." chapter v: a warning. sir oliver and his wife listened with some anxiety to the boys' story of the rescue of the peddler. bertram observed the cloud upon his father's brow, and eagerly asked if he had done wrong. "i say not so, my son," replied the knight. "i would ever have a child of mine merciful and just--the protector of the oppressed, and the champion of the defenceless; nevertheless--" "and it was those bloodhounds of mortimer's who were setting upon him," broke in julian vehemently. "what right had they to molest him? could we of chad, upon our own soil, stand by and see it done? i trow, father, that thou wouldst have done the same hadst thou been there." a smile flitted over the face of the knight. he loved to see the generous fire burning in his boys' eyes; but for all that his face was something anxious as he made reply: "belike i should, my son, albeit perhaps in a something less vehement fashion. my authority would have served to keep down riot, and the charge against the peddler could have been forthwith examined, and if found false the man could then have been sent on his way in safety. but it is dangerous work just now to appear to side with those against whom the foul charge of heresy is brought. knowest thou--know any of ye--what gave rise to the sudden suspicion?" edred, who knew much more of the real nature of the peddler's occupation that day, kept his lips close sealed. he would not for worlds have told what he had seen and heard. his brothers were plainly ignorant of the peddler's exhortation, reading, and preaching. it was not for him to add to the anxieties of his parents. julian was the first to answer the question. "it was but the idle spite of the people of mortimer," he answered. "they had baited the bull and the bear, and they had the mind to bait or burn a heretic whilst their blood was up, as a fit end to their day's pleasuring. i saw them prowling round the tree where the fellow was talking to the women and showing his wares; and suddenly they raised the shout. i called out to bertram that mortimer's people were bent on a mischief, and he sprang to the peddler's side before any had touched him, and we disappointed the hell hounds of their prey. he had nothing in his pack but such wares as all peddlers have; and the people vowed he had done naught all the day but sell to all who came. it would have been sin and shame for us of chad to have stood by to see him hounded perhaps to death. we could not choose but balk those evil men of their will. none of our blood could have stood by to see such ill done!" "i cannot blame ye, my sons," said the knight. "ye have the blood of your forefathers in your veins, and it goes against all of us at chad to see injustice and unrighteousness committed. i do but wish the cry raised against yon man had been anything else than that of heresy. the priests and magistrates are very busy now searching out all those suspected of that vile sin, and those who shelter them are accounted as guilty as those who are proved tainted. our foe of mortimer is very zealous in the good cause, and will not scruple to employ against us every weapon in his power. it would be an excellent thing in his eyes to show how mine own children had stood up to defend a lollard heretic. i would we knew something more anent this man and his views. "warbel, didst thou know him? is he anyone known in and about chad?" "i never saw his face before, sir," answered warbel. "i know not so much as his name. i had thought of making some inquiries of the village folks. all i noted was that he seemed always to have plenty of persons around and about him, and his wares were nothing very attractive. still, it is often the tales peddlers tell and the way they have with them that keeps a crowd always about them. some of the folks of the place must know who and what he is." "yes, verily; and it would be well for thee to ride over tomorrow and make all needful inquiry. it would set my mind at rest to know that there was no cause of complaint against him. we cannot be blind to the fact that heretical doctrines are widely spread by those purporting to be hawkers and peddlers. yet there must be many honest men who would scorn to be so occupied, and who know not even the name of these pestilent heresies." and with that charge the knight tried to dismiss the subject from his mind; whilst edred went to bed feeling terribly uneasy, and dreamed all night of the secret chamber, and how the time came when they were all forced to take refuge in it from the hatred of the lord of mortimer and his bloodthirsty followers. but not even to his brothers did he tell all that he had heard and all that he knew. the words of the gospel in the familiar language of his country haunted him persistently. he felt a strange wish to hear more, although he believed the wish to be sin, and strove against it might and main. some of the passages clung tenaciously to his memory, and he fell asleep repeating them. when he woke the words were yet in his mind, and they seemed to get between him and the words of his task that day when the boys went to their tutor for daily instruction. brother emmanuel had never found edred so inattentive and absent before. he divined that the boy must have something on his mind, and let him alone. he was not surprised that he lingered when the others had gone, and then in a low voice asked his preceptor if he would meet him in the chantry, as he felt he could not be happy till he had made confession of a certain matter, done penance, and received absolution. a request of that sort never met a denial from the monk. he sent edred to the chantry to pray for an hour, and met him there at the end of that time to listen to all he had to say. edred's story was soon told--nothing held back, not even the innermost thoughts of his heart--and the expression of the face beneath the enshrouding cowl was something strange to see. it was long before the monk spoke, and meantime edred lay prostrate at his feet, thankful to transfer the burden weighing him down to the keeping of another, but little guessing what the burden was to him to whom he made this confession. well did brother emmanuel know and recognize the peril of entertaining such thoughts, longings, and aspirations as were now assailing the heart of this unconscious boy. that there was sin in all these feelings he did not doubt; that heavy penance must be done for them he would not for a moment have wished to deny. but yet when he came to place reason in the place of the formulas of the church in which he had been reared, he knew not how to condemn that longing after the word of god which was generally the first step towards the dreaded sin of heresy. no one more sincerely abhorred the name and the sin of heresy. when men denied the presence of the living god in the sacraments of the church, or attacked its time-honoured practices in which the heart of the young monk was bound up, then the whole soul of the enthusiast rose up in revolt, and he felt that such blasphemers well deserved the fiery doom they brought upon themselves. but when their sin was possessing a copy of the living word; when all that could be alleged against them was that they met together to read that word which was denied to them by their lawful pastors and teachers, and which they had no opportunity of hearing otherwise--then indeed did it seem a hard thing that they should be so mercilessly condemned and persecuted. yet he could not deny that this reading and expounding of the scriptures by the ignorant and unlearned led almost invariably to those other sins of blasphemy and irreverence which curdled the very blood in his veins. again and again had his heart burned within him to go forth amongst the people himself; to take upon himself and put in practice the office of evangelist, which he knew to be a god-appointed ministry, and yet which was so seldom worthily fulfilled, and himself to proclaim aloud the gospel, that all might have news of the son of god, yet might be taught to reverence the holy sacraments more rather than less for the sake of him who established them upon earth, and to respect the priesthood, even though it might in its members show itself unworthy, because it was a thing given by christ for the edification of the body, and because he himself, the high priest passed into the heavens, must needs have his subordinate priests working with him and by him on earth. again and again had longings such as these filled his soul, and he had implored leave to go forth preaching and teaching. but he had never won permission to do this. the request had been treated with contempt, and he himself had been suspected of ambition and other unworthy motives. he had submitted to the will of his superiors, as his vow of obedience obliged him to do; but none the less did his heart burn within him as he saw more and more plainly how men were thirsting for living waters, and realized with ever-increasing intensity of pain and certainty that if the church herself would not give her children to drink out of pure fountains, they would not be hindered from drinking of poisoned springs, and thus draw down upon themselves all manner of evils and diseases. he had never doubted for a moment the pureness of the source from which he himself drank. he was not blind to the imperfections many and great of individuals in high places, and the corruptions which had crept within the pale of the church, but these appeared to him incidental and capable of amendment. he never guessed at any deeper poison at work far below, tainting the very waters at their source. he was in all essential points an orthodox son of rome; but he had imbibed much of the spirit of the oxford reformers, of whom colet was at this time the foremost, and his more enlightened outlook seemed to the blind and bigoted of his own order to savour something dangerously of heresy. he did not know himself seriously suspected. his conscience was too clear, his devotion to the church too pure, to permit of his easily fearing unworthy suspicions. he knew himself no favourite with the stately but self-indulgent prior of chadwater; knew that brother fabian, whom he had once sternly rebuked for an act of open sin, was his bitter enemy. but he had not greatly heeded this, strong in his own innocence, and he had been far happier at chad in the more truly pure atmosphere of that secular house than in the so-called sanctity of the cloister. and now he found his own thoughts, aspirations, and yearnings repeated in the mind of his favourite pupil, and he was confronted by a problem more difficult to solve than any that had met him before. in his own case he felt he had a compass to steer by--the restraint and guidance of his vows and his habit to help him. but how would it be with this ardent and imaginative boy? his mind was struggling to free itself from artificial trammels. to what goal might not that wish lead? earnestly he looked upon the bowed form at his feet, and in his eyes there was a great compassion. but his lips pronounced, with sternness and decision, the words of the heavy penance imposed, and at the end of the prescribed formulas he raised the boy and looked searchingly into his face. "my son," he said, very gently yet very impressively, "remember that the first sin that entered into the world was the sin of disobedience. remember that satan's most powerful weapon is the one which he employed towards our first mother when he bid her eat of the tree of knowledge, because that knowledge is good--a god-given thing--when he persuaded her that god was wrong in keeping anything hidden from her that in itself was good. the same sin by which death entered the world has abounded there ever since. god and the son of god and the church have always taught that there be certain things hidden, only to be revealed to man by god or through the ordinances of the church, not to be sought after through curiosity by unlettered men themselves. yet for as much as satan is never at rest, and can transform himself on occasion into an angel of light, he is ever present with men urging them on to pry into these hidden mysteries and to make light of the ordinances of god. he puts into their mouth words similar to those by which he tempted the woman to her fall, and men listen greedily as our first mother did, and are led into destruction when they think they are walking forth into the light of day. "my son, beware of this sin; beware of this temptation. remember the many solemn warnings against disobedience contained in the word of god; remember how obedience is insisted on throughout that holy volume. thou mayest not always see the reason--thou mayest not always recognize the authority; but remember that there is a blessing upon those who obey, and be not in haste to break the bond under which thou wast born, remembering who has placed thee where thou art, and who has bidden us give all dutiful obedience to the powers that be." edred made a deep reverence, crossed himself silently in token of submission, and prostrated himself upon the step of the altar, to lie there fasting till set of sun as one part of his penance. with a murmured prayer and blessing the monk left him, hoping that he had spoken a word of seasonable warning to one whose heart was enkindled with ardent devotion, whilst his active mind and vivid imagination were in danger of leading him into perilous paths. no questions were asked of edred respecting this penance, which took him away from his ordinary occupations during the chief part of the two following days. he and brother emmanuel alone knew the reason for it, and it was against the traditions of the house that any open notice should be taken by others. the episode of the peddler and the outbreak with the followers of mortimer had begun to fade somewhat from the minds of those at chad. no complaint had reached that house from mortimer's keep, as had been expected, and it was hoped that the thing would never be heard of again. yet it was with something of a sinking heart that sir oliver heard the third day that the prior of chadwater desired speech of him; and as he mounted his horse and summoned his servants about him, he wondered, not without considerable uneasiness, what this summons might mean. he had always been on good terms with the handsome prior of the benedictine monastery. the choicest of the game, the fattest of the bucks slain in the forest, the chiefest specimens of his wife's culinary triumphs, always found their way to the prior's table, and an excellent understanding had always been maintained between the two houses. but the knight had observed of late that the prior had become more slack in those visits of friendly courtesy which once had been common enough between them; and when he had presented himself at the monastery, he had not been quite certain that his welcome was as cordial as heretofore. it was not until latterly that this had caused him any uneasiness--it had taken him some while to feel sure that it was anything but his own fantasy; but he had just begun to feel that something was amiss, and now this summons seemed to him to have an evil import. however, there was nothing for it but to go; and a clear conscience keeps a man bold even in face of greater peril than was likely to assail him now. he thought it probable that some rumour of the stir on the fair day had reached the ecclesiastic, and that he wanted an account of it in detail. sir oliver was quite prepared to give him that, and entered the presence of the prior with a bold front and an air of cordial courtesy such as he was wont to wear in the presence of this dignitary. there was nothing alarming in the prior's manner. he received his guest graciously, bid him be seated in the best chair reserved for the use of guests, and asked him of the welfare of his household with benevolence and friendly interest. but after all that had been said, his face took another look, and he brought up the subject of the travelling peddler or preacher, and asked the knight what his sons meant by standing champions to a notable and pernicious lollard heretic. the knight started at the words, and disclaimed any such knowledge both on behalf of himself and his sons. he told the tale as bertram and julian had told it him; and there was such sincerity in his manner, and his character both for orthodoxy and for scrupulous truthfulness in word and deed was so widely known and respected, that the prior's brow unbent somewhat, and he looked less stern and severe. "i believe your story, sir knight," he said. "i believe that your sons sinned in ignorance. but none the less is it true that they have stood champions for a pestilent heretic; and that is an offence not likely to escape the vengeful notice of the lord of mortimer, who is always on the lookout for a cause of complaint against person or persons at chad." "that is very true," replied sir oliver, thoughtfully and gravely. "i was greatly vexed when i heard of the affair, and chided my boys for their hot-headed rashness. howbeit there be many there to testify that the man was at that time but hawking his wares, and my sons could not know that he was a secret heretic and lollard." "nay, but when that cry was raised they should not have stood at his side as his champions without more knowledge of the truth. the man is now known to have been preaching well nigh the whole day long, reading portions of those accursed translations of wycliffe's which are damnation to all who possess them or listen to them, and expounding thereupon in the fashion that sends persons raving mad with the poison of heresy. the man is in hiding somewhere in the woods about; but he will soon be caught and handed over to the secular power to be doomed to death. and i like not the story of your sons' part in all this; it hath an ugly look." sir oliver hid his anxiety beneath a cloak of dignified submission. he well knew the best way of putting things straight with the prior. "i greatly grieve over the hotheadedness of the lads, but i will gladly make such amends as lies in my power. they sinned in ignorance, as you, reverend father, believe, and for such sins the indulgence of the church may be won by the payment of such sum as shall be thought right. if you will tell me what i ought to give to purchase this indulgence, i will do my utmost to meet the just claim; and holy church shall be richer and not poorer for the trespass unwittingly made by the sons of chad." the prior looked pleased at this ready suggestion, and named a sum which, though sufficiently heavy, was within sir oliver's means, and which he promised should be immediately paid. he knew that the prior, though a man fond of money, and somewhat greedy in gaining possession of all he could, was not treacherous or unjust; and that if he had accepted this sum as the price of the pardon of the boys' escapade, he would stand their friend, and not allow them to be persecuted by mortimer for the same offence, should the matter ever be brought up against them again. indeed, now that the arrangement had been so amicably entered into, sir oliver was rather glad that the subject had been broached. the prior was the most powerful man in the county, and to have him for a friend was everything. it was his game to hold the balance very nicely betwixt the owners of mortimer and chad, keeping his neutral position, and not permitting either party to overstep the limits beyond a certain extent. after what had just passed, he felt assured that the prior would not permit his boys to be harried or accused of countenancing heresy by their enemy, and he was well pleased at the interview and its result. he rose now as if to go, but the prior motioned him to resume his seat. "there is yet another matter upon which i would speak to you," he said. "you have beneath your roof one of our younger brethren, brother emmanuel. how have you found him comport himself since he has been free from the restraints of the cloister?" the knight looked surprised at the question. "he is in all ways a very godly and saintly youth," he replied. "he instructs my sons after an excellent fashion, keeps the hours of the church with a scrupulous precision i have never seen equalled, and instructs all who come to him for advice or assistance in a manner that makes him beloved of all. whenever i have talked with him or gone to him for spiritual counsel, i have been greatly struck by his spiritual insight, his purity of thought, his earnestness of mind, and his knowledge of the holy scriptures." the prior shifted a little in his seat, and coughed behind his hand somewhat dubiously. "he was ever prone to observe the hours well. he lived blamelessly here in all outward observances; but as for his knowledge of the holy scriptures, it may be that it goes something too far. it is whispered abroad that some of his words savour strongly of those very lollard heresies which are about to be put down with fire and sword. hast thou heard and seen naught of that?" a thrill of indignation ran through sir oliver's frame. it was only by an effort that he restrained a hasty exclamation. he well knew that the wave of enlightened feeling rising within the church herself had found no echo in the remoter parts of the kingdom, where bigotry and darkness and intolerance still reigned supreme. he was perfectly aware that the most enlightened sons of the church who had dared to bid the people study the word of god, and especially to study it as a whole, would have been denounced as heretics had they lifted up their voices in many parts of the kingdom. this very enlightened understanding, which was so marked a feature in brother emmanuel, had been one of the strongest bonds between him and his patron, and it seemed little short of monstrous to the knight to hear such an accusation brought against one who had lived a godly and blameless life, had observed far more rigorously all the laws of the church than the prior or the fraternity thought of doing, and was a far truer and better son than they ever attempted to be. but he restrained his indignation, and only answered very calmly: "i have seen naught of it; indeed, i have seen so much to the contrary, that methinks it is but an idle tale, not worth your reverence's attention. in every matter, word or deed, brother emmanuel is faithful to his vows and to his calling. he is an able instructor of youth; and were your reverence to examine him as strictly as possible, i do not believe that any cause of offence, however trivial, could be found against him." "i am well pleased to hear such good testimony," returned the prior, who was regarding his visitor with a scrutiny not altogether agreeable to the knight. "at the same time, it is not always well for a monk to remain too long away from the cloister, and a change of instructor is ofttimes better for the young. i have been thinking that it might be well to recall brother emmanuel, and send in his place brother fabian, in whom i repose the greatest confidence. how would such a change meet your good pleasure? if brother emmanuel is in need of penance, it can better be imposed here than elsewhere--and by all i hear it seems to me that he stands something in need of the discipline of the monastery; and brother fabian would make an excellent substitute as an instructor for the lads." whilst the prior was speaking, thought had been rapid with sir oliver, and something in the prior's look--a subtlety and almost cruelty about the lines of the mouth--warned him that there was in this proposition that which boded evil to someone. it flashed across him that brother emmanuel was perhaps to be made a victim of ecclesiastical tyranny and cruelty. he knew that the ascetic young monk had been no favourite with his brethren at chadwater; and if they could bring against him some charge of heresy, however trifling, it was like enough that he might be silently done to death, as others of his calling had been for less fearful offences. monastic buildings held their dark secrets, as the world was just beginning to know; and only a short while back he had heard a whisper that it was not wise for a monk to be too strict in his hours and in his living. then again, brother fabian was a coarse, illiterate man, utterly unfit to be the guide and instructor of youth. sir oliver had not dined at the prior's table and spent hours in his company for nothing, and he knew many of the monks tolerably well. brother fabian was the one he liked the least; indeed he had a strong dislike and distrust of the man, and was well aware that the ecclesiastical habit was the only thing about him that savoured of sanctity or the monastic life. he would not have allowed the contaminating presence of such a man near his sons, even had he been indued with the needful learning for the task of instructor. as it was, he knew that the monk could barely spell through his breviary, and it was plain that the prior must have another reason for wishing to induct him into the house. nor was the reason difficult to divine. it was not as an instructor but as a spy that brother fabian was to come. the whispers abroad--doubtless spread industriously by his vengeful foe--had not been without effect, and men had begun to suspect that his household was tainted with heresy. brother emmanuel was suspected, his sons were probably suspected as being his pupils, and possibly some other members of his household too. brother fabian was to be sent to act as spy, and if bribed (as was most probable) by the lord of mortimer, would doubtless find some cause of offence which could be twisted into an accusation of heresy against someone there. it was difficult for sir oliver to see his way all in a moment. to oppose this scheme or to submit to it appeared alike dangerous. his independence and honest english pride revolted against any attempt to coerce him in his domestic arrangements, or to submit to interference there, even from the ministers of the church. but it was needful to walk warily, and the prior was watching him as a cat does a mouse. "will you give me a few days to consider this matter?" he asked, in as easy a tone as he could. "your reverence knows that changes are not of themselves welcome to me; and my sons have made such progress with brother emmanuel that i am something loath to part with him. also, they are at this moment going through a course of study which none other could conclude with the same advantage. brother fabian is doubtless an excellent brother of his order, but he has scarce the same learning as brother emmanuel. nevertheless, i will well consider the change proposed, and give it all dutiful heed. but i should like to speak with my wife anent the matter, and learn her will. it is not a matter of pressing haste, by what i have gathered from your words?" "no, not one of pressing haste. yet i would not long delay," answered the prior. "i may not speak too openly, but there be reasons why i would have brother emmanuel beneath this roof once more. i will leave thee one week to consider and to get the course of study completed. at the week's end, methinks, i shall be constrained to bid brother emmanuel return home. but if all be well after a short time has sped by, he may return again to thee." sir oliver was looking full at the handsome but crafty face of the prior, and as the last words passed his lips he saw a flicker in the eyes which made him say within his heart: "if brother emmanuel once re-enters these walls, he will never sally forth again. mischief is meant him; of that i am convinced. what must i do? must i give him up to his death? and how can i save him, even if i would?" these thoughts were surging in his heart as he rode home. the peril he had feared against those of his own name and race had been averted. the payment of what was practically a heavy fine would secure to the boys immunity from the results of their rashness; but with the monk it was far different. what had aroused the animosity of the fraternity, and why mischief was planned against him, sir oliver could not divine; but that something had occurred to arouse it he could not doubt. no sooner had he reached home than he sought brother emmanuel in his own bare room, and laid before him the account of what had passed. a strange look crossed the young monk's face. "then it is known!" he said simply. "what is known?" "that i am the author of a certain pamphlet, written some while ago, and taken to germany to be printed, giving an account of some of the corruptions and abuses that have stolen into the church, and in especial into the monasteries and religious houses of this land. i could not choose but write it. if the church is to be saved, it can only be by her repudiation of such corruptions, and by a process of self cleansing that none can do for her. i always knew that if suspected my life would pay the forfeit; but i know not how the authorship has been discovered. yet the great ones of the land have ways we know not of; and if the truth is not known, it is suspected. i am to go back to the priory; but once there, i shall never go forth again. yet what matter? i always knew if the thing were known my life would .pay the forfeit. i wrote as the spirit bid me; i know that god was with me then. i am ready to lay down my life in a good cause; i am not afraid what man can do unto me." sir oliver looked into that young face, which the martyr spirit illuminated and glorified, and an answering spark kindled in his own eyes. "if that is thine offence, and not the alleged one of heresy, i will stand thy friend," he said; "and thou shalt not go forth from chad to thy death so long as i have a roof to shelter thee. i will stand thy friend and protector so long as i have a house to call mine own." chapter vi: watched! "i am glad thou hast so resolved, my husband; but hast thou considered what it may mean to thee?" lady chadgrove spoke gently, laying her hand upon her husband's arm with a gesture unwontedly tender; for neither was demonstrative of the deep affection which existed between them, and he knew that only strong emotion evoked such action from her. "i know that if i refuse to give up brother emmanuel i may draw down upon myself stern admonition, and perchance something worse, but i mean not that it come to open defiance of any injunction from the church. brother emmanuel must leave chad secretly, and be far away ere the week of grace expires. we are but twenty miles from the coast. this very day i shall ride thither and see what small trading vessels are in the bay about to fare forth to foreign shores. i shall negotiate with some skipper making for some dutch port to carry thither the person whom i shall describe to him, and who will show him this ring"--and sir oliver displayed an emerald upon his own finger--"in token that he is the person to be taken aboard. those trading skippers are used to such jobs, and if they be paid they know how to hold their peace and ask no questions. in holland the brother will be safer than in any other land. the spite of the prior of chadwater is not like to pursue him there. but here his life is not safe from hour to hour." "and how if it comes to be known that thou hast planned this escape?" asked the lady, a little anxiously. "i have thought of that too, dame," replied the knight, smiling. "let but the good brother be safely out of the country, and whilst the hue and cry is still going on here after him i will to the king and tell him all the story. our pious dean colet, who knows brother emmanuel, and knows, too, that it is meet the corrupt practices that have crept within the pale of holy church should be made known, that they may be swept away and reformed, will stand my friend, and together we can so persuade his majesty that even if the prior and mortimer both combine to accuse me before him he will not allow their spite to touch me. the king knows right well that there is need of amendment within the church herself. we have heard words spoken in the cathedral of london which would be accounted rank heresy here. there is light abroad which must one day reach to the ends of the earth, and truly it sometimes seemeth to me that if the priests, the abbots, and the monks set their faces steadfastly against this light, they will fall into some terrible pitfall, but they will never quench the light with their united strength." the lady gave one quick glance round, as though afraid that even the walls might have ears, and such sentiments were not those that it was safe to blazon abroad. but sir oliver, strong in the consciousness of his own deep and abiding love for the church and for all the doctrines which she upheld, was bold to speak his mind in private when the subject broached was the one of corruptions and abuses which some of the sturdiest and noblest sons of the church were now engaged in examining and denouncing, none dreaming of charging them with heresy on that account. but the mother had noted the presence of edred, who had come in quietly whilst the discussion was going on, and was now standing listening to his father's words with kindling eyes; and she made a sign to her husband which caused him to turn round, and then the boy spoke. "the horses are ready at the door, father, and bertram prays that he may accompany thee. he is donning his riding dress already." "with all my heart," answered the knight readily, "an he can ride the forty miles betwixt this and tomorrow at the same hour; for i do not purpose to be long absent." "bertram would ride all day and all night and feel it not," answered edred with a proud smile; "and he loves the sight and the smell of the salt sea, and would be loath to miss the chance of seeing it. father, art thou going to aid brother emmanuel to fly? is there peril for him abroad?" the knight bent a quick, keen glance upon his son. "i fear so, my boy; and brother emmanuel himself thinks that ill is meant him. and it is better to seek safety in flight at the first hint of danger than to dally and delay, and perhaps find at last that it is too late to fly. thou, my son, wilt for this one day and night be left in charge of thy mother and thy home and all within it; for i must needs take with me warbel and a score of our stoutest fellows, for the lonely road to the coast is none too safe for travellers of the better sort. be thou watchful and vigilant, and keep thine eyes and thine ears alike open. heed well that the gates be closed early, and that all be made safe, and let not brother emmanuel adventure himself without the walls. use all discretion and heed, and fare thee well. i shall reach the coast tonight, and do my business with all speed, and be in the saddle again with the light of dawn, so thou mayest look to see us again before noon." and with a tender farewell to his wife, the knight mounted and rode away with his gallant little train; and the lady looked after him from the window, and said to edred, who quickly came to her to learn more, if he could, of the words he had recently heard: "now may the blessed saints and our lord himself be with him! for no braver and truer gentleman lives in the length and breadth of this land. there be few, indeed, who would imperil their own safety rather than yield up one who is after all little more than a stranger. heaven send that he repent not this deed! may god be with him in all his ways!" "my mother," said edred cautiously, "is it that brother emmanuel is in sore peril? he is so devout and faithful a son of the church that it is hard to credit it." "in sooth, my son, these be matters hard to be understood; but thy father truly holds that he were safer out of this country and out of reach of the prior of chadwater and the lord of mortimer. men's words can be turned and twisted till the best may be accused of heresy; and again, if a monk has fallen beneath the wrath of his superior, no man may tell what would befall were he to return to the power of his spiritual father. sure those holy men who founded the orders of godly recluses little dreamed what those places might become in time, and with the ever-increasing love of ease and wealth which seems implanted in the heart of man. "heaven pardon me if i speak or think amiss! but it is strange to hear and see what passes in the world. but one must use all caution even in thought, and i would not have thee speak aught of this save in a whisper in thy brother's ear, that he too may use all caution and discretion till we can find occasion to send brother emmanuel forth in safety. "we have a week before us ere he will be summoned hence. strive that none shall suspect aught of difference or coming change. keep well the hours of study. give none occasion for remark. for all we know, a spy may be in our midst; and at least any servant of ours might well be questioned by any of the monks of chadwater, to whom he might go to confess, as to what was passing in the house, and see no hurt in answering questions. wherefore be very wise and discreet, and give none occasion for remark. "thou dost understand me, my son? i may trust thee? remember that thine own father's welfare may be imperilled by the veriest trifle should men suspect him of striving to outwit the prior." edred's eyes expressed a great comprehension and sympathy. he took his mother's hand and kissed it, slightly bending the knee. "thou mayest trust me, sweet mother," he answered. "methinks i know well all thou wouldst say. i will be cautious, and i will teach caution to julian. no harm shall come to any beneath this roof from word or deed of ours." and then the lady went to her delayed household duties, whilst edred went in search of his brother, to take him to the room where their studies were usually prosecuted, that the household wheels might revolve after the accustomed manner. but julian was nowhere to be seen. edred sought him and called him lustily, till at length the old seneschal at the gate heard him, and informed him that his brother had gone a short distance on foot with the travellers, but that he would doubtless be back ere long. julian was light and fleet of foot as a deer, and often ran for many miles beside his father's charger, the nature of the wooded country round chad giving him many advantages. edred wandered forth a little way to meet him on his return, and was presently aware of a cowled figure standing close against a great beech tree, and so motionless and rigid was the attitude that the boy had to look somewhat closely to be certain that it was not a part of the tree trunk itself. he paused and examined the figure with an intense curiosity not unmixed with suspicion. his own light footfall did not appear to have been heard, and the motionless figure, partly concealed behind the tree, remained in the same rigid attitude, as though intently watching some approaching object. for a moment a superstitious thrill ran through the boy's frame. he had heard stories of ghostly visitants to these woods, some of which wore the garb of the monks of the neighbouring priory; but he had never seen any such apparition, and would not have thought of it now had it not been for the peculiar and unnatural quietude of this figure. as it was, he paused, gazing intently at it, wondering if indeed it were a being of flesh and blood. he was just summoning up courage to go forward and salute it, when it moved forward in a gliding and cautious fashion. edred felt ashamed of his momentary thrill of fear, for he recognized at once the awkward gait and rolling step of brother fabian, and knew that his preceptor's bitterest foe was lingering in the precincts of his home. resolved not to be seen himself, the boy sprang up a neighbouring tree as lightly as a squirrel, and from that vantage ground he saw that his brother julian was approaching, and that the monk had stepped out to greet the lad. he heard the sound of the nasal tones, so different from the refined accents of brother emmanuel. "peace be with thee, my son." julian stopped short, and slightly bent the knee. he looked up into brother fabian's face with a look which edred well knew, and which implied no love for his interlocutor. a stranger, however, would be probably pleased at the frank directness of the gaze, not noting the underlying hardihood and defiance. "alone, my son?" questioned the brother. "methought i saw thee not long since with thy father and brother and the servants. how comes it thou art now alone?" "i saw thee not," answered julian, without attempting to reply to the question. "belike no. i was telling my beads out here in the forest. thou didst pass me by all unknowing; but i was nigh thy path the while nevertheless. whither--" "that is something strange," remarked the boy, affecting not to hear the commencement of another question; "for i could be sworn that not a squirrel or field mouse crosses my path but that i mark him down. but i may not linger thus; the hour of our studies is already here. i wish you good e'en; i must away home." the boy would have been gone with a bound the next instant had not the monk laid a detaining hand upon his arm. edred saw by the reluctance of his brother's mien that he resented being thus stayed. "one moment, good my son," said brother fabian. "tell me whither thy father and brother have gone. it is something too late in the day for a hunting party; yet i knew not that the good knight purposed any journey." edred saw the sudden flash that came into julian's eyes. he was in an agony lest the boy should betray his father's destination, which to the astute mind of the monk might betray much more than his brother himself knew; but as he heard julian's words he drew his breath more freely. "marry, hast thou not heard that my lord of beaumaris and rochefort goes a-hunting tomorrow with great muster? my father has gone to join the goodly company assembling there. wilt thou not go thither too, master monk, and join the revelry that will make the hall ring tonight? i trow there is welcome for all who come. i would my father had taken me." "go to, saucy boy, go to!" replied the brother, half piqued, half amused by the lad's boldness in thus implying that his place was at a riotous revel such as generally took place when some great baron invited his friends for a day's sport in the forest. it was like enough that this hunting party had been arranged for the morrow, and this road certainly led to beaumaris and rochefort. the reply seemed to satisfy the monk, and he relaxed his grasp of the boy's arm. "i must not keep thee from thy studies longer," he said. "say, what does brother emmanuel teach you?" "the latin tongue and the use of the pen. edred is a fine scribe already. and he hath taught us our letters in greek likewise; for men are saying, he tells us, that it is shame that that language has been neglected so long, since the holy scriptures were written in it first." "and he doubtless teaches you from the holy scriptures--" "ay; and from the writings of the fathers, and the mass book," added the boy. "we can all read latin right well now. but i must be going, an it please thee-" "yea, verily thou wilt make a fine scholar one of these days. i am glad thou hast so good an instructor. and that reminds me--i would have speech with brother emmanuel some day soon. i have a missal that i think he would greatly like sight of. i misdoubt me if the prior would like it carried forth from the library; but if he would meet me one day here in the forest, i will strive to secrete it and let him have sight of it. it hath wonderful pictures and lettering such as he loves. wilt tell him of it, boy, and ask if he will have sight of it?" "i will tell him," answered julian. "but i trow he will have naught to do with it an it has been filched away from the library without the reverend prior's permission. brother emmanuel teaches us more of the doctrine of obedience than of any other. i trow he will not budge an inch!" a scowling look passed over the features of the monk, which had hitherto been smiling and bland. he took julian by the arm again, and said in a low voice: "i have something of import to speak to brother emmanuel. he will do well to heed me, and to hear what i have to say. bid him be at this spot two days hence just as the sun goes down. tell him if he come not he may live to repent it bitterly." "wilt thou not come back with me?" asked the boy, with a quick, distrustful look into the bloated face beneath the cowl. "thou canst speak at ease with him at home. it were better than out here in the forest. i will lead thee to him straight, and thou canst say all that is in thine heart." but the monk dropped his arm and turned quickly away; his voice bespoke ill-concealed irritation. "i may not linger longer here. the vesper bell will be ringing by now. give brother emmanuel my message. i would see him here in the forest. and now farewell, boy; go home as fast as thou wilt, and put a bridle on thy forward tongue, lest haply it lead thee one day into trouble." the monk strode away in the direction of the priory. julian took the path towards chad, with many backward glances at the retreating figure, and hardly was it lost in the thick underwood of the forest than he found his brother standing at his side. "thou here, edred? whence camest thou?" edred pointed to his leafy hiding place, and laid a finger on his lips in token of caution. julian pursued his way awhile in silence, and only when they had increased the distance betwixt themselves and the monk by many hundred yards, the elder brother said, in low tones and very cautiously: "have a care, julian; methinks he is not going home. he is here as a spy, i do not doubt. i saw him watching and spying like a veritable messenger sent for such a purpose. "o julian, i was right glad at the answer thou gavest him about our father. i trembled lest thou shouldst say he was bound for the coast." both brothers had been too well trained in the creed which allows and encourages the practice of speaking falsehood and even doing evil in a good cause, to feel that any kind of shame attached to a falsehood spoken to conceal from a crafty enemy a thing it would be perilous to others for him to know. and indeed diplomatic falsehood has never been eradicated from the world even since purer light has shone in upon it. it is very hard to meet craft, falsehood, and treachery by absolute frankness and truthful honesty. in the long run it does sometimes prove to be the strongest weapon a man can wield; but the temptation to meet craft by craft, deceit by deceit, is strong in human nature, and until a much later date was openly advocated as the only policy sane men could adopt when they dealt with foes always eager to outwit them. and certainly these lads would have felt themselves justified in going to far greater lengths to save their father from suspicion, or their preceptor and friend from peril. "then thou heardest all? i scarce know why i spoke as i did, for our father has always been the friend of the brethren of chadwater. but the look in the man's eye made me cautious, and i minded a few parting words spoken by bertram. tell me, edred, what it is that is stirring; i would know more." "verily it is that brother emmanuel stands in some peril from those of his own community. he has written something they mislike, and they mean to have him back to answer for it. both he and our father think that if once he enters chadwater again he will never come forth alive. wherefore our father will not give him up to his enemies, but will contrive for him to escape. that is what he has gone to the coast for today; and when he knows that a vessel is ready and about to sail, brother emmanuel must be spirited away in the dead of the night; and when the prior comes to search for him--as doubtless he will do when we can find him not--it will puzzle him to lay hands upon him, for he will be away on the high seas." "good!" cried julian, delighted. "edred, i mislike those cruel, crafty monks. methinks they are little like the saintly men of old who fled to the cloister to rid themselves of the trammels of the world. i--" but edred laid a hand upon his brother's arm and checked him suddenly, pointing to another stationary figure a short distance away amongst the trees--a figure wearing the dress of a lay brother of the priory, and engaged in keeping a close and careful watch upon the main entrance to the house. "hist!" whispered edred; "we must not let him hear such words. julian, mark my word, this house is watched. the prior has set his spies upon it. he fears lest brother emmanuel shall escape; or else the watch is set so that any going forth of his may be known, and he will be set upon and swiftly bound, and carried away to the priory, whence, i fear me, no man will ever see him re-issue." both the boys had stopped short, and now they looked into each other's faces with dismay. their light footfalls had not been heard, nor even the sound of their voices; for a strong breeze had sprung up, and was rustling the leaves overhead, and several birds were singing lustily. the brothers had time to take in the situation without being seen themselves, and they then drew hack into a leafy covert and spoke in whispers. "edred, do thou go back to the house instantly and openly, and warn brother emmanuel that he go not forth. belike he might come out in search of us, since the hour is long past when we should have been with him. that must not be. go and tell him all we have seen; whilst i will creep like a wildcat round the house, and see if there be other spies keeping watch like those we have seen." "ay, do so," replied edred earnestly. "i fear me we shall find that every door is watched. but if thou art seen, go forward boldly. let none guess that you suspect aught. doubtless each watcher is well primed with some excellent reason for being found there. speak them friendly, and do not show distrust." "i will be as wise as a serpent," answered the boy, with one of his keen looks which bespoke him older in mind than in years. edred felt that his junior was better fitted to cope with a spy than he himself; and gladly taking the other office upon himself, he walked gaily forward, whistling a roundelay as he moved, and affecting not to see the dark figure by the oak, which pressed closer and closer out of sight as the lad strode by. "verily he means to remain unseen," thought edred to himself. "if he had not been a spy he would have greeted me as i passed. he is after no good. thank heaven we have seen and heard what we have! we can so manage now that brother emmanuel set not foot beyond the courtyard for long enough to come--not till he may sally forth to make his way to the coast." and then a sudden fear smote the boy that per chance this night journey to the coast might not be so easy to accomplish as had been hoped. if the cunning prior had set a watch upon chad with the very object of preventing the escape of his intended victim, might it not well be that his father's forethought would be of no avail? but it would not do to lose heart--time might show a way of escape; and edred hurried within, and found brother emmanuel awaiting his tardy pupils, the great bible open before him, the sunset light illuminating his face till, to the boy's ardent imagination, it seemed to be encircled by a nimbus. his story was soon excitedly told, and as brother emmanuel heard of sir oliver's sudden journey, a look almost as of pain crossed his face. "i have told thy father that i cannot and will not suffer harm to befall him and his through his kindness to me. boy, boy, these be evil days in which to offend the powers that be; and it were better, far better, i should give myself up to death than that hurt should fall upon those i love and those who have befriended me with such generosity and love." but edred passionately disclaimed and explained. "brother, holy father, speak not so! thou wilt break our hearts! we love thee! thou knowest that we love thee! and we think, we are assured, that we can yet save thee, and ourselves too. do not break our hearts by giving thyself up ere we have tried our utmost. it may be--nay, i am assured of it--that our blessed saviour has a great work for thee to do for him somewhere. has he not himself charged his servants if they be persecuted in one city to flee to another? he has not bid them give themselves up to their foes, to be hindered from doing the work he has put it into their hearts to do. "pardon my forwardness if i seem to teach my preceptor. i do but repeat words thou hast taught me. stay with us--stay at chad. there be ways and means both for hiding and for flight of which few know or dream. let us have this alms to do for our lord, that we hide and save one of his servants. thou canst little know what grief and sorrow thou wouldst cause to us, or thou couldst not talk of giving thyself up." the boy's earnestness was so deep that it could not but produce an impression. although full of heroic courage and capabilities of self sacrifice, it was against human nature that brother emmanuel should desire to cast away his life, and that not by raising a protest for any point of conscience, but simply to be quietly put out of the way, that he might no longer expose the luxury and vice prevailing in the monastic retreat of which he was a member. he had seen a row of underground niches, some of which had been walled up; and tradition asserted that living monks had been thus buried alive for being untrue to their vows. he quite believed the prior capable of accusing him of the same sin and ordering him to a like fate. in the eyes of the haughty ecclesiastic such a betrayal of cloister secrets would be looked upon as treachery to his vows, whilst in reality it was his very love for his vows, and his horror at their violation, which had inspired the pen that had poured forth burning words of denunciation and scorn. to die openly for the cause would have been one thing--a martyr has ofttimes spoken more eloquently by his death than by his life--but to be thus buried in a living grave would benefit none; and who would not shrink from such a fate? the pause which succeeded edred's impassioned appeal was broken by the entrance of julian, flushed and heated. "it is as we thought. the house is watched. there be six or seven spies posted around it--most of them lay brothers, but some monks themselves. every entrance is watched closely. none can go in or out unmarked by one or another. doubtless they have some signal which may at any time bring all of them together to one spot. "brother emmanuel, thou must not adventure thyself beyond the courtyard till this watch ceases. were they spies of my lord of mortimer's, we might go forth and drive them hence. but none may lay a finger on a monk. they are all ready with a story that they are on the watch for some heretic in hiding in the woods. i spoke to one to see what he would say, and he began about the hunchback of the fair, whom they have not caught yet, and professed to be watching for him. doubtless they would all say the same did any question them; but they strive to keep out of sight as far as may be, and some have found hollow trees where they might pass days and nights and none be the wiser." there could be no study for the boys that day; they were too deeply moved and excited. moreover, edred had his father's charge to keep, and as sundown was nigh at hand, the two brothers visited every gate and portal and saw the house made fast within and without. an air of excitement and mystery seemed to permeate the place. the servants had caught some of the infection, and whispers of loyalty and affection were murmured many times in the boys' ears as they pursued their round. at last, all being safely ordered, they went by common consent to their own room, and stood looking at the secret door which led to the hiding place none knew of but themselves and warbel. "i trow we shall need it now," said edred. "but all is in readiness for the fugitive; all has been done save to bring in the victuals. brother, shall we do that this very night? i would there were a supply there for a month, and a couple of gallon jars of good mead and some bottles of wine. we must put water there, too, but not till the last minute. they say men must have water, else they die; but sure they could live for long on good mead and ale. hath bertram any plan for getting water to the chamber save what we can carry ourselves? he said he would not rest till we had done somewhat; but--" a light sparkled in julian's eyes. "come, and thou shalt see, thou brother of books," he said. "whilst thou hast been doing thy penance for what sin we know not, and been reading amain with brother emmanuel, we have not been idle. come, and i will show thee what we have contrived. i trow none need perish of thirst in the secret chamber now who knows aught of our contrivance." with eager steps julian led the way, and edred no less eagerly followed. it was very dark in the secret chamber; but the means of kindling a light were now there, and soon a small dim lantern was lighted. "come hither," said julian, taking the light and leading the way into a corner that lay beneath the leads of the house; and when there edred saw a metal trough or receiver, rudely made but effectual for the purpose of holding any liquid, something similar to what the animals in the yard were fed and watered from. above this trough was a piece of iron pipe with a bung at the end. "that trough and pipe bertram and i fashioned in the blacksmith's forge with our own hands," said the boy proudly, "and i trow both are good enow and strong. dost know what does the other end of the pipe? why, we have inserted it into the great rainwater tank yonder above our heads, which our grandsire contrived, and which is fed from the roofs and battlements of all the towers. thou hast heard our father tell how he read of such things in days of old, when men built wondrous palaces, and had hanging gardens, and i know not what beside. he set the tank up there, and, as thou knowest, it is not now greatly used, albeit there is always water there, and at times men draw it forth. it may not be the best or purest, but it will serve for washing, and for drinking too were a man in a great strait. it is all pure and sweet now; for in the thunderstorm three nights since bertram got up and let off all the stagnant water by the pipe which can be opened below, and the rain soon filled it again, it poured down with such goodwill. we need not fear that any captive will die of thirst. he has but to draw this bung and water will pour forth into this trough till he stops it again. he can pour away the surplus down the pipe with the dust and such like. "i trow whoever lives up here awhile will have no such bad housing. and if we but get the place victualled this night, it will be ready for brother emmanuel whensoever he may need it." chapter vii: an imposing spectacle. "to appear at the priory with all our household! surely, my husband, that command is something strange?" lady chadgrove raised her eyes anxiously to her lord's face, to see thereon an answering look of perplexity not untinged by anxiety. he was perusing a paper held in his hands. "such is the missive," he remarked. "it was brought by a lay brother but now. methinks the fellow is yet in the kitchen. our mead is not to be lightly disdained. i will send young julian to talk with him, and learn if may be the cause of this strange summons. i would not willingly give cause of offence to the lord prior; and the money has been paid that was promised, so methinks he means no hurt to me or mine. but it is not safe to adventure oneself into the lion's mouth. i would gladly know what is behind all this. i am something ill at ease." "all the household would mean brother emmanuel likewise," said the lady. "perchance it is but a means of drawing him within the toils." "it is like enough. it will be the day on which the week of grace expires. would to god i could see my way more clearly! i am in a great strait betwixt mine own conscience and the authority of the church. how can i deliver up a faithful and devoted son of the church to certain death, when my house is his only refuge and protection? yet how may i refuse obedience to my spiritual fathers and superiors, to whom i owe submission in all things, in right of their office, albeit as men i know them to be--faulty?". he paused, as if reluctant to put his thoughts into words even to his wife. he was going through that mental and spiritual struggle which was speedily to do so great a work in the world--that struggle which led to the final fall of the religious houses in this land. viewed as a god-appointed ordinance, or at least as a bulwark and rampart of the church, it seemed a fearful thing to hold them in aught but awe and reverence, and to look upon their sons as saints and godly men, in whom the spirit of the lord was working. but when the corrupt practices within those walls were known, when men were convinced, sorely against their will, that the inmates were licentious, depraved, covetous, and tyrannical, then indeed it became hard to recognize their god-appointed mission. sir oliver was no heretic; he had not even the faint sympathy with and comprehension of the tenets of the heretics which were creeping into some enlightened minds. he had imbibed some new and enlightened views from stanch sons of the church, who were themselves preaching the doctrine of internal reform, but he went no further in these matters than his teachers. the very name of heresy was odious to him, but none the less did it go sorely against the grain to be a slave to the haughty prior of chadwater, and at his bidding to violate (as it seemed to him) the sacred laws of hospitality. whilst julian was gone upon his errand, he paced the floor restlessly and moodily. "i would we had got him off before this coil began. but who could have thought it would come--and brother emmanuel so true and faithful a son of the church? knowest thou, wife, that he keeps vigil three nights in the week in the chantry, watching sleeplessly, lest the lord coming suddenly should find the whole house sleeping? edred keeps watch one night, and good old margaret another. i did but lately know this thing. brother emmanuel holds that the church should ever be watching and waiting for her lord, lest he come as a thief in the night. he would have prayers ceaselessly ascending before him. it is his grief and pain that within the cloister walls, whence he has come, no true vigil is kept, but that sloth and ease have taken the place of watching and vigil and prayer. and such a man as that they would have me deliver to his death!" "art sure they mean him ill, my husband? it seems scarce possible." "i am very sure that it is so," answered the knight, with a stern glance bent upon the sunny landscape beyond the open window. "it is strange, but it is true; and i sometimes think that some fearful and unlooked-for judgment must some day fall upon men who--" but sir oliver paused, for his wife had made a gesture, as if to check the impetuous words that sprang to his lips. he smiled a little darkly. "thou art right, good dame. such words are better left unspoke. if it be dangerous to think some things, it be more dangerous to speak one's thoughts. let it be enough for us that the lord reigneth, be the earth never so unquiet. he sitteth a judge and a king. in his hands are the final issues of all things." the lady bent her head with due reverence, and then asked eagerly: "and when does the fishing smack sail?" sir oliver shook his head impatiently. "not for full fourteen days: it had but just come into port, and there be much merchandise to unlade and lade again. the skipper was an honest fellow, and a true-hearted man to boot. he would not take my gold, but said his passenger should bring it with him when he came; for he knew there was a chance he might not contrive to come, and he would not receive aught for services he might never have power to render. but he knows his business, and once safe on board the sloop our fugitive will be safe enow. but not till it be almost ready for sea--not till the skipper could weigh anchor at a moment's notice. he himself said he must not come aboard till the last moment. were any hue and cry to be made after him, any vessel in port would be certain to be searched. how to keep him safe for these fourteen--nay, it is but twelve days now--is the thing that is perplexing me. until the close of the appointed week naught will be done; but there will be one long week after that which will tax our resources to the utmost. and this summons from the prior makes the whole question the more difficult." "and the boys say that the house is being watched. hast not heard as much? there be spies from the priory posted round and about. all the gates are watched. edred thinks it is to strive to seize brother emmanuel should he venture forth from the shelter of the walls. "i like not the thought of all those prying eyes. my husband, these be strange times in which we dwell." sir oliver's face was dark and thoughtful. "ay, verily they be. how can men wonder that the ignorant and unlearned turn with loathing and scorn from such crooked and cowardly ways?-- "how now, julian? hast learned the cause of this ado? what says the lay brother? hast thou sounded him with care and with all due caution?" julian and edred came in together. julian looked flushed and excited, edred pale and thoughtful, and his eyes were glowing with a strange fire. "ay, verily, we have found it all out," cried the younger boy, with eager excitement of manner. "methinks it will be a fine sight. father, hast heard of the thing which men call the 'great abjuration'--was not that the name, edred?" the elder boy made a sign of assent. "it is for the heretics and lollards," pursued julian eagerly. "it hath been done before in many places, and here it is to be done two days from hence. all those persons who are suspected of heresy, or have been found guilty, are to be called before the lord prior and the lord of mortimer, and they will be bidden to abjure all their false doctrines publicly. the whole village will be assembled to hear them recant; high and low, rich and poor, all are to meet together in the great quadrangle of the priory to hear and see. the lay brother says it will be a fine sight. if they will not recant, the prior will give them over to the lord of mortimer, who will see that they suffer as heretics are wont to do. if they abjure their errors, the prior will set them their penances; and these be no light thing, by what the brother says. some will be branded in the cheek, that they carry the mark of their shame all their days; some will have a green badge affixed to their arm, to wear until they have leave to cast it off, that all men may know they have been touched by the pollution; whilst others will be set to menial toil in the monasteries, and will perchance spend the rest of their lives there, sundered from their friends and their homes and all those whom they love. "in truth, i marvel how any man can meddle with heresy in these days. the bishops have resolved to stamp it out once and for all, and methinks they will do so right well if they take such steps as these." sir oliver's face looked a little relieved as he heard his son's words. "then everybody within the district is to be summoned to meet at the priory upon this same day?" "ay, verily; all are to be there, from the highest to the lowest. the lay brothers are going round the country, bidding all to the spectacle. it is thought that after all have seen what will take place upon that day, there will be no longer any fear of heresy round chad and mortimer." the boy ran off to try to learn more details. edred stood looking at his father with troubled eyes. "father," he said, in a low voice, "must brother emmanuel go with us that day?" sir oliver looked down at the paper in his hands. "it bids me to attend with my family and all my household, save such as must be left to take due care of the house in my absence," said he. then he paused awhile in silent thought, and looking up he said suddenly, "go fetch brother emmanuel hither." edred vanished silently and swiftly, and soon afterwards returned with the monk at his side. the past few days had left their mark on the thin, spiritual face of the young ecclesiastic. the knowledge of the peril in which he stood had not daunted his courage, though it had drawn lines in his face and deepened the fire which burned within those dark, resolute eyes. his face looked as though he had slept but little, as though his nights had been passed in watching and prayer, as was indeed the case. he had an air of calm, resolute courage and hopefulness, though it was plain that he knew the danger of his position, and was fully alive to the peril which menaced him. sir oliver placed the paper in his hand, and watched him silently whilst he perused it. when he had finished he handed it back, and stood for a moment looking out of the window with an expression of thoughtful concentration on his face. at the end of a few moments he looked up quickly, and said: "you and yours will attend, sir oliver?" "yes; we must needs do that. but you?" brother emmanuel lifted his head and threw it back with a gesture of resolution and independence. "sir oliver," he said, "upon the day when your household is bidden to the priory, i cease, by the command of my superior, to be a member of this household. upon that day your command over me (if i may use the word)--your responsibility over me--ceases. whatever i may do or not do is no concern of yours. i am no longer the instructor of your sons, nor the priest within your walls. what i do i do of mine own self. none can rightly call you to task for it. let that be your safeguard; let that be your answer to all questions. the prior has ordained that from that day i cease to remain here. from the dawning of that day you have no part nor lot in my life. i take its control into mine own hands, and it were better you should not even know whither i go nor what i do." sir oliver bent a searching look upon him. "so be it," he answered, after a moment's thought. "but this one word i say to thee: thou hast been true and faithful to me and mine; wherefore my roof and my walls shall be thy shelter until thou goest forth of thine own freewill. be not afraid to remain here with me. i will defend thee with every power i have until such time as thou mayest safely escape beyond the seas." he held out his hand. the monk took it and pressed it between both of his. "the lord deal with thee and thine as thou hast dealt with me," was the reply, spoken in deep, earnest accents. the knight bent his head in response to the benediction; and brother emmanuel moved silently away, closely followed by edred, who looked pale and troubled. "thou dost not think he will present himself at the priory with the rest of the world?" asked lady chadgrove, with anxiety in face and voice; and her husband thoughtfully shook his head as he made reply: "i trow not. i have spoken to him of that before, and he was very well resolved to fly the country and strive to finish the work he has begun, to join the band who are toiling might and main to bring a purer and holier spirit within the pale of the church and her servants. it is a work to which he has long felt called, and he believes that it will be faithfully carried out somewhere, if not here. for a while he will be safer beyond the seas; but he may return and join with those in oxford and london who are toiling in the same cause. he knows of the sloop--where it lies and when it sails; and i trow he is laying plans of his own. it were better not to ask of these. i would rather walk in ignorance. a man cannot betray, however inadvertently, what he knows not, and the subtle skill in questioning possessed by our reverend prior might win the secret from any unskilled person ere he knew he had revealed it. i know not what he means to do, nor shall i seek to know. but he has courage, spirit, and a consciousness of integrity which may carry him through much. methinks he has judged wisely and well both for us and himself. "when this day comes," touching the paper in his hand, "it is very true that i am no longer accountable for him as a member of my house hold. he has received his recall from his superior. it is for him to answer to it or not as he thinks best." a sense of excitement and uneasiness pervaded the whole of the house during the two following days. in all men's mouths was talk of this solemn abjuration which was about to be forced upon all those suspected of heresy; and many persons who had tampered slightly and privately with doubtful matters went about looking uneasy and troubled, fearful lest they might find themselves accused of illicit practices, and be summoned forth to do penance in a more or less severe form before they could hope to receive absolution. sir oliver chadgrove's household was strictly orthodox in all outward matters; but the leaven of lollardism was wonderfully penetrating, and he himself had suspected and feared that some of his servants might be tainted therewith. he awaited the day with almost as much anxiety as any of his dependants, for he well knew that the lord of mortimer would lose no opportunity of dealing him a heavy blow; and if he could be proved guilty of harbouring heretics or even suspected persons in his house, it would give his enemy a handle against him that he would not be slow to use. as for the boys, it was plain that something of unwonted excitement was agitating their minds; but in the general anxiety pervading the whole household little account was taken of this. the day came at last, dawning fair and clear. sir oliver assembled his household early in the courtyard, and every retainer was clad in his best and mounted upon his best charger. it was well to make a goodly display of strength and wealth on an occasion like the present. doubtless the lord of mortimer would be there with all his train, and chad must not cut a much poorer figure in the eyes of the beholders. none knew better than sir oliver how far a goodly seeming went in condoning offences and allaying suspicion, especially in the eyes of such a worldly-wise man as the prior of chadwater. a proud bearing, a goodly following, a gorgeous retinue, would be a far better proof of orthodoxy in his eyes than any saintliness of life and conduct. mortimer would know that right well, though, as he had been elected as the secular agent to assist the prior in his work today, plainly no stigma of any kind was thought to rest upon his household. sir oliver knew that mortimer was a larger property than chad, and that the baron was a greater man than the knight. it was reasonable enough that he had been selected for this office, and such choice need imply no distrust of himself on the prior's part; but still there was an uneasy, underlying consciousness that he was suspected and watched, and the espionage which had been kept up all this while on his house was a plain proof that he was not entirely trusted. the priory and its adjacent buildings formed a very fine specimen of medieval architecture. the abbey was in itself a masterpiece of beauty, and the great block formed by refectories and dormitories stood at right angles to it. the prior's house, with its ample accommodation and its guest chambers, formed an other side to the great quadrangle; whilst the granaries, storehouses, and such-like buildings formed the fourth--the whole enclosing a very large space, which formed the exercising ground of the monks when they were kept by their rules within the precincts of their home. the smoothest of green grass, carefully kept and tended, formed the carpet of this enclosure; and today the whole quadrangle formed an animated and picturesque spectacle on account of the shifting, many-coloured groups of people gathered together there with looks of expectation and wonder. a holiday appearance was presented by the crowd; for however ill at ease any person might feel, it was his aim and object to look as jovial and well assured as possible. every knee was bent whenever any monk appeared. the professions of reverence and orthodoxy were almost comic in their display. the whole of the rural population had gathered in this open space when the master of chad and his retainers rode in, followed by the humbler servants and many women and children on foot. but the lord of mortimer had not yet put in an appearance, though some of his retainers and men-at-arms might be seen mingling with the crowd; and sir oliver and his wife and sons looked curiously about them as they reined back their horses against the wall, wondering whether they should dismount altogether, and what the order of the day's proceedings was to be. there were two great raised platforms at one end of the open enclosure, and upon these platforms, both of which were draped with cloth, many seats had been arranged. one of these was canopied, and was plainly for the prior; but beyond this sir oliver could be sure of nothing. when, however, it became known that the party from chad had arrived, a lay brother came out and bid them dismount and send away their steeds to the meadow beyond, where one or two of the servants could see to them; and as soon as this had been done, sir oliver was told that he and his lady would occupy certain seats upon one of the platforms, but that there would not be room for more than his eldest son to have a place there beside him. the younger boys must remain in the crowd. edred and julian were well pleased at this, and gave each other a quick pressure of the hand. edred was intensely excited; and gradually edged his way to a good position not far from the platform, that he might hear and see everything; and julian stood beside him, as intent upon the proceedings as anyone. with a great show of ecclesiastical pomp, forth came the prior with his monks in attendance, and closely following them the haughty lord of mortimer; with his son-in-law, sir edward chadwell, by his side, and his daughter following her husband. with these came many knights and persons of standing in the county; and whilst the prior and the monks grouped themselves upon one platform, the barons, knights, and nobles took their appointed places on the other, the owners of mortimer and chad being for once in their lives elbow to elbow, and constrained to exchange words and looks of greeting. a deep hush fell upon the crowd, and the people surged back against the walls, leaving the centre space vacant. at the same time certain men wearing the garb and the air of jailers or executioners came forth and stood in the midst of the open space--one of them bearing the glowing brazier and the branding iron, which he placed on a slab of stone in the very centre of the enclosure. when all preparations were complete, the prior arose, and in a loud and solemn voice commanded that the prisoners should be brought forth--those persons who had not been merely suspected of heresy, but had been found with heretical books in their possession, or were known to be in the habit of meeting together to read such books and hear the pestilent doctrines which vile and wicked persons were propagating in the land. at that command a number of monks appeared, leading bound, and in scant and miserable clothing, about a score of men and women, foremost amongst whom was the hunchback, whose face and voice were alike well known to edred. most of the prisoners were trembling and cowering; but he held his head erect, and looked calmly round upon the assembled potentates. there was no fear or shrinking in his pinched face. he eyed the prior with a look as unbending as his own. then began a long harangue from the great man, in which the wiles of the devil in the pestilent doctrines of the heretics, so-called lollards, were forcibly and not illogically pointed out. when no man might give answer, when none might show where misrepresentation came in, where there was nothing given but the one side of the question, it was not difficult to make an excellent case against the accused. the early heretics, mostly unlettered people, always marred the purity of the cause by falling into exaggeration and foolishness, by denouncing what was good as well as what was corrupt in a system against which they were revolting--thus laying themselves open to attack and confutation, and alienating from them many who would have striven to stand their friend and to have gently set them right had they been less headstrong and less prone to tear away and condemn every practice the meaning of which they were, through ignorance and want of comprehension, unable to enter into. in the hands of the skilful prior their doctrines were indeed made to look vile and blasphemous and foolish in the extreme. many persons shuddered at hearing what words had been used by them with regard to the holy sacraments; and most of the persons brought to their trial were weeping and terrified at their own conduct before the prior's speech was half through. only the hunchback retained his bold front, and looked back with scorn into the face of the prelate as he made point after point in his scathing denunciation. when the harangue ended, the prior made a sign to his servants, and immediately one of the most timorous and craven of the prisoners was brought up before him. he was far too cunning a judge to try first to bend the spirit of the hunchback. he knew that with that man he could do nothing, and he knew too what marvels were sometimes accomplished by the example of self devotion. so commencing with a weak and trembling woman, who was ready to sink into the ground with fear and shame merely at being thus had up before the eyes of the whole place, he easily obtained a solemn recantation and abjuration of every form of heresy; and in a tone of wonderful mildness, though of solemn warning, too, told her that since she was a woman and young, and had doubtless been led away by others, she should be pardoned after she had paid a visit barefoot to a shrine forty miles off--a shrine much derided by the heretic teachers--and had returned in like fashion, having tasted nothing but bread and water the whole time of the journey. then came, one after another, the weakest and most timorous of the craven crowd. the infection of fear had seized upon them. ignorant, superstitious, scarcely understanding the new teachings that had attracted them, and fearfully terrified of falling under the ban of the church under whose shelter they had always lived, was it wonderful that one after another should abjure their heretical opinions, and swear to listen to the enticer no more? some strove to ask questions upon the points which troubled them; but scarce any sort of disputing was allowed. the prior was subtle in fence, and by a few scathing words could generally quell the questioner and make him wish his objection unspoken. and those who showed a tendency towards disputation were far more harshly dealt with than those who abjured at once. the red-hot iron, the badge of shame, the servitude which might be lifelong were imposed upon them. so a sense of despair fell upon the little band, and they yielded one by one; only three refusing to take the words of the oath--the hunchback and two more, one being a lad of about sixteen summers; and after using every threat and argument to overcome their obstinacy, the prior called upon the lord of mortimer as the representative of the secular arm, and delivered the prisoners over to him to be dealt with after the manner of the law. a shuddering groan went up, as if involuntarily, from many throats as the prisoners were led away by the guards of mortimer. the prior looked sternly round to check the demonstration, reminding the people that the burning of the body was as nothing, it was the eternal burning of the soul in hell that men should fear; and that if in the midst of the flames the guilty persons recanted their sins, it was just possible that even then the merciful god would hear and receive their prayer, and that they might be saved from the eternal death of the soul. then somewhat changing his tone, though still speaking with gravity and even with sadness, he told the people of the pain with which he had heard stories of the sympathy evinced by some even amongst those standing about him for the wicked and pestilent disturbers of the public peace and the safety of the church. one or two persons he called upon by name, and rebuked with some severity for words reported to have been dropped by them which savoured, if not of heresy itself, yet of carelessness and irreverence for sacred things which bordered dangerously on heresy. one after another these persons came forward trembling, asked pardon, and were dismissed not unkindly, but with many an admonition for the future. it was made plain and patent to all that the bishops had absolutely resolved to stamp out heresy once and for all; and for once the prior and abbots, the monks and the friars, were in accord and working hand in hand. it was useless for any to hope to stem such a tide as that--such was the tenor of the prior's speech--heresy was to be exterminated. on that point there was no manner of doubt; and if, knowing this, persons chose deliberately to put themselves under the ban of the law, well, their blood must be upon their own head. neither god nor man would have mercy upon them. several of the retainers and a few of the actual household of chad had received admonitions of this sort. sir oliver looked on uneasily, catching a subdued look of triumph in the eyes of his rival and foe. he did not believe his household seriously tainted with heresy. he knew that certain of them who had been with him in london had imbibed the teaching of dean colet and his pupils, and he did not know, any more than the dean himself, that the lollards secretly encouraged each other to go and hear a man who spoke so much of the truth they themselves held. the line where orthodoxy ends and heresy begins has been at all times hard to define, and perhaps the upholders of the "church" knew as little as anybody how hard this definition was becoming. several persons had stood forth (invited by the prior to do so) and confessed to dangerous sentiments which they now saw to be utterly wrong, and vowed to abjure forever; or had accused other persons of words which required explanation, or of deeds which suggested a leaning towards secret meetings where heresy might be discussed. but the day's proceedings seemed drawing to a close, and nothing of any great peril to the lord of chad had occurred, when just at the close of the afternoon brother fabian suddenly came forward and whispered a few words in the prior's ear; and he, after a moment of apparent hesitation, spoke aloud. "it is with great grief that i learn that one of our own brethren has been heard to utter words which sound strangely like those of heresy; but since it is our bounden duty that strict justice be done to all, whether high or low, rich or poor, nay, whether it be our own son or brother, i here call upon brother emmanuel to stand forth publicly, as others have done, and answer the charge brought against him." the prior looked round as he spoke these words in a loud voice; but there was no movement either in the crowd or amongst the cowled monks, and he spoke the name again without eliciting any response. the lord of mortimer leaned forward and spoke to his neighbour. "methinks this brother was a member of your household, sir oliver," he said, with a gleam of malice in his eye. "surely you received a mandate bidding you come with all your household. where is this preceptor of your sons?" "his duties ceased last night," replied sir oliver calmly, in a tone loud enough to reach the prior's ears. "he had command to return today to the priory, and last evening he said farewell to me and mine. i have not seen him today." "did he know of the summons to all to attend the gathering here today?" sir oliver bent his head. "he did. i showed him the paper myself." "then wherefore is he not here?" "that know i not. i did not know he was not here. i do not know it even now. i have never known brother emmanuel fail in obedience yet." the name was being whispered all round. the monks were professing to be searching for the missing brother. the prior looked at sir oliver with some sternness. "where is this monk?" he asked, "i do not know," was the firm response. "i have not seen him since his farewell yesternight." "you thought he was coming hither?" "i knew naught. he told me naught of his purposes." the prior's eyes flashed ominously. "have a care, sir oliver, have a care. brother emmanuel is yet within the walls of chad. i have reason to know he has not left them the whole of this past week. he has been disobedient to his vow of submission. he has not come at my bidding." "i know naught of it," replied the knight calmly. the lord of mortimer leaned forward once more with an evil smile in his eyes. "let not mistaken generosity get the better of prudence, my brother," he said, with derisiveness in his tone. "you know well that the penalty of hiding and harbouring a heretic is little short of that of heresy itself. have a care you do not lose all just for the caprice of the moment, which in time to come you will have leisure bitterly to repent." the prior, too, was eying him sternly. "lord mortimer gives good counsel, sir oliver," he said. "thou knowest i am no enemy of thine. what has this day passed must have shown thee that. thou knowest that there be some here who might have been called before me today to answer for their deeds who have been spared for their youth and gentle birth. thou hast had proof that i am no enemy of thine. but the walls of chad must not harbour a heretic. brother emmanuel is there; he hath been there, and hath not sallied forth this many days, showing that a guilty conscience keeps him within. he cannot go forth without my knowledge; and if thou wilt not give him up to me, i must obtain authority and have the house searched and the man dragged forth. and i tell thee freely, if it be found that thou hast lent thine aid in harbouring a heretic and disobedient monk, thy lands will be forfeit, if not thy life, and the lord of mortimer will be likewise lord of chad." at that moment, had any person had eyes to heed it, it might have been observed that edred and julian slipped like veritable shadows through the packed crowd. the next moment they had reached the gateway, had passed under it without exciting any observation, and as soon as they reached the cover of the forest, they set off to run towards chad as fast as their legs could carry them--far faster than their horses could have borne them through the narrow paths of the tangled wood. chapter viii: hidden away. fleetly, silently, untiringly ran the two brothers, without exchanging a single word of their purpose even to each other. the distance from the priory to the house was a matter of some two miles, but to the trained and hardy limbs of the country-bred lads a two miles' run was a trifle, and they were only slightly flushed and winded when they paused, by mutual consent, a short distance from chad, at a point where the tall turrets and battlements became visible over the treetops. julian, who was a few paces in advance, pulled up short, and caught his brother by the arm. "hist!" he whispered cautiously. "i trow the prior's spies be still on the watch. we must not be seen coming in this guise. let us wait a few moments till our breath be returned; then we will go forward boldly and openly. "edred, have a care how thou answerest me when i shall speak to thee anon. we have a part to play, and brother emmanuel's life may hang upon how we play it." edred nodded assent. he was more weary, because more deeply excited, than his brother, and no sleep had visited his eyes the previous night. it had been spent with brother emmanuel in vigil in the chantry. the strain of watching and deeply-seated anxiety was telling upon the boy. he was glad that julian had all his wits about him, for his own head seemed swimming and his mind unhinged. they stood silent awhile, until both had regained their breath; then putting on their caps, which for convenience they had carried in their hands hitherto, they started forth again at a leisurely pace, and with an air of openness and fearlessness, in the direction of the main entrance, talking to each other as they went in no softened tones. "it was a fine sight!" cried julian. "i would not have missed it for worlds. that villainous hunchback! so he was a damnable heretic after all! i grieve we ever stood his friend. may he perish like the vile creature he is! i will ask brother emmanuel to set me a penance for having touched him that day when we thought him an innocent trader. "edred, thinkest thou that it can be true that brother emmanuel is himself a heretic? if it be, we must drive him forth with blows and curses. to sit down at board with a heretic, to hear teaching from his lips! beshrew me, but one might as well have a friend from the pit for an instructor! it cannot be; surely it cannot be." the boy spoke hotly and angrily. he had stopped short as if in the heat of argument, and edred saw by the flash in his eye that he had caught sight of some lurking spy close at hand. "belike no," answered edred cautiously, but taking his cue instantly from the other. "i did not well hear what brother fabian said; surely it could be naught so bad as that?" "i scarcely heard myself. i was something aweary by that time of the spectacle, and methought all the heretics had been dealt with. i saw that thou, like myself, wouldst fain stretch thy limbs once again, and i had shifted too far away to be certain what was said. but i did hear the name of brother emmanuel spoken, and there was a call for him, and he came not. "edred, can it be that he feared to come? hath he a guilty conscience? if that be so, shall we strive to find him and keep watch upon him ourselves, that if the good prior comes to search for him at chad we may be able to give him up, though he have hidden himself never so cunningly?" "marry, a good thought. it is certainly something strange that he did not come at the prior's summons-and he a brother of the order too. sure, it looks somewhat as though he were afraid. but if that be so, we shall scarce find him at chad. he will have benefited by the absence of the household to make good his escape. "beshrew me, but he is a crafty knave. who would have thought it of him?" "when men turn heretic they seem to be indued with all the cunning of the devil!" cried julian hotly. "but let us not dally here; let us run within and strive to seek and to find him. it may be he will think he may hide himself the better in some nook or corner of the house, since he be well known all around; and the good prior said somewhat of having kept a watch upon him. but i trow he cannot hide so well but what we shall find him. i would fain earn my forgiveness for having shielded one heretic by helping to give up another. "come, edred, let us be going. those priests are as crafty as foxes when the heretic leaven gets into them." the brothers dashed away again towards the house; and when once within the shelter of the walls, julian nipped his brother's hand, saying in a whisper: "there was a spy overhead who drank in every word. he had no notion mine eyes had seen him, for he was marvellous well concealed, and i never should have found his hiding place had i not chanced one day to see him climbing into it. nobody will suspect now that we have had a hand in the hiding of the good brother. but let us make all haste, for no man knows when the bloodhounds may be upon us to strive to take him away." edred's face was very pale, but steady and resolved. he understood, better perhaps than his younger brother, the peril of the enterprise upon which they had embarked. but he did not shrink from that one whit, only he did hope and trust that his father would never be implicated by their conduct; for if, after all, the priest were to be found hidden within the precincts of chad, it was easy to prophesy a great reverse of fortune to all who dwelt therein. however, even that consideration did not move him at this moment. brother emmanuel, their preceptor and friend and comrade (for he had been all three to his pupils during his residence beneath their roof), stood in deadly peril of his life, and to save him from the malice of his foes must be the first consideration now. the existence of the secret chamber was not known even to their father. not a soul in the house or in the world knew of it save the three brothers and warbel. warbel was absolutely to be trusted. he owed too much himself to that retreat to wish to betray its existence to others, and he loathed and hated the whole household of mortimer; and it was very plain to all concerned that mortimer was working hand in hand with the prior in this matter--the one to obtain possession of the person of the offending monk, the other to find cause of accusation against the owner of chad for harbouring and concealing a suspected person, in defiance of the laws of the land and of the church. that there was conspiracy afoot against chad and its master edred did not for a moment doubt; but the first consideration must now be the safe hiding of brother emmanuel, and the boys dashed eagerly through the empty house, to find him in the little chantry, where so many of his hours were spent. he was reading the office of vespers without any congregation to assist. instinctive reverence caused the boys to kneel in silence till the brief service concluded, and then, after prostrating themselves before the altar, they beckoned vehemently to the monk to follow them, and conducted him up a narrow winding stair, but little used, to the large sleeping chamber which the three brothers had shared ever since their early childhood. once there julian carefully locked the door, whilst edred in brief and graphic words told the story of that day's spectacle. brother emmanuel listened calmly, with his features set into an expression which the boys were beginning to know well, although they did not read its meaning aright. sternness and resolve were strangely blended with an infinite compassion and a look of almost divine tenderness; his words were few, and carried little of their meaning home to the hearts of the boys. "and thus they strive, thus they think to check the growth of the evil weed by fire and by the sword! yet even nature may teach them that the burned field only yields the richer crop, and that the plough tearing its way along is a fertilizer of the earth. would to heaven they would send forth evangelists from the church, not with fire and sword, but with the sword of the spirit--the word of god--with the lamp of life in their hands; not to deny the people that life-giving fount, but to give them to drink through the channels god himself has appointed! then, indeed, methinks heresy would soon cease to exist. but theirs is not the way; god who dwelleth in the heavens will soon show them that. theirs is not the way!" but time there was none now for one of those conversations in which edred's heart delighted. julian burst in then with the story of the latest scene in that solemn spectacle--of the whispered words of brother fabian; of the call for brother emmanuel; of the appeal made to sir oliver, and his reply; and finally of the certainty that the house would speedily be searched, and the necessity of getting into safe hiding before that happened. "safe hiding!" said brother emmanuel with a slight smile; "my kind pupils, there can be no safe hiding from the messengers sent forth from the church. wherever i am they will find and drag me forth. i am grateful for all the goodness shown to me at chad by all within its walls; but none shall suffer on my account. it hath not pleased god to open to me a way of escape, wherefore i must now yield myself to the will of my enemies; and it were better to go forth and be taken by the spies without than to remain here a source of peril to those within these walls." "but there is yet another way!" cried edred with flashing eyes. "thou shalt not go forth, and yet thou shalt not be a source of peril to any living soul. brother emmanuel, methinks it was god's doing, or that of the holy saints, that this hap befell us which revealed to us a safe hiding place of which none knows but ourselves, not even our father and mother, and the secret of which we have preserved unto this day, resisting the temptation to divulge it to any living soul. time presses. when we are there i will tell thee all the tale--how this secret place came to our knowledge. but now let us tarry no longer, but come quickly and see for thyself. once within that friendly shelter thou wilt have naught to fear save the loneliness to which thou art well used. "see, there is julian already opening the door. come, my father, come!" julian had kindled the little lamp the boys had constructed for themselves, and which was much upon the principle of a modern bull's-eye, and could be safely carried through draughty passages without flickering or going out; and now the wondering monk allowed edred to take him by the hand and lead him step by step along the narrow, tortuous passage. julian closed the door behind them, showing how the cleverly-contrived spring acted; then they proceeded step by step in cautious silence--for this passage skirted a great portion of the house, and was very long--towards their destination, till at last they stood within the secret chamber itself; and julian extinguished the light, to let the evening sunshine filter in and show how much of illumination it could give. "now, brother emmanuel, let us show you all," said edred eagerly; "for methinks it must be very few visits we must pay thee, and those at dead of night. for i much mistake me if we be not closely watched by some spy of the prior's these next days, and it will not do for any to think we have hidden haunts of our own." "nay, nay, my children; ye must not run into peril for me. far rather would i--" "i know--i know!" cried edred. "but in truth thou needst not fear to rest here. this is the lost chamber, the secret of which had perished for well nigh a generation, till kindly fortune made it known to us. all men think that the chamber lay in the portion of chad that was destroyed in the late wars. none dream it still exists. but here it is, and bertram has made out little by little exactly where it lies, and i will tell it thee. "this portion at the lower and darker end is jammed in betwixt the ceiled roof of the great gun room and that attic chamber where the dry roots are stored away in the winter months before the frost binds them into the ground. none enter that attic in the summertide save rats and mice, and though there may be many passing to and fro in the gun room, no sound from here can penetrate there; for we have tried times and again, when there has been none by to hear, if we can make each other hear sounds from either place. from the gun room noise will, if very great, penetrate hither; but nothing thou canst do will make them below hear thee. "then this wider and lighter and loftier portion, where the light comes in, is but a space filched away from the roofs and leads, and jammed in in such a fashion that it would defy a magician to find it from without. we tried days and days and could not do it, and never did, albeit we can climb like cats and had an inkling where it was--until we put julian within to shout aloud and guide us by his voice. it is so placed that none can get really nigh to those places where the cracks are made to let in the light and air. thou needst not fear, though all the monks in the priory come to search, that this hiding place will ever be found." the monk looked around the narrow chamber and drew an involuntary breath of relief. if indeed this thing were so, if indeed he might lie hidden from discovery and defy the most stringent search, might it not be a god-appointed means of salvation for him? might he not be doing wrong in insisting upon falling into the hands of men? would it indeed be possible for him to secrete himself without bringing down upon others the wrath he himself would escape? whilst he stood thus debating with himself, the boys pulled him by the sleeve and spoke eagerly, though involuntarily in low tones. "and see further. here is food laid up against this day. it will all keep for many weeks. it is but poor fare, but not poorer than thou art well used to--salted meat, and dried fish, and oaten cake; which keeps moist far longer than any other. here are a few confections, and here is wine, and a jar of good mead. as for water, it may be had at this trough here, and a goodly supply; only it comes with somewhat of a rush, and the bung is not easily rammed back in its place. it is best to raise the tube--so--in the hand; but we could not make shift to do better. there is the lantern, and oil in this vessel, and none can see the light at night from any place when it is burned. i have placed three books in you corner--i dared not take more from the library; but i knew thou wouldst have thy breviary with thee, and thou art never dull. if it may be done safely, one of us will visit thee from time to time; and if there is any way of escape open to thee, thou shalt surely hear thereof. "but be not dismayed if days go by and thou hearest naught. it may be safer that thou shouldst be left quite alone. thou wilt not think thyself forgotten?" brother emmanuel's eyes were fixed with a tender gaze upon the faces of the bold, generous boys. he took their hands in his, and they bent the knee to receive his blessing. his words were few and brief, but each lad as he rose resolved deep down in his heart that he would suffer the penalty of death itself sooner than betray the secret hiding place and give the brother up to his foes. then with a few more last words respecting the hiding place and the arrangements made for the comfort of its occupant, the pair stole away, and soon found themselves safely within the walls of their own room, the door of which was still safely locked. they looked each other in the face with a proud, glad smile. "it is done!" cried edred, drawing a long breath. "nay, not altogether," answered julian, with eyes that flashed with excitement; and drawing a step nearer his brother, he said in changed tones, "now must that rascally priest have fled, and it behoves us to search the precincts of the place with all diligence. we must not leave a nook or a cranny unvisited, and must make a mighty coil. thou takest me, brother, dost thou not?" edred made a quick, eager sign of assent. "ay, julian, i do; and when we have done all that, let us back to the priory again. we must whisper in our father's ear that brother emmanuel is safe. then will he act with a freer hand. and it were better, perchance, that we were all there to ride back with him when he takes his leave." julian assented at once to this proposition; and forth went the boys, at first calling aloud the name of their tutor, and then halting, always within earshot of one of the spies, to debate where he could have concealed himself, darting hither and thither, as if suddenly remembering some new place, and ever returning disappointed and vexed. "he is a veritable fox!" cried julian, flinging his cap on the ground in a well-assumed tempest of chagrin. "he must have left chad altogether, for not a trace of him is here; and i looked to have the pleasure of bringing him ourselves before the reverend prior, to atone for having helped that other pestilent fellow to avoid for a while the hand of the law. a plague upon him and his cunning ways! unless he have found the secret chamber our father knows of, and which he once took us to see, there be no other place in all chad where he can be lurking, unless he has been moving from spot to spot at our approach. a pest upon the crafty rogue!" "we shall do no good loitering here, since he be really gone," remarked edred, in a tone of vexation very like his brother's; "perchance he may have fallen into the hands of the prior through the watch of which he spoke. i trust it may be so. but for us, i trow we had better go back to see the end of the day's spectacle. we can do no more at chad. if he is hiding he will not dare come forth now, with all the folks returning so soon; and if he has got clean away, nothing we can do will bring him back." julian grumbled in the finest phrases he could think of as the two pursued their way back towards the priory, increasing their speed as they left chad behind, and very quickly gaining the meadow, where the servants were already beginning to collect the horses and get them ready for their masters. the day's proceedings were over. refreshments were being served in the refectory to all of the better sort. sir oliver's two younger sons had never been missed; but edred contrived to slip into the hall, and in passing beside his father's chair to whisper in his ear the four simple words: "brother emmanuel is safe!" none heard the whisper, not even bertram, who was sitting next his father, though he read it in his brother's eye the next moment. edred had affected to catch the clasp of his belt against his father's chair as he passed by, and in pausing to free it had bent his head and spoken the brief message. no change passed over sir oliver's face. not a creature present observed the trifling by-play. wine had circulated freely, and much laughing and talking were going on. the prior had unbent from his judicial severity, and even the lord of mortimer was smiling and bland, although there was something in his aspect that suggested the fierce feline play of a man-eating creature biding its time and toying with its victim. just before the close of the feast sir oliver rose to his feet. "my lord prior, and you knights and gentlemen," he said suddenly, addressing all those who sat at the board in one comprehensive glance round the table. "i have been not a little disturbed and astonished today by hearing that there is ill known of one who has been long a member of my household--brother emmanuel--whom the reverend prior himself sent forth to be the instructor of my sons, and who has always comported himself right reverently and seemly in my house. but inasmuch as there is cause of offence in him, and that he has this day refused obedience to his lawful superior, and has not come at the bidding of the prior, i cannot but own him in fault, and decline to have further dealings with him. i do not know whether he is yet at chad. i have not seen him since his farewell last evening. but if he be yet there, let the lord of mortimer, or you, holy father, send a company of servants to bring him thence. "i have heard it whispered around that he is hiding within the walls of chad, and that we of that household know where he lurks. my reply to that whisper is a denial (which i will take upon oath if need be) that i know aught whatever about him; and furthermore, i will throw open my house, upon any day and at any time, to whatever persons shall be sent to seek him, and will aid them in every possible way in the finding of the offender." a murmur of approval went round the company. the prior looked pleased, and a smile crossed his face. the only person who did not seem gratified by this openness was the lord of mortimer, whose face contracted sourly, and who gave a keen glance at his rival, as though he would have read his very soul. but the calm gaze with which sir oliver returned this look did not appear to restore his equanimity, and he flashed a glance at his son-in-law which plainly betokened surprise and chagrin. "well spoken, sir oliver," said the prior; "and since i have excellent reason to know that the brother has not left chad, and cannot do it without my knowledge, it is plain to me that he is hiding in some place there, albeit all unknown to you and yours. wherefore, on the morrow, i myself, together with my good friend the lord of mortimer, will present ourselves at chad, and make full search, and we shall no doubt find the heretic monk cowering away in some undreamed-of hiding place, and will drag him thence to the fate he so well merits. "chad has its secrets, has it not? i have heard of them in days gone by." "it has several cunning nooks and crannies, but all of these will i myself display to you upon the morrow," replied the knight calmly; and the lord of mortimer arose with a crafty smile upon his face, and addressed the prior in these words: "reverend father, i do not willingly speak ill of my neighbours, least of all of one who is now near akin to me through the marriage of my daughter with sir edward, who comes of the old stock of chad. yet i cannot but state here, in this place, that i hold sir oliver to have drawn down suspicion upon himself by failing to give up brother emmanuel a week ago when it was demanded of him. there be something to my mind strange and unworthy in such an act; and i here call upon all men to witness that i verily believe we shall find this traitor monk sheltering within the walls of chad, and that if this be so i shall openly accuse sir oliver before all the world--before the king himself--of harbouring traitors and heretics, and shall make petition that chad and all that pertains to it be forfeit, as the penalty for such evil courses, and be given to the rightful lord by inheritance--sir edward chadwell." the partisans of mortimer raised a cheer; those of chad received the challenge with groans and curses. sir oliver spoke not a word, but sat with his head proudly erect, and his eyes gleaming somewhat dangerously; whilst the prior commanded silence by a gesture of his hand, and spoke to quell the tumult. "my lord of mortimer, i have far more trust than you in the integrity of good sir oliver. i trow he will be able to clear himself of whatever suspicions lie upon him; and if the monk be found within his house, he shall have every opportunity of explaining his presence there. at the same time, i will not deny that it will look ill for him if he be found there; and that the tongues of all suspicious persons may be silenced, so that none shall say there has been opportunity for him to get the monk secretly away from the place, i will double the watch that has already been set around chad, and i will send thither with sir oliver and his family two of my trustiest sons, brother fabian and brother nathaniel, to keep strict watch within doors, that there be no cause for any enemy to say that any there have aided an unlawful escape, or have striven to hide a miscreant from those who justly demand him." sir oliver bent his head. "any brother coming from chadwater will be an honoured guest at chad," he said. "i was about to ask if brother fabian was to be sent thither to instruct my sons." "ay, and to find out what germs of heresy yon false monk may not have implanted!" cried lord mortimer, losing control of himself as he saw the calmness of his enemy, and felt that the prey he had so confidently looked to be his might even now slip from his grasp. "it was those lads from chad who strove to protect yon miserable hunchback who will be burned to ashes for his sins ere three more days have gone by. how explain you such conduct as that, sir oliver? are you and your dame rearing up a heretic brood, to cumber the land in days to come?" but the prior here interposed somewhat sternly. he had no intention of allowing his table to be made the scene of a disturbance that might lead to bloodshed. he turned somewhat sternly upon the haughty baron, and his words were few and plain. "my lord of mortimer, sir oliver has answered to me for that offence. you take something too much upon yourself in thus striving to sit in judgment, and that in mine own presence. "and now, gentlemen, the sun will be shortly setting, and some of you have many miles to ride. we have done the day's work in a thorough and righteous fashion; and i will now give you my blessing, and dismiss you to your homes. i trust this may be the last time that i have to assemble you together to drive from amongst us those who are tainted by the curse of heresy." half an hour later the party for chad were riding quietly homeward through the forest with two cowled monks in their company. the last charge to these from the prior had been: "thou, brother fabian, keep a sharp eye by night and by day upon the boys; and thou, brother nathaniel, upon the knight and his lady. if any of those are in the secret, be it your mission to find out and bring it home to them." chapter ix: the search. "if brother emmanuel is found, chad will be forfeit." such was the burden of edred's thoughts as he rode homeward at his brothers' side, just behind their father and mother, at the close of that eventful day's proceedings. it was a thought that could not but be fraught with some terror to the boy, who knew that he had been instrumental in hiding the threatened monk, and that if by some gruesome chance the secret were to be discovered, their bitter enemy would make it an excuse for prosecuting his malicious and covetous purpose towards chad with redoubled ardour, and with every prospect of success. at present the prior was standing neutral betwixt the two foes; at present the king was well disposed towards sir oliver. but should it be proved beyond dispute that he had set the church at defiance, and had harboured a suspected heretic within his walls, then the prior would at once turn against him, and representations would be made to the king which would almost force him to turn away his favour. the lord of chad would be a disgraced and suspected person, whilst in all probability the wiles of the ambitious mortimer would prove successful, and the claim of sir edward chadwell would be admitted, and the estate pass into his hands. the thought was maddening. the bare idea of being forced to leave the old home sent the hot blood coursing through the boy's body. if such a thing as that were to befall them, it would break their father's heart. and how should he ever hold up his head again, knowing that in some sort he had been the author of the mischief? all the brothers had been heart and soul together in their desire to hide the brother from the wrath and unjust tyranny of the prior; but edred felt as though the greatest responsibility had been his, though he could scarcely have said why. julian had certainly taken the lead in the final act of the drama; but julian was yet a boy, and did not thoroughly realize the perils which might follow such a course. edred did, and his face was grave and thoughtful; and when from time to time he stole a glance at bertram, he saw that his elder brother's face was overcast and anxious, too. they did not dare to exchange a single word upon the subject nearest to their hearts as they rode decorously behind their parents and the two monks. the whole train had to restrain their horses to the ambling pace of the steed bestridden by the monks, who were by no means skilled riders; and dusk had fallen ere they all rode into the courtyard of chad, where the bustle of dismounting afforded the brothers the chance of escaping for a few minutes to their upper chamber together. "we must not stay a minute; the spies will be after us!" whispered bertram. "but one question i must ask. is he there?" "yea, verily; and none need visit him for many days. it were better not. "but, brothers both, lend me your strong arms here. i would move this great chest across the fireplace. ask no question; i will show you why anon." edred was the speaker, and he indicated an enormous carved oak chest quite twelve feet in length, which was kept in this room to hold the clothing of the three lads. they did from time to time change its position in the room, so that no remark would be excited by the fact that it had been moved. as edred wished to place it now, it would stand right across the fireplace, blocking entirely the secret door; but bertram looked a little doubtfully at it when it was in place, saying tentatively: "thou dost not think it would draw attention to the carved pillars of the fireplace? we shall have cunning and crafty men to deal with on the morrow." edred smiled slightly. "wait till the morrow comes, and thou shalt see," he answered; and then the brothers hastened down again, knowing that any sudden disappearance on their part might be marked and held as suspicious. they had not, however, been gone long enough to be missed, and the two monks who had been told off to keep watch within this house had but just made their way into the hall, where hot spiced wine was being dispensed, and the table set out for supper. notwithstanding the feast recently partaken of at the priory, the brothers appeared by no means loath to sit down once again, and edred could not but observe how differently they comported themselves from brother emmanuel, and how thoroughly they appreciated the dainty viands which were brought out in their honour. he did not mean to sit in judgment--he scarcely knew that he was doing so; yet as be watched their deep potations, and marked how they chose the best portions, and stinted themselves in no good thing, his stern young mind could not but rise up in revolt, the more so that these very men were actually here on purpose to strive to capture a brother of their own order, and deliver him over to death. and so far as the youth understood the matter, the offence for which it was resolved he should suffer was that he was too faithful to the vows he had taken upon himself, and too ardent in striving to enforce upon others the rules he held binding upon himself. but at least if these brothers ate and drank merrily, they were not therefore the better watchers. they had smiled a little scornfully as he contrasted their good feeding and deep drinking and subsequent visible sleepiness with the spare and frugal meal always taken by brother emmanuel, to be followed as often as not by a long night vigil in the chantry. there was small look of watchfulness about these men. any vigil kept by them would be but a mockery of the term. it was all they could do to stumble through the office of compline when the meal was ended and the household about to retire, and there was no suggestion on their part of wishing to remain to keep vigil. but edred resolved that he would watch again that night. he had done so the previous night with brother emmanuel, both thinking that it might be the last watch they would ever hold together. now the boy felt that he could not sleep, at least for many hours; and since their mother had whispered to them that brother fabian was to share their room, since he said it was his duty to keep watch upon the boys till next morning, it seemed well to leave his bed for the drowsy monk, aid keep vigil himself in the silent chantry. the brother looked puzzled when he heard what one of his young charges proposed to do. edred looked him full in the face as he answered: "brother emmanuel taught us that it were not well that all within the house should be sleeping. we know not when the lord may appear--at midnight, at cock crowing, or in the morning; and methinks whenever he may come, he would gladly find one soul holding vigil and waiting for his appearing. lock the door of the chantry upon me, my father. thou canst see that there is but the one door by which we may come or go. if thou fearest to leave me here, lock the door upon me until such time as it pleases thee to release me." the brother regarded the boy with perplexed looks, and slowly shook his head, as though such an attitude of mind were wholly incomprehensible. but he did not oppose his resolve. it would not do to appear astonished at the idea of keeping vigil. he passed out of the chantry muttering to himself, and edred prostrated himself before the altar, above which the solitary lamp burned clear and bright, and offered up most earnest prayers for the safety of brother emmanuel, for the failure and discomfiture of his foes, and for his safe escape when the time was ripe into some country where his enemies were not like to find him. how the hours of the night passed he scarcely knew. he might perhaps have slept at his post awhile, or have remained in a dreamy and passive state; for it did not seem long before the morning sun came glinting in at the eastern window, and the boy saw that the day had come which was to be a momentous one to chad. before very long, sounds of life about, and later on within the house, warned him that he was not the only watcher now; and feeling very drowsy and weary, he resolved to creep upstairs and share julian's couch for the remaining hours before the working day should commence. he had not been locked into the chantry. perhaps brother fabian felt a little shame in his suspicions, or perhaps he forgot to take the precaution. the door yielded to his touch, and he found himself at liberty to go where he would. but before turning his steps to his room upstairs, he made an expedition to an outhouse on what appeared to be a curious errand. it was a dirty, neglected place, and was full of dust and flue and cobweb. the boy began deliberately collecting masses of this flue and web, and presently he swept up carefully a good-sized heap of dust, which he as deliberately placed in a wooden box, and proceeded to make in one end a number of small holes. carefully carrying away this strange load, and bearing it with great secrecy, the boy mounted the stairs very softly, and put down the handkerchief in which the flue was placed in the small unused room beside their sleeping chamber. with the box still in his hands he stole on tiptoe into the room and looked carefully round him. his brothers were sleeping lightly, looking as though they would be easily and speedily aroused. but the monk was snoring deeply, and the bloated face which was turned towards him displayed that abandonment of repose which bespeaks a very sound and even sottish slumber. the boy looked with repulsion at the flushed face, the open mouth, and dropped jaw. something in the expression of that sleeping face filled him with scorn and loathing. no danger of this man's awakening; his half-drunken sleep was far too heavy and sodden. edred stepped lightly across the room towards the chest which he had had moved the previous evening, and lying at full length along the floor, he proceeded to shake his box after the manner of a pepper pot until he had made beneath the chest a soft layer of dust which looked like the accumulation of weeks. it was deftly and skilfully done, and although he looked critically at the after effect, to make sure there was nothing artificial about the aspect, he could not detect anything amiss. the next step was to carry away his box, empty it out of a window, and break in pieces the perforated part, that there might be no tracing his action in this matter. then gaining possession of his handkerchief full of flue, he stole softly back again, and laid great flakes between the legs of the chest and the wall, stuffed light fragments into the interstices of the carving, and laid them upon any projecting ledge that was likely to have caught such light dirt as it filtered through the air. a soft movement in the room told him that his brothers were awake and watching him, though the monk still snored on in his stertorous fashion. one after the other the pair stole from their beds and looked for a moment at this skilful travesty of nature's handiwork, and both nodded in token of approval and congratulation. edred had an artist's eye for effect, and did not spoil his handiwork by overdoing it. the result produced was exactly as if the chest had stood for some time in its present position, so that the dust had gathered beneath it and the flue had clung to the wall behind it. no one looking at its position there could doubt that it had been there for a period of some weeks. satisfied with the result of his manoeuvre, the boy flung away the rest of his spoil, and throwing himself upon one of his brothers' beds was soon lost in healthy sleep. when he awoke the sun was high in the sky, and he found himself alone with father fabian, who appeared likewise only just to have awakened. brother emmanuel would long ago have held early mass in the chantry, but this new inmate appeared by no means disposed to follow in the footsteps of his predecessors. he rubbed his eyes, and seemed scarce to know where he was; but he accepted edred's offers of assistance, and was soon ready to leave the room in search of the meal to which he was accustomed. all chad was in a stir of expectation. it was known throughout the house that a great search was to be instituted after the missing priest, who had, as it were, disappeared into thin air. everybody knew that he had been within the precincts of chad upon the previous day. some amongst the few servants who had been left behind to take care of the house had seen him moving quietly about from the chantry to the courtyard and back. it was now well known that spies were lurking in the forest round chad with a view of intercepting any attempt at flight, and it was plain they had seen nothing of him. therefore, unless he had escaped their vigilance by cunning and artifice, he must still be somewhere within the precincts of the house; and on the whole this appeared the most probable theory. in a place like chad, where there were all manner of outbuildings, sheds, and lofts; to say nothing of all the corners and hiding places within the house itself, it would be very tempting to take refuge in one of these nooks and crannies, and to trust to the chance of concealment rather than run the gauntlet of meeting foes in the open. brothers from the monasteries, to say nothing of hunted heretics, had the reputation of being marvellous cunning in their methods. it was like enough that brother emmanuel had long been planning some such concealment for himself, and had made his plans cleverly and astutely. such was the prevailing opinion at chad, and scarcely a member of the household but hoped and trusted his hiding place would not be detected, even though they did not know how seriously the fortunes of their master might be affected were the monk to be found hidden in his house. they all loved brother emmanuel for his own sake, and hated the lord of mortimer. and it was well known that that haughty baron was making common cause with the prior of chadwater in this matter, doubtless in the hope of disgracing sir oliver in the eyes of the ecclesiastical powers. so a general feeling of excitement and uncertainty prevailed during the early hours of the morning. sir oliver and his wife strove to appear calm and tranquil, but inwardly they were consumed by anxiety. they felt something very much approaching certainty that their own sons knew what had befallen the monk--probably his very hiding-place; and they were by no means certain that it might not be within the very precincts of chad itself. the knight's generosity and love of justice were sufficiently stirred to make him willing to run some risk in the cause; he had resolved to ask no question, and to let matters take their own course. but he could not help feeling a tremor run through him as he heard the winding of the horn which bespoke the presence of the visitors at his gate, and he went forth to meet them with a sinking heart, albeit his mien was calm and untroubled and his bearing dignified and assured. the prior and the lord of mortimer headed the train, and behind followed a goodly retinue of men wearing the livery of the baron, to say nothing of the lay brothers and the cowled monks, who were skilful in matters pertaining to search, and who had come to assist in the examination of the whole of the great house. upon the face of lord mortimer and upon that of his son-in-law there was an ill-disguised look of vindictive triumph. it was easy to see that they were fully assured of the presence of the fugitive within these walls, and that they did not mean to leave until he had been dragged forth from his hiding place. the guests of the better quality were respectfully conducted into the great hall, and refreshments were placed before them. sir oliver put his whole house and possessions into the hands of the prior, who was invited to make any kind of investigation and examination that he thought necessary. the knight repeated what he had said the previous day as to his entire ignorance where the monk was hiding, and whether he was hiding at all. but no obstacle of any kind would be placed by him against the most stringent search, and he would either accompany the searchers or remain passive where he was, exactly as the reverend father judged best. this statement was well received by the prior, who turned to the lord of mortimer and suggested that in the first place his armed troopers, who were well used to this kind of work, should make a strict search through all the outbuildings of whatever kind, posting his men wherever he thought needful, and taking any steps such as the smoking of chimneys and kindred methods that might in any wise be likely to dislodge the fugitive. meantime the rest of the party would remain where they were, and the house should only be searched if it was made clear that the monk was not hiding without. lord mortimer retired to give his orders, and the rest of the company remained in the hall. the boys would better have liked the house searched first, that their anxiety might be the sooner relieved. it was keeping them on tenterhooks all this time, as they knew well that no result could accrue from any search of the outer yards or buildings, and it was hard to wait all that time in uncertainty and suspense. but they heard the order given without making any sign. it was well for them at this crisis that they had been trained in habits of self control and reserve. no one, to look at the three boys, would have guessed them to be greatly interested in the proceedings. they remained standing in the background, with an air of quiet respect and submission appropriate to the young in presence of their spiritual superiors. the prior, as his keen eye travelled over the faces in the hall, never suspected for a moment that those three quiet lads knew aught of this matter. but, pleased by their air and bearing, he called them to him and asked them some questions, to assure himself that they had been properly taught by the recalcitrant monk whom now he had resolved to find and to punish for his rebellion and temerity. the boys replied with such ready intelligence and so much actual learning that he could not but be pleased with them. edred, in particular, showed such readiness and aptitude that the prior was surprised, and laying a kindly hand upon the boy's head, asked him how soon they would be welcoming him at chadwater. the youth looked up with grave, thoughtful eyes. "i know not that, my father. i have had thoughts of the religious life; but--" "well, boy, what is the 'but'?" asked the prior with a smile, but a keen flash of the eye which did not pass unheeded. edred saw the flash, and was put at once upon his guard. this was not brother emmanuel, to whom he could open his whole soul and ask counsel and advice. "i misdoubt me at times if i be fit for the life," he answered. "there is too much of the world in my heart, i fear me. i used to think i was fit to be a monk, but i am the less sure now." "well, well, i would fain have a promising lad like thee beneath my care; but there is time to talk of that later. "well, my lord of mortimer, how goes the search? is all in train for it?" "ay, reverend father; and i trow if the miscreant be in hiding anywhere without the house, he will shortly be brought before us. i am no novice in this manner of work, and i have laid my plans that he will scarce escape us. if that fail, we must try the house itself. it will go hard if we find him not somewhere. we have full information that he has not left the place;" and here he flashed an insolent look of triumph at sir oliver, who took not the smallest notice either of the speech or the look. edred retired to his former place beside his brothers, and the party awaited the result of the search with what patience they might. now and then shouts and calls broke the stillness, and faces would flush with excitement at the sound; but the shouts always died away again into silence, and at last there came a trooper into the hall to salute the company and report that there was no one hidden in any of the places without. not a rat or a mouse could have failed to be turned out after the stringent search to which the premises had been subjected. the lord of mortimer then rose and said: "keep the men posted as i have given orders. let none stir from his vantage ground. and be thou there to see that the closest watch is kept. we go in person to search the house, and if any living thing seeks to make escape by door or window, it will be thine office and that of thy men to seize and hold him." "we will not fail, my lord," said the man, who again saluted and withdrew. then the prior rose and called his monks about him, whilst the lord of mortimer did the like with his followers. "sir oliver," said the prior, "i would have spared you this unwelcome formality had it been possible, but my duty must be done. i will ask you to be our conductor throughout the house, and will crave permission to post my servants hither and thither about the passages as seems to me best, and to take such steps as shall appear needful for proving to the satisfaction of all that this traitor monk is not hidden within your walls." sir oliver bent his head. "take what steps you will, reverend father; i and mine are at your disposal. whatever means you desire to use, do so without hesitation. shall my people arm themselves with tools to remove panelling or flooring? you have but to command them; they shall instantly obey." the lord of mortimer again looked taken aback for a moment. there was a confidence in sir oliver's manner that did not appear to be assumed. he would have preferred another aspect in his foe. "we have brought all things needful for a rigorous search," answered the prior. "we hope and trust nothing will be needed. is it true that there are secret hiding places in the house, my son? it would be well, perhaps, to visit any such first." "there be two," answered sir oliver quietly, though his heart beat rather fast. what if brother emmanuel had learned the secret of either of those places, and had sought refuge in one? true, it would have been worse than useless to deny their existence. many in the household knew of them and how they might be entered. probably the prior or some of his monks had the trick of those chambers by heart. chad had been through many vicissitudes, and the monks had often been its guests. secrets once known to them were never allowed to be lost. it would have been idle to seek to put the searchers off the scent. he led the way to the places where the masked doors lay--one was much after the pattern of that in the boys' chamber--and in each case himself opened the door, letting his guests go in to examine for themselves. those were terrible moments for him; but the hearts of the boys did not palpitate. each time the search party came forth with looks of baffled disappointment. each time the lord of mortimer's face was dark and gloomy. he had reckoned somewhat confidently on finding the fugitive in one of these known hiding places. he had hoped sir oliver would profess an ignorance of at least one of the two. his face was fierce and vindictive as the second was "drawn blank." but the excitement of the boys was slowly augmenting as the party moved higher and higher in the house, leaving scouts posted in various places, and, as it were, spreading a cleverly-constructed net all through chad, which it would be impossible for any person being hunted from spot to spot finally to escape. the prior's idea now was that the monk might be gliding before them from place to place, confident that his knowledge of the intricacies of the house would give him the chance of evading them at the last. it was a desperate game, to be sure, but one that had been successfully tried by others on more than one occasion. he therefore posted his men with great skill and acumen; and knowing the house accurately, was able to feel secure that if this were the game being played, the prey would sooner or later be his. lord mortimer, on the other hand, gave his attention to the panelled walls, the carved chimney pieces, the flooring of the old rooms; and many were the blows struck here and there by his orders, and great was the damage done to certain panelled rooms, in the hopes of coming upon some masked door or passage. it was this energy on his part that caused such anxiety to the boys. suppose he were to attack the carving which really concealed the masked door in their room? might not his eagle eye light upon that, too, and might not all be discovered? the boys felt almost sick with apprehension as they approached the door of their room, and edred's whole heart went up in a voiceless prayer that no discovery might be made. nothing in the aspect of the room attracted comment. all looked matter of fact and innocent enough, and the prior was growing something weary with the unavailing search. the usual thumping on the walls was commenced; but even the carved mantel pillars were so solid that no hollow sound was given forth when they were struck. the prior turned away. "there is naught here, methinks, my lord of mortimer." "wait one moment," replied the baron. "this carving be something deep and ponderous. i always suspect traps when i see such pains bestowed upon it. let me examine a while further. these grapes look to me as if they had been fingered something often. let me examine further." edred's heart was in his mouth. it was all he could do to restrain himself from seeking to attract the prior's attention in another direction; but his sound sense told him that this sudden interruption would be suspicious. julian nipped him by the arm, as those strong fingers went travelling over the carved work with dire intent. both started when the lord of mortimer exclaimed: "take away yon chest; it encumbers me." the servants did his bidding in a moment; and then a sudden change came over his face. the eager look died away. he remained awhile looking down at the floor, which was covered with dust and flue, as was also the carving which had been concealed behind the chest. the prior looked down too, and shrugged his shoulders. "that tells a tale, my lord. naught has been disturbed here for many a long day. let us pursue our search elsewhere. no fugitive could have passed by that spot since yesterday, when brother emmanuel was last seen." the baron could not but assent. he looked once again at the carving, but he had had no real reason to suspect aught, and he turned away to go elsewhere. another grip of the arm showed edred how julian's feelings had been stirred; but the lads did not even look at each other as they moved on behind the company, and they now hardly heard or heeded what passed during the remaining hour of that long search. for them the crisis had passed when they turned from the room where the secret lay. if not discovered at that awful moment when lord mortimer's hand was actually upon the bunch of grapes beneath which lay the spring, they surely need not fear any other manoeuvre on his part. and at last the long search ended. even the lord of mortimer had to own himself beaten. reluctantly and with scowling brow he followed the prior back to the long banqueting hall, where the tables had already been laid with savoury viands. he had been worsted where he had been most confident of success, and he was as furious as a bear robbed of her whelps. the prior was taking sir oliver by the hand and speaking words of goodwill, professing great satisfaction at the result of this stringent search; his only vexation being that the monk had contrived to give them the slip. in the back of his head the prior had a lurking feeling that sir oliver had been in some sort concerned in brother emmanuel's escape, and was rejoicing at it; but inasmuch as he had entirely failed to bring home any charge against him, and as in all other respects he was a good neighbour and true son of the church, he was willing enough to restore him to favour and confidence, and was not sorry on the whole that the haughty lord of mortimer was not going to have it all his own way. the astute ecclesiastic knew very well that he himself did better for holding a neutral position between two adversaries both desiring his friendship and good opinion, than he would do were chad and mortimer to be in the same hands. he was disappointed at not finding the monk, but not sorry sir oliver stood vindicated. he set himself down to the board with a hearty goodwill; but the baron refused the proffered hospitality of his rival, and summoned his attendants about him. "i will say farewell this time, sir oliver," he said haughtily. "but remember i still hold that we have only been foiled by your cunning; not that you are innocent in this matter. if ever i can prove this thing against you, i shall do so; and i recommend the reverend prior to keep his watch still upon this house, as i fully believe yon traitor monk is in hiding here." "and i, my lord baron," said sir oliver proudly, "will give you fair warning that i will speedily to the king, to lay before him the history of this day and the insults to which i have been subjected through you and your groundless suspicions of me. i have not resisted what you have chosen to do, knowing well the use you would have made of such resistance. but i have not forgotten the many acts of aggression and hostility of which you have been guilty; and this last day's work, in which your servants have made themselves, as it were, masters of chad, shall be answered for at some future day. you have thought good to threaten me. i too will threaten you. i threaten you with the displeasure of the king when this thing comes to his ears; and i shall seek him now without delay, and tell him all i have suffered at your hands." chapter x: from peril to safety. "my son, what hast thou done to thyself?" edred was stumbling across the courtyard, supported by julian, his face streaming with blood and muffled in a great kerchief. he was unable to speak himself, but julian spoke eagerly for him. "i trow the fault is half mine. it was done in tilting. i was careless, and saw not that edred's guard was down. i fear me i have something hurt him. i trust it is not the eye. look to it quickly, sweet mother. it was a nasty blow." "it is not of serious nature," muttered edred through his wrappings; "it will be well right quickly." the mother hurried the two boys into a small room of her own where she kept medicaments of various kinds, and where all wounds of a trifling character were washed and dressed. julian hurried to fetch her all she needed; and just at that moment sir oliver came hastily in looking for his wife. "how now, edred?" he exclaimed. "hast thou been in the wars again?" for edred was something famed for getting hard knocks and ugly scratches in his mimic encounters with his more skilled and dexterous brothers. "why, boy, but this is a worse business than usual. i am sorry for it, for i had something purposed to take thee with me to windsor on the next morrow, as well as bertram, and show thee to the king, and give thee a glimpse of the world of court. but if thou be in such plight as this, thou wilt scarce be fit to go." "i must await another time," muttered edred, in the same indistinct way, and julian added with an air of chagrin: "it was a villainous mischance. i would i had been more careful. i am always having the ill luck to hurt edred." "nay, the fault is mine!" exclaimed the other boy. "and now thou wilt be hindered from seeing the king and his fine court." "perchance thou wilt go in my stead." "nay, that will i not. an thou stayest at home for fault of mine, i will stay to keep thee company. "now, gentle mother, prithee see if he be much hurt. i cannot rest till i know." the lady was ready now to make her examination, and gently removed the rude wrappings the boys had made for themselves. edred's face presented an ugly appearance as these were taken away. he had a great gash across his brow, which passed dangerously near to the eye, and had laid open the cheek almost as far as the mouth, and knocked out one back tooth. the knight looked concerned at the magnitude of the damage, and spoke rather sharply to julian. "thou must have a care with these weapons of thine, or thou wilt do thy brother a fatal mischief one of these days. see, boy, had that blow of thine swerved but the half of an inch, thy brother would have lost the sight of an eye forever--nay, he might have lost his life; for an injury to the eye oft penetrates to the brain, and then the skill of the leech is of no avail. "good wife, is thy skill sufficient for these hurts? or shall we send to seek a surgeon's aid?" "methinks i can do all that is needful. they are ugly scratches and painful, but not over deep. the lad will not be scarred, methinks, when the wound is well healed. see, it looks better already after the bathing. "run, julian, for the roll of lint and the strapping in yon cupboard. "the boy will be a sorry spectacle for a few short days, but after that i trow he will feel none the worse." "it is but a scratch," said edred, speaking more freely now, though with a mumbling accent, as though his lips were swollen, which, indeed, one of them was. "i scarce feel it, now it is bathed. do not look so grave anent the matter, my father." sir oliver, relieved to find matters no worse, went on his way; and lady chadgrove proceeded to bind up and plaster the bruised face with the skill and dexterity of which she was mistress. she had no attention to spare for julian, or she might have been surprised to note that he secreted for himself a certain amount of the dressing she had used, and looked on very intently whilst she applied the remainder to his brother's face. when her ministrations were accomplished, edred was greatly disguised. his face was almost entirely swathed in linen, and one eye was completely bandaged up. julian laughed aloud as he saw the object presented by his brother; and edred would have joined in the laugh if he had had free play with his facial muscles. the mother looked gently scandalized. "sure, it is no laughing matter, julian. i am not wont to make much of these boyish mischiefs. lads must learn to give and to take hard blows as they grow to manhood. yet i would that thou wert something more careful. thou mightest have killed thy brother, or have caused him life-long injury, today." julian looked grave enough then; but edred caressed his mother gently, saying: "nay, chide him not. he is the best of brothers. it was as much my fault as his." and then the pair went away together, and did not pause until they had reached their own room, when they suddenly seized each other by the hand and commenced cutting extraordinary capers, indicative of a secret understanding and triumph. "it could not have turned out better," said edred, speaking stiffly with his bandaged face and swollen lips. "i fear me thou dost suffer somewhat." "it is naught. i scarce feel it, now mother has bound it up. and thy stroke was wondrous skilful, julian--brow and eye and mouth all scratched." "the praise should be thine for standing thus rigid to let me thus mark thee. hadst thou flinched, as many another would have done--as i should have done, i trow--it could not have been done a tithe as well. wrapped and bandaged as thou must be these next days to come, not a creature could know thee. everything can be carried out according to the plan. not even our father will suspect aught. the only fear is lest thou shouldst take a fever or somewhat of that sort, so that they say thou must not ride forth a few miles with our father when he fares forth to windsor at the dawning of the next morrow after tomorrow's dawn." "no fear of that," answered edred boldly. "i am not wont to trouble a sickbed. i have had knocks and blows as hard as this before. art sure thou hast enough of the linen and the strapping to serve the purpose? and dost think thou canst apply it rightly? it will be thy hands, not mine, that must do all that. i shall be far away when the moment comes. art sure that thou canst do all as it should be done? thou and bertram will have all the last arrangements to carry through. how my heart will be in my mouth until i see thee and my double approaching in the gray light of the morning!" "i trow we shall not disappoint thee!" cried the boy excitedly; adding after a moment's pause, "methinks in the matter of artifice both bertram and i can beat thee, albeit thou art the best of us in other matters. what a boon that that fat, slothful, ignorant monk no longer shares this room! that might have been a rare trouble. but since he loves well the soft bed of the guest chamber in lieu of these hard pallets, he is not like to trouble us again. they put their trust in the spies around the house. let their spies do their worst, i trow we shall outwit them yet." and the boys took hands again and renewed their impromptu triumph dance. their hearts were brimming over with satisfaction and hope. they had had a tough problem to think out during the past days, but now it seemed in a fair way of solution. when the prior had left chad after the banquet prepared for him, he professed himself perfectly satisfied that the missing brother emmanuel was not concealed upon the premises yet for all that, since the lord of mortimer had declared himself still dissatisfied, and because the escape of the monk was difficult to credit, nothing having been seen or heard of him abroad, he judged it wise still to keep his watch upon the place, that all might be satisfied that no precaution had been left untaken. sir oliver had briefly, and with a slight accent of scorn, agreed with all the prior said, and had professed himself perfectly agreeable to the arrangement. he had nothing to hide either in his own comings and goings or in those of any member of his household. so long as his movements were not interfered with or his liberties infringed, the whole forest might be alive with spies for all that he cared. he had not known of the first watch set upon his house, and he was indifferent to the second. he should be soon leaving home to seek the king, and all he demanded was that the sanctity of his house should be duly regarded in his absence. of course the prior fully agreed to that. indeed, after the rigorous and exhaustive search that had been already made, there was no reason why any further entrance should be made into chad. but although sir oliver had heard this mandate with indifference and contempt, it had filled the hearts of the boys with dismay. in a week's time the vessel would sail that was to carry brother emmanuel away to foreign soil, and out of the clutches of his present enemies; and if this guard around the house were to be maintained all that while, what chance had they of smuggling their fugitive away and down to the coast, as they had set their hearts on doing? but inasmuch as necessity has ever been the mother of invention, and the lads were not only bold and fearless but ready of resource, they had laid their heads together with some good effect, and now the first and one of the most important steps of the little drama had been carried to a successful conclusion. the next day was a busy and bustling one at chad. upon the morrow its lord and master rode forth to windsor with his eldest son and the best of his followers. there was a great burnishing of arms and grooming and feeding of steeds. every man was looking up his best riding dress and putting it into spic-and-span order, and the whole place rang with the sound of cheery voices and the clash of steel. in and out and backwards and forwards throughout the day passed the three boys, watching everything, asking eager questions of all, and expressing keen interest in the whole expedition. edred was of course a great figure. his face was all swathed up. one side was completely concealed by the wrappings, and as he found the light trying to even the other eye, his plumed hat was drawn low down over his brow, so that no one would have guessed who he was but for the fact that his mishap was well known by this time to all the household. even after supper the restless boys could not keep still. edred and julian had won their father's consent to riding some few miles with him on the morrow towards windsor, and they ran off as soon as the meal was concluded to visit their steeds and see that their saddles were in order. after they had done this, they sallied out by one of the smaller gates to take an evening stroll in the wood, calling out to the custodian of the portal that they should return by the great gate. they wandered away some distance into the wood; but when they returned it was only bertram and julian who entered the gate and went up to their sleeping room. however, as nobody at the larger entrance had seen the three sally forth, no remark was occasioned by the return of only two; and it was supposed that edred would have retired early, since he was in somewhat battered plight, and had to recover strength for the early start upon the morrow. when they reached their room that night, bertram and julian carefully locked the door behind them--a precaution they did not often take; and when they took from the great chest their own best riding suits, they also took out edred's and looked it well over. "it will fit him to a nicety," said bertram. "he and edred are almost of a height, and both slim and slightly built. his pale face, so much as may be seen beneath the white linen, will look mightily like edred's in the gray light of the early morn. this hat has a mighty wide brim--well that edred affects such headgear. pulled over his eyes, as he wore it yesterday, there be scarce a feature to be seen. we have but to say he is something late, take him his breakfast to eat up here, and get him on to horseback whilst all the bustle is going on, and not even our father will know him. he may ride past the spies with head erect and fearless mien, for there is not one of them but saw edred this day, and will know at a glance who rides betwixt us twain with the white linen about his head!" sir oliver had decided rather late in the day to take his lady with him. she was in great favour always with the queen, and of late they had heard that the health of that gracious lady was something failing. it would be a graceful attention on the part of the mistress of chad to visit her and learn of her welfare, and it was known that the queen had considerable influence with the king, and he might well give more favourable notice to sir oliver's plea were his wife to urge it upon him in response to what the lady might tell to her of their recent troubles with their haughty neighbour. so that there was even more stir and excitement than usually attended an early morning's start. the sun was not yet up, and the gray dimness of the coming summer's day enshrouded the great courtyard as bertram and julian descended to it with a slim figure between them clad in a riding dress similar to their own, the slouched hat drawn over the face, which face was well wrapped and muffled in white linen, as edred's had been the previous day. the lady of the house came out with a look of preoccupation upon her face. she noted that the boys were already in the saddle, and smiled. "always in such haste," she said, as her own palfrey was led up. "but, edred my son, why didst thou not come to me to have thy hurts looked to this morn? i was expecting thee." "sweet mother, i bound them for him today!" cried julian eagerly. "methought i must learn to be his leech since thou wast going with our father, and we knew that thou wouldst have much to do and to think of. methinks i have not done amiss. it scarce looks as neat as though thy skilful fingers had had the care of it; but he says it feels not amiss, and that is a great thing." "ay, verily; and i am glad thou hast skill enough for his needs. "be cautious, edred my son, that the cold gets not to the hurts. draw up the collar of thy mantle well over that left cheek of thine, and do not talk whilst the air bites so keenly. when the sun is up all will be well; but be cautious in the first chill of the dawn." the brothers went towards their companion, and rearranged the collar of his riding cloak so as still more to conceal his face. the hands of the younger lad were trembling somewhat; there was a quivering of the muscles of the face which betokened some repressed emotion. the muffled rider did not speak or make much movement. he obeyed the injunction of the lady of chad to the letter. sir oliver now appeared, and lifted his wife upon her palfrey. he gave a look to see that his sons were mounted, and his servants standing ready to follow his example when he sprang to the saddle. then his charger was led up, and he mounted and gave the word, and the little cavalcade moved out through the gate and into the still, dim forest track, watched intently by more than one pair of keen, sharp, suspicious eyes. "i trust when i come back," remarked the knight to his lady, "that yon spies will have grown weary of their bootless watch, and will have taken themselves off. it is but the malice and suspicion of the lord of mortimer which causes the prior to act so. alone he would never trouble himself. he knows that brother emmanuel is not at chad, and has not been these many days. wherever he be, he has escaped the malice of his foes this time. heaven send that he may long escape! he was a godly and a saintly man, and no more heretic than thou or i. if the church will persist in warring thus against her own truest sons, then indeed will she provoke some great judgment upon her own head. a house divided against itself can never stand, and she above all others should know that." the spies had been some time passed before sir oliver spoke these words, and when he did so they were only loud enough to reach the ears of his wife and of his sons, who rode immediately behind him. two of these turned their heads for a moment to look at him who rode between them, but his face was far too well concealed for its expression to be seen. a few miles further on and a pause was made. julian suggested that he and edred should be turning back; whilst the mother, who thought that edred was scarce fit for the saddle yet, seconded the idea with approbation. they were passing through a very dark part of the forest, where the trees grew dense, and where on one side the sandstone rose up in a wall, quite keeping out the level rays of the rising sun. it was almost as dim as night in this overgrown spot. julian sprang to his feet, and went and dutifully kissed the hand both of father and mother, and the bandaged lad with the concealed face followed his example, touching both hands reverently and gratefully, and murmuring some words of farewell that were only indistinctly heard in the champing of bits and stamping of impatient horse hoofs. then whilst the mother still laid many charges upon julian to be careful of his brother, and bent a few anxious regards upon the injured lad himself, sir oliver gave the signal for riding on again, as they had a long day's journey before them; and the little cavalcade vanished quickly into the forest, leaving the two companions and their respective steeds standing alone in that dim place. when the last of the horses had quite vanished, and the sound of their steps was no longer to be heard, julian flung his cap suddenly into the air, and uttered a long and peculiar cry. almost immediately that cry was answered from some place near at hand, and in a few minutes more a figure strangely like the one standing at julian's side emerged from the sheltering underwood, leading by the rein a small forest pony, such as were much used in that part of the country. with bandaged face, hat drawn over the brows, and collar turned up to the ears, the newcomer was the very counterpart of the motionless figure in the path, save that the latter wore the better dress. julian burst into a great laugh as the two stood facing each other; but for edred the meeting was fraught with too much of thankful relief for him to be able to join in his brother's hilarity, and after standing very still for a moment, he suddenly bent his knee, and felt a hand laid upon his head in mute blessing. then brother emmanuel removed the wrappings from his head, and looked from one brother to the other with a world of gratitude in his dark eyes. but it was a time for action, not words, and that mute, eloquent gaze was all that passed at present. "we have a servant's dress ready in the hut hard by," said edred quickly; "and then we must to horse again and get to the coast as fast as may be. yon sturdy little pony good warbel has provided will serve us as well as any stouter nag, and look more in keeping with the humble part thou must play this day, brother emmanuel. come, let us change our dress quickly. i love not to linger in this forest, even though we be five good miles from chad." julian took care of the three horses, whilst edred and the disguised monk made their way through the thick growth of underwood. when they reappeared it seemed to the boy as though the monk was as greatly disguised now as he had been with the wrappings of linen about his face. certainly none but a spy on the watch and on the right scent would recognize in this serving man the young ecclesiastic of a few weeks back. there was a stubble of beard upon his lips and chin which was in itself a marvellous disguise. he wore a loose riding dress, with a slouch hat and a high collar to the cloak which shaded and changed the outline of his features. there was nothing of the monk in his look, save perhaps in the steady glance of his eyes, where a bright intelligence and keen devotion beamed. julian flung his cap into the air again as he cried joyously: "why, not even the lord prior himself would know thee now. sure, thou mightest almost have ridden past the spies themselves thus habited. we may push on in open daylight now, and none will heed thy presence." edred had now put on the riding dress which brother emmanuel had hitherto worn, so that on their return the same pair might be seen to re-enter the house. the disguised monk mounted the forest pony and followed his young masters, who pushed on quietly to the coast, feeling a greater and greater security with every mile they put between themselves and their home. it was the day for the sailing of the sloop that would carry the monk away to a safe retreat. they were not afraid of losing the boat, for it was not to sail till nightfall; but their impatience acted like a spur, and drove them steadily forward; and save for the needful halts to refresh themselves and their beasts, they did not tarry or draw rein. it was growing towards the westering of the sun when they beheld the great sea lying before them far below, and edred's eyes glowed with joy as he saw the white-winged shallops flitting hither and thither on the wide expanse of blue water, and pictured how soon brother emmanuel would be sailing away out of the reach of peril. truly god had been very good in hearing and answering prayer. edred had, by some instinct for which he could not account, addressed his prayers of late less to the blessed virgin and more to the son of god himself--struck, perhaps, by the words he had heard from the lips of the heretic peddler about the "one mediator, the man christ jesus." he now turned in his saddle and waited till brother emmanuel came up. it was too solitary a place for them to care to keep up the appearance of master and servant. riding thus side by side, brother emmanuel talked with the boys out of the fulness of his heart. his week of captivity had been spent in deep and earnest thought, and some of these thoughts were imparted to the boys in that last serious talk. he bid them hold in all reverence and godly fear that church which was the body of christ, and those ordinances which had been given at the beginning for the perfecting of the saints, and which were god's ways of dealing with man. but he warned them in solemn tones of the fearful disease which had attacked the body, and which threatened a fearful remedy before that body could be cleansed; he warned them also of the perils which beset the path of those who should live to see the coming struggle. there would be men who would vow that whatever the church said and did must be right because the church was the body of christ, not knowing that even that body can become corrupt (though never the head) if the will of man be put in the stead of the will of god; and these would cling to the corruptions as closely as to the ordinances of god, and become bitter persecutors of those who would arise and seek to cleanse and renew the body by god-given remedies. but again there would be men who would arise and deny that there was a body, would condemn the very name of the church, and avow that what the lord wanted was not a body, but a number of individuals each seeking light and salvation in his own fashion. that would be a fearful evil--an evil which would rend the body into a thousand schisms, and bring down at last the heavy wrath of god, who has from the beginning taught men that the body must be without spot or wrinkle or any such thing before it can be fit to be the bride of the lamb. the young monk earnestly strove to show the perils of both these ways to the boys who rode beside him, and his words were earnestly listened to, and, by one at least, laid seriously to heart, to be remembered in after days almost as the words of prophecy, and destined to have a lasting effect upon his own future career. from that day edred renounced all thought of the monastic life, feeling that such a life would but trammel his conscience and stultify his judgment. he resolved to live his life in the world, whilst seeking to be not of the world. how that resolve was kept there is no space in these pages to tell. slowly and quietly the three friends jogged down into the little fishing and trading hamlet that lay at the base of the cliffs. in the small bay lay one or two sloops and frigates, and it was not hard to find the owner of the one which was to sail that night and carry brother emmanuel away. julian found the man, and made all arrangements; whilst edred saw that brother emmanuel made a sufficient meal, and sat talking with him to the very last, drinking in new thoughts and aspirations with every word, and striving, in the joy of knowing his beloved preceptor to be safe, to still the ache at heart which this parting involved. the sun was just setting as the boat bearing brother emmanuel to the sloop pushed off from shore. the skipper resolved to set sail forthwith, and the boys stood watching whilst she shook out her canvas to the favouring breeze, and glided like a white-winged sea bird out from the shelter of the bay and into the wide ocean. there were smarting tears in edred's eyes despite his joy and relief. but julian had room only for the latter feeling, and waved his cap with an air of exultant triumph as the sails expanded more and more and the little vessel went skimming its way over the shining sea. "he is safe, and we have saved him!" he cried with flashing eyes. "let men say what they will, but he was no heretic. i fear not but that we have done right in the sight of god, even though we may not whisper in the confessional this deed, nor receive priestly absolution therefor." "god will give us his pardon if we have done amiss," said edred thoughtfully. "but i have no fear that he regards this deed as a sin. it was done in his name, and as such will he receive it." "yes, verily; though perchance it were better to leave such words unsaid. and now we must to horse and make all speed back to chad. as it is we shall not reach it till after nightfall, and they will something wonder at our delay." "they will but think we went far and rested long for thy sake. we have travelled leisurely today to keep the horses fresh. we can travel back in the cool right merrily. it is but twenty miles. we can take the most of it at a hand gallop." the boys and the horses were alike refreshed and ready for a gallop through the cool evening air, rushing on as fast as the nature of the road would let them, they reached chad in three hours, and rode beneath the gateway just as the old seneschal was wondering how much longer he must wait before he closed the gate for the night. the spies saw them ride in, as they had (to their thinking) seen them ride out; and all unconscious that the prey had escaped their vigilance, continued their weary and fruitless watch with the pertinacity which in so many like cases had given them success at the last. one bright evening some three weeks later the bugle at the gate was loudly blown, and edred and julian came flying out to welcome their eldest brother, who had ridden hither with some dozen servants to bring news to his brothers at home. "we have had marvellous good hap. the king received us right graciously, and heard our story with kingly friendliness and goodwill. he is none of your bigoted, priest-ridden monarchs; and although he hates true heresy, and would destroy it root and branch, he cries shame that all enlightened men who would cleanse the church from some of her corrupt practices should be branded by that evil term. the great and worthy dean colet was called in, and he knows well the pamphlet brother emmanuel wrote, and says it is a work which should be read and taken to heart by all. that such a man should be dubbed a heretic is vile and wicked; and right glad were all to hear that he had escaped the malice of his enemies, and fled where they could not reach him. i did not dare even then to tell all the tale, but i said how we had laid our heads together and had helped him to escape. the king and the queen themselves praised me for our courage, and called me a good lad and a brave one not even to trouble our father with the knowledge of a secret that might have made ill work for him. "my lord of mortimer had not been idle. he had been before us in seeking the king; but as good chance befell, he had a quarrel with young henry, the king's fiery son; and the prince was mightily offended, and made his sire offended likewise. wherefore mortimer was something in disgrace even before we got there, and when our story was told he was called up before the king and prince. and all our old forest rights have been restored to us--nay, have been widened and increased, and that at the expense of mortimer. ye should have seen his face when that mandate was brought forth and duly signed and sealed with the royal seal and delivered to our father! and the prior has been warned to take his spies from chad, and the prince has promised to come and visit us, and to enjoy a week's hunting in the forest." bertram's breath gave out before he had well finished outpouring his story, and the pause was filled by a great huzza, led off by julian, and taken up by all the company, who were hearing scraps of like information from the men-at-arms who had conducted home the heir. "our parents are constrained to remain awhile longer at court; but i hungered to bring the news to chad, and to hear the end of the story." bertram here dismounted, and taking his brothers by the arm, led them up to their own room, which was always their favourite haunt. "i see that thy face is well-nigh recovered, edred; but it stood us in marvellous good stead. tell me, how fared you when you parted from us? all went well?" "excellent well in all truth. not a soul accosted us by the way. we saw him take boat to the sloop, and saw the sloop sail out of the bay. in truth, it seems like a dream now that it is all passed. but it was a fearful time whilst it lasted." "yet it has led to good. we are higher in favour with the king than ever, and i trow it will be long ere our haughty neighbour dares to raise his crest against us." bertram paused smiling, and laid his hand upon the masked door which had kept its secret so long. "and if it be that our gracious prince doth in very truth visit us here, methinks that to him and to him alone will we tell the whole of the strange story, and disclose to him the trick of the secret chamber at chad!" the end. bulfinch's mythology the age of fable the age of chivalry legends of charlemagne by thomas bulfinch complete in one volume [editor's note: the etext contains only the age of chivalry] publishers' preface no new edition of bulfinch's classic work can be considered complete without some notice of the american scholar to whose wide erudition and painstaking care it stands as a perpetual monument. "the age of fable" has come to be ranked with older books like "pilgrim's progress," "gulliver's travels," "the arabian nights," "robinson crusoe," and five or six other productions of world-wide renown as a work with which every one must claim some acquaintance before his education can be called really complete. many readers of the present edition will probably recall coming in contact with the work as children, and, it may be added, will no doubt discover from a fresh perusal the source of numerous bits of knowledge that have remained stored in their minds since those early years. yet to the majority of this great circle of readers and students the name bulfinch in itself has no significance. thomas bulfinch was a native of boston, mass., where he was born in . his boyhood was spent in that city, and he prepared for college in the boston schools. he finished his scholastic training at harvard college, and after taking his degree was for a period a teacher in his home city. for a long time later in life he was employed as an accountant in the boston merchants' bank. his leisure time he used for further pursuit of the classical studies which he had begun at harvard, and his chief pleasure in life lay in writing out the results of his reading, in simple, condensed form for young or busy readers. the plan he followed in this work, to give it the greatest possible usefulness, is set forth in the author's preface. "age of fable," first edition, ; "the age of chivalry," ; "the boy inventor," ; "legends of charlemagne, or romance of the middle ages," ; "poetry of the age of fable," ; "oregon and eldorado, or romance of the rivers," . in this complete edition of his mythological and legendary lore "the age of fable," "the age of chivalry," and "legends of charlemagne" are included. scrupulous care has been taken to follow the original text of bulfinch, but attention should be called to some additional sections which have been inserted to add to the rounded completeness of the work, and which the publishers believe would meet with the sanction of the author himself, as in no way intruding upon his original plan but simply carrying it out in more complete detail. the section on northern mythology has been enlarged by a retelling of the epic of the "nibelungen lied," together with a summary of wagner's version of the legend in his series of music-dramas. under the head of "hero myths of the british race" have been included outlines of the stories of beowulf, cuchulain, hereward the wake, and robin hood. of the verse extracts which occur throughout the text, thirty or more have been added from literature which has appeared since bulfinch's time, extracts that he would have been likely to quote had he personally supervised the new edition. finally, the index has been thoroughly overhauled and, indeed, remade. all the proper names in the work have been entered, with references to the pages where they occur, and a concise explanation or definition of each has been given. thus what was a mere list of names in the original has been enlarged into a small classical and mythological dictionary, which it is hoped will prove valuable for reference purposes not necessarily connected with "the age of fable." acknowledgments are due the writings of dr. oliver huckel for information on the point of wagner's rendering of the nibelungen legend, and m. i. ebbutt's authoritative volume on "hero myths and legends of the british race," from which much of the information concerning the british heroes has been obtained author's preface if no other knowledge deserves to be called useful but that which helps to enlarge our possessions or to raise our station in society, then mythology has no claim to the appellation. but if that which tends to make us happier and better can be called useful, then we claim that epithet for our subject. for mythology is the handmaid of literature; and literature is one of the best allies of virtue and promoters of happiness. without a knowledge of mythology much of the elegant literature of our own language cannot be understood and appreciated. when byron calls rome "the niobe of nations," or says of venice, "she looks a sea-cybele fresh from ocean," he calls up to the mind of one familiar with our subject, illustrations more vivid and striking than the pencil could furnish, but which are lost to the reader ignorant of mythology. milton abounds in similar allusions. the short poem "comus" contains more than thirty such, and the ode "on the morning of the nativity" half as many. through "paradise lost" they are scattered profusely. this is one reason why we often hear persons by no means illiterate say that they cannot enjoy milton. but were these persons to add to their more solid acquirements the easy learning of this little volume, much of the poetry of milton which has appeared to them "harsh and crabbed" would be found "musical as is apollo's lute." our citations, taken from more than twenty-five poets, from spenser to longfellow, will show how general has been the practice of borrowing illustrations from mythology. the prose writers also avail themselves of the same source of elegant and suggestive illustration. one can hardly take up a number of the "edinburgh" or "quarterly review" without meeting with instances. in macaulay's article on milton there are twenty such. but how is mythology to be taught to one who does not learn it through the medium of the languages of greece and rome? to devote study to a species of learning which relates wholly to false marvels and obsolete faiths is not to be expected of the general reader in a practical age like this. the time even of the young is claimed by so many sciences of facts and things that little can be spared for set treatises on a science of mere fancy. but may not the requisite knowledge of the subject be acquired by reading the ancient poets in translations? we reply, the field is too extensive for a preparatory course; and these very translations require some previous knowledge of the subject to make them intelligible. let any one who doubts it read the first page of the "aeneid," and see what he can make of "the hatred of juno," the "decree of the parcae," the "judgment of paris," and the "honors of ganymede," without this knowledge. shall we be told that answers to such queries may be found in notes, or by a reference to the classical dictionary? we reply, the interruption of one's reading by either process is so annoying that most readers prefer to let an allusion pass unapprehended rather than submit to it. moreover, such sources give us only the dry facts without any of the charm of the original narrative; and what is a poetical myth when stripped of its poetry? the story of ceyx and halcyone, which fills a chapter in our book, occupies but eight lines in the best (smith's) classical dictionary; and so of others. our work is an attempt to solve this problem, by telling the stories of mythology in such a manner as to make them a source of amusement. we have endeavored to tell them correctly, according to the ancient authorities, so that when the reader finds them referred to he may not be at a loss to recognize the reference. thus we hope to teach mythology not as a study, but as a relaxation from study; to give our work the charm of a story-book, yet by means of it to impart a knowledge of an important branch of education. the index at the end will adapt it to the purposes of reference, and make it a classical dictionary for the parlor. most of the classical legends in "stories of gods and heroes" are derived from ovid and virgil. they are not literally translated, for, in the author's opinion, poetry translated into literal prose is very unattractive reading. neither are they in verse, as well for other reasons as from a conviction that to translate faithfully under all the embarrassments of rhyme and measure is impossible. the attempt has been made to tell the stories in prose, preserving so much of the poetry as resides in the thoughts and is separable from the language itself, and omitting those amplifications which are not suited to the altered form. the northern mythological stories are copied with some abridgment from mallet's "northern antiquities." these chapters, with those on oriental and egyptian mythology, seemed necessary to complete the subject, though it is believed these topics have not usually been presented in the same volume with the classical fables. the poetical citations so freely introduced are expected to answer several valuable purposes. they will tend to fix in memory the leading fact of each story, they will help to the attainment of a correct pronunciation of the proper names, and they will enrich the memory with many gems of poetry, some of them such as are most frequently quoted or alluded to in reading and conversation. having chosen mythology as connected with literature for our province, we have endeavored to omit nothing which the reader of elegant literature is likely to find occasion for. such stories and parts of stories as are offensive to pure taste and good morals are not given. but such stories are not often referred to, and if they occasionally should be, the english reader need feel no mortification in confessing his ignorance of them. our work is not for the learned, nor for the theologian, nor for the philosopher, but for the reader of english literature, of either sex, who wishes to comprehend the allusions so frequently made by public speakers, lecturers, essayists, and poets, and those which occur in polite conversation. in the "stories of gods and heroes" the compiler has endeavored to impart the pleasures of classical learning to the english reader, by presenting the stories of pagan mythology in a form adapted to modern taste. in "king arthur and his knights" and "the mabinogeon" the attempt has been made to treat in the same way the stories of the second "age of fable," the age which witnessed the dawn of the several states of modern europe. it is believed that this presentation of a literature which held unrivalled sway over the imaginations of our ancestors, for many centuries, will not be without benefit to the reader, in addition to the amusement it may afford. the tales, though not to be trusted for their facts, are worthy of all credit as pictures of manners; and it is beginning to be held that the manners and modes of thinking of an age are a more important part of its history than the conflicts of its peoples, generally leading to no result. besides this, the literature of romance is a treasure-house of poetical material, to which modern poets frequently resort. the italian poets, dante and ariosto, the english, spenser, scott, and tennyson, and our own longfellow and lowell, are examples of this. these legends are so connected with each other, so consistently adapted to a group of characters strongly individualized in arthur, launcelot, and their compeers, and so lighted up by the fires of imagination and invention, that they seem as well adapted to the poet's purpose as the legends of the greek and roman mythology. and if every well-educated young person is expected to know the story of the golden fleece, why is the quest of the sangreal less worthy of his acquaintance? or if an allusion to the shield of achilles ought not to pass unapprehended, why should one to excalibar, the famous sword of arthur?-- "of arthur, who, to upper light restored, with that terrific sword, which yet he brandishes for future war, shall lift his country's fame above the polar star." [footnote: wordsworth] it is an additional recommendation of our subject, that it tends to cherish in our minds the idea of the source from which we sprung. we are entitled to our full share in the glories and recollections of the land of our forefathers, down to the time of colonization thence. the associations which spring from this source must be fruitful of good influences; among which not the least valuable is the increased enjoyment which such associations afford to the american traveller when he visits england, and sets his foot upon any of her renowned localities. the legends of charlemagne and his peers are necessary to complete the subject. in an age when intellectual darkness enveloped western europe, a constellation of brilliant writers arose in italy. of these, pulci (born in ), boiardo ( ), and ariosto ( ) took for their subjects the romantic fables which had for many ages been transmitted in the lays of bards and the legends of monkish chroniclers. these fables they arranged in order, adorned with the embellishments of fancy, amplified from their own invention, and stamped with immortality. it may safely be asserted that as long as civilization shall endure these productions will retain their place among the most cherished creations of human genius. in "stories of gods and heroes," "king arthur and his knights" and "the mabinogeon" the aim has been to supply to the modern reader such knowledge of the fables of classical and mediaeval literature as is needed to render intelligible the allusions which occur in reading and conversation. the "legends of charlemagne" is intended to carry out the same design. like the earlier portions of the work, it aspires to a higher character than that of a piece of mere amusement. it claims to be useful, in acquainting its readers with the subjects of the productions of the great poets of italy. some knowledge of these is expected of every well-educated young person. in reading these romances, we cannot fail to observe how the primitive inventions have been used, again and again, by successive generations of fabulists. the siren of ulysses is the prototype of the siren of orlando, and the character of circe reappears in alcina. the fountains of love and hatred may be traced to the story of cupid and psyche; and similar effects produced by a magic draught appear in the tale of tristram and isoude, and, substituting a flower for the draught, in shakspeare's "midsummer night's dream." there are many other instances of the same kind which the reader will recognize without our assistance. the sources whence we derive these stories are, first, the italian poets named above; next, the "romans de chevalerie" of the comte de tressan; lastly, certain german collections of popular tales. some chapters have been borrowed from leigh hunt's translations from the italian poets. it seemed unnecessary to do over again what he had already done so well; yet, on the other hand, those stories could not be omitted from the series without leaving it incomplete. thomas bulfinch. contents king arthur and his knights i. introduction ii. the mythical history of england iii. merlin iv. arthur v. arthur (continued) vi. sir gawain vii. caradoc briefbras; or, caradoc with the shrunken arm viii. launcelot of the lake ix. the adventure of the cart x. the lady of shalott xi. queen guenever's peril xii. tristram and isoude xiii. tristram and isoude (continued) xiv. sir tristram's battle with sir launcelot xv. the round table xvi. sir palamedes xvii. sir tristram xviii. perceval xix. the sangreal, or holy graal xx. the sangreal (continued) xxi. the sangreal (continued) xxii. sir agrivain's treason xxiii. morte d'arthur the mabinogeon introductory note i. the britons ii. the lady of the fountain iii. the lady of the fountain (continued) iv. the lady of the fountain (continued) v. geraint, the son of erbin vi. geraint, the son of erbin (continued) vii. geraint, the son of erbin (continued) viii. pwyll, prince of dyved ix. branwen, the daughter of llyr x. manawyddan xi. kilwich and olwen xii. kilwich and olwen (continued) xiii. taliesin hero myths of the british race beowulf cuchulain, champion of ireland hereward the wake robin hood glossary king arthur and his knights chapter i introduction on the decline of the roman power, about five centuries after christ, the countries of northern europe were left almost destitute of a national government. numerous chiefs, more or less powerful, held local sway, as far as each could enforce his dominion, and occasionally those chiefs would unite for a common object; but, in ordinary times, they were much more likely to be found in hostility to one another. in such a state of things the rights of the humbler classes of society were at the mercy of every assailant; and it is plain that, without some check upon the lawless power of the chiefs, society must have relapsed into barbarism. such checks were found, first, in the rivalry of the chiefs themselves, whose mutual jealousy made them restraints upon one another; secondly, in the influence of the church, which, by every motive, pure or selfish, was pledged to interpose for the protection of the weak; and lastly, in the generosity and sense of right which, however crushed under the weight of passion and selfishness, dwell naturally in the heart of man. from this last source sprang chivalry, which framed an ideal of the heroic character, combining invincible strength and valor, justice, modesty, loyalty to superiors, courtesy to equals, compassion to weakness, and devotedness to the church; an ideal which, if never met with in real life, was acknowledged by all as the highest model for emulation. the word "chivalry" is derived from the french "cheval," a horse. the word "knight," which originally meant boy or servant, was particularly applied to a young man after he was admitted to the privilege of bearing arms. this privilege was conferred on youths of family and fortune only, for the mass of the people were not furnished with arms. the knight then was a mounted warrior, a man of rank, or in the service and maintenance of some man of rank, generally possessing some independent means of support, but often relying mainly on the gratitude of those whom he served for the supply of his wants, and often, no doubt, resorting to the means which power confers on its possessor. in time of war the knight was, with his followers, in the camp of his sovereign, or commanding in the field, or holding some castle for him. in time of peace he was often in attendance at his sovereign's court, gracing with his presence the banquets and tournaments with which princes cheered their leisure. or he was traversing the country in quest of adventure, professedly bent on redressing wrongs and enforcing rights, sometimes in fulfilment of some vow of religion or of love. these wandering knights were called knights-errant; they were welcome guests in the castles of the nobility, for their presence enlivened the dulness of those secluded abodes, and they were received with honor at the abbeys, which often owed the best part of their revenues to the patronage of the knights; but if no castle or abbey or hermitage were at hand their hardy habits made it not intolerable to them to lie down, supperless, at the foot of some wayside cross, and pass the night. it is evident that the justice administered by such an instrumentality must have been of the rudest description. the force whose legitimate purpose was to redress wrongs might easily be perverted to inflict them accordingly, we find in the romances, which, however fabulous in facts, are true as pictures of manners, that a knightly castle was often a terror to the surrounding country; that is, dungeons were full of oppressed knights and ladies, waiting for some champion to appear to set them free, or to be ransomed with money; that hosts of idle retainers were ever at hand to enforce their lord's behests, regardless of law and justice; and that the rights of the unarmed multitude were of no account. this contrariety of fact and theory in regard to chivalry will account for the opposite impressions which exist in men's minds respecting it. while it has been the theme of the most fervid eulogium on the one part, it has been as eagerly denounced on the other. on a cool estimate, we cannot but see reason to congratulate ourselves that it has given way in modern times to the reign of law, and that the civil magistrate, if less picturesque, has taken the place of the mailed champion. the training of a knight the preparatory education of candidates for knighthood was long and arduous. at seven years of age the noble children were usually removed from their father's house to the court or castle of their future patron, and placed under the care of a governor, who taught them the first articles of religion, and respect and reverence for their lords and superiors, and initiated them in the ceremonies of a court. they were called pages, valets, or varlets, and their office was to carve, to wait at table, and to perform other menial services, which were not then considered humiliating. in their leisure hours they learned to dance and play on the harp, were instructed in the mysteries of woods and rivers, that is, in hunting, falconry, and fishing, and in wrestling, tilting with spears, and performing other military exercises on horseback. at fourteen the page became an esquire, and began a course of severer and more laborious exercises. to vault on a horse in heavy armor; to run, to scale walls, and spring over ditches, under the same encumbrance; to wrestle, to wield the battle-axe for a length of time, without raising the visor or taking breath; to perform with grace all the evolutions of horsemanship,--were necessary preliminaries to the reception of knighthood, which was usually conferred at twenty-one years of age, when the young man's education was supposed to be completed. in the meantime, the esquires were no less assiduously engaged in acquiring all those refinements of civility which formed what was in that age called courtesy. the same castle in which they received their education was usually thronged with young persons of the other sex, and the page was encouraged, at a very early age, to select some lady of the court as the mistress of his heart, to whom he was taught to refer all his sentiments, words, and actions. the service of his mistress was the glory and occupation of a knight, and her smiles, bestowed at once by affection and gratitude, were held out as the recompense of his well-directed valor. religion united its influence with those of loyalty and love, and the order of knighthood, endowed with all the sanctity and religious awe that attended the priesthood, became an object of ambition to the greatest sovereigns. the ceremonies of initiation were peculiarly solemn. after undergoing a severe fast, and spending whole nights in prayer, the candidate confessed, and received the sacrament. he then clothed himself in snow-white garments, and repaired to the church, or the hall, where the ceremony was to take place, bearing a knightly sword suspended from his neck, which the officiating priest took and blessed, and then returned to him. the candidate then, with folded arms, knelt before the presiding knight, who, after some questions about his motives and purposes in requesting admission, administered to him the oaths, and granted his request. some of the knights present, sometimes even ladies and damsels, handed to him in succession the spurs, the coat of mail, the hauberk, the armlet and gauntlet, and lastly he girded on the sword. he then knelt again before the president, who, rising from his seat, gave him the "accolade," which consisted of three strokes, with the flat of a sword, on the shoulder or neck of the candidate, accompanied by the words: "in the name of god, of st. michael, and st. george, i make thee a knight; be valiant, courteous, and loyal!" then he received his helmet, his shield, and spear; and thus the investiture ended. freemen, villains, serfs, and clerks the other classes of which society was composed were, first, freemen, owners of small portions of land independent, though they sometimes voluntarily became the vassals of their more opulent neighbors, whose power was necessary for their protection. the other two classes, which were much the most numerous, were either serfs or villains, both of which were slaves. the serfs were in the lowest state of slavery. all the fruits of their labor belonged to the master whose land they tilled, and by whom they were fed and clothed. the villians were less degraded. their situation seems to have resembled that of the russian peasants at this day. like the serfs, they were attached to the soil, and were transferred with it by purchase; but they paid only a fixed rent to the landlord, and had a right to dispose of any surplus that might arise from their industry. the term "clerk" was of very extensive import. it comprehended, originally, such persons only as belonged to the clergy, or clerical order, among whom, however, might be found a multitude of married persons, artisans or others. but in process of time a much wider rule was established; every one that could read being accounted a clerk or clericus, and allowed the "benefit of clergy," that is, exemption from capital and some other forms of punishment, in case of crime. tournaments the splendid pageant of a tournament between knights, its gaudy accessories and trappings, and its chivalrous regulations, originated in france. tournaments were repeatedly condemned by the church, probably on account of the quarrels they led to, and the often fatal results. the "joust," or "just," was different from the tournament. in these, knights fought with their lances, and their object was to unhorse their antagonists; while the tournaments were intended for a display of skill and address in evolutions, and with various weapons, and greater courtesy was observed in the regulations. by these it was forbidden to wound the horse, or to use the point of the sword, or to strike a knight after he had raised his vizor, or unlaced his helmet. the ladies encouraged their knights in these exercises; they bestowed prizes, and the conqueror's feats were the theme of romance and song. the stands overlooking the ground, of course, were varied in the shapes of towers, terraces, galleries, and pensile gardens, magnificently decorated with tapestry, pavilions, and banners. every combatant proclaimed the name of the lady whose servant d'amour he was. he was wont to look up to the stand, and strengthen his courage by the sight of the bright eyes that were raining their influence on him from above. the knights also carried favors, consisting of scarfs, veils, sleeves, bracelets, clasps,--in short, some piece of female habiliment,--attached to their helmets, shields, or armor. if, during the combat, any of these appendages were dropped or lost the fair donor would at times send her knight new ones, especially if pleased with his exertions. mail armor mail armor, of which the hauberk is a species, and which derived its name from maille, a french word for mesh, was of two kinds, plate or scale mail, and chain mail. it was originally used for the protection of the body only, reaching no lower than the knees. it was shaped like a carter's frock, and bound round the waist by a girdle. gloves and hose of mail were afterwards added, and a hood, which, when necessary, was drawn over the head, leaving the face alone uncovered. to protect the skin from the impression of the iron network of the chain mail, a quilted lining was employed, which, however, was insufficient, and the bath was used to efface the marks of the armor. the hauberk was a complete covering of double chain mail. some hauberks opened before, like a modern coat; others were closed like a shirt. the chain mail of which they were composed was formed by a number of iron links, each link having others inserted into it, the whole exhibiting a kind of network, of which (in some instances at least) the meshes were circular, with each link separately riveted. the hauberk was proof against the most violent blow of a sword; but the point of a lance might pass through the meshes, or drive the iron into the flesh. to guard against this, a thick and well- stuffed doublet was worn underneath, under which was commonly added an iron breastplate. hence the expression "to pierce both plate and mail," so common in the earlier poets. mail armor continued in general use till about the year , when it was gradually supplanted by plate armor, or suits consisting of pieces or plates of solid iron, adapted to the different parts of the body. shields were generally made of wood, covered with leather, or some similar substance. to secure them, in some sort, from being cut through by the sword, they were surrounded with a hoop of metal. helmets the helmet was composed of two parts: the headpiece, which was strengthened within by several circles of iron, and the visor, which, as the name implies, was a sort of grating to see through, so contrived as, by sliding in a groove, or turning on a pivot, to be raised or lowered at pleasure. some helmets had a further improvement called a bever, from the italian bevere, to drink. the ventayle, or "air-passage," is another name for this. to secure the helmet from the possibility of falling, or of being struck off, it was tied by several laces to the meshes of the hauberk; consequently, when a knight was overthrown it was necessary to undo these laces before he could be put to death; though this was sometimes effected by lifting up the skirt of the hauberk, and stabbing him in the belly. the instrument of death was a small dagger, worn on the right side. romances in ages when there were no books, when noblemen and princes themselves could not read, history or tradition was monopolized by the story-tellers. they inherited, generation after generation, the wondrous tales of their predecessors, which they retailed to the public with such additions of their own as their acquired information supplied them with. anachronisms became of course very common, and errors of geography, of locality, of manners, equally so. spurious genealogies were invented, in which arthur and his knights, and charlemagne and his paladins, were made to derive their descent from aeneas, hector, or some other of the trojan heroes. with regard to the derivation of the word "romance," we trace it to the fact that the dialects which were formed in western europe, from the admixture of latin with the native languages, took the name of langue romaine. the french language was divided into two dialects. the river loire was their common boundary. in the provinces to the south of that river the affirmative, yes, was expressed by the word oc; in the north it was called oil (oui); and hence dante has named the southern language langue d'oc, and the northern langue d'oil. the latter, which was carried into england by the normans, and is the origin of the present french, may be called the french romane; and the former the provencal, or provencial romane, because it was spoken by the people of provence and languedoc, southern provinces of france. these dialects were soon distinguished by very opposite characters. a soft and enervating climate, a spirit of commerce encouraged by an easy communication with other maritime nations, the influx of wealth, and a more settled government, may have tended to polish and soften the diction of the provencials, whose poets, under the name of troubadours, were the masters of the italians, and particularly of petrarch. their favorite pieces were sirventes (satirical pieces), love-songs, and tensons, which last were a sort of dialogue in verse between two poets, who questioned each other on some refined points of loves' casuistry. it seems the provencials were so completely absorbed in these delicate questions as to neglect and despise the composition of fabulous histories of adventure and knighthood, which they left in a great measure to the poets of the northern part of the kingdom, called trouveurs. at a time when chivalry excited universal admiration, and when all the efforts of that chivalry were directed against the enemies of religion, it was natural that literature should receive the same impulse, and that history and fable should be ransacked to furnish examples of courage and piety that might excite increased emulation. arthur and charlemagne were the two heroes selected for this purpose. arthur's pretensions were that he was a brave, though not always a successful warrior; he had withstood with great resolution the arms of the infidels, that is to say of the saxons, and his memory was held in the highest estimation by his countrymen, the britons, who carried with them into wales, and into the kindred country of armorica, or brittany, the memory of his exploits, which their national vanity insensibly exaggerated, till the little prince of the silures (south wales) was magnified into the conqueror of england, of gaul, and of the greater part of europe. his genealogy was gradually carried up to an imaginary brutus, and to the period of the trojan war, and a sort of chronicle was composed in the welsh, or armorican language, which, under the pompous title of the "history of the kings of britain," was translated into latin by geoffrey of monmouth, about the year . the welsh critics consider the material of the work to have been an older history, written by st. talian, bishop of st. asaph, in the seventh century. as to charlemagne, though his real merits were sufficient to secure his immortality, it was impossible that his holy wars against the saracens should not become a favorite topic for fiction. accordingly, the fabulous history of these wars was written, probably towards the close of the eleventh century, by a monk, who, thinking it would add dignity to his work to embellish it with a contemporary name, boldly ascribed it to turpin, who was archbishop of rheims about the year . these fabulous chronicles were for a while imprisoned in languages of local only or of professional access. both turpin and geoffrey might indeed be read by ecclesiastics, the sole latin scholars of those times, and geoffrey's british original would contribute to the gratification of welshmen; but neither could become extensively popular till translated into some language of general and familiar use. the anglo-saxon was at that time used only by a conquered and enslaved nation; the spanish and italian languages were not yet formed; the norman french alone was spoken and understood by the nobility in the greater part of europe, and therefore was a proper vehicle for the new mode of composition. that language was fashionable in england before the conquest, and became, after that event, the only language used at the court of london. as the various conquests of the normans, and the enthusiastic valor of that extraordinary people, had familiarized the minds of men with the most marvellous events, their poets eagerly seized the fabulous legends of arthur and charlemagne, translated them into the language of the day, and soon produced a variety of imitations. the adventures attributed to these monarchs, and to their distinguished warriors, together with those of many other traditionary or imaginary heroes, composed by degrees that formidable body of marvellous histories which, from the dialect in which the most ancient of them were written, were called "romances." metrical romances the earliest form in which romances appear is that of a rude kind of verse. in this form it is supposed they were sung or recited at the feasts of princes and knights in their baronial halls. the following specimen of the language and style of robert de beauvais, who flourished in , is from sir walter scott's "introduction to the romance of sir tristrem": "ne voil pas emmi dire, ici diverse la matyere, entre ceus qui solent cunter, e de le cunte tristran parler." "i will not say too much about it, so diverse is the matter, among those who are in the habit of telling and relating the story of tristran." this is a specimen of the language which was in use among the nobility of england, in the ages immediately after the norman conquest. the following is a specimen of the english that existed at the same time, among the common people. robert de brunne, speaking of his latin and french authorities, says: "als thai haf wryten and sayd haf i alle in myn inglis layd, in symple speche as i couthe, that is lightest in manne's mouthe. alle for the luf of symple men, that strange inglis cannot ken." the "strange inglis" being the language of the previous specimen. it was not till toward the end of the thirteenth century that the prose romances began to appear. these works generally began with disowning and discrediting the sources from which in reality they drew their sole information. as every romance was supposed to be a real history, the compilers of those in prose would have forfeited all credit if they had announced themselves as mere copyists of the minstrels. on the contrary, they usually state that, as the popular poems upon the matter in question contain many "lesings," they had been induced to translate the real and true history of such or such a knight from the original latin or greek, or from the ancient british or armorican authorities, which authorities existed only in their own assertion. a specimen of the style of the prose romances may be found in the following extract from one of the most celebrated and latest of them, the "morte d'arthur" of sir thomas mallory, of the date of . from this work much of the contents of this volume has been drawn, with as close an adherence to the original style as was thought consistent with our plan of adapting our narrative to the taste of modern readers. "it is notoyrly knowen thorugh the vnyuersal world that there been ix worthy and the best that ever were. that is to wete thre paynyms, three jewes, and three crysten men. as for the paynyms, they were tofore the incarnacyon of cryst whiche were named, the fyrst hector of troye; the second alysaunder the grete, and the thyrd julyus cezar, emperour of rome, of whome thystoryes ben wel kno and had. and as for the thre jewes whyche also were tofore thyncarnacyon of our lord, of whome the fyrst was duc josue, whyche brought the chyldren of israhel into the londe of beheste; the second dauyd, kyng of jherusalem, and the thyrd judas machabeus; of these thre the byble reherceth al theyr noble hystoryes and actes. and sythe the sayd incarnacyon haue ben the noble crysten men stalled and admytted thorugh the vnyuersal world to the nombre of the ix beste and worthy, of whome was fyrst the noble arthur, whose noble actes i purpose to wryte in this person book here folowyng. the second was charlemayn, or charles the grete, of whome thystorye is had in many places both in frensshe and englysshe, and the thyrd and last was godefray of boloyn." chapter ii the mythical history of england the illustrious poet, milton, in his "history of england," is the author whom we chiefly follow in this chapter. according to the earliest accounts, albion, a giant, and son of neptune, a contemporary of hercules, ruled over the island, to which he gave his name. presuming to oppose the progress of hercules in his western march, he was slain by him. another story is that histion, the son of japhet, the son of noah, had four sons, francus, romanus, alemannus, and britto, from whom descended the french, roman, german, and british people. rejecting these and other like stories, milton gives more regard to the story of brutus, the trojan, which, he says, is supported by "descents of ancestry long continued, laws and exploits not plainly seeming to be borrowed or devised, which on the common belief have wrought no small impression; defended by many, denied utterly by few." the principal authority is geoffrey of monmouth, whose history, written in the twelfth century, purports to be a translation of a history of britain brought over from the opposite shore of france, which, under the name of brittany, was chiefly peopled by natives of britain who, from time to time, emigrated thither, driven from their own country by the inroads of the picts and scots. according to this authority, brutus was the son of silvius, and he of ascanius, the son of aeneas, whose flight from troy and settlement in italy are narrated in "stories of gods and heroes." brutus, at the age of fifteen, attending his father to the chase, unfortunately killed him with an arrow. banished therefor by his kindred, he sought refuge in that part of greece where helenus, with a band of trojan exiles, had become established. but helenus was now dead and the descendants of the trojans were oppressed by pandrasus, the king of the country. brutus, being kindly received among them, so throve in virtue and in arms as to win the regard of all the eminent of the land above all others of his age. in consequence of this the trojans not only began to hope, but secretly to persuade him to lead them the way to liberty. to encourage them, they had the promise of help from assaracus, a noble greek youth, whose mother was a trojan. he had suffered wrong at the hands of the king, and for that reason the more willingly cast in his lost with the trojan exiles. choosing a fit opportunity, brutus with his countrymen withdrew to the woods and hills, as the safest place from which to expostulate, and sent this message to pandrasus: "that the trojans, holding it unworthy of their ancestors to serve in a foreign land, had retreated to the woods, choosing rather a savage life than a slavish one. if that displeased him, then, with his leave, they would depart to some other country." pandrasus, not expecting so bold a message from the sons of captives, went in pursuit of them, with such forces as he could gather, and met them on the banks of the achelous, where brutus got the advantage, and took the king captive. the result was, that the terms demanded by the trojans were granted; the king gave his daughter imogen in marriage to brutus, and furnished shipping, money, and fit provision for them all to depart from the land. the marriage being solemnized, and shipping from all parts got together, the trojans, in a fleet of no less than three hundred and twenty sail, betook themselves to the sea. on the third day they arrived at a certain island, which they found destitute of inhabitants, though there were appearances of former habitation, and among the ruins a temple of diana. brutus, here performing sacrifice at the shrine of the goddess, invoked an oracle for his guidance, in these lines: "goddess of shades, and huntress, who at will walk'st on the rolling sphere, and through the deep; on thy third realm, the earth, look now, and tell what land, what seat of rest, thou bidd'st me seek; what certain seat where i may worship thee for aye, with temples vowed and virgin choirs." to whom, sleeping before the altar, diana in a vision thus answered: "brutus! far to the west, in the ocean wide, beyond the realm of gaul, a land there lies, seagirt it lies, where giants dwelt of old; now, void, it fits thy people: thither bend thy course; there shalt thou find a lasting seat; there to thy sons another troy shall rise, and kings be born of thee, whose dreaded might shall awe the world, and conquer nations bold" brutus, guided now, as he thought, by divine direction, sped his course towards the west, and, arriving at a place on the tyrrhene sea, found there the descendants of certain trojans who, with antenor, came into italy, of whom corineus was the chief. these joined company, and the ships pursued their way till they arrived at the mouth of the river loire, in france, where the expedition landed, with a view to a settlement, but were so rudely assaulted by the inhabitants that they put to sea again, and arrived at a part of the coast of britain, now called devonshire, where brutus felt convinced that he had found the promised end of his voyage, landed his colony, and took possession. the island, not yet britain, but albion, was in a manner desert and inhospitable, occupied only by a remnant of the giant race whose excessive force and tyranny had destroyed the others. the trojans encountered these and extirpated them, corineus, in particular, signalizing himself by his exploits against them; from whom cornwall takes its name, for that region fell to his lot, and there the hugest giants dwelt, lurking in rocks and caves, till corineus rid the land of them. brutus built his capital city, and called it trojanova (new troy), changed in time to trinovantus, now london; [footnote: "for noble britons sprong from trojans bold, and troynovant was built of old troy's ashes cold" spenser, book iii, canto ix., .] and, having governed the isle twenty-four years, died, leaving three sons, locrine, albanact and camber. locrine had the middle part, camber the west, called cambria from him, and albanact albania, now scotland. locrine was married to guendolen, the daughter of corineus, but having seen a fair maid named estrildis, who had been brought captive from germany, he became enamoured of her, and had by her a daughter, whose name was sabra. this matter was kept secret while corineus lived, but after his death locrine divorced guendolen, and made estrildis his queen. guendolen, all in rage, departed to cornwall, where madan, her son, lived, who had been brought up by corineus, his grandfather. gathering an army of her father's friends and subjects, she gave battle to her husband's forces and locrine was slain. guendolen caused her rival, estrildis, with her daughter sabra, to be thrown into the river, from which cause the river thenceforth bore the maiden's name, which by length of time is now changed into sabrina or severn. milton alludes to this in his address to the rivers,-- "severn swift, guilty of maiden's death";-- and in his "comus" tells the story with a slight variation, thus: "there is a gentle nymph not far from hence, that with moist curb sways the smooth severn stream; sabrina is her name, a virgin pure: whilom she was the daughter of locrine, that had the sceptre from his father, brute, she, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit of her enraged step-dame, guendolen, commended her fair innocence to the flood, that stayed her night with his cross-flowing course the water-nymphs that in the bottom played, held up their pearled wrists and took her in, bearing her straight to aged nereus' hall, who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head, and gave her to his daughters to imbathe in nectared lavers strewed with asphodel, and through the porch and inlet of each sense dropped in ambrosial oils till she revived, and underwent a quick, immortal change, made goddess of the river," etc. if our readers ask when all this took place, we must answer, in the first place, that mythology is not careful of dates; and next, that, as brutus was the great-grandson of aeneas, it must have been not far from a century subsequent to the trojan war, or about eleven hundred years before the invasion of the island by julius caesar. this long interval is filled with the names of princes whose chief occupation was in warring with one another. some few, whose names remain connected with places, or embalmed in literature, we will mention. bladud bladud built the city of bath, and dedicated the medicinal waters to minerva. he was a man of great invention, and practised the arts of magic, till, having made him wings to fly, he fell down upon the temple of apollo, in trinovant, and so died, after twenty years' reign. leir leir, who next reigned, built leicester, and called it after his name. he had no male issue, but only three daughters. when grown old he determined to divide his kingdom among his daughters, and bestow them in marriage. but first, to try which of them loved him best, he determined to ask them solemnly in order, and judge of the warmth of their affection by their answers. goneril, the eldest, knowing well her father's weakness, made answer that she loved him "above her soul." "since thou so honorest my declining age," said the old man, "to thee and to thy husband i give the third part of my realm." such good success for a few words soon uttered was ample instruction to regan, the second daughter, what to say. she therefore to the same question replied that "she loved him more than all the world beside;" and so received an equal reward with her sister. but cordelia, the youngest, and hitherto the best beloved, though having before her eyes the reward of a little easy soothing, and the loss likely to attend plain- dealing, yet was not moved from the solid purpose of a sincere and virtuous answer, and replied: "father, my love towards you is as my duty bids. they who pretend beyond this flatter." when the old man, sorry to hear this, and wishing her to recall these words, persisted in asking, she still restrained her expressions so as to say rather less than more than the truth. then leir, all in a passion, burst forth: "since thou hast not reverenced thy aged father like thy sisters, think not to have any part in my kingdom or what else i have;"--and without delay, giving in marriage his other daughters, goneril to the duke of albany, and regan to the duke of cornwall, he divides his kingdom between them, and goes to reside with his eldest daughter, attended only by a hundred knights. but in a short time his attendants, being complained of as too numerous and disorderly, are reduced to thirty. resenting that affront, the old king betakes him to his second daughter; but she, instead of soothing his wounded pride, takes part with her sister, and refuses to admit a retinue of more than five. then back he returns to the other, who now will not receive him with more than one attendant. then the remembrance of cordeilla comes to his thoughts, and he takes his journey into france to seek her, with little hope of kind consideration from one whom he had so injured, but to pay her the last recompense he can render,-- confession of his injustice. when cordeilla is informed of his approach, and of his sad condition, she pours forth true filial tears. and, not willing that her own or others' eyes should see him in that forlorn condition, she sends one of her trusted servants to meet him, and convey him privately to some comfortable abode, and to furnish him with such state as befitted his dignity. after which cordeilla, with the king her husband, went in state to meet him, and, after an honorable reception, the king permitted his wife, cordeilla, to go with an army and set her father again upon his throne. they prospered, subdued the wicked sisters and their consorts, and leir obtained the crown and held it three years. cordeilla succeeded him and reigned five years; but the sons of her sisters, after that, rebelled against her, and she lost both her crown and life. shakspeare has chosen this story as the subject of his tragedy of "king lear," varying its details in some respects. the madness of leir, and the ill success of cordeilla's attempt to reinstate her father, are the principal variations, and those in the names will also be noticed. our narrative is drawn from milton's "history;" and thus the reader will perceive that the story of leir has had the distinguished honor of being told by the two acknowledged chiefs of british literature. ferrex and porrex ferrex and porrex were brothers, who held the kingdom after leir. they quarrelled about the supremacy, and porrex expelled his brother, who, obtaining aid from suard, king of the franks, returned and made war upon porrex. ferrex was slain in battle and his forces dispersed. when their mother came to hear of her son's death, who was her favorite, she fell into a great rage, and conceived a mortal hatred against the survivor. she took, therefore, her opportunity when he was asleep, fell upon him, and, with the assistance of her women, tore him in pieces. this horrid story would not be worth relating, were it not for the fact that it has furnished the plot for the first tragedy which was written in the english language. it was entitled "gorboduc," but in the second edition "ferrex and porrex," and was the production of thomas sackville, afterwards earl of dorset, and thomas norton, a barrister. its date was . dunwallo molmutius this is the next name of note. molmutius established the molmutine laws, which bestowed the privilege of sanctuary on temples, cities, and the roads leading to them, and gave the same protection to ploughs, extending a religious sanction to the labors of the field. shakspeare alludes to him in "cymbeline," act iii., scene : "... molmutius made our laws; who was the first of britain which did put his brows within a golden crown, and called himself a king." brennus and belinus, the sons of molmutius, succeeded him. they quarrelled, and brennus was driven out of the island, and took refuge in gaul, where he met with such favor from the king of the allobroges that he gave him his daughter in marriage, and made him his partner on the throne. brennus is the name which the roman historians give to the famous leader of the gauls who took rome in the time of camillus. geoffrey of monmouth claims the glory of the conquest for the british prince, after he had become king of the allobroges. elidure after belinus and brennus there reigned several kings of little note, and then came elidure. arthgallo, his brother, being king, gave great offence to his powerful nobles, who rose against him, deposed him, and advanced elidure to the throne. arthgallo fled, and endeavored to find assistance in the neighboring kingdoms to reinstate him, but found none. elidure reigned prosperously and wisely. after five years' possession of the kingdom, one day, when hunting, he met in the forest his brother, arthgallo, who had been deposed. after long wandering, unable longer to bear the poverty to which he was reduced, he had returned to britain, with only ten followers, designing to repair to those who had formerly been his friends. elidure, at the sight of his brother in distress, forgetting all animosities, ran to him, and embraced him. he took arthgallo home with him, and concealed him in the palace. after this he feigned himself sick, and, calling his nobles about him, induced them, partly by persuasion, partly by force, to consent to his abdicating the kingdom, and reinstating his brother on the throne. the agreement being ratified, elidure took the crown from his own head, and put it on his brother's head. arthgallo after this reigned ten years, well and wisely, exercising strict justice towards all men. he died, and left the kingdom to his sons, who reigned with various fortunes, but were not long-lived, and left no offspring, so that elidure was again advanced to the throne, and finished the course of his life in just and virtuous actions, receiving the name of the pious, from the love and admiration of his subjects. wordsworth has taken the story of artegal and elidure for the subject of a poem, which is no. of "poems founded on the affections." lud after elidure, the chronicle names many kings, but none of special note, till we come to lud, who greatly enlarged trinovant, his capital, and surrounded it with a wall. he changed its name, bestowing upon it his own, so that henceforth it was called lud's town, afterwards london. lud was buried by the gate of the city called after him ludgate. he had two sons, but they were not old enough at the time of their father's death to sustain the cares of government, and therefore their uncle, caswallaun, or cassibellaunus, succeeded to the kingdom. he was a brave and magnificent prince, so that his fame reached to distant countries. cassibellaunus about this time it happened (as is found in the roman histories) that julius caesar, having subdued gaul, came to the shore opposite britain. and having resolved to add this island also to his conquests, he prepared ships and transported his army across the sea, to the mouth of the river thames. here he was met by cassibellaun with all his forces, and a battle ensued, in which nennius, the brother of cassibellaun, engaged in single combat with csesar. after several furious blows given and received, the sword of caesar stuck so fast in the shield of nennius that it could not be pulled out, and the combatants being separated by the intervention of the troops nennius remained possessed of this trophy. at last, after the greater part of the day was spent, the britons poured in so fast that caesar was forced to retire to his camp and fleet. and finding it useless to continue the war any longer at that time, he returned to gaul. shakspeare alludes to cassibellaunus, in "cymbeline": "the famed cassibelan, who was once at point (o giglot fortune!) to master caesar's sword, made lud's town with rejoicing fires bright, and britons strut with courage." kymbelinus, or cymbeline caesar, on a second invasion of the island, was more fortunate, and compelled the britons to pay tribute. cymbeline, the nephew of the king, was delivered to the romans as a hostage for the faithful fulfilment of the treaty, and, being carried to rome by caesar, he was there brought up in the roman arts and accomplishments. being afterwards restored to his country, and placed on the throne, he was attached to the romans, and continued through all his reign at peace with them. his sons, guiderius and arviragus, who made their appearance in shakspeare's play of "cymbeline," succeeded their father, and, refusing to pay tribute to the romans, brought on another invasion. guiderius was slain, but arviragus afterward made terms with the romans, and reigned prosperously many years. armorica the next event of note is the conquest and colonization of armorica, by maximus, a roman general, and conan, lord of miniadoc or denbigh-land, in wales. the name of the country was changed to brittany, or lesser britain; and so completely was it possessed by the british colonists, that the language became assimilated to that spoken in wales, and it is said that to this day the peasantry of the two countries can understand each other when speaking their native language. the romans eventually succeeded in establishing themselves in the island, and after the lapse of several generations they became blended with the natives so that no distinction existed between the two races. when at length the roman armies were withdrawn from britain, their departure was a matter of regret to the inhabitants, as it left them without protection against the barbarous tribes, scots, picts, and norwegians, who harassed the country incessantly. this was the state of things when the era of king arthur began. the adventure of albion, the giant, with hercules is alluded to by spenser, "faery queene," book iv., canto xi: "for albion the son of neptune was; who for the proof of his great puissance, out of his albion did on dry foot pass into old gaul that now is cleped france, to fight with hercules, that did advance to vanquish all the world with matchless might: and there his mortal part by great mischance was slain." chapter iii merlin merlin was the son of no mortal father, but of an incubus, one of a class of beings not absolutely wicked, but far from good, who inhabit the regions of the air. merlin's mother was a virtuous young woman, who, on the birth of her son, intrusted him to a priest, who hurried him to the baptismal fount, and so saved him from sharing the lot of his father, though he retained many marks of his unearthly origin. at this time vortigern reigned in britain. he was a usurper, who had caused the death of his sovereign, moines, and driven the two brothers of the late king, whose names were uther and pendragon, into banishment. vortigern, who lived in constant fear of the return of the rightful heirs of the kingdom, began to erect a strong tower for defence. the edifice, when brought by the workmen to a certain height, three times fell to the ground, without any apparent cause. the king consulted his astrologers on this wonderful event, and learned from them that it would be necessary to bathe the corner-stone of the foundation with the blood of a child born without a mortal father. in search of such an infant, vortigern sent his messengers all over the kingdom, and they by accident discovered merlin, whose lineage seemed to point him out as the individual wanted. they took him to the king; but merlin, young as he was, explained to the king the absurdity of attempting to rescue the fabric by such means, for he told him the true cause of the instability of the tower was its being placed over the den of two immense dragons, whose combats shook the earth above them. the king ordered his workmen to dig beneath the tower, and when they had done so they discovered two enormous serpents, the one white as milk the other red as fire. the multitude looked on with amazement, till the serpents, slowly rising from their den, and expanding their enormous folds, began the combat, when every one fled in terror, except merlin, who stood by clapping his hands and cheering on the conflict. the red dragon was slain, and the white one, gliding through a cleft in the rock, disappeared. these animals typified, as merlin afterwards explained, the invasion of uther and pendragon, the rightful princes, who soon after landed with a great army. vortigern was defeated, and afterwards burned alive in the castle he had taken such pains to construct. on the death of vortigern, pendragon ascended the throne. merlin became his chief adviser, and often assisted the king by his magical arts. "merlin, who knew the range of all their arts, had built the king his havens, ships and halls." --vivian. among other endowments, he had the power of transforming himself into any shape he pleased. at one time he appeared as a dwarf, at others as a damsel, a page, or even a greyhound or a stag. this faculty he often employed for the service of the king, and sometimes also for the diversion of the court and the sovereign. merlin continued to be a favorite counsellor through the reigns of pendragon, uther, and arthur, and at last disappeared from view, and was no more found among men, through the treachery of his mistress, viviane, the fairy, which happened in this wise. merlin, having become enamoured of the fair viviane, the lady of the lake, was weak enough to impart to her various important secrets of his art, being impelled by fatal destiny, of which he was at the same time fully aware. the lady, however, was not content with his devotion, unbounded as it seems to have been, but "cast about," the romance tells us, how she might "detain him for evermore," and one day addressed him in these terms: "sir, i would that we should make a fair place and a suitable, so contrived by art and by cunning that it might never be undone, and that you and i should be there in joy and solace." "my lady," said merlin, "i will do all this." "sir," said she, "i would not have you do it, but you shall teach me, and i will do it, and then it will be more to my mind." "i grant you this," said merlin. then he began to devise, and the damsel put it all in writing. and when he had devised the whole, then had the damsel full great joy, and showed him greater semblance of love than she had ever before made, and they sojourned together a long while. at length it fell out that, as they were going one day hand in hand through the forest of breceliande, they found a bush of white-thorn, which was laden with flowers; and they seated themselves under the shade of this white-thorn, upon the green grass, and merlin laid his head upon the damsel's lap, and fell asleep. then the damsel rose, and made a ring with her wimple round the bush, and round merlin, and began her enchantments, such as he himself had taught her; and nine times she made the ring, and nine times she made the enchantment, and then she went and sat down by him, and placed his head again upon her lap. "and a sleep fell upon merlin more like death, so deep her finger on her lips; then vivian rose, and from her brown-locked head the wimple throws, and takes it in her hand and waves it over the blossomed thorn tree and her sleeping lover. nine times she waved the fluttering wimple round, and made a little plot of magic ground." --matthew arnold. and when he awoke, and looked round him, it seemed to him that he was enclosed in the strongest tower in the world, and laid upon a fair bed. then said he to the dame: "my lady, you have deceived me, unless you abide with me, for no one hath power to unmake this tower but you alone." she then promised she would be often there, and in this she held her covenant with him. and merlin never went out of that tower where his mistress viviane had enclosed him; but she entered and went out again when she listed. after this event merlin was never more known to hold converse with any mortal but viviane, except on one occasion. arthur, having for some time missed him from his court, sent several of his knights in search of him, and, among the number, sir gawain, who met with a very unpleasant adventure while engaged in this quest. happening to pass a damsel on his road, and neglecting to salute her, she revenged herself for his incivility by transforming him into a hideous dwarf. he was bewailing aloud his evil fortune as he went through the forest of breceliande, when suddenly he heard the voice of one groaning on his right hand; and, looking that way, he could see nothing save a kind of smoke, which seemed like air, and through which he could not pass. merlin then addressed him from out the smoke, and told him by what misadventure he was imprisoned there. "ah, sir!" he added, "you will never see me more, and that grieves me, but i cannot remedy it; i shall never more speak to you, nor to any other person, save only my mistress. but do thou hasten to king arthur, and charge him from me to undertake, without delay, the quest of the sacred graal. the knight is already born, and has received knighthood at his hands, who is destined to accomplish this quest." and after this he comforted gawain under his transformation, assuring him that he should speedily be disenchanted; and he predicted to him that he should find the king at carduel, in wales, on his return, and that all the other knights who had been on like quest would arrive there the same day as himself. and all this came to pass as merlin had said. merlin is frequently introduced in the tales of chivalry, but it is chiefly on great occasions, and at a period subsequent to his death, or magical disappearance. in the romantic poems of italy, and in spenser, merlin is chiefly represented as a magical artist. spenser represents him as the artificer of the impenetrable shield and other armor of prince arthur ("faery queene," book i., canto vii.), and of a mirror, in which a damsel viewed her lover's shade. the fountain of love, in the "orlando innamorata," is described as his work; and in the poem of "ariosto" we are told of a hall adorned with prophetic paintings, which demons had executed in a single night, under the direction of merlin. the following legend is from spenser's "faery queene," book iii., canto iii.: caer-merdin, or caermarthen (in wales), merlin's tower, and the imprisoned fiends. "forthwith themselves disguising both, in straunge and base attire, that none might them bewray, to maridunum, that is now by chaunge of name caer-merdin called, they took their way: there the wise merlin whylome wont (they say) to make his wonne, low underneath the ground in a deep delve, far from the view of day, that of no living wight he mote be found, whenso he counselled with his sprights encompassed round. "and if thou ever happen that same way to travel, go to see that dreadful place; it is a hideous hollow cave (they say) under a rock that lies a little space from the swift barry, tombling down apace amongst the woody hills of dynevor; but dare not thou, i charge, in any case, to enter into that same baleful bower, for fear the cruel fiends should thee unwares devour. "but standing high aloft, low lay thine ear, and there such ghastly noise of iron chains and brazen cauldrons thou shalt rumbling hear, which thousand sprites with long enduring pains do toss, that it will stun thy feeble brains; and oftentimes great groans, and grievous stounds, when too huge toil and labor them constrains; and oftentimes loud strokes and ringing sounds from under that deep rock most horribly rebounds. "the cause some say is this. a little while before that merlin died, he did intend a brazen wall in compas to compile about caermerdin, and did it commend unto these sprites to bring to perfect end; during which work the lady of the lake, whom long he loved, for him in haste did send; who, thereby forced his workmen to forsake, them bound till his return their labor not to slack. "in the mean time, through that false lady's train, he was surprised, and buried under beare, he ever to his work returned again; nathless those fiends may not their work forbear, so greatly his commandement they fear; but there do toil and travail day and night, until that brazen wall they up do rear. for merlin had in magic more insight than ever him before or after living wight." [footnote: buried under beare. buried under something which enclosed him like a coffin or bier.] chapter iv arthur we shall begin our history of king arthur by giving those particulars of his life which appear to rest on historical evidence; and then proceed to record those legends concerning him which form the earliest portion of british literature. arthur was a prince of the tribe of britons called silures, whose country was south wales, the son of uther, named pendragon, a title given to an elective sovereign, paramount over the many kings of britain. he appears to have commenced his martial career about the year , and was raised to the pendragonship about ten years later. he is said to have gained twelve victories over the saxons. the most important of them was that of badon, by some supposed to be bath, by others berkshire. this was the last of his battles with the saxons, and checked their progress so effectually, that arthur experienced no more annoyance from them, and reigned in peace, until the revolt of his nephew modred, twenty years later, which led to the fatal battle of camlan, in cornwall, in . modred was slain, and arthur, mortally wounded, was conveyed by sea to glastonbury, where he died, and was buried. tradition preserved the memory of the place of his interment within the abbey, as we are told by giraldus cambrensis, who was present when the grave was opened by command of henry ii. about , and saw the bones and sword of the monarch, and a leaden cross let into his tombstone, with the inscription in rude roman letters, "here lies buried the famous king arthur, in the island avalonia." this story has been elegantly versified by warton. a popular traditional belief was long entertained among the britons, that arthur was not dead, but had been carried off to be healed of his wounds in fairy-land, and that he would reappear to avenge his countrymen and reinstate them in the sovereignty of britain. in warton's "ode" a bard relates to king henry the traditional story of arthur's death, and closes with these lines. "yet in vain a paynim foe armed with fate the mighty blow: for when he fell, the elfin queen, all in secret and unseen, o'er the fainting hero threw her mantle of ambrosial blue, and bade her spirits bear him far, in merlin's agate-axled car, to her green isle's enamelled steep, far in the navel of the deep. o'er his wounds she sprinkled dew from flowers that in arabia grew. there he reigns a mighty king, thence to britain shall return, if right prophetic rolls i learn, borne on victory's spreading plume, his ancient sceptre to resume, his knightly table to restore, and brave the tournaments of yore." after this narration another bard came forward who recited a different story: "when arthur bowed his haughty crest, no princess veiled in azure vest snatched him, by merlin's powerful spell, in groves of golden bliss to dwell; but when he fell, with winged speed, his champions, on a milk-white steed, from the battle's hurricane, bore him to joseph's towered fane, in the fair vale of avalon; there, with chanted orison and the long blaze of tapers clear, the stoled fathers met the bier; through the dim aisles, in order dread of martial woe, the chief they led, and deep entombed in holy ground, before the altar's solemn bound." [footnote: glastonbury abbey, said to be founded by joseph of arimathea, in a spot anciently called the island or valley of avalonia. tennyson, in his "palace of art," alludes to the legend of arthur's rescue by the faery queen, thus: "or mythic uther's deeply wounded son, in some fair space of sloping greens, lay dozing in the vale of avalon, and watched by weeping queens."] it must not be concealed that the very existence of arthur has been denied by some. milton says of him: "as to arthur, more renowned in songs and romances than in true stories, who he was, and whether ever any such reigned in britain, hath been doubted heretofore, and may again, with good reason." modern critics, however, admit that there was a prince of this name, and find proof of it in the frequent mention of him in the writings of the welsh bards. but the arthur of romance, according to mr. owen, a welsh scholar and antiquarian, is a mythological person. "arthur," he says, "is the great bear, as the name literally implies (arctos, arcturus), and perhaps this constellation, being so near the pole, and visibly describing a circle in a small space, is the origin of the famous round table." king arthur constans, king of britain, had three sons, moines, ambrosius, otherwise called uther, and pendragon. moines, soon after his accession to the crown, was vanquished by the saxons, in consequence of the treachery of his seneschal, vortigern, and growing unpopular, through misfortune, he was killed by his subjects, and the traitor vortigern chosen in his place. vortigern was soon after defeated in a great battle by uther and pendragon, the surviving brothers of moines, and pendragon ascended the throne. this prince had great confidence in the wisdom of merlin, and made him his chief adviser. about this time a dreadful war arose between the saxons and britons. merlin obliged the royal brothers to swear fidelity to each other, but predicted that one of them must fall in the first battle. the saxons were routed, and pendragon, being slain, was succeeded by uther, who now assumed in addition to his own name the appellation of pendragon. merlin still continued a favorite counsellor. at the request of uther he transported by magic art enormous stones from ireland, to form the sepulchre of pendragon. these stones constitute the monument now called stonehenge, on salisbury plain. merlin next proceeded to carlisle to prepare the round table, at which he seated an assemblage of the great nobles of the country. the companions admitted to this high order were bound by oath to assist each other at the hazard of their own lives, to attempt singly the most perilous adventures, to lead, when necessary, a life of monastic solitude, to fly to arms at the first summons, and never to retire from battle till they had defeated the enemy, unless night intervened and separated the combatants. soon after this institution, the king invited all his barons to the celebration of a great festival, which he proposed holding annually at carlisle. as the knights had obtained the sovereign's permission to bring their ladies along with them, the beautiful igerne accompanied her husband, gorlois, duke of tintadel, to one of these anniversaries. the king became deeply enamoured of the duchess, and disclosed his passion; but igerne repelled his advances, and revealed his solicitations to her husband. on hearing this, the duke instantly removed from court with igerne, and without taking leave of uther. the king complained to his council of this want of duty, and they decided that the duke should be summoned to court, and, if refractory, should be treated as a rebel. as he refused to obey the citation, the king carried war into the estates of his vassal and besieged him in the strong castle of tintadel. merlin transformed the king into the likeness of gorlois, and enabled him to have many stolen interviews with igerne. at length the duke was killed in battle and the king espoused igerne. from this union sprang arthur, who succeeded his father, uther, upon the throne. arthur chosen king arthur, though only fifteen years old at his father's death, was elected king, at a general meeting of the nobles. it was not done without opposition, for there were many ambitious competitors. "for while he linger'd there a doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts of those great lords and barons of his realm flash'd forth and into war: for most of these made head against him, crying, 'who is he that he should rule us? who hath proven him king uther's son? for lo! we look at him, and find nor face nor bearing, limbs nor voice, are like to those of uther whom we knew." --coming of arthur. but bishop brice, a person of great sanctity, on christmas eve addressed the assembly, and represented that it would well become them, at that solemn season, to put up their prayers for some token which should manifest the intentions of providence respecting their future sovereign. this was done, and with such success, that the service was scarcely ended when a miraculous stone was discovered before the church door, and in the stone was firmly fixed a sword, with the following words engraven on its hilt: "i am hight escalibore, unto a king fair tresore." bishop brice, after exhorting the assembly to offer up their thanksgiving for this signal miracle, proposed a law, that whoever should be able to draw out the sword from the stone, should be acknowledged as sovereign of the britons; and his proposal was decreed by general acclamation. the tributary kings of uther, and the most famous knights, successively put their strength to the proof, but the miraculous sword resisted all their efforts. it stood till candlemas; it stood till easter, and till pentecost, when the best knights in the kingdom usually assembled for the annual tournament. arthur, who was at that time serving in the capacity of squire to his foster-brother, sir kay, attended his master to the lists. sir kay fought with great valor and success, but had the misfortune to break his sword, and sent arthur to his mother for a new one. arthur hastened home, but did not find the lady; but having observed near the church a sword, sticking in a stone, he galloped to the place, drew out the sword with great ease, and delivered it to his master. sir kay would willingly have assumed to himself the distinction conferred by the possession of the sword, but when, to confirm the doubters, the sword was replaced in the stone he was utterly unable to withdraw it, and it would yield a second time to no hand but arthur's. thus decisively pointed out by heaven as their king, arthur was by general consent proclaimed as such, and an early day appointed for his solemn coronation. immediately after his election to the crown, arthur found himself opposed by eleven kings and one duke, who with a vast army were actually encamped in the forest of rockingham. by merlin's advice arthur sent an embassy to brittany, to solicit the aid of king ban and king bohort, two of the best knights in the world. they accepted the call, and with a powerful army crossed the sea, landing at portsmouth, where they were received with great rejoicing. the rebel kings were still superior in numbers; but merlin, by a powerful enchantment, caused all their tents to fall down at once, and in the confusion arthur with his allies fell upon them and totally routed them. after defeating the rebels, arthur took the field against the saxons. as they were too strong for him unaided, he sent an embassy to armorica, beseeching the assistance of hoel, who soon after brought over an army to his aid. the two kings joined their forces, and sought the enemy, whom they met, and both sides prepared for a decisive engagement. "arthur himself," as geoffrey of monmouth relates, "dressed in a breastplate worthy of so great a king, places on his head a golden helmet engraved with the semblance of a dragon. over his shoulders he throws his shield called priwen, on which a picture of the holy virgin constantly recalled her to his memory. girt with caliburn, a most excellent sword, and fabricated in the isle of avalon, he graces his right hand with the lance named ron. this was a long and broad spear, well contrived for slaughter." after a severe conflict, arthur, calling on the name of the virgin, rushes into the midst of his enemies, and destroys multitudes of them with the formidable caliburn, and puts the rest to flight. hoel, being detained by sickness, took no part in this battle. this is called the victory of mount badon, and, however disguised by fable, it is regarded by historians as a real event. the feats performed by arthur at the battle of badon mount are thus celebrated in drayton's verse: "they sung how he himself at badon bore, that day, when at the glorious goal his british sceptre lay; two daies together how the battel stronglie stood; pendragon's worthie son, who waded there in blood, three hundred saxons slew with his owne valiant hand." --song iv. guenever merlin had planned for arthur a marriage with the daughter of king laodegan of carmalide. by his advice arthur paid a visit to the court of that sovereign, attended only by merlin and by thirty- nine knights whom the magician had selected for that service. on their arrival they found laodegan and his peers sitting in council, endeavoring, but with small prospect of success, to devise means of resisting the impending attack of ryence, king of ireland, who, with fifteen tributary kings and an almost innumerable army, had nearly surrounded the city. merlin, who acted as leader of the band of british knights, announced them as strangers, who came to offer the king their services in his wars; but under the express condition that they should be at liberty to conceal their names and quality until they should think proper to divulge them. these terms were thought very strange, but were thankfully accepted, and the strangers, after taking the usual oath to the king, retired to the lodging which merlin had prepared for them. a few days after this, the enemy, regardless of a truce into which they had entered with king laodegan, suddenly issued from their camp and made an attempt to surprise the city. cleodalis, the king's general, assembled the royal forces with all possible despatch. arthur and his companions also flew to arms, and merlin appeared at their head, bearing a standard on which was emblazoned a terrific dragon. merlin advanced to the gate, and commanded the porter to open it, which the porter refused to do, without the king's order. merlin thereupon took up the gate, with all its appurtenances of locks, bars, bolts, etc., and directed his troops to pass through, after which he replaced it in perfect order. he then set spurs to his horse and dashed, at the head of his little troop, into a body of two thousand pagans. the disparity of numbers being so enormous, merlin cast a spell upon the enemy, so as to prevent their seeing the small number of their assailants; notwithstanding which the british knights were hard pressed. but the people of the city, who saw from the walls this unequal contest, were ashamed of leaving the small body of strangers to their fate, so they opened the gate and sallied forth. the numbers were now more nearly equal, and merlin revoked his spell, so that the two armies encountered on fair terms. where arthur, ban, bohort, and the rest fought the king's army had the advantage; but in another part of the field the king himself was surrounded and carried off by the enemy. the sad sight was seen by guenever, the fair daughter of the king, who stood on the city wall and looked at the battle. she was in dreadful distress, tore her hair, and swooned away. but merlin, aware of what passed in every part of the field, suddenly collected his knights, led them out of the battle, intercepted the passage of the party who were carrying away the king, charged them with irresistible impetuosity, cut in pieces or dispersed the whole escort, and rescued the king. in the fight arthur encountered caulang, a giant fifteen feet high, and the fair guenever, who had already began to feel a strong interest in the handsome young stranger, trembled for the issue of the contest. but arthur, dealing a dreadful blow on the shoulder of the monster, cut through his neck so that his head hung over on one side, and in this condition his horse carried him about the field, to the great horror and dismay of the pagans. guenever could not refrain from expressing aloud her wish that the gentle knight, who dealt with giants so dexterously, were destined to become her husband, and the wish was echoed by her attendants. the enemy soon turned their backs and fled with precipitation, closely pursued by laodegan and his allies. after the battle arthur was disarmed and conducted to the bath by the princess guenever, while his friends were attended by the other ladies of the court. after the bath the knights were conducted to a magnificent entertainment, at which they were diligently served by the same fair attendants. laodegan, more and more anxious to know the name and quality of his generous deliverers, and occasionally forming a secret wish that the chief of his guests might be captivated by the charms of his daughter, appeared silent and pensive, and was scarcely roused from his reverie by the banters of his courtiers. arthur, having had an opportunity of explaining to guenever his great esteem for her merit, was in the joy of his heart, and was still further delighted by hearing from merlin the late exploits of gawain at london, by means of which his immediate return to his dominions was rendered unnecessary, and he was left at liberty to protract his stay at the court of laodegan. every day contributed to increase the admiration of the whole court for the gallant strangers, and the passion of guenever for their chief; and when at last merlin announced to the king that the object of the visit of the party was to procure a bride for their leader, laodegan at once presented guenever to arthur, telling him that, whatever might be his rank, his merit was sufficient to entitle him to the possession of the heiress of carmalide. "and could he find a woman in her womanhood as great as he was in his manhood-- the twain together might change the world." --guinevere. arthur accepted the lady with the utmost gratitude, and merlin then proceeded to satisfy the king of the rank of his son-in-law; upon which laodegan, with all his barons, hastened to do homage to their lawful sovereign, the successor of uther pendragon. the fair guenever was then solemnly betrothed to arthur, and a magnificent festival was proclaimed, which lasted seven days. at the end of that time, the enemy appearing again with renewed force, it became necessary to resume military operations. [footnote: guenever, the name of arthur's queen, also written genievre and geneura, is familiar to all who are conversant with chivalric lore. it is to her adventures, and those of her true knight, sir launcelot, that dante alludes in the beautiful episode of francesca di rimini.] we must now relate what took place at and near london, while arthur was absent from his capital. at this very time a band of young heroes were on their way to arthur's court, for the purpose of receiving knighthood from him. they were gawain and his three brothers, nephews of arthur, sons of king lot, and galachin, another nephew, son of king nanters. king lot had been one of the rebel chiefs whom arthur had defeated, but he now hoped by means of the young men to be reconciled to his brother-in-law. he equipped his sons and his nephew with the utmost magnificence, giving them a splendid retinue of young men, sons of earls and barons, all mounted on the best horses, with complete suits of choice armor. they numbered in all seven hundred, but only nine had yet received the order of knighthood; the rest were candidates for that honor, and anxious to earn it by an early encounter with the enemy. gawain, the leader, was a knight of wonderful strength; but what was most remarkable about him was that his strength was greater at certain hours of the day than at others. from nine o'clock till noon his strength was doubled, and so it was from three to evensong; for the rest of the time it was less remarkable, though at all times surpassing that of ordinary men. after a march of three days they arrived in the vicinity of london, where they expected to find arthur and his court, and very unexpectedly fell in with a large convoy belonging to the enemy, consisting of numerous carts and wagons, all loaded with provisions, and escorted by three thousand men, who had been collecting spoil from all the country round. a single charge from gawain's impetuous cavalry was sufficient to disperse the escort and recover the convoy, which was instantly despatched to london. but before long a body of seven thousand fresh soldiers advanced to the attack of the five princes and their little army. gawain, singling out a chief named choas, of gigantic size, began the battle by splitting him from the crown of the head to the breast. galachin encountered king sanagran, who was also very huge, and cut off his head. agrivain and gahariet also performed prodigies of valor. thus they kept the great army of assailants at bay, though hard pressed, till of a sudden they perceived a strong body of the citizens advancing from london, where the convoy which had been recovered by gawain had arrived, and informed the mayor and citizens of the danger of their deliverer. the arrival of the londoners soon decided the contest. the enemy fled in all directions, and gawain and his friends, escorted by the grateful citizens, entered london, and were received with acclamations. chapter v arthur (continued) after the great victory of mount badon, by which the saxons were for the time effectually put down, arthur turned his arms against the scots and picts, whom he routed at lake lomond, and compelled to sue for mercy. he then went to york to keep his christmas, and employed himself in restoring the christian churches which the pagans had rifled and overthrown. the following summer he conquered ireland, and then made a voyage with his fleet to iceland, which he also subdued. the kings of gothland and of the orkneys came voluntarily and made their submission, promising to pay tribute. then he returned to britain, where, having established the kingdom, he dwelt twelve years in peace. during this time he invited over to him all persons whatsoever that were famous for valor in foreign nations, and augmented the number of his domestics, and introduced such politeness into his court as people of the remotest countries thought worthy of their imitation. so that there was not a nobleman who thought himself of any consideration unless his clothes and arms were made in the same fashion as those of arthur's knights. finding himself so powerful at home, arthur began to form designs for extending his power abroad. so, having prepared his fleet, he first attempted norway, that he might procure the crown of it for lot, his sister's husband. arthur landed in norway, fought a great battle with the king of that country, defeated him, and pursued the victory till he had reduced the whole country under his dominion, and established lot upon the throne. then arthur made a voyage to gaul and laid siege to the city of paris. gaul was at that time a roman province, and governed by flollo, the tribune. when the siege of paris had continued a month, and the people began to suffer from famine, flollo challenged arthur to single combat, proposing to decide the conquest of the province in that way. arthur gladly accepted the challenge, and slew his adversary in the contest, upon which the citizens surrendered the city to him. after the victory arthur divided his army into two parts, one of which he committed to the conduct of hoel, whom he ordered to march into aquitaine, while he with the other part should endeavor to subdue the other provinces. at the end of nine years, in which time all the parts of gaul were entirely reduced, arthur returned to paris, where he kept his court, and, calling an assembly of the clergy and people, established peace and the just administration of the laws in that kingdom. then he bestowed normandy upon bedver, his butler, and the province of andegavia upon kay, his steward, [footnote: this name, in the french romances, is spelled queux, which means head cook. this would seem to imply that it was a title, and not a name; yet the personage who bore it is never mentioned by any other. he is the chief, if not the only, comic character among the heroes of arthur's court. he is the seneschal or steward, his duties also embracing those of chief of the cooks. in the romances, his general character is a compound of valor and buffoonery, always ready to fight, and generally getting the worst of the battle. he is also sarcastic and abusive in his remarks, by which he often gets into trouble. yet arthur seems to have an attachment to him, and often takes his advice, which is generally wrong.] and several other provinces upon his great men that attended him. and, having settled the peace of the cities and countries, he returned back in the beginning of spring to britain. upon the approach of the feast of pentecost, arthur, the better to demonstrate his joy after such triumphant successes, and for the more solemn observation of that festival, and reconciling the minds of the princes that were now subject to him, resolved during that season to hold a magnificent court, to place the crown upon his head, and to invite all the kings and dukes under his subjection to the solemnity. and he pitched upon caerleon, the city of legions, as the proper place for his purpose. for, besides its great wealth above the other cities, its situation upon the river usk, near the severn sea, was most pleasant and fit for so great a solemnity. for on one side it was washed by that noble river, so that the kings and princes from the countries beyond the seas might have the convenience of sailing up to it. on the other side the beauty of the meadows and groves, and magnificence of the royal palaces, with lofty gilded roofs that adorned it, made it even rival the grandeur of rome. it was also famous for two churches, whereof one was adorned with a choir of virgins, who devoted themselves wholly to the service of god, and the other maintained a convent of priests. besides, there was a college of two hundred philosophers, who, being learned in astronomy and the other arts, were diligent in observing the courses of the stars, and gave arthur true predictions of the events that would happen. in this place, therefore, which afforded such delights, were preparations made for the ensuing festival. [footnote: several cities are allotted to king arthur by the romance-writers. the principal are caerleon, camelot, and carlisle. caerleon derives its name from its having been the station of one of the legions, during the dominion of the romans. it is called by latin writers urbs legionum, the city of legions. the former word being rendered into welsh by caer, meaning city, and the latter contracted into lleon. the river usk retains its name in modern geography, and there is a town or city of caerleon upon it, though the city of cardiff is thought to be the scene of arthur's court. chester also bears in welsh the name of caerleon; for chester, derived from castra, latin for camp, is the designation of military headquarters. camelot is thought to be winchester. shalott is guilford. hamo's port is southampton. carlisle is the city still retaining that name, near the scottish border. but this name is also sometimes applied to other places, which were, like itself, military stations.] ambassadors were then sent into several kingdoms, to invite to court the princes both of gaul and of the adjacent islands. accordingly there came augusel, king of albania, now scotland, cadwallo, king of venedotia, now north wales, sater, king of demetia, now south wales; also the archbishops of the metropolitan sees, london and york, and dubricius, bishop of caerleon, the city of legions. this prelate, who was primate of britain, was so eminent for his piety that he could cure any sick person by his prayers. there were also the counts of the principal cities, and many other worthies of no less dignity. from the adjacent islands came guillamurius, king of ireland, gunfasius, king of the orkneys, malvasius, king of iceland, lot, king of norway, bedver, the butler, duke of normandy, kay, the sewer, duke of andegavia; also the twelve peers of gaul, and hoel, duke of the armorican britons, with his nobility, who came with such a train of mules, horses, and rich furniture as it is difficult to describe. besides these there remained no prince of any consideration on this side of spain who came not upon this invitation. and no wonder, when arthur's munificence, which was celebrated over the whole world, made him beloved by all people. when all were assembled upon the day of the solemnity the archbishops were conducted to the palace, in order to place the crown upon the king's head. then dubricius, inasmuch as the court was held in his diocese, made himself ready to celebrate the office. as soon as the king was invested with his royal habiliments he was conducted in great pomp to the metropolitan church, having four kings, viz., of albania, cornwall, demetia, and venedotia, bearing four golden swords before him. on another part was the queen, dressed out in her richest ornaments, conducted by the archbishops and bishops to the church of virgins; the four queens, also, of the kings last mentioned, bearing before her four white doves, according to ancient custom. when the whole procession was ended so transporting was the harmony of the musical instruments and voices, whereof there was a vast variety in both churches, that the knights who attended were in doubt which to prefer, and therefore crowded from the one to the other by turns, and were far from being tired of the solemnity, though the whole day had been spent in it. at last, when divine service was over at both churches, the king and queen put off their crowns, and, putting on their lighter ornaments, went to the banquet. when they had all taken their seats according to precedence, kay, the sewer, in rich robes of ermine, with a thousand young noblemen all in like manner clothed in rich attire, served up the dishes. from another part bedver, the butler, was followed by the same number of attendants, who waited with all kinds of cups and drinking-vessels. and there was food and drink in abundance, and everything was of the best kind, and served in the best manner. for at that time britain had arrived at such a pitch of grandeur that in riches, luxury, and politeness it far surpassed all other kingdoms. as soon as the banquets were over they went into the fields without the city to divert themselves with various sports, such as shooting with bows and arrows, tossing the pike, casting of heavy stones and rocks, playing at dice, and the like, and all these inoffensively, and without quarrelling. in this manner were three days spent, and after that they separated, and the kings and noblemen departed to their several homes. after this arthur reigned five years in peace. then came ambassadors from lucius tiberius, procurator under leo, emperor of rome, demanding tribute. but arthur refused to pay tribute, and prepared for war. as soon as the necessary dispositions were made he committed the government of his kingdom to his nephew modred and to queen guenever, and marched with his army to hamo's port, where the wind stood fair for him. the army crossed over in safety, and landed at the mouth of the river barba. and there they pitched their tents to wait the arrival of the kings of the islands. as soon as all the forces were arrived arthur marched forward to augustodunum, and encamped on the banks of the river alba. here repeated battles were fought, in all which the britons, under their valiant leaders, hoel, duke of armorica, and gawain, nephew to arthur, had the advantage. at length lucius tiberius determined to retreat, and wait for the emperor leo to join him with fresh troops. but arthur, anticipating this event, took possession of a certain valley, and closed up the way of retreat to lucius, compelling him to fight a decisive battle, in which arthur lost some of the bravest of his knights and most faithful followers. but on the other hand lucius tiberius was slain, and his army totally defeated. the fugitives dispersed over the country, some to the by-ways and woods, some to cities and towns, and all other places where they could hope for safety. arthur stayed in those parts till the next winter was over, and employed his time in restoring order and settling the government. he then returned into england, and celebrated his victories with great splendor. then the king stablished all his knights, and to them that were not rich he gave lands, and charged them all never to do outrage nor murder, and always to flee treason; also, by no means to be cruel, but to give mercy unto him that asked mercy, upon pain of forfeiture of their worship and lordship; and always to do ladies, damosels, and gentlewomen service, upon pain of death. also that no man take battle in a wrongful quarrel, for no law, nor for any world's goods. unto this were all the knights sworn of the table round, both old and young. and at every year were they sworn at the high feast of pentecost. king arthur slays the giant of st. michael's mount while the army was encamped in brittany, awaiting the arrival of the kings, there came a countryman to arthur, and told him that a giant, whose cave was on a neighboring mountain, called st. michael's mount, had for a long time been accustomed to carry off the children of the peasants to devour them. "and now he hath taken the duchess of brittany, as she rode with her attendants, and hath carried her away in spite of all they could do." "now, fellow," said king arthur, "canst thou bring me there where this giant haunteth?" "yea, sure," said the good man; "lo, yonder where thou seest two great fires, there shalt thou find him, and more treasure than i suppose is in all france beside." then the king called to him sir bedver and sir kay, and commanded them to make ready horse and harness for himself and them; for after evening he would ride on pilgrimage to st. michael's mount. so they three departed, and rode forth till they came to the foot of the mount. and there the king commanded them to tarry, for he would himself go up into that mount. so he ascended the hill till he came to a great fire, and there he found an aged woman sitting by a new-made grave, making great sorrow. then king arthur saluted her, and demanded of her wherefore she made such lamentation; to whom she answered: "sir knight, speak low, for yonder is a devil, and if he hear thee speak, he will come and destroy thee. for ye cannot make resistance to him, he is so fierce and so strong. he hath murdered the duchess, which here lieth, who was the fairest of all the world, wife to sir hoel, duke of brittany." "dame," said the king, "i come from the noble conqueror, king arthur, to treat with that tyrant." "fie on such treaties," said she; "he setteth not by the king, nor by no man else." "well," said arthur, "i will accomplish my message for all your fearful words." so he went forth by the crest of the hill, and saw where the giant sat at supper, gnawing on the limb of a man, and baking his broad limbs at the fire, and three fair damsels lying bound, whose lot it was to be devoured in their turn. when king arthur beheld that, he had great compassion on them, so that his heart bled for sorrow. then he hailed the giant, saying, "he that all the world ruleth give thee short life and shameful death. why hast thou murdered this duchess? therefore come forth, for this day thou shalt die by my hand." then the giant started up, and took a great club, and smote at the king, and smote off his coronal; and then the king struck him in the belly with his sword, and made a fearful wound. then the giant threw away his club, and caught the king in his arms, so that he crushed his ribs. then the three maidens kneeled down and prayed for help and comfort for arthur. and arthur weltered and wrenched, so that he was one while under, and another time above. and so weltering and wallowing they rolled down the hill, and ever as they weltered arthur smote him with his dagger; and it fortuned they came to the place where the two knights were. and when they saw the king fast in the giant's arms they came and loosed him. then the king commanded sir kay to smite off the giant's head, and to set it on the truncheon of a spear, and fix it on the barbican, that all the people might see and behold it. this was done, and anon it was known through all the country, wherefor the people came and thanked the king. and he said, "give your thanks to god; and take ye the giant's spoil and divide it among you." and king arthur caused a church to be builded on that hill, in honor of st. michael. king arthur gets a sword from the lady of the lake one day king arthur rode forth, and on a sudden he was ware of three churls chasing merlin, to have slain him. and the king rode unto them and bade them, "flee, churls!" then were they afraid when they saw a knight, and fled. "o merlin," said arthur, "here hadst thou been slain, for all thy crafts, had i not been by." "nay," said merlin, "not so, for i could save myself if i would; but thou art more near thy death than i am." so, as they went thus talking, king arthur perceived where sat a knight on horseback, as if to guard the pass. "sir knight," said arthur, "for what cause abidest thou here?" then the knight said, "there may no knight ride this way unless he just with me, for such is the custom of the pass." "i will amend that custom," said the king. then they ran together, and they met so hard that their spears were shivered. then they drew their swords and fought a strong battle, with many great strokes. but at length the sword of the knight smote king arthur's sword in two pieces. then said the knight unto arthur, "thou art in my power, whether to save thee or slay thee, and unless thou yield thee as overcome and recreant, thou shalt die." "as for death," said king arthur, "welcome be it when it cometh; but to yield me unto thee as recreant, i will not." then he leapt upon the knight, and took him by the middle and threw him down; but the knight was a passing strong man, and anon he brought arthur under him, and would have razed off his helm to slay him. then said merlin, "knight, hold thy hand, for this knight is a man of more worship than thou art aware of." "why, who is he?" said the knight. "it is king arthur." then would he have slain him for dread of his wrath, and lifted up his sword to slay him; and therewith merlin cast an enchantment on the knight, so that he fell to the earth in a great sleep. then merlin took up king arthur, and set him on his horse. "alas!" said arthur, "what hast thou done, merlin? hast thou slain this good knight by thy crafts?" "care ye not," said merlin; "he is wholer than ye be. he is only asleep, and will wake in three hours." then the king and he departed, and went till they came to a hermit, that was a good man and a great leech. so the hermit searched all his wounds, and applied good salves; and the king was there three days, and then were his wounds well amended, that he might ride and go. so they departed, and as they rode arthur said, "i have no sword." "no matter," said merlin; "hereby is a sword that shall be yours." so they rode till they came to a lake, which was a fair water and broad. and in the midst of the lake arthur was aware of an arm clothed in white samite, [footnote: samite, a sort of silk stuff.] that held a fair sword in the hand. "lo!" said merlin, "yonder is that sword that i spake of. it belongeth to the lady of the lake, and, if she will, thou mayest take it; but if she will not, it will not be in thy power to take it." so sir arthur and merlin alighted from their horses, and went into a boat. and when they came to the sword that the hand held sir arthur took it by the handle and took it to him, and the arm and the hand went under the water. then they returned unto the land and rode forth. and sir arthur looked on the sword and liked it right well. so they rode unto caerleon, whereof his knights were passing glad. and when they heard of his adventures they marvelled that he would jeopard his person so alone. but all men of worship said it was a fine thing to be under such a chieftain as would put his person in adventure as other poor knights did. chapter vi sir gawain sir gawain was nephew to king arthur, by his sister morgana, married to lot, king of orkney, who was by arthur made king of norway. sir gawain was one of the most famous knights of the round table, and is characterized by the romancers as the sage and courteous gawain. to this chaucer alludes in his "squiere's tale," where the strange knight "salueth" all the court "with so high reverence and observance, as well in speeche as in countenance, that gawain, with his olde curtesie, though he were come agen out of faerie, ne coude him not amenden with a word." gawain's brothers were agrivain, gahariet, and gareth. sir gawain's marriage once upon a time king arthur held his court in merry carlisle, when a damsel came before him and craved a boon. it was for vengeance upon a caitiff knight, who had made her lover captive and despoiled her of her lands. king arthur commanded to bring him his sword, excalibar, and to saddle his steed, and rode forth without delay to right the lady's wrong. ere long he reached the castle of the grim baron, and challenged him to the conflict. but the castle stood on magic ground, and the spell was such that no knight could tread thereon but straight his courage fell and his strength decayed. king arthur felt the charm, and before a blow was struck, his sturdy limbs lost their strength, and his head grew faint. he was fain to yield himself prisoner to the churlish knight, who refused to release him except upon condition that he should return at the end of a year, and bring a true answer to the question, "what thing is it which women most desire?" or in default thereof surrender himself and his lands. king arthur accepted the terms, and gave his oath to return at the time appointed. during the year the king rode east, and he rode west, and inquired of all whom he met what thing it is which all women most desire. some told him riches; some, pomp and state; some, mirth; some, flattery; and some, a gallant knight. but in the diversity of answers he could find no sure dependence. the year was well-nigh spent, when one day, as he rode thoughtfully through a forest, he saw sitting beneath a tree a lady of such hideous aspect that he turned away his eyes, and when she greeted him in seemly sort, made no answer. "what wight art thou," the lady said, "that will not speak to me? it may chance that i may resolve thy doubts, though i be not fair of aspect." "if thou wilt do so," said king arthur, "choose what reward thou wilt, thou grim lady, and it shall be given thee." "swear me this upon thy faith," she said, and arthur swore it. then the lady told him the secret, and demanded her reward, which was that the king should find some fair and courtly knight to be her husband. king arthur hastened to the grim baron's castle and told him one by one all the answers which he had received from his various advisers, except the last, and not one was admitted as the true one. "now yield thee, arthur," the giant said, "for thou hast not paid thy ransom, and thou and thy lands are forfeited to me." then king arthur said: "yet hold thy hand, thou proud baron, i pray thee hold thy hand, and give me leave to speak once more, in rescue of my land. this morn as i came over a moor, i saw a lady set, between an oak and a green holly, all clad in red scarlett. she says all women would have their will, this is their chief desire; now yield, as thou art a baron true, that i have paid my hire." "it was my sister that told thee this," the churlish baron exclaimed. "vengeance light on her! i will some time or other do her as ill a turn." king arthur rode homeward, but not light of heart, for he remembered the promise he was under to the loathly lady to--give her one of his young and gallant knights for a husband. he told his grief to sir gawain, his nephew, and he replied, "be not sad, my lord, for i will marry the loathly lady." king arthur replied: "now nay, now nay, good sir gawaine, my sister's son ye be; the loathly lady's all too grim, and all too foule for thee." but gawain persisted, and the king at last, with sorrow of heart, consented that gawain should be his ransom. so one day the king and his knights rode to the forest, met the loathly lady, and brought her to the court. sir gawain stood the scoffs and jeers of his companions as he best might, and the marriage was solemnized, but not with the usual festivities. chaucer tells us: "... there was no joye ne feste at alle; there n' as but hevinesse and mochel sorwe, for prively he wed her on the morwe, and all day after hid him as an owle, so wo was him his wife loked so foule!" [footnote: n'as is not was, contracted; in modern phrase, there was not. mochel sorwe is much sorrow; morwe is morrow.] when night came, and they were alone together, sir gawain could not conceal his aversion; and the lady asked him why he sighed so heavily, and turned away his face. he candidly confessed it was on account of three things, her age, her ugliness, and her low degree. the lady, not at all offended, replied with excellent arguments to all his objections. she showed him that with age is discretion, with ugliness security from rivals, and that all true gentility depends, not upon the accident of birth, but upon the character of the individual. sir gawain made no reply; but, turning his eyes on his bride, what was his amazement to perceive that she wore no longer the unseemly aspect that had so distressed him. she then told him that the form she had worn was not her true form, but a disguise imposed upon her by a wicked enchanter, and that she was condemned to wear it until two things should happen: one, that she should obtain some young and gallant knight to be her husband. this having been done, one-half of the charm was removed. she was now at liberty to wear her true form for half the time, and she bade him choose whether he would have her fair by day, and ugly by night, or the reverse. sir gawain would fain have had her look her best by night, when he alone would see her, and show her repulsive visage, if at all, to others. but she reminded him how much more pleasant it would be to her to wear her best looks in the throng of knights and ladies by day. sir gawain yielded, and gave up his will to hers. this alone was wanting to dissolve the charm. the lovely lady now with joy assured him that she should change no more, but as she now was, so would she remain by night as well as by day. "sweet blushes stayned her rud-red cheek, her eyen were black as sloe, the ripening cherrye swelled her lippe, and all her neck was snow. sir gawain kist that ladye faire lying upon the sheete, and swore, as he was a true knight, the spice was never so swete." the dissolution of the charm which had held the lady also released her brother, the "grim baron," for he too had been implicated in it. he ceased to be a churlish oppressor, and became a gallant and generous knight as any at arthur's court. chapter vii caradoc briefbras; or, caradoc with the shrunken arm caradoc was the son of ysenne, the beautiful niece of arthur. he was ignorant who his father was, till it was discovered in the following manner: when the youth was of proper years to receive the honors of knighthood, king arthur held a grand court for the purpose of knighting him. on this occasion a strange knight presented himself, and challenged the knights of arthur's court to exchange blow for blow with him. his proposal was this--to lay his neck on a block for any knight to strike, on condition that, if he survived the blow, the knight should submit in turn to the same experiment. sir kay, who was usually ready to accept all challenges, pronounced this wholly unreasonable, and declared that he would not accept it for all the wealth in the world. and when the knight offered his sword, with which the operation was to be performed, no person ventured to accept it, till caradoc, growing angry at the disgrace which was thus incurred by the round table, threw aside his mantle and took it. "do you do this as one of the best knights?" said the stranger. "no," he replied, "but as one of the most foolish." the stranger lays his head upon the block, receives a blow which sends it rolling from his shoulders, walks after it, picks it up, replaces it with great success, and says he will return when the court shall be assembled next year, and claim his turn. when the anniversary arrived, both parties were punctual to their engagement. great entreaties were used by the king and queen, and the whole court, in behalf of caradoc, but the stranger was inflexible. the young knight laid his head upon the block, and more than once desired him to make an end of the business, and not keep him longer in so disagreeable a state of expectation. at last the stranger strikes him gently with the side of the sword, bids him rise, and reveals to him the fact that he is his father, the enchanter eliaures, and that he gladly owns him for a son, having proved his courage and fidelity to his word. but the favor of enchanters is short-lived and uncertain. eliaures fell under the influence of a wicked woman, who, to satisfy her pique against caradoc, persuaded the enchanter to fasten on his arm a serpent, which remained there sucking at his flesh and blood, no human skill sufficing either to remove the reptile or alleviate the torments which caradoc endured. caradoc was betrothed to guimier, sister to his bosom friend, cador, and daughter to the king of cornwall. as soon as they were informed of his deplorable condition, they set out for nantes, where caradoc's castle was, that guimier might attend upon him. when caradoc heard of their coming, his first emotion was that of joy and love. but soon he began to fear that the sight of his emaciated form, and of his sufferings, would disgust guimier; and this apprehension became so strong, that he departed secretly from nantes, and hid himself in a hermitage. he was sought far and near by the knights of arthur's court, and cador made a vow never to desist from the quest till he should have found him. after long wandering, cador discovered his friend in the hermitage, reduced almost to a skeleton, and apparently near his death. all other means of relief having already been tried in vain, cador at last prevailed on the enchanter eliaures to disclose the only method which could avail for his rescue. a maiden must be found, his equal in birth and beauty, and loving him better than herself, so that she would expose herself to the same torment to deliver him. two vessels were then to be provided, the one filled with sour wine, and the other with milk. caradoc must enter the first, so that the wine should reach his neck, and the maiden must get into the other, and, exposing her bosom upon the edge of the vessel, invite the serpent to forsake the withered flesh of his victim for this fresh and inviting food. the vessels were to be placed three feet apart, and as the serpent crossed from one to the other. a knight was to cut him in two. if he failed in his blow, caradoc would indeed be delivered, but it would be only to see his fair champion suffering the same cruel and hopeless torment. the sequel may be easily foreseen. guimier willingly exposed herself to the perilous adventure, and cador, with a lucky blow, killed the serpent. the arm in which caradoc had suffered so long recovered its strength, but not its shape, in consequence of which he was called caradoc briefbras, caradoc of the shrunken arm. caradoc and guimier are the hero and heroine of the ballad of the "boy and the mantle," which follows: "the boy and the mantle "in carlisle dwelt king arthur, a prince of passing might, and there maintained his table round, beset with many a knight. "and there he kept his christmas, with mirth and princely cheer, when lo! a strange and cunning boy before him did appear. "a kirtle and a mantle this boy had him upon, with brooches, rings, and ouches, full daintily bedone. "he had a sash of silk about his middle meet; and thus with seemly curtesie he did king arthur greet: "'god speed thee, brave king arthur. thus feasting in thy bower, and guenever, thy goodly queen, that fair and peerless flower. "'ye gallant lords and lordlings, i wish you all take heed, lest what ye deem a blooming rose should prove a cankered weed.' "then straightway from his bosom a little wand he drew; and with it eke a mantle, of wondrous shape and hue. "'now have thou here, king arthur, have this here of me, and give unto thy comely queen, all shapen as you see. "'no wife it shall become, that once hath been to blame.' then every knight in arthur's court sly glanced at his dame. "and first came lady guenever, the mantle she must try. this dame she was new-fangled, [ ] and of a roving eye. "when she had taken the mantle, and all with it was clad, from top to toe it shivered down, as though with shears beshred. "one while it was too long, another while too short, and wrinkled on her shoulders, in most unseemly sort. "now green, now red it seemed, then all of sable hue; 'beshrew me,' quoth king arthur, 'i think thou be'st not true!' "down she threw the mantle, no longer would she stay; but, storming like a fury, to her chamber flung away. "she cursed the rascal weaver, that had the mantle wrought; and doubly cursed the froward imp who thither had it brought. i had rather live in deserts, beneath the greenwood tree, than here, base king, among thy grooms the sport of them and thee.' "sir kay called forth his lady, and bade her to come near: 'yet dame, if thou be guilty, i pray thee now forbear.' "this lady, pertly giggling, with forward step came on, and boldly to the little boy with fearless face is gone. "when she had taken the mantle, with purpose for to wear, it shrunk up to her shoulder, and left her back all bare. "then every merry knight, that was in arthur's court, gibed and laughed and flouted, to see that pleasant sport. "down she threw the mantle, no longer bold or gay, but, with a face all pale and wan to her chamber slunk away. "then forth came an old knight a pattering o'er his creed, and proffered to the little boy five nobles to his meed: "'and all the time of christmas plum-porridge shall be thine, if thou wilt let my lady fair within the mantle shine.' "a saint his lady seemed, with step demure and slow, and gravely to the mantle with mincing face doth go. "when she the same had taken that was so fine and thin, it shrivelled all about her, and showed her dainty skin. "ah! little did her mincing, or his long prayers bestead; she had no more hung on her than a tassel and a thread. "down she threw the mantle, with terror and dismay, and with a face of scarlet to her chamber hied away. "sir cradock called his lady, and bade her to come near: 'come win this mantle, lady, and do me credit here: "'come win this mantle, lady, for now it shall be thine, if thou hast never done amiss, since first i made thee mine.' "the lady, gently blushing, with modest grace came on; and now to try the wondrous charm courageously is gone. "when she had ta'en the mantle, and put it on her back, about the hem it seemed to wrinkle and to crack. "'lie still,' she cried, 'o mantle! and shame me not for naught; i'll freely own whate'er amiss or blameful i have wrought. "'once i kissed sir cradock beneath the greenwood tree; once i kissed sir cradock's mouth, before he married me.' "when she had thus her shriven, and her worst fault had told, the mantle soon became her, right comely as it should. "most rich and fair of color, like gold it glittering shone, and much the knights in arthur's court admired her every one." [footnote : new-fangled--fond of novelty.] the ballad goes on to tell of two more trials of a similar kind, made by means of a boar's head and a drinking horn, in both of which the result was equally favorable with the first to sir cradock and his lady. it then concludes as follows: "thus boar's head, horn, and mantle were this fair couple's meed; and all such constant lovers, god send them well to speed" --percy's reliques. chapter viii launcelot of the lake king ban, of brittany, the faithful ally of arthur was attacked by his enemy claudas, and after a long war saw himself reduced to the possession of a single fortress, where he was besieged by his enemy. in this extremity he determined to solicit the assistance of arthur, and escaped in a dark night, with his wife helen and his infant son launcelot, leaving his castle in the hands of his seneschal, who immediately surrendered the place to claudas. the flames of his burning citadel reached the eyes of the unfortunate monarch during his flight and he expired with grief. the wretched helen, leaving her child on the brink of a lake, flew to receive the last sighs of her husband, and on returning perceived the little launcelot in the arms of a nymph, who, on the approach of the queen, threw herself into the lake with the child. this nymph was viviane, mistress of the enchanter merlin, better known by the name of the lady of the lake. launcelot received his appellation from having been educated at the court of this enchantress, whose palace was situated in the midst, not of a real, but, like the appearance which deceives the african traveller, of an imaginary lake, whose deluding resemblance served as a barrier to her residence. here she dwelt not alone, but in the midst of a numerous retinue, and a splendid court of knights and damsels. the queen, after her double loss, retired to a convent, where she was joined by the widow of bohort, for this good king had died of grief on hearing of the death of his brother ban. his two sons, lionel and bohort, were rescued by a faithful knight, and arrived in the shape of greyhounds at the palace of the lake, where, having resumed their natural form, they were educated along with their cousin launcelot. the fairy, when her pupil had attained the age of eighteen, conveyed him to the court of arthur for the purpose of demanding his admission to the honor of knighthood; and at the first appearance of the youthful candidate the graces of his person, which were not inferior to his courage and skill in arms, made an instantaneous and indelible impression on the heart of guenever, while her charms inspired him with an equally ardent and constant passion. the mutual attachment of these lovers exerted, from that time forth, an influence over the whole history of arthur. for the sake of guenever, launcelot achieved the conquest of northumberland, defeated gallehaut, king of the marches, who afterwards became his most faithful friend and ally, exposed himself in numberless encounters, and brought hosts of prisoners to the feet of his sovereign. sir launcelot after king arthur was come from rome into england all the knights of the table round resorted unto him and made him many justs and tournaments. and in especial sir launcelot of the lake in all tournaments and justs and deeds of arms, both for life and death, passed all other knights, and was never overcome, except it were by treason or enchantment; and he increased marvellously in worship, wherefore queen guenever had him in great favor, above all other knights. and for certain he loved the queen again above all other ladies; and for her he did many deeds of arms, and saved her from peril, through his noble chivalry. thus sir launcelot rested him long with play and game, and then he thought to prove himself in strange adventures; so he bade his nephew, sir lionel, to make him ready,-- "for we two will seek adventures." so they mounted on their horses, armed at all sights, and rode into a forest, and so into a deep plain. and the weather was hot about noon, and sir launcelot had great desire to sleep. then sir lionel espied a great apple-tree that stood by a hedge, and he said: "brother, yonder is a fair shadow--there may we rest us and our horses." "it is well said," replied sir launcelot. so they there alighted, and sir launcelot laid him down, and his helm under his head, and soon was asleep passing fast. and sir lionel waked while he slept. and presently there came three knights riding as fast as ever they might ride, and there followed them but one knight. and sir lionel thought he never saw so great a knight before. so within a while this great knight overtook one of those knights, and smote him so that he fell to the earth. then he rode to the second knight and smote him, and so he did to the third knight. then he alighted down and bound all the three knights fast with their own bridles. when sir lionel saw him do thus, he thought to assay him, and made him ready silently, not to awake sir launcelot, and rode after the strong knight, and bade him turn. and the other smote sir lionel so hard that horse and man fell to the earth; and then he alighted down and bound sir lionel, and threw him across his own horse; and so he served them all four, and rode with them away to his own castle. and when he came there he put them in a deep prison, in which were many more knights in great distress. now while sir launcelot lay under the apple-tree sleeping, there came by him four queens of great estate. and that the heat should not grieve them, there rode four knights about them, and bare a cloth of green silk on four spears, betwixt them and the sun. and the queens rode on four white mules. thus as they rode they heard by them a great horse grimly neigh. then they were aware of a sleeping knight, that lay all armed under an apple-tree; and as the queens looked on his face, they knew it was sir launcelot. then they began to strive for that knight, and each one said she would have him for her love. "we will not strive," said morgane le fay, that was king arthur's sister, "for i will put an enchantment upon him, that he shall not wake for six hours, and we will take him away to my castle; and then when he is surely within my hold, i will take the enchantment from him, and then let him choose which of us he will have for his love." so the enchantment was cast upon sir launcelot. and then they laid him upon his shield, and bare him so on horseback between two knights, and brought him unto the castle and laid him in a chamber, and at night they sent him his supper. and on the morning came early those four queens, richly dight, and bade him good morning, and he them again. "sir knight," they said, "thou must understand thou art our prisoner; and we know thee well, that thou art sir launcelot of the lake, king ban's son, and that thou art the noblest knight living. and we know well that there can no lady have thy love but one, and that is queen guenever; and now thou shalt lose her for ever, and she thee; and therefore it behooveth thee now to choose one of us. i am the queen morgane le fay, and here is the queen of north wales, and the queen of eastland, and the queen of the isles. now choose one of us which thou wilt have, for if thou choose not, in this prison thou shalt die." "this is a hard case," said sir launcelot, "that either i must die, or else choose one of you; yet had i liever to die in this prison with worship, than to have one of you for my paramour, for ye be false enchantresses." "well," said the queens, "is this your answer, that ye will refuse us." "yea, on my life it is," said sir launcelot. then they departed, making great sorrow. then at noon came a damsel unto him with his dinner, and asked him, "what cheer?" "truly, fair damsel," said sir launcelot, "never so ill." "sir," said she, "if you will be ruled by me, i will help you out of this distress. if ye will promise me to help my father on tuesday next, who hath made a tournament betwixt him and the king of north wales; for last tuesday my father lost the field." "fair maiden," said sir launcelot, "tell me what is your father's name, and then will i give you an answer." "sir knight," she said, "my father is king bagdemagus." "i know him well," said sir launcelot, "for a noble king and a good knight; and, by the faith of my body, i will be ready to do your father and you service at that day." so she departed, and came on the next morning early and found him ready, and brought him out of twelve locks, and brought him to his own horse, and lightly he saddled him, and so rode forth. and on the tuesday next he came to a little wood where the tournament should be. and there were scaffolds and holds, that lords and ladies might look on, and give the prize. then came into the field the king of north wales, with eightscore helms, and king badgemagus came with fourscore helms. and then they couched their spears, and came together with a great dash, and there were overthrown at the first encounter twelve of king bagdemagus's party and six of the king of north wales's party, and king bagdemagus's party had the worse. with that came sir launcelot of the lake, and thrust in with his spear in the thickest of the press; and he smote down five knights ere he held his hand; and he smote down the king of north wales, and he brake his thigh in that fall. and then the knights of the king of north wales would just no more; and so the gree was given to king bagdemagus. and sir launcelot rode forth with king bagdemagus unto his castle; and there he had passing good cheer, both with the king and with his daughter. and on the morn he took his leave, and told the king he would go and seek his brother, sir lionel, that went from him when he slept. so he departed, and by adventure he came to the same forest where he was taken sleeping. and in the highway he met a damsel riding on a white palfrey, and they saluted each other. "fair damsel," said sir launcelot, "know ye in this country any adventures?" "sir knight," said the damsel, "here are adventures near at hand, if thou durst pursue them." "why should i not prove adventures?" said sir launcelot, "since for that cause came i hither." "sir," said she, "hereby dwelleth a knight that will not be overmatched for any man i know, except thou overmatch him. his name is sir turquine, and, as i understand, he is a deadly enemy of king arthur, and he has in his prison good knights of arthur's court, threescore and more, that he hath won with his own hands." "damsel," said launcelot, "i pray you bring me unto this knight." so she told him, "hereby, within this mile, is his castle, and by it on the left hand is a ford for horses to drink of, and over that ford there groweth a fair tree, and on that tree hang many shields that good knights wielded aforetime, that are now prisoners; and on the tree hangeth a basin of copper and latten, and if thou strike upon that basin thou shalt hear tidings." and sir launcelot departed, and rode as the damsel had shown him, and shortly he came to the ford, and the tree where hung the shields and the basin. and among the shields he saw sir lionel's and sir hector's shields, besides many others of knights that he knew. then sir launcelot struck on the basin with the butt of his spear; and long he did so, but he saw no man. and at length he was ware of a great knight that drove a horse before him, and across the horse there lay an armed knight bounden. and as they came near, sir launcelot thought he should know the captive knight. then sir launcelot saw that it was sir gaheris, sir gawain's brother, a knight of the table round. "now, fair knight," said sir launcelot, "put that wounded knight off the horse, and let him rest awhile, and let us two prove our strength. for, as it is told me, thou hast done great despite and shame unto knights of the round table, therefore now defend thee." "if thou be of the table round," said sir turquine, "i defy thee and all thy fellowship." "that is overmuch said," said sir launcelot. then they put their spears in the rests, and came together with their horses as fast as they might run. and each smote the other in the middle of their shields, so that their horses fell under them, and the knights were both staggered; and as soon as they could clear their horses they drew out their swords and came together eagerly, and each gave the other many strong strokes, for neither shield nor harness might withstand their strokes. so within a while both had grimly wounds, and bled grievously. then at the last they were breathless both, and stood leaning upon their swords. "now, fellow," said sir turquine, "thou art the stoutest man that ever i met with, and best breathed; and so be it thou be not the knight that i hate above all other knights, the knight that slew my brother, sir carados, i will gladly accord with thee; and for thy love i will deliver all the prisoners that i have." "what knight is he that thou hatest so above others?" "truly," said sir turquine, "his name is sir launcelot of the lake." "i am sir launcelot of the lake, king ban's son of benwick, and very knight of the table round; and now i defy thee do thy best." "ah!" said sir turquine, "launcelot, thou art to me the most welcome that ever was knight; for we shall never part till the one of us be dead." and then they hurtled together like two wild bulls, rashing and lashing with their swords and shields, so that sometimes they fell, as it were, headlong. thus they fought two hours and more, till the ground where they fought was all bepurpled with blood. then at the last sir turquine waxed sore faint, and gave somewhat aback, and bare his shield full low for weariness. that spied sir launcelot, and leapt then upon him fiercely as a lion, and took him by the beaver of his helmet, and drew him down on his knees. and he raised off his helm, and smote his neck in sunder. and sir gaheris, when he saw sir turquine slain, said, "fair lord, i pray you tell me your name, for this day i say ye are the best knight in the world, for ye have slain this day in my sight the mightiest man and the best knight except you that ever i saw." "sir, my name is sir launcelot du lac, that ought to help you of right for king arthur's sake, and in especial for sir gawain's sake, your own dear brother. now i pray you, that ye go into yonder castle, and set free all the prisoners ye find there, for i am sure ye shall find there many knights of the table round, and especially my brother sir lionel. i pray you greet them all from me, and tell them i bid them take there such stuff as they find; and tell my brother to go unto the court and abide me there, for by the feast of pentecost i think to be there; but at this time i may not stop, for i have adventures on hand." so he departed, and sir gaheris rode into the castle, and took the keys from the porter, and hastily opened the prison door and let out all the prisoners. there was sir kay, sir brandeles, and sir galynde, sir bryan, and sir alyduke, sir hector de marys, and sir lionel, and many more. and when they saw sir gaheris they all thanked him, for they thought, because he was wounded, that he had slain sir turquine. "not so," said sir gaheris; "it was sir launcelot that slew him, right worshipfully; i saw it with mine eyes." sir launcelot rode till at nightfall he came to a fair castle, and therein he found an old gentlewoman, who lodged him with good- will, and there he had good cheer for him and his horse. and when time was, his host brought him to a fair chamber over the gate to his bed. then sir launcelot unarmed him, and set his harness by him, and went to bed, and anon he fell asleep. and soon after, there came one on horseback and knocked at the gate in great haste; and when sir launcelot heard this, he arose and looked out of the window, and saw by the moonlight three knights riding after that one man, and all three lashed on him with their swords, and that one knight turned on them knightly again and defended himself. "truly," said sir launcelot, "yonder one knight will i help, for it is shame to see three knights on one." then he took his harness and went out at the window by a sheet down to the four knights; and he said aloud, "turn you knights unto me, and leave your fighting with that knight." then the knights left sir kay, for it was he they were upon, and turned unto sir launcelot, and struck many great strokes at sir launcelot, and assailed him on every side. then sir kay addressed him to help sir launcelot, but he said, "nay, sir, i will none of your help; let me alone with them." so sir kay suffered him to do his will, and stood one side. and within six strokes sir launcelot had stricken them down. then they all cried, "sir knight, we yield us unto you." "as to that," said sir launcelot, "i will not take your yielding unto me. if so be ye will yield you unto sir kay the seneschal, i will save your lives, but else not." "fair knight," then they said, "we will do as thou commandest us." "then shall ye," said sir launcelot, "on whitsunday next, go unto the court of king arthur, and there shall ye yield you unto queen guenever, and say that sir kay sent you thither to be her prisoners." "sir," they said, "it shall be done, by the faith of our bodies;" and then they swore, every knight upon his sword. and so sir launcelot suffered them to depart. on the morn sir launcelot rose early and left sir kay sleeping; and sir launcelot took sir kay's armor, and his shield, and armed him, and went to the stable and took his horse, and so he departed. then soon after arose sir kay, and missed sir launcelot. and then he espied that he had taken his armor and his horse. "now, by my faith, i know well," said sir kay, "that he will grieve some of king arthur's knights, for they will deem that it is i, and will be bold to meet him. but by cause of his armor i am sure i shall ride in peace." then sir kay thanked his host and departed. sir launcelot rode in a deep forest, and there he saw four knights, under an oak, and they were of arthur's court. there was sir sagramour le desirus, and hector de marys, and sir gawain, and sir uwaine. as they spied sir launcelot they judged by his arms it had been sir kay. "now, by my faith," said sir sagramour, "i will prove sir kay's might;" and got his spear in his hand, and came towards sir launcelot. therewith sir launcelot couched his spear against him, and smote sir sagramour so sore that horse and man fell both to the earth. then said sir hector, "now shall ye see what i may do with him." but he fared worse than sir sagramour, for sir launcelot's spear went through his shoulder and bare him from his horse to the ground. "by my faith," said sir uwaine, "yonder is a strong knight, and i fear he hath slain sir kay, and taken his armor." and therewith sir uwaine took his spear in hand, and rode toward sir launcelot; and sir launcelot met him on the plain and gave him such a buffet that he was staggered, and wist not where he was. "now see i well," said sir gawain, "that i must encounter with that knight." then he adjusted his shield, and took a good spear in his hand, and sir launcelot knew him well. then they let run their horses with all their mights, and each knight smote the other in the middle of his shield. but sir gawain's spear broke, and sir launcelot charged so sore upon him that his horse fell over backward. then sir launcelot passed by smiling with himself, and he said, "good luck be with him that made this spear, for never came a better into my hand." then the four knights went each to the other and comforted one another. "what say ye to this adventure," said sir gawain, "that one spear hath felled us all four?" "i dare lay my head it is sir launcelot," said sir hector; "i know it by his riding." and sir launcelot rode through many strange countries, till by fortune he came to a fair castle; and as he passed beyond the castle he thought he heard two bells ring. and then he perceived how a falcon came flying over his head, toward a high elm; and she had long lunys [footnote: lunys, the string with which the falcon is held.] about her feet, and she flew unto the elm to take her perch, and the lunys got entangled in the bough; and when she would have taken her flight, she hung by the legs fast, and sir launcelot saw how she hung, and beheld the fair falcon entangled, and he was sorry for her. then came a lady out of the castle and cried aloud, "o launcelot, launcelot, as thou art the flower of all knights, help me to get my hawk; for if my hawk be lost, my lord will slay me, he is so hasty." "what is your lord's name?" said sir launcelot. "his name is sir phelot, a knight that belongeth to the king of north wales." "well, fair lady, since ye know my name, and require me of knighthood to help you, i will do what i may to get your hawk; and yet in truth i am an ill climber, and the tree is passing high, and few boughs to help me." and therewith sir launcelot alighted and tied his horse to the tree, and prayed the lady to unarm him. and when he was unarmed, he put off his jerkin, and with might and force he clomb up to the falcon, and tied the lunys to a rotten bough, and threw the hawk down with it; and the lady got the hawk in her hand. then suddenly there came out of the castle her husband, all armed, and with his naked sword in his hand, and said, "o knight launcelot, now have i got thee as i would," and stood at the boll of the tree to slay him. "ah, lady!" said sir launcelot, "why have ye betrayed me?" "she hath done," said sir phelot, "but as i commanded her; and therefore there is none other way but thine hour is come, and thou must die." "that were shame unto thee," said sir launcelot; "thou an armed knight to slay a naked man by treason." "thou gettest none other grace," said sir phelot, "and therefore help thyself if thou canst." "alas!" said sir launcelot, "that ever a knight should die weaponless!" and therewith he turned his eyes upward and downward; and over his head he saw a big bough leafless, and he brake it off from the trunk. and then he came lower, and watched how his own horse stood; and suddenly he leapt on the further side of his horse from the knight. then sir phelot lashed at him eagerly, meaning to have slain him. but sir launcelot put away the stroke, with the big bough, and smote sir phelot therewith on the side of the head, so that he fell down in a swoon to the ground. then sir launcelot took his sword out of his hand and struck his head from the body. then said the lady, "alas! why hast thou slain my husband?" "i am not the cause," said sir launcelot, "for with falsehood ye would have slain me, and now it is fallen on yourselves." thereupon sir launcelot got all his armor, and put it upon him hastily, for fear of more resort, for the knight's castle was so nigh. and as soon as he might, he took his horse and departed, and thanked god he had escaped that adventure. and two days before the feast of pentecost, sir launcelot came home; and the king and all the court were passing glad of his coming. and when sir gawain, sir uwaine, sir sagramour, and sir hector de marys saw sir launcelot in sir kay's armor then they wist well it was he that smote them down, all with one spear. then there was laughing and merriment among them; and from time to time came all the knights that sir turquine had prisoners, and they all honored and worshipped sir launcelot. then sir gaheris said, "i saw all the battle from the beginning to the end," and he told king arthur all how it was. then sir kay told the king how sir launcelot had rescued him, and how he "made the knights yield to me, and not to him." and there they were, all three, and confirmed it all "and, by my faith," said sir kay, "because sir launcelot took my harness and left me his, i rode in peace, and no man would have to do with me." and so at that time sir launcelot had the greatest name of any knight of the world, and most was he honored of high and low. chapter ix the adventure of the cart it befell in the month of may, queen guenever called to her knights of the table round, and gave them warning that early upon the morrow she would ride a-maying into the woods and fields beside westminster; "and i warn you that there be none of you but he be well horsed, and that ye all be clothed in green, either silk or cloth; and i shall bring with me ten ladies, and every knight shall have a lady behind him, and every knight shall have a squire and two yeoman, and all well horsed." "for thus it chanced one morn when all the court, green-suited, but with plumes that mock'd the may, had been, their wont, a-maying" --guinevere. so they made them ready; and these were the names of the knights: sir kay the seneschal, sir agrivaine, sir brandiles, sir sagramour le desirus, sir dodynas le sauvage, sir ozanna, sir ladynas, sir persant of inde, sir ironside, and sir pelleas; and these ten knights made them ready, in the freshest manner, to ride with the queen. so upon the morn they took their horses with the queen, and rode a-maying in woods and meadows, as it pleased them, in great joy and delight. now there was a knight named maleagans, son to king brademagus, who loved queen guenever passing well, and so had he done long and many years. now this knight, sir maleagans, learned the queen's purpose, and that she had no men of arms with her but the ten noble knights all arrayed in green for maying; so he prepared him twenty men of arms, and a hundred archers, to take captive the queen and her knights. "in the merry month of may, in a morn at break of day, with a troop of damsels playing, the queen, forsooth, went forth a-maying." --old song. so when the queen had mayed, and all were bedecked with herbs, mosses, and flowers in the best manner and freshest, right then came out of a wood sir maleagans with eightscore men well harnessed, and bade the queen and her knights yield them prisoners. "traitor knight," said queen guenever, "what wilt thou do? wilt thou shame thyself? bethink thee how thou art a king's son, and a knight of the table round, and how thou art about to dishonor all knighthood and thyself?" "be it as it may," said sir maleagans, "know you well, madam, i have loved you many a year and never till now could i get you to such advantage as i do now; and therefore i will take you as i find you." then the ten knights of the round table drew their swords, and the other party run at them with their spears, and the ten knights manfully abode them, and smote away their spears. then they lashed together with swords till several were smitten to the earth. so when the queen saw her knights thus dolefully oppressed, and needs must be slain at the last, then for pity and sorrow she cried, "sir maleagans, slay not my noble knights and i will go with you, upon this covenant, that they be led with me wheresoever thou leadest me." "madame," said maleagans, "for your sake they shall be led with you into my own castle, if that ye will be ruled, and ride with me." then sir maleagans charged them all that none should depart from the queen, for he dreaded lest sir launcelot should have knowledge of what had been done. then the queen privily called unto her a page of her chamber that was swiftly horsed, to whom she said, "go thou when thou seest thy time, and bear this ring unto sir launcelot, and pray him as he loveth me, that he will see me and rescue me. and spare not thy horse," said the queen, "neither for water nor for land." so the child espied his time, and lightly he took his horse with the spurs and departed as fast as he might. and when sir maleagans saw him so flee, he understood that it was by the queen's commandment for to warn sir launcelot. then they that were best horsed chased him, and shot at him, but the child went from them all. then sir maleagans said to the queen, "madam, ye are about to betray me, but i shall arrange for sir launcelot that he shall not come lightly at you." then he rode with her and them all to his castle, in all the haste that they might. and by the way sir maleagans laid in ambush the best archers that he had to wait for sir launcelot. and the child came to westminster and found sir launcelot and told his message and delivered him the queen's ring. "alas!" said sir launcelot, "now am i shamed for ever, unless i may rescue that noble lady." then eagerly he asked his armor and put it on him, and mounted his horse and rode as fast as he might; and men say he took the water at westminster bridge, and made his horse swim over thames unto lambeth. then within a while he came to a wood where was a narrow way; and there the archers were laid in ambush. and they shot at him and smote his horse so that he fell. then sir launcelot left his horse and went on foot, but there lay so many ditches and hedges betwixt the archers and him that he might not meddle with them. "alas! for shame," said sir launcelot, "that ever one knight should betray another! but it is an old saw, a good man is never in danger, but when he is in danger of a coward." then sir launcelot went awhile and he was exceedingly cumbered by his armor, his shield, and his spear, and all that belonged to him. then by chance there came by him a cart that came thither to fetch wood. now at this time carts were little used except for carrying offal and for conveying criminals to execution. but sir launcelot took no thought of anything but the necessity of haste for the purpose of rescuing the queen; so he demanded of the carter that he should take him in and convey him as speedily as possible for a liberal reward. the carter consented, and sir launcelot placed himself in the cart and only lamented that with much jolting he made but little progress. then it happened sir gawain passed by and seeing an armed knight travelling in that unusual way he drew near to see who it might be. then sir launcelot told him how the queen had been carried off, and how, in hastening to her rescue, his horse had been disabled and he had been compelled to avail himself of the cart rather than give up his enterprise. then sir gawain said, "surely it is unworthy of a knight to travel in such sort;" but sir launcelot heeded him not. at nightfall they arrived at a castle and the lady thereof came out at the head of her damsels to welcome sir gawain. but to admit his companion, whom she supposed to be a criminal, or at least a prisoner, it pleased her not; however, to oblige sir gawain, she consented. at supper sir launcelot came near being consigned to the kitchen and was only admitted to the lady's table at the earnest solicitation of sir gawain. neither would the damsels prepare a bed for him. he seized the first he found unoccupied and was left undisturbed. next morning he saw from the turrets of the castle a train accompanying a lady, whom he imagined to be the queen. sir gawain thought it might be so, and became equally eager to depart. the lady of the castle supplied sir launcelot with a horse and they traversed the plain at full speed. they learned from some travellers whom they met, that there were two roads which led to the castle of sir maleagans. here therefore the friends separated. sir launcelot found his way beset with obstacles, which he encountered successfully, but not without much loss of time. as evening approached he was met by a young and sportive damsel, who gayly proposed to him a supper at her castle. the knight, who was hungry and weary, accepted the offer, though with no very good grace. he followed the lady to her castle and ate voraciously of her supper, but was quite impenetrable to all her amorous advances. suddenly the scene changed and he was assailed by six furious ruffians, whom he dealt with so vigorously that most of them were speedily disabled, when again there was a change and he found himself alone with his fair hostess, who informed him that she was none other than his guardian fairy, who had but subjected him to tests of his courage and fidelity. the next day the fairy brought him on his road, and before parting gave him a ring, which she told him would by its changes of color disclose to him all enchantments, and enable him to subdue them. sir launcelot pursued his journey, without being much incommoded except by the taunts of travellers, who all seemed to have learned, by some means, his disgraceful drive in the cart. one, more insolent than the rest, had the audacity to interrupt him during dinner, and even to risk a battle in support of his pleasantry. launcelot, after an easy victory, only doomed him to be carted in his turn. at night he was received at another castle, with great apparent hospitality, but found himself in the morning in a dungeon, and loaded with chains. consulting his ring, and finding that this was an enchantment, he burst his chains, seized his armor in spite of the visionary monsters who attempted to defend it, broke open the gates of the tower, and continued his journey. at length his progress was checked by a wide and rapid torrent, which could only be passed on a narrow bridge, on which a false step would prove his destruction. launcelot, leading his horse by the bridle, and making him swim by his side, passed over the bridge, and was attacked as soon as he reached the bank by a lion and a leopard, both of which he slew, and then, exhausted and bleeding, seated himself on the grass, and endeavored to bind up his wounds, when he was accosted by brademagus, the father of maleagans, whose castle was then in sight, and at no great distance. this king, no less courteous than his son was haughty and insolent, after complimenting sir launcelot on the valor and skill he had displayed in the perils of the bridge and the wild beasts, offered him his assistance, and informed him that the queen was safe in his castle, but could only be rescued by encountering maleagans. launcelot demanded the battle for the next day, and accordingly it took place, at the foot of the tower, and under the eyes of the fair captive. launcelot was enfeebled by his wounds, and fought not with his usual spirit, and the contest for a time was doubtful; till guenever exclaimed, "ah, launcelot! my knight, truly have i been told that thou art no longer worthy of me!" these words instantly revived the drooping knight; he resumed at once his usual superiority, and soon laid at his feet his haughty adversary. he was on the point of sacrificing him to his resentment, when guenever, moved by the entreaties of brademagus, ordered him to withhold the blow, and he obeyed. the castle and its prisoners were now at his disposal. launcelot hastened to the apartment of the queen, threw himself at her feet, and was about to kiss her hand, when she exclaimed, "ah, launcelot! why do i see thee again, yet feel thee to be no longer worthy of me, after having been disgracefully drawn about the country in a--" she had not time to finish the phrase, for her lover suddenly started from her, and, bitterly lamenting that he had incurred the displeasure of his sovereign lady, rushed out of the castle, threw his sword and his shield to the right and left, ran furiously into the woods, and disappeared. it seems that the story of the abominable cart, which haunted launcelot at every step, had reached the ears of sir kay, who had told it to the queen, as a proof that her knight must have been dishonored. but guenever had full leisure to repent the haste with which she had given credit to the tale. three days elapsed, during which launcelot wandered without knowing where he went, till at last he began to reflect that his mistress had doubtless been deceived by misrepresentation, and that it was his duty to set her right. he therefore returned, compelled maleagans to release his prisoners, and, taking the road by which they expected the arrival of sir gawain, had the satisfaction of meeting him the next day; after which the whole company proceeded gayly towards camelot. chapter x the lady of shalott king arthur proclaimed a solemn tournament to be held at winchester. the king, not less impatient than his knights for this festival, set off some days before to superintend the preparations, leaving the queen with her court at camelot. sir launcelot, under pretence of indisposition, remained behind also. his intention was to attend the tournament--in disguise; and having communicated his project to guenever, he mounted his horse, set off without any attendant, and, counterfeiting the feebleness of age, took the most unfrequented road to winchester, and passed unnoticed as an old knight who was going to be a spectator of the sports. even arthur and gawain, who happened to behold him from the windows of a castle under which he passed, were the dupes of his disguise. but an accident betrayed him. his horse happened to stumble, and the hero, forgetting for a moment his assumed character, recovered the animal with a strength and agility so peculiar to himself, that they instantly recognized the inimitable launcelot. they suffered him, however, to proceed on his journey without interruption, convinced that his extraordinary feats of arms must discover him at the approaching festival. in the evening launcelot was magnificently entertained as a stranger knight at the neighboring castle of shalott. the lord of this castle had a daughter of exquisite beauty, and two sons lately received into the order of knighthood, one of whom was at that time ill in bed, and thereby prevented from attending the tournament, for which both brothers had long made preparation. launcelot offered to attend the other, if he were permitted to borrow the armor of the invalid, and the lord of shalott, without knowing the name of his guest, being satisfied from his appearance that his son could not have a better assistant in arms, most thankfully accepted the offer. in the meantime the young lady, who had been much struck by the first appearance of the stranger knight, continued to survey him with increased attention, and, before the conclusion of supper, became so deeply enamoured of him, that after frequent changes of color, and other symptoms which sir launcelot could not possibly mistake, she was obliged to retire to her chamber, and seek relief in tears. sir launcelot hastened to convey to her, by means of her brother, the information that his heart was already disposed of, but that it would be his pride and pleasure to act as her knight at the approaching tournament. the lady, obliged to be satisfied with that courtesy, presented him her scarf to be worn at the tournament. launcelot set off in the morning with the young knight, who, on their approaching winchester, carried him to the castle of a lady, sister to the lord of shalott, by whom they were hospitably entertained. the next day they put on their armor, which was perfectly plain and without any device, as was usual to youths during the first year of knighthood, their shields being only painted red, as some color was necessary to enable them to be recognized by their attendants. launcelot wore on his crest the scarf of the maid of shalott, and, thus equipped, proceeded to the tournament, where the knights were divided into two companies, the one commanded by sir galehaut, the other by king arthur. having surveyed the combat for a short time from without the lists, and observed that sir galehaut's party began to give way, they joined the press and attacked the royal knights, the young man choosing such adversaries as were suited to his strength, while his companion selected the principal champions of the round table, and successively overthrew gawain, bohort, and lionel. the astonishment of the spectators was extreme, for it was thought that no one but launcelot could possess such invincible force; yet the favor on his crest seemed to preclude the possibility of his being thus disguised, for launcelot had never been known to wear the badge of any but his sovereign lady. at length sir hector, launcelot's brother, engaged him, and, after a dreadful combat, wounded him dangerously in the head, but was himself completely stunned by a blow on the helmet, and felled to the ground; after which the conqueror rode off at full speed, attended by his companion. they returned to the castle of shalott, where launcelot was attended with the greatest care by the good earl, by his two sons, and, above all, by his fair daughter, whose medical skill probably much hastened the period of his recovery. his health was almost completely restored, when sir hector, sir bohort, and sir lionel, who, after the return of the court to camelot, had undertaken the quest of their relation, discovered him walking on the walls of the castle. their meeting was very joyful; they passed three days in the castle amidst constant festivities, and bantered each other on the events of the tournament. launcelot, though he began by vowing vengeance against the author of his wound, yet ended by declaring that he felt rewarded for the pain by the pride he took in witnessing his brother's extraordinary prowess. he then dismissed them with a message to the queen, promising to follow immediately, it being necessary that he should first take a formal leave of his kind hosts, as well as of the fair maid of shalott. the young lady, after vainly attempting to detain him by her tears and solicitations, saw him depart without leaving her any ground for hope. it was early summer when the tournament took place; but some months had passed since launcelot's departure, and winter was now near at hand. the health and strength of the lady of shalott had gradually sunk, and she felt that she could not live apart from the object of her affections. she left the castle, and descending to the river's brink placed herself in a boat, which she loosed from its moorings, and suffered to bear her down the current toward camelot. one morning, as arthur and sir lionel looked from the window of the tower, the walls of which were washed by a river, they descried a boat richly ornamented, and covered with an awning of cloth of gold, which appeared to be floating down the stream without any human guidance. it struck the shore while they watched it, and they hastened down to examine it. beneath the awning they discovered the dead body of a beautiful woman, in whose features sir lionel easily recognized the lovely maid of shalott. pursuing their search, they discovered a purse richly embroidered with gold and jewels, and within the purse a letter, which arthur opened, and found addressed to himself and all the knights of the round table, stating that launcelot of the lake, the most accomplished of knights and most beautiful of men, but at the same time the most cruel and inflexible, had by his rigor produced the death of the wretched maiden, whose love was no less invincible than his cruelty. the king immediately gave orders for the interment of the lady with all the honors suited to her rank, at the same time explaining to the knights the history of her affection for launcelot, which moved the compassion and regret of all. tennyson has chosen the story of the "lady of shalott" for the subject of a poem. the catastrophe is told thus: "under tower and balcony, by garden-wall and gallery, a gleaming shape she floated by, a corse between the houses high, silent into camelot. out upon the wharfs they came, knight and burgher, lord and dame, and round the prow they read her name, 'the lady of shalott' "who is this? and what is here? and in the lighted palace near died the sound of royal cheer; and they crossed themselves for fear, all the knights at camelot. but launcelot mused a little space; he said, 'she has a lovely face; god in his mercy lend her grace, the lady of shalott.'" chapter xi queen guenever's peril it happened at this time that queen guenever was thrown into great peril of her life. a certain squire who was in her immediate service, having some cause of animosity to sir gawain, determined to destroy him by poison, at a public entertainment. for this purpose he concealed the poison in an apple of fine appearance, which he placed on the top of several others, and put the dish before the queen, hoping that, as sir gawain was the knight of greatest dignity, she would present the apple to him. but it happened that a scottish knight of high distinction, who arrived on that day, was seated next to the queen, and to him as a stranger she presented the apple, which he had no sooner eaten than he was seized with dreadful pain, and fell senseless. the whole court was, of course, thrown into confusion; the knights rose from table, darting looks of indignation at the wretched queen, whose tears and protestations were unable to remove their suspicions. in spite of all that could be done the knight died, and nothing remained but to order a magnificent funeral and monument for him, which was done. some time after sir mador, brother of the murdered knight, arrived at arthur's court in quest of him. while hunting in the forest he by chance came to the spot where the monument was erected, read the inscription, and returned to court determined on immediate and signal vengeance. he rode into the hall, loudly accused the queen of treason, and insisted on her being given up for punishment, unless she should find by a certain day a knight hardy enough to risk his life in support of her innocence. arthur, powerful as he was, did not dare to deny the appeal, but was compelled with a heavy heart to accept it, and mador sternly took his departure, leaving the royal couple plunged in terror and anxiety. during all this time launcelot was absent, and no one knew where he was. he fled in anger from his fair mistress, upon being reproached by her with his passion for the lady of shalott, which she had hastily inferred from his wearing her scarf at the tournament. he took up his abode with a hermit in the forest, and resolved to think no more of the cruel beauty, whose conduct he thought must flow from a wish to get rid of him. yet calm reflection had somewhat cooled his indignation, and he had begun to wish, though hardly able to hope, for a reconciliation when the news of sir mador's challenge fortunately reached his ears. the intelligence revived his spirits, and he began to prepare with the utmost cheerfulness for a contest which, if successful, would insure him at once the affection of his mistress and the gratitude of his sovereign. the sad fate of the lady of shalott had ere this completely acquitted launcelot in the queen's mind of all suspicion of his fidelity, and she lamented most grievously her foolish quarrel with him, which now, at her time of need, deprived her of her most efficient champion. as the day appointed by sir mador was fast approaching, it became necessary that she should procure a champion for her defence; and she successively adjured sir hector, sir lionel, sir bohort, and sir gawain to undertake the battle. she fell on her knees before them, called heaven to witness her innocence of the crime alleged against her, but was sternly answered by all that they could not fight to maintain the innocence of one whose act, and the fatal consequence of it, they had seen with their own eyes. she retired, therefore, dejected and disconsolate; but the sight of the fatal pile on which, if guilty, she was doomed to be burned, exciting her to fresh effort, she again repaired to sir bohort, threw herself at his feet, and piteously calling on him for mercy, fell into a swoon. the brave knight was not proof against this. he raised her up, and hastily promised that he would undertake her cause, if no other or better champion should present himself. he then summoned his friends, and told them his resolution; and as a mortal combat with sir mador was a most fearful enterprise, they agreed to accompany him in the morning to the hermitage in the forest, where he proposed to receive absolution from the hermit, and to make his peace with heaven before he entered the lists. as they approached the hermitage, they espied a knight riding in the forest, whom they at once recognized as sir launcelot. overjoyed at the meeting, they quickly, in answer to his questions, confirmed the news of the queen's imminent danger, and received his instructions to return to court, to comfort her as well as they could, but to say nothing of his intention of undertaking her defence, which he meant to do in the character of an unknown adventurer. on their return to the castle they found that mass was finished, and had scarcely time to speak to the queen before they were summoned into the hall to dinner. a general gloom was spread over the countenances of all the guests. arthur himself was unable to conceal his dejection, and the wretched guenever, motionless and bathed in tears, sat in trembling expectation of sir mador's appearance. nor was it long ere he stalked into the hall, and with a voice of thunder, rendered more impressive by the general silence, demanded instant justice on the guilty party. arthur replied with dignity, that little of the day was yet spent, and that perhaps a champion might yet be found capable of satisfying his thirst for battle. sir bohort now rose from table, and shortly returning in complete armor, resumed his place, after receiving the embraces and thanks of the king, who now began to resume some degree of confidence. sir mador, growing impatient, again repeated his denunciations of vengeance, and insisted that the combat should no longer be postponed. in the height of the debate there came riding into the hall a knight mounted on a black steed, and clad in black armor, with his visor down, and lance in hand. "sir," said the king, "is it your will to alight and partake of our cheer?" "nay, sir," he replied; "i come to save a lady's life. the queen hath ill bestowed her favors, and honored many a knight, that in her hour of need she should have none to take her part. thou that darest accuse her of treachery, stand forth, for to-day shalt thou need all thy might." sir mador, though surprised, was not appalled by the stern challenge and formidable appearance of his antagonist, but prepared for the encounter. at the first shock both were unhorsed. they then drew their swords, and commenced a combat which lasted from noon till evening, when sir mador, whose strength began to fail, was felled to the ground by launcelot, and compelled to sue for mercy. the victor, whose arm was already raised to terminate the life of his opponent, instantly dropped his sword, courteously lifted up the fainting sir mador, frankly confessing that he had never before encountered so formidable an enemy. the other, with similar courtesy, solemnly renounced all further projects of vengeance for his brother's death; and the two knights, now become fast friends, embraced each other with the greatest cordiality. in the meantime arthur, having recognized sir launcelot, whose helmet was now unlaced, rushed down into the lists, followed by all his knights, to welcome and thank his deliverer. guenever swooned with joy, and the place of combat suddenly exhibited a scene of the most tumultuous delight. the general satisfaction was still further increased by the discovery of the real culprit. having accidentally incurred some suspicion, he confessed his crime, and was publicly punished in the presence of sir mador. the court now returned to the castle, which, with the title of "la joyeuse garde" bestowed upon it in memory of the happy event, was conferred on sir launcelot by arthur, as a memorial of his gratitude. chapter xii tristram and isoude meliadus was king of leonois, or lionesse, a country famous in the annals of romance, which adjoined the kingdom of cornwall, but has now disappeared from the map, having been, it is said, overwhelmed by the ocean. meliadus was married to isabella, sister of mark, king of cornwall. a fairy fell in love with him, and drew him away by enchantment while he was engaged in hunting. his queen set out in quest of him, but was taken ill on her journey, and died, leaving an infant son, whom, from the melancholy circumstances of his birth, she called tristram. gouvernail, the queen's squire, who had accompanied her, took charge of the child, and restored him to his father, who had at length burst the enchantments of the fairy, and returned home. meliadus after seven years married again, and the new queen, being jealous of the influence of tristram with his father, laid plots for his life, which were discovered by gouvernail, who in consequence fled with the boy to the court of the king of france, where tristram was kindly received, and grew up improving in every gallant and knightly accomplishment, adding to his skill in arms the arts of music and of chess. in particular, he devoted himself to the chase and to all woodland sports, so that he became distinguished above all other chevaliers of the court for his knowledge of all that relates to hunting. no wonder that belinda, the king's daughter, fell in love with him; but as he did not return her passion, she, in a sudden impulse of anger, excited her father against him, and he was banished the kingdom. the princess soon repented of her act, and in despair destroyed herself, having first written a most tender letter to tristram, sending him at the same time a beautiful and sagacious dog, of which she was very fond, desiring him to keep it as a memorial of her. meliadus was now dead, and as his queen, tristram's stepmother, held the throne, gouvernail was afraid to carry his pupil to his native country, and took him to cornwall, to his uncle mark, who gave him a kind reception. king mark resided at the castle of tintadel, already mentioned in the history of uther and igerne. in this court tristram became distinguished in all the exercises incumbent on a knight; nor was it long before he had an opportunity of practically employing his valor and skill. moraunt, a celebrated champion, brother to the queen of ireland, arrived at the court, to demand tribute of king mark. the knights of cornwall are in ill repute in romance for their cowardice, and they exhibited it on this occasion. king mark could find no champion who dared to encounter the irish knight, till his nephew tristram, who had not yet received the honors of knighthood, craved to be admitted to the order, offering at the same time to fight the battle of cornwall against the irish champion. king mark assented with reluctance; tristram received the accolade, which conferred knighthood upon him, and the place and time were assigned for the encounter. without attempting to give the details of this famous combat, the first and one of the most glorious of tristram's exploits, we shall only say that the young knight, though severely wounded, cleft the head of moraunt, leaving a portion of his sword in the wound. moraunt, half dead with his wound and the disgrace of his defeat, hastened to hide himself in his ship, sailed away with all speed for ireland, and died soon after arriving in his own country. the kingdom of cornwall was thus delivered from its tribute. tristram, weakened by loss of blood, fell senseless. his friends flew to his assistance. they dressed his wounds, which in general healed readily; but the lance of moraunt was poisoned, and one wound which it made yielded to no remedies, but grew worse day by day. the surgeons could do no more. tristram asked permission of his uncle to depart, and seek for aid in the kingdom of loegria (england). with his consent he embarked, and after tossing for many days on the sea, was driven by the winds to the coast of ireland. he landed, full of joy and gratitude that he had escaped the peril of the sea; took his rote,[footnote: a musical instrument.] and began to play. it was a summer evening, and the king of ireland and his daughter, the beautiful isoude, were at a window which overlooked the sea. the strange harper was sent for, and conveyed to the palace, where, finding that he was in ireland, whose champion he had lately slain, he concealed his name, and called himself tramtris. the queen undertook his cure, and by a medicated bath gradually restored him to health. his skill in music and in games occasioned his being frequently called to court, and he became the instructor of the princess isoude in minstrelsy and poetry, who profited so well under his care, that she soon had no equal in the kingdom, except her instructor. at this time a tournament was held, at which many knights of the round table, and others, were present. on the first day a saracen prince, named palamedes, obtained the advantage over all. they brought him to the court, and gave him a feast, at which tristram, just recovering from his wound, was present. the fair isoude appeared on this occasion in all her charms. palamedes could not behold them without emotion, and made no effort to conceal his love. tristram perceived it, and the pain he felt from jealousy taught him how dear the fair isoude had already become to him. next day the tournament was renewed. tristram, still feeble from his wound, rose during the night, took his arms, and concealed them in a forest near the place of the contest, and, after it had begun, mingled with the combatants. he overthrew all that encountered him, in particular palamedes, whom he brought to the ground with a stroke of his lance, and then fought him hand to hand, bearing off the prize of the tourney. but his exertions caused his wound to reopen; he bled fast, and in this sad state, yet in triumph, they bore him to the palace. the fair isoude devoted herself to his relief with an interest which grew more vivid day by day; and her skilful care soon restored him to health. it happened one day that a damsel of the court, entering the closet where tristram's arms were deposited, perceived that a part of the sword had been broken off. it occurred to her that the missing portion was like that which was left in the skull of moraunt, the irish champion. she imparted her thought to the queen, who compared the fragment taken from her brother's wound with the sword of tristram, and was satisfied that it was part of the same, and that the weapon of tristram was that which reft her brother's life. she laid her griefs and resentment before the king, who satisfied himself with his own eyes of the truth of her suspicions. tristram was cited before the whole court, and reproached with having dared to present himself before them after having slain their kinsman. he acknowledged that he had fought with moraunt to settle the claim for tribute, and said that it was by force of winds and waves alone that he was thrown on their coast. the queen demanded vengeance for the death of her brother; the fair isoude trembled and grew pale, but a murmur rose from all the assembly that the life of one so handsome and so brave should not be taken for such a cause, and generosity finally triumphed over resentment in the mind of the king. tristram was dismissed in safety, but commanded to leave the kingdom without delay, and never to return thither under pain of death tristram went back, with restored health, to cornwall. king mark made his nephew give him a minute recital of his adventures. tristram told him all minutely; but when he came to speak of the fair isoude he described her charms with a warmth and energy such as none but a lover could display. king mark was fascinated with the description, and, choosing a favorable time, demanded a boon[footnote: "good faith was the very corner-stone of chivalry. whenever a knight's word was pledged (it mattered not how rashly) it was to be redeemed at any price. hence the sacred obligation of the boon granted by a knight to his suppliant. instances without number occur in romance, in which a knight, by rashly granting an indefinite boon, was obliged to do or suffer something extremely to his prejudice. but it is not in romance alone that we find such singular instances of adherence to an indefinite promise. the history of the times presents authentic transactions equally embarrassing and absurd"--scott, note to sir tristram.] of his nephew, who readily granted it. the king made him swear upon the holy reliques that he would fulfil his commands. then mark directed him to go to ireland, and obtain for him the fair isoude to be queen of cornwall. tristram believed it was certain death for him to return to ireland; and how could he act as ambassador for his uncle in such a cause? yet, bound by his oath, he hesitated not for an instant. he only took the precaution to change his armor. he embarked for ireland; but a tempest drove him to the coast of england, near camelot, where king arthur was holding his court, attended by the knights of the round table, and many others, the most illustrious in the world. tristram kept himself unknown. he took part in many justs; he fought many combats, in which he covered himself with glory. one day he saw among those recently arrived the king of ireland, father of the fair isoude. this prince, accused of treason against his liege sovereign, arthur, came to camelot to free himself from the charge. blaanor, one of the most redoubtable warriors of the round table, was his accuser, and argius, the king, had neither youthful vigor nor strength to encounter him. he must therefore seek a champion to sustain his innocence. but the knights of the round table were not at liberty to fight against one another, unless in a quarrel of their own. argius heard of the great renown of the unknown knight; he also was witness of his exploits. he sought him, and conjured him to adopt his defence, and on his oath declared that he was innocent of the crime of which he was accused. tristram readily consented, and made himself known to the king, who on his part promised to reward his exertions, if successful, with whatever gift he might ask. tristram fought with blaanor, and overthrew him, and held his life in his power. the fallen warrior called on him to use his right of conquest, and strike the fatal blow. "god forbid," said tristram, "that i should take the life of so brave a knight!" he raised him up and restored him to his friends. the judges of the field decided that the king of ireland was acquitted of the charge against him, and they led tristram in triumph to his tent. king argius, full of gratitude, conjured tristram to accompany him to his kingdom. they departed together, and arrived in ireland; and the queen, forgetting her resentment for her brother's death, exhibited to the preserver of her husband's life nothing but gratitude and good-will. how happy a moment for isoude, who knew that her father had promised his deliverer whatever boon he might ask! but the unhappy tristram gazed on her with despair, at the thought of the cruel oath which bound him. his magnanimous soul subdued the force of his love. he revealed the oath which he had taken, and with trembling voice demanded the fair isoude for his uncle. argius consented, and soon all was prepared for the departure of isoude. brengwain, her favorite maid of honor, was to accompany her. on the day of departure the queen took aside this devoted attendant, and told her that she had observed that her daughter and tristram were attached to one another, and that to avert the bad effects of this inclination she had procured from a powerful fairy a potent philter (love-draught), which she directed brengwain to administer to isoude and to king mark on the evening of their marriage. isoude and tristram embarked together. a favorable wind filled the sails, and promised them a fortunate voyage. the lovers gazed upon one another, and could not repress their sighs. love seemed to light up all his fires on their lips, as in their hearts. the day was warm; they suffered from thirst. isoude first complained. tristram descried the bottle containing the love-draught, which brengwain had been so imprudent as to leave in sight. he took it, gave some of it to the charming isoude, and drank the remainder himself. the dog houdain licked the cup. the ship arrived in cornwall, and isoude was married to king mark, the old monarch was delighted with his bride, and his gratitude to tristram was unbounded. he loaded him with honors, and made him chamberlain of his palace, thus giving him access to the queen at all times. in the midst of the festivities of the court which followed the royal marriage, an unknown minstrel one day presented himself, bearing a harp of peculiar construction. he excited the curiosity of king mark by refusing to play upon it till he should grant him a boon. the king having promised to grant his request, the minstrel, who was none other than the saracen knight, sir palamedes, the lover of the fair isoude, sung to the harp a lay, in which he demanded isoude as the promised gift. king mark could not by the laws of knighthood withhold the boon. the lady was mounted on her horse, and led away by her triumphant lover. tristram, it is needless to say, was absent at the time, and did not return until their departure. when he heard what had taken place he seized his rote, and hastened to the shore, where isoude and her new master had already embarked. tristram played upon his rote, and the sound reached the ears of isoude, who became so deeply affected, that sir palamedes was induced to return with her to land, that they might see the unknown musician. tristram watched his opportunity, seized the lady's horse by the bridle, and plunged with her into the forest, tauntingly informing his rival that "what he had got by the harp he had lost by the rote." palamedes pursued, and a combat was about to commence, the result of which must have been fatal to one or other of these gallant knights; but isoude stepped between them, and, addressing palamedes, said, "you tell me that you love me; you will not then deny me the request i am about to make?" "lady," he replied, "i will perform your bidding." "leave, then," said she, "this contest, and repair to king arthur's court, and salute queen guenever from me; tell her that there are in the world but two ladies, herself and i, and two lovers, hers and mine; and come thou not in future in any place where i am." palamedes burst into tears. "ah, lady," said he, "i will obey you; but i beseech you that you will not for ever steel your heart against me." "palamedes," she replied, "may i never taste of joy again if i ever quit my first love." palamedes then went his way. the lovers remained a week in concealment, after which tristram restored isoude to her husband, advising him in future to reward minstrels in some other way. the king showed much gratitude to tristram, but in the bottom of his heart he cherished bitter jealousy of him. one day tristram and isoude were alone together in her private chamber. a base and cowardly knight of the court, named andret, spied them through a keyhole. they sat at a table of chess, but were not attending to the game. andret brought the king, having first raised his suspicions, and placed him so as to watch their motions. the king saw enough to confirm his suspicions, and he burst into the apartment with his sword drawn, and had nearly slain tristram before he was put on his guard. but tristram avoided the blow, drew his sword, and drove before him the cowardly monarch, chasing him through all the apartments of the palace, giving him frequent blows with the flat of his sword, while he cried in vain to his knights to save him. they were not inclined, or did not dare, to interpose in his behalf. a proof of the great popularity of the tale of sir tristram is the fact that the italian poets, boiardo and ariosto, have founded upon it the idea of the two enchanted fountains, which produced the opposite effects of love and hatred. boiardo thus describes the fountain of hatred: "fair was that fountain, sculptured all of gold, with alabaster sculptured, rich and rare; and in its basin clear thou might'st behold the flowery marge reflected fresh and fair. sage merlin framed the font,--so legends bear,-- when on fair isoude doated tristram brave, that the good errant knight, arriving there, might quaff oblivion in the enchanted wave, and leave his luckless love, and 'scape his timeless grave. 'but ne'er the warrior's evil fate allowed his steps that fountain's charmed verge to gain. though restless, roving on adventure proud, he traversed oft the land and oft the main." chapter xiii tristram and isoude (continued) after this affair tristram was banished from the kingdom, and isoude shut up in a tower, which stood on the bank of a river. tristram could not resolve to depart without some further communication with his beloved; so he concealed himself in the forest, till at last he contrived to attract her attention, by means of twigs which he curiously peeled, and sent down the stream under her window. by this means many secret interviews were obtained. tristram dwelt in the forest, sustaining himself by game, which the dog houdain ran down for him; for this faithful animal was unequalled in the chase, and knew so well his master's wish for concealment, that, in the pursuit of his game, he never barked. at length tristram departed, but left houdain with isoude, as a remembrancer of him. sir tristram wandered through various countries, achieving the most perilous enterprises, and covering himself with glory, yet unhappy at the separation from his beloved isoude. at length king mark's territory was invaded by a neighboring chieftain, and he was forced to summon his nephew to his aid. tristram obeyed the call, put himself at the head of his uncle's vassals, and drove the enemy out of the country. mark was full of gratitude, and tristram, restored to favor and to the society of his beloved isoude, seemed at the summit of happiness. but a sad reverse was at hand. tristram had brought with him a friend named pheredin, son of the king of brittany. this young knight saw queen isoude, and could not resist her charms. knowing the love of his friend for the queen, and that that love was returned, pheredin concealed his own, until his health failed, and he feared he was drawing near his end. he then wrote to the beautiful queen that he was dying for love of her. the gentle isoude, in a moment of pity for the friend of tristram, returned him an answer so kind and compassionate that it restored him to life. a few days afterwards tristram found this letter. the most terrible jealousy took possession of his soul; he would have slain pheredin, who with difficulty made his escape. then tristram mounted his horse, and rode to the forest, where for ten days he took no rest nor food. at length he was found by a damsel lying almost dead by the brink of a fountain. she recognized him, and tried in vain to rouse his attention. at last recollecting his love for music she went and got her harp, and played thereon. tristram was roused from his reverie; tears flowed; he breathed more freely; he took the harp from the maiden, and sung this lay, with a voice broken with sobs: "sweet i sang in former days, kind love perfected my lays: now my art alone displays the woe that on my being preys. "charming love, delicious power, worshipped from my earliest hour, thou who life on all dost shower, love! my life thou dost devour. "in death's hour i beg of thee, isoude, dearest enemy, thou who erst couldst kinder be, when i'm gone, forget not me. "on my gravestone passers-by oft will read, as low i lie, 'never wight in love could vie with tristram, yet she let him die.'" tristram, having finished his lay, wrote it off and gave it to the damsel, conjuring her to present it to the queen. meanwhile queen isoude was inconsolable at the absence of tristram. she discovered that it was caused by the fatal letter which she had written to pheredin. innocent, but in despair at the sad effects of her letter, she wrote another to pheredin, charging him never to see her again. the unhappy lover obeyed this cruel decree. he plunged into the forest, and died of grief and love in a hermit's cell. isoude passed her days in lamenting the absence and unknown fate of tristram. one day her jealous husband, having entered her chamber unperceived, overheard her singing the following lay: "my voice to piteous wail is bent, my harp to notes of languishment; ah, love! delightsome days be meant for happier wights, with hearts content. "ah, tristram' far away from me, art thou from restless anguish free? ah! couldst thou so one moment be, from her who so much loveth thee?" the king hearing these words burst forth in a rage; but isoude was too wretched to fear his violence. "you have heard me," she said; "i confess it all. i love tristram, and always shall love him. without doubt he is dead, and died for me. i no longer wish to live. the blow that shall finish my misery will be most welcome." the king was moved at the distress of the fair isoude, and perhaps the idea of tristram's death tended to allay his wrath. he left the queen in charge of her women, commanding them to take especial care lest her despair should lead her to do harm to herself. tristram meanwhile, distracted as he was, rendered a most important service to the shepherds by slaying a gigantic robber named taullas, who was in the habit of plundering their flocks and rifling their cottages. the shepherds, in their gratitude to tristram, bore him in triumph to king mark to have him bestow on him a suitable reward. no wonder mark failed to recognize in the half-clad, wild man, before him his nephew tristram; but grateful for the service the unknown had rendered he ordered him to be well taken care of, and gave him in charge to the queen and her women. under such care tristram rapidly recovered his serenity and his health, so that the romancer tells us he became handsomer than ever. king mark's jealousy revived with tristram's health and good looks, and, in spite of his debt of gratitude so lately increased, he again banished him from the court. sir tristram left cornwall, and proceeded into the land of loegria (england) in quest of adventures. one day he entered a wide forest. the sound of a little bell showed him that some inhabitant was near. he followed the sound, and found a hermit, who informed him that he was in the forest of arnantes, belonging to the fairy viviane, the lady of the lake, who, smitten with love for king arthur, had found means to entice him to this forest, where by enchantments she held him a prisoner, having deprived him of all memory of who and what he was. the hermit informed him that all the knights of the round table were out in search of the king, and that he (tristram) was now in the scene of the most grand and important adventures. this was enough to animate tristram in the search. he had not wandered far before he encountered a knight of arthur's court, who proved to be sir kay the seneschal, who demanded of him whence he came. tristram answering, "from cornwall," sir kay did not let slip the opportunity of a joke at the expense of the cornish knight. tristram chose to leave him in his error, and even confirmed him in it; for meeting some other knights tristram declined to just with them. they spent the night together at an abbey, where tristram submitted patiently to all their jokes. the seneschal gave the word to his companions that they should set out early next day, and intercept the cornish knight on his way, and enjoy the amusement of seeing his fright when they should insist on running a tilt with him. tristram next morning found himself alone; he put on his armor, and set out to continue his quest. he soon saw before him the seneschal and the three knights, who barred the way, and insisted on a just. tristram excused himself a long time; at last he reluctantly took his stand. he encountered them, one after the other, and overthrew them all four, man and horse, and then rode off, bidding them not to forget their friend the knight of cornwall. tristram had not ridden far when he met a damsel, who cried out, "ah, my lord! hasten forward, and prevent a horrid treason!" tristram flew to her assistance, and soon reached a spot where he beheld a knight, whom three others had borne to the ground, and were unlacing his helmet in order to cut off his head. tristram flew to the rescue, and slew with one stroke of his lance one of the assailants. the knight, recovering his feet, sacrificed another to his vengeance, and the third made his escape. the rescued knight then raised the visor of his helmet, and a long white beard fell down upon his breast. the majesty and venerable air of this knight made tristram suspect that it was none other than arthur himself, and the prince confirmed his conjecture. tristram would have knelt before him, but arthur received him in his arms, and inquired his name and country; but tristram declined to disclose them, on the plea that he was now on a quest requiring secrecy. at this moment the damsel who had brought tristram to the rescue darted forward, and, seizing the king's hand, drew from his finger a ring, the gift of the fairy, and by that act dissolved the enchantment. arthur, having recovered his reason and his memory, offered to tristram to attach him to his court, and to confer honors and dignities upon him; but tristram declined all, and only consented to accompany him till he should see him safe in the hands of his knights. soon after, hector de marys rode up, and saluted the king, who on his part introduced him to tristram as one of the bravest of his knights. tristram took leave of the king and his faithful follower, and continued his quest. we cannot follow tristram through all the adventures which filled this epoch of his history. suffice it to say, he fulfilled on all occasions the duty of a true knight, rescuing the oppressed, redressing wrongs, abolishing evil customs, and suppressing injustice, thus by constant action endeavoring to lighten the pains of absence from her he loved. in the meantime isoude, separated from her dear tristram, passed her days in languor and regret. at length she could no longer resist the desire to hear some news of her lover. she wrote a letter, and sent it by one of her damsels, niece of her faithful brengwain. one day tristram, weary with his exertions, had dismounted and laid himself down by the side of a fountain and fallen asleep. the damsel of queen isoude arrived at the same fountain, and recognized passebreul, the horse of tristram, and presently perceived his master asleep. he was thin and pale, showing evident marks of the pain he suffered in separation from his beloved. she awakened him, and gave him the letter which she bore, and tristram enjoyed the pleasure, so sweet to a lover, of hearing from and talking about the object of his affections. he prayed the damsel to postpone her return till after the magnificent tournament which arthur had proclaimed should have taken place, and conducted her to the castle of persides, a brave and loyal knight, who received her with great consideration. tristram conducted the damsel of queen isoude to the tournament, and had her placed in the balcony among the ladies of the queen. "he glanced and saw the stately galleries, dame, damsel, each through worship of their queen white-robed in honor of the stainless child, and some with scatter'd jewels, like a bank of maiden snow mingled with sparks of fire. he looked but once, and veiled his eyes again." --the last tournament. he then joined the tourney. nothing could exceed his strength and valor. launcelot admired him, and by a secret presentiment declined to dispute the honor of the day with a knight so gallant and so skilful. arthur descended from the balcony to greet the conqueror; but the modest and devoted tristram, content with having borne off the prize in the sight of the messenger of isoude, made his escape with her, and disappeared. the next day the tourney recommenced. tristram assumed different armor, that he might not be known; but he was soon detected by the terrible blows that he gave, arthur and guenever had no doubt that it was the same knight who had borne off the prize of the day before. arthur's gallant spirit was roused. after launcelot of the lake and sir gawain he was accounted the best knight of the round table. he went privately and armed himself, and came into the tourney in undistinguished armor. he ran a just with tristram, whom he shook in his seat; but tristram, who did not know him, threw him out of the saddle. arthur recovered himself, and content with having made proof of the stranger knight bade launcelot finish the adventure, and vindicate the honor of the round table. sir launcelot, at the bidding of the monarch, assailed tristram, whose lance was already broken in former encounters. but the law of this sort of combat was that the knight after having broken his lance must fight with his sword, and must not refuse to meet with his shield the lance of his antagonist. tristram met launcelot's charge upon his shield, which that terrible lance could not fail to pierce. it inflicted a wound upon tristram's side, and, breaking, left the iron in the wound. but tristram also with his sword smote so vigorously on launcelot's casque that he cleft it, and wounded his head. the wound was not deep, but the blood flowed into his eyes, and blinded him for a moment, and tristram, who thought himself mortally wounded, retired from the field. launcelot declared to the king that he had never received such a blow in his life before. tristram hastened to gouvernail, his squire, who drew forth the iron, bound up the wound, and gave him immediate ease. tristram after the tournament kept retired in his tent, but arthur, with the consent of all the knights of the round table, decreed him the honors of the second day. but it was no longer a secret that the victor of the two days was the same individual, and gouvernail, being questioned, confirmed the suspicions of launcelot and arthur that it was no other than sir tristram of leonais, the nephew of the king of cornwall. king arthur, who desired to reward his distinguished valor, and knew that his uncle mark had ungratefully banished him, would have eagerly availed himself of the opportunity to attach tristram to his court,--all the knights of the round table declaring with acclamation that it would be impossible to find a more worthy companion. but tristram had already departed in search of adventures, and the damsel of queen isoude returned to her mistress. chapter xiv sir tristram's battle with sir launcelot sir tristram rode through a forest and saw ten men fighting, and one man did battle against nine. so he rode to the knights and cried to them, bidding them cease their battle, for they did themselves great shame, so many knights to fight against one. then answered the master of the knights (his name was sir breuse sans pitie, who was at that time the most villanous knight living): "sir knight, what have ye to do to meddle with us? if ye be wise depart on your way as you came, for this knight shall not escape us." "that were pity," said sir tristram, "that so good a knight should be slain so cowardly; therefore i warn you i will succor him with all my puissance." then sir tristram alighted off his horse, because they were on foot, that they should not slay his horse. and he smote on the right hand and on the left so vigorously that well-nigh at every stroke he struck down a knight. at last they fled, with breuse sans pitie, into the tower, and shut sir tristram without the gate. then sir tristram returned back to the rescued knight, and found him sitting under a tree, sore wounded. "fair knight," said he, "how is it with you?" "sir knight," said sir palamedes, for he it was, "i thank you of your great goodness, for ye have rescued me from death." "what is your name?" said sir tristram. he said, "my name is sir palamedes." "say ye so?" said sir tristram; "now know that thou art the man in the world that i most hate; therefore make thee ready, for i will do battle with thee." "what is your name?" said sir palamedes. "my name is sir tristram, your mortal enemy." "it may be so," said sir palamedes; "but you have done overmuch for me this day, that i should fight with you. moreover, it will be no honor for you to have to do with me, for you are fresh and i am wounded. therefore, if you will needs have to do with me, assign me a day, and i shall meet you without fail." "you say well, "said sir tristram; "now i assign you to meet me in the meadow by the river of camelot, where merlin set the monument." so they were agreed. then they departed and took their ways diverse. sir tristram passed through a great forest into a plain, till he came to a priory, and there he reposed him with a good man six days. then departed sir tristram, and rode straight into camelot to the monument of merlin, and there he looked about him for sir palamedes. and he perceived a seemly knight, who came riding against him all in white, with a covered shield. when he came nigh sir tristram said aloud, "welcome, sir knight, and well and truly have you kept your promise." then they made ready their shields and spears, and came together with all the might of their horses, so fiercely, that both the horses and the knights fell to the earth. and as soon as they might they quitted their horses, and struck together with bright swords as men of might, and each wounded the other wonderfully sore, so that the blood ran out upon the grass. thus they fought for the space of four hours and never one would speak to the other one word. then at last spake the white knight, and said, "sir, thou fightest wonderful well, as ever i saw knight; therefore, if it please you, tell me your name." "why dost thou ask my name?" said sir tristram; "art thou not sir palamedes?" "no, fair knight," said he, "i am sir launcelot of the lake." "alas!" said sir tristram, "what have i done? for you are the man of the world that i love best." "fair knight," said sir launcelot, "tell me your name." "truly," said he, "my name is sir tristram de lionesse." "alas! alas!" said sir launcelot, "what adventure has befallen me!" and therewith sir launcelot kneeled down and yielded him up his sword; and sir tristram kneeled down and yielded him up his sword; and so either gave other the degree. and then they both went to the stone, and sat them down upon it and took off their helms and each kissed the other a hundred times. and then anon they rode toward camelot, and on the way they met with sir gawain and sir gaheris, that had made promise to arthur never to come again to the court till they had brought sir tristram with them. "return again," said sir launcelot, "for your quest is done; for i have met with sir tristram. lo, here he is in his own person." then was sir gawain glad, and said to sir tristram, "ye are welcome." with this came king arthur, and when he wist there was sir tristram, he ran unto him, and took him by the hand, and said, "sir tristram, ye are as welcome as any knight that ever came to this court." then sir tristram told the king how he came thither for to have had to do with sir palamedes, and how he had rescued him from sir breuse sans pitie and the nine knights. then king arthur took sir tristram by the hand, and went to the table round, and queen guenever came, and many ladies with her, and all the ladies said with one voice, "welcome, sir tristram." "welcome," said the knights. "welcome," said arthur, "for one of the best of knights, and the gentlest of the world, and the man of most worship; for of all manner of hunting thou bearest the prize, and of all measures of blowing thou art the beginning, and of all the terms of hunting and hawking ye are the inventor, and of all instruments of music ye are the best skilled; therefore, gentle knight," said arthur, "ye are welcome to this court." and then king arthur made sir tristram knight of the table round with great nobley and feasting as can be thought. sir tristram as a sportsman tristram is often alluded to by the romancers as the great authority and model in all matters relating to the chase. in the "faery queene," tristram, in answer to the inquiries of sir calidore, informs him of his name and parentage, and concludes: "all which my days i have not lewdly spent, nor spilt the blossom of my tender years in idlesse; but, as was convenient, have trained been with many noble feres in gentle thewes, and such like seemly leers; 'mongst which my most delight hath always been to hunt the salvage chace, amongst my peers, of all that rangeth in the forest green, of which none is to me unknown that yet was seen. "ne is there hawk which mantleth on her perch, whether high towering or accosting low, but i the measure of her flight do search, and all her prey, and all her diet know. such be our joys, which in these forests grow." [footnote: feres, companions; thewes, labors; leers, learning.] chapter xv the round table the famous enchanter, merlin, had exerted all his skill in fabricating the round table. of the seats which surrounded it he had constructed thirteen, in memory of the thirteen apostles. twelve of these seats only could be occupied, and they only by knights of the highest fame; the thirteenth represented the seat of the traitor judas. it remained always empty. it was called the perilous seat, ever since a rash and haughty saracen knight had dared to place himself in it, when the earth opened and swallowed him up. "in our great hall there stood a vacant chair, fashion'd by merlin ere he past away, and carven with strange figures; and in and out the figures, like a serpent, ran a scroll of letters in a tongue no man could read and merlin call'd it 'the siege perilous,' perilous for good and ill; 'for there,' he said, 'no man could sit but he should lose himself.'" --the holy grail. a magic power wrote upon each seat the name of the knight who was entitled to sit in it. no one could succeed to a vacant seat unless he surpassed in valor and glorious deeds the knight who had occupied it before him; without this qualification he would be violently repelled by a hidden force. thus proof was made of all those who presented themselves to replace any companions of the order who had fallen. one of the principal seats, that of moraunt of ireland, had been vacant ten years, and his name still remained over it ever since the time when that distinguished champion fell beneath the sword of sir tristram. arthur now took tristram by the hand and led him to that seat. immediately the most melodious sounds were heard, and exquisite perfumes filled the place; the name of moraunt disappeared, and that of tristram blazed forth in light. the rare modesty of tristram had now to be subjected to a severe task; for the clerks charged with the duty of preserving the annals of the round table attended, and he was required by the law of his order to declare what feats of arms he had accomplished to entitle him to take that seat. this ceremony being ended, tristram received the congratulations of all his companions. sir launcelot and guenever took the occasion to speak to him of the fair isoude, and to express their wish that some happy chance might bring her to the kingdom of loegria. while tristram was thus honored and caressed at the court of king arthur, the most gloomy and malignant jealousy harassed the soul of mark. he could not look upon isoude without remembering that she loved tristram, and the good fortune of his nephew goaded him to thoughts of vengeance. he at last resolved to go disguised into the kingdom of loegria, attack tristram by stealth, and put him to death. he took with him two knights, brought up in his court, who he thought were devoted to him; and, not willing to leave isoude behind, named two of her maidens to attend her, together with her faithful brengwain, and made them accompany him. having arrived in the neighborhood of camelot, mark imparted his plan to his two knights, but they rejected it with horror; nay, more, they declared that they would no longer remain in his service; and left him, giving him reason to suppose that they should repair to the court to accuse him before arthur. it was necessary for mark to meet and rebut their accusation; so, leaving isoude in an abbey, he pursued his way alone to camelot. mark had not ridden far when he encountered a party of knights of arthur's court, and would have avoided them, for he knew their habit of challenging to a just every stranger knight whom they met. but it was too late. they had seen his armor, and recognized him as a cornish knight, and at once resolved to have some sport with him. it happened they had with them daguenet, king arthur's fool, who, though deformed and weak of body, was not wanting in courage. the knights as mark approached laid their plan that daguenet should personate sir launcelot of the lake, and challenge the cornish knight. they equipped him in armor belonging to one of their number who was ill, and sent him forward to the cross-road to defy the strange knight. mark, who saw that his antagonist was by no means formidable in appearance, was not disinclined to the combat; but when the dwarf rode towards him, calling out that he was sir launcelot of the lake, his fears prevailed, he put spurs to his horse, and rode away at full speed, pursued by the shouts and laughter of the party. meanwhile isoude, remaining at the abbey with her faithful brengwain, found her only amusement in walking occasionally in a forest adjoining the abbey. there, on the brink of a fountain girdled with trees, she thought of her love, and sometimes joined her voice and her harp in lays reviving the memory of its pains or pleasures. one day the caitiff knight, breuse the pitiless, heard her voice, concealed himself, and drew near. she sang: "sweet silence, shadowy bower, and verdant lair, ye court my troubled spirit to repose, whilst i, such dear remembrance rises there, awaken every echo with my woes "within these woods, by nature's hand arrayed, a fountain springs, and feeds a thousand flowers; ah! how my groans do all its murmurs aid! how my sad eyes do swell it with their showers! "what doth my knight the while? to him is given a double meed; in love and arms' emprise, him the round table elevates to heaven! tristram! ah me! he hears not isoude's cries." breuse the pitiless, who like most other caitiffs had felt the weight of tristram's arm, and hated him accordingly, at hearing his name breathed forth by the beautiful songstress, impelled by a double impulse, rushed forth from his concealment and laid hands on his victim. isoude fainted, and brengwain filled the air with her shrieks. breuse carried isoude to the place where he had left his horse; but the animal had got away from his bridle, and was at some distance. he was obliged to lay down his fair burden, and go in pursuit of his horse. just then a knight came up, drawn by the cries of brengwain, and demanded the cause of her distress. she could not speak, but pointed to her mistress lying insensible on the ground. breuse had by this time returned, and the cries of brengwain, renewed at seeing him, sufficiently showed the stranger the cause of the distress. tristram spurred his horse towards breuse, who, not unprepared, ran to the encounter. breuse was unhorsed, and lay motionless, pretending to be dead; but when the stranger knight left him to attend to the distressed damsels, he mounted his horse, and made his escape. the knight now approached isoude, gently raised her head, drew aside the golden hair which covered her countenance, gazed thereon for an instant, uttered a cry, and fell back insensible. brengwain came; her cares soon restored her mistress to life, and they then turned their attention to the fallen warrior. they raised his visor, and discovered the countenance of sir tristram. isoude threw herself on the body of her lover, and bedewed his face with her tears. their warmth revived the knight, and tristram on awaking found himself in the arms of his dear isoude. it was the law of the round table that each knight after his admission should pass the next ten days in quest of adventures, during which time his companions might meet him in disguised armor and try their strength with him. tristram had now been out seven days, and in that time had encountered many of the best knights of the round table, and acquitted himself with honor. during the remaining three days, isoude remained at the abbey, under his protection, and then set out with her maidens, escorted by sir tristram, to rejoin king mark at the court of camelot. this happy journey was one of the brightest epochs in the lives of tristram and isoude. he celebrated it by a lay upon the harp in a peculiar measure, to which the french give the name of triolet. "with fair isoude, and with love, ah! how sweet the life i lead! how blest for ever thus to rove, with fair isoude, and with love! as she wills, i live and move, and cloudless days to days succeed: with fair isoude, and with love, ah! how sweet the life i lead! "journeying on from break of day, feel you not fatigued, my fair? yon green turf invites to play; journeying on from day to day, ah! let us to that shade away, were it but to slumber there! journeying on from break of day, feel you not fatigued, my fair?" they arrived at camelot, where sir launcelot received them most cordially. isoude was introduced to king arthur and queen guenever, who welcomed her as a sister. as king mark was held in arrest under the accusation of the two cornish knights, queen isoude could not rejoin her husband, and sir launcelot placed his castle of la joyeuse garde at the disposal of his friends, who there took up their abode. king mark, who found himself obliged to confess the truth of the charge against him, or to clear himself by combat with his accusers, preferred the former, and king arthur, as his crime had not been perpetrated, remitted the penalty, only enjoining upon him, under pain of his signal displeasure, to lay aside all thoughts of vengeance against his nephew. in the presence of the king and his court all parties were formally reconciled; mark and his queen departed for their home, and tristram remained at arthur's court. chapter xvi sir palamedes while sir tristram and the fair isoude abode yet at la joyeuse garde, sir tristram rode forth one day, without armor, having no weapon but his spear and his sword. and as he rode he came to a place where he saw two knights in battle, and one of them had gotten the better and the other lay overthrown. the knight who had the better was sir palamedes. when sir palamedes knew sir tristram, he cried out, "sir tristram, now we be met, and ere we depart we will redress our old wrongs." "as for that," said sir tristram, "there never yet was christian man that might make his boast that i ever fled from him, and thou that art a saracen shalt never say that of me." and therewith sir tristram made his horse to run, and with all his might came straight upon sir palamedes, and broke his spear upon him. then he drew his sword and struck at sir palamedes six great strokes, upon his helm. sir palamedes saw that sir tristram had not his armor on, and he marvelled at his rashness and his great folly; and said to himself, "if i meet and slay him, i am shamed wheresoever i go." then sir tristram cried out and said, "thou coward knight, why wilt thou not do battle with me? for have thou no doubt i shall endure all thy malice." "ah, sir tristram!" said sir palamedes, "thou knowest i may not fight with thee for shame; for thou art here naked, and i am armed; now i require that thou answer me a question that i shall ask you." "tell me what it is," said sir tristram. "i put the case," said palamedes, "that you were well armed, and i naked as ye be; what would you do to me now, by your true knighthood?" "ah!" said sir tristram, "now i understand thee well, sir palamedes; and, as god bless me, what i shall say shall not be said for fear that i have of thee. but if it were so, thou shouldest depart from me, for i would not have to do with thee." "no more will i with thee," said sir palamedes, "and therefore ride forth on thy way." "as for that, i may choose," said sir tristram, "either to ride or to abide. but, sir palamedes, i marvel at one thing,--that thou art so good a knight, yet that thou wilt not be christened." "as for that," said sir palamedes, "i may not yet be christened, for a vow which i made many years ago; yet in my heart i believe in our saviour and his mild mother, mary; but i have yet one battle to do, and when that is done i will be christened, with a good will." "by my head," said sir tristram, "as for that one battle, thou shalt seek it no longer; for yonder is a knight, whom you have smitten down. now help me to be clothed in his armor, and i will soon fulfil thy vow." "as ye will," said sir palamedes, "so shall it be." so they rode both unto that knight that sat on a bank; and sir tristram saluted him, and he full weary saluted him again. "sir," said sir tristram, "i pray you to lend me your whole armor; for i am unarmed, and i must do battle with this knight." "sir," said the hurt knight, "you shall have it, with a right good will," then sir tristram unarmed sir galleron, for that was the name of the hurt knight, and he as well as he could helped to arm sir tristram. then sir tristram mounted upon his own horse, and in his hand he took sir galleron's spear. thereupon sir palamedes was ready, and so they came hurling together, and each smote the other in the midst of their shields. sir palamedes' spear broke, and sir tristram smote down the horse. then sir palamedes leapt from his horse, and drew out his sword. that saw sir tristram, and therewith he alighted and tied his horse to a tree. then they came together as two wild beasts, lashing the one on the other, and so fought more than two hours; and often sir tristram smote such strokes at sir palamedes that he made him to kneel, and sir palamedes broke away sir tristram's shield, and wounded him. then sir tristram was wroth out of measure, and he rushed to sir palamedes and wounded him passing sore through the shoulder, and by fortune smote sir palamedes' sword out of his hand and if sir palamedes had stooped for his sword sir tristram had slain him. then sir palamedes stood and beheld his sword with a full sorrowful heart. "now," said sir tristram, "i have thee at a vantage, as thou hadst me to-day; but it shall never be said, in court, or among good knights, that sir tristram did slay any knight that was weaponless; therefore take thou thy sword, and let us fight this battle to the end." then spoke sir palamedes to sir tristram: "i have no wish to fight this battle any more. the offence that i have done unto you is not so great but that, if it please you, we may be friends. all that i have offended is for the love of the queen, la belle isoude, and i dare maintain that she is peerless among ladies; and for that offence ye have given me many grievous and sad strokes, and some i have given you again. wherefore i require you, my lord sir tristram, forgive me all that i have offended you, and this day have me unto the next church; and first i will be clean confessed, and after that see you that i be truly baptized, and then we will ride together unto the court of my lord, king arthur, so that we may be there at the feast of pentecost." "now take your horse," said sir tristram, "and as you have said, so shall it be done." so they took their horses, and sir galleron rode with them. when they came to the church of carlisle, the bishop commanded to fill a great vessel with water; and when he had hallowed it, he then confessed sir palamedes clean, and christened him, and sir tristram and sir galleron were his godfathers. then soon after they departed, and rode towards camelot, where the noble king arthur and queen guenever were keeping a court royal. and the king and all the court were glad that sir palamedes was christened. then sir tristram returned again to la joyeuse garde, and sir palamedes went his way. not long after these events sir gawain returned from brittany, and related to king arthur the adventure which befell him in the forest of breciliande, how merlin had there spoken to him, and enjoined him to charge the king to go without delay upon the quest of the holy greal. while king arthur deliberated tristram determined to enter upon the quest, and the more readily, as it was well known to him that this holy adventure would, if achieved, procure him the pardon of all his sins. he immediately departed for the kingdom of brittany, hoping there to obtain from merlin counsel as to the proper course to pursue to insure success. chapter xvii sir tristram on arriving in brittany tristram found king hoel engaged in a war with a rebellious vassal, and hard pressed by his enemy. his best knights had fallen in a late battle, and he knew not where to turn for assistance. tristram volunteered his aid. it was accepted; and the army of hoel, led by tristram, and inspired by his example, gained a complete victory. the king, penetrated by the most lively sentiments of gratitude, and having informed himself of tristram's birth, offered him his daughter in marriage. the princess was beautiful and accomplished, and bore the same name with the queen of cornwall; but this one is designated by the romancers as isoude of the white hands, to distinguish her from isoude the fair. how can we describe the conflict that agitated the heart of tristram? he adored the first isoude, but his love for her was hopeless, and not unaccompanied by remorse. moreover, the sacred quest on which he had now entered demanded of him perfect purity of life. it seemed as if a happy destiny had provided for him in the charming princess isoude of the white hands the best security for all his good resolutions. this last reflection determined him. they were married, and passed some months in tranquil happiness at the court of king hoel. the pleasure which tristram felt in his wife's society increased day by day. an inward grace seemed to stir within him from the moment when he took the oath to go on the quest of the holy greal; it seemed even to triumph over the power of the magic love-potion. the war, which had been quelled for a time, now burst out anew. tristram as usual was foremost in every danger. the enemy was worsted in successive conflicts, and at last shut himself up in his principal city. tristram led on the attack of the city. as he mounted a ladder to scale the walls he was struck on the head by a fragment of rock, which the besieged threw down upon him. it bore him to the ground, where he lay insensible. as soon as he recovered consciousness he demanded to be carried to his wife. the princess, skilled in the art of surgery, would not suffer any one but herself to touch her beloved husband. her fair hands bound up his wounds; tristram kissed them with gratitude, which began to grow into love. at first the devoted cares of isoude seemed to meet with great success; but after a while these flattering appearances vanished, and, in spite of all her care, the malady grew more serious day by day. in this perplexity, an old squire of tristram's reminded his master that the princess of ireland, afterwards queen of cornwall, had once cured him under circumstances quite as discouraging. he called isoude of the white hands to him, told her of his former cure, added that he believed that the queen isoude could heal him, and that he felt sure that she would come to his relief, if sent for. isoude of the white hands consented that gesnes, a trusty man and skilful navigator, should be sent to cornwall. tristram called him, and, giving him a ring, "take this," he said, "to the queen of cornwall. tell her that tristram, near to death, demands her aid. if you succeed in bringing her with you, place white sails to your vessel on your return, that we may know of your success when the vessel first heaves in sight. but if queen isoude refuses, put on black sails; they will be the presage of my impending death." gesnes performed his mission successfully. king mark happened to be absent from his capital, and the queen readily consented to return with the bark to brittany. gesnes clothed his vessel in the whitest of sails, and sped his way back to brittany. meantime the wound of tristram grew more desperate day by day. his strength, quite prostrated, no longer permitted him to be carried to the seaside daily, as had been his custom from the first moment when it was possible for the bark to be on the way homeward. he called a young damsel, and gave her in charge to keep watch in the direction of cornwall, and to come and tell him the color of the sails of the first vessel she should see approaching. when isoude of the white hands consented that the queen of cornwall should be sent for, she had not known all the reasons which she had for fearing the influence which renewed intercourse with that princess might have on her own happiness. she had now learned more, and felt the danger more keenly. she thought, if she could only keep the knowledge of the queen's arrival from her husband, she might employ in his service any resources which her skill could supply, and still avert the dangers which she apprehended. when the vessel was seen approaching, with its white sails sparkling in the sun, the damsel, by command of her mistress, carried word to tristram that the sails were black. tristram, penetrated with inexpressible grief, breathed a profound sigh, turned away his face, and said, "alas, my beloved! we shall never see one another again!" then he commended himself to god, and breathed his last. the death of tristram was the first intelligence which the queen of cornwall heard on landing. she was conducted almost senseless into the chamber of tristram, and expired holding him in her arms. tristram, before his death, had requested that his body should be sent to cornwall, and that his sword, with a letter he had written, should be delivered to king mark. the remains of tristram and isoude were embarked in a vessel, along with the sword, which was presented to the king of cornwall. he was melted with tenderness when he saw the weapon which slew moraunt of ireland,-- which had so often saved his life, and redeemed the honor of his kingdom. in the letter tristram begged pardon of his uncle, and related the story of the amorous draught. mark ordered the lovers to be buried in his own chapel. from the tomb of tristram there sprung a vine, which went along the walls, and descended into the grave of the queen. it was cut down three times, but each time sprung up again more vigorous than before, and this wonderful plant has ever since shaded the tombs of tristram and isoude. spenser introduces sir tristram in his "faery queene." in book vi., canto ii., sir calidore encounters in the forest a young hunter, whom he thus describes: "him steadfastly he marked, and saw to be a goodly youth of amiable grace, yet but a slender slip, that scarce did see yet seventeen yeares; but tall and faire of face, that sure he deemed him borne of noble race. all in a woodman's jacket he was clad of lincoln greene, belayed with silver lace; and on his head an hood with aglets sprad, and by his side his hunter's horne he hanging had. [footnote: aglets, points or tags] "buskins he wore of costliest cordawayne, pinckt upon gold, and paled part per part, as then the guize was for each gentle swayne. in his right hand he held a trembling dart, whose fellow he before had sent apart; and in his left he held a sharp bore-speare, with which he wont to launch the salvage heart of many a lyon, and of many a beare, that first unto his hand in chase did happen neare." [footnote: pinckt upon gold, etc., adorned with golden points, or eyelets, and regularly intersected with stripes. paled (in heraldry), striped] chapter xviii perceval the father and two elder brothers of perceval had fallen in battle or tournaments, and hence, as the last hope of his family, his mother retired with him into a solitary region, where he was brought up in total ignorance of arms and chivalry. he was allowed no weapon but "a lyttel scots spere," which was the only thing of all "her lordes faire gere" that his mother carried to the wood with her. in the use of this he became so skilful, that he could kill with it not only the animals of the chase for the table, but even birds on the wing. at length, however, perceval was roused to a desire of military renown by seeing in the forest five knights who were in complete armor. he said to his mother, "mother, what are those yonder?" "they are angels, my son," said she. "by my faith, i will go and become an angel with them." and perceval went to the road and met them. "tell me, good lad," said one of them, "sawest thou a knight pass this way either today or yesterday?" "i know not," said he, "what a knight is." "such an one as i am," said the knight. "if thou wilt tell me what i ask thee, i will tell thee what thou askest me." "gladly will i do so," said sir owain, for that was the knight's name. "what is this?" demanded perceval, touching the saddle. "it is a saddle," said owain. then he asked about all the accoutrements which he saw upon the men and the horses, and about the arms, and what they were for, and how they were used. and sir owain showed him all those things fully. and perceval in return gave him such information as he had then perceval returned to his mother, and said to her, "mother, those were not angels, but honorable knights." then his mother swooned away. and perceval went to the place where they kept the horses that carried firewood and provisions for the castle, and he took a bony, piebald horse, which seemed to him the strongest of them. and he pressed a pack into the form of a saddle, and with twisted twigs he imitated the trappings which he had seen upon the horses. when he came again to his mother, the countess had recovered from her swoon. "my son," said she, "desirest thou to ride forth?" "yes, with thy leave," said he. "go forward, then," she said, "to the court of arthur, where there are the best and the noblest and the most bountiful of men, and tell him thou art perceval, the son of pelenore, and ask of him to bestow knighthood on thee. and whenever thou seest a church, repeat there thy pater- noster; and if thou see meat and drink, and hast need of them, thou mayest take them. if thou hear an outcry of one in distress, proceed toward it, especially if it be the cry of a woman, and render her what service thou canst. if thou see a fair jewel, win it, for thus shalt thou acquire fame; yet freely give it to another, for thus thou shalt obtain praise. if thou see a fair woman, pay court to her, for thus thou wilt obtain love." after this discourse perceval mounted the horse and taking a number of sharp-pointed sticks in his hand he rode forth. and he rode far in the woody wilderness without food or drink. at last he came to an opening in the wood where he saw a tent, and as he thought it might be a church he said his pater-noster to it. and he went towards it; and the door of the tent was open. and perceval dismounted and entered the tent. in the tent he found a maiden sitting, with a golden frontlet on her forehead and a gold ring on her hand. and perceval said, "maiden, i salute you, for my mother told me whenever i met a lady i must respectfully salute her." perceiving in one corner of the tent some food, two flasks full of wine, and some boar's flesh roasted, he said, "my mother told me, whenever i saw meat and drink to take it." and he ate greedily, for he was very hungry. the maiden said, "sir, thou hadst best go quickly from here, for fear that my friends should come, and evil should befall you." but perceval said, "my mother told me wheresoever i saw a fair jewel to take it," and he took the gold ring from her finger, and put it on his own; and he gave the maiden his own ring in exchange for hers; then he mounted his horse and rode away. perceval journeyed on till he arrived at arthur's court. and it so happened that just at that time an uncourteous knight had offered queen guenever a gross insult. for when her page was serving the queen with a golden goblet, this knight struck the arm of the page and dashed the wine in the queen's face and over her stomacher. then he said, "if any have boldness to avenge this insult to guenever, let him follow me to the meadow." so the knight took his horse and rode to the meadow, carrying away the golden goblet. and all the household hung down their heads and no one offered to follow the knight to take vengeance upon him. for it seemed to them that no one would have ventured on so daring an outrage unless he possessed such powers, through magic or charms, that none could be able to punish him. just then, behold, perceval entered the hall upon the bony, piebald horse, with his uncouth trappings. in the centre of the hall stood kay the seneschal. "tell me, tall man," said perceval, "is that arthur yonder?" "what wouldst thou with arthur?" asked kay. "my mother told me to go to arthur and receive knighthood from him." "by my faith," said he, "thou art all too meanly equipped with horse and with arms." then all the household began to jeer and laugh at him. but there was a certain damsel who had been a whole year at arthur's court, and had never been known to smile. and the king's fool [footnote: a fool was a common appendage of the courts of those days when this romance was written. a fool was the ornament held in next estimation to a dwarf. he wore a white dress with a yellow bonnet, and carried a bell or bawble in his hand. though called a fool, his words were often weighed and remembered as if there were a sort of oracular meaning in them.] had said that this damsel would not smile till she had seen him who would be the flower of chivalry. now this damsel came up to perceval and told him, smiling, that if he lived he would be one of the bravest and best of knights. "truly," said kay, "thou art ill taught to remain a year at arthur's court, with choice of society, and smile on no one, and now before the face of arthur and all his knights to call such a man as this the flower of knighthood;" and he gave her a box on the ear, that she fell senseless to the ground. then said kay to perceval, "go after the knight who went hence to the meadow, overthrow him and recover the golden goblet, and possess thyself of his horse and arms, and thou shalt have knighthood." "i will do so, tall man," said perceval. so he turned his horse's head toward the meadow. and when he came there, the knight was riding up and down, proud of his strength and valor and noble mien. "tell me," said the knight, "didst thou see any one coming after me from the court?" "the tall man that was there," said perceval, "told me to come and overthrow thee, and to take from thee the goblet and thy horse and armor for myself." "silence!" said the knight; "go back to the court, and tell arthur either to come himself, or to send some other to fight with me; and unless he do so quickly, i will not wait for him." "by my faith," said perceval, "choose thou whether it shall be willingly or unwillingly, for i will have the horse and the arms and the goblet." upon this the knight ran at him furiously, and struck him a violent blow with the shaft of his spear, between the neck and the shoulder. "ha, ha, lad!" said perceval, "my mother's servants were not used to play with me in this wise; so thus will i play with thee." and he threw at him one of his sharp-pointed sticks, and it struck him in the eye, and came out at the back of his head, so that he fell down lifeless. "verily," said sir owain, the son of urien, to kay the seneschal, "thou wast ill-advised to send that madman after the knight, for he must either be overthrown or flee, and either way it will be a disgrace to arthur and his warriors; therefore will i go to see what has befallen him." so sir owain went to the meadow, and he found perceval trying in vain to get the dead knight's armor off, in order to clothe himself with it. sir owain unfastened the armor, and helped perceval to put it on, and taught him how to put his foot in the stirrup, and use the spur; for perceval had never used stirrup nor spur, but rode without saddle, and urged on his horse with a stick. then owain would have had him return to the court to receive the praise that was his due; but perceval said, "i will not come to the court till i have encountered the tall man that is there, to revenge the injury he did to the maiden. but take thou the goblet to queen guenever, and tell king arthur that, wherever i am, i will be his vassal, and will do him what profit and service i can." and sir owain went back to the court, and related all these things to arthur and guenever, and to all the household. and perceval rode forward. and he came to a lake on the side of which was a fair castle, and on the border of the lake he saw a hoary-headed man sitting upon a velvet cushion, and his attendants were fishing in the lake. when the hoary-headed man beheld perceval approaching, he arose and went into the castle. perceval rode to the castle, and the door was open, and he entered the hall. and the hoary-headed man received perceval courteously, and asked him to sit by him on the cushion. when it was time the tables were set, and they went to meat. and when they had finished their meat the hoary-headed man asked perceval if he knew how to fight with the sword "i know not," said perceval, "but were i to be taught, doubtless i should." and the hoary-headed man said to him, "i am thy uncle, thy mother's brother; i am called king pecheur.[footnote: the word means both fisher and sinner.] thou shalt remain with me a space, in order to learn the manners and customs of different countries, and courtesy and noble bearing. and this do thou remember, if thou seest aught to cause thy wonder, ask not the meaning of it; if no one has the courtesy to inform thee, the reproach will not fall upon thee, but upon me that am thy teacher." while perceval and his uncle discoursed together, perceval beheld two youths enter the hall bearing a golden cup and a spear of mighty size, with blood dropping from its point to the ground. and when all the company saw this they began to weep and lament. but for all that, the man did not break off his discourse with perceval. and as he did not tell him the meaning of what he saw, he forebore to ask him concerning it. now the cup that perceval saw was the sangreal, and the spear the sacred spear; and afterwards king pecheur removed with those sacred relics into a far country. one evening perceval entered a valley, and came to a hermit's cell; and the hermit welcomed him gladly, and there he spent the night. and in the morning he arose, and when he went forth, behold! a shower of snow had fallen in the night, and a hawk had killed a wild-fowl in front of the cell. and the noise of the horse had scared the hawk away, and a raven alighted on the bird. and perceval stood and compared the blackness of the raven and the whiteness of the snow and the redness of the blood to the hair of the lady that best he loved, which was blacker than jet, and to her skin, which was whiter than the snow, and to the two red spots upon her cheeks, which were redder than the blood upon the snow. now arthur and his household were in search of perceval, and by chance they came that way. "know ye," said arthur, "who is the knight with the long spear that stands by the brook up yonder?" "lord," said one of them, "i will go and learn who he is." so the youth came to the place where perceval was, and asked him what he did thus, and who he was. but perceval was so intent upon his thought that he gave him no answer. then the youth thrust at perceval with his lance; and perceval turned upon him, and struck him to the ground. and when the youth returned to the king, and told how rudely he had been treated, sir kay said, "i will go myself." and when he greeted perceval, and got no answer, he spoke to him rudely and angrily. and perceval thrust at him with his lance, and cast him down so that he broke his arm and his shoulder-blade. and while he lay thus stunned his horse returned back at a wild and prancing pace. then said sir gawain, surnamed the golden-tongued, because he was the most courteous knight in arthur's court: "it is not fitting that any should disturb an honorable knight from his thought unadvisedly; for either he is pondering some damage that he has sustained, or he is thinking of the lady whom best he loves. if it seem well to thee, lord, i will go and see if this knight has changed from his thought, and if he has, i will ask him courteously to come and visit thee." and perceval was resting on the shaft of his spear, pondering the same thought, and sir gawain came to him, and said: "if i thought it would be as agreeable to thee as it would be to me, i would converse with thee. i have also a message from arthur unto thee, to pray thee to come and visit him. and two men have been before on this errand." "that is true," said perceval; "and uncourteously they came. they attacked me, and i was annoyed thereat" then he told him the thought that occupied his mind, and gawain said, "this was not an ungentle thought, and i should marvel if it were pleasant for thee to be drawn from it." then said perceval, "tell me, is sir kay in arthur's court?" "he is," said gawain; "and truly he is the knight who fought with thee last." "verily," said perceval, "i am not sorry to have thus avenged the insult to the smiling maiden. "then perceval told him his name, and said, "who art thou?" and he replied, "i am gawain." "i am right glad to meet thee," said perceval, "for i have everywhere heard of thy prowess and uprightness; and i solicit thy fellowship." "thou shalt have it, by my faith; and grant me thine," said he. "gladly will i do so," answered perceval. so they went together to arthur, and saluted him. "behold, lord," said gawain, "him whom thou hast sought so long." "welcome unto thee, chieftain," said arthur. and hereupon there came the queen and her handmaidens, and perceval saluted them. and they were rejoiced to see him, and bade him welcome. and arthur did him great honor and respect and they returned towards caerleon. chapter xix the sangreal, or holy graal the sangreal was the cup from which our saviour drank at his last supper. he was supposed to have given it to joseph of arimathea, who carried it to europe, together with the spear with which the soldier pierced the saviour's side. from generation to generation, one of the descendants of joseph of arimathea had been devoted to the guardianship of these precious relics; but on the sole condition of leading a life of purity in thought, word, and deed. for a long time the sangreal was visible to all pilgrims, and its presence conferred blessings upon the land in which it was preserved. but at length one of those holy men to whom its guardianship had descended so far forgot the obligation of his sacred office as to look with unhallowed eye upon a young female pilgrim whose robe was accidentally loosened as she knelt before him. the sacred lance instantly punished his frailty, spontaneously falling upon him, and inflicting a deep wound. the marvellous wound could by no means be healed, and the guardian of the sangreal was ever after called "le roi pescheur,"--the sinner king. the sangreal withdrew its visible presence from the crowds who came to worship, and an iron age succeeded to the happiness which its presence had diffused among the tribes of britain. "but then the times grew to such evil that the holy cup was caught away to heaven and disappear'd." --the holy grail. we have told in the history of merlin how that great prophet and enchanter sent a message to king arthur by sir gawain, directing him to undertake the recovery of the sangreal, informing him at the same time that the knight who should accomplish that sacred quest was already born, and of a suitable age to enter upon it. sir gawain delivered his message, and the king was anxiously revolving in his mind how best to achieve the enterprise, when, at the vigil of pentecost, all the fellowship of the round table being met together at camelot, as they sat at meat, suddenly there was heard a clap of thunder, and then a bright light burst forth, and every knight, as he looked on his fellow, saw him, in seeming, fairer than ever before. all the hall was filled with sweet odors, and every knight had such meat and drink as he best loved. then there entered into the hall the holy graal, covered with white samite, so that none could see it, and it passed through the hall suddenly, and disappeared. during this time no one spoke a word, but when they had recovered breath to speak king arthur said, "certainly we ought greatly to thank the lord for what he hath showed us this day." then sir gawain rose up, and made a vow that for twelve months and a day he would seek the sangreal, and not return till he had seen it, if so he might speed. when they of the round table heard sir gawain say so, they arose, the most part of them, and vowed the same. when king arthur heard this, he was greatly displeased, for he knew well that they might not gainsay their vows. "alas!" said he to sir gawain, "you have nigh slain me with the vow and promise that ye have made, for ye have bereft me of the fairest fellowship that ever were seen together in any realm of the world; for when they shall depart hence, i am sure that all shall never meet more in this world." sir galahad at that time there entered the hall a good old man, and with him he brought a young knight, and these words he said: "peace be with you, fair lords." then the old man said unto king arthur, "sir, i bring you here a young knight that is of kings' lineage, and of the kindred of joseph of arimathea, being the son of dame elaine, the daughter of king pelles, king of the foreign country." now the name of the young knight was sir galahad, and he was the son of sir launcelot du lac; but he had dwelt with his mother, at the court of king pelles, his grandfather, till now he was old enough to bear arms, and his mother had sent him in the charge of a holy hermit to king arthur's court. then sir launcelot beheld his son, and had great joy of him. and sir bohort told his fellows, "upon my life, this young knight shall come to great worship." the noise was great in all the court, so that it came to the queen. and she said, "i would fain see him, for he must needs be a noble knight, for so is his father." and the queen and her ladies all said that he resembled much unto his father; and he was seemly and demure as a dove, with all manner of good features, that in the whole world men might not find his match. and king arthur said, "god make him a good man, for beauty faileth him not, as any that liveth." then the hermit led the young knight to the siege perilous; and he lifted up the cloth, and found there letters that said, "this is the seat of sir galahad, the good knight;" and he made him sit in that seat. and all the knights of the round table marvelled greatly at sir galahad, seeing him sit securely in that seat, and said, "this is he by whom the sangreal shall be achieved, for there never sat one before in that seat without being mischieved." on the next day the king said, "now, at this quest of the sangreal shall all ye of the round table depart, and never shall i see you again altogether; therefore i will that ye all repair to the meadow of camelot, for to just and tourney yet once more before ye depart." but all the meaning of the king was to see sir galahad proved. so then were they all assembled in the meadow. then sir galahad, by request of the king and queen, put on his harness and his helm, but shield would he take none for any prayer of the king. and the queen was in a tower, with all her ladies, to behold that tournament. then sir galahad rode into the midst of the meadow; and there he began to break spears marvellously, so that all men had wonder of him, for he surmounted all knights that encountered with him, except two, sir launcelot and sir perceval. "so many knights, that all the people cried, and almost burst the barriers in their heat, shouting 'sir galahad and sir perceval!'" --sir galahad then the king, at the queen's request, made him to alight, and presented him to the queen; and she said, "never two men resembled one another more than he and sir launcelot, and therefore it is no marvel that he is like him in prowess." then the king and the queen went to the minster, and the knights followed them. and after the service was done they put on their helms and departed, and there was great sorrow. they rode through the streets of camelot, and there was weeping of the rich and poor; and the king turned away, and might not speak for weeping. and so they departed, and every knight took the way that him best liked. sir galahad rode forth without shield, and rode four days, and found no adventure. and on the fourth day he came to a white abbey; and there he was received with great reverence, and led to a chamber. he met there two knights, king bagdemagus and sir uwaine, and they made of him great solace. "sirs," said sir galahad, "what adventure brought you hither?" "sir," said they, "it is told us that within this place is a shield, which no man may bear unless he be worthy; and if one unworthy should attempt to bear it, it shall surely do him a mischief." then king bagdemagus said, "i fear not to bear it, and that shall ye see to- morrow." so on the morrow they arose, and heard mass; then king bagdemagus asked where the adventurous shield was. anon a monk led him behind an altar, where the shield hung, as white as snow; but in the midst there was a red cross. then king bagdemagus took the shield, and bare it out of the minster; and he said to sir galahad, "if it please you, abide here till ye know how i shall speed." then king bagdemagus and his squire rode forth: and when they had ridden a mile or two, they saw a goodly knight come towards them, in white armor, horse and all; and he came as fast as his horse might run, with his spear in the rest; and king bagdemagus directed his spear against him, and broke it upon the white knight, but the other struck him so hard that he broke the mails, and thrust him through the right shoulder, for the shield covered him not, and so he bare him from his horse. then the white knight turned his horse and rode away. then the squire went to king bagdemagus, and asked him whether he were sore wounded or not. "i am sore wounded," said he, "and full hardly shall i escape death." then the squire set him on his horse, and brought him to an abbey; and there he was taken down softly, and unarmed, and laid in a bed, and his wound was looked to, for he lay there long, and hardly escaped with his life. and the squire brought the shield back to the abbey. the next day sir galahad took the shield, and within a while he came to the hermitage, where he met the white knight, and each saluted the other courteously. "sir," said sir galahad, "can you tell me the marvel of the shield?" "sir," said the white knight, "that shield belonged of old to the gentle knight, joseph of arimathea; and when he came to die he said, 'never shall man bear this shield about his neck but he shall repent it, unto the time that sir galahad the good knight bear it, the last of my lineage, the which shall do many marvellous deeds.'" and then the white knight vanished away. sir gawain after sir gawain departed, he rode many days, both toward and forward, and at last he came to the abbey where sir galahad took the white shield. and they told sir gawain of the marvellous adventure that sir galahad had done. "truly," said sir gawain, "i am not happy that i took not the way that he went, for, if i may meet with him, i will not part from him lightly, that i may partake with him all the marvellous adventures which he shall achieve." "sir," said one of the monks, "he will not be of your fellowship." "why?" said sir gawain. "sir," said he, "because ye be sinful, and he is blissful." then said the monk, "sir gawain, thou must do penance for thy sins." "sir, what penance shall i do?" "such as i will show," said the good man. "nay," said sir gawain, "i will do no penance, for we knights adventurous often suffer great woe and pain." "well," said the good man; and he held his peace. and sir gawain departed. now it happened, not long after this, that sir gawain and sir hector rode together, and they came to a castle where was a great tournament. and sir gawain and sir hector joined themselves to the party that seemed the weaker, and they drove before them the other party. then suddenly came into the lists a knight, bearing a white shield with a red cross, and by adventure he came by sir gawain, and he smote him so hard that he clave his helm and wounded his head, so that sir gawain fell to the earth. when sir hector saw that, he knew that the knight with the white shield was sir galahad, and he thought it no wisdom to abide him, and also for natural love, that he was his uncle. then sir galahad retired privily, so that none knew where he had gone. and sir hector raised up sir gawain, and said, "sir, me seemeth your quest is done." "it is done," said sir gawain; "i shall seek no further." then gawain was borne into the castle, and unarmed, and laid in a rich bed, and a leech found to search his wound. and sir gawain and sir hector abode together, for sir hector would not away till sir gawain were whole. chapter xx the sangreal (continued) sir launcelot sir launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wide forest, and held no path but as wild adventure lee him. "my golden spurs now bring to me, and bring to me my richest mail, for to-morrow i go over land and sea in search of the holy, holy grail shall never a bed for me be spread, nor shall a pillow be under my head, till i begin my vow to keep. here on the rushes will i sleep, and perchance there may come a vision true ere day create the world anew" --lowell's holy grail. and at last he came to a stone cross. then sir launcelot looked round him, and saw an old chapel. so he tied his horse to a tree, and put off his shield, and hung it upon a tree; and then he went into the chapel, and looked through a place where the wall was broken. and within he saw a fair altar, full richly arrayed with cloth of silk; and there stood a fair candlestick, which bare six great candles, and the candlestick was of silver. when sir launcelot saw this sight, he had a great wish to enter the chapel, but he could find no place where he might enter. then was he passing heavy and dismayed. and he returned and came again to his horse, and took off his saddle and his bridle, and let him pasture; and unlaced his helm, and ungirded his sword, and laid him down to sleep upon his shield before the cross. and as he lay, half waking and half sleeping, he saw come by him two palfreys, both fair and white, which bare a litter, on which lay a sick knight. and when he was nigh the cross, he there abode still. and sir launcelot heard him say, "o sweet lord, when shall this sorrow leave me, and when shall the holy vessel come by me whereby i shall be healed?" and thus a great while complained the knight, and sir launcelot heard it. then sir launcelot saw the candlestick, with the lighted tapers, come before the cross, but he could see nobody that brought it. also there came a salver of silver and the holy vessel of the sangreal; and therewithal the sick knight sat him upright, and held up both his hands, and said, "fair, sweet lord, which is here within the holy vessel, take heed to me, that i may be whole of this great malady." and therewith, upon his hands and upon his knees, he went so nigh that he touched the holy vessel and kissed it. and anon he was whole. then the holy vessel went into the chapel again, with the candlestick and the light, so that sir launcelot wist not what became of it. then the sick knight rose up and kissed the cross; and anon his squire brought him his arms and asked his lord how he did. "i thank god right heartily," said he, "for, through the holy vessel, i am healed. but i have great marvel of this sleeping knight, who hath had neither grace nor power to awake during the time that the holy vessel hath been here present." "i dare it right well say," said the squire, "that this same knight is stained with some manner of deadly sin, whereof he was never confessed." so they departed. then anon sir launcelot waked, and set himself upright, and bethought him of what he had seen and whether it were dreams or not. and he was passing heavy, and wist not what to do. and he said: "my sin and my wretchedness hath brought me into great dishonor. for when i sought worldly adventures and worldly desires, i ever achieved them, and had the better in every place, and never was i discomfited in any quarrel, were it right or wrong. and now i take upon me the adventure of holy things, i see and understand that mine old sin hindereth me, so that i had no power to stir nor to speak when the holy blood appeared before me." so thus he sorrowed till it was day, and heard the fowls of the air sing. then was he somewhat comforted. then he departed from the cross into the forest. and there he found a hermitage, and a hermit therein, who was going to mass. so when mass was done sir launcelot called the hermit to him, and prayed him for charity to hear his confession. "with a good will," said the good man. and then he told that good man all his life, and how he had loved a queen unmeasurably many years. "and all my great deeds of arms that i have done i did the most part for the queen's sake, and for her sake would i do battle, were it right or wrong, and never did i battle all only for god's sake, but for to win worship, and to cause me to be better beloved; and little or naught i thanked god for it. i pray you counsel me." "i will counsel you," said the hermit, "if ye will insure me that ye will never come in that queen's fellowship as much as ye may forbear." and then sir launcelot promised the hermit, by his faith, that he would no more come in her company. "look that your heart and your mouth accord," said the good man, "and i shall insure you that ye shall have more worship than ever ye had." then the good man enjoined sir launcelot such penance as he might do, and he assailed sir launcelot and made him abide with him all that day. and sir launcelot repented him greatly. sir perceval sir perceval departed and rode till the hour of noon; and he met in a valley about twenty men of arms. and when they saw sir perceval, they asked him whence he was; and he answered: "of the court of king arthur." then they cried all at once, "slay him." but sir perceval smote the first to the earth, and his horse upon him. then seven of the knights smote upon his shield all at once, and the remnant slew his horse, so that he fell to the earth. so had they slain him or taken him, had not the good knight sir galahad, with the red cross, come there by adventure. and when he saw all the knights upon one, he cried out, "save me that knight's life." then he rode toward the twenty men of arms as fast as his horse might drive, with his spear in the rest, and smote the foremost horse and man to the earth. and when his spear was broken, he set his hand to his sword, and smote on the right hand and on the left, that it was marvel to see; and at every stroke he smote down one, or put him to rebuke, so that they would fight no more, but fled to a thick forest, and sir galahad followed them. and when sir perceval saw him chase them so, he made great sorrow that his horse was slain. and he wist well it was sir galahad. then he cried aloud, "ah, fair knight, abide, and suffer me to do thanks unto thee; for right well have ye done for me." but sir galahad rode so fast that at last he passed out of his sight. when sir perceval saw that he would not turn, he said, "now am i a very wretch, and most unhappy above all other knights." so in his sorrow he abode all that day till it was night; and then he was faint, and laid him down and slept till midnight; and then he awaked and saw before him a woman, who said unto him, "sir perceval, what dost thou here?" he answered, "i do neither good, nor great ill." "if thou wilt promise me," said she, "that thou wilt fulfil my will when i summon thee, i will lend thee my own horse, which shall bear thee whither thou wilt." sir perceval was glad of her proffer, and insured her to fulfil all her desire. "then abide me here, and i will go fetch you a horse." and so she soon came again, and brought a horse with her that was inky black. when perceval beheld that horse he marvelled, it was so great and so well apparelled. and he leapt upon him and took no heed of himself. and he thrust him with his spurs, and within an hour and less he bare him four days' journey thence, until he came to a rough water, which roared, and his horse would have borne him into it. and when sir perceval came nigh the brim and saw the water so boisterous he doubted to overpass it. and then he made the sign of the cross on his forehead. when the fiend felt him so charged, he shook off sir perceval, and went into the water crying and roaring; and it seemed unto him that the water burned. then sir perceval perceived it was a fiend that would have brought him unto his perdition. then he commended himself unto god, and prayed our lord to keep him from all such temptations; and so he prayed all that night till it was day. then he saw that he was in a wild place, that was closed with the sea nigh all about. and sir perceval looked forth over the sea, and saw a ship come sailing towards him; and it came and stood still under the rock. and when sir perceval saw this, he hied him thither, and found the ship covered with silk; and therein was a lady of great beauty, and clothed so richly that none might be better. and when she saw sir perceval, she saluted him, and sir perceval returned her salutation. then he asked her of her country and her lineage. and she said, "i am a gentlewoman that am disinherited, and was once the richest woman of the world." "damsel," said sir perceval, "who hath disinherited you? for i have great pity of you." "sir," said she, "my enemy is a great and powerful lord, and aforetime he made much of me, so that of his favor and of my beauty i had a little pride more than i ought to have had. also i said a word that pleased him not. so he drove me from his company and from mine heritage. therefore i know no good knight nor good man, but i get him on my side if i may. and for that i know that thou art a good knight, i beseech thee to help me." then sir perceval promised her all the help that he might, and she thanked him. and at that time the weather was hot, and she called to her a gentlewoman, and bade her bring forth a pavilion. and she did so, and pitched it upon the gravel. "sir," said she, "now may ye rest you in this heat of the day." then he thanked her, and she put off his helm and his shield, and there he slept a great while. then he awoke, and asked her if she had any meat, and she said yea, and so there was set upon the table all manner of meats that he could think on. also he drank there the strongest wine that ever he drank, and therewith he was a little chafed more than he ought to be. with that he beheld the lady, and he thought she was the fairest creature that ever he saw. and then sir perceval proffered her love, and prayed her that she would be his. then she refused him in a manner, for the cause he should be the more ardent on her, and ever he ceased not to pray her of love. and when she saw him well enchafed, then she said, "sir perceval, wit you well i shall not give ye my love, unless you swear from henceforth you will be my true servant, and do no thing but that i shall command you. will you insure me this, as ye be a true knight?" "yea," said he, "fair lady, by the faith of my body." and as he said this, by adventure and grace, he saw his sword lie on the ground naked, in whose pommel was a red cross, and the sign of the crucifix thereon. then he made the sign of the cross on his forehead, and therewith the pavilion shrivelled up, and changed into a smoke and a black cloud. and the damsel cried aloud, and hasted into the ship, and so she went with the wind roaring and yelling that it seemed all the water burned after her. then sir perceval made great sorrow, and called himself a wretch, saying, "how nigh was i lost!" then he took his arms, and departed thence. chapter xxi the sangreal (continued) sir bohort when sir boliort departed from camelot he met with a religious man, riding upon an ass; and sir bohort saluted him. "what are ye?" said the good man. "sir," said sir bohort, "i am a knight that fain would be counselled in the quest of the sangreal." so rode they both together till they came to a hermitage; and there he prayed sir bohort to dwell that night with him. so he alighted, and put away his armor, and prayed him that he might be confessed. and they went both into the chapel, and there he was clean confessed. and they ate bread and drank water together. "now," said the good man, "i pray thee that thou eat none other till thou sit at the table where the sangreal shall be." "sir," said sir bohort, "but how know ye that i shall sit there?" "yea," said the good man, "that i know well; but there shall be few of your fellows with you." then said sir bohort, "i agree me thereto" and the good man when he had heard his confession found him in so pure a life and so stable that he marvelled thereof. on the morrow, as soon as the day appeared, sir bohort departed thence, and rode into a forest unto the hour of midday. and there befell him a marvellous adventure. for he met, at the parting of two ways, two knights that led sir lionel, his brother, all naked, bound upon a strong hackney, and his hands bound before his breast; and each of them held in his hand thorns wherewith they went beating him, so that he was all bloody before and behind; but he said never a word, but, as he was great of heart, he suffered all that they did to him as though he had felt none anguish. sir bohort prepared to rescue his brother. but he looked on the other side of him, and saw a knight dragging along a fair gentlewoman, who cried out, "saint mary! succor your maid!" and when she saw sir bohort, she called to him, and said, "by the faith that ye owe to knighthood, help me!" when sir bohort heard her say thus he had such sorrow that he wist not what to do. "for if i let my brother be he must be slain, and that would i not for all the earth; and if i help not the maid i am shamed for ever." then lift he up his eyes and said, weeping, "fair lord, whose liegeman i am, keep sir lionel, my brother, that none of these knights slay him, and for pity of you, and our lady's sake, i shall succor this maid." then he cried out to the knight, "sir knight, lay your hand off that maid, or else ye be but dead." then the knight set down the maid, and took his shield, and drew out his sword. and sir bohort smote him so hard that it went through his shield and habergeon, on the left shoulder, and he fell down to the earth. then came sir bohort to the maid, "ye be delivered of this knight this time." "now," said she, "i pray you lead me there where this knight took me." "i shall gladly do it," said sir bohort. so he took the horse of the wounded knight, and set the gentlewoman upon it, and brought her there where she desired to be. and there he found twelve knights seeking after her; and when she told them how sir bohort had delivered her, they made great joy, and besought him to come to her father, a great lord, and he should be right welcomed. "truly," said sir bohort, "that may not be; for i have a great adventure to do." so he commended them to god and departed. then sir bohort rode after sir lionel, his brother, by the trace of their horses. thus he rode seeking, a great while. then he overtook a man clothed in a religious clothing, who said, "sir knight, what seek ye?" "sir," said sir bohort, "i seek my brother, that i saw within a little space beaten of two knights." "ah, sir bohort, trouble not thyself to seek for him, for truly he is dead." then he showed him a new-slain body, lying in a thick bush; and it seemed him that it was the body of sir lionel. and then he made such sorrow that he fell to the ground in a swoon, and lay there long. and when he came to himself again, he said, "fair brother, since the fellowship of you and me is sundered, shall i never have joy again; and now he that i have taken for my master, he be my help!" and when he had said thus he took up the body in his arms, and put it upon the horse. and then he said to the man, "canst thou tell me the way to some chapel, where i may bury this body?" "come on," said the man, "here is one fast by." and so they rode till they saw a fair tower, and beside it a chapel. then they alighted both, and put the body into a tomb of marble. then sir bohort commended the good man unto god, and departed. and he rode all that day, and harbored with an old lady. and on the morrow he rode unto the castle in a valley, and there he met with a yeoman. "tell me," said sir bohort, "knowest thou of any adventure?" "sir," said he, "here shall be, under this castle, a great and marvellous tournament." then sir bohort thought to be there, if he might meet with any of the fellowship that were in quest of the sangreal; so he turned to a hermitage that was on the border of the forest. and when he was come hither, he found there sir lionel his brother, who sat all armed at the entry of the chapel door. and when sir bohort saw him, he had great joy, and he alighted off his horse, and said. "fair brother, when came ye hither?" as soon as sir lionel saw him he said, "ah, sir bohort, make ye no false show, for, as for you, i might have been slain, for ye left me in peril of death to go succor a gentlewoman; and for that misdeed i now assure you but death, for ye have right well deserved it." when sir bohort perceived his brother's wrath he kneeled down to the earth and cried him mercy, holding up both his hands, and prayed him to forgive him. "nay," said sir lionel, "thou shalt have but death for it, if i have the upper hand; therefore leap upon thy horse and keep thyself, and if thou do not i will run upon thee there as thou standest on foot, and so the shame shall be mine, and the harm thine, but of that i reck not." when sir bohort saw that he must fight with his brother or else die, he wist not what to do. then his heart counselled him not so to do, inasmuch as sir lionel was his elder brother, wherefore he ought to bear him reverence. yet kneeled he down before sir lionel's horse's feet, and said, "fair brother, have mercy upon me and slay me not." but sir lionel cared not, for the fiend had brought him in such a will that he should slay him. when he saw that sir bohort would not rise to give him battle, he rushed over him, so that he smote him with his horse's feet to the earth, and hurt him sore, that he swooned of distress. when sir lionel saw this he alighted from his horse for to have smitten off his head; and so he took him by the helm, and would have rent it from his head. but it happened that sir colgrevance, a knight of the round table, came at that time thither, as it was our lord's will; and then he beheld how sir lionel would have slain his brother, and he knew sir bohort, whom he loved right well. then leapt he down from his horse and took sir lionel by the shoulders, and drew him strongly back from sir bohort, and said, "sir lionel, will ye slay your brother?" "why," said sir lionel, "will ye stay me? if ye interfere in this i will slay you, and him after." then he ran upon sir bohort, and would have smitten him; but sir colgrevance ran between them, and said, "if ye persist to do so any more, we two shall meddle together." then sir lionel defied him, and gave him a great stroke through the helm. then he drew his sword, for he was a passing good knight, and defended himself right manfully. so long endured the battle, that sir bohort rose up all anguishly, and beheld sir colgrevance, the good knight, fight with his brother for his quarrel. then was he full sorry and heavy, and thought that if sir colgrevance slew him that was his brother he should never have joy, and if his brother slew sir colgrevance the shame should ever be his. then would he have risen for to have parted them, but he had not so much strength to stand on his feet; so he staid so long that sir colgrevance had the worse; for sir lionel was of great chivalry and right hardy. then cried sir colgrevance, "ah, sir bohort, why come ye not to bring me out of peril of death, wherein i have put me to succor you?" with that, sir lionel smote off his helm and bore him to the earth. and when he had slain sir colgrevance he ran upon his brother as a fiendly man, and gave him such a stroke that he made him stoop. and he that was full of humility prayed him, "for god's sake leave this battle, for if it befell, fair brother, that i slew you, or ye me, we should be dead of that sin." "pray ye not me for mercy," said sir lionel. then sir bohort, all weeping, drew his sword, and said, "now god have mercy upon me, though i defend my life against my brother." with that sir bohort lifted up his sword, and would have smitten his brother. then he heard a voice that said, "flee, sir bohort, and touch him not." right so alighted a cloud between them, in the likeness of a fire and a marvellous flame, so that they both fell to the earth, and lay there a great while in a swoon. and when they came to themselves, sir bohort saw that his brother had no harm; and he was right glad, for he dread sore that god had taken vengeance upon him. then sir lionel said to his brother, "brother, forgive me, for god's sake, all that i have trespassed against you." and sir bohort answered, "god forgive it thee, and i do." with that sir bohort heard a voice say, "sir bohort, take thy way anon, right to the sea, for sir perceval abideth thee there." so sir bohort departed, and rode the nearest way to the sea. and at last he came to an abbey that was nigh the sea. that night he rested him there, and in his sleep there came a voice unto him and bade him go to the sea-shore. he started up, and made a sign of the cross on his forehead, and armed himself, and made ready his horse and mounted him, and at a broken wall he rode out, and came to the sea-shore. and there he found a ship, covered all with white samite. and he entered into the ship; but it was anon so dark that he might see no man, and he laid him down and slept till it was day. then he awaked, and saw in the middle of the ship a knight all armed, save his helm. and then he knew it was sir perceval de galis, and each made of other right great joy. then said sir perceval, "we lack nothing now but the good knight sir galahad." sir launcelot (resumed) it befell upon a night sir launcelot arrived before a castle, which was rich and fair. and there was a postern that was opened toward the sea, and was open without any keeping, save two lions kept the entry; and the moon shined clear. anon sir launcelot heard a voice that said, "launcelot, enter into the castle, where thou shalt see a great part of thy desire." so he went unto the gate, and saw the two lions; then he set hands to his sword, and drew it. then there came suddenly as it were a stroke upon the arm, so sore that the sword fell out of his hand, and he heard a voice that said, "o man of evil faith, wherefore believest thou more in thy armor than in thy maker?" then said sir launcelot, "fair lord, i thank thee of thy great mercy, that thou reprovest me of my misdeed; now see i well that thou holdest me for thy servant." then he made a cross on his forehead, and came to the lions; and they made semblance to do him harm, but he passed them without hurt, and entered into the castle, and he found no gate nor door but it was open. but at the last he found a chamber whereof the door was shut; and he set his hand thereto, to have opened it, but he might not. then he listened, and heard a voice which sung so sweetly that it seemed none earthly thing; and the voice said, "joy and honor be to the father of heaven." then sir launcelot kneeled down before the chamber, for well he wist that there was the sangreal in that chamber. then said he, "fair, sweet lord, if ever i did anything that pleased thee, for thy pity show me something of that which i seek." and with that he saw the chamber door open, and there came out a great clearness, that the house was as bright as though all the torches of the world had been there. so he came to the chamber door, and would have entered; and anon a voice said unto him, "stay, sir launcelot, and enter not." and he withdrew him back, and was right heavy in his mind. then looked he in the midst of the chamber, and saw a table of silver, and the holy vessel, covered with red samite, and many angels about it; whereof one held a candle of wax burning, and another held a cross, and the ornaments of the altar. "o, yet methought i saw the holy grail, all pall'd in crimson samite, and around great angels, awful shapes, and wings and eyes" --the holy grail. then for very wonder and thankfulness sir launcelot forgot himself and he stepped forward and entered the chamber. and suddenly a breath that seemed intermixed with fire smote him so sore in the visage that therewith he fell to the ground, and had no power to rise. then felt he many hands about him, which took him up and bare him out of the chamber, without any amending of his swoon, and left him there, seeming dead to all the people. so on the morrow, when it was fair daylight, and they within were arisen, they found sir launcelot lying before the chamber door. and they looked upon him and felt his pulse, to know if there were any life in him. and they found life in him, but he might neither stand nor stir any member that he had. so they took him and bare him into a chamber, and laid him upon a bed, far from all folk, and there he lay many days. then the one said he was alive, and the others said nay. but said an old man, "he is as full of life as the mightiest of you all, and therefore i counsel you that he be well kept till god bring him back again." and after twenty-four days he opened his eyes; and when he saw folk he made great sorrow, and said, "why have ye wakened me? for i was better at ease than i am now." "what have ye seen?" said they about him. "i have seen," said he, "great marvels that no tongue can tell, and more than any heart can think." then they said, "sir, the quest of the sangreal is achieved right now in you, and never shall ye see more of it than ye have seen." "i thank god," said sir launcelot, "of his great mercy, for that i have seen, for it sufficeth me." then he rose up and clothed himself; and when he was so arrayed they marvelled all, for they knew it was sir launcelot the good knight. and after four days he took his leave of the lord of the castle, and of all the fellowship that were there, and thanked them for their great labor and care of him. then he departed, and turned to camelot, where he found king arthur and queen guenever; but many of the knights of the round table were slain and destroyed, more than half. then all the court was passing glad of sir launcelot; and he told the king all his adventures that had befallen him since he departed. sir galahad now, when sir galahad had rescued perceval from the twenty knights, he rode into a vast forest, wherein he abode many days. then he took his way to the sea, and it befell him that he was benighted in a hermitage. and the good man was glad when he saw he was a knight-errant. and when they were at rest, there came a gentlewoman knocking at the door; and the good man came to the door to wit what she would. then she said, "i would speak with the knight which is with you." then galahad went to her, and asked her what she would. "sir galahad," said she, "i will that ye arm you, and mount upon your horse, and follow me; for i will show you the highest adventure that ever knight saw." then galahad armed himself and commended himself to god, and bade the damsel go before, and he would follow where she led. so she rode as fast as her palfrey might bear her, till she came to the sea; and there they found the ship where sir bohort and sir perceval were, who cried from the ship, "sir galahad, you are welcome; we have waited you long." and when he heard them, he asked the damsel who they were. "sir," said she, "leave your horse here, and i shall leave mine, and we will join ourselves to their company." so they entered into the ship, and the two knights received them both with great joy. for they knew the damsel, that she was sir perceval's sister. then the wind arose and drove them through the sea all that day and the next, till the ship arrived between two rocks, passing great and marvellous; but there they might not land, for there was a whirlpool; but there was another ship, and upon it they might go without danger. "go we thither," said the gentlewoman, "and there we shall see adventures, for such is our lord's will." then sir galahad blessed him, and entered therein, and then next the gentlewoman, and then sir bohort and sir perceval. and when they came on board they found there the table of silver, and the sangreal, which was covered with red samite. and they made great reverence thereto, and sir galahad prayed a long time to our lord, that at what time he should ask to pass out of this world he should do so; and a voice said to him, "galahad, thou shalt have thy request; and when thou askest the death of thy body, thou shalt have it, and then shalt thou find the life of thy soul." and anon the wind drove them across the sea, till they came to the city of sarras. then took they out of the ship the table of silver, and sir perceval and sir bohort took it before, and sir galahad came behind, and right so they went to the city. and at the gate of the city they saw an old man, a cripple. "and sir launfal said, 'i behold in thee an image of him who died on the tree thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns; and to thy life were not denied the wounds in thy hands and feet and side mild mary's son, acknowledge me; behold, through him i give to thee!'" --lowell's holy grail. then galahad called him, and bade him help to bear this heavy thing. "truly," said the old man, "it is ten years since i could not go but with crutches." "care thou not," said sir galahad, "but arise up, and show thy good will." then the old man rose up, and assayed, and found himself as whole as ever he was; and he ran to the table, and took one part with sir galahad. when they came to the city it chanced that the king was just dead, and all the city was dismayed, and wist not who might be their king. right so, as they were in counsel, there came a voice among them, and bade them choose the youngest knight of those three to be their king. so they made sir galahad king, by all the assent of the city. and when he was made king, he commanded to make a chest of gold and of precious stones to hold the holy vessel. and every day the three companions would come before it and make their prayers. now at the year's end, and the same day of the year that sir galahad received the crown, he got up early, and, with his fellows, came to where the holy vessel was; and they saw one kneeling before it that had about him a great fellowship of angels; and he called sir galahad, and said, "come, thou servant of the lord, and thou shalt see what thou hast much desired to see." and sir galahad's mortal flesh trembled right hard when he began to behold the spiritual things. then said the good man, "now wottest thou who i am?" "nay," said sir galahad. "i am joseph of arimathea, whom our lord hath sent here to thee, to bear thee fellowship." then sir galahad held up his hands toward heaven, and said, "now, blessed lord, would i not longer live, if it might please thee." and when he had said these words, sir galahad went to sir perceval and to sir bohort and kissed them, and commended them to god. and then he kneeled down before the table, and made his prayers, and suddenly his soul departed, and a great multitude of angels bare his soul up to heaven, so as the two fellows could well behold it. also they saw come from heaven a hand, but they saw not the body; and the hand came right to the vessel and bare it up to heaven. since then was there never one so hardy as to say that he had seen the sangreal on earth any more. chapter xxii sir agrivain's treason when sir perceval and sir bohort saw sir galahad dead they made as much sorrow as ever did two men. and if they had not been good men they might have fallen into despair. as soon as sir galahad was buried sir perceval retired to a hermitage out of the city, and took a religious clothing; and sir bohort was always with him, but did not change his secular clothing, because he purposed to return to the realm of loegria. thus a year and two months lived sir perceval in the hermitage a full holy life, and then passed out of this world, and sir bohort buried him by his sister and sir galahad. then sir bohort armed himself and departed from sarras, and entered into a ship, and sailed to the kingdom of loegria, and in due time arrived safe at camelot, where the king was. then was there great joy made of him in the whole court, for they feared he had been dead. then the king made great clerks to come before him, that they should chronicle of the high adventures of the good knights. and sir bohort told him of the adventures that had befallen him, and his two fellows, sir perceval and sir galahad. and sir launcelot told the adventures of the sangreal that he had seen. all this was made in great books, and put up in the church at salisbury. so king arthur and queen guenever made great joy of the remnant that were come home, and chiefly of sir launcelot and sir bohort. then sir launcelot began to resort unto queen guenever again, and forgot the promise that he made in the quest: so that many in the court spoke of it, and in especial sir agrivain, sir gawain's brother, for he was ever open-mouthed. so it happened sir gawain and all his brothers were in king arthur's chamber, and then sir agrivain said thus openly, "i marvel that we all are not ashamed to see and to know so noble a knight as king arthur so to be shamed by the conduct of sir launcelot and the queen. "then spoke sir gawain, and said, "brother, sir agrivain, i pray you and charge you move not such matters any more before me, for be ye assured i will not be of your counsel." "neither will we," said sir gaheris and sir gareth. "then will i," said sir modred. "i doubt you not," said sir gawain, "for to all mischief ever were ye prone; yet i would that ye left all this, for i know what will come of it." "modred's narrow foxy face, heart-hiding smile, and gray persistent eye: henceforward, too, the powers that tend the soul to help it from the death that cannot die, and save it even in extremes, began to vex and plague." --guinevere. "fall of it what fall may," said sir agrivain, "i will disclose it to the king." with that came to them king arthur. "now, brothers, hold your peace," said sir gawain. "we will not," said sir agrivain. then said sir gawain, "i will not hear your tales nor be of your counsel." "no more will i," said sir gareth and sir gaheris, and therewith they departed, making great sorrow. then sir agrivain told the king all that was said in the court of the conduct of sir launcelot and the queen, and it grieved the king very much. but he would not believe it to be true without proof. so sir agrivain laid a plot to entrap sir launcelot and the queen, intending to take them together unawares. sir agrivain and sir modred led a party for this purpose, but sir launcelot escaped from them, having slain sir agrivain and wounded sir modred. then sir launcelot hastened to his friends, and told them what had happened, and withdrew with them to the forest; but he left spies to bring him tidings of whatever might be done. so sir launcelot escaped, but the queen remained in the king's power, and arthur could no longer doubt of her guilt. and the law was such in those days that they who committed such crimes, of what estate or condition soever they were, must be burned to death, and so it was ordained for queen guenever. then said king arthur to sir gawain, "i pray you make you ready, in your best armor, with your brethren, sir gaheris and sir gareth, to bring my queen to the fire, there to receive her death." "nay, my most noble lord," said sir gawain, "that will i never do; for know thou well, my heart will never serve me to see her die, and it shall never be said that i was of your counsel in her death." then the king commanded sir gaheris and sir gareth to be there, and they said, "we will be there, as ye command us, sire, but in peaceable wise, and bear no armor upon us." so the queen was led forth, and her ghostly father was brought to her to shrive her, and there was weeping and wailing of many lords and ladies. and one went and told sir launcelot that the queen was led forth to her death. then sir launcelot and the knights that were with him fell upon the troop that guarded the queen, and dispersed them, and slew all who withstood them. and in the confusion sir gareth and sir gaheris were slain, for they were unarmed and defenceless. and sir launcelot carried away the queen to his castle of la joyeuse garde. then there came one to sir gawain and told him how that sir launcelot had slain the knights and carried away the queen. "o lord, defend my brethren!" said sir gawain. "truly," said the man, "sir gareth and sir gaheris are slain." "alas!" said sir gawain, "now is my joy gone." and then he fell down and swooned, and long he lay there as he had been dead. when he arose out of his swoon sir gawain ran to the king, crying, "o king arthur, mine uncle, my brothers are slain." then the king wept and he both. "my king, my lord, and mine uncle," said sir gawain, "bear witness now that i make you a promise that i shall hold by my knighthood, and from this day i will never fail sir launcelot until the one of us have slain the other. i will seek sir launcelot throughout seven kings' realms, but i shall slay him or he shall slay me." "ye shall not need to seek him," said the king, "for as i hear, sir launcelot will abide me and you in the joyeuse garde; and much people draweth unto him, as i hear say." "that may i believe," said sir gawain; "but, my lord, summon your friends, and i will summon mine." "it shall be done," said the king. so then the king sent letters and writs throughout all england, both in the length and breadth, to summon all his knights. and unto arthur drew many knights, dukes, and earls, so that he had a great host. thereof heard sir launcelot, and collected all whom he could; and many good knights held with him, both for his sake and for the queen's sake. but king arthur's host was too great for sir launcelot to abide him in the field; and he was full loath to do battle against the king. so sir launcelot drew him to his strong castle, with all manner of provisions. then came king arthur with sir gawain, and laid siege all about la joyeuse garde, both the town and the castle; but in no wise would sir launcelot ride out of his castle, neither suffer any of his knights to issue out, until many weeks were past. then it befell upon a day in harvest-time, sir launcelot looked over the wall, and spoke aloud to king arthur and sir gawain, "my lords both, all is in vain that ye do at this siege, for here ye shall win no worship, but only dishonor; for if i list to come out, and my good knights, i shall soon make an end of this war." "come forth," said arthur, "if thou darest, and i promise thee i shall meet thee in the midst of the field." "god forbid me," said sir launcelot, "that i should encounter with the most noble king that made me knight." "fie upon thy fair language," said the king, "for know thou well i am thy mortal foe, and ever will be to my dying day." and sir gawain said, "what cause hadst thou to slay my brother, sir gaheris, who bore no arms against thee, and sir gareth, whom thou madest knight, and who loved thee more than all my kin? therefore know thou well i shall make war to thee all the while that i may live." when sir bohort, and sir hector de marys, and sir lionel heard this outcry, they called to them sir palamedes, and sir saffire his brother, and sir lawayn, with many more, and all went to sir launcelot. and they said, "my lord, sir launcelot, we pray you, if you will have our service keep us no longer within these walls, for know well all your fair speech and forbearance will not avail you." "alas!" said sir launcelot, "to ride forth and to do battle i am full loath." then he spake again unto the king and sir gawain, and willed them to keep out of the battle; but they despised his words. so then sir launcelot's fellowship came out of the castle in full good array. and always sir launcelot charged all his knights, in any wise, to save king arthur and sir gawain. then came forth sir gawain from the king's host and offered combat, and sir lionel encountered with him, and there sir gawain smote sir lionel through the body, that he fell to the earth as if dead. then there began a great conflict, and much people were slain; but ever sir launcelot did what he might to save the people on king arthur's party, and ever king arthur followed sir launcelot to slay him; but sir launcelot suffered him, and would not strike again. then sir bohort encountered with king arthur, and smote him down; and he alighted and drew his sword, and said to sir launcelot, "shall i make an end of this war?" for he meant to have slain king arthur. "not so," said sir launcelot, "touch him no more, for i will never see that most noble king that made me knight either slain or shamed;" and therewith sir launcelot alighted off his horse, and took up the king, and horsed him again, and said thus: "my lord arthur, for god's love, cease this strife." and king arthur looked upon sir launcelot, and the tears burst from his eyes, thinking on the great courtesy that was in sir launcelot more than in any other man; and therewith the king rode his way. then anon both parties withdrew to repose them, and buried the dead. but the war continued, and it was noised abroad through all christendom, and at last it was told afore the pope; and he, considering the great goodness of king arthur, and of sir launcelot, called unto him a noble clerk, which was the bishop of rochester, who was then in his dominions, and sent him to king arthur, charging him that he take his queen, dame guenever, unto him again, and make peace with sir launcelot. so, by means of this bishop, peace was made for the space of one year; and king arthur received back the queen, and sir launcelot departed from the kingdom with all his knights, and went to his own country. so they shipped at cardiff, and sailed unto benwick, which some men call bayonne. and all the people of those lands came to sir launcelot, and received him home right joyfully. and sir launcelot stablished and garnished all his towns and castles, and he greatly advanced all his noble knights, sir lionel and sir bohort, and sir hector de marys, sir blamor, sir lawayne, and many others, and made them lords of lands and castles; till he left himself no more than any one of them. "then arthur made vast banquets, and strange knights from the four winds came in: and each one sat, tho' served with choice from air, land, stream and sea, oft in mid-banquet measuring with his eyes his neighbor's make and might." --pelleas and ettarre. but when the year was passed, king arthur and sir gawain came with a great host, and landed upon sir launcelot's lands, and burned and wasted all that they might overrun. then spake sir bohort and said, "my lord, sir launcelot, give us leave to meet them in the field, and we shall make them rue the time that ever they came to this country." then said sir launcelot, "i am full loath to ride out with my knights for shedding of christian blood; so we will yet a while keep our walls, and i will send a messenger unto my lord arthur, to propose a treaty; for better is peace than always war." so sir launcelot sent forth a damsel, and a dwarf with her, requiring king arthur to leave his warring upon his lands; and so she started on a palfrey, and the dwarf ran by her side. and when she came to the pavilion of king arthur, she alighted, and there met her a gentle knight, sir lucan, the butler, and said, "fair damsel, come ye from sir launcelot du lac?" "yea, sir," she said, "i come hither to speak with the king." "alas!" said sir lucan, "my lord arthur would be reconciled to sir launcelot, but sir gawain will not suffer him." and with this sir lucan led the damsel to the king, where he sat with sir gawain, to hear what she would say. so when she had told her tale, the tears ran out of the king's eyes; and all the lords were forward to advise the king to be accorded with sir launcelot, save only sir gawain; and he said, "my lord, mine uncle, what will ye do? will you now turn back, now you are so far advanced upon your journey? if ye do all the world will speak shame of you." "nay," said king arthur, "i will do as ye advise me; but do thou give the damsel her answer, for i may not speak to her for pity." then said sir gawain, "damsel, say ye to sir launcelot, that it is waste labor to sue to mine uncle for peace, and say that i, sir gawain, send him word that i promise him, by the faith i owe unto god and to knighthood, i shall never leave him till he have slain me or i him." so the damsel returned; and when sir launcelot had heard this answer the tears ran down his cheeks. then it befell on a day sir gawain came before the gates, armed at all points, and cried with a loud voice, "where art thou now, thou false traitor, sir launcelot? why hidest thou thyself within holes and walls like a coward? look out now, thou traitor knight, and i will avenge upon thy body the death of my three brethren." all this language heard sir launcelot, and the knights which were about him; and they said to him, "sir launcelot, now must ye defend you like a knight, or else be shamed for ever, for you have slept overlong and suffered overmuch." then sir launcelot spake on high unto king arthur, and said, "my lord arthur, now i have forborne long, and suffered you and sir gawain to do what ye would, and now must i needs defend myself, inasmuch as sir gawain hath appealed me of treason." then sir launcelot armed him and mounted upon his horse, and the noble knights came out of the city, and the host without stood all apart; and so the covenant was made that no man should come near the two knights, nor deal with them, till one were dead or yielded. then sir launcelot and sir gawain departed a great way asunder, and then they came together with all their horses' might, and each smote the other in the middle of their shields, but neither of them was unhorsed, but their horses fell to the earth. and then they leapt from their horses, and drew their swords, and gave many sad strokes, so that the blood burst out in many places. now sir gawain had this gift from a holy man, that every day in the year, from morning to noon, his strength was increased threefold, and then it fell again to its natural measure. sir launcelot was aware of this, and therefore, during the three hours that sir gawain's strength was at the height, sir launcelot covered himself with his shield, and kept his might in reserve. and during that time sir gawain gave him many sad brunts, that all the knights that looked on marvelled how sir launcelot might endure them. then, when it was past noon, sir gawain had only his own might; and when sir launcelot felt him so brought down he stretched himself up, and doubled his strokes, and gave sir gawain such a buffet that he fell down on his side; and sir launcelot drew back and would strike no more. "why withdrawest thou, false traitor?" then said sir gawain; "now turn again and slay me, for if thou leave me thus when i am whole again, i shall do battle with thee again." "i shall endure you, sir, by god's grace," said sir launcelot, "but know thou well sir gawain, i will never smite a felled knight." and so sir launcelot went into the city, and sir gawain was borne into king arthur's pavilion, and his wounds were looked to. thus the siege endured, and sir gawain lay helpless near a month; and when he was near recovered came tidings unto king arthur that made him return with all his host to england. chapter xxiii morte d'arthur sir modred was left ruler of all england, and he caused letters to be written, as if from beyond sea, that king arthur was slain in battle. so he called a parliament, and made himself be crowned king; and he took the queen guenever, and said plainly that he would wed her, but she escaped from him and took refuge in the tower of london. and sir modred went and laid siege about the tower of london, and made great assaults thereat, but all might not avail him. then came word to sir modred that king arthur had raised the siege of sir launcelot, and was coming home. then sir modred summoned all the barony of the land; and much people drew unto sir modred, and said they would abide with him for better and for worse; and he drew a great host to dover, for there he heard say that king arthur would arrive. "i hear the steps of modred in the west, and with him many of thy people, and knights once thine, whom thou hast loved, but grosser grown than heathen, spitting at their vows and thee" --the passing of arthur. and as sir modred was at dover with his host, came king arthur, with a great number of ships and galleys, and there was sir modred awaiting upon the landing. then was there launching of great boats and small, full of noble men of arms, and there was much slaughter of gentle knights on both parts. but king arthur was so courageous, there might no manner of knights prevent him to land, and his knights fiercely followed him; and so they landed, and put sir modred aback so that he fled, and all his people. and when the battle was done, king arthur commanded to bury his people that were dead. and then was noble sir gawain found, in a great boat, lying more than half dead. and king arthur went to him, and made sorrow out of measure. "mine uncle," said sir gawain, "know thou well my death-day is come, and all is through mine own hastiness and wilfulness, for i am smitten upon the old wound which sir launcelot gave me, of which i feel i must die. and had sir launcelot been with you as of old, this war had never begun, and of all this i am the cause." then sir gawain prayed the king to send for sir launcelot, and to cherish him above all other knights. and so at the hour of noon sir gawain yielded up his spirit, and then the king bade inter him in a chapel within dover castle; and there all men may see the skull of him, and the same wound is seen that sir launcelot gave him in battle. then was it told the king that sir modred had pitched his camp upon barrendown; and the king rode thither, and there was a great battle betwixt them, and king arthur's party stood best, and sir modred and his party fled unto canterbury. and there was a day assigned betwixt king arthur and sir modred that they should meet upon a down beside salisbury, and not far from the sea-side, to do battle yet again. and at night, as the king slept, he dreamed a wonderful dream. it seemed him verily that there came sir gawain unto him, with a number of fair ladies with him. and when king arthur saw him, he said, "welcome, my sister's son; i weened thou hadst been dead; and now i see thee alive great is my joy. but, o fair nephew, what be these ladies that hither be come with you?" "sir," said sir gawain, "all these be ladies for whom i have fought when i was a living man; and because i did battle for them in righteous quarrel they have given me grace to bring me hither unto you to warn you of your death, if ye fight to-morrow with sir modred. therefore take ye treaty, and proffer you largely for a month's delay; for within a month shall come sir launcelot and all his noble knights, and rescue you worshipfully, and slay sir modred and all that hold with him." and then sir gawain and all the ladies vanished. and anon the king called to fetch his noble lords and wise bishops unto him. and when they were come, the king told them his vision, and what sir gawain had told him. then the king sent sir lucan, the butler, and sir bedivere, with two bishops, and charged them in any wise to take a treaty for a month and a day with sir modred. so they departed, and came to sir modred; and so, at the last, sir modred was agreed to have cornwall and kent during arthur's life, and all england after his death. "sir modred; he the nearest to the king, his nephew, ever like a subtle beast lay couchant with his eyes upon the throne, ready to spring, waiting a chance." --guinevere then was it agreed that king arthur and sir modred should meet betwixt both their hosts, and each of them should bring fourteen persons, and then and there they should sign the treaty. and when king arthur and his knights were prepared to go forth, he warned all his host, "if so be ye see any sword drawn, look ye come on fiercely, and slay whomsoever withstandeth, for i in no wise trust that traitor, sir modred." in like wise sir modred warned his host. so they met, and were agreed and accorded thoroughly. and wine was brought, and they drank. right then came an adder out of a little heath-bush, and stung a knight on the foot. and when the knight felt him sting, he looked down and saw the adder, and then he drew his sword to slay the adder, and thought of no other harm. and when the host on both sides saw that sword drawn, they blew trumpets and horns, and shouted greatly. and king arthur took his horse, and rode to his party, saying, "alas, this unhappy day!" and sir modred did in like wise. and never was there a more doleful battle in christian land. and ever king arthur rode throughout the battle, and did full nobly, as a worthy king should, and sir modred that day did his devoir, and put himself in great peril. and thus they fought all the long day, till the most of all the noble knights lay dead upon the ground. then the king looked about him, and saw of all his host were left alive but two knights, sir lucan, the butler, and sir bedivere, his brother, and they were full sore wounded. then king arthur saw where sir modred leaned upon his sword among a great heap of dead men. "now give me my spear," said arthur unto sir lucan; "for yonder i espy the traitor that hast wrought all this woe." "sir, let him be," said sir lucan; "for if ye pass this unhappy day, ye shall be right well revenged upon him. remember what the sprite of sir gawain told you, and leave off now, for ye have won the field; and if ye leave off now this evil day of destiny is past." "betide me life, betide me death," said king arthur, "he shall not now escape my hands." then the king took his spear in both hands, and ran toward sir modred, crying, "traitor, now is thy death-day come." and there king arthur smote sir modred under the shield, with a thrust of his spear through the body. and when sir modred felt that he had his death-wound, with the might that he had he smote king arthur, with his sword holden in both his hands, on the side of the head, that the sword pierced the helmet and the brain-pan; and then sir modred fell stark dead upon the earth. and the noble arthur fell in a swoon to the earth. and sir lucan, the butler, and sir bedivere raised him up, and gently led him betwixt them both to a little chapel not far from the sea-side. and when the king was there he thought him well eased. then heard they people cry in the field. and sir lucan went to see what that cry betokened; and he saw by the moonlight that pillers and robbers were come to rob the dead. and he returned, and said to the king, "by my rede, it is best that we bring you to some town." "i would it were so," said the king. and when the king tried to go he fainted. then sir lucan took up the king on the one part, and sir bedivere on the other part; and in the lifting, sir lucan fell in a swoon to the earth, for he was grievously wounded. and then the noble knight's heart burst. and when the king awoke he beheld sir lucan how he lay foaming at the mouth, and speechless. "alas!" said the king, "this is to me a full heavy sight, to see this noble duke so die for my sake; for he would have holpen me that had more need of help than i, and he would not complain, his heart was so set to help me." then sir bedivere wept for his brother. "leave this mourning and weeping," said the king, "for wilt thou well, if i might live myself, the death of sir lucan would grieve me evermore; but my time hieth fast. therefore," said arthur unto sir bedivere, "take thou excalibar, my good sword, and go with it to yonder water-side; and when thou comest there i charge thee throw my sword in that water, and come again and tell me what thou there seest." "my lord," said sir bedivere, "your commandment shall be done." so sir bedivere departed, and by the way he beheld that noble sword, that the pommel and the haft were all of precious stones; and then he said to himself, "if i throw this rich sword into the water no good shall come thereof, but only harm and loss." and then sir bedivere hid excalibar under a tree. and so, as soon as he might, he came again to the king. "what sawest thou there?" said the king. "sir," he said, "i saw nothing." "alas! thou hast deceived me," said the king. "go thou lightly again, and as thou love me, spare not to throw it in." then sir bedivere went again, and took the sword in his hand to throw it; but again it beseemed him but sin and shame to throw away that noble sword, and he hid it away again, and returned, and told the king he had done his commandment. "what sawest thou there?" said the king. "sir," he said, "i saw nothing but waters deep and waves wan." "ah, traitor untrue!" said king arthur, "now hast thou betrayed me twice. and yet thou art named a noble knight, and hast been lief and dear to me. but now go again, and do as i bid thee, for thy long tarrying putteth me in jeopardy of my life." then sir bedivere went to the sword, and lightly took it up, and went to the water-side, and he bound the girdle about the hilt, and then he threw the sword as far into the water as he might. and there came an arm and a hand out of the water, and met it, and caught it, and shook it thrice and brandished it, and then vanished away the hand with the sword in the water. then sir bedivere came again to the king, and told him what he saw. "help me hence," said the king, "for i fear i have tarried too long." then sir bedivere took the king on his back, and so went with him to that water-side; and when they came there, even fast by the bank there rode a little barge with many fair ladies in it, and among them was a queen; and all had black hoods, and they wept and shrieked when they saw king arthur. "now put me in the barge," said the king. and there received him three queens with great mourning, and in one of their laps king arthur laid his head. and the queen said, "ah, dear brother, why have ye tarried so long? alas! this wound on your head hath caught over-much cold." and then they rowed from the land, and sir bedivere beheld them go from him. then he cried: "ah, my lord arthur, will ye leave me here alone among mine enemies?" "comfort thyself," said the king, "for in me is no further help; for i will to the isle of avalon, to heal me of my grievous wound." and as soon as sir bedivere had lost sight of the barge, he wept and wailed; then he took the forest, and went all that night, and in the morning he was ware of a chapel and a hermitage. then went sir bedivere thither; and when he came into the chapel, he saw where lay an hermit on the ground, near a tomb that was newly graven. "sir," said sir bedivere, "what man is there buried that ye pray so near unto?" "fair son," said the hermit, "i know not verily. but this night there came a number of ladies, and brought hither one dead, and prayed me to bury him." "alas!" said sir bedivere, "that was my lord, king arthur." then sir bedivere swooned; and when he awoke he prayed the hermit he might abide with him, to live with fasting and prayers. "ye are welcome," said the hermit. so there bode sir bedivere with the hermit; and he put on poor clothes, and served the hermit full lowly in fasting and in prayers. thus of arthur i find never more written in books that be authorized, nor more of the very certainty of his death; but thus was he led away in a ship, wherein were three queens; the one was king arthur's sister, queen morgane le fay; the other was viviane, the lady of the lake; and the third was the queen of north galis. and this tale sir bedivere, knight of the table round, made to be written. yet some men say that king arthur is not dead, but hid away into another place, and men say that he shall come again and reign over england. but many say that there is written on his tomb this verse: "hie facet arthurus, rex quondam, rexque futurus." here arthur lies, king once and king to be. and when queen guenever understood that king arthur was slain, and all the noble knights with him, she stole away, and five ladies with her; and so she went to almesbury, and made herself a nun, and ware white clothes and black, and took great penance as ever did sinful lady, and lived in fasting, prayers, and alms-deeds. and there she was abbess and ruler of the nuns. "and when she came to almesbury she spake there to the nuns, and said, 'mine enemies pursue me, but, o peaceful sisterhood, receive, and yield me sanctuary, nor ask her name to whom ye yield it, till her time to tell you;' and her beauty, grace and power wrought as a charm upon them, and they spared to ask it." --guinevere. now turn we from her, and speak of sir launcelot of the lake. when sir launcelot heard in his country that sir modred was crowned king of england, and made war against his own uncle, king arthur, then was sir launcelot wroth out of measure, and said to his kinsmen: "alas, that double traitor, sir modred! now it repenteth me that ever he escaped out of my hands." then sir launcelot and his fellows made ready in all haste, with ships and galleys, to pass into england; and so he passed over till he came to dover, and there he landed with a great army. then sir launcelot was told that king arthur was slain. "alas!" said sir launcelot, "this is the heaviest tidings that ever came to me." then he called the kings, dukes, barons, and knights, and said thus: "my fair lords, i thank you all for coming into this country with me, but we came too late, and that shall repent me while i live. but since it is so," said sir launcelot, "i will myself ride and seek my lady, queen guenever, for i have heard say she hath fled into the west; therefore ye shall abide me here fifteen days, and if i come not within that time, then take your ships and your host, and depart into your country." so sir launcelot departed and rode westerly, and there he sought many days; and at last he came to a nunnery, and was seen of queen guenever as he walked in the cloister; and when she saw him she swooned away. and when she might speak she bade him to be called to her. and when sir launcelot was brought to her she said: "sir launcelot, i require thee and beseech thee, for all the love that ever was betwixt us, that thou never see me more, but return to thy kingdom and take thee a wife, and live with her with joy and bliss; and pray for me to my lord, that i may get my soul's health." "nay, madam," said sir launcelot, "wit you well that i shall never do; but the same destiny that ye have taken you to will i take me unto, for to please and serve god." and so they parted, with tears and much lamentation; and the ladies bare the queen to her chamber, and sir launcelot took his horse and rode away, weeping. and at last sir launcelot was ware of a hermitage and a chapel, and then he heard a little bell ring to mass; and thither he rode and alighted, and tied his horse to the gate, and heard mass. and he that sang the mass was the hermit with whom sir bedivere had taken up his abode; and sir bedivere knew sir launcelot, and they spake together after mass. but when sir bedivere had told his tale, sir launcelot's heart almost burst for sorrow. then he kneeled down, and prayed the hermit to shrive him, and besought that he might be his brother. then the hermit said, "i will gladly;" and then he put a habit upon sir launcelot, and there he served god day and night, with prayers and fastings. and the great host abode at dover till the end of the fifteen days set by sir launcelot, and then sir bohort made them to go home again to their own country; and sir bohort, sir hector de marys, sir blamor, and many others, took on them to ride through all england to seek sir launcelot. so sir bohort by fortune rode until he came to the same chapel where sir launcelot was; and when he saw sir launcelot in that manner of clothing he, prayed the hermit that he might be in that same. and so there was an habit put upon him, and there he lived in prayers and fasting. and within half a year came others of the knights, their fellows, and took such a habit as sir launcelot and sir bohort had. thus they endured in great penance six years. and upon a night there came a vision to sir launcelot, and charged him to haste toward almesbury, and "by the time thou come there, thou shalt find queen guenever dead." then sir launcelot rose up early and told the hermit thereof. then said the hermit, "it were well that ye disobey not this vision." and sir launcelot took his seven companions with him, and on foot they went from glastonbury to almesbury, which is more than thirty miles. and when they were come to almesbury, they found that queen guenever died but half an hour before. then sir launcelot saw her visage, but he wept not greatly, but sighed. and so he did all the observance of the service himself, both the "dirige" at night, and at morn he sang mass. and there was prepared an horse-bier, and sir launcelot and his fellows followed the bier on foot from almesbury until they came to glastonbury; and she was wrapped in cered clothes, and laid in a coffin of marble. and when she was put in the earth sir launcelot swooned, and lay long as one dead. and sir launcelot never after ate but little meat, nor drank; but continually mourned. and within six weeks sir launcelot fell sick; and he sent for the hermit and all his true fellows, and said, "sir hermit, i pray you give me all my rights that a christian man ought to have." "it shall not need," said the hermit and all his fellows; "it is but heaviness of your blood, and to-morrow morn you shall be well" "my fair lords," said sir launcelot, "my careful body will into the earth; i have warning more than now i will say; therefore give me my rights." so when he was houseled and aneled, and had all that a christian man ought to have, he prayed the hermit that his fellows might bear his body to joyous garde. (some men say it was alnwick, and some say it was bamborough.) "it repenteth me sore," said sir launcelot, "but i made a vow aforetime that in joyous garde i would be buried." then there was weeping and wringing of hands among his fellows. and that night sir launcelot died; and when sir bohort and his fellows came to his bedside the next morning they found him stark dead; and he lay as if he had smiled, and the sweetest savor all about him that ever they knew. and they put sir launcelot into the same horse-bier that queen guenever was laid in, and the hermit and they altogether went with the body till they came to joyous garde. and there they laid his corpse in the body of the quire, and sang and read many psalms and prayers over him. and ever his visage was laid open and naked, that all folks might behold him. and right thus, as they were at their service, there came sir hector de maris, that had seven years sought sir launcelot, his brother, through all england, scotland and wales. and when sir hector heard such sounds in the chapel of joyous garde he alighted and came into the quire. and all they knew sir hector. then went sir bohort, and told him how there lay sir launcelot, his brother, dead. then sir hector threw his shield, his sword, and helm from him. and when he beheld sir launcelot's visage it were hard for any tongue to tell the doleful complaints he made for his brother. "ah, sir launcelot!" he said, "there thou liest. and now i dare to say thou wert never matched of none earthly knight's hand. and thou wert the courteousest knight that ever bare shield; and thou wert the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrode horse; and thou wert the truest lover, of a sinful man, that ever loved woman; and thou wert the kindest man that ever struck with sword. and thou wert the goodliest person that ever came among press of knights. and thou wert the meekest man, and the gentlest, that ever ate in hall among ladies. and thou wert the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spear in the rest." then there was weeping and dolor out of measure. thus they kept sir launcelot's corpse fifteen days, and then they buried it with great devotion. then they went back with the hermit to his hermitage. and sir bedivere was there ever still hermit to his life's end. and sir bohort, sir hector, sir blamor, and sir bleoberis went into the holy land. and these four knights did many battles upon the miscreants, the turks; and there they died upon a good friday, as it pleased god. thus endeth this noble and joyous book, entitled "la morte d'arthur;" notwithstanding it treateth of the birth, life, and acts of the said king arthur, and of his noble knights of the round table, their marvellous enquests and adventures, the achieving of the sangreal, and, in the end, le morte d'arthur, with the dolorous death and departing out of this world of them all. which book was reduced into english by sir thomas mallory, knight, and divided into twenty-one books, chaptered and imprinted and finished in the abbey westmestre, the last day of july, the year of our lord mcccclxxxv. caxton me fieri fecit. the mabinogeon introductory note it has been well known to the literati and antiquarians of europe that there exist in the great public libraries voluminous manuscripts of romances and tales once popular, but which on the invention of printing had already become antiquated, and fallen into neglect. they were therefore never printed, and seldom perused even by the learned, until about half a century ago, when attention was again directed to them, and they were found very curious monuments of ancient manners, habits, and modes of thinking. several have since been edited, some by individuals, as sir walter scott and the poet southey, others by antiquarian societies. the class of readers which could be counted on for such publications was so small that no inducement of profit could be found to tempt editors and publishers to give them to the world. it was therefore only a few, and those the most accessible, which were put in print. there was a class of manuscripts of this kind which were known, or rather suspected, to be both curious and valuable, but which it seemed almost hopeless to expect ever to see in fair printed english. these were the welsh popular tales called mabinogeon, a plural word, the singular being mabinogi, a tale. manuscripts of these were contained in the bodleian library at oxford and elsewhere, but the difficulty was to find translators and editors. the welsh is a spoken language among the peasantry of wales, but is entirely neglected by the learned, unless they are natives of the principality. of the few welsh scholars none were found who took sufficient interest in this branch of learning to give these productions to the english public. southey and scott, and others, who like them, loved the old romantic legends of their country, often urged upon the welsh literati the duty of reproducing the mabinogeon. southey, in the preface of his edition of "moted'arthur," says: "the specimens which i have seen are exceedingly curious; nor is there a greater desideratum in british literature than an edition of these tales, with a literal version, and such comments as mr. davies of all men is best qualified to give. certain it is that many of the round table fictions originated in wales, or in bretagne, and probably might still be traced there." again, in a letter to sir charles w. w. wynn, dated , he says: "i begin almost to despair of ever seeing more of the mabinogeon; and yet if some competent welshman could be found to edit it carefully, with as literal a version as possible, i am sure it might be made worth his while by a subscription, printing a small edition at a high price, perhaps two hundred at five guineas. i myself would gladly subscribe at that price per volume for such an edition of the whole of your genuine remains in prose and verse. till some such collection is made, the 'gentlemen of wales' ought to be prohibited from wearing a leek; ay, and interdicted from toasted cheese also. your bards would have met with better usage if they had been scotchmen." sharon turner and sir walter scott also expressed a similar wish for the publication of the welsh manuscripts. the former took part in an attempt to effect it, through the instrumentality of a mr. owen, a welshman, but, we judge, by what southey says of him, imperfectly acquainted with english. southey's language is "william owen lent me three parts of the mabinogeon, delightfully translated into so welsh an idiom and syntax that such a translation is as instructive as an original." in another letter he adds, "let sharon make his language grammatical, but not alter their idiom in the slightest point." it is probable mr. owen did not proceed far in an undertaking which, so executed, could expect but little popular patronage. it was not till an individual should appear possessed of the requisite knowledge of the two languages, of enthusiasm sufficient for the task, and of pecuniary resources sufficient to be independent of the booksellers and of the reading public, that such a work could be confidently expected. such an individual has, since southey's day and scott's, appeared in the person of lady charlotte guest, an english lady united to a gentleman of property in wales, who, having acquired the language of the principality, and become enthusiastically fond of its literary treasures, has given them to the english reader, in a dress which the printer's and the engraver's arts have done their best to adorn. in four royal octavo volumes containing the welsh originals, the translation, and ample illustrations from french, german, and other contemporary and affiliated literature, the mabinogeon is spread before us. to the antiquarian and the student of language and ethnology an invaluable treasure, it yet can hardly in such a form win its way to popular acquaintance. we claim no other merit than that of bringing it to the knowledge of our readers, of abridging its details, of selecting its most attractive portions, and of faithfully preserving throughout the style in which lady guest has clothed her legends. for this service we hope that our readers will confess we have laid them under no light obligation. chapter i the britons the earliest inhabitants of britain are supposed to have been a branch of that great family known in history by the designation of celts. cambria, which is a frequent name for wales, is thought to be derived from cymri, the name which the welsh traditions apply to an immigrant people who entered the island from the adjacent continent. this name is thought to be identical with those of cimmerians and cimbri, under which the greek and roman historians describe a barbarous people, who spread themselves from the north of the euxine over the whole of northwestern europe. the origin of the names wales and welsh has been much canvassed. some writers make them a derivation from gael or gaul, which names are said to signify "woodlanders;" others observe that walsh, in the northern languages, signifies a stranger, and that the aboriginal britons were so called by those who at a later era invaded the island and possessed the greater part of it, the saxons and angles. the romans held britain from the invasion of julius caesar till their voluntary withdrawal from the island, a.d. ,--that is, about five hundred years. in that time there must have been a wide diffusion of their arts and institutions among the natives. the remains of roads, cities, and fortifications show that they did much to develop and improve the country, while those of their villas and castles prove that many of the settlers possessed wealth and taste for the ornamental arts. yet the roman sway was sustained chiefly by force, and never extended over the entire island. the northern portion, now scotland, remained independent, and the western portion, constituting wales and cornwall, was only nominally subjected. neither did the later invading hordes succeed in subduing the remoter sections of the island. for ages after the arrival of the saxons under hengist and horsa, a.d. , the whole western coast of britain was possessed by the aboriginal inhabitants, engaged in constant warfare with the invaders. it has, therefore, been a favorite boast of the people of wales and cornwall that the original british stock flourishes in its unmixed purity only among them. we see this notion flashing out in poetry occasionally, as when gray, in "the bard," prophetically describing queen elizabeth, who was of the tudor, a welsh race, says: "her eye proclaims her of the briton line;" and, contrasting the princes of the tudor with those of the norman race, he exclaims: "all hail, ye genuine kings, britannia's issue, hail!" the welsh language and literature the welsh language is one of the oldest in europe. it possesses poems the origin of which is referred with probability to the sixth century. the language of some of these is so antiquated that the best scholars differ about the interpretation of many passages; but, generally speaking, the body of poetry which the welsh possess, from the year downwards, is intelligible to those who are acquainted with the modern language. till within the last half-century these compositions remained buried in the libraries of colleges or of individuals, and so difficult of access that no successful attempt was made to give them to the world. this reproach was removed after ineffectual appeals to the patriotism of the gentry of wales, by owen jones, a furrier of london, who at his own expense collected and published the chief productions of welsh literature, under the title of the myvyrian archaeology of wales. in this task he was assisted by dr. owen and other welsh scholars. after the cessation of jones' exertions the old apathy returned, and continued till within a few years. dr. owen exerted himself to obtain support for the publication of the mabinogeon or prose tales of the welsh, but died without accomplishing his purpose, which has since been carried into execution by lady charlotte guest. the legends which fill the remainder of this volume are taken from this work, of which we have already spoken more fully in the introductory chapter to the first part. the welsh bards the authors to whom the oldest welsh poems are attributed are aneurin, who is supposed to have lived a.d. to , and taliesin, llywarch hen (llywarch the aged), and myrddin or merlin, who were a few years later. the authenticity of the poems which bear their names has been assailed, and it is still an open question how many and which of them are authentic, though it is hardly to be doubted that some are so. the poem of aneurin entitled the "gododin" bears very strong marks of authenticity. aneurin was one of the northern britons of strath-clyde, who have left to that part of the district they inhabited the name of cumberland, or land of the cymri. in this poem he laments the defeat of his countrymen by the saxons at the battle of cattraeth, in consequence of having partaken too freely of the mead before joining in combat. the bard himself and two of his fellow-warriors were all who escaped from the field. a portion of this poem has been translated by gray, of which the following is an extract: "to cattraeth's vale, in glittering row, twice two hundred warriors go; every warrior's manly neck chains of regal honor deck, wreathed in many a golden link; from the golden cup they drink nectar that the bees produce, or the grape's exalted juice. flushed with mirth and hope they burn, but none to cattraeth's vale return, save aeron brave, and conan strong, bursting through the bloody throng, and i, the meanest of them all, that live to weep, and sing their fall." the works of taliesin are of much more questionable authenticity. there is a story of the adventures of taliesin so strongly marked with mythical traits as to cast suspicion on the writings attributed to him. this story will be found in the subsequent pages. the triads the triads are a peculiar species of poetical composition, of which the welsh bards have left numerous examples. they are enumerations of a triad of persons, or events, or observations, strung together in one short sentence. this form of composition, originally invented, in all likelihood, to assist the memory, has been raised by the welsh to a degree of elegance of which it hardly at first sight appears susceptible. the triads are of all ages, some of them probably as old as anything in the language. short as they are individually, the collection in the myvyrian archaeology occupies more than one hundred and seventy pages of double columns. we will give some specimens, beginning with personal triads, and giving the first place to one of king arthur's own composition: "i have three heroes in battle: mael the tall, and llyr, with his army, and caradoc, the pillar of wales." "the three principal bards of the island of britain:-- merlin ambrose merlin the son of mprfyn, called also merlin the wild, and taliesin, the chief of the bards." "the three golden-tongued knights of the court of arthur:-- gawain, son of gwyar, drydvas, son of tryphin, and ehwlod, son of madag, ap uther." "the three honorable feasts of the island of britain:-- the feast of caswallaun, after repelling julius caesar from this isle; the feast of aurelius ambrosius, after he had conquered the saxons; and the feast of king arthur, at carleon upon usk." "guenever, the daughter of laodegan the giant, bad when little, worse when great." next follow some moral triads: "hast thou heard what dremhidydd sung, an ancient watchman on the castle walls? a refusal is better than a promise unperformed." "hast thou heard what llenleawg sung, the noble chief wearing the golden torques? the grave is better than a life of want." "hast thou heard what garselit sung, the irishman whom it is safe to follow? sin is bad, if long pursued." "hast thou heard what avaon sung, the son of taliesin, of the recording verse? the cheek will not conceal the anguish of the heart." "didst thou hear what llywarch sung, the intrepid and brave old man? greet kindly, though there be no acquaintance." chapter ii the lady of the fountain kynon's adventure king arthur was at caerleon upon usk; and one day he sat in his chamber, and with him were owain, the son of urien, and kynon, the son of clydno, and kay, the son of kyner, and guenever and her handmaidens at needlework by the window. in the centre of the chamher king arthur sat, upon a seat of green rushes, [footnote: the use of green rushes in apartments was by no means peculiar to the court of carleon upon usk. our ancestors had a great predilection for them, and they seem to have constituted an essential article, not only of comfort, but of luxury. the custom of strewing the floor with rushes is well known to have existed in england during the middle ages, and also in france.] over which was spread a covering of flame-covered satin, and a cushion of red satin was under his elbow. then arthur spoke. "if i thought you would not disparage me," said he, "i would sleep while i wait for my repast; and you can entertain one another with relating tales, and can obtain a flagon of mead and some meat from kay." and the king went to sleep. and kynon the son of clydno asked kay for that which arthur had promised them. "i too will have the good tale which he promised me," said kay. "nay," answered kynon; "fairer will it be for thee to fulfil arthur's behest in the first place, and then we will tell thee the best tale that we know." so kay went to the kitchen and to the mead-cellar, and returned, bearing a flagon of mead, and a golden goblet, and a handful of skewers, upon which were broiled collops of meat. then they ate the collops, and began to drink the mead. "now," said kay, "it is time for you to give me my story." "kynon," said owain, "do thou pay to kay the tale that is his due." "i will do so," answered kynon. "i was the only son of my mother and father, and i was exceedingly aspiring, and my daring was very great. i thought there was no enterprise in the world too mighty for me: and after i had achieved all the adventures that were in my own country, i equipped myself, and set forth to journey through deserts and distant regions. and at length it chanced that i came to the fairest valley in the world, wherein were trees all of equal growth; and a river ran through the valley, and a path was by the side of the river. and i followed the path until midday, and continued my journey along the remainder of the valley until the evening; and at the extremity of the plain i came to a large and lustrous castle, at the foot of which was a torrent. and i approached the castle, and there i beheld two youths with yellow curling hair, each with a frontlet of gold upon his head, and clad in a garment of yellow satin; and they had gold clasps upon their insteps. in the hand of each of them was an ivory bow, strung with the sinews of the stag, and their arrows and their shafts were of the bone of the whale, and were winged with peacock's feathers. the shafts also had golden heads. and they had daggers with blades of gold, and with hilts of the bone of the whale. and they were shooting at a mark. "and a little away from them i saw a man in the prime of life, with his beard newly shorn, clad in a robe and mantle of yellow satin, and round the top of his mantle was a band of gold lace. on his feet were shoes of variegated leather, [footnote: cordwal is the word in the original, and from the manner in which it is used it is evidently intended for the french cordouan or cordovan leather, which derived its name from cordova, where it was manufactured. from this comes also our english word cordwainer.] fastened by two bosses of gold. when i saw him i went towards him and saluted him; and such was his courtesy, that he no sooner received my greeting than he returned it. and he went with me towards the castle. now there were no dwellers in the castle, except those who were in one hall. and there i saw four and twenty damsels, embroidering satin at a window. and this i tell thee, kay, that the least fair of them was fairer than the fairest maid thou didst ever behold in the island of britain; and the least lovely of them was more lovely than guenever, the wife of arthur, when she appeared loveliest, at the feast of easter. they rose up at my coming, and six of them took my horse, and divested me of my armor, and six others took my arms and washed them in a vessel till they were perfectly bright. and the third six spread cloths upon the tables and prepared meat. and the fourth six took off my soiled garments and placed others upon me, namely, an under vest and a doublet of fine linen, and a robe and a surcoat, and a mantle of yellow satin, with a broad gold band upon the mantle. and they placed cushions both beneath and around me, with coverings of red linen, and i sat down. now the six maidens who had taken my horse unharnessed him as well as if they had been the best squires in the island of britain. "then behold they brought bowls of silver, wherein was water to wash and towels of linen, some green and some white; and i washed. and in a little while the man sat down at the table. and i sat next to him, and below me sat all the maidens, except those who waited on us. and the table was of silver, and the cloths upon the table were of linen. and no vessel was served upon the table that was not either of gold or of silver or of buffalo horn. and our meat was brought to us. and verily, kay, i saw there every sort of meat, and every sort of liquor that i ever saw elsewhere; but the meat and the liquor were better served there than i ever saw them in any other place. "until the repast was half over, neither the man nor any one of the damsels spoke a single word to me; but when the man perceived that it would be more agreeable for me to converse than to eat any more, he began to inquire of me who i was. then i told the man who i was and what was the cause of my journey, and said that i was seeking whether any one was superior to me, or whether i could gain mastery over all. the man looked upon me, and he smiled and said, 'if i did not fear to do thee a mischief, i would show thee that which thou seekest.' then i desired him to speak freely. and he said: 'sleep here to-night, and in the morning arise early, and take the road upwards through the valley, until thou readiest the wood. a little way within the wood thou wilt come to a large sheltered glade, with a mound in the centre. and thou wilt see a black man of great stature on the top of the mound. he has but one foot, and one eye in the middle of his forehead. he is the wood- ward of that wood. and thou wilt see a thousand wild animals grazing around him. inquire of him the way out of the glade, and he will reply to thee briefly, and will point out the road by which thou shalt find that which thou art in quest of.' "and long seemed that night to me. and the next morning i arose and equipped myself, and mounted my horse, and proceeded straight through the valley to the wood, and at length i arrived at the glade. and the black man was there, sitting upon the top of the mound; and i was three times more astonished at the number of wild animals that i beheld than the man had said i should be. then i inquired of him the way and he asked me roughly whither i would go. and when i had told him who i was and what i sought, 'take,' said he, 'that path that leads toward the head of the glade, and there thou wilt find an open space like to a large valley, and in the midst of it a tall tree. under this tree is a fountain, and by the side of the fountain a marble slab, and on the marble slab a silver bowl, attached by a chain of silver, that it may not be carried away. take, the bowl and throw a bowlful of water on the slab. and if thou dost not find trouble in that adventure, thou needest not seek it during the rest of thy life.' "so i journeyed on until i reached the summit of the steep. and there i found everything as the black man had described it to me. and i went up to the tree, and beneath it i saw the fountain, and by its side the marble slab, and the silver bowl fastened by the chain. then i took the bowl, and cast a bowlful of water upon the slab, and immediately i heard a mighty peal of thunder, so that heaven and earth seemed to tremble with its fury. and after the thunder came a, shower; and of a truth i tell thee, kay, that it was such a shower as neither man nor beast could endure and live. i turned my horse's flank toward the shower, and placed the beak of my shield over his head and neck, while i held the upper part of it over my own neck. and thus i withstood the shower. and presently the sky became clear, and with that, behold, the birds lighted upon the tree, and sang. and truly, kay, i never heard any melody equal to that, either before or since. and when i was most charmed with listening to the birds, lo! a chiding voice was heard of one approaching me and saying: 'o knight, what has brought thee hither? what evil have i done to thee that thou shouldst act towards me and my possessions as thou hast this day? dost thou not know that the shower to-day has left in my dominions neither man nor beast alive that was exposed to it?' and thereupon, behold, a knight on a black horse appeared, clothed in jet-black velvet, and with a tabard of black linen about him. and we charged each other, and, as the onset was furious, it was not long before i was overthrown. then the knight passed the shaft of his lance through the bridle-rein of my horse, and rode off with the two horses, leaving me where i was. and he did not even bestow so much notice upon me as to imprison me, nor did he despoil me of my arms. so i returned along the road by which i had come. and when i reached the glade where the black man was, i confess to thee, kay, it is a marvel that i did not melt down into a liquid pool, through the shame that i felt at the black man's derision. and that night i came to the same castle where i had spent the night preceding. and i was more agreeably entertained that night than i had been the night before. and i conversed freely with the inmates of the castle; and none of them alluded to my expedition to the fountain, neither did i mention it to any. and i remained there that night. when i arose on the morrow i found ready saddled a dark bay palfrey, with nostrils as red as scarlet. and after putting on my armor, and leaving there my blessing, i returned to my own court. and that horse i still possess, and he is in the stable yonder. and i declare that i would not part with him for the best palfrey in the island of britain. "now, of a truth, kay, no man ever before confessed to an adventure so much to his own discredit; and verily it seems strange to me that neither before nor since have i heard of any person who knew of this adventure, and that the subject of it should exist within king arthur's dominions without any other person lighting upon it." chapter iii the lady of the fountain (continued) owain's adventure [footnote: amongst all the characters of early british history none is the more interesting, or occupies more conspicuous place, than the hero of this tale. urien, his father, was prince of rheged, a district comprising the present cumberland and part of the adjacent country. his valor, and the consideration in which he was held, are a frequent theme of bardic song, and form the subject of several very spirited odes by taliesin. among the triads there is one relating to him; it is thus translated: "three knights of battle were in court of arthur cadwr, the earl of cornwall, launcelot du lac, and owain, the son of urien. and this was their characteristic--that they would not retreat from battle, neither for spear, nor for arrow, nor for sword. and arthur never had shame in battle the day he saw their faces there. and they were called the knights of battle."] "now," quoth owain, "would it not be well to go and endeavor to discover that place?" "by the hand of my friend," said kay, "often dost thou utter that with thy tongue which thou wouldest not make good with thy deeds." "in very truth," said guenever, "it were better thou wert hanged, kay, than to use such uncourteous speech towards a man like owain." "by the hand of my friend, good lady," said kay, "thy praise of owain is not greater than mine." with that arthur awoke, and asked if he had not been sleeping a little. "yes, lord," answered owain, "thou hast slept awhile." "is it time for us to go to meat?" "it is, lord," said owain. then the horn for washing was sounded, and the king and all his household sat down to eat. and when the meal was ended owain withdrew to his lodging, and made ready his horse and his arms. on the morrow with the dawn of day he put on his armor, and mounted his charger, and travelled through distant lands, and over desert mountains. and at length he arrived at the valley which kynon had described to him, and he was certain that it was the same that he sought. and journeying along the valley, by the side of the river, he followed its course till he came to the plain, and within sight of the castle. when he approached the castle he saw the youths shooting with their bows, in the place where kynon had seen them, and the yellow man, to whom the castle belonged, standing hard by. and no sooner had owain saluted the yellow man, than he was saluted by him in return. and he went forward towards the castle, and there he saw the chamber; and when he had entered the chamber, he beheld the maidens working at satin embroidery, in chains of gold. and their beauty and their comeliness seemed to owain far greater than kynon had represented to him. and they arose to wait upon owain, as they had done to kynon. and the meal which they set before him gave even more satisfaction to owain than it had done to kynon. about the middle of the repast the yellow man asked owain the object of his journey. and owain made it known to him, and said, "i am in quest of the knight who guards the fountain." upon this the yellow man smiled, and said that he was as loth to point out that adventure to him as he had been to kynon. however, he described the whole to owain, and they retired to rest. the next morning owain found his horse made ready for him by the damsels, and he set forward and came to the glade where the black man was. and the stature of the black man seemed more wonderful to owain than it had done to kynon; and owain asked of him his road, and he showed it to him. and owain followed the road till he came to the green tree; and he beheld the fountain, and the slab beside the fountain, with the bowl upon it. and owain took the bowl and threw a bowlful of water upon the slab. and, lo! the thunder was heard, and after the thunder came the shower, more violent than kynon had described, and after the shower the sky became bright. and immediately the birds came and settled upon the tree and sang. and when their song was most pleasing to owain he beheld a knight coming towards him through the valley; and he prepared to receive him, and encountered him violently. having broken both their lances, they drew their swords and fought blade to blade. then owain struck the knight a blow through his helmet, head-piece, and visor, and through the skin, and the flesh, and the bone, until it wounded the very brain. then the black knight felt that he had received a mortal wound, upon which he turned his horse's head and fled. and owain pursued him and followed close upon him, although he was not near enough to strike him with his sword. then owain descried a vast and resplendent castle; and they came to the castle gate. and the black knight was allowed to enter, and the portcullis was let fall upon owain; and it struck his horse behind the saddle, and cut him in two, and carried away the rowels of the spurs that were upon owains' heels. and the portcullis descended to the floor. and the rowels of the spurs and part of the horse were without, and owain with the other part of the horse remained between the two gates, and the inner gate was closed, so that owain could not go thence; and owain was in a perplexing situation. and while he was in this state, he could see through an aperture in the gate a street facing him, with a row of houses on each side. and he beheld a maiden, with yellow, curling hair, and a frontlet of gold upon her head; and she was clad in a dress of yellow satin, and on her feet were shoes of variegated leather. and she approached the gate, and desired that it should be opened. "heaven knows, lady," said owain, "it is no more possible for me to open to thee from hence, than it is for thee to set me free." and he told her his name, and who he was. "truly," said the damsel, "it is very sad that thou canst not be released; and every woman ought to succor thee, for i know there is no one more faithful in the service of ladies than thou. therefore," quoth she, "whatever is in my power to do for thy release, i will do it. take this ring and put it on thy finger, with the stone inside thy hand, and close thy hand upon the stone. and as long as thou concealest it, it will conceal thee. when they come forth to fetch thee, they will be much grieved that they cannot find thee. and i will await thee on the horseblock yonder, and thou wilt be able to see me, though i cannot see thee. therefore come and place thy hand upon my shoulder, that i may know that thou art near me. and by the way that i go hence do thou accompany me." then the maiden went away from owain, and he did all that she had told him. and the people of the castle came to seek owain to put him to death; and when they found nothing but the half of his horse, they were sorely grieved. and owain vanished from among them, and went to the maiden, and placed his hand upon her shoulder; whereupon she set off, and owain followed her, until they came to the door of a large and beautiful chamber, and the maiden opened it, and they went in. and owain looked around the chamber, and behold there was not a single nail in it that was not painted with gorgeous colors, and there was not a single panel that had not sundry images in gold portrayed upon it. the maiden kindled a fire, and took water in a silver bowl, and gave owain water to wash. then she placed before him a silver table, inlaid with gold; upon which was a cloth of yellow linen, and she brought him food. and, of a truth, owain never saw any kind of meat that was not there in abundance, but it was better cooked there than he had ever found it in any other place. and there was not one vessel from which he was served that was not of gold or of silver. and owain eat and drank until late in the afternoon, when lo! they heard a mighty clamor in the castle, and owain asked the maiden what it was. "they are administering extreme unction," said she, "to the nobleman who owns the castle." and she prepared a couch for owain which was meet for arthur himself, and owain went to sleep. and a little after daybreak he heard an exceeding loud clamor and wailing, and he asked the maiden what was the cause of it. "they are bearing to the church the body of the nobleman who owned the castle." and owain rose up, and clothed himself, and opened a window of the chamber, and looked towards the castle; and he could see neither the bounds nor the extent of the hosts that filled the streets. and they were fully armed; and a vast number of women were with them, both on horseback and on foot, and all the ecclesiastics in the city singing. in the midst of the throng he beheld the bier, over which was a veil of white linen; and wax tapers were burning beside and around it; and none that supported the bier was lower in rank than a powerful baron. never did owain see an assemblage so gorgeous with silk [footnote: before the sixth century all the silk used by europeans had been brought to them by the seres, the ancestors of the present boukharians, whence it derived its latin name of serica. in the silkworm was brought by two monks to constantinople, but the manufacture of silk was confined to the greek empire till the year , when roger, king of sicily, returning from a crusade, collected some manufacturers from athens and corinth, and established them at palermo, whence the trade was gradually disseminated over italy. the varieties of silk stuffs known at this time were velvet, satin (which was called samite), and taffety (called cendal or sendall), all of which were occasionally stitched with gold and silver.] and satin. and, following the train, he beheld a lady with yellow hair falling over her shoulders, and stained with blood; and about her a dress of yellow satin, which was torn. upon her feet were shoes of variegated leather. and it was a marvel that the ends of her fingers were not bruised from the violence with which she smote her hands together. truly she would have been the fairest lady owain ever saw, had she been in her usual guise. and her cry was louder than the shout of the men or the clamor of the trumpets. no sooner had he beheld the lady than he became inflamed with her love, so that it took entire possession of him. then he inquired of the maiden who the lady was. "heaven knows," replied the maiden, "she is the fairest and the most chaste, and the most liberal, and the most noble of women. she is my mistress, and she is called the countess of the fountain, the wife of him whom thou didst slay yesterday." "verily," said owain, "she is the woman that i love best." "verily," said the maiden, "she shall also love thee, not a little." then the maiden prepared a repast for owain, and truly he thought he had never before so good a meal, nor was he ever so well served. then she left him, and went towards the castle. when she came there, she found nothing but mourning and sorrow; and the countess in her chamber could not bear the sight of any one through grief. luned, for that was the name of the maiden, saluted her, but the countess answered her not. and the maiden bent down towards her, and said, "what aileth thee, that thou answereth no one to-day?" "luned," said the countess, "what change hath befallen thee, that thou hast not come to visit me in my grief. it was wrong in thee, and i so sorely afflicted." "truly," said luned, "i thought thy good sense was greater than i find it to be. is it well for thee to mourn after that good man, or for anything else that thou canst not have?" "i declare to heaven," said the countess, "that in the whole world there is not a man equal to him." "not so," said luned, "for an ugly man would be as good as or better than he." "i declare to heaven," said the countess, "that were it not repugnant to me to put to death one whom i have brought up, i would have thee executed for making such a comparison to me. as it is, i will banish thee." "i am glad," said luned, "that thou hast no other cause to do so than that i would have been of service to thee, where thou didst not know what was to thine advantage. henceforth, evil betide whichever of us shall make the first advance towards reconciliation to the other, whether i should seek an invitation from thee, or thou of thine own accord should send to invite." with that luned went forth; and the countess arose and followed her to the door of the chamber, and began coughing loudly. and when luned looked back, the countess beckoned to her, and she returned to the countess. "in truth," said the countess, "evil is thy disposition; but if thou knowest what is to my advantage, declare it to me." "i will do so," said she. "thou knowest that, except by warfare and arms, it is impossible for thee to preserve thy possessions; delay not, therefore, to seek some one who can defend them." "and how can i do that?" said the countess. "i will tell thee," said luned; "unless thou canst defend the fountain, thou canst not maintain thy dominions; and no one can defend the fountain except it be a knight of arthur's household. i will go to arthur's court, and ill betide me if i return not thence with a warrior who can guard the fountain as well as, or even better than, he who defended it formerly." "that will be hard to perform," said the countess. "go, however, and make proof of that which thou hast promised," luned set out under the pretence of going to arthur's court; but she went back to the mansion where she had left owain, and she tarried there as long as it might have taken her to travel to the court of king arthur and back. and at the end of that time she apparelled herself, and went to visit the countess. and the countess was much rejoiced when she saw her, and inquired what news she brought from the court. "i bring thee the best of news," said luned, "for i have compassed the object of my mission. when wilt thou that i should present to thee the chieftain who has come with me hither?" "bring him here to visit me to-morrow," said the countess, "and i will cause the town to be assembled by that time." and luned returned home. and the next day at noon, owain arrayed himself in a coat and a surcoat, and a mantle of yellow satin, upon which was a broad band of gold lace; and on his feet were high shoes of variegated leather, which were fastened by golden clasps, in the form of lions. and they proceeded to the chamber of the countess. right glad was the countess of their coming. and she gazed steadfastly upon owain, and said, "luned, this knight has not the look of a traveller." "what harm is there in that, lady?" said luned. "i am certain," said the countess, "that no other man than this chased the soul from the body of my lord." "so much the better for thee, lady," said luned, "for had he not been stronger than thy lord, he could not have deprived him of life. there is no remedy for that which is past, be it as it may." "go back to thine abode," said the countess, "and i will take counsel." the next day the countess caused all her subjects to assemble, and showed them that her earldom was left defenceless, and that it could not be protected but with horse and arms, and military skill. "therefore," said she, "this is what i offer for your choice: either let one of you take me, or give your consent for me to take a husband from elsewhere, to defend my dominions." so they came to the determination that it was better that she should have permission to marry some one from elsewhere; and thereupon she sent for the bishops and archbishops, to celebrate her nuptials with owain. and the men of the earldom did owain homage. and owain defended the fountain with lance and sword. and this is the manner in which he defended it. whensoever a knight came there, he overthrew him, and sold him for his full worth. and what he thus gained he divided among his barons and his knights, and no man in the whole world could be more beloved than he was by his subjects. and it was thus for the space of three years. [footnote: there exists an ancient poem, printed among those of taliesin, called the "elegy of owain ap urien," and containing several very beautiful and spirited passages it commences "the soul of owain ap urien, may its lord consider its exigencies' reged's chief the green turf covers." in the course of this elegy the bard, alluding to the incessant warfare with which this chieftain harassed his saxon foes, exclaims, "could england sleep with the light upon her eyes'"] chapter iv the lady of the fountain (continued) gawain's adventure it befell that, as gawain went forth one day with king arthur, he perceived him to be very sad and sorrowful. and gawain was much grieved to see arthur in his state, and he questioned him, saying, "o my lord, what has befallen thee?" "in sooth, gawain," said arthur, "i am grieved concerning owain, whom i have lost these three years; and i shall certainly die if the fourth year pass without my seeing him. now i am sure that it is through the tale which kynon, the son of clydno, related, that i have lost owain." "there is no need for thee," said gawain, "to summon to arms thy whole dominions on this account, for thou thyself, and the men of thy household, will be able to avenge owain if he be slain or to set him free if he be in prison; and, if alive, to bring him back with thee." and it was settled according to what gawain had said. then arthur and the men of his household prepared to go and seek owain. and kynon, the son of clydno, acted as their guide. and arthur came to the castle where kynon had been before. and when he came there, the youths were shooting in the same place, and the yellow man was standing hard by. when the yellow man saw arthur, he greeted him, and invited him to the castle. and arthur accepted his invitation, and they entered the castle together. and great as was the number of his retinue, their presence was scarcely observed in the castle, so vast was its extent. and the maidens rose up to wait on them. and the service of the maidens appeared to them all to excel any attendance they had ever met with; and even the pages, who had charge of the horses, were no worse served that night than arthur himself would have been in his own palace. the next morning arthur set out thence, with kynon for his guide, and came to the place where the black man was. and the stature of the black man was more surprising to arthur than it had been represented to him. and they came to the top of the wooded steep, and traversed the valley, till they reached the green tree, where they saw the fountain and the bowl and the slab. and upon that kay came to arthur, and spoke to him. "my lord," said he, "i know the meaning of all this, and my request is that thou wilt permit me to throw the water on the slab, and to receive the first adventure that may befall." and arthur gave him leave. then kay threw a bowlful of water upon the slab, and immediately there came the thunder, and after the thunder the shower. and such a thunder-storm they had never known before. after the shower had ceased, the sky became clear, and on looking at the tree, they beheld it completely leafless. then the birds descended upon the tree. and the song of the birds was far sweeter than any strain they had ever heard before. then they beheld a knight, on a coal- black horse, clothed in black satin, coming rapidly towards them. and kay met him and encountered him, and it was not long before kay was overthrown. and the knight withdrew. and arthur and his host encamped for the night. and when they arose in the morning, they perceived the signal of combat upon the lance of the knight. then, one by one, all the household of arthur went forth to combat the knight, until there was not one that was not overthrown by him, except arthur and gawain. and arthur armed himself to encounter the knight. "o my lord," said gawain, "permit me to fight with him first." and arthur permitted him. and he went forth to meet the knight, having over himself and his horse a satin robe of honor, which had been sent him by the daughter of the earl of rhangyr, and in this dress he was not known by any of the host. and they charged each other, and fought all that day until the evening. and neither of them was able to unhorse the other. and so it was the next day; they broke their lances in the shock, but neither of them could obtain the mastery. and the third day they fought with exceeding strong lances. and they were incensed with rage, and fought furiously, even until noon. and they gave each other such a shock that the girths of their horses were broken, so that they fell over their horses' cruppers to the ground. and they rose up speedily and drew their swords, and resumed the combat. and all they that witnessed their encounter felt assured that they had never before seen two men so valiant or so powerful. and had it been midnight, it would have been light, from the fire that flashed from their weapons. and the knight gave gawain a blow that turned his helmet from off his face, so that the knight saw that it was gawain. then owain said, "my lord gawain, i did not know thee for my cousin, owing to the robe of honor that enveloped thee; take my sword and my arms." said gawain, "thou, owain, art the victor; take thou my sword." and with that arthur saw that they were conversing, and advanced toward them. "my lord arthur," said gawain, "here is owain who has vanquished me, and will not take my arms." "my lord," said owain, "it is he that has vanquished me, and he will not take my sword." "give me your swords," said arthur, "and then neither of you has vanquished the other." then owain put his arms around arthur's neck, and they embraced. and all the host hurried forward to see owain, and to embrace him. and there was nigh being a loss of life, so great was the press. and they retired that night, and the next day arthur prepared to depart. "my lord," said owain, "this is not well of thee. for i have been absent from thee these three years, and during all that time, up to this very day, i have been preparing a banquet for thee, knowing that thou wouldst come to seek me. tarry with me, therefore, until thou and thy attendants have recovered the fatigues of the journey, and have been anointed." and they all proceeded to the castle of the countess of the fountain, and the banquet which had been three years preparing was consumed in three months. never had they a more delicious or agreeable banquet. and arthur prepared to depart. then he sent an embassy to the countess to beseech her to permit owain to go with him, for the space of three months, that he might show him to the nobles and the fair dames of the island of britain. and the countess gave her consent, although it was very painful to her. so owain came with arthur to the island of britain. and when he was once more amongst his kindred and friends, he remained three years, instead of three months, with them. the adventure of the lion and as owain one day sat at meat, in the city of caerleon upon usk, behold a damsel entered the hall, upon a bay horse, with a curling mane, and covered with foam; and the bridle, and as much as was seen of the saddle, were of gold. and the damsel was arrayed in a dress of yellow satin. and she came up to owain, and took the ring from off his hand. "thus," said she, "shall be treated the deceiver, the traitor, the faithless, the disgraced, and the beardless." and she turned her horse's head and departed. [footnote: the custom of riding into a hall while the lord and his guests sat at meat might be illustrated by numerous passages of ancient romance and history. but a quotation from chaucer's beautiful and half-told tale of "cambuscan" is sufficient: "and so befell that after the thridde cours, while that this king sat thus in his nobley, herking his minstralles thir thinges play, beforne him at his bord deliciously, in at the halle door all sodenly ther came a knight upon a stede of bras, and in his hond a brod mirrour of glas; upon his thombe he had of gold a ring, and by his side a naked sword hanging; and up he rideth to the highe bord. in all the halle ne was ther spoke a word, for meryaille of this knight; him to behold full besily they waiten, young and old."] then his adventure came to owain's remembrance, and he was sorrowful. and having finished eating, he went to his own abode, and made preparations that night. and the next day he arose, but did not go to the court, nor did he return to the countess of the fountain, but wandered to the distant parts of the earth and to uncultivated mountains. and he remained there until all his apparel was worn out, and his body was wasted away, and his hair was grown long. and he went about with the wild beasts, and fed with them, until they became familiar with him. but at length he became so weak that he could no longer bear them company. then he descended from the mountains to the valley, and came to a park, that was the fairest in the world, and belonged to a charitable lady. one day the lady and her attendants went forth to walk by a lake that was in the middle of the park. and they saw the form of a man, lying as if dead. and they were terrified. nevertheless they went near him, and touched him, and they saw that there was life in him. and the lady returned to the castle, and took a flask full of precious ointment and gave it to one of her maidens. "go with this," said she, "and take with thee yonder horse, and clothing, and place them near the man we saw just now; and anoint him with this balsam near his heart; and if there is life in him, he will revive, through the efficiency of this balsam. then watch what he will do." and the maiden departed from her, and went and poured of the balsam upon owain, and left the horse and the garments hard by, and went a little way off and hid herself to watch him. in a short time, she saw him begin to move; and he rose up, and looked at his person, and became ashamed of the unseemliness of his appearance. then he perceived the horse and the garments that were near him. and he clothed himself, and with difficulty mounted the horse. then the damsel discovered herself to him, and saluted him. and he and the maiden proceeded to the castle, and the maiden conducted him to a pleasant chamber, and kindled a fire, and left him. and he stayed at the castle three months, till he was restored to his former guise, and became even more comely than he had ever been before. and owain rendered signal service to the lady, in a controversy with a powerful neighbor, so that he made ample requital to her for her hospitality; and he took his departure. and as he journeyed he heard a loud yelling in a wood. and it was repeated a second and a third time. and owain went towards the spot, and beheld a huge craggy mound, in the middle of the wood, on the side of which was a gray rock. and there was a cleft in the rock, and a serpent was within the cleft. and near the rock stood a black lion, and every time the lion sought to go thence the serpent darted towards him to attack him. and owain unsheathed his sword, and drew near to the rock; and as the serpent sprung out he struck him with his sword and cut him in two. and he dried his sword, and went on his way as before. but behold the lion followed him, and played about him, as though it had been a greyhound that he had reared. they proceeded thus throughout the day, until the evening. and when it was time for owain to take his rest he dismounted, and turned his horse loose in a flat and wooded meadow. and he struck fire, and when the fire was kindled, the lion brought him fuel enough to last for three nights. and the lion disappeared. and presently the lion returned, bearing a fine large roebuck. and he threw it down before owain, who went towards the fire with it. and owain took the roebuck, and skinned it, and placed collops of its flesh upon skewers round the fire. the rest of the buck he gave to the lion to devour. while he was so employed, he heard a deep groan near him, and a second, and a third. and the place whence the groans proceeded was a cave in the rock; and owain went near, and called out to know who it was that groaned so piteously. and a voice answered, "i am luned, the hand-maiden of the countess of the fountain." "and what dost thou here?" said he. "i am imprisoned," said she, "on account of the knight who came from arthur's court, and married the countess. and he staid a short time with her, but he afterwards departed for the court of arthur, and has not returned since. and two of the countess's pages traduced him, and called him a deceiver. and because i said i would vouch for it he would come before long and maintain his cause against both of them, they imprisoned me in this cave, and said that i should be put to death, unless he came to deliver me, by a certain day; and that is no further off than to-morrow, and i have no one to send to seek him for me. his name is owain, the son of urien." "and art thou certain that if that knight knew all this, he would come to thy rescue?" "i am most certain of it," said she. when the collops were cooked, owain divided them into two parts, between himself and the maiden, and then owain laid himself down to sleep; and never did sentinel keep stricter watch over his lord than the lion that night over owain. and the next day there came the two pages with a great troop of attendants to take luned from her cell, and put her to death. and owain asked them what charge they had against her. and they told him of the compact that was between them; as the maiden had done the night before. "and," said they, "owain has failed her, therefore we are taking her to be burnt." "truly," said owain, "he is a good knight; and if he knew that the maiden was in such peril, i marvel that he came not to her rescue. but if you will accept me in his stead, i will do battle with you." "we will," said the youth. and they attacked owain, and he was hard beset by them. and with that, the lion came to owain's assistance, and they two got the better of the young men and they said to him, "chieftain, it was not agreed that we should fight save with thyself alone, and it is harder for us to contend with yonder animal than with thee." and owain put the lion in the place where luned had been imprisoned, and blocked up the door with stones. and he went to fight with the young men as before. but owain had not his usual strength, and the two youths pressed hard upon him. and the lion roared incessantly at seeing owain in trouble. and he brust through the wall, until he found a way out, and rushed upon the young men and instantly slew them. so luned was saved from being burned. then owain returned with luned to the castle of the lady of the fountain. and when he went thence, he took the countess with him to arthur's court, and she was his wife as long as she lived. chapter v geraint, the son of erbin arthur was accustomed to hold his court at caerleon upon usk. and there he held it seven easters and five christmases. and once upon a time he held his court there at whitsuntide. for caerleon was the place most easy of access in his dominions, both by sea and by land. and there were assembled nine crowned kings, who were his tributaries, and likewise earls and barons. for they were his invited guests at all the high festivals, unless they were prevented by any great hinderatice. and when he was at caerleon holding his court, thirteen churches were set apart for mass. and thus they were appointed: one church for arthur and his kings, and his guests; and the second for guenever and her ladies; and the third for the steward of the household and the suitors; and the fourth for the franks and the other officers; and the other nine churches were for the nine masters of the household, and chiefly for gawain, for he, from the eminence of his warlike fame, and from the nobleness of his birth, was the most exalted of the nine. and there was no other arrangement respecting the churches than that which we have here mentioned. and on whit-tuesday, as the king sat at the banquet, lo, there entered a tall, fair-headed youth, clad in a coat and surcoat of satin, and a golden-hilted sword about his neck, and low shoes of leather upon his feet. and he came and stood before arthur. "hail to thee, lord," said he. "heaven prosper thee," he answered, "and be thou welcome. dost thou bring any new tidings?" "i do, lord," he said. "i am one of thy foresters, lord, in the forest of dean, and my name is madoc, son of turgadarn. in the forest i saw a stag, the like of which beheld i never yet." "what is there about him," asked arthur, "that thou never yet didst see his like?" "he is of pure white, lord, and he does not herd with any other animal, through stateliness and pride, so royal is his bearing. and i come to seek thy counsel, lord, and to know thy will concerning him." "it seems best to me," said arthur, "to go and hunt him to-morrow at break of day, and to cause general notice thereof to be given to-night, in all quarters of the court." "for arthur on the whitsuntide before held court at old caerleon upon usk. there on a day, he sitting high in hall, before him came a forester of dean, wet from the woods, with notice of a hart taller than all his fellows, milky-white, first seen that day: these things he told the king. then the good king gave order to let blow his horns for hunting on the morrow morn." --enid. and arryfuerys was arthur's chief huntsman, and arelivri his chief page. and all received notice; and thus it was arranged. then guenever said to arthur, "wilt thou permit me, lord, to go to-morrow to see and hear the hunt of the stag of which the young man spoke?" "i will gladly," said arthur. and gawain said to arthur, "lord, if it seem well to thee, permit that into whose hunt soever the stag shall come, that one, be he a knight or one on foot, may cut off his head, and give it to whom he pleases, whether to his own lady-love, or to the lady of his friend." "i grant it gladly," said arthur, "and let the steward of the household be chastised, if all things are not ready to-morrow for the chase." and they passed the night with songs, and diversions, and discourse, and ample entertainment. and when it was time for them all to go to sleep, they went. and when the next day came, they arose. and arthur called the attendants who guarded his couch. and there were four pages whose names were cadyrnerth, the son of gandwy, and ambreu, the son of bedwor and amhar, the son of arthur and goreu, the son of custennin. and these men came to arthur and saluted him, and arrayed him in his garments. and arthur wondered that guenever did not awake, and the attendants wished to awaken her. "disturb her not," said arthur, "for she had rather sleep than go to see the hunting." then arthur went forth, and he heard two horns sounding, one from near the lodging of the chief huntsman, and the other from near that of the chief page. and the whole assembly of the multitudes came to arthur, and they took the road to the forest. and after arthur had gone forth from the palace, guenever awoke, and called to her maidens, and apparalled herself. "maidens," said she, "i had leave last night to go and see the hunt. go one of you to the stable, and order hither a horse such as a woman may ride." and one of them went, and she found but two horses in the stable; and guenever and one of her maidens mounted them, and went through the usk, and followed the track of the men and the horses. and as they rode thus, they heard a loud and rushing sound; and they looked behind them, and beheld a knight upon a hunter foal of mighty size. and the rider was a fairhaired youth, bare-legged, and of princely mien; and a golden-hilted sword was at his side, and a robe and a surcoat of satin were upon him, and two low shoes of leather upon his feet; and around him was a scarf of blue purple, at each corner of which was a golden apple. "for prince geraint, late also, wearing neither hunting-dress nor weapon, save a golden-hilted brand, came quickly flashing through the shallow ford." --enid. and his horse stepped stately, and swift, and proud; and he overtook guenever, and saluted her. "heaven prosper thee, geraint," said she; "and why didst thou not go with thy lord to hunt?" "because i knew not when he went," said he. "i marvel too," said she, "how he could go, unknown to me. but thou, o young man, art the most agreeable companion i could have in the whole kingdom; and it may be i shall be more amused with the hunting than they; for we shall hear the horns when they sound and we shall hear the dogs when they are let loose and begin to cry." so they went to the edge of the forest, and there they stood. "from this place," said she, "we shall hear when the dogs are let loose." and thereupon they heard a loud noise; and they looked towards the spot whence it came, and they beheld a dwarf riding upon a horse, stately and foaming and prancing and strong and spirited. and in the hand of the dwarf was a whip. and near the dwarf they saw a lady upon a beautiful white horse, of steady and stately pace; and she was clothed in a garment of gold brocade. and near her was a knight upon a war-horse of large size, with heavy and bright armor both upon himself and upon his horse. and truly they never before saw a knight, or a horse, or armor, of such remarkable size. "geraint," said guenever, "knowest thou the name of that tall knight yonder?" "i know him not," said he, "and the strange armor that he wears prevents my either seeing his face or his features." "go, maiden," said guenever, "and ask the dwarf who that knight is." then the maiden went up to the dwarf; and she inquired of the dwarf who the knight was. "i will not tell thee," he answered. "since thou art so churlish," said she, "i will ask him, himself." "thou shalt not ask him, by my faith," said he. "wherefore not?" said she. "because thou art not of honor sufficient to befit thee to speak to my lord." then the maiden turned her horse's head towards the knight, upon which the dwarf struck her with the whip that was in his hand across the face and the eyes, so that the blood flowed forth. and the maiden returned to guenever, complaining of the hurt she had received. "very rudely has the dwarf treated thee," said geraint, and he put his hand upon the hilt of his sword. but he took counsel with himself, and considered that it would be no vengeance for him to slay the dwarf, and to be attacked unarmed by the armed knight; so he refrained. "lady," said he, "i will follow him, with thy permission, and at last he will come to some inhabited place, where i may have arms, either as a loan or for a pledge, so that i may encounter the knight." "go," said she, "and do not attack him until thou hast good arms; and i shall be very anxious concerning thee, until i hear tidings of thee." "if i am alive," said he, "thou shalt hear tidings of me by to-morrow afternoon;" and with that he departed. and the road they took was below the palace of caerleon, and across the ford of the usk; and they went along a fair and even and lofty ridge of ground, until they came to a town, and at the extremity of the town they saw a fortress and a castle. and as the knight passed through the town all the people arose and saluted him, and bade him welcome. and when geraint came into the town, he looked at every house to see if he knew any of those whom he saw. but he knew none, and none knew him, to do him the kindness to let him have arms, either as a loan or for a pledge. and every house he saw was full of men, and arms, and horses. and they were polishing shields, and burnishing swords, and washing armor, and shoeing horses. and the knight and the lady and the dwarf rode up to the castle, that was in the town, and every one was glad in the castle. and from the battlements and the gates they risked their necks, through their eagerness to greet them, and to show their joy. geraint stood there to see whether the knight would remain in the castle; and when he was certain that he would do so, he looked around him. and at a little distance from the town he saw an old palace in ruins, wherein was a hall that was falling to decay. "and high above a piece of turret-stair, worn by the feet that now were silent, wound bare to the sun" --enid. and as he knew not any one in the town, he went towards the old palace. and when he came near to the palace, he saw a hoary-headed man, standing by it, in tattered garments. and geraint gazed steadfastly upon him. then the hoary-headed man said to him, "young man, wherefore art thou thoughtful?" "i am thoughtful," said he, "because i know not where to pass the night." "wilt thou come forward this way, chieftain," said he, "and thou shalt have of the best that can be procured for thee." so geraint went forward. and the hoary-headed man led the way into the hall. and in the hall he dismounted, and he left there his horse. then he went on to the upper chamber with the hoary-headed man. and in the chamber he beheld an old woman, sitting on a cushion, with old, worn-out garments upon her; yet it seemed to him that she must have been comely when in the bloom of youth. and beside her was a maiden, upon whom were a vest and a veil that were old and beginning to be worn out. and truly he never saw a maiden more full of comeliness and grace and beauty than she. and the hoary- headed man said to the maiden, "there is no attendant for the horse of this youth but thyself." "i will render the best service i am able," said she, "both to him and to his horse." and the maiden disarrayed the youth, and then she furnished his horse with straw and corn; and then she returned to the chamber. and the hoary-headed man said to the maiden, "go to the town and bring hither the best that thou canst find, both of food and of liquor." "i will gladly, lord," said she. and to the town went the maiden. and they conversed together while the maiden was at the town. and, behold, the maiden came back, and a youth with her, bearing on his back a costrel full of good purchased mead, and a quarter of a young bullock. and in the hands of the maiden was a quantity of white bread, and she had some manchet bread in her veil, and she came into the chamber. "i would not obtain better than this," said she, "nor with better should i have been trusted." "it is good enough," said geraint. and they caused the meat to be boiled; and when their food was ready, they sat down. and it was in this wise. geraint sat between the hoary-headed man and his wife, and the maiden served them. and they ate and drank. and when they had finished eating, geraint talked with the hoary- headed man, and he asked him in the first place to whom belonged the palace that he was in. "truly," said he, "it was i that built it, and to me also belonged the city and the castle which thou sawest." "alas!" said geraint, "how is it that thou hast lost them now?" "i lost a great earldom as well as these," said he, "and this is how i lost them. i had a nephew, the son of my brother, and i took care of his possessions; but he was impatient to enter upon them, so he made war upon me, and wrested from me not only his own, but also my estates, except this castle." "good sir," said geraint, "wilt thou tell me wherefore came the knight and the lady and the dwarf just now into the town, and what is the preparation which i saw, and the putting of arms in order?" "i will do so," said he. "the preparations are for the game that is to be held to-morrow by the young earl, which will be on this wise. in the midst of a meadow which is here, two forks will be set up, and upon the two forks a silver rod, and upon the silver rod a sparrow-hawk, and for the sparrow-hawk there will be a tournament. and to the tournament will go all the array thou didst see in the city, of men and of horses and of arms. and with each man will go the lady he loves best; and no man can joust for the sparrow-hawk, except the lady he loves best be with him. and the knight that thou sawest has gained the sparrow-hawk these two years; and if he gains it the third year, he will be called the knight of the sparrow-hawk from that time forth." "sir," said geraint, "what is thy counsel to me concerning this knight, on account of the insult which the maiden of guenever received from the dwarf?" and geraint told the hoary-headed man what the insult was that the maiden had received. "it is not easy to counsel thee, inasmuch as thou hast neither dame nor maiden belonging to thee, for whom thou canst joust. yet i have arms here, which thou couldst have, and there is my horse also, if he seem to thee better than thine own." "ah, sir," said he, "heaven reward thee! but my own horse to which i am accustomed, together with thine arms, will suffice me. and if, when the appointed time shall come to-morrow thou wilt permit me, sir, to challenge for yonder maiden that is thy daughter, i will engage, if i escape from the tournament, to love the maiden as long as i live." "gladly will i permit thee," said the hoary-headed man; "and since thou dost thus resolve, it is necessary that thy horse and arms should be ready to-morrow at break of day. for then the knight of the sparrow-hawk will make proclamation, and ask the lady he loves best to take the sparrow-hawk; and if any deny it to her, by force will he defend her claim. and therefore," said the hoary-headed man, "it is needful for thee to be there at daybreak, and we three will be with thee." and thus was it settled. and at night they went to sleep. and before the dawn they arose and arrayed themselves; and by the time that it was day, they were all four in the meadow. and there was the knight of the sparrow- hawk making the proclamation, and asking his lady-love to take the sparrow-hawk. "take it not," said geraint, "for here is a maiden who is fairer, and more noble, and more comely, and who has a better claim to it than thou." then said the knight, "if thou maintainest the sparrow-hawk to be due to her, come forward and do battle with me." and geraint went forward to the top of the meadow, having upon himself and upon his horse armor which was heavy and rusty, and of uncouth shape. then they encountered each other, and they broke a set of lances; and they broke a second set, and a third. and when the earl and his company saw the knight of the sparrow-hawk gaining the mastery, there was shouting and joy and mirth amongst them; and the hoary-headed man and his wife and his daughter were sorrowful. and the hoary-headed man served geraint with lances as often as he broke them, and the dwarf served the knight of the sparrow-hawk. then the hoary-headed man said to geraint, "o chieftain, since no other will hold with thee, behold, here is the lance which was in my hand on the day when i received the honor of knighthood, and from that time to this i never broke it, and it has an excellent point." then geraint took the lance, thanking the hoary-headed man. and thereupon the dwarf also brought a lance to his lord. "behold, here is a lance for thee, not less good than his," said the dwarf. "and bethink thee that no knight ever withstood thee so long as this one has done." "i declare to heaven," said geraint, "that unless death takes me quickly hence, he shall fare never the better for thy service." and geraint pricked his horse towards him from afar, and, warning him, he rushed upon him, and gave him a blow so severe, and furious, and fierce, upon the face of his shield, that he cleft it in two, and broke his armor, and burst his girths, so that both he and his saddle were borne to the ground over the horse's crupper. and geraint dismounted quickly. and he was wroth, and he drew his sword, and rushed fiercely upon him. then the knight also arose, and drew his sword against geraint. and they fought on foot with their swords until their arms struck sparks of fire like stars from one another; and thus they continued fighting until the blood and sweat obscured the light from their eyes. at length geraint called to him all his strength, and struck the knight upon the crown of his head, so that he broke all his head-armor, and cut through all the flesh and the skin, even to the skull, until he wounded the bone. then the knight fell upon his knees, and cast his sword from his hand, and besought mercy from geraint. "of a truth," said he, "i relinquish my overdaring and my pride, and crave thy mercy; and unless i have time to commit myself to heaven for my sins, and to talk with a priest, thy mercy will avail me little." "i will grant thee grace upon this condition," said geraint, "that thou go to guenever, the wife of arthur, to do her satisfaction for the insult which her maiden received from thy dwarf. dismount not from the time thou goest hence until thou comest into the presence of guenever, to make her what atonement shall be adjudged at the court of arthur." "this will i do gladly; and who art thou?" "i am geraint, the son of erbin; and declare thou also who thou art." "i am edeym, the son of nudd." then he threw himself upon his horse, and went forward to arthur's court; and the lady he loved best went before him, and the dwarf, with much lamentation. then came the young earl and his hosts to geraint, and saluted him, and bade him to his castle. "i may not go," said geraint; "but where i was last night, there will i be to-night also." "since thou wilt none of my inviting, thou shalt have abundance of all that i can command for thee; and i will order ointment for thee, to recover thee from thy fatigues, and from the weariness that is upon thee." "heaven reward thee," said geraint, "and i will go to my lodging." and thus went geraint and earl ynywl, and his wife and his daughter. and when they reached the old mansion, the household servants and attendants of the young earl had arrived, and had arranged all the apartments, dressing them with straw and with fire; and in a short time the ointment was ready, and geraint came there, and they washed his head. then came the young earl, with forty honorable knights from among his attendants, and those who were bidden to the tournament. and geraint came from the anointing. and the earl asked him to go to the hall to eat. "where is the earl ynywl," said geraint, "and his wife and his daughter?" "they are in the chamber yonder," said the earl's chamberlain, "arraying themselves in garments which the earl has caused to be brought for them." "let not the damsel array herself," said he, "except in her vest and her veil, until she come to the court of arthur, to be clad by guenever in such garments as she may choose." so the maiden did not array herself. then they all entered the hall, and they washed, and sat down to meat. and thus were they seated. on one side of geraint sat the young earl, and earl ynywl beyond him, and on the other side of geraint was the maiden and her mother. and after these all sat according to their precedence in honor. and they ate. and they were served abundantly, and they received a profusion of divers kinds of gifts. then they conversed together. and the young earl invited geraint to visit him next day. "i will not, by heaven," said geraint. "to the court of arthur will i go with this maiden to-morrow. and it is enough for me, as long as earl ynywl is in poverty and trouble; and i go chiefly to seek to add to his maintenance." "ah, chieftain," said the young earl, "it is not by my fault that earl ynywl is without his possessions." "by my faith," said geraint, "he shall not remain without them, unless death quickly takes me hence." "o chieftain," said he, "with regard to the disagreement between me and ynywl, i will gladly abide by thy counsel, and agree to what thou mayest judge right between us." "i but ask thee," said geraint, "to restore to him what is his, and what he should have received from the time he lost his possessions even until this day." "that will i do, gladly, for thee," answered he. "then," said geraint, "whosoever is here who owes homage to ynywl, let him come forward, and perform it on the spot." and all the men did so; and by that treaty they abided. and his castle and his town, and all his possessions, were restored to ynywl. and he received back all that he had lost, even to the smallest jewel. then spoke earl ynywl to geraint. "chieftain," said he, "behold the maiden for whom thou didst challenge at the tournament; i bestow her upon thee." "she shall go with me," said geraint, "to the court of arthur, and arthur and guenever, they shall dispose of her as they will." and the next day they proceeded to arthur's court. so far concerning geraint. chapter vi geraint, the son of erbin (continued) now this is how arthur hunted the stag. the men and the dogs were divided into hunting-parties, and the dogs were let loose upon the stag. and the last dog that was let loose was the favorite dog of arthur; cavall was his name. and he left all the other dogs behind him and turned the stag. and at the second turn the stag came toward the hunting-party of arthur. and arthur set upon him; and before he could be slain by any other, arthur cut off his head. then they sounded the death-horn for slaying and they all gathered round. they came kadyriath to arthur and spoke to him. "lord," said he, "behold, yonder is guenever, and none with her save only one maiden." "command gildas, the son of caw, and all the scholars of the court," said arthur, "to attend guenever to the palace." and they did so. then they all set forth, holding converse together concerning the head of the stag, to whom it should be given. one wished that it should be given to the lady best beloved by him, and another to the lady whom he loved best. and so they came to the palace. and when arthur and guenever heard them disputing about the head of the stag, guenever said to arthur: "my lord, this is my counsel concerning the stag's head; let it not be given away until geraint, the son of erbin, shall return from the errand he is upon." and guenever told arthur what that errand was. "right gladly shall it be so," said arthur. and guenever caused a watch to be set upon the ramparts for geraint's coming. and after midday they beheld an unshapely little man upon a horse, and after him a dame or a damsel, also on horseback, and after her a knight of large stature, bowed down, and hanging his head low and sorrowfully, and clad in broken and worthless armor. and before they came near to the gate one of the watch went to guenever, and told her what kind of people they saw, and what aspect they bore. "i know not who they are," said he, "but i know," said guenever; "this is the knight whom geraint pursued, and methinks that he comes not here by his own free will. but geraint has overtaken him, and avenged the insult to the maiden to the uttermost." and thereupon, behold, a porter came to the spot where guenever was. "lady," said he, "at the gate there is a knight, and i saw never a man of so pitiful an aspect to look upon as he. miserable and broken is the armor that he wears, and the hue of blood is more conspicuous upon it than its own color." "knowest thou his name?" said she. "i do," said he; "he tells me that he is edeyrn, the son of nudd." then she replied, "i know him not." so guenever went to the gate to meet him and he entered. and guenever was sorry when she saw the condition he was in, even though he was accompanied by the churlish dwarf. then edeyrn saluted guenever. "heaven protect thee," said she. "lady," said he, "geraint, the son of erbin, thy best and most valiant servant, greets thee." "did he meet with thee?" she asked. "yes," said he, "and it was not to my advantage; and that was not his fault, but mine, lady. and geraint greets thee well; and in greeting thee he compelled me to come hither to do thy pleasure for the insult which thy maiden received from the dwarf." "now where did he overtake thee?" "at the place where we were jousting and contending for the sparrow-hawk, in the town which is now called cardiff. and it was for the avouchment of the love of the maiden, the daughter of earl ynywl, that geraint jousted at the tournament. and thereupon we encountered each other, and he left me, lady, as thou seest." "sir," said she, "when thinkest thou that geraint will be here?" "to-morrow, lady, i think he will be here with the maiden." then arthur came to them. and he saluted arthur, and arthur gazed a long time upon him and was amazed to see him thus. and thinking that he knew him, he inquired of him, "art thou edeyrn, the son of nudd?" "i am, lord," said he, "and i have met with much trouble and received wounds unsupportable." then he told arthur all his adventure. "well," said arthur, "from what i hear it behooves guenever to be merciful towards thee." "the mercy which thou desirest, lord," said she. "will i grant to him, since it is as insulting to thee that an insult should be offered to me as to thyself." "thus will it be best to do," said arthur; "let this man have medical care until it be known whether he may live. and if he live, he shall do such satisfaction as shall be judged best by the men of the court. and if he die, too much will be the death of such a youth as edeyrn for an insult to a maiden." "this pleases me," said guenever. and arthur caused morgan tud to be called to him. he was the chief physician. "take with thee edeyrn, the son of nudd, and cause a chamber to be prepared for him, and let him have the aid of medicine as thou wouldst do unto myself, if i were wounded, and let none into his chamber to molest him, but thyself and thy disciples, to administer to him remedies." "i will do so, gladly, lord," said morgan tud. then said the steward of the household, "whither is it right, lord, to order the maiden?" "to guenever and her handmaidens," said he. and the steward of the household so ordered her. "and rising up, he rode to arthur's court, and there the queen forgave him easily. and being young, he changed himself, and grew to hate the sin that seem'd so like his own of modred, arthur's nephew, and fell at last in the great battle fighting for the king." --enid. the next day came geraint towards the court; and there was a watch set on the ramparts by guenever, lest he should arrive unawares. and one of the watch came to guenever. "lady," said he, "methinks that i see geraint, and a maiden with him. he is on horseback, but he has his walking gear upon him, and the maiden appears to be in white, seeming to be clad in a garment of linen." "assemble all the women," said guenever, "and come to meet geraint, to welcome him, and wish him joy." and guenever went to meet geraint and the maiden. and when geraint came to the place where guenever was, he saluted her. "heaven prosper thee," said she, "and welcome to thee." "lady," said he, "i earnestly desired to obtain thee satisfaction, according to thy will; and, behold, here is the maiden through whom thou hadst thy revenge." "verily," said guenever, "the welcome of heaven be unto her; and it is fitting that we should receive her joyfully." then they went in and dismounted. and geraint came to where arthur was, and saluted him. "heaven protect thee," said arthur, "and the welcome of heaven be unto thee. and inasmuch as thou hast vanquished edeyrn, the son of nudd, thou hast had a prosperous career." "not upon me be the blame," said geraint; "it was through the arrogance of edeyrn, the son of nudd, himself, that we were not friends." "now," said arthur, "where is the maiden for whom i heard thou didst give challenge?" "she is gone with guenever to her chamber." then went arthur to see the maiden. and arthur, and all his companions, and his whole court, were glad concerning the maiden. and certain were they all, that, had her array been suitable to her beauty, they had never seen a maid fairer than she. and arthur gave away the maiden to geraint. and the usual bond made between two persons was made between geraint and the maiden, and the choicest of all guenever's apparel was given to the maiden; and thus arrayed, she appeared comely and graceful to all who beheld her. and that day and the night were spent in abundance of minstrelsy, and ample gifts of liquor, and a multiude of games. and when it was time for them to go to sleep they went. and in the chamber where the couch of arthur and guenever was, the couch of geraint and enid was prepared. and from that time she became his wife. and the next day arthur satisfied all the claimants upon geraint with bountiful gifts. and the maiden took up her abode in the palace, and she had many companions, both men and women, and there was no maiden more esteemed than she in the island of britain. then spake guenever. "rightly did i judge," said she, "concerning the head of the stag, that it should not be given to any until geraint's return; and behold, here is a fit occasion for bestowing it. let it be given to enid, the daughter of ynywl, the most illustrious maiden. and i do not believe that any will begrudge it her, for between her and every one here there exists nothing but love and friendship." much applauded was this by them all, and by arthur also. and the head of the stag was given to enid. and thereupon her fame increased, and her friends became more in number than before. and geraint from that time forth loved the hunt, and the tournament, and hard encounters; and he came victorious from them all. and a year, and a second, and a third, he proceeded thus, until his fame had flown over the face of the kingdom. and, once upon a time, arthur was holding his court at caerleon upon usk; and behold, there came to him ambassadors, wise and prudent, full of knowledge and eloquent of speech, and they saluted arthur. "heaven prosper you!" said arthur; "and whence do you come?" "we come, lord," said they, "from cornwall; and we are ambassadors from erbin, the son of custennin, thy uncle, and our mission is unto thee. and he greets thee well, as an uncle should greet his nephew, and as a vassal should greet his lord. and he represents unto thee that he waxes heavy and feeble, and is advancing in years. and the neighboring chiefs, knowing this, grow insolent towards him, and covet his land and possessions. and he earnestly beseeches thee, lord, to permit geraint, his son, to return to him, to protect his possessions, and to become acquainted with his boundaries. and unto him he represents that it were better for him to spend the flower of his youth and the prime of his age in preserving his own boundaries, than in tournaments which are productive of no profit, although he obtains glory in them." "well," said arthur, "go and divest yourselves of your accoutrements, and take food, and refresh yourselves after your fatigues; and before you go from hence you shall have an answer." and they went to eat. and arthur considered that it would go hard with him to let geraint depart from him, and from his court; neither did he think it fair that his cousin should be restrained from going to protect his dominions and his boundaries, seeing that his father was unable to do so. no less was the grief and regret of guenever, and all her women, and all her damsels, through fear that the maiden would leave them. and that day and that night were spent in abundance of feasting. and arthur told geraint the cause of the mission, and of the coming of the ambassadors to him out of cornwall. "truly," said geraint, "be it to my advantage or disadvantage, lord, i will do according to thy will concerning this embassy." "behold," said arthur, "though it grieves me to part with thee, it is my counsel that thou go to dwell in thine own dominions, and to defend thy boundaries, and take with thee to accompany thee as many as thou wilt of those thou lovest best among my faithful ones, and among thy friends, and among thy companions in arms." "heaven reward thee! and this will i do," said geraint. "what discourse," said guenever, "do i hear between you? is it of those who are to conduct geraint to his country?" "it is," said arthur. "then is it needful for me to consider," said she, "concerning companions and a provision for the lady that is with me." "thou wilt do well," said arthur. and that night they went to sleep. and the next day the ambassadors were permitted to depart, and they were told that geraint should follow them. and on the third day geraint set forth, and many went with him--gawain, the son of gwyar, and riogoned, the son of the king of ireland, and ondyaw, the son of the duke of burgundy, gwilim, the son of the ruler of the franks, howel, the son of the earl of brittany, perceval, the son of evrawk, gwyr, a judge in the court of arthur, bedwyr, the son of bedrawd, kai, the son of kyner, odyar, the frank, and ederyn, the son of nudd. said geraint, "i think i shall have enough of knighthood with me." and they set forth. and never was there seen a fairer host journeying towards the severn. and on the other side of the severn were the nobles of erbin, the son of custennin, and his foster-father at their head, to welcome geraint with gladness; and many of the women of the court, with his mother, came to receive enid, the daughter of ynywl, his wife. and there was great rejoicing and gladness throughout the whole court, and through all the country, concerning geraint, because of the greatness of their love to him, and of the greatness of the fame which he had gained since he went from amongst them, and because he was come to take possession of his dominions, and to preserve his boundaries. and they came to the court. and in the court they had ample entertainment, and a multitude of gifts, and abundance of liquor, and a sufficiency of service, and a variety of games. and to do honor to geraint, all the chief men of the country were invited that night to visit him. and they passed that day and that night in the utmost enjoyment. and at dawn next day erbin arose and summoned to him geraint, and the noble persons who had borne him company. and he said to geraint: "i am a feeble and an aged man, and whilst i was able to maintain the dominion for thee and for myself, i did so. but thou art young, and in the flower of thy vigor and of thy youth. henceforth do thou preserve thy possessions." "truly," said geraint, "with my consent thou shalt not give the power over thy dominions at this time into my hands, and thou shalt not take me from arthur's court." "into thy hands will i give them," said erbin, "and this day also shalt thou receive the homage of thy subjects." then said gawain, "it were better for thee to satisfy those who have boons to ask, to-day, and to-morrow thou canst receive the homage of thy dominions." so all that had boons to ask were summoned into one place. and kadyriath came to them to know what were their requests. and every one asked that which he desired. and the followers of arthur began to make gifts, and immediately the men of cornwall came, and gave also. and they were not long in giving, so eager was every one to bestow gifts, and of those who came to ask gifts, none departed unsatisfied. and that day and that night were spent in the utmost enjoyment. and the next day at dawn, erbin desired geraint to send messengers to the men to ask them whether it was displeasing to them that he should come to receive their homage, and whether they had anything to object to him. then geraint sent ambassadors to the men of cornwall to ask them this. and they all said that it would be the fulness of joy and honor to them for geraint to come and receive their homage. so he received the homage of such as were there. and the day after the followers of arthur intended to go away. "it is too soon for you to go away yet," said he; "stay with me until i have finished receiving the homage of my chief men, who have agreed to come to me." and they remained with him until he had done so. then they set forth towards the court of arthur. and geraint went to bear them company, and enid also, as far as diganwy; there they parted. and ondyaw, the son of the duke of burgundy, said to geraint, "go, now, and visit the uttermost parts of thy dominions, and see well to the boundaries of thy territories; and if thou hast any trouble respecting them, send unto thy companions." "heaven reward thee!" said geraint; "and this will i do." and geraint journeyed to the uttermost parts of his dominions. and experienced guides, and the chief men of his country, went with him. and the furthermost point that they showed him he kept possession of. chapter vii geraint, the son of erbin (continued) geraint, as he had been used to do when he was at arthur's court, frequented tournaments. and he became acquainted with valiant and mighty men, until he had gained as much fame there as he had formerly done elsewhere. and he enriched his court, and his companions, and his nobles, with the best horses and the best arms, and with the best and most valuable jewels, and he ceased not until his fame had flown over the face of the whole kingdom. "before geraint, the scourge of the enemy, i saw steeds white with foam, and after the shout of battle a fearful torrent." --hen. when he knew that it was thus, he began to love ease and pleasure, for there was no one who was worth his opposing. and he loved his wife, and liked to continue in the palace with minstrelsy and diversions. so he began to shut himself up in the chamber of his wife, and he took no delight in anything besides, insomuch that he gave up the friendship of his nobles, together with his hunting and his amusements, and lost the hearts of all the host in his court. and there was murmuring and scoffing concerning him among the inhabitants of the palace, on account of his relinquishing so completely their companionship for the love of his wife. "they began to scoff and jeer and babble of him as of a prince whose manhood was all gone, and molten down in mere uxoriousness." these tidings came to erbin. and when erbin had heard these things, he spoke unto enid, and inquired of her whether it was she that had caused geraint to act thus, and to forsake his people and his hosts. "not i, by my confession unto heaven," said she; "there is nothing more hateful unto me than this." and she knew not what she should do, for, although it was hard for her to own this to geraint, yet was it not more easy for her to listen to what she heard, without warning geraint concerning it. and she was very sorrowful. one morning in the summer-time they were upon their couch, and geraint lay upon the edge of it. and enid was without sleep in the apartment, which had windows of glass; [footnote: the terms of admiration in which the older writers invariably speak of glass windows would be sufficient proof, if other evidence were wanting, how rare an article of luxury they were in the houses of our ancestors. they were first introduced in ecclesiastical architecture, to which they were for a long time confined. glass is said not to have been employed in domestic architecture before the fourteenth century.] and the sun shone upon the couch. and the clothes had slipped from off his arms and his breast, and he was asleep. then she gazed upon the marvellous beauty of his appearance, and she said, "alas! and am i the cause that these arms and this breast have lost their glory, and the warlike fame which they once so richly enjoyed!" as she said this the tears dropped from her eyes, and they fell upon his breast. and the tears she shed and the words she had spoken, awoke him. and another thing contributed to awaken him, and that was the idea that it was not in thinking of him that she spoke thus, but that it was because she loved some other man more than him, and that she wished for other society. thereupon geraint was troubled in his mind, and he called his squire; and when he came to him, "go quickly," said he, "and prepare my horse and my arms, and make them ready. and do thou rise," said he to enid, "and apparel thyself; and cause thy horse to be accoutred, and clothe thee in the worst riding-dress that thou hast in thy possession. and evil betide me," said he, "if thou returnest here until thou knowest whether i have lost my strength so completely as thou didst say. and if it be so, it will then be easy for thee to seek the society thou didst wish for of him of whom thou wast thinking." so she arose, and clothed herself in her meanest garments. "i know nothing, lord," said she, "of thy meaning." "neither wilt thou know at this time," said he. then geraint went to see erbin. "sir," said he, "i am going upon a quest, and i am not certain when i may come back. take heed, therefore, unto thy possessions until my return." "i will do so," said he; "but it is strange to me that thou shouldst go so suddenly. and who will proceed with thee, since thou art not strong enough to traverse the land of loegyr alone?" "but one person only will go with me." "heaven counsel thee, my son," said erbin, "and may many attach themselves to thee in loegyr." then went geraint to the place where his horse was, and it was equipped with foreign armor, heavy and shining. and he desired enid to mount her horse, and to ride forward, and to keep a long way before him. "and whatever thou mayst see, and whatever thou mayst hear concerning me," said he, "do thou not turn back. and unless i speak unto thee, say not thou one word, either." so they set forward. and he did not choose the pleasantest and most frequented road, but that which was the wildest and most beset by thieves and robbers and venomous animals. and they came to a high road, which they followed till they saw a vast forest; and they saw four armed horsemen come forth from the forest. when the armed men saw them, they said one to another. "here is a good occasion for us to capture two horses and armor, and a lady likewise; for this we shall have no difficulty in doing against yonder single knight who hangs his head so pensively and heavily." enid heard this discourse, and she knew not what she should do through fear of geraint, who had told her to be silent. "the vengeance of heaven be upon me," said she, "if i would not rather receive my death from his hand than from the hand of any other; and though he should slay me, yet will i speak to him, lest i should have the misery to witness his death." so she waited for geraint until he came near to her. "lord," said she, "didst thou hear the words of those men concerning thee?" then he lifted up his eyes, and looked at her angrily. "thou hadst only," said he, "to hold thy peace as i bade thee. i wish but for silence, and not for warning. and though thou shouldst desire to see my defeat and my death by the hands of those men, yet do i feel no dread." then the foremost of them couched his lance, and rushed upon geraint. and he received him, and that not feebly. but he let the thrust go by him, while he struck the horseman upon the centre of his shield, in such a manner that his shield was split, and his armor broken, so that a cubit's length of the shaft of geraint's lance passed through his body, and sent him to the earth, the length of the lance over his horse's crupper. then the second horseman attacked him furiously, being wroth at the death of his companion. but with one thrust geraint overthrew him also, and killed him as he had done the other. then the third set upon him, and he killed him in like manner. and thus also he slew the fourth. sad and sorrowful was the maiden as she saw all this. geraint dismounted his horse, and took the arms of the men he had slain, and placed them upon their saddles, and tied together the reins of their horses; and he mounted his horse again. "behold what thou must do," said he; "take the four horses and drive them before thee, and proceed forward as i bade thee just now. and say not one word unto me, unless i speak first unto thee. and i declare unto heaven," said he, "if thou doest not thus, it will be to thy cost." "i will do as far as i can, lord," said she, "according to thy desire." so the maiden went forward, keeping in advance of geraint, as he had desired her; and it grieved him as much as his wrath would permit, to see a maiden so illustrious as she having so much trouble with the care of the horses. then they reached a wood, and it was both deep and vast, and in the wood night overtook them. "ah, maiden," said he, "it is vain to attempt proceeding forward." "well, lord," said she, "whatever thou wishest, we will do." "it will be best for us," he answered, "to rest and wait for the day, in order to pursue our journey." "that we will, gladly," said she. and they did so. having dismounted himself, he took her down from her horse. "i cannot by any means refrain from sleep, through weariness," said he; "do thou therefore watch the horses, and sleep not." "i will, lord," said she. then he went to sleep in his armor, and thus passed the night, which was not long at that season. and when she saw the dawn of day appear, she looked around her to see if he were waking, and thereupon he woke. then he arose, and said unto her, "take the horses and ride on, and keep straight on as thou didst yesterday." and they left the wood, and they came to an open country, with meadows on one hand, and mowers mowing the meadows. and there was a river before them, and the horses bent down and drank of the water. and they went up out of the river by a lofty steep; and there they met a slender stripling with a satchel about his neck, and they saw that there was something in the satchel, but they knew not what it was. and he had a small blue pitcher in his hand, and a bowl on the mouth of the pitcher. and the youth saluted geraint. "heaven prosper thee!" said geraint; "and whence dost thou come?" "i come," said he, "from the city that lies before thee. my lord," he added, "will it be displeasing to thee if i ask whence thou comest also?" "by no means; through yonder wood did i come." "thou camest not through the wood to-day." "no," he replied, "we were in the wood last night." "i warrant," said the youth, "that thy condition there last night was not the most pleasant, and that thou hadst neither meat nor drink." "no, by my faith," said he. "wilt thou follow my counsel," said the youth, "and take thy meal from me?" "what sort of meal?" he inquired. "the breakfast which is sent for yonder mowers, nothing less than bread and meat and wine, and if thou wilt, sir, they shall have none of it." "i will," said he, "and heaven reward thee for it." so geraint alighted, and the youth took the maiden from off her horse. then they washed, and took their repast. and the youth cut the bread in slices, and gave them drink, and served them withal. and when they had finished, the youth arose and said to geraint, "my lord, with thy permission, i will now go and fetch some food for the mowers." "go first to the town," said geraint, "and take a lodging for me in the best place that thou knowest, and the most commodious one for the horses; and take thou whichever horse and arms thou choosest, in payment for thy service and thy gift." "heaven reward thee, lord!" said the youth; "and this would be ample to repay services much greater than those i have rendered unto thee." and to the town went the youth, and he took the best and the most pleasant lodgings that he knew; and after that he went to the palace, having the horse and armor with him, and proceeded to the place where the earl was, and told him all his adventure. "i go now, lord," said he, "to meet the knight, and to conduct him to his lodging." "go, gladly," said the earl; "and right joyfully shall he be received here, if he so come." and the youth went to meet geraint, and told him that he would be received gladly by the earl in his own palace; but he would go only to his lodgings. and he had a goodly chamber, in which was plenty of straw and drapery, and a spacious and commodious place he had for the horses; and the youth prepared for them plenty of provender. after they had disarrayed themselves, geraint spoke thus to enid: "go," said he, "to the other side of the chamber, and come not to this side of the house; and thou mayst call to thee the woman of the house, if thou wilt." "i will do, lord," said she, "as thou sayest." thereupon the man of the house came to geraint and welcomed him. and after they had eaten and drank, geraint went to sleep, and so did enid also. in the evening, behold, the earl came to visit geraint, and his twelve honorable knights with him. and geraint rose up and welcomed him. then they all sat down according to their precedence in honor. and the earl conversed with geraint, and inquired of him the object of his journey. "i have none," he replied, "but to seek adventures and to follow mine own inclination." then the earl cast his eye upon enid, and he looked at her steadfastly. and he thought he had never seen a maiden fairer or more comely than she. and he set all his thoughts and his affections upon her. then he asked of geraint, "have i thy permission to go and converse with yonder maiden, for i see that she is apart from thee?" "thou hast it gladly," said he. so the earl went to the place where the maiden was, and spake with her. "ah! maiden," said he, "it cannot be pleasant to thee to journey with yonder man." "it is not unpleasant to me," said she. "thou hast neither youths nor maidens to serve thee," said he. "truly," she replied, "it is more pleasant for me to follow yonder man, than to be served by youths and maidens." "i will give thee good counsel," said he: "all my earldom will i place in thy possession, if thou wilt dwell with me." "enid, the pilot star of my lone life, enid, my early and my only love." --enid. "that will i not, by heaven," she said; "yonder man was the first to whom my faith was ever pledged; and shall i prove inconstant to him?" "thou art in the wrong," said the earl; "if i slay the man yonder, i can keep thee with me as long as i choose; and when thou no longer pleasest me, i can turn thee away. but if thou goest with me by thy own good-will, i protest that our union shall continue as long as i remain alive." then she pondered those words of his, and she considered that it was advisable to encourage him in his request. "behold then, chieftain, this is most expedient for thee to do to save me from all reproach; come here to-morrow and take me away as though i knew nothing thereof." "i will do so," said he. so he arose and took his leave, and went forth with his attendants. and she told not then to geraint any of the conversation which she had had with the earl, lest it should rouse his anger, and cause him uneasiness and care. and at the usual hour they went to sleep. and at the beginning of the night enid slept a little; and at midnight she arose, and placed all geraint's armor together so that it might be ready to put on. and although fearful of her errand, she came to the side of geraint's bed; and she spoke to him softly and gently, saying, "my lord, arise, and clothe thyself, for these were the words of the earl to me and his intention concerning me." so she told geraint all that had passed. and although he was wroth with her, he took warning, and clothed himself. and she lighted a candle, that he might have light to do so. "leave there the candle," said he, "and desire the man of the house to come here." then she went, and the man of the house came to him. "dost thou know how much i owe thee?" asked geraint. "i think thou owest but little." "take the three horses and the three suits of armor." "heaven reward thee, lord," said he, "but i spent not the value of one suit of armor upon thee." "for that reason," said he, "thou wilt be the richer. and now, wilt thou come to guide me out of the town?" "i will gladly," said he; "and in which direction dost thou intend to go?" "i wish to leave the town by a different way from that by which i entered it." so the man of the lodgings accompanied him as far as he desired. then he bade the maiden to go on before him, and she did so, and went straight forward, and his host returned home. and geraint and the maiden went forward along the high-road. and as they journeyed thus, they heard an exceeding loud wailing near to them. "stay thou here," said he, "and i will go and see what is the cause of this wailing." "i will," said she. then he went forward into an open glade that was near the road. and in the glade he saw two horses, one having a man's saddle, and the other a woman's saddle upon it. and behold there was a knight lying dead in his armor, and a young damsel in a riding-dress standing over him lamenting. "ah, lady," said geraint, "what hath befallen thee?" "behold," she answered, "i journeyed here with my beloved husband, when lo! three giants came upon us, and without any cause in the world, they slew him." "which way went they hence?" said geraint. "yonder by the high-road," she replied. so he returned to enid. "go," said he, "to the lady that is below yonder, and await me there till i come." she was sad when he ordered her to do thus, but nevertheless she went to the damsel, whom it was ruth to hear, and she felt certain that geraint would never return. meanwhile geraint followed the giants, and overtook them. and each of them was greater in stature than three other men, and a huge club was on the shoulder of each. then he rushed upon one of them, and thrust his lance through his body. and having drawn it forth again, he pierced another of them through likewise. but the third turned upon him and struck him with his club so that he split his shield and crushed his shoulder. but geraint drew his sword and gave the giant a blow on the crown of his head, so severe, and fierce, and violent, that his head and his neck were split down to his shoulders, and he fell dead. so geraint left him thus and returned to enid. and when he reached the place where she was he fell down lifeless from his horse. piercing and loud and thrilling was the cry that enid uttered. and she came and stood over him where he had fallen. and at the sound of her cries came the earl of limours, and they who journeyed with him, whom her lamentations brought out of their road. and the earl said to enid, "alas, lady, what hath befallen thee?" "ah, good sir," said she, "the only man i have loved, or ever shall love, is slain." then he said to the other, "and what is the cause of thy grief?" "they have slain my beloved husband also," said she. "and who was it that slew them?" "some giants," she answered, "slew my best-beloved, and the other knight went in pursuit of them, and came back in the state thou seest." the earl caused the knight that was dead to be buried, but he thought that there still remained some life in geraint; and to see if he yet would live, he had him carried with him in the hollow of his shield, and upon a bier. and the two damsels went to the court; and when they arrived there, geraint was placed upon a little couch in front of the table that was in the hall. then they all took off their traveling-gear, and the earl besought enid to do the same, and to clothe herself in other garments. "i will not, by heaven," said she. "ah, lady," said he, "be not so sorrowful for this matter." "it were hard to persuade me to be otherwise," said she. "i will act towards thee in such wise that thou needest not be sorrowful, whether yonder knight live or die. behold, a good earldom, together with myself, will i bestow upon thee; be therefore happy and joyful." "i declare to heaven," said she, "that henceforth i shall never be joyful while i live." "come," said he, "and eat." "no, by heaven, i will not." "but, by heaven, thou shalt," said he. so he took her with him to the table against her will, and many times desired her to eat. "i call heaven to witness," said she, "that i will not until the man that is upon yonder bier shall eat likewise." "thou canst not fulfil that," said the earl, "yonder man is dead already." "i will prove that i can," said she. then he offered her a goblet of liquor. "drink this goblet," he said, "and it will cause thee to change thy mind." "evil betide me," she answered, "if i drink aught until he drink also." "truly," said the earl, "it is of no more avail for me to be gentle with thee than ungentle." and he gave her a box in the ear. thereupon she raised a loud and piercing shriek, and her lamentations were much greater than they had been before; for she considered in her mind, that, had geraint been alive, he durst not have struck her thus. but, behold, at the sound of her cry, geraint revived from his swoon, and he sat upon the bier; and finding his sword in the hollow of his shield, he rushed to the place where the earl was, and struck him a fiercely-wounding, severely-venomous, and sternly-smiting blow upon the crown of his head, so that he clove him in twain, until his sword was staid by the table. then all left the board and fled away. and this was not so much through fear of the living, as through the dread they felt at seeing the dead man rise up to slay them. and geraint looked upon enid, and he was grieved for two causes; one was to see that enid had lost her color and her wonted aspect; and the other, to know that she was in the right. "lady," said he, "knowest thou where our horses are?" "i know, lord, where thy horse is," she replied, "but i know not where is the other. thy horse is in the house yonder." so he went to the house, and brought forth his horse, and mounted him, and took up enid, and placed her upon the horse with him. and he rode forward. and their road lay between two hedges; and the night was gaining on the day. and lo! they saw behind them the shafts of spears betwixt them and the sky, and they heard the tramping of horses, and the noise of a host approaching. "i hear something following us," said he, "and i will put thee on the other side of the hedge." and thus he did. and thereupon, behold a knight pricked towards him, and couched his lance. when enid saw this, she cried out, saying, "o chieftain, whoever thou art, what renown wilt thou gain by slaying a dead man?" "o heaven!" said he, "is it geraint?" "yes, in truth," said she; "and who art thou?" "i am gwiffert petit," said he, "thy husband's ally, coming to thy assistance, for i heard that thou wast in trouble. come with me to the court of a son-in-law of my sister, which is near here, and thou shalt have the best medical assistance in the kingdom." "i will do so gladly," said geraint. and enid was placed upon the horse of one of gwiffert's squires, and they went forward to the baron's palace. and they were received there with gladness, and they met with hospitality and attention. the next morning they went to seek physicians; and it was not long before they came, and they attended geraint until he was perfectly well. and while geraint was under medical care gwiffert caused his armor to be repaired, until it was as good as it had ever been. and they remained there a month and a fortnight. then they separated, and geraint went towards his own dominions, and thenceforth he reigned prosperously, and his warlike fame and splendor lasted with renown and honor, both to him and to enid, from that time forward. [footnote: throughout the broad and varied region of romance it would be difficult to find a character of greater simplicity and truth than that of enid, the daughter of earl ynywl. conspicuous for her beauty and noble bearing, we are at a loss whether more to admire the patience with which she bore all the hardships she was destined to undergo or the constancy and affection which finally achieved the truimph she so richly deserved. the character of enid is admirably sustained through the whole tale; and as it is more natural, because less overstrained, so perhaps it is even more touching than that of griselda, over which, however, chaucer has thrown a charm that leads us to forget the improbability of her story.] chapter viii pwyll, prince of dyved once upon a time pwyll was at narberth, his chief palace, where a feast had been prepared for him, and with him was a great host of men. and after the first meal pwyll arose to walk; and he went to the top of a mound that was above the palace, and was called gorsedd arberth. "lord," said one of the court, "it is peculiar to the mound that whosoever sits upon it cannot go thence without either receiving wounds or blows, or else seeing a wonder." "i fear not to receive wounds or blows," said pwyll; "but as to the wonder, gladly would i see it. i will therefore go and sit upon the mound." and upon the mound he sat. and while he sat there, they saw a lady, on a pure white horse of large size, with a garment of shining gold around her, coming along the highway that led from the mound. "my men," said pwyll, "is there any among you who knows yonder lady?" "there is not, lord," said they. "go one of you and meet her, that we may know who she is." and one of them arose, and as he came upon the road to meet her, she passed by; and he followed as fast as he could, being on foot, and the greater was his speed, the further was she from him. and when he saw that it profited him nothing to follow her, he returned to pwyll, and said unto him, "lord, it is idle for any one in the world to follow her on foot." "verily," said pwyll, "go unto the palace, and take the fleetest horse that thou seest, and go after her." and he took a horse and went forward. and he came to an open, level plain, and put spurs to his horse; and the more he urged his horse, the further was she from him. and he returned to the place where pwyll was, and said, "lord, it will avail nothing for any one to follow yonder lady. i know of no horse in these realms swifter than this, and it availed me not to pursue her." "of a truth," said pwyll, "there must be some illusion here; let us go towards the palace." so to the palace they went, and spent the day. and the next day they amused themselves until it was time to go to meat. and when meat was ended, pwyll said, "where are the hosts that went yesterday to the top of the mound?" "behold, lord, we are here," said they. "let us go," said he, "to the mound, and sit there. and do thou," said he to the page who tended his horse, "saddle my horse well, and hasten with him to the road, and bring also my spurs with thee." and the youth did thus. and they went and sat upon the mound; and ere they had been there but a short time, they beheld the lady coming by the same road, and in the same manner, and at the same pace. "young man," said pwyll, "i see the lady coming; give me my horse." and before he had mounted his horse she passed him. and he turned after her and followed her. and he let his horse go bounding playfully, and thought that he should soon come up with her. but he came no nearer to her than at first. then he urged his horse to his utmost speed, yet he found that it availed not. then said pwyll, "o maiden, for the sake of him whom thou best lovest, stay for me." "i will stay gladly," said she; "and it were better for thy horse hadst thou asked it long since." so the maiden stopped; and she threw back that part of her head-dress which covered her face. then he thought that the beauty of all the maidens and all the ladies that he had ever seen was as nothing compared to her beauty. "lady," he said, "wilt thou tell me aught concerning thy purpose?" "i will tell thee," said she; "my chief quest was to see thee." "truly," said pwyll, "this is to me the most pleasing quest on which thou couldst have come; and wilt thou tell me who thou art?" "i will tell thee, lord," said she. "i am rhiannon, the daughter of heveydd, and they sought to give me a husband against my will. but no husband would i have, and that because of my love for thee; neither will i yet have one, unless thou reject me; and hither have i come to hear thy answer." "by heaven," said pwyll, "behold this is my answer. if i might choose among all the ladies and damsels in the world, thee would i choose." "verily," said she, "if thou art thus minded, make a pledge to meet me ere i am given to another." "the sooner i may do so, the more pleasing will it be to me," said pwyll; "and wheresoever thou wilt, there will i meet with thee." "i will that thou meet me this day twelvemonth at the palace of heveydd." "gladly," said he, "will i keep this tryst." so they parted, and he went back to his hosts, and to them of his household. and whatsoever questions they asked him respecting the damsel, he always turned the discourse upon other matters. and when a year from that time was gone, he caused a hundred knights to equip themselves, and to go with him to the palace of heveydd. and he came to the palace, and there was great joy concerning him, with much concourse of people, and great rejoicing, and vast preparations for his coming. and the whole court was placed under his orders. and the hall was garnished, and they went to meat, and thus did they sit: heveydd was on one side of pwyll, and rhiannon on the other; and all the rest according to their rank. and they ate and feasted, and talked one with another. and at the beginning of the carousal after the meat, there entered a tall, auburn-haired youth, of royal bearing, clothed in a garment of satin. and when he came into the hall, he saluted pwyll and his companions. "the greeting of heaven be unto thee," said pwyll; "come thou and sit down." "nay," said he, "a suitor am i, and i will do my errand." "do so willingly," said pwyll. "lord," said he, "my errand is unto thee, and it is to crave a boon of thee that i come." "what boon soever thou mayest ask of me, so far as i am able, thou shalt have." "ah!" said rhiannon, "wherefore didst thou give that answer?" "has he not given it before the presence of these nobles?" asked the youth. "my soul," said pwyll, "what is the boon thou askest?" "the lady whom best i love is to be thy bride this night; i come to ask her of thee, with the feast and the banquet that are in this place." and pwyll was silent, because of the promise which he had given. "be silent as long as thou wilt," said rhiannon, "never did man make worse use of his wits than thou hast done." "lady," said he, "i knew not who he was." "behold, this is the man to whom they would have given me against my will," said she; "and he is gawl, the son of clud, a man of great power and wealth, and because of the word thou hast spoken, bestow me upon him, lest shame befall thee." "lady," said he, "i understand not thy answer; never can i do as thou sayest." "bestow me upon him," said she, "and i will cause that i shall never be his." "by what means will that be?" asked pwyll. then she told him the thought that was in her mind. and they talked long together. then gawl said, "lord, it is meet that i have an answer to my request." "as much of that thou hast asked as it is in my power to give, thou shalt have," replied pwyll. "my soul," said rhiannon unto gawl, "as for the feast and the banquet that are here, i have bestowed them upon the men of dyved, and the household and the warriors that are with us. these can i not suffer to be given to any. in a year from to-night, a banquet shall be prepared for thee in this palace, that i may become thy bride." so gawl went forth to his possessions, and pwyll went also back to dyved. and they both spent that year until it was the time for the feast at the palace of heveydd. then gawl, the son of clud, set out to the feast that was prepared for him; and he came to the palace, and was received there with rejoicing. pwyll, also, the chief of dyved, came to the orchard with a hundred knights, as rhiannon had commanded him. and pwyll was clad in coarse and ragged garments, and wore large, clumsy old shoes upon his feet. and when he knew that the carousal after the meat had begun, he went toward the hall; and when he came into the hall he saluted gawl, the son of clud, and his company, both men and women. "heaven prosper thee," said gawl, "and friendly greeting be unto thee!" "lord," said he, "may heaven reward thee! i have an errand unto thee." "welcome be thine errand, and if thou ask of me that which is right, thou shalt have it gladly." "it is fitting," answered he; "i crave but from want, and the boon i ask is to have this small bag that thou seest filled with meat." "a request within reason is this," said he, "and gladly shalt thou have it. bring him food." a great number of attendants arose and began to fill the bag; but for all they put into it, it was no fuller than at first. "my soul," said gawl, "will thy bag ever be full?" "it will not, i declare to heaven," said he, "for all that may be put into it, unless one possessed of lands, and domains, and treasure, shall arise and tread down with both his feet the food that is within the bag, and shall say, 'enough has been put therein.'" then said rhiannon unto gawl, the son of clud, "rise up quickly." "i will willingly arise," said he. so he rose up, and put his two feet into the bag. and pwyll turned up the sides of the bag, so that gawl was over his head in it. and he shut it up quickly, and slipped a knot upon the thongs, and blew his horn. and thereupon, behold, his knights came down upon the palace. and they seized all the host that had come with gawl, and cast them into his own prison. and pwyll threw off his rags, and his old shoes, and his tattered array. and as they came in, every one of pwyll's knights struck a blow upon the bag, and asked, "what is here?" "a badger," said they. and in this manner they played, each of them striking the bag, either with his foot or with a staff. and thus played they with the bag. and then was the game of badger in the bag first played. "lord," said the man in the bag, "if thou wouldst but hear me, i merit not to be slain in a bag." said heveydd, "lord, he speaks truth; it were fitting that thou listen to him, for he deserves not this." "verily," said pwyll, "i will do thy counsel concerning him." "behold, this is my counsel then," said rhiannon. "thou art now in a position in which it behooves thee to satisfy suitors and minstrels. let him give unto them in thy stead, and take a pledge from him that he will never seek to revenge that which has been done to him. and this will be punishment enough." "i will do this gladly," said the man in the bag. "and gladly will i accept it," said pwyll, "since it is the counsel of heveydd and rhiannon. seek thyself sureties." "we will be for him," said heveydd, "until his men be free to answer for him." and upon this he was let out of the bag, and his liegemen were liberated. "verily, lord," said gawl, "i am greatly hurt, and i have many bruises. with thy leave, i will go forth. i will leave nobles in my stead to answer for me in all that thou shalt require." "willingly," said pwyll, "mayest thou do this." so gawl went to his own possessions. and the hall was set in order for pwyll and the men of his host, and for them also of the palace, and they went to the tables and sat down. and as they had sat that time twelvemonth, so sat they that night. and they ate and feasted, and spent the night in mirth and tranquility. and the time came that they should sleep, and pwyll and rhiannon went to their chamber. and next morning at break of day, "my lord," said rhiannon, "arise and begin to give thy gifts unto the minstrels. refuse no one to- day that may claim thy bounty." "thus shall it be gladly," said pwyll, "both to-day and every day while the feast shall last." so pwyll arose, and he caused silence to be proclaimed, and desired all the suitors and minstrels to show and to point out what gifts they desired. and this being done, the feast went on, and he denied no one while it lasted. and when the feast was ended, pwyll said unto heveydd, "my lord, with thy permission, i will set out for dyved to-morrow." "certainly," said heveydd; "may heaven prosper thee! fix also a time when rhiannon shall follow thee." "by heaven," said pwyll, "we will go hence together." "willest thou this, lord?" said heveydd. "yes, lord," answered pwyll. and the next, day they set forward towards dyved, and journeyed to the palace of narberth, where a feast was made ready for them. and there came to them great numbers of the chief men and the most noble ladies of the land, and of these there were none to whom rhiannon did not give some rich gift, either a bracelet, or a ring, or a precious stone. and they ruled the land prosperously that year and the next. chapter ix branwen, the daughter of llyr bendigeid vran, the son of llyr, was the crowned king of this island, and he was exalted from the crown of london. and one afternoon he was at harlech, in ardudwy, at his court; and he sat upon the rock of harlech, looking over the sea. and with him were his brother, manawyddan, the son of llyr, and his brothers by the mother's side, nissyen and evnissyen, and many nobles likewise, as was fitting to see around a king. his two brothers by the mother's side were the sons of euroswydd, and one of these youths was a good youth, and of gentle nature, and would make peace between his kindred, and cause his family to be friends when their wrath was at the highest, and this one was nissyen; but the other would cause strife between his two brothers when they were most at peace. and as they sat thus they beheld thirteen ships coming from the south of ireland, and making towards them; and they came with a swift motion, the wind being behind them; and they neared them rapidly. "i see ships afar," said the king, "coming swiftly towards the land. command the men of the court that they equip themselves, and go and learn their intent." so the men equipped themselves, and went down towards them. and when they saw the ships near, certain were they that they had never seen ships better furnished. beautiful flags of satin were upon them. and, behold, one of the ships outstripped the others, and they saw a shield lifted up above the side of the ship, and the point of the shield was upwards, in token of peace. and the men drew near, that they might hold converse. then they put out boats, and came toward the land. and they saluted the king. now the king could hear them from the place where he was upon the rock above their heads. "heaven prosper you." said he, "and be ye welcome! to whom do these ships belong, and who is the chief amongst you?" "lord," said they, "matholch, king of ireland, is here, and these ships belong to him." "wherefore comes he?" asked the king, "and will he come to the land?" "he is a suitor unto thee, lord," said they, "and he will not land unless he have his boon." "and what may that be?" inquired the king. "he desires to ally himself, lord, with thee," said they, "and he comes to ask branwen, the daughter of llyr, that, if it seem well to thee, the island of the mighty [footnote: the island of the mighty is one of the many names bestowed upon britain by the welsh.] may be leagued with ireland, and both become more powerful." "verily," said he, "let him come to land, and we will take counsel thereupon." and this answer was brought to matholch. "i will go willingly," said he. so he landed, and they received him joyfully; and great was the throng in the palace that night, between his hosts and those of the court; and next day they took counsel, and they resolved to bestow branwen upon matholch. now she was one of the three chief ladies of this island, and she was the fairest damsel in the world. and they fixed upon aberfraw as the place where she should become his bride. and they went thence, and towards aberfraw the hosts proceeded, matholch and his host in their ships, bendigeid vran and his host by land, until they came to aberfraw. and at aberfraw they began the feast, and sat down. and thus sat they: the king of the island of the mighty and manawyddan, the son of llyr, on one side, and matholch on the other side, and branwen, the daughter of llyr, beside him. and they were not within a house, but under tents. no house could ever contain bendigeid vran. and they began the banquet, and caroused and discoursed. and when it was more pleasing to them to sleep than to carouse, they went to rest, and branwen became matholch's bride. and next day they arose, and all they of the court, and the officers began to equip, and to range the horses and the attendants, and they ranged them in order as far as the sea. and, behold, one day evnissyen, the quarrelsome man, of whom it is spoken above, came by chance into the place where the horses of matholch were, and asked whose horses they might be. "they are the horses of matholch, king of ireland, who is married to branwen, thy sister; his horses are they." "and is it thus they have done with a maiden such as she, and moreover my sister, bestowing her without my consent? they could have offered no greater insult to me than this," said he. and thereupon he rushed under the horses, and cut off their lips at the teeth, and their ears close to their heads, and their tails close to their backs; and he disfigured the horses, and rendered them useless. and they came with these tidings unto matholch, saying that the horses were disfigured and injured, so that not one of them could ever be of any use again. "verily, lord," said one, "it was an insult unto thee, and as such was it meant." "of a truth, it is a marvel to me that, if they desire to insult me, they should have given me a maiden of such high rank, and so much beloved of her kindred, as they have done." "lord," said another, "thou seest that thus it is, and there is nothing for thee to do but to go to thy ships." and thereupon towards his ships he set out. and tidings came to bendigeid vran that matholch was quitting the court without asking leave, and messengers were sent to inquire of him wherefore he did so. and the messengers that went were iddic, the son of anarawd, and heveyd hir. and these overtook him, and asked of him what he designed to do, and wherefore he went forth. "of a truth," said he, "if i had known, i had not come hither. i have been altogether insulted; no one had ever worse treatment than i have had here." "truly, lord, it was not the will of any that are of the court," said they, "nor of any that are of the council, that thou shouldst have received this insult; and as thou hast been insulted, the dishonor is greater unto bendigeid vran than unto thee." "verily," said he, "i think so. nevertheless, he cannot recall the insult." these men returned with that answer to the place where bendigeid vran was, and they told him what reply matholch had given them. "truly," said he, "there are no means by which we may prevent his going away at enmity with us that we will not take." "well, lord," said they, "send after him another embassy." "i will do so," said he. "arise, manawyddan, son of llyr, and heveyd hir, and go after him, and tell him that he shall have a sound horse for every one that has been injured. and beside that, as an atonement for the insult, he shall have a staff of silver as large and as tall as himself, and a plate of gold of the breadth of his face. and show unto him who it was that did this, and that it was done against my will; but that he who did it is my brother, and therefore it would be hard for me to put him to death. and let him come and meet me," said he, "and we will make peace in any way he may desire." the embassy went after matholch, and told him all these sayings in a friendly manner; and he listened thereunto. "men," said he, "i will take counsel." so to the council he went. and in the council they considered that, if they should refuse this, they were likely to have more shame rather than to obtain so great an atonement. they resolved, therefore, to accept it, and they returned to the court in peace. then the pavilions and the tents were set in order, after the fashion of a hall; and they went to meat, and as they had sat at the beginning of the feast so sat they there. and matholch and bendigeid vran began to discourse; and, behold, it seemed to bendigeid vran, while they talked, that matholch was not so cheerful as he had been before. and he thought that the chieftain might be sad because of the smallness of the atonement which he had for the wrong that had been done him. "o man," said bendigeid vran, "thou dost not discourse to-night so cheerfully as thou wast wont. and if it be because of the smallness of the atonement, thou shalt add thereunto whatsoever thou mayest choose, and to-morrow i will pay thee for the horses." "lord," said he, "heaven reward thee!" "and i will enhance the atonement," said bendigeid vran, "for i will give unto thee a caldron, the property of which is, that if one of thy men be slain to-day, and be cast therein, to- morrow he will be as well as ever he was at the best, except that he will not regain his speech." and thereupon he gave him great thanks, and very joyful was he for that cause. that night they continued to discourse as much as they would, and had minstrelsy and carousing; and when it was more pleasant to them to sleep than to sit longer, they went to rest. and thus was the banquet carried on with joyousness; and when it was finished, matholch journeyed towards ireland, and branwen with him; and they went from aber menei with thirteen ships, and came to ireland. and in ireland was there great joy because of their coming. and not one great man nor noble lady visited branwen unto whom she gave not either a clasp or a ring, or a royal jewel to keep, such as it was honorable to be seen departing with. and in these things she spent that year in much renown, and she passed her time pleasantly, enjoying honor and friendship. and in due time a son was born unto her, and the name that they gave him was gwern, the son of matholch, and they put the boy out to be nursed in a place where were the best men of ireland. and, behold, in the second year a tumult arose in ireland, on account of the insult which matholch had received in wales, and the payment made him for his horses. and his foster-brothers, and such as were nearest to him, blamed him openly for that matter. and he might have no peace by reason of the tumult, until they should revenge upon him this disgrace. and the vengeance which they took was to drive away branwen from the same chamber with him, and to make her cook for the court; and they caused the butcher, after he had cut up the meat, to come to her and give her every day a blow on the ear; and such they made her punishment. "verily, lord," said his men to matholch, "forbid now the ships and the ferry-boats, and the coracles, that they go not into wales, and such as come over from wales hither, imprison them, that they go not back for this thing to be known there." and he did so; and it was thus for no less than three years. and branwen reared a starling in the cover of the kneading-trough, and she taught it to speak, and she taught the bird what manner of man her brother was. and she wrote a letter of her woes, and the despite with which she was treated, and she bound the letter to the root of the bird's wing, and sent it toward wales. and the bird came to that island; and one day it found bendigeid vran at caer seiont in arvon, conferring there, and it alighted upon his shoulder, and ruffled its feathers, so that the letter was seen, and they knew that the bird had been reared in a domestic manner. then bendigeid vran took the letter and looked upon it. and when he had read the letter, he grieved exceedingly at the tidings of branwen's woes. and immediately he began sending messengers to summon the island together. and he caused seven-score and four of his chief men to come unto him, and he complained to them of the grief that his sister endured. so they took counsel. and in the counsel they resolved to go to ireland, and to leave seven men as princes at home, and caradoc, [footnote: caractacus.] the son of bran, as the chief of them. bendigeid vran, with the host of which we spoke, sailed towards ireland; and it was not far across the sea, and he came to shoal water. now the swine-herds of matholch were upon the sea-shore, and they came to matholch. "lord," said they, "greeting be unto thee." "heaven protect you!" said he; "have you any news?" "lord," said they, "we have marvellous news. a wood have we seen upon the sea, in a place where we never yet saw a single tree." "this is indeed a marvel," said he; "saw you aught else?" "we saw, lord," said they, "a vast mountain beside the wood, which moved, and there was a lofty ridge on the top of the mountain, and a lake on each side of the ridge. and the wood and the mountain, and all these things, moved." "verily," said he, "there is none who can know aught concerning this unless it be branwen." messengers then went unto branwen. "lady," said they, "what thinkest thou that this is?" "the men of the island of the mighty, who have come hither on hearing of my ill-treatment and of my woes." "what is the forest that is seen upon the sea?" asked they. "the yards and the masts of ships," she answered. "alas!" said they; "what is the mountain that is seen by the side of the ships?" "bendigeid vran, my brother," she replied, "coming to shoal water, and he is wading to the land." "what is the lofty ridge, with the lake on each side thereof?" "on looking towards this island he is wroth, and his two eyes on each side of his nose are the two lakes on each side of the ridge." the warriors and chief men of ireland were brought together in haste, and they took counsel. "lord," said the neighbors unto matholch, "there is no other counsel than this alone. thou shalt give the kingdom to gwern, the son of branwen his sister, as a compensation for the wrong and despite that have been done unto branwen. and he will make peace with thee." and in the council it was resolved that this message should be sent to bendigeid vran, lest the country should be destroyed. and this peace was made. and matholch caused a great house to be built for bendigeid vran, and his host. thereupon came the hosts into the house. the men of the island of ireland entered the house on the one side, and the men of the island of the mighty on the other. and as soon as they had sat down, there was concord between them; and the sovereignty was conferred upon the boy. when the peace was concluded, bendigeid vran called the boy unto him, and from bendigeid vran the boy went unto manawyddan; and he was beloved by all that beheld him. and from manawyddan the boy was called by nissyen, the son of euroswydd, and the boy went unto him lovingly. "wherefore," said evnissyen, "comes not my nephew, the son of my sister, unto me? though he were not king of ireland, yet willingly would i fondle the boy." "cheerfully let him go to thee," said bendigeid vran; and the boy went unto him cheerfully. "by my confession to heaven," said evnissyen in his heart, "unthought of is the slaughter that i will this instant commit." then he arose and took up the boy, and before any one in the house could seize hold of him he thrust the boy headlong into the blazing fire. and when branwen saw her son burning in the fire, she strove to leap into the fire also, from the place where she sat between her two brothers. but bendigeid vran grasped her with one hand, and his shield with the other. then they all hurried about the house, and never was there made so great a tumult by any host in one house as was made by them, as each man armed himself. and while they all sought their arms bendigeid vran supported branwen between his shield and his shoulder. and they fought. then the irish kindled a fire under the caldron of renovation, and they cast the dead bodies into the caldron until it was full; and the next day they came forth fighting men, as good as before, except that they were not able to speak. then when evnissyen saw the dead bodies of the men of the island of the mighty nowhere resuscitated, he said in his heart, "alas! woe is me, that i should have been the cause of bringing the men of the island of the mighty into so great a strait. evil betide me if i find not a deliverance therefrom." and he cast himself among the dead bodies of the irish; and two unshod irishmen came to him, and, taking him to be one of the irish, flung him into the caldron. and he stretched himself out in the caldron, so that he rent the caldron into four pieces, and burst his own heart also. in consequence of this, the men of the island of the mighty obtained such success as they had; but they were not victorious, for only seven men of them all escaped, and bendigeid vran himself was wounded in the foot with a poisoned dart. now the men that escaped were pryderi, manawyddan, taliesin, and four others. and bendigeid vran commanded them that they should cut off his head. "and take you my head," said he, "and bear it even unto the white mount in london, and bury it there with the face towards france. and so long as it lies there, no enemy shall ever land on the island." so they cut off his head, and these seven went forward therewith. and branwen was the eighth with them. and they came to land on aber alaw, and they sat down to rest. and branwen looked towards ireland, and towards the island of the mighty, to see if she could descry them. "alas!" said she, "woe is me that i was ever born; two islands have been destroyed because of me." then she uttered a groan, and there broke her heart. and they made her a four-sided grave, and buried her upon the banks of the alaw. then the seven men journeyed forward, bearing the head with them; and as they went, behold there met them a multitude of men and women. "have you any tidings?" said manawyddan. "we have none," said they, "save that caswallawn, [footnote: cassivellaunus.] the son of beli, has conquered the island of the mighty, and is crowned king in london." "what has become," said they, "of caradoc, the son of bran, and the seven men who were left with him in this island?" "caswallawn came upon them, and slew six of the men, and caradoc's heart broke for grief thereof." and the seven men journeyed on towards london, and they buried the head in the white mount, as bendigeid vran had directed them. [footnote: there is a triad upon the story of the head buried under the white tower of london, as a charm against invasion. arthur, it seems, proudly disinterred the head, preferring to hold the island by his own strength alone.] chapter x manawyddan pwyll and rhiannon had a son, whom they named pryderi. and when he was grown up, pwyll, his father, died. and pryderi married kicva, the daughter of gwynn gloy. now manawyddan returned from the war in ireland, and he found that his cousin had seized all his possessions, and much grief and heaviness came upon him. "alas! woe is me!" he exclaimed; "there is none save myself without a home and a resting-place." "lord," said pryderi, "be not so sorrowful. thy cousin is king of the island of the mighty, and though he has done thee wrong, thou hast never been a claimant of land or possessions." "yea," answered he, "but although this man is my cousin, it grieveth me to see any one in the place of my brother, bendigeid vran; neither can i be happy in the same dwelling with him." "wilt thou follow the counsel of another?" said pryderi. "i stand in need of counsel," he answered, "and what may that counsel be?" "seven cantrevs belong unto me," said pryderi, "wherein rhiannon, my mother, dwells. i will bestow her upon thee, and the seven cantrevs with her; and though thou hadst no possessions but those cantrevs only, thou couldst not have any fairer than they. do thou and rhiannon enjoy them, and if thou desire any possessions thou wilt not despise these." "i do not, chieftain," said he. "heaven reward thee for the friendship! i will go with thee to seek rhiannon, and to look at thy possessions." "thou wilt do well," he answered; "and i believe that thou didst never hear a lady discourse better than she, and when she was in her prime, none was ever fairer. even now her aspect is not uncomely." they set forth, and, however long the journey, they came at last to dyved; and a feast was prepared for them by rhiannon and kicva. then began manawyddan and rhiannon to sit and to talk together; and his mind and his thoughts became warmed towards her, and he thought in his heart he had never beheld any lady more fulfilled of grace and beauty than she. "pryderi," said he, "i will that it be as thou didst say." "what saying was that?" asked rhiannon. "lady," said pryderi, "i did offer thee as a wife to manawyddan, the son of llyr." "by that will i gladly abide," said rhiannon. "right glad am i also," said manawyddan, "may heaven reward him who hath shown unto me friendship so perfect as this!" and before the feast was over she became his bride. said pryderi, "tarry ye here the rest of the feast, and i will go into england to tender my homage unto caswallawn, the son of beli." "lord," said rhiannon, "caswallawn is in kent; thou mayest therefore tarry at the feast, and wait until he shall be nearer." "we will wait," he answered. so they finished the feast. and they began to make the circuit of dyved, and to hunt, and to take their pleasure. and as they went through the country, they had never seen lands more pleasant to live in, nor better hunting grounds, nor greater plenty of honey and fish. and such was the friendship between these four, that they would not be parted from each other by night nor by day. and in the midst of all this he went to caswallawn at oxford, and tendered his homage; and honorable was his reception there, and highly was he praised for offering his homage. and after his return pryderi and manawyddan feasted and took their ease and pleasure. and they began a feast at narberth, for it was the chief palace. and when they had ended the first meal, while those who served them ate, they arose and went forth, and proceeded to the gorsedd, that is, the mount of narberth, and their retinue with them. and as they sat thus, behold a peal of thunder, and with the violence of the thunder-storm, lo! there came a fall of mist, so thick that not one of them could see the other. and after the mist it became light all around. and when they looked towards the place where they were wont to see the cattle and herds and dwellings, they saw nothing now, neither house, nor beast, nor smoke, nor fire, nor man, nor dwelling, but the buildings of the court empty, and desert, and uninhabited, without either man or beast within them. and truly all their companions were lost to them, without their knowing aught of what had befallen them, save those four only. "in the name of heaven," said manawyddan, "where are they of the court, and all my host beside? let us go and see." so they came to the castle, and saw no man, and into the hall, and to the sleeping-place, and there was none; and in the mead-cellar and in the kitchen there was naught but desolation. then they began to go through the land, and all the possessions that they had; and they visited the houses and dwellings, and found nothing but wild beasts. and when they had consumed their feast and all their provisions, they fed upon the prey they killed in hunting, and the honey of the wild swans. and one morning pryderi and manawyddan rose up to hunt, and they ranged their dogs and went forth. and some of the dogs ran before them, and came to a bush which was near at hand; but as soon as they were come to the bush, they hastily drew back, and returned to the men, their hair bristling up greatly. "let us go near to the bush," said pryderi, "and see what is in it." and as they came near, behold, a wild boar of a pure white color rose up from the bush. then the dogs, being set on by the men, rushed towards him; but he left the bush, and fell back a little way from the men, and made a stand against the dogs, without retreating from them, until the men had come near. and when the men came up, he fell back a second time, and betook him to flight. then they pursued the boar until they beheld a vast and lofty castle, all newly built, in a place where they had never before seen either stone or building. and the boar ran swiftly into the castle, and the dogs after him. now when the boar and the dogs had gone into the castle, the men began to wonder at finding a castle in a place where they had never before seen any building whatsoever. and from the top of the gorsedd they looked and listened for the dogs. but so long as they were there, they heard not one of the dogs, nor aught concerning them. "lord," said pryderi, "i will go into the castle to get tidings of the dogs." "truly," he replied, "thou wouldst be unwise to go into this castle, which thou hast never seen till now. if thou wouldst follow my counsel, thou wouldst not enter therein. whosoever has cast a spell over this land, has caused this castle to be here." "of a truth," answered pryderi, "i cannot thus give up my dogs." and for all the counsel that manawyddan gave him, yet to the castle he went. when he came within the castle, neither man nor beast, nor boar, nor dogs, nor house, nor dwelling, saw he within it. but in the centre of the castle-floor he beheld a fountain with marble-work around it, and on the margin of the fountain a golden bowl upon a marble slab, and chains hanging from the air, to which he saw no end. and he was greatly pleased with the beauty of the gold, and with the rich workmanship of the bowl; and he went up to the bowl, and laid hold of it. and when he had taken hold of its his hands stuck to the bowl, and his feet to the slab on which the bowl was placed; and all his joyousness forsook him, so that he could not utter a word. and thus he stood. and manawyddan waited for him till near the close of the day. and late in the evening, being certain that he should have no tidings of pryderi or the dogs, he went back to the palace. and as he entered, rhiannon looked at him. "where," said she, "are thy companion and thy dogs?" "behold," he answered, "the adventure that has befallen me." and he related it all unto her. "an evil companion hast thou been," said rhiannon, "and a good companion hast thou lost." and with that word she went out, and proceeded towards the castle, according to the direction which he gave her. the gate of the castle she found open. she was nothing daunted, and she went in. and as she went in, she perceived pryderi laying hold of the bowl, and she went towards him. "o my lord," said she, "what dost thou here?" and she took hold of the bowl with him; and as she did so, her hands also became fast to the bowl, and her feet to the slab, and she was not able to utter a word. and with that, as it became night, lo! there came thunder upon them, and a fall of mist; and thereupon the castle vanished, and they with it. when kicva, the daughter of gwynn gloy, saw that there was no one in the palace but herself and manawyddan, she sorrowed so that she cared not whether she lived or died. and manawyddan saw this. "thou art in the wrong," said he, "if through fear of me thou grievest thus. i call heaven to witness that thou hast never seen friendship more pure than that which i will bear thee as long as heaven will that thou shouldst be thus. i declare to thee, that, were i in the dawn of youth, i would keep my faith unto pryderi, and unto thee also will i keep it. be there no fear upon thee, therefore." "heaven reward thee!" she said; "and that is what i deemed of thee." and the damsel thereupon took courage, and was glad. "truly, lady," said manawyddan, "it is not fitting for us to stay here; we have lost our dogs, and cannot get food. let us go into england; it is easiest for us to find support there." "gladly, lord," said she, "we will do so." and they set forth together to england. "lord," said she, "what craft wilt thou follow? take up one that is seemly." "none other will i take," answered he, "but that of making shoes." "lord," said she, "such a craft becomes not a man so nobly born as thou." "by that however will i abide," said he. "i know nothing thereof," said kicva. "but i know," answered manawyddan, "and i will teach thee to stitch. we will not attempt to dress the leather, but we will buy it ready dressed, and will make the shoes from it." so they went into england, and went as far as hereford; and they betook themselves to making shoes. and he began by buying the best cordwain that could be had in the town, and none other would buy. and he associated himself with the best goldsmith in the town, and caused him to make clasps for the shoes, and to gild the clasps; and he marked how it was done until he learned the method. and therefore is he called one of the three makers of gold shoes. and when they could be had from him, not a shoe nor hose was bought of any of the cordwainers in the town. but when the cordwainers perceived that their gains were failing (for as manawyddan shaped the work, so kicva stitched it), they came together and took counsel, and agreed that they would slay them. and he had warning thereof, and it was told him how the cordwainers had agreed together to slay him. "lord," said kicva, "wherefore should this be borne from these boors?" "nay," said he, "we will go back unto dyved." so towards dyved they set forth. now manawyddan, when he set out to return to dyved, took with him a burden of wheat. and he proceeded towards narberth, and there he dwelt. and never was he better pleased than when he saw narberth again, and the lands where he had been wont to hunt with pryderi and with rhiannon. and he accustomed himself to fish, and to hunt the deer in their covert. and then he began to prepare some ground, and he sowed a croft, and a second, and a third. and no wheat in the world ever sprung up better. and the three crofts prospered with perfect growth, and no man ever saw fairer wheat than it. and thus passed the seasons of the year until the harvest came. and he went to look at one of his crofts, and, behold, it was ripe. "i will reap this to-morrow," said he. and that night he went back to narberth, and on the morrow, in the gray dawn, he went to reap the croft; and when he came there, he found nothing but the bare straw. every one of the ears of the wheat was cut off from the stalk, and all the ears carried entirely away, and nothing but the straw left. and at this he marvelled greatly. then he went to look at another croft, and, behold, that also was ripe. "verily," said he, "this will i reap to-morrow." and on the morrow he came with the intent to reap it; and when he came there, he found nothing but the bare straw. "o gracious heaven!" he exclaimed. "i know that whosoever has begun my ruin is completing it, and has also destroyed the country with me." then he went to look at the third croft; and when he came there, finer wheat had there never been seen, and this also was ripe. "evil betide me," said he, "if i watch not here to-night. whoever carried off the other corn will come in like manner to take this, and i will know who it is." and he told kicva all that had befallen. "verily," said she, "what thinkest thou to do?" "i will watch the croft to-night," said he. and he went to watch the croft. and at midnight he heard something stirring among the wheat; and he looked, and behold, the mightiest host of mice in the world, which could neither be numbered nor measured. and he knew not what it was until the mice had made their way into the croft, and each of them, climbing up the straw, and bending it down with its weight, had cut off one of the ears of wheat, and had carried it away, leaving there the stalk; and he saw not a single straw there that had not a mouse to it. and they all took their way, carrying the ears with them. in wrath and anger did he rush upon the mice; but he could no more come up with them than if they had been gnats or birds of the air, except one only, which, though it was but sluggish, went so fast that a man on foot could scarce overtake it. and after this one he went, and he caught it, and put it in his glove, and tied up the opening of the glove with a string, and kept it with him, and returned to the palace. then he came to the hall where kicva was, and he lighted a fire, and hung the glove by the string upon a peg. "what hast thou there, lord?" said kicva. "a thief," said he, "that i found robbing me." "what kind of a thief may it be, lord, that thou couldst put into thy glove?" said she. then he told her how the mice came to the last of the fields in his sight. "and one of them was less nimble than the rest, and is now in my glove; to- morrow i will hang it." "my lord," said she, "this is marvellous; but yet it would be unseemly for a man of dignity like thee to be hanging such a reptile as this." "woe betide me," said he, "if i would not hang them all, could i catch them, and such as i have i will hang." "verily, lord," said she, "there is no reason that i should succor this reptile, except to prevent discredit unto thee. do therefore, lord, as thou wilt." then he went to the mound of narberth, taking the mouse with him. and he set up two forks on the highest part of the mound. and while he was doing this, behold, he saw a scholar coming towards him, in old and poor and tattered garments. and it was now seven years since he had seen in that place either man or beast, except those four persons who had remained together until two of them were lost. "my lord," said the scholar, "good-day to thee." "heaven prosper thee, and my greeting be unto thee! and whence dost thou come, scholar?" asked he. "i come, lord, from singing in england; and wherefore dost thou inquire?" "because for the last seven years," answered he, "i have seen no man here save four secluded persons, and thyself this moment." "truly, lord," said he, "i go through this land unto mine own. and what work art thou upon, lord?" "i am hanging a thief that i caught robbing me," said he. "what manner of thief is that?" asked the scholar. "i see a creature in thy hand like unto a mouse, and ill does it become a man of rank equal to thine to touch a reptile such as this. let it go forth free." "i will not let it go free, by heaven," said he; "i caught it robbing me, and the doom of a thief will i inflict upon it, and i will hang it." "lord," said he, "rather than see a man of rank equal to thine at such a work as this, i would give thee a pound, which i have received as alms, to let the reptile go forth free." "i will not let it go free," said he, "neither will i sell it." "as thou wilt, lord," he answered; "i care naught." and the scholar went his way. and as he was placing the cross-beam upon the two forks, behold, a priest came towards him, upon a horse covered with trappings. "good day to thee, lord," said he. "heaven prosper thee!" said manawyddan; "thy blessing." "the blessing of heaven be upon thee! and what, lord, art thou doing?" "i am hanging a thief that i caught robbing me," said he. "what manner of thief, lord?" asked he. "a creature," he answered, "in form of a mouse. it has been robbing me, and i am inflicting upon it the doom of a thief." "lord," said he, "rather than see thee touch this reptile, i would purchase its freedom." "by my confession to heaven, neither will i sell it nor set it free." "it is true, lord, that it is worth nothing to buy; but rather than see thee defile thyself by touching such a reptile as this, i will give thee three pounds to let it go." "i will not, by heaven," said he, "take any price for it. as it ought, so shall it be hanged." and the priest went his way. then he noosed the string around the mouse's neck, and as he was about to draw it up, behold, he saw a bishop's retinue, with his sumpter-horses and his attendants. and the bishop himself came towards him. and he stayed his work. "lord bishop," said he, "thy blessing." "heaven's blessing be unto thee!" said he. "what work art thou upon?" "hanging a thief that i caught robbing me," said he. "is not that a mouse that i see in thy hand?" "yes," answered he, "and she has robbed me." "ay," said he, "since i have come at the doom of this reptile i will ransom it of thee. i will give thee seven pounds for it, and that rather than see a man of rank equal to thine destroying so vile a reptile as this. let it loose, and thou shalt have the money." "i declare to heaven that i will not let it loose." "if thou wilt not loose it for this, i will give thee four and twenty pounds of ready money to set it free." "i will not set it free, by heaven, for as much again," said he. "if thou wilt not set it free for this, i will give thee all the horses that thou seest in this plain, and the seven loads of baggage, and the seven horses that they are upon." "by heaven, i will not," he replied. "since for this thou wilt not set it free, do so at what price soever thou wilt." "i will that rhiannon and pryderi be free," said he. "that thou shalt have," he answered. "not yet will i loose the mouse, by heaven." "what then wouldst thou?" "that the charm and the illusion be removed from the seven cantrevs of dyved." "this shalt thou have also; set therefore the mouse free." "i will not set it free, by heaven," said he, "till i know who the mouse may be." "she is my wife." "wherefore came she to me?" "to despoil thee," he answered. "i am lloyd, the son of kilwed, and i cast the charm over the seven cantrevs of dyved. and it was to avenge gawl, the son of clud, from the friendship i had towards him, that i cast the charm. and upon pryderi did i avenge gawl, the son of clud, for the game of badger in the bag, that pwyll, the son of auwyn, played upon him. and when it was known that thou wast come to dwell in the land, my household came and besought me to transform them into mice, that they might destroy thy corn. and they went the first and the second night, and destroyed thy two crops. and the third night came unto me my wife and the ladies of the court, and besought me to transform them. and i transformed them. now she is not in her usual health. and had she been in her usual health, thou wouldst not have been able to overtake her; but since this has taken place, and she has been caught, i will restore to thee pryderi and rhiannon, and i will take the charm and illusion from off dyved. set her therefore free." "i will not set her free yet." "what wilt thou more?" he asked. "i will that there be no more charm upon the seven cantrevs of dyved, and that none shall be put upon it henceforth; moreover, that vengeance be never taken for this, either upon pryderi or rhiannon, or upon me." "all this shalt thou have. and truly thou hast done wisely in asking this. upon thy head would have lit all this trouble." "yea," said he, "for fear thereof was it that i required this." "set now my wife at liberty." "i will not," said he, "until i see pryderi and rhiannon with me free." "behold, here they come," he answered. and thereupon behold pryderi and rhiannon. and he rose up to meet them, and greeted them, and sat down beside them. "ah, chieftain, set now my wife at liberty," said the bishop. "hast thou not received all thou didst ask?" "i will release her, gladly," said he. and thereupon he set her free. then he struck her with a magic wand, and she was changed back into a young woman, the fairest ever seen. "look round upon thy land," said he, "and thou wilt see it all tilled and peopled as it was in its best estate." and he rose up and looked forth. and when he looked he saw all the lands tilled, and full of herds and dwellings. and thus ends this portion of the mabinogi. the following allusions to the preceding story are found in a letter of the poet southey to john rickman, esq., dated june th, : "you will read the mabinogeon, concerning which i ought to have talked to you. in the last, that most odd and arabian-like story of the mouse, mention is made of a begging scholar, that helps to the date; but where did the cymri get the imagination that could produce such a tale? that enchantment of the basin hanging by the chain from heaven is in the wildest spirit of the arabian nights. i am perfectly astonished that such fictions should exist in welsh. they throw no light on the origin of romance, everything being utterly dissimilar to what we mean by that term, but they do open a new world of fiction; and if the date of their language be fixed about the twelfth or thirteenth century, i cannot but think the mythological substance is of far earlier date; very probably brought from the east by some of the first settlers or conquerors." chapter xi kilwich and olwen kilydd, a son of prince kelyddon, desired a wife as a helpmate, and the wife that he chose was goleudid, the daughter of prince anlawd. and after their union the people put up prayers that they might have an heir. and they had a son through the prayers of the people; and called his name kilwich. after this the boy's mother, goleudid, the daughter of prince anlawd, fell sick. then she called her husband to her, and said to him, "of this sickness i shall die, and thou wilt take another wife. now wives are the gift of the lord, but it would be wrong for thee to harm thy son. therefore i charge thee that thou take not a wife until thou see a briar with two blossoms upon my grave." and this he promised her. then she besought him to dress her grave every year, that no weeds might grow thereon. so the queen died. now the king sent an attendant every morning to see if anything were growing upon the grave. and at the end of the seventh year they neglected that which they had promised to the queen. one day the king went to hunt; and he rode to the place of burial, to see the grave, and to know if it were time that he should take a wife: and the king saw the briar. and when he saw it, the king took counsel where he should find a wife. said one of his counsellors, "i know a wife that will suit thee well; and she is the wife of king doged." and they resolved to go to seek her; and they slew the king, and brought away his wife. and they conquered the kings' lands. and he married the widow of king doged, the sister of yspadaden penkawr. and one day his stepmother said to kilwich, "it were well for thee to have a wife." "i am not yet of an age to wed," answered the youth. then said she unto him, "i declare to thee that it is thy destiny not to be suited with a wife until thou obtain olwen, the daughter of yspadaden penkawr." and the youth blushed, and the love of the maiden diffused itself through all his frame, although he had never seen her. and his father inquired of him, "what has come over thee, my son, and what aileth thee?" "my stepmother has declared to me that i shall never have a wife until i obtain olwen, the daughter of yspadaden penkawr." "that will be easy for thee," answered his father. "arthur is thy cousin. go, therefore, unto arthur, to cut thy hair, and ask this of him as a boon." and the youth pricked forth upon a steed with head dappled gray, four winters old, firm of limb, with shell-formed hoofs, having a bridle of linked gold on his head, and upon him a saddle of costly gold. and in the youth's hand were two spears of silver, sharp, well-tempered, headed with steel, three ells in length, of an edge to wound the wind, and cause blood to flow, and swifter than the fall of the dew-drop from the blade of reed-grass, when the dew of june is at the heaviest. a gold-hilted sword was upon his thigh, the blade of which was gilded, bearing a cross of inlaid gold of the hue of the lightning of heaven. his war-horn was of ivory. before him were two brindled, white-breasted greyhounds, having strong collars of rubies about their necks, reaching from the shoulder to the ear. and the one that was upon the left side bounded across to the right side, and the one on the right to the left, and, like two sea-swallows, sported around him. and his courser cast up four sods, with his four hoofs, like four swallows in the air, about his head, now above, now below. about him was a four-cornered cloth of purple, and an apple of gold was at each corner, and every one of the apples was of the value of an hundred kine. and there was precious gold of the value of three hundred kine upon his shoes, and upon his stirrups, from his knee to the tip of his toe. and the blade of grass bent not beneath him, so light was his courser's tread, as he journeyed toward the gate of arthur's palace. spoke the youth: "is there a porter?" "there is; and if thou holdest not thy peace, small will be thy welcome. i am arthur's porter every first day of january." "open the portal." "i will not open it." "wherefore not?" "the knife is in the meat, and the drink is in the horn, and there is revelry in arthur's hall; and none may enter therein but the son of a king of a privileged country, or a craftsman bringing his craft. but there will be refreshment for thy dogs and for thy horse; and for thee there will be collops cooked and peppered, and luscious wine, and mirthful songs; and food for fifty men shall be brought unto thee in the guest-chamber, where the stranger and the sons of other countries eat, who come not into the precincts of the palace of arthur. thou wilt fare no worse there than thou wouldst with arthur in the court. a lady shall smooth thy couch, and shall lull thee with songs; and early to-morrow morning, when the gate is open for the multitude that came hither to-day, for thee shall it be opened first, and thou mayest sit in the place that thou shalt choose in arthur's hall, from the upper end to the lower." said the youth: "that will i not do. if thou openest the gate, it is well. if thou dost not open it, i will bring disgrace upon thy lord, and evil report upon thee. and i will set up three shouts at this very gate, than which none were ever heard more deadly." "what clamor soever thou mayest make," said glewlwyd, the porter, "against the laws of arthur's palace, shalt thou not enter therein, until i first go and speak with arthur." then glewlwyd went into the hall. and arthur said to him, "hast thou news from the gate?" "half of my life is passed," said glewlwyd, "and half of thine. i was heretofore in kaer se and asse, in sach and salach, in lotor and fotor, and i have been in india the great and india the lesser, and i have also been in europe and africa, and in the islands of corsica, and i was present when thou didst conquer greece in the east. nine supreme sovereigns, handsome men, saw we there, but never did i behold a man of equal dignity with him who is now at the door of the portal." then said arthur: "if walking thou didst enter here, return thou running. it is unbecoming to keep such a man as thou sayest he is in the wind and the rain." said kay: "by the hand of my friend, if thou wouldst follow my counsel, thou wouldst not break through the laws of the court because of him." "not so, blessed kay," said arthur; "it is an honor to us to be resorted to, and the greater our courtesy, the greater will be our renown and our fame and our glory." and glewlwyd came to the gate, and opened the gate before kilwich: and although all dismounted upon the horse-block at the gate, yet did he not dismount, but he rode in upon his charger. then said he, "greeting be unto thee, sovereign ruler of this island, and be this greeting no less unto the lowest than unto the highest, and be it equally unto thy guests, and thy warriors, and thy chieftains; let all partake of it as completely as thyself. and complete be thy favor, and thy fame, and thy glory, throughout all this island." "greeting unto thee also," said arthur; "sit thou between two of my warriors, and thou shalt have minstrels before thee, and thou shalt enjoy the privileges of a king born to a throne, as long as thou remainest here. and when i disperse my presents to the visitors and strangers in this court, they shall be in thy hand at my commencing." said the youth, "i came not here to consume meat and drink; but if i obtain the boon that i seek, i will requite it thee, and extol thee; but if i have it not, i will bear forth thy dispraise to the four quarters of the world, as far as thy renown has extended." then said arthur, "since thou wilt not remain here, chieftain, thou shalt receive the boon, whatsoever thy tongue may name, as far as the wind dries, and the rain moistens, and the sun revolves, and the sea encircles, and the earth extends; save only my ship prydwen, and my mantle, and caliburn, my sword, and rhongomyant, my lance, and guenever, my wife. by the truth of heaven, thou shalt have it cheerfuly, name what thou wilt." "i would that thou bless my hair," said he. "that shall be granted thee." and arthur took a golden comb, and scissors whereof the loops were of silver, and he combed his hair. and arthur inquired of him who he was; "for my heart warms unto thee, and i know that thou art come of my blood. tell me, therefore, who thou art." "i will tell thee," said the youth. "i am kilwich, the son of kilydd, the son of prince kelyddon, by goleudyd, my mother, the daughter of prince anlawd." "that is true," said arthur; "thou art my cousin. whatsoever boon thou mayest ask, thou shalt receive, be it what it may that thy tongue shall name." "pledge the truth of heaven and the faith of thy kingdom thereof." "i pledge it thee gladly." "i crave of thee, then, that thou obtain for me olwen, the daughter of yspadaden penkawr, to wife; and this boon i likewise seek at the hands of thy warriors. i seek it from kay and from bedwyr; and from gwynn, the son of nudd, and gadwy, the son of geraint, and prince flewddur flam and iona, king of france, and sel, the son of selgi, and taliesin, the chief of the bards, and geraint, the son of erbin, garanwyn, the son of kay, and amren, the son of bedwyr, ol, the son of olwyd, bedwin, the bishop, guenever, the chief lady, and guenhywach, her sister, morved, the daughter of urien, and gwenlian deg, the majestic maiden, creiddylad, [footnote: creiddylad is no other than shakspeare's cordelia, whose father, king lear, is by the welsh authorities called indiscriminately llyr or lludd. all the old chronicles give the story of her devotion to her aged parent, but none of them seem to have been aware that she is destined to remain with him till the day of doom, whilst gwyn ap nudd, the king of the fairies, and gwythyr op greidiol, fight for her every first of may, and whichever of them may be fortunate enough to be the conqueror at that time will obtain her as a bride.] the daughter of lludd, the constant maiden, and ewaedah, the daughter of kynvelyn, [footnote: the welsh have a fable on the subject of the half man, taken to be illustrative of the force of habit. in this allegory arthur is supposed to be met by a sprite, who appears at first in a small and indistinct form, but who, on approaching nearer, increases in size, and, assuming the semblance of half a man, endeavors to provoke the king to wrestle. despising his weakness, and considering that he should gain no credit by the encounter, arthur refuses to do so, and delays the contest until at length the half man (habit) becomes so strong that it requires his utmost efforts to overcome him.] the half-man." all these did kilwich, the son of kilydd, adjure to obtain his boon. then said arthur, "o chieftain, i have never heard of the maiden of whom thou speakest, nor of her kindred, but i will gladly send messengers in search of her. give me time to seek her." and the youth said, "i will willingly grant from this night to that at the end of the year to do so." then arthur sent messengers to every land within his dominions to seek for the maiden, and at the end of the year arthur's messengers returned without having gained any knowledge or intelligence concerning olwen, more than on the first day. then said kilwich, "every one has received his boon, and i yet lack mine. i will depart, and bear away thy honor with me." then said kay, "rash chieftain! dost thou reproach arthur? go with us, and we will not part until thou dost either confess that the maiden exists not in the world, or until we obtain her." thereupon kay rose up. and arthur called bedwyr, who never shrank from any enterprise upon which kay was bound. none were equal to him in swiftness throughout this island except arthur alone; and although he was one handed; three warriors could not shed blood faster than he on the field of battle. and arthur called to kyndelig, the guide, "go thou upon this expedition with the chieftain." for as good a guide was he in a land which he had never seen as he was in his own. he called gurhyr gwalstat, because he knew all tongues. he called gawain, the son of gwyar, because he never returned home without achieving the adventure of which he went in quest. and arthur called meneu, the son of teirgwed, in order that, if they went into a savage country, he might cast a charm and an illusion over them, so that none might see them, whilst they could see every one. they journeyed until they came to a vast open plain, wherein they saw a great castle, which was the fairest of the castles of the world. and when they came before the castle, they beheld a vast flock of sheep. and upon the top of a mound there was a herdsman keeping the sheep. and a rug made of skins was upon him, and by his side was a shaggy mastiff, larger than a steed nine winters old. then said kay, "gurhyr gwalstat, go thou and salute yonder man." "kay," said he, "i engaged not to go further than thou thyself." "let us go then together." answered kay. said meneu, "fear not to go thither, for i will cast a spell upon the dog, so that he shall injure no one." and they went up to the mound whereon the herdsman was, and they said to him, "how dost thou fare, herdsman?" "not less fair be it to you than to me." "whose are the sheep that thou dost keep, and to whom does yonder castle belong?" "stupid are ye, truly! not to know that this is the castle of yspadaden penkawr. and ye also, who are ye?" "we are an embassy from arthur, come to seek olwen, the daughter of yspadaden penkawr." "o men! the mercy of heaven be upon you; do not that for all the world. none who ever came hither on this quest has returned alive." and the herdsman rose up. and as he rose kilwich gave unto him a ring of gold. and he went home and gave the ring to his spouse to keep. and she took the ring when it was given her, and she said, "whence came this ring, for thou art not wont to have good fortune." "o wife, him to whom this ring belonged thou shalt see here this evening." "and who is he?" asked the woman. "kilwich, the son of kilydd, by goleudid, the daughter of prince anlawd, who is come to seek olwen as his wife." and when she heard that, she had joy that her nephew, the son of her sister, was coming to her, and sorrow, because she had never known any one depart alive who had come on that quest. and the men went forward to the gate of the herdsman's dwelling. and when she heard their footsteps approaching, she ran out with joy to meet them. and kay snatched a billet out of the pile. and when she met them, she sought to throw her arms about their necks. and kay placed the log between her two hands, and she squeezed it so that it became a twisted coil. "o woman," said kay, "if thou hadst squeezed me thus, none could ever again have set their affections on me. evil love were this." they entered into the house and were served; and soon after, they all went forth to amuse themselves. then the woman opened a stone chest that was before the chimney-corner, and out of it arose a youth with yellow, curling hair. said gurhyr, "it is a pity to hide this youth. i know that it is not his own crime that is thus visited upon him." "this is but a remnant," said the woman. "three and twenty of my sons has yspadaden penkawr slain, and i have no more hope of this one than of the others." then said kay, "let him come and be a companion with me, and he shall not be slain unless i also am slain with him." and they ate. and the woman asked them, "upon what errand come you here?" "we come to seek olwen for this youth." then said the woman, "in the name of heaven, since no one from the castle hath yet seen you, return again whence you came." "heaven is our witness, that we will not return until we have seen the maiden. does she ever come hither, so that she may be seen?" "she comes here every saturday to wash her head, and in the vessel where she washes she leaves all her rings, and she never either comes herself or sends any messengers to fetch them." "will she come here if she is sent to?" "heaven knows that i will not destroy my soul, nor will i betray those that trust me; unless you will pledge me your faith that you will not harm her, i will not send to her." "we pledge it," said they. so a message was sent, and she came. the maiden was clothed in a robe of flame-colored silk, and about her neck was a collar of ruddy gold, on which were precious emeralds and rubies. more yellow was her head than the flower of the broom, [footnote: the romancers dwell with great complacency on the fair hair and delicate complexion of their heroines. this taste continued for a long time, and to render the hair light was an object of education. even when wigs came into fashion they were all flaxen. such was the color of the hair of the gauls and of their german conquerors. it required some centuries to reconcile their eyes to the swarthy beauties of their spanish and italian neighbors.] and her skin was whiter than the foam of the wave, and fairer were her hands and her fingers than the blossoms of the wood-anemone amidst the spray of the meadow fountain. the eye of the trained hawk was not brighter than hers. her bosom was more snowy than the breast of the white swan, her cheek was redder than the reddest roses. whoso beheld her was filled with her love. four white trefoils sprung up wherever she trod. and therefore was she called olwen. she entered the house and sat beside kilwich upon the foremost bench; and as soon as he saw her, he knew her. and kilwich said unto her, "ah! maiden, thou art she whom i have loved; come away with me, lest they speak evil of thee and of me. many a day have i loved thee." "i cannot do this, for i have pledged my faith to my father not to go without his counsel, for his life will last only until the time of my espousals. whatever is to be, must be. but i will give thee advice, if thou wilt take it. go, ask me of my father, and that which he shall require of thee, grant it, and thou wilt obtain me; but if thou deny him anything, thou wilt not obtain me, and it will be well for thee if thou escape with thy life." "i promise all this, if occasion offer," said he. she returned to her chamber, and they all rose up, and followed her to the castle. and they slew the nine porters, that were at the nine gates, in silence. and they slew the nine watch-dogs without one of them barking. and they went forward to the hall. "the greeting of heaven and of man be unto thee, yspadaden penkawr," said they. "and you, wherefore come you?" "we come to ask thy daughter olwen for kilwich, the son of kilydd, the son of prince kelyddon." "where are my pages and my servants? raise up the forks beneath my two eyebrows, which have fallen over my eyes, that i may see the fashion of my son-in-law." and they did so. "come hither to-morrow, and you shall have an answer." they rose to go forth, and yspadaden penkawr seized one of the three poisoned darts that lay beside him, and threw it after them. and bedwyr caught it, and flung it, and pierced yspadaden penkawr grievously with it through the knee. then he said, "a cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly! i shall ever walk the worse for his rudeness, and shall ever be without a cure. this poisoned iron pains me like the bite of a gad-fly. cursed be the smith who forged it, and the anvil on which it was wrought! so sharp is it!" that night also they took up their abode in the house of the herdsman. the next day, with the dawn, they arrayed themselves and proceeded to the castle, and entered the hall; and they said, "yspadaden penkawr, give us thy daughter in consideration of her dower and her maiden fee, which we will pay to thee, and to her two kinswomen likewise." then he said, "her four great- grandmothers and her four great-grandsires are yet alive; it is needful that i take counsel of them." "be it so," they answered, "we will go to meat." as they rose up he took the second dart that was beside him, and cast it after them. and meneu, the son of gawedd, caught it, and flung it back at him, and wounded him in the centre of the breast. "a cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly!" said he; "the hard iron pains me like the bite of a horse-leech. cursed be the hearth whereon it was heated, and the smith who formed it! so sharp is it! henceforth, whenever i go up hill, i shall have a scant in my breath, and a pain in my chest, and i shall often loathe my food." and they went to meat. and the third day they returned to the palace. and yspadaden penkawr said to them, "shoot not at me again unless you desire death. where are my attendants? lift up the forks of my eyebrows, which have fallen over my eyeballs, that i may see the fashion of my son-in-law." then they arose, and, as they did so, yspadaden penkawr took the third poisoned dart and cast it at them. and kilwich caught it, and threw it vigorously, and wounded him through the eyeball. "a cursed ungentle son-in-law, truly! as long as i remain alive, my eyesight will be the worse. whenever i go against the wind, my eyes will water; and peradventure my head will burn, and i shall have a giddiness every new moon. like the bite of a mad dog is the stroke of this poisoned iron. cursed be the fire in which it was forged!" and they went to meat. and the next day they came again to the palace, and they said, "shoot not at us any more, unless thou desirest such hurt and harm and torture as thou now hast, and even more." said kilwich, "give me thy daughter; and if thou wilt not give her, thou shalt receive thy death because of her." "where is he that seeks my daughter? come hither where i may see thee." and they placed him a chair face to face with him. said yspadaden penkawr, "is it thou that seekest my daughter?" "it is i," answered kilwich. "i must have thy pledge that thou wilt not do toward me otherwise than is just; and when i have gotten that which i shall name, my daughter thou shalt have." "i promise thee that willingly," said kilwich; "name what thou wilt." "i will do so," said he. "seest thou yonder red tilled ground?" "i see it." "when first i met the mother of this maiden, nine bushels of flax were sown therein, and none has yet sprung up, white nor black. i require to have the flax to sow in the new land yonder, that when it grows up it may make a white wimple for my daughter's head on the day of thy wedding." "it will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think it will not be easy." "though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get-- the harp of teirtu, to play to us that night. when a man desires that it should play, it does so of itself; and when he desires that it should cease, it ceases. and this he will not give of his own free will, and thou wilt not be able to compel him." "it will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think it will not be easy." "though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. i require thee to get me for my huntsman mabon, the son of modron. he was taken from his mother when three nights old, and it is not known where he now is, nor whether he is living or dead." "it will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think it will not be easy." "though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get-- the two cubs of the wolf gast rhymhi; no leash in the world will hold them, but a leash made from the beard of dillus varwawc, the robber. and the leash will be of no avail unless it be plucked from his beard while he is alive. while he lives he will not suffer this to be done to him, and the leash will be of no use should he be dead, because it will be brittle." "it will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think it will not be easy." "though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get-- the sword of gwernach the giant; of his own free will he will not give it, and thou wilt never be able to compel him." "it will be easy for me to compass this, although thou mayest think it will not be easy." "though thou get this, there is yet that which thou wilt not get. difficulties shalt thou meet with, and nights without sleep, in seeking this, and if thou obtain it not, neither shalt thou obtain my daughter." "horses shall i have, and chivalry; and my lord and kinsman, arthur, will obtain for me all these things. and i shall gain thy daughter, and thou shalt lose thy life." "go forward. and thou shalt not be chargeable for food or raiment for my daughter while thou art seeking these things; and when thou hast compassed all these marvels, thou shalt have my daughter for thy wife." chapter xii kilwich and olwen (continued) all that day they journeyed until the evening, and then they beheld a vast castle, which was the largest in the world. and lo! a black man, larger than three of the men of this world, came out from the castle. and they spoke unto him, and said, "o man, whose castle is that?" "stupid are ye, truly, o men! there is no one in the world that does not know that this is the castle of gwernach the giant." "what treatment is there for guests and strangers that alight in that castle?" "o chieftain, heaven protect thee! no guests ever returned thence alive, and no one may enter therein unless he brings with him his craft." then they proceeded towards the gate. said gurhyr gwalstat, "is there a porter?" "there is; wherefore dost thou call?" "open the gate." "i will not open it." "wherefore wilt thou not?" "the knife is in the meat, and the drink is in the horn, and there is revelry in the hall of gwernach the giant; and except for a craftsman who brings his craft, the gate will not be opened to-night." "verily, porter," then said kay, "my craft bring i with me." "what is thy craft?" "the best burnisher of swords am i in the world." "i will go and tell this unto gwernach the giant, and i will bring thee an answer." so the porter went in, and gwernach said to him, "hast thou news from the gate?" "i have. there is a party at the door of the gate who desire to come in." "didst thou inquire of them if they possessed any art?" "i did inquire," said he, "and one told me that he was well skilled in the burnishing of swords." "we have need of him then. for some time have i sought for some one to polish my sword, and could find no one. let this man enter, since he brings with him his craft." the porter thereupon returned and opened the gate. and kay went in by himself, and he saluted gwernach the giant. and a chair was placed for him opposite to gwernach. and gwernach said to him, "o man, is it true that is reported of thee, that thou knowest how to burnish swords?" "i know full well how to do so," answered kay. then was the sword of gwernach brought to him. and kay took a blue whetstone from under his arm, and asked whether he would have it burnished white or blue. "do with it as it seems good to thee, or as thou wouldst if it were thine own." then kay polished one half of the blade, and put it in his hand. "will this please thee?" asked he. "i would rather than all that is in my dominions that the whole of it were like this. it is a marvel to me that such a man as thou should be without a companion." "o noble sir, i have a companion, albeit he is not skilled in this art." "who may he be?" "let the porter go forth, and i will tell him whereby he may know him. the head of his lance will leave its shaft, and draw blood from the wind, and will descend upon its shaft again." then the gate was opened, and bedwyr entered. and kay said, "bedwyr is very skilful, though he knows not this art." and there was much discourse among those who were without, because that kay and bedwyr had gone in. and a young man who was with them, the only son of the herdsman, got in also; and he contrived to admit all the rest, but they kept themselves concealed. the sword was now polished, and kay gave it unto the hand of gwernach the giant, to see if he were pleased with his work. and the giant said, "the work is good; i am content therewith." said kay, "it is thy scabbard that hath rusted thy sword; give it to me, that i may take out the wooden sides of it, and put in new ones." and he took the scabbard from him, and the sword in the other hand. and he came and stood over against the giant, as if he would have put the sword into the scabbard; and with it he struck at the head of the giant, and cut off his head at one blow. then they despoiled the castle, and took from it what goods and jewels they would. and they returned to arthur's court, bearing with them the sword of gwernach the giant. and when they told arthur how they had sped, arthur said, "it is a good beginning." then they took counsel, and said, "which of these marvels will it be best for us to seek next?" "it will be best," said one, "to seek mabon, the son of modron; and he will not be found unless we first find eidoel, the son of aer, his kinsman." then arthur rose up, and the warriors of the island of britain with him, to seek for eidoel; and they proceeded until they came to the castle of glivi, where eidoel was imprisoned. glivi stood on the summit of his castle, and he said, "arthur, what requirest thou of me, since nothing remains to me in this fortress, and i have neither joy nor pleasure in it, neither wheat nor oats? seek not, therefore, to do me harm." said arthur, "not to injure thee came i hither, but to seek for the prisoner that is with thee." "i will give thee my prisoner, though i had not thought to give him up to any one, and therewith shalt thou have my support and my aid." his followers said unto arthur, "lord, go thou home, thou canst not proceed with thy host in quest of such small adventures as these." then said arthur, "it were well for thee, gurhyr gwalstat, to go upon this quest, for thou knowest all languages, and art familiar with those of the birds and the beasts. thou, eidoel, oughtest likewise to go with thy men in search of thy cousin. and as for you, kay and bedwyr, i have hope of whatever adventure ye are in quest of, that ye will achieve it. achieve ye this adventure for me." they went forward until they came to the ousel of cilgwri. and gurhyr adjured her, saying, "tell me if thou knowest aught of mabon, the son of modron, who was taken when three nights old from between his mother and the wall?" and the ousel answered, "when i first came here, there was a smith's anvil in this place, and i was then a young bird; and from that time no work has been done upon it, save the pecking of my beak every evening; and now there is not so much as the size of a nut remaining thereof; yet during all that time i have never heard of the man for whom you inquire. nevertheless, i will do that which it is fitting that i should for an embassy from arthur. there is a race of animals who were formed before me, and i will be your guide to them." so they proceeded to the place where was the stag of redynvre. "stag of redynvre, behold, we are come to thee, an embassy from arthur, for we have not heard of any animal older than thou. say, knowest thou aught of mabon, the son of modron, who was taken from his mother when three nights old?" the stag said, "when first i came hither there was a plain all around me, without any trees save one oak sapling, which grew up to be an oak with an hundred branches; and that oak has since perished, so that now nothing remains of it but the withered stump; and from that day to this i have been here, yet have i never heard of the man for whom you inquire. nevertheless, being an embassy from arthur, i will be your guide to the place where there is an animal which was formed before i was, and the oldest animal in the world, and the one that has travelled most, the eagle of gwern abwy." gurhyr said, "eagle of gwern abwy, we have come to thee, an embassy from arthur, to ask thee if thou knowest aught of mabon, the son of modron, who was taken from his mother when he was three nights old?" the eagle said, "i have been here for a great space of time, and when i first came hither, there was a rock here from the top of which i pecked at the stars every evening; and it has crumbled away, and now it is not so much as a span high. all that time i have been here, and i have never heard of the man for whom you inquire, except once when i went in search of food as far as llyn llyw. and when i came there, i struck my talons into a salmon, thinking he would serve me as food for a long time. but he drew me into the water, and i was scarcely able to escape from him. after that i made peace with him. and i drew fifty fish- spears out of his back, and relieved him. unless he know something of him whom you seek, i cannot tell who may. however, i will guide you to the place where he is." so they went thither; and the eagle said, "salmon of llyn llyw, i have come to thee with an embassy from arthur, to ask thee if thou knowest aught of mabon, the son of modron, who was taken away at three nights old from his mother." "as much as i know i will tell thee. with every tide i go along the river upward, until i come near to the walls of gloucester, and there have i found such wrong as i never found elsewhere; and to the end that ye may give credence thereto, let one of you go thither upon each of my two shoulders." so kay and gurhyr gwalstat went upon the two shoulders of the salmon, and they proceeded until they came unto the wall of the prison; and they heard a great wailing and lamenting from the dungeon. said gurhyr, "who is it that laments in this house of stone?" "alas! it is mabon, the son of modron, who is here imprisoned; and no imprisonment was ever so grievous as mine." "hast thou hope of being released for gold or for silver, or for any gifts of wealth, or through battle and fighting?" "by fighting will what ever i may gain be obtained." then they went thence, and returned to arthur, and they told him where mabon, the son of modron, was imprisoned. and arthur summoned the warriors of the island, and they journeyed as far as gloucester, to the place where mabon was in prison. kay and bedwyr went upon the shoulders of the fish, whilst the warriors of arthur attacked the castle. and kay broke through the wall into the dungeon, and brought away the prisoner upon his back, whilst the fight was going on between the warriors. and arthur returned home, and mabon with him at liberty. on a certain day as gurhyr gwalstat was walking over a mountain, he heard a wailing and a grievous cry. and when he heard it, he sprang forward and went towards it. and when he came there, he saw a fire burning among the turf, and an ant-hill nearly surrounded with the fire. and he drew his sword, and smote off the ant-hill close to the earth, so that it escaped being burned in the fire. and the ants said to him, "receive from us the blessing of heaven, and that which no man can give, we give thee." then they fetched the nine bushels of flax-seed which yspadaden penkawr had required of kilwich, and they brought the full measure, without lacking any, except one flax-seed, and that the lame pismire brought in before night. then said arthur, "which of the marvels will it be best for us to seek next?" "it will be best to seek for the two cubs of the wolf gast rhymhi." "is it known," said arthur, "where she is?" "she is in aber cleddyf," said one. then arthur went to the house of tringad, in aber cleddyf, and he inquired of him whether he had heard of her there. "she has often slain my herds, and she is there below in a cave in aber cleddyf." ther arthur went in his ship prydwen by sea, and the others went by land to hunt her. and they surrounded her and her two cubs, and took them and carried them away. as kay and bedwyr sat on a beacon-cairn on the summit of plinlimmon, in the highest wind that ever was, they looked around them and saw a great smoke, afar off. then said kay, "by the hand of my friend, yonder is the fire of a robber." then they hastened towards the smoke, and they came so near to it that they could see dillus varwawc scorching a wild boar. "behold, yonder is the greatest robber that ever fled from arthur," said bedwyr to kay. "dost thou know him?" "i do know him," answered kay; "he is dillus varwarc, and no leash in the world will be able to hold the cubs of gast rhymi, save a leash made from the beard of him thou seest yonder. and even that will be useless unless his beard be plucked out alive, with wooden tweezers; for if dead it will be brittle." "what thinkest thou that we should do concerning this?" said bedwyr. "let us suffer him." said kay, "to eat as much as he will of the meat, and after that he will fall asleep." and during that time they employed themselves in making the wooden tweezers. and when kay knew certainly that he was asleep, he made a pit under his feet, and he struck him a violent blow, and squeezed him into the pit. and there they twitched out his beard completely with the wooden tweezers, and after that they slew him altogether. and from thence they went, and took the leash made of dillus varwawc's beard, and they gave it into arthur's hand. thus they got all the marvels that yspadaden penkawr had required of kilwich; and they set forward, and took the marvels to his court. and kilwich said to yspadaden penkawr, "is thy daughter mine now?" "she is thine," said he, "but therefore needest thou not thank me, but arthur, who hath accomplished this for thee." then goreu, the son of custennin, the herdsman, whose brothers yspadaden penkawr had slain, seized him by the hair of his head, and dragged him after him to the keep, and cut off his head, and placed it on a stake on the citadel. then they took possession of his castle, and of his treasures. and that night olwen became kilwich's bride, and she continued to be his wife as long as she lived. chapter xiii taliesin gwyddno garanhir was sovereign of gwaelod, a territory bordering on the sea. and he possessed a weir upon the strand between dyvi and aberystwyth, near to his own castle, and the value of an hundred pounds was taken in that weir every may eve. and gwyddno had an only son named elphin, the most hapless of youths, and the most needy. and it grieved his father sore, for he thought that he was born in an evil hour. by the advice of his council, his father had granted him the drawing of the weir that year, to see if good luck would ever befall him, and to give him something wherewith to begin the world. and this was on the twenty-ninth of april. the next day, when elphin went to look, there was nothing in the weir but a leathern bag upon a pole of the weir. then said the weir-ward unto elphin, "all thy ill-luck aforetime was nothing to this; and now thou hast destroyed the virtues of the weir, which always yielded the value of an hundred pounds every may eve; and to-night there is nothing but this leathern skin within it." "how now," said elphin, "there may be therein the value of a hundred pounds." well! they took up the leathern bag, and he who opened it saw the forehead of an infant, the fairest that ever was seen; and he said, "behold a radiant brow?" (in the welsh language, taliesin.) "taliesin be he called," said elphin. and he lifted the bag in his arms, and, lamenting his bad luck, placed the boy sorrowfully behind him. and he made his horse amble gently, that before had been trotting, and he carried him as softly as if he had been sitting in the easiest chair in the world. and presently the boy made a consolation, and praise to elphin; and the consolation was as you may here see: "fair elphin, cease to lament! never in gwyddno's weir was there such good luck as this night. being sad will not avail; better to trust in god than to forbode ill; weak and small as i am, on the foaming beach of the ocean, in the day of trouble i shall be of more service to thee than three hundred salmon." this was the first poem that taliesin ever sung, being to console elphin in his grief for that the produce of the weir was lost, and what was worse, that all the world would consider that it was through his fault and ill-luck. then elphin asked him what he was, whether man or spirit. and he sung thus: "i have been formed a comely person; although i am but little, i am highly gifted; into a dark leathern bag i was thrown, and on a boundless sea i was sent adrift. from seas and from mountains god brings wealth to the fortunate man." then came elphin to the house of gwyddno, his father, and taliesin with him. gwyddno asked him if he had had a good haul at the weir, and he told him that he had got that which was better than fish. "what was that?" said gwyddno. "a bard," said elphin. then said gwyddno, "alas! what will he profit thee?" and taliesin himself replied and said, "he will profit him more than the weir ever profited thee." asked gwyddno, "art thou able to speak, and thou so little?" and taliesin answered him, "i am better able to speak than thou to question me." "let me hear what thou canst say," quoth gwyddno. then taliesin sang: "three times have i been born, i know by meditation; all the sciences of the world are collected in my breast, for i know what has been, and what hereafter will occur." elphin gave his haul to his wife, and she nursed him tenderly and lovingly. thenceforward elphin increased in riches more and more, day after day, and in love and favor with the king; and there abode taliesin until he was thirteen years old, when elphin, son of gwyddno, went by a christmas invitation to his uncle, maelgan gwynedd, who held open court at christmas-tide in the castle of dyganwy, for all the number of his lords of both degrees, both spiritual and temporal, with a vast and thronged host of knights and squires. and one arose and said, "is there in the whole world a king so great as maelgan, or one on whom heaven has bestowed so many gifts as upon him;--form, and beauty, and meekness, and strength, besides all the powers of the soul?" and together with these they said that heaven had given one gift that exceeded all the others, which was the beauty, and grace, and wisdom, and modesty of his queen, whose virtues surpassed those of all the ladies and noble maidens throughout the whole kingdom. and with this they put questions one to another, who had braver men? who had fairer or swifter horses or greyhounds? who had more skilful or wiser bards than maelgan? when they had all made an end of their praising the king and his gifts, it befell that elphin spoke on this wise. "of a truth, none but a king may vie with a king; but were he not a king, i would say that my wife was as virtuous as any lady in the kingdom, and also that i have a bard who is more skilful than all the king's bards." in a short space some of his fellows told the king all the boastings of elphin; and the king ordered him to be thrown into a strong prison, until he might show the truth as to the virtues of his wife, and the wisdom of his bard. now when elphin had been put in a tower of the castle, with a thick chain about his feet (it is said that it was a silver chain, because he was of royal blood), the king, as the story relates, sent his son rhun to inquire into the demeanor of elphin's wife. now rhun was the most graceless man in the world, and there was neither wife nor maiden with whom he held converse but was evil spoken of. while rhun went in haste towards elphin's dwelling, being fully minded to bring disgrace upon his wife, taliesin told his mistress how that the king had placed his master in durance in prison, and how that rhun was coming in haste to strive to bring disgrace upon her. wherefore he caused his mistress to array one of the maids of her kitchen in her apparel; which the noble lady gladly did, and she loaded her hands with the best rings that she and her husband possessed. in this guise taliesin caused his mistress to put the maiden to sit at the board in her room at supper; and he made her to seem as her mistress, and the mistress to seem as the maid. and when they were in due time seated at their supper, in the manner that has been said, rhun suddenly arrived at elphin's dwelling, and was received with joy, for the servants knew him; and they brought him to the room of their mistress, in the semblance of whom the maid rose up from supper and welcomed him gladly. and afterwards she sat down to supper again, and rhun with her. then rhun began jesting with the maid, who still kept the semblance of her mistress. and verily this story shows that the maiden became so intoxicated that she fell asleep; and the story relates that it was a powder that rhun put into the drink, that made her sleep so soundly that she never felt it when he cut off from her hand her little finger, whereon was the signet ring of elphin, which he had sent to his wife as a token a short time before. and rhun returned to the king with the finger and the ring as a proof, to show that he had cut it off from her hand without her awaking from her sleep of intemperance. the king rejoiced greatly at these tidings, and he sent for his councillors, to whom he told the whole story from the beginning. and he caused elphin to be brought out of prison, and he chided him because of his boast. and he spake on this wise: "elphin, be it known to thee beyond a doubt, that it is but folly for a man to trust in the virtues of his wife further than he can see her; and that thou mayest be certain of thy wife's vileness, behold her finger, with thy signet ring upon it, which was cut from her hand last night, while she slept the sleep of intoxication." then thus spake elphin: "with thy leave, mighty king, i cannot deny my ring, for it is known of many; but verily i assert that the finger around which it is was never attached to the hand of my wife; for in truth and certainty there are three notable things pertaining to it, none of which ever belonged to any of my wife's fingers. the first of the three is, that it is certainly known to me that this ring would never remain upon her thumb, whereas you can plainly see that it is hard to draw it over the joint of the little finger of the hand whence this was cut. the second thing is, that my wife has never let pass one saturday since i have known her, without paring her nails before going to bed, and you can see fully that the nail of this little finger has not been pared for a month. the third is, truly, that the hand whence this finger came was kneading rye dough within three days before the finger was cut therefrom, and i can assure your highness that my wife has never kneaded rye dough since my wife she has been." the king was mightily wroth with elphin for so stoutly withstanding him, respecting the goodness of his wife; wherefore he ordered him to his prison a second time, saying that he should not be loosed thence until he had proved the truth of his boast, as well concerning the wisdom of his bard as the virtues of his wife. in the meantime his wife and taliesin remained joyful at elphin's dwelling. and taliesin showed his mistress how that elphin was in prison because of them; but he bade her be glad, for that he would go to maelgan's court to free his master. so he took leave of his mistress, and came to the court of maelgan, who was going to sit in his hall, and dine in his royal state, as it was the custom in those days for kings and princes to do at every chief feast. as soon as taliesin entered the hall he placed himself in a quiet corner, near the place where the bards and the minstrels were wont to come, in doing their service and duty to the king, as is the custom at the high festivals, when the bounty is proclaimed. so, when the bards and the heralds came to cry largess, and to proclaim the power of the king, and his strength, at the moment when they passed by the corner wherein he was crouching, taliesin pouted out his lips after them, and played "blerwm, blerwm!" with his finger upon his lips. neither took they much notice of him as they went by but proceeded forward till they came before the king, unto whom they made their obeisance with their bodies, as they were wont, without speaking a single word, but pouting out their lips, and making mouths at the king, playing, "blerwm, blerwm!" upon their lips with their fingers, as they had seen the boy do. this sight caused the king to wonder, and to deem within himself that they were drunk with many liquors. wherefore he commanded one of his lords, who served at the board, to go to them and desire them to collect their wits, and to consider where they stood, and what it was fitting for them to do. and this lord did so gladly. but they ceased not from their folly any more than before. whereupon he sent to them a second time, and a third, desiring them to go forth from the hall. at the last the king ordered one of his squires to give a blow to the chief of them, named heinin vardd; and the squire took a broom and struck him on the head, so that he fell back in his seat. then he arose, and went on his knees, and besought leave of the king's grace to show that this their fault was not through want of knowledge, neither through drunkenness, but by the influence of some spirit that was in the hall. and he spoke on this wise: "o honorable king, be it known to your grace that not from the strength of drink, or of too much liquor, are we dumb, but through the influence of a spirit that sits in the corner yonder, in the form of a child." forthwith the king commanded the squire to fetch him; and he went to the nook where taliesin sat, and brought him before the king, who asked him what he was, and whence he came. and he answered the king in verse: "primary chief bard am i to elphin, and my native country is the region of the summer stars; i have been in asia with noah in the ark, i have seen the destruction of sodom and gomorrah, i was in india when rome was built, i have now come here to the remnant of troia." when the king and his nobles had heard the song, they wondered much, for they had never heard the like from a boy so young as he. and when the king knew that he was the bard of elphin he bade heinin, his first and wisest bard, to answer taliesin, and to strive with him. but when he came he could do no other than play "blerwm!" on his lips; and when he sent for the others of the four and twenty bards, they all did likewise, and could do no other. and maelgan asked the boy taliesin what was his errand, and he answered him in song: "elphin, the son of gwyddno, is in the land of artro, secured by thirteen locks, for praising his instructor. therefore i, taliesin, chief of the bards of the west, will loosen elphin out of a golden fetter." then he sang to them a riddle: "discover thou what is the strong creature from before the flood, without flesh, without bone, without vein, without blood, without head, without feet; it will neither be older nor younger than at the beginning. behold how the sea whitens when first it comes, when it comes from the south, when it strikes on coasts it is in the field, it is in the wood, but the eye cannot perceive it. one being has prepared it, by a tremendous blast, to wreak vengeance on maelgan gwynedd." while he was thus singing his verse, there arose a mighty storm of wind, so that the king and all his nobles thought that the castle would fall upon their heads. and the king caused them to fetch elphin in haste from his dungeon, and placed him before taliesin. and it is said that immediately he sung a verse, so that the chains opened from about his feet. after that taliesin brought elphin's wife before them, and showed that she had not one finger wanting. and in this manner did he set his master free from prison, and protect the innocence of his mistress, and silence the bards so that not one of them dared to say a word. right glad was elphin, right glad was taliesin. hero myths of the british race beowulf notable among the names of heroes of the british race is that of beowulf, which appeals to all english-speaking people in a very special way, since he is the one hero in whose story we may see the ideals of our english forefathers before they left their continental home to cross to the islands of britain. although this hero had distinguished himself by numerous feats of strength during his boyhood and early youth, it was as the deliverer of hrothgar, king of denmark, from the monster grendel that he first gained wide renown. grendel was half monster and half man, and had his abode in the fen-fastnesses in the vicinity of hrothgar's residence. night after night he would steal into the king's great palace called heorot and slay sometimes as many as thirty at one time of the knights sleeping there. beowulf put himself at the head of a selected band of warriors, went against the monster, and after a terrible fight slew it. the following night grendel's mother, a fiend scarcely less terrible than her son, carried off one of hrothgar's boldest thanes. once more beowulf went to the help of the danish king, followed the she-monster to her lair at the bottom of a muddy lake in the midst of the swamp, and with his good sword hrunting and his own muscular arms broke the sea-woman's neck. upon his return to his own country of the geats, loaded with honors bestowed upon him by hrothgar, beowulf served the king of geatland as the latter's most trusted counsellor and champion. when, after many years, the king fell before an enemy, the geats unanimously chose beowulf for their new king. his fame as a warrior kept his country free from invasion, and his wisdom as a statesman increased its prosperity and happiness. in the fiftieth year of beowulf's reign, however, a great terror fell upon the land in the way of a monstrous fire-dragon, which flew forth by night from its den in the rocks, lighting up the blackness with its blazing breath, and burning houses and homesteads, men and cattle, with the flames from its mouth. when the news came to beowulf that his people were suffering and dying, and that no warrior dared to risk his life in an effort to deliver the country from this deadly devastation, the aged king took up his shield and sword and went forth to his last fight. at the entrance of the dragon's cave beowulf raised his voice and shouted a furious defiance to the awesome guardian of the den. roaring hideously and napping his glowing wings together, the dragon rushed forth and half flew, half sprang, on beowulf. then began a fearful combat, which ended in beowulf's piercing the dragon's scaly armor and inflicting a mortal wound, but alas! in himself being given a gash in the neck by his opponent's poisoned fangs which resulted in his death. as he lay stretched on the ground, his head supported by wiglaf, an honored warrior who had helped in the fight with the dragon, beowulf roused himself to say, as he grasped wiglaf's hand: "thou must now look to the needs of the nation; here dwell i no longer, for destiny calleth me! bid thou my warriors after my funeral pyre build me a burial-cairn high on the sea-cliff's head; so that the seafarers beowulf's barrow henceforth shall name it, they who drive far and wide over the mighty flood their foamy keels. thou art the last of all the kindred of wagmund! wyrd has swept all my kin, all the brave chiefs away! now must i follow them!" these last words spoken, the king of the geats, brave to seek danger and brave to look on death and fate undaunted, fell back dead. according to his last desires, his followers gathered wood and piled it on the cliff-head. upon this funeral pyre was laid beowulf's body and consumed to ashes. then, upon the same cliff of hronesness, was erected a huge burial cairn, wide-spread and lofty, to be known thereafter as beowulf's barrow. cuchulain, champion of ireland among all the early literatures of europe, there are two which, at exactly opposite corners of the continent, display most strikingly similar characteristics. these are the greek and the irish, and the legend of the irish champion cuchulain, which well illustrates the similarity of the literatures, bears so close a resemblance to the story of achilles as to win for this hero the title of "the irish achilles." certainly in reckless courage, power of inspiring dread, sense of personal merit, and frankness of speech the irish hero is fully equal to the mighty greek. cuchulain was the nephew of king conor of ulster, son of his sister dechtire, and it is said that his father was no mortal man, but the great god lugh of the long hand. cuchulain was brought up by king conor himself, and even while he was still a boy his fame spread all over ireland. his warlike deeds were those of a proved warrior, not of a child of nursery age; and by the time cuchulain was seventeen he was without peer among the champions of ulster. upon cuchulain's marriage to emer, daughter of forgall the wily, a druid of great power, the couple took up their residence at armagh, the capital of ulster, under the protection of king conor. here there was one chief, bricriu of the bitter tongue, who, like thersites among the grecian leaders, delighted in making mischief. soon he had on foot plans for stirring up strife among the heroes of ulster, leaders among whom were the mighty laegaire, conall cearnach, cousin of cuchulain, and cuchulain himself. inviting the members of king conor's court to dinner, bricriu arranged that a contest should arise over who should have the "champion's portion," and so successful was he that, to avoid a bloody fight, the three heroes mentioned decided to submit their claims to the championship of ireland to king ailill of connaught. ailill put the heroes to an unexpected test. their dinner was served them in a separate room, into which three magic beasts, in the shape of monstrous cats, were sent by the king. when they saw them laegire and conall rose from their meal, climbed among the rafters, and stayed there all night. cuchulain waited until one cat attacked him, and then, drawing his sword, struck the monster. it showed no further sign of fight, and at daybreak the magic beasts disappeared. as laegire and conall claimed that this test was an unfair one, ailill sent the three rivals to curoi of kerry, a just and wise man, who set out to discover by wizardry and enchantments the best among the heroes. in turn they stood watch outside curoi's castle, where laegire and conall were overcome by a huge giant, who hurled spears of mighty oak trees, and ended by throwing them over the wall into the courtyard. cuchulain alone withstood the giant, whereupon he was attacked by other magic foes. among these was a dragon, which flew on horrible wings from a neighboring lake, and seemed ready to devour everything in its way. cuchulain sprang up, giving his wonderful hero-leap, thrust his arm into the dragon's mouth and down its throat, and tore out its heart. after the monster fell dead, he cut off its scaly head. as even yet cuchulain's opponents would not admit his championship, they were all three directed to return to armagh, to await curoi's judgment. here it happened that all the ulster heroes were in the great hall one night, except cuchulain and his cousin conall. as they sat in order of rank, a terrible stranger, gigantic in stature, hideous of aspect, with ravening yellow eyes, entered. in his hand he bore an enormous axe, with keen and shining edge. upon king conor's inquiring his business there, the stranger replied: "behold my axe! the man who will grasp it to-day may cut my head off with it, provided that i may, in like manner, cut off his head to-morrow. if you have no champion who dare face me, i will say that ulster has lost her courage and is dishonored." at once laegire accepted the challenge. the giant laid his head on a block, and at a blow the hero severed it from the body. thereupon the giant arose, took the head and the axe, and thus, headless, strode from the hall. but the following night, when he returned, sound as ever, to claim the fulfilment of laegire's promise, the latter's heart failed him and he did not come forward. the stranger then jeered at the men of ulster because their great champion durst not keep his agreement, nor face the blow he should receive in return for the one he gave. the men of ulster were utterly ashamed, but conall cearnach, who was present that night, made a new agreement with the stranger. he gave a blow which beheaded the giant, but again, when the latter returned whole and sound on the following evening, the champion was not to be found. now it was the turn of cuchulain, who, as the others had done, cut off the giant's head at one stroke. the next day the members of conor's court watched cuchulain to see what he would do. they would not have been surprised if he had failed like the others, who now were present. the champion, however, showed no signs of failing or retreat. he sat sorrowfully in his place, and with a sigh said to king conor as they waited: "do not leave this place till all is over. death is coming to me very surely, but i must fulfil my agreement, for i would rather die than break my word." towards the close of day the stranger strode into the hall exultant. "where is cuchulain?" he cried. "here i am," was the reply. "ah, poor boy! your speech is sad to-night, and the fear of death lies heavy on you; but at least you have redeemed your word and have not failed me." the youth rose from his seat and went towards him, as he stood with the great axe ready, and knelt to receive the blow. the hero of ulster laid his head on the block; but the giant was not satisfied. "stretch out your neck better," said he. "you are playing with me, to torment me," said cuchulain. "slay me now speedily, for i did not keep you waiting last night." however, he stretched out his neck as ordered, and the stranger raised his axe till it crashed upwards through the rafters of the hall, like the crash of trees falling in a storm. when the axe came down with a terrific sound all men looked fearfully at cuchulain. the descending axe had not even touched him; it had come down with the blunt side on the ground, and the youth knelt there unharmed. smiling at him, and leaning on his axe, stood no terrible and hideous stranger, but curoi of kerry, come to give his decision at last. "rise up, cuchulain," said curoi. "there is none among all the heroes of ulster to equal you in courage and loyalty and truth. the championship of the heroes of ireland is yours from this day forth, and the champion's portion at all feasts; and to your wife i adjudge the first place among all the women of ulster. woe to him who dares to dispute this decision!" thereupon curoi vanished, and the warriors gathered around cuchulain, and all with one voice acclaimed him the champion of the heroes of all ireland--a title which has clung to him until this day. this is one of many stories told of the irish champion, whose deeds of bravery would fill many pages. cuchulain finally came to his end on the field of battle, after a fight in which he displayed all his usual gallantry but in which unfair means were used to overcome him. for wales and for england during centuries arthur has been the representative "very gentle perfect knight." in a similar way, in england's sister isle, cuchulain stands ever for the highest ideals of the irish gaels. hereward the wake in hereward the wake (or "watchful") is found one of those heroes whose date can be ascertained with a fair amount of exactness and yet in whose story occur mythological elements which seem to belong to all ages. the folklore of primitive races is a great storehouse whence a people can choose tales and heroic deeds to glorify its own national hero, careless that the same tales and deeds have done duty for other peoples and other heroes. hence it happens that hereward the saxon, a patriot hero as real and actual as nelson or george washington, whose deeds were recorded in prose and verse within forty years of his death, was even then surrounded by a cloud of romance and mystery, which hid in vagueness his family, his marriage, and even his death. briefly it may be stated that hereward was a native of lincolnshire, and was in his prime about . in that year he joined a party of danes who appeared in england, attacked peterborough and sacked the abbey there, and afterward took refuge in the isle of ely. here he was besieged by william the conqueror, and was finally forced to yield to the norman. he thus came to stand for the defeated saxon race, and his name has been passed down as that of the darling hero of the saxons. for his splendid defence of ely they forgave his final surrender to duke william; they attributed to him all the virtues supposed to be inherent in the free-born, and all the glorious valor on which the english prided themselves; and, lastly, they surrounded his death with a halo of desperate fighting, and made his last conflict as wonderful as that of roland at roncesvalles. if roland is the ideal of norman feudal chivalry, hereward is equally the ideal of anglo-saxon sturdy manliness and knighthood. an account of one of hereward's adventures as a youth will serve as illustration of the stories told of his prowess. on an enforced visit to cornwall, he found that king alef, a petty british chief, had betrothed his fair daughter to a terrible pictish giant, breaking off, in order to do it, her troth-plight with prince sigtryg of waterford, son of a danish king in ireland. hereward, ever chivalrous, picked a quarrel with the giant and killed him in fair fight, whereupon the king threw him into prison. in the following night, however, the released princess arranged that the gallant saxon should be freed and sent hot-foot for her lover, prince sigtryg. after many adventures hereward reached the prince, who hastened to return to cornwall with the young hero. but to the grief of both, they learned upon their arrival that the princess had just been betrothed to a wild cornish hero, haco, and the wedding feast was to be held that very day. sigtryg at once sent a troop of forty danes to king alef demanding the fulfilment of the troth-plight between himself and his daughter, and threatening vengeance if it were broken. to this threat the king returned no answer, and no dane came back to tell of their reception. sigtryg would have waited till morning, trusting in the honor of the king, but hereward disguised himself as a minstrel and obtained admission to the bridal feast, where he soon won applause by his beautiful singing. the bridegroom, haco, in a rapture offered him any boon he liked to ask, but he demanded only a cup of wine from the hands of the bride. when she brought it to him he flung into the empty cup the betrothal ring, the token she had sent to sigtryg, and said: "i thank thee, lady, and would reward thee for thy gentleness to a wandering minstrel; i give back the cup, richer than before by the kind thoughts of which it bears the token." the princess looked at him, gazed into the goblet, and saw her ring; then, looking again, she recognized her deliverer and knew that rescue was at hand. while men feasted hereward listened and talked, and found out that the forty danes were prisoners, to be released on the morrow when haco was sure of his bride, but released useless and miserable, since they would be turned adrift blinded. haco was taking his lovely bride back to his own land, and hereward saw that any rescue, to be successful, must be attempted on the march. returning to sigtryg, the young saxon told all that he had learned, and the danes planned an ambush in the ravine where haco had decided to blind and set free his captives. the whole was carried out exactly as hereward arranged it. the cornishmen, with the danish captives, passed first without attack; next came haco, riding grim and ferocious beside his silent bride, he exulting in his success, she looking eagerly for any signs of rescue. as they passed hereward sprang from his shelter, crying, "upon them, danes, and set your brethren free!" and himself struck down haco and smote off his head. there was a short struggle, but soon the rescued danes were able to aid their deliverers, and the cornish guards were all slain; the men of king alef, never very zealous for the cause of haco, fled, and the danes were left masters of the field. sigtryg had in the meantime seen to the safety of the princess, and now, placing her between himself and hereward, he escorted her to the ship, which soon brought them to waterford and a happy bridal. the prince and princess of waterford always recognized in hereward their deliverer and best friend, and in their gratitude wished him to dwell with them always; but the hero's roving and daring temper forbade his settling down, but rather urged him on to deeds of arms in other lands, where he quickly won a renown second to none. robin hood among the earliest heirlooms of the anglo-saxon tongue are the songs and legends of robin hood and his merry outlaws, which have charmed readers young and old for more than six hundred years. these entertaining stories date back to the time when chaucer wrote his "canterbury tales," when the minstrel and scribe stood in the place of the more prim and precise modern printed book. the question of whether or not robin hood was a real person has been asked for many years, just as a similar question has been asked about william tell and others whom everyone would much rather accept on faith. it cannot be answered by a brief "yes" or "no," even though learned men have pored over ancient records and have written books on the subject. according to the general belief robin was an outlaw in the reign of richard i, when in the depths of sherwood forest he entertained one hundred tall men, all good archers, with the spoil he took; but "he suffered no woman to be oppressed or otherwise molested; poore men's goods he spared, abundantlie relieving them with that which by theft he got from abbeys and houses of rich carles." consequently robin was an immense favorite with the common people. this popularity extended from the leader to all the members of his hardy band. "god save robin hood and all his good yeomanry" is the ending of many old ballads. the clever archer who could outshoot his fellows, the brave yeoman inured to blows, and the man who could be true to his friends through thick and thin were favorites for all time; and they have been idealized in the persons of robin hood and his merry outlaws. one of the best-known stories of this picturesque figure of early english times is that given by sir walter scott in "ivanhoe," concerning the archery contest during the rule or misrule of prince john, in the absence of richard from the kingdom. robin hood, under the assumed name of locksley, boldly presents himself at a royal tournament at ashby, as competitor for the prize in shooting with the long-bow. from the eight or ten archers who enter the contest, the number finally narrows down to two,-- hubert, a forester in the service of one of the king's nobles, and locksley or robin hood. hubert takes the first shot in the final trial of skill, and lands his arrow within the inner ring of the target, but not exactly in the centre. "'you have not allowed for the wind, hubert,' said locksley, 'or that had been a better shot.' "so saying, and without showing the least anxiety to pause upon his aim, locksley stepped to the appointed station, and shot his arrow as carelessly in appearance as if he had not even looked at the mark. he was speaking almost at the instant that the shaft left the bow-string, yet it alighted in the target two inches nearer to the white spot which marked the centre than that of hubert. "'by the light of heaven!' said prince john to hubert, 'an thou suffer that runagate knave to overcome thee, thou art worthy of the gallows!' "hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. 'an your highness were to hang me,' he said, 'a man can but do his best. nevertheless, my grandsire drew a good bow--' "'the foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his generation!' interrupted john; 'shoot, knave, and shoot thy best, or it shall be worse for thee!' "thus exhorted, hubert resumed his place, and not neglecting the caution which he had received from his adversary, he made the necessary allowance for a very light air of wind, which had just risen, and shot so successfully that his arrow alighted in the very centre of the target. "'a hubert! a hubert!' shouted the populace, more interested in a known person than in a stranger. 'in the clout!--in the clout!--a hubert forever!' "'thou canst not mend that shot, locksley,' said the prince, with an insulting smile. "'i will notch his shaft for him, however,' replied locksley. "and letting fly his arrow with a little more precaution than before, it lighted right upon that of his competitor, which it split to shivers. the people who stood around were so astonished at his wonderful dexterity, that they could not even give vent to their surprise in their usual clamor. 'this must be the devil, and no man of flesh and blood,' whispered the yeomen to each other; 'such archery was never seen since a bow was first bent in britain.' "'and now,' said locksley, 'i will crave your grace's permission to plant such a mark as is used in the north country; and welcome every brave yeoman who shall try a shot at it to win a smile from the bonny lass he loves best.'" locksley thereupon sets up a willow wand, six feet long and as thick as a man's thumb. hubert is forced to decline the honor of taking part in such a trial of archery skill, but his rival easily splits the wand at a distance of three hundred feet and carries off the prize. "even prince john, in admiration of locksley's skill, lost for an instant his dislike to his person. 'these twenty nobles,' he said, 'which, with the bugle, thou hast fairly won, are thine own; we will make them fifty, if thou wilt take livery and service with us as a yeoman of our bodyguard, and be near to our person. for never did so strong a hand bend a bow, or so true an eye direct a shaft.'" [footnote: ivanhoe, vol. , chap. xiii.] locksley, however, declares that it is impossible for him to enter the prince's service, generously shares his prize with the worthy hubert, and retires once more to his beloved haunts among the lights and shadows of the good greenwood. glossary abdalrahman, founder of the independent ommiad (saracenic) power in spain, conquered at tours by charles martel aberfraw, scene of nuptials of branwen and matholch absyrtus, younger brother of medea abydos, a town on the hellespont, nearly opposite to sestos abyla, mount, or columna, a mountain in morocco, near ceuta, now called jebel musa or ape's hill, forming the northwestern extremity of the african coast opposite gibraltar (see pillars of hercules) acestes, son of a trojan woman who was sent by her father to sicily, that she might not be devoured by the monsters which infested the territory of troy acetes, bacchanal captured by pentheus achates, faithful friend and companion of aeneas achelous, river-god of the largest river in greece--his horn of plenty achilles, the hero of the iliad, son of peleus and of the nereid thetis, slain by paris acis, youth loved by galatea and slain by polyphemus acontius, a beautiful youth, who fell in love with cydippe, the daughter of a noble athenian. acrisius, son of abas, king of argos, grandson of lynceus, the great-grandson of danaus. actaeon, a celebrated huntsman, son of aristaeus and autonoe, who, having seen diana bathing, was changed by her to a stag and killed by his own dogs. admeta, daughter of eurystheus, covets hippolyta's girdle. admetus, king of thessaly, saved from death by alcestis adonis, a youth beloved by aphrodite (venus), and proserpine; killed by a boar. adrastus, a king of argos. aeacus, son of zeus (jupiter) and aegina, renowned in all greece for his justice and piety. aeaea, circe's island, visited by ulysses. aeetes, or aeeta, son of helios (the sun) and perseis, and father of medea and absyrtus. aegeus, king of athens. aegina, a rocky island in the middle of the saronic gulf. aegis, shield or breastplate of jupiter and minerva. aegisthus, murderer of agamemnon, slain by orestes. aeneas, trojan hero, son of anchises and aphrodite (venus), and born on mount ida, reputed first settler of rome, aeneid, poem by virgil, relating the wanderings of aeneas from troy to italy, ae'olus, son of hellen and the nymph orseis, represented in homer as the happy ruler of the aeolian islands, to whom zeus had given dominion over the winds, aesculapius, god of the medical art, aeson, father of jason, made young again by medea, aethiopians, inhabitants of the country south of egypt, aethra, mother of theseus by aegeus, aetna, volcano in sicily, agamedes, brother of trophonius, distinguished as an architect, agamemnon, son of plisthenis and grandson of atreus, king of mycenae, although the chief commander of the greeks, is not the hero of the iliad, and in chivalrous spirit altogether inferior to achilles, agave, daughter of cadmus, wife of echion, and mother of pentheus, agenor, father of europa, cadmus, cilix, and phoenix, aglaia, one of the graces, agni, hindu god of fire, agramant, a king in africa, agrican, fabled king of tartary, pursuing angelica, finally killed by orlando, agrivain, one of arthur's knights, ahriman, the evil spirit in the dual system of zoroaster, see ormuzd ajax, son of telamon, king of salamis, and grandson of aeacus, represented in the iliad as second only to achilles in bravery, alba, the river where king arthur fought the romans, alba longa, city in italy founded by son of aeneas, alberich, dwarf guardian of rhine gold treasure of the nibelungs albracca, siege of, alcestis, wife of admetus, offered hersell as sacrifice to spare her husband, but rescued by hercules, alcides (hercules), alcina, enchantress, alcinous, phaeacian king, alcippe, daughter of mars, carried off by halirrhothrus, alcmena, wife of jupiter, and mother of hercules, alcuin, english prelate and scholar, aldrovandus, dwarf guardian of treasure, alecto, one of the furies, alexander the great, king of macedonia, conqueror of greece, egypt, persia, babylonia, and india, alfadur, a name for odin, alfheim, abode of the elves of light, alice, mother of huon and girard, sons of duke sevinus, alphenor, son of niobe, alpheus, river god pursuing arethusa, who escaped by being changed to a fountain, althaea, mother of meleager, whom she slew because he had in a quarrel killed her brothers, thus disgracing "the house of thestius," her father, amalthea, nurse of the infant jupiter in crete, amata, wife of latinus, driven mad by alecto, amaury of hauteville, false hearted knight of charlemagne, amazons, mythical race of warlike women, ambrosia, celestial food used by the gods, ammon, egyptian god of life identified by romans with phases of jupiter, the father of gods, amphiaraus, a great prophet and hero at argos, amphion, a musician, son of jupiter and antiope (see dirce), amphitrite, wife of neptune, amphyrsos, a small river in thessaly, ampyx, assailant of perseus, turned to stone by seeing gorgon's head, amrita, nectar giving immortality, amun, see ammon amymone, one of the fifty daughters of danaus, and mother by poseidon (neptune) of nauplius, the father of palamedes, anaxarete, a maiden of cyprus, who treated her lover iphis with such haughtiness that he hanged himself at her door, anbessa, saracenic governor of spain ( ad), anceus, one of the argonauts, anchises, beloved by aphrodite (venus), by whom he became the father of aeneas, andraemon, husband of dryope, saw her changed into a tree, andret, a cowardly knight, spy upon tristram, andromache, wife of hector andromeda, daughter of king cephas, delivered from monster by perseus aneurin, welsh bard angelica, princess of cathay anemone, short lived wind flower, created by venus from the blood of the slain adonis angerbode, giant prophetess, mother of fenris, hela and the midgard serpent anglesey, a northern british island, refuge of druids fleeing from romans antaeus, giant wrestler of libya, killed by hercules, who, finding him stronger when thrown to the earth, lifted him into the air and strangled him antea, wife of jealous proetus antenor, descendants of, in italy anteros, deity avenging unrequited love, brother of eros (cupid) anthor, a greek antigone, daughter of aedipus, greek ideal of filial and sisterly fidelity antilochus, son of nestor antiope, amazonian queen. see dirce anubis, egyptian god, conductor of the dead to judgment apennines aphrodite see venus, dione, etc. apis, egyptian bull god of memphis apollo, god of music and song apollo belvedere, famous antique statue in vatican at rome apples of the hesperides, wedding gifts to juno, guarded by daughters of atlas and hesperis, stolen by atlas for hercules, aquilo, or boreas, the north wind, aquitaine, ancient province of southwestern france, arachne, a maiden skilled in weaving, changed to a spider by minerva for daring to compete with her, arcadia, a country in the middle of peloponnesus, surrounded on all sides by mountains, arcady, star of, the pole star, arcas, son of jupiter and callisto, archer, constellation of the, areopagus, court of the, at athens, ares, called mars by the romans, the greek god of war, and one of the great olympian gods, arethusa, nymph of diana, changed to a fountain, argius king of ireland, father of isoude the fair, argo, builder of the vessel of jason for the argonautic expedition, argolis, city of the nemean games, argonauts, jason's crew seeking the golden fleece, argos, a kingdom in greece, argus, of the hundred eyes, guardian of io, ariadne, daughter of king minos, who helped theseus slay the minotaur, arimanes see ahriman. arimaspians, one-eyed people of syria, arion, famous musician, whom sailors cast into the sea to rob him, but whose lyric song charmed the dolphins, one of which bore him safely to land, aristaeus, the bee keeper, in love with eurydice, armorica, another name for britain, arridano, a magical ruffian, slain by orlando, artemis see diana arthgallo, brother of elidure, british king, arthur, king in britain about the th century, aruns, an etruscan who killed camilla, asgard, home of the northern gods, ashtaroth, a cruel spirit, called by enchantment to bring rinaldo to death, aske, the first man, made from an ash tree, astolpho of england, one of charlemagne's knights, astraea, goddess of justice, daughter of astraeus and eos, astyages, an assailant of perseus, astyanax, son of hector of troy, established kingdom of messina in italy, asuias, opponents of the braminical gods, atalanta, beautiful daughter of king of icaria, loved and won in a foot race by hippomenes, ate, the goddess of infatuation, mischief and guilt, athamas, son of aeolus and enarete, and king of orchomenus, in boeotia, see ino athene, tutelary goddess of athens, the same as minerva, athens, the capital of attica, about four miles from the sea, between the small rivers cephissus and ilissus, athor, egyptian deity, progenitor of isis and osiris, athos, the mountainous peninsula, also called acte, which projects from chalcidice in macedonia, atlantes, foster father of rogero, a powerful magician, atlantis, according to an ancient tradition, a great island west of the pillars of hercules, in the ocean, opposite mount atlas, atlas, a titan, who bore the heavens on his shoulders, as punishment for opposing the gods, one of the sons of iapetus, atlas, mount, general name for range in northern africa, atropos, one of the fates attica, a state in ancient greece, audhumbla, the cow from which the giant ymir was nursed. her milk was frost melted into raindrops, augean stables, cleansed by hercules, augeas, king of elis, augustan age, reign of roman emperor augustus caesar, famed for many great authors, augustus, the first imperial caesar, who ruled the roman empire bc-- ad, aulis, port in boeotia, meeting place of greek expedition against troy, aurora, identical with eos, goddess of the dawn, aurora borealis, splendid nocturnal luminosity in northern sky, called northern lights, probably electrical, autumn, attendant of phoebus, the sun, avalon, land of the blessed, an earthly paradise in the western seas, burial place of king arthur, avatar, name for any of the earthly incarnations of vishnu, the preserver (hindu god), aventine, mount, one of the seven hills of rome, avernus, a miasmatic lake close to the promontory between cumae and puteoli, filling the crater of an extinct volcano, by the ancients thought to be the entrance to the infernal regions, avicenna, celebrated arabian physician and philosopher, aya, mother of rinaldo, aymon, duke, father of rinaldo and bradamante, b baal, king of tyre, babylonian river, dried up when phaeton drove the sun chariot, bacchanali a, a feast to bacchus that was permitted to occur but once in three years, attended by most shameless orgies, bacchanals, devotees and festal dancers of bacchus, bacchus (dionysus), god of wine and revelry, badon, battle of, arthur's final victory over the saxons, bagdemagus, king, a knight of arthur's time, baldur, son of odin, and representing in norse mythology the sun god, balisardo, orlando's sword, ban, king of brittany, ally of arthur, father of launcelot, bards, minstrels of welsh druids, basilisk see cockatrice baucis, wife of philemon, visited by jupiter and mercury, bayard, wild horse subdued by rinaldo, beal, druids' god of life, bedivere, arthur's knight, bedver, king arthur's butler, made governor of normandy, bedwyr, knightly comrade of geraint, belisarda, rogero's sword, bellerophon, demigod, conqueror of the chimaera, bellona, the roman goddess of war, represented as the sister or wife of mars, beltane, druidical fire festival, belus, son of poseidon (neptune) and libya or eurynome, twin brother of agenor, bendigeid vran, king of britain, beowulf, hero and king of the swedish geats, beroe, nurse of semele, bertha, mother of orlando, bifrost, rainbow bridge between the earth and asgard bladud, inventor, builder of the city of bath, blamor, a knight of arthur, bleoberis, a knight of arthur, boeotia, state in ancient greece, capital city thebes, bohort, king, a knight of arthur, bona dea, a roman divinity of fertility, bootes, also called areas, son of jupiter and calisto, changed to constellation of ursa major, boreas, north wind, son of aeolus and aurora, bosporus (bosphorus), the cow-ford, named for io, when as a heifer she crossed that strait, bradamante, sister to rinaldo, a female warrior, brademagus, king, father of sir maleagans, bragi, norse god of poetry, brahma, the creator, chief god of hindu religion, branwen, daughter of llyr, king of britain, wife of mathclch, breciliande, forest of, where vivian enticed merlin, brengwain, maid of isoude the fair brennus, son of molmutius, went to gaul, became king of the allobroges, breuse, the pitiless, a caitiff knight, briareus, hundred armed giant, brice, bishop, sustainer of arthur when elected king, brigliadoro, orlando's horse, briseis, captive maid belonging to achilles, britto, reputed ancestor of british people, bruhier, sultan of arabia, brunello, dwarf, thief, and king brunhild, leader of the valkyrie, brutus, great grandson of aeneas, and founder of city of new troy (london), see pandrasus bryan, sir, a knight of arthur, buddha, called the enlightened, reformer of brahmanism, deified teacher of self abnegation, virtue, reincarnation, karma (inevitable sequence of every act), and nirvana (beatific absorption into the divine), lived about byblos, in egypt, byrsa, original site of carthage, c cacus, gigantic son of vulcan, slain by hercules, whose captured cattle he stole, cadmus, son of agenor, king of phoenicia, and of telephassa, and brother of europa, who, seeking his sister, carried off by jupiter, had strange adventures--sowing in the ground teeth of a dragon he had killed, which sprang up armed men who slew each other, all but five, who helped cadmus to found the city of thebes, caduceus, mercury's staff, cadwallo, king of venedotia (north wales), caerleon, traditional seat of arthur's court, caesar, julius, roman lawyer, general, statesman and author, conquered and consolidated roman territory, making possible the empire, caicus, a greek river, cairns, druidical store piles, calais, french town facing england, calchas, wisest soothsayer among the greeks at troy, caliburn, a sword of arthur, calliope, one of the nine muses callisto, an arcadian nymph, mother of arcas (see bootes), changed by jupiter to constellation ursa minor, calpe, a mountain in the south of spain, on the strait between the atlantic and mediterranean, now rock of gibraltar, calydon, home of meleager, calypso, queen of island of ogyia, where ulysses was wrecked and held seven years, camber, son of brutus, governor of west albion (wales), camelot, legendary place in england where arthur's court and palace were located, camenae, prophetic nymphs, belonging to the religion of ancient italy, camilla, volscian maiden, huntress and amazonian warrior, favorite of diana, camlan, battle of, where arthur was mortally wounded, canterbury, english city, capaneus, husband of evadne, slain by jupiter for disobedience, capet, hugh, king of france ( - ad), caradoc briefbras, sir, great nephew of king arthur, carahue, king of mauretania, carthage, african city, home of dido cassandra, daughter of priam and hecuba, and twin sister of helenus, a prophetess, who foretold the coming of the greeks but was not believed, cassibellaunus, british chieftain, fought but not conquered by caesar, cassiopeia, mother of andromeda, castalia, fountain of parnassus, giving inspiration to oracular priestess named pythia, castalian cave, oracle of apollo, castes (india), castor and pollux--the dioscuri, sons of jupiter and leda,-- castor a horseman, pollux a boxer (see gemini), caucasus, mount cavall, arthur's favorite dog, cayster, ancient river, cebriones, hector's charioteer, cecrops, first king of athens, celestials, gods of classic mythology, celeus, shepherd who sheltered ceres, seeking proserpine, and whose infant son triptolemus was in gratitude made great by ceres, cellini, benvenuto, famous italian sculptor and artificer in metals, celtic nations, ancient gauls and britons, modern bretons, welsh, irish and gaelic scotch, centaurs, originally an ancient race, inhabiting mount pelion in thessaly, in later accounts represented as half horses and half men, and said to have been the offspring of ixion and a cloud, cephalus, husband of beautiful but jealous procris, cephe us, king of ethiopians, father of andromeda, cephisus, a grecian stream, cerberus, three-headed dog that guarded the entrance to hades, called a son of typhaon and echidna ceres (see demeter) cestus, the girdle of venus ceyx, king of thessaly (see halcyone) chaos, original confusion, personified by greeks as most ancient of the gods charlemagne, king of the franks and emperor of the romans charles martel', king of the franks, grandfather of charlemagne, called martel (the hammer) from his defeat of the saracens at tours charlot, son of charlemagne charon, son of erebos, conveyed in his boat the shades of the dead across the rivers of the lower world charyb'dis, whirlpool near the coast of sicily, see scylla chimaera, a fire breathing monster, the fore part of whose body was that of a lion, the hind part that of a dragon, and the middle that of a goat, slain by bellerophon china, lamas (priests) of chos, island in the grecian archipelago chiron, wisest of all the centaurs, son of cronos (saturn) and philyra, lived on mount pelion, instructor of grecian heroes chryseis, trojan maid, taken by agamemnon chryses, priest of apollo, father of chryseis ciconians, inhabitants of ismarus, visited by ulysses cimbri, an ancient people of central europe cimmeria, a land of darkness cimon, athenian general circe, sorceress, sister of aeetes cithaeron, mount, scene of bacchic worship clarimunda, wife of huon clio, one of the muses cloridan, a moor clotho, one of the fates clymene, an ocean nymph clytemnestra, wife of agamemnon, killed by orestes clytie, a water nymph, in love with apollo cnidos, ancient city of asia minor, seat of worship of aphrodite (venus) cockatrice (or basilisk), called king of serpents, supposed to kill with its look cocytus, a river of hades colchis, a kingdom east of the black sea colophon, one of the seven cities claiming the birth of homer columba, st, an irish christian missionary to druidical parts of scotland conan, welsh king constantine, greek emperor cordeilla, daughter of the mythical king leir corineus, a trojan warrior in albion cornwall, southwest part of britain cortana, ogier's sword corybantes, priests of cybele, or rhea, in phrygia, who celebrated her worship with dances, to the sound of the drum and the cymbal, crab, constellation cranes and their enemies, the pygmies, of ibycus creon, king of thebes crete, one of the largest islands of the mediterranean sea, lying south of the cyclades creusa, daughter of priam, wife of aeneas crocale, a nymph of diana cromlech, druidical altar cronos, see saturn crotona, city of italy cuchulain, irish hero, called the "hound of ireland," culdees', followers of st. columba, cumaean sibyl, seeress of cumae, consulted by aeneas, sold sibylline books to tarquin cupid, child of venus and god of love curoi of kerry, wise man cyane, river, opposed pluto's passage to hades cybele (rhea) cyclopes, creatures with circular eyes, of whom homer speaks as a gigantic and lawless race of shepherds in sicily, who devoured human beings, they helped vulcan to forge the thunderbolts of zeus under aetna cymbeline, king of ancient britain cynosure (dog's tail), the pole star, at tail of constellation ursa minor cynthian mountain top, birthplace of artemis (diana) and apollo cyprus, island off the coast of syria, sacred to aphrodite cyrene, a nymph, mother of aristaeus daedalus, architect of the cretan labyrinth, inventor of sails daguenet, king arthur's fool dalai lama, chief pontiff of thibet danae, mother of perseus by jupiter danaides, the fifty daughters of danaus, king of argos, who were betrothed to the fifty sons of aegyptus, but were commanded by their father to slay each her own husband on the marriage night danaus (see danaides) daphne, maiden loved by apollo, and changed into a laurel tree dardanelles, ancient hellespont dardanus, progenitor of the trojan kings dardinel, prince of zumara dawn, see aurora day, an attendant on phoebus, the sun day star (hesperus) death, see hela deiphobus, son of priam and hecuba, the bravest brother of paris dejanira, wife of hercules delos, floating island, birthplace of apollo and diana delphi, shrine of apollo, famed for its oracles demeter, greek goddess of marriage and human fertility, identified by romans with ceres demeha, south wales demodocus, bard of alomous, king of the phaeaeians deucalion, king of thessaly, who with his wife pyrrha were the only pair surviving a deluge sent by zeus dia, island of diana (artemis), goddess of the moon and of the chase, daughter of jupiter and latona diana of the hind, antique sculpture in the louvre, paris diana, temple of dictys, a sailor didier, king of the lombards dido, queen of tyre and carthage, entertained the shipwrecked aeneas diomede, greek hero during trojan war dione, female titan, mother of zeus, of aphrodite (venus) dionysus see bacchus dioscuri, the twins (see castor and pollux) dirce, wife of lycus, king of thebes, who ordered amphion and zethus to tie antiope to a wild bull, but they, learning antiope to be their mother, so treated dirce herself dis see pluto discord, apple of, see eris. discordia, see eris. dodona, site of an oracle of zeus (jupiter) dorceus, a dog of diana doris, wife of nereus dragon's teeth sown by cadmus druids, ancient celtic priests dryades (or dryads), see wood nymphs dryope, changed to a lotus plant, for plucking a lotus--enchanted form of the nymph lotis dubricius, bishop of caerleon, dudon, a knight, comrade of astolpho, dunwallo molmu'tius, british king and lawgiver durindana, sword of orlando or rinaldo dwarfs in wagner's nibelungen ring e earth (gaea); goddess of the ebudians, the echo, nymph of diana, shunned by narcissus, faded to nothing but a voice ecklenlied, the eddas, norse mythological records, ederyn, son of nudd egena, nymph of the fountain eisteddfod, session of welsh bards and minstrels electra, the lost one of the pleiades, also, sister of orestes eleusian mysteries, instituted by ceres, and calculated to awaken feelings of piety and a cheerful hope of better life in the future eleusis, grecian city elgin marbles, greek sculptures from the parthenon of athens, now in british museum, london, placed there by lord elgin eliaures, enchanter elidure, a king of britain elis, ancient greek city elli, old age; the one successful wrestler against thor elphin, son of gwyddiro elves, spiritual beings, of many powers and dispositions--some evil, some good elvidnir, the ball of hela elysian fields, the land of the blest elysian plain, whither the favored of the gods were taken without death elysium, a happy land, where there is neither snow, nor cold, nor ram. hither favored heroes, like menelaus, pass without dying, and live happy under the rule of rhadamanthus. in the latin poets elysium is part of the lower world, and the residence of the shades of the blessed embla, the first woman enseladus, giant defeated by jupiter endymion, a beautiful youth beloved by diana enid, wife of geraint enna, vale of home of proserpine enoch, the patriarch epidaurus, a town in argolis, on the saronic gulf, chief seat of the worship of aeculapius, whose temple was situated near the town epimetheus, son of iapetus, husband of pandora, with his brother prometheus took part in creation of man epirus, country to the west of thessaly, lying along the adriatic sea epopeus, a sailor erato, one of the muses erbin of cornwall, father of geraint erebus, son of chaos, region of darkness, entrance to hades eridanus, river erinys, one of the furies eriphyle, sister of polynices, bribed to decide on war, in which her husband was slain eris (discordia), goddess of discord. at the wedding of peleus and thetis, eris being uninvited threw into the gathering an apple "for the fairest," which was claimed by hera (juno), aphrodite (venus) and athena (minerva) paris, being called upon for judgment, awarded it to aphrodite erisichthon, an unbeliever, punished by famine eros see cupid erytheia, island eryx, a mount, haunt of venus esepus, river in paphlagonia estrildis, wife of locrine, supplanting divorced guendolen eteocles, son of oeipus and jocasta etruscans, ancient people of italy, etzel, king of the huns euboic sea, where hercules threw lichas, who brought him the poisoned shirt of nessus eude, king of aquitaine, ally of charles martel eumaeus, swineherd of aeeas eumenides, also called erinnyes, and by the romans furiae or diraae, the avenging deities, see furies euphorbus, a trojan, killed by menelaus euphros'yne, one of the graces europa, daughter of the phoenician king agenor, by zeus the mother of minos, rhadamanthus, and sarpedon eurus, the east wind euyalus, a gallant trojan soldier, who with nisus entered the grecian camp, both being slain, eurydice, wife of orpheus, who, fleeing from an admirer, was killed by a snake and borne to tartarus, where orpheus sought her and was permitted to bring her to earth if he would not look back at her following him, but he did, and she returned to the shades, eurylochus, a companion of ulysses, eurynome, female titan, wife of ophlon eurystheus, taskmaster of hercules, eurytion, a centaur (see hippodamia), euterpe, muse who presided over music, evadne, wife of capaneus, who flung herself upon his funeral pile and perished with him evander, arcadian chief, befriending aeneas in italy, evnissyen, quarrelsome brother of branwen, excalibar, sword of king arthur, f fafner, a giant turned dragon, treasure stealer, by the solar theory simply the darkness who steals the day, falerina, an enchantress, fasolt, a giant, brother of fafner, and killed by him, "fasti," ovid's, a mythological poetic calendar, fata morgana, a mirage fates, the three, described as daughters of night--to indicate the darkness and obscurity of human destiny--or of zeus and themis, that is, "daughters of the just heavens" they were clo'tho, who spun the thread of life, lach'esis, who held the thread and fixed its length and at'ropos, who cut it off fauns, cheerful sylvan deities, represented in human form, with small horns, pointed ears, and sometimes goat's tail faunus, son of picus, grandson of saturnus, and father of latinus, worshipped as the protecting deity of agriculture and of shepherds, and also as a giver of oracles favonius, the west wind fear fenris, a wolf, the son of loki the evil principle of scandinavia, supposed to have personated the element of fire, destructive except when chained fensalir, freya's palace, called the hall of the sea, where were brought together lovers, husbands, and wives who had been separated by death ferragus, a giant, opponent of orlando ferrau, one of charlemagne's knights ferrex. brother of porrex, the two sons of leir fire worshippers, of ancient persia, see parsees flollo, roman tribune in gaul flora, roman goddess of flowers and spring flordelis, fair maiden beloved by florismart florismart, sir, a brave knight, flosshilda, one of the rhine daughters fortunate fields fortunate islands (see elysian plain) forum, market place and open square for public meetings in rome, surrounded by court houses, palaces, temples, etc francus, son of histion, grandson of japhet, great grandson of noah, legendary ancestor of the franks, or french freki, one of odin's two wolves frey, or freyr, god of the sun freya, norse goddess of music, spring, and flowers fricka, goddess of marriage frigga, goddess who presided over smiling nature, sending sunshine, rain, and harvest froh, one of the norse gods fronti'no, rogero's horse furies (erinnyes), the three retributive spirits who punished crime, represented as snaky haired old woman, named alecto, megaeira, and tisiphone fusberta, rinaldo's sword g gaea, or ge, called tellus by the romans, the personification of the earth, described as the first being that sprang fiom chaos, and gave birth to uranus (heaven) and pontus (sea) gahariet, knight of arthur's court gaheris, knight galafron, king of cathay, father of angelica galahad, sir, the pure knight of arthur's round table, who safely took the siege perilous (which see) galatea, a nereid or sea nymph galatea, statue carved and beloved by pygmalion galen, greek physician and philosophical writer gallehant, king of the marches games, national athletic contests in greece--olympian, at olympia, pythian, near delphi, seat of apollo's oracle, isthmian, on the corinthian isthmus, nemean, at nemea in argolis gan, treacherous duke of maganza ganelon of mayence, one of charlemagne's knights ganges, river in india gano, a peer of charlemagne ganymede, the most beautiful of all mortals, carried off to olympus that he might fill the cup of zeus and live among the immortal gods gareth, arthur's knight gaudisso, sultan gaul, ancient france gautama, prince, the buddha gawain, arthur's knight gawl, son of clud, suitor for rhiannon gemini (see castor), constellation created by jupiter from the twin brothers after death, genghis khan, tartar conqueror genius, in roman belief, the protective spirit of each individual man, see juno geoffrey of mon'mouth, translator into latin of the welsh history of the kings of britain ( ) geraint, a knight of king arthur gerda, wife of frey geri, one of odin's two wolves geryon, a three bodied monster gesnes, navigator sent for isoude the fair giallar horn, the trumpet that heimdal will blow at the judgment day giants, beings of monstrous size and of fearful countenances, represented as in constant opposition to the gods, in wagner's nibelungen ring gibichung race, ancestors of alberich gibraltar, great rock and town at southwest corner of spain (see pillars of hercules) gildas, a scholar of arthur's court girard, son of duke sevinus glastonbury, where arthur died glaucus, a fisherman, loving scylla gleipnir, magical chain on the wolf fenris glewlwyd, arthur's porter golden fleece, of ram used for escape of children of athamas, named helle and phryxus (which see), after sacrifice of ram to jupiter, fleece was guarded by sleepless dragon and gained by jason and argonauts (which see, also helle) goneril, daughter of leir gordian knot, tying up in temple the wagon of gordius, he who could untie it being destined to be lord of asia, it was cut by alexander the great, gordius, a countryman who, arriving in phrygia in a wagon, was made king by the people, thus interpreting an oracle, gorgons, three monstrous females, with huge teeth, brazen claws and snakes for hair, sight of whom turned beholders to stone, medusa, the most famous, slain by perseus gorlois, duke of tintadel gouvernail, squire of isabella, queen of lionesse, protector of her son tristram while young, and his squire in knighthood graal, the holy, cup from which the saviour drank at last supper, taken by joseph of arimathea to europe, and lost, its recovery becoming a sacred quest for arthur's knights graces, three goddesses who enhanced the enjoyments of life by refinement and gentleness; they were aglaia (brilliance), euphrosyne (joy), and thalia (bloom) gradas'so, king of sericane graeae, three gray haired female watchers for the gorgons, with one movable eye and one tooth between the three grand lama, buddhist pontiff in thibet grendel, monster slain by beowulf gryphon (griffin), a fabulous animal, with the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle, dwelling in the rhipaean mountains, between the hyperboreans and the one eyed arimaspians, and guarding the gold of the north, guebers, persian fire worshippers, guendolen, wife of locrine, guenevere, wife of king arthur, beloved by launcelot, guerin, lord of vienne, father of oliver, guiderius, son of cymbeline, guillamurius, king in ireland, guimier, betrothed of caradoc, gullinbursti, the boar drawing frey's car, gulltopp, heimdell's horse, gunfasius, king of the orkneys, ganther, burgundian king, brother of kriemhild, gutrune, half sister to hagen, gwern son of matholch and branwen, gwernach the giant, gwiffert petit, ally of geraint, gwyddno, garanhir, king of gwaelod, gwyr, judge in the court of arthur, gyoll, river, h hades, originally the god of the nether world--the name later used to designate the gloomy subterranean land of the dead, haemon, son of creon of thebes, and lover of antigone, haemonian city, haemus, mount, northern boundary of thrace, hagan, a principal character in the nibelungen lied, slayer of siegfried, halcyone, daughter of aeneas, and the beloved wife of ceyx, who, when he was drowned, flew to his floating body, and the pitying gods changed them both to birds (kingfishers), who nest at sea during a certain calm week in winter ("halcyon weather") hamadryads, tree-nymphs or wood-nymphs, see nymphs harmonia, daughter of mars and venus, wife of cadmus haroun al raschid, caliph of arabia, contemporary of charlemagne harpies, monsters, with head and bust of woman, but wings, legs and tail of birds, seizing souls of the wicked, or punishing evildoers by greedily snatching or defiling their food harpocrates, egyptian god, horus hebe, daughter of juno, cupbearer to the gods hebrus, ancient name of river maritzka hecate, a mighty and formidable divinity, supposed to send at night all kinds of demons and terrible phantoms from the lower world hector, son of priam and champion of troy hector, one of arthur's knights hector de marys', a knight hecuba, wife of priam, king of troy, to whom she bore hector, paris, and many other children hegira, flight of mahomet from mecca to medina ( ad), era from which mahometans reckon time, as we do from the birth of christ heidrun, she goat, furnishing mead for slain heroes in valhalla heimdall, watchman of the gods hel, the lower world of scandinavia, to which were consigned those who had not died in battle hela (death), the daughter of loki and the mistress of the scandinavian hel helen, daughter of jupiter and leda, wife of menelaus, carried off by paris and cause of the trojan war helenus, son of priam and hecuba, celebrated for his prophetic powers heliades, sisters of phaeton helicon, mount, in greece, residence of apollo and the muses, with fountains of poetic inspiration, aganippe and hippocrene helioopolis, city of the sun, in egypt hellas, gieece helle, daughter of thessalian king athamas, who, escaping from cruel father with her brother phryxus, on ram with golden fleece, fell into the sea strait since named for her (see golden fleece) hellespont, narrow strait between europe and asia minor, named for helle hengist, saxon invader of britain, ad hephaestos, see vulcan hera, called juno by the romans, a daughter of cronos (saturn) and rhea, and sister and wife of jupiter, see juno hercules, athletic hero, son of jupiter and alcmena, achieved twelve vast labors and many famous deeds hereward the wake, hero of the saxons hermes (mercury), messenger of the gods, deity of commerce, science, eloquence, trickery, theft, and skill generally hermione, daughter of menelaus and helen hermod, the nimble, son of odin hero, a priestess of venus, beloved of leander herodotus, greek historian hesiod, greek poet hesperia, ancient name for italy hesperides (see apples of the hesperides) hesperus, the evening star (also called day star) hestia, cilled vesta by the romans, the goddess of the hearth hildebrand, german magician and champion hindu triad, brahma, vishnu, and siva hippocrene (see helicon) hippodamia, wife of pirithous, at whose wedding the centaurs offered violence to the bride, causing a great battle hippogriff, winged horse, with eagle's head and claws hippolyta, queen of the amazons hippolytus, son of thesus hippomenes, who won atalanta in foot race, beguiling her with golden apples thrown for her to histion, son of japhet hodur, blind man, who, fooled by loki, threw a mistletoe twig at baldur, killing him hoel, king of brittany homer, the blind poet of greece, about b c hope (see pandora) horae see hours horsa, with hengist, invader of britain horus, egyptian god of the sun houdain, tristram's dog hringham, baldur's ship hrothgar, king of denmark hugi, who beat thialfi in foot races hugin, one of odin's two ravens hunding, husband of sieglinda huon, son of duke sevinus hyacinthus, a youth beloved by apollo, and accidentally killed by him, changed in death to the flower, hyacinth hyades, nysaean nymphs, nurses of infant bacchus, rewarded by being placed as cluster of stars in the heavens hyale, a nymph of diana hydra, nine headed monster slain by hercules hygeia, goddess of health, daughter of aesculapius hylas, a youth detained by nymphs of spring where he sought water hymen, the god of marriage, imagined as a handsome youth and invoked in bridal songs hymettus, mountain in attica, near athens, celebrated for its marble and its honey hyperboreans, people of the far north hyperion, a titan, son of uranus and ge, and father of helios, selene, and eos, cattle of, hyrcania, prince of, betrothed to clarimunda hyrieus, king in greece, i iapetus, a titan, son of uranus and ge, and father of atlas, prometheus, epimetheus, and menoetius, iasius, father of atalanta ibycus, a poet, story of, and the cranes icaria, island of the aegean sea, one of the sporades icarius, spartan prince, father of penelope icarus, son of daedalus, he flew too near the sun with artificial wings, and, the wax melting, he fell into the sea icelos, attendant of morpheus icolumkill see iona ida, mount, a trojan hill idaeus, a trojan herald idas, son of aphareus and arene, and brother of lynceus idu'na, wife of bragi igerne, wife of gorlois, and mother, by uther, of arthur iliad, epic poem of the trojan war, by homer ilioheus, a son of niobe ilium see troy illyria, adriatic countries north of greece imogen, daughter of pandrasus, wife of trojan brutus inachus, son of oceanus and tethys, and father of phoroneus and io, also first king of argos, and said to have given his name to the river inachus incubus, an evil spirit, supposed to lie upon persons in their sleep indra, hindu god of heaven, thunder, lightning, storm and rain ino, wife of athamas, fleeing from whom with infant son she sprang into the sea and was changed to leucothea io, changed to a heifer by jupiter iobates, king of lycia iolaus, servant of hercules iole, sister of dryope iona, or icolmkill, a small northern island near scotland, where st columba founded a missionary monastery ( ad) ionia, coast of asia minor iphigenia, daughter of agamemnon, offered as a sacrifice but carried away by diana iphis, died for love of anaxarete, iphitas, friend of hercules, killed by him iris, goddess of the rainbow, messenger of juno and zeus ironside, arthur's knight isabella, daughter of king of galicia isis, wife of osiris, described as the giver of death isles of the blessed ismarus, first stop of ulysses, returning from trojan war isme'nos, a son of niobe, slain by apollo isolier, friend of rinaldo isoude the fair, beloved of tristram isoude of the white hands, married to tristram isthmian games, see games ithaca, home of ulysses and penelope iulus, son of aeneas ivo, saracen king, befriending rinaldo ixion, once a sovereign of thessaly, sentenced in tartarus to be lashed with serpents to a wheel which a strong wind drove continually around j janiculum, roman fortress on the janiculus, a hill on the other side of the tiber janus, a deity from the earliest times held in high estimation by the romans, temple of japhet (iapetus) jason, leader of the argonauts, seeking the golden fleece joseph of arimathea, who bore the holy graal to europe jotunheim, home of the giants in northern mythology jove (zeus), chief god of roman and grecian mythology, see jupiter joyous garde, residence of sir launcelot of the lake juggernaut, hindu deity juno, the particular guardian spirit of each woman (see genius) juno, wife of jupiter, queen of the gods jupiter, jovis pater, father jove, jupiter and jove used interchangeably, at dodona, statue of the olympian jupiter ammon (see ammon) jupiter capitolinus, temple of, preserving the sibylline books justice, see themis k kadyriath, advises king arthur kai, son of kyner kalki, tenth avatar of vishnu kay, arthur's steward and a knight kedalion, guide of orion kerman, desert of kicva, daughter of gwynn gloy kilwich, son of kilydd kilydd, son of prince kelyddon, of wales kneph, spirit or breath knights, training and life of kriemhild, wife of siegfried krishna, eighth avatar of vishnu, hindu deity of fertility in nature and mankind kyner, father of kav kynon, son of clydno l labyrinth, the enclosed maze of passageways where roamed the minotaur of crete, killed by theseus with aid of ariadne lachesis, one of the fates (which see) lady of the fountain, tale told by kynon laertes, father of ulysses laestrygonians, savages attacking ulysses laius, king of thebes lama, holy man of thibet lampetia, daughter of hyperion laoc'oon, a priest of neptune, in troy, who warned the trojans against the wooden horse (which see), but when two serpents came out of the sea and strangled him and his two sons, the people listened to the greek spy sinon, and brought the fatal horse into the town laodamia, daughter of acastus and wife of protesilaus laodegan, king of carmalide, helped by arthur and merlin laomedon, king of troy lapithae, thessalonians, whose king had invited the centaurs to his daughter's wedding but who attacked them for offering violence to the bride lares, household deities larkspur, flower from the blood of ajax latinus, ruler of latium, where aeneas landed in italy latmos, mount, where diana fell in love with endymion latona, mother of apollo launcelot, the most famous knight of the round table lausus, son of mezentius, killed by aeneas lavinia, daughter of latinus and wife of aeneas lavinium, italian city named for lavinia law, see themis leander, a youth of abydos, who, swimming the hellespont to see hero, his love, was drowned lebadea, site of the oracle of trophomus lebynthos, aegean island leda, queen of sparta, wooed by jupiter in the form of a swan leir, mythical king of britain, original of shakespeare's lear lelaps, dog of cephalus lemnos, large island in the aegean sea, sacred to vulcan lemures, the spectres or spirits of the dead leo, roman emperor, greek prince lethe, river of hades, drinking whose water caused forgetfulness leucadia, a promontory, whence sappho, disappointed in love, was said to have thrown herself into the sea leucothea, a sea goddess, invoked by sailors for protection (see ino) lewis, son of charlemagne liber, ancient god of fruitfulness libethra, burial place of orpheus libya, greek name for continent of africa in general libyan desert, in africa libyan oasis lichas, who brought the shirt of nessus to hercules limours, earl of linus, musical instructor of hercules lionel, knight of the round table llyr, king of britain locrine, son of brutus in albion, king of central england loegria, kingdom of (england) logestilla, a wise lady, who entertained rogero and his friends logi, who vanquished loki in an eating contest loki, the satan of norse mythology, son of the giant farbanti lot, king, a rebel chief, subdued by king arthur, then a loyal knight lotis, a nymph, changed to a lotus-plant and in that form plucked by dryope lotus eaters, soothed to indolence, companions of ulysses landing among them lost all memory of home and had to be dragged away before they would continue their voyage love (eros) issued from egg of night, and with arrows and torch produced life and joy lucan, one of arthur's knights lucius tiberius, roman procurator in britain demanding tribute from arthur lud, british king, whose capital was called lud's town (london) ludgate, city gate where lud was buried, luned, maiden who guided owain to the lady of the fountain lycahas, a turbulent sailor lycaon, son of priam lycia, a district in southern asia minor lycomodes, king of the dolopians, who treacherously slew theseus lycus, usurping king of thebes lynceus, one of the sons of aegyptus m mabinogeon, plural of mabinogi, fairy tales and romances of the welsh mabon, son of modron machaon, son of aesculapius madan, son of guendolen madoc, a forester of king arthur mador, scottish knight maelgan, king who imprisoned elphin maeonia, ancient lydia magi, persian priests mahadeva, same as siva mahomet, great prophet of arabia, born in mecca, ad, proclaimed worship of god instead of idols, spread his religion through disciples and then by force till it prevailed, with arabian dominion, over vast regions in asia, africa, and spain in europe maia, daughter of atlas and pleione, eldest and most beautiful of the pleiades malagigi the enchanter, one of charlemagne's knights maleagans, false knight malvasius, king of iceland mambrino, with invisible helmet manawyd dan, brother of king vran, of london mandricardo, son of agrican mantua, in italy, birthplace of virgil manu, ancestor of mankind marathon, where theseus and pirithous met mark, king of cornwall, husband of isoude the fair maro see virgil marphisa, sister of rogero marsilius, spanish king, treacherous foe of charlemagne marsyas, inventor of the flute, who challenged apollo to musical competition, and, defeated, was flayed alive matsya, the fish, first avatar of vishnu meander, grecian river mede, a, princess and sorceress who aided jason medoro, a young moor, who wins angelica medusa, one of the gorgons megaera, one of the furies melampus, a spartan dog, the first mortal endowed with prophetic powers melanthus, steersman for bacchus meleager, one of the argonauts (see althaea) meliadus, king of lionesse, near cornwall melicertes, infant son of ino. changed to palaemon (see ino, leucothea, and palasmon) melissa, priestess at merlin's tomb melisseus, a cretan king melpomene, one of the muses memnon, the beautiful son of tithonus and eos (aurora), and king of the ethiopians, slain in trojan war memphis, egyptian city menelaus, son of king of sparta, husband of helen menoeceus, son of creon, voluntary victim in war to gain success for his father mentor, son of alcimus and a faithful friend of ulysses mercury (see hermes) merlin, enchanter merope, daughter of king of chios, beloved by orion mesmerism, likened to curative oracle of aesculapius at epidaurus metabus, father of camilla metamorphoses, ovid's poetical legends of mythical transformations, a large source of our knowledge of classic mythology metanira, a mother, kind to ceres seeking proserpine metempsychosis, transmigration of souls--rebirth of dying men and women in forms of animals or human beings metis, prudence, a spouse of jupiter mezentius, a brave but cruel soldier, opposing aeneas in italy midas midgard, the middle world of the norsemen midgard serpent, a sea monster, child of loki milky way, starred path across the sky, believed to be road to palace of the gods milo, a great athlete mlon, father of orlando milton, john, great english poet, whose history of england is here largely used mime, one of the chief dwarfs of ancient german mythology minerva (athene), daughter of jupiter, patroness of health, learning, and wisdom minos, king of crete mino taur, monster killed by theseus mistletoe, fatal to baldur mnemosyne, one of the muses modesty, statue to modred, nephew of king arthur moly, plant, powerful against sorcery momus, a deity whose delight was to jeer bitterly at gods and men monad, the "unit" of pythagoras monsters, unnatural beings, evilly disposed to men montalban, rinaldo's castle month, the, attendant upon the sun moon, goddess of, see diana moraunt, knight, an irish champion morgana, enchantress, the lady of the lake in "orlando furioso," same as morgane le fay in tales of arthur morgane le fay, queen of norway, king arthur's sister, an enchantress morgan tud, arthur's chief physician morpheus, son of sleep and god of dreams morte d'arthur, romance, by sir thomas mallory mulciber, latin name of vulcan mull, island of munin, one of odin's two ravens musaeus, sacred poet, son of orpheus muses, the, nine goddesses presiding over poetry, etc--calliope, epic poetry, clio, history, erato, love poetry, euterpe, lyric poetry; melpomene, tragedy, polyhymnia, oratory and sacred song terpsichore, choral song and dance, thalia, comedy and idyls, urania, astronomy muspelheim, the fire world of the norsemen mycenas, ancient grecian city, of which agamemnon was king myrddin (merlin) myrmidons, bold soldiers of achilles mysia, greek district on northwest coast of asia minor mythology, origin of, collected myths, describing gods of early peoples n naiads, water nymphs namo, duke of bavaria, one of charlemagne's knights nanna, wife of baldur nanters, british king nantes, site of caradoc's castle nape, a dog of diana narcissus, who died of unsatisfied love for his own image in the water nausicaa, daughter of king alcinous, who befriended ulysses nausithous, king of phaeacians naxos, island of negus, king of abyssinia nemea, forest devastated by a lion killed by hercules nemean games, held in honor of jupiter and hercules nemean lion, killed by hercules nemesis, goddess of vengeance nennius, british combatant of caesar neoptolemus, son of achilles nepenthe, ancient drug to cause forgetfulness of pain or distress nephele, mother of phryxus and helle nephthys, egyptian goddess neptune, identical with poseidon, god of the sea nereids, sea nymphs, daughters of nereus and doris nereus, a sea god nessus, a centaur killed by hercules, whose jealous wife sent him a robe or shirt steeped in the blood of nessus, which poisoned him nestor, king of pylos, renowned for his wisdom, justice, and knowledge of war nibelungen hoard, treasure seized by siegfried from the nibelungs, buried in the rhine by hagan after killing siegfried, and lost when hagan was killed by kriemhild, theme of wagner's four music dramas, "the ring of the nibelungen," nibelungen lied, german epic, giving the same nature myth as the norse volsunga saga, concerning the hoard nibelungen ring, wagner's music dramas nibelungs, the, a race of northern dwarfs nidhogge, a serpent in the lower world that lives on the dead niffleheim, mist world of the norsemen, the hades of absent spirits nile, egyptian river niobe, daughter of tantalus, proud queen of thebes, whose seven sons and seven daughters were killed by apollo and diana, at which amphion, her husband, killed himself, and niobe wept until she was turned to stone nisus, king of megara noah, as legendary ancestor of french, roman, german, and british peoples noman, name assumed by ulysses norns, the three scandinavian fates, urdur (the past), verdandi (the present), and skuld (the future) nothung, magic sword notus, southwest wind nox, daughter of chaos and sister of erebus, personification of night numa, second king of rome nymphs, beautiful maidens, lesser divinities of nature dryads and hamadryads, tree nymphs, naiads, spring, brook, and river nymphs, nereids, sea nymphs oreads, mountain nymphs or hill nymphs o oceanus, a titan, ruling watery elements ocyroe, a prophetess, daughter of chiron oderic odin, chief of the norse gods odyar, famous biscayan hero odysseus see ulysses odyssey, homer's poem, relating the wanderings of odysseus (ulysses) on returning from trojan war oedipus, theban hero, who guessed the riddle of the sphinx (which see), becoming king of thebes oeneus, king of calydon oenone, nymph, married by paris in his youth, and abandoned for helen oenopion, king of chios oeta, mount, scene of hercules' death ogier, the dane, one of the paladins of charlemagne oliver, companion of orlando olwen, wife of kilwich olympia, a small plain in elis, where the olympic games were celebrated olympiads, periods between olympic games (four years) olympian games, see games olympus, dwelling place of the dynasty of gods of which zeus was the head omphale, queen of lydia, daughter of iardanus and wife of tmolus ophion, king of the titans, who ruled olympus till dethroned by the gods saturn and rhea ops see rhea oracles, answers from the gods to questions from seekers for knowledge or advice for the future, usually in equivocal form, so as to fit any event, also places where such answers were given forth usually by a priest or priestess orc, a sea monster, foiled by rogero when about to devour angelica oreads, nymphs of mountains and hills orestes, son of agamemnon and clytemnestra, because of his crime in killing his mother, he was pursued by the furies until purified by minerva orion, youthful giant, loved by diana, constellation orithyia, a nymph, seized by boreas orlando, a famous knight and nephew of charlemagne ormuzd (greek, oromasdes), son of supreme being, source of good as his brother ahriman (arimanes) was of evil, in persian or zoroastrian religion orpheus, musician, son of apollo and calliope, see eurydice osiris, the most beneficent of the egyptian gods ossa, mountain of thessaly ossian, celtic poet of the second or third century ovid, latin poet (see metamorphoses) owain, knight at king arthur's court ozanna, a knight of arthur p pactolus, river whose sands were changed to gold by midas paeon, a name for both apollo and aesculapius, gods of medicine, pagans, heathen paladins or peers, knights errant palaemon, son of athamas and ino palamedes, messenger sent to call ulysses to the trojan war palamedes, saracen prince at arthur's court palatine, one of rome's seven hills pales, goddess presiding over cattle and pastures palinurus, faithful steersman of aeeas palladium, properly any image of pallas athene, but specially applied to an image at troy, which was stolen by ulysses and diomedes pallas, son of evander pallas a the'ne (minerva) pampha gus, a dog of diana pan, god of nature and the universe panathenaea, festival in honor of pallas athene (minerva) pandean pipes, musical instrument of reeds, made by pan in memory of syrinx pandora (all gifted), first woman, dowered with gifts by every god, yet entrusted with a box she was cautioned not to open, but, curious, she opened it, and out flew all the ills of humanity, leaving behind only hope, which remained pandrasus, a king in greece, who persecuted trojan exiles under brutus, great grandson of aeneas, until they fought, captured him, and, with his daughter imogen as brutus' wife, emigrated to albion (later called britain) panope, plain of panthus, alleged earlier incarnation of pythagoras paphlagnia, ancient country in asia minor, south of black sea paphos, daughter of pygmalion and galatea (both of which, see) parcae see fates pariahs, lowest caste of hindus paris, son of priam and hecuba, who eloped with helen (which. see) parnassian laurel, wreath from parnassus, crown awarded to successful poets parnassus, mountain near delphi, sacred to apollo and the muses parsees, persian fire worshippers (zoroastrians), of whom there are still thousands in persia and india parthenon, the temple of athene parthenos ("the virgin") on the acropolis of athens passebreul, tristram's horse patroclus, friend of achilles, killed by hector pecheur, king, uncle of perceval peers, the peg a sus, winged horse, born from the sea foam and the blood of medusa peleus, king of the myrmidons, father of achilles by thetis pelias, usurping uncle of jason pelion, mountain pelleas, knight of arthur penates, protective household deities of the romans pendragon, king of britain, elder brother of uther pendragon, who succeeded him penelope, wife of ulysses, who, waiting twenty years for his return from the trojan war, put off the suitors for her hand by promising to choose one when her weaving was done, but unravelled at night what she had woven by day peneus, river god, river penthesilea, queen of amazons pentheus, king of thebes, having resisted the introduction of the worship of bacchus into his kingdom, was driven mad by the god penus, roman house pantry, giving name to the penates pepin, father of charlemagne peplus, sacred robe of minerva perceval, a great knight of arthur perdix, inventor of saw and compasses periander, king of corinuh, friend of arion periphetes, son of vulcan, killed by theseus persephone, goddess of vegetation, see pioserpine perseus, son of jupiter and danae, slayer of the gorgon medusa, deliverer of andromeda from a sea monster, , , phaeacians, people who entertained ulysses phaedra, faithless and cruel wife of theseus phaethusa, sister of phaeton, phaeton, son of phoebus, who dared attempt to drive his father's sun chariot phantasos, a son of somnus, bringing strange images to sleeping men phaon, beloved by sappho phelot, knight of wales pheredin, friend of tristram, unhappy lover of isoude phidias, famous greek sculptor philemon, husband of baucis philoctetes, warrior who lighted the fatal pyre of hercules philoe, burial place of osiris phineus, betrothed to andromeda phlegethon, fiery river of hades phocis phoebe, one of the sisters of phaeton phoebus (apollo), god of music, prophecy, and archery, the sun god phoenix, a messenger to achilles, also, a miraculous bird dying in fire by its own act and springing up alive from its own ashes phorbas, a companion of aeneas, whose form was assumed by neptune in luring palinuras the helmsman from his roost phryxus, brother of helle pinabel, knight pillars of hercules, two mountains--calpe, now the rock of gibraltar, southwest corner of spain in europe, and abyla, facing it in africa across the strait pindar, famous greek poet pindus, grecian mountain pirene, celebrated fountain at corinth pirithous, king of the lapithae in thessaly, and friend of theseus, husband of hippodamia pleasure, daughter of cupid and psyche pleiades, seven of diana's nymphs, changed into stars, one being lost plenty, the horn of plexippus, brother of althea pliny, roman naturalist pluto, the same as hades, dis, etc. god of the infernal regions plutus, god of wealth po, italian river pole star polites, youngest son of priam of troy pollux, castor and (dioscuri, the twins) (see castor) polydectes, king of seriphus polydore, slain kinsman of aeneas, whose blood nourished a bush that bled when broken polyhymnia, muse of oratory and sacred song polyidus, soothsayer polynices, king of thebes polyphemus, giant son of neptune polyxena, daughter of king priam of troy pomona, goddess of fruit trees (see vertumnus) porrex and fer'rex, sons of leir, king of britain portunus, roman name for palaemon poseidon (neptune), ruler of the ocean precipice, threshold of helas hall prester john, a rumored priest or presbyter, a christian pontiff in upper asia, believed in but never found priam, king of troy priwen, arthur's shield procris, beloved but jealous wife of cephalus procrustes, who seized travellers and bound them on his iron bed, stretching the short ones and cutting short the tall, thus also himself served by theseus proetus, jealous of bellerophon prometheus, creator of man, who stole fire from heaven for man's use proserpine, the same as persephone, goddess of all growing things, daughter of ceres, carried off by pluto protesilaus, slain by hector the trojan, allowed by the gods to return for three hours' talk with his widow laodomia proteus, the old man of the sea prudence (metis), spouse of jupiter pryderi, son of pwyll psyche, a beautiful maiden, personification of the human soul, sought by cupid (love), to whom she responded, lost him by curiosity to see him (as he came to her only by night), but finally through his prayers was made immortal and restored to him, a symbol of immortality puranas, hindu scriptures pwyll, prince of dyved pygmalion, sculptor in love with a statue he had made, brought to life by venus, brother of queen dido pygmies, nation of dwarfs, at war with the cranes pylades, son of straphius, friend of orestes pyramus, who loved thisbe, next door neighbor, and, their parents opposing, they talked through cracks in the house wall, agreeing to meet in the near by woods, where pyramus, finding a bloody veil and thinking thisbe slain, killed himself, and she, seeing his body, killed herself (burlesqued in shakespeare's "midsummer night's dream") pyrrha, wife of deucalion pyrrhus (neoptolemus), son of achilles pythagoras, greek philosopher ( bc), who thought numbers to be the essence and principle of all things, and taught transmigration of souls of the dead into new life as human or animal beings pythia, priestess of apollo at delphi pythian games pythian oracle python, serpent springing from deluge slum, destroyed by apollo q quirinus (from quiris, a lance or spear), a war god, said to be romulus, founder of rome r rabican, noted horse ragnarok, the twilight (or ending) of the gods rajputs, minor hindu caste regan, daughter of leir regillus, lake in latium, noted for battle fought near by between the romans and the latins reggio, family from which rogero sprang remus, brother of romulus, founder of rome rhadamanthus, son of jupiter and europa after his death one of the judges in the lower world rhapsodist, professional reciter of poems among the greeks rhea, female titan, wife of saturn (cronos), mother of the chief gods, worshipped in greece and rome rhine, river rhine maidens, or daughters, three water nymphs, flosshilda, woglinda, and wellgunda, set to guard the nibelungen hoard, buried in the rhine rhodes, one of the seven cities claiming to be homer's birthplace rhodope, mountain in thrace rhongomyant, arthur's lance rhoecus, a youth, beloved by a dryad, but who brushed away a bee sent by her to call him to her, and she punished him with blindness rhiannon, wife of pwyll rinaldo, one of the bravest knights of charlemagne river ocean, flowing around the earth robert de beauvais', norman poet ( ) robin hood, famous outlaw in english legend, about time of richard coeur de lion rockingham, forest of rodomont, king of algiers rogero, noted saracen knight roland (orlando), see orlando romances romanus, legendary great grandson of noah rome romulus, founder of rome ron, arthur's lance ronces valles', battle of round table king arthur's instituted by merlin the sage for pendragon, arthur's father, as a knightly order, continued and made famous by arthur and his knights runic characters, or runes, alphabetic signs used by early teutonic peoples, written or graved on metal or stone rutulians, an ancient people in italy, subdued at an early period by the romans ryence, king in ireland s sabra, maiden for whom severn river was named, daughter of locrine and estrildis thrown into river severn by locrine's wife, transformed to a river nymph, poetically named sabrina sacripant, king of circassia saffire, sir, knight of arthur sagas, norse tales of heroism, composed by the skalds sagramour, knight of arthur st. michael's mount, precipitous pointed rock hill on the coast of brittany, opposite cornwall sakyasinha, the lion, epithet applied to buddha salamander, a lizard like animal, fabled to be able to live in fire salamis, grecian city salmoneus, son of aeolus and enarete and brother of sisyphus salomon, king of brittany, at charlemagne's court samhin, or "fire of peace," a druidical festival samian sage (pythagoras) samos, island in the aegean sea samothracian gods, a group of agricultural divinities, worshipped in samothrace samson, hebrew hero, thought by some to be original of hercules san greal (see graal, the holy) sappho, greek poetess, who leaped into the sea from promontory of leucadia in disappointed love for phaon saracens, followers of mahomet sarpedon, son of jupiter and europa, killed by patroclus saturn (cronos) saturnalia, a annual festival held by romans in honor of saturn saturnia, an ancient name of italy satyrs, male divinities of the forest, half man, half goat scaliger, famous german scholar of th century scandinavia, mythology of, giving account of northern gods, heroes, etc scheria, mythical island, abode of the phaeacians schrimnir, the boar, cooked nightly for the heroes of valhalla becoming whole every morning scio, one of the island cities claiming to be homer's birthplace scopas, king of thessaly scorpion, constellation scylla, sea nymph beloved by glaucus, but changed by jealous circe to a monster and finally to a dangerous rock on the sicilian coast, facing the whirlpool charybdis, many mariners being wrecked between the two, also, daughter of king nisus of megara, who loved minos, besieging her father's city, but he disliked her disloyalty and drowned her, also, a fair virgin of sicily, friend of sea nymph galatea scyros, where theseus was slain scythia, country lying north of euxine sea semele, daughter of cadmus and, by jupiter, mother of bacchus semiramis, with ninus the mythical founder of the assyrian empire of nineveh senapus, king of abyssinia, who entertained astolpho serapis, or hermes, egyptian divinity of tartarus and of medicine serfs, slaves of the land seriphus, island in the aegean sea, one of the cyclades serpent (northern constellation) sestos, dwelling of hero (which see also leander) "seven against thebes," famous greek expedition severn river, in england sevinus, duke of guienne shalott, the lady of shatriya, hindu warrior caste sherasmin, french chevalier sibyl, prophetess of cumae sichaeus, husband of dido seige perilous, the chair of purity at arthur's round table, fatal to any but him who was destined to achieve the quest of the sangreal (see galahad) siegfried, young king of the netherlands, husband of kriemhild, she boasted to brunhild that siegfried had aided gunther to beat her in athletic contests, thus winning her as wife, and brunhild, in anger, employed hagan to murder siegfried. as hero of wagner's "valkyrie," he wins the nibelungen treasure ring, loves and deserts brunhild, and is slain by hagan sieglinda, wife of hunding, mother of siegfried by siegmund siegmund, father of siegfried sigtryg, prince, betrothed of king alef's daughter, aided by hereward siguna, wife of loki silenus, a satyr, school master of bacchus silures (south wales) silvia, daughter of latin shepherd silvius, grandson of aeneas, accidentally killed in the chase by his son brutus simonides, an early poet of greece sinon, a greek spy, who persuaded the trojans to take the wooden horse into their city sirens, sea nymphs, whose singing charmed mariners to leap into the sea, passing their island, ulysses stopped the ears of his sailors with wax, and had himself bound to the mast so that he could hear but not yield to their music sirius, the dog of orion, changed to the dog star sisyphus, condemned in tartarus to perpetually roll up hill a big rock which, when the top was reached, rolled down again siva, the destroyer, third person of the hindu triad of gods skalds, norse bards and poets skidbladnir, freyr's ship skirnir, frey's messenger, who won the god's magic sword by getting him gerda for his wife skrymir, a giant, utgard loki in disguise, who fooled thor in athletic feats skuld, the norn of the future sleep, twin brother of death sleipnir, odin's horse sobrino, councillor to agramant somnus, child of nox, twin brother of mors, god of sleep sophocles, greek tragic dramatist south wind see notus spar'ta, capital of lacedaemon sphinx, a monster, waylaying the road to thebes and propounding riddles to all passers, on pain of death, for wrong guessing, who killed herself in rage when aedipus guessed aright spring stonehenge, circle of huge upright stones, fabled to be sepulchre of pendragon strophius, father of pylades stygian realm, hades stygian sleep, escaped from the beauty box sent from hades to venus by hand of psyche, who curiously opened the box and was plunged into unconsciousness styx, river, bordering hades, to be crossed by all the dead sudras, hindu laboring caste surtur, leader of giants against the gods in the day of their destruction (norse mythology) surya, hindu god of the sun, corresponding to the greek helios sutri, orlando's birthplace svadilfari, giant's horse swan, leda and sybaris, greek city in southern italy, famed for luxury sylvanus, latin divinity identified with pan symplegades, floating rocks passed by the argonauts syrinx, nymph, pursued by pan, but escaping by being changed to a bunch of reeds (see pandean pipes) t tacitus, roman historian taenarus, greek entrance to lower regions tagus, river in spain and portugal taliesin, welsh bard tanais, ancient name of river don tantalus, wicked king, punished in hades by standing in water that retired when he would drink, under fruit trees that withdrew when he would eat tarchon, etruscan chief tarentum, italian city tarpeian rock, in rome, from which condemned criminals were hurled tarquins, a ruling family in early roman legend tauris, grecian city, site of temple of diana (see iphigenia) taurus, a mountain tartarus, place of confinement of titans, etc, originally a black abyss below hades later, represented as place where the wicked were punished, and sometimes the name used as synonymous with hades teirtu, the harp of telamon, greek hero and adventurer, father of ajax telemachus, son of ulysses and penelope tellus, another name for rhea tenedos, an island in aegean sea terminus, roman divinity presiding over boundaries and frontiers terpsichore, muse of dancing terra, goddess of the earth tethys, goddess of the sea teucer, ancient king of the trojans thalia, one of the three graces thamyris, thracian bard, who challenged the muses to competition in singing, and, defeated, was blinded thaukt, loki disguised as a hag thebes, city founded by cadmus and capital of boeotia themis, female titan, law counsellor of jove theodora, sister of prince leo theron, one of diana's dogs thersites, a brawler, killed by achilles thescelus, foe of perseus, turned to stone by sight of gorgon's head theseum, athenian temple in honor of theseus theseus, son of aegeus and aethra, king of athens, a great hero of many adventures thessaly thestius, father of althea thetis, mother of achilles thialfi, thor's servant this'be, babylonian maiden beloved by pyramus thor, the thunderer, of norse mythology, most popular of the gods thrace thrina'kia, island pasturing hyperion's cattle, where ulysses landed, but, his men killing some cattle for food, their ship was wrecked by lightning thrym, giant, who buried thor's hammer thucydides, greek historian tiber, river flowing through rome tiber, father, god of the river tigris, river tintadel, castle of, residence of king mark of cornwall tiresias, a greek soothsayer tisiphone, one of the furies titans, the sons and daughters of uranus (heaven) and gaea (earth), enemies of the gods and overcome by them tithonus, trojan prince tityus, giant in tartarus tmolus, a mountain god tortoise, second avatar of vishnu tours, battle of (see abdalrahman and charles martel) toxeus, brother of melauger's mother, who snatched from atalanta her hunting trophy, and was slain by melauger, who had awarded it to her triad, the hindu triads, welsh poems trimurti, hindu triad triptol'emus, son of celeus , and who, made great by ceres, founded her worship in eleusis tristram, one of arthur's knights, husband of isoude of the white hands, lover of isoude the fair, triton, a demi god of the sea, son of poseidon (neptune) and amphitrite troezen, greek city of argolis trojan war trojanova, new troy, city founded in britain (see brutus, and lud) trophonius, oracle of, in boeotia troubadours, poets and minstrels of provence, in southern france trouvers', poets and minstrels of northern france troy, city in asia minor, ruled by king priam, whose son, paris, stole away helen, wife of menelaus the greek, resulting in the trojan war and the destruction of troy troy, fall of turnus, chief of the rutulianes in italy, unsuccessful rival of aeneas for lavinia turpin, archbishop of rheims turquine, sir, a great knight, foe of arthur, slain by sir launcelot typhon, one of the giants who attacked the gods, were defeated, and imprisoned under mt. aetna tyr, norse god of battles tyre, phoenician city governed by dido tyrians tyrrheus, herdsman of king turnus in italy, the slaying of whose daughter's stag aroused war upon aeneas and his companions u uberto, son of galafron ulysses (greek, odysseus), hero of the odyssey unicorn, fabled animal with a single horn urania, one of the muses, a daughter of zeus by mnemosyne urdur, one of the norns or fates of scandinavia, representing the past usk, british river utgard, abode of the giant utgard loki utgard lo'ki, king of the giants (see skrymir) uther (uther pendragon), king of britain and father of arthur, uwaine, knight of arthur's court v vaissyas, hindu caste of agriculturists and traders valhalla, hall of odin, heavenly residence of slain heroes valkyrie, armed and mounted warlike virgins, daughters of the gods (norse), odin's messengers, who select slain heroes for valhalla and serve them at their feasts ve, brother of odin vedas, hindu sacred scriptures venedotia, ancient name for north wales venus (aphrodite), goddess of beauty venus de medici, famous antique statue in uffizi gallery, florence, italy verdandi, the present, one of the norns vertumnus, god of the changing seasons, whose varied appearances won the love of pomona vesta, daughter of cronos and rhea, goddess of the homefire, or hearth vestals, virgin priestesses in temple of vesta vesuvius, mount, volcano near naples villains, peasants in the feudal scheme vigrid, final battle-field, with destruction of the gods ind their enemies, the sun, the earth, and time itself vili, brother of odin and ve virgil, celebrated latin poet (see aeneid) virgo, constellation of the virgin, representing astraea, goddess of innocence and purity vishnu, the preserver, second of the three chief hindu gods viviane, lady of magical powers, who allured the sage merlin and imprisoned him in an enchanted wood volscens, rutulian troop leader who killed nisus and euryalus volsung, a saga, an icelandic poem, giving about the same legends as the nibelungen lied vortigern, usurping king of britain, defeated by pendragon , vulcan (greek, haephestus), god of fire and metal working, with forges under aetna, husband of venus vya'sa, hindu sage w wain, the, constellation wellgunda, one of the rhine-daughters welsh language western ocean winds, the winter woden, chief god in the norse mythology, anglo saxon for odin woglinda, one of the rhine-daughters woman, creation of wooden horse, the, filled with armed men, but left outside of troy as a pretended offering to minerva when the greeks feigned to sail away, accepted by the trojans (see sinon, and laocoon), brought into the city, and at night emptied of the hidden greek soldiers, who destroyed the town wood nymphs wotan, old high german form of odin x xanthus, river of asia minor y yama, hindu god of the infernal regions year, the ygdrasil, great ash-tree, supposed by norse mythology to support the universe ymir, giant, slain by odin ynywl, earl, host of geraint, father of enid york, britain yserone, niece of arthur, mother of caradoc yspa da den pen'kawr, father of olwen z zendavesta, persian sacred scriptures zephyrus, god of the south wind, zerbino, a knight, son of the king of scotland zetes, winged warrior, companion of theseus zethus, son of jupiter and antiope, brother of amphion. see dirce zeus, see jupiter zoroaster, founder of the persian religion, which was dominant in western asia from about bc to about ad, and is still held by many thousands in persia and in india in the days of chivalry a tale of the times of the black prince by evelyn everett-green. chapter i. the twin eaglets. autumn was upon the world -- the warm and gorgeous autumn of the south -- autumn that turned the leaves upon the trees to every hue of russet, scarlet, and gold, that transformed the dark solemn aisles of the trackless forests of gascony into what might well have been palaces of fairy beauty, and covered the ground with a thick and soundless carpet of almost every hue of the rainbow. the sun still retained much of its heat and power, and came slanting in between the huge trunks of the forest trees in broad shafts of quivering light. overhead the soft wind from the west made a ceaseless, dreamy music and here and there the solemn silence of the forest was broken by the sweet note of some singing bird or the harsh croak of the raven. at night the savage cry of the wolf too often disturbed the rest of the scattered dwellers in that vast forest, and made a belated traveller look well to the sharpness of his weapons and the temper of his bowstring; but by day and in the sunlight the forest was beautiful and quiet enough -- something too quiet, perhaps, for the taste of the two handsome lads who were pacing the dim aisles together, their arms entwined and their curly heads in close proximity as they walked and talked. the two lads were of exactly the same height, and bore a strong likeness one to the other. their features were almost identical, but the colouring was different, so that no one who saw them in a good light would be likely to mistake or confuse them. both had the oval face and delicate regular features which we english sometimes call "foreign-looking;" but then again they both possessed the broad shoulders, the noble height, the erect carriage, and frank, fearless bearing which has in it something distinctively english, and which had distinguished these lads from their infancy from the children of the country of their adoption. then, though raymond had the dark, liquid eyes of the south, gaston's were as blue as the summer skies; and again, whilst gaston's cheek was of a swarthy hue, raymond's was as fair as that of an english maiden; and both had some golden gleams in their curly brown hair --- hair that clustered round their heads in a thick, waving mass, and gave a leonine look to the bold, eager faces. "the lion cubs" had been one of the many nicknames given to the brothers by the people round, who loved them, yet felt that they would not always keep them in their quiet forest. "the twin eaglets" was another such name; and truly there was something of the keen wildness of the eagle's eye in the flashing blue eyes of gaston. the eager, delicate features and the slightly aquiline noses of the pair added, perhaps, to this resemblance; and there had been many whispers of late to the effect that the eaglets would not remain long in the nest now, but would spread their wings for a wider flight. born and bred though they had been at the mill in the great forest that covered almost the whole of the district of sauveterre, they were no true children of the mill. what had scions of the great house of the de brocas to do with a humble miller of gascony? the boys were true sons of their house -- grafts of the parent stock. the gascon peasants looked at them with pride, and murmured that the day would come when they would show the world the mettle of which they were made. those were stirring times for gascony -- when gascony was a fief of the english crown, sorely coveted by the french monarch, but tenaciously held on to by the "roy outremer," as the great edward was called; the king who, as was rumoured, was claiming as his own the whole realm of france. and gascony, it must be remembered, did not in those days hold herself to be a part of france nor a part of the french monarchy. she held a much more important place than she would have done had she been a mere fief of the french crown. she had a certain independence of her own -- her own language, her own laws, her own customs and she saw no humiliation in owning the sovereignty of england's king, since she bad passed under english rule through no act of conquest or aggression on england's part, but by the peaceful fashion of marriage, when nearly two centuries ago eleanor of aquitaine had brought to her lord, king henry the second, the fair lands of which gascony formed a part. gascony had grown and flourished apace since then, and was rich, prosperous, and content. her lords knew how important she might be in days to come, when the inevitable struggle between the rival kings of france and england should commence; and like an accomplished coquette, she made the most of her knowledge, and played her part well, watching her opportunity for demanding an increase of those rights and privileges of which she had not a few already. but it was not of their country's position that the twin brothers were so eagerly talking as they wandered together along the woodland paths. it was little indeed that they knew of what was passing in the wide world that lay beyond their peaceful home, little that they heard of the strife of party or the suspicious jealousy of two powerful monarchs -- jealousy which must, as all long-sighted men well knew, break into open warfare before long. it was of matters nearer to their own hearts that the brothers spoke as they sauntered through the woodland paths together; and gaston's blue eyes flashed fire as he paused and tossed back the tangled curls from his broad brow. "it is our birthright -- our land, our castle. do they not all say that in old days it was a de brocas, not a navailles, that ruled there? father anselm hath told us a thousand times how the english king issued mandate after mandate bidding him give up his ill-gotten gains, and restore the lands of his rival; and yet he failed to do it. i trow had i been in the place of our grandsire, i would not so tamely have sat down beneath so great an affront. i would have fought to the last drop of my blood to enforce my rights, and win back my lost inheritance brother, why should not thou and i do that one day? canst thou be content for ever with this tame life with honest jean and margot at the mill? are we the sons of peasants? does their blood run in our veins? raymond, thou art as old as i -- thou hast lived as long. canst thou remember our dead mother? canst thou remember her last charge to us?" raymond had nodded his head at the first question; he nodded it again now, a glance of strange eagerness stealing into his dark eyes. although the two youths wore the dress of peasant boys -- suits of undyed homespun only very slightly finer in make than was common in those parts -- they spoke the english tongue, and spoke it with purity and ease. it needed no trained eye to see that it was something more than peasant blood that ran in their veins, albeit the peasant race of gascony in those days was perhaps the freest, the finest, the most independent in the whole civilized world. "i remember well," answered raymond quickly; "nay, what then?" "what then? spoke she not of a lost heritage which it behoved us to recover? spoke she not of rights which the sons of the de brocas had power to claim -- rights which the great roy outremer had given to them, and which it was for them to win back when the time should come? dost thou remember? dost thou heed? and now that we are approaching to man's estate, shall we not think of these things? shall we not be ready when the time comes?" raymond gave a quick look at his brother. his own eyes were full of eager light, but he hesitated a moment before asking: "and thinkest thou, gaston, that in speaking thus our mother would fain have had us strive to recover the castle and domain of saut?" "in good sooth yea," answered gaston quickly. "was it not reft from our grandsire by force? has it not been kept from him ever since by that hostile brood of navailles, whom all men hate for their cruelty and oppression? brother, have we not heard of dark and hideous deeds done in that same castle -- deeds that shame the very manhood of those that commit them, and make all honest folk curse them in their hearts? raymond, thou and i have longed this many a day to sally forth to fight for the holy sepulchre against the saracens; yet have we not a crusade here at home that calls us yet more nearly? hast thou not thought of it, too, by day, and dreamed of it by night? to plant the de brocas ensign above the walls of saut -- that would indeed be a thing to live for. methinks i see the banner already waving over the proud battlements." gaston's eyes flashed and glowed, and raymond's caught an answering gleam, but still he hesitated awhile, and then said: "i fain would think that some day such a thing might be; but, brother, he is a powerful and wily noble, and they say that he is high in favour with the roy outremer. what chance have two striplings like ourselves against so strong a foe? to take a castle, men must be found, and money likewise, and we have neither; and all men stand in deadly terror of the wrath of the sieur de navailles. do they not keep even our name a secret from him, lest he should swoop down upon the mill with his armed retainers and carry us off thence -- so hates he the whole family that bears the name of de brocas? what could we do against power such as his? i trow nothing. we should be but as pygmies before a giant." gaston's face had darkened. he could not gainsay his brother's reluctant words, but he chafed beneath them as a restive horse beneath the curb rein tightly drawn. "yet our mother bid us watch and be ready. she spoke often of our lost inheritance, and she knew all the peril, the danger." raymond's eyes sought his brother's face. he looked like one striving to recall a dim and almost lost memory. "but thinkest thou, gaston, that in thus speaking our mother was thinking of the strong fortress of saut? i can scarce believe that she would call that our birthright. for we are not of the eldest branch of our house. there must be many whose title would prove far better than our own. we might perchance win it back to the house of de brocas by act of conquest; but even so, i misdoubt me if we should hold it in peace. we have proud kinsfolk in england, they tell us, whose claim, doubtless, would rank before ours. they care not to cross the water to win back the lands themselves, yet i trow they would put their claim before the king did tidings reach them that their strong and wily foe had been ousted therefrom. we win not back lands for others to hold, nor would we willingly war against our own kindred. methinks, my brother, that our mother had other thoughts in her mind when she spoke of our rightful inheritance." "other thoughts! nay, now, what other thoughts?" asked gaston, with quick impatience. "i have never dreamed but of saut. i have called it in my thoughts our birthright ever since we could walk far enow to look upon its frowning battlements perched upon yon wooded crag." and gaston stretched out his hand in the direction in which the castle of saut lay, not many leagues distant. "we have heard naught save of saut ever since we could run alone. what but that could our mother's words have boded? sure she looked to us to recover yon fortress as our father once meant to do?" "i know not altogether, and yet i can scarce believe it was so. would that our father had left some commands we might have followed. but, brother, canst thou not recall that other name she spoke so many a time and oft as she lay a-dying? sure it was some such name as basildon or basildene -- the name of some fair spot, i trow, where she must once have lived. gaston, canst thou remember the day when she called us to her, and joined our hands together, and spoke of us as 'the twin brothers of basildene'? i have scarce thought of it from that hour to this, but it comes back now clearly to my mind. in sooth, it might well have been of basildene she was thinking when she gave us that last charge. what could she have known or cared for saut and its domain? she had fled hither from england, i know not why. she knew but little of the ways and the thoughts of those amongst whom she had come to dwell. it might well have been of her own land that she was thinking so oft. i verily believe that basildene is our lost inheritance." "basildene!" said gaston quickly, with a start as of recollection suddenly stirred to life; "sure i remember the name right well now that thy words bring it back to mind. yet it is years since i have heard it spoke. raymond, knowest thou where is this basildene?" "in england, i well believe," was the answer of the other brother. "methinks it was the name of our mother's home. i seem to remember how she told us of it -- the old house over the sea, where she had lived. perchance it was once her own in very sooth, and some turbulent baron or jealous kinsman drove her forth from it, even as we of the house of de brocas have been ousted from the castle of saut. brother, if that be so, basildene is more our inheritance than yon gloomy fortress can be. we are our mother's only children, and when she joined our hands together she called us the twins of basildene. i trow that we have an inheritance of our very own, gaston, away over the blue water yonder." gaston's eyes flashed with sudden ardour and purpose. often of late had the twins talked together of the future that lay before them, of the doughty deeds they would accomplish; yet so far nothing of definite purpose had entered into their minds. gaston's dreams had been all of the ancient fortress of saut, now for long years passed into the hands of the hostile family, the terrible and redoubtable sieur de navailles, who was feared throughout the length and breadth of the country round about his house. raymond had been dimly conscious of other thoughts and purposes, but memory was only gradually recalling to his mind the half-forgotten days of childhood, when the twin eaglets had stood at their mother's knee to talk with her in her own tongue of the land across the water where was her home -- the land to which their father had lately passed, upon some mission the children were too young to understand. now the faint dim memories had returned clear and strong. the long silence was broken. eagerly the boys strove to recall the past, and bit by bit things pieced themselves together in their minds till they could not but marvel how they had so long forgotten. yet it is often so in youth. days pass by one after the other unnoticed and unmarked. then all in a moment some new train of thought or purpose is awakened, a new element enters life, making it from that day something different; and by a single bound the child becomes a youth -- the youth a man. some such change as this was passing over the twin brothers at this time. a deep-seated dissatisfaction with their present surroundings had long been growing up in their hearts. they were happy in a fashion in the humble home at the mill, with good jean the miller, and margot his wife who had been their nurse and a second mother to them all their lives; but they knew that a great gulf divided them from the gascon peasants amongst whom they lived -- a gulf recognized by all those with whom they came in contact, and in nowise bridged by the fact that the brothers shared in a measure the simple peasant life, and had known no other. their very name of de brocas spoke of the race of nobles who had long held almost sovereign rights over a large tract of country watered by the adour and its many tributary streams; and although at this time, the year of grace , the name of de brocas was no more heard, but that of the proud sieur de navailles who now reigned there instead, the old name was loved and revered amongst the people, and the boys were bred up in all the traditions of their race, till the eagle nature at last asserted itself, and they felt that life could no longer go on in its old accustomed groove. had they not been taught from infancy that a great future lay before them? and what could that future be but the winning back of their old ancestral lands and rights? perhaps they would have spoken more of this deeply-seated hope had it not been so very chimerical -- so apparently impossible of present fulfilment. to wrest from the proud and haughty sieur de navailles the vast territory and strong castle that had been held by him in open defiance of many mandates from a powerful king, was a task that even the sanguine and ambitious boys knew to be a hundred times too hard for them. if they had dreamed of it in their hearts, they had scarce named the hope even to each other. but today the brooding silence had been broken. the twins had taken counsel one with the other; and now burning thoughts of this other fair inheritance were in the minds of both. what golden possibilities did not open out before them? how small a matter it seemed to cross the ocean and claim as their own that unknown basildene! both were certain that their mother had held it in her own right. sure, if there were right or justice in the kingdom of the roy outremer, they would but have to show who and what they were, to become in very fact what their mother had loved to call them -- the twin brothers of basildene. how their young hearts swelled with delighted expectation at the thought of leaving behind the narrow life of the mill, and going forth into the wide world to seek fame and fortune there! and england was no such foreign land to them, albeit they had never been above ten leagues from the mill where they had been born and brought up. was not their mother an englishwoman? had she not taught them the language of her country, and begged them never to forget it? and could they not speak it now as well as they spoke the language of gascony -- better than they spoke the french of the great realm to which gascony in a fashion belonged? the thought of travel always brings with it a certain exhilaration, especially to the young and ardent, and thoughts of such a journey on such a quest could not but be tinged with all the rainbow hues of hope. "we will go; we will go right soon!" cried gaston. "would that we could go tomorrow! why have we lingered here so long, when we might have been up and doing years ago?" "nay, brother, we were but children years ago. we are not yet sixteen. yet methinks our manhood comes the faster to us for that noble blood runs in our veins. but we will speak to father anselm. he has always been our kindest friend. he will best counsel us whether to go forth, or whether to tarry yet longer at home --" "i will tarry no longer; i pant to burst my bonds," cried the impetuous gaston; and raymond was in no whit less eager, albeit he had something more of his mother's prudence and self-restraint. "methinks the holy father will bid us go forth," he said thoughtfully. "he has oft spoken to us of england and the roy outremer, and has ever bidden us speak our mother's tongue, and not forget it here in these parts where no man else speaks it. i trow he has foreseen the day when we should go thither to claim our birthright. our mother told him many things that we were too young to hear. perchance he could tell us more of basildene than she ever did, if we go to him and question him thereupon." gaston nodded his head several times. "thou speakest sooth, brother," said he. "we will go to him forthwith. we will take counsel with him, albeit --" gaston did not finish his sentence, for two reasons. one was that his brother knew so well what words were on his lips that speech was well-nigh needless; the other, that he was at that moment rudely interrupted. and although the brothers had no such thought at the time, it is probable that this interruption and its consequences had a very distinct bearing upon their after lives, and certainly it produced a marked effect upon the counsel they subsequently received from their spiritual father, who, but for that episode, might strongly have dissuaded the youths from going forth so young into the world. the interruption came in the form of an angry hail from a loud and gruff voice, full of impatience and resentment. "out of my path, ye base-born peasants!" shouted a horseman who had just rounded the sharp angle taken by the narrow bridle path, and was brought almost to a standstill by the tall figures of the two stalwart youths, which took up the whole of the open way between the trees and their thick undergrowth. "stand aside, ye idle loons! know ye not how to make way for your betters? then, in sooth, i will teach you a lesson;" and a thick hide lash came whirling through the air and almost lighted upon the shoulders of gaston, who chanced to be the nearer. but such an insult as that was not to be borne. even a gascon peasant might well have sprung upon a solitary adversary of noble blood had he ventured to assault him thus, without support from his train of followers. as for gaston, he hesitated not an instant, but with flashing eyes he sprang at the right arm of his powerful adversary, and had wrested the whip from him and tossed it far away before the words were well out of the angry lord's mouth. with a great oath the man drew his sword; but the youth laughed him to scorn as he stepped back out of reach of the formidable weapon. he well knew his advantage. light of foot, though all unarmed, he could defy any horseman in this wooded spot. no horse could penetrate to the right or left of the narrow track. even if the knight dismounted, the twin brothers, who knew every turn and winding of these dim forest paths, could lead him a fine dance, and then break away and let him find his way out as best he could. fearless and impetuous as gaston ever was, at this moment his fierce spirit was stirred more deeply within him than it had ever been before, for in this powerful warrior who had dared to insult both him and his brother, ay, and their mother's fair fame too -- he recognized the lineaments of the hated sieur de navailles. the more cautious raymond had done the same, and now he spoke in low though urgent accents. "have a care, brother! knowest thou who it be?" "know? ay, that i do. it is he who now holds by force and tyranny those fair lands which should be ours -- lands which our forefathers held from generation to generation, which should be theirs now, were right and justice to be had, as one day it may be, when the roy outremer comes in person, as men say he will one day come, and all men may have access to his royal presence. and he, the tyrant, the usurper, dares to call us base born, to call us peasants, we who own a nobler name than he! "the day will come, proud man, when thou shalt rue the hour when thou spakest thus to me -- to me who am thy equal, ay, and more than thy equal, in birth, and who will some day come and prove it to thee at the sword's point!" many expressions had flitted over the rider's face as these bold words had been spoken -- anger, astonishment, then an unspeakable fury, which made gaston look well to the hand which held the shining sword; last of all an immense astonishment of a new kind, a perplexity not unmixed with dismay, and tinged with a lively curiosity. as the youth ceased speaking the knight sheathed his sword, and when he replied his voice was pitched in a very different key. "i pray you pardon, young sirs," he said, glancing quickly from one handsome noble face to the other. "i knew not that i spoke to those of gentle birth. the dress deceived me. tell me now, good youths, who and whence are ye? you have spoken in parables so far; tell me more plainly, what is your name and kindred?" raymond, who had heard somewhat of the enmity of the sieur de navailles, and knew that their identity as sons of the house of de brocas had always been kept from his knowledge, here pressed his brother's arm as though to suggest the necessity for caution; but gaston's hot blood was up. the talk they had been holding together had strung his nerves to the utmost pitch of tension. he was weary of obscurity, weary of the peasant life. he cared not how soon he threw off the mask. asked a downright question, even by a foe, it was natural to him to make a straightforward answer, and he spoke without fear and without hesitation. "we are the sons of arnald de brocas. de brocas is our name; we can prove it whenever such proof becomes needful. our fathers held these fair lands long ere you or yours did. the day may come when a de brocas may reign here once more, and the cursed brood of navailles be rooted out for ever." and without waiting to see the effect produced by such words upon the haughty horseman, the two brothers dashed off into the wood, and were speedily lost to sight. chapter ii. father anselm. the mill of sainte-foi, which was the home of the twin brothers of the de brocas line, was situated upon a tributary stream of the river adour, and was but a couple of leagues distant from the town of sauveterre -- one of those numerous "bastides" or "villes anglaises" built by the great king edward the first of england during his long regency of the province of gascony in the lifetime of his father. it was one of those so-called "filleules de bordeaux" which, bound by strong ties to the royal city, the queen of the garonne, stood by her and played so large a part in the great drama of the hundred years' war. those cities had been built by a great king and statesman to do a great work, and to them were granted charters of liberties such as to attract into their walls large numbers of persons who helped originally in the construction of the new townships, and then resided there, and their children after them, proud of the rights and immunities they claimed, and loyally true to the cause of the english kings, which made them what they were. it is plain to the reader of the history of those days that gascony could never have remained for three hundred years a fief of the english crown, had it not been to the advantage of her people that she should so remain. her attachment to the cause of the roy outremer, her willing homage to him, would never have been given for so long a period of time, had not the people of the land found that it was to their own advancement and welfare thus to accord this homage and fealty. nor is the cause for this advantage far to seek. gascony was of immense value to england, and of increasing value as she lost her hold upon the more northerly portions of france. the wine trade alone was so profitable that the nobility, and even the royal family of england, traded on their own account. bordeaux, with its magnificent harbour and vast trade, was a queen amongst maritime cities. the vast "landes" of the province made the best possible rearing ground for the chargers and cavalry horses to which england owed much of her warlike supremacy; whilst the people themselves, with their strength and independence of character, their traditions of personal and individual freedom which can be clearly traced back to the roman occupation of the province, and their long attachment to england and her king, were the most valuable of allies; and although they must have been regarded to a certain extent as foreigners when on english soil, they still assimilated better and worked more easily with british subjects than any pure frenchman had ever been found to do. small wonder then that so astute a monarch as the first edward had taken vast pains to draw closer the bond which united this fair province to england. the bold gascons well knew that they would find no such liberties as they now enjoyed did they once put themselves beneath the rule of the french king. his country was already overgrown and almost unmanageable. he might cast covetous eyes upon gascony, but he would not pour into it the wealth that flowed steadily from prosperous england. he would not endow it with charters, each one more liberal than the last, or bind it to his kingdom by giving it a pre-eminence that would but arouse the jealousy of its neighbours. no: the shrewd gaseous knew that full well, and knew when they were well off. they could often obtain an increase of liberty and an enlarged charter of rights by coquetting with the french monarch, and thus rousing the fears of the english king; but they had no wish for any real change, and lived happily and prosperously beneath the rule of the roy outremer; and amongst all the freemen of the gascon world, none enjoyed such full privileges as those who lived within the walls of the "villes anglaises," of which sauveterre was one amongst the smaller cities. the construction of these towns (now best seen in libourne) is very simple, and almost always practically the same -- a square in the centre formed by the public buildings, with eight streets radiating from it, each guarded by a gate. an outer ditch or moat protected the wall or palisade, and the towns were thus fortified in a simple but effective manner, and guarded as much by their own privileges as by any outer bulwarks. the inhabitants were bound together by close ties, and each smaller city looked to the parent city of bordeaux, and was proud of the title of her daughter. sauveterre and its traditions and its communistic life were familiar enough, and had been familiar from childhood to the twin brothers. halfway between the mill and the town stood a picturesque and scattered hamlet, and to this hamlet was attached a church, of which a pious ecclesiastic, by name father anselm, had charge. he was a man of much personal piety, and was greatly beloved through all the countryside, where he was known in every hut and house for leagues around the doors of his humble home. he was, as was so frequently the case in those times, the doctor and the scribe, as well as the spiritual adviser, of his entire flock; and he was so much trusted and esteemed that all men told him their affairs and asked advice, not in the confessional alone, but as one man speaking to another in whom he has strong personal confidence. the twin brothers knew that during the years when their dead mother had resided at the mill with honest jean and margot (they began greatly to wonder now why she had so lived in hiding and obscurity), she had been constantly visited by the holy father, and that she had told him things about herself and her history which were probably known to no other human being beside. brought up as the youths had been, and trained in a measure beneath the kindly eye of the priest, they would in any case have asked his counsel and blessing before taking any overt step in life; but all the more did they feel that they must speak to him now, since he was probably the only person within their reach who could tell them anything as to their own parentage and history that they did not know already. "we will go to him upon the morrow," said gaston with flashing eyes. "we will rise with the sun -- or before it -- and go to him ere his day's work is begun. he will surely find time to talk with us when he hears the errand upon which we come. i trow now that when he has sat at our board, and has bent upon our faces those glances i have not known how to read aright, he has been wondering how long it would be ere we should awake to the knowledge that this peasant life is not the life of the de brocas race, guessing that we should come to him for counsel and instruction ere we spread our wings to flee away. they call us eaglets in sooth; and do eaglets rest for ever in their mountain eyry? nay, they spread their wings as strength comes upon them, and soar upwards and onwards to see for themselves the great world around; even as thou and i will soar away, brother, and seek other fortunes than will ever be ours here in sauveterre." with these burning feelings in their hearts, it was no wonder that the twins uttered a simultaneous exclamation of satisfaction and pleasure when, as they approached the mill, they were aware of the familiar figure of father anselm sitting at the open door of the living house, engaged, as it seemed, in an animated discussion with the worthy miller and his good wife. the look which the father bent upon the two youths as they approached betrayed a very deep and sincere affection for them; and when after supper they asked to speak with him in private, he readily acceded to their request, accepting the offer of a bed from the miller's wife, as already the sun had long set, and his own home was some distance away. the faces of jean and margot were grave with anxious thought, and that of the priest seemed to reflect something of the same expression; for during the course of the simple meal which all had shared together, gaston had told of the unlooked-for encounter with the proud sieur de navailles in the forest, and of the defiance he had met with from the twin eaglets. as the good miller and his wife heard how gaston had openly declared his name and race to the implacable foe of his house, they wrung their hands together and uttered many lamentable exclamations. the present lord of saut was terribly feared throughout the neighbourhood in which he dwelt. his fierce and cruel temper had broken forth again and again in acts of brutality or oppression from which there was practically no redress. free as the gascon peasant was from much or the serfdom and feudal servitude of other lands, he was in some ways worse off than the serf, when he chanced to have roused the anger of some great man of the neighbourhood. the power of the nobles and barons -- the irresponsible power they too often held -- was one of the crying evils of the age, one which was being gradually extinguished by the growing independence of the middle classes. but such changes were slow of growth, and long in penetrating beyond great centres; and it was a terrible thing for a brace of lads, unprotected and powerless as these twin brothers, to have brought upon themselves the hostility and perchance the jealousy of a man like the sieur de navailles. if he wished to discover their hiding place, he would have small difficulty in doing so; and let him but once find that out, and the lives of the boys would not be safe either by night or day. the retainers of the proud baron might swoop down at any moment upon the peaceful mill, and carry off the prey without let or hindrance; and this was why the secret of their birth and name had been so jealously kept from all (save a few who loved the house of de brocas) by the devoted miller and his wife. but gaston little recked of the threatened peril. the fearless nature of his race was in him, and he would have scorned himself had he failed to speak out boldly when questioned by the haughty foe of his house. if the de brocas had been ruined in all else, they had their fearless honour left them still. but the priest's face was grave as he let the boys lead him into the narrow bedchamber where they slept -- a room bare indeed of such things as our eyes would seek, but which for the times was commodious and comfortable enough. he was pondering in his mind what step must now be taken, for it seemed to him as though the place of safety in the mill in which their mother had left her sons could hide them no longer. go they must, of that he felt well assured; but where? that was a question less easily answered offhand. "father," began gaston eagerly, so soon as the door had closed behind the three, and raymond had coaxed the dim taper into its feeble flicker -- "father, we have come to thee for counsel -- for help. father, chide us not, nor call us ingrate; but it has come to this with us -- we can no longer brook this tame and idle life. we are not of the peasant stock; why must we live the peasant life? father, we long to be up and doing -- to spread our wings for a wider flight. we know that those who bear our name are not hiding their heads in lowly cots; we know that our sires have been soldiers and statesmen in the days that are past. are we then to hide our heads here till the snows of age gather upon them? are we, of all our race, to live and die obscure, unknown? father, we cannot stand it; it shall not be! to thee we come to ask more of ourselves than yet we know. to thee our mother commended us in her last moments; to thee she bid us look in days to come when we needed guidance and help. wherefore to thee we have come now, when we feel that there must surely be an end to all of this. tell us, father, of our sire; tell us of our kinsfolk. where be they? where may we seek them? i trow thou knowest all. then tell us, i beseech thee tell us freely all there is to know." the good priest raised his eyes and thoughtfully scanned the faces of the two eager youths. gaston was actually shivering with repressed excitement; raymond was more calm, but not, as it seemed, one whit less interested. what a strong and manly pair they looked! the priest's eyes lighted with pride as they rested on the stalwart figures and noble faces. it was hard to believe that these youths were not quite sixteen, though man's estate was then accounted reached at an age which we should call marvellously immature in these more modern days. "my children," said the good old man, speaking slowly and with no small feeling, "i have long looked for this day to come -- the day when ye twain should stand thus before me and put this selfsame question." "you have looked for it!" said gaston eagerly; "then, in very sooth, there is something to tell?" "yes, my children, there is a long story to tell; and it seemeth to me, even as it doth to you, that the time has now come to tell it. this day has marked an era in your lives. methinks that from this night your childhood will pass for ever away, and the life of your manhood commence. may the holy mother of god, the blessed saints, and our gracious saviour himself watch over and guard you in all the perils and dangers of the life that lies before you!" so solemn were the tones of the father that the boys involuntarily sank upon their knees, making the sign of the cross as they did so. the priest breathed a blessing over the two, and when they had risen to their feet, he made them sit one on each side of him upon the narrow pallet bed. "the story is something long -- the story which will tell ye twain who and what ye are, and why ye have been thus exiled and forced to dwell obscure in this humble home; but i will tell all i know, and ye will then see something of the cause. "my children, ye know that ye have a noble name -- that ye belong to the house of de brocas, which was once so powerful and great in these fair lands around this home of yours. i wot that ye know already some thing of the history of your house, how that it was high in favour with the great king of england, that first edward who so long dwelt amongst us, and made himself beloved by the people of these lands. it was in part fidelity to him that was the cause of your kinsfolk's ruin: for whilst they served him in other lands, following him across the sea when he was bidden to go thither, the treacherous foe of the house of navailles wrested from them, little by little, all the lands they had owned here, and not even the many mandates from the roy outremer sufficed to gain them their rights again. it might have been done had the great edward lived; but when he died and his son mounted the throne, men found at once how weak were the hands that held the sovereign power, and the sieur de navailles laughed in his beard at commands he knew there was no power to enforce. but listen again, my sons; that feeble king, despite many and great faults, was not without some virtues also; and he did not forget that the house of de brocas had ruined itself in the cause of himself and his father." "did he do aught to show his gratitude?" "thou shalt hear, my son. the younger edward had not been many years upon his father's throne before a great battle was fought by him against the scottish race his father had vanquished and subdued. these rebel subjects revolted from under his hand, and he fought with them a battle on the field of bannockburn, in which he was overthrown and defeated, and in which your grandsire, arnald de brocas, lost his life, fighting gallantly for england's king." "our grandsire?" cried both the boys in a breath. "tell us more of him." "it is little that i know, my children, save what i have just said. he served the king faithfully in life and death, and his sons reaped some reward for their father's fidelity. at first, whilst they were quite young, his three sons (of whom your father was the third) were sent to dwell with their mother's relatives -- the de campaines of agen, of whom, doubtless, ye have heard; but as they grew to man's estate, they were recalled to the english court, and received offices there, as many another noble gascon has done before them." "have we then uncles in england?" asked raymond eagerly. "then, if we find but our way across the water, we may find a home with one of them? is it not so, good father?" the priest did not exclaim at the idea of the boys journeying forth across the seas alone, but he shook his head thoughtfully as he continued his narrative as if there had been no interruption. "the english king was not unmindful of the service done him by the father of these youths, and he promoted them to places of honour about his court. first, they were all made serviens of his own royal person, and were brought up with his son, who is now the king; then, as i have heard, they greatly endeared themselves to the prince by loyalty and faithful service. when he ascended the throne, and purged the court of the false favourites from this and other lands who had done so much ill to that country, he was ably helped in the task before him by thy father and thy two uncles; and i can well believe that this was so, seeing that they were speedily advanced to posts of honour in the royal service." "what posts?" asked the eager youths. "the head of your branch of this noble house," continued the priest, "is your uncle sir john de brocas, who is the king's master of the horse, and the lord of many fair manors and wide lands in england, and high in favour with his master. second in the line is your uncle master bernard de brocas, a clerk, and the rector (as it is called in the realm of england) of st. nicholas, in or near a town that is called guildford -- if i can frame my lips aright to the strange words. he too is high in favour with the roy outremer, and, as i have heard, is oft employed by him in these parts to quell strife or redress grievances; but i know not how that may be. it is of thy father that i would fain speak to thee, gaston, for thou art heir to his name and estate if thou canst make good the claim, as in time thou mayest yet. listen whilst i tell all that i know. thy father -- arnald -- was the youngest of the three sons of him who died on the field of bannockburn, and to him was given the post of master of the horse to prince john of eltham. i misdoubt me if that prince is living yet; but of that i cannot speak with certainty. he was also valettus or serviens to the king, and might have carved out for himself as great a career as they, had it not been that he estranged himself from his kindred, and even offended the king himself, by the marriage that he made with mistress alice sanghurst of basildene." the brothers exchanged quick glances as the name passed the priest's lips. their memory had not then played them false. "but why were they thus offended? was not our mother rightful owner of basildene? and is it not a fair heritage?" "the reason for the ill will, my sons, i know not. your mother did not fully understand it, and from her lips it was i heard all this tale. perchance some nobler alliance was wished by the family and by the king himself, perchance the young man acted something hastily, and gave umbrage that might have been spared. i know not how that may have been. all i for certainty know is that your father, arnald, brought hither his wife, flying from some menaced peril, fearful of capture and discovery; and that here in this lonely mill, amongst those who had ever loved the name of de brocas, the sweet lady was able to hide her head, and to find a place of safe refuge. jean, then a youth, had been in the service of arnald, having been seized with a love of wandering in his boyhood, which had led him to cross the sea to england, where he had fallen in with your father and attached himself to his person. the elder jean, his father, was miller then and right glad was he to welcome back his son, and give a shelter to the lady in her hour of need. good margot, as you know, was your nurse when you were born; she had married jean a short time back, and her own babe had died the very week before you came into the world. she has always loved you as her own, and though your mother was taken from you, you have never lost a mother's love. do not forget that, my children, in the years to come; and if the time should ever be when you can requite the faithful attachment of these two honest hearts, be sure that you let not the chance slip." "we will not," answered the boys in a breath. "but the rest of your story, good father." "you shall hear it all, my sons. it was in the year of grace that your father first brought his wife here, and in the following year you twain were born. your father stayed till he could fold you in his arms, and bestow upon you the blessing of a father; but then his duties to his master called him to england, and for a whole long year we heard no news of him. at the end of that time a messenger arrived with despatches for his lady. she sent to ask my help in reading these; and together we made out that the letter contained a summons for her to join her lord in england, where he would meet her at the port of southampton, into which harbour many of our vessels laden with wine put in for safe anchorage. as for the children, said the letter, she must either bring or leave them, as seemed best to her at the time; and after long and earnest debate we resolved that she should go alone, and that you should be left to good margot's tender care. i myself escorted our gentle lady to bordeaux, and there it was easy to find safe and commodious transport for her across the sea. she left us, and we heard no more until more than a year had passed by, and she returned to us, sorely broken down in mind and body, to tell a sorrowful tale." "sorrowful? had our proud uncles refused to receive her?" asked gaston, with flashing eyes. "i trow if that be so --" but the father silenced him by a gesture. "wait and let me tell my tale, boy. thou canst not judge till thou knowest all. she came back to us, and to me she told all her tale, piece by piece and bit by bit, not all at once, but as time and opportunity served. and this is what i learned. when your father summoned her back to join him, it was because her one brother was dead -- dead without leaving children behind -- and her father, now growing old, wished to see her once again, and give over to her before he died the fair domain of basildene, which she would now inherit, but to which she had had no title when she married your father. it seemed like enow to both of them that if arnald de brocas could lead a well-dowered bride to his brothers' halls, all might be well between them and so it came about when the old man died, and the lady had succeeded to the lands, that he started forth to tell the news, not taking her, as the weather was inclement, and she somewhat suffering from the damp and fog which they say prevail so much in england, but faring forth alone on his embassy, trusting to come with joy to fetch her anon." "and did he not?" asked the boys eagerly. "i will tell you what chanced in his absence. you must know that your grandsire on your mother's side had a kinsman, by name peter sanghurst, who had long cast covetous eyes upon basildene. he was next of kin after your mother, and he, as a male, claimed to call the property his. he had failed to make good his claim by law; but so soon as he knew your mother to be alone in the house, he came down upon it with armed retainers and drove her forth ere she well knew what had befallen; and she, not knowing whither her lord had gone, nor how to find him, and being in sore danger from the malice of the wicked man who had wrested from her the inheritance, and would gladly have done her to death, knew not what better to do than to fly back here, leaving word for her lord where she was to be found; and thus it came that ere she had been gone from us a year, she returned in more desolate plight than at the first." gaston's face was full of fury, and raymond's hands were clenched in an access of rage. "and what did our father then? sure he waged war with the vile usurper, and won back our mother's lands for her! sure a de brocas never rested quiet under so foul an insult!" "my sons, your father had been taught patience in a hard school. he returned to basildene, not having seen either of his brothers, who were both absent on the king's business, to find his wife fled, and the place in the firm grasp of the wily man, who well knew how to strengthen himself in the possession of ill-gotten gains. his first care was for your mother's safety, and he followed her hither before doing aught else. when he found her safe with honest jean and margot, and when they had taken counsel together, he returned to england to see what could be done to regain the lost inheritance and the favour of his kinsmen who had been estranged. you were babes of less than three summers when your father went away, and you never saw him more." "he did not come again?" "nay, he came no more, for all too soon a call which no man may disobey came for him, and he died before the year was out." "and had he accomplished naught?" "so little that it must needs come to naught upon his death. he sent a trusty messenger -- one of his stout gascon henchmen -- over to us with all needful tidings. but there was little of good to tell. he had seen his brother, sir john, the head of the family, and had been received not unkindly by him; but in the matter of the recovery of basildene the knight had but shaken his head, and had said that the king had too many great matters on hand just then to have leisure to consider so small a petition as the one concerning a manor of no repute or importance. if arnald had patience to wait, or to interest prince john in the matter, something might in time be done; but peter sanghurst would strive to make good his claim by any means bad or good, and as he held possession it might be difficult indeed to oust him. the property belonged to one who had been a cause of much offence, and perchance that weighed with sir john and made him less willing to bestir himself in the matter. but be that as it may, nothing had been done when arnald de brocas breathed his last; and his wife, when she heard the tale, looked at you two young children as you lay upon the grass at play, and she said with a sigh and a smile, 'father, i will wait till my boys be grown, for what can one weak woman do alone? and then we will go together to the land that is mine by birth, and my boys shall win back for me and for themselves the lost inheritance of basildene.'" "and so we will!" cried gaston, with flashing eyes; "and so we will! here as i stand i vow that we will win it back from the false and coward kinsman who holds it now." "ay," answered raymond, with equal ardour and enthusiasm, "that, brother, will we do; and we will win for ourselves the name that she herself gave to us -- the twin brothers of basildene." chapter iii. the unknown world. so that was the story of their past. that was why they two, with the blood of the de brocas running in their veins, had lived all their past lives in the seclusion of a humble mill; why they had known nothing of their kinsfolk, albeit they had always known that they must have kindred of their own name and race; and why their mother upon her deathbed had spoken to them not of any inheritance that they might look to claim from descent through their father, but of basildene, which was theirs in very right, as it had been hers before, till her ambitious and unscrupulous kinsman had driven her forth. and now what should they do? whither should they go; and what should be the object of the lives -- the new lives of purpose and resolve which had awakened within them? gaston had given voice to this feeling in vowing them to the attempt to recover their lost heritage of basildene, and father anselm did not oppose either that desire or the ardent wish of the youths to fare forth into the great world alone. "my sons," he said a few days later, when he had come to see if the twins held yet to their first resolve. "you are something young as yet to sally forth into the unknown world and carve for yourselves your fortunes there; but nevertheless i trow the day has come, for this place is no longer a safe shelter for you. the sieur de navailles, as it is told me, is already searching for you. it cannot be long before he finds your hiding place, and then no man may call your lives safe by night or day. and not only would ye yourselves be in peril, but peril would threaten good jean and margot; and methinks you would be sorely loath that harm should come to them through the faithful kindness they have ever shown to you and yours." "sooner would we die than that one hair of their head should be touched!" cried both the boys impetuously; "and margot lives in fear and trembling ever since we told her of the words we spoke to yon tyrant and usurper of saut. we told her for her comfort that he would think us too poor and humble and feeble to vent his rage on us; but she shook her head at that, and feared no creature hearing the name of de brocas would be too humble to be a mark for his spite. and then we told her that we would sally forth to see the world, as we had ever longed to do and though she wept to think that we must go, she did not bid us stay. she said, as thou hast done, good father, that she had known that such day would surely come; and though it has come something early and something suddenly, she holds that we shall be safer facing the perils of the unknown world, than living here a mark for the spite and malice of the foe of our house. if no man holds us back, why go we not forth tomorrow?" the priest's face was grave and even sorrowful, but he made no objection even to so rapid a move. "my sons, if this thing is to be, it is small use to tarry and linger. i would not that the sieur de navailles should know that you have hidden your heads here so long; and a secret, however faithfully kept, that belongs to many, may not be a secret always. it is right that you should go, and with the inclement winter season hard upon us, with its dangers from heavy snows, tempests at sea, and those raids from wolves that make the peril of travellers when the cold once sets in, it behoves you, if go ye must, to go right speedily. and in the belief that i should find your minds made up and your preparations well-nigh complete, i have brought to you the casket given into my charge by your mother on her dying bed. methinks that you will find therein gold enough to carry you safe to england, and such papers as shall suffice to prove to your proud kinsmen at the king's court that ye are in very truth the sons of their brother, and that it is of just and lawful right that you make your claim to basildene." the brothers looked eagerly at the handsome case, wrought and inlaid with gold, in which certain precious parchments had lain ever since they had been carried in haste from england. the boys looked at these with a species of awe, for they had but very scant knowledge of letters, and such as they had acquired from the good father was not enough to enable them to master the contents of the papers. learning was almost entirely confined to the ecclesiastics in those days, and many were the men of birth and rank who could scarce read or write their own name. but the devices upon the parchments told a tale more easily understood. there was the golden lion rampant upon the black ground -- the arms of the de brocas family, as the father told them; whilst the papers that referred to basildene were adorned with a shield bearing a silver stag upon an azure ground. they would have no difficulty in knowing the deeds apart; and good margot sewed them first into a bag of untanned leather, and then stitched them safely within the breast of gaston's leathern jerkin. the golden pieces, and a few rings and trinkets that were all that remained to the boys of their lost inheritance, were sewn in like manner into raymond's clothing, and there was little more to be done ere the brothers went forth into the unknown world. as for their worldly possessions, they were soon numbered, and comprised little more than their clothing, their bows and arrows, and the poniards which hung at their girdles. as they were to proceed on foot to bordeaux, and would probably journey in the same simple fashion when they reached the shores of england, they had no wish to hamper themselves with any needless encumbrances, and all that they took with them was a single change of under vest and hose, which they were easily able to carry in a wallet at their back. they sallied forth in the dress they commonly wore all through the inclement winter season -- an under-dress of warm blue homespun, with a strong jerkin of leather, soft and well-dressed, which was as long as a short tunic, and was secured by the girdle below the waist which was worn by almost all ranks of the people in that age. the long hose were likewise guarded by a species of gaiter of the same strong stuff. and a peasant clad in his own leather garments was often a match for a mailed warrior, the tough substance turning aside sword point or arrow almost as effectually as a coat of steel, whilst the freedom and quickness of motion allowed by the simpler dress was an immense advantage to the wearer in attack or defence. the good father looked with tender glances at the brave bright boys as they stood forth on the morning of their departure, ready to sally out into the wide world with the first glimpse of dawn. he had spent the previous night at the mill, and many words of fatherly counsel and good advice had he bestowed upon the lads, now about to be subjected to temptations and perils far different from any they had known in their past life. and his words had been listened to with reverent heed, for the boys loved him dearly, and had been trained by him in habits of religious exercise, more common in those days than they became, alas in later times. they had with them an english breviary which had been one of their mother's most valued possessions, and they promised the father to study it with reverent heed; for they were very familiar with the petitions, and could follow them without difficulty despite their rudimentary education. so that when they knelt before him for his last blessing, he was able to give it with a heart full of hope and tender confidence; and he felt sure that whether the lads went forth for weal or woe, he should (if they and he both lived through the following years) see their faces again in this selfsame spot. they would not forget old friends -- they would seek them out in years to come; and if fate smiled upon their path, others would share in the sunshine of their good fortune. and so the boys rose to their feet again to meet a proud, glad smile from the eyes of the kind old man; and though margot's face was buried in her apron, and honest jean was not ashamed to let the tears run down his weatherbeaten face, there was no attempt made to hinder or to sadden the eager lads. they kissed their good nurse with many protestations of love and gratitude, telling her of the days to come when they would return as belted knights, riding on fine horses, and with their esquires by their side, and how they would tell the story of how they had been born and bred in this very mill, and of all they owed to those who had sheltered them in their helpless infancy. the farewells once over, with the inevitable sadness that such scenes must entail, the boys' spirits rose with wonderful celerity. true, they looked back with fond glances at the peaceful homestead where their childhood had been passed, as they reached the ridge of the undulating plain from which the last glimpse of the red roofs and tumbling water was to be had. raymond even felt a mist rise before his eyes as he stood and gazed, and gaston dashed his hand impatiently across his eyes as though something hindered his vision; but his voice was steady and full of courage as he waved his right arm and cried aloud: "we will come back! we will see this place again! ah, raymond, methinks i shall love it better then than i do today; for though it has been a timely place of shelter, it has not been -- it never could be -- our true home. our home is basildene, in the fair realm of england's king. i will rest neither day nor night until i have looked upon the home our mother dwelt in, and have won the right to call that home our own." then the brothers strode with light springy steps along the road which would in time lead them to the great seaport city of bordeaux, towards which all the largest roads of the whole province converged. the royal city of the garonne was full forty leagues away -- over a hundred british miles -- and the boys had never visited it yet, albeit their dream had long been to travel thither on their feet, and see the wonders of which travellers spoke. a day's march of ten leagues or more was as nothing to them. had the days been longer they would have done more, but travelling in the dark through these forest-clad countries was by no means safe, and the father had bid them promise that they would always strive to seek shelter ere the shades of night fell; for great picks of wolves ravaged the forests of gascony until a much later date, and though the season of their greatest boldness and fierceness had not yet come, they were customers not to be trifled with at any time, and a hunting knife and a crossbow would go but a small way in defence if a resolute attack were to be made by even half-a-dozen of the fierce beasts. but the brothers thought not of peril as they strode through the clear crisp air, directing their course more by the sun than by any other guide, as they pursued their way engrossed in eager talk. they were passing through the great grazing pastures, the landes of gascony, which supplied england with so many of her best horses, and walking was easy and they covered the ground fast. later on would come dark stretches of lonely forest, but here were smiling pasture and bright sunshine and the brothers talked together of the golden future before them, of their proud kinsmen at the king's court, of the roy outremer himself, and of basildene and that other treacherous kinsman there. as they travelled they debated within themselves whether it were better to seek first the countenance of their uncles on their father's side, or whether to make their way first to basildene and see what manner of place it was, and what likelihood there seemed of ousting the intruder. how to decide this point themselves the brothers did not know; but as it chanced, fortune was to decide it for them in her own fashion, and that before many suns had set. two days of travel had passed. the brothers had long left behind them every trace of what had been familiar to them in the old life. the evening of the third day was stealing fast upon them, and they were yet, as it seemed, in the heart of the vast forest which they had entered soon after noon, and which they had hoped to pass completely through before the daylight waned. they had been told that they might look, if they pushed on fast, to reach the town of castres by nightfall; but the paths through the forest were intricate: they had several times felt uncertain as to whether they were going right. now that the darkness was coming on so fast they were still more uncertain, and more than once they had heard behind and before them the unmistakable howl of the wolf. the hardy twins would have thought nothing of sleeping in the open air even at this somewhat inclement season; but the proximity of the wolves was unpleasant. for two days the cold had been sharp, and though it was not probable that it had yet seriously interfered with the supplies of the wild beasts, yet it was plain that they had emerged from their summer retreats in the more remote parts of the forest, and were disposed to venture nearer to the habitable world on the outskirts. if the brothers slept out of doors at all, it would have to be in the fork of some tree, and in that elevated position they would be likely to feel the cold rather keenly, though down below in some hollow trunk they could make themselves a warm nest enough. mindful of their promise to the priest, they resolved to try yet to reach some hut or place of shelter, however rude, before the night absolutely closed in, and marched quickly forward with the practised tread of those born to forest life. suddenly gaston, who was a couple of paces in the front, paused and laid a hand upon his brother's arm. "hist!" he said below his breath. "methought i heard a cry." raymond stopped short and listened, too. yes; there was certainly some tumult going on a little distance ahead of them. the brothers distinguished the sound of human voices raised in shrill piercing cries, and with that sound was mingled the fierce baying note that they had heard too often in their lives to mistake at any time. "it is some traveller attacked by wolves!" cried the brothers in a breath, and without a single thought of their own peril the gallant boys tore headlong through the dark wood to the spot whence the tumult proceeded. guided by the sound of shouts, cries, and the howling of the beasts, the brothers were not long in nearing the scene of the strife. "shout aloud!" cried gaston to his brother as they ran. "make the cowardly brutes believe that a company is advancing against them. it is the best, the only chance. they will turn and fly if they think there be many against them." raymond was not slow to act upon this hint. the next moment the wood rang again to the shouts and calls of the brothers, voice answering to voice till it seemed as though a score of men were approaching. the brothers, moreover, knew and used the sharp fierce call employed by the hunters of the wolves in summoning their dogs to their aid -- a call that they knew would be heard and heeded by the savage brutes, who would well know what it meant. and in effect the artifice was perfectly successful; for ere they had gained the spot upon which the struggle had taken place, they heard the breaking up of the wolf party, as the frightened beasts dashed headlong through the coverts, whilst their howling and barking died away in the distance, and a great silence succeeded. "thank heaven for a timely rescue!" they heard a voice say in the english tongue; "for by my troth, good malcolm, i had thought that thou and i would not live to tell this tale to others. but where are our good friends and rescuers? verily, i have seen nothing, yet there must have been a good dozen or more. light thy lantern, an thou canst, and let us look well round us, for by the mass i shall soon think we have been helped by the spirits of the forest." "nay, fair sir, but only by two travellers," said gaston, advancing from the shadow of the giant trees, his brother closely following him. "we are ourselves benighted in this forest, having by some mischance lost our road to castres, which we hoped to have sighted ere now. hearing the struggle, and the shouts with which you doubtless tried to scare off the brutes, we came to see if we might not aid, and being well acquainted with the calls of the hunters of the wolves, succeeded beyond our hopes. i trust the cowardly and treacherous beasts have done you no injury?" "by my troth, it is strange to hear my native tongue in these parts, and so fairly spoken withal. i trust we are not bewitched, or the sport of spirits. who art thou, brave boy? and whence comest thou? how comes it that thou, being, as it seems, a native of these parts, speakest so well a strange language?" "it was our mother's tongue," answered gaston, speaking nevertheless guardedly, for he had been warned by the father not to be too ready to tell his name and parentage to all the world. "we are bound for bordeaux, and thence to england, to seek our mother's kindred, as she bid us ere she died." "if that be so, then let us join forces and travel on together," said he whom they had thus succoured, a man well mounted on a fine horse, and with a mounted servant beside him, so that the brothers took him for a person of quality, which indeed he was, as they were soon to learn. "there is safety in numbers, and especially so in these inhospitable forest tracks, where so many perils beset the traveller. i have lost my other stout fellows in the windings of the wood, and it were safer to travel four than two. riding is slow work in this gloom. i trow ye will have no trouble in keeping pace with our good chargers." the hardy gascon boys certainly found no difficulty about that. gaston walked beside the bridle rein of the master, whilst raymond chatted amicably to the man, whose broad scotch accent puzzled him a little, and led in time to stories of border warfare, and to the tale of bannockburn, told from a scotchman's point of view; to all of which the boy listened with eager interest. as for gaston, he was hearing of the king's court, the gay tourneys, the gallant feats of arms at home and abroad which characterized the reign of the third edward. the lad drank in every item of intelligence, asking such pertinent questions, and appearing so well informed upon many points, that his interlocutor was increasingly surprised, and at last asked him roundly of his name and kindred. now the priest had warned the boys at starting not to speak with too much freedom to strangers of their private affairs, and had counselled them very decidedly not to lay claim at starting to the name of de brocas, and thus draw attention to themselves at the outset. there was great laxity in the matter of names in ages when penmanship was a recondite art, and even in the documents of the period a name so well known as that of de brocas was written broc and brook, brocaz and brocazt, and half-a-dozen more ways as well. wherefore it mattered the less what the lads called themselves, and they had agreed that broc, without the de before it, would be the best and safest patronymic for them in the present. "we are twin brothers, may it please you, fair sir; english on our mother's side, though our father was a gascon. our father was much in england likewise, and, as we hear, held some office about the court, though of its exact nature we know not. both our parents died many long years since; but we have never ceased to speak the tongue of england, and to dream of one day going thither. our names are gaston and raymond broc, and we are going forth at last in search of the adventures which men say in these warlike days may be found by young and old, by rich and poor. our faces are set towards england. what may befall us there kind fortune only knows." something in the frank and noble bearing of the lad seemed to please the knightly stranger. he laid a friendly hand on gaston's shoulder as the youth paced with springy strides beside him. "i trow thou art a mettlesome knave, and i owe thee and thy brother something more than fair words for the service ye have rendered me this night. i have lost three or four of my followers by disease and accident since i left the shores of england. boy, what sayest thou to taking service with me for a while -- thou and thy brother likewise -- and journeying to fair england as two of my young esquires? i like you well, and in these days it is no small thing to rank in one's train those to whom the language of gascony is familiar. i trow ye be able to speak the french tongue likewise, since ye be so ready with our foreign english?" "ay, we can both speak and understand it," answered gaston, whose cheeks had crimsoned with eager delight; "but we speak english better. good sir, we could desire nothing better than to follow you to the world's end; but we have not been trained to the use of arms, nor to knightly exercises. i know not if we could make shift to please you, be our service never so faithful." "in such a case as that, sure i should be a hard master to please," returned the other, and gaston knew from his voice that he was smiling. "but we need not settle it all out here in this dark wood. you must wait awhile to see what manner of man it is you speak of serving. and you may at least be my companions of voyage across the sea, though once on english shores you shall please yourselves whether or not you serve me farther. as for my name, it is james audley, and i am one of the king's knights. i am now bound for windsor -- thou hast doubtless heard of windsor, the mighty fortress where the king holds his court many a time and oft. well, it hath pleased his majesty of late to strive to bring back those days of chivalry of which our bards sing and of which we hear from ancient legend -- days that seem to be fast slipping away, and which it grieves our most excellent king to see die out in his time. hast heard, boy, of the great king arthur of whom men wrote and sung in days gone by? has his fame reached as far as thy gascon home?" "yea, verily," answered gaston eagerly. "our mother in long-past days would speak to us of that great king, and of his knights, and of the round table at which they sat together, their king in their midst --" "ay, truly thou knowest well the tale, and it is of this same round table i would speak. the king has thought good to hold such a round table himself, and has sent forth messages to numbers of his knights to hold themselves in readiness to attend it early in the year which will soon be upon us. men say that he is building a wondrous round tower at his fortress of windsor, wherein his round table will be placed and the feast celebrated. i know not with what truth they rumour this, but it is like enough, for his majesty hath the love of his people and a kingly mind; and what he purposes he makes shift to carry out, and that right speedily. but be that as it may, there is no mistaking his royal summons to his round table, and i am hastening back across the water to be at windsor on the appointed day; and if it will pleasure you twain to journey thither with me, i trow you will see things the like of which you have never dreamed before; and sure a better fashion of entering life could scarce be found than to follow one of the king's knights to one of the fairest assemblies of chivalry that the world has ever locked upon." and indeed gaston thought so too. his breath was taken away by the prospect. he was dazzled by the very thought of such a thing, and his words of eager thanks were spoken with the falterings of strong emotion. the road had widened out here, and the travellers had got free of the forest. lights sparkled pleasantly in front of them, and raymond had come up in time to hear the offer just made. the eager delight of the two lads seemed to please the brave sir james, who was not much more than a youth himself, as we should reckon things now, though four-and-twenty appeared a more advanced age then. as the travellers at last found themselves within the precincts of a fairly comfortable hostelry, and the horsemen dismounted at the door and entered the inn, sir james pushed the two lads into the lighted room before him, and looked them well over with a pair of searching but kindly blue eyes. he was himself a fine man, of noble stature and princely hearing. his face was pleasant, though it could be stern too on occasion, and the features were regular and good. the boys had never seen such a kingly-looking man, and their hearts went out to him at once. as for him, he looked from one bright face to the other, and nodded his head with a smile. "methinks you will make a pair of gallant squires," he said. "so long as it pleases you to remain in my service, you may call yourselves my men, and receive from my hands what my other servants do." chapter iv. the master of the horse. what a wonderful experience it was for the twin brothers to find themselves for the first time in their lives upon the great ocean of which they had so many times heard! as the little vessel, with her cargo of wine, plunged merrily through the white-crested waves, bearing her freight northward through the stormy bay of biscay to the white shores of albion, the brothers loved to stand in the pointed prow of the brave little craft, feeling the salt spray dashing in their faces, and listening to the swirl of water round the ship's sides as she raced merrily on her way. now indeed, were they well embarked upon a career of adventure and glory. were they not habited like the servants of an english knight -- their swords by their sides (if need be), their master's badge upon their sleeves? were they not bound for the great king's court -- for the assembly of the round table, of which, as it seemed, all men were now talking? would they not see their own kinsmen, feel their way perhaps to future friendship with those who bore their own name? for the present they were dubbed brook by the english servants with whom they associated, though more frequently they went by their christian names alone. it was the fashion in these times to think well of the gascon race. the king set the example, knowing how useful such men were like to be to him in days to come; and these lads, who spoke english almost as their mother tongue, and were so full of spirit, grace, and vivacity, rapidly rose in favour both with sir james himself and with his retinue. no auspices could well have been more favourable for the lads upon their first entrance into the great world, and they only wished that father anselm could hear of their good fortune. they had settled now to let the visit to basildene stand over for a time. they had but the vaguest idea where to seek their mother's home. the priest could not help them to any information on this point, and the way to windsor was open. their kinsfolk there could possibly give them news of basildene, even did they decide to keep their own true name a secret for a time. there could be no doubt as to the wisdom of learning something of their mother's country and the ways of its sons before they launched themselves upon a difficult and possibly dangerous quest. with what strange feelings did the brothers first set eyes upon the shores of england, as the little sloop slid merrily into the smoother solent, after a rough but not unpleasant passage! how they gazed about them as they neared the quays of southampton, and wondered at the contrast presented by this seaport with the stately and beautiful city of bordeaux, which they had seen a fortnight back! certainly this english port could not compare with her a single moment, yet the boys' hearts bounded with joyful exhilaration as they first set foot on english soil. was not the first step of their wild dream safely and prosperously accomplished? might they not augur from this a happy and prosperous career till their aim and object was accomplished? their master had some business to transact in and about southampton which detained him there many days; but the gaston lads found no fault with this arrangement, for everything they saw was new and full of interest; they were well lodged and well fed without cost to themselves, and had full license to go where they would and do what they would, as their master had no present use for their services. gaston and raymond had no desire to idle away their time without profit to themselves, and after taking counsel with honest malcolm, who had a great liking for the boys, they put themselves under the instruction of a capable swordsman, who undertook to teach them the art of using those weapons with skill and grace. as their natural quickness of eye and strength of hand made them quickly proficient in this exercise, they became anxious to try their skill at the more difficult sport of tilting, then so much in vogue with both knights and gentlemen -- a sport which the king greatly encouraged as likely to be excellent training for those charges of his picked horsemen which so often turned the fortunes of the day in his favour in the sterner game of war. both the gascon youths were good horsemen; not that they had ever owned a horse themselves, or had ridden upon a saddle after the fashion of knights and their esquires, but they had lived amongst the droves of horses that were bred upon the wide pasture lands of their own country, and from childhood it had been their favourite pastime to get upon the back of one of these beautiful, unbroken creatures, and go careering wildly over the sweeping plain. that kind of rough riding was as good a training as they could have had, and when once they had grown used to the feel of a saddle between their knees, and had learned the right use of rein and spur, they became almost at once excellent and fearless riders, and enjoyed shivering a lance or carrying off a ring or a handkerchief from a pole as well as any of their comrades. so that the month they passed in the seaport town was by no means wasted on them, and when they took to horse once again to accompany sir james on his way to windsor, they felt that they had made great strides, and were very different from the country-bred gascon youths of two months back. there was one more halt made in london, that wonderful city of which time fails us to speak here; and in that place a new surprise awaited the young esquires, for they and their comrades who wore sir james audley's livery were all newly equipped in two new suits of clothes, and these of such a sumptuous description as set the boys agape with wonder. truly as we read of the bravery in which knights and dames and their servants of old days were attired, one marvels where the money came from to clothe them all. it could have been no light thing to be a great man in such times, and small wonder was it that those who lived in and about the court, whose duty it was to make a brave show in the eyes of royalty, were so often rewarded for trifling services by the gifts of manors, benefices, or wardships; for the cost of keeping up such state as was required was great indeed, and could not have been done without some adequate compensation. sir james had always been a favourite with the king, as he was with the prince of wales -- the black prince of the days to come. he had at various times received marks of the royal favour by substantial grants, and was resolved to appear at this festival of the round table in such guise as should be fitting to his rank and revenues. thus it came about that the gascon youths found themselves furnished with tunics of blue and silver, richly embroidered with their master's cognizances, and trimmed with costly fur, with long mantles of blue cloth fastened with golden clasps, with rich girdles, furnished with gipciere and anelace, and hose and long embroidered shoes, such as they began to see were the fashion of the day in england. their stout nags, which had carried them bravely thus far, were now exchanged for handsome animals of a better breed, horses trained to knightly exercises, and capable of carrying their masters bravely through any game of battle or tourney such as the king loved to organize when he had his knights round him. it was often that the esquires as well as the knights competed in these contests of skill and strength, or followed their masters into some great melee, and it was a point of honour with the latter that their followers should be well and suitably equipped for the sport. "by my faith, but i wish good margot and the holy father could see us now," quoth gaston, laughing, as sir james and his followers sallied forth one bright december morning to take their last stage on the journey to windsor. they had traversed the main distance the day previously, for sir james had no wish to arrive weary and travel stained at the king's court. orders had been given for every man to don his best riding dress and look well to the trappings of his steed, and it was a gallant-looking company indeed that sallied out from the door of the wayside hostelry and took the road towards the great castle, glimpses of which began from time to time to be visible through the trees. "i trow they would scarce know us! there be moments, raymond, when i scarce know myself for the same. it seems as though years had passed since we left the old home, and by the mass i feel as though i were a new being since then!" "yea, verily, and i also," answered raymond, looking round him with eager eyes. "gaston, look well about thee; for by what malcolm says, these very woods through which we shall pass, and the manor of old windsor hard by, are the property of our uncle sir john de brocas, the king's master of the horse; and by what i hear, methinks we shall see him in the flesh ere the day has passed." "ha!" exclaimed gaston, with interest; "if that be so let us heed him well, for much of our future may hang on him. he is in the king's favour, they say, and if he did but plead our cause with the roy outremer, we might well look to call basildene our home ere long." "we must call him no longer the roy outremer," said raymond, with a smile. "if we are to be the brothers of basildene, we must be english subjects and he our liege lord." "true," answered gaston readily; "and methinks, if he be what all men say, it will be no hardship to own ourselves his subjects. i would ten thousand times sooner call myself so than be servant to yon weak and treacherous king of france." at that moment an interruption occurred to delay the little cavalcade for a few moments. the road they were traversing led them past a solid gateway, which showed that upon one side at least the property was that of a private individual; and just as they were approaching this gateway the portal swung open, and out of it rode a fine-looking man of middle age and imposing aspect, followed by three youths richly attired, and by some dozen mounted attendants. the leader of the party wore a dress that was evidently the livery of some office -- a tunic of blue and a cape of white brussels cloth. his cap was of white and blue, and the king's badge of a silver swan was fastened in the front. as he rode out, the esquires round gaston and raymond drew rein and whispered one to another: "it is the king's master of the horse!" eagerly and curiously the two lads gazed at the face and figure of the kinsman now before them, whilst sir james spurred his horse forward, a smile lighting up the grave face of the king's servant. "marry well met, good sir james!" was the hearty greeting of the latter, as the two men grasped hands. "i warrant you will be welcome at the castle, whither, i doubt not, your steps are bent. it was but two days since that his majesty was asking news of you, no man knowing rightly whither you had gone, nor upon what errand. there be fine musterings already at the court, and every day brings some fresh faces to the gathering assembly. i trow that such a sight as will shortly be witnessed within those walls has scarce been seen by england before." "nay, nor since the days of good king arthur, if all be true that i have heard," answered sir james. "be these gallant youths your sons, sir john? verily time flies! i have not been in these parts for full three years. i scarce know them once again." "yes, these be my three sons," answered the father, with a proud glance at the handsome youths, who came up at a sign from him to be presented to the knight. "it may well be many long years since you saw them, for they have often been away from my side, travelling in foreign parts with my good brother, and learning the lessons of life as i have been able to see occasion. this is john, my first born. oliver and bernard follow after him. i trust in years to come they will live to win their spurs in the king's service. they are often about the court, and the prince has chosen them amongst his serviens. but they have not yet seen war, albeit i trow they will not be missing when the day for fighting shall come, which i verily believe will not be long now." the youths made their salute to the knight, and then dropped behind. sir james rode in advance, still in earnest converse with the master of the horse; whilst the attendants of the two bands, some of whom were acquainted, mixed together indiscriminately, and rode after their masters in amicable converse. sir john's three sons rode a few paces behind the knights, and as it chanced the gascon brothers were the next behind them, studying these cousins of theirs with natural interest and curiosity. they had heard their names distinctly as their father had presented them to his friend, and gladly would they have fallen into converse with them had they felt certain that the advance would be taken in good part. as it was, they were rather fearful of committing breaches of good manners, and restrained themselves, though their quick, eager glances towards each other betrayed what they were feeling. all of a sudden something unseen by the rider caused gaston's horse to take fright. it was a very spirited and rather troublesome animal, which had been passed on by two or three riders as too restive for them, and had been ridden more successfully by gaston than by any of its former masters. but the creature wanted close watching, and gaston had been for a time off his guard. the knowing animal had doubtless discovered this, and had hoped to take advantage of this carelessness to get rid of his rider and gain the freedom of the forest himself. with a sudden plunge and hound, which almost unseated gaston, the horse made a dash for the woodland aisles; and when he felt that his rider had regained his seat and was reining him in with a firm and steady hand, the fiery animal reared almost erect upon his hind legs, wildly pawing the air, and uttering fierce snorts of anger and defiance. but gaston's blood was up now, and he was not going to be mastered by his steed, least of all in presence of so many witnesses. shouting to raymond, who had dismounted and appeared about to spring at the horse's head, to keep away, he brought the angry creature down by throwing himself upon his neck; and though there were still much plunging and fierce kicking and struggling to be encountered before the day was won, gaston showed himself fully equal to the demands made upon his horsemanship; and before many moments had passed, had the satisfaction of riding the horse quietly back to the little cavalcade, which had halted to witness the struggle. "that was good riding, and a fine animal," remarked the master of the horse, whose eyes were well trained to note the points of any steed. "i trow that lad will make a soldier yet. who is he, good sir james?" "one gaston brook, a lad born and brought up in gascony, together with his twin brother who rides by his side. they came to my help in the forest round castres; and as i was in need of service, and they were faring forth to seek their fortunes, i bid them, an it pleased them, follow me. one parent was a native of gascony, their mother i trow, since their name is english. i did hear somewhat of their simple tale, but it has fled my memory since." "they are proper youths," said sir john, not without a passing gleam of interest in any persons who hailed from his own country. "half gascon and half english makes a fine breed. the lads may live to do good service yet." meantime the three sons of sir john had entered into conversation with the two youthful esquires, and were making friends as fast as circumstances would allow. they were some years older than the gascon brothers -- that is to say that john was close upon twenty, and oliver and bernard followed, each a year younger than his predecessor. they had seen far more of the world than these country-bred lads, and had been reared more or less in the atmosphere of the court; still they were bright, high spirited, and unaffected youths, who were ready enough to make advances to any comrades of their own standing across whose path they might be thrown. gaston and raymond had about them an air of breeding which won them notice wherever they went. their speech was refined for the times, and their handsome figures and faces gained them speedy and favourable attention. very soon the five youths were chatting and laughing together as though they were old friends. the sons of sir john heard all about the encounter in the forest, and how the wolves had been scared away; whilst the gascon brothers, on their side, heard about the vast round tower built by the king for his round table to assemble at, and how busily everybody had been employed in hastening on the work and getting everything in readiness for the great festival that was at hand. "shall we see the feast?" asked gaston eagerly. "men say it will be a sight not to be forgotten." "we shall see it like enough," answered john, "but only belted knights will sit at the board. why, even the prince of wales himself will not sit down at the table, but will only stand to serve his father; for his spurs are not yet won, though he says he will not be long in winning them if kind fortune will but give him the chance he craves. a great assembly of esquires will be in attendance on their masters, and i trow ye twain might well be amongst these, as we hope ourselves to be. your master is one of the bidden knights, and will sit not very far from the king himself. if you can make shift to steal in through the press and stand behind his chair, i doubt not but what ye will see all right well; and perchance the king himself may take note of you. he has a marvellous quick eye, and so has the prince; and he is ever on the watch for knightly youths to serve him as valettus -- as we do." "we are going to win our spurs together," cried bernard, who in some ways was the leading spirit amongst the brothers, as he was afterwards the most noted man of his house. "we have talked of it a thousand times, and the day will come ere long. the king has promised that when next he is called forth to fight the recreant king of france, he will take the prince with him, and he has promised that we shall go with him. the day will come when he will lay claim once more to that crown of france which by rights is his to wear, and we shall all sally forth to drive the coward louis from the throne, and place the crown on edward's royal brow." bernard's eyes flashed fire at the bare thought of the unchecked career of victory he saw for england's arms when once she had set foot on the long-talked-of expedition which was to make edward king over the realm of france. "and we will fight for him too!" cried gaston and raymond in a breath; "and so, i trow, will all gascony. we love the english rule there. we love the roy outremer, as he is called there. if he would but come to our land, instead of to treacherous flanders or feeble, storm-torn brittany, for his soldiers and for his starting place, i trow his arms would meet with naught but victory. the sieur d'albret, men whisper, has been to the court, and has looked with loving eyes upon one of the king's daughters for his son. that hope would make him faithful to the english cause, and he is the greatest lord in gascony, where all men fear his name." "thou shalt tell all that to the king or to the prince," said john in a low tone to raymond, as they fell a little behind, for the road grew rough and narrow. "i trow he will be glad to learn all he may from those who know what the people of the land speak and think -- the humbler folks, of whom men are growing now to take more account, at least here in england, since it is they, men now say, who must be asked ere even the king himself may dare to go to war. for money must be found through them, and they will not always grant it unless they be pleased with what has already been done. the great nobles say hard things of them they call the 'commons;' they say that england's doom will surely come if she is to be answerable to churls and merchant folk for what her king and barons choose to do. but for my part it seems but just that those who pay the heavy burden of these long wars should know somewhat about them, and should even have the power to check them did they think the country oppressed beyond what she could bear. a bad king might not care for the sufferings of his people. a weak king might be but the tool of his barons -- as we have heard the king's father was -- and hear nothing but what they chose for him to know. for my own part, i think it right and just enough that the people should have their voice in these things. they always grant the king a liberal supply; and if they demand from him the redress of grievances and the granting of certain privileges in return, i can see in that naught that is unfair; nor would england be happier and more prosperous, methinks, were she governed by a tyrant who might grind her down to the dust." john de brocas was a very thoughtful youth, very different in appearance from his younger brothers, who were fine stalwart young men, well versed in every kind of knightly exercise, and delighting in nothing so much as the display of their energies and skill. john was cast in quite a different mould, and possibly it was something of a disappointment to the father that his first born should be so unlike himself and his other sons. john had had weak health from his cradle, which might account in part for his studious turn of mind; and the influence of his uncle's training may have had still greater effect. as the damp air of windsor did not appear to agree with the boy, he had been sent, when seven years old, to his uncle's rectory of st. nicholas, and brought up in the more healthy and bracing air of guildford. master bernard de brocas, though by no means a man of exclusively scholarly tastes, was for the days he lived in a learned man, and feeling sure that his eldest nephew would never make a soldier, he tried to train him for a statesman and for an ecclesiastic -- the two offices being in those days frequently combined. the great statesmen were nearly always men in the church's employ, and the scholarship and learning of the age were almost entirely in their keeping. john showed no disposition to enter the church -- probably the hope of winning his spurs was not yet dead within him; but he took very kindly to book lore, and had often shown a shrewdness and aptness in diplomatic negotiation which had made master bernard prophesy great things for him. raymond had never heard such matters discussed before, and knew little enough about the art of government. he looked with respect at his companion, and john, catching the glance, smiled pleasantly in reply. "i trow thou wouldest sooner be with the rest, hearing of the king's round table and the knightly jousts to follow. let me not weary thee with my graver words. go join the others an thou wilt." "nay, i will stay with thee," answered raymond, who was greatly attracted by john's pale and thoughtful face, and could not but pity him for his manifest lack of strength and muscle. the youth was tall and rode well, but he was slight to the verge of attenuation, and the hollow cheek and unnaturally bright eyes sunk in deep caverns told a tale that was not hard to read. young de brocas might make a student, a clerk, a man of letters, but he would never be a soldier; and that in itself appeared to raymond the greatest deprivation that could befall a man. but he liked his companion none the less for this sense of pity. "i would fain hear more of england -- england's laws, england's ways. i have heard that in this land men may obtain justice better than in any other. i have heard that justice is here administered to poor as well as rich. i would learn more of this. i would learn more of you. tell me first of yourself. i know well the name of de brocas. we come from the very place where once you held sway. the village (as you would call it) of brocas was not so very far away. tell me of yourself, your father, your uncle. i know all their names right well. i would hear all that you can tell." john's face lighted with interest. he was willing enough to tell of himself, his two brothers, two sisters, and their many homes in and about the castle of windsor. besides his post as master of the horse, john explained to raymond, his father held the office of chief forester of windsor forest (equivalent to the modern ranger), and besides the manor of old windsor, possessed property and manors at old and new bray, didworth and clewer. he was high in the king's favour and confidence, and, as may well be believed, led a busy and responsible life. upon him devolved the care of all those famous studs of horses on which the king relied when he sent his armies into the field; and if his expenditure in these matters has been condemned in more recent days, the best answer will be found in the disasters and the ruinous expenditure of the later campaigns of the reign, when the king, thinking that he had reduced his french possessions to complete order, and that his magnificent cavalry would not longer be wanted to career over the plains of france, broke up and sold off his studs; so that when his calculation as to the future proved mistaken, he had no longer any organized supply of war horses to draw upon. raymond's interest in john's talk so won the heart of that youth that a warm friendship sprang up rapidly between them, whilst the younger brothers appeared to take almost the same liking for gaston. by-and-by it became known that the castle was crowded almost beyond its capacity for accommodation; and as much of the responsibility of seeing to the lodging of guests fell upon sir john de brocas, he gave up his house at clewer for the time being for the use of some of the guests of humbler rank, his son john acting as host there; and to this house the gaston brothers were asked, amongst many other youthful esquires of like degree. thus it came about that the merry yuletide season was spent by them actually beneath their uncle's roof, although he had no idea that he was entertaining kinsmen unawares. mindful of the good priest's warning, and knowing their ignorance of the new life and the new people amongst whom their fortunes had led them, the twins still carefully preserved the secret of their identity. they knew too little of the cause of estrangement between their father and his brothers to have any confidence how his sons would be received. they were both of opinion that by far their wisest course was to wait quietly and patiently, and watch what befell them; and the only question which raymond ever dared to put to john in the days that followed which savoured of their own affairs, was an inquiry as to whether he had ever heard of a place called basildene. "basildene?" repeated john slowly. "yes, i have heard the name. it is the name of a manor not very many miles from my uncle's house in guildford. dost thou know aught of it?" "nay; i knew not rightly if there were such a spot. but i have heard the name. knowest thou to whom it belongs?" "yes, i know that too. it belongs to one peter sanghurst, of whom no man speaks aught but evil." chapter v. the king and the prince. king edward's assembly of knights that met at his first round table was as typical a gathering as could well have been found of that age of warlike chivalry. the king's idea was likewise typical of the age he lived in. he had begun to see something of that decline of chivalry which was the natural outcome of a real advance in general civilization, and of increasing law and order, however slow its progress might be. greatly deploring any decay in a system so much beloved and cherished by knights and warriors, and not seeing that its light might merely be paling in the rise of something more truly bright and beneficent, the king resolved to do everything in his power to give an impetus to all chivalrous undertakings by assembling together his knights after the fashion of the great king arthur, and with them to take counsel how the ways and usages of chivalry might best be preserved, the old spirit kept alive, and the interests of piety and religion (with which it should ever be blended) be truly considered. how far this festival succeeded in its object can scarcely be told now. the days of chivalry (in the old acceptation of the term) were drawing to a close, and an attempt to galvanize into life a decaying institution is seldom attended with any but very moderate success. from the fact that we hear so little of the king's round table, and from the few times it ever met, one is led to conclude that the results were small and disappointing. but the brilliance of the first assembly cannot be doubted; and for the twins of gascony it was a wonderful day, and marked an epoch in their lives; for on that occasion they saw for the first time the mighty king, whose name had been familiar to them from childhood, and had actual speech with the prince of wales, that hero of so many battlefields, known to history as the black prince. so great was the crowd of esquires who waited upon the knights sitting around the huge round table, that the gascon brothers only struggled for a few minutes into the gay assemblage to look at what was going on there. the table was itself a curiosity -- a huge ring round which, in beautifully carved seats, the knights sat, each seat fitting into the next, with an arm to divide them, the backs forming a complete circle round the table. the king's seat was adorned with a richer carving, and had a higher back, than the others, but that was its only distinction. within the circle of the table were pages flitting about, attending on the guests; and the esquires who thronged the corridors or supplemented the attentions of the pages were considerably more numerous than the occasion required, so that these were to be seen gathering in groups here and there about the building in the vicinity of the feast, discussing the proceedings or talking of public or private matters. very wonderful was all this to gaston and raymond, but not quite so bewildering as it would have been a month ago. they had been about the court some little time now, and were growing used to the fine dresses, the english ways of speech, and the manners and customs which had perplexed them not a little at first. they were greatly entertained by watching the shifting throng of courtiers, and their one glimpse at the royal countenance of the king had been fraught with keen pleasure and satisfaction; but so far as they knew it, they had not yet seen the prince of wales, and they had not caught sight either of their cousins oliver or bernard, though they had found john sitting in the embrasure of a window in the corridor, watching the scene with the same interest which they felt in it themselves. when they saw him they joined him, and asked the names of some of the gay personages flitting about. john good-naturedly amused them with a number of anecdotes of the court; and as the three were thus chatting together, they were suddenly joined by another group of three, who advanced along the corridor talking in low tones but with eager excitement. "here comes the prince," said john, rising to his feet, and the twin brothers turned eagerly round. they knew in an instant which of the three was the prince, for his companions were john's two brothers, oliver and bernard. young edward was at that time not quite fourteen, but so strong, so upright, so well grown, and of such a kingly presence, that it was hard to believe he had scarcely left his childhood behind. his tunic was of cloth of gold, with the royal arms embroidered upon it. he wore a golden collar round his neck, and his golden girdle held a dagger with a richly-jewelled hilt. a short velvet mantle lined with ermine hung over his shoulder, and was fastened by a clasp richly chased and set with rubies. his face was flushed as if with some great purpose, and his eyes shone brightly with excitement. "it shall never be true -- i will not believe it!" he was saying, in urgent accents. "let chivalry once die out, and so goes england's glory. may i die ere i live to see that day! better a thousand times death in some glorious warfare, in some knightly deed of daring, than to drag out a life of ease and sloth with the dying records of the glorious past alone to cheer and sustain one. good john, thou art a man of letters -- thou canst read the signs of the times -- prithee tell me that there be no truth in this dark whisper. sure the days of chivalry are not half lived through yet!" "nor will be so long as you are spared to england, gentle prince," answered john, with his slight peculiar smile. "you and your royal sire together will keep alive the old chivalry at which was dealt so sore a blow in your grandsire's days. a reign like that of weakness and folly and treachery leaves its mark behind; but england's chivalry has lived through it --" "ay, and she shall awake to new and fuller life!" cried the ardent boy. "what use in being born a prince if something cannot thus be done to restore what has been lost? and why should princes stand idle when the world is all in arms? comrades, do ye long as i do to show the world that though we have not yet won our knighthood's spurs, we are yet ready and willing to sally forth, even as did the knights of old, upon some quest of peril or adventure? why is it that i, who should by rights be one to show what may be done by a boy's arm with a stout heart behind, am ever held back from peril and danger, have never seen fighting save in the tilt yard, or wound worse than what splintered spear may chance to inflict? i burn to show the world what a band of youths can do who go forth alone on some errand of true chivalry. comrades, give me your ears. let me speak to you of the purpose in my heart. this day has my father, in the hearing of all men, lamented the wane of chivalry, has spoken brave words of encouragement to those who will strive with him to let it be no hollow name amongst us. then who more fit than his own son to go forth now -- at once, by stealth if need be -- upon such a quest of peril and glory? nay, not for the glory -- that may or may not be ours -- but upon a mission of chivalrous service to the weak and helpless? this thing i purpose to do myself, together with some few chosen comrades. brothers of brocas, will ye go with me?" "we will! we will!" cried the three brothers in a breath. "we will!" echoed the twins of gascony, forgetting all but their eager desire to share the peril and the glory of the prince's enterprise, whatever it might be. young edward heard the sound of the strange voices, and turned a quick glance of inquiry upon the youths. he saw that they wore the livery of sir james audley, who was a great favourite even then with the prince. the true kingly courtesy of the plantagenets was ingrained in the nature of this princely boy, and he looked with a smile at the two eager faces before him. "and who be ye, fair gentlemen?" he asked. "methinks the badge you wear is answer almost enough. i know your good lord well, and love him well, and sure there be none of his esquires, be they never so young, who would disgrace their master by fleeing in an hour of peril. wherefore if ye would fain be of the band i seek to muster round me, i will bid you ready welcome. i seek none that be above twenty years of age. "good john, you shall be the wise man of our party. these lads have not lived many more years than i have myself, or i am much mistaken." "we are twin brothers," said gaston frankly, "and we are nigh upon sixteen. we have been with sir james a matter of two months. we --" "they met him in the woods of gascony," cried oliver, "and rescued him from the attacks of a pack of fierce wolves. i trow they would bear themselves bravely be your quest what it may." "are you gascons?" asked the prince, looking with keener interest at the two youths; for he shared some of his father's instincts of government, and was always well disposed towards gascon subjects. "we are half gascon and half english, may it please you, fair prince," answered gaston readily, "and we will follow you to the death." "i well believe it, my good comrades," answered the prince quickly; "and right glad shall we be of your company and assistance. for our errand lies amidst dark forests with their hidden perils and dangers, and i wot that none know better what such dangers are nor how they may be escaped than our brethren of gascony." "then you know on what quest we are bent, sweet prince?" edward nodded his head as he looked over his shoulder. "ay, that i do right well, and that will i tell you incontinently if no eavesdroppers be about. ye know that of late days brave knights and gentlemen have been mustering to our court from all parts of this land? now amongst these is one sir hugh vavasour, who comes from his house of woodcrych, not half a day's ride from our royal palace of guildford; and with him he has brought his son, one alexander, with whom i yestere'en fell into converse. i say not that i liked the youth himself. he seemed to me something over bold, yet lacking in those graces of chivalry that are so dear to us. still it was in talking with him that i heard this thing which has set my blood boiling in my veins." "what thing is that, fair prince?" asked john. and then the young edward told his tale. it was such a tale as was only too often heard in olden days, though it did not always reach the ears of royalty. the long and expensive, and as yet somewhat fruitless, wars in which edward had been engaged almost ever since he came to the throne, had greatly impoverished his subjects, and with poverty there arose those other evils inseparable from general distress -- robbery, freebooting, crime in its darkest and ugliest aspects; bands of hungry men, ruined and beggared, partly perhaps through misfortune, but partly through their own fault, wandering about the country ravaging and robbing, leaving desolation behind them, and too often, if opposed, committing acts of brutal cruelty upon defenceless victims, as a warning to others. a band such as this was just now scouring the woods around guildford. young vavasour had heard of depredations committed close against the walls of his own home, and had heard of many outrages which had been suffered by the poor folks around. cattle had been driven off, their hardly-gathered fuel had vanished in the night; sometimes lonely houses were attacked, and the miserable inhabitants, if they offered resistance, stabbed to the heart by the marauders. one or two girls had been missed from their homes, and were said to have fallen a prey to the robber band. all these things, and the latter item especially, stirred the hot blood in the young prince's veins, and he was all on fire to do some doughty deed that should at once exterminate such evildoers from the face of the earth, strike terror into the hearts of other bands, and show that the spirit of chivalry was yet alive in the kingdom, and that the king's son was the first to fly to the succour of the distressed and the feeble. "for i will go myself and hunt these miscreants as though they were dogs or wolves -- beasts of prey that needs must be put down with a strong hand. i will not tell my father the tale, else might he appoint warriors of his own to see to the matter, and the glory be theirs and not ours. no, this is a matter for my arm to settle. i will collect around me a band of our bravest youths -- they shall all be youths like myself. our good john knows well the country around our palace of guildford -- in truth i know it indifferently well myself. we will sally forth together -- my father will grant me leave to go thither with a body of youths of my own choosing -- and thence we will scour the forests, scatter or slay these vile disturbers of the peace, restore the lost maidens to their homes, and make recompense to our poor subjects for all they have suffered at their hands." it was just the scheme to fascinate the imagination and fire the ardour of a number of high-spirited and generous boys. the proximity of the royal palace of guildford gave them every facility for carrying out the plan speedily and yet secretly, and the prince had quickly enlisted a score of well-trained, well-equipped lads to follow him on his chivalrous quest. sir james gave ready consent to his petition that the gascon twins might join his train for a few days. the king, when he gave his sanction to the proposed expedition to guildford, believed that his son was going there bent on sport or some boyish pastime, and scarce bestowed a second thought upon the matter. the royal children had each their own attendants and establishment, following wherever their youthful master or mistress went; and to the eldest son of the king a very decided liberty was given, of which his father had never yet had cause to repent. thus it came about that three days after the king's great feast of the round table had ended, the prince of wales, with a following of twenty young comrades, in addition to his ordinary staff of attendants, rode forth from the castle of windsor in the tardy winter's dawn, and before night had fallen the gay and gallant little band had reached the palace of guildford, which had received due notice of the approach of the king's son. those who were sharp-eyed amongst the spectators of this departure might have noted that the prince and his immediate followers each wore round his arm a band of black ribbon with a device embroidered upon it. the device was an eagle worked in gold, and was supposed to be emblematic of the swiftness and the strength that were to characterize the expedition of the prince, when he should swoop down upon the dastardly foes, and force them to yield up their ill-gotten gains. these badges had been worked by the clever fingers of edward's sisters, the youthful princesses isabella and joanna. joanna, as the wardrobe rolls of the period show, was a most industrious little maiden with her needle, and must have spent the best part of her time in her favourite pastime of embroidery, judging by the amount of silk and other material required by her for her own private use. both the sisters were devotedly attached to their handsome brother, and were the sharers of his confidences. they knew all about this secret expedition, and sympathized most fully with it. it was joanna's ready wit which had suggested the idea of the badge, which idea was eagerly caught up by edward; for to go forth with a token woven by the fair hands of ladies would give to the exploit a spice of romantic chivalry that would certainly add to its zest. so for the past three days the royal sisters had been plying their needles with the utmost diligence, and each of the gallant little band knew that he wore upon his arm a token embroidered for him by the hands of a youthful princess. of the royal palace of guildford nothing now remains -- even the site is not known with any certainty, though it is supposed to have occupied the spot where guildford park farm now stands. its extensive park covered a large area of ground, and was a favoured hunting ground for many of the illustrious plantagenets. it need hardly be said with what interest and curiosity the twin brothers gazed about them as they neared the little town of guildford, where their uncle, master bernard de brocas, possessed a gradually increasing property. they felt that this journey was the first step towards basildene; and utterly ignorant as they were of its exact locality, they wondered if they might not be passing it by whenever some ancient manor house reared its chimneys or gables above the bare encircling trees, and their hearts beat high at the thought that they were drawing near to their own lost inheritance. the palace was warmly lighted in honour of the arrival of the prince of wales; and as the little cavalcade dismounted at the door and entered the noble hall, a figure, habited after the fashion of the ecclesiastics of the day, stepped forth to greet the scion of royalty, and the twin brothers heard their comrades mutter, "it is the good rector, master bernard de brocas." the young prince plainly knew the rector well, and after just bending his knee to ask the blessing, as was his reverent custom, he led him into the banqueting hall, where a goodly meal lay spread, placing him in a seat at his own right hand, and asking him many things as the meal progressed, leading the talk deftly to the robbers' raids, and seeking, without betraying his purpose, to find out where these miscreants might most readily be found. the good rector had heard much about them, but knew little enough of their movements. one day they were heard of in one place, and again they would vanish, and no man would know whither they had gone till they appeared in another. everywhere they left behind them desolated homes, and bloodshed and ruin followed in their track. master bernard had heard too many such tales from all parts of the kingdom to heed overmuch what went on in this particular spot. he knew that the winter's privation and cold acted upon savage men almost as it did upon wolves and ravenous beasts, and that in a country harassed and overtaxed such things must needs be. he never suspected the cause of the prince's eagerness. he believed that the youths had come down bent on sport, and that they would take far more interest in the news he had to give them, that a wild boar had recently been seen in the forest aisles of the royal park, and that the huntsmen would be ready to sally forth to slay it at a single word from the prince. edward's eyes lighted at this. it seemed to him a fortunate coincidence. also he would be glad enough to see the killing of the boar, though he was more interested in the expedition it would involve into the heart of the forest. "prithee give orders, good master bernard, that the huntsmen be ready tomorrow morning at dawn of day. i trow there be horses and to spare to mount us all, as our own beasts will be something weary from the journey they have taken today. we will be ready ere the sun is up, and if kind fortune smiles upon us, i trust i shall have the good fortune to have a pair of fine tusks to offer to my sisters when they join us here, as they shortly hope to do." master bernard, who was a man of no small importance all through this neighbourhood, hastened away to give the needful orders. he had come from his own rectory hard by to receive the prince and his comrades, and he suspected that the king would be well pleased for him to remain beneath the roof of the castle so long as this gay and youthful party did so. when night came and the youths sought the rooms which had been made ready for them, the prince signed to a certain number of his comrades to repair with him to his chamber, as though he desired their services at his toilet. amongst those thus summoned were the three sons of sir john de brocas, and also the gascon twins, for whom young edward appeared to have taken a great liking, and who on their part warmly returned this feeling. shutting the door carefully, and making sure that none but friends were round him, the prince unfolded his plan. he had learned from the master huntsman, whom he had seen for a few minutes before going to his room, that the boar lay concealed for the most part in some thick underwood lying in the very heart of the forest many miles distant, right away to the southwest in the direction of woodcrych. this part of the forest was fairly well known to the prince from former hunting expeditions, and he and john both remembered well the hut of a lonely woodman that lay hidden in the very depths of the wood near this spot. it had occurred to edward as likely that old ralph would be better acquainted with the habits of the robbers than any other person could be. he was too poor to be made a mark for their rapacity, yet from his solitary life in the forest he might likely enough come across their tracks, and be able to point out their hiding places. therefore the prince's plan was that he and the picked companions he should choose should slip away from the main body of the huntsmen, and make their way to this lonely cabin, joining their comrades later when they had discovered all that they could do from the old man. the shouts of the huntsmen and the baying of the dogs would guide them to the scene of the chase, and if the rest who remained all the while with the foresters and the dogs missed the prince from amongst their ranks, they were not to draw attention to the fact, but were rather to strive to conceal it from the master huntsman, who might grow uneasy if he found the young edward missing. it was of importance that all inquiries respecting the robbers should be conducted with secrecy, for if the prince's curiosity on the subject were once to be known, suspicion might be aroused, or a regular expedition against them organized, the glory and credit of which would not belong in anything but empty name to the prince. it was not, perhaps, unnatural that the six lads who had first conned over the plan together should be selected as the ones to make this preliminary inquiry. john was chosen for his seniority and the prudence of his counsels, his brothers for their bravery and fleetness of foot, and the gascon twins for their close acquaintance with forest tracks, and their greater comprehension of the methods employed in following the trail of foes or fugitives through tangled woods. they would likely enough understand the old man's counsel better than any of the others; and as the sport of hunting the boar was more esteemed by the other youths than the expedition to the woodman's hut, no jealousy was aroused by the prince's choice, and the scheme was quickly made known to the whole of the party. the morrow proved a first-rate day for a hunting party in the forest. a light crisp snow lay on the ground, melting where exposed to the sun's rays, but forming a sparkling white carpet elsewhere. it was not deep enough to inconvenience either men or horses, and would scarce have fallen to any depth beneath the trees of the forest; but there was just sufficient to be an excellent guide in tracking down the quarry, and all felt confident that the wily old boar had seen his last sunrise. merrily rode the party forth through the great gateway and across the fine park in the direction of the forest. the prince and his five chosen comrades rode together, sometimes speaking in low tones, sometimes joining in the gay converse on the subject of hunting which went on around them. but the prince's thoughts were far less with sport than with the wrongs of his father's subjects, and the cruel outrages which they had suffered unredressed and almost unpitied. his heart burned within him to think that in merry england, as he liked to call it, and in the days of chivalry, such things were possible; and to put down cruelty and rapacity with a strong hand seemed of infinitely more importance to him than the pursuit of a fine sport. thus musing, and thus talking in low tones to the thoughtful john, the prince dropped a little behind the muster of huntsmen. his chosen comrades followed his example, and straggled rather aimlessly after the main body, till at last a turn in the forest shut these completely from their view. "now," said the prince, turning to his five selected comrades, "this, if i mistake not, is our road. we will soon see if we cannot get upon the track of the miscreants whom i am burning to punish and destroy!" chapter vi. the prince's exploit. the woodman's cottage was quickly reached. it was a little rush-thatched cabin of mud, lying in the very heart of the dim wood. the party had to dismount and tie up their horses at some short distance from the place; but they had the good fortune to find the occupant at home, or rather just outside his cabin, gathering a few dried sticks to light his fire. he was a grizzled, uncouth-looking old man, but a certain dignity was imparted to him by a look of deep and unspeakable melancholy upon his face, which gave it pathos and character of its own. the rustic face is apt to become vacant, bovine, or coarse. solitude often reduces man almost to the level of the beasts. this old man, who for many years had lived hidden away in this vast forest, might well have lost all but the semblance of humanity; but such was not the case. his eyes had light in them; his very melancholy showed that the soul was not dead. as he saw the bright-faced boys approaching him, he first gave a great start of surprise, eagerly scanning one face after another; then, as he did so the light of hope died out from his eyes, and the old despairing look came back. something of this was observed by the prince and his followers, but they were at present too much bent upon their own mission to have thought to spare for any other concerns. they formed a circle round him, and asked him of the robbers -- if he ever saw them; if he knew their haunts; if they had been near these parts during the past days? for a moment it seemed as though the old man was disappointed by the questions asked him. he muttered something they did not rightly comprehend about robbers worse than these, and a quick fierce look passed across his face, and then died out again. the young prince was courteous and patient: he allowed the old man's slow wits time to get to work; and when he did begin to speak he spoke to some purpose, and the boys listened and questioned with the most eager attention. it took some time to extract the necessary information, not from any reluctance to speak on the old man's part, but from his inability to put his thoughts into words. still when this was by degrees achieved, the information was of the highest possible importance. the robbers, said the old man, were at that very moment not far away. he had seen them sally forth on one of their nocturnal raids about dusk the previous evening; and they had returned home laden with spoil two hours before the dawn. he was of the opinion that they had carried off some captive with them, for he had heard sounds as of bitter though stifled weeping as they passed his hut on their return. did he know where they lay by day? oh yes, right well he did! they had a hiding place in a cave down in a deep dingle, so overgrown with brushwood that only those who knew the path thither could hope to penetrate within it. once there, they felt perfectly safe, and would sleep away the day after one of their raids, remaining safely hidden there till supplies were exhausted, when they sallied forth again. the old woodman showed them the tracks of the party that had passed by that morning, and to the eyes of the gascon brothers these tracks were plain enough, and they undertook to follow them unerringly to the lair. the old woodman had no desire to be mixed up in the matter. if he were to be seen in the company of the trackers, he firmly believed that he should be skinned alive before many days had passed. he plainly did not put much faith in the power of these lads to overcome a large band of desperate men, and strongly advised them to go home and think no more of the matter. but his interest was only very partially aroused, and it was plain that there was something on his own mind which quite outweighed with him the subject of the forest outlaws. john would fain have questioned him about himself, being a youth of kindly spirit; but the moment was not propitious, for the prince was all on fire with a new idea. "comrades," he said gravely and firmly, "the hour has come when we must put our manhood to the proof. this very day, without the loss of a needless moment, we must fall, sword in hand, upon yon dastard crew, and do to them as they have done. you have heard this honest man's tale. upon the day following a midnight raid they lie close in their cave asleep -- no doubt drunken with the excesses they indulge in, i warrant, when they have replenished their larder anew. this, then, is the day they must be surprised and slain. if we wait we may never have such another chance. my brothers in arms, are you ready to follow me? shall the eagles fail for lack of courage when the prey is almost within sight?" an unanimous sound of dissent ran through the group. all were as eager as the prince for the battle and the victory; but the face of john wore an anxious look. "we must not go alone," he said. "we must summon our comrades to join us. they are bound on the quest as much as we." "true," answered the prince, looking round him. "it were madness, i trow, for the six of us to make the attack alone. yet did not jonathan and his armour bearer fall unawares upon a host and put them to flight? methinks some holy father has told such a tale to me. still thou art right, good john. we must not risk losing all because it has been given to godly men in times of old to work a great deliverance. see here, friends, what we will do. our comrades cannot be very far away. hark! surely it is the baying of the hound i hear yonder over that wooded ridge! good bernard, do thou to horse, gallop to them as fast as thou canst, and tell them of the hap upon which we have fallen. bid them follow fast with thee, but leave the dogs and horses behind with the huntsmen, lest their noise betray our approach. master huntsman may seek to withhold them from the quest, but when he knows that i, the prince, with but four of my comrades to help me, have gone on in advance, and that we are even then approaching the robbers' cave, he will not only bid them all go, but will come himself doubtless, with the best of his followers, and give us what help he may. lose no time. to horse, and away! and when thou hast called the band together, come back in all haste to this spot. the forest trackers will be put upon the trail, and will follow us surely and swiftly. you will find us there before you, lying in ambush, having fully reconnoitred. be not afraid for us. honest john will see that we run not into too great peril ere we have help. is it understood? good! then lose not a moment. and for the rest of us, we will follow these sturdy gascons, who will secretly lead us to the haunt of the outlaws." bernard was off almost before the last words had been spoken, and very soon they heard from the sounds that he had mounted his horse and was galloping in the direction in which, from the faint baying of the hounds, he knew the hunting party to be. john looked somewhat anxious as the prince signed to gaston and raymond to lead the way upon the robbers' track; but he knew the determined nature of the prince, and did not venture open remonstrance. yet edward's quick eye caught the uneasy glance, and he replied to it with frank goodwill. "nay, fear not, honest john; i will run into no reckless peril, for my sweet mother hath ever been forward to counsel me that recklessness is not true bravery. some peril there must needs be -- without it there could be no glory; but that danger shall not be added to by any hardihood such as my royal sire would chide in me. trust me; i will be prudent, as i trust i may yet show that i can be bold. we will use all due caution in approaching this hiding place, and if it will pleasure thee, i will promise not to leave thy side before our friends come to our aid." john was glad enough of this promise. as the eldest of this ardent band, and the one who would be most harshly taken to task did any harm come of the enterprise, he was anxious above all things to insure the safety of the prince. if edward would remain beside him, he could certainly make sure of one thing -- that he himself did not survive his royal master, but died at his side fighting for his safety. the younger spirits thought only of the glory of victory. john, with his feebler physique and more thoughtful mind, saw another possible ending to the day's adventure. still his heart did not fail; only his unspoken prayer was that no harm should befall the brave young prince, who was so eager to show the world that chivalry was not yet dead. the brothers from gascony had no trouble whatever in finding and keeping the trail the robbers had left behind them. slowly but surely they pursued their way through the labyrinth of the gloomy forest. neither john nor any of his companions had ever been here before. the dense wood was gloomy enough to be almost terrible. craggy rocks were visible from time to time as the party proceeded, and the thickness of the forest was so great that almost all light was excluded. at last a spot was reached where the forest-bred boys paused. they looked back at those who were following, and beckoned them silently forward. so quietly had the party moved that the stillness of the forest had scarce been broken. mute and breathless, john and his companion stole up. they found that they had now reached the edge of a deep ravine, so thickly wooded as to appear impassable to human foot. but just where they stood there were traces of a narrow pathway, well concealed by the sweeping boughs of a drooping willow; and that this was the dell and the path of which the old woodman had spoken the little party did not doubt for a moment. "it is doubtless the place," said the prince, in a whisper. "let us softly reconnoitre whilst our forces are assembling." "i and my brother will make the round of the dell," answered gaston, in a like cautious tone. "sweet prince, stay you hither, where the rest will doubtless find us. it boots not for us to make too much stir. sound carries well in this still frosty air." the prince made a sign of assent, and gaston and raymond crept away in different directions to make the circuit of this secluded hollow, and try to ascertain how the land lay, and what was the chance of capturing the band unawares. in particular they desired to note whether there were any other pathway into it, and whether, if the robbers were taken by surprise and desirous of flight, there was any way of gaining the forest save by the overgrown path the exploring party had already found. the dell proved to be a cup-like hollow of no very great extent. on the side by which the party had approached it the ground shelved down gradually, thickly covered with bushes and undergrowth; but on the opposite side, as the gascon boys discovered, the drop was almost sheer, and though trees grew up to the very edge of the dell, nothing could grow upon the precipitous sandy sides. "we have them like rats in a trap," cried gaston, with sparkling eyes, as he once more joined the prince, his brother with him. "they can only escape up these steep banks thickly overgrown, and we know that there is but this one path. on the other side it is a sheer drop; a goat could not find foothold. if we can but take them by surprise, and post an ambush ready to fall upon escaped stragglers who reach the top, there will not be one left to tell the tale when the deed is done." the prince set his teeth, and the battle light which in after days men learned to regard with awe shone brightly in his eyes. "good," he said briefly: "they shall be served as they have served others -- taken in their slumber, taken in the midst of their security. nay, even so it will not be for them as it has been for their victims, for doubtless they will have their arms beside them, and will spring from their slumber to fight like wild wolves trapped; but i trow the victory will lie with us, and he who fears may stay away. are we not all clad in leather, and armed to repulse the savage attacks of the wild boar of the woods? thus equipped, need we fear these human wild beasts? methinks we shall sweep this day from the face of the earth a fouler scourge than ever beasts of the forest prove." "hist!" whispered oliver de brocas cautiously; "methinks i hear a sound approaching. it is our fellows joining us." oliver was right. the trail had now been cautiously followed by the huntsmen and their young charges, and the next moment the whole twenty stood at the head of the pathway, together with the master huntsman, and some half-dozen stout fellows all armed with murderous-looking hunting knives, and betraying by their looks the same eagerness for the fight as the band of youthful warriors. it was vain to plead with the prince to be one of those told off to remain in ambush in order to intercept and slay any fugitive who might escape the melee below. no, the young heir of england was resolved to be foremost in the fray; and the utmost that he would consent to was that the party should be led down by the master huntsman himself, whilst he walked second, john behind him, the rest pressing on in single file, one after the other, as quickly as might be. down went the gallant little band -- with the exception of two stalwart huntsmen and four of the younger amongst the boys, who were left to guard the head of the path -- not knowing the risk they ran: whether they would find an alert and well-armed foe awaiting them at the bottom, or whether they might fall upon the enemy unawares. very silent and cautious were their movements. the huntsman and the gascon brothers moved noiselessly as cats, and even the less trained youths were softly cautious in their movements. downwards they pressed in breathless excitement, till they found themselves leaving the thick scrub behind and emerging upon a rocky platform of rude shape. here the master huntsman made an imperative sign to the prince to stop, whilst he crept forward a few paces upon hands and knees, and peeped over the edge. after gazing for a moment at something unseen to those behind, he made a cautious sign to the prince to approach. edward at once did so, and gaston and raymond followed him, their agile, cat-like movements being as circumspect as those of the leader himself. what they saw as they peeped down into the heart of the dell was a welcome spectacle indeed. some distance below them, but in full view, was the opening into what looked like a large cavern, and at the entrance to this cavern lay two stout ruffians, armed to the teeth, but both in a sound sleep, their mouths open, their breath coming noisily between their parted lips. there were no dogs to be seen. nothing broke the intense stillness that prevailed. it was plainly as the old woodman had said. their nocturnal raid had been followed by a grand carouse on the return home, and now the party, overcome by fatigue and strong drink, and secure in the fancied privacy of their isolated retreat, had retired to rest within the cave, leaving two fellows on guard, to be sure, but plainly without the smallest apprehension of attack. "good!" whispered the prince, with eyes that shone like his father's in the hour of action; and softly rising to his feet, he made a sign to his comrades to draw their long knives and follow him in a compact body. "no quarter," he whispered, as he surveyed with pride the brave faces round him: "they have shown no mercy; let no mercy be shown to them. those who rob the poor, who slay the defenceless, who commit brutal outrages upon the persons of women and children, deserve naught but death. let them fight like men; we will slay them in fair fight, but we will give no quarter. we will, if god fights for us, sweep the carrion brood from off the very face of the earth!" and then, to the dismay of the master huntsman, who had hoped to step upon the sleeping sentries unawares, and rid themselves of at least two of the foe before the alarm was given, the prince raised his voice in a shrill battle cry, and dashing down the slope with his comrades at his heels, flung himself upon the taller of the guards and plunged his knife into the fellow's throat. gaston and raymond had simultaneously sprung upon the other, and with a sharp cry of astonishment and rage he too fell lifeless to the ground. but the prince's shout, the man's cry, and the sound of clashing arms aroused from their deep slumbers the robber crew within the cavern, and with the alertness that comes of such a lawless life, every man of them sprang to his feet and seized his weapon almost before he was awake. the master huntsman, however, had not waited to see the end of the struggle upon the platform outside. at the very moment that the prince buried his weapon in the sentry's throat, this bold fellow, with three of his underlings at his side, had sprung inside the cave itself, and luckily enough it was upon the prostrate figure of the chief of the band that his eye first lighted. before the man could spring to his feet, a blow from that long shining knife had found its way to his heart. the other hunters had set each upon his man, and taken unawares, those attacked were slain ere they had awakened sufficiently to realize what was happening. thus the number had been diminished by six before the rest came swarming out, as bees from a disturbed hive. it was well indeed then for the brave boys, who had thought themselves the match for armed men, that these latter were dazed with deep potations and but half armed after throwing aside their weapons ere lying down to rest. well was it also that they had amongst them the master huntsman and his trusty satellites, who had the strength of men, as well as the trained eye, quick hand, and steady nerve that belong to their calling in life. then, again, the dress of these huntsmen was so like in character to that worn by many of the band, that the robbers themselves suspected each other of treachery, and many turned one upon the other, and smote his fellow to the earth. yet notwithstanding all these things in their favour, the prince's youthful followers were hardly beset, and to his rage and grief young edward saw more than one bright young head lying in the dust of the sandy platform. but this sight filled him with such fury that he was like a veritable tiger amongst the assailants who still came flocking out of the cave. his battle cry rang again and again through the vaulted cavern, his shining blade seemed everywhere, dealing death and destruction. boy though he was, he appeared endued with the strength of a man, and that wonderful hereditary fighting instinct, which was so marked in his own sire, seemed handed down to him. he took in the whole scope of the scene with a single glance. wherever there was an opening to deal a fatal blow, that blow was dealt by the prince's trusty blade. it almost seemed as though he bore a charmed life in that grim scene of bloodshed and confusion, though perhaps he owed his safety more to the faithful support of the two gascon brothers, who together with john de brocas followed the prince wherever he went, and averted from his head many a furious stroke that else might have settled his mortal career for ever. but the robbers began to see that this boy was their chiefest foe. if they could but slay him, the rest might perchance take flight. already their own ranks were terribly thinned, and they saw that mischief was meant by the deadly fury with which their assailants came on at them. they were but half armed, and the terror and bewilderment of the moment put them at great disadvantage; but amongst those who still retained their full senses, and could distinguish friend from foe, were three brothers of tall stature and mighty strength, and these three, taking momentary counsel together, resolved to fling themselves upon the little knot surrounding the person of the prince, and slay at all cost the youthful leader who appeared to exercise so great a power over the rest of the gallant little band. it was a terrible moment for good john de brocas, already wearied and ready to drop with the exertions of the fight -- exertions to which he was but little habituated -- when he saw bearing down upon them the gigantic forms, as they looked to him, of these three black-browed brothers. the prince had separated himself somewhat from the rest of the band. he and his three immediate followers had been pursuing some fugitives, who had fallen a prey to their good steel blades. they were just about to return to the others, round whom the fight still raged, though with far less fierceness than at first, when these new adversaries set upon them from behind. john was the only one who had seen the approach, and he only just in time to give one warning shout. before the prince could turn, an axe was whirling in the air above his head; and had not john flung himself at that instant upon the prince, covering his person and dragging him aside at the same moment, a glorious page in england's history would never have been written. but john's prompt action saved the young edward's life, though a frightful gash was inflicted upon his own shoulder, which received the weight of the robber's blow. with a gasping moan he sank to the ground, and knew no more of what passed, whilst gaston and raymond each sprang upon one of their assailants with a yell of fury, and the prince flung himself upon the fellow who had so nearly caused his death, and for all he knew had slain the trusty john before his very eyes. the prince soon made sure of his man. the fellow, having missed his stroke, was taken at a disadvantage, and was unable to free his axe or draw his dagger before the prince had stabbed him to the heart. gaston and raymond were sore beset with their powerful adversaries, and would scarce have lived to tell the tale of that fell struggle had not help been nigh at hand from the master huntsman. but he, missing the prince from the cave's mouth, and seeing the peril he was in, now came running up, shouting to his men to follow him, and the three giant brothers were soon lying together stark and dead, whilst poor john was tenderly lifted and carried out of the melee. the fighting was over now. the robbers had had enough of it. some few had escaped, or had sought to do so; but by far the greater number lay dead on or about the rocky platform, where the fiercest of the fighting had been. they had slain each other as well as having been slain by the prince's band, and the place was now a veritable shambles, at which some of the lads began to look with shuddering horror. several of their own number were badly hurt. three lay dead and cold. victory had indeed been theirs, but something of the sense of triumph was dashed as they bore away the bodies of their comrades and looked upon the terrible traces of the fray. but the prince had escaped unscathed -- that was the point of paramount importance in the minds of many -- and he was now engrossed in striving to relieve the sufferings of his wounded comrades by seeing their wounds skilfully bound up by the huntsmen, and obtaining for them draughts of clear cold water from a spring that bubbled up within the cavern itself. gaston and raymond had escaped with minor hurts; but john's case was plainly serious, and the flow of blood had been very great before any help could reach him. he was quite unconscious, and looked like death as he lay on the floor of the cave; and after fruitless efforts to revive him, the prince commanded a rude litter to be made wherein he might be transported to the palace by the huntsmen who had not taken part in the struggle, and were therefore least weary. the horses were not very far away, and the rest of the wounded and the rescued captives could make shift to walk that far, and afterwards gain the palace by the help of their sturdy steeds. thus it came about that master bernard de brocas, who had believed the prince and his party to be engaged in the harmless and (to them) safe sport of tracking and hunting a boar in the forest, was astounded beyond all power of speech by seeing a battered and ghastly procession enter the courtyard two hours before dusk, bearing in their midst a litter upon which lay the apparently inanimate form of his eldest nephew, his brother's first-born and heir. chapter vii. the rector's house. "it was well thought and boldly executed, my son," said the king of england, as he looked with fatherly pride at his bright-faced boy. "thou wilt win thy spurs ere long, i doubt not, an thou goest on thus. but it must be an exploit more worthy thy race and state that shall win thee the knighthood which thou dost rightly covet. england's prince must be knighted upon some glorious battlefield -- upon a day of victory that i trow will come ere long for thee and me. and now to thy mother, boy, and ask her pardon for the fright thou madest her to suffer, when thy sisters betrayed to her the wild chase upon which thou and thy boy comrades were bent. well was it for all that our trusty huntsmen were with you, else might england be mourning sore this day for a life cut off ere it had seen its first youthful prime. yet, boy, i have not heart to chide thee; all i ask is that when thou art bent on some quest of glory or peril another time, thou wilt tell thy father first. trust him not to say thee nay; it is his wish that thou shouldst prove a worthy scion of thy house. he will never stand in thy path if thy purpose be right and wise." the prince accepted this paternal admonition with all becoming grace and humility, and bent his knee before his mother, to be raised and warmly embraced both by her and the little princesses, who had come in all haste to the palace of guildford before the good rector had had time to send a message of warning to the king. queen philippa had heard from her daughters of the proposed escapade on the part of the little band surrounding the prince, and the fear lest the bold boy might expose himself to real peril had induced the royal family to hasten to guildford only two days after the prince had gone thither. they had met a messenger from master bernard as they had neared the palace, and the king, after assuring himself of the safety of his son, made kindly inquiries after those of his companions who had been with him on his somewhat foolhardy adventure. john de brocas was lying dangerously ill in one of the apartments of the palace. the king was greatly concerned at hearing how severely he had been hurt; and when the story came to be told more in its details, and it appeared that to john's fidelity and the stanch support of audley's two youthful esquires the heir of england owed his life, edward and his queen both paid a visit to the room where the sick youth lay, and with their own hands bestowed liberal rewards upon the twin brothers, who had stood beside the prince in the stress of the fight, and had both received minor hurts in shielding him. sir james audley was himself in the king's train; but he was about to leave the south for a secret mission in scotland, entrusted to him by his sovereign. he was going to travel rapidly and without any large escort, and for the present he had no further need for the services of the gascon twins. neither of the lads would be fit for the saddle for more than a week to come, and they had already made good use of their time in england, and had interested both the king and the prince in them, and had also earned liberal rewards. in their heart of hearts they were anxious to remain in the neighbourhood of guildford, for they knew that there they were not far from basildene. wherefore when they understood that their master had no present occasion for any further service from them, they were not a little excited and pleased by the thought that they were now in a position to prosecute their own quest in such manner as seemed best to them. they had made a wonderfully good beginning to their life of adventure. they had won the favour not only of their own kinsfolk, but of the king and the prince. they had money and clothes and arms. they had the prospect of service with sir james in the future, when he should have returned from his mission and require a larger train. everything seemed to be falling in with their own desires; and it was with faces of eager satisfaction that they turned to each other when the knight had left them alone again, after a visit to the long rush-carpeted room, by the glowing hearth of which they were sitting when he had come to seek them soon after the king had visited john's couch. john lay in a semi-conscious state upon the tall canopied bed, beneath a heavy pall of velvet, that gave a funereal aspect to the whole room. he had been aroused by the king's visit, and had spoken a few words in reply to the kind ones addressed to him; but afterwards he had sunk back into the lethargy of extreme weakness, and the brothers were to all intents and purposes alone in the long dormitory they had shared with john, and with two more comrades who had also received slight hurts, but who had now been summoned to attend the prince on the return journey to windsor, which was to be taken leisurely and by short stages. oliver and bernard de brocas had likewise gone, and john was, they knew, to be moved as soon as possible to master bernard's rectory, not far away. the kindly priest had said something about taking the brothers there also till they were quite healed of their wounds and bruises, and john invariably asked for raymond if ever he awoke to consciousness. what was to be the end of it all the twins had no idea, but it certainly seemed as though for the present they were to be the guests of their own uncle, who knew nothing of the tie that existed betwixt them. "shall we say aught to him, gaston?" asked raymond, in a low whisper, as the pair sat over the glowing fire together. "he is a good man and a kind one, and perchance if he knew us for kinsmen he might --" "might be kinder than before?" questioned gaston, with a proud smile. "is it that thou wouldst say, brother? ay, it is possible, but it is also likely enough that he would at once look coldly and harshly upon us. raymond, i have learned many lessons since we left our peaceful home, and one of these is that men love not unsuccess. it is the prosperous, the favoured of fortune, upon whom the smiles of the great are bent. perchance it was because he succeeded not well that by his own brothers our father was passed by. raymond, i have seen likewise this -- if our kinsmen are kind, they are also proud. they have won kingly favour, kingly rewards; all men speak well of them; they are placed high in the land. doubtless they could help us if they would; but are we to come suing humbly to them for favours, when they would scarce listen to our father when he lived? shall we run into the peril of having their smiles turned to frowns by striving to claim kinship with them, when perchance they would spurn us from their doors? and if in days to come we rise to fame and fortune, as by good hap we may, shall we put it in their power to say that it is to their favour we owe it all? no -- a thousand times no! i will carve out mine own fortune with mine own good sword and mine own strong arm. i will be beholden to none for that which some day i will call mine own. the king himself has said that i shall make a valiant knight. i have fought by the prince's side once; i trow that in days to come i shall do the like again. when my knighthood's spurs are won, then perchance i will to mine uncle and say to him, 'sire, i am thy brother arnald's son -- thine own nephew;' but not till then will i divulge the secret. sir john de brocas -- no, nor master bernard either -- shall never say that they have made sir gaston's fortune for him!" the lad's eyes flashed fire; the haughty look upon his face was not unlike the one sometimes to be seen upon that of the king's master of the horse. raymond listened with a smile to these bold words, and then said quietly: "perhaps thou art right, gaston; but i trust thou bearest no ill will towards our two uncles?" gaston's face cleared, and he smiled frankly enough. "nay, brother, none in the world. it is only as i think sometimes of the story of our parents' wrongs that my hot blood seems to rise against them. they have been kind to us. i trow we need not fear to take such kindness as may be offered to us as strangers; but to come as suppliant kinsmen, humble and unknown, i neither can nor will. let us keep our secret; let us carve out our own fortunes. a day shall come when we may stand forth before all the world as of the old line of de brocas, but first we will win for ourselves the welcome we would fain receive." "ay, and we will seek our lost inheritance of basildene," added raymond. "that shall be our next quest, gaston. i would fain look upon our mother's home. methinks it lies not many miles from here." "i misdoubt me if basildene be aught of great moment," said gaston, shaking back his curly hair. "like enough it is but a manor such as we have seen by the score as we have ridden through this land. it may be no such proud inheritance when we do find it, raymond. it is of our lost possessions in gascony that i chiefly think. what can any english house, of which even here scarce any man has heard, be as compared with our vast forest lands of gascony -- our castle of saut -- of orthez -- where the false sieur de navailles rules with the rod of iron? it is there that i would be; it is there that i would rule. when the roy outremer wages war with the french king, and i fight beneath his banner and win his favour, as i will do ere many years have passed, and when he calls me to receive my rewards at his kingly hands, then will i tell him of yon false and cruel tyrant there, and how our people groan beneath his harsh rule. i will ask but his leave to win mine own again, and then i will ride forth with my own knights in my train, and there shall be once again a lord of the old race ruling at saut, and the tyrant usurper shall be brought to the very dust!" "ay," answered raymond, with a smile that made his face look older for the moment than that of his twin brother, "thou, gaston, shalt reign in saut, and i will try to win and to reign at basildene, content with the smaller inheritance. methinks the quiet english manor will suit me well. by thy side for a while will i fight, too, winning, if it may be, my spurs of knighthood likewise; but when the days of fighting be past, i would fain find a quiet haven in this fair land -- in the very place where our mother longed to end her days." it may be seen, from the foregoing fragment of talk, that already the twin brothers were developing in different directions. so long as they had lived in the quiet of the humble home, they had scarce known a thought or aspiration not shared alike by both; but the experiences of the past months had left a mark upon them, and the mark was not altogether the same in the case of each. they had shared all adventures, all perils, all amusements; their hearts were as much bound up as ever one with the other; but they were already looking at life differently, forming a different ideal of the future. the soldier spirit was coming out with greater intensity in one nature than in the other. gaston had no ambition, no interest beyond that of winning fame and glory by the sword. raymond was just beginning to see that there were other aims and interests in life, and to feel that there might even come a day when these other interests should prove more to him than any laurels of battle. in the days that followed, this feeling grew more and more upon him. his hurt was more slow to heal than gaston's, and long after his brother was riding out daily into the forest with the keepers to slay a fat buck for the prelate's table or fly a falcon for practice or sport, raymond remained within the house, generally the companion of the studious john; and as the latter grew strong enough to talk, he was always imparting new ideas to the untutored but receptive mind of the gascon boy. they had quickly removed from the royal palace to the more cozy and comfortable quarters within the rectory, which belonged to master bernard in right of his office. john was as much at home in his uncle's house as in his father's, having spent much of his youth with the priest. indeed it may be questioned whether he felt as much at ease anywhere as he did in this sheltered and retired place, and raymond began to feel the subtle charm of the life there almost at once. the rector possessed what was for that age a fine collection of books. these were of course all manuscripts, and very costly of their kind, some being beautifully illuminated and others very lengthy. these manuscripts and books were well known to john, who had read the majority of them, and was never weary of reading them again and again. some were writings of the ancient fathers; others were the works of pagan writers and philosophers who had lived in the dark ages of the world's history, yet who had had thoughts and aspirations in advance of their day, and who had striven without the light of christianity to construct a code of morals that should do the work for humanity which never could have been done till the light came into the world with the incarnation. as raymond sat day by day beside john's couch, hearing him read out of these wonderful books, learning himself to read also with a sense of quickened pleasure that it was a surprise to experience, he began to realize that there was a world around and about him of which he had had no conception hitherto, to feel his mental horizon widening, and to see that life held weightier questions than any that could be settled at the sword's point. "in truth i have long held that myself," answered john, to whom some such remark had been made; and upon the pale face of the student there shone a light which raymond had seen there before, and marked with a dim sense of awe. "we hear men talk of the days of chivalry, and mourn because they seem to be passing away. yet methinks there may be a holier and a higher form of chivalry than the world has yet seen that may rise upon the ashes of what has gone before, and lead men to higher and better things. raymond, i would that i might live to see such a day -- a day when battle and bloodshed should be no longer men's favourite pastime, but when they should come to feel as our blessed lord has bidden us feel, brothers in love, for that we love him, and that we walk forward hand in hand towards the light, warring no more with our brethren of the faith, but only with such things as are contrary to his word, and are hindering his purpose concerning the earth." raymond listened with but small comprehension to a thought so vastly in advance of the spirit of the day; but despite his lack of true understanding, he felt a quick thrill of sympathy as he looked into john's luminous eyes, and he spoke with reverence in his tone even though his words seemed to dissent from those of his companion. "nay, but how would the world go on without wars and gallant feats of arms? and sure in a good cause men must fight with all their might and main? truly i would gladly seek for paynim and pagan foes if they might be found; but men go not to the holy land as once they did. there be foes nigher at home against whom we have to turn our arms. good john, thou surely dost not call it a wicked thing to fight beneath the banner of our noble king when he goes forth upon his wars?" john smiled one of those thoughtful, flickering smiles that puzzled his companion and aroused his speculative curiosity. "nay, raymond," he answered, speaking slowly, as though it were no easy matter to put his thought in such words as would be comprehensible to his companion, "it is not that i would condemn any man or any cause. we are placed in the midst of warlike and stirring times, and it may be that some great purpose is being worked out by all these wars and tumults in which we bear our share. it is only as i lie here and think (i have, as thou knowest, been here many times before amongst these books and parchments, able for little but study and thought) that there comes over me a strange sense of the hollowness of these earthly strivings and search after fame and glory, a solemn conviction -- i scarce know how to frame it in words -- that there must be other work to be done in the world, stronger and more heroic deeds than men will ever do with swords and spears. methinks the holy saints and martyrs who went before us knew something of that work; and though it be not given to us to dare and suffer as they did, yet there come to me moments when i feel assured that god may still have works of faith and patience for us to do for him here, which (albeit the world will never know it) may be more blessed in his eyes than those great deeds the fame of which goes through the world. perchance were i a man of thews and sinews like my brothers, i might think only of the glory of feats of arms and the stress and strife of the battle. but being as i am, i cannot but think of other matters; and so thinking and dreaming, there has come to me the sense that if i may never win the knighthood and the fame which may attend on others, i may yet be called upon to serve the great king in some other way. raymond, i think that i could gladly die content if i might but feel that i had been called to some task for him, and having been called had been found faithful." john's eyes were shining brightly as he spoke. raymond felt a slight shiver run through his frame as he answered impulsively: "thou hast done a deed already of which any belted knight might well be proud. it was thou who saved the life of the prince of wales by taking upon thy shoulder the blow aimed at his head. the king himself has spoken in thy praise. how canst thou speak as though no fame or glory would be thine?" a look of natural pride and pleasure stole for a moment over john's pale face; but the thoughtful brightness in his eyes deepened during the silence that followed, and presently he said musingly: "i am glad to think of that. i like to feel that my arm has struck one good blow for my king and country; though, good raymond, to thee and to gaston, as much as to me, belongs the credit of saving the young prince. yet though i too love deeds of glory and chivalry, and rejoice to have borne a part in one such struggle undertaken in defence of the poor and the weak, i still think there be higher tasks, higher quests, yet to be undertaken by man in this world." "what quest?" asked raymond wonderingly, as john paused, enwrapped, as it seemed, in his own thoughts. it was some time before the question was answered, and then john spoke dreamily and slow, as though his thoughts were far away from his wondering listener. "the quest after that whose glory shall not be of this world alone; the quest that shall raise man heavenward to his maker. is that thought new in the heart of man? i trow not. we have heard of late much of that great king arthur, the founder of chivalry, and of his knights. were feats of arms alone enough for them? or those exploits undertaken in the cause of the helpless or oppressed, great and noble as these must ever be? did not one or more of their number feel that there was yet another and a holier quest asked of a true knight? did not sir galahad leave all else to seek after the holy grail? thou knowest all the story; have we not read it often together? and seems it not to thee to point us ever onward and upward, away from things of earth towards the things of heaven, showing that even chivalry itself is but an earthly thing, unless it have its final hopes and aspirations fixed far above this earth?" john's face was illumined by a strange radiance. it seemed to raymond as though something of the spirit of the knight of the grail shone out from those hollow eyes. a subtle sympathy fired his own soul, and taking his cousin's thin hand in his he cried quickly and impetuously: "such a knight as that would i fain be. good john, tell me, i pray thee, where such a quest may be found." at that literal question, put with an air of the most impulsive good faith, john's face slightly changed. the rapt look faded from his eyes, and a reflective smile took its place, as the young man gazed long and earnestly into the bright face of the eager boy. "why shouldst thou come to me to know, good lad?" he questioned. "it is of others that thou wilt learn these matters better than of me. do they not call me the man of books -- of dreams -- of fancies?" "i know not and i care not," answered raymond impetuously. "it is of thee and of thee only that i would learn." "and i scarce know how to answer thee," replied the youth, "though gladly would i help thee to fuller, clearer knowledge if i knew how. i trow that many men would smile at me were i to put my thoughts into words, for it seems to me that for us who call ourselves after the sacred name of christ there can be no higher or holier service than the service in which he himself embarked, and bid his followers do likewise -- feeding the hungry, ministering to the sick, cheering the desolate, binding up the broken heart, being eyes to the blind and feet to the lame. he that would be the greatest, let him be the servant of all. those were his own words. yet how little do we think of them now." raymond sat silent and amazed. formerly such words would have seemed comprehensible enough to him; but of late he had seen life under vastly different aspects than any he had known in his quiet village home. the great ones of the earth did not teach men thus to think or speak. not to serve but to rule was the aim and object of life. "wouldst have me enter the cloister, then?" he asked, a look of distaste and shrinking upon his face; for the quiet, colourless life (as it seemed to him) of those who entered the service of the church was little to the taste of the ardent boy. but john's answer was a bright smile and a decided negative; whereupon raymond breathed more freely. "nay; i trow we have priests and monks enow, holy and pious men as they are. it has often been asked of me if i will not follow in the steps of my good uncle here; but i have never felt the wish. it seems to me that the habit of the monk or the cassock of the priest too often seems to separate betwixt him and his fellow man, and that it were not good for the world for all its holiest men to don that habit and divide themselves from their brethren. sir galahad's spotless heart beat beneath his silver armour. would he have been to story and romance the star and pattern he now is had he donned the monkish vesture and turned his armed quest into a friar's pilgrimage?" "nay, verily not." "i think with thee, and therefore say i, let not all those who would fain lead the spotless life think to do so by withdrawing from the world. rather let them carry about the spotless heart beneath the coat of mail or the gay habit. their quest need not be the less exalted --" "but what is that quest to be?" cried raymond eagerly; "that is what i fain would know. good john, give me some task to perform. what wouldst thou do thyself in my place?" "thou wouldst laugh were i to tell thee." "try me and see." "i will. if i were sound and whole tomorrow, i should forth into the forest whence we came, and i should seek and find that aged woodman, who seemed so sorely bowed down with sorrow, and i should bid him unfold his tale to me, and see if in any wise i might help him. he is poor, helpless, wretched, and by the words he spoke, i knew that he had suffered heavy sorrow. perchance that sorrow might be alleviated could one but know the story of it. his face has haunted my fevered dreams. to me it seems as though perchance this were an errand of mercy sent to me to do. deeds of knightly prowess i trow will never now be mine. it must be enough for me to show my chivalry by acts of love and care for the helpless, the sorrowful, the oppressed." raymond's eyes suddenly glowed. something of the underlying poetry of the thought struck an answering chord in his heart, though the words themselves had been plain and bald enough. "i will perform that task for thee, good john," he said. "i well remember the place, ay, and the old man and his sorrowful mien. i will thither tomorrow, and will bring thee word again. if he may be helped by any act of mine, be assured that act shall not be lacking." john pressed his comrade's hand and thanked him; but raymond little knew to what this quest, of apparently so little moment, was to lead, nor what a link it was to form with the story of the lost inheritance of basildene. chapter viii. the visit to the woodman. "raymond, i am glad of this chance to speak alone together, for since thou hast turned into a man of books and letters i have scarce seen thee. i am glad of this errand into these dark woods. it seems like times of old come back again -- and yet not that either. i would not return to those days of slothful idleness, not for all the gold of the king's treasury. but i have wanted words with thee alone, brother. knowest thou that we are scarce ten miles (as they measure distance here in england) from basildene?" raymond turned an eager face upon his brother. "hast seen it, gaston?" "nay. it has not been my hap to go that way; but i have heard enough and to spare about it. i fear me that our inheritance is but a sorry one, raymond, and that it will be scarce worth the coil that would be set afoot were we to try to make good our claim." "tell me, what hast thou heard?" asked raymond eagerly. "why, that it is but an ancient manor, of no great value or extent, and that the old man who dwells there with his son is little different from a sorcerer, whom it is not safe to approach -- at least not with intent to meddle. men say that he is in league with the devil, and that he has sold his soul for the philosopher's stone, that changes all it touches to gold. they say, too, that those who offend him speedily sicken of some fell disease that no medicine can cure. though he must have wondrous wealth, he has let his house fall into gloomy decay. no man approaches it to visit him, and he goes nowhither himself. his son, peter, who seems as little beloved as his father, goes hither and thither as he will. but it is whispered that he shares in his father's dealings with the evil one, and that he will reap the benefit of the golden treasure which has been secured to them. however that may be, all men agree that the sanghursts of basildene are not to be meddled with with impunity." raymond's face was very thoughtful. such a warning as this, lightly as it would be regarded in the present century, meant something serious then; and raymond instinctively crossed himself as he heard gaston's words. but after a moment's pause of thoughtful silence he said gravely: "yet perhaps on this very account ought we the rather to strive to win our inheritance out of such polluted hands. have we not others to think of in this thing? are there not those living beneath the shelter of basildene who must be suffering under the curse that wicked man is like to bring upon it? for their sakes, gaston, ought we not to do all in our power to make good our rights? are they to be left to the mercy of one whose soul is sold to satan?" gaston looked quickly into his brother's flushed face, and wondered at the sudden enthusiasm beaming out of his eyes. but he had already recognized that a change was passing over raymond, even as a change of a different kind was coming upon himself. he did not entirely understand it, neither did he resent it; and now he threw his arm across his brother's shoulder in the old caressing fashion of their boyhood. "nay, i know not how that may be. there may be found those who dare to war against the powers of darkness, and with the help of the holy and blessed saints they may prevail. but that is not the strife after which my heart longs. raymond, i fear me i love not basildene, i love not the thought of making it our own. it is for the glory of the battlefield and the pomp and strife of true warfare that i long. there are fairer lands to be won by force of arms than ever basildene will prove, if all men speak sooth. who and what are we, to try our fortunes and tempt destruction by drawing upon ourselves the hatred of this wicked old man, who may do us to death in some fearful fashion, when else we might be winning fame and glory upon the plains of france? let us leave basildene alone, brother; let us follow the fortunes of the great king, and trust to his noble generosity for the reward of valour." raymond made no immediate reply, though he pressed his brother's hand and looked lovingly into his face. truth to tell, his affections were winding themselves round his mother's country and inheritance, just as gaston's were turning rather to his father's land, and the thought of the rewards to be won there. then, within raymond's heart were growing up those new thoughts and aspirations engendered by long talks with john; and it seemed to him that possibly the very quest of which he was in search might be found in freeing basildene of a heavy curse. ardent, sensitive, full of vivid imagination -- as the sons of the forest mostly are -- raymond felt that there was more in the truest and deepest chivalry than the mere feats of arms and acts of dauntless daring that so often went by that name. hazy and indistinct as his ideas were, tinged with much of the mysticism, much of the superstition of the age, they were beginning to assume definite proportions, and to threaten to colour the whole future course of his life; and beneath all the dimness and confusion one settled, leading idea was slowly unfolding itself, and forming a foundation for the superstructure that was to follow -- the idea that in self-denial, self-sacrifice, the subservience of selfish ambition to the service of the oppressed and needy, chivalry in its highest form was to be found. but in his brother's silence gaston thought he read disappointment, and with another affectionate gesture he hastened to add: "but if thy heart goes out to our mother's home, we will yet win it back, when time has changed us from striplings to tried warriors. see, brother, i will tell thee what we will do. men say that it can scarce be a year from now ere the war breaks out anew betwixt france and england, and then will come our opportunity. we will follow the fortunes of the king. we will win our spurs fighting at the side of the prince. we will do as our kindred have done before us, and make ourselves honoured and respected of all men. it may be that we shall then be lords of saut once more. but be that as it may, we shall be strong, rich, powerful -- as our uncles are now. then, if thou wilt so have it, we will think again of basildene; and if we win it back, it shall be thine, and thine alone. fight thou by my side whilst we are yet too young to bring to good any private matter of our own. then will i, together with thee, think again of our boyhood's dream; and it may be that we shall yet live to be called the twin brothers of basildene!" raymond smiled at the sound of that name, as he had smiled at gaston's eager words before. full of ardent longings and unbounded enthusiasm, as were most well-born youths in those adventurous days, he was just a little less confident than gaston of the brilliant success that was to attend upon their feats of arms. still there was much of the fighting instinct in the boy, and there was certainly no hope of regaining basildene in the present. so that he agreed willingly to his brother's proposition, although he resolved before he left these parts to look once with his own eyes upon the home that had sheltered his mother's childhood and youth. and then they plunged into the thickest of the forest, and could talk no more till they had reached the little clearing that lay around the woodman's hut. the old man was not far away, as they heard by the sound of a falling axe a little to the right of them. following this sound, they quickly came upon the object of their search -- the grizzled old man, with the same look of unutterable woe stamped upon his face. gaston, who knew only one-half of the errand upon which they had come, produced the pieces of silver that the rector and john had sent, with a message of thanks to the old woodman for his help in directing the prince and his company to the robbers' cave at such a favourable moment. the old man appeared bewildered at first by the sight of the money and the words of thanks; but recollection came back by degrees, though he seemed as one who in constant brooding upon a single theme has come to lose all sense of other things, and scarce to observe the flight of time, or to know one day from another. this strange, wild melancholy, which had struck john at once, now aroused in raymond a sense of sympathetic interest. he had come to try to seek the cause of the old man's sorrow, and he did not mean to leave with his task unfulfilled. perhaps john could have found no fitter emissary than this gascon lad, with his simple forest training, his quick sympathy and keen intelligence, and his thorough knowledge of the details of peasant life, which in all countries possess many features in common. it was hard at first to get the old man to care to understand what was said, or to take the trouble to reply. the habit of silence is one of the most difficult to break; but patience and perseverance generally win the day: and when it dawned upon this strange old man that it was of himself and his own loss and grief that these youths had come to speak, a new look crossed his weatherbeaten face, and a strange gleam of mingled fury and despair shone in the depths of his hollow eyes. "my sorrow!" he exclaimed, in a voice from which the dreary cadence had now given place to a clearer, firmer ring: "is it of that you ask, young sirs? has it been told to you the cruel wrong that i have suffered?" then suddenly clinching his right hand and shaking it wildly above his head, he broke into vehement and almost unintelligible invective, railing with frenzied bitterness against some foe, speaking so rapidly, and with such strange inflections of voice, that it was but a few words that the brothers could distinguish out of the whole of the impassioned speech. one of those words was "my son -- my boy," followed by the names of sanghurst and basildene. it was these names that arrested the attention of the brothers, causing them to start and exchange quick glances. raymond waited till the old man had finished his railing, and then he asked gently: "had you then a son? where is he now?" "a son! ay, that had i -- the light and brightness of my life!" cried the old man, with a sudden burst of rude eloquence that showed him to have been at some former time something better than his present circumstances seemed to indicate. "young sirs, i know not who you are; i know not why you ask me of my boy. but your faces are kind, and perchance there may be help in the world, though i have found it not. i know not how time has fled since that terrible sorrow fell upon me. perchance not many years by the calendar, but in misery and suffering a lifetime. listen, and i will tell you all. i was not ever as you see me now. i was no lonely woodman buried in the heart of the forest. i was second huntsman to sir hugh vavasour of woodcrych, in favour with my master and well contented with my lot. i had a wife whom i loved, and she had born me a lovely boy, who was the very light of my eyes and the joy of my heart. i should weary you did i tell you of all his bold pranks and merry ways. he was, i verily believe, the loveliest child that god's sun has ever looked down upon. when it pleased him to take my wife away from me after seven happy years, i strove not to murmur; for i had still the child, and every day that passed made him more winsome, more loving, more mettlesome and bold. even the master would draw rein as he passed my door to have a word with the boy; and little mistress joan gave me many a silver groat to buy him a fairing with, and keep him always dressed in the smartest little suit of forester's green. the priest noticed him too, and would have him to his house to teach him many things, and told me he would live to carve out a fortune for himself. i thought naught too good for him. i would have wondered little if even the king had sent for him to make of him a companion for his son. "perchance i was foolish in the boastings i made. but the beauty and the wisdom of the boy struck all alike -- and thence came his destruction." "his destruction?" echoed both brothers in a breath. "what! is he then dead?" "he is worse than dead," answered the father, in a hollow, despairing voice; "he has been bewitched -- undone by foul sorcery, bound over hand and foot, and given to the keeping of satan. even the priest can do nothing for us. he is lost, body and soul, for ever." the brothers exchanged wondering glances as they made the sign of the cross, the old man watching the gesture with a bitter smile in his eye. then raymond spoke again: "but what was it that happened? we do not yet understand." "i will tell you all. if you know this part of the world, young sirs, you have doubtless heard of the old manor of basildene, where dwells one, peter sanghurst by name, who is nothing more nor less than a wizard, who should be hunted to death without pity. men have told me (i know not with what truth) that these wizards, who give themselves over to the devil, are required by their master from time to time to furnish him with new victims, and these victims are generally children -- fair and promising children, who can first be trained in the black arts of their earthly master, and are then handed over, body and soul, to the devil, to be his slaves and his victims for ever." the old man was speaking slowly now, with a steady yet despairing ferocity that was terrible to hear. his sunken eyes gleamed in their sockets, and his hands, that were tightly clinched over the handle of his axe, trembled with the emotion that had him in its clutches. "i was sent upon a mission by my master. i was absent from my home some seven days. when i came back my boy was gone. i had left him in the care of the keeper of the hounds. he was an honest man, and told me all the tale. perchance you know that sir hugh vavasour is what men call a spendthrift. his estates will not supply him with the money he needs. he is always in debt, he is always in difficulties. from that it comes that he cares little what manner of men are his comrades or friends, provided only that they can supply his needs when his own means fail. this is why, when all men else hate and loathe the very name of sanghurst, he calls himself their friend. he knows that the old man has the secret by which all things may be turned into gold, and therefore he welcomes his son to woodcrych. and men say that mistress joan is to be given in marriage to his son one day, because he will take her without dowry; for she is the fairest creature in the world, and he has vowed that she shall wed him and none else." the brothers were intensely interested by this tale, but were growing a little confused by all the names introduced, and they wanted the story of the woodman's son complete. "then was it the old man who took your boy, or was it his son? are they not both called peter?" "ay, they have both the same name -- the same name and the same nature: evil, cruel, remorseless. i know not how nor where the old man first set eyes upon my boy; but he must have seen him, and have coveted possession of him for his devilish practices; for upon the week that i was absent from home, he left the solitude of his house, and came with the master himself to the house where the boy was. and then sir hugh explained to honest stephen, who had charge of him, that master peter sanghurst had offered the lad a place in his service, where he would learn many things that would stand him in good stead all the days of his life. it sounded fair in all faith. but stephen stoutly refused to let the boy go till i returned; whereupon sir hugh struck him a blow across the face with his heavy whip, and young peter sanghurst, leaping to the ground, seized the child and placed him in front of him upon the horse, and the three galloped off laughing aloud, whilst the boy in vain implored to be set down to run home. when i came back he had gone, and all men said that the old man had thus stolen him to satisfy the greed for souls of his master the devil." "and hast thou not seen him since?" asked the boys breathlessly. "what didst thou do when thou camest back?" for a moment it seemed as though the old man would break out again into those wild imprecations of frenzied anger which the brothers had heard him utter before; but by a violent effort he checked the vehement flow of words that rose to his lips, and replied with a calmness far more really impressive: "i did all that a poor helpless man might do when his feudal lord was on the side of the enemy, and met every prayer and supplication either with mockery or blows. i soon saw it all too well. sir hugh was under the spell of the wicked old man. what was my boy's soul to him? what my agony? nothing -- nothing. the wizard had coveted the beautiful boy. he had doubtless made it worth my master's while to sell him to him; and what could i do? i tried everything i knew; but who would listen to me? master bernard de brocas of guildford, whom i met upon the road and begged to listen to my tale, promised he would see if something might not be done. i waited and waited in anguish, and hope, and despair, and there came a day when his palfrey stopped at my door, and he came forward himself to speak with me. he told me he had spoken to the master of basildene, and that he had promised to restore me my son if i was resolved to have him back; but he had told the good priest that he knew the boy would never be content to stay in a woodland cottage with an unlettered father, when he had learned what life elsewhere was like. but i laughed this warning to scorn, and demanded my boy back." "and did he come?" a strange look swept over the old man's face. his hands were tightly clinched. his voice was very low, and full of suppressed awe and fury. "ay, he came back -- he came back that same night -- but so changed in those few months that i scarce knew him. and ah, how he clung to me when he was set down at my door! how he sobbed on my breast, entreating me to hold him fast -- to save him -- to protect him! what fearful tales of unhallowed sights and sounds did his white lips pour into my ears! how my own blood curdled at the tale, and how i vowed that never, never, never would i let him go from out my arms again! i held him fast. i took him within doors. i fastened the door safely. i fed him, comforted him, and laid him in mine own bed, lying wakeful beside him for fear even then that he should be taken from me; and thus the hours sped by. but the rest -- ah, how can i tell it? it wrings my very heart. o my child, my son -- my own heart's joy!" the old man threw up his arms with a wild gesture of despair, and there was something in his face so terrible that the twins dared ask him no question; but after that one cry and gesture, the stony look returned upon his face, and he went on of his own accord. "midnight had come. i knew it by the position of the moon in the heavens. my boy had been sleeping like one dead beside me, never moving or stirring, scarce breathing; and i had at last grown soothed and drowsy likewise. i had just fallen into a light sleep, when i was aroused by feeling roger stir beside me, and hastily sit up in the bed. his eyes were wide open, and in the moonlight they seemed to shine with unnatural brilliance. it was as if he were listening -- listening with every fibre of his being, listening to a voice which he could hear and i could not; for he made quick answers. 'i hear, sire,' he said, in a strange, muffled voice. and he rose suddenly to his feet and cried, 'i come, master, i come.' then a great rage and fear possessed me, for i knew that my boy was being called by some foul spirit, and that he was bewitched. i sprang up and seized him in my arms. 'thou shalt not go!' i cried aloud. 'he has given thee back to me. i am thy father. thy place is here. i will not let thee go!' but i might have been speaking to a dead corpse for all the understanding i received. my boy's eyes were opened, but he saw me not. his ears, that heard other voices, were deaf to mine. he struggled fiercely against my fatherly embrace; and when i felt the strength that had come into that frame, so worn and feeble but a few short hours ago, then i knew that it was the devil himself who had entered into my child, and that it was his voice that was luring him back to his destruction. o my god! may i never have to live again through the agony of that hour in which i fought with the devil for my child, and fought in vain. like one possessed (as indeed he was) did he wrestle with me, crying out wildly all the while that he was coming -- that he would quickly come; hearing nothing that i could hear, seeing nothing that i could see, and all the time struggling with me with a strength that i knew must at last prevail, albeit he was but a tender child and i a man in the prime of manhood's strength. but the devil was in him that night. it was not my boy's own hand that struck the blow which forced me to leave my hold, and sent me staggering back against the wall. no, it was but the evil spirit within him; and even as i released him from my embrace, he glided to the door, undid the fastenings, and still calling out that he was coming, that he would be there anon, he slipped out into the still forest, and vanished amongst the trees." "did he return to basildene?" "ay, like a bird to its nest, a dog to its master's home. spent and breathless, despairing as i was, i yet gathered my strength and followed my boy -- weeping and calling upon his name, though i knew he heard me not. scarce could i keep the gliding figure in sight; yet i could not choose but follow, lest some mischance should befall the child by the way. but he moved onwards as if he trod on air, neither stumbling nor falling, nor turning to the right hand or to the left. i watched him to the end of the avenue of trees that leads to basildene. as he reached it a dark figure stepped forth, and the child sank to the ground as if exhausted. there was the sound of laughter -- fiends' laughter, if ever devils do laugh. it chilled the very blood in my veins, and i stood rooted to the spot, whilst the hair of my head stood erect. the dark form bent over the boy and seemed to raise it. "'you shall suffer for this,' i heard a cruel voice say in a hissing whisper; 'you will not ask to leave again!' and at those evil words a cry of anguish -- a human cry -- broke from my boy's lips, and with a yell of fury i sprang forward to save him or to die with him. but what happened then i know not. whether a human hand or a fiend's struck me down i shall never now know. i remember a blow -- the sense that hell's mouth was opening to receive me; that the mocking laughter of devils was in my ears. then i knew no more till (they tell me it was many weeks later) i awoke from a long strange sleep in yon cabin where i live. an old woodman had found me, and had carried me there. sir hugh had given him a few silver pieces to take care of me. he had filled my place, and my old home was occupied by another; but had it not been so, no power on earth would have taken me back there. i had grown old in one night. i had lost my strength, my cunning, my heart. i stayed on with the old man awhile, and as he fell sick and died when the next snow fell upon the ground, master bernard de brocas appointed me as woodman in his stead, and here i have remained ever since. i know not how the time has sped. i have no heart or hope in life. my child is gone -- possessed by fiends who have him in their clutches, so that i may never win him back to me. i hate my life, yet fear to die; for then i might see him the sport of devils, and be, as before, powerless to succour him. i have long ceased to be shriven for my sins. what good to me is forgiveness, if my child will be doomed to hellfire for evermore? no hope in this world, no hope after death. woe is me that ever i was born! woe is me! woe is me!" the energy which had supported the old man as he told his tale now appeared suddenly to desert him. with a low moan he sank upon the ground and buried his face in his hands, whilst the boys stood and gazed at him, and then at one another, their faces full of interest and sympathy, their hearts burning with indignation against the wicked foe of their own race, who seemed to bring misery and wrong wherever he moved. "and thou hast never seen thy son again?" asked raymond softly. "is he yet alive, knowest thou?" "i have never seen him again: they say that he still lives. but what is life to one who is sold and bound over, body and soul, to the powers of darkness?" then the old man buried his face once more in his hands, and seemed to forget even the presence of the boys; and gaston and raymond stole silently away, with many backward glances at the bowed and stricken figure, unable to find any words either to help or comfort him. chapter ix. joan vavasour. it was with the greatest interest that john de brocas listened to the story brought home by the twin brothers after their visit to the woodman's hut. such a story of oppression, cruelty, and wrong truly stirred him to the very soul; and moreover, as the brothers spoke of basildene, they told him also (under the promise of secrecy) of their own connection with that place, of their kinship with himself, and of the wrongs they had suffered at the hand of the sanghursts, father and son; and all this aroused in the mind of john an intense desire to see wrong made right, and retribution brought upon the heads of those who seemed to become a curse wherever they went. "and so ye twain are my cousins?" he said, looking from one face to the other with penetrating gaze. "i knew from the very first that ye were no common youths; and it was a stronger tie than that of gascon blood that knit us one to the other. but i will keep your secret. perchance ye are wise in wishing it kept. there be something too many hangers-on of our house already, and albeit i know not all the cause of the estrangement, i know well that your father was coldly regarded for many years, and it may be that his sons would receive but sorry welcome if they came as humble suppliants for place. the unsuccessful members of a house are scarce ever welcomed, and the claim to basildene might be but a hindrance in your path. sir hugh vavasour is high in favour at court. he is a warm friend of my father and my uncle; and he and the sanghursts are bound together by some close tie, the nature of which i scarce know. any claim on basildene would be fiercely resented by the father and son who have seized it, and their quarrel would be taken up by others of more power. gaston is right in his belief that you must first win credit and renown beneath the king's banners. as unknown striplings you have no chance against yon crafty fox of basildene. were he but to know who and what you were, i know not that your very lives would be safe from his malice." the twins exchanged glances. it seemed as though they were threatened on every hand by the malice of those who had usurped their rights and their lands; yet they felt no fear, rather a secret exultation at the thought of what lay before them. but their curiosity was strongly stirred about the strange old man at basildene, and they eagerly asked john of the truth of those reports which spoke of him as being a tool and slave of the devil. a grave light came into john's eyes as he replied: "methinks that every man is the tool of satan who willingly commits sin with his eyes open, and will not be restrained. i cannot doubt that old peter sanghurst has done this again and again. he is an evil man and a wicked one. but whether or no he has visible dealings with the spirits of darkness, i know not. men can sin deeply and darkly and yet win no power beyond that vouchsafed to others." "but the woodman's son," said raymond, in awestruck tones, "him he most certainly bewitched. how else could he have so possessed him that even his own father could not restrain him from going back to the dread slavery once again?" a thoughtful look was on john's face. he was lying on his couch in the large room where his learned uncle stored all his precious books and parchments, safely locked away in carved presses; and rising slowly to his feet -- for he was still feeble and languid in his movements -- he unlocked one of these, and took from it a large volume in some dead language, and laid it upon the table before him. "i know not whether or no i am right, but i have heard before of a strange power that some men may possess over the minds and wills of others -- a power so great that they become their helpless tools, and can be made to act, to see, to feel just as they are bidden, and are as helpless to resist that power as the snared bird to avoid the outstretched hand of the fowler. that this power is a power of evil, and comes from the devil himself, i may not disbelieve; for it has never been god's way of dealing with men to bind captive their wills and make them blind and helpless agents of the will of others. could you read the words of this book, you would find many things therein as strange as any you have heard today. for myself, i have little doubt that old peter sanghurst, who has spent years of his life amongst the heathen moors, and is, as all men avow, steeped to the lips in their strange and unchristian lore, has himself the art of thus gaining the mastery over the minds and wills of others, and that it was no demoniacal possession, but just the wicked will of the old man exercised upon that of his helpless victim, which drew the boy back to him when his father had him safe at home (as he thought) once more. in this book it is written that young boys, especially if they be beautiful of form and receptive of mind, make the best tools for this black art. they can be thrown into strange trances, in which many things are revealed to them. they can be sent in the spirit to places they have never seen, and can be made to describe what is passing thousands of miles away. i cannot tell how these things may be, unless indeed it is the devil working in them; yet here it is written down as if it were some art which certain men with certain gifts may acquire, as they may acquire other knowledge and learning. in truth, i think such things smack of the evil one himself; yet i doubt if there be that visible bond with satan that is commonly reported amongst the unlettered and ignorant. it is a cruel and a wicked art without doubt, and it says here that the children who are caught and subjected to these trances and laid under this spiritual bondage seldom live long; and that but for this, there seems no end to the wonders that might be performed. but the strain upon their spirits almost always results in madness or death, and thus the art never makes the strides that those who practise it long to see." john was turning the leaves of the book as he spoke, reading a word here and there as if to refresh his memory. the gascon brothers listened with breathless interest, and suddenly raymond started to his feet, saying: "john, thou hast spoken of a knightly quest that would win no praise from man, but yet be such as a true knight would fain undertake. would not the rescue of yon wretched boy from the evil thraldom of that wicked sorcerer be such a task as that? is not basildene ours? is it not for us to free it from the curse of such pollution? is not that child one of the oppressed and wronged that it is the duty of a true servant of the old chivalry to rescue at all costs? "gaston, wilt thou go with me? shall we snatch from the clutches of this devilish old man the boy whose story we have heard today? methinks i can never rest happy till the thing is done. will not a curse light upon the very house itself if these dark deeds go on within its walls? who can have a better right to avert such curse than we -- its rightful lords?" gaston sprang to his feet, and threw back his head with a proud and defiant gesture. "verily i will go with thee, brother. i would gladly strike a blow for the freedom of the boy and against the despoiler of our mother's house. i would fain go this very day." both brothers looked to john, as if asking his sanction for the act. he closed his book, and raised his eyes with a smile; but he advocated prudence, and patience too. "in truth, methinks it would be a deed of charity and true chivalry, yet one by no means without its peril and its risk. old sanghurst is a wily and a cruel foe, and failure would but mean more tyranny and suffering for the miserable victim he holds in his relentless hands. it might lead also to some mysterious vengeance upon you yourselves. there are ugly whispers breathed abroad about the old man and his evil practices. travellers through these forest tracks, richly laden, have been known to disappear, and no man has heard of them more. it is rumoured that they have been seized and done to death by the rapacious owners of basildene, and that the father and son are growing wealthy beyond what any man knows by the plunder they thus obtain." "but if they hold the secret of the philosopher's stone, sure they would not need to fall upon travellers by the way!" john slowly shook his head, a thoughtful smile upon his face. "for mine own part," he said quietly, "i have no belief in that stone, or in that power of alchemy after which men since the beginning of time have been vainly striving. they may seek and seek, but i trow they will never find it; and i verily believe if found it would but prove a worthless boon. for in the hands of a rapacious master, so quickly would gold be poured upon the world that soon its value would be lost, and it would be no more prized than the base metals we make our horseshoes of. it is not the beauty of gold that makes men covet it. it is because it is rare that it is precious. if this philosopher's stone were to be found, that rareness would speedily disappear, and men would cease to prize a thing that could be made more easily than corn may be grown." the brothers could scarce grasp the full meaning of these words; but it was not of the philosopher's stone that their minds were full, and john's next words interested them more. "no: i believe that the wealth which is being accumulated at basildene is won in far different fashion, and that this miserable boy, who is the helpless slave and tool of his master's illicit art, is an unwilling agent in showing the so-called magician the whereabouts of hapless travellers, and in luring them on to their destruction. but that the old man is wealthy above all those about him may not now be doubted; and it is this growing wealth, gotten no man knows how, that makes men believe in his possession of the magic stone." "and if we rescue the boy, some part of his power will be gone, and he will lose a tool that he will not easily replace," cried gaston, with eager animation. "brother, let us not delay. we have long desired to look upon basildene; let us sally forth this very day." but john laid a detaining hand upon his arm. "nay now, why this haste? thou art a bold lad, gaston, but something more than boldness is needed when thou hast such a subtle foe to deal with. then there is another thing to think of. what will it avail to rescue the boy, if his master holds his spirit so in thrall that he can by no means be restrained from rising in the dead of night to return to him again? there be many things to think of ere we can act. and we must take counsel of one who knows basildene, as we do not. i have never seen the house, and know nothing of its ways. till these things were recalled to my memory these last days, i had scarce remembered that such a place existed." "of whom then shall we take counsel?" asked gaston, with a touch of impatience, for to him action and not counsel was the mainspring of life. "of thine uncle, who thou sayest is a friend of this unholy man?" "scarce a friend," answered john, "albeit he has no quarrel with master sanghurst; and if thou knewest more of the temper of the times, thou wouldst know that the king's servants must have a care how they in any wise stir up strife amongst those who dwell in the realm. we have enemies and to spare abroad -- in scotland, in flanders, in france. at home we must all strive to keep the peace. it behoves not one holding office under the crown to embroil himself in private quarrels, or stir up any manner of strife. this is why i counsel you to make no claim on basildene for the nonce, and why my uncle could give no help in the matter of this boy, kindly as his heart is disposed towards the poor and oppressed. he moved once in the matter, with the result that you know. it could scarce be expected of him to do more." "who then will help or counsel us?" "i can think of but one, and that is but a slim maiden, whom ye bold lads might despise. i mean mistress joan vavasour herself." "what!" cried gaston in amaze -- "the maiden whom peter sanghurst is to wed? sure that were a strange counsellor to choose! good john, thou must be dreaming." "nay, i am no dreamer," was the smiling answer; and a slight access of colour came slowly into john's face. "i have not seen fair mistress joan of late; yet unless i be greatly mistaken in her, i am very sure that by no deed of her own will she ever mate with one of the sanghurst brood. i have known her from childhood. once it was my dream that i might wed her myself; but such thoughts have long ago passed from my mind never to enter it again. yet i know her and i love her well, and to me she has spoken words which tell me that she will never be a passive tool in the hands of her haughty parents. she has the spirit of her sire within her, and i trow he will find it no easy task to bend the will even of a child of his own, when she is made after the fashion of mistress joan. if peter sanghurst has gone a-wooing there, i verily believe that the lady will by this time have had more than enough of his attentions. it may be that she would be able to give us good counsel; at least i would very gladly ask it at her hands." "how can we see her?" asked the brothers quickly. "so soon as i can make shift to ride once more we will to horse and away to woodcrych. it is time i paid my respects to fair mistress joan, for i have not seen her for long. i would that you twain could see her. she is as fair as a lily, yet with all the spirit of her bold sire, as fearless in the saddle as her brother, as upright as a dart, beautiful exceedingly, with her crown of hair the colour of a ripe chestnut. ah! if she were but taken to the king's court, she would be its fairest ornament. but her sire has never the money to spend upon her adornment; and moreover if she appeared there, she would have suitors and to spare within a month, and he would be called upon to furnish forth a rich dower -- for all men hold him to be a wealthy man, seeing the broad lands he holds in fief. wherefore i take it he thinks it safer to betroth her to this scion of the sanghurst brood, who will be heir to all his father's ill-gotten wealth. but if i know mistress joan, as i think i do, she will scarce permit herself to be given over like a chattel, though she may have a sore fight to make for her liberty." raymond's eyes brightened and his hands closely clinched themselves. surely this quest after basildene was bringing strange things to light. here was a miserable child to be rescued from bondage that was worse than death; and a maiden, lovely and brave of spirit, to be saved from the clutches of this same sanghurst faction. what a strange combination of circumstances seemed woven around the lost inheritance! might it not be the very life's work he had longed after, to fulfil his mother's dying behest and make himself master of basildene again? that night his dreams were a strange medley of wizards, beauteous maidens, and ruinous halls, through which he wandered in search of the victim whose shrill cries he kept hearing. he rose with the first of the tardy light, to find that gaston was already off and away upon some hunting expedition planned overnight. raymond had not felt disposed to join it; the attraction of john's society had more charm for him. the uncle was absent from home on the king's business. the two cousins had the house to themselves. they had established themselves beside the glowing hearth within their favourite room containing all the books, when the horn at the gate announced the arrival of some guest, and a message was brought to john saying that mistress joan vavasour was even then dismounting from her palfrey, and was about to pay him a visit. "nay now, but this is a lucky hap!" cried john, as he went forward to be ready to meet his guest. the next moment the light footfall along the polished boards of the anteroom announced the coming of the lady, and raymond's eager eyes were fixed upon a face so fair that he gazed and gazed and could not turn his eyes away. mistress joan was just his own age -- not yet seventeen -- yet she had something of the grace and dignity of womanhood mingling with the fresh sweet frankness of the childhood that had scarcely passed. her eyes were large and dark, flashing, and kindling with every passing gust of feeling; her delicate lips, arched like a cupid's bow, were capable of expressing a vast amount of resolution, though now relaxed into a merry smile of greeting. she was rather tall and at present very slight, though the outlines of her figure were softly rounded, and strength as well as grace was betrayed in every swift eager motion. she held john's hands and asked eagerly after his well-being. "it was but two days ago i heard that you lay sick at guildford, and i have been longing ever since for tidings. today my father had business in the town, and i humbly sued him to let me ride with him, and rest, whilst he went his own way, in the hospitable house of your good uncle. this is how i come to be here today. and now tell me of thyself these many months, for i hear no news at woodcrych. and who is this fair youth with thee? methinks his face is strange to me, though he bears a look of the de brocas, too." a quick flush mounted in raymond's cheek; but john only called him by the name by which he was known to the world, and mistress joan spoke no more of the fancied likeness. she and john, who were plainly well acquainted, plunged at once into eager talk; and it was not long before the question of joan's own marriage was brought up, and he plainly asked her if the news was true which gave her in wedlock to peter sanghurst. a change came over joan's face at those words. a quick gleam shot out of her dark eyes. she set her teeth, and her face suddenly hardened as if carved in flint. her voice, which had been full of rippling laughter before, now fell to a lower pitch, and she spoke with strange force and gravity. "john, whatever thou hearest on that score, believe it not. i will die sooner than be wedded to that man. i hate him. i fear him -- yes, i do fear him, i will not deny it -- i fear him for his wickedness, his evil practices, his diabolic cruelty, of which i hear fearful whispers from time to time. he may be rich beyond all that men credit. i doubt not he has many a dark and hideous method of wringing gold from his wretched victims. basildene holds terrible secrets; and never will i enter that house by my own free will. never will i wed that man, not if i have to plunge this dagger into mine own heart to save myself from him. i know what is purposed. i know that he and his father have some strange power over my sire and my brother, and that they will do all they can to bend my will to theirs. but i have two hopes yet before me. one is appeal to the king, through his gentle and gracious queen; another is the convent -- for sooner would i take the veil (little as the life of the recluse charms me) than sell myself to utter misery as the wife of that man. death shall call me its bride before that day shall come. yet i would not willingly take my life, and go forth unassoiled and unshriven. no; i will try all else first. and in thee, good john, i know i shall find a trusty and a stalwart friend and champion." "trusty in all truth, fair lady, but stalwart i fear john de brocas will never be. rather enlist in thy service yon gallant youth, who has already distinguished himself in helping to save the prince in the moment of peril. i trow he would be glad enough to be thy champion in days to come. he has, moreover, a score of his own to settle one day with the present master of basildene." joan's bright eyes turned quickly upon raymond, who had flushed with boyish pride and pleasure and shame at hearing himself thus praised. he eagerly protested that he was from that time forward mistress joan's loyal servant to command; and at the prompting of john, he revealed to her the fact of his own claim on basildene (without naming his kinship with the house of de brocas), and gave an animated account of the recent visit to the woodman's hut, and told the story of his cruel wrongs. joan listened with flashing eyes and ever-varying colour. at the close of the tale she spoke. "i have heard of that wretched boy -- the tool and sport of the old man's evil arts, the victim of the son's diabolic cruelty when he has no other victim to torment. they keep him for days without food at times, because they say that he responds better to their fiendish practices when the body is well-nigh reduced to a shadow. oh, i hear them talk! my father is a dabbler in mystic arts. they are luring him on to think he will one day learn the secret of the transmutation of metals, whilst i know they do but seek to make of him a tool, to subdue his will, and to do with him what they will. they will strive to practise next on me -- they have tried it already; but i resist them, and they are powerless, though they hate me tenfold more for it, and i know that they are reckoning on their revenge when i shall be a helpless victim in their power. art thou about to try to rescue the boy? that were, in truth, a deed worth doing, though the world will never praise it; though it might laugh to scorn a peril encountered for one so humble as a woodman's son. but it would be a soul snatched from the peril of everlasting death, and a body saved from the torments of a living hell!" and then john spoke of the thoughts which had of late possessed them both of that chivalry that was not like to win glory or renown, that would not gain the praise of men, but would strive to do in the world a work of love for the oppressed, the helpless, the lowly. and joan's eyes shone with the light of a great sympathy, as she turned her bright gaze from one face to the other, till raymond felt himself falling beneath a spell the like of which he had never known before, and which suddenly gave a new impulse to all his vague yearnings and imaginings, and a zest to this adventure which was greater than any that had gone before. joan's ready woman's wit was soon at work planning and devising how the deed might best be done. "i can do this much to aid," she said. "a day will come ere long when the two sanghursts will come at nightfall to woodcrych, to try, as they have done before, some strange experiments in the laboratory my father has had made for himself. we always know the day that this visit is to be made, and i can make shift to let you know. they stay far into the night, and only return to basildene as the dawn breaks. that would be the night to strive to find and rescue the boy. he will be almost alone in yon big house, bound hand and foot, i doubt not, or thrown into some strange trance that shall keep him as fast a prisoner. there be but few servants that can be found to live there. mostly they flee away in affright ere they have passed a week beneath that roof. those that stay are bound rather by fear than aught beside; and scarce a human being will approach that house, even in broadest daylight. there are many doors and windows, and the walls in places are mouldering away, and would give easy foothold to the climber. it is beneath the west wing, hard by the great fish ponds, that the rooms lie which are ever closed from light of day, and in which the evil men practise their foul arts. i have heard of a secret way from the level of the water into the cellars or dungeons of the house; but whether this be true i do not rightly know. yet methinks you could surely find entrance within the house, for so great is the terror in which basildene is held that master sanghurst freely boasts that he needs neither bolt nor bar. he professes to have drawn around the house a line which no human foot may cross. he knows well that no man wishes to try." raymond shivered slightly, but he was not daunted, yet there was still the question to be faced, what should be done with the boy when rescued to hold him back from the magician's unholy spell. but joan had an answer ready for this objection. her hands folded themselves lightly together, her dark eyes shone with the earnestness of her devotion. "that will i soon tell to you. the spell cast upon the boy is one of evil, and therefore it comes in some sort from the devil, even though, as john says, men may have no visible dealings with him. yet, as all sin is of the evil one, and as the good god and his holy saints are stronger than the devil and his angels, it is his help we must invoke when the powers of darkness strive to work in him again. and we must ask in this the help of some holy man of god, one who has fasted and prayed and learned to discern betwixt good and evil, has fought with the devil and has overcome. i know one such holy man. he lives far away from here. it is a small community between guildford and salisbury -- i suppose it lies some thirty miles from hence. i could find out something more, perchance, in time to acquaint you farther with the road. if you once gain possession of the boy, mount without loss of time, and draw not rein till you reach that secluded spot. ask to be taken in in the name of charity, and when the doors have opened to you, ask for father paul. give him the boy. tell him all the tale, and trust him into his holy hands without fear. he will take him; he will cast out the evil spirit. i misdoubt me if the devil himself will have power over him whilst he is within those hallowed walls. at least if he can find entrance there, he will not be able to prevail; and when the foul spirit is cast out and vanquished, you can summon his father to him and give him back his son -- as the son of the father in scripture was restored to him again when the devil had been cast out by the voice of the blessed jesus." "i truly think that thou art right," said john. "the powers of evil are very strong, too strong to be combated by us unaided by the prayers and the efforts of holy men. "raymond, it shall be my work to provide for this journey. my uncle will be long absent. in his absence i may do what i will and go where i will. i would myself pay a pilgrimage to the house where this holy man resides, and make at the shrine of the chapel there my offering of thanksgiving for my recovery from this hurt. we will go together. we will take the boy with us; and the boy's father shall be one of our party. he shall see that the powers of evil can be vanquished. he shall see for himself the restoration of his child." chapter x. basildene. it was in the bright moonlight of a clear march evening that the twin brothers of gascony stood hand in hand, gazing for the first time in their lives upon their lost inheritance of basildene. it was not yet wholly dark, for a saffron glow in the sky behind still showed where the sun had lately sunk, whilst the moon was shining with frosty brightness overhead. dark as the surrounding woods had been, it was light enough here in the clearing around the house. behind the crumbling red walls the forest grew dark and close, but in the front the larger trees had been cleared away, and the long low house, with its heavy timbers and many gables, stood clearly revealed before the eager eyes of the boys, who stopped short to gaze without speaking a single word to one another. once, doubtless, it had been a beautiful house, more highly decorated than was usual at the period. the heavy beams, dark with age, let into the brickwork were many of them richly carved, and the twisted chimneys and quaint windows showed traces of considerable ingenuity in the builder's art. plainly, too, there had been a time when the ground around the house had been cared for and kept trim and garden-like. now it was but a waste and wilderness, everything growing wild and tangled around it; whilst the very edifice itself seemed crumbling to decay, and wore the grim look of a place of evil repute. it was hard to believe that any person lived within those walls. it was scarce possible to approach within the precincts of that lonely house without a shudder of chill horror. gaston crossed himself as he stood looking on the house, which, by what men said, was polluted by many foul deeds, and tenanted by evil spirits to boot; but upon raymond's face was a different look. his heart went suddenly out to the lonely old house. he felt that he could love it well if it were ever given to him to win it back. as he stood there in the moonlight gazing and gazing, he registered anew in his heart the vow that the day should come when he would fulfil his mother's dying behest, and stand within those halls as the recognized lord of basildene. but the present moment was one for action, not for vague dreamings. the brothers had come with a definite purpose, and they did not intend to quit the spot until that purpose was accomplished. the sanghursts -- father and son -- were far away. the gloomy house -- unless guarded by malevolent spirits, which did not appear unlikely -- was almost tenantless. within its walls was the miserable victim of cruel tyranny whom they had come to release. the boys, who had both confessed and received the blessed sacrament from the hands of the priest who had interested himself before in the woodman's son, felt strong in the righteousness of their cause. if they experienced some fear, as was not unlikely, they would not own it even to themselves. gaston was filled with the soldier spirit of the day, that scorned to turn back upon danger however great. raymond was supported by a deep underlying sense of the sacredness of the cause in which he was embarked. it was not alone that he was going to deal a blow at the foes of his house; it was much more to him than that. vengeance might play a part in the crusade, but to him it was a secondary idea. what he thought of was the higher chivalry of which he and john had spoken so much together -- the rescue of a soul from the clutches of spiritual tyranny; a blow struck in the defence of one helpless and oppressed; risk run for the sake of those who would never be able to repay; the deed done for its own sake, not in the hope of any praise or reward. surely this thing might be the first step in a career of true knightliness, albeit such humble deeds might never win the golden spurs of which men thought so much. gaston's eyes had been scanning the whole place with hawk-like gaze. now he turned to his brother and spoke in rapid whispers. "entrance will be none too easy here. the narrow windows, with their stone mullions, will scarce admit the passage of a human body, and i can see that iron bars protect many of them still farther. the doors are doubtless strong, and heavily bolted. the old sorcerer has no wish to be interrupted in his nefarious occupations, nor does he trust alone to ghostly terrors to protect his house. methinks we had better skirt round the house, and seek that other entrance of which we have heard. raymond, did not our mother tell us oft a story of a revolving stone door to an underground passage, and the trick by which it might be opened from within and without? i remember well that it was by a secret spring cleverly hidden -- seven from above, three from below, those were the numbers. can it be that it was of basildene she was thinking all that time? it seems not unlikely. seven from the top, three from the bottom -- those were certainly the numbers, though i cannot recollect to what they referred. canst thou remember the story, raymond? dost thou think it was of basildene she spoke?" "ay, verily i do!" cried the other quickly, a light coming into his face. "why had i not thought of it before? i remember well she spoke of dark water which lay upon the outside of the house hard by the entrance to the underground way. rememberest thou not the boat moored in the lake to carry the fugitive across to the other side, and the oars so muffled that none might hear? and did not mistress joan say that the secret way into basildene was hard by the fish ponds on the west side of the house? it can be nothing else but this. let us go seek them at once. methinks we have in our hands the clue by which we may obtain entrance into basildene." cautiously, as though their foes were at hand, the brothers slipped round the crumbling walls of the house, marking well as they did so that despite the half-ruinous aspect of much of the building, there was no ready or easy method of access. every gap in the masonry was carefully filled up, every window that was wide enough to admit the passage of a human form was guarded by iron bars, and the doors were solid enough to defy for a long time the assault of battering rams. "it is not in ghostly terrors he mainly trusts to guard his house," whispered raymond, as they skirted round into the dim darkness of the dense woodland that lay behind the house. "methinks if he had in very truth a guard of evil spirits, he would not be so careful of his bolts and bars." gaston was willing enough to believe this; for though he feared no human foe, he was by no means free from the superstitious terrors of the age, and it needed all his coolness of head, as well as all his confidence in the righteousness of his cause, to keep his heart from fluttering with fear as they stepped along beneath the gloom of the trees, which even when not in leaf cast dense shadows around them. it was in truth a weird spot: owls hooted dismally about them, bats flitted here and there in their erratic flight, and sometimes almost brushed the faces of the boys with their clammy wings. the strange noises always to be heard in a wood at night assailed their ears, and mingled with the quick beating of their own hearts; whilst from time to time a long unearthly wail, which seemed to proceed from the interior of the house itself, filled them with an unreasoning sense of terror that they would not confess even to themselves. "it is like the wail of a lost spirit," whispered raymond at the third repetition of the cry. "brother, let us say a prayer, and go forward in the power of the blessed virgin and her holy son." for a moment the brothers knelt in prayer, as the priest had bidden them if heart or spirit quailed. then rising, strengthened and supported, they looked carefully about them, and gaston, grasping his brother by the arm, pointed through the trees and said: "the water, the water! sure i see a gleam of moonlight upon it! we have reached the fish ponds, i verily believe! now for the secret way to the house!" it was true enough. a few steps brought them to the margin of a large piece of water, which was something between a lake and a series of fish ponds, such as are so often seen by old houses. once the lake had plainly been larger, but had partially drained away, and was now confined to various levels by means of a rude dam and a sort of gate like that of a modern lock. still the boys could trace a likeness to the lake of their mother's oft-told tale, and by instinct they both turned to the right as they reached the margin of the water, and threaded their way through the coarse and tangled sedges, decaying in the winter's cold, till they reached a spot where brushwood grew down to the very edge of the water, and the bank rose steep and high above their heads. gaston was a step in advance, raymond following at his heels, both keenly eager over the quest. an exclamation from the leader soon showed that something had been discovered, and the next minute he had drawn aside the sweeping branches of a great willow, and revealed a dark opening in the bank, around which the giant roots seemed to form a protecting arch. "this is the place," he said, in a muffled whisper. "raymond, hast thou the wherewithal to kindle the torch?" the boys had not come unprovided with such things as were likely to prove needful for their search, and though it was a matter of some time to obtain a light, they were skilful and well used to the process, and soon their torch was kindled and they were treading with cautious steps the intricacies of the long and tortuous passage which plainly led straight to the house. "we never should have found it but for our mother's story," said gaston, with exultation in his voice. "raymond, methinks that this is the first step in our career of vengeance. we have the key to basildene in our hands. it may be that upon another occasion we may use it with a different purpose." it seemed to the brothers that they had walked a great distance, when their steps were arrested by what appeared in the first instance to be a solid wall of stone. had they not had some sort of clue in their heads, they would certainly have believed that this natural tunnel ended here, and that further progress was impossible. but as it was, they were firmly convinced that this was but the door of masonry of which their mother had told them in years gone by. neither could recollect the story save in fragments; but the numbers had clung to gaston's tenacious memory, and now he stood before the door saying again and again -- "seven from the top, three from the bottom" -- scanning the wall in front of him with the keenest glances all the while. "ha!" he exclaimed at length; "bring the torch nearer, raymond. see here. this is not one block of stone, as seems at first, but a mass of masonry so cunningly joined together as to look like one solid piece. see, here are the joints; i can feel them with my fingernail, though i can scarce see them with my eyes. let us count the number of the stones used. yes; there are nine in all from top to bottom, each of the same width. therefore the seventh from the top is the third counting from the bottom. this is the stone which is the key." so saying, gaston set his knee against it and pressed with all his might. almost to his own surprise he felt it give as he did so, and raymond uttered a short cry of astonishment: for the whole of what had looked like a solid wall revolved slowly inwards, revealing a continuation of the passage which they had been traversing so long, only that now the passage was plainly one in the interior of the house; for the walls were of masonry, and the dimensions were far more regular. "this is the secret door," said gaston exultingly. "it is in truth a cunning contrivance. let me have the light here a moment, brother. i will see what the trick of the door upon this side is." this point was quickly settled by an inspection of the ingenious contrivance, which was one purely of balance, and not dependent either upon springs or bolts. probably it dated back from days when these latter things were hardly known, and was so satisfactory in the working that it had never been improved upon. "the way to basildene is always open to us," murmured raymond, with a quick thrill of exultation, as the brothers passed through the doorway and let it close behind them; and then they forgot all else in the excitement of the search after the woodman's miserable son. what strange places they came upon in this underground region below the ill-famed house! plainly these cells had been built once for prisoners; for there were fragments of rusty chains still fastened to the stone floors, and in one spot a grinning skull lying broken in a corner sent thrills of horror through the brothers' hearts. from time to time the sound of that unearthly wailing reached their ears, though it was almost impossible to divine from what direction it proceeded; and it had a far less human sound now that the boys were within the precincts of the house than had been the case when they were still outside. whether this was more alarming or less they hardly knew. everything was so strange and dreamlike that they could not tell whether or not all were real. they pressed on eager to accomplish the object of their search, resolved to do that at all cost, and anxious to keep themselves from thinking or feeling too much until that object should be accomplished. they had mounted some stairs, and had reached a different level from the underground passages, when they found their further progress barred by a strong door. this door was bolted, but from the outside, and they had no difficulty in withdrawing the heavy bolts from their sockets. when this had been done the door opened of itself, and they found themselves in a large vaulted room utterly unlike any place they had ever seen before. they grasped each other by the hand and gazed about in wonder. "it is the magician's laboratory!" whispered raymond, whose recent readings with john had taught him many things. he recognized the many crucibles and the strange implements lying on the table as the things employed by dabblers in magic lore, whilst the great sullen wood and charcoal fire, which illumined the place with a dull red glow, was all in keeping with the nature of the occupations carried on there, as was the strange pungent smell that filled the air. rows of jars and bottles upon shelves, strange-looking mirrors and crystals, some fixed and some lying upon the tables, books and parchments full of cabalistic signs propped open beside the crucibles or hung against the wall, all gave evidence of the nature of the pursuits carried on in that unhallowed spot. the brothers, burning with curiosity as well as filled with awe, approached the tables and looked into the many vessels lying upon them, shuddering as the crimson contents made them think of blood. gaston put forth his hand cautiously and touched an ebony rod tipped with crystal that lay beside the largest crucible. as he did so a heavy groan seemed to arise from the very ground at his feet, and he dropped the implement with a smothered exclamation of terror. raymond at the same moment looking hastily round the dim place, grasped his brother's arm, and pointed to a dark corner not many paces from them. "brother, see there! see there!" he whispered. "sure there is the boy we have come to save!" gaston looked and made a quick step forward. sure enough, there upon the floor, bound hand and foot with leather thongs that had been pulled cruelly tight, lay the emaciated figure of what had once been a handsome and healthy boy, but was now little more than a living skeleton. his face still retained its beauty of outline, though these outlines were terribly pinched and sharpened, but the expression of abject terror in the great blue eyes was pitiful to behold, and as gaston and raymond bent over the boy, a shrill cry, as of agony or terror, broke from his pale lips. "who are you?" he gasped. "how have you come? oh, do not touch me -- do not hurt me! go -- go quickly from this evil place, or perchance those devils will return and capture you as they have captured me, that they may torture you to death as they are torturing me. oh, how did you come? i know the doors are locked and bolted. are you devils in human guise, or hapless prisoners like myself? oh, if you are still free, go -- go ere they can return! they know that they cannot keep me much longer; they are thirsting for another victim. let them not return to find you here; and plunge your own dagger into your heart sooner than be made a slave as i have been!" these words were not all spoken at once, but were gasped out bit by bit whilst the twin brothers, with wrath and fury in their hearts, cut the tough thongs that bound the wrists and ankles of the boy, and raised his head as they poured down his throat the strong cordial that had been given to them by john, and which was a marvellous restorer of exhausted nature. they had food, too, in a wallet, and they made the boy eat before they told him aught of their mission; and after the first gasping words of warning and wonder, it seemed as though he obeyed their behests mechanically, most likely taking it all for part and parcel of some strange vision. but as the sorely-needed nourishment and the powerful restorative did its work upon the boy, he began to understand that this was no vision, and that something utterly inexplicable had befallen him, whether for weal or woe his confused senses would not tell him. he heard as in a dream the hurried explanations of the boys, drawing his brows together in the effort to understand. but when they spoke of flight he shook his head, and pointed to the door leading into the house. "no man may pass out of that," he said, in low despairing tones. "how you came in i cannot even guess. it is guarded by a fierce hound, who will tear in pieces any who approaches save his master. there is no way of escape for me. if you are blessed spirits from the world above, fly hence the way you came. for me, i must ever remain the slave of him who, if not the devil himself, is his sworn servant." "we will go, and that quickly," answered raymond; "but thou shalt go with us. we are no spirits, but let us be such to thee for the nonce. fear nothing; only trust us and obey us. if thou wilt do both these things, thou shalt this very night escape for ever from the tyranny of him whom thou hast served so long in such cruel bondage." the boy looked at the face bending over him, instinct with courage and a deep sympathy and brotherly love, and a strange calm and security seemed to fall upon him. he rose to his feet, though with some difficulty, and laid his hand in raymond's. "i will go with thee to the world's end. be my master, and break the hated yoke of that monster of wickedness, and i will serve thee for ever. thou art a ministering spirit sent from heaven. i verily believe that thou canst free me from this slavery." "kneel then and lift thy heart in prayer to the great god of heaven and earth," answered raymond, a strange sense of power and responsibility falling upon him at this moment, together with a clearer, purer perception of divine things than had ever been vouchsafed him before -- "ay, here in this very place, polluted though it may be; for god's presence is everywhere, and it may be he will give thee, even in this fearful chamber of abominations, that release of soul which is the right of each of his human creatures. kneel, and lift thy heart in prayer. i too will pray with thee and for thee. he will hear us, for he loves us. be not afraid; pray with boldness, pray with love in thine heart. god alone can loose the bands of the thraldom which binds thee; and he wilt do it if thou canst trust in him." first making the sign of the cross over the kneeling boy, and then kneeling by his side, raymond directed his crushed spirit to rise in an act of devotion and supplication; and the child, believing that most assuredly a divine messenger had come to deliver him from the hand of his persecutor, was able to utter his prayer in a spirit of trust and hope that brought its own immediate answer in a strange calm and confidence. "come," said gaston cautiously; "we must not longer delay. we have a long night's ride before us, and john will be wondering what detains us this long while." together they supported the feeble steps of the boy, who was passive and quiet in their hands. he was scarce amazed by the opening of the mysterious inner door within a vaulted arch, through which he saw from time to time his captors disappear, but which was ever firmly bolted and barred upon the outer side. he did not even hang back through dread of what might befall him if he were again recalled, as on a former occasion, by the diabolic arts of his master. he was so firmly persuaded of the supernatural character of these visitors, that he had faith and strength to let them do with him what they would without comment, question, or remonstrance. when they reached the outer air, after having successfully passed the secret door again, he gave one great gasp of surprise and reeled as if almost intoxicated by the sweet freshness of the spring night; but the strong arms of his protectors supported him, and hurrying along through the woodland tracks already traversed earlier in the evening, they quickly approached the appointed place just on the outskirts of the basildene lands, where john, attended by three trusty serving men, together with the old woodman, were impatiently awaiting the return of the twins. "we have him safe!" cried gaston, as he bounded on a few paces in advance; and as the words were spoken there broke from the lips of the old woodman a strange inarticulate cry. he sprang forward with a swiftness and agility that seemed impossible in one so bent and bowed, and the next minute he had clasped his son in his arms, and was weeping those terrible tears of manhood over the emaciated form clasped to his breast. leaving the father and son for a few moments together, the brothers in rapid words told their tale to john, who heard it with great satisfaction. but time was passing, and there was no longer any need for delay. the journey before them was somewhat rough and tedious, and all were anxious to put many miles of forest road between themselves and basildene ere the dawn should break. john did not greatly fear pursuit. he did not believe that the old man's occult powers would enable him to track the fugitive; but he was not certain of this, and the rest were all of opinion that he both could and would follow, and that remorselessly, the moment he discovered the loss of his captive. certainly it could do no harm to put all possible distance betwixt the boy and his master, and the party got to horse with the smallest possible delay. once let the boy be placed within the precincts of the sanctuary for which he was bound, in the keeping of the holy man of god whose power was known to be so great, and none feared for the result. but if the boy should be seized upon the road with one of his fits of frenzy, no one could tell what the result might be, and so there was no dissentient voice raised when a quick start and a rapid pace was suggested by gaston. the woodman took his boy in front of him upon the strong animal he bestrode. roger was plainly unfit to sit a horse unsupported by a strong arm, and as they rode through the chill night air a dull lethargy seemed to fall upon him, and he slept in an uneasy, troubled fashion. every moment his father feared to hear him answer an unheard call, feared to feel him struggle wildly in his encircling arm; but neither of these things happened. mile after mile was traversed; the moonlight enabled the party to push rapidly onward. mile after mile slipped away; and just as the first dim rays of dawn appeared in the eastern sky, john, who was himself by this time looking white and jaded, pointed eagerly towards a spire rising up against the saffron of the sky to the south. "that is the spire of st. michael's church," he cried. "the abode of the holy men of whom father paul is one is nigh at hand. ride on, good gaston, and bid the holy man come forth in the name of the love of the blessed saviour. if we may once put the child in his keeping, the powers of hell will not prevail to snatch him thence." gaston, who was the freshest of the little band, eagerly pressed onward with his message. his tired horse, seeing signs of habitation, pricked up his ears, and broke into an eager gallop. the youth quickly disappeared from the eyes of his companions along the road; but when they reached the monastery gate they saw that his errand had been accomplished. a tall monk, holding in his hand a crucifix, advanced to meet them, with a word of blessing which bared all heads; and advancing to the side of the woodman's horse, he took the apparently inanimate form of the boy in his arms, and looking into the wan face, said: "peace be with thee, my son. into the care of holy church i receive thee. let him who can prevail against the church of god pluck thee from that keeping!" chapter xi. a quiet retreat. little did raymond de brocas think, as he stepped across the threshold of that quiet monastic home, that the two next years of his own life were to be spent beneath that friendly and hospitable roof. and yet so it was, and to the training and teaching he received during his residence there he attributed much of the strength of mind and force of character that distinguished him in days to come. the small community to which they had brought the persecuted victim of the sorcerer's evil practices belonged to the order of the cistercians, who have been described as the quakers of their day. at a time when many of the older orders of monks were falling from their first rigid simplicity -- falling into those habits of extravagance which in days to come caused their fall and ultimate suppression -- the cistercians still held to their early regime of austere simplicity and plainness of life; and though no longer absolutely secluding themselves from the sight or sound of their fellow men, or living in complete solitude, they were still men of austere life and self-denying habits, and retained the reputation for sanctity of life that was being lost in other orders, though men had hardly begun to recognize this fact as yet. from the first moment that raymond's eyes fell upon the wonderful face of father paul, his heart was touched by one of those strange attractions for which it is difficult to account, yet which often form a turning point in the history of a human life. it was not the venerable appearance of the holy man alone; it was an indescribable something that defied analysis, yet drew out all that was best and highest in the spirit of the youth. but after the first glance at the monk, as he came forward and received the inanimate form of the woodman's son in his strong arms, raymond's attention was differently occupied; for on looking round at his companions, he saw that john's face was as white as death, and that he swayed in his saddle as though he would fall. it then occurred to the boy for the first time that this long and tiring night's ride was an undertaking for which john was little fit. he had but recently recovered from a bout of sickness that had left him weak and fit for little fatigue, and yet the whole night through he had been riding hard, and had only yielded to exhaustion when the object for which the journey had been taken had been accomplished. the kindly monks came out and bore him into their house, and presently he and the woodman's son lay side by side in the room especially set apart for the sick, watched over by father paul, and assiduously tended by raymond, to whom john was by this time greatly attached. as for gaston, after a rest extending over two nights and days, he was despatched to windsor with the escort who had accompanied them on their ride hither, to tell john's father what had befallen the travellers, and how, john's wound having broken out afresh, he purposed to remain for some time the guest of the holy fathers. thus, for the first time in their lives, were the brothers separated; for though gaston had no thought but of speedy return when he set out on his journey, they saw him no more in that quiet cloistered home, and for two long years the brothers did not meet again. truth to tell, the quiet of a religious retreat had no charm for gaston, as it had for his brother, and the stirring doings in the great world held him altogether in thrall. the king of england was even then engaged in active preparations for the war with france that did not commence in real earnest till two years later. but all men believed that the invasion of the enemy's land was very near. proclamations of the most warlike nature were being issued alike by king and parliament. edward was again putting forward his inconsistent and illogical claim to the crown of france. men's hearts were aflame for the glory and the stress of war, and gaston found himself drawn into the vortex, and could only send an urgent message to his brother, bidding him quickly come to him at windsor. he had been taken amongst the number of the prince's attendants. he longed for raymond to come and share his good fortune. but raymond, when that message reached him, had other things to think of than the clash of arms and the struggle with a foreign foe; and he could only send back a message to his brother that for the time at least their paths in life must lie in different worlds. doubtless the day would come when they should meet again; but for the present his own work lay here in this quiet place, and gaston must win his spurs without his brother beside him. so gaston threw himself into the new life with all the zest of his ardent nature, following sometimes the prince and sometimes the king, according as it was demanded of him, making one of those who followed edward into flanders the following year, only to be thwarted of their object through the most unexpected tragedy of the murder of van artevelde. of wars, adventures, and battles we shall have enough in the pages to follow; so without farther concerning ourselves with the fortunes of gaston through these two years of excitement and preparation, we will rather remain with raymond, and describe in brief the events which followed upon his admission within the walls of the cistercian monks' home. of those first weeks within its walls raymond always retained a vivid remembrance, and they left upon him a mark that was never afterwards effaced. he became aware of a new power stirring within him which he had never hitherto dreamed of possessing. as has before been said, roger the woodman's son was carried into the bare but spotlessly clean room upon the upper floor of the building which was used for any of the sick of the community, and john was laid in another of the narrow pallet beds, of which there were four in that place. all this while roger lay as if dead, in a trance that might be one simply of exhaustion, or might be that strange sleep into which the old sorcerer had for years been accustomed to throw him at will. leaving him thus passive and apparently lifeless (save that the heart's action was distinctly perceptible), father paul busied himself over poor john, who was found to be in pitiable plight; for his wound had opened with the exertion of the long ride, and he had lost much blood before any one knew the state he was in. for some short time his case was somewhat critical, as the bleeding proved obstinate, and was checked with difficulty; and but for father paul's accurate knowledge of surgery (accurate for the times he lived in, at any rate), he would likely enough have bled to death even as he lay. then whilst the kindly monks were bending over him, and father paul's entire time and attention were given up to the case before him, so that he dared not leave john's bedside for an instant, roger suddenly uttered a wild cry and sprang up in his bed, his lips parted, his eyes wide open and fixed in a dreadful stare. "i come! i come!" he cried, in a strange, muffled voice; and with a rapidity and energy of which no one would have believed him capable who had seen him lifted from the horse an hour before, he rose and strove to push aside his father's detaining hand. the old man uttered a bitter cry, and flung his arms about the boy. "it has come! it has come! i knew it would. there is no hope, none! he is theirs, body and soul. he will go back to them, and they will --" the words were drowned in a wild cry, as the boy struggled so fiercely that it was plain even the old man's frenzied strength would not suffice to detain him long. father paul and the monk who was assisting him with john could not move without allowing the bleeding to recommence. but raymond was standing by disengaged, and the keen eyes of the father fixed themselves upon his face. he had heard a brief sketch of the rescue of roger as the boy had been undressed and laid in the bed, and now he said, in accents of quiet command, "take the crucifix that hangs at my girdle, and lay it upon his brow. bid him lie down once again -- adjure him in the name of the holy jesus. it is not earthly force that will prevail here. we may save him but by the name that is above every name. go!" again over raymond's senses there stole that sense of mystic unreality, or to speak more truly, the sense of the reality of the unseen over the seen things about and around us that men call mysticism, but which may be something widely different; and with it came that quickening of the faculties that he had experienced before as he had knelt in the sorcerer's unhallowed hall, the same sense of fearlessness and power. he took the crucifix without a word, and went straight to the frenzied boy, struggling wildly against the detaining clasp of his father's arms. "let him go," he said briefly; and there was that in the tone that caused the astonished old man to loose his hold, and stand gazing in awe and amaze at the youthful face, kindling with its strange look of resolve and authoritative power. it seemed as though the possessed boy felt the power himself; for though his open eyes took in no answering impression from the scenes around him, his arms fell suddenly to his side. the struggles ceased, he made no attempt to move; whilst raymond laid the crucifix against his brow, and said in a low voice: "in the name of the holy son of god, in the name of the blessed jesus, i forbid you to go. awake from that unhallowed sleep! call upon the name of all names. he will hear you -- he will save you." his eyes were fixed upon the trembling boy; his face was shining with the light of his own implicit faith; his strong will braced itself to the fulfilment of the task set him to do. confident that what the father bid him accomplish, that he could and must fulfil, raymond did indeed resemble some pictured saint on painted window, engaged in conflict with the evil one; and when with a sudden start and cry the boy woke suddenly to the sense of passing things, perhaps it was small wonder that he sank at raymond's feet, clasping him round the knees and sobbing wildly his broken and incoherent words: "o blessed saint george -- blessed and glorious victor! thou hast come to me a second time to strengthen and to save. ah, leave me not! to thee i give myself; help, o help me to escape out of this snare, which is more cruel than that of death itself! i will serve thee ever, blessed saint. i will be thine in life and death! only fight my battle with the devil and his host, and take me for thine own for ever and ever." raymond kindly lifted him up, and laid him upon the bed again. "i am no saint," he said, a little shamefacedly; "i am but a youth like thyself. thou must not pray to me. but i will help thee all i may, and perchance some day, when this yoke be broken from off thy neck, we will ride forth into the world together, and do some service there for those who are yet oppressed and in darkness." "i will follow thee to the world's end, be thou who thou mayest!" exclaimed the boy ecstatically, clasping his thin hands together, whilst a look of infinite peace came into his weary eyes. "if thou wouldest watch beside my bed, then might i sleep in peace. he will not dare to come nigh me; his messengers must stand afar off, fearing to approach when they see by whom i am guarded." it was plainly useless to try to disabuse roger of the impression that his visitor was other than a supernatural one, and raymond saw that with the boy's mind so enfeebled and unhinged he had better let him think what he would. he simply held the crucifix over him once again, and said, with a calm authority that surprised even himself: "trust not in me, nor in any saint however holy. in the name of the blessed jesus alone put thy faith. speak the prayer his lips have taught, and then sleep, and fear nothing." with hands locked together, and a wonderful look of rest upon his face, roger repeated after raymond the long-unused paternoster which he had never dared to speak beneath the unhallowed roof of his master at basildene. with the old sense of restful confidence in prayer came at once the old untroubled sleep of the little child; and when raymond at last looked up from his own devotions at the bedside, it was to see that roger had fallen into the tranquil slumber that is the truest restorer of health, and that father paul was standing on the opposite side of the bed, regarding him with a very gentle yet a very penetrating and authoritative gaze. he bent his head once more as if to demand a blessing, and the father laid a hand upon his head, and said, in grave, full tones: "peace be with thee, my son." that was all. there was no comment upon what had passed; and after partaking of a simple meal, raymond was advised to retire to rest himself after his long night's ride, and glad enough was he of the sleep that speedily came to him. all the next day he was occupied with gaston, who had many charges to undertake for john; and only when his brother had gone was he free to take up his place at john's bedside, and be once again his nurse, companion, and fellow student. roger still occupied the bed in the same room where he had first been laid. a low fever of a nature little understood had fastened upon him, and he still fell frequently into those strange unnatural trances which were looked upon by the brothers of the order as due to purely satanic agency. what father paul thought about them none ever knew, and none dared to ask. father paul was a man who had lived in the world till past the meridian of life. he was reported to have travelled much, to have seen many lands and many things, and to have been in his youth a reckless and evil liver. some even believed him to have committed some great crime; but none rightly knew his history, and his present sanctity and power and holiness were never doubted. a single look into that stern, worn, powerful face, with the coal-black eyes gleaming in their deep sockets, was enough to convince the onlooker that the man was intensely, even terribly in earnest. his was the leading spirit in that small and austere community, and he began at once to exercise a strong influence upon each of the three youths so unexpectedly thrown across his path. this influence was the greatest at first over raymond, in whom he appeared to take an almost paternal interest; and the strange warfare that they waged together over the mental malady of the unhappy roger drew them still closer together. certainly for many long weeks it seemed as though the boy were labouring under some demoniacal possession, and raymond fully believed that such was indeed the case. often it seemed as though no power could restrain him from at least the attempt to return to the tyrant whom he believed to be summoning him back. possibly much of the strange malady from which he was suffering might be due to physical causes -- overstrained nerves, and even an unconscious and morbid craving after that very hypnotic condition (as it would now be termed) which had really reduced him to his present pitiable state; but to raymond it appeared to proceed entirely from some spiritual possession, and in helping the unhappy boy to resist and conquer the voice of the tempter, his own faith and strength of spirit were marvellously strengthened; whilst roger continued to regard him in the light of a guardian angel, and followed him about like a veritable shadow. father paul watched the two youths with a keen and observant interest. it was by his command that raymond was always summoned or roused from sleep whenever the access of nervous terror fell upon roger and he strove to obey the summoning voice. he would watch with quiet intensity the struggle between the wills of the two lads, and mark, with a faint smile upon his thin lips, the triumph invariably attained by raymond, and his growing and increasing faith in the power of the name he invoked in his aid. seldom indeed had he himself to come to the aid of the boy. he never did so unless roger's paroxysm lasted long enough to try raymond's strength to the verge of exhaustion, and this was very seldom. the calm smile in the father's eyes, and his quiet words of commendation, "well done, my son!" were reward sufficient for raymond even when his strength had been most severely tasked; and as little by little he and his charge came to know the monk better, and to receive from him from time to time words of teaching, admonition, or encouragement, they found themselves growing more and more dominated by his strong will and personality, more eager day by day to please him, more anxious to win the rare smile that occasionally flashed across the austere face and illuminated it like a gleam of sunshine. john felt almost the same sense of fascination as raymond, and was by no means impatient of the tardy convalescence that kept him so long a prisoner beneath the walls of the small religious house. he would indeed have fain tarried longer yet, but that his father sent a retinue of servants at length to bring him home again. but raymond did not go with him. his work for roger was not yet done, and warmly attached as he was to john, his heart was still more centred upon father paul. besides, no mention was made of him in the letter that accompanied the summons home. his brother was he knew not where, and his duty lay with roger, who looked to him as to a saviour and protector. there was no thought of roger's leaving the retreat he had found in his hour of need. he scarce dared put foot outside the quiet cloistered quadrangle behind whose gates and walls he alone felt safe. besides, his father lay slowly dying in the hospital hard by. it seemed as though the very joy of having his son restored to him had been too much for his enfeebled frame after the long strain of grief that had gone before. the process of decay might be slow, but it was sure, and all knew that the old man would ere long die. he had no desire for life, if only his boy were safe; and to raymond he presented a pathetic petition that he would guard and cherish him, and save him from that terrible possession which had well-nigh been his ruin body and soul. to raymond it seemed indeed as if this soul had been given him, and he passed his word with a solemnity that brought great comfort to the dying man. an incident which had occurred shortly before had added to raymond's sense of responsibility with regard to roger, and had shown him likewise that a new peril menaced his own path in life, though of personal danger the courageous boy thought little. one day, some six weeks after his admission to the monastery, and shortly before john's departure thence, roger had been strangely uneasy and depressed for many hours. it was no return of the trance-like state in which he was not master of his own words and actions. those attacks had almost ceased, and he had been rapidly gaining in strength in consequence. this depression and restless uneasiness was something new and strange. raymond did not know what it might forebode, but he tried to dissipate it by cheerful talk, and roger did his best to fight against it, though without much success. "some evil presence is near!" he exclaimed suddenly; "i know it -- i feel it! i ever felt this sick shuddering when those wicked men approached me. methinks that one of them must even now be nigh at hand. can they take me hence? do i indeed belong to them? o save me -- help me! give me not up to their power!" his agitation became so violent, that it was a relief to raymond that father paul at this moment appeared; and as this phase in roger's state was something new, and did not partake of the nature of any spiritual possession, he dismissed raymond with a smile, bidding him go out for one of the brief wanderings in the woods that were at once pleasant and necessary for him, whilst he himself remained beside roger, soothing his nameless terrors and assuring him that no power in the land, not even that of the king himself, would be strong enough to force from the keeping of the church any person who had sought sanctuary beneath her shadow. meantime raymond went forth, as he was wont to do, into the beech wood that lay behind the home of the monks. it was a very beautiful place at all times; never more so than when the first tender green of coming summer was clothing the giant trees, and the primroses and wood sorrel were carpeting the ground, which was yet brown with the fallen leaves of the past autumn. the slanting sunbeams were quivering through the gnarled tree trunks, and the birds were singing rapturously overhead, as raymond bent his steps along the trodden path which led to the nearest village; but he suddenly stopped short with a start of surprise on encountering the intent gaze of a pair of fierce black eyes, and finding himself face to face with a stranger he had never seen in his life before. never seen? no; and yet he knew the man perfectly, and felt that he changed colour as he stood gazing upon the handsome malevolent face that was singularly repulsive despite its regular features and bold beauty. in a moment he recollected where he had seen those very lineaments portrayed with vivid accuracy, even to the sinister smile and the gleam in the coal-black eyes. roger possessed a gift of face drawing that would in these days make the fortune of any portrait painter. he had many times drawn with a piece of rough charcoal pictures of the monks as he saw them in the refectory, the refined and hollow face of john, and the keen and powerful countenance of father paul. so had he also portrayed for raymond the features of the two sanghursts, father and son. the youth knew perfectly the faces of both; and as he stopped short, gazing at this stranger with wide-open eyes, he knew in a moment that roger's malevolent foe was nigh at hand, and that the sensitive and morbidly acute faculties of the boy had warned him of the fact, when he could by no possibility have known it by any other means. sanghurst stood looking intently at this bright-faced boy, a smile on his lips, a frown in his eyes. "methinks thou comest from the monastery hard by?" he questioned smoothly. "canst tell me if there be shelter there for a weary traveller this night?" "for a poor and weary traveller perchance there might be," answered the boy, with a gleam in his eye not lost upon his interlocutor; "but it is no house of entertainment for the rich and prosperous. those are sent onwards to the benedictine brothers, some two miles south from this. father paul opens not his gates save to the sick, the sorrowful, the needy. shall i put you in the way of the other house, sir? methinks it would suit you better than any place which calls father paul its head." the gaze bent upon the boy was searching and distinctly hostile. as the dialogue proceeded, the look of malevolence gradually deepened upon the face of the stranger, till it might have made a timid heart quail. "how then came john de brocas to tarry there so long? for aught i know he may be there yet. by what right is he a guest beneath this so hospitable roof?" "he was sick nigh to the death when he craved admittance," answered raymond briefly. "he --" "he had aided and abetted the flight from his true masters of a servant boy bound over to them lawfully and fast. if he thinks to deceive peter sanghurst or if you do either, boy that you are, though with the hardihood of a man and the recklessness of a fool -- you little know with whom you have to deal. it was you -- you who broke into our house -- i know not how, but some day i shall know -- and stole away with one you fondly hope to hold against my power. boy, i warn you fairly: none ever makes of peter sanghurst an enemy but he bitterly, bitterly rues the day. i give you one chance of averting the doom which else will fall upon you. give back the boy. lure him out hither some day when i am waiting to seize him. place him once again in my hands, and your rash act shall be forgiven. you have the power to do this. be advised, and accept my terms. the sanghursts never forgive. refuse, and the day will come when you will so long to have done my bidding now, that you would even sell your soul to undo the deed which has brought my enmity upon you. now choose. will you deliver up the boy, or --" "never!" answered raymond, with flashing eyes, not even waiting to hear the alternative. "i fear you not. i know you, and i defy you. i will this moment to father paul, to warn him of your approach. the gates will be closed, and you will be denied all entrance. you may strive as you will, but your victim has taken sanctuary, and not all the powers of the world or the devil you serve can prevail against the walls of that haven of refuge. go back whence you came, or stay and do your worst. we fear you not. the holy saints and the blessed jesus are our protectors and defenders. you have tried in vain your foul spells. you have seen what their power is against that which is from above. go, and repent your evil ways ere it be too late. you threaten me with your vengeance; have you ever thought of that vengeance of god which awaits those who defy his laws and invoke the powers of darkness? my trust is in him; wherefore i fear you not. do then your worst. magnify yourself as you will. your fate will be like that of the blaspheming giant of gath who defied the power of the living god and fell before the sling and the stone of the shepherd boy." and without waiting to hear the answer which was hurled at him with all the fury of an execration, raymond turned and sped back to the monastery, not in any physical fear of the present vengeance of his foe, but anxious to warn the keeper of the gate of the close proximity of one who was so deadly a foe to father paul's protege. not a word of this adventure ever reached roger's ears, and indeed raymond thought little of it after the next few weeks had passed without farther molestation from the foe. the old woodman died. roger, though sincerely mourning his father, was too happy in returning health and strength to be over-much cast down. his mind and body were alike growing stronger. he was never permitted to speak of the past, nor of the abominations of his prison house. father paul had from the first bidden the boy to forget, or at least to strive to forget, all that had passed there, and never let his thoughts or his words dwell upon it. raymond, despite an occasional access of boyish curiosity, ever kept this warning in mind, and never sought to discover what roger had done or had suffered beneath the roof of basildene. and so soon as the boy had recovered some measure of health, both he and raymond were regularly instructed by father paul in such branches of learning as were likely to be of most service to them in days to come. whether or not he hoped that they would embrace the religious life they never knew. he never dropped a hint as to his desires on that point, and they never asked him. they were happy in their quiet home. all the brothers were kind to them, and the father was an object of loving veneration which bordered on adoration. two years slipped thus away so fast that it seemed scarce possible to believe how time had fled by. save that they had grown much both in body and mind, the boys would have thought it had been months, not years, they had spent in that peaceful retreat. the break to that quiet life came with a mission which was entrusted by his holiness himself to father paul, and which involved a journey to rome. with the thought of travel there came to raymond's mind a longing after his own home and the familiar faces of his childhood. the father was going to take the route across the sea to bordeaux, for he had a mission to fulfil there first. why might not he go with him and see his foster-mother and father anselm again? he spoke his wish timidly, but it was kindly and favourably heard; and before the spring green had begun to clothe the trees, father paul, together with raymond and his shadow roger, had set foot once more upon the soil of france. chapter xii. on the war path "raymond! is it -- can it be thou?" "gaston! i should scarce have known thee!" the twin brothers stood facing one another within the walls of caen, grasping each other warmly by the hand, their eyes shining with delight as they looked each other well over from head to foot, a vivid happiness beaming over each handsome face. it was more than two years since they had parted -- parted in the quiet cloister of the cistercian brotherhood; now they met again amid scenes of plunder and rapine: for the english king had just discovered, within the archives of the city his sword had taken, a treaty drawn up many years before, agreeing that its inhabitants should join with the king of france for the invasion of england; and in his rage at the discovery, he had given over the town to plunder, and would even have had the inhabitants massacred in cold blood, had not geoffrey of harcourt restrained his fury by wise and merciful counsel. but the order for universal pillage was not recalled, and the soldiers were freebooting to their hearts' content all over the ill-fated city. raymond had seen sights and had heard sounds as he had pressed through those streets that day in search of his brother that had wrung his soul with indignation and wonder. where was the vaunted chivalry of its greatest champion, if such scenes could be enacted almost under his very eyes? were they not true, those lessons father paul had slowly and quietly instilled into his mind, that not chivalry, but a true and living christianity, could alone withhold the natural man from deeds of cruelty and rapacity when the hot blood was stirred by the fierce exultation of battle and victory, and the lust of conquest had gained the mastery over his spirit? the hot july sun was beating down upon the great square where were situated those buildings of which the king and the prince and their immediate followers had taken temporary possession. the brothers stood together beneath the shadow of a lofty wall. cries and shouts from the surrounding streets told tales of the work being done there; but that work had carried off almost all the soldiers, and the twins were virtually alone in the place, save for the tall and slight youth who stood a few paces off, and was plainly acting in the capacity of raymond's servant. "i thought i should find thee here, gaston," said his brother, with fond affection in his tones. "i knew that thou wouldst be with the king at such a time; and when i entered within the walls of this city, i said in my heart that my gaston would have no hand in such scenes as those i was forced to witness as i passed along." gaston's brow darkened slightly, but he strove to laugh it off. "nay, thou must not fall foul of our great and mighty king for what thou hast seen today. in truth i like it not myself; but what would you? the men were furious when they heard of yon treaty; and the king's fierce anger was greatly kindled. the order went forth, and when pillage once begins no man may tell where it will end. war is a glorious pastime, but there must ever be drawbacks. sure thine own philosophy has taught thee that much since thou hast turned to a man of letters. but tell me of thyself, raymond. i am hungry for news. for myself, thou mayest guess what has been my life, an thou knowest how these past two years have been spent -- wars and rumours of wars, fruitless negotiations, and journeys and marches for little gain. i am glad enough that we have shaken hands with peace and bid her adieu for a while. she can be a false and treacherous friend, and well pleased am i that the bloody banner of true warfare is unfurled at last. england is athirst for some great victory, for some gallant feat of arms which shall reward her for the burdens she has to pay to support our good soldiers. for his people's sake, as well as for his own honour, the king must strike some great blow ere he returns home and we who follow the prince have sworn to follow him to the death and win our spurs at his side. "brother, say that thou wilt join our ranks. thou hast not forgotten our old dreams? thou hast not turned monk or friar?" "nay, or i should not now be here," answered raymond. "no, gaston, i have forgotten naught of the old dream; and i too have seen fighting in the south, where the king of france has mustered his greatest strength. for we believed the roy outremer would land at bordeaux and march to the help of my lord derby, who is waging war against the count of lille jourdaine and the duke of bourbon in and around gascony. and, gaston, the sieur de navailles has joined the french side, and is fighting in the van of the foe. he has long played a double game, watching and waiting till victory seems secure for either one king or the other. now, having seen the huge force mustered by the king of france in the south, he seems to have resolved that the victory must remain with him, and has cast in his lot against the english cause. so, brother, if the great edward wins his battles, and drives from his own fair territories the invading hosts of france, it may be that the sieur do navailles may be deprived of his ill-gotten lands and castles; and then, if thou hast won thy spurs --" raymond paused, and gaston's eyes flashed at the thought. but he had learned, even in these two years, something of the lesson of patience, and was now less confident of winning fame and fortune at one stroke than he had been when he had made his first step along the path that he believed would lead him by leaps and bounds to the desired haven. "then thou hast been there? hast thou seen the old places -- the old faces? truly i have longed to visit sauveterre once more; but all our plans are changed, and now men speak of naught but pressing on for calais. where hast thou come from?" "from the old home, gaston, where for three months i and roger have been. what! dost thou not know roger again? in truth, he looks vastly different from what he did when thou sawest him last. we are brothers in arms now, albeit he likes to call himself my servant. we have never been parted since the day we snatched him from that evil place within the walls of basildene. we have been in safe shelter at the mill. honest jean and margot had the warmest welcome for us, and father anselm gave us holy words of welcome. everything there is as when we left. scarce could i believe that nigh upon three years will soon have fled since we quitted its safe shelter. but i could not stay without thee, brother. i have greatly longed to look upon thy face again. i knew that thou wert with the king, and i looked that this meeting should have been at bordeaux. but when news was brought that the english ships had changed their course and were to land their soldiers in the north, i could tarry no longer, and we have ridden hard through the land northward to find thee here. tell me, why this sudden change of plan? surely the king will not let his fair province of gascony be wrested from his hand without striking a blow in its defence in person?" gaston laughed a proud, confident laugh. "thou needst scarce ask such a question, raymond; little canst thou know the temper of our king an thou thinkest for a moment such a thing as that. but methinks we may strike a harder blow here in the north against the treacherous french monarch than ever we could in the south, where his preparations are made to receive us. here no man is ready. we march unopposed on a victorious career. the army is far away in the south; the king has but a small force with him in paris. brave geoffrey of harcourt, by whose advice we have turned our course and landed here at la hague, has counselled us to march upon calais and gain possession of that pirate city. with the very key of france in our hands, what may not england accomplish? wherefore our march is to be upon calais, and methinks there will be glory and honour to be won ore this campaign closes!" and, indeed, for a brief space it did seem as though king edward's progress was to be one of unchecked victory; for he had already routed the french king's constable, sent to try to save caen; had taken and pillaged that city, and had marched unopposed through carbon, lisieux, and louviers to rouen, leaving terrible devastation behind, as the soldiers seized upon everything in the way of food from the hapless inhabitants, though not repeating the scenes which had disgraced the english colours at caen. but at rouen came the first of those checks which in time became so vexatious and even perilous to the english army. the french, in great alarm, had realized that something must be done to check edward's victorious career; and as it was plain that if he turned his steps northward there would be no chance of opposing him, their aim and object was to pen him as far in the south as possible, so that the army in gascony, perhaps, or failing that the new one mustering rapidly round the king in paris, might close in upon the alien army and cut them to pieces by sheer force of numbers, before they could reach the coast and their ships. so philip, recovering from his first panic, sent orders that all the bridges between rouen and paris should be broken down; and when edward reached the former city, intending to cross there to the north side of the seine, he found only the broken piers and arches of the bridge left standing, and the wide, turbid waters of the great river barring his further progress. irritated and annoyed, but not really alarmed as yet, the english king turned his steps eastward toward paris, still resolved to cross by the first bridge found standing. but each in turn had been broken down; and the only retaliation he could inflict upon the people who were thwarting and striving to entangle him in a net, was to burn the towns through which he passed; pont de l'arche, vernon, and verneuil, until he arrived at last at poissy, only a few miles from paris, to find the bridge there likewise broken down, whilst messengers kept arriving from all sides warning him that a far mightier host was gathering around philip than he had with him, and advising instant retreat along the course by which he had come. but edward well knew that retreat was impossible. he had so exhausted the country and exasperated its inhabitants by his recent march and its attendant ravages, that it would be impossible to find food for his soldiers there again, even if the people did not rise up in arms against them. rather would he face the french foe, however superior to his own force, in open fight, than turn his back upon them in so cowardly a fashion. meantime, as philip did not move, he set to work with his soldiers to repair the bridge, sending out detachments of his army to harass and alarm the inhabitants of paris, ravaging the country up and down, and burning st. germain, st. cloud, and montjoie. these expeditions, so perilous and so singularly successful, were just of the kind to delight the eager spirits of the camp, and keep enthusiasm up to a high pitch. why philip suffered these ravages, when his army already far outnumbered that of the english, and why the french permitted their foes to repair and cross the bridge at poissy without stirring a finger to hinder them, are questions more easily asked than answered. possibly the knowledge that the somme still lay between their enemies and the sea, and that the same difficulties with regard to the bridges was to be found there, kept the french army secure still of final victory. possibly they thought that, hemmed in between the two great rivers, the army of edward would be so well caught in a trap that they need not bestir themselves to consummate the final scene of the drama. at any rate, philip remained inactive, save that his army was rapidly augmenting from all sides; whilst the english finished their bridge and marched northward, only opposed by a large body of troops sent out from amiens to meet them, over which they obtained an easy victory. nevertheless the position of the english was becoming exceedingly critical, and their march certainly partook something of the nature of a retreat, little as they themselves appeared to be aware of the fact. philip with his host was advancing from behind, the great river somme lay before them, all its bridges either broken down or so well fortified as to be practically impassable; and though their allies in flanders had raised the siege of bovines in order to march to the assistance of the english king, there appeared small chance of their effecting a junction in time to be of any use. at airaines a pause was made in order to try to discover some bridge or ford by which the river might be passed. but philip's work had been so well done that not a whole bridge could anywhere be found; and the french army was pressing so hard upon the english that in the end they had to break up their camp in the greatest haste, leaving their cooked provisions and tables ready spread for their foes to benefit by. they themselves hastened on to abbeville, keeping slightly to the west of the town so as to avoid provoking attack, and be nearer to the coast, though as no english ships could be looked for in the river's mouth, the seacoast was of small service to them. such is the brief outline of the facts of edward's well-known march in this campaign, destined to become so famous. the individual action of our gascon twins must now be told in greater detail. their reunion after so long a separation had been a source of keen delight to both the brothers. each had developed in a different direction, and instead of being shadows the one of the other as in old days, they were now drawn together by the force of contrast. gaston was above all else a soldier, with a soldier's high spirit, love of adventure, and almost reckless courage. he fairly worshipped the king and the prince, and was high in favour with the youthful edward, whose first campaign this was. raymond, whilst imbued with the same high courage, though of a loftier kind, in that it was as much spiritual as physical, and with much of the chivalrous love of adventure so common to the gallant youths of that age, was far more thoughtful, well instructed, and far-seeing than his brother. he looked to the larger issues of life. he was not carried away by wild enthusiasm. he could love, and yet see faults. he could throw in his lot with a cause, and ardently strive for the victory, and yet know all the while that there were flaws in that same cause, and admit with sorrow, yet firm truthfulness, that in this world no cause is ever altogether pure, altogether just. he was not of the stuff of which hot partisans are made. he had a spirit in advance of his times, and the chances were that he would never rise to the same measure of success as his brother. for those who try to keep a stainless name in times of strife, bloodshed, and hostile jealousy, seldom escape without making bitter enemies, and suffer the penalty that will ever attend upon those who strive after a higher ideal than is accepted by the world at large. but if growing apart in character, the bond of warm love was but drawn closer by the sense that each possessed gifts denied to the other. raymond found in gaston the most charming and enlivening comrade and friend. gaston began unconsciously to look up to his brother, and to feel that in him was a power possessed by few of those by whom he was surrounded, and to which he could turn for counsel and help if ever the time should come when he felt the need of either. in raymond's presence others as well as gaston began to curb some of that bold freedom of speech which has always characterized the stormy career of the soldier. those who so curbed themselves scarce knew why they did so. it was seldom that raymond spoke any word of rebuke or admonition, and if he did it was only to some youth younger than himself. but there was something in the direct grave look of his eyes, and in the pure steadfastness of his expression, which gave to his aspect a touch of saintliness quickly felt by those about him. for in those days men, in spite of many and great faults, were not ashamed of their religion. much superstition might be mingled with their beliefs, corruption and impurity were creeping within the fold of the church, darkness and ignorance prevailed to an extent which it is hard in these times to realize; yet with all this against them, men were deeply and truly loyal to their faith. it had not entered into their minds that a deep and firm faith in god was a thing of which to be ashamed; that to trust in special providence was childish folly; to receive absolution upon the eve of some great and perilous undertaking a mere empty form, or a device of cunning priestcraft. it has been the work of a more "enlightened" age to discover all this. in olden times -- those despised days of worn-out superstition -- men yet believed fully and faithfully in their god, and in his beneficent care of his children. raymond, then, with his saint-like face and his reputation of piety, together with the story of his residence beneath the care of father paul, quickly obtained a certain reputation of his own that made him something of a power; and gaston felt proud to go about with his brother at his side, and hear the comments passed upon that brother by the comrades he had made in the past years. during the exciting march through the hostile country gaston and raymond had known much more of the feeling of the people than their comrades. the french tongue was familiar to them, and though they did not speak it as readily as english or their gascon dialect, they had always known it from childhood, and never had any difficulty in making themselves understood. despite their english sympathies and their loyalty to england's king, they felt much natural compassion for the harried and distracted victims of edward's hostile march; and many little acts of protective kindness had been shown by both the brothers (generally at raymond's instigation) towards some feeble or miserable person who might otherwise have been left in absolute destitution. these small acts of kindness won them goodwill wherever they went, and also assisted them to understand the words and ways of the people as they would scarcely have done without. then, as in all countries and all times the old proverb holds good that one good turn deserves another, they picked up here and there several valuable hints, and none more valuable than the knowledge that somewhere below abbeville, between that town and the sea, was a tidal ford that could be crossed twice in the twelve hours by those who knew where to seek it. thus whilst the king's marshals were riding up and down the river banks, vainly seeking some bridge over which the hard-pressed army could pass, the twin brothers carefully pursued their way down the stream, looking everywhere for the white stone bottom which they had been told marked the spot where the water was fordable. but the tide was rolling in deep and strong, and they could see nothing. still cautiously pursuing their way -- cautiously because upon the opposite bank of the river they saw a large gathering of archers and footmen all belonging to the enemy -- they lighted presently upon a peasant varlet cutting willow wands not far from the river's brink. the boys entered into talk with him, and raymond's kindly questioning soon elicited the information that the man's name was gobin agace, that he was a poor man with little hope of being anything else all his days, and that he knew the river as well as any man in the realm. "then," said raymond, "thou needest be poor no longer; for if thou wilt come with us to the camp of the english king a short league away, and lead him and his army to the ford of the blanche tache which lies not far from here, he will make thee rich for life, and thou wilt be prosperous all thy days." "if the king of france do not follow and cut off my head," said the man doubtfully, though his eyes glistened at the prospect of such easily-won wealth. "by holy st. anthony, thou needst not fear that!" cried gaston. "our great king can protect thee and keep thee from all harm. see here, good knave: it will be far better for thee to win this great reward than for us, who have no such dire need of the king's gold. if thou wilt not aid us, we must e'en find the place ourselves; but as time presses we will gladly lead thee to the king, and let him reward thee for thy good service. so answer speedily yea or nay, for we may not linger longer whilst thou debatest the matter in that slow mind of thine." "then i will e'en go with you, fair sirs," answered the fellow, who was in no mind to let the reward slip through his fingers; and within an hour gaston and raymond led before the king the peasant varlet who held the key of the position in his hands. every hour was bringing fresh messages of warning. the french king was in pursuit of his flying foe (as he chose to consider him), and though he felt so certain of having him in a trap that he did not hasten as he might have done, there was no knowing when the van of the french army would be upon them; and the moment that the king heard of this ford, and was assured by the peasant that at certain states of the tide twelve men abreast could ford it, the water reaching only to the knee, he broke up his camp at an hour's notice, and with gobin agace at his side proceeded in person to the water's edge, the flower of his army crowding to the spot beside him, whilst the mass of his troops formed in rank behind, ready to press forward the moment the water should be fordable. night had fallen before the trumpets had sounded, warning the soldiers of the breaking up of the camp. all night long they had been working, and then marching to the fordable spot: but now the tide was rolling in again; and worse than that, the english saw upon the opposite shore a compact band of twelve hundred men -- genoese archers and picked cavalry -- posted there by the now vigilant philip, ready to oppose their passage if they should chance upon the ford. "knights and gentlemen," said the king, as he sat his fine charger and looked round upon the gallant muster around him, "shall we be daunted by the opposing foe? they are but a handful, and we know the coward temper of yon italian crossbowmen. who will be the first to lead the charge, and ride on to victory?" a hundred eager voices shouted a reply. the enthusiasm spread from rank to rank. foremost of those beside the water's edge stood oliver and bernard de brocas; and when at last the ebb came, and the word was given to advance, they were amongst the first who dashed into the shallow water, whilst gaston and his brother, though unable to press into the foremost rank, were not far behind. thick and fast fell round them the bolts of the crossbows; but far thicker and more deadly were the long shafts of the english archers, which discomfited the foreign banners and sent them flying hither and thither. in vain did their brave leader, godemar de fay, strive to rally them and dispute the passage of the main body of the army, even when the horsemen had passed across. edward's splendid cavalry rode hither and thither, charging again and again into the wavering band. quickly the genoese hirelings flung away their bows and ran for their lives; whilst the english army, with shouts of triumph, steadily advanced across the ford in the first quivering light of the dawning day, and looked back to see the banners of philip of france advancing upon them, whilst a few stragglers and some horses were actually seized by the soldiers of that monarch. "now god and st. george be praised!" cried edward, as he watched the approach of the foe, who had so nearly trapped him upon ground which would have given every advantage to the french and none to his own army. "methinks had our good brother but pressed on a day's march faster, it would have gone hard with us to save the honour of england. now i stand on mine own ground. now will i fight at my ease. there is bread for my soldiers. they shall rest ere they be called upon to fight. let philip do his worst! we will be ready with an english welcome when he comes. let his host outnumber ours by three to one, as men say it does, shall we be afraid to meet him in fair field, and show him what english chivalry may accomplish?" a tumultuous cheer was answer enough. the whole of the english army now stood upon the north bank of the somme, watching, with shouts of triumph and gestures of defiance, the futile efforts of the french to plunge over the ford. the tide was again flowing. the water was deep and rapid. in a moment they knew themselves to be too late, and a few well-aimed shafts from english longbows showed them how futile was now any effort in pursuit of the foe who had eluded them. sullenly and with many menacing gestures, that were replied to by shouts of derisive laughter from the english soldiers, the french army turned hack towards abbeville, where they could cross the river at their leisure by the bridge which had been strongly fortified against edward. careless confidence had lost philip the advantage he might have gained through clever generalship; he was now to see what he could do by force of arms when he and edward should stand face to face in their opposing hosts in the open field of battle. chapter xiii. winning his spurs. "tomorrow, good comrades in arms, we will show yon laggard king of what stuff english chivalry is made!" cried the young prince of wales, as he rose to his feet and held a bumper of wine high above his head. "we have our spurs to win, and tomorrow shall be our chance. here is to the victory of the english arms! may the mighty st. george fight upon our side, and bring us with glory and honour through the day!" every guest at the prince's table had leaped to his feet. swords were unsheathed and waved in wild enthusiasm, and a shout went up that was like one of triumph, as with one voice the guests around the prince's table drained their cups to the victory of the english cause, shouting with one voice, as if formulating a battle cry: "st. george and the prince! st. george and the prince!" in the english camp that night there were elation and revelry; not the wild carousing that too often in those days preceded a battle and left the soldiers unfit for duty, but a cheerful partaking of good and sufficient food before the night's rest and ease which the king had resolved upon for his whole army, in preparation for the battle that could scarce be delayed longer than the morrow. it was early on thursday morning, the twenty-fourth day of august, that the ford of the blanche tache had been crossed. thursday and friday had been spent by the english in skirmishing about in search of provisions, of which great abundance had been found, and in deciding upon the disposition of their troops in a favourable position for meeting the advance of the french. the king had selected some wooded and rising ground in the vicinity of the then obscure little village of crecy. then having made all his arrangements with skill and foresight, and having ordered that his men should be provided with ample cheer, and should rest quietly during the night, he himself gave a grand banquet to the leaders of his army; and the young prince of wales followed his father's example by inviting to his own quarters some score of bold and congenial spirits amongst the youthful gentlemen who followed his father's banner, to pass the time with them in joyous feasting, and to lay plans for the glory of the coming day. it is difficult in these modern days to realize how young were some amongst those who took part in the great battles of the past. the black prince, as he was afterwards called from the sombre hue of the armour he wore, was not yet fifteen when the battle of crecy was fought; and when the king had summoned his bold subjects to follow him to the war, he had called upon all knights and gentlemen between the ages of sixteen and twenty to join themselves to him for this campaign in france. lads who would now be reckoned as mere schoolboys were then doughty warriors winning their spurs in battle; and some of the most brilliant charges of those chivalrous days were led and carried through mainly by striplings scarce twenty years old. inured from infancy to hardy sports, and trained to arms to the exclusion almost of all other training, these bold sons of england certainly proved equal to the demands made upon them. true, they were often skilfully generalled by older men, but the young ones held their own in prowess in the field; and child as the prince of wales would now be considered, the right flank of the army was to be led by him upon the morrow; and though the earls of warwick and hereford and other trusty veterans were with him, his was the command, and to him were they to look. no wonder then that the comrades who had marched with him through these last hazardous days, and who had been with and about him for many months -- some of them for years -- should rally round him now with the keenest enthusiasm. the de brocas brothers were there -- oliver and bernard (john had not left england to follow the fortunes of the war) -- as well as gaston and his brother, whose return had been warmly welcomed by the prince. he had heard about the rescue of the woodman's son, and had been greatly interested and taken by raymond and his story. student though he might be by nature, raymond was as eager as any for the fight that was to come. he had caught the spirit of the warlike king's camp, and his blood was on fire to strike a blow at the foe who had so long harassed and thwarted them. and it was not all rioting and feasting in the camp that night. the soldiers supped well and settled to rest; but the king, when his guests had departed, went to his oratory and spent the night upon his knees, his prayer being less for himself than for his gallant boy; less for victory than that england's honour might be upheld, and that whatever was the issue of the day, this might be preserved stainless in the sight of god and man. then very early in the morning, whilst almost all the camp slept, the king was joined by his son, the prince being followed by raymond, who had also kept vigil upon his knees that night, and they, with some half score of devout spirits, heard mass and received the sacrament; whilst a little later on the monks and priests were busy hearing the confessions of the greater part of the soldiers, who after receiving the priestly absolution went into battle with a loftier courage than before. when this had been done and still the french army appeared not, the king gave orders that the men should be served with something to eat and drink, after which they might sit down at their ease to wait till their adversaries appeared. meantime the french were having anything but a comfortable time of it. they had remained inactive in abbeville for the whole of friday as well as the preceding thursday, after they had retreated thither from the ford where the english had given them the slip; and on saturday they were marched off none too well fed, to meet their english foes. philip was so confident that his immense superiority in numbers was certain to give him the victory, that he thought little of the comfort of his men, the consequence being that they grew jaded and weary with the long hot march taken in an ill-fed state; and his own marshals at last very earnestly entreated their lord to call a halt for rest and refreshment before the troops engaged in battle, or else the men would fight at a terrible disadvantage. philip consented to this, and a halt was called, which was obeyed by the ranks in front; but those behind, eager to fall upon the english, and confident of easy victory, declined to wait, and went steadily forward, shouting "kill! kill!" as they went, till all the alleys became filled up and choked. the press from behind urged forward the men in front, and the army moved on perforce once again, though now no longer in order, but in a confused and unmanageable mass. just as they came in sight of the english line of battle a heavy tempest of thunder and rain came upon them. the clouds seemed to discharge themselves upon the french host, and those birds of evil omen, the ravens, flew screaming overhead, throwing many men into paroxysms of terror who would never have blenched before the drawn blade of an armed foe. worse than this, the rain wet and slackened the strings of the genoese crossbowmen, who marched in the foremost rank; and hungry and weary as they were, this last misfortune seemed to put the finishing touch to their discomfiture. hireling soldiers, whose hearts are not in the cause, have been the curse of many a battlefield; and though these genoese advanced with a great shouting against the foe, as though hoping to affright them by their noise, they did little enough except shout, till their cries were changed to those of agony and terror as their ineffectual shower of bolts was answered by a perfect hail of shafts from the english archers' dreaded longbows, whilst the sun shining full into their dazzled eyes rendered ineffectual any farther attempt on their part to shoot straight at the foe. the hired archers turned and fled, and throwing into confusion the horsemen behind who were eager to charge and break the ranks of the english archers, the luckless men were mown down ruthlessly by their infuriated allies, whose wrath was burning against them now that they had proved not only useless but a serious hindrance. this was by no means a promising beginning for the french; but still, with their overwhelming superiority of numbers, they had plenty of confidence left; and the english, though greatly encouraged by the breaking and havoc in the ranks of the foe, were by no means recklessly confident that the day was theirs. presumably the english king, who with the reserves was posted upon the highest ground at some distance behind the two wings, had the best view of the battle. the left wing, commanded by the earls of northampton and arundel, occupied the stronger position, being protected on their left by the little river maye. the young prince was in the position of the greatest danger; and as he and his companions stood in their ranks, watching the onset of the battle with parted lips, and breath that came and went with excitement, they began to see that upon them and their men the brunt of the day would fall. it had been the king's command that the battle should be fought on foot by the english, probably owing to the wooded and uncertain nature of the ground, else his far-famed cavalry would hardly have been dismounted. the prince then stood still in his place, gazing with kindling eyes at the confusion in the ranks of the foe, till the glint of a blood-red banner in their ranks caught his eye, and he cried aloud to his men, "the oriflamme! the oriflamme, good comrades! see ye that, and know ye what it means when the king of france unfurls it? it is a signal that no lives will be spared, no quarter granted to the foe. if we go not on to victory, we march every man to his death!" a shout that was like a cheer was the response of the gallant little band who stood shoulder to shoulder with the prince, and the word being passed from mouth to mouth was received everywhere with like courageous enthusiasm, so that the cheer went ringing down from line to line, and hearts beat high and hand grasped sword ever harder and faster as the tide of battle rolled onward, until the word was given and the trumpets sounded the advance. "keep by my side and the prince's, raymond," breathed gaston, as slowly and steadily they pressed down the hill towards the spot where the french horse under the count of alencon were charging splendidly into the ranks of the archers and splitting the harrow into which they had been formed by edward's order into two divisions. the count of flanders likewise, knowing that the king's son was in this half of the battle, called on his men to follow him, and with a fine company of germans and savoyards made for the spot where the young prince was gallantly fighting, and cheering on his men to stand firm for the honour of england. shoulder to shoulder, fearless and dauntless, stood the little band of gallant knights and gentlemen who formed the bodyguard of the prince. again and again had the horsemen charged them; but the soldiers threw themselves beneath the horses of the foe and stabbed them through the body, so that hundreds of gallant french knights were overthrown and slain ere they well knew what had befallen them. but in the press and the heat of battle it was hard to say how the tide would turn. the commanders of the left wing of the english, the earls of northampton and arundel, were forcing their way inch by inch to reach the prince's side and divert from his immediate neighbourhood the whole stress of the opposing force now concentred there. they could see that the prince was still unharmed, fighting with the gallantry of his soldier race. but the odds for the moment were heavily against him; and they despatched a messenger to the king, who remained with the reserves, begging him to go to the assistance of the prince. ere the messenger returned, they had fought their own way into the melee, and had joined issue with the gallant youth, who, fearless and full of spirit, was encouraging his men alike by the boldness of his demeanour and by his shouts of encouragement and praise, though his breath was coming thick and fast, and the drops of exhaustion stood upon his brow. "fear not, sweet prince," cried arundel, raising his voice so that all who were near could hear: "we have sent word to your royal sire of the stress of the battle round you, and he will soon be here himself with the help that shall enable us to rout this rebel host;" and he turned his eyes somewhat anxiously towards the height where the king and his company still remained motionless. but a messenger was spurring back through the open ground which lay between the reserves and the right wing where such hot work was going on. he made straight for the spot where the prince was fighting, and both the earls turned eagerly towards him. "what said the king?" they asked quickly. "when will he be with us?" "he asked," replied the messenger, "whether the prince were killed or wounded; and when i told him nay, but in a hard passage of arms wherein he needed his sire's help, the king folded his arms and turned away, saying, 'let the boy win his spurs; for i will that the glory of this day be his, and not mine.'" as those words were spoken it seemed as if new life were infused into the young prince himself and all those who surrounded him. a ringing cheer rose from all their throats. they formed once again under their young leader, and charged the enemy with a fury that nothing was able to resist. the horsemen were forced hack the way they had come. the counts who had led them boldly and well were unhorsed and slain. dismay and terror fell upon the breaking ranks of the french, and they turned and fled; whilst the excited and triumphant young prince pursued them with shouts of exultation and triumph, till he found himself with his few most faithful followers in the midst of the flying but hostile ranks some little distance away from the english army. "sweet prince, beware! have a care how you adventure your life thus in the enemy's ranks," whispered raymond in his ear, he alone keeping a cool head in the midst of so much that was exciting. "see, here come some score of horsemen who know thee and would fain cut off thy retreat. let us here make a stand and receive the charge, else shall we all be overthrown together." this cautious counsel came only just in time. young edward looked round to see that his reckless bravery had placed him for the moment in imminent peril; but he had all the courage of his race, and his heart quailed not for an instant. giving the word to his comrades to form a compact square, he placed himself where the onset was like to be the fiercest; nor was there time for his companions to interfere to place him in a position of greater safety. with a great shout of rage and triumph the band of horsemen, who had recognized the person of the prince, now rushed upon him, resolved either to carry him off a prisoner or leave him lying dead upon the field, so that the english might have little joy in their victory. so fierce was the attack that the prince was borne to the ground; and the battle of crecy might have been a dark instead of a bright page in england's history, but for the gallantry of a little band of welshmen headed by richard de beaumont, the bearer of the banner portraying the great red dragon of merlin, which had floated all day over the bold welsh contingent. flinging this banner over the prostrate form of the prince, the brave soldier called on his men to charge the horses and cut them down. this they did in the way before mentioned -- throwing themselves underneath and stabbing them through the heart. so their riders, finding even this last effort futile, joined in the headlong flight of their compatriots; and the prince's faithful attendants crowded round him to raise him up again, greatly rejoicing to find that though breathless and confused by the shock of his fall, he was none the worse for his overthrow, and was quickly able to thank the brave welshmen who had so opportunely come to the rescue of him and his comrades. "now, we will back to the ranks and find my father," said the prince, when he had spoken his courteous thanks and looked round about to see if his comrades had suffered more than himself. one or two had received slight wounds, and raymond was leaning upon gaston's shoulder looking white and shaken; but he quickly recovered, and declared himself only bruised and breathless, and still holding fast to gaston's arm, followed the prince up the hill amongst the heaps of dying and dead. gaston was flushed with his exertions, and in his heart was room for nothing but pride and joy in the glorious victory just achieved. but whilst raymond looked around him as he slowly moved, suffering more bodily pain than he wished his brother to know, his heart felt bruised and crushed like his body, and a sudden sense of the vanity of human life and ambition came suddenly upon him, so much so that he scarce knew whether he was in the flesh or in the spirit as he moved slowly and quietly onwards. everywhere he saw before him the bodies of men who but a few short hours ago had been full of strong vitality, instinct with the same passions of hatred and loyalty as had animated their own ranks that day. how strange it seemed to look into those dead faces now, and wonder what those freed spirits thought of those same passions that had been raging within them but a few short hours before! did it seem to them, as it almost seemed to him, that in all the world around there was nothing of moment enough to arouse such tumult of passion and strife; that only the things eternal the things that pass not away were worthy to be greatly sought after and longed for? but his reverie was quickly interrupted by an exclamation from gaston. "see, brother, the king! the king he is coming to meet his son, and his nobles with him!" it was a sight not soon to be forgotten, that meeting between the warlike edward and his bold young son, after the splendid triumph just achieved by the gallant boy. the king embraced the prince with tears of joyful pride in his eyes, whilst the nobles standing round the king shouted aloud at the sight, and the soldiers made the welkin ring with their lusty english cheers. young edward had received knighthood at his father's hand upon landing on the shores of france, though truly it was this day's fighting which had won him his spurs. but as the king was resolved to mark the occasion by some rewards to those who had stood by his gallant boy in the thick of the press, he quickly picked out from the cluster of noble youths who stood behind their young leader some six of gentle blood and known bravery, and thereupon dubbed them knights upon the bloody battlefield. amongst those thus singled out for such honourable notice were the two sons of the king's master of the horse, oliver and bernard de brocas, the latter of whom was destined to be the prince's chosen and trusted comrade through many another warlike campaign. gladly and proudly did the royal boy stand by and see the reward of valour thus bestowed upon his chosen comrades of the day; but he seemed scarce satisfied by all that was done. his eye wandered quickly over the little knot grouped upon the knoll around the king, and then his glance travelling yet farther to the remoter outskirts, he suddenly detached himself from the centre group, and ran quickly down the hillside till he reached the spot where the twin brothers were standing watching the scene with vivid interest, raymond still leaning rather heavily upon his brother's arm. "nay now, why tarry ye here?" eagerly questioned the prince. "sure ye were amongst the most steadfast and fearless in the fight today. "good raymond, but for thy quick eye and timely word of warning, we had been fallen upon and scattered unawares, and perhaps had been cut to pieces, ere we knew that we were vanquished rather than victors. my father is even now bestowing upon my gallant comrades the reward their good swords have won for them. come, and let me present you twain to him; for sure in all the gallant band that fought by my side none were more worthy of knighthood than you. come, and that quickly!" a quick flush crossed gaston's cheek as the guerdon so dear to the heart of the soldier was thus thrust upon him; but a whisper in his ear held him back. "gaston, we have no name; we cannot receive knighthood without revealing all. has the time yet come to speak? of that thou shalt be the judge. i will follow thy wishes in this as in all else." for a moment gaston stood debating with himself. then the counsel of prudence prevailed over that of youthful ambition. how were he and his brother worthily to support the offered rank? even did they make known their true parentage, that would not put money in their purses; and to be poor dependents upon the bounty of relatives who had rejected their mother and driven forth their father to seek his fortune as he could, was as repugnant to gaston's pride now as it had been two years before. "sweet prince," he answered, after this brief pause for thought, "we have but done our duty today, and knighthood is far too great a reward for our poor merits. sure it has been honour and glory enough to fight by your side, and win this gallant day. we are but poor youths, without home or friends. how could we receive a reward which we could not worthily wear? a penniless knight without servant or esquire would cut but a sorry figure. nay then, sweet prince, let it be enough for us this day to have won these gracious words at your lips. it may be when fair fortune has smiled upon us, and we are no longer poor and nameless, that we will come to you to crave the boon you have graciously offered this day. we will remain for the nonce in our present state, but will ever look forward to the day when some other glorious victory may be won, and when we may come to our prince for that reward which today we may not receive at his hands." "so be it," answered the prince, his face, which had clouded over with regret a few moments earlier, lighting up again at these latter words. "be assured i will not forget you, nor the services ye have done me this day. i too in days to come shall have knighthood to bestow upon those who have earned the right to wear it. fear not that edward ever will forget. whenever the day comes that shall bring you thus to me for the reward so nobly earned today, that reward shall be yours. the king's son has promised it." chapter xiv. winter days. "nephew john, i have brought thee a companion to share thy winter's solitude." john de brocas, who was in his old and favourite retreat -- his rector-uncle's great library -- rose to his feet with a start at hearing the familiar voice of master bernard (whom he believed to be far away in france), and found himself face to face not with his cheery uncle alone, but with a tall, white, hollow-eyed youth, upon whose weary face a smile of delighted recognition was shining, whilst a thin hand was eagerly advanced in welcome. "raymond!" exclaimed john, with a look that spoke volumes of welcome. "good mine uncle, welcome at all times, thou art doubly welcome in such company as this. but i had not looked to see you in merry england again for long. men say that calais is closely besieged by the king, and methought he had need of thee and my father likewise whilst the campaign across the water lasted." "true, lad, the king has need of those he graciously dubs his trusty counsellors; and i have but come hither for a short while. the king is full of anxiety about this outbreak of the hardy scots, which has been so gallantly frustrated at neville's cross by our gracious queen, worthy to be the mate of the world's greatest warrior. i am come hither charged with much business in this matter, and so soon as all is accomplished i am desired to bring the queen to join her royal spouse before the walls of calais. it is not long that i may linger here. i have but a few short hours to set mine own affairs in order. but thinking i should be like to find thee here, nephew john, as the autumn weather in low-lying windsor generally drives thee forth from thence, i hastened hither to bring to thee a companion for thy winter's loneliness. methinks thou hast known and loved him before. treat him as a cousin and a friend. he will tell thee all his story at his leisure." the slight stress laid upon the word "cousin" by the prelate caused john to glance quickly and curiously at raymond, who answered by a slight smile. just at that moment there was no time for explanations. master bernard engrossed the whole of john's time and attention, being eager to learn from that young man every detail of the campaign in the north which had reached his ears. and john, who took a wide and intelligent interest in all the passing affairs of the day, and from his position was able to learn much of what went on in the world, sat beside his uncle at the hastily-spread board, and told all the leading facts of the brief and triumphant campaign in terse and soldier-like fashion. meantime raymond sat at ease in the corner of a deep settle beside the fire, leaning back against the soft fur rug which draped it, unable to eat through very weariness, but eagerly interested in all the news his uncle was hearing from john. master bernard had to push on to london that night. he and his companion had landed at southampton the previous day, and had taken guildford upon their way to the capital. there raymond was to remain under the kindly care of john; and as soon as the rector had set off with fresh horses and his own retinue of servants, his nephew turned eagerly back to the hall, where his cousin was still resting, and taking him warmly by the hands, gazed into his face with a glance of the most friendly and affectionate solicitude. "good my cousin, i have scarce had time to bid thee welcome yet, but i do so now with all my heart. it is as a cousin i am to receive and treat thee? what meant my good uncle by that? hast thou told him what i myself know? methought he spoke like one with a purpose." "yes, it is true that he knows," answered raymond; "but he counsels us to keep our secret awhile longer. he thinks, as does gaston, that we were wiser first to win our way to greater fame and fortune than mere boys can hope to do, and then to stand revealed as those sprung from a noble line. how came he to know? that i will tell thee when i am something rested. but i am so weary with our journey that i scarce know how to frame my thoughts in fitting words. yet i am glad to see thy face again, good john. i have been wearying long for a sight of thee." "thou art indeed sadly changed thyself, my cousin," said john. "in truth, men who go to these wars go with their lives in their hands. was it on the glorious field of crecy that thou receivedst some hurt? sure thou hast been sore wounded. but thou shalt tell me all thy tale anon, when thou art something rested and refreshed." the tale was told that same evening, when, after raymond had slept for a few hours and had been able then to partake of some food, he felt, in part at least, recovered from the fatigues of the long ride from the coast, and could recline at ease beside the glowing fire, and talk to john of all that had befallen him since they had parted two and a half years before. the account of the victory at crecy was eagerly listened to, and also that of the subsequent march upon calais, when the king of france, choosing to consider the campaign at an end, had disbanded both his armies, leaving the victorious king of england to build unmolested a new town about calais, in which his soldiers could live through the winter in ease and plenty, and complete the blockade both by sea and land undisturbed by hostile demonstrations. "it seems to me," said raymond, "that did our great edward wish to make good his claim on the crown of france, he has only to march straight upon paris and demand coronation there. when after the victory at crecy and the subsequent triumphs i have told you of, over band after band of troops all going to the support of philip, we could have marched unopposed through the length and breadth of the land, none daring to oppose us, the soldiers all thought that paris, not calais, would be the next halting place. "what thinkest thou, good john? thou knowest much of the true mind of the king. why, after so glorious a victory, does he not make himself master of all france?" john smiled his thoughtful smile. "verily because our king is statesman as well as soldier; and though he boldly advances a claim on the crown of france, to give the better colour to his feats of arms against its king, he knows that he could not rule so vast an empire as that of france and england together would be, and that his trusty subjects at home would soon grow jealous and discontented were they to find themselves relegated to the second place, whilst their mighty edward took up his abode in his larger and more turbulent kingdom of france. england rejoices in snatching portions of territory from the french monarch, in holding off his grasping hand from those portions of france that lawfully belong to our great king. she will support him joyfully through a series of victories that bring spoil and glory to her soldiers; but jealousy would soon arise did she think that her king was like to regard france as his home rather than england, that england was to be drained of her gold and her best men to keep under control the unwieldy possession she had won but could never peacefully hold. methinks the king and his best counsellors know this well, and content themselves with their glorious feats of arms which stir the blood and gratify the pride of all loyal subjects. "but now, i pray thee, tell me of thyself; for thou hast sadly altered since we parted last. what has befallen thee in these wars? and where is thy brother gaston, whom thou wentest forth to seek? and where the faithful roger, whose name thou hast spoken many times before?" "i have left them together in the camp before calais," answered raymond. "roger would fain have come with me, but i thought it not well that he should place himself so near his ancient foes and masters, even though i trow the spell has been snapped once and for ever. he loves gaston only second to me, and was persuaded at length to stay with him. i, too, would have stayed likewise, but they said the winter's cold would kill me, and i could no longer bear arms or serve in the ranks. so i was fain to leave them and come to england with our uncle. and the thought of spending the winter months with thee and with the books made amends for all i left behind beneath the walls of calais." "what ails thee then, raymond? is it some unhealed wound?" the youth shook his head. "nay, i have no wound. it was some hurt i got in that last melee on the field of crecy, when the prince nearly lost his life just as the day was won. i was hurled to the ground and trampled upon. methought for many long minutes that i should never rise again. but for days afterwards i knew not that the hurt was aught to think about or care for. it pained me to move or breathe, but i thought the pain would pass, and heeded it but little. we rode gaily enough to the walls of calais, and we set about building a second city without its walls (when the governor refused to surrender it into our hands), which the king has been pleased to call newtown the bold. i strove to work with the rest, thinking that the pain i suffered would abate by active toil, and liking not to speak of it when many who had received grievous wounds were to be seen lending willing service in the task set us. but there came a day when i could no more. i could scarce creep to the tent which gaston, roger, and i shared together; and then i can remember naught but the agony of a terrible pain that never left me night or day, and i only longed that i might die and so find rest." "ah, poor lad, i too have known that wish," said john. "doubtless it was some grave inflammation of the hidden tissues of the body from the which you so grievously suffered. and how came it that our uncle found you out? he is a notable leech, as many men have found ere now. was it as such that he then came to thee?" "yes, truly; and our generous and kindly prince sent him. he heard through gaston of the strait i was in, and forthwith begged our uncle to come and visit me. john, dost thou know that gaston and i each wear about our neck the halves of a charm our mother hung there in our infancy? it is a ring of gold, each complete in itself, yet which may be so joined together as to form one circlet with the two halves of the medallion joined in one;" and raymond pulled forth from within his doublet a small circlet of gold curiously chased, with a half medallion bearing certain characters inscribed upon it. john examined it curiously, and said it was of eastern workmanship. "i know not how that may be. i know not its history," answered raymond; "but gaston tells me that when our uncle saw the ring about my neck he seemed greatly moved, and asked quickly how it came there. gaston told him it was hung there by our mother, and showed his own half, and how they fitted together. at that our uncle seemed yet more moved; and after he had done what he could to ease my pain, he left me with roger, and bid gaston follow him to his own tent. there he told him the history of that ring, and how for many generations it had been in the de brocas family, its last owner having been the arnald de brocas who had quarrelled with his kindred, and had died ere the dispute had been righted. seeing that it was useless to hide the matter longer, gaston told our uncle all; and he listened kindly and with sympathy to the tale. at the first he seemed as if he would have told your father all the story likewise, and have had us owned before the world. but either gaston's reluctance to proclaim ourselves before we had won our way to fortune, or else his own uncertainty as to how your father would take the news, held him silent; and he said we were perchance right and wise to keep our secret. he added that to reveal ourselves, though it might gain us friends, would also raise up many bitter and powerful enemies. the sieur de navailles in the south, who by joining the french king's standard had already made himself a mark for edward's just displeasure when the time should come for revenging himself upon those treacherous subjects in gascony, would be certain to hold in especial abhorrence any de brocas who would be like to cast longing eyes upon the domain he had so long ruled over; whilst in england the fierce and revengeful sanghursts would have small scruple in seeking the destruction of any persons who would rise to dispute their hold on basildene. the king's time and thought were too much engrossed in great matters of the state to give him leisure to concern himself with private affairs. let the youths then remain as they were for the present, serving under his banner, high in favour with the youthful prince, and like to win fame and honour and wealth through the victorious war about to be waged in france. when that war had triumphantly ended, and the king was rewarding those whose faithful service had gained him the day, then might the time come for the brothers of basildene to make themselves known, and plead for their own again." "i trow he is in the right," said john, "and i am glad that he knows all himself. so would he take the more interest in you, good raymond; and thus it was, i take it, that he brought you to england himself when he came hither." "ay, truly his kindness was great; and after he knew all, i was moved to better quarters, and a prince could not have been better treated. but it was long before i could stand upon my own feet, and save for the hope of seeing you once again, i would gladly have been spared the journey to england. but the sea passage was favourable, and gave me strength, though the wind from the east blew so strong that we could not make the harbour of dover, and were forced to beat westward along the coast till we reached the friendly port of southampton. then we took horse and rode hither, and glad am i to be at the journey's end. but our uncle tells me that in a few short weeks i shall be sound and whole again, and before the winter ends i may hope to join my brother beneath the king's banner." "i hope it will be so," answered john; "and if rest is what thou needest for thy recovery, it will not be lacking to thee here. it is well that the sword is not the only weapon thou lovest, but that the quill and the lore of the wise of the earth have attractions for thee likewise." it quickly seemed to raymond as if the incidents of that stirring campaign had been but part and parcel of a fevered dream. he was disposed to believe that he had never quitted the retreat of his uncle's roof, and took up his old studies with john with the greatest zest. john found him marvellously advanced since the days they had studied together before. his two years with father paul in the brotherhood had wonderfully enlarged his mind and extended his field of vision. it was a delight to both cousins to exchange ideas, and learn from one another; and the time fled by only too fast, each day marked by a steady though imperceptible improvement in raymond's state of health, as his fine constitution triumphed over the serious nature of the injury received. although he often thought of basildene, he made no attempt to see the place. the winter cold had set in with severity; john had little disposition to face it, and quiet and rest were far more congenial to him than any form of activity or amusement. john believed that the sanghursts were still there, engaged in their mysterious experiments that savoured so strongly of magic. but after hearing of raymond's bold defiance of the implacable peter in the forest near to the brotherhood, john was by no means desirous that the fact of raymond's residence at the rectory of st. nicholas should become known at basildene. without sharing to the full the fears of the country people with regard to the occult powers of the father and son in that lonely house, john believed them to be as cruel and unscrupulous a pair as ever lived, even in those half-civilized times. he therefore charged his servants to say nothing of raymond's visit, and hoped that it would not reach the ears of the sanghursts. but there was another person towards whom raymond's fancy had sometime strayed during the years of his absence from guildford, and this person he was unaccountably shy of naming even to john, though he would have been quite unable to allege a reason for his reticence. but fortune favoured him in this as in other matters, for on entering the library one day after a short stroll around the rector's garden, he found himself face to face with a radiant young creature dressed in the picturesque riding gear of the day, who turned to him with a beaming smile as she cried: "ah! i have been hearing of thee and of thy prowess, my fair young sir. my good brother alexander, who has followed the king's banner, would gladly have been in thy place on the day of crecy. thou and thy brother were amongst that gallant little band who fought around the prince and bore him off the field unhurt. did not i say of thee that thou wouldst quickly win thy knighthood's spurs? and thou mightest already have been a belted knight if thy prudence and thy modesty had not been greater than thine ambition. is it not so?" raymond's face glowed like a child's beneath the praises of mistress joan vavasour, and the light of her bright eyes seemed fairly to dazzle him. john came to the rescue by telling raymond's own version of the story; and then he eagerly asked joan of herself and what had become of her these past years, for he had seldom seen her, and knew not where she was living nor what she was doing -- knew not even if she were wedded, nor if peter sanghurst's suit were at an end or had been crowned by success. at the sound of that name the girl's face darkened quickly, and a spark of fire gleamed in her eyes. "talk not of him," she said; "i would that he were dead! have i not said that i would never wed him, that i would die first? fair fortune hath befriended me in this thing. thou knowest perchance that my father and brother have been following the king's banner of late, first in flanders and then in france. my mother and i meantime have not been residing at woodcrych, but in london, whither all news of the war is first known, and where travellers from the spot are like to come. we are here but for a short space, to spend the merry yuletide season with my mother's brother, who lives, as thou knowest, within the town of guildford. after that we return once more to london, there to await the return of my father and brother. alexander, in truth, has once visited us, but has returned to the siege of calais, hoping to be amongst those who will reap plenteous spoil when the city is given over to plunder, as caen was given. of the sanghursts, i thank my kindly saints, i have heard naught all this while. my mother loved them not, albeit she was always entreating me in nowise to thwart or gainsay my father. i cannot but hope that these long months of absence will have gone far to break the spell that those evil men seemed to cast about him. be that as it may, i myself have grown from a child to a woman, and i say now, as i said then, that no power in the world shall induce me to give my hand in marriage to peter sanghurst. i will die first!" the girl threw back her handsome head, and her great eyes glowed and flashed. raymond looked at her with a beating heart, feeling once more that mysterious kindling of the soul which he could not understand, and yet of which he had been before in the presence of joan so keenly conscious. she appeared to him to be far older than himself, though in reality he was a few months the senior; for at eighteen a girl is always older in mind than a boy, and joan's superb physique helped to give to her the appearance of a more advanced age than was really hers. just then, too, raymond, though grown to his full height, which was stately enough, was white and thin and enfeebled. he felt like a mere stripling, and it never occurred to him that the many glances bent upon him by the flashing eyes of the queenly maiden were glances of admiration, interest, and romantic approval. to her the pale, silent youth, with the saint-like face and the steadfast, luminous eyes, was in truth a very /preux chevalier/ amongst men. she had seen something too much of those knights of flesh and blood and nothing else, who could fight gallantly and well, but who knew nothing of the deeper and truer chivalry of the days of mythical romance in which her own ardent fancies loved to stray. feats of arms she delighted in truly with the bold spirit of her soldier race; but she wanted something more than mere bravery in the field. it was not physical courage alone that made sir galahad her favourite of all king arthur's knights. ah no! there was another quest than that of personal glory which every true knight was bound to seek. yet how many of them felt this and understood the truer, deeper meaning of chivalry? she knew, she felt, that raymond did; and as she turned her palfrey's steps homeward when the twilight began to fall that cold december day, it was with her favourite sir galahad that her mind was engrossed, and to him she gave a pale, thin face, with firm, sweet lines and deep-set dreamy eyes -- eyes that looked as though they had never quailed before the face of foe, and which yet saw far into the unseen mysteries of life, and which would keep their sweet steadfastness even to the end. as for raymond, an unwonted restlessness came over him at this time. he was growing stronger and better. moderate exercise was recommended as beneficial, and almost every day during the bright hours of the forenoon his steps were turned towards the town of guildford, lying hard by his uncle's rectory house. scarce a day passed but what he was rewarded by a chance encounter with mistress joan -- either a glimpse of her at a window, or a smile from her bright eyes as she passed him upon her snow-white palfrey; or sometimes he would have the good hap to meet her upon foot, attended by her nurse, or some couple of stout retainers, if her walk had been in any wise extended; and then she would pause and bring him to her side by a look, and inquire after his own health and that of john, who seldom stirred out in the bitter cold of winter. then he would ask and obtain her permission to accompany her as far as the gate of her own home -- the place where she was staying; and though he never advanced beyond the gate -- for she knew not what her relatives might say to these encounters with a gallant without money and without lands -- they were red-letter days in the calendar of two young lives, and were strong factors moulding their future lives, little as either knew it at the time. had either the radiant maiden or the knightly youth had eyes for any but the other, they might have observed that these encounters, now of almost daily occurrence, were not unheeded by at least one evil-faced watcher. the servants who attended mistress joan were all devoted to her, and kept their own counsel, whatever they might think, and raymond's fame as one of the heroes of crecy had already gone far and wide, and won him great regard in and about the walls of his uncle's home; but there was another watcher of mistress joan's movements who took a vastly different view of the little idyll playing itself out between the youth and the maiden, and this watcher was none other than the evil and vengeful peter sanghurst the younger. once as raymond turned away, after watching joan's graceful, stately figure vanish up the avenue which led to her uncle's house, he suddenly encountered the intensely malevolent glance of a pair of coal-black eyes, and found himself most unexpectedly face to face with the same man who had once confronted him in the forest and had demanded the restitution of the boy roger. "you again!" hissed out between his teeth the dark-browed man. "you again daring to stand in my path to thwart me! have a care how you provoke me too far. my day is coming! think you that i threaten in vain? go on then in your blind folly and hardihood! but remember that i can read the future. i can see the day when you, a miserable crushed worm, will be wholly and solely in my power; when you will be mine mine to do with what i will, none hindering or gainsaying me. take heed then how you provoke me to vengeance; for the vengeance of the sanghurst can be what thou dreamest not of now. thwart me, defy me, and the hour will come when for every pang of rage and jealousy i have known thou shalt suffer things of which thou hast no conception now, and none shall be able to rescue thee from my hand. yon maiden is mine -- mine -- mine! her will i wed, and none other. strive as thou wilt, thou wilt never pluck her from my hand. thou wilt but draw down upon thine own head a fearful fate, and she too shall suffer bitterly if thou failest to heed my words." and with a look of hatred and fury that seemed indeed to have something positively devilish in it, sanghurst turned and strode away, leaving raymond to make what he could of the vindictive threats launched at him. had this man, in truth, some occult power of which none else had the secret; or was it but an idle boast, uttered with the view of terrifying one who was but a boy in years? raymond knew not, could not form a guess; but his was a nature not prone to coward fears. he resolved to go home and take counsel with his good cousin john. chapter xv. the double surrender. on a burning day in july, nearly a year from the time of their parting, the twin brothers met once more in the camp before calais, where they had parted the previous autumn. raymond had been long in throwing off the effect of the severe injuries which had nearly cost him his life after the battle of crecy; but thanks to the rest and care that had been his in his uncle's house, he had entirely recovered. though not quite so tall nor so broad-shouldered and muscular as gaston, who was in truth a very prince amongst men, he was in his own way quite as striking, being very tall, and as upright as a dart, slight and graceful, though no longer attenuated, and above all retaining that peculiar depth and purity of expression which had long seemed to mark him out somewhat from his fellow men, and which had only intensified during the year that had banished him from the stirring life of the camp. "why, brother," said gaston, as he held the slim white hands in his vise-like clasp, and gazed hungrily into the face he had last seen so wan and white, "i had scarce dared to hope to see thee again in the camp of the king after the evil hap that befell thee here before; but right glad am i to welcome thee hither before the final act of this great drama, for methinks the city cannot long hold out against the famine within and our bold soldiers without the walls. thou hast done well to come hither to take thy part in the final triumph, and reap thy share of the spoil, albeit thou lookest more like a youthful st. george upon a church window than a veritable knight of flesh and blood, despite the grip of thy fingers, which is well-nigh as strong as my own." "i will gladly take my share in any valorous feat of arms that may be undertaken for the honour of england and of england's king. but i would sooner fight with warriors who are not half starved to start with. say not men that scarce a dog or a cat remains alive in the city, and that unless the citizens prey one upon the other, all must shortly perish?" "yea, in very truth that is so; for, as perchance thou hast heard, a vessel was sighted leaving calais harbour but a few short days ago, and being hotly pursued, was seen to drop a packet overboard. that packet at ebb tide was found tied to an anchor, and being brought to the king and by him opened, was found to contain those very words addressed to the king of france by the governor of the city, praying him to come speedily to the rescue of his fortress if he wished to save it from the enemy's hand. our bold king having first read it, sent it on posthaste to his brother of france, crying shame upon him to leave his gallant subjects thus to perish with hunger. methinks that message will shame yon laggard monarch into action. how he has been content to idle away the year, with the foe besieging the key of his kingdom, i know not. but it is a warm welcome he shall get if he comes to the relief of calais. we are as ready to receive him here as we were a year ago on the field of crecy!" "ay, in fair fight with philip's army would i gladly adventure my life again!" cried raymond, with kindling eyes; "but there be fighting i have small relish for, my gaston, and i have heard stories of this very siege which have wrung my heart to listen to. was it true, brother, that hundreds of miserable creatures, more than half of them women and little children, were expelled from the city as 'useless mouths,' and left to starve to death between the city walls and the camp of the english, in which plenty has all the winter reigned? could that be true of our gallant king and his brave english soldiers?" a quick flush dyed gaston's cheek, but he strove to laugh. "raymond, look not at me with eyes so full of reproach. war is a cruel game, and in some of its details i like it little better than thou. but what can we soldiers do? nay, what can even the king do? listen, and condemn him not too hastily. long months ago, soon after thou hadst left us, the same thing was done. seventeen hundred persons -- men, women, and children -- were turned out of the town, and the king heard of it and ordered some of them to be brought before him. in answer to his question they told him that they were driven from the city because they could not fight, and were only consuming the bread, of which there was none to spare for useless mouths. they had no place to go to, no food to eat, no hope for the future. then what does our king do but give them leave to pass through his camp; and not only so, but he orders his soldiers to feed them well, and start them refreshed on their way; and before they went forth, to each of them was given, by the royal order, two sterlings of silver, so that they went forth joyously, blessing the liberality and kindness of the english and england's king. but thou must see he could not go on doing these kindly acts if men so took advantage of them. he is the soul of bravery and chivalry, but there must be reasonable limits to all such royal generosity." raymond could have found in his heart to wish that the limit had not been quite so quickly reached, and that the hapless women and children had not been left to perish miserably in the sight of the warmth and plenty of the english camp; but he would not say more to damp his brother's happiness in their reunion, nor in that almost greater joy with which roger received him back. "in faith," laughed gaston, "i believe that some of the wizard's art cleaves yet to yon boy, for he has been restless and dreamy and unlike himself these many days; and when i have asked him what ailed him, his answer was ever the same, that he knew you were drawing nigh; and verily he has proved right, little as i believed him when he spoke of it." roger had so grown and improved that raymond would scarce have recognized in him the pale shrinking boy they had borne out from the house of the sorcerer three years before. he had developed rapidly after the first year of his new life, when the shackles of his former captivity seemed finally broken; but this last year of regular soldier's employment had produced a more marked change in his outward man than those spent in the brotherhood or at raymond's side. his figure had widened. he carried himself well, and with an air of fearless alertness. he was well trained in martial exercises, and the hot suns of france had bronzed his cheeks, and given them a healthy glow of life and animation. he still retained much of his boyish beauty, but the dreaminess and far-away vacancy had almost entirely left his eyes. now and again the old listening look would creep into them, and he would seem for a few moments to be lost to outward impressions; but if recalled at such moments from his brief lapse, and questioned as to what he was thinking, it always proved to be of raymond, not of his old master. once or twice he had told gaston that his brother was in peril -- of what kind he knew not; and gaston had wondered if indeed this had been so. one of these occasions had been just before christmastide, and the date being thus fixed in his mind, he asked his brother if he had been at that time exposed to any peril. raymond could remember nothing save the vindictive threat of peter sanghurst, and gaston was scarce disposed to put much faith in words, either good or bad, uttered by such a man as that. and now things began to press towards a climax in this memorable siege. the french king, awakened from his long and inexplicable lethargy by the entreaties of his starving subjects so bravely holding the town for a pusillanimous master, and stung by the taunts of the english king, had mustered an army, and was now marching to the relief of the town. it was upon the last day of july, when public excitement was running high, and all men were talking and thinking of an approaching battle, that word was brought into the camp, and eagerly passed from mouth to mouth, to the effect that the king of france had despatched certain messengers to hold parley with the royal edward, and that they were even now being admitted to the camp by the bridge of nieulay -- the only approach to calais through the marshes on the northeast, which had been closely guarded by the english throughout the siege. "hasten, raymond, hasten!" cried gaston, dashing into the small lodging he and his brother now shared together. "there be envoys come from the french king. the prince will be with his father to hear their message, and if we but hasten to his side, we may be admitted amongst the number who may hear what is spoken on both sides." raymond lost no time in following his brother, both eager to hear and see all that went on; and they were fortunate enough to find places in the brilliant muster surrounding the king and his family, as these received with all courtesy the ambassador from the french monarch. that messenger was none other than the celebrated eustache de ribeaumont, one of the flower of the french chivalry, to whom, on another occasion, edward presented the celebrated chaplet of pearls, with one of the highest compliments that one brave man could give another. the boys, and indeed the whole circle of english nobility, looked with admiration at his stately form and handsome face, and though to our ears the message with which he came charged sounds infinitely strange, it raised no smile upon the faces of those who stood around the royal edward. "sire," began the messenger, "our liege lord, the king of france, sends us before you, and would have you know that he is here, and is posted on the sandgatte hill to fight you; but intrenched as you are in this camp, he can see no way of getting at you, and therefore he sends us to you to say this. he has a great desire to raise the siege of calais, and save his good city, but can see no way of doing so whilst you remain here. but if you would come forth from your intrenchments, and appoint some spot where he could meet you in open fight, he would rejoice to do it, and this is the thing we are charged to request of you." a shout, led by the prince of wales, and taken up by all who stood by, was proof enough how acceptable such a notion was to the ardent spirits of the camp; for it was not a shout of derision, but one of eager assent. indeed, for a moment it seemed as though the king of england were disposed to give a favourable reply to the messenger; but then he paused, and a different expression crossed his face. he sat looking thoughtfully upon the ground, whilst breathless silence reigned around him, and then he and the queen spoke in low tones together for some few minutes. when edward looked up again his face had changed, and was stern and set in expression. "tell your lord," he said, speaking slowly and distinctly, "that had he wished thus to fight, he should have sent his challenge before. i have been near a twelvemonth encamped before this place, and my good people of england have been sore pressed to furnish me with munitions for the siege. the town is now on the point of falling into my hands, and then will my good subjects find plunder enough to recompense them for their labour and loss. wherefore tell your lord that where i am there will i stay; and that if he wishes to fight he must attack me in my camp, for i assuredly have no intention of moving out from it." a slight murmur of disappointment arose from the younger and more ardent members of the crowd; but the older men saw the force of the king's words, and knew that it would be madness to throw away all the hardly-earned advantages of those long months just for a piece of chivalrous bravado. so de ribeaumont had to ride back to the french camp with edward's answer; and ere two more days had passed, the astonishing news was brought to the english lines that philip had abandoned his camp, which was now in flames, and was retreating with his whole army by the way he had come. "was ever such a craven coward!" cried the prince, in indignant disappointment; for all within the english camp had been hoping for battle, and had been looking to their arms, glad of any incident to vary the long monotony of the siege. "were i those gallant soldiers in yon fortress, i would serve no longer such a false, treacherous lord. were my father but their king, he would not leave them in such dire strait, with an army at his back to fight for him, be the opposing force a hundredfold greater than it is!" and indeed it seemed as though the brave but desperate garrison within those walls saw that it was hopeless to try to serve such a master. how bitter must their feelings have been when philip turned and left them to their fate may well be imagined. hopeless and helpless, there was nothing but surrender before them now; and to make the best terms possible was the only thing that remained for them. the day following philip's dastardly desertion, the signal that the city was ready to treat was hung out, and brave sir walter manny, whose own history and exploits during the campaigns in brittany and gascony would alone fill a volume either of history or romance, was sent to confer on this matter with the governor of the city, the gallant de vienne, who had been grievously wounded during the long siege. raymond's sympathies had been deeply stirred by what he had heard and imagined of the sufferings of the citizens, and with the love of adventure and romance common to those days, he arrayed himself lightly in a dress that would not betray his nationality, and followed in the little train which went with sir walter. the conference took place without the walls, but near to one of the gates. raymond did not press near to hear what was said, like the bulk of the men on both sides who accompanied the leaders, but he passed through the eager crowd and made for the gate itself, the wicket of which stood open; and so calm and assured was his air, and so deeply were the minds of the porters stirred by anxiety to know the fate of the town, that the youth passed in unheeded and unchallenged, and once within the ramparts he could go where he chose and see what he would. but what a sight met his eyes! out into the streets were flocking the inhabitants, all trembling with anxiety to hear their fate. every turn brought him to fresh knots of famine-stricken wretches, who had almost lost the wish to live, or any interest in life, till just stirred to a faint and lingering hope by the news that the town was to be surrendered at last. gaunt and hollow-eyed men, women little better than skeletons, and children scarce able to trail their feeble bodies along, were crowding out of the houses and towards the great marketplace, where the assembly to hear the conditions was likeliest to meet. the soldiers, who had been better cared for than the more useless townsfolk, were spectre-like in all conscience; but the starving children, and the desperate mothers who could only weep and wring their hands in answer to the piteous demand for bread, were the beings who most stirred raymond's heart as he went his way amongst them. again that sense of horror and shrinking came upon him that he had experienced upon the field of crecy amongst the dying and the dead. if war did indeed entail such ghastly horrors and frightful sufferings, could it be that glorious thing that all men loved to call it? curious glances began to be levelled at him as he passed through the streets, sometimes pausing to soothe a wailing child, sometimes lending a hand to assist a tottering woman's steps, and speaking to all in that gentle voice of his, which with its slightly unfamiliar accent smote strangely upon the ears of the people. he wore no helmet on his head, and his curly hair floated about his grave saint-like face, catching golden lights from the glory of the august sunshine. "is it one of the blessed saints?" asked a little child of his mother, as raymond paused in passing by to lay a caressing hand upon his head, and speak a soft word of encouragement and hope to the weary mother. and the innocent question was taken up and passed from mouth to mouth, till it began to be whispered about that one of the holy saints had appeared in their midst in the hour of the city's deadly peril. as raymond passed on his way, many a knee was bent and many a pleading voice asked a blessing; whilst he, feeling still as one who moves in a dream, made the sign of the cross from time to time over some kneeling suppliant without understanding what was said of him or why all eyes were bent upon him. but the great town bell was ringing now to summon the citizens to assemble themselves together to hear the final terms agreed upon for the capitulation of the city, and all else was forgotten in the overwhelming anxiety of that moment; for none could form a guess what terms would be granted to a town in such sore straits as was theirs. the english king could be generous and merciful, but he could also be stern and implacable; and the long resistance made by the town was like to have stirred his wrath, as well as the fact that the sea port of calais had done more harm to his ships and committed more acts of piracy than any other port in france. raymond himself had great fears for the fate of the hapless town, and was as eager as any to hear what had been decreed. "sure if the king could see the famished gathering here his heart would relent," murmured the youth to himself, as he looked round at the sea of wan faces gathered in the open square. but the grave and sorrowful expression upon the governor's face told that he had no very happy tidings to impart. he stood upon a flight of steps where all men could well behold him, and in the dead silence that fell upon the multitude every word spoken could be distinctly beard. "my friends," he said, in grave, mournful accents, "i come to you with news of the only terms of capitulation that i have been able to win from england's king. i myself offered to capitulate if he would permit all within the walls to depart unharmed, whilst his demand was for unconditional surrender. the brave knight who came forth to confer with me went back more than once to strive to win for us better terms, and his intercession was thus far successful. the king will take the rest of the citizens to mercy if six of their chief burgesses be given up to his vengeance, and appear before him bareheaded and barefooted, with halters about their necks and the keys of the city in their hands. for such there will be no mercy. brave sir walter manny, who bore hack this message with so sorrowful a countenance, bid me not hope that the lives of these men would be spared. he said he saw the fierce sparkle in edward's eyes as he added, grinding his teeth, 'on them will i do my will.' wherefore, my good friends, we are this day in a great strait, and i would that i might myself give up my life to save the town; but the king's command is that it shall be six of the burgesses, and it is for you and them to say if these hard conditions shall be accepted." the deepest silence had hitherto prevailed in that vast place, but now it was broken by the weeping and wailing of a great multitude. raymond's throat swelled and his eyes glistened as he looked around upon that sea of starving faces, and tried to realize all that this message must mean to them. if his own life could have paid the ransom, he would have laid it down that moment for these miserable weeping beings; but he was helpless as the brave governor, and could only stand and see the end of the drama. slowly up the steps of the marketplace, where stood the governor of the city, advanced a fine-looking man in the prime of life, and a hushed murmur ran through the crowd, in which raymond caught the name of eustache de st. pierre. this man held up his hand in token that he wished to speak, and immediately a deathlike silence fell again upon the crowd. "my friends," spoke the clear deliberate voice, "it would be a great pity and mischief to let such a people as this assembled here die by famine or any other way, if a means can be found to save them; and it would be great alms and great grace in the sight of the lord for any one who could save them from such harm. i have myself so great hope of finding grace and pardon in the sight of our lord, if i die to save this people, that i will be the first, and will yield myself willingly, in nothing but my shirt, with my head bare and a halter round my neck, to the mercy of the king of england." as these simple but truly heroic words were spoken a burst of weeping and blessing arose from the crowd, women pressed forward and fell at the feet of the worthy citizen, and raymond said in his heart: "sure if the king of england could but see it, there is more chivalry in yon simple merchant than in half the knights who stand about his throne." it is seldom that a noble example is thrown away upon men. hardly had the burst of weeping died away before two more men, brothers, to judge by their likeness to each other, mounted the steps and stood beside st. pierre. he held out his hand and greeted them by name. "my good friends jacques and peter de wisant, we go hand in hand to death, as we have gone hand in hand in other ventures of another kind. and hither to join us comes our good friend jehan d'aire. truly if we march to death, we shall march in good company." the full number was soon made up. six of the wealthiest and best known of the citizens came forward and stood together to be disrobed and led before the king. but raymond could bear the sight no longer. with a bursting heart he hurried through the crowd, which made way wonderingly for him as he moved, and went straight towards the gate by which he had entered, none hindering his path. "it is the blessed saint who came amongst us in our hour of need," said the women one to another, "and now perchance he goes to intercede with the mighty conqueror! see how his face is set towards the gate; see the light that shines in his eyes! sure he can be no being of this earth, else how could he thus come and go in our beleaguered city!" the guard at the gate looked with doubtful eyes at the stranger, and one man stood in his path as if to hinder him; but raymond's eyes seemed to look through and beyond him, and in a clear, strange voice he said: "in the name of the blessed son of god, i bid thee let me pass. i go upon an errand of mercy in that most holy name." the man fell back, his comrades crossed themselves and bent the knee. raymond passed out of the gate, scarce knowing how he had done so, and sped back to the english camp as if his feet had wings. with that same strangely rapt expression upon his face, he went straight to the lodging of the prince of wales, and entering without ceremony found not only the prince there, but also his royal mother, the gracious queen philippa. bending his knee to that fair lady, but without one thought beyond the present urgent need of the moment, raymond told all his tale in the ear of the queen and the prince. with that power of graphic description which was the gift of his vivid imagination and deep sense of sympathy with the needs of others, he brought the whole scene before the eyes of his listeners the crowded marketplace, the famine-stricken people in their extremity and despair, the calm heroism of the men who willingly offered their lives to save those of their townspeople, and the wailing multitude watching the start of the devoted six going forth to a shameful and ignominious death on their behalf. and as raymond spoke the prince's cheek flushed, and the eyes of the beautiful queen kindled and filled with sudden tears; and rising to her feet she held out her hand to raymond and said: "good lad, i thank thee for thy tale, and the request thy lips have not spoken shall be granted. those men shall not die! i, the queen of england, will save them. i pledge thee here my royal word. i will to my noble husband and win their pardon myself." raymond sank upon his knee and kissed the fair hand extended to him, and both he and the prince hastened after the queen, who hoped to find her royal husband alone and in a softened mood, as he was wont to be after the stress of the day was over. but time had fled fast whilst raymond had been telling his tale, and already notice had been brought to edward of the approach of the six citizens, and he had gone forth into a pavilion erected for his convenience in an open part of the camp; and there he was seated with grim aspect and frowning brow as his queen approached to speak with him. "i will hear thee anon, good wife," he said, seeing that she craved his ear. "i have sterner work on hand today than the dallying of women. stay or go as thou wilt, but speak not to me till this day's work is carried through." raymond's heart sank as he heard these words, and saw the relentless look upon the king's face. none realized better than he the cruel side to the boasted chivalry of the age; and these middle-aged burgesses, with no knightliness of dress or bearing, would little move the loftier side of the king's nature. there would be no glamour of romance surrounding them. he would think only of the thousands of pounds the resistance of the city had cost him, and he would order to a speedy death those whom he would regard as in part the cause of all this trouble and loss. the queen made no further effort to win his notice, but with graceful dignity placed herself beside him; whilst the prince, quivering with suppressed excitement, stepped behind his father's chair. raymond stood in the surrounding circle, and felt gaston's arm slipped within his. but he had eyes only for the mournful procession approaching from the direction of the city, and every nerve was strained to catch the lightest tone of the queen's voice if she should speak. the governor of calais, though disabled by wounds from walking, was pacing on horseback beside the devoted six thus giving themselves up to death; and as he told how they had come forward to save their fellow citizens from death, tears gathered in many eyes, and brave sir walter manny, who had pleaded their cause before, again threw himself upon his knees before his sovereign, and besought his compassion for the brave burgesses. but edward would not listen -- would not allow the better feelings within him to have play. with a few angry and scathing words, bidding his servants remember what calais had cost them to take, and what the obstinacy of its citizens had made england pay, he relentlessly ordered the executioner to do his work, and that right quickly; and as that grim functionary slowly advanced to do the royal bidding, a shiver ran through the standing crowd, the devoted six alone holding themselves fearlessly erect. but just at the moment when it seemed as if all hope of mercy was at an end, the gentle queen arose and threw herself at her husband's feet, and her silvery voice rose clear above the faint murmur rising in the throng. "ah, gentle sire, since i have crossed the sea with great peril, i have never asked you anything; now i humbly pray, for the sake of the son of the holy mary and your love of me, that you will have mercy on these six brave men!" raymond's breath came so thick and fast as he waited for the answer, that he scarce heard it when it came, though the ringing cheer which broke from the lips of those who stood by told him well its purport. the king's face, gloomy at first, softened as he gazed upon the graceful form of his wife, and with a smile he said at last: "dame, i wish you had been somewhere else this day; but i cannot refuse you. i put them into your keeping; do with them what you will." raymond felt himself summoned by a glance from the prince. the queen-mother had bidden him take the men, and feast them royally, and send them away with rich gifts. as the youth who had done so much for them forced his way to the side of the prince, his face full of a strange enthusiasm and depth of feeling, the citizens looked one upon another and whispered: "sure it was true what the women said to us. that was the youth with the face of painted saint that we saw within the walls of the city. sure the blessed saints have been watching over us this day, and have sent an angel messenger down to deliver us in our hour of sorest need!" chapter xvi. in the old home. the memorable siege of calais at an end, edward, his queen and son and nobility generally, set sail for england, where many matters were requiring the presence of the sovereign after an absence so prolonged. when the others of the prince's comrades were thronging on hoard to accompany him homewards, gaston and raymond sought him to petition for leave to remain yet longer in france, that they might revisit the home of their youth and the kind-hearted people who had protected them during their helpless childhood. leave was promptly and willingly given, though the prince was graciously pleased to express a hope that he should see his faithful comrades in england again ere long. it had begun to be whispered abroad that these two lads with their knightly bearing, their refinement of aspect, and their fearlessness in the field, were no common youths sprung from some lowly stock. that there was some mystery surrounding their birth was now pretty well admitted, and this very mystery encircled them with something of a charm -- a charm decidedly intensified by the aspect of raymond, who never looked so much the creature of flesh and blood as did his brother and the other young warriors of edward's camp. the fact, which was well known now, that he had walked unharmed and unchallenged through the streets of calais upon the day of its capitulation, but before the terms had been agreed upon, was in itself, in the eyes of many, a proof of some strange power not of this world which encircled the youth. and indeed gaston himself was secretly of the opinion that his brother was something of a saint or spirit, and regarded him with a reverential affection unusual between brothers of the same age. through the four years since he had left his childhood's home, gaston had felt small wish to revisit it. the excitement and exaltation of the new life had been enough for him, and the calm quiet of the peaceful past had lost, its charm. now, however, that the war was for the present over, and with it the daily round of adventure and change; now that he had gold in his purse, a fine charger to ride, and two or three stout men-at-arms in his train, a sudden wish to see again the familiar haunts of his childhood had come over him, and he had willingly agreed to raymond's suggestion that they should go together to sauveterre, to ask a blessing from father anselm, and tell him how they had fared since they had parted from him long ago. true, raymond had seen him a year before, but he had not then been in battle; he had not had much to tell save of the cloister life he had been sharing; and of gaston's fortunes he had himself known nothing. both brothers were for the present amply provided for. they had received rich rewards from the prince after the battle of crecy, and the spoils of calais had been very great. they could travel in ease through the sunny plains of france, sufficiently attended to be safe from molestation, even if the terror of the english arms were not protection enough for those who wore the badge of the great edward. from bordeaux they could find easy means of transport to england later; and nothing pleased them better than the thought of this long ride through the plains of france, on the way to the old home. they did not hurry themselves on this pleasant journey, taken just as the trying heats of summer had passed, but before the winter's cold had made its first approach. the woods were scarce showing their first russet tints as the brothers found themselves in familiar country once again, and looked about them with eager glances of recognition as they traversed the once well-known tracks. "let us first to father anselm," said raymond, as they neared the village where the good priest held his cure. "he will gladly have us pass a night beneath his roof ere we go onward to the mill; and our good fellows will find hospitable shelter with the village folks. they have been stanch and loyal in these parts to the cause of the roy outremer, and any soldier coming from his camp will be doubly welcome, as the bearer of news of good luck to the english arms. the coward king of france is little loved by the bold gascons, save where a rebel lord thinks to forward his private ends by transferring his allegiance from england to france." "to the good father's, then, with all my heart," answered gaston heartily; and the little troop moved onwards until, to the astonishment of the simple villagers clustered round the little church and their cure's house, the small but brilliant cavalcade of armed travellers drew up before that lowly door. the father was within, and, as the sound of trampling feet made itself heard, appeared at his door in some astonishment; but when the two youths sprang from their horses and bent the knee before him, begging his blessing, and he recognized in them the two boys who had filled so great a portion of his life not so many years ago, a mist came before his eyes, and his voice faltered as he gave the benediction, whilst raising them afterwards and tenderly embracing them, he led them within the well-known doorway, at the same time calling his servant and bidding him see to the lodging of the men without. the low-ceiled parlour of the priest, with its scanty plenishing and rush-strewn floor, was well known to the boys; yet as raymond stepped across the threshold he uttered a cry of surprise, not at any change in the aspect of the room itself, but at sight of a figure seated in a high-backed chair, with the full sunlight shining upon the calm, thin face. with an exclamation of joyful recognition the lad sped forward and threw himself upon his knees before the erect figure, with the name of father paul upon his lips. the keen, austere face did not soften as father anselm's had done. the cistercian monk, true to the severity of his order, permitted nothing of pleasure to appear in his face as he looked at the youth whose character he had done so much to form. he did not even raise his hand at once in the customary salutation or blessing, but fixed his eyes upon raymond's face, now lifted to his in questioning surprise; and not until he had studied that face with great intentness for many long minutes did he lay his hand upon the lad's head and say, in a low, deep voice, "peace be with thee, my son." this second and most unexpected meeting was almost a greater pleasure to raymond than the one with father anselm. whilst gaston engrossed his old friend's time and thought, sitting next him at the board, and pacing at his side afterwards in the little garden in which he loved to spend his leisure moments, raymond remained seated at the feet of father paul, listening with breathless interest to his history of the voyage he had taken to the far east (as it then seemed), and to the strange and terrible sights he had witnessed in some of those far-off lands. raymond had vaguely heard before of the plague, but had regarded it as a scourge confined exclusively to the fervid heat of far-off countries -- a thing that would never come to the more temperate latitudes of the north; but when he spoke these words to the monk, father paul shook his head, and a sudden sombre light leaped into his eyes. "my son, the plague is the scourge of god. it is not confined to one land or another. it visits all alike, if it be god's will to send it in punishment for the many and grievous sins of its inhabitants. true, in the lands of the east, where the paynim holds his court, and everywhere is blasphemy and abomination, the scourge returns time after time, and never altogether ceases from amongst the blinded people. but of late it has spread farther and farther westward -- nearer and nearer to our own shores. god is looking down upon the lands whose people call themselves after his name, and what does he see there but corruption in high places, greed, lust, the covetousness that is idolatry, the slothful ease that is the curse of the church?" the monk's eyes flashed beneath their heavily-fringed lids; the fire that glowed in them was of a strange and sombre kind. raymond turned his pure young face, full of passionate admiration and reverence, towards the fine but terribly stern countenance of the ecclesiastic. a painter would have given much to have caught the expression upon those two faces at that moment. the group was a very striking one, outlined against the luminous saffron of the western sky behind. "father, tell me more!" pleaded raymond. "i am so young, so ignorant; and many of the things the world praises and calls deeds of good turn my heart sick and my spirit faint within me. i would fain know how i may safely tread the difficult path of life. i would fain choose the good and leave the evil. but there be times when i know not how to act, when it seems as though naught in this world were wholly pure. is it only those who yield themselves up to the life of the cloister who may choose aright and see with open eyes? must i give up my sword and turn monk ere i may call myself a son of heaven?" the boy's eyes were full of an eager, questioning light. his hands were clasped together, and his face was turned full upon his companion. the father's eyes rested on the pure, ethereal face with a softer look than they had worn before, and then a deep sadness came into them. "my son," he answered, very gravely, "i am about to say a thing to thee which i would not say to many young and untried as thou art. there have been times in my life when i should have triumphed openly had men spoken to me the words that i shall speak to thee -- times when i had gladly said that all which men call holiness was but a mask for corruption and deceit, and should have rejoiced that the very monks themselves were forced to own to their own wanton disregard of their vows. my son, i see the shrinking and astonishment in thine eyes; but yet i would for a moment that thou couldst see with mine. i spoke awhile ago of the judgment of an angry god. wherefore, thinkest thou, is it that his anger is so hotly burning against those lands that call themselves by his name -- that call day by day upon his name, and make their boast that they hold the faith whole and undefiled?" raymond shook his head. he had no words with which to answer. he was beginning slowly yet surely to feel his eyes opened to the evil of the world -- even that world of piety and chivalry of which such bright dreams had been dreamed. his fair ideals were being gradually dashed and effaced. something of sickness of heart had penetrated his being, and he had said in the unconscious fashion of pure-hearted youth, "vanity of vanities! is all around but vanity?" and he had found no answer to his own pathetic question. as an almost necessary consequence of all this had his thoughts turned towards the holy, dedicated life of the sons of the church; and though it was with a strong sense of personal shrinking, with a sense that the sacrifice would be well-nigh bitterer than the bitterness of death, he had asked himself if it might not be that god had called him, and that if he would be faithful to the love he had ever professed to hold, he ought to rise up without farther delay and offer himself to the dedicated service of the church. and now father paul, who had always seemed to read the very secrets of his heart, appeared about to answer this unspoken question. greatly had raymond longed of late to speak with him again. father anselm was a good and a saintly man, but he knew nothing of the life of the world. to him the church was the ark of refuge from all human ills, and gladly would he have welcomed within its fold any weary or world-worn soul. but with father paul it was different. he had lived in the world; he had sinned (if men spoke truth), and had suffered bitterly. one look in his face was enough to tell that; and having lived and sinned, repented and suffered, he was far more able to offer counsel to one tempted and sometimes suffering, though perhaps in a very different fashion. the father's eyes were bent upon the faint glow in the sky, seen through the open casement. his words were spoken quietly, yet with an earnestness that was almost terrible. "my son," he said, "i have come back but recently from lands where it seems that holiness should abound -- that righteousness should flow forth as from a perpetual fountain, where the lord should be seen walking almost visibly in the midst of his people. and what have i seen instead? luxury, corruption, unspeakable abominations -- abominations such as i may not dare to speak in thy pure ears, such as i would not have believed had not mine own eyes seen, mine own ears heard. where is the poverty, the lowliness, the meekness, the chastity of the sons of the church? ah, god in heaven only knows; and let it be our solemn rejoicing that he does know where his own faithful children are to be found, for assuredly man would miserably fail if he were sent forth to find and to gather them. leaving those lands which thou, my son, hast never seen, and coming hither to france and england, what do we find? those who have vowed themselves to the service of the church walking gaily in the dress of soldiers, engaged in carnal matters, letting their hair hang down their shoulders curled and powdered, and thinking scorn of the tonsure, which is the mark of the kingdom of heaven. and does not god see? will he not recompense to his people their sins? yea, verily he will; and in an hour when they little think it, the wrath of god shall fall upon them. it is even now upon its way. i have seen it; i have marked its progress. ere another year has passed, if men repent not of their sins, it will be stalking amongst us. and thou, my son, when that day comes, fear not. think not of the cloister; keep thy good sword at thy side, but keep it bright in the cause of right, of mercy, of truth, and keep thy shield stainless and unspotted. then when the hour of judgment falls upon this land, and men in wild terror begin to call upon the god they have forgotten and abused, then go thou forth in the power of that purity of heart which he in his mercy has vouchsafed to thee. fear not the pestilence that walketh in darkness, nor the sickness that destroyeth at noonday. a thousand shall fall beside thee, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee. with thine eyes shalt thou behold the destruction of thine enemies; but the angels of god shall encamp around thy path, and guard thee in all thy ways. only be true, be fearless, be steadfast. thou shalt be a knight of the lord; thou shalt fight his battle; and from him, and from no earthly sovereign, shalt thou reap thy reward at last!" as the father continued speaking, it seemed as if something of prophetic fire had lighted his eyes. raymond held his breath in awe as he heard this strange warning, benediction, and promise. but not for a moment did he doubt that what the father spoke would come to pass. he sank upon his knees, and his heart went up in prayer that when the hour of trial came he might be found faithful at his post; and at once and for ever was laid to rest that restless questioning as to the life of the church. he knew from that moment forward that it was in the world and not out of it that his work for his lord was to be done. no more of a personal nature passed between him and father paul that night, and upon the morrow the brothers proceeded to the mill, and the father upon his journey to england. "we shall meet again ere long," was father paul's parting word to raymond, and he knew that it would be so. it was a pretty sight to witness the delighted pride with which honest jean and margot welcomed back their boys again after the long separation. raymond hardly seemed a stranger after his visit of the previous year, but of gaston they knew not how to make enough. his tall handsome figure and martial air struck them dumb with admiration. they never tired of listening to his tales of flood and field; and the adventures he had met with, though nothing very marvellous in themselves, seemed to the simple souls, who had lived so quiet a life, to raise him at once to the position of some wonderful and almost mythical being. on their own side, they had a long story to tell of the disturbed state of the country, and the constant fighting which had taken place until the english king's victory at crecy had caused philip to disband his army, and had restored a certain amount of quiet to the country. the quiet was by no means assured or very satisfactory. though the army had been disbanded, there was a great deal of brigandage in the remoter districts. so near as the mill was to sauveterre, it had escaped without molestation, and the people in the immediate vicinity had not suffered to any extent; but there was a restless and uneasy feeling pervading the country, and it had been a source of considerable disappointment to the well-disposed that the roy outremer had not paid a visit to gascony in person, to restore a greater amount of order, before returning to his own kingdom. the sieur de navailles had made himself more unpopular than ever by his adhesion to the french cause when all the world had believed that philip, with his two huge armies, would sweep the english out of the country. of late, in the light of recent events, he had tried to annul his disloyalty, and put another face upon his proceedings; but only his obscurity, and the remoteness of his possessions in the far south, would protect him from edward's wrath when the affairs of the rebel gascons came to be inquired into in detail. gaston listened eagerly, and treasured it all carefully up, feeling sure he could place his rival and the usurper of the de brocas lands in a very unenviable position with the royal edward at any time when he wished to make good his own claim. the visit of the de brocas brothers (as they were known in these parts) was not made by stealth. all the world might know it now for all they cared, protected as they were by their stout men-at-arms, and surrounded by the glamour of the english king's royal favour. gaston and raymond ranged the woods and visited their old haunts with the zest of youth and affectionate memories, and gaston often hunted there alone whilst his brother paid a visit to father anselm, to read with him or talk of father paul. it was after a day spent thus apart that gaston came in looking as though some unwonted thing had befallen him, and when he and his brother were alone in their room together, he began to speak with eager rapidity. "raymond, methinks i have this day lost my heart to a woodland nymph or fairy. such a strange encounter had i in the forest today! and with it a warning almost as strange as the being who offered it." "a warning, gaston? what sort of warning?" "why, against our old, old enemy the navailles, who, it seems, knows of our visit here, and, if he dared, would gladly make an end of us both. so at least the fairy creature told me, imploring me, with sweetest solicitude, to be quickly gone, and to adventure myself in the woods alone no more. i told her that our visit was well-nigh at an end, and that we purposed to reach england ere the autumn gales blew shrill. at that she seemed mightily pleased, and yet she sighed when we said adieu. raymond, she was the loveliest maiden my eyes have ever beheld: her hair like silk, and of the deepest golden hue; her eyes of the colour of violets nestling beneath brown winter leaves. her voice was like the rippling of a summer's brook, and her form scarce of this earth, so light, so airy, so full of sylvan grace. she was like the angelic being of a dream. i have never seen a daughter of earth so fair. tell me, thinkest thou it was some dream? yet it is not my wont to slumber at my sport, and the little hand i held in mine throbbed with the warmth of life." "asked you not her name and station?" "yea verily, but she would tell me naught; only the soft colour crept into her cheeks, and she turned her eyes for a moment away. raymond, i have heard men speak of love, but till that moment i knew not what they meant. now methinks i have a better understanding, for if yon sweet maiden had looked long into my eyes, my very soul would sure have gone out to her, and i should have straightway forgot all else in the world but herself. wherefore i wondered if she could be in truth a real and living being, or whether some woodland siren sent to lure man to death and destruction." raymond smiled at the gravity of gaston's words. mystic as he was in many matters, he had outgrown that belief in woodland nymphs and sirens which had woven itself into their life whilst the spell of the forests remained upon them in their boyhood. that evil and good spirits did hover about the path of humanity, raymond sincerely believed; but he was equally certain that they took no tangible form, and that the vision gaston had seen in the wood was no phantom form of spirit. "sure she came to try to warn and save," he answered; "that should be answer enough. gaston, methinks we will take that warning. we are still but striplings and our men are few, though brave and true. the land is disturbed as in our memory it never was, and men are wild and lawless, none being strong enough to put down disorder. wherefore we had best be gone. it is no true bravery to court danger, and our errand here is done. when the king comes, as one day he will, to punish rebels and reward faithful loyalty, then we will come with him, and thou shalt seek out thy woodland nymph once more, and thank her for her good counsel. now wilt thou thank her best -- seeing she came express to warn thee of coming peril -- by taking her at her word. honest jean and margot will not seek to stay us longer. they have a secret fear of the sieur de navailles. we will not tell them all, but we will tell them something, and that will be enough. tomorrow will we take to horse again; and we will tell in the ears of the king how restless and oppressed by lawlessness and strife are his fair lands of gascony." raymond's advice was followed. gaston had had enough of quiet and repose, and only the desire to see again the face of the woodland sprite could have detained him. not knowing where to seek her, he was willing enough to set his face for bordeaux; and soon the brothers had landed once again upon the shores of england. chapter xvii. the black death the glorious termination of edward's campaign, and the rich spoil brought home from the wars by the soldiers, had served to put the nation into a marvellous good temper. their enthusiasm for their king amounted almost to adoration, and nothing was thought of but tourneys, jousts, and all sorts of feasting and revelry. indeed, things came to such a pass that at last an order was given that tournaments might be held only at the royal pleasure, else the people were disposed to think of nothing else, and to neglect the ordinary avocations of life. as the king appointed nineteen in six months, to be held in various places throughout the kingdom, it cannot be said that he defrauded his subjects of their sports; and he himself set the example of the extravagant and fanciful dressing which called forth so much adverse criticism from the more sober minded, appearing at the jousts in all manner of wonderful apparel, one of his dresses being described as "a harness of white buckram inlaid with silver -- namely, a tunic, and a shield with the motto: 'hay, hay, the wythe swan! by goddes soul i am thy man;' whilst he gave away on that occasion five hoods of long white cloth worked with blue men dancing, and two white velvet harnesses worked with blue garters and diapered throughout with wild men." women disgraced themselves by going about in men's attire and behaving themselves in many unseemly fashions. the ecclesiastics, too, often fell into the prevailing vices of extravagance and pleasure seeking that at this juncture characterized the whole nation, and, as father paul had said to raymond, disgraced their calling by so doing far more than others who had never professed a higher code. amongst the graver and more austere men of the day heads were gravely shaken over the wild burst of enthusiasm and extravagance, and there were not wanting those who declared that the nation was calling down upon itself some terrible judgment of god -- such a judgment as so often follows upon a season of unwonted and sudden prosperity. as for the twin brothers, they spent these months in diverse fashion, each carrying out his own tastes and preferences. gaston attached himself to sir james audley once again, and travelled with him into scotland, where the knight frequently went upon the king's business. when in or about the court, he threw himself into the jousting and sports with the greatest enthusiasm and delight, quickly excelling so well in each and every contest that he made a name and reputation for himself even amongst the chosen flower of the english nobility. real fighting was, however, more to his taste than mock contests, and he was always glad to accompany his master upon his journeys, which were not unfrequently attended by considerable peril, as the unsettled state of the border counties, and the fierce and sometimes treacherous nature of the inhabitants, made travelling there upon the king's business a matter of some difficulty and danger. there was no fear of gaston's growing effeminate or turning into a mere pleasure hunter; and he soon made himself of great value to his master, not only by his undaunted bravery, but by his success in diplomatic negotiation -- a success by no means expected by himself, and a surprise to all about him. perhaps the frank, free bearing of the youth, his perfect fearlessness, and his remarkably quick and keen intelligence, helped him when he had any delicate mission entrusted to him. then, too, the hardy and independent nature of the scots was not altogether unlike that of the free-born gascon peasant of the pyrenean portion of the south of france; so that he understood and sympathized with them better, perhaps, than an average englishman could have done. a useful life is always a happy one, and the successful exercise of talents of whose very existence we were unaware is in itself a source of great satisfaction. gaston, as he grew in years, now began to develop in mind more rapidly than he had hitherto done, and though separated for the most part from his brother, was seldom many months without meeting him for at least a few days. raymond was spending the time with his old friend and comrade and cousin, john de brocas. it had become evident to all who knew him that john was not long for this world. he might linger on still some few years, but the insidious disease we now call consumption had firm hold upon him, and he was plainly marked as one who would not live to make any name in the world. he showed no disposition to seclude himself from his kind by entering upon the monastic life, and his father had recently bestowed upon him a small property which he had purchased near guildford, the air and dryness of which place had always been beneficial to him. this modest but pleasant residence, with the revenues attached, kept john in ease and comfort. he had spent the greater part of his income the year previous in the purchase of books, and his uncle's library was always at his disposal. he had many friends in and about the place; and his life, though a little lonely, was a very happy one -- just the life of quietness and study that he loved better than any other. when his cousin raymond came home from the wars without any very definite ideas as to his own immediate career in the future, it had occurred to john that if he could secure the companionship of this cousin for the coming winter it would be a great boon to himself; and the suggestion had been hailed with pleasure by the youth. raymond would gladly have remained with the king had there been any fighting in the cause of his country to be done; but the round of feasting and revelry which now appeared to be the order of the day had no charms for him. after breaking a lance or two at windsor, and seeing what court life was in times of triumphant peace, he wearied of the scene, and longed for a life of greater purpose. hearing where his cousin john was located, he had quickly ridden across to pay him a visit; and that visit had lasted from the previous october till now, when the full beauty of a glorious english summer had clothed the world in green, and the green was just tarnishing slightly in the heat of a glaring august. as raymond had seen something of the fashion in which the world was wagging, his thoughts had ofttimes recurred to father paul and that solemn warning he had uttered. he had spoken of it to john, and both had mused upon it, wondering if indeed something of prophetic fire dwelt within that strong, spare frame -- whether indeed, through his austerities and fasts, the monk had so reduced the body that the things of the spiritual world were revealed to him, and the future lay spread before his eyes. at first both the cousins had thought week by week to hear some news of a terrible visitation; but day had followed day, and months had rolled by, and still the country was holding high revel without a thought or a fear for the future. so gradually the two studious youths had ceased to speak of the visitation they had once confidently looked for, and they gave themselves up with the zest of pure enjoyment to their studies and the pursuit of learning. raymond's spiritual nature was deepened and strengthened by his perusal of such sacred and devotional lore as he could lay hands upon; and though the scriptures, as they were presented to him, were not without many errors and imperfections and omissions, he yet obtained a clearer insight into many of the prophetical writings, and a fuller grasp of god's purposes towards man, than he had ever dreamed of before. so that though strongly tinged with the mysticism and even with the superstition of the times, his spiritual growth was great, and the youth felt within him a spring of power unknown before which was in itself a source of exaltation and power. and there was another element of happiness in raymond's life at this time which must not be omitted from mention. seldom as he saw her -- jealously as she was guarded by her father and brother, now returned from the war, and settled again at woodcrych -- he did nevertheless from time to time encounter mistress joan vavasour, and each encounter was fraught with a new and increasing pleasure. he had never spoken a word of love to her; indeed he scarce yet knew that he had lost his heart in that fashion which so often leads to wedlock. he was only just beginning to realize that she was not many years older than himself -- that she was not a star altogether beyond the firmament of his own sky. he had hitherto regarded her with one of those boyish adorations which are for the time being sufficient in themselves, and do not look ahead into the future; and then raymond well knew that before he could for a moment dream of aspiring to the hand of the proud knight's daughter, he must himself have carved his way to moderate fortune and fame. his dreams of late had concerned themselves little with his worldly estate, and therefore his deep reverential admiration for joan had not developed into anything of a definite purpose. if he dreamed dreams of the future in which she bore a part, it was only of laying at her feet such laurels as he should win, without thinking of asking a reward at her hands, unless it was the reward of being her own true knight, and rescuing her from the power of the sanghursts, father and son, who appeared to have regained their old ascendency over sir hugh and his son, and to be looking forward still to the alliance between the two families. joan was of more than marriageable age. it was thought strange by many that the match was not yet consummated. but the quietly determined resistance on the part of the girl herself was not without some effect; and although there were many rumours afloat as to the boundless wealth of the ill-famed father and son, it was not yet an affair of absolute certainty that they were in possession of the secret of the transmutation of metals. so the match still hung fire, and raymond received many bewitching smiles from the lady on the rare occasions when they met; and he thought nothing of the threat of peter sanghurst, being endowed with that fearless courage which does not brood upon possible perils, but faces real ones with quiet resolution. john was sitting over his books in the pleasant western window one evening at the close of a hot september day, when he heard a quick footstep crossing the anteroom, and raymond came in with a strange look upon his face. "john," he said, before his cousin could ask a single question, "it has come at last!" "what has come?" "the visitation -- the sickness -- the scourge of god. i knew that father paul was looking into the future when he pronounced the doom upon this land. it has come; it is amongst us now!" "not here -- not in this very place! we must have heard something of it had it been so nigh." "it has not yet reached this town," answered raymond, the same strange light shining in his eyes that john had observed there from his entrance. "listen, and i will tell thee all i myself know. thou knowest that i have been to windsor, to meet my brother who is there. him i found well and happy, brave as ever, knowing naught of this curse and scourge. but even as we talked together, there came a messenger from london in hot haste to see thy father, good john. he had been straight despatched by the king with a message of dire warning. a terrible sickness, which already men are calling by the name of black death, has broken out in the south and west of the land, and seems creeping eastward with these hot west winds that steadily blow. it attacks not only men, but beasts and cattle -- that is, it seems to be accompanied by a plague something similar in nature which attacks the beasts. word has been passed on by the monks of what is happening far away, and already a great terror has seized upon many, and some are for flying the country, others for shutting themselves up in their houses and keeping great fires burning around them. the message to thy father was to have a care for the horses, and to buy no new ones that might by chance carry the seeds of the sickness within them. men say that the people of london are very confident that they can keep the sickness away from entering their walls, by maintaining a careful guard upon the city gates. at windsor, i left the town in a mighty fear, folks looking already askance at each other, as if afraid they were smitten with the deadly disease. the news of its appearance is passing from mouth to mouth faster than a horseman could spread the tidings. it had outridden me hither, and i thought perchance thou mightest have heard it ere i reached home." "nay, i have heard naught; but i would fain hear more now." "i know little but what i have already told thee," answered raymond. "indeed, it is but little that there is to know at present. the disease seems to me somewhat to resemble that described by lucretius as visiting athens. men sometimes suddenly fall down dead; or they are seized with violent shiverings, their hair bristling upon their heads. sometimes it is like a consuming fire within, and they run raving mad to the nearest water, falling in perchance, and perishing by drowning, leaving their carcases to pollute the spring. but if it do not carry off the stricken person for some hours or days, black swellings are seen upon their bodies like huge black boils, and death follows rapidly, the victim often expiring in great agony. i have heard that the throat and lungs often become inflamed before the black death seizes its victim, and that in districts where the scourge has reached, any persons who appear to have about them even a common rheum are cast forth from their homes even by those nearest and dearest, for fear they are victims to the terrible scourge." "misfortune makes men cruel if it do not bind them closer together. raymond, i see a purpose in thy face -- a purpose of which i would know the meaning. that light in thine eyes is not for nothing. tell me all that is in thine heart. methinks i divine it somewhat already." "belike thou dost, good john," answered raymond, speaking very calmly and steadily, "for thou knowest the charge laid upon me by my spiritual father. 'fear not, be not dismayed. a thousand shall fall beside thee, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.' such was the burden of his charge; and shall i shrink or falter when the hour i have waited and watched for all these years has come like a thief in the night? good john, thou wast the first to teach me that there was a truer, deeper chivalry than that of the tourney or the battlefield. thou wast the first to understand, and to make me understand, that the highest chivalry was that of our lord himself, when he laid down his life for sinners, and prayed for his enemies who pierced and nailed him to the cross. his words are ever words of mercy. were he here with us today upon earth, where should we find him now? surely where the peril was greatest, where the need sorest, where the darkness, the terror, the distress blackest. and where he would be, were he with us here, is the place where those who would follow him most faithfully should be found. not all perchance; there be claims of kindred, ties of love that no man may lightly disregard: but none such ties bind me. i have but my brother to love, and he is out in the world -- he needs me not. i am free to go where the voice within calls me; and i go forth to-morrow." "and whither goest thou?" asked john, in a low, awestruck tone. "i go to father paul," answered raymond, without hesitation, as one who has thought the matter well out beforehand. "wherever the need is sorest, the peril greatest, there will father paul be found. and the brotherhood stands in the heart of the smitten regions; wherefore at his very doors the sick will be lying, untended perchance and unassoiled, save in those places whither he can go. i fare forth at sunrising tomorrow, to seek and to find him. he will give me work, he will let me toil beside him; better than that i ask not." john had risen from his seat. an answering light had sprung to his eyes as he had heard and watched raymond. now he laid his hand upon his cousin's arm, and said quietly: "go, then, in the name of the lord; i too go with thee." raymond turned his head and looked full at his cousin, marking the thin, sunken lines of the face, the stooping pose of the shoulders, the hectic flush that came and went upon the hollow cheek; and seeing this and knowing what it betokened, he linked his arm within john's and commenced walking up and down the room with him, as though inaction were impossible at such a moment. and as he walked he talked. "good john," he said, "i would fain have thee with me; but i well know thou hast no strength for the task thou hast set thyself. even the long day's ride would weary thy frame so sorely that thou wouldst fall an easy victim to the sickness ere thou hadst done aught to help another. thou hast thy father, thy mother, and thy good uncle to think of. how sad would they be to hear whither thou hadst gone! and then, my cousin, it may well be that for thee there is other work, and work for which thou canst better prepare thyself here than in any other place. i have thought of thee as well as of myself as i have ridden homeward this day. shall i tell thee what my thought -- my dream of thee was like?" "ay, tell me; i would gladly hear." "i saw in my spirit the advance of this terrible black death; i saw it come to this very place. dead and dying, cast out of their homes by those who would neither bury the one nor tend the other, were left lying in the streets around, and a deadly fear was upon all the place. and then i saw a man step forth amongst these miserable wretches, and the man had thy face, dear cousin. and he came forward and said to those who were yet willing to touch the sick, 'carry them into my house; i have a place made ready for them. bring them to my house; there they will he tended and cared for.' and then i thought that i saw the bearers lift and carry the sick here to this house, and that there they were received by some devoted men and women who had not been driven away by the general terror, and there were clean and comfortable beds awaiting the sick, and great fires of aromatic herbs burning upon the hearths to keep away the fumes of the pestilence from the watchers. and as the wretched and stricken creatures found themselves in this fair haven, they blessed him who had had this care for them; and those who died, died in comfort, shriven and assoiled by holy priests, whilst some amongst the number were saved, and saved through the act of him who had found them this safe refuge." raymond ceased speaking, and looked out over the fair landscape commanded by the oriel window of the room in which they were standing; and john's pale face suddenly kindled and glowed. the same spirit of self-sacrifice animated them both; but the elder of the pair realized, when it was put before him, how little he was fit for the work which the younger had set himself to do, whilst he had the means as well as the disposition to perform an act of mercy which in the end might be a greater boon to many than any service he could offer now. and if he did this thing -- if he turned his house into a house of mercy for the sick of the plague -- he would then have his own opportunity to tend and care for the sufferers. only one thought for a moment hindered him from giving an answer. he looked at raymond, and said: "thinkest thou that this sickness will surely come this way?" "in very truth i believe that it will ravage the land from end to end. i know that father paul looked to see the whole country swept by the scourge of god. fear not but that thy work will find thee here. thou wilt not have to wait long, methinks. thou wilt but have fair time to make ready all that thou wilt need -- beds, medicaments, aromatic wood, and perfumes -- and gather round thee a few faithful, trusty souls who will not fly at the approach of danger. it may be no easy task to find these, yet methinks they will be found here and there; for where god sends his scourges upon his earth, he raises up pious men and women too, to tend the sufferers and prove to the world that he has still amongst the gay and worldly his own children, his own followers, who will follow wherever he leads." john's mind was quickly made up. "i will remain behind and do this thing," he said. "perchance thou and i will yet work together in this very place amongst the sick and dying." "i well believe it," answered raymond, with one of his far-away looks; and the cousins stood together looking out over the green world bathed in the light of sunset, wondering how and when they would meet again, but both strangely possessed with perfect confidence that they would so meet. then raymond went to make his simple preparations for the morrow's ride. he had intended travelling quite alone, and chancing the perils of the road, which, however, in these times of peace and rejoicing, were not very great; for freebooters seldom disturbed travellers by day, save perhaps in very lonely forest roads. but when roger, the woodman's son, heard whither his master's steps were bent, and upon what errand he was going, he fell at his feet in one of his wild passions of devotional excitement, and begged to be allowed to follow him even to the death. "it may well be to the death, good roger," answered raymond gravely. "men say that death is certain for those who take the breath of the smitten persons; and such as go amongst them go at the risk of their lives. i do not bid thee follow me -- i well believe the peril is great; but if thou willest to do this thing, i dare not say thee nay, for methinks it is a work of god, and may well win his approval." "i will go," answered roger, without the slightest hesitation. "do i not owe all -- my body and soul alike -- to you and father paul? where you go, there will i go with you. what you fear not to face, i fear not either. for life or for death i am yours; and if the holy saints and the blessed virgin will but give me strength to fight and to conquer this fell foe, i trow they will do it because that thou art half a saint thyself, and they will know that i go to be with thee, to watch over thee, and perchance, by my service and my prayers, guard thee in some sort from ill." raymond smiled and held out his hand to his faithful servant. in times of common peril men's hearts are very closely knit together. the bond between the two youths seemed suddenly to take a new form; and when they rode forth at sunrise on the morrow, with john waving an adieu to them and watching their departure with a strange look of settled purpose on his face, it was no longer as master and servant that they rode, but as friends and comrades going forth to meet a deadly peril together. it seemed strange, as they rode along in the bright freshness of a clear september morning, to realize that any scenes of horror and death could be enacting themselves upon this fair earth not very many miles away. yet as they rode ever onwards and drew near to the infected districts, the sunshine became obscured by a thick haze, the fresh wind which had hitherto blown in their faces dropped, and the air was still with a deadly stillness new to both of them -- a stillness which was oppressive and which weighed upon their spirits like lead. the first intimation they had of the pestilence itself was the sight of the carcasses of several beasts lying dead in their pasture, and, what was more terrible still, the body of a man lying beside them, as though he had dropped dead as he came to drive them into shelter. raymond looked at the little group with an involuntary shudder, and roger crossed himself and muttered a prayer. but they did not turn out of their way; they were now nearing the gates of the monastery, and it was of father paul that raymond's thoughts were full. plainly enough he was in the heart of the peril. how had it gone with him since the sickness had appeared here? that question was answered the moment the travellers appeared within sight of the well-known walls. they saw a sight that lived in their memories for many a day to come. instead of the calm and solitude which generally reigned in this place, a great crowd was to be seen around the gate, but such a crowd as the youths had never dreamed of before. wretched, plague-stricken people, turned from their own doors and abandoned by their kindred, had dragged themselves from all parts to the doors of the monastery, in the hope that the pious brothers would give them help and a corner to die in peace. and that they were not disappointed in this hope was well seen: for as raymond and his companion appeared, they saw that one after another of these wretched beings was carried within the precincts of the monastery by the brothers; whilst amongst those who lay outside waiting their turn for admission, or too far gone to be moved again, a tall thin form moved fearlessly, bending over the dying sufferers and hearing their last confessions, giving priestly absolution, or soothing with strong and tender hands the last agonies of some stricken creature. raymond, with a strange, tense look upon his face, went straight to the father where he stood amongst the dying and the dead, and just as he reached his side the monk stood suddenly up and looked straight at him. his austere face did not relax, but in his eyes shone a light that looked like triumph. "it is well, my son," he said. "i knew that thou wouldest be here anon. the soldier of the cross is ever found at his post in such a time as this." chapter xviii. with father paul. all that evening and far into the night raymond worked with the brothers under father paul, bringing in the sick, burying the dead, and tending all those for whom anything could be done to mitigate their sufferings, or bring peace either of body or mind. by nightfall the ghastly assemblage about the monastery doors had disappeared. the living were lying in rows in the narrow beds, or upon the straw pallets of the brothers, filling dormitories and refectory alike; the dead had been laid side by side in a deep trench which had been hastily dug by order of father paul; and after he had read over them the burial service, earth and lime had been heaped upon the bodies, and one end of the long trench filled in. before morning there were a score more corpses to carry forth, and out of the thirty and odd stricken souls who lay within the walls, probably scarce ten would recover from the malady. but no more of the sick appeared round and about the monastery gates as they had been doing for the past three days; and when raymond asked why this was so, father paul looked into his face with a keen, searching glance as he replied: "verily, my son, it is because there be no more to come -- no more who have strength to drag themselves out hither. tomorrow i go forth to visit the villages where the sick be dying like beasts in the shambles. i go to shrive and confess the sick, to administer the last rites to the dying, to read the prayers of the church over those who are being carried to the great common grave. god alone knows whether even now the living may suffice to bury the dead. but where the need is sorest, there must his faithful servants be found." raymond looked back with a face full of resolute purpose. "father, take me with thee," he said. father paul looked earnestly into that fair young face, that was growing so intensely spiritual in its expression, and asked one question. "my son, and if it should be going to thy death?" "i will go with thee, father paul, be it for life or for death." "god bless and protect thee, my son!" said the father. "i verily believe that thou art one over whom the blessed saints and the holy angels keep watch and ward, and that thou wilt pass unscathed even through this time of desolation and death." raymond had bent his knee to receive the father's blessing, and when he rose he saw that roger was close behind him, likewise kneeling; and reading the thought in his mind, he said to the father: "wilt thou not give him thy blessing also? for i know that he too will go with us and face the peril, be it for life or death." father paul laid his hand upon the head of the second lad. "may god's blessing rest also upon thee, my son," he said. "in days past thou hast been used as an instrument of evil, and hast been forced to do the devil's own work. now god, in his mercy, has given thee work to do for him, whereby thou mayest in some sort make atonement for the past, and show by thy faith and piety that thou art no longer a bondservant unto sin." then turning to both the youths as they stood before him, the father added, in a different and less solemn tone: "and since your purpose is to go forth with me tomorrow, you must now take some of that rest without which youthful frames cannot long dispense. since early dawn you have been travelling and working at tasks of a nature to which you are little used. come with me, therefore, and pass the remaining hours of the night in sleep. i will arouse you for our office of early mass, and then we will forth together. till then sleep fearlessly and well. sleep will best fit you for what you will see and hear tomorrow." so saying, the father led them into a narrow cell where a couple of pallet beds had been placed, and where some slices of brown bread and a pitcher of spring water were likewise standing. "our fare is plain, but it is wholesome. eat and drink, my sons, and sleep in peace. wake not nor rise until i come to you again." the lads were indeed tired enough, though they had scarcely known it in the strange excitement of the journey, and amid the terrible scenes of death and sickness which they had witnessed around and about the monastery doors since their arrival there. now, however, that they had received the command to rest and sleep (and to gainsay the father's commands was a thing that would never have entered their minds), they were willing enough to obey, and had hardly laid themselves down before they fell into a deep slumber, from which neither awoke until the light of day had long been shining upon the world, and the father stood beside them bidding them rise and follow him. in a few minutes their simple toilet and ablutions had been performed, and they made their way along the familiar passage to the chapel, from whence a low sound of chanting began to arise. there were not many of the brothers present at the early service, most of them being engaged in tending the plague-stricken guests beneath their roof. but the father was performing the office of the mass, and when he had himself partaken of the sacrament, he signed to the two boys, who were about to go forth with him into scenes of greater peril than any they had witnessed heretofore, to come and receive it likewise. the service over, and some simple refreshment partaken of, the youths prepared for their day's toil, scarce knowing what they would be like to see, but resolved to follow father paul wherever he went, anxious only to accomplish successfully such work as he should find for them to do. each had a certain burden to carry with him -- some of the cordials that had been found to give most relief in cases of utter collapse and exhaustion, a few simple medicaments and outward applications thought to be of some use in allaying the pain of those terrible black swellings from which the sickness took its significant name, and some simply-prepared food for the sufferers, who were often like to perish from inanition even before the plague had done its worst. for stricken persons, or those supposed to be stricken, were often turned out of their homes even by their nearest relatives, and forced to wander about homeless and starving, none taking pity upon their misery, until the poison in their blood did its fatal work, and they dropped down to die. that loosening of the bands of nature and affection in times of deadly sickness has always been one of the most terrible features of the outbreaks of the plague when it has visited either this or other lands. there are some forms of peril that bind men closer and closer together, and that bring into bond of friendship even those who have been before estranged; and terrible though these perils may be, there is always a deep sense of underlying consolation in the closer drawing of the bond of brotherhood. but when the scourge of deadly sickness has passed over the land, the effect has almost always been to slacken this tie; the inherent love of life, natural to human beings, turning to an almost incredible selfishness, and inducing men to abandon their nearest and dearest in the hour of peril, leaving them, if stricken, to die alone, or turning them, sick to death though they might be, away from their doors, to perish untended and without shelter. true, there were many bright exceptions to such a code of barbarity, and devoted men and women arose by the score to strive to ameliorate the condition of the sufferers; but for all that, one of the most terrible features of the period of death and desolation was that of the fearful panic it everywhere produced, and the inhuman neglect and cruelty with which the early sufferers were treated by the very persons who, perhaps only a few days or even hours later, had themselves caught the contagion, and were lying dead or dying in the homes from which they had ejected their own kith and kin before. of the fearful havoc wrought in england by this scourge of the black death many readers of history are scarcely aware. whole districts were actually and entirely depopulated, not a living creature of any kind being left sometimes within a radius of many miles; and at the lowest computation made by historians, it is believed that not less than one-half of the entire population perished during the outbreak. but of anything like the magnitude of such a calamity no person at this time had any conception, and little indeed was raymond prepared for the sights that he was this day to look upon. the father and his two assistants went forth after they had partaken of food, and turned their faces westward. "there is a small village two miles hence that we will visit first," said the father, "for the poor people have no pastor or any other person to care for their bodies or souls, and i trow we shall find work to do there. if time permits when we have done what we may there, we will pass on to the little town round the church of st. michael, whose spire you see yonder on the hillside. many of the stricken folks within our walls came from thence. the sickness is raging there, and there may be few helpers left by now." the same sultry haze the travellers had noticed in the infected regions was still hanging over the woods today as they sallied forth; and though the sun was shining in the sky, its beams were thick and blood-red instead of being clear and bright, and there was an oppression in the air which caused the birds to cease their song, and lay on the spirit like a dead weight. "the curse of god upon the land -- the curse of god!" said the father, in a low, solemn tone, as he led the way, bearing in his hands the holy sacrament with which to console the dying. "men have long been forgetting him. but he will not alway be forgotten. he will arise in judgment and show men the error of their ways. if in their prosperity they will not remember him, he will call himself to their remembrance by a terrible day of adversity. and who may stand before the lord? who may abide the day of his visitation?" moving along with these and like solemn words of warning and admonition, to which his followers paid all reverent heed, the woodland path was quickly traversed, and the clearing reached which showed the near approach to the village. there was a break in the forest at this point, and some excellent pasture land and arable fields had tempted two farmers to establish themselves here, a small hamlet growing quickly up around the farmsteads. this small community supplied the brothers with some of the necessaries of life, and every soul there was known to the father. some dozen persons had come to the monastery gates during the past two days, stricken and destitute, and had been taken in there. but all these had died and no others had followed, and father paul was naturally anxious to know how it fared with those left behind. raymond and roger both knew the villagers well. the two years spent within the walls of the brotherhood had made them fully acquainted with the people round about. the little hamlet was a pretty spot: a number of low thatched cottages nestled together beside the stream that watered the meadows, whilst the larger farmsteads, which, however, were only modest dwelling houses with their barns and sheds forming a background to them, stood a little farther back upon a slightly-rising ground, sheltered from the colder winds by a spur of the forest. generally one was aware, in approaching the place, of the pleasant homely sounds of life connected with farming. today, with the golden grain all ready for the reaper's hand, one looked to hear the sound of the sickle in the corn, and the voices of the labourers calling to each other, or singing some rustic harvest song over their task. but instead of that a deadly and death-like silence prevailed; and raymond, who had quickened his steps as he neared the familiar spot, now involuntarily paused and hung back, as if half afraid of what he would be forced to look upon when once the last turning was passed. but father paul moved steadily on, turning neither to the right hand nor to the left. there was no hesitation or faltering in his step, and the two youths pressed after him, ashamed of their moment's backwardness. the sun had managed to pierce through the haze, and was shining now with some of its wonted brilliancy. as raymond turned the corner and saw before him the whole of the little hamlet, he almost wished the sun had ceased to shine, the contrast between the beauty and brightness of nature and the scene upon which it looked being almost too fearful for endurance. lying beside the river bank, in every attitude and contortion of the death agony, were some dozen prostrate forms of men, women, and children, all dead and still. it seemed as though they must have crawled forth from the houses when the terrible fever thirst was upon them, and dragging themselves down to the water's edge, had perished there. and yet if all were dead, as indeed there could be small doubt from their perfect stillness and rigidity, why did none come forth to bury them? already the warm air was tainted and oppressive with that plague-stricken odour so unspeakably deadly to the living. why did not the survivors come forth from their homes and bury the dead out of their sight? had all fled and left them to their fate? father paul walked calmly onwards, his eyes taking in every detail of the scene. as he reached the dead around the margin of the stream, he paused and looked upon the faces he had known so well in life, then turning to his two followers, he said: "i trow these be all dead corpses, but i will examine each if there be any spark of life remaining. go ye into the houses, and if there be any sound persons within, bid them, in the name of humanity and their own safety, come forth and help to bury their brethren. if they are suffered to lie here longer, every soul in this place will perish!" glad enough to turn his eyes from the terrible sight without, raymond hurried past to the cluster of dwelling places beyond, and entering the first of these himself, signed to roger to go into the second. he had some slight difficulty in pushing open the door, not because it was fastened, but owing to some encumbrance behind. when, however, he succeeded in forcing his way in, he found that the encumbrance was nothing more or less than the body of a woman lying dead along the floor of the tiny room. upon a bed in the corner two children were lying, smiling as if in sleep, but both stiff and cold, the livid tokens of the terrible malady visible upon their little bodies, though the end seemed to have been painless. no other person was in the house, and raymond, drawing a covering over the children as they lay, turned from the house again with a shudder of compassionate sorrow. outside he met roger coming forth with a look of awe upon his face. "there be five souls within you door," he said -- "an old woman, her two sons and two daughters. but they are all dead and cold. i misdoubt me if we find one alive in the place." "we must try farther and see," answered raymond, his face full of the wondering consternation of so terrible a discovery; and by mutual consent they proceeded in their task together. there was something so unspeakably awful in going about alone in a veritable city of the dead. and such indeed might this place be called. roger was fearfully right in his prediction. each house entered showed its number of victims to the destroyer, but not one of these victims was living to receive comfort or help from the ministrations of those who had come amongst them. and not man alone had suffered; upon the dumb beasts too had the scourge fallen: for when roger suddenly bethought him that the creatures would want tendance in the absence of their owners, and had gone to the sheds to seek for them, nothing but death met his eye on all sides. some in their stalls, some in the open fields, some, like their masters, beside the stream, lay the poor beasts all stone dead. it seemed as if the scourge had fallen with peculiar virulence upon this little hamlet, in the warm cup-like hollow where it lay, and had smitten it root and branch. possibly the waters of the stream had been poisoned higher up, and the deadly malaria had reached it in that way; possibly some condition of the atmosphere predisposed living things to take the infection. but be the cause what it might, there was no gainsaying the fact. not a living or breathing thing remained in the hamlet; and little as raymond knew it, such wholesale destruction was only too common throughout the length and breadth of england. but such a revelation coming upon him suddenly, brought before his very eyes when he had come with the desire to help and tend the living, filled him with an awe that was almost terror, although the terror was not for himself. personally he had no fear; he had given himself to this work, and he would hold to it be the result what it might. but the thought of the scourge sweeping down upon a peaceful hamlet, and carrying off in a few short days every breathing thing within its limits, was indeed both terrible and pitiful. he could picture only too vividly the terror, the anguish, the agony of the poor helpless people, and longed, not to escape from such scenes, but rather to go forward to other places ere the work of destruction had been accomplished, and be with the sick when the last call came. if he had been but two days earlier in coming forward, might he not have been in time to do a work of mercy and charity even here? but it was useless musing thus. to act, and not to think, was now the order of the day. he went slowly out from the yard they had last visited, his face as pale as death, but full of courage and high purpose. "there is nothing living here," he said, as he reached the father, who had not left the side of the dead. "we have been into all the houses, we have looked everywhere, but there is nothing but dead corpses: man and beast have perished alike. nothing that breathes is left alive." the father looked round upon the scene of smiling desolation -- the sunny harvest fields, the laughing brook, the broad meadows -- and the ghastly rows of plague-stricken corpses at his feet, and a stern, sad change passed across his face. "it is the hand of the lord," he said, "and perchance he smites in mercy as well as in wrath, delivering men from the evil to come. let us arise and go hence. our work is for the living and not the dead." for those three to have attempted to bury all that hamlet would have been an absolute impossibility. dreadful as was the thought of turning away and leaving the place as it was, it was hopeless to do otherwise, and possibly in the town men might be found able and willing to come out and inter the corpses in one common grave. with hearts full of awe, the two lads followed their conductor. he had been through similar scenes in other lands. to him there was nothing new in sights such as this. even the sense of personal peril, little as he had ever regarded it, had long since passed away. but it was something altogether new to raymond and his companion; and though they had seen death in many terrible forms upon the battlefield, it had never inspired the same feelings of horror and awe. it was impossible to forget that they might at any moment be breathing into their lungs the same deadly poison which was carrying off multitudes on every side, and although there was no conscious fear for themselves in the thought, it could not but fill them with a quickened perception of the uncertainty of life and the unreality of things terrestrial. in perfect silence the walk towards the little town was accomplished; and as they neared it terrible sights began to reveal themselves even along the roadside. plainly indeed to be seen were evidences of attempted flight from the plague-stricken place; and no doubt many had made good their escape, but others had fallen down by the wayside in a dying state, and these dead or dying sufferers were the first tokens observed by the travellers of the condition of the town. not all were dead, though most were plainly hopeless cases. raymond and roger had both learned something during the hours of the previous night, when they had helped the good brothers over their tasks; and they fearlessly knelt beside the poor creatures, moistening their parched lips, answering their feeble, moaning plaints, and summoning to the side of the dying the father, who could hear the feeble confession of sin, and pronounce the longed-for absolution to the departing soul. passing still onwards -- for they could not linger long, and little enough could be done for these dying sufferers, all past hope -- they reached the streets of the town itself; and the first sight which greeted their eyes was the figure of a man stripped naked to the waist, his back bleeding from the blows he kept on inflicting upon himself with the thick, knotted cord he held in his hands, a heavy and rough piece of iron being affixed to the end to make the blows more severe. from the waist downwards he was clothed with sackcloth, and as he rushed about the streets shrieking and castigating himself, he called aloud on the people to repent of their sins, and to flee from the wrath of god that was falling upon the whole nation. yet, though many dead and dying were lying in the streets about him, and though cries and groans from many houses told that the destroyer was at work there, this flagellant (as these maniacs, of which at that time there were only too many abroad, were called) never attempted to touch one of them, though he ran almost over their prostrate bodies, and had apparently no fear of the contagion. there were very few people abroad in the streets, and such as were sound kept their faces covered with cloths steeped in vinegar or some other pungent mixture, and walked gingerly in the middle of the road, as if afraid to approach either the houses on each side or the other persons walking in the streets. a cart was going about, with two evil-looking men in it, who lifted in such of the dead as they found lying by the roadside, and coolly divested them of anything of any value which they chanced to have upon them before conveying them to the great pit just outside which had been dug to receive the victims of the plague. a wild panic had seized upon the place. most of the influential inhabitants had fled. there was no rule or order or oversight observed, and the priest of the church, who until this day had kept a certain watch over his flock, and had gone about encouraging and cheering the people, had himself been stricken down with the fell malady, and no one knew whether he were now living or dead. as the father passed by, people rushed out from many doors to implore him to come to this house or the other, to administer the last rites to some one dying within. there were other houses marked with a red cross on the doors, which had been for many days closed by the town authorities, until these had themselves fled, being assured that no person could live in that polluted air. what had become of the wretched beings thus shut up, when the watchers who were told off to guard them had fled in terror, it was hard to imagine; and whilst the father responded to the calls of those who required spiritual assistance at the last dread hour, raymond beckoned to roger to follow him in his visitation to those places where the distemper had first showed itself, and where people had hoped to confine it by closing the houses and letting none go forth. the terribly deadly nature of the malady was well exemplified by the condition of these houses. scarce ten living souls were found in them, and of these almost all were reduced to the last extremity either by disease or hunger; for none had been nigh them, and they had no strength to try to make their wants known. raymond had the satisfaction of seeing some amongst these wretched beings revive somewhat under his ministrations. it was not in every case the real distemper from which they suffered; in not a few the patients had sunk only from fright and the misery of feeling themselves shut away from their fellows. whenever any persons ailed anything in those days, it was at once supposed that the black death was upon them, and they were shunned and abhorred by all their friends and kindred. to these poor creatures it seemed indeed as though an angel from heaven had come down when raymond bent over them and put food and drink to their lips. many an office of loving mercy to the sick and dying did he and roger perform ere daylight faded from the sky; and before night actually fell, the father had by precept and example got together a band of helpers ready and willing to tend the sick and bury the dead, and the people felt that the terrible panic which had fallen upon them, and caused every one to flee away, had given place to something better and more humane. men who had fled their stricken homes and had spent their time carousing in the taverns, trying to drown their fears and their griefs, now returned home to see how it fared with those who had been left behind. women who had been almost distracted by grief, and had been rushing into the church sobbing and crying, and neglecting the sick, that they might pour out their hearts at the shrine of their favourite saint, were admonished by the holy father, so well known to them, to return to their homes and their duties. as the pall of night fell over the stricken city, and the three who had entered it a few hours before still toiled on without cessation, people breathed blessings on them wherever they appeared, and raymond felt that his work for the lord in the midst of his stricken people had indeed begun. chapter xix. the stricken sorcerer. "thou to guildford then, my son, and i and the brethren to london." so said father paul some three weeks later, as he stood once again inside the precincts of the monastery, with raymond by his side, looking round the thinned circle of faces of such of the brothers as had survived the terrible visitation which had passed over them, and now gone, as it seemed, elsewhere. quite one-half of the inhabitants of that small retreat had fallen victims to the scourge. scarce ten souls out of all those who had sought shelter within those walls had risen from their beds and gone forth to their desolated homes again. the great trench in the burying ground had received the rest; and of the brothers who gathered round father paul to welcome him back, several showed, by their pinched and stricken appearance, how near they themselves had been to the gates of death. few stricken by the fatal sickness itself ever recovered; but there were many others who, falling ill of overwork or some other feverish ailment, were accounted to have caught the distemper, and many of these did amend, though all sickness at such a time seemed to get a firmer hold upon its victims. but father paul and both his young assistants had escaped unscathed, though they had been waging a hand-to-hand fight with the destroyer for three long weeks, that seemed years in the retrospect. the brothers came crowding round them as about those returned from the grave. indeed, to them it did almost seem as though this was a resurrection from the dead; for they had long since given up all hope of seeing their beloved superior and father again in the flesh. but the father himself only accounted his work begun. although the pestilence appeared to have passed from the immediate district, and such cases as occurred amid the few survivors of the visitation were by no means so fatal as they had been in the beginning, yet the sickness itself in its most virulent form was sweeping along northward and eastward, spreading death and desolation in its track; and father paul had but one purpose in his mind, which was to follow in the path of the destroyer, performing for the sufferers wherever he went the same offices of piety and mercy that he had been wont to undertake all these past days; and the brothers, who had finished their labour of love within the walls of their home, and had grown fearless before the pestilence with that fearlessness which gradually comes to those who look long and steadily upon death, were not wanting in resolve to face it even in its most terrible shape. so that they one and all vowed that they would go with father paul; and his steps were bound for the capital of the kingdom, where he knew that the need would be the sorest. it seemed to the brothers, who had long lived beneath his austere but wise and fatherly rule, that not only did he himself bear a charmed life, but that all who worked with him felt the shelter of that charm. raymond and roger had returned, having suffered no ill effects from the terrible sights and scenes through which they had passed. though the country in these almost depopulated districts literally reeked with the pestilence, owing to the effluvia from the carcasses of men and beasts which lay rotting on the ground unburied, yet they had passed unscathed through all, and were ready to go forth again upon the same errand of mercy. raymond was much divided in mind as to his own course of action. much as he longed to remain with father paul, whom he continued to revere with a loving admiration that savoured of worship, he yet had a great desire to know how it was faring with his cousin john. he could not but be very sure that the pestilence would not pass guildford by, and he knew that john would go forth amongst the sick and dying, and bring them into his own house for tendance, even though his own life paid the forfeit. it was therefore with no small eagerness that he longed for news of him; and when he spoke of this to the father, the latter at once advised that they should part company -- he and such of the brethren as were fit for the journey travelling on to london, whilst the two youths took the direct road to guildford, to see how matters fared there. "ye are but striplings," said the father kindly, "and though ye be willing and devoted, ye have not the strength of men, nor are ye such seasoned vessels. in london the scenes will be terrible to look upon. it may be that they would be more than ye could well brook. go, then, to guildford. they will need helpers there who know how best to wrestle with the foul distemper, and ye have both learned many lessons with me. i verily believe that your work lies there, as mine lies yonder. go then, and the lord be with you. it may be we shall meet again in this world, but if not, in that world beyond into which our blessed saviour has passed, that through his intercession, offered unceasingly for us, we too may obtain an entrance through the merits of his redeeming blood." then blessing both the boys and embracing them with a tenderness new in one generally so reserved and austere, he sent them away, and they set their faces steadily whence they had come, not knowing what adventures they might meet upon the way. this return journey was by no means so rapid as the ride hither had been. both the horses they had then ridden had perished of the sickness, and as none others were to be found, and had they been obtainable might but have fallen down by the wayside to die, the youths travelled on foot. and they did not even take the most direct route, but turned aside to this place or the other, wherever they knew of the existence of human habitations; for wherever such places were, there might there be need for human help and sympathy. and not a few acts of mercy did the boys perform as they travelled slowly onwards through an almost depopulated region. time fails to tell of all they saw and heard as they thus journeyed; but they found ample employment for all their skill and energy. the lives of many little children, whose parents had died or fled, were saved by them, and the neglected little orphans left in the kindly care of some devoted sisterhood, whose inmates gladly received them, fearless of the risk they might run by so doing. wandering so often out of their way, they scarce knew their exact whereabouts when darkness fell upon them on the third day of their journeying; but after walking still onwards for some time in what they judged to be the right direction, they presently saw a light in a cottage window, and knocking at the door, asked shelter for the night. travellers at such a time as this were regarded with no small suspicion, and the youths hardly looked to get any answer to their request; but rather to their surprise, the door was quickly opened, and roger uttered a cry of recognition as he looked in the face of the master of the house. it was no other, in fact, than the ranger with whom as a boy he had found a temporary home, from which home he had been taken in his father's absence and sold into the slavery of basildene. the boy's cry of astonishment was echoed by the man when once he had made sure that his senses were not deceiving him, but that it was really little roger, whom he had long believed to be dead; and both he and his companion were eagerly welcomed in and set down to a plentiful meal of bread and venison pasty, whilst the boy told his long and adventurous story as briefly as he could, stephen listening with parted lips and staring eyes, as if to the recital of some miraculous narrative. and in truth the tale was strange enough, told in its main aspects: the escape from basildene, which to himself always partook of the nature of a miracle, the conflict with the powers of darkness in the monastery, his adventures in france, and now his marvellous escape in the midst of the plague-stricken people whom he had tended and helped. the ranger, who had lost his own wife and children in the distemper, and had himself escaped, had lost all fear of the contagion --indeed he cared little whether he lived or died; and when he heard upon what errand the youths were bent, he declared he would gladly come with them, for the solitude of his cottage was so oppressive to him that he would have welcomed even a plague-stricken guest sooner than be left much longer with only his hounds and his own thoughts for company. "if i cannot tend the sick, i can at least bury the dead," he said, drawing his horny hand across his eyes, remembering for whom he had but lately performed that last sad office. and raymond, to whom this offer was addressed, accepted his company gladly, for he knew by recent experience how great was the need for helpers where the sick and the dead so far outnumbered the whole and sound. he had gone off into a reverie as he sat by the peat fire, whilst roger and the ranger continued talking together eagerly of many matters, and he heard little of what passed until roused by the name of basildene spoken more than once, and he commanded his drowsy and wearied faculties to listen to what the ranger was saying. "yes, the black death has found its way in behind those walls, men say. the old sorcerer tried all his black arts to keep it out; but there came by one this morning who told me that the old man had been seized, and was lying without a soul to go near him. they have but two servants that have ever stayed with them in that vile place, and these both thought the old man's dealings with the devil would at least suffice to keep the scourge away, and felt themselves safer there than elsewhere. but the moment he was seized they both ran away and left him, and there they say he is lying still, untended and unwatched -- if he be not dead by now. for as for the son, he had long since made his own preparations. he has shut himself up in a turret, with a plentiful supply of food; and he burns a great fire of scented wood and spices at the foot of the stairway, and another in the place he lives in, and never means to stir forth until the distemper has passed. one of the servants, before he fled, went to the stair foot and called to him to tell him that his father lay a-dying of the plague below; but he only laughed, and said it was time he went to the devil, who had been waiting so long for him; and the man rushed out of the house in affright at the sound of such terrible blasphemy and unnatural wickedness at a time like this." raymond's face took a new expression as he heard these words. the lassitude and weariness passed out of it, and a curious light crept into his eyes. roger and the ranger continued to talk together of many things, but their silent companion still sat motionless beside the hearth. over his face was stealing a look of purpose -- such purpose as follows a struggle of the spirit over natural distaste and disgust. when the ranger presently left them, to see what simple preparations he could make for their comfort during the night, he motioned to roger to come nearer, and looking steadily at him, he said: "roger, i am going to basildene tonight, to see what human skill may do for the old sanghurst. he is our enemy -- thine and mine -- therefore doubly is it our duty to minister to him in the hour of his extremity. i go forth this night to seek him. wilt thou go with me? or dost thou fear to fall again under the sway of his evil mind, or his son's, if thou puttest foot within the halls of basildene again?" for a moment a look of strong repulsion crossed roger's face. he shrank back a little, and looked as though he would have implored his young master to reconsider his resolution. but something in the luminous glance of those clear bright eyes restrained him, and presently some of their lofty purpose seemed to be infused into his own soul. "if thou goest, i too will go," he said. "at thy side no harm from the evil one can come nigh me. have i not proved that a hundred times ere now? and the spell has long been broken off my neck and off my spirit. i fear neither the sorcerer nor his son. if it be for us -- if it be a call -- to go even to him in the hour of his need, i will go without a thought of fear. i go in the name of the holy virgin and her son. i need not fear what man can do against me." great was the astonishment of the worthy ranger when he returned to hear the purpose upon which his guests were bent; but he had already imbibed some of that strange reverential admiration for raymond which he so frequently inspired in those about him, and it did not for a moment occur to him to attempt to dissuade him from an object upon which his mind was bent. the october night, though dark and moonless, was clear, and the stars were shining in the sky as the little procession started forth. the ranger insisted on being one of the number. partly from curiosity, partly from sheer hatred of solitude, and a good deal from interest in his companions and their errand of mercy, he had decided to come with them, not merely to show them the way to basildene, which he could find equally well by night as by day, but to see the result of their journey there, and take on with him to guildford the description of the old sorcerer's home and his seizure there. as they moved along through the whispering wood, the man, in low and awe-stricken tones, asked roger of his old life there, and what it was that made him of such value to the sanghursts. raymond had never talked to the lad of that chapter in his past life, always abiding by father paul's advice to let him forget it as far as possible. now, however, roger seemed able to speak of it calmly, and without the terror and emotion that any recollection of that episode used to cause him in past years. he could talk now of the strange trances into which he was thrown, and how he was made to see things at a distance and tell all he saw. generally it was travellers upon the road he was instructed to watch, and forced to describe the contents of the mails they carried with them. some instinct made the boy many times struggle hard against revealing the nature of the valuables he saw that these people had about them, knowing well how they would be plundered by his rapacious masters, after they had tempted them upon the treacherous swamp not far from basildene, where, if they escaped with their lives, it would be as much as they could hope to do. but the truth was always wrung from him by suffering at last -- not that his body was in any way injured by them, save by the prolonged fasts inflicted upon him to intensify his gift of clairvoyance; but whilst in these trances they could make him believe that any sort of pain was being inflicted, and he suffered it exactly as though it had been actually done upon his bodily frame. thus they forced from his reluctant lips every item of information they desired; and he knew when plunder was brought into the house, and stored in the deep underground cellars, how and whence it had come -- knew, too, that many and many a wretched traveller had been overwhelmed in the swamp who might have escaped with life and goods but for him. it was the horror of this conviction, and the firm belief that he had been bound over body and soul to satan, that was killing him by inches when the twin brothers effected his rescue. he did not always remember clearly in his waking moments what had passed in his hours of trance, but the horror of great darkness always remained with him; and at some moments everything would come upon him with a fearful rush, and he would remain stupefied and overwhelmed with anguish. to all of this raymond listened with great interest. he and john had read of some such phenomena in their books relating to the history of magic; and little as the hypnotic state was understood in those days, the young student had gained some slight insight into the matter, and was able to speak of his convictions to roger with some assurance. he told him that though he verily believed such power over the wills of others to be in some sort the work of the devil, it might yet be successfully withstood by a resolute will, bound over to the determination to yield nothing to the strong and evil wills of others. and roger, who had long since fought his fight and gained strength and confidence, was not afraid of venturing into the stronghold of wickedness -- less so than ever now that he might go at raymond's side. it was midnight before the lonely house was reached, and raymond's heart beat high as he saw the outline of the old walls looming up against the gloomy sky. not a light was to be seen burning in any of the windows, save a single gleam from out the turret at the corner away to the left; and though owls hooted round the place, and bats winged their uncertain flight, no other living thing was to be seen, and the silence of death seemed to brood over the house. "this is the way to the door that is the only one used," said stephen, "and we shall find it unlocked for certain, seeing that the servants have run away, and the young master will not go nigh his father, not though he were ten times dying. my lantern will guide us surely enough through the dark passages, and maybe young roger will know where the old man is like to be found." "below stairs, i doubt not, amongst his bottles and books of magic," answered roger, with a light shiver, as he passed through the doorway and found himself once again within the evil house. "he would think that in yon place no contagion could touch him. he spent his days and nights alike there. he scarce left it save to go abroad, or perchance to have a few hours' sleep in his bed. but the treasure is buried somewhere nigh at hand down in those cellars, though the spot i know not. and he fears to leave it night or day, lest some stealthy hand filch away the ill-gotten gain. men thought he had the secret whereby all might be changed to gold, and indeed he would ofttimes bring pure gold out from the crucibles over his fire; but he had cast in first, unknown to those who so greedily watched him, the precious baubles he had stolen from travellers upon the road. he was a very juggler with his hands. i have watched him a thousand times at tricks which would have made the fortune of a travelling mountebank. but soft! here is the door at the head of the stairs. take heed how that is opened, lest the hound fly at thy throat. give me the lantern, and have thou thy huntsman's knife to plunge into his throat, else he may not let us pass down alive." but when the door was opened, the hound, instead of growling or springing, welcomed them with whines of eager welcome. the poor beast was almost starved, and had been tamed by hunger to unwonted gentleness. raymond, who had food in his wallet, fed him with small pieces as they cautiously descended the stairs, for basildene would furnish them with more if need be; the larder and cellar there were famous in their way, though few cared to accept of their owner's hospitality. roger almost expected to find the great door of that subterranean room bolted and locked, so jealous was its owner of entrance being made there; but it yielded readily to the touch, and the three, with the hound, passed in together. in a moment raymond knew by the peculiar atmosphere, which even in so large a place was sickly and fetid, that they were in the presence of one afflicted with the true distemper. the place was in total darkness save for the light of the lantern the ranger carried; but there were lamps in sconces all along the wall, and these roger quickly lighted, being familiar enough with this underground place, which it had been part of his duty to see to. the light from these lamps was pure and white and very bright, and lit up the weird vaulted chamber from end to end. it shone upon a stiffened figure lying prone upon the floor not far from the vaulted fireplace, upon whose hearth the embers lay black and cold; and raymond, springing suddenly forward as his glance rested upon this figure, feared that he had come too late, and that the foe of his house had passed beyond the power of human aid. "help me to lift him," he said to stephen; "and, roger, kindle thou a fire upon the hearth. there may be life in him yet. we will try what we know. yes, methinks his heart beats faintly; and the tokens of the distemper are plainly out upon him. perchance he may yet live. of late i have seen men rise up from their beds whom we have given up for lost." raymond was beginning to realize that the black boils, so often looked upon as the death tokens, were by no means in reality anything of the kind. as a matter of fact, of the cases that recovered, most, if not all, had the plague spots upon them. these boils were, in fact, nature's own effort at expelling the virulent poison from the system, and if properly treated by mild methods and poultices, in some cases really brought relief, so that the patient eventually recovered. but the intensity of the poison, and its rapid action upon the human organs, made cases of recovery rare indeed at the outset, when the outbreak always came in its most virulent form; and truly the appearance of old peter sanghurst was such as almost to preclude hope of restoration. tough as he was in constitution, the glaze of death seemed already in his eyes. he was all but pulseless and as cold as death, whilst the spasmodic twitchings of his limbs when he was lifted spoke of death rather than life. still raymond would not give up hope. he had the fire kindled, and it soon blazed up hot and fierce, whilst the old man was wrapped in a rich furred cloak which roger produced from a cupboard, and some hot cordial forced between his lips. after one or two spasmodic efforts which might have been purely muscular, he appeared to make an attempt to swallow, and in a few more minutes it became plain that he was really doing so, and with increasing ease each time. the blood began to run through his veins again, the chest heaved, and the breath was drawn in long, labouring gasps. at last the old man's eyes opened, and fixed themselves upon raymond's face with a long, bewildered stare. they asked him no questions. they had no desire that he should speak. his state was critical in the extreme. they had but come to minister to his stricken body. to cope with a mind such as his was a task that raymond felt must be far beyond his own powers. he would have given much to have had father paul at this bedside for one brief hour, the more so as he saw the shrinking and terror creeping over the drawn, ashen face. did his guilty soul know itself to be standing on the verge of eternity? and did the wretched man feel the horror of great darkness infolding him already? all at once he spoke, and his words were like a cry of terror. "alicia! alicia! how comest thou here?" raymond, to whom the words were plainly addressed, knew not how to answer them, or what they could mean; but the wild eyes were still fixed upon his face, and again the old man's excited words broke forth -- "comest thou in this dread hour to claim thine own again? alicia, alicia! i do repent of my robbery. i would fain restore all. it has been a curse, and not a blessing; all has been against me -- all. i was a happy man before i unlawfully wrested basildene from thee. since i have done that deed naught has prospered with me; and here i am left to die alone, neglected by all, and thou alone -- thy spirit from the dead -- comes to taunt me in my last hour with my robbery and my sin. o forgive, forgive! thou art dead. spirits cannot inherit this world's goods, else would i restore all to thee. tell me what i may do to make amends ere i die? but look not at me with those great eyes of thine, lightened with the fire of the lord. i cannot bear it -- i cannot bear it! tell me only how i may make restoration ere i am taken hence to meet my doom!" raymond understood then. the old man mistook him for his mother, who must have been about his own age when her wicked kinsman had ousted her from her possessions. had they not told him in the old home how wondrous like to her he was growing? the clouded vision of the old man could see nothing but the face of the youth bending over him, and to him it was the face of an avenging angel. he clasped his hands together in an agony of supplication, and would have cast himself at the boy's feet had he not been restrained. the terrible remorse which so often falls upon a guilty conscience at the last hour had the miserable man in its clutches. his mind was too far weakened to think of his many crimes even blacker than this one. the sight of raymond had awakened within him the memory of the defrauded woman, and he could think of nothing else. she had come back from the dead to put him in mind of his sin. if he could but make one act of restitution, he felt that he could almost die in peace. he gripped raymond's hand hard, and looked with agonizing intensity into his face. "i am not alicia," he answered gently. "her spirit is at rest and free, and no thought of malice or hatred could come from her now. i am her son. i know all -- how you drove her forth from basildene, and made yourself an enemy; but you are an enemy no longer now, for the hand of god is upon you, and i am here in his name to strive to soothe your last hours, and point the way upwards whither she has gone." "alicia's son! alicia's son!" almost screamed the old man. "now heaven be praised, for i can make restitution of all!" raymond raised his eyes suddenly at an exclamation from roger, to see a tall dark figure standing motionless in the doorway, whilst peter sanghurst's fiery eyes were fixed upon his face with a gaze of the most deadly malevolence in them. chapter xx. ministering spirits. "the sickness in the town! alackaday! woe betide us all! it will be next within our very walls. holy st. catherine protect us! may all the saints have mercy upon us! in guildford! why, that is scarce five short miles away! and all the men and the wenches are flying as for dear life, though if what men say be true there be few enough places left to fly to! why, joan, why answerest thou not? i might as well speak to a block as to thee. dost understand, girl, that the black death is at our very doors -- that all our people are flying from us? and yet thou sittest there with thy book, as though this were a time for idle fooling. i am fair distraught -- thy father and brother away and all! canst thou not say something? hast thou no feeling for thy mother? here am i nigh distracted by fear and woe, and thou carriest about a face as calm as if this deadly scourge were but idle rumour." joan laid down her book, came across to her mother, and put her strong hand caressingly upon her shoulder. poor, weak, timid lady vavasour had never been famed for strength of mind in any of the circumstances of life, and it was perhaps not wonderful that this scare, reaching her ears in her husband's absence, should drive her nearly frantic with terror. for many days reports of a most disquieting nature had been pouring in. persons who came to woodcrych on business or pleasure spoke of nothing but the approach of the black death. some affected to make light of it, protested that far too much was being made of the statements of ignorant and terrified people, and asserted boldly that it would not attack the well-fed and prosperous classes; whilst others declared that the whole country would speedily be depopulated, and whispered gruesome tales of those scenes of death and horror which were shortly to become so common. then the inhabitants of isolated houses like woodcrych received visits from travelling peddlers and mountebanks of all sorts, many disguised in oriental garb, who brought with them terrible stories of the spread of the distemper, at the same time offering for sale certain herbs and simples which they declared to be never-failing remedies in case any person were attacked by the disease; or else they besought the credulous to purchase amulets or charms, or in some cases alleged relics blessed by the pope, which if always worn upon the person would effectually prevent the onset of the malady. after listening greedily (as the servants in those houses always loved to do) to any story of ghastly horror which these impostors chose to tell them, they were thankful to buy at almost any price some antidote against the fell disease; and even lady vavasour had made many purchases for herself and her daughter of quack medicines and talismans or relics. but hitherto no one had dared to whisper how fast the distemper was encroaching in this very district. men still spoke of it as though it were far off, and might likely enough die out without spreading, so that now it was with terror akin to distraction that the poor lady heard through her servants that it had well-nigh reached their own doors. one of the lackeys had had occasion to ride over to the town that very day, and had come back with the news that people there were actually dying in the streets. he had seen two men fall down, either dead or stricken for death, before he could turn his beast away and gallop off, and the shops were shut and the church bell was tolling, whilst all men looked in each other's faces as if afraid of what they might see there. sir hugh and his son were far away from woodcrych at one of their newer possessions some forty miles distant, and in their absence lady vavasour felt doubly helpless. she shook off joan's hand, and recommenced her agitated pacing. her daughter's calmness was incomprehensible apathy to her. it fretted her even to see it. "thou hast no feeling, joan; thou hast a heart of stone," she cried, bursting into weak weeping. "why canst thou not give me help or counsel of some sort? what are we to do? what is to become of us? wouldst have us all stay shut up in this miserable place to die together?" joan did not smile at the feeble petulance of the half-distracted woman. indeed it was no time for smiles of any sort. the peril around and about was a thing too real and too fearful in its character to admit of any lightness of speech; and the girl did not even twit her mother with the many sovereign remedies purchased as antidotes against infection, though her own disbelief in these had brought down many laments from lady vavasour but a few days previously. brought face to face with the reality of the peril, these wonderful medicines did not inspire the confidence the sanguine purchasers had hoped when they spent their money upon them. lady vavasour's hope seemed now to lie in flight and flight alone. she was one of those persons whose instinct is always for flight, whatever the danger to be avoided; and now she was eagerly urging upon joan the necessity for immediate departure, regardless of the warning of her calmer-minded daughter that probably the roads would be far more full of peril than their own house could ever be, if they strictly shut it up, lived upon the produce of their own park and dairy, and suffered none to go backwards and forwards to bring the contagion with them. whether joan's common-sense counsel would have ever prevailed over the agitated panic of her mother is open to doubt, but all chance of getting lady vavasour to see reason was quickly dissipated by a piece of news brought to the mother and daughter by a white-faced, shivering servant. the message was that the lackey who had but lately returned from guildford, whilst sitting over the kitchen fire with his cup of mead, had complained of sudden and violent pains, had vomited and fallen down upon the floor in a fit; whereat every person present had fled in wild dismay, perfectly certain that he had brought home the distemper with him, and that every creature in the house was in deadly peril. lady vavasour's terror and agitation were pitiful to see. in vain joan strove to soothe and quiet her. she would listen to no words of comfort. not another hour would she remain in that house. the servants, some of whom had already fled, were beginning to take the alarm in good earnest, and were packing up their worldly goods, only anxious to be gone. horses and pack horses were being already prepared, for lady vavasour had given half-a-dozen orders for departure before she had made up her mind what to do or where to go. now she was resolved to ride straight to her husband, without drawing rein, or exchanging a word with any person upon the road. such of the servants as wished to accompany her might do so; the rest might do as they pleased. her one idea was to be gone, and that as quickly as possible. she hurried away to change her dress for her long ride, urging joan to lose not a moment in doing the same; but what was her dismay on her return to find her daughter still in her indoor dress, though she was forwarding her mother's departure by filling the saddlebags with provisions for the way, and laying strict injunctions upon the trusty old servants who were about to travel with her to give every care to their mistress, and avoid so far as was possible any place where there was likelihood of catching the contagion. they were to bait the horses in the open, and not to take them under any roof, and all were to carry their own victuals and drink with them. but that she herself was not to make one of the party was plainly to be learned by these many and precise directions. this fact became patent to the mother directly she came downstairs, and at once she broke into the most incoherent expression of dismay and terror; but joan, after letting her talk for a few minutes to relieve her feelings, spoke her answer in brief, decisive sentences. "mother, it is impossible for me to go. old bridget, as you know, is ill. it is not the distemper, it is one of the attacks of illness to which she has been all her life subject; but not one of these foolish wenches will now go near her. she has nursed and tended me faithfully from childhood. to leave her here alone in this great house, to live or die as she might, is impossible. here i remain till she is better. think not of me and fear not for me. i have no fears for myself. go to our father; he will doubtless be anxious for news of us. linger not here. men say that those who fear the distemper are ever the first victims. farewell, and may health and safety be with you. my place is here, and here i will remain till i see my way before me." lady vavasour wept and lamented, but did not delay her own departure on account of her obstinate daughter. she gave joan up for lost, but she would not stay to share her fate. she had already seen something of the quiet firmness of the girl, which her father sometimes cursed as stubbornness, and she felt that words would only be thrown away upon her. lamenting to the last, she mounted her palfrey, and set her train of servants in motion; whilst joan stood upon the top step of the flight to the great door, and waved her hand to her mother till the cortege disappeared down the drive. a brave and steadfast look was upon her face, and the sigh she heaved as she turned at last away seemed one of relief rather than of sorrow. lonely as might be her situation in this deserted house, it could not but be a relief to her to feel that her timid mother would shortly be under the protection of her husband, and more at rest than she could ever hope to be away from his side. he could not keep the distemper at bay, but he could often quiet the restless plaints and causeless terrors of his weak-minded spouse. as she turned back into the silent house she was aware of two figures in the great hall that were strange there, albeit she knew both well as belonging to two of the oldest retainers of the place, an old man and his wife, who had lived the best part of their lives in sir hugh's service at woodcrych. "why, betty -- and you also, andrew -- what do ye here?" asked joan, with a grave, kindly smile at the aged couple. with many humble salutations and apologies the old folks explained that they had heard of the hasty and promiscuous flight of the whole household, headed by the mistress, and also that the "sweet young lady" was left all alone because she refused to leave old bridget; and that they had therefore ventured to come up to the great house to offer their poor services, to wait upon her and to do for her all that lay in their power, and this not for her only, but for the two sick persons already in the house. "for, as i do say to my wife there," said old andrew, though he spoke in a strange rustic fashion that would scarce be intelligible to our modern ears, "a body can but die once; and for aught i see, one might as easy die of the black death as of the rheumatics that sets one's bones afire, and cripples one as bad as being in one's coffin at once. so i be a-going to look to poor willum, as they say is lying groaning still upon the kitchen floor, none having dared to go anigh him since he fell down in a fit. and if i be took tending on him, i know that you will take care of my old woman, and see that she does not want for bread so long as she lives." joan put out her soft, strong hand and laid it upon the hard, wrinkled fist of the old servant. there was a suspicious sparkle in her dark eyes. "i will not disappoint that expectation, good andrew," she said. "go if you will, whilst we think what may best be done for bridget. later on i will come myself to look at william. i have no fear of the distemper; and of one thing i am very sure -- that it is never kept away by being fled from and avoided. i have known travellers who have seen it, and have been with the sick, and have never caught the contagion, whilst many fled from it in terror only to be overtaken and struck down as they so ran. we are in god's hands -- forsaken of all but him. let us trust in his mercy, do our duty calmly and firmly, and leave the rest to him." later in the day, upheld by this same lofty sense of calmness and trust, joan, after doing all in her power to make comfortable the old nurse, who was terribly distressed at hearing how her dear young lady had been deserted, left her to the charge of betty, and went down again through the dark and silent house to the great kitchen, where william was still to be found, reclining now upon a settle beside the glowing hearth, and looking not so very much the worse for the seizure of the afternoon. "i do tell he it were but the colic," old andrew declared, rubbing his crumpled hands together in the glow of the fire. "he were in a rare fright when i found he -- groaning out that the black death had hold of he, and that he were a dead man; but i told he that he was the liveliest corpse as i'd set eyes on this seventy years; and so after a bit he heartened up, and found as he could get upon his feet after all. it were naught but the colic in his inside; and he needn't be afraid of nothing worse." old andrew proved right. william's sudden indisposition had been but the result of fright and hard riding, followed by copious draughts of hot beer taken with a view to keeping away the contagion. very soon he was convinced of this himself; and when he understood how the whole household had fled from him, and that the only ones who had stayed to see that he did not die alone and untended were these old souls and their adored young lady, his heart was filled with loving gratitude and devotion, and he lost no opportunity of doing her service whenever it lay in his power. strange and lonely indeed was the life led by those five persons shut up in that large house, right away from all sights and sounds from the world without. the silence and the solitude at last became well-nigh intolerable, and when bridget had recovered from her attack of illness and was going about briskly again, joan took the opportunity of speaking her mind to her fully and freely. "why do we remain shut up within these walls, when there is so much work to be done in the world? bridget, thou knowest that i love not my life as some love it. often it seems to me as though by death alone i may escape a frightful doom. all around us our fellow creatures are dying -- too often alone and untended, like dogs in a ditch. good bridget, i have money in the house, and we have health and strength and courage; and thou art an excellent good nurse in all cases of sickness. thou hast taught me some of thy skill, and i long to show it on behalf of these poor stricken souls, so often deserted by their nearest and dearest in the hour of their deadliest peril. if i go, wilt thou go with me? i trow that thou art a brave woman --" "and if i were not thou wouldst shame me into bravery, sweetheart," answered the old woman fondly, as she looked into the earnest face of her young mistress. "i too have been thinking of the poor stricken souls. i would gladly risk the peril in such a labour of love. as old andrew says, we can but die once. the holy saints will surely look kindly upon those who die at their post, striving to do as they would have done had they been here with us upon earth." and when william heard what his young mistress was about to do, he declared that he too would go with her, and assist with the offices to the sick or the dead. he still had a vivid recollection of the moments when he had believed himself left alone to die of the distemper; and fellow feeling and generosity getting the better of his first unreasoning terror, he was as eager as joan herself to enter upon this labour of love. bridget, who was a great botanist, in the practical fashion of many old persons in those days, knew more about the properties of herbs than anybody in the country round, and she made a great selection from her stores, and brewed many pungent concoctions which she gave to her young mistress and william to drink, to ward off any danger from infection. she also gave them, to hang about their necks, bags containing aromatic herbs, whose strong and penetrating odour dominated all others, and was likely enough to do good in purifying the atmosphere about the wearer. there was no foolish superstition in bridget's belief in her simples. she did not regard them as charms; but she had studied their properties and had learned their value, and knew them to possess valuable properties for keeping the blood pure, and so rendering much smaller any chance of imbibing the poison. at dusk that same evening, william, who had been out all day, returned, and requested speech of his young mistress. he was ushered into the parlour where she sat, with her old nurse for her companion; and standing just within the threshold he told his tale. "i went across to the town today. i thought i would see if there was any lodging to be had where you, fair mistress, might conveniently abide whilst working in that place. your worshipful uncle's house i found shut up and empty, not a soul within the doors -- all fled, as most of the better sort of the people are fled, and every window and door fastened up. half the houses, too, are marked with black or red crosses, to show that those within are afflicted with the distemper. there are watchmen in the streets, striving to keep within their doors all such as have the black death upon them; but these be too few for the task, and the maddened wretches are continually breaking out, and running about the streets crying and shouting, till they drop down in a fit, and lie there, none caring for them. by day there be dead and dying in every street; but at night a cart comes and carries the corpses off to the great grave outside the town." "and is there no person to care for the sick in all the town?" asked joan, with dilating eyes. "there were many monks at first; but the distemper seized upon them worse than upon the townfolks, and now there is scarce one left. soon after the distemper broke out, master john de brocas threw open his house to receive all stricken persons who would come thither to be tended, and it has been full to overflowing night and day ever since. i passed by the house as i came out, and around the door there were scores of wretched creatures, all stricken with the distemper, praying to be taken in. and i saw master john come out to them and welcome them in, lifting a little child from the arms of an almost dying woman, and leading her in by the hand. when i saw that, i longed to go in myself and offer myself to help in the work; but i thought my first duty was to you, sweet mistress, and i knew if once i had told my tale you would not hold me back." "nay; and i will go thither myself, and bridget with me," answered joan, with kindling eyes. "we will start with the first light of the new-born day. they will want the help of women as well as of men within those walls. "good bridget, look well to thy store of herbs, and take ample provision of all such as will allay fever and destroy the poison that works in the blood. for methinks there will be great work to be done by thee and me ere another sun has set; and every aid that nature can give us we will thankfully make use of." "your palfrey is yet in the stable, fair mistress," said william, "and there be likewise the strong sorrel from the farm, whereupon bridget can ride pillion behind me. shall i have them ready at break of day tomorrow? we shall then gain the town before the day's work has well begun." "do so," answered joan, with decision. "i would fain have started by night; but it will be wiser to tarry for the light of day. good william, i thank thee for thy true and faithful service. we are going forth to danger and perchance to death; but we go in a good cause, and we have no need to fear." and when william had retired, she turned to bridget with shining eyes, and said: "ah, did i not always say that john was the truest knight of them all? the others have won their spurs; they have won the applause of men. they have all their lives looked down on john as one unable to wield a sword, one well-nigh unworthy of the ancient name he bears. but which of yon gay knights would have done what he is doing now? who of all of them would stand forth fearless and brave in the teeth of this far deadlier peril than men ever face upon the battlefield? i trow not one of them would have so stood before a peril like this. they have left that for the true knight of the cross!" at dawn next day joan said adieu to her old home, and set her face steadily forward towards guildford. the chill freshness of the november air was pleasant after the long period of oppressive warmth and closeness which had gone before, and now that the leaves had really fallen from the trees, there was less of the heavy humidity in the air that seemed to hold the germs of distemper and transmit them alike to man and beast. the sun was not quite up as they started; but as they entered the silent streets of guildford it was shining with a golden glory in strange contrast to the scenes upon which it would shortly have to look. early morning was certainly the best time for joan to enter the town, for the cart had been its round, the dead had been removed from the streets, and the houses were quieter than they often were later in the day. once in a way a wild shriek or a burst of demoniacal laughter broke from some window; and once a girl, with hair flying wildly down her back, flew out of one of the houses sobbing and shrieking in a frenzy of terror, and was lost to sight down a side alley before joan could reach her side. pursuing their way through the streets, they turned down the familiar road leading to john's house, and dismounting at the gate, joan gave up her palfrey to william to seek stabling for it behind, and walked up with bridget to the open door of the house. that door was kept wide open night and day, and none who came were ever turned away. joan entered the hall, to find great fires burning there, and round these fires were crowded shivering and moaning beings, some of the latest victims of the distemper, who had been brought within the hospitable shelter of that house of mercy, but who had not yet been provided with beds; for the numbers coming in day by day were even greater than the vacancies made by deaths constantly occurring in the wards (as they would now be called). helpers were few, and of these one or another would be stricken down, and carried away to burial after a few hours' illness. of the wretched beings grouped about the fires several were little children, and joan's heart went out in compassion to the suffering morsels of humanity. taking a little moaning infant upon her knee, and letting two more pillow their weary beads against her dress, she signed to bridget to remove her riding cloak, which she gently wrapped about the scantily-clothed form of a woman extended along the ground at her feet, to whom the children apparently belonged. the woman was dying fast, as her glazing eyes plainly showed. probably her case was altogether hopeless; but joan was not yet seasoned to such scenes, and it seemed too terrible to sit by idle whilst a fellow creature actually died not two yards away. surely somewhere within that house aid could be found. the girl rose gently from her seat, and still clasping the stricken infant in her arms, she moved towards one of the closed doors of the lower rooms. opening this softly, she looked in, and saw a row of narrow pallet beds down each side of the room, and every bed was tenanted. sounds of moaning, the babble of delirious talk, and thickly-uttered cries for help or mercy now reached her ears, and the terrible breath of the plague for the first time smote upon her senses in all its full malignity. she recoiled for an instant, and clutched at the bag around her neck, which she was glad enough to press to her face. a great fire was burning in the hearth, and all that could be done to lessen the evil had been accomplished. there was one attendant in this room, which was set apart for men, and he was just now bending over a delirious youth, striving to restrain his wild ravings and to induce him to remain in his bed. this attendant had his back to joan, but she saw by his actions and his calm self possession that he was no novice to his task; and she walked softly through the pestilential place, feeling that she should not appeal to him for help in vain. as the sound of the light, firm tread sounded upon the bare boards of the floor, the attendant suddenly lifted himself and turned round. joan uttered a quick exclamation of surprise, which was echoed by the person in question. "raymond!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "joan! thou here, and at such a time as this!" and then they both stood motionless for a few long moments, feeling that despite the terrible scenes around and about them, the very gates of paradise had opened before them, turning everything around them to gold. chapter xxi. the old, old story the scourge had passed. it had swept over the length and breadth of the region of which guildford formed the centre, and had done its terrible work of destruction there, leaving homes desolated and villages almost depopulated. it was still raging in london, and was hurrying northward and eastward with all its relentless energy and deadliness; but in most of the places thus left behind its work seemed to be fully accomplished, and there were no fresh cases. people began to go about their business as of old. those who had fled returned to their homes, and strove to take up the scattered threads of life as best they might. in many cases whole families had been swept out of existence; in others (more truly melancholy cases), one member had escaped when all the rest had perished. the religious houses were crowded with the helpless orphans of the sufferers in the epidemic, and the summer crops lay rotting in the fields for want of labourers to get them in. john's house in guildford had by this time reassumed its normal aspect. the last of the sick who had not been carried to the grave, but had recovered to return home, had now departed, with many a blessing upon the master, whose act of piety and charity had doubtless saved so many lives at this crisis. the work the young man had set himself to do had been nobly accomplished; but the task had been one beyond his feeble strength, and he now lay upon a couch of sickness, knowing well, if others did not, that his days were numbered. he had fallen down in a faint upon the very day that the last patient had been able to leave his doors. for a moment it was feared that the poison of the distemper had fastened upon him; but it was not so. the attack was but due to the failure of the heart's action -- nature, tried beyond her powers of endurance, asserting herself at last -- and they laid him down in his old favourite haunt, with his books around him, having made the place look like it did before the house had been turned into a veritable hospital and mortuary. when john opened his eyes at last it was to find joan bending over him; and looking into her face with his sweet, tired smile, he said: "you will not leave me, joan?" "no," she answered gently; "i will not leave you yet. bridget and i will nurse you. all our other helpers are themselves worn out; but we have worked only a little while. we have not borne the burden and heat of that terrible day." "you came in a good hour -- like angels of mercy that you were," said john, feeling, now that the long strain and struggle was over, a wonderful sense of rest and peace. "i thought it was a dream when first i saw your face, joan -- when i saw you moving about amongst the sick, always with a child in your arms. i have never been able to ask how you came hither. in those days we could never stay to talk. there are many things i would fain ask now. how come you here alone, save for your old nurse? are your parents dead likewise?" "i know not that myself," answered joan, with the calmness that comes from constantly standing face to face with death. "i have heard naught of them these many weeks. william goes ofttimes to woodcrych to seek for news of them there. but they have not returned, and he can learn nothing." and then whilst john lay with closed eyes, his face so white and still that it looked scarce the face of a living man, joan told him all her tale; and he understood then how it was that she had suddenly appeared amongst them like a veritable angel of mercy. when her story was done, he opened his eyes and said: "where is raymond?" "they told me he was sleeping an hour since," answered joan. "he has sore need of sleep, for he has been watching and working night and day for longer than i may tell. he looks little more than a shadow himself; and he has had roger to care for of late, since he fell ill." "but roger is recovering?" "yes. it was the distemper, but in its least deadly form, and he is already fast regaining his strength. "has raymond been the whole time with you? i have never had the chance to speak to him of himself." and a faint soft flush awoke in joan's cheek, whilst a smile hovered round the corners of her lips. "nor i; yet there be many things i would fain ask of him. he went forth to be with father paul when first the black death made its fatal entry into the country; and from that day forth i heard naught of him until he came hither to me. we will ask him of himself when he comes to join us. it will be like old times come back again when thou, joan, and he and i gather about the yule log, and talk together of ourselves and others." a common and deadly peril binds very closely together those who have faced it and fought it hand in hand and shoulder to shoulder; and in those days of divided houses, broken lives, and general disruption of all ordinary routine in domestic existence, things that in other times would appear strange and unnatural were now taken as a matter of course. it did not occur to joan as in any way remarkable that she should remain in john's house, nursing him with the help of bridget, and playing a sister's part until some of his own kith or kin returned. he had been deserted by all of his own name. she herself knew not whether she had any relatives living. circumstances had thrown her upon his hospitality, and she had looked upon him almost as a brother ever since the days of her childhood. she knew that he was dying; there was that in his face which told as much all too well to those who had long been looking upon death. to have left him at such a moment would have seemed far more strange and unnatural than to remain. in those times of terror stranger things were done daily, no man thinking aught of it. so she smiled as she heard john's last words, trying to recall the day when she had first seen raymond at master bernard's house, when he had seemed to her little more than a boy, albeit a very knightly and chivalrous one. now her feelings towards him were far different: not that she thought less of his knightliness and chivalry, but that she was half afraid to let her mind dwell too much upon him and her thoughts of him; for of late, since they had been toiling together in the hand-to-hand struggle against disease and death, she was conscious of a feeling toward him altogether new in her experience, and his face was seldom out of her mental vision. the sound of his voice was ever in her ears; and she always knew, by some strange intuition, when he was near, whether she could see him or not. she knew even as john spoke that he was approaching; and as the latch of the door clicked a soft wave of colour rose in her pale cheek, and she turned her head with a gesture that spoke a mute welcome. "they tell me that thou art sick, good john," said raymond, coming forward into the bright circle of the firelight. the dancing flames lit up that pale young face, worn and hollow with long watching and stress of work, and showed that raymond had changed somewhat during those weeks of strange experience. some of the dreaminess had gone out of the eyes, to be replaced by a luminous steadfastness of expression which had always been there, but was now greatly intensified. pure, strong, and noble, the face was that of a man rather than a boy, and yet the bright, almost boyish, alertness and eagerness were still quickly apparent when he entered into conversation, and turned from one companion to another. it was the same raymond -- yet with a difference; and both of his companions scanned him with some curiosity as he took his seat beside john's couch and asked of his cousin's welfare. "nay, trouble not thyself over me; thou knowest that my life's sands are well-nigh run out. i have been spared for this work, that thou, my raymond, gavest me to do. i am well satisfied, and thou must be the same, my kind cousin. only let me have thee with me to the end -- and sweet mistress joan, if kind fortune will so favour us. and tell us now of thyself, raymond, and how it fared with thee before thou camest hither. hast thou been with father paul? and if so, why didst thou leave him? is he, too, dead?" "he was not when we parted; he went forward to london when he bid me come to see how it fared with thee, good john, and bring thee his blessing. i should have been with thee one day earlier, save that i turned aside to basildene, where i heard that the old man lay dying alone." "basildene!" echoed both his hearers quickly. "has the black death been there?" "ay, and the old man who is called a sorcerer is dead. to me it was given to soothe his dying moments, and give him such christian burial as men may have when there be no priest at hand to help them to their last rest. i was in time for that." "peter sanghurst dead!" mused john thoughtfully; and looking up at raymond, he said quickly, "did he know who and what thou wert?" "he did; for in his delirium he took me for my mother, and his terror was great, knowing her to be dead. when i told him who i was, he was right glad; and he would fain have made over to me the deeds by which he holds basildene -- the deeds my mother left behind her in her flight, and which he seized upon. he would fain have made full reparation for that one evil deed of his life; but his son, who had held aloof hitherto, and would have left his father to die untended and alone --" joan had uttered a little exclamation of horror and disgust; now she asked, quickly and almost nervously: "the son -- peter sanghurst? o raymond, was that bad man there?" "yes; and he knows now who and what i am, whereby his old hatred to me is bitterly increased. he holds that i have hindered and thwarted him before in other matters. now that he knows i have a just and lawful claim on basildene, which one day i will make good, he hates me with a tenfold deadlier hatred." "hates you -- when you came to his father in his last extremity? how can he dare to hate you now?" raymond smiled a shadowy smile as he looked into the fire. "methinks he knows little of filial love. he knew that his father had been stricken with the distemper, but he left him to die alone. he would not have come nigh him at all, save that he heard sounds in the house, and feared that robbers had entered, and that his secret treasure hoards might fall into their hands. he had come down armed to the teeth to resist such marauders, being willing rather to stand in peril of the distemper than to lose his ill-gotten gold. but he found none such as he thought; yet having come, and having learned who and what manner of man i was, he feared to leave me alone with his father, lest i should be told the secret of the hidden hoard, which the old man longed to tell me but dared not. doubtless the parchment he wished to place in my hands is there; but his son hovered ever within earshot, and the old man dared not speak. yet with his last breath he called me lord of basildene, and charged me to remove from it the curse which in his own evil days had fallen upon the place." "peter sanghurst will not love you the more for that," said john. "verily no; yet methinks he can scarce hate me more than he does and has done for long." "he is no insignificant foe," was the thoughtful rejoinder. "his hate may be no light thing." "he has threatened me oft and savagely," answered raymond, "and yet no harm has befallen me therefrom." "why has he threatened thee?" asked joan breathlessly; "what hast thou done to raise his ire?" "we assisted roger, the woodman's son, to escape from that vile slavery at basildene, of which doubtless thou hast heard, sweet lady. that was the first cause of offence." "and the second?" raymond's clear gaze sought her face for a moment, and joan's dark eyes kindled and then slowly dropped. "the second was on thy account, sweet joan," said raymond, with a curious vibration in his voice. "he saw us once together -- it is long ago now -- and he warned me how i meddled to thwart him again. i scarce understood him then, though i knew that he would fain have won this fair hand, but that thou didst resolutely withhold it. now that i have reached man's estate i understand him better. joan, he is still bent upon having this hand. in my hearing he swore a great oath that by fair means or foul it should be his one day. he is a man of resolute determination, and, now that his father no longer lives, of great wealth too, and wealth is power. thou hast thwarted him till he is resolved to humble thee at all cost. i verily believe to be avenged for all thou hast cost him would be motive enough to make him compass heaven and earth to win thee. what sayest thou? to withstand him may be perilous --" "to wed him would be worse than death," said joan, in a very low tone. "i will never yield, if i die to save myself from him." unconsciously these two had lowered their voices. john had dropped asleep beside the fire with the ease of one exhausted by weakness and long watching. joan and raymond were practically alone together. there was a strange light upon the face of the youth, and into his pale face there crept a flush of faint red. "joan," he said, in low, firm tones that shook a little with the intensity of his earnestness, "when i saw thee first, and knew thee for a very queen amongst women, my boyish love and homage was given all to thee. i dreamed of going forth to win glory and renown, that i might come and lay my laurels at thy feet, and win one sweet answering smile, one kindly word of praise from thee. yet here am i, almost at man's estate, and i have yet no laurels to bring to thee. i have but one thing to offer -- the deep true love of a heart that beats alone for thee. joan, i am no knightly suitor, i have neither gold nor lands -- though one day it may be i may have both, and thy father would doubtless drive me forth from his doors did i present myself to him as a suitor for this fair hand. but, joan, i love thee -- i would lay down my life to serve thee -- and i know that thou mayest one day be in peril from him who is also mine own bitter foe. wilt thou then give me the right to fight for thee, to hold this hand before all the world and do battle for its owner, as only he may hope to do who holds it, as i do this moment, by that owner's free will? give me but leave to call it mine, and i will dare all and do all to win it. sweet mistress joan, my words are few and poor; but could my heart speak for me, it would plead eloquent music. thou art the sun and star of my life. tell me, may i hope some day to win thy love?" joan had readily surrendered her hand to his clasp, and doubtless this had encouraged raymond to proceed in his tale of love. he certainly had not intended thus to commit himself, poor and unknown and portionless as he was, with everything still to win; but a power stronger than he could resist drew him on from word to word and phrase to phrase, and a lovely colour mantled in joan's cheek as he proceeded, till at last she put forth her other hand and laid it in his, saying: "raymond, i love thee now. my heart is thine and thine alone. go forth, if thou wilt, and win honour and renown -- but thou wilt never win a higher honour and glory than i have seen thee winning day by day and hour by hour here in this very house -- and come back when and as thou wilt. thou wilt find me waiting for thee --ever ready, ever the same. i am thine for life or death. when thou callest me i will come." it was a bold pledge for a maiden to give in those days of harsh parental rule; yet joan gave it without shrinking or fear. that this informal betrothal might be long before it could hope to be consummated, both the lovers well knew; that there might be many dangers lying before them, they did not attempt to deny. it was no light matter to have thus plighted their troth, when raymond was still poor and nameless, and joan, in her father's estimation, plighted to the sanghurst. but both possessed brave and resolute spirits, that did not shrink or falter; and joyfully happy in the security of their great love, they could afford for a time to forget the world. raymond drew from within his doublet the half ring he had always carried about with him, and placed it upon the finger of his love. joan, on her side, drew from her neck a black agate heart she had always worn there, and gave it to raymond, who put it upon the silver cord which had formerly supported his circlet of the double ring. "so long as i live that heart shall hang there," he said. "never believe that i am dead until thou seest the heart brought thee by another. while i live i part not with it." "nor i with thy ring," answered joan, proudly turning her hand about till the firelight flashed upon it. and then they drew closer together, and whispered together, as lovers love to do, of the golden future lying before them; and raymond told of his mother and her dying words, and his love, in spite of all that had passed there, for the old house of basildene, and asked joan if they two together would be strong enough to remove the curse which had been cast over the place by the evil deeds of its present owners. "methinks thou couldst well do that thyself, my faithful knight," answered joan, with a great light in her eyes; "for methinks all evil must fly thy presence, as night flies from the beams of day. art thou not pledged to a high and holy service? and hast thou not proved ere now how nobly thou canst keep that pledge?" at that moment john stirred in his sleep and opened his eyes. there was in them that slightly bewildered look that comes when the mind has been very far away in some distant dreamland, and where the weakened faculties have hardly the strength to reassert themselves. "joan," he said -- "joan, art thou there? art thou safe?" she rose and bent over him smilingly. "here by thy side, good john, and perfectly safe. where should i be?" "and raymond too?" "raymond too. what ails thee, john, that thou art so troubled?" he smiled slightly as he looked round more himself. "it must have been a dream, but it was a strangely vivid one. belike it was our talk of a short while back; for i thought thou wast fleeing from the malice of the sanghurst, and that raymond was in his power, awaiting his malignant rage and vengeance. i know not how it would have ended -- i was glad to wake. i fear me, sweet joan, that thou wilt yet have a hard battle ere thou canst cast loose from the toil spread for thee by yon bad man." joan threw back her head with a queenly gesture. "fear not for me, kind john, for now i am no longer alone to fight my battle. i have raymond for my faithful knight and champion. raymond and i have plighted our troth this very day. let peter sanghurst do his worst; it will take a stronger hand than his to sunder love like ours!" john's pale face kindled with sympathy and satisfaction. he looked from one to the other and held out his thin hands. "my heart's wishes and blessings be with you both," he said. "i have so many times thought of some such thing, and longed to see it accomplished. there may be clouds athwart your path, but there will be sunshine behind the cloud. joan, thou hast chosen thy knight worthily and well. it may be that men will never call him knight. it may be that he will not have trophies rich and rare to lay at thy feet. but thou and i know well that there is a knighthood not of this world, and in that order of chivalry his spurs have already been won, and he will not, with thee at his side, ever be tempted to forget his high and holy calling. for thou wilt be the guiding star of his life; and thou too art dedicated to serve." there was silence for a few moments in the quiet room. john lay back on his pillows panting somewhat, and with that strange unearthly light they had seen there before deepening in his eyes. they had observed that look often of late -- as though he saw right through them and beyond to a glory unspeakable, shut out for the time from their view. joan put out her hand and took that of raymond, as if there was assurance in the warm human clasp. but their eyes were still fixed upon john's face, which was changing every moment. he had done much to form both their minds, this weakly scion of the de brocas house, whose life was held by those who bore his name to be nothing but a failure. it was from him they had both imbibed those thoughts and aspirations which had been the first link drawing them together, and which had culminated in an act of the highest self-sacrifice and devotion. and now it seemed to him, as he lay there looking at them, the two beings upon earth that he loved the best (for raymond was more to him than a brother, and joan the one woman whom, had things gone otherwise with him, he would fain have made his wife), that he might well leave his work in their hands -- that they would carry on to completion the nameless labour of love which he had learned to look upon as the highest form of chivalry. "raymond," he said faintly. raymond came and bent down over him. "i am close beside thee, john." "i know it. i feel it. i am very happy. raymond, thou wilt not forget me?" "never, john, never." "i have been very happy in thy brotherly love and friendship. it has been very sweet to me. raymond, thou wilt not forget thy vow? thou wilt ever be true to that higher life that we have spoken of so oft together?" raymond's face was full of deep and steadfast purpose. "i will be faithful, i will be true," he answered. "god helping me, i will be true to the vow we have made together. joan shall be my witness now, as i make it anew to thee here." "not for fame or glory or praise of man alone," murmured john, his voice growing fainter and fainter, "but first for the glory of god and his honour, and then for the poor, the feeble, the helpless, the needy. to be a champion to such as have none to help them, to succour the distressed, to comfort the mourner, to free those who are wrongfully oppressed, even though kings be the oppressors -- that is the true courage, the true chivalry; that is the service to which thou, my brother, art pledged." raymond bent his head, whilst joan's clasp tightened on his hand. they both knew that john was dying, but they had looked too often upon death to fear it now. they did not summon any one to his side. no priest was to be found at that time, and john had not long since received the sacrament with one who had lately died in the house. there was no restlessness or pain in his face, only a great peace and rest. his voice died away, but he still looked at raymond, as though to the last he would fain see before his eyes the face he had grown to love best upon earth. his breath grew shorter and shorter. raymond thought he made a sign to him to bend his head nearer. stooping over him, he caught the faintly-whispered words: "tell my father not to grieve that i did not die a knight. he has his other sons; and i have been very happy. tell him that -- happier, i trow, than any of them --" there were a brief silence and a slight struggle for breath, then one whispered phrase: "i will arise and go to my father --" those were the last words spoken by john de brocas. chapter xxii. the black visor. "brother, this is like old times," said gaston, his hand upon raymond's shoulder as they stood side by side in the extreme prow of the vessel that was conveying them once again towards the sunny south of france. the salt spray dashed in their faces, the hum of the cordage overhead was in their ears, and their thoughts had gone back to that day, now nigh upon eight years back, when they, as unknown and untried boys, had started forth to see the world together. gaston's words broke the spell of silence, and raymond turned his head to scan the stalwart form beside him with a look of fond admiration and pride. "nay, scarce like those old days, sir gaston de brocas," he answered, speaking the name with significant emphasis; and gaston laughed and tossed back his leonine head with a gesture of mingled pride and impatience as he said: "tush, brother! i scarce know how to prize my knighthood now that thou dost not share it with me -- thou so far more truly knightly and worthy. i had ever planned that we had been together in that as in all else. why wert thou not with me that day when we vanquished the navy of proud spain? the laurels are scarce worth the wearing that thou wearest not with me." for gaston was now indeed a knight. he had fought beside the prince in the recent engagement at sea, when a splendid naval victory had been obtained over the spanish fleet. he had performed prodigies of valour on that occasion, and had been instrumental in the taking of many rich prizes. and when the royal party had returned to windsor, gaston had been named, with several more youthful gentlemen, to receive knighthood at the hands of the prince of wales. whereupon master bernard de brocas had stood forward and told the story of the parentage of the twin brothers, claiming kinship with them, and speaking in high praise of raymond, who, since the death of john, had been employed by his uncle in a variety of small matters that used to be john's province to see to. in every point the gascon youth had shown aptitude and ability beyond the average, and had won high praise from his clerical kinsman, who was more the statesman than the parish priest. very warmly had the de brocas brothers been welcomed by their kinsmen; and as they laid no claim to any lands or revenues in the possession of other members of the family, not the least jealousy or ill-will was excited by their rise in social status. all that gaston asked of the king was liberty some day, when the hollow truce with france should be broken, and when the king's matters were sufficiently settled to permit of private enterprise amongst his own servants, to gather about him a company of bold kindred spirits, and strive to wrest back from the treacherous and rapacious sieur de navailles the ancient castle of saut, which by every law of right should belong to his own family. the king listened graciously to this petition, and gave gaston full encouragement to hope to regain his fathers' lost inheritance. but of basildene no word was spoken then; for the shrewd master bernard had warned raymond that the time had not yet come to prosecute that claim -- and indeed the neglected old house, crumbling to the dust and environed by an evil reputation which effectually kept all men away from it, seemed scarce worth the struggle it would cost to wrest it from the keeping of peter sanghurst. this worthy, since his father's death, had entered upon a totally new course of existence. he had appeared at court, sumptuously dressed, and with a fairly large following. he had ingratiated himself with the king by a timely loan of gold (for the many drains upon edward's resources kept him always short of money for his household and family expenses), and was playing the part of a wealthy and liberal man. it was whispered of him, as it had been of his father, that he had some secret whereby to fill his coffers with gold whenever they were empty, and this reputation gave him a distinct prestige with his comrades and followers. he was not accused of black magic, like his father. his secret was supposed to have been inherited by him, not bought with the price of his soul. it surrounded him with a faint halo of mystery, but it was mystery that did him good rather than harm. the king himself took favourable notice of one possessed of such a golden secret, and for the present the sanghurst was better left in undisturbed possession of his ill-gotten gains. raymond had learned the difficult lesson of patience, and accepted his uncle's advice. it was the easier to be patient since he knew that joan was for the present safe from the persecutions of her hated suitor. joan had been summoned to go to her father almost immediately upon the death of john de brocas. he had sent for her to woodcrych, and she had travelled thither at once with the escort sent to fetch her. raymond had heard from her once since that time. in the letter she had contrived to send him she had told him that her mother was dead, having fallen a victim to the dreaded distemper she had fled to avoid, but which had nevertheless seized her almost immediately upon her arrival at her husband's house. he too had been stricken, but had recovered; and his mind having been much affected by his illness and trouble, he had resolved upon a pilgrimage to rome, in which his daughter was to accompany him. she did not know how long they would be absent from england, and save for the separation from her true love, she was glad to go. her brother would return to the court, and only she and her father would take the journey. she had heard nothing all these weeks of the dreaded foe, and hoped he might have passed for ever from her life. and in this state matters stood with the brothers as the vessel bore them through the tossing blue waves that bright may morning, every plunge of the well-fitted war sloop bringing them nearer and nearer to the well-known and well-loved harbour of bordeaux. yet it was on no private errand that they were bound, though gaston could not approach the familiar shores of gascony without thinking of that long-cherished hope of his now taking so much more solid a shape. the real object of this small expedition was, however, the relief of the town of st. jean d'angely, belonging to the english king, which had been blockaded for some time by the french monarch. the distressed inhabitants had contrived to send word to edward of their strait, and he had despatched the earl of warwick with a small picked army to its relief. the gascon twins had been eager to join this small contingent, and had volunteered for the service. gaston was put in command of a band of fine soldiers, and his brother took service with him. this was the first time for several years that raymond had been in arms, for of late his avocations had been of a more peaceful nature. but he possessed all the soldier instincts of his race, and by his brother's side would go joyfully into battle again. he did not know many of the knights and gentlemen serving in this small expedition, nor did gaston either, for that matter. it was too small an undertaking to attract the flower of edward's chivalry, and the black death had made many gaps in the ranks of the comrades the boys had first known when they had fought under the king's banner. but the satisfaction of being together again made amends for all else. indeed they scarce had eyes for any but each other, and had so much to tell and to ask that the voyage was all too short for them. amongst those on board raymond had frequently noticed the figure of a tall man always in full armour, and always wearing his visor down, so that none might see his face. his armour was of fine workmanship, light and strong, and seemed in no way to incommode him. there was no device upon it, save some serpents cunningly inlaid upon the breastplate, and the visor was richly chased and inlaid with black, so that the whole effect was gloomy and almost sinister. raymond had once or twice asked the name of the black visor, as men called him, but none had been able to tell him. it was supposed that he was under some vow -- a not very uncommon thing in the days of chivalry -- and that he might not remove his visor until he had performed some gallant feat of arms. sometimes it had seemed to the youth as though the dark eyes looking out through the holes in that black covering were fixed more frequently upon himself than upon any one else; and if he caught full for a moment the fiery gleam, he would wonder for the instant it lasted where and when he had seen those eyes before. but his mind was not in any sense of the word concerned with the black visor, and it was only now and then he gave him a passing thought. and now the good vessel was slipping through the still waters of the magnificent harbour of bordeaux. the deck was all alive with the bustle of speedy landing, and the gascon brothers were scanning the familiar landmarks and listening with delight to the old familiar tongue. familiar faces there were none to be seen, it is true. the boys were too much of foreigners now to have many old friends in the queenly city. but the whole place was homelike to them, and would be so to their lives' ends. moreover, they hoped ere they took ship again to have time and opportunity to revisit old haunts and see their foster parents and the good priest once more; but for the present their steps were turned northward towards the gallant little beleaguered town which had appealed to the english king for aid. a few days were spent at bordeaux collecting provisions for the town, and mustering the reinforcements which the loyal city was always ready and eager to supply in answer to any demand on the part of the roy outremer. the french king had died the previous year, and his son john, formerly duke of normandy, was now upon the throne; but the situation between the two nations had by no means changed, and indeed the bitter feeling between them was rather increased than diminished by the many petty breaches of faith on one side or another, of which this siege of st. jean d'angely was an example. on the whole the onus of breaking the truce rested more with the french than the english. but a mere truce, where no real peace is looked for on either side, is but an unsatisfactory state of affairs at best; and although both countries were sufficiently exhausted by recent wars and the ravages of the plague to desire the interlude prolonged, yet hostilities of one kind or another never really ceased, and the struggles between the rival lords of brittany and their heroic wives always kept the flame of war smouldering. gascony as a whole was always loyal to the english cause, and bordeaux too well knew what she owed to the english trade ever to be backward when called upon by the english king. speedily a fine band of soldiers was assembled, and at dawn one day the march northward was commenced. the little army mustered some five thousand men, all well fed and in capital condition for the march. raymond rode by his brother's side well in the van, and he noticed presently, amongst the new recruits who had joined them, another man of very tall stature, who also wore a black visor over his face. he was plainly a friend to the unknown knight (if knight he were) who had sailed in their vessel, for they rode side by side deep in talk; and behind them, in close and regular array, rode a number of their immediate followers, all wearing a black tuft in their steel caps and a black band round their arm. however, there was nothing very noteworthy in this. many men had followers marked by some distinctive badge, and the sombre little contingent excited small notice. they all looked remarkably fine soldiers, and appeared to be under excellent discipline. more than that was not asked of any man, and the gascons were well known to be amongst the best soldiers of the day. the early start and the long daylight enabled the gallant little band to push on in the one day to the banks of the charente, and within a few miles of st. jean itself. there, however, a halt was called, for the french were in a remarkably good position, and it was necessary to take counsel how they might best be attacked. in the first place there was the river to be crossed, and the one bridge was in the hands of the enemy, who had fortified it, and would be able to hold it against great odds. they were superior in numbers to their assailants, and probably knew their advantage. gaston, who well understood the french nature, was the first to make a likely suggestion. "let us appear to retreat," he said. "they will then see our small numbers, and believe that we are flying through fear of them. doubtless they will at once rush out to pursue and attack us, and after we have drawn them from their strong position, we can turn again upon them and slay them, or drive them into the river." this suggestion was received with great favour, and it was decided to act upon it that very day. there were still several hours of daylight before them, and the men, who had had wine and bread distributed to them, were full of eagerness for the fray. the french, who were quite aware of the strength of their own position, and very confident of ultimate victory, were narrowly watching the movements of the english, whose approach had been for some time expected by them. they were certain that they could easily withstand the onslaught of the whole body, if these were bold enough to attack, and they well knew how terribly thinned would the english ranks become before they could hope to cross the bridge and march upon the main body of the french army encamped before the town. great, then, was the exultation of the french when they saw how much terror they had inspired in the heart of the foe. they were eagerly observing their movements; they saw that a council had been called amongst the chiefs, and that deliberations had been entered into by them. but so valiant were the english in fight, and so many were the victories they had obtained with numbers far inferior to those of the foe, that there was a natural sense of uncertainty as to the result of a battle, even when all the chances of the war seemed to be against the foreign foe. but when the trumpets actually sounded the retreat, and they saw the whole body moving slowly away, then indeed did they feel that triumph was near, and a great shout of derision and anger rose up in the still evening air. "to horse, men, and after them!" was the word given, and a cry of fierce joy went up from the whole army. "my lords of england, you will not get off in that way. you have come hither by your own will; you shall not leave until you have paid your scot." no great order was observed as the frenchmen sprang to horse and galloped across the bridge, and so after the retreating foe. every man was eager to bear his share in the discomfiture of the english contingent, and hardly staying to arm themselves fully, the eager, hot-headed french soldiers, horse and foot, swung along in any sort of order, only eager to cut to pieces the flower of the english chivalry (as their leaders had dubbed this little band), and inflict a dark stain upon the honour of edward's brilliant arms. in the ranks of this same english contingent, now in rapid and orderly retreat, there was to the full as much exultation and lust of battle as in the hearts of their pursuing foes. every man grasped his weapon and set his teeth firmly, the footmen marching steadily onwards at a rapid and swinging pace, whilst the horsemen, who brought up the rear -- for they were to be the first to charge when the trumpet sounded the advance -- kept turning their heads to watch the movement of the foe, and sent up a brief huzzah as they saw that their ruse had proved successful, and that their foes were coming fast after them. "keep thou by my side in the battle today, raymond," said gaston, as he looked to the temper of his weapons and glanced backwards over his shoulder. "thou hast been something more familiar with the pen than the sword of late -- and thy faithful esquire likewise. fight, then, by my side, and together we will meet and overcome the foe. they will fight like wolves, i doubt not, for they will be bitterly wrathful when they see the trick we have played upon them. wherefore quit not my side, be the fighting never so hot, for i would have thee ever with me." "i wish for nothing better for myself," answered raymond, with a fond proud glance at the stalwart gaston, who now towered a full head taller above him, and was a very king amongst men. he was mounted on a fine black war horse, who had carried his master victoriously through many charges before today. raymond's horse was much lighter in build, a wiry little barb with a distinct arab strain, fearless in battle, and fleet as the wind, but without the weight or solidity of gaston's noble charger. indeed, gaston had found some fault with the creature's lack of weight for withstanding the onslaught of cavalry charge; but he suited raymond so well in other ways that the latter had declined to make any change, and told his brother smilingly that his great lucifer had weight and strength for both. scarcely had gaston given this charge to his brother before the trumpets sounded a new note, and at once the compact little body of horse and foot halted, wheeled round, and put themselves in position for the advance. another blast from those same trumpets, given with all the verve and joyousness of coming victory, and the horses of their own accord sprang forward to the attack. then the straggling and dismayed body of frenchmen who had been pushing on in advance of their fellows to fall upon the flying english, found themselves opposed to one of those magnificent cavalry charges which made the glory and the terror of the english arms throughout the reign of the great edward. vainly trying to rally themselves, and with shouts of "st. dennis!" "st. dennis!" the frenchmen rushed upon their foes; and the detachments from behind coming up quickly, the engagement became general at once, and was most hotly contested on both sides. gaston was one of the foremost to charge into the ranks of the french, and singling out the tallest and strongest adversary he could see, rode full upon him, and was quickly engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand conflict. raymond was close beside him, and soon found himself engaged in parrying the thrusts of several foes. but roger was quickly at his side, taking his own share of hard blows; and as the foot and horse from behind pressed on after the impetuous leaders, and more and more detachments from the french army came up to assist their comrades, the melee became very thick, and in the crush it was impossible to see what was happening except just in front, and to avoid the blows levelled at him was all that raymond was able to think of for many long minutes -- minutes that seemed more like hours. when the press became a little less thick about him, raymond looked round for his brother, but could not see him. a body of riders, moving in a compact wedge, had forced themselves in between himself and gaston. he saw the white plume in his brother's helmet waving at some distance away to the left, but when he tried to rein in his horse and reach him, he still found himself surrounded by the same phalanx of mounted soldiers, who kept pressing him by sheer weight on and on away to the right, though the tide of battle was most distinctly rolling to the left. the french were flying promiscuously back to their lines, and the english soldiers were in hot pursuit. raymond was no longer amid foes. he had long since ceased to have to use his sword either for attack or defence, but he could not check the headlong pace of his mettlesome little barb, nor could he by any exertion of strength turn the creature's head in any other direction. as he was in the midst of those he looked upon as friends, he had no uneasiness as to his own position, even though entirely separated from gaston and roger, who generally kept close at his side. he was so little used of late to the manoeuvres of war, that he fancied this headlong gallop, in which he was taking an involuntary part, might be the result of military tactics, and that he should see its use presently. but as he and his comrades flew over the ground, and the din of the battle died away in his ears, and the last of the evening sunlight faded from the sky, a strange sense of coming ill fell upon raymond's spirit. again he made a most resolute and determined effort to check the fiery little creature he rode, who seemed as if his feet were furnished with wings, so fast he spurned the ground beneath his hoofs. then for the first time the youth found that this mad pace was caused by regular goading from the silent riders who surrounded him. turning in his saddle he saw that these men were one and all engaged in pricking and spurring on the impetuous little steed; and as he cast a keen and searching look at these strange riders, he saw that they all wore in their steel caps the black tuft of the followers of the black visor and his sable-coated companion, and that these two leaders rode themselves a little distance behind. greatly astonished at the strange thing that was befalling him, yet not, so far, alarmed for his personal safety, raymond drew his sword and looked steadily round at the ring of men surrounding him. "cease to interfere with my horse, gentlemen," he said, in stern though courteous accents. "it may be your pleasure thus to ride away from the battle, but it is not mine; and i will ask of you to let me take my way whilst you take yours. why you desire my company i know not, but i do not longer desire yours; wherefore forbear!" not a word or a sign was vouchsafed him in answer; but as he attempted to rein back his panting horse, now fairly exhausted with the struggle between the conflicting wills of so many persons, the dark silent riders continued to urge him forward with open blows and pricks from sword point, till, as he saw that his words were still unheeded, a dangerous glitter shone in raymond's eyes. "have a care how you molest me, gentlemen!" he said, in clear, ringing tones. "ye are carrying a jest (if jest it be meant for) a little too far. the next who dares to touch my horse must defend himself from my sword." and then a sudden change came over the bearing of his companions. a dozen swords sprang from their scabbards. a score of harsh voices replied to these words in fierce accents of defiance. one -- two -- three heavy blows fell upon his head; and though he set his teeth and wheeled about to meet and grapple with his foes, he felt from the first moment that he had no chance whatever against such numbers, and that the only thing to do was to sell his life as dearly as he could. there was no time to ask or even to wonder at the meaning of this mysterious attack. all he could do was to strive to shield his head from the blows that rained upon him, and breathe a prayer for succour in the midst of his urgent need. and then he heard a voice speaking in accents of authority: where had he heard that voice before? "hold, men! have i not warned you to do him no hurt? kill him not, but take him alive." that was the last thing raymond remembered. his next sensation was of falling and strangulation. then a blackness swam before his eyes, and sense and memory alike fled. chapter xxiii. in the hands of his foe. how long that blackness and darkness lasted raymond never really knew. it seemed to him that he awoke from it at occasional long intervals, always to find himself dreaming of rapid motion, as though he were being transported through the air with considerable speed. but there was no means of telling in what direction he moved, nor in what company. his senses were clouded and dull. he did not know what was real and what part of a dream. he had no recollection of any of the events immediately preceding this sudden and extraordinary journey, and after a brief period of bewilderment would sink back into the black abyss of unconsciousness from which he had been roused for a few moments. at last, after what seemed to him an enormous interval -- for he knew not whether hours, days, or even years had gone by whilst he had remained in this state of unconscious apathy, he slowly opened his eyes, to find that the black darkness had given place to a faint murky light, and that he was no longer being carried rapidly onwards, but was lying still upon a heap of straw in some dim place, the outlines of which only became gradually visible to him. raymond was very weak, and weakness exercises a calming and numbing effect upon the senses. he felt no alarm at finding himself in this strange place, but after gazing about him without either recollection or comprehension, he turned round upon his bed of straw, which was by no means the worst resting place he had known in his wanderings, and quickly fell into a sound sleep. when he awoke some hours later, the place was lighter than it had been, for a ray of sunlight had penetrated through the loophole high above his head, and illuminated with tolerable brightness the whole of the dim retreat in which he found himself. raymond raised himself upon his elbow and looked wonderingly around him. "what in the name of all the holy saints has befallen me?" he questioned, speaking half aloud in the deep stillness, glad to break the oppressive silence, if it were only by the sound of his own voice. "i feel as though a leaden weight were pressing down my limbs, and my head is throbbing as though a hammer were beating inside it. i can scarce frame my thoughts as i will. what was i doing last, before this strange thing befell me?" he put his hand to his head and strove to think; but for a time memory eluded him, and his bewilderment grew painfully upon him. then he espied a pitcher of water and some coarse food set not far away, and he rose with some little difficulty and dragged his stiffened limbs across the stone floor till he reached the spot where this provision stood. "sure, this be something of the prisoner's fare," he said, as he raised the pitcher to his lips; "yet i will refresh myself as best i may. perchance i shall then regain my scattered senses and better understand what has befallen me." he ate and drank slowly, and it was as he hoped. the nourishment he sorely needed helped to dispel the clouds of weakness and faintness which had hindered the working of his mind before, and a ray of light penetrated the mists about him. "ha!" he exclaimed, "i have it now! we were in battle together -- gaston and i rode side by side. i recollect it all now. we were separated in the press, and i was carried off by the followers of the black visor. strange! he was in our ranks. he is a friend, and not a foe. how came it, then, that his men-at-arms made such an error as to set upon me? was it an error? did i not hear him, or his huge companion, give some order for my capture to his men before their blades struck me down? it is passing strange. i comprehend it not. but gaston will be here anon to make all right. there must be some strange error. sure i must have been mistaken for some other man." raymond was not exactly uneasy, though a little bewildered and disturbed in mind by the strangeness of the adventure. it seemed certain to him that there must have been some mistake. that he was at present a prisoner could not be doubted, from the nature of the place in which he was shut up, and the silence and gloom about him; but unless he had been abandoned by his first captors, and had fallen into the hands of the french, he believed that his captivity would speedily come to an end when the mistake concerning his identity was explained. if indeed he were in the power of some french lord, there might be a little longer delay, as a ransom would no doubt have to be found for him ere he could be released. but then gaston was at liberty, and gaston had now powerful friends and no mean share in some of the prizes which had been taken by sea and land. he would quickly accomplish his brother's deliverance when once he heard of his captivity; and there would be no difficulty in sending him a message, as his captor's great desire would doubtless be to obtain as large a ransom as he was able to extort. "they had done better had they tried to seize upon gaston himself," said raymond, with a half smile. "he would have been a prize better worth the taking. but possibly he would have proved too redoubtable a foe. methinks my arm has somewhat lost its strength or cunning, else should i scarce have fallen so easy a prey. i ought to have striven harder to have kept by gaston's side; but i know not now how we came to be separated. and roger, too, who has ever been at my side in all times of strife and danger, how came he to be sundered from me likewise? it must have been done by the fellows who bore me off -- the followers of the black visor. strange, very strange! i know not what to think of it. but when next my jailer comes he will doubtless tell me where i am and what is desired of me." the chances of war were so uncertain, and the captive of one day so often became the victor of the next, that raymond, who for all his fragile look possessed a large fund of cool courage, did not feel greatly disturbed by the ill-chance that had befallen him. many french knights were most chivalrous and courteous to their prisoners; some even permitted them to go out on parole to collect their own ransoms, trusting to their word of honour to return if they were unable to obtain the stipulated sum. the english cause had many friends amongst the french nobility, and friendships as well as enmities had resulted from the english occupation of such large tracts of france. so raymond resolved to make the best of his incarceration whilst it lasted, trusting that some happy accident would soon set him at large again. with such a brother as gaston on the outside of his prison wall, it would be foolish to give way to despondency. he looked curiously about at the cave-like place in which he found himself. it appeared to be a natural chamber formed in the living rock. it received a certain share of air and light from a long narrow loophole high up overhead, and the place was tolerably fresh and dry, though its proportions were by no means large. still it was lofty, and it was wide enough to admit of a certain but limited amount of exercise to its occupant. raymond found that he could make five paces along one side of it and four along the other. except the heap of straw, upon which he had been laid, there was no plenishing of any kind to the cell. however, as it was probably only a temporary resting place, this mattered the less. raymond had been worse lodged during some of his wanderings before now, and for the two years that he had lived amongst the cistercian brothers, he had scarcely been more luxuriously treated. his cell there had been narrower than this place, his fare no less coarse than that he had just partaken of, and his pallet bed scarce so comfortable as this truss of straw. "father paul often lay for weeks upon the bare stone floor," mused raymond, as he sat down again upon his bed. "sure i need not grumble that i have such a couch as this." he was very stiff and bruised, as he found on attempting to move about, but he had no actual wounds, and no bones were broken. his light strong armour had protected him, or else his foes had been striving to vanquish without seriously hurting him. he could feel that his head had been a good deal battered about, for any consecutive thought tired him; but it was something to have come off without worse injury, and sleep would restore him quickly to his wonted strength. he lay down upon the straw presently, and again he slept soundly and peacefully. he woke up many hours later greatly refreshed, aroused by some sound from the outside of his prison. the light had completely faded from the loophole. the place was in pitchy darkness. there is something a little terrible in black oppressive darkness -- the darkness which may almost be felt; and raymond was not sorry, since he had awakened, to hear the sound of grating bolts, and then the slow creaking of a heavy door upon its hinges. a faint glimmer of light stole into the cell, and raymund marked the entrance of a tall dark figure habited like a monk, the cowl drawn so far over the face as entirely to conceal the features. however, the ecclesiastical habit was something of a comfort to raymond, who had spent so much of his time amongst monks, and he rose to his feet with a respectful salutation in french. the monk stepped within the cell, and drew the door behind him, turning the heavy key in the lock. the small lantern he carried with him gave only a very feeble light; but it was better than nothing, and enabled raymond to see the outline of the tall form, which looked almost gigantic in the full religious habit. "welcome, holy father," said raymond, still speaking in french. "right glad am i to look upon face of man again. i prithee tell me where i am, and into whose hands i have fallen; for methinks there is some mistake in the matter, and that they take me for one whom i am not." "they take thee for one raymond de brocas, who lays claim, in thine own or thy brother's person, to basildene in england and orthez and saut in gascony," answered the monk, who spoke slowly in english and in a strangely-muffled voice. "if thou be not he, say so, and prove it without loss of time; for evil is purposed to raymond de brocas, and it were a pity it should fall upon the wrong head." a sudden shiver ran through raymond's frame. was there not something familiar in the muffled sound of that english voice? was there not something in the words and tone that sounded like a cruel sneer? was it his fancy that beneath the long habit of the monk he caught the glimpse of some shining weapon? was this some terrible dream come to his disordered brain? was he the victim of an illusion? or did this tall, shadowy figure stand indeed before him? for a moment raymond's head seemed to swim, and then his nerves steadied themselves, and he wondered if he might not be disquieting himself in vain. possibly, after all, this might be a holy man -- one who would stand his friend in the future. "thou art english?" he asked quickly; "and if english, surely a friend to thy countrymen?" "i am english truly," was the low-toned answer, "and i am here to advise thee for thy good." "i thank thee for that at least. i will follow thy counsel, if i may with honour." it seemed as though a low laugh forced its way from under the heavy cowl. the monk drew one step nearer. "thou hadst better not trouble thy head about honour. what good will thy honour be to thee if they tear thee piecemeal limb from limb, or roast thee to death over a slow fire, or rack thee till thy bones start from their sockets? let thy honour go to the winds, foolish boy, and think only how thou mayest save thy skin. there be those around and about thee who will have no mercy so long as thou provest obdurate. bethink thee well how thou strivest against them, for thou knowest little what may well befall thee in their hands." the blood seemed to run cold in raymond's veins as he heard these terrible words, spoken with a cool deliberation which did nothing detract from their dread significance. who was it who once -- nay, many times in bygone years -- had threatened him with just that cool, deliberate emphasis, seeming to gloat over the dark threats uttered, as though they were to him full of a deep and cruel joy? it seemed to the youth as though he were in the midst of some dark and horrible dream from which he must speedily awake. he passed his hand fiercely across his eyes and made a quick step towards the monk. "who and what art thou?" he asked, in stifled accents, for it seemed as though a hideous oppression was upon him, and he scarce knew the sound of his own voice; and then, with a harsh, grating laugh, the tall figure recoiled a pace, and flung the cowl from his head, and with an exclamation of astonishment and dismay raymond recognized his implacable foe and rival, peter sanghurst, whom last he had beheld within the walls of basildene. "thou here!" he exclaimed, and moved back as far as the narrow limits of the cell would permit, as though from the presence of some noxious beast. peter sanghurst folded his arms and gazed upon his youthful rival with a gleam of cool, vindictive triumph in his cruel eyes that might well send a thrill of chill horror through the lad's slight frame. when he spoke it was with the satisfaction of one who gloats over a victim utterly and entirely in his power. "ay, truly i am here; and thou art mine, body and soul, to do with what i will; none caring what befalls thee, none to interpose between thee and me. i have waited long for this hour, but i have not waited in vain. i can read the future. i knew that one day thou wouldst be in my hands -- that i might do my pleasure upon thee, whatsoever that pleasure might be. knowing that, i have been content to wait; only every day the debt has been mounting up. every time that thou, rash youth, hast dared to try to thwart me, hast dared to strive to stand between me and the object of my desires, a new score has been written down in the record i have long kept against thee. now the day of reckoning has come, and thou wilt find the reckoning a heavy one. but thou shalt pay it -- every jot and tittle shalt thou pay. thou shalt not escape from my power until thou hast paid the uttermost farthing." the man's lips parted in a hideous smile which showed his white teeth, sharp and pointed like the fangs of a wolf. raymond felt his courage rise with the magnitude of his peril. that some unspeakably terrible doom was designed for him he could not doubt. the malignity and cruelty of his foe were too well understood; but at least if he must suffer, he would suffer in silence. his enemy should not have the satisfaction of wringing from him one cry for mercy. he would die a thousand times sooner than sue to him. he thought of joan -- realizing that for her sake he should be called upon, in some sort, to bear this suffering; and even the bare thought sent a thrill of ecstasy through him. any death that was died for her would be sweet. and might not his be instrumental in ridding her for ever of her hateful foe? would not gaston raise heaven and earth to discover his brother? surely he would, sooner or later, find out what had befallen him; and then might peter sanghurst strive in vain to flee from the vengeance he had courted: he would assuredly fall by gaston's hand, tracked down even to the ends of the earth. peter sanghurst, his eyes fixed steadily on the face of his victim, hoping to enjoy by anticipation his agonies of terror, saw only a gleam of resolution and even of joy pass across his face, and he gnashed his teeth in sudden rage at finding himself unable to dominate the spirit of the youth, as he meant shortly to rack his body. "thou thinkest still to defy me, mad boy?" he asked. "thou thinkest that thy brother will come to thine aid? let him try to trace thee if he can! i defy him ever to learn where thou art. wouldst know it thyself? then thou shalt do so, and thou wilt see thy case lost indeed. thou art in that castle of saut that thou wouldest fain call thine own -- that castle which has never yet been taken by foe from without, and never will be yet, so utterly impregnable is its position. thou art in the hands of the lord of navailles, who has his own score to settle with thee, and who will not let thee go till thou hast resigned in thy brother's name and thine own every one of those bold claims which, as he has heard, have been made to the roy outremer by one or both of you. now doth thy spirit quail? now dost thou hope for succour from without? bid adieu to all such fond and idle hopes. thou art here utterly alone, no man knowing what has befallen thee. thou art in the hands of thy two bitterest foes, men who are known and renowned for their cruelty and their evil deeds -- men who would crush to death a hundred such as thou who dared to strive to bar their way. now what sayest thou? how about that boasted honour of thine? thou hadst best hear reason ere thou hast provoked thy foes too far, and make for thyself the best terms that thou canst. thou mayest yet save thyself something if thou wilt hear reason." raymond's face was set like a flint. he had no power to rid himself of the presence of his foe, but yield one inch to persuasion or threat he was resolved not to do. for one thing, his distrust of this man was so great that he doubted if any concessions made by him would be of the smallest value in obtaining him his release; for another, his pride rose up in arms against yielding anything to fear that he would not yield were he a free man in the midst of his friends. no: at all costs he would stand firm. he could but die once, and what other men had borne for their honour or their faith he could surely bear. his lofty young face kindled and glowed with the enthusiasm of his resolution, and again the adversary's face darkened with fury. "thou thinkest perhaps that i have forgot the art of torture since thou wrested from me one victim? thou shalt find that what he suffered at my hands was but the tithe of what thou shalt endure. thou hast heard perchance of that chamber in the heart of the earth where the lord of navailles welcomes his prisoners who have secrets worth the knowing, or treasures hidden out of his reach? that chamber is not far from where thou standest now, and there be willing hands to carry thee thither into the presence of its lord, who lets not his visitors escape him till he has wrung from their reluctant lips every secret of which he desires the key. and what are his clumsy engines to the devices and refinements of torture that i can inflict when once that light frame is bound motionless upon the rack, and stretched till not a muscle may quiver save at my bidding? rash boy, beware how thou provokest me to do my worst; for once i have thee thus bound beneath my hands, then the devil of hatred and cruelty which possesses me at times will come upon me, and i shall not let thee go until i have done my worst. bethink thee well ere thou provokest me too far. listen and be advised, ere it be too late for repentance, and thy groans of abject submission fall upon unheeding ears. none will befriend thee then. thou mayest now befriend thyself. if thou wilt not take the moment when it is thine, it may never be offered thee again." raymond did not speak. he folded his arms and looked steadily across at his foe. he knew himself perfectly and absolutely helpless. every weapon he possessed had been taken from him whilst he lay unconscious. his armour had been removed. he had nothing upon him save his light summer dress, and the precious heart hanging about his neck. even the satisfaction of making one last battle for his life was denied him. his limbs were yet stiff and weak. his enemy would grip him as though he were a child if he so much as attempted to cast himself upon him. all that was now left for him was the silent dignity of endurance. sanghurst made one step forward and seized the arm of the lad in a grip like that of a vice. so cruel was the grip that it was hard to restrain a start of pain. "renounce joan!" he hissed in the boy's ear; "renounce her utterly and for ever! write at my bidding such words as i shall demand of thee, and thou shalt save thyself the worst of the agonies i will else inflict upon thee. basildene thou shalt never get -- i can defy thee there, do as thou wilt; besides, if thou departest alive from this prison house, thou wilt have had enough of striving to thwart the will of peter sanghurst -- but joan thou shalt renounce of thine own free will, and shalt so renounce her that her love for thee will be crushed and killed! here is the inkhorn, and here the parchment. the ground will serve thee for a table, and i will tell thee what to write. take then the pen, and linger not. thou wouldst rejoice to write whatever words i bid thee didst thou know what is even now preparing in yon chamber below thy prison house. take the pen and sit down. it is but a short half-hour's task." the strong man thrust the quill into the slight fingers of the boy; but raymond suddenly wrenched his hand away, and flung the frail weapon to the other end of the cell. he saw the vile purpose in a moment. peter knew something of the nature of the woman he passionately desired to win for his wife, and he well knew that no lies of his invention respecting the falsity of her young lover would weigh one instant with her. even the death of his rival would help him in no whit, for joan would cherish the memory of the dead, and pay no heed to the wooing of the living. there was but one thing that would give him the faintest hope, and that was the destruction of her faith in raymond. let him be proved faithless and unworthy, and her love and loyalty must of necessity receive a rude shock. sanghurst knew the world, and knew that broken faith was the one thing a lofty-souled and pure-minded woman finds it hardest to forgive. raymond, false to his vows, would no longer be a rival in his way. he might have a hard struggle to win the lady even then, but the one insuperable obstacle would be removed from his path. and raymond saw the purpose in a moment. his quick and sharpened intelligence showed all to him in a flash. not to save himself from any fate would he so disgrace his manhood -- prove unworthy in the hour of trial, deny his love, and by so doing deny himself the right to bear all for her dear sake. flinging the pen to the ground and turning upon sanghurst with a great light in his eyes, he told him how he read his base purpose, his black treachery, and dared him to do his worst. "my worst, mad boy, my worst!" cried the furious man, absolutely foaming at the mouth as he drew back, looking almost like a venomous snake couched for a spring. "is that, then, thy answer -- thy unchangeable answer to the only loophole i offer thee of escaping the full vengeance awaiting thee from thy two most relentless foes? bethink thee well how thou repeatest such words. yet once again i bid thee pause. take but that pen and do as i bid thee --" "i will not!" answered raymond, throwing back his head in a gesture of noble, fearless defiance; "i will not do thy vile bidding. joan is my true love, my faithful and loving lady. her heart is mine and mine is hers, and her faithful knight i will live and die. do your worst. i defy you to your face. there is a god above who can yet deliver me out of your hand if he will. if not -- if it be his will that i suffer in a righteous cause -- i will do it with a soul unseared by coward falsehood. there is my answer; you will get none other. now do with me what you will. i fear you not." peter sanghurst's aspect changed. the fury died out, to be replaced by a perfectly cold and calm malignity a hundred times more terrible. he stooped and picked up the pen, replacing it with the parchment and inkhorn in a pouch at his girdle. then throwing off entirely the long monk's habit which he had worn on his entrance, he advanced step by step upon raymond, the glitter in his eye being terrible to see. raymond did not move. he was already standing against the wall at the farthest limit of the cell. his foe slowly advanced upon him, and suddenly put out two long, powerful arms, and gripped him round the body in a clasp against which it was vain to struggle. lifting him from his feet, he carried him into the middle of the chamber, and setting him down, but still encircling him with that bear-like embrace, he stamped thrice upon the stone floor, which gave out a hollow sound beneath his feet. the next moment there was a sound of strange creaking and groaning, as though some ponderous machinery were being set in motion. there was a sickening sensation, as though the very ground beneath his feet were giving way, and the next instant raymond became aware that this indeed was the case. the great flagstone upon which he and his captor were standing was sinking, sinking, sinking into the very heart of the earth, as it seemed; and as they vanished together into the pitchy darkness, to the accompaniment of that same strange groaning and creaking, raymond heard a hideous laugh in his ear. "this is how his victims are carried to the lord of navailles's torture chamber. ha-ha! ha-ha! this is how they go down thither. whether they ever come forth again is quite another matter!" chapter xxiv. gaston's quest. when gaston missed his brother from his side in the triumphant turning of the tables upon the french, he felt no uneasiness. the battle was going so entirely in favour of the english arms, and the discomfited french were making so small a stand, that the thought of peril to raymond never so much as entered his head. in the waning light it was difficult to distinguish one from another, and for aught he knew his brother might be quite close at hand. they were engaged in taking prisoners such of their enemies as were worthy to be carried off; and when they had completely routed the band and made captive their leaders, it was quite dark, and steps were taken to encamp for the night. then it was that gaston began to wonder why he still saw nothing either of raymond or of the faithful roger, who was almost like his shadow. he asked all whom he met if anything had been seen of his brother, but the answer was always the same -- nobody knew anything about him. nobody appeared to have seen him since the brothers rode into battle side by side; and the young knight began to feel thoroughly uneasy. of course there had been some killed and wounded in the battle upon both sides, though the english loss was very trifling. still it might have been raymond's fate to be borne down in the struggle, and gaston, calling some of his own personal attendants about him, and bidding them take lanterns in their hands, went forth to look for his brother upon the field where the encounter had taken place. the field was a straggling one, as the combat had taken the character of a rout at the end, and the dead and wounded lay at long intervals apart. gaston searched and searched, his heart growing heavier as he did so, for his brother was very dear to him, and he felt a pang of bitter self-reproach at having left him, however inadvertently, to bear the brunt of the battle alone. but search as he would he found nothing either of raymond or roger, and a new fear entered into his mind. "can he have been taken prisoner?" this did not seem highly probable. the french, bold enough at the outset when they had believed themselves secure of an easy victory, had changed their front mightily when they had discovered the trap set for them by their foes, and in the end had thought of little save how to save their own lives. they would scarce have burdened themselves with prisoners, least of all with one who did not even hold the rank of knight. this disappearance of his brother was perplexing gaston not a little. he looked across the moonlit plain, now almost as light as day, a cloud of pain and bewilderment upon his face. "by holy st. anthony, where can the boy be?" he cried. then one of his men-at-arms came up and spoke. "when we were pursuing the french here to the left, back towards their own lines, i saw a second struggle going on away to the right. the knight with the black visor seemed to be leading that pursuit, and though i could not watch it, as i had my own work to do here, i know that some of our men took a different line, there along by yon ridge to the right." "let us go thither and search there," said gaston, with prompt decision, "for plainly my brother is not here. it may be he has been following another flying troop. we will up and after him. look well as you ride if there be any prostrate figures lying in the path. i fear me he may have been wounded in the rout, else surely he would not have stayed away so long." turning his horse round, and closely followed by his men, gaston rode off in the direction pointed out by his servant. it became plain that there had been fighting of some sort along this line, for a few dead and wounded soldiers, all frenchmen, lay upon the ground at intervals. nothing, however, could be seen of raymond, and for a while nothing of roger either; but just as gaston was beginning to despair of finding trace of either, he beheld in the bright moonlight a figure staggering along in a blind and helpless fashion towards them, and spurring rapidly forward to meet it, he saw that it was roger. roger truly, but roger in pitiable plight. his armour was gone. his doublet had been half stripped from off his back. he was bleeding from more than one wound, and in his eyes was a fixed and glassy stare, like that of one walking in sleep. his face was ghastly pale, and his breath came in quick sobs and gasps. "roger, is it thou?" cried gaston, in accents of quick alarm. "i have been seeking thee everywhere. where is thy master? where is my brother?" "gone! gone! gone!" cried roger, in a strange and despairing voice. "carried off by his bitterest foes! gone where we shall never see him more!" there was something in the aspect of the youth and in his lamentable words that sent an unwonted shiver through gaston's frame; but he was quick to recover himself, and answered hastily: "boy, thou art distraught! tell me where my brother has gone. i will after him and rescue him. he cannot be very far away. quick -- tell me what has befallen him!" "he has been carried off -- more i know not. he has been carried off by foulest treachery." "treachery! whose treachery? who has carried him off?" "the knight of the black visor." "the black visor! nay; thou must be deceived thyself! the black visor is one of our own company." "ay verily, and that is why he succeeded where an open foe had failed. none guessed with what purpose he came when he and his men pushed their way in a compact wedge, and sundered my young master from your side, sir, driving him farther and farther from all beside, till he and i (who had managed to keep close beside him) were far away from all the world beside, galloping as if for dear life in a different direction. then it was that they threw off the pretence of being friends -- that they set upon him and overpowered him, that they beat off even me from holding myself near at hand, and carried me bound in another direction. i was given in charge to four stalwart troopers, all wearing the black badge of their master. they bound my bands and my feet, and bore me along i knew not whither. i lost sight of my master. him they took at headlong speed in another direction. i had been wounded in the battle. i was wounded by these men, struggling to follow your brother. i swooned in my saddle, and knew no more till a short hour ago, when i woke to find myself lying, still bound, upon a heap of straw in some outhouse of a farm. i heard the voices of my captors singing snatches of songs not far away; but they were paying no heed to their captive, and i made shift to slacken my bonds and slip out into the darkness of the wood. "i knew not where i was; but the moon told me how to bend my steps to find the english camp again. i, in truth, have escaped -- have come to bring you word of his peril; but ah, i fear, i fear that we shall never see him more! they will kill him -- they will kill him! he is in the hands of his deadliest foes!" "if we know where he is, we can rescue him without delay!" cried gaston, who was not a little perplexed at the peculiar nature of the adventure which had befallen his brother. to be taken captive and carried off by one of the english knights (if indeed the black visor were a knight) was a most extraordinary thing to have happened. gaston, who knew little enough of his brother's past history in detail, and had no idea that he had called down upon himself any particular enmity, was utterly at a loss to understand the story, nor was roger in a condition to give any farther explanation. he tottered as he stood, and gaston ordered his servants to mount him upon one of their horses and bring him quietly along, whilst he himself turned and galloped back to the camp to prosecute inquiries there. "who is the black visor?" -- that was the burden of his inquiries, and it was long before he could obtain an answer to this question. the leaders of the expedition were full of their own plans and had little attention to bestow upon gaston or his strange story. the loss of a single private gentleman from amongst their muster was nothing to excite them, and their own position was giving them much more concern. they had taken many prisoners. they believed that they had done amply enough to raise the siege of st. jean d'angely (though in this they proved themselves mistaken), and they were anxious to get safely back to bordeaux with their spoil before any misadventure befell them. gaston cared nothing now for the expedition; his heart was with his brother, his mind was full of anxious questioning. roger's story plainly showed that raymond was in hostile hands. but the perplexity of the matter was that gaston had no idea of the name or rank of his brother's enemy and captor. at last he came upon a good-natured knight who had been courteous to the brothers in old days. he listened with interest to gaston's tale, and bid him wait a few minutes whilst he went to try to discover the name and rank of the black visor. he was certain that he had heard it, though he could not recollect at a moment's notice what he had heard. he did not keep gaston waiting long, but returned quickly to him. "the black visor is one peter sanghurst of basildene, a gentleman in favour with the king, and one likely to rise to high honour. men whisper that he has some golden secret which, if it be so, will make of him a great man one of these days. it is he who has been in our company, always wearing his black visor. men say he is under some vow, and until the vow is accomplished no man may look upon his face." gaston drew his breath hard, and a strange gleam came into his eyes. "peter sanghurst of basildene!" he exclaimed, and then fell into a deep reverie. what did it all mean? what had raymond told him from time to time about the enmity of this man? did not gaston himself well remember the adventure of long ago, when he and his brother had entered basildene by stealth and carried thence the wretched victim of the sorcerer's art? was not that the beginning of an enmity which had never been altogether laid to sleep? had he not heard whispers from time to time all pointing to the conclusion that sanghurst had neither forgotten nor forgiven, and that he felt his possession of basildene threatened by the existence of the brothers whose right it was? had not raymond placed himself almost under vow to win back his mother's lost inheritance? and might it not be possible that this knowledge had come to the ears of the present owner? gaston ground his teeth in rage as he realized what might be the meaning of this cowardly attack. treachery and cowardice were the two vices most hateful in his eyes, and this vile attack upon an unsuspecting comrade filled him with the bitterest rage as well as with the greatest anxiety. plain indeed was it that raymond had been carried off; but whither? to england? that scarce seemed possible. it would be a daring thing indeed to bring an english subject back to his native land a prisoner. yet where else could peter sanghurst carry a captive? he might have friends amongst the french; but who would be sufficiently interested in his affairs to give shelter to him and his prisoner, when it might lead to trouble perhaps with the english king? one thought of relief there was in the matter. plainly it was not raymond's death that was to be compassed. if they had wished to kill him, they would have done so upon the battlefield and have left him there, where his death would have excited no surprise or question. no; it was something more than this that was wanted, and gaston felt small difficulty in guessing what that aim and object was. "he is to be held for ransom, and his ransom will be our claim upon basildene. we both shall be called upon to renounce that, and then raymond will go free. well, if that be the only way, basildene must go. but perchance it may be given to me to save the inheritance and rescue raymond yet. would that i knew whither they had carried him! but surely he may be traced and followed. some there must be who will be able to give me news of them." of one thing gaston was perfectly assured, and that was that he must now act altogether independently, gain permission to quit the expedition, and pursue his own investigations with his own followers. he had no difficulty in arranging this matter. the leaders had already resolved upon returning to bordeaux immediately, and taking ship with their spoil and prisoners for england. had gaston not had other matters of his own to think of, he would most likely have urged a farther advance upon the beleaguered town, to make sure that it was sufficiently relieved. as it was, he had no thoughts but for his brother's peril; and his anxieties were by no means relieved by the babble of words falling from roger's lips when he returned to see how it fared with him. roger appeared to the kindly soldiers, who had made a rude couch for him and were tending him with such skill as they possessed, to be talking in the random of delirium, and they paid little heed to his words. but as gaston stood by he was struck by the strange fixity of the youth's eyes, by the rigidity of his muscles, and by the coherence and significance of his words. it was not a disconnected babble that passed his lips; it was the description of some scene upon which he appeared to be looking. he spoke of horsemen galloping through the night, of the black visor in the midst and his gigantic companion by his side. he spoke of the unconscious captive they carried in their midst -- the captive the youth struggled frantically to join, that they might share together whatever fate was to be his. the soldiers naturally believed he was wandering, and speaking of his own ride with his captors; but gaston listened with different feelings. he remembered well what he had once heard about this boy and the strange gift he possessed, or was said to possess, of seeing what went on at a distance when he had been in the power of the sorcerer. might it not be that this gift was not only exercised at the will of another, but might be brought into play by the tension of anxiety evoked by a great strain upon the boy's own nervous system? gaston did not phrase the question thus, but he well knew the devotion with which roger regarded raymond, and it seemed quite possible to him that in this crisis of his life, his body weakened by wounds and fatigue, his mind strained by grief and anxiety as to the fate of him he loved more than life, his spirit had suddenly taken that ascendency over his body which of old it had possessed, and that he was really and truly following in that strange trance-like condition every movement of the party of which raymond was the centre. at any rate, whether he were right or not in this surmise, gaston resolved that he would not lose a word of these almost ceaseless utterings, and dismissing his men to get what rest they could, he sat beside roger, and listened with attention to every word he spoke. roger lay with his eyes wide open in the same fixed and glassy stare. he spoke of a halt made at a wayside inn, of the rousing up with the earliest stroke of dawn of the keeper of this place, of the inside of the bare room, and the hasty refreshment set before the impatient travellers. "he sits down, they both sit down, and then he laughs -- ah, where have i heard that laugh before?" and a look of strange terror sweeps over the youth's face. "'i may now remove my visor -- my vow is fulfilled! my enemy is in my hands. my lord of navailles, i drink this cup to your good health and the success of our enterprise. we have the victim in our own hands. we can wring from him every concession we desire before we offer him for ransom.'" gaston gave a great start. what did this mean? well indeed he remembered the sieur de navailles, the hereditary foe of the de brocas. was it, could it be possible, that he was concerned in this capture? had their two foes joined together to strive to win all at one blow? he must strive to find this out. could it be possible that roger really saw and heard all these things? or was it but the fantasy of delirium? raymond might have spoken to him of the lord of navailles as a foe, and in his dreams he might be mixing one thought with the other. suddenly roger uttered a sharp cry and pressed his hands before his eyes. "it is he! it is he!" he cried, with a gasping utterance. "he has removed the mask from his face. it is he -- peter sanghurst -- and he is smiling -- that smile. oh, i know what it means! he has cruel, evil thoughts in his mind. o my master, my master!" gaston started to his feet. here was corroboration indeed. roger no more knew who the black visor was than he had done himself an hour back. yet he now saw the face of peter sanghurst, the very man he himself had discovered the black visor to be. this indeed showed that roger was truly looking upon some distant scene, and a strange thrill ran through gaston as he realized this mysterious fact. "and the other, peter sanghurst's companion -- what of him? what likeness does he bear?" asked gaston quickly. "he is a very giant in stature," was the answer, "with a swarthy skin, black eyes that burn in their sockets, and a coal-black beard that falls below his waist. he has a sear upon his left cheek, and he has lost two fingers upon the left hand. he speaks in a voice like rolling waves, and in a language that is half english and half the gascon tongue." "in very truth the sieur de navailles!" whispered gaston to himself. with every faculty on the alert, he sat beside roger's bed, listening to every word of his strange babble of talk. he described how they took to horse, fresh horses being provided for the whole company, as though all had been planned beforehand, and how they galloped at headlong pace away -- away -- away, ever faster, ever more furiously, as though resolved to gain their destination at all cost. the day dawned, but roger lay still in this trance, and gaston would not have him disturbed. until he could know whither his brother had been carried, it was useless to strive to seek and overtake him. if in very truth roger was in some mysterious fashion watching over him, he would, doubtless, be able to tell whither at length the captive was taken. then they would to horse and pursue. but they must learn all they could first. the hours passed by. roger still talked at intervals. if questioned he answered readily -- always of the same hard riding, the changes of horses, the captive carried passive in the midst of the troop. then he began to speak words that arrested gaston's attention. he spoke of natural features well known to him: he described a grim fortress, so placed as to be impregnable to foes from without. there were the wide moat, the huge natural mound, the solid wall, the small loopholes. gaston held his breath to hear: he knew every feature of the place so described. was it not the ancient castle of saut -- his own inheritance, as he had been brought up to call it? roger had never seen it; he was almost assured of that. what he was describing was something seen with that mysterious second sight of his, nothing that had ever impressed itself upon his waking senses. it was all true, then. raymond had indeed been taken captive by the two bitter enemies of the house of de brocas. peter sanghurst had doubtless heard of the feud between the two houses, and of the claim set up by gaston for the establishment of his own rights upon the lands of the foe, and had resolved to make common cause with the navailles against the brothers. it was possible that they would have liked to get both into their clutches, but that they feared to attack so stalwart a foe as gaston; or else they might have believed that the possession of the person of raymond would be sufficient for their purpose. the tie between the twin brothers was known to be strong. it was likely enough that were raymond's ransom fixed at even an exorbitant sum, the price would be paid by the brother, who well knew that the tower of saut was strong enough to defy all attacks from without, and that any person incarcerated in its dungeons would be absolutely at the mercy of its cruel and rapacious lord. the king of england had his hands full enough as it was without taking up the quarrel of every wronged subject. what was done would have to be done by himself and his own followers; and gaston set his teeth hard as he realized this, and went forth to give his own orders for the morrow. at the first glimpse of coming day they were to start forth for the south, and by hard riding might hope to reach saut by the evening of the second day. gaston could muster some score of armed men, and they would be like enough to pick up many stragglers on the way, who would be ready enough to join any expedition promising excitement and adventure. to take the castle of saut by assault would, as gaston well knew, be impossible; but he cherished a hope that it might fall into his hands through strategy if he were patient, and if roger still retained that marvellous faculty of second-sight which revealed to his eyes things hidden from the vision of others. he slept all that night without moving or speaking, and when he awoke in the morning it was in a natural state, and at first he appeared to have no recollection of what had occurred either to himself or to raymond. but as sense and memory returned to him, so did also the shadow of some terrible doom hanging over his beloved young master; and though he was still weak and ill, and very unfit for the long journey on horseback through the heat of a summer's day, he would not hear of being left behind, and was the one to urge upon the others all the haste possible as they rode along southward after the foes who had captured raymond. on, on, on! there were no halts save for the needful rest and refreshment, or to try to get fresh horses to carry them forward. a fire seemed to burn in gaston's veins as well as in those of roger; and the knowledge that they were on the track of the fugitives gave fresh ardour to the pursuit at every halting place. only a few hours were allowed for rest and sleep during the darkest hour of the short night, and then on -- on -- ever on, urged by an overmastering desire to know what was happening to the prisoner behind those gloomy walls. roger's sleep that night had been disturbed by hideous visions. he did not appear to know or see anything that was passing; but a deep gloom hung upon his spirit, and he many times woke shivering and crying out with horror at he knew not what; whilst gaston lay broad awake, a strange sense of darkness and depression upon his own senses. he could scarce restrain himself from springing up and summoning his weary followers to get to horse and ride forth at all risks to the very doors of saut, and only with the early dawn of day did any rest or refreshment fall upon his spirit. roger looked more himself as they rode forth in the dawn. "methinks we are near him now," he kept saying; "my heart is lighter than it was. we will save him yet -- i am assured of it! he is not dead; i should surely know it if he were. we are drawing nearer every step. we may be with him ere nightfall." "the walls of saut lie betwixt us," said gaston, rather grimly, but he looked sternly resolute, as though it would take strong walls indeed to keep him from his brother when they were so near. the country was beginning to grow familiar to him. he picked up followers in many places as he passed through. the name of de brocas was loved here; that of de navailles was loathed, and hated, and feared. evening was drawing on. the woods were looking their loveliest in all the delicate beauty of their fresh young green. gaston, riding some fifty yards ahead with roger beside him, looked keenly about him, with vivid remembrance of every winding of the woodland path. soon, as he knew, the grim castle of saut would break upon his vision -- away there in front and slightly to the right, where the ground fell away to the river and rose on the opposite bank, crowned with those frowning walls. he was riding so carelessly that when his horse suddenly swerved and shied violently, he was for a moment almost unseated; but quickly recovering himself, he looked round to see what had frightened the animal, and himself gave almost as violent a start as the beast had done. and yet what he saw was nothing very startling: only the light figure of a young girl -- a girl fair of face and light of foot as a veritable forest nymph -- such as indeed she looked springing out from the overhanging shade of that dim place. for one instant they looked into each other's faces with a glance of quick recognition, and then clasping her hands together, the girl exclaimed in the gascon tongue: "the holy saints be praised! you have come, you have come! ah, how i have prayed that help might come! and my prayers have been heard!" chapter xxv. the fairy of the forest gaston sat motionless in his saddle, gazing at the apparition as though fascinated. he had seen this woodland nymph before. he had spoken with her, had sat awhile beside her, and her presence had inspired feelings within him to which he had hitherto been a complete stranger. as he gazed now into that lovely face, anxious, glad, fearful, all in one, and yet beaming with joy at the encounter, he felt as if indeed the denizens of another sphere had interposed to save his brother, and from that moment he felt a full assurance that raymond would be rescued. recovering himself as by an effort, he sprang from his saddle and stood beside the girl. "lady," he said, in gentle accents, that trembled slightly through the intensity of his emotion -- "fairest lady, who thou art i know not, but this i know, that thou comest ever as a messenger of mercy. once it was to warn me of peril to come; now it is to tell us of one who lies in sore peril. lady, tell me that i am not wrong in this -- that thou comest to give me news of my brother!" her liquid eyes were full of light. she did not shrink from him, or play with his feelings as on a former occasion. her face expressed a serious gravity and earnestness of purpose which added tenfold to her charms. gaston, deeply as his feelings were stirred with anxious care for his brother's fate, could not help his heart going out to this exquisite young thing standing before him with trustful upturned face. who she was he knew not and cared not. she was the one woman in the world for him. he had thought so when he had found her in the forest in wayward tricksy mood; he knew it without doubt now that he saw her at his side, her sweet face full of deep and womanly feeling, her arch shyness all forgotten in the depth and resolution of her resolve. "i do!" she answered, in quick, short sentences that sounded like the tones of a silver bell. "you are gaston de brocas, and he, the prisoner, is your twin brother raymond. i know all. i have heard them talk in their cups, when they forget that i am growing from a child to a woman. i have long ceased to be a child. i think that i have grown old in that terrible place. i have heard words -- oh, that make my blood run cold! that make me wish i had never been born into a world where such things are possible! in my heart i have registered a vow. i have vowed that if ever the time should come when i might save one wretched victim from my savage uncle's power -- even at the risk of mine own life -- i would do it. i have warned men away from here. i have done a little, times and again, to save them from a snare laid for them. but never once have i had power to rescue from his relentless clutch the victim he had once enclosed in his net, for never have i had help from without. but when i heard them speak of raymond de brocas -- when i knew that it was he, thy brother, of whom some such things were spoken -- then i felt that i should indeed go mad could i not save him from such fate." "what fate?" asked gaston breathlessly; but she went on as though she had not heard. "i thought of thee as i had seen thee in the wood. i said in my heart, 'he is noble, he is brave. he will rest not night nor day whilst his brother lies a captive in these cruel hands. i have but to watch and to wait. he will surely come. and when he comes, i will show him the black hole in the wall -- the dark passage to the moat -- and he will dare to enter where never man has entered before. he will save his brother, and my vow will be fulfilled!'" gaston drew his breath hard, and a light leaped into his eyes. "thou knowest a secret way by which the tower of saut may be entered -- is that so, lady?" "i know a way by which many a wretched victim has left it," answered the girl, whose dark violet eyes were dilated by the depth of her emotion. "i know not if any man ever entered by that way. but my heart told me that there was one who would not shrink from the task, be the peril never so great. i will see that the men-at-arms have drink enough to turn their heads. i have a concoction of herbs which if mingled with strong drink will cause such sleep to fall upon men that a thunderbolt falling at their feet would scarce awaken them. i will see that thou hast the chance thou needest. the rest wilt thou do without a thought of fear." "fear to go where raymond is -- to share his fate if i may not rescue him!" cried gaston. "nay, sweet lady, that would be indeed a craven fear, unworthy of any true knight. but tell me more. i have many times wandered round the tower of saut in my boyhood, when its lord and master was away. methinks i know every loophole and gate by heart. but the gates are so closely guarded, and the windows are so narrow and high up in the walls, that i know not how they may be entered from without." "true: yet there is one way of which doubtless thou knowest naught, for, as i have said, men go forth that way, but enter not by it; and the trick is known only to a few chosen souls, for the victims who pass out seek not to come again. they drop with sullen plash into the black waters of the moat, and the river, which mingles its clearer water with the sluggish stream encircling the tower, bears thence towards the hungry sea the burden thus entrusted to its care." gaston shivered slightly. "thou speakest of the victims done to death within yon gloomy walls. i have heard dark tales of such ere now." "thou hast heard nothing darker than the truth," said the girl, her slight frame quivering with repressed emotion and a deep and terrible sense of helpless indignation and pity. "i have heard stories that have made my blood run cold in my veins. men have been done to death in a fashion i dare not speak of. there is a terrible room scarce raised above the level of the moat, into which i was once taken, and the memory of which has haunted me ever since. it is within the great mound upon which the tower is built; and above it is the dungeon in which the victim is confined. there is some strange and wondrous device by which he may be carried down and raised again to his own prison house when his captor has worked his hideous will upon him. and if he dies, as many do, upon the fearful engines men have made to inflict torture upon each other, then there is this narrow stairway, and this still narrower passage down to the sullen waters of the moat. "the opening is just at the level of the water. it looks so small from the opposite side, that one would think it but the size to admit the passage of a dog; you would think it was caused by the loosening of some stone in the wall -- no more. but yet it is large enough to admit the passage of a human body; and where a body has passed out, sure a body may pass in. there is no lock upon the door from the underground passage to the moat; for what man would be so bold as find his way into the castle by the grim dungeons which hold such terrible secrets? if thou hast the courage to enter thus, none will bar thy passage --" "if!" echoed gaston, whose hand was clenched and his whole face quivering with emotion as he realized the fearful peril which menaced his brother. "there is no such thing as a doubt. raymond is there. i come to save him." the girl's eyes flashed with answering fire. she clasped her hands together, and cried, with something like a sob in her voice: "i knew it! i knew it! i knew that thou wert a true knight that thou wouldst brave all to save him." "i am his brother," said gaston simply, "his twin brother. who should save him but i? tell me, have i come in time? have they dared to lay a finger upon him yet?" "dared!" repeated the girl, with a curious inflection in her voice. "of what should they be afraid here in this tower, which has ever withstood the attacks of foes, which no man may enter without first storming the walls and forcing the gates? thinkest thou that they fear god or man? nay, they know not what such fear is; and therein lies our best hope." "how so?" asked gaston quickly. "marry, for two reasons: one being that they keep but small guard over the place, knowing its strength and remoteness; the other, that being thus secure, they are in no haste to carry out their devil's work. they will first let their prisoner recover of his hurts, that he slip not too soon from their power, as weaklier victims ofttimes do." "then they have done naught to him as yet?" asked gaston, in feverish haste. "what hurts speakest thou of? was he wounded in the fight, or when they surrounded him and carried him off captive?" "not wounded, as i have heard, but sorely battered and bruised; and he was brought hither unconscious, and lay long as one dead. when he refused to do the bidding of peter sanghurst, they took him down to yon fearsome chamber; but, as i heard when i sat at the hoard with mine uncle and that wicked man, they had scarce laid hands upon him, to bend his spirit to their will through their hellish devices, before he fell into a deep swoon from which they could not rouse him; and afraid that he would escape their malice by a merciful death, and that they would lose the very vengeance they had taken such pains to win, they took him back to his cell; and there he lies, tended not unskilfully by my old nurse, who is ever brought to the side of the sick in this place. once i made shift to slip in behind her when the warder was off his guard, and to whisper in his ear a word of hope. but we are too close watched to do aught but by stealth, and annette is never suffered to approach the prison alone. she is conducted thither by a grim warder, who waits beside her till she has done her office, and then takes her away. they do not know how we loathe and hate their wicked, cruel deeds; but they know that women have ere this been known to pity helpless victims, and they have an eye to us ever." gaston drew his breath more freely. raymond, then, was for the moment safe. no grievous bodily hurt had been done him as yet; and here outside his prison was his brother, and one as devoted as though the tie of blood bound them together, ready to dare all to save him from the hands of his cruel foes. "they are in no great haste," said the maiden; "they feel themselves so strong. they say that no man can so much as discover where thy brother has been spirited, still less snatch him from their clasp. they know the french king will not stir to help a subject of the roy outremer, they know that edward of england is far away, and that he still avoids an open breach of the truce. they are secure in the undisturbed possession of their captive. i have heard them say that had he a hundred brothers all working without to obtain his release, the walls of the tower of saut would defy their utmost efforts." "that we shall see," answered gaston, with a fierce gleam in his eye; and then his face softened as he said, "now that we have for our ally the enchanted princess of the castle, many things may be done that else would be hard of achievement." his ardent look sent a flush of colour through the girl's transparent skin, but her eyes did not waver as she looked frankly back at him. "nay; i am no princess, and i have no enchantments -- would that i had, if they could be used in offices of pity and mercy! i am but a portionless maiden, an orphan, an alien. ofttimes i weep to think that i too did not die when my parents did, in that terrible scourge which has devastated the world, which i hear that you of england call the black death." "who art thou then, fair maid?" questioned gaston, who was all this time cautiously approaching the tower of saut by a winding and unfrequented path well known to his companion. roger had been told to wait till the other riders came up, and conduct them with great secrecy and caution along the same path. their worst fears for raymond partially set at rest, and the hope of a speedy rescue acting upon their minds like a charm, gaston was able to think of other things, and was eager to know more of the lovely girl who had twice shown herself to him in such unexpected fashion. it was a simple little story that she told, but it sounded strangely entrancing from her lips. her name, she said, was constanza, and her father had been one of a noble spanish house, weakened and finally ruined by the ceaseless internal strife carried on between the proud nobles of the fiery south. her mother was the sister of the sieur do navailles, and he had from time to time given aid to her father in his troubles with his enemies. the pestilence which had of late devastated almost the whole of europe, had visited the southern countries some time before it had invaded more northerly latitudes; and about a year before gaston's first encounter with the nymph of the wood, it had laid waste the districts round and about her home, and had carried off both her parents and her two brothers in the space of a few short days. left alone in that terrible time of trouble, surrounded by enemies eager to pounce upon the little that remained of the wide domain which had once owned her father's sway, constanza, in her desperation, naturally turned to her uncle as the one protector that she knew. he had always showed himself friendly towards her father. he had from time to time lent him substantial assistance in his difficulties; and when he had visited at her home, he had shown himself kindly disposed in a rough fashion to the little maiden who flitted like a fairy about the wide marble halls. annette, her nurse, who had come with her mother from france when she had left that country on her nuptials, was a gascon woman, and had taught the language of the country to her young mistress. it was natural that the woman should be disposed to return to her native land at this crisis; and for constanza to attempt to hold her own -- a timid maiden against a score of rapacious foes -- was obviously out of the question. together they had fled, taking with them such family jewels as could easily be carried upon their persons, and disguised as peasants they had reached and crossed the frontier, and found their way to saut, where the lord of navailles generally spent such of his time as was not occupied in forays against his neighbours, or in following the fortunes either of the french or english king, as best suited the fancy of the moment. he had received his niece not unkindly, but with complete indifference, and had soon ceased to think about her in any way. she had a home beneath his roof. she had her own apartments, and she was welcome to occupy herself as she chose. sometimes, when he was in a better humour than usual, he would give her a rough caress. more frequently he swore at her for being a useless girl, when she might, as a boy, have been of some good in the world. he had no intention of providing her with any marriage portion, so that it was superfluous to attempt to seek out a husband for her. she and annette were occasionally of use when there was sickness within the walls of the castle, or when he or his followers came in weary and wounded from some hard fighting. on the whole he did not object to her presence at saut, and her own little bower was not devoid of comfort, and even of luxury. but for all that, the girl was often sick at heart with all that she saw and heard around her, and was unconsciously pining for some life, she scarce knew what, but a life that should be different from the one she was doomed to now. "sometimes i think that i will retire to a convent and shut myself up there," she said to gaston, her eyes looking far away over the wooded plain before them; "and yet i love my liberty. i love to roam the forest glades -- to hear the songs of the bird, and to feel the fresh winds of heaven about me. methinks i should pine and die shut up within high walls, without the liberty to rove as i will. and then i am not /devote/. i love not to spend long hours upon my knees. i feel nearest to the blessed saints and the holy mother of god out here in these woods, where no ribald shouts of mirth or blasphemous oaths can reach me. but the sisters live shut behind high walls, and they love best to tell their beads beside the shrine of some saint within their dim chapels. they were good to us upon our journey. i love and reverence the holy sisters, and yet i do not know how i could be one of them. i fear me they would soon send me forth, saying that i was not fit for their life." "nay, truly such a life is not for thee!" cried gaston, with unwonted heat. "sweet maiden, thou wert never made to pine away behind walls that shelter such as cannot stand against the trials and troubles of life. for it is not so with thee. thou hast courage; thou hast a noble heart and a strong will. there is other work for thee to do. lady, thou hast this day made me thy humble slave for ever. my brother once free, as by thy aid i trust he will be ere another day has dawned, and i will repay thy service by claiming as my reward the right to call myself thine own true knight. sweet constanza, i will live and, if need be, die for thee. thou wilt henceforth be the light of my path, the star of my life. lady, thy face hath haunted me ever since that day, so long gone by, when i saw thee first, scarce knowing if thou wert a creature of flesh and blood or a sprite of the woodland and water. fair women have i looked upon ere now, but none so fair as thee. let me but call myself thy true and faithful knight, and the day will come when i will stand boldly forth and make thee mine before all the world!" gaston had never meant to speak thus when he and his companion first began this walk through the winding woodland path. then his thoughts had been filled with his brother and him alone, and there had been no space for other matters to intrude upon him. but with a mind more at rest as to raymond's immediate fate, he could not but be aware of the intense fascination exercised upon him by his companion; and before he well knew what he was saying, he was pouring into her ears these ardent protestations of devotion. her fair face flushed, and the liquid eyes, so full of softness and fire, fell before his ardent gaze. the little hand he had taken in his own quivered in his strong clasp, and gaston felt with a thrill of ecstatic joy that it faintly returned the pressure of his fingers. "lady, sweetest lady!" he repeated, his words growing more and more rapid as his emotion deepened, "let me hear thee say that thou wilt grant me leave to call myself thy true knight! let me hear from those sweet lips that there is none before me who has won the love of this generous heart!" the maid was quivering from head to foot. such words were like a new language to her, and yet her heart gave a ready and sweet response. had she not sung of knightly wooers in the soft songs of her childhood, and had she not dreamed her own innocent dreams of him who would one day come to seek her? and had not that dream lover always worn the knightly mien, the proud and handsome face, of him she had seen but once, and that for one brief hour alone? was it hard to give to him the answer he asked? and yet how could she frame her lips aright to tell him she had loved him ere he had asked her love? "fair sir, how should a lonely maid dwelling in these wild woods know aught of that knightly love of which our troubadours so sweetly sing? i have scarce seen the face of any since i have come to these solitudes; only the rough and terrible faces of those wild soldiers and savages who follow mine uncle when he rideth forth on his forays." gaston's heart gave a throb of joy; but it was scarce the moment to press his suit farther. who could tell what the next few hours might bring forth? he might himself fall a victim, ere another day had passed, to the ancient foe of his house. it was enough for the present to know that the fair girl's heart was free. he raised the hand he held and pressed his lips upon it, saying in tenderest tones: "from henceforth -- my brother once standing free without these walls -- i am thy true knight and champion, lady. give me, i pray thee, that knot of ribbon at thy neck. let me place it in my head piece, and feel that i am thine indeed for life or death." with a hand that trembled, but not from hesitation, constanza unfastened the simple little knot she wore as her sole ornament, and gave it to gaston. they exchanged one speaking glance, but no word passed their lips. by this time they had approached very near to the tower, although the thick growth of the trees hindered them from seeing it, as it also concealed them from the eyes of any persons who might be upon the walls. the evening light was now fast waning. upon the tops of the heights the sun still shone, but here in the wooded hollow, beside the sullen waters of the moat, twilight had already fallen, and soon it would be dark as night itself. the moon rose late, and for a space there would be no light save that of the stars. constanza laid her finger upon her lips, and made a sign demanding caution. gaston understood that he was warned not to speak, and to tread cautiously, which he did, stealing along after his fairy-like companion, and striving to emulate her dainty, bird-like motions. he could see by the glint of water that they were skirting along beside the moat, but he had never approached so near to it before, and he knew not where they were going. some men might have feared treachery, but such an idea never entered gaston's head. little as he knew of his companion, he knew that she was true and loyal, that she was beloved by him, and that her heart was already almost won. presently the girl stopped and laid her hand upon his arm. "this is the place," she whispered. "come very softly to the water's edge, and i will show you the dark hole opposite, just above the waterline, where entrance can be made. there be no loopholes upon this side of the tower, and no watchman is needed where there be no foothold for man to scale the wall beneath. "look well across the moat. seest thou yon black mark, that looks no larger than my hand? that is the entrance to a tunnel which slopes upward until it reaches a narrow doorway in the thickness of the solid wall whereby the underground chamber may be reached. once there, thou wilt see let into the wall a great wheel with iron spokes projecting from it. set that wheel in motion, and a portion of the flooring of the chamber above will descend. when it has reached the ground, thou canst ascend by reversing the wheel, leaving always some one in the chamber below to work the wheel, which will enable thee to bring thy brother down again. that accomplished, all that remains will be to creep again through the narrow passage to the moat and swim across once more. thou canst swim?" "ay, truly. raymond and i have been called fishes from our childhood. we swam in the great mill pool almost ere we could well run alone. many of my stout fellows behind are veritable water rats. if my brother be not able to save himself, there will be a dozen stout arms ready to support him across the moat. "and what will be the hour when this attempt must be made? what if the very moment i reached my brother his jailer should come to him, and the alarm be given through the castle ere we could get him thence?" "that it must be my office to prevent," answered the girl, with quiet resolution. "i have thought many times of some such thing as this, hoping as it seemed where no hope was, and annette and i have taken counsel together. leave it to me to see that all the castle is filled with feasting and revelry. i will see that the mead which circulates tonight be so mingled with annette's potion that it will work in the brains of the men till they forget all but rioting and sleep. for mine uncle and his saturnine guest, i have other means of keeping them in the great banqueting hall, far away from the lonely tower where their prisoner lies languishing. they shall be so well served at the board this night, that no thought of aught beside the pleasure of the table shall enter to trouble their heads. and at ten of the clock, if i come not again to warn thee, cross fearlessly the great moat, and do as i have bid thee. but if thou hearest from the castle wall the hooting of an owl thrice repeated like this" -- and the girl put her hands to her mouth, and gave forth so exact an mutation of an owl's note that gaston started to hear it -- "thrice times thrice, so that there can be no mistake, then tarry here on this side; stir not till i come again. it will be a danger signal to tell that all is not well. but if at the hour of ten thou hast heard naught, then go forward, and fear not. thy brother will be alone, and all men far away from the tower. take him, and go forth; and the blessed saints bless and protect you all." she stretched forth her hand and placed it in his. there was a sudden sadness in her face. gaston caught her hand and pressed it to his lips, but he had more to say than a simple word of parting. "but i shall see thee again, sweet constanza? am i not thy true knight? shall i not owe to thee a debt i know not how to pay? thou wilt not send me forth without a word of promise of another meeting? when can i see thee again to tell thee how we have fared?" "thou must not dream of loitering here once thy object is secured," answered the girl, speaking very firmly and almost sternly, though there was a deep sadness in her eyes. "it will not be many hours ere they find their captive has escaped them, and they will rouse the whole country after you. nay, to linger is certain death; it must not be thought of. in bordeaux, and there alone, wilt thou be safe. it is thither that thou must fly, for thither alone will the sieur de navailles fear to follow you. for me, i must remain here, as i have done these many years. it will not be worse than it hath ever been." "and thinkest thou that i will leave thee thus to languish after thou hast restored to me my brother?" asked gaston hotly. "nay, lady, think not that of thine own true knight! i will come again. i vow it! first will i to the english king, and tell in his ears a tale which shall arouse all his royal wrath. and then will i come again. it may not be this year, but it shall be ere long. i will come to claim mine own; and all that is mine shall be thine. sweet lady, wouldst thou look coldly upon me did i come with banners unfurled and men in arms against him thou callest thine uncle? for the lands he holds were ours once, and the english king has promised that they shall one day be restored, as they should have been long ago had not this usurper kept his iron clutch upon them in defiance of his feudal lord. lady, sweet constanza, tell me that thou wilt not call me thy foe if i come as a foe to the lord of navailles!" "methinks thou couldst never be my foe," answered constanza in a low voice, pressing her hands closely together; "and though he be mine uncle, and though he has given me a home beneath his roof, he has made it to me an abode of terror, and i know that he is feared and hated far and wide, and that his evil deeds are such that none may trust or love him. i would not show ingratitude for what he hath done for me; but he has been paid many times over. he has had all my jewels, and of these many were all but priceless; and he gives me but the food i eat and the raiment i wear. i should bless the day that set me free from this life beneath his roof. there be moments when i say in mine heart that i cannot live longer in such an evil place -- when i have no heart left and no hope." "but thou wilt have hope now!" cried gaston ardently. "thou wilt know that i am coming to claim mine own, and with it this little hand, more precious to me than all else besides. sweetest constanza, tell me that i shall still find thee as thou art when i come to claim thee! i shall not come to find thee the bride of another?" he could not see her face in the dimness, but he felt her hand flutter in his clasp like a bird in the hand of one who has tamed it, and whom it trusts and loves. the next moment his arm was about her slight figure, and her head drooped for a moment upon his shoulder. "i shall be waiting," she whispered, scarce audibly. "how could i love another, when thou hast called thyself my knight?" he pressed a passionate kiss upon her brow. "if this is indeed farewell for the present hour, it is a sweet one, my beloved. i little thought, as i journeyed hither today, what i was to find. farewell, farewell, my lady love, my princess, my bride. farewell, but not for ever. i will come again anon, and then we will be no more parted, for thou shalt reign in these grim walls, and no more dark tales of horror shall be breathed of them. i will come again; i will surely come. trust me, and fear not!" she stood beside him in the gathering darkness, and he could almost hear the fluttering of her heart. it was a moment full of sweetness for both, even though the shadow of parting was hanging over them. a slight rustle amongst the underwood near to them caused them to spring apart; and the girl fled from him, speeding away with the grace and silent fleetness of a deer. gaston made a stride towards the place whence the sound had proceeded, and found himself face to face with roger. "the men are all at hand," he whispered. "i would not have them approach too close till i knew your pleasure. they are all within the wood, all upon the alert lest any foe be nigh; but all seems silent as the grave, and not a light gleams from the tower upon this side. shall i bid them remain where they are? or shall i bring them hither to you beside the water?" "let them remain where they are for a while and see that the horses be well fed and cared for. at ten o'clock, if all be well, the attempt to enter the tower is to be made; and once the prisoner is safe and in our keeping, we must to bordeaux as fast as horse will take us. the sieur de navailles will raise the whole country after us. we must be beyond the reach of his clutches ere we draw rein again." chapter xxvi. the rescue of raymond. the appointed hour had arrived. no signal had fallen upon gaston's listening ears; no note of warning had rung through the still night air. from the direction of the castle sounds of distant revelry arose at intervals -- sounds which seemed to show that nothing in the shape of watch or ward was being thought of by its inmates; and also that constanza's promise had been kept, and potations of unwonted strength had been served out to the men. now the appointed hour had come and gone, and gaston commenced his preparations for the rescue of his brother. that he might be going to certain death if he failed, or if he had been betrayed, did not weigh with him for a moment. if constanza were false to him, better death than the destruction of his hopes and his trust. in any case he would share his brother's fate sooner than leave him in the relentless hands of these cruel foes. he had selected six of his stoutest followers, all of them excellent swimmers, to accompany him across the moat; and roger, as a matter of course, claimed to be one of the party. to roger's mysterious power of vision they owed their rapid tracing of raymond to this lonely spot. it was indeed his right to make one of the rescue party if he desired to be allowed to do so. the rest of their number were to remain upon this farther side of the moat, and the horses were all in readiness, rested and refreshed, about half-a-mile off under the care of several stout fellows, all stanch to their master's interests. the story they had heard from gaston of what had been devised against his brother filled the honest soldiers with wrath and indignation. rough and savage as they might show themselves in open warfare, deliberate and diabolical cruelty was altogether foreign to their nature. and they all felt towards raymond a sense of protecting and reverent tenderness, such as all may feel towards a being of finer mould and loftier nature. raymond had the faculty of inspiring in those about him this reverential tenderness; and not one of those stalwart fellows who were silently laying aside their heavy mail, and such of their garments as would be likely to hinder them in their swim across the moat, but felt a deep loathing and hatred towards the lord of this grim tower, and an overmastering resolve to snatch his helpless victim from his cruel hands, or perish in the attempt. all their plans had been very carefully made. lanterns and the wherewithal for kindling them were bound upon the heads of some of the swimmers; and though they laid aside most of their defensive armour and their heavy riding boots, they wore their stout leather jerkins, that were almost as serviceable against foeman's steel, and their weapons, save the most cumbersome, were carried either in their belts or fastened across their shoulders. dark though it had become, gaston had not lost cognizance of the spot whither they were to direct their course; and one by one the strong swimmers plunged into the sullen waters without causing so much as a ripple or plash, which might betray their movements to suspicious ears upon the battlements (if indeed any sort of watch were kept, which appeared doubtful). they swam with that perfect silence possible only to those who are thoroughly at home in the water, till they had crossed the dark moat and had reached the perpendicular wall of the tower, which rose sheer upon the farther side -- so sheer that not even the foot of mountain goat could have scaled its rough-hewn side. but gaston knew what he had to search for, and with outstretched hand he swam silently along the solid masonry, feeling for that aperture just above watermark which he had seen before the daylight faded. it took him some little time to find it, but at last it was discovered, and with a muttered word of command to the men who silently followed in his wake, he drew himself slowly out of the water, to find himself in a very narrow rounded aperture like a miniature tunnel, which trended slightly upwards, and would only admit the passage of one human being at a time, and then only upon hands and knees. it was pitchy dark in this tunnel, and there was no space in which to attempt to kindle a light. once the thought came into gaston's head that if he were falling into a treacherous pitfall laid for him with diabolic ingenuity by his foes, nothing could well be better than to entrap him into such a place as this, where it would be almost impossible to go forward or back, and quite out of his power to strike a single blow for liberty or life. but he shook off the chill sense of fear as unworthy and unknightly. his constanza was true; of that he was assured. the only possible doubt was whether she herself were being used as an unconscious tool in the hands of subtle and perfectly unscrupulous men. but even so gaston had no choice but to advance. he had come to rescue his brother or to die with him. if the latter, he would try at least to sell his life dearly. but he was fully persuaded that his efforts would be crowned with success. he had time to think many such things as he slowly crept along the low passage in the black darkness. it seemed long before his hand came in contact with the door he had been told he should presently reach, and this door, as constanza had said, yielded to his touch, and he felt rather than saw that he had emerged into a wider space beyond. this place, whatever it was, was not wholly dark, though so very dim that it was impossible to make out anything save the dull red glow of what might be some embers on a distant hearth. gaston did not speak a word, but waited till all his companions had reached this more open space, and had risen to their feet and grasped their weapons. then all held their breath, and listened for any sound that might by chance reveal the presence of hidden foes, till they started at the sound of roger's voice speaking softly but with complete assurance. "there is no one here," he said. "we are quite alone. let me kindle a torch and show you." roger, as gaston had before observed, possessed a cat-like faculty of seeing in the dark. whether it was natural to him, or had been acquired during those days spent almost entirely underground in the sorcerer's vaulted chamber at basildene, the youth himself scarcely knew. but he was able to distinguish objects clearly in gloom which no ordinary eye could penetrate; and now he walked fearlessly forward and stirred up the smouldering embers, whose dull red glow all could see, into a quick, bright, palpitating flame which illumined every corner of the strange place into which they had penetrated. gaston and his men looked wonderingly around them, as they lighted their lanterns at the fire and flashed them here and there into all the dark corners, as though to assure themselves that there were no ambushed foes lurking in the grim recesses of that circular room. but roger had been quite right. there was nothing living in that silent place. not so much as a loophole in the wall admitted any air or light from the outer world, or could do so even in broad noon. the chamber was plainly hollowed out in the mass of earth and masonry of which the foundations of the tower were composed, and if any air were admitted (as there must have been, else men could not breathe down there), it was by some device not easily discovered at a first glance. it was in truth a strange and terrible place -- the dank walls, down which the damp moisture slowly trickled, hung round with instruments of various forms, all designed with a terrible purpose, and from their look but too often used. gaston's face assumed a look of dark wrath and indignation as his quick eyes roved round this evil place, and he set his teeth hard together as he muttered to himself: "heaven send that the prince himself may one day look upon the vile secrets of this charnel house! i would that he and his royal father might know what deeds of darkness are even now committed in lands that own their sway! would that i had that wicked wretch here in my power at this moment! well does he deserve to be torn in pieces by his own hideous engines. and in this very place does he design to do to death my brother! may god pardon me if i sin in the thought, but death by the sword is too good for such a miscreant!" words very similar to these were being bandied about in fierce undertones by the men who had accompanied gaston, and who had never seen such a chamber as this before. great would have been their satisfaction to let its owner taste something of the agony he had too often inflicted upon helpless victims thrown into his power. but this being out of the question, the next matter was the rescue of the captive they had come to save; and they looked eagerly at their young leader to know what was the next step to be taken. gaston was searching for the wheel by which the mechanism could be set in motion which would enable him to reach his brother's prison house. it was easily found from the description given him by constanza. he set his men to work to turn the wheel, and at once became aware of the groaning and grating sound that attends the motion of clumsy machinery. gazing eagerly up into the dun roof above him, he saw slowly descending a portion of the stonework of which it was formed. it was a clever enough contrivance for those unskilled days, and showed a considerable ingenuity on the part of some owner of the castle of saut. when the great slab had descended to the floor below, gaston stepped upon it, roger placing himself at his side, and with a brief word to his men to reverse the action of the wheel, and to lower the slab again a few minutes later, he prepared for his strange passage upwards to his brother's lonely cell. roger held a lantern in his hand, and the faces of the pair were full of anxious expectation. suppose raymond had been removed from that upper prison? suppose he had succumbed either to the cruelty of his foes or to the fever resulting from his injuries received on the day of the battle? a hundred fears possessed gaston's soul as the strange transit through the air was being accomplished -- a transit so strange that he felt as though he must surely be dreaming. but there was only one thing to be done -- to persevere in the quest, and trust to the holy saints and the loving mercy of blessed mary's son to grant him success in this his endeavour. up, up into the darkness of the vaulted roof he passed, and then a yawning hole above their heads, which looked too small to admit the passage of the slab upon which they stood, swallowed them up, and they found themselves passing upwards through a shaft which only just admitted the block upon which they stood. up and up they went, and now the creaking sound grew louder, and the motion grew perceptibly slower. they were no longer in a narrow shaft; a black space opened before their eyes. the motion ceased altogether with a grinding sensation and a jerk, and out of the darkness of a wider space, pitchy dark to their eyes, came the sound of a familiar voice. "gaston -- brother!" gaston sprang forward into the darkness, heedless of all but the sound of that voice. the next moment he was clasping his brother in his arms, his own emotion so great that he dared not trust his voice to speak; whilst raymond, holding him fast in a passionate clasp, whispered in his ear a breathless question. "thou too a prisoner in this terrible place, my gaston? o brother -- my brother -- i trusted that i might have died for us both!" "a prisoner? nay, raymond, no prisoner; but as thy rescuer i come. what, believest thou not? then shalt thou soon see with thine own eyes. "but let me look first upon thy face. i would see what these miscreants have done to thee. thou feelest more like a creature of skin and bone than one of sturdy english flesh and blood. "the light, roger! "ay, truly, roger is here with me. it is to him in part we owe it that we are here this night. raymond, raymond, thou art sorely changed! thou lookest more spirit-like than ever! thou hast scarce strength to stand alone! what have they done to thee, my brother?" but raymond could scarce find strength to answer. the revulsion of feeling was too much for him. when he had heard that terrible sound, and had seen the slab in the floor sink out of sight, he had sprung from his bed of straw, ready to face his cruel foes when they came for him, yet knowing but too well what was in store for him when he was carried down below, as he had been once before. then when, instead of the cruel mocking countenance of peter sanghurst, he had seen the noble, loving face of his brother, and had believed that he, too, had fallen into the power of their deadly foes, it had seemed to him as though a bitterness greater than that of death had fallen upon him, and the rebound of feeling when gaston had declared himself had been so great, that the whole place swam before his eyes, and the floor seemed to reel beneath his feet. "we will get him away from this foul place!" cried gaston, with flaming eyes, as he looked into the white and sharpened face of his brother, and felt how feebly the light frame leaned against the stalwart arm supporting it. he half led, half carried raymond the few paces towards the slab in the floor which formed the link with the region beneath, and the next minute raymond felt himself sinking down as he had done once before; only then it had been in the clasp of his most bitter foe that he had been carried to that infernal spot. the recollection made him shiver even now in gaston's strong embrace, and the young knight felt the quiver and divined the cause. "fear nothing now, my brother," he said. "though we be on our way to that fearful place, it is for us the way to light and liberty. our own good fellows are awaiting us there. i trow not all the hireling knaves within this castle wall should wrest thee from us now." "i fear naught now that thou art by my side, gaston," answered raymond, in low tones. "if thou art not in peril thyself, i could wish nothing better than to die with thine arm about mine." "nay, but thou shalt live!" cried gaston, with energy, scarce understanding that after the long strain of such a captivity as raymond's had been it was small wonder that he had grown to think death well-nigh better and sweeter than life. "thou shalt live to take vengeance upon thy foes, and to recompense them sevenfold for what they have done to thee. i will tell this story in the ears of the king himself. this is not the last time that i shall stand within the walls of saut!" by this time the heavy slab had again descended, and around it were gathered the eager fellows, who received their young master's brother with open arms and subdued shouts of triumph and joy. but he, though he smiled his thanks, looked round him with eyes dilated by the remembrance of some former scene there, and gaston set his teeth hard, and shook back his head with a gesture that boded little good for the sieur de navailles upon a future day. "come men; we may not tarry!" he said. "no man knows what fancy may enter into the head of the master of this place. turn the wheel again; send up the slab to its right place. let them have no clue to trace the flight of their victim. leave everything as we found it, and follow me without delay." he was all anxiety now to get his brother from the shadow of this hideous place. the whiteness of raymond's face, the hollowness of his eyes, the lines of suffering traced upon his brow in a few short days, all told a tale only too easily read. the rough fellows treated him tenderly as they might have treated a little child. they felt that he had been through some ordeal from which they themselves would have shrunk with a terror they would have been ashamed to admit; and that despite the youth's fragile frame and ethereal face that looked little like that of a mailed warrior, a hero's heart beat in his breast, and he had the spirit to do and to dare what they themselves might have quailed from and fled before. the transit through the narrow tunnel presented no real difficulty, and soon the sullen waters of the moat were troubled by the silent passage of seven instead of six swimmers. the shock of the cold plunge revived raymond; and the sense of space above him, the star-spangled sky overhead, the free sweet air around him, even the unfettered use of his weakened limbs, as he swam with his brother's strong supporting arm about him, acted upon him like a tonic. he hardly knew whether or not it was a dream; whether he were in the body or out of the body; whether he should awake to find himself in his gloomy cell, or under the cruel hands of his foes in that dread chamber he had visited once before. he knew not, and at that moment he cared not. gaston's arm was about him, gaston's voice was in his ear. whatever came upon him later could not destroy the bliss of the present moment. a score of eager hands were outstretched to lift the light frame from gaston's arm as the brothers drew to the edge of the moat. it was no time to speak, no time to ask or answer questions. at any moment some unguarded movement or some crashing of the boughs underfoot might awaken the suspicions of those within the walls. it was enough that the secret expedition had been crowned with success -- that the captive was now released and in their own hands. raymond was almost fainting now with excitement and fatigue, but gaston's muscles seemed as if made of iron. though the past days had been for him days of great anxiety and fatigue, though he had scarce eaten or slept since the rapid march upon the besieging army around st. jean d'angely, he seemed to know neither fatigue nor feebleness. the arm upholding raymond's drooping frame seemed as the arm of a giant. the young knight felt as though he could have carried that light weight even to bordeaux, and scarce have felt fatigue. but there was no need for that. nigh at hand the horses were waiting, saddled and bridled, well fed and well rested, ready to gallop steadily all through the summer night. the moon had risen now, and filtered in through the young green of the trees with a clear and fitful radiance. the forest was like a fairy scene; and over the minds of both brothers stole the softening remembrance of such woodland wonders in the days gone by, when as little lads, full of curiosity and love of adventure, they had stolen forth at night into the forest together to see if they could discover the fairies at their play, or the dwarfs and gnomes busy beneath the surface of the earth. to raymond it seemed indeed as though all besides might well be a dream. he knew not which of the fantastic images impressed upon his brain was the reality, and which the work of imagination. a sense of restful thankfulness -- the release from some great and terrible fear -- had stolen upon him, he scarce knew how or why. he did not wish to think or puzzle out what had befallen him. he was with gaston once more; surely that was enough. but gaston's mind was hard at work. from time to time he turned an anxious look upon his brother, and he saw well how ill and weary he was, how he swayed in the saddle, though supported by cleverly-adjusted leather thongs, and how unfit he was for the long ride that lay before them. and yet that ride must be taken. they must be out of reach of their implacable foe as quickly as might be. in the unsettled state of the country no place would afford a safe harbour for them till bordeaux itself was reached. fain would he have made for the shelter of the old home in the mill, or of father anselm's hospitable home, but he knew that those would be the first places searched by the emissaries of the navailles. even as it was these good people might be in some peril, and they must certainly not be made aware of the proximity of the de brocas brothers. but if not there, whither could raymond be transported? to carry him to england in this exhausted state might be fatal to him; for no man knew when once on board ship how contrary the wind might blow, and the accommodation for a sick man upon shipboard was of the very rudest. no; before the voyage could be attempted raymond must have rest and care in some safe place of shelter. and where could that shelter be found? as gaston thus mused a sudden light came upon him, and turning to roger he asked of him a question: "do not some of these fellows of our company come from bordeaux; and have they not left it of late to follow the english banner?" "ay, verily," answered roger quickly. "there be some of them who came forth thence expressly to fight under the young knight of de brocas. the name of de brocas is as dear to many of those gascon soldiers as that of navailles is hated and cursed." "send then to me one of those fellows who best knows the city," said gaston; and in a few more minutes a trooper rode up to his side. "good fellow," said gaston, "if thou knowest well you city whither we are bound, tell me if thou hast heard aught of one father paul, who has been sent to many towns in this and other realms by his holiness the pope, to restore amongst the brethren of his order the forms and habits which have fallen something into disuse of late? i heard a whisper as we passed through the city a week back now that he was there. knowest thou if this be true?" "it was true enow, sir knight, a few days back," answered the man, "and i trow you may find him yet at the cistercian monastery within the city walls. he had but just arrived thither ere the english ships came, and men say that he had much to do ere he sallied forth again." "good," answered gaston, in a tone of satisfaction; and when the trooper had dropped back to his place again, the young knight turned to his brother and said cheerily: "courage, good lad; keep but up thy heart, my brother, for i have heard good news for thee. father paul is in the city of bordeaux, and it is in his kindly charge that i will leave thee ere i go to england with my tale to lay before the king." raymond was almost too far spent to rejoice over any intelligence, however welcome; yet a faint smile crossed his face as the sense of gaston's words penetrated to his understanding. it was plain that there was no time to lose if they were to get him to some safe shelter before his strength utterly collapsed, and long before bordeaux was reached he had proved unable to keep his seat in the saddle, and a litter had been contrived for him in which he could lie at length, carried between four of the stoutest horsemen. they were now in more populous and orderly regions, where the forest was thinner and townships more frequent. the urgent need for haste had slightly diminished, and though still anxious to reach their destination, the party was not in fear of an instant attack from a pursuing foe. the navailles would scarce dare to fall upon the party in the neighbourhood of so many of the english king's fortified cities; and before the sun set they hoped to be within the environs of bordeaux itself -- a hope in which they were not destined to be disappointed. nor was gaston disappointed of his other hope; for scarce had they obtained admission for their unconscious and invalided comrade within the walls of the cistercian monastery, and gaston was still eagerly pouring into the prior's ears the story of his brother's capture and imprisonment, when the door of the small room into which the strangers had been taken was slowly opened to admit a tall, gaunt figure, and father paul himself stood before them. he gave gaston one long, searching look; but he never forgot a face, and greeted him by name as sir gaston de brocas, greatly to the surprise of the youth, who thought he would neither be recognized nor known by the holy father. then passing him quickly by, the monk leaned over the couch upon which raymond had been laid -- a hard oaken bench -- covered by the cloak of the man who had borne him in. raymond's eyes were closed; his face, with the sunset light lying full upon it, showed very hollow and white and worn. even in the repose of a profound unconsciousness it wore a look of lofty purpose, together with an expression of purity and devotion impossible to describe. gaston and the prior both turned to look as father paul bent over the prostrate figure with an inarticulate exclamation such as he seldom uttered, and gaston felt a sudden thrill of cold fear run through him. "he is not dead?" he asked, in a passionate whisper; and the father looked up to answer: "nay, sir knight, he is not dead. a little rest, a little tendance, a little of our care, and he will be restored to the world again. better perhaps were it not so - better perchance for him. for his is not the nature to battle with impunity against the evil of the world. look at him as he lies there: is that face of one that can look upon the deeds of these vile days and not suffer keenest pain? to fight and to vanquish is thy lot, young warrior; but what is his? to tread the thornier path of life and win the hero's crown, not by deeds of glory and renown, but by that higher and holier path of suffering and renunciation which one chose that we might know he had been there before us. thou mayest live to be one of this world's heroes, boy; but in the world to come it will be thy brother who will wear the victor's crown." "i truly believe it," answered gaston, drawing a deep breath; "but yet we cannot spare him from this world. i give him into thy hands, my father, that thou mayest save him for us here." chapter xxvii. peter sanghurst's wooing. "joan -- sweetest mistress -- at last i find you; at last my eyes behold again those peerless charms for which they have pined and hungered so long! tell me, have you no sweet word of welcome for him whose heart you hold between those fair hands, to do with it what you will?" joan, roused from her reverie by those smoothly-spoken words, uttered in a harsh and grating voice, turned quickly round to find herself face to face with peter sanghurst -- the man she had fondly hoped had passed out of her life for ever. joan and her father, after a considerable period spent in wanderings in foreign lands (during which sir hugh had quite overcome the melancholy and sense of panic into which he had been thrown by the scourge of the black death and his wife's sudden demise as one of its victims), had at length returned to woodcrych. the remembrance of the plague was fast dying out from men's minds. the land was again under cultivation; and although labour was still scarce and dear, and continued to be so for many, many years, whilst the attempts at legislation on this point only produced riot and confusion (culminating in the next reign in the notable rebellion of wat tyler, and leading eventually to the emancipation of the english peasantry), things appeared to be returning to their normal condition, and men began to resume their wonted apathy of mind, and to cease to think of the scourge as the direct visitation of god. sir hugh had been one of those most alarmed by the ravages of the plague. he was full of the blind superstition of a thoroughly irreligious man, and he knew well that he had been dabbling in forbidden arts, and had been doing things that were supposed in those days to make a man peculiarly the prey of the devil after death. thus when the black death had visited the country, and he had heard on all sides that it was the visitation of god for the sins of the nations, he had been seized with a panic which had been some years in cooling, and he had made pilgrimages and had paid a visit to his holiness the pope in order to feel that he had made amends for any wrongdoing in his previous life. he had during this fit of what was rather panic than repentance avoided woodcrych sedulously, as the place where these particular sins which frightened him now had been committed. he had thus avoided any encounter with peter sanghurst, and joan had hoped that the shadow of that evil man was not destined to cross her path again. but, unluckily for her hopes, a reaction had set in in her father's feelings. his blind, unreasoning terror had now given place to an equally wild and reckless confidence and assurance. the black death had come and gone, and had passed him by (he now said) doing him no harm. he had obtained the blessing of the pope, and felt in his heart that he could set the almighty at defiance. his revenues, much impoverished through the effects of the plague, made the question of expenditure the most pressing one of the hour; and the knight had come to woodcrych with the distinct intention of prosecuting those studies in alchemy and magic which a year or two back he had altogether forsworn. old sanghurst was dead, he knew -- the devil had claimed one of his own. but the son was living still, and was to be heard of, doubtless, at basildene. peter sanghurst was posing in the world as a wealthy man, surrounded by a halo of mystery which gave him distinction and commanded respect. sir hugh felt that he might be a very valuable ally, and began to regret now that his fears had made him so long an exile from his country and a wanderer from home. many things might have happened in that interval. what more likely than that sanghurst had found a wife, and that his old affection for joan would by now be a thing of the past? the knight fumed a good deal as he thought of neglected opportunities. but there was just the chance that sanghurst might be faithful to his old love, whilst surely joan would have forgotten her girlish caprice, and cease to attempt a foolish resistance to her father's will. had he been as much in earnest then as he now was, the marriage would long ago have been consummated. but in old days he had not felt so confident of the wealth of the sanghursts as he now did, and had been content to let matters drift. now he could afford to drift no longer. joan had made no marriage for herself, she was unwed at an age when most girls are wives and mothers, and sir hugh was growing weary of her company. he wished to plunge once again into a life of congenial dissipation, and into those researches for magic wealth which had always exercised so strong a fascination over him; and the first step necessary for both these objects appeared to be to marry off his daughter, and that, if possible, to the man who was supposed to be in possession of these golden secrets. joan, however, knew nothing of the hopes and wishes filling her father's mind. she was glad to come back to the home she had always loved the best of her father's residences, and which was so much associated in her mind with her youthful lover. she believed that so near to guildford she would be sure to hear news of raymond. master bernard de brocas would know where he was; he might even be living beneath his uncle's roof. the very thought sent quick thrills of happiness through her. her face was losing its thoughtful gravity of expression, and warming and brightening into new beauty. she had almost forgotten the proximity of basildene, and peter sanghurst's hateful suit, so long had been the time since she had seen him last, until the sound of his voice, breaking in upon a happy reverie, brought all the old disgust and horror back again, and she turned to face him with eyes that flashed with lambent fire. yet as she stood there in the entrance to that leafy bower which was her favourite retreat at woodcrych, peter sanghurst felt as though he had never before seen so queenly a creature, and said in his heart that she had grown tenfold more lovely during the years of her wanderings. joan was now no mere strip of a girl. she was three-and-twenty, and had all the grace of womanhood mingling with the free, untrammelled energy of youth. her step was as light, her movements as unfettered, as in the days of her childhood; yet now she moved with an unconscious stately grace which caused her to be remarked wherever she went; and her face, always beautiful, with its regular features, liquid dark eyes, and full, noble expression, had taken an added depth and sweetness and thoughtfulness which rendered it remarkable and singularly attractive. joan inspired a considerable amount of awe in the breasts of those youthful admirers who had flitted round her sometimes during the days of her wanderings; but she had never given any of them room to hope to be more to her than the passing acquaintance of an hour. she had received proffers of life-long devotion with a curious gentle courtesy almost like indifference, and had smiled upon none of those who had paid her court. her father had let her do as she would. no suitor wealthy enough to excite his cupidity had appeared at joan's feet. he intended to make a wealthy match for her before she grew much older; but the right person had not yet appeared, and time slipped by almost unheeded. now she found herself once again face to face with peter sanghurst, and realized that he was renewing, or about to renew, that hateful suit which she trusted had passed from his mind altogether. the face she turned towards him, with the glowing autumn sunshine full upon it, was scarcely such as could be called encouraging to an ardent lover. but peter sanghurst only smiled as she stood there in her proud young beauty, the russet autumn tints framing her noble figure in vivid colours. "i have taken you by surprise, sweet lady," he said; "it is long since we met." "long indeed, master peter -- or should i say sir peter? it hath been told to me that you have been in the great world; but whether or not your gallantry has won you your spurs i know not." was there something of covert scorn in the tones of her cold voice? sanghurst could not tell, but every smallest stab inflicted upon his vanity or pride by this beautiful creature was set down in the account he meant to settle with her when once she was in his power. his feelings towards her were strangely mixed. he loved her passionately in a fierce, wild fashion, coveting the possession of that beauty which maddened whilst it charmed him. she enchained and enthralled him, yet she stung him to the quick by her calm contempt and resolute avoidance of him. he was determined she should be his, come what might; but when once he had won the mastery over her, he would make her suffer for every pang of wounded pride or jealousy she had inflicted upon him. the cruelty of the man's nature showed itself even in his love, and he hated even whilst he loved her; for he knew that she was infinitely his superior, and that she had read the vileness of his nature, and had learned to shrink from him, as purity always shrinks from contact with what is foul and false. even her question stung his vanity, and there was a savage gleam in his eye as he answered: "nay, my spurs are still to be won; for what was it to me whether i won them or not unless i might wear them as your true knight? sweetest mistress, these weary years have been strangely long and dark since the light of your presence has been withdrawn from us. now that the sun has risen once again upon woodcrych, let it shine likewise upon basildene. mistress joan, i come to you with your father's sanction. you doubtless know how many years i have wooed you -- how many years i have lived for you and for you alone. i have waited even as the patriarch of old for his wife. the time has now come when i have the right to approach you as a lover. sweet lady, tell me that you will reward my patience -- that i shall not sue in vain." peter sanghurst bent the knee before her; but she was acute enough to detect the undercurrent of mockery in his tone. he came as a professed suppliant; but he came with her father's express sanction, and joan had lived long enough to know how very helpless a daughter was if her father's mind were once made up to give her hand in marriage. her safety in past days had been that sir hugh was not really resolved upon the point. he had always been divided between the desire to conciliate the old sorcerer and the fear lest his professed gifts should prove but illusive; and when he was in this mood of uncertainty, joan's steady and resolute resistance had not been without effect. but she knew that he owed large sums of money to the sanghursts, who had made frequent advances when he had been in difficulties, and it was likely enough that the day of reckoning had now come, and that her hand was to be the price of the cancelled bonds. her father had for some days been dropping hints that had raised uneasiness in her mind. this sudden appearance of peter sanghurst, coupled with his confident words, showed to joan only too well how matters stood. for a moment she stood silent, battling with her fierce loathing and disgust, her fingers toying with the gold circlet her lover had placed upon her finger. the very thought of raymond steadied her nerves, and gave her calmness and courage. she knew that she was in a sore strait; but hers was a spirit to rise rather than sink before peril and adversity. "master peter sanghurst," she answered, calmly and steadily, "i thought that i had given you answer before, when you honoured me by your suit. my heart is not mine to give, and if it were it could never be yours. i pray you take that answer and be gone. from my lips you can never have any other." a fierce gleam was in his eye, but his voice was still smooth and bland. "sweet lady," he said, "it irks me sore to give you pain; but i have yet another message for you. think you that i should have dared to come with this offer of my heart and hand if i had not known that he to whom thy heart is pledged lies stiff and cold in the grip of death -- nay, has long since mouldered to ashes in the grave?" joan turned deadly pale. she had not known that her secret had passed beyond her own possession. how came peter sanghurst to speak of her as having a lover? was it all guesswork? true, he had been jealous of raymond in old days. was this all part of a preconcerted and diabolical plot against her happiness? her profound distrust of this man, and her conviction of his entire unscrupulousness, helped to steady her nerves. if she had so wily a foe to deal with, she had need of all her own native shrewdness and capacity. after a few moments, which seemed hours to her from the concentrated thought pressed into them, she spoke quietly and calmly: "of whom speak you, sir? who is it that lies dead and cold?" "your lover, raymond de brocas," answered sanghurst, rising to his feet and confronting joan with a gaze of would-be sympathy, though his eyes were steely bright and full of secret malice -- "your lover, who died in my arms after the skirmish of which you may have heard, when the english army routed the besieging force around st. jean d'angely; and in dying he gave me a charge for you, sweet lady, which i have been longing ever since to deliver, but until today have lacked the opportunity." joan's eyes were fixed upon him wide with distrust. she was in absolute ignorance of raymond's recent movements. but in those days that was the fate of those who did not live in close contiguity. she had been a rover in the world, and so perchance had he. all that sanghurst said might be true for aught she could allege to the contrary. yet how came it that raymond should confide his dying message to his sworn and most deadly foe? the story seemed to bear upon it the impress of falsehood. sanghurst, studying her face intently, appeared to read her thoughts. "lady," he said, "if you will but listen to my tale, methinks i can convince you of the truth of my words. you think that because we were rivals for your hand we were enemies, too? and so of old it was. but, fair mistress, you may have heard how raymond de brocas soothed the dying bed of my father, and tended him when all else, even his son, had fled from his side; and albeit at the moment even that service did not soften my hard heart, in the times that followed, when i was left alone to muse on what had passed, i repented me of my old and bitter enmity, and resolved, if ever we should meet again, to strive to make amends for the past. i knew that he loved you, and that you loved him; and i vowed i would keep away and let his suit prosper if it might. i appeal to you, fair mistress, to say how that vow has been kept." "i have certainly seen naught of you these past years," answered joan. "but i myself have been a wanderer." "had you not been, my vow would have been as sacredly kept," was the quick reply. "i had resolved to see you no more, since i might never call you mine. i strove to banish your image from my mind by going forth into the world; and when this chance of fighting for the king arose, i was one who sailed to the relief of the english garrison." she made no response, but her clear gaze was slightly disconcerting; he looked away and spoke rapidly. "raymond de brocas was on board the vessel that bore us from england's shores: ask if it be not so, an you believe me not. we were brothers in arms, and foes no longer. i sought him out and told him all that was in my heart. you know his nature -- brave, candid, fearless. he showed his nobility of soul by giving to me the right hand of fellowship. ere the voyage ended we were friends in truth. when the day of battle came we rode side by side against the foe." joan's interest was aroused. she knew raymond well. she knew his nobility of nature -- his generous impulse to forgive a past foe, to bury all enmity. if sanghurst had sought him with professions of contrition, might he not have easily been believed? and yet was such an one as this to be trusted? "in the melee -- for the fighting was hard and desperate -- we were separated: he carried one way and i another. when the french were driven back or taken captive i sought for raymond everywhere, but for long without avail. at last i found him, wounded to the death. i might not even move him to our lines. i could but give him drink and watch beside him as he slowly sank. "it was then he spoke of thee, joan." sanghurst's voice took a new tone, and seemed to quiver slightly; he dropped the more formal address hitherto observed, and lapsed into the familiar "thou." "the sole trouble upon that pure soul was the thought of thee, left alone and unprotected in this harsh world. he spoke of thee and that love he bore thee, and i, who had also loved, but had resigned all my hopes for love of him, could but listen and grieve with him. but he knew my secret -- his clear eyes had long ago divined it -- and in talking together of thee, joan, as we had many times done before, he had learned all there was to know of my hopeless love. as he lay dying he seemed to be musing of this; and one short half-hour before he breathed his last, he spoke in these words -- "'sanghurst, we have been rivals and foes, but now we are friends, and i know that i did misjudge thee in past days, as methinks she did, too.' (joan, this is not so. it was not that ye misjudged me, but that i have since repented of my evil ways in which erst i rejoiced.) 'but thou wilt go to her now, and tell her what has befallen her lover. tell her that i died with her name on my lips, with thoughts of her in my heart. and tell her also not to grieve too deeply for me. it may be that to die thus, loving and beloved, is the happiest thing that can befall a man. but tell her, too, that she must not grieve too bitterly -- that she must not lead a widowed life because that i am taken from her. give to her this token, good comrade; she will know it. tell her that he to whom she gave it now restores it to her again, and restores it by the hand of his best and truest friend, trusting that this trusty friend will some day meet the reward he covets from the hand of her who once gave the token to him upon whom the hand of death is resting. give it her, and tell her when you give it that her dying lover's hope is that she will thus reward the patient, generous love of him who shall bring it to her.'" as he spoke these words, sanghurst, his eyes immovably fixed upon the changing face of the beautiful girl, drew from his breast a small packet and placed it within her trembling hands. he knew he was playing a risky game, and that one false move might lose him his one chance. it was all the veriest guesswork; but he believed he had guessed aright. whilst raymond had been stretched upon the rack, swooning from extremity of pain, sanghurst's eyes, fixed in gloating satisfaction upon the helpless victim, had been caught by the sight of this token about his neck, secured by a strong silver cord. to possess himself of the charm, or whatever it might be, had been but the work of a moment. he had felt convinced that it was a lover's token, and had been given to raymond by joan, and if so it might be turned to good account, even if other means failed to bend the stubborn will of the youth who looked so frail and fragile. raymond had escaped from his hands by a species of magic, as it had seemed to the cruel captors, when he had tasted but a tithe of what they had in store for him. baffled and enraged as sanghurst was, he had still the precious token in his possession. if it had been given by joan, she would recognize it at once, and coupled with the supposed dying message of her lover, surely it would not be without effect. eagerly then were his eyes fixed upon her face as she undid the packet, and a gleam of triumph came into them as he saw a flash of recognition when the little heart was disclosed to view. truly indeed did joan's heart sink within her, and every drop of blood ebbed from her cheek; for had not raymond said that he would never part from her gift whilst he had life? and how could peter sanghurst have become possessed of it unless his tale were true? he might be capable of robbing a dead body, but how would he have known that the token was given by her? a mist seemed to float before the girl's eyes. at that moment she was unable to think or to reason. the one thought there was room for in her mind was that raymond was dead. if he were lost to her for ever, it was little matter what became of herself. sanghurst's keen eyes, fixed upon her with an evil gleam, saw that the charm was working. it had worked even beyond his hopes. he was so well satisfied with the result of this day's work, that he would not even press his suit upon her farther then. let her have time to digest her lover's dying words. when she had done so, he would come to her again. "sweet lady, i grieve that thou shouldst suffer though any words i have been forced to speak; but it was a promise given to him who is gone to deliver the message and the token. lady, i take my leave of thee. i will not intrude upon thy sacred sorrow. i, too, sorrow little less for him who is gone. he was one of the brightest ornaments of these days of chivalry and renown." he caught her hand for a moment and pressed it to his lips, she scarce seeming to know what he did or what he said; and then he turned away and left her alone with her thoughts, a strangely malicious expression crossing his face as he knew himself hidden from her eyes. that same evening, when father and daughter were alone together in the room they habitually occupied in the after part of the day, sir hugh began to speak with unwonted decision and authority. "joan, child, has peter sanghurst been with thee today?" "he has, my father." "and has he told thee that he comes with my sanction as a lover, and that thou and he are to wed ere the month is out?" "he had not said so much as that," answered joan, who spoke quietly and dreamily, and with so little of the old ring of opposition in her voice that her father looked at her in surprise. she was very pale, and there was a look in her eyes he did not understand; but the flush of anger or defiance he had thought to see did not show itself. he began to think sanghurst had spoken no more than the truth in saying that mistress joan appeared to have withdrawn her opposition to him as a husband. "but so it is to be," answered her father, quickly and imperiously, trying to seize this favourable moment to get the matter settled. "i have long given way to thy whimsies -- far too long -- and here art thou a woman grown, older than half the matrons round, yet never a wife as they have long been. i will no more of it. it maketh thee and me alike objects of ridicule. peter sanghurst is my very good friend. he has helped me in many difficulties, and is ready to help me again. he has money, and i have none. listen, girl: this accursed plague has carried off all my people, and labourers are asking treble and quadruple for their work that which they have been wont to do. sooner would i let the crops rot upon the ground than be so mulcted by them. the king does what he can, but the idle rogues set him at defiance; and there be many beside me who will feel the grip of poverty for long years to come. peter sanghurst has his wealth laid up in solid gold, not in fields and woods that bring nothing without hands to till or tend them. marry but him, and woodcrych shall be thy dower, and its broad acres and noble manor will make of ye twain, with his gold, as prosperous a knight and dame (for he will soon rise to that rank) as ye can wish to be. girl, my word is pledged, and i go not back from it. i have been patient with thy fancies, but i will no more of them. thou art mine own daughter, my own flesh and blood, and thy hand is mine to give to whom i will. peter sanghurst shall be thy lord whether thou wilt or no. i have said it; let that be enough. it is thy part to obey." joan sat quite still and answered nothing. her eyes were fixed upon the dancing flames rushing up the wide chimney. she must have heard her father's words, yet she gave no sign of having done so. but for that sir hugh cared little. he was only too glad to be spared a weary battle of words, or a long struggle with his high-spirited daughter, whose force of character he had come to know. that she had yielded her will to his at last seemed only right and natural, and of course she must have been by this time aware that if her father was really resolved upon the match, she was practically helpless to prevent it. she was no longer a child; she was a woman who had seen much of the world for the times she lived in. doubtless she had begun to see that she must now marry ere her beauty waned; and having failed to make a grander match during her years of wandering, was glad enough to return to her former lover, whose fidelity had doubtless touched her heart. "thou wilt have a home and a dowry, and a husband who has loved thee long and faithfully," added sir hugh, who felt that he might now adopt a more paternal tone, seeing he had not to combat foolish resistance. "thou hast been a good daughter, joan; doubtless thou wilt make a good wife too." still no reply, though a faint smile seemed to curve joan's lips. she presently rose to her feet, and making a respectful reverence to her father -- for daily embraces were not the order of the day -- glided from the room as if to seek her couch. "that is a thing well done!" breathed the knight, when he found himself once more alone, "and done easier than i had looked for. well, well, it is a happy thing the wench has found her right senses. methinks good peter must have been setting his charms to work, for she never could be brought to listen to him of old. he has tamed her to some purpose now." meantime joan had glided up the staircase of the hall, along several winding passages, and up and down several irregular flights of narrow steps, till she paused at the door of a room very dim within, but just lighted by the gleam of a dying fire. as she stepped across the threshold a voice out of the darkness accosted her. "my ladybird, is it thou, and at such an hour? tell me what has befallen thee." "the thing that thou and i have talked of before now, bridget," answered joan, speaking rapidly in a strange low voice -- "the thing that thou and i have planned a hundred times if the worst should befall us. it is tenfold more needful now than before. bridget, i must quit this house at sunset tomorrow, and thou must have my disguise ready. i must to france, to find out there the truth of a tale i have this day heard. nat will go with me -- he has said so a hundred times; and i have long had money laid by for the day i ever knew might come. thou knowest all. he is a man of the sea; i am his son. we have planned it too oft to be taken unawares by any sudden peril. thus disguised, we may wander where we will, molested by none. lose no time. rise and go to nat this very night. i myself must not be seen with him or with thee. i must conduct myself as though each day to come were like the one past. but thou knowest what to do. thou wilt arrange all. god bless thee, my faithful bridget; and when i come back again, thou shalt not lack thy reward!" "i want none else but thy love, my heart's delight," said the old nurse, gathering the girl into her fond arms; and joan hid her face for one moment upon that faithful breast and gave way to a short burst of weeping, which did much for her overcharged heart. then she silently stole away and went quietly to her own chamber. chapter xxviii. gaston's search. "he would get better far more quickly could the trouble be removed from his mind." gaston raised his head quickly, and asked: "what trouble?" father paul's face, thin and worn as of old, with the same keen, kindling glance of the deep-set eyes, softened almost into a smile as he met the questioning glance of gaston's eyes. "thou shouldst know more of such matters than i, my son, seeing that thou art in youth's ardent prime, whilst i wear the garb of a monk. sure thou canst not have watched beside thy brother's sickbed all these long weeks without knowing somewhat of the trouble in his mind?" "i hear him moan and talk," answered gaston; "but he knows not what he says, and i know not either. he is always feeling at his neck, and calling out for some lost token. and then he will babble on of things i understand not. but how i may help him i know not. i have tarried long, for i could not bear to leave him thus; and yet i am longing to carry to the king my tale of outrage and wrong. with every week that passes my chance of success grows less. for peter sanghurst may have been before me, and may have told his own false version of the tale ere i may have speech with king or prince. i know not what to do -- to stay beside raymond, or to hasten to england ere time be farther flown. holy father, wilt thou not counsel me? i feel that every day lost is a day lived in vain, ere i be revenged upon raymond's cruel foes!" the youth's eyes flashed. he clenched his hands, and his teeth set themselves fast together. he felt like an eagle caged, behind these protecting walls. for his brother's sake he was right glad of the friendly shelter; but for himself he was pining to be free. and yet how was he to leave that dearly-loved brother, whose eyes followed him so wistfully from place to place, who brightened up into momentary life when he entered the room, and took so little heed of what passed about him, unless roused by gaston's touch or voice? raymond had been very, very near to the gates of death since he had been brought into the monastery, and even now, so prostrated was he by the long attack of intermittent fever which had followed his wonderful escape from saut, that those about him scarce knew how the balance would turn. the fever, which had at first run high and had been hard to subdue, had now taken another turn, and only recurred at intervals of a few days; but the patient was so fearfully exhausted by all he had undergone that he seemed to have no strength to rally. he would lie in a sort of trance of weakness when the fever was not upon him, scarce seeming to breathe unless he was roused to wakefulness by some word or caress from gaston; whilst on the days when the fever returned, he would lie muttering indistinctly to himself, sometimes breaking forth into eager rapid speech difficult to follow, and often trying to rise and go forth upon some errand, no one knew what, and struggling hard with those who held him back. father paul had watched over the first stages of the illness with the utmost care and tenderness, after which his duties called him away, and he had only returned some three days since. the long hot summer in bordeaux had been a very trying one for the patient, whose state prohibited any attempt at removal to a cooler, fresher air. but as august was merging into september, and the days were growing shorter and the heat something less oppressive, it was hoped that there might be a favourable change in the patient's state; and much was looked for also from father paul's skill, which was accounted something very great. gaston and roger had remained within the monastery walls in close attendance upon the patient; but the restraint had been terribly irksome to the temper of the young knight, and he was panting to be free to pursue his quest, and to tell his story in the king's ears. he could not but dread that in his absence some harm might befall his constanza. suppose those two remorseless men suspected her to be concerned in the flight of their victim, what form might not their vengeance take? it was a thing that would scarce bear thinking of. yet what could he do to save her and to win her until he could make an organized attack upon saut, armed with full authority from england's king? and now that father paul was back, might it not be possible that this could be done? gaston felt torn in twain betwixt his love for his brother and his love for his betrothed. father paul would be able to advise him wisely and well. the father looked earnestly into the ardent and eager face of the youth, and answered quietly: "methinks thou hast been here long enough, my son. thou mayest do better for raymond by going forth upon the mission thou hast set thyself. but first i would ask of thee a few questions. who is this lady of whom thy brother speaks so oft?" "lady?" questioned gaston, his eyes opening wide in surprise. "does he indeed speak of a lady?" the father smiled at the question. "thy thoughts must have been as wandering as his if thou dost not know as much as that," he said, with a look that brought the hot blood into gaston's cheek, for he well knew where his own thoughts had been whilst he sat beside his brother, scarce heeding the ceaseless murmur which babbled from his unconscious lips. it had never occurred to him that he could learn aught by striving to catch those indistinct utterances; and his mind had been full to overflowing with his own affairs. "i knew not that he spoke of any lady," said the young knight, wondering for a moment, with love's irrational jealousy, whether raymond could have seen his constanza and have lost his heart to her. had she not spoken of having slipped once into his cell to breathe in his ear a word of hope? might not even that passing glimpse at such a time have been enough to subjugate his heart? he drew his breath hard, and an anxious light gleamed in his eye. but the father continued speaking, and a load seemed to roll from his spirit with the next words. "it is of a lady whose name is joan that he speaks almost ceaselessly when the fever fit is on him. sometimes he speaks, too, of his cousin, that john de brocas who lost his life in the black death through his ceaseless labours amongst the sick. he is in sore trouble, as it seems, by the loss of some token given him by the lady. he fears that some foul use may be made by his foes of this same token, which he would sooner have died than parted from. if thou knowest who this lady is and where she may be found, it would do more for thy brother to have news of her than to receive all the skilled care of the best physicians in the world. i misdoubt me whether we shall bring him back to life without her aid. wherefore, if thou knowest where she may be found, delay not to seek her. tell her her lover yet lives, and bring him some message from her that may give him life and health." gaston's eyes lighted. to be given anything to do -- anything but this weary, wearing waiting and watching for the change that never came -- put new life into him forthwith. "it must sure be mistress joan vavasour thou meanest, father," he said. "raymond spoke much of her when we were on shipboard together. i knew not that his heart was so deeply pledged; but i see it all now. it is of her that he is dreaming night and day. it is the loss of her token that is troubling him now. "stop! what have i heard? methinks that this same peter sanghurst was wooing mistress joan himself once. sure i see another motive in his dastard capture of my brother. perchance he had in him not only a rival for the lands of basildene, but for the hand of the lady. father, i see it all! would that i had seen it before! it is peter sanghurst who has robbed raymond of his token, and he may make cruel use of what he has treacherously filched away. i must lose not a day nor an hour. i must to england in the wake of this villain. oh, why did i not understand before? what may he not have done ere i can stop his false mouth? the king shall hear all; the king shall be told all the tale! i trow he will not tarry long in punishing the coward traitor!" father paul was less certain how far the king would interest himself in a private quarrel, but peter sanghurst's recent action with regard to raymond might possibly be such as to stir even the royal wrath. at least it was time that some watch should be placed upon the movements of the owner of basildene, for he would be likely to make a most unscrupulous use of any power he might possess to injure raymond or gain any hold over the lady they both loved. roger being called in to the conference, and giving his testimony clearly enough as to the frequent intercourse which had existed between mistress joan vavasour and raymond de brocas, and the evident attraction each bore for the other, the matter appeared placed beyond the possibility of all doubt. gaston's resolve was quickly taken, and he only waited till his brother could be aroused to fuller consciousness, to start forth upon his double quest after vengeance and after joan. "brother," he said, taking raymond's hands in his, and bending tenderly over him, "i am going to leave thee, but only for a time. i am going to england to find thy joan, and to tell her that thou art living yet, and how thou hast been robbed of thy token." a new light shone suddenly in raymond's eyes. it seemed as though some of the mists of weakness rolled away, leaving to him a clearer comprehension. he grasped his brother's hand with greater strength than gaston believed him to possess, and his lips parted in a flashing smile. "thou wilt seek her and find her? knowest thou where she is?" "no; but i will go to seek her. i shall get news of her at guildford. i will to our uncle's house forthwith. sir hugh vavasour can easily be found." "he has been wandering in foreign lands this long while," answered raymond. "i know not whether he may have returned home. gaston, if thou findest her, save her from the sanghurst. tell her that i yet live -- that for her sake i will live to protect her from that evil man. he has robbed me of the pledge of her love; i am certain of it. it was a trinket not worth the stealing, and i had it ever about my neck. it was taken from me when i was a prisoner and at their mercy, when i did not know what befell me. he has it -- i am assured of that -- and what evil use he may make of it i know not. ah, if thou canst but find her ere he can reach her side!" "i will find her," answered gaston, firmly and cheerfully. "fear not, raymond; i have had harder tasks than this to perform ere now. be it thy part to shake off this wasting sickness. i will seek out thy joan, and will bring her to thy side. but let her not find thee in such sorry plight. thou lookest yet rather a corpse than a man. thou wouldst fright her by thy wan looks an she came to thee now." wan and white and wasted did raymond indeed appear, as though a breath would blow him away. upon his face was that faraway, ethereal look of one who has been lingering long beside the portal of another world, and scarce knows to which he belongs. it sometimes seemed as though the angel song of the unseen realm was oftener heard and understood by him than the voices of those about him. but the fever cloud was slowly lifting from his brain, and today the first impulse to a real recovery had been given by these few words with his brother. raymond's recollection of past events was coming back to him connectedly, and the thought of joan acted like a tonic upon him. for her sake he would live; for her sake he would make a battle for his life. had he not vowed himself to her service? and did any woman stand more in need of her lover's strong arm than the daughter of sir hugh vavasour? raymond had gauged the character of that knight before, and knew that he would sell his daughter without scruple to any person who would make it worth his while. it had been notorious in old days that the sanghursts had some peculiar hold upon him, and was it likely that peter sanghurst, who was plainly resolved to make joan his wife, would allow that power to rest unused when it might be employed for the furtherance of his purpose? to send gaston forth upon the quest for joan was much; but he himself must fight this wasting sickness, that he might be ready to go to her when the summons came that she was found, and was ready to welcome her faithful knight. from that hour raymond began to amend; and although his progress was slow, and seemed doubly slow to his impatience, it was steady and sure, and he was as one given back from the dead. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "mistress joan vavasour, boy? why, all the world is making that inquiry. how comes it that thou, by thine own account but just home from gascony, shouldst be likewise asking the same question?" master bernard de brocas turned his kindly face towards gaston with a look of shrewd inquiry in his eyes. his nephew had arrived but a short half-hour at his house, somewhat jaded by rapid travelling, and after hurriedly removing the stains of the journey from his person, was seated before a well-supplied board, whilst the cleric sat beside him, always eager for news, and exceedingly curious to know the history of the twin brothers, who for the past six months seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth. but for the moment gaston was too intent upon asking questions to have leisure to answer any. "how?" he questioned; "what mean you, reverend sir? everybody asking news of her? how comes that about?" "marry, for the reason that the lady hath disappeared these last three weeks from her father's house, and none can tell whither she has fled, or whether she has been spirited away, or what hath befallen her. sir hugh is in a mighty taking, for he had just arranged a marriage betwixt her and peter sanghurst, and the lady had given her consent (or so it is said, albeit there be some who doubt the truth of that), and he is sorely vexed to know what can have become of her." "peter sanghurst! that arch-villain!" cried gaston, involuntarily laying his hand on the hilt of his dagger. "mine uncle, i have come to ask counsel of thee about that same miscreant. i am glad that he at least has not fled the country. he shall not escape the fate he so richly merits." and then, with flashing eyes and words eloquent through excess of feeling, gaston related the whole story of the past months: the appearance on board the vessel of the black visor; the concerted action against raymond carried out by sanghurst, thus disguised, and the sieur de navailles; and the cruelty devised against him, from which he had escaped only by something of a miracle. and as master bernard de brocas listened to this tale of treachery, planned and carried out against one of his own name and race, an answering light shone in his eyes, and he smote his palms together, crying out in sudden wrath: "gaston, the king shall hear of this! thou shalt tell to him the tale as thou hast told it to me. he will not hear patiently of such indignities offered to a subject of his, not though the king of france himself had done it! that sieur de navailles is no friend to england. i know him well, and his false, treacherous ways. i have heard much of him ere now, and the king has his eye upon him. gaston, this hollow truce cannot long continue. the nobles and the king are alike weary of a peace which is no peace, and which the king of france or his lords are continually breaking. a very little, and the flame of war will burst out anew. it may be that even this tale of thine may put the spark to the train (as they say of these new artillery engines that are so astonishing men by their smoke and noise), and that the prince, when he hears of it, will urge his father to march once more into france, and put an end to the petty annoyances and treacherous attacks which are goading the royal lion of england to wrath and fury." "pray heaven it may!" cried gaston, starting to his feet and pacing up and down the hall. "thou knowest, uncle mine, how the prince and the king did long ago confirm to me the rights of the de brocas to the ancient castles of orthez and saut. if he would but give me his royal warrant for mustering men and recovering mine own, i trow, be the walls of saut never so strong, that i would speedily make mine entrance within them! uncle, the sieur de navailles is hated and feared and reviled by all men for miles around his walls. i trow that, even amongst those who bear arms for him, some would be found who would gladly serve another master. stories of the punishments he is wont to inflict upon all who fall beneath his displeasure have passed from mouth to mouth, and bitter is the rage burning in the breasts of those whose helpless kinsfolk have suffered through his tyrant cruelty. i trow an armed band, coming in the name of the english king, could soon smoke that old fox out of his hole; whilst all men would rejoice at his fall. let me to the king -- let me tell my tale! i burn to be on the wing once more! where may his majesty be found?" "softly, softly, boy! we must think somewhat more of this. and we have two foes, not one alone, to deal with. peter sanghurst is, as it were, beneath our very hand. he is at basildene, fuming like a wild thing at the sudden disappearance of mistress joan. there be, nevertheless, some who say that this wrath is all assumed; that he has captured the lady, and holds her a prisoner in his hands, all the while pretending to know naught of her. i know not what truth there may be in such rumours. the sanghurst bears an evil name, and many are the stories whispered about him." "what!" almost shouted gaston, in the fierceness of his excitement, "mistress joan a prisoner in basildene, the captive of that miscreant! uncle, let us lose not an hour! let us forthwith to the king. he will give us his royal warrant, and armed with that we will to basildene, and search for her there, and free her ere the set of sun. oh, it would be like him -- it would be all in a piece with his villainy! i cannot rest nor breathe till i know all. uncle, may we not set forth this very day -- this same night?" the worthy ecclesiastic laid a hand upon gaston's shoulder. "boy," he said, "i will myself to the king this very day. the moon will soon be up, and the way is familiar to me and my men. but thou shalt tarry here. thou hast travelled far today, and art weary and in need of rest. perchance, in this matter of the sanghurst, i shall do better without thee. thou shalt see the king anon, and shalt tell him all thy tale; but methinks this matter of basildene had best be spoken of betwixt him and me alone. thou knowest that i have for long been in the king's favour and confidence, and have managed many state matters for him. thou mayest therefore leave thy cause in my hands. i have all the papers safe that thou broughtest from gascony long since, and have left in my care these many years. i have been awaiting my opportunity to lay the matter of basildene before the king, and now i trow that the hour has come." gaston stopped short in his restless pacing, a bright light in his eyes. "thou thinkest to oust the sanghurst thence -- to gain basildene for raymond?" "ay, verily i do. it is your inheritance by right; the papers prove it. ye were deprived of it by force, and now the hour of restitution has come. as to thee are secured the gascon lands, when they can be wrested from the hand of the foe, so shall basildene be secured to raymond, albeit he has not won his spurs as thou hast done, boy, and that right lustily. but i know much good of raymond. he will worthily fill his place. go now to rest, boy, and leave this matter in mine hands. i warrant thee the cause shall not suffer for being intrusted to me. get thee to rest. fear not; and ere two days be passed thou shalt have tidings of some sort from me." gaston would fain have been his uncle's companion on the road, but he knew better than to insist. master bernard de brocas well knew what he was about, and was plainly deeply interested in the story he had heard. raymond had long been high in his favour. to cause to recoil upon the head of the treacherous sanghurst the vengeance he had plotted against his own nephew, to punish him for his treachery -- to wrest from his rapacious grasp the lands and the manor of basildene, was a task peculiarly agreeable to the statesman, who knew well what he was about and the master whom he served. basildene was no great possession, but it might be greatly increased in value, and there was rumour of buried hoards there which might speedily restore the old house to more than its former splendour. at any rate, its lands and revenues would be a modest portion for a younger son, who still had the flower of his life before him, and was like to rise in the king's favour. the romantic story of his love, his sufferings, his rescue from the two foes of his house, was certain to appeal to the king and his son, whilst the treachery of those foes would equally rouse the royal wrath. master bernard departed for windsor with the rising of the moon; and gaston passed a restless night and day wondering what was passing at windsor, and feeling, when he retired to rest upon the second night, as though his excitement of mind must drive slumber from his eyes. nor did sleep visit him till the tardy dawn stole in at the window, and when he did sleep he slept long and soundly. he was aroused by the sound of a great trampling in the courtyard below; and springing quickly from his couch, he saw the place full of men-at-arms, all wearing either the badge of the de brocas or else that of the prince of wales. throwing on his clothes in great haste, and scarce tarrying to buckle on his sword, gaston strode from his chamber and hastened down the great staircase. at the foot of this stood one whom well he knew, and with an inarticulate exclamation of delight he threw himself upon one knee before the young prince, and pressed his lips to the hand graciously extended to him. "nay, gaston; thy friend and comrade, not thy sovereign!" cried the handsome youth gaily, as he raised gaston and looked smilingly into his face, his own countenance alight with satisfaction and excitement. "ah, thou knowest not how glad i am to welcome thee once more! for the days be coming soon when i must needs rally all my brave knights about me, and go forth to france for a new career of glory there. but today another task is ours, and not as thy prince, but thy good comrade, have i come. i will forth with thee to the den of this foul sanghurst, and together will we search his house for the lady men say he has so cunningly spirited away; and if she be found indeed languishing in captivity there, then in very truth shall the sanghurst feel the wrath of the royal edward. he shall live to feel the iron hand of the king he has outraged and defied! but he shall pay the forfeit of his life. england shall be rid of one of her greatest villains when peter sanghurst feels the halter about his neck!" chapter xxix. the fall of the sanghurst. "is that the only answer you have for me, sweet lady?" "the only one, sir; and you will never have another. strive as you will, keep me imprisoned as long as you will, i will never yield. i will never be yours; i belong to another --" a fierce gleam was in sanghurst's eyes, though he retained the suave softness of speech that he had assumed all along. "he is dead, fair mistress." "living or dead, i am yet his," answered joan unfalteringly; "and were i as free as air -- had i never pledged my faith to him -- i should yet have none other answer for you. think you that your evil deeds have not been whispered in mine ear? think you that this imprisonment in which you think fit to keep me is like to win my heart?" "nay, sweetest lady, call it not by that harsh name. could a princess have been better served or tended than you have been ever since you came beneath my humble roof? it is no imprisonment; it is but the watchful care of one who loves you, and would fain save you from the peril into which you had recklessly plunged. lady, had you known the dangers of travel in these wild and lawless days, you never would have left the shelter of your father's house with but one attendant to protect you. think you that those peerless charms could ever have been hidden beneath the dress of a peasant lad? well was it for you, lady, that your true love was first to follow and find you, ere some rude fellow had betrayed the secret to his fellows, and striven to turn it to their advantage. here you are safe; and i have sent to your father to tell him you are found and are secure. he, too, is searching for you; but soon he will receive my message, and will come hastening hither. then will our marriage be solemnized with all due rites. your obstinate resistance will avail nothing to hinder our purpose. but i would fain win this lovely hand by gentle means; and it will be better for thee, joan vavasour, to lay down thine arms and surrender while there is yet time." there was a distinct accent of menace in the last words, and the underlying expression upon that smiling face was evil and threatening in the extreme. but joan's eyes did not falter beneath the searching gaze of her would-be husband. her face was set in lines of fearless resolution. she still wore the rough blue homespun tunic of a peasant lad, and her chestnut locks hung in heavy natural curls about her shoulders. the distinction in dress between the sexes was much less marked in those days than it has since become. men of high degree clothed themselves in flowing robes, and women of humble walk in life in short kirtles; whilst the tunic was worn by boys and girls alike, though there was a difference in the manner of the wearing, and it was discarded by the girl in favour of a longer robe or sweeping supertunic with the approach of womanhood. in the lower ranks of life, however, the difference in dress between boy and girl was nothing very distinctive; and the disguise had been readily effected by joan, who had only to cut somewhat shorter her flowing locks, clothe herself in the homespun tunic and leather gaiters of a peasant boy, and place a cloth cap jauntily on her flowing curls before she was transformed into as pretty a lad as one could wish to see. with the old henchman nat to play the part of father, she had journeyed fearlessly forth, and had made for the coast, which she would probably have reached in safety had it not been for the acuteness of peter sanghurst, who had guessed her purpose, had dogged her steps with the patient sagacity of a bloodhound, and had succeeded in the end in capturing his prize, and in bringing her back in triumph to basildene. he had not treated her badly. he had not parted her from the old servant under whose escort she had travelled. perhaps he felt he would have other opportunities of avenging this insult to himself; perhaps there was something in the light in joan's eyes and in the way in which she sometimes placed her hand upon the hilt of the dagger in her belt which warned him not to try her too far. joan was something of an enigma to him still. she was like no other woman with whom he had ever come in contact. he did not feel certain what she might say or do. it was rather like treading upon the crust of some volcanic crater to have dealings with her. at any moment something quite unforeseen might take place, and cause a complete upheaval of all his plans. from policy, as well as from his professed love, he had shown himself very guarded during the days of their journey and her subsequent residence beneath the roof of basildene; but neither this show of submission and tenderness, nor thinly-veiled threats and menaces, had sufficed to bend her will to his. it had now come to this -- marry him of her own free will she would not. therefore the father must be summoned, and with him the priest, and the ceremony should be gone through with or without the consent of the lady. such marriages were not so very unusual in days when daughters were looked upon as mere chattels to be disposed of as their parents or guardians desired. it was usual, indeed, to marry them off at an earlier age, when reluctance had not developed into actual resistance; but still it could be done easily enough whatever the lady might say or do. peter sanghurst, confident that the game was now entirely in his own hands, could even afford to be indulgent and patient. in days to come he would be amply avenged for all the slights now inflicted upon him. he often pictured the moment when he should tell to joan the true story of his possession of the love token she had bestowed upon raymond. he thought that she would suffer even more in the hearing of it than he had done upon the rack; and his wife could not escape him as his other victim had. he could wring her heartstrings as he had hoped to wring the nerves of raymond's sensitive frame, and none could deliver her out of his hand. but now he was still playing the farce of the suppliant lover, guessing all the while that she knew as well as he what a farce the part was. he strove to make her surrender, but was met by an invincible firmness. "do what you will, peter sanghurst," she said: "summon my father, call the priest, do what you will, your wife i will never be. i have told you so before; i tell it you again." he smiled a smile more terrible than his frown. "we shall see about that," was his reply, as he turned on his heel and strode from the room. when he was gone joan turned suddenly towards the old man, who was all this while standing with folded arms in a distant window, listening in perfect silence to the dialogue. she made a few swift paces towards him and looked into his troubled face. "nat," she said, in a low voice, "thou hast not forgotten thy promise made to me?" "my mistress, i have not forgotten." "and thou wilt keep thy word?" "i will keep it." he spoke with manifest effort; but joan heaved a sigh of relief. she came one step nearer, and laid her soft hand upon the old servant's shoulder, looking into his face with affectionate solicitude. "i know not if i should ask it of thee; it may cost thee thy life." "my life is naught, if i can but save thee from that monster, sweet mistress; but oh, if it might be by another way!" "nay, say not so; methinks now this is the best, the sweetest way. i shall the sooner find him, who will surely be waiting for me upon the farther shore. one blow, and i shall be free for ever. o nat, this world is a sore place for helpless women to dwell in. since he has gone, what is there for me to live for? i almost long for the hour which shall set my spirit free. they will let me see the holy father, who comes to wed us. i shall receive the absolution and the blessing; and methinks i am not unprepared. death has no terrors for me: i have seen him come so oft in the guise of a friend. nay, weep not, good nat; the day will come when we all must die. thou wouldst rather see me lying dead at thy feet than the helpless captive of the sanghurst, as else i must surely be?" "ay, lady," answered the old man, between his shut teeth, "ten thousand times rather, else would not this fond hand strike the blow that will lay thy fair young head in the dust. but sooner than know thee the wife of yon vile miscreant, i would slay thee ten times over. death is soon past -- death comes but once; but a life of helpless misery and agony, that i could not bear for thee. let them do what they will to me, i will set thee free first." joan raised the strong, wrinkled hand to her lips and kissed it, before the old retainer well knew what she was doing. he withdrew it in some confusion. "good nat, i know not how to thank thee; but what i can do to save thee i will. i do not think my father will suffer thee to be harmed if when i am dead thou wilt give him this packet i now give to thee. in it i have told him many things he would not listen to whilst i lived, but he will read the words that have been penned by a hand that is cold and stiff in death. to his old love for me i have appealed to stand thy friend, telling him how and why the deed has been done, and thy hand raised against me. i think he will protect and pardon thee -- i think it truly. "how now, nat? what seest thou? what hearest thou? thy thoughts are not with me and with my words. what is it? why gazest thou thus from the casement? what is there to see?" "armed men, my mistress -- armed men riding towards basildene!" answered the old man, in visible excitement. "i have seen the sunlight glinting on their headpieces. i am certain sure there be soldiers riding to this very door. what is their business? how have they come? ah, lady, my sweet mistress, pray heaven they have come to set thee free! pray heaven they have come as our deliverers!" joan started and ran to the casement. she was just in time to see the flash of the november sunlight upon the steel caps of the last of the band of horsemen whose approach had been observed by nat. only a very small portion of the avenue leading to basildene could be seen from these upper casements, and the riders must have been close to the house before their approach was marked by the old man. now joan flung open the casement in great excitement, and leaned far out. "hark!" she exclaimed, in great excitement, "i hear the sound of heavy blows, and of voices raised in stern command." "open in the king's name; open to the prince of wales!" these words were distinctly borne to joan's listening ears as she stood with her head thrust through the lattice, every faculty absorbed in the strain of eager desire to hear. "the king! the prince!" she cried, her breath coming thick and fast, whilst her heart beat almost to suffocation. "o nat, good nat! what can it mean? the prince! what can have brought him hither?" "doubtless he comes to save thee, sweet lady," cried the old retainer, to whom it seemed but natural that the heir of england should come forth to save his fair young mistress from her fate. but joan shook her head, perplexed beyond measure, yet not able to restrain the wildest hopes. the prince -- that noble youth so devoted to chivalry, so generous and fearless, and the friend of the twin brothers, one of whom was her lost raymond! oh, could it be that some rumour had reached his ears? could it be that he had come to set her free? it seemed scarce possible, and yet what besides could have brought him hither? and at least with help so near she could surely make her woeful case known to him! for the first time for many days hope shot up in joan's heart -- hope of release from her hated lover by some other means than that of death; and with that hope came surging up the love of life so deeply implanted in human nature, the wild hope that her lover might yet live, that she had been tricked and deceived by the false sanghurst --all manner of vague and unformed hopes, to which there was no time to give definite form even in her thoughts. she was only conscious that a ray of golden sunshine had fallen athwart her path, and that the darkness in which she had been enwrapped was changing -- changing to what? there were strange sounds in the house -- a tumult of men's voices, the clash of arms, cries and shouts, and the tread of many feet upon the stairs. joan's colour came and went as she listened. yes, surely she heard a voice -- a voice that sent thrills all through her -- and yet it was not raymond's voice; it was deeper, louder, more authoritative. but the footsteps were approaching, were mounting the turret stair, and joan, with a hasty movement, flung over her shoulders a sweeping supertunic lined with fur, which peter sanghurst had placed in the room for her use, but which she had not hitherto deigned to wear. she had but just secured the buckle and girdle, and concealed her boy's garb by the means of these rich folds of velvet, before a hand was upon the latch of the door, and the same thrilling voice was speaking through the panels in urgent accents. "lady -- mistress joan -- art thou there?" "i am within this turret -- i am here, fair sir," answered joan, as calmly as her beating heart would allow. "but i cannot open to thee, for i am but a captive here -- the captive of peter sanghurst." "now a prisoner bound, and answering for his sins before the prince and some of the highest nobles of the land. lady, i and my men have come to set thee free. i come to thee the bearer of a message from my brother -- from raymond de brocas. give my stout fellows but a moment's grace to batter down this strong door, and we will set thee free, and take thee to the prince, to bear witness against the false traitor, who stands in craven terror before him below!" but these last words were quite lost upon joan. she had sunk, trembling and white, upon a couch, overcome by the excess of joy with which she had heard her lover's name pronounced. she heard heavy blows dealt upon the oaken panels of the door. she knew that her deliverance was at hand; but a mist was before her eyes, and she could think of nothing but those wonderful words just spoken, until the woodwork fell inwards with a loud crash, and gaston, springing across the threshold, knelt at her feet. "lady, it is many years since we met, and then we met but seldom; but i come from him whom thou lovest and therefore i know myself welcome. fair mistress, my brother has been sorely sick -- sick unto death -- or he would be here himself to claim this fair hand. he has been sick in body and sick in mind -- sick with fear lest that traitor and villain who robbed him of your token should make foul use of it by deceiving thee with tales of his death or falsity. "lady, he was robbed by peter sanghurst of that token. sanghurst and our ancient foe of navailles leagued themselves together and carried off my brother by treachery. he was their prisoner in the gloomy tower of saut. they would have done him to death in cruel fashion had not we found a way to save and rescue him from their hands. they had done him some hurt even then, and they had robbed him of what had become almost dearer to him than life itself; but he was saved from their malice. it was long ere he could tell us of his loss, tell us of thee; for he lay sick of a wasting fever for many a long month, and we knew not what the trouble was that lay so sore upon him. but no sooner had he recovered so as to speak more plainly than we learned all, and i have been seeking news of thee ever since. i should have been here long ago but for the contrary winds which kept us weeks at sea, unable to make the haven we sought. but i trow i have not come too late. i find thee here at basildene; but sure thou art not the wife of him who calls himself its lord?" "wife! no -- ten thousand times no!" answered joan, springing to her feet, and looking superb in her stately beauty, the light of love and happiness in her eyes, the flush of glad triumph on her cheek. "sir knight, thou art raymond's brother, thou art my saviour, and i will tell thee all. i was fleeing from sanghurst -- fleeing to france, to learn for myself if the tale he told of raymond's death were true; for sorely did i misdoubt me if those false lips could speak truth. he guessed my purpose, followed and brought me back hither a captive. to force me to wed him has long been his resolve, and he has won my father to take his side. he was about to summon my father and a priest and make me his wife, here in this very place, and never let me stir thence till the chain was bound about me. but i had a way of escape. yon faithful servant, who shared my perils and my wanderings, had given me his word to strike me dead ere he would see me wedded to sanghurst. no false vow should ever have passed my lips; no mockery of marriage should ever have been consummated. i have no fear of death. i only longed to die that i might go to my raymond, and be with him for ever." "but now thou needest not die to be with him!" cried gaston, enchanted at once by her beauty, her fearless spirit, and her loyalty and devotion to raymond. "my brother lives! he lives for thee alone! i have come to lead thee to him, if thou wilt go. but first, sweet mistress, let me take thee to our prince. it is our noble prince who has come to see into this matter his own royal self. i had scarce hoped for so much honour, and yet i ever knew him for the soul of generosity and chivalry. let me lead thee to him. tell him all thy tale. we have the craven foe in our hands now, and this time he shall not escape us!" gaston ground his teeth, and his eyes flashed fire, as he thought of all the wickedness of peter sanghurst. he was within the walls of basildene, his brother's rightful inheritance; the memory of the cruelty and the treachery of this man was fresh in his mind. the prince was hearing all the tale; the prince would judge and condemn. gaston knew well what the fate of the tyrant would be, and there was no room for aught in his heart beside a great exultant triumph. giving his arm to joan, who was looking absolutely radiant in her stately beauty, he led her down into the hall below, where the prince was seated with some knights and nobles round him -- master bernard de brocas occupying a seat upon his right hand -- examining witnesses and looking at the papers respecting the ownership of basildene which were now laid before him. at the lower end of the hall, his hands bound behind him, and his person guarded by two strong troopers, stood peter sanghurst, his face a chalky-white colour, his eyes almost starting from his head with terror, all his old ease and assumption gone, the innate cowardice of his nature showing itself in every look and every gesture. a thoroughly cruel man is always at heart a coward, and peter sanghurst, who had taken the liveliest delight in inflicting pain of every kind upon those in his power, now stood shivering and almost fainting with apprehension at the fate in store for himself. as plentiful evidence had been given of his many acts of barbarity and tyranny, there had been fierce threats passed from mouth to mouth that hanging was too good for him -- that he ought to taste what he had inflicted on others; and the wretched man stood there in an agony of apprehension, every particle of his swaggering boldness gone, and without a vestige of real courage to uphold him in the hour of his humiliation. as the prince saw the approach of joan, he sprang to his feet, and all the assembled nobles did the same. with that chivalrous courtesy for which he became famous in history, the prince bent the knee before the lady, and taking her by the hand, led her to a seat of honour beside himself, asking her of herself and her story, and listening with respectful attention to every word she spoke. gaston then stood forward and told again his tale of raymond's capture, and deep murmurs of indignation ran through the hall as he did so. the veins swelled upon the prince's forehead as he heard the tale, and his eyes emitted sparks of fierce light as they flashed from time to time upon the trembling prisoner. "methinks we have heard enough, gentlemen," said he at length, as gaston's narrative drew to a close. "marshal, bring hither your prisoner. "this man, gentlemen, is the hero of these brave deeds of valour of which we have been hearing. this is the man who dares to waylay and torture english subjects to wring from them treasure and gold; the man who dares to bring this vilely-won wealth to purchase with it the favour of england's king; the man who wages war on foreign soil with the friends of england, and treacherously sells them into the hand of england's foe; who deals with them as we have heard he dealt and would have dealt with raymond de brocas had not providence worked almost a miracle in his defence. this is the man who, together with his father, drove from this very house the lawful owner, because that she was a gentle, tender woman, and was at that moment alone and unable to defend herself from them. this is the man who is not ashamed to call himself the master of basildene, and who has striven to compass by the foulest ends the death of the true owner of the property -- though raymond de brocas braved the terrors of the black death to tend and soothe the last dying agonies of that man's father. this is the man who would wed by force this fair maiden, and strove to deceive her by the foulest tricks and jugglery. say, gentlemen, what is the desert of this miscreant? what doom shall we award him as the recompense of his past life?" a score of hideous suggestions were raised at once, and the miserable peter sanghurst shook in his shoes as he saw the fierce, relentless faces of the soldiers making a ring round him. those were cruel days, despite the softening influence of their vaunted chivalry, and the face of the prince was stern and black. it was plain that he had been deeply roused by the story he had heard. but joan was there, and she was a woman; and vile as had been this man's life, and deeply as he had injured her and him she loved tenfold more than her own life, he was still a human creature, and a creature without a hope either in this world or the world to come. she could not but pity him as he stood there cowering and shuddering, and she turned swiftly towards the prince and spoke to him in a rapid undertone. young edward listened, and the dark cloud passed from his brow. he was keenly susceptible to the nobler emotions, and an appeal to his generosity was not unheeded. raising his hand in token that he demanded silence, he turned towards the quaking criminal, and thus addressed him: "peter sanghurst, you stand convicted of many and hideous crimes -- witchcraft, sorcery, treachery to your king, vile cruelty to his subjects -- crimes for which death alone is scarce punishment enough. you well merit a worse fate than the gallows. you well merit some of those lingering agonies that you have inflicted upon your wretched victims, and have rejoiced to witness. but we in england do not torture our prisoners, and it is england's pride that this is so. this fair lady, who owes you naught but grievous wrong, has spoken for you; she says that were raymond de brocas here, he would join with her in praying that your fate might be swift and merciful. therefore i decree that you are led forth without the gates of basildene, and hanged upon the first tree out of sight of its walls. "see to it, marshal. let there be no delay. it is not fit that such a wretch should longer cumber the earth. away with him, i say!" the soldiers closed around the condemned man and bore him forth, one of the marshals following to see the deed done. joan had for a moment covered her face with her hand, for even so it was rather terrible to see this tyrant and oppressor led forth from his own house to an ignominious death, and she was unused to such stern scenes. but those around the table were already turning their attention to other matters, and the prince was addressing himself to certain men who had come into the hall covered with cobweb and green mould. "has the treasure been found?" he asked. "yes, sire," answered the leader of this strange-looking band. "it was cleverly hidden, in all truth, in the cellars of the house, and we should scarce have lighted on it but for the help of some of the people here, who, so soon as they heard that their master was doomed to certain death, were as eager to help us as they had been fearful before. it has all been brought up for you to see; and a monstrous hoard it is. it must almost be true, i trow, that the old man had the golden secret. so much gold i have never seen in one place." "it is ill-gotten gold," said the prince, sternly, as he rose, and, followed by the nobles and master bernard de brocas, went to look at the coffers containing the treasure hoarded up and amassed by the sanghursts during a long period of years. "but i trow since the black death has so ravaged these parts, it would be idle to strive to seek out the owners, and it would but raise a host of false claims that no man might sift. "master bernard de brocas, i award this treasure to raymond de brocas, the true lord of basildene, to whom and to whose heirs shall be secured this house and all that belongs to it. into your hands i now intrust the gold and the lands, to be kept by you until the rightful owner appears to lay claim to them. let a part of this gold be spent upon making fit this house for the reception of its master and this fair maiden, who will one day be the mistress here with him. let it be thy part, good master bernard, to remove from these walls the curse which has been brought upon them by the vile sorceries and cruelties of this wicked father and more wicked son. let holy church do her part to cleanse and purify the place, and then let it be made meet for the reception of its lord and lady when they shall return hither to receive their own." the good bernard's face glowed with satisfaction at this charge. it was just such a one as pleased him best, and such as he was well able to fulfil. nobody more capable could well have been found for the guardianship and restoration of basildene; and with this hoard to draw upon, the old house might well grow to a beauty and grandeur it had never known before. "gracious prince, i give you thanks on behalf of my nephew, and i will gladly do all that i may to carry out your behest. the day will come when raymond de brocas shall come in person to thank you for your princely liberality and generosity." "tush, man, the gold is not mine; and some of it may have been come by honestly, and belong fairly enough to the sanghurst family. you say the mother of these bold gascon youths was a sanghurst: it follows, then, that basildene and all pertaining to it should be theirs. raymond de brocas has suffered much from the sanghursts. by every law of right and justice, it is he who should reap the reward, and find basildene restored to its former beauty before he comes to dwell within it." "and he shall so find it if i have means to compass it," answered the uncle, with glad pride. his eye was then drawn to another part of the hall; for sir hugh vavasour had just come galloping up to the door in hot haste, having heard all manner of strange rumours: the first being that his daughter had been found, and was in hiding at basildene; the second, which had only just reached his ears, that peter sanghurst was dead -- hanged by order of the prince, and that basildene had been formally granted as the perpetual right of raymond de brocas and his heirs. "and raymond de brocas is the plighted husband of thy daughter, good sir hugh," said master bernard, coming up to help his old friend out of his bewilderment -- "plighted, that is, by themselves, by the right of a true and loyal love. thy daughter will still be the lady of basildene, and i think that thou wilt rather welcome my nephew as her lord than yon miscreant, whose body is swinging on some tree not far away. thou wert something too willing, my friend, to sell thy daughter for wealth; but fortune has been kind to her as well as to thee, and thou hast gained for her the wealth, and yet hast not sacrificed her brave young heart. go to her now, and give her thy blessing, and tell her she may wed young raymond de brocas so soon as he comes to claim her hand." chapter xxx. with the prince.[i] "sanghurst dead! joan free! her father's consent won! i the lord of basildene! gaston, thou takest away my breath! art sure thou art not mocking me?" "art sure that thou art indeed thyself, my lord of basildene?" was gaston's merry response, as he looked his brother over from head to foot with beaming face; "for, in sooth, i scarce should know thee for the brother i left behind -- that wan and wasted creature, more like a corpse than a man. the good brothers have indeed done well by thee, raymond. save that thou hast not lost thine old saintly look, which stamps thee as something different from the rest of us, i should scarce have thought it could be thee. this year spent in thine own native clime has made a new man of thee!" "in truth i think it has," answered raymond, who was indeed wonderfully changed from the time when gaston had left him, rather more than ten months before. "we had no snow and no cold in the winter gone by, and i was able to take the air daily, and i grew strong wondrous fast. thou hadst told me to be patient, to believe that all was well if i heard nothing from thee; and i strove to follow thy maxim, and that with good success. i knew that thou wouldst not let me go on hoping if hope meant but a bitterer awaking. i knew that silence must mean there was work which thou wert doing. many a time, as a white-winged vessel spread her sails for england's shores, have i longed to step on board and follow thee across the blue water to see how thou wast faring; but then came always the thought that thou mightest be on thy way hither, and that thou wouldst chide me for having left these sheltering walls. and so i stayed on day after day, and week after week, until months had rolled by; and i began to say within myself that, if thou camest not before the autumn storms, i must e'en take ship and follow thee, for i could wait no longer for news of thee -- and her." "and here i am with news of her, and news that to me is almost better. raymond, i have not come hither alone. the prince and the flower of our english chivalry are here at bordeaux this day. the hollow truce is at an end. insult upon insult has been heaped upon england's king by the king of france, the king of navarre (who called himself our ally till he deserted us to join the french king, who will yet avenge upon him his foul murder of charles of spain), and the count of blois in brittany. england has been patient. edward has listened long to the pleadings of the pope, and has not rushed into war; but he cannot wait patiently for ever. they have roused the lion at last, and he will not slumber again till he has laid his foes in the dust. "listen, raymond: the prince is here in bordeaux. the faithful gascon nobles -- the lord of pommiers, the lord of rosen, the lord of mucident, and the lord de l'esparre -- have sent to england to say that if the prince will but come to lead them, they will make gallant war upon the french king. john has long been striving to undermine england's power in his kingdom, to rid himself of an enemy's presence in his country, to be absolute lord over his vassals without their intermediate allegiance to another master. it does not suffice that our great king does homage for his lands in france (though he by rights is king of france himself). he knows that here, in these sunny lands of the south, the roy outremer is beloved as he has never been. he would fain rob our king of all his lands; he is planning and plotting to do it." "but the roy outremer is not to be caught asleep," cried raymond, with a kindling glance, "and john of france is to learn what it is to have aroused the wrath of the royal edward and of his brave people of england." "ay, verily; and our good gascons are as forward in edward's cause as his english subjects," answered gaston quickly. "they love our english rule, they love our english ways; they will not tamely be transformed into a mere fief of the french crown. they will fight for their feudal lord, and stand stanchly by his banner. it is their express request that brings the prince hither today. the king is to land farther north -- at cherbourg methinks it was to be; whilst my lord of lancaster has set sail for brittany, to defend the countess of montford from the count of blois, who has now paid his ransom and is free once more. his majesty of france will have enough to do to meet three such gallant foes in the field. "and listen still farther, raymond, for the prince has promised this thing to me -- that as he marches through the land, warring against the french king, he will pause before the castle of saut and smoke out the old fox, who has long been a traitor at heart to the english cause. and the lands so long held by the navailles are to be mine, raymond -- mine. and a de brocas will reign once more at saut, as of old! what dost thou think of that?" "brother, i am glad at heart. it seemeth almost like a dream. thou the lord of saut and i of basildene! would that she were living yet to see the fulfilment of her dream!" "ay, truly i would she were. but, raymond, thou wilt join the prince's standard; thou wilt march with us to strike a blow for england's honour and glory? basildene and fair mistress joan are safe. no harm will come to them by thine absence. and thou owest all to the prince. surely thou wilt not leave him in the hour of peril; thou wilt march beneath his banner and take thy share of the peril and the glory?" gaston spoke with eager energy, looking affectionately into his brother's face; and as he saw that look, raymond felt that he could not refuse his brother's request. for just a few moments he hesitated, for the longing to see joan once again and to clasp her in his arms was very strong within him; but his brother's next words decided him. "thy brother and the prince have won basildene for thee; surely thou wilt not leave us till saut has yielded to me!" raymond held out his hand and grasped that of gaston in a warm clasp. "we will go forth together once again as brothers in arms," he said, with brightening eyes. "it may be that our paths in life may henceforth be divided; wherefore it behoves us in the time that remains to us to cling the more closely together. i will go with thee, brother, as thy faithful esquire and comrade, and we will win back for thee the right to call the old lands thine. how often we have dreamed together in our childhood of some such day! how far away it then appeared! and yet the day has come." "and thou wilt then see my constanza," said gaston, in low, exultant tones -- "my lovely and gentle mistress, to whom thou, my brother, owest thy life. it is meet that thou shouldst be one to help to set her free from the tyranny of her rude uncle and the isolation of her dreary life in yon grim castle walls. thou hast seen her, hast thou not? tell me, was she not the fairest, the loveliest object thine eyes had ever looked upon, saving of course (to thee) thine own beauteous lady?" "methought it was some angel visitor from the unseen world," answered raymond, "flitting into yon dark prison house, where it seemed that no such radiant creature could dwell. there was fever in my blood, and all i saw was through a misty veil, i scarce believed it more than a sweet vision; but i will thank her now for the whispered word of hope breathed in mine ear in the hour of my sorest need." "ay, that thou shalt do!" cried gaston, with all a lover's delight in the thought of the near meeting with the lady of his heart. "and when, in days to come, thou and i shall bring our brides to edward's court, men will all agree that two nobler, lovelier women never stepped this earth before -- my fairy constanza, a creature of fire and snow; thy joan, a veritable queen amongst women, stately, serene, full of dignity and courage, and beautiful as she is noble." "and thou art sure that she is safe?" questioned raymond, his heart still longing for the moment of reunion after the long separation, albeit those were days when the separation of years was no infrequent thing, even betwixt those most closely drawn by bonds of love. "there is none else to come betwixt her and me? her father will not strive to sunder us more?" "her father is but too joyous to be free from the power of the sanghurst; and the prince spoke words that brought the flush of shame tingling to his face. an age of chivalry, and a man selling his daughter for filthy lucre to one renowned for his evil deeds and remorseless cruelties! a lady forced to flee her father's house and brave the perils of the road to escape a terrible doom! i would thou hadst heard him, raymond our noble young prince, with scorn in his voice and the light of indignation in his eyes. and thy joan stood beside him; he held her hand the while, as though he would show to all men that the heir of england was the natural protector of outraged womanhood, that the upholder of chivalry would stand to his colours, and be the champion of every distressed damsel throughout the length and the breadth of the land. and the lady looked so proud and beautiful that i trow she might have had suitors and to spare in that hour; but the prince, still holding her hand, told her father all the story of her plighted troth to thee -- that truest troth plight of changeless love. and he told him how that basildene and all its treasure had been secured to thee, and asked him was he willing to give his daughter to the lord of basildene? and sir hugh was but too glad that no more than this was asked of him, and in presence of the prince and of us all he pledged his daughter's hand to thee, i standing as thy proxy, as i have told thee. and now thy joan is well-nigh as fully thine as though ye had joined your hands in holy wedlock. thou hast naught to fear from her father's act. he is but too much rejoiced with the fashion in which all has turned out. his word is pledged before the prince; and moreover thou art the lord of basildene and its treasure, and what more did he ever desire? it was a share in that gold for which he would have sold his daughter." raymond's face took a new look, one of shrinking and pain. "i like not that treasure, gaston," he said. "it is like the price of blood. i would that the king had taken it for his own. it seemeth as though it could never bring a blessing with it." "methinks it could in thy hands and joan's," answered gaston, with a fond, proud glance at his brother's beautiful face; "and as the prince truly said, since this scourge has swept through the land, claiming a full half of its inhabitants, it would be a hopeless task to try to discover the real owners; and moreover a part may be the sanghurst store, which men have always said is no small thing, and which in very truth is now thine. but thou canst speak to father paul of all that. the church will give thee holy counsel. methinks that gold in thy hands would ever be used so as to bring with it a blessing and not a curse. "but come now with me to the prince. he greatly desires to see thee again. he has not forgot thee, brother mine, nor that exploit of thine at the surrender of calais." father paul was not at that time within the monastery walls, his duties calling him hither and thither, sometimes in one land and sometimes in another. raymond had enjoyed a peaceful time of rest and mental refreshment with the good monks, but he was more than ready to go forth into the world again. quiet and study were congenial to him, but the life of a monk was not to his taste. he saw clearly the evils to which such a calling was exposed, and how easy it was to forget the high ideal, and fall into self indulgence, idleness, and sloth. not that the abuses which in the end caused the monastic system to fall into such contempt were at that time greatly developed; but the germs of the evil were there, and it needed a nature such as that of father paul and men of his stamp to show how noble the life of devotion could be made. ordinary men fell into a routine existence, and were in danger of letting their duties and even their devotions become purely mechanical. raymond said adieu to his hospitable entertainers with some natural regrets, yet with a sense that there was a wider work for him to do in the world than any he should ever find between monastery walls. even apart from all thoughts of love and marriage, there was attraction for him in the world of chivalry and warfare. his ambition took a different form from that of the average youth of the day, but none the less for that did it act upon him like a spur, driving him forth where strife and conflict were being waged, and where hard blows were to be struck. gaston's brother was warmly welcomed in the camp of the prince. many there were who remembered the dreamy-faced lad, who had seemed like a young saint michael amongst them, and still bore about with him something of that air of remoteness which was never without its effect even upon the rudest of his companions. indeed the ordeal through which he had passed had left an indelible stamp upon him. if the face looked older than of yore, it was not that the depth and spirituality of the expression had in any wise diminished. the two brothers standing together formed a perfect picture in contrasted types -- the bronzed, stalwart soldier in his coat of mail, looking every inch the brave knight he was; and the slim, pale-faced raymond, with the haunting eyes and wonderful smile, which irradiated his face like a gleam of light from another world, bearing about with him that which seemed to stamp him as somewhat different from his fellows, and yet which always commanded from them not only admiration, but affection and respect. the prince's greeting was warm and hearty. he felt towards raymond all that goodwill which naturally follows an act of generous interference on behalf of an injured person. he made him sit beside him in his tent at supper time, and tell him all his history; and the promise made to gaston with reference to the tyrant lord of saut was ratified anew as the wine circulated at table. the chosen comrades of the prince, who had most of them known the twin brothers for many years, vowed themselves to the enterprise with hearty goodwill; and had the lord of navailles been there to hear, he might well have trembled for his safety, despite the strong walls and deep moat that environed saut. "let his walls be never so strong, i trow we can starve or smoke the old fox out!" quoth young edward, laughing. "there be many strong citadels, many a fortified town, that will ere long open their gates at the summons of england's prince. how say ye, my gallant comrades? shall the old tower of saut defy english arms? shall we own ourselves beaten by any sieur de navailles?" the shout with which these words were answered was answer sufficient. the english and gascon lords, assembled together under the banner of the prince, were bent on a career of glory and plunder. the inaction of the long truce, with its perpetual sources of irritation and friction, had been exasperating in the extreme. it was an immense relief to them to feel that war had at last been declared, and that they could unfurl their banners and march forth against their old enemy, and enrich themselves for life at his expense. with the march of the prince through south france we have little concern in this history. it was one long triumphal progress, not over and above glorious from a military standpoint; for there were no real battles, and the accumulation of plunder and the infliction of grievous damage upon the french king's possessions seemed the chief object of the expedition. had there been any concerted resistance to the prince's march, doubtless he might have shown something of his great military talents in directing his forces in battle; but as it was, the country appeared paralyzed at his approach: place after place fell before him, or bought him off by a heavy price; and though there were several citadels in the vanquished towns which held out for france, the prince seldom stayed to subdue them, but contented himself with plundering and burning the town. not a very glorious style of warfare for those days of vaunted chivalry, yet one, nevertheless, characteristic enough of the times. every undertaking, however small, gave scope for deeds of individual gallantry and the exercise of individual acts of courtliness and chivalry; and even the battles were often little more than a countless number of hand-to-hand conflicts carried on by the individual members of the opposing armies. the prince and his chosen comrades, always on the watch for opportunities of showing their prowess and of exercising their knightly chivalry towards any miserable person falling in their own way, were doubtless somewhat blinded to the ignoble side of such a campaign. however that may be, raymond often felt a sinking at heart as he saw their path marked out by blazing villages and wasted fields; and almost all his own energies were concentrated in striving to do what one man could achieve to mitigate the horrors of war for some of its helpless victims. narbonne, on the gulf of lions, was the last place attacked and taken by the prince, who then decided to return with his spoil to bordeaux, and pass the remainder of the winter in the capture of certain places that would be useful to the english. nothing had all this time been spoken as to saut, which lay out of the line of their march in the heart of friendly gascony. but the project had by no means been abandoned, and the prince was but waiting a favourable opportunity to carry it into effect. the sieur de navailles had not attempted to join the prince's standard, as so many of the gascon nobles had done, but had held sullenly aloof, probably watching and waiting to see the result of this expedition, but by no means prepared to adventure his person into the hands of a feudal lord against whom his own sword had more than once been drawn. he was well aware, no doubt, that there were pages in his past history with regard to his relations with france that would not bear inspection by english eyes, and perhaps he trusted to the remoteness and obscurity of his two castles to save him from the notice of the prince. the terror inspired by the english arms in france is a thing that must always excite the wonder and curiosity of the readers of history. it was displayed on and after the battle of crecy, when edward's army, if numbers counted for anything, ought to have been simply annihilated by the vast musters of the french, who were in their own land surrounded by friends, whilst the english were a small band in the midst of a hostile and infuriated population. this same thing was seen again in the march of the prince of wales, soon to be called the black prince, when city after city bought him off, hopeless of resisting his progress; and when the army mustered by the count of armagnac to oppose the retreat of the english to bordeaux with their spoil was seized with a panic after the merest skirmish, and fled, leaving the prince to pursue his way unmolested. if the conduct of the english army was somewhat inglorious, certainly the behaviour of their foes was still more so. the english were always ready to fight if they could find an enemy to meet them. possibly the doubtful character of the prince's first campaign was less his fault than that of his pusillanimous enemies. bordeaux reached, however, and the gascon soldiers dismissed to their homes for the winter months, the prince promising to lead them next year upon a more glorious campaign, in which fresh spoil was to be won and more victories achieved, there was time for the consideration of objects of minor importance, and a breathing space wherein private interests could be considered. gaston had repressed all impatience during the march of the prince. he had not looked that his own affairs should take the foremost place in the prince's scheme. moreover, he saw well that it would give a false colour to the expedition if the first march of the prince had been into gascony; nor was the capture of so obscure a fortress as the castle of saut a matter to engross the energies of the whole of the allied army. but now that the army was partially disbanded, whilst the english contingent was either in winter quarters in bordeaux or engaged here and there in the capture of such cities and fortresses as the prince decided worth the taking, the moment appeared to be favourable for that long-wished-for capture of saut; and gaston, taking his brother aside one day, eagerly opened to him his mind. "raymond, i have spoken to the prince. he is ready and willing to give me men at any time i ask him. perchance he will even come himself, if duty calls him not elsewhere. the thing is now in mine own hands. brother, when shall the attempt be made?" raymond smiled at the eager question. "sir knight, thou art more the warrior than i. thou best knowest the day and the hour for such a matter." gaston passed his hand through his hair, and a softer light shone in his eyes. his brother knew of whom he was thinking, and he was not surprised at the next words. "raymond, methinks before i do aught else i must see her once more. my heart is hungry for her. i think of her by day and dream of her by night. perchance there might be some more peaceful way of winning entrance to saut than by battering down the walls, and doing by hap some hurt to the precious treasure within. brother, wilt thou wander forth with me once again -- thou and i, and a few picked men, in case of peril by the way, to visit saut by stealth? we would go by the way of father anselm's and our old home. i have a fancy to see the dear old faces once again. thou hast, doubtless, seen them all this year that has passed by, but i not for many an one." "i saw father anselm in bordeaux," answered raymond; "and good jean, when he heard i was there, came all the way to visit me. but i adventured not myself so near the den of navailles. the brothers would not permit it. they feared lest i might fall again into his power. gladly, indeed, would i come and see them once again. i have pictured many times how, when thou art lord of saut, i will bring my joan to visit thee, and show her to good jean and margot and saintly father anselm. i would fain talk to them of that day. they ever feel towards us as though we were their children in very truth." there was no difficulty in obtaining the prince's sanction to this absence from bordeaux. he gave the brothers free leave to carry out their plan by any means they chose, promising if they sent him word at any time that they were ready for the assault, he would either come himself or send a picked band of veterans to their aid; and saying that gaston was to look upon himself as lord of saut, by mandate from the english king, who would enforce his right by his royal power if any usurping noble dared to dispute it with him. thus fortified by royal warrant, and with a heart beating high with hope and love, gaston set out with some two score soldiers as a bodyguard to reconnoitre the land; and upon the evening of the second day, the brothers saw, in the fast-fading light of the winter's day, the red roofs of the old mill lying peacefully in the gathering shadows of the early night. their men had been dismissed to find quarters in the village for themselves, and roger was their only attendant, as they drew rein before the door of the mill, and saw the miller coming quickly round the angle of the house to inquire what these strangers wanted there at such an hour. "jean!" cried gaston, in his loud and hearty tones, the language of his home springing easily to his lips, though the english tongue was now the one in which his thoughts framed themselves. "good jean, dost thou not know us?" the beaming welcome on the miller's face was answer enough in itself; and, indeed, he had time to give no other, for scarce had the words passed gaston's lips before there darted out from the open door of the house a light and fairy-like form, and a silvery cry of rapture broke from the lips of the winsome maiden, whilst gaston leaped from his horse with a smothered exclamation, and in another moment the light fairy form seemed actually swallowed up in the embrace of those strong arms. "constanza my life -- my love!" "o gaston, gaston! can it in very truth be thou?" raymond looked on in mute amaze, turning his eyes from the lovers towards the miller, who was watching the encounter with a beaming face. "what means it all?" asked the youth breathlessly. "marry, it means that the maiden has found her true knight," answered jean, all aglow with delight; but then, understanding better the drift of raymond's question, he turned his eyes upon him again, and said: "you would ask how she came hither? well, that is soon told. it was one night nigh upon six months agone, and we had long been abed, when we heard a wailing sound beneath our windows, and margot declared there was a maiden sobbing in the garden below. she went down to see, and then the maid told her a strange, wild tale. she was of the kindred of the sieur de navailles, she said, and was the betrothed wife of gaston de brocas; and as we knew somewhat of her tale through father anselm, who had heard of your captivity and rescue, we knew that she spoke the truth. she said that since the escape, which had so perplexed the wicked lord, he had become more fierce and cruel than before, and that he seemed in some sort to suspect her, though of what she scarce knew. she told us that his mind seemed to be deserting him, that she feared he was growing lunatic. he was so fierce and wild at times that she feared for her own life. she bore it as long as her maid, the faithful annette, lived; but in the summer she fell sick of a fever, and died -- the lady knew not if it were not poison that had carried her off -- and a great terror seized her. not two days later, she fled from her gloomy home, and not knowing where else to hide her head, she fled hither, trusting that her lover would shortly come to free her from her uncle's tyranny, as he had sworn, and believing that the home which had sheltered the infancy of the de brocas brothers would give her shelter till that day came." "and you took her in and guarded her, and kept her safe from harm," cried raymond, grasping the hand of the honest peasant and wringing it hard. "it was like you to do it, kind, good souls! my brother will thank you, in his own fashion, for such service. but i must thank you, too. and where is margot? for i trow she has been as a mother to the maid. i would see her and thank her, for gaston has no eyes nor ears for any one but his fair lady." gaston, indeed, was like one in a dream. he could scarce believe the evidence of his senses; and it was a pretty sight to see how the winsome constanza clung to him, and how it seemed as though she could not bear to let her eyes wander for a moment from his face. only at night, when the brothers stood together in the room they had occupied of yore, and clasped each other by the hand in warm congratulation, did raymond really know how this meeting affected the object of their journey; then gaston, looking grave and thoughtful, spoke a few words of his purpose. "the sieur de navailles is a raging madman. that i can well divine from what constanza says. tomorrow we will to saut, to see what we may discover there on the spot. it may be we may have no bloody warfare to wage; it may be that saut may be won without the struggle we have thought. his own people are terrified before him. constanza thinks that i have but to declare myself and show the king's warrant to be proclaimed by all as lord and master of saut." chapter xxxi. the surrender of saut. "in the king's name!" the old seneschal at the drawbridge eyed with glances of awed suspicion the gallant young knight who had ridden so boldly up to the walls of saut and had bidden him lower the bridge. a few paces behind the leader was a compact little body of horsemen, all well mounted and well armed, though it was little their bright weapons could do against the solid walls of the grim old fortress, girdled as it was with its wide and deep moat. the pale sunshine of a winter's day shone upon the trappings of the little band, and lighted up the stone walls with something of unwonted brightness. it revealed to those upon the farther side of the moat the perplexed countenance of the old seneschal, who did not meet gaston's bold demand for admittance with defiance or refusal, but stood staring at the apparition, as if not knowing what to make of it; and when the demand had been repeated somewhat more peremptorily, he still stood doubtful and hesitating, saying over and over to himself the same words: "in the king's name! in the king's name!" "ay, fellow, in the king's name," repeated gaston sternly. "wilt thou see his warrant? i have it here. thou hadst best have a care how thou settest at defiance the king's seal and signet. knowest thou not that his royal son is within a few leagues of this very spot?" the old man only shook his head, as if scarce comprehending the drift of these words, and presently he looked up to ask: "of which king speak you, good sir knight?" "of the english king, fellow, the only king i acknowledge! whose servant doth thy master call himself? thou hadst better go and tell him that king edward of england has sent a message to him." "tell my master!" repeated the seneschal, with a strange gesture, as he lifted his hand and touched his head. "to what good would that be? my master understands no word that is said to him. he raves up and down the hall day by day, taking note of naught about him. thou hadst best have a care how thou beardest him, sir knight. we go in terror of our very lives through him." "ye need go no longer in that fear," cried gaston, with a kindling of the eyes, as he bared his noble head and looked forth at the old man with his fearless glance, "for in me ye will find a master whom none need fear who do their duty by him and by the king. seneschal, i stand here the lawful lord of saut -- lord by hereditary right, and by the mandate of england's king, the roy outremer, as you call him. i am gaston de brocas, of the old race who owned these lands long before the false navailles had set foot therein. i have come back armed with the king's warrant to claim mine own. "say, men, will ye have me for your lord? or will ye continue to serve yon raging madman till england's king sends an army to raze saut to the ground, and slay the rebellious horde within these ancient walls?" gaston had raised his voice as he had gone on speaking, for he saw that the dialogue with the old seneschal had attracted the attention of a number of men-at-arms, who had gradually mustered about the gate to hear what was passing. gaston spoke his native dialect like one of themselves. the name of de brocas was known far and wide in that land, and was everywhere spoken with affection and respect. the fierce rapacity of the navailles was equally feared and hated. even the stout soldiers who had followed his fortunes so long regarded him with fear and distrust. no man in those days felt certain of his life. if he chanced to offend the madman, a savage blow from that strong arm might fell him to the earth; whilst some amongst their companions had from time to time mysteriously disappeared, and their fate had never been disclosed. a sense of fearfulness and uncertainty had long reigned at saut. the mad master had his own myrmidons in the tower, who would do his bidding whatever that bidding might be; and that there were dark secrets hidden away in those underground dungeons and secret chambers everybody in the castle well knew. hardly one of the men now gathered on the opposite side of the moat but had awakened at some time or other from a horrid dream, believing himself to have been spirited down into those gloomy subterranean places, there to expiate some trifling offence, according as their savage lord should give order. many of these men had assisted at scenes which seemed frightful to them when they pictured themselves the victims of the cruelty of the fierce man they had long served, but whom now they had grown to fear and distrust. a sense of horror had long been hanging over saut, and since the disappearance of the maiden who once had brightened the grim place by her presence, this horror had perceptibly deepened. not one of all the men-at-arms dared even to his fellow to propose the remedy. each feared that if he breathed what was in his own mind, the very walls would whisper it in the ears of their lord, and that the offender would be doomed to some horrible death, to act as a warning to others like-minded with himself. since the loss of his niece, almost as mysterious to him as the escape of raymond de brocas from the prison, the clouds of doubt and suspicion had closed more and more darkly round the miserable man, who had let himself become the slave of his passions until these had increased to absolute madness. his unbridled fury and fits of maniac rage had estranged from him even the most attached of his old retainers, and in proportion as he felt this with the instinct of cunning and madness, the more did he exact from those about him protestations of zeal and faithfulness, the more did he watch the words and actions of his servants, and mark the smallest attempt on their part to restrain or thwart him. small wonder was it, then, when gaston de brocas stood forth in the sunshine, the king's warrant in his hand, words of good augury upon his lips, and a compact little body of armed men at his back, proclaiming himself the lord of saut, and inviting to his service the men who were now trembling before the caprices and cruel cunning of a madman, that they exchanged wondering glances, and spoke in eager whispers together, fearful lest the navailles should approach from behind ere they were aware of it, and feeling that there was here such a chance of escape from miserable bondage as might never occur again. and whilst they still hesitated -- for the fear of treachery was never absent from the minds of those bred up in habits and thoughts of treachery -- another wonder happened. out from the little knot a few paces behind the young knight two more figures pressed forward, and the men-at-arms rubbed their eyes and looked on in silent wonder: for one of the pair was none other than the fairy maiden who had lived so long amongst them, and had endeared herself even to these rude spirits by her grace and sweetness and undefinable charm; the other, that youth with the wonderful eyes and saint-like face who had been captured and borne away to saut after the battle before st. jean d'angely, and whose body they all believed had long ago been lying beneath the sullen waters of the moat, where so many victims of their lord's hatred had found their last resting place. and as they stared and looked at one another and stared again, a silvery voice was uplifted, and they all held their breath to listen. "my friends," said the lady, urging her palfrey till she reached gaston's side, and could feel his hand upon hers, "i have come hither with this noble knight, sir gaston de brocas, because he is my betrothed husband and liege lord, and i have the right to be at his side even in the hour of peril, but also because you all know me; and when i tell you that every word he has spoken is true, i trow ye will believe it. there he stands, the lawful lord of saut, and if ye will but own him as your lord, you will find in him a wise, just, and merciful master, who will protect you from the mad fury of yon miserable man whom now ye serve, and will lead you to more glorious feats of arms than any ye have dreamed of before. hitherto ye have been little better than robbers and outlaws. have ye no wish for better things than ye have won under the banner of navailles?" the men exchanged glances, and visibly wavered. they compared their coarse and stained garments, their rusty arms and battered accoutrements, with the brilliant appearance of the little band of soldiers standing on the opposite side of the moat, their armour shining in the sunlight, their steeds well fed and well groomed, arching their necks and pawing the ground, every man and every horse showing plainly that they came from a region of abundance of good things; whilst the military precision of their aspect showed equally well that they would be antagonists of no insignificant calibre, if the moment should come when they were transformed from friends to foes. constanza saw the wavering and hesitation amongst her uncle's men. she well knew their discontent at their own lot, their fearful distrust of their lord. she knew, too, that it was probably some fear of treachery alone that withheld them from making cause at once with the de brocas -- treachery having been only too much practised amongst them by their own fierce master -- and again her voice rang out clear and sweet. "men, listen again to me. i speak to counsel you for your good; for fierce and cruel as ye have been to your foes, ye have ever been kind and gentle to me when i was with you in these walls. what think ye to gain by defying the great king of england? think ye that he will spare you if ye arouse him to anger by impotent resistance? what more could king have done for you than send to be your lord a noble gascon knight; one of your own race and language; one who, as ye all must know, has a far better right to hold these lands than any of the race of navailles? here before you stands sir gaston de brocas, offering you place in his service if ye will but swear to him that allegiance he has the right to claim. the offer is made in clemency and mercy, because he would not that any should perish in futile resistance. men, ye know that he comes to this place with the king's mandate that saut be given up to him. if it be not peaceably surrendered, what think ye will happen next? "i will tell you. ye have heard of the prince of wales, son of the roy outremer; doubtless even to these walls has come the news of that triumphal march of his, where cities have surrendered or ransomed themselves to him, and nothing has been able to stay the might of his conquering arm. that noble prince and valiant soldier is now not far away. we have come from his presence, and are here with his knowledge and sanction. if we win you over, and gain peaceable possession of these walls, good; no harm will befall any living creature within them. but if ye prove obdurate; if ye will not listen to the voice of reason; if ye still hold with rebellious defiance to the lord ye have served, and who has shown himself so little worthy of your service, then will the prince and his warriors come with all their wrath and might to inflict chastisement upon you, and take vengeance upon you, as enemies of the king. "say, men, how can ye hope to resist the might of the prince's arm? say, which will ye do -- be the free servants of gaston de brocas, or die like rats in a hole for the sake of yon wicked madman, whose slaves ye have long been? which shall it be -- a de brocas or a navailles?" something in this last appeal stirred the hearts of the men. it seemed as though a veil were torn from their eyes. they seemed to see all in a moment the hopelessness of their position as vassals of navailles, and the folly of attempting resistance to one so infinitely more worthy to be called their lord. it was no stranger coming amongst them -- it was one of the ancient lords of the soil; and the sight of the youthful knight, sitting there on his fine horse, with his fair lady beside him, was enough to stir the pulses and awaken the enthusiasm of an ardent race, even though the nobler instincts had been long sleeping in the breasts of these men. they hated and distrusted their old lord with a hatred he had well merited; and degraded as they had become in his service, they had not yet sunk so low but that they could feel with the keenness of instinct, rather than by any reasoning powers they possessed, that this young knight was a man to be trusted and be loved -- that if they became his vassals they would receive vastly different treatment from any they had received from the sieur de navailles. there was one long minute's pause, whilst looks and whispered words were exchanged, and then a shout arose: "de brocas! de brocas! we will live and die the servants of de brocas!" whilst at the same moment the drawbridge slowly descended, and gaston, at the head of his gallant little band, with raymond and constanza at his side, rode proudly over the sounding planks, and found himself, for the first time in his life, in the courtyard of the castle of saut. "de brocas! de brocas!" shouted the men, all doubt and hesitation done away with in a moment at sight of the gallant show thus made, enthusiasm kindling in every breast as the sweet lady rained smiles and gracious words upon the rough men, who had always had a soft spot in their heart for her; whilst raymond's earnest eyes and gaston's courtly and chivalrous bearing were not without effect upon the ruder natures of these lonely residents of saut. it seemed to them as though they had been invaded by some denizens from another world, and murmurs of wonder and reverent admiration mingled with the cheering with which gaston de brocas was received as lord of saut. but there was still one more person to be faced. the men had accepted the sovereignty of a new lord, and were already rejoicing in the escape from the dreaded tyranny they had not had the resolution to shake off unprompted; but there was still the sieur de navailles to be dealt with, and impotent as he might be in the desertion of his old followers, it was necessary to see and speak with him, and decide what must be done with the man who was believed by those about him to be little better than a raging maniac. "where is your master?" asked gaston of the old seneschal, who stood at his bridle rein, his eyes wandering from his face to that of raymond and constanza and back again; "i marvel that this tumult has not brought him forth." "the walls are thick," replied the old man, "and he lives for days together in a world of his own, no sound or sight from without penetrating his understanding. then again he will awaken from his dream, and show us that he has heard and seen far more than we have thought. and if any man amongst us has dropped words that have incensed him -- well, there have been men who have disappeared from amongst us and have never been seen more; and tales are whispered of horrid cries and groans that have issued as from the very bowels of the earth each time following their spiriting away." constanza shuddered, and a black frown crossed gaston's face as he gave one quick glance at his brother, who had so nearly shared that mysterious and terrible doom. "the man is a veritable fiend. he merits scant mercy at our hands. he has black crimes upon his soul. seneschal, lead on. take us to him ye once owned as sovereign lord. i trow ye will none of you lament the day ye transferred your allegiance from yon miscreant to gaston de brocas!" another cheer, heartier than the last, broke from the lips of all the men. they had been joined now by their comrades within the castle, and in the sense of freedom from the hateful tyranny of their old master all were rejoicing and filled with enthusiasm. for once they were free from all fear of treachery. gaston's own picked band of stalwart veterans was guarantee enough that might as well as right was on the side of the de brocas. the sight of those well-equipped men-at-arms, all loyal and full of affectionate enthusiasm for their youthful lord, showed these rude retainers how greatly to their advantage would be this change of masters; and before gaston had dismounted and walked across the courtyard towards the portal of the castle, he felt, with a swelling of the heart that raymond well understood, that saut was indeed his own. "this is the way to the sieur de navailles," said the old seneschal, as they passed beneath the frowning doorway into a vaulted stone hall. "he spends whole days and nights pacing up and down like a wild beast in a cage. he scarce leaves the hall, save when he wanders forth into the forest, and that has not happened since the cold winds have blown hard. you will find him within those doors, good gentlemen. shall i make known your presence to him?" it was plain that the old man had no small fear of his master, and would gladly be spared this office. gaston looked round to see that some of his own followers were close behind and on the alert, and then taking constanza's hand in his, and laying his right hand upon the hilt of his sword, he signed to the seneschal to throw open the massive oaken doors, and walked fearlessly in with raymond at his side. they found themselves in the ancient banqueting hall of the fortress -- a long, lofty, rather narrow room, with a heavily-raftered ceiling, two huge fireplaces, one at either end, and a row of very narrow windows cut in the great thickness of the wall occupying almost the whole of one side of the place; whilst a long table was placed against the opposite wall, with benches beside it, and another smaller table was placed upon a small raised dais at the far end of the apartment. on this dais was also set a heavy oaken chair, close beside the glowing hearth; and at this moment it was plain that the occupant of the chair had been disturbed by the commotion from without, and had suddenly risen to his feet, for he stood grasping the oaken arms, his wild gray hair hanging in matted masses about his seamed and wrinkled face, and his hollow eyes, in which a fierce light blazed, turned upon the intruders in a glare of impotent fury. "who are ye who thus dare to intrude upon me here? what is all this tumult i hear in mine own halls? "seneschal, art thou there? send hither to me my soldiers; bid them bind these men, and carry them to the dungeons. i will see them there. ha, ha! i will talk with them there. i will deal with them there. what ho! send me the jailer and his assistants! let them light the fires and heat hot the irons. let them prepare our welcome for guests to saut. ha, ha! ho, ho! these brave gallants shall taste our hospitality. who brought them in? where were they found? methinks they will prove a rich booty. would that good peter sanghurst were here to help me in the task of entertaining these new guests!" the man was a raving lunatic; that was plain to the most inexperienced eye from the first moment. he knew not his own niece, he knew not the de brocas brothers, though raymond's face must have been familiar to him had he been in his right senses. he was still in fancy the undisputed lord of these wide lands, scouring the country for english travellers or prisoners of meaner mould; acting here in gascony much the same part as the sanghursts had more cautiously done in england, and as the barons of both france and england had long done, though their day of irresponsible and autocratic power was well-nigh at an end. he glared upon the brothers and their attendants with savage fury, still calling out to his men to carry them to the dungeons, still believing them to be a band of travellers taken prisoners by his own orders, raving and raging in his impotent fury till the gust of passion had worn itself out, and in a sullen amaze he sank into his seat, still gazing out from under his shaggy brows at the intruders, but the passion and fury for a moment at an end. "he will understand better what you say to him now, sir knight," whispered the old seneschal, who alone of the men belonging to the castle dared to enter the hall where their maniac master was. "his mind comes back to him sometimes after he has raved himself quiet. we dread his sullen moods almost more than his wild ones. "have a care how you approach him. he is as cunning as a fox, and as crafty as he is cruel. he always has some weapon beneath his robe. have a care, i say, how you approach him." gaston nodded, but he was too fearless by nature to pay much heed to the warning; he felt himself more than a match for that bowed-down old man. giving constanza into raymond's charge, he stepped boldly up to the dais, and doffing his headpiece, addressed himself to his adversary in firm though courteous accents. "my lord of navailles," he said, "i am come to claim mine own. if thou knowest me not, i will tell thee who i am -- gaston de brocas, the lord of saut in mine own right, and by the mandate of the king which i hold in mine hand. long hast thou held lands to which thou hadst no right, but the day has come when i claim mine own again, and am prepared to do battle for it to the death. but here is no battle needed. thine own men have called me lord; they have obeyed the mandate of the king, and have opened their gates to me. i stand here the lord of saut. thy power and thy reign are over for ever. grossly hast thou abused that power when it was thine. now, like all tyrants, thou art finding that thy servants fall away in the hour of peril, and that thou, who hast been a cruel master, canst command no service from them in the time of need. i, and i alone, am lord of saut. hast thou aught to say ere thou yieldest dominion to me?" did he understand? those standing round and breathlessly watching the curious scene could scarce be sure; but there was a look of comprehension and of intense baffled rage and malice in those cavernous eyes that sent a shiver through constanza's light frame. "have a care, gaston; have a care!" she cried, with sudden shrillness, as she saw a quick movement of those knotted sinewy hands beneath the coarse robe the old man wore; and in another moment both she and raymond had sprung forward, for there was a flash of keen steel, and the madman had flung himself upon gaston with inconceivable rapidity of motion. for a moment there was a hideous scuffle. blood was flowing, they knew not whose. gaston acted solely on the defensive. he would not raise his hand against one who was old and lunatic, and near in blood to her whom he held dear; but he wrestled valiantly in the iron grip of arms stronger than his own, and he felt that some struggle was going on above him, though for the moment his own breath seemed suspended, and his very life pressed out of him. then came a sudden sense of release. his enemy had relaxed his bear-like clasp. gaston sprang to his feet to see his enemy falling backwards in a helpless collapse, the hilt of a dagger clasped between his knotted hands -- the sharp blade buried in his own heart. "he has killed himself!" cried constanza, with eyes dilated with horror, as she sprang to gaston's side. it had all been so quick that it was hard to tell what had befallen in those few seconds of life-and-death struggle. gaston was bleeding from a slight flesh wound in the arm, but that was the only hurt he had received; whilst his foe -- "he strove to plunge the dagger in thy breast, gaston," said raymond, who was supporting the head of the dying man; "and failing that, he thought to smother thee in his bear-like clasp, that has crushed the life out of enemies before now, as we have ofttimes heard. when he felt other foes around him unloosing that clasp, and knew himself balked of his purpose, he clutched the weapon thou hadst dashed from his hand and buried it in his own body. as he has lived, so has he died -- defiant to the very end. but the madness-cloud may have hung long upon his spirit. perchance some of the worst of his crimes may not be laid to his charge." as raymond spoke, the dying man opened his eyes, and fixed them upon the face bending over him. the light of sullen defiance which had shone there but a few short moments ago changed to something strange and new as he met the calm, compassionate glance of those expressive eyes now fixed upon him. he seemed to give a slight start, and to strive to draw himself away. "thou here!" he gasped -- "thou! hast thou indeed come from the spirit world to mock me in my last moments? i know thee now, raymond de brocas! i have seen thee before -- thou knowest how and where. methinks the very angels of heaven must have spirited thee away. why art thou here now?" "to bid thee ask forgiveness for thy sins with thy dying breath," answered raymond, gently yet firmly; "to bid thee turn thy thoughts for one last moment towards thy saviour, and though thou hast scorned and rebelled against him in life, to ask his pardoning mercy in death. he has pardoned a dying miscreant ere now. wilt thou not take upon thy lips that dying thief's petition, and cry 'lord, remember me;' or this prayer, 'lord, be merciful to me, a sinner'?" a gray shadow was creeping over the rugged face, the lips seemed to move, but no words came forth. there was no priest at hand to listen to a dying confession, or to pronounce a priestly absolution, and yet raymond had spoken as if there might yet be mercy for an erring, sin-stained soul, if it would but turn in its last agony to the crucified one -- the saviour crucified for the sins of the whole world. it must be remembered that there was less of priestcraft -- less of what we now call popery -- in those earlier days than there came to be later on; and the springs of truth, though somewhat tainted, were not poisoned, as it were, at the very source, as they afterwards became. something of the purity of primitive times lingered in the minds of men, and here and there were always found pure spirits upon whom the errors of man obtained no hold -- spirits that seemed to rise superior to their surroundings, and hold communion direct with heaven itself. such a nature and such a mind was raymond's; and his clear, intense faith had been strengthened and quickened by the vicissitudes through which he had passed. he did not hesitate to point the dying soul straight to the saviour himself, without mediation from the blessed virgin or the holy saints. love and revere these he might and did; but in the presence of that mighty power of death, in that hour when flesh and heart do fail, he felt as he had felt when he believed his own soul was to be called away -- when it seemed as though no power could avail to save him from a fearful fate -- that to god alone must the cry of the suffering soul be raised; that into the saviour's hands alone could the departing soul be committed. he did not speak to others of these thoughts -- thoughts which in later days came to be branded with the dreaded name of "heresy" -- but he held them none the less surely in the depths of his own spirit; and now, when all but he would have stood aside with pitiful helplessness, certain that nothing could be done for the dying man in absence of a priest, raymond strove to lead his thoughts upwards, that though his life had been black and evil, he might still die with his face turned godwards, with a cry for mercy on his lips. nor was this hope in vain; for at the last the old man raised himself with a strength none believed him to possess, and raising his hand he clasped that of raymond, and said: "raymond de brocas, i strove to compass thy death, and thou hast come to me in mine hour of need, and spoken words of hope. if thou canst forgive -- thou so cruelly treated, so vilely betrayed -- it may be that the saviour, whose servant thou art, can forgive yet greater crimes. "christ have mercy upon me! lord have mercy upon me! christ have mercy upon me! my worldly possessions are fled: let them go; they are in good hands. may christ pardon my sins, and receive me at last to himself!" he looked earnestly at raymond, who understood him, and whispered the last prayers of the church in his ear. a look of calm and peace fell upon that wild and rugged face; and drawing one sigh, and slightly turning himself towards his former foe, the old ruler of saut fell asleep, and died with the two de brocas brothers standing beside him. chapter xxxii. on the field of poitiers. the face of the prince was dark and grave. he had posted his gallant little army in the strongest position the country afforded; but his men were ill-fed, and though brave as lions and eager for the battle, were but a handful of troops compared with the vast french host opposed to them. eight thousand against fifty or even sixty thousand! such an inequality might well make the stoutest heart quail. but there was no fear in young edward's eyes, only a glance of stern anxiety slightly dashed with regret; for the concessions just made to the cardinal de perigord, who was earnestly striving to arrange terms between the rival armies and so avoid the bloodshed of a battle, went sorely against the grain of the warrior prince, and he was almost disposed to repent that he had been induced to make them. but his position was sufficiently critical, and defeat meant the annihilation of the gallant little army who had followed his fortunes through two campaigns, and who were to a man his devoted servants. he had led them, according to promise, upon another long march of unopposed plunder and victory, right into the very heart of france; whilst another english army in normandy and brittany had been harassing the french king, and averting his attention from the movements of his son. perhaps young edward's half-matured plan had been to join the other english forces in the north, for he was too much the general and the soldier to think of marching upon paris or of attacking the french army with his own small host. indeed, a few reverses had recently taught him that he had already ventured almost too far into the heart of a hostile country; and he was, in fact, retreating upon bordeaux, believing the french army to be behind him, when he discovered that it was in front of him, intercepting his farther progress, and he was made aware of this unwelcome fact by seeing the advance guard of his own army literally cut to pieces by the french soldiers before he could come to their assistance. realizing at once the immense peril of his position, the prince had marched on till he reached a spot where he could post his men to some advantage amongst hedges and bushes that gave them shelter, and would serve to embarrass an attacking foe, and in particular any charge of cavalry. the place selected was some six miles from poitiers, and possessed so many natural advantages that the prince felt encouraged to hope for a good issue to the day, albeit the odds were fearfully to his disadvantage. he had looked to be speedily attacked by the french king, who was in person leading his host; but the saturday passed away without any advance, and on sunday morning the good cardinal de perigord began to strive to bring matters to a peaceable issue. brave as the young prince was, and great as his reliance on his men had always been, his position was perilous in the extreme, and he had been willing to listen to the words of the cardinal. indeed, he had made wonderful concessions to the messenger of peace, for he had at last consented to give up all the places he had taken, to set free all prisoners, and to swear not to take up arms against the king of france for seven years; and now he stood looking towards the french host with a frown of anxious perplexity upon his face, for the cardinal had gone back to the french king with this message, and already the prince was half repentant at having conceded so much. he had been persuaded rather against his will, and he was wondering what his royal father would say when he should hear. he had been thinking rather of his brave soldiers' lives than his own military renown, when he had let himself be won over by the good cardinal. had he, after all, made a grand mistake? his knights stood around, well understanding the conflict going on in his breast, and sympathizing deeply with him in this crisis of his life, but not knowing themselves what it were best to do. the sun was creeping to the horizon before the cardinal was seen returning, and his face was grave and sorrowful as he was ushered into the presence of the prince. "my liege," he said, in accents of regret, "it is but sorry news i have to bring you. my royal master of his own will would have gladly listened to the terms to which your consent has been won, save for the vicious counsel of my lord bishop of chalons, renaud chauveau, who hates your nation so sorely that he has begged the king, even upon his bended knees, to slay every english soldier in this realm rather than suffer them to escape just when they had fallen into his power, rather than listen to overtures of submission without grasping the victory of blood which god had put into his hands. wherefore my liege the king has vowed that he will consent to nothing unless you yourself, together with one hundred of your knights, will give yourselves up into his hand without condition." young edward's eyes flashed fire. a look more like triumph than dismay crossed his noble face. looking at the sorrowful cardinal, with the light of battle in his eyes, he said in ringing tones: "my lord cardinal, i thank you for your goodwill towards us. you are a good and holy man, an ambassador of peace, and as such you are fulfilling your master's will. but i can listen no longer to your words. go back to the king of france, and tell him that i thank him for his last demand, because it leaves me no choice but to fight him to the death; and ten thousand times would i rather fight than yield, albeit persuaded to submit to terms by your eloquent pleading. return to your lord, and tell him that edward of england defies him, and will meet him in battle so soon as it pleases him to make the attack. i fear him not. the english have found no such mighty antagonists in the french that they should fear them now. "go, my lord cardinal, and carry back my message of defiance. ere another sun has set i hope to meet john of france face to face in the foremost of the fight!" a shout of joy and triumph rose from a hundred throats as this answer was listened to by the prince's knights, and the cheer was taken up and echoed by every soldier in the camp. it was the signal, as all knew well, that negotiation had failed; and the good cardinal went sorrowfully back to the french lines, whilst the english soldiers redoubled their efforts at trenching the ground and strengthening their position -- efforts which had been carried on ceaselessly all through this and the preceding day, regardless of the negotiations for peace, which many amongst them hoped would prove abortive. then up to the prince's side stepped bold sir james audley, who had been his counsellor and adviser during the whole of the campaign, and by whose advice the coming battle was being arranged. "sire," he said, bending the knee before his youthful lord, "i long ago vowed a vow that if ever i should find myself upon the field of battle with the king of england or his son, i would be foremost in the fight for his defence. sire, that day has now dawned -- or will dawn with tomorrow's sun. grant me, i pray you, leave to be the first to charge into yon host, and so fulfil the vow long registered before god." "good sir james, it shall be even as thou wilt," answered the prince, extending his hand. "but if thou goest thus into peril, sure thou wilt not go altogether alone?" "i will choose out four knightly comrades," answered sir james, "and together we will ride into the battle. i know well that there will be no lack of brave men ready and willing to fight at my side. gaston de brocas has claimed already to be one, and his brother ever strives to be at his side. but he has yet his spurs to win, and i may but take with me those who are knights already." "raymond de brocas's spurs unwon!" cried the prince, with kindling eye, "and he the truest knight amongst us! call him hither this moment to me. shame upon me that i have not ere this rewarded such pure and lofty courage as his by that knighthood he so well merits!" and then and there upon the field of poitiers raymond received his knighthood, amid the cheers of the bystanders, from the hands of the prince, on the eve of one of england's most glorious victories. gaston's eyes were shining with pride as he led his brother back to their tent as the last of the september daylight faded from the sky. "i had set my heart on sending thee back to thy joan with the spurs of knighthood won," he said, affectionately pressing his brother's hands. "and truly, as they all say, none were ever more truly won than thine have been, albeit thou wilt ever be more the saint than the warrior." raymond's eyes were bright. for joan's sake rather than his own he rejoiced in his new honour; though every man prided himself upon that welcome distinction, especially when bestowed by the hand of king or prince. and the thought of a speedy return to england and his true love there was as the elixir of life to raymond, who was counting the days and hours before he might hope to set sail for his native land again. he had remained with his brother at saut all through the past winter. gaston and constanza had been married at bordeaux very shortly after the death of old navailles; and they had returned to saut, their future home, and raymond had gone with them. greatly as he longed for england and joan, his duty to the prince kept him beside him till he should obtain his dismissal to see after his own private affairs. the prince needed his faithful knights and followers about him in his projected expedition of the present year; and gaston required his brother's help and counsel in setting to rights the affairs of his new kingdom, and in getting into better order a long-neglected estate and its people. there had been work enough to fill their minds and hands for the whole time the prince had been able to spare them from his side; and an interchange of letters between him and his lady love had helped raymond to bear the long separation from her. she had assured him of her changeless devotion, of her present happiness and wellbeing, and had bidden him think first of his duty to the prince, and second of his desire to rejoin her. they owed much to the prince: all their present happiness and security were the outcome of his generous interposition on their behalf. raymond's worldly affairs were not suffering by his absence. master bernard de brocas was looking to that. he would find all well on his return to england; and it were better he should do his duty nobly by the prince now, and return with him when they had subdued their enemies, than hasten at once to her side. in days to come it would grieve them to feel that they had at this juncture thought first of themselves, when king and country should have taken the foremost place. so raymond had taken the counsel thus given, and now was one of those to be foremost in the field on the morrow. no thought of fear was in his heart or gaston's; peril was too much the order of the day to excite any but a passing sense of the uncertainty of human life. they had come unscathed through so much, and raymond had so long been said to bear a charmed life, that he and gaston had alike ceased to tremble before the issue of a battle. well armed and well mounted, and versed in every art of attack and defence, the young knights felt no personal fear, and only longed to come forth with honour from the contest, whatever else their fate might be. monday morning dawned, and the two opposing armies were all in readiness for the attack. the fighting began almost by accident by the bold action of a gascon knight, eustace d'ambrecicourt, who rode out alone towards what was called the "battle of the marshals," and was met by louis de recombes with his silver shield, whom he forthwith unhorsed. this provoked a rapid advance of the marshals' battle, and the fighting began in good earnest. the moment this was soon to have taken place, the brave james audley, calling upon his four knights to follow him, dashed in amongst the french in another part of the field, giving no quarter, taking no prisoners, but performing such prodigies of valour as struck terror into the breasts of the foe. the french army (with the exception of three hundred horsemen, whose mission was to break the ranks of the bowmen) had been ordered, on account of the nature of the ground, all to fight on foot; and when the bold knight and his four chosen companions came charging in upon them, wheeling their battle-axes round their heads and flashing through the ranks like a meteor, the terrified and impressionable frenchmen cried out that st. george himself had appeared to fight against them, and an unreasoning panic seized upon them. flights of arrows from the dreaded english longbow added immeasurably to their distress and bewilderment. the three hundred horsemen utterly failed in their endeavour to approach these archers, securely posted behind the hedges, and protected by the trenches they had dug. the arrows sticking in the horses rendered them perfectly wild and unmanageable, and turning back upon their own comrades, they threw the ranks behind into utter confusion, trampling to death many of the footmen, and increasing the panic tenfold. then seeing the utter confusion of his foes, the prince charged in amongst them, dealing death and destruction wherever he went. the terror of the french increased momentarily; and the division under the duke of normandy, that had not even taken any part as yet in the battle, rushed to their horses, mounted and fled without so much as striking a blow. the king of france, however, behaved with far greater gallantry than either his son or the majority of his knights and nobles, and the battle that he led was long and fiercely contested. if, as the chronicler tells us, one-fourth of his soldiers had shown the same bravery as he did, the fortunes of the day would have been vastly different; but though personally brave, he was no genius in war, and his fatal determination to fight the battle on foot was a gross blunder in military tactics. even when he and his division were being charged by the prince of wales at full gallop, at the head of two thousand lances, the men all flushed with victory, john made his own men dismount, and himself did the same, fighting with his axe like a common soldier; whilst his little son philip crouched behind him, narrowly watching his assailants, and crying out words of warning to his father as he saw blows dealt at him from right or left. the french were driven back to the very gates of poitiers, where a great slaughter ensued; for those gates were now shut against them, and they had nowhere else to fly. the battle had begun early in the morning, and by noon the trumpets were sounding to recall the english from the pursuit of their flying foes. such a victory and such vast numbers of noble prisoners almost bewildered even the victors themselves; and the prince was anxious to assemble his knights once more about him, to learn some of the details of the issue of the day. that the french king had either been killed or made prisoner appeared certain, for it was confidently asserted that he had not left the field; but for some time the confusion was so great that it was impossible to ascertain what had actually happened, and the prince, who had gone to his tent to take some refreshment after the labours of the day, had others than his high-born prisoners to think for. "who has seen sir james audley -- gallant sir james?" he asked, looking round upon the circle of faces about him and missing that of the one he perhaps loved best amongst his knights. "who has seen him since his gallant charge that made all men hold their breath with wonder? i would fain reward him for that gallant example he gave to our brave soldiers at the beginning of the day." news was soon brought that sir james had been badly wounded, and had been carried by his knights to his tent. the prince would have gone to visit him there; but news of this proposal having been brought to the knight, he caused himself to be transported to the prince's tent by his knights, all of whom had escaped almost unscathed from their gallant escapade. thus it came about that gaston and raymond stood within the royal tent, whilst the prince bent over his faithful knight, and promised as the reward for that day's gallantry that he should remain his own knight for ever, and receive five hundred marks yearly from the royal treasury. then, when poor sir james, too spent and faint to remain longer, had been carried hence by some of the bystanders, the prince turned to the twin brothers and grasped them by the hand. "i greatly rejoice that ye have come forth unhurt from that fierce strife in the which ye so boldly plunged. what can i do for you, brave comrades, to show the gratitude of a king's son for all your faithful service?" "sire," answered gaston, "since you have asked us to claim our guerdon, and since your foes are at your feet, your rival a prisoner in your royal hands (if he be not a dead corpse), and the whole land subject to you; since there be no further need in the present for us to fight for you, and a time of peace seems like to follow upon this glorious day, methinks my brother and i would fain request your royal permission to retire for a while each to his own home, to regulate our private concerns, and dwell awhile each with the wife of his choice. thou knowest that i have a wife but newly made mine, and that my brother only tarries to fly to his betrothed bride till you have no farther need of his sword. if ever the day dawns when king or prince of england needs the faithful service of gascon swords, those of raymond and gaston de brocas will not be wanting to him. yet in the present --" "ay, ay, i understand well: in the present there be bright eyes that are more to you than glittering swords, and a service that is sweeter than that of king or prince. nay, blush not, boy; i like you the better for that the softer passions dwell in your breast with those of sterner sort. ye have well shown many a day ere now that ye possess the courage of young lions, and that england will never call upon you in vain. but now that times of peace and quiet seem like to fall upon us, get you to your homes and your wives. may heaven grant you joy and happiness in both; and england's king and prince will over have smiles of welcome for you when ye bring to the court the sweet ladies of your choice. do i not know them both? and do i not know that ye have both chosen worthily and well?" a tumult without the tent now announced the approach of the french king, those who brought him disputing angrily together whose prisoner he was. the prince stepped out to receive his vanquished foe with that winning courtesy so characteristic of one who so longed to see the revival of the truer chivalry, and in the confusion which ensued gaston and raymond slipped away to their own tent. "and now," cried gaston, clasping his brother's hand, "our day of service is for the moment ended. now for a space of peaceful repose and of those domestic joys of which thou and i, brother, know so little." "at last!" quoth raymond, drawing a long breath, his eyes glowing and kindling as he looked into his brother's face and then far beyond it in the direction of the land of his adoption. "at last my task is done; my duty to my prince has been accomplished. now i am free to go whither i will. now for england and my joan!" chapter xxxiii. "at last!" "at last, my love, at last!" "raymond! my own true lord -- my husband!" "my life! my love!" at last the dream had fulfilled itself; at last the long probation was past. raymond de brocas and joan vavasour had been made man and wife by good master bernard de brocas in his church at guildford, and in the soft sunlight of an october afternoon were riding together in the direction of basildene, from henceforth to be their home. raymond had not yet seen basildene. he had hurried to joan's side the moment that he left the ship which bore him from the shores of france, and the marriage had been celebrated almost at once, there being no reason for farther delay, and sir hugh being eager to be at the court to receive the triumphant young prince when he should return to england with his kingly captive. all the land was ringing with the news of the glorious victory, of which raymond's vessel was the first to bring tidings. he himself, as having been one of those who had taken part in the battle and having won his spurs on the field of poitiers, was regarded with no small admiration and respect. but raymond had thoughts of nothing but his beloved; and to find her waiting for him, her loving heart as true to him as his was to her, was happiness sweeter than any he had once dreamed could be his. the time had flown by on golden wings. he scarce knew how to reckon its flight. he and joan lived in a world of their own -- a world that reckons not time by our calendar, but has its own fashion of computation; and hours that once had crept by leaden footed, now flew past as if on wings. he and his love were together at last, soon to be united in a bond that only death could sunder. and neither of them held that it could be broken even by the stern cold hand of death. such love as theirs was not for time alone; it would last on and on through the boundless cycles of eternity. and now the holy vows had been spoken. at last the solemn ceremony was over and past. raymond and joan were man and wife, and were riding side by side through the whispering wood in the direction of basildene. joan had not changed much since the day she and raymond had plighted their troth beside the dying bed of john de brocas. as a young girl she had looked older than her years; as a woman she looked scarce more. perhaps in those great dark eyes there was more of softness; weary waiting had not dimmed their brightness, but had imparted just a touch of wistfulness, which gave to them an added charm. the full, curved lips were calmly resolute as of old, yet touched with a new sweetness and the gracious beauty of a great happiness. raymond had changed more than she, having developed from the youth into the man; retaining in a wonderful way the peculiar charm of his boyhood's beauty, the ethereal purity of expression and slim grace of figure, yet adding to these the dignity and purpose of a more advanced age, and all the stateliness and power of one who has struggled and suffered and battled in the world, and who has come forth from that struggle with a stainless shield, and a name unsullied by the smallest breath of slander. joan's eyes dwelt upon her husband's face with a proud, joyous light in them. once she laid her hand upon his as they rode, and said, in low tones very full of feeling: "methinks i have found my galahad at last. methinks that thou hast found a treasure as precious as the holy grail itself. methinks no treasure could be more precious than that which thou hast won." he turned his eyes upon her tenderly. "the treasure of thy love, my joan?" "i was not thinking of that," she answered; "we have loved each other so long. i was thinking of that other treasure -- the love which has enabled thee to triumph over evil, to forgive our enemies, to do good to those that have hated us, to fight the christian's battle as well as that of england's king. i was thinking of that higher chivalry of which in old days we have talked so much. perchance we should give it now another name. but thou hast been true and faithful in thy quest. ah, how proud i am of the stainless name of my knight!" his fingers closed fast over hers, but he made no reply in words. raymond's nature was a silent one. of his deepest feelings he spoke the least. he had told his story to joan; he knew that she understood all it meant to him. it was happiness to feel that this was so without the need of words. that union of soul was sweeter to him than even the possession of the hand he held in his. and so they rode on to basildene. but was this basildene? raymond passed his hand across his eyes, and gazed and gazed again. joan sat quietly in her saddle, watching him with smiling eyes. basildene! yes, truly basildene. there was the quaint old house with its many gables and mullioned casements and twisted chimneys, its warm red walls and timbered grounds around it; but where was the old look of misery, decay, neglect, and blight? who could look at that picturesque old mansion, with its latticed casements glistening in the sun, and think of aught but home-like comfort and peace? what had been done to it? what spell had been at work? this was the basildene of his boyhood's dreams -- the basildene that his mother had described to them. it was not the basildene of later years. how had the change come about? "that has been our uncle's work these last two years," answered joan, who was watching the changes passing over her husband's face, and seemed to read the unspoken thought of his heart. "he and i together have planned it all, and the treasure has helped to carry all out. the hidden hoard has brought a blessing at last, methinks, raymond; for the chapel has likewise been restored, and holy mass and psalm now ascend daily from it. the wretched hovels around the gates, where miserable peasants herded like swine in their sties, have been cleared away, and places fit for human habitation have been erected in their stead. that fearful quagmire, in which so many wretched travellers have lost their lives, has been drained, and a causeway built across it. basildene is becoming a blessing to all around it; and so long as thou art lord here, my raymond, it will remain a blessing to all who come within shelter of its walls." he looked at her with his dreamy smile. his mind was going back in review over all these long years since first the idea had formed itself in his brain that they two -- gaston and himself -- would win back basildene. how long those years seemed in retrospect, and yet how short! how many changes they had seen! how many strange events in the checkered career of the twin brothers! "i would that gaston were with me now; i would that he might see it." "and so he shall, come next summer," answered joan. "is it not a promise that he comes hither with his bride to see thy home and mine, raymond, and that we pass one of england's inclement winters in the softer air of sunny france? you are such travellers, you brethren, that the journey is but child's play to you; and i too have known something of travel, and it hath no terrors for me. there shall be no sundering of the bond betwixt the twin brothers of basildene. years shall only bind that bond faster, for to their faithful love and devotion one to the other basildene owes its present weal, and we our present happiness." "the twin brothers of basildene," repeated raymond dreamily, gazing round him with smiling eyes, as he held joan's hand fast in his. "my mother, i wonder if thou canst see us now -- gaston at saut and raymond here at basildene? methinks if thou canst thou wilt rejoice in our happiness. we have done what thou biddedst us. we have fought and we have overcome. thine own loved home has been won back by thine own sons, and raymond de brocas is lord of basildene." the end. i if any reader has taken the trouble to follow this story closely, he may observe that the expedition of the black prince has been slightly antedated. in order not to interrupt the continuity of the fictitious narrative, the time spent in long-drawn and fruitless negotiation at the conclusion of the truce has been omitted. transcriber's note: a few typographical errors have been corrected: they are listed at the end of the text. * * * * * the boke of noblesse addressed to king edward the fourth on his invasion of france in * * * * * with an introduction by john gough nichols, f.s.a. * * * * * [illustration] burt franklin new york * * * * * published by lenox hill pub. & dist. co. (burt franklin) east th st., new york, n.y. reprinted: printed in the u.s.a. burt franklin: research and source works series selected studies in history, economics, & social science: n.s. (b) medieval, renaissance & reformation studies reprinted from the original edition in the university of minnesota library. library of congress cataloging in publication data the boke of noblesse. reprint of the ed. printed for the roxburghe club. . chivalry--history. . hundred years' war, - . . great britain--history--edward iv, - . i. roxburghe club, london. cr .b '. ' - isbn - - - * * * * * the roxburghe club. mdccclx. the duke of buccleuch and queensberry, k.g. president. the duke of hamilton and brandon. the duke of sutherland, k.g. his excellency monsieur van de weyer. marquis of lothian. earl of carnarvon. earl of powis, v.p. earl cawdor. earl of ellesmere. lord vernon. lord delamere. lord dufferin. lord wensleydale. right hon. sir david dundas. hon. robert curzon, jun. sir stephen richard glynne, bart. sir edward hulse, bart. sir john benn walsh, bart. sir john simeon, bart. sir james shaw willes. nathaniel bland, esq. beriah botfield, esq. treasurer. rev william edward buckley. paul butler, esq. francis henry dickinson, esq. thomas gaisford, esq. ralph neville grenville, esq. rev. edward craven hawtrey, d.d. robert stayner holford, esq. adrian john hope, esq. alex. james beresford hope, esq. rev. john stuart hippisley horner, m.a. john arthur lloyd, esq. evelyn philip shirley, esq. william stirling, esq. simon watson taylor, esq. george tomline, esq. charles towneley, esq. * * * * * to the president and members of the roxburghe club this interesting historical treatise, written in encouragement of the invasion of france by king edward the fourth in , is dedicated and presented by their obedient servant, delamere. june , . * * * * * {i} introduction. * * * * * the book of noblesse, which is now for the first time printed, was addressed to king edward the fourth for a political purpose, on a great and important occasion. he was in the midst of his second reign, living in high prosperity. he had subdued his domestic enemies. his lancastrian rivals were no longer in existence, and the potent king-maker had fought his last field. edward was the father of two sons; and had no immediate reason to dread either of his younger brothers, however unkind and treacherous we now know them to have been. he was the undisputed king of england, and, like his predecessors, the titular king of france. his brother-in-law the duke of burgundy, who had befriended him in his exile in , was continually urging, for his own ambitious views, that the english should renew their ancient enterprises in france; and edward, notwithstanding his natural indolence, was at last prepared to carry his arms into that country. the project was popular with all those who were burning for military fame, indignant at the decay of the english name upon the continent, or desirous to improve their fortunes by the acquisitions of conquest. the book of noblesse was written to excite and inflame such sentiments and expectations. its unknown author was connected with those who had formerly profited by the occupation of the english provinces in france, and particularly with the celebrated sir john fastolfe, knight of the garter, whom the writer in several places mentions as "myne autor." sir john fastolfe had survived the losses of his countrymen in france, and died at an advanced age in the year . it seems not at all improbable that the substance of this book was written during his life-time, and that it was merely revised and augmented on the eve of edward the fourth's invasion of france. all the historical events which are mentioned in it date at least some five-and-twenty years before that expedition. the author commences his composition by an acknowledgment, how necessary it is in the beginning of every good work, to implore the grace of god: and then {ii} introduces a definition of true nobility or noblesse, in the words of "kayus' son," as he designates the younger pliny. he next states that his work was suggested by the disgrace which the realm had sustained from the grievous loss of the kingdom of france, the duchies of normandy, gascony, and guienne, and the counties of maine and ponthieu; which had been recovered by the french party, headed by charles the seventh, in the course of fifteen months, and chiefly during the year . to inspire a just indignation of such a reverse, he recalls all the ancestral glories of the english nation, from their first original in the ancient blood of troy, and through all the triumphs of the saxons, danes, normans, and angevyns. of the romans in england he says nothing, though in his subsequent pages he draws much from roman history. the next chapter sets forth how every man of worship in arms should resemble the lion in disposition, being eager, fierce, and courageous. in illustration of this it may be remarked, that froissart, when describing the battle of poictiers, says of the black prince, "the prince of wales, who was _as courageous and cruel as a lion_, took great pleasure this day in fighting and chasing his enemies." so our first richard is still popularly known by his martial epithet of coeur de lyon: and that the lion was generally considered the fit emblem of knightly valour is testified by its general adoption on the heraldic shields of the highest ranks of feudal chivalry. the royal house of england displayed three lions, and the king of beasts was supposed to be peculiarly symbolic of their race-- your brother kings and monarchs of the earth do all expect that you should rouse yourself as did the former lions of your blood. shakspere's henry v. act i. scene . in the following chapter the author proceeds to describe "how the french party began first to offend, and break the truce." this truce had been concluded at tours on the th of may . the french are stated to have transgressed it first by capturing certain english merchant-men on the sea; and next by taking as prisoners various persons who bore allegiance to the english king. of such are enumerated sir giles son of the duke of bretagne[ ]; sir simon morhier, the {iii} provost of paris, taken at dieppe[ ]; one mansel an esquire, taken on the road between rouen and dieppe, in january - [ ]; and the lord fauconberg, taken at pont de l'arche on the th may .[ ] the writer is careful to state that these acts of aggression on the part of the french, or some of them, were committed "before the taking of fugiers," for it was by that action that the english party had really brought themselves into difficulty.[ ] there is next discussed (p. ) "a question of great charge and weight, whether it be lawful to make war upon christian blood." this is determined upon the authority of a book entitled the tree of batailes, a work which had evidently already acquired considerable popularity whilst still circulated in manuscript only, {iv} and which so far retained its reputation when books began to be multiplied by the printing-press as to be reproduced on several occasions. our author frequently recurs to it, but his references do not agree with the book as it now remains; and it is remarkable that he attributes it, not to honoré bonnet its real author,[ ] but to one dame christine, whom he describes (see his note in p. ) as an inmate of the house of religious ladies at passy near paris. it would seem, therefore, that he made use of a somewhat different book, though probably founded on the celebrated work of honoré bonnet. the fact of wars sometimes originating from motives of mere rivalry or revenge prompts the writer or commentator (whose insertions i have distinguished as proceeding from a "second hand,") to introduce some remarks on the inveterate and mortal enmity that had prevailed between the houses of burgundy and orleans, which led to so many acts of cruelty and violence at the beginning of the fifteenth century. king edward is next reminded "how saint louis exhorted and counselled his son to move no war against christian people;" but, notwithstanding that blessed king's counsel,[ ] it is declared on the other hand that "it is notarily and openly {v} known through all christian realms that our adverse party hath moved and excited war and battles both by land and sea against this noble realm without any justice or title, and without ways of peace showed; and consequently it might be without note of tiranny for the king of england to defend (or drive away) those assailants upon his true title, and to put himself in devoir to conquer his rightful inheritance." the writer then bursts forth into a passionate exhortation to the english nation, to remember their ancient prowess, the annals of which he proceeds to set forth in several subsequent chapters. he enumerates the examples of king arthur, of brennus, edmond ironside, william the conqueror, henry the first, his brother robert elect king of jerusalem, fulke earl of anjou, richard coeur de lyon, philip dieudonné of france, edward the first, and richard earl of cornwall and emperor of almaine. he rehearses how edward the third had the victory at the battle of scluse, gat caen by assault, won the field at the great and dolorous battle of cressy, captured david king of scots and charles duke of bretany, and took calais by siege; how edward prince of wales made john king of france prisoner at poictiers; and how the battle of nazar was fought in spain. in the following chapter it is related how king henry the fifth conquered normandy; under which head a particular account is given of the defence of harfleur against the power of france. here it is that the name of sir john fastolfe is first introduced as an authority, in respect to a circumstance of that siege, which is, that the watchmen availed themselves of the assistance of mastiffs--"and as for wache and ward yn the wynter nyghtys i herd the seyd ser johan fastolfe sey that every man kepyng the scout wache had a masty hound at a lyes (_or_ leash), to barke and warne yff ony adverse partye were commyng to the dykes or to aproche the towne for to scale yt." the chapter concludes with a mention of the battle of agincourt and the marriage of king henry to the french king's daughter. the following chapters (pp. et seq.) contain how in the time of john duke of bedford, who was for thirteen years regent of france, the victory of cravant was obtained by his lieutenant the earl of salisbury; how the duke in his own person won the battle of verneuil in perche; how that the greater part of the county of mayne, and the city of mauns, with many other castles, were brought {vi} into subjection; and how that henry the sixth, by the might of great lords, was crowned king in paris; after which the writer bursts forth into another exhortation, or "courageous recomforting" of the "valiauntnes of englishemen." the author now flies off (p. ) to more remote examples, to the noblesse of that vaillant knight hector of troy, to the deeds in arms of agamemnon the puissaunt king of greece, and to those of ulysses and hercules. he recites, from the book of vegetius on military tactics,[ ] how a conqueror should especially practise three things,--the first, a scientific prudence or caution: the second, exercitacion and usage in deeds of arms: and the third, a diligent regard to the welfare of his people. he next argues how men of noblesse ought to leave sensualities and delights. in the following chapters (p. et seq.), he sets forth the king's title to the duchy of normandy, to the inheritance of anjou, maine, and touraine, and to the duchies of gascoigne and guienne. the "historier" proceedeth (p. ) in his matter of exhortation, strengthening his arguments by the heterogeneous authority of master alanus de auriga, of "the clerke of eloquence tullius," of caton, the famous poet ovid, and walter malexander. the work of the first of these authors, alain chartier, seems to have been at once the source from which many of our author's materials were derived, and also to have furnished the key-note upon which he endeavoured to pitch his {vii} appeals to the patriotism and prowess of his countrymen. alain chartier[ ] had been secretary to king charles the seventh, and wrote his quadrilogue[ ] in the year , in defence of the native party in france, and in opposition to the english usurpation. our author imitates his rhapsodical eloquence, and borrows some of his verbal artillery and munitions of war, whilst he turns them against the party of their original deviser. in the subsequent pages several anecdotes are derived from alain chartier[ ]; and further advice is drawn from the arbre des batailles (pp. , ), and from the treatise of vegetius (p. ). it is related (p. ) how king john lost the duchy of normandy for lack of finaunce to wage his soldiers; and next follows (p. ) a long and important chapter recounting the various truces made between the kings of england and france, and showing how frequently they had been broken by the french party, to the decay of the english power, except when revived by the victories of edward the third and henry the fifth. this part of the discussion is concluded with a representation (p. ) of the lamentable condition of the french subjects of the english crown, when put out of their lands and tenements. "heh allas! (thei did crie,) and woo be the tyme (they saide) that ever we shulde put affiaunce and trust to the frenshe partie or theire allies in any trewes-keping, considering so many-folde tymes we have ben deceived and myschevid thoroughe suche dissimuled trewes!" yet, notwithstanding all these discouragements, a confident trust is expressed that the inheritance of france will at length be brought to its true and right estate. the writer then proposes (p. ) a question to be resolved by divines, how be {viii} it that at some times god suffereth the party that hath a true title and right to be overcome, yet for all that a man should not be discouraged from pursuing his right. he mentions the last unfortunate overthrow sustained at formigny[ ] in , and the consequent loss of guienne and bordeaux. after which follows (p. ) "another exhortation of the historier," addressed to the "highe and myghtifulle prince, king of englonde and of france, and alle y^e other noble princes and other puissaunt lordes and nobles of divers astates olde or yong." a brief recommendation ensues of the deeds in arms of that mightiful prince of renommee henry the fifth and the three full mighty and noble princes his brethren; where, in the commendation of humphrey duke of gloucester, the second hand has inserted a note of his "bokys yovyng, as yt ys seyd to the value of m^l marks, of the vij sciences, of dyvinite, as of law spirituall and cyvyle, to the universite of oxford." allusion is made (p. ) to the order of the garter, "founded (as yt ys seyd) in token of worship that he being in bataile, what fortune fille, shulde not voide the feeld, but abide the fortune that god lust sende;" of which fellowship sir john chandos, seneschal of poictou, had been a right noble exemplar. the historical reminiscences of the author then again lead him on to the disastrous period during which the continental possessions of england had been lost, "within the space of one year and fourteen (fifteen) weeks, that is to wete, from the xv. day of may in the year unto the xv. day of august in the year , that every castle, fortress, and town defensable of the said duchies were delivered up by force or composition to the adverse party." after a break (p. ), in consequence of the loss of a leaf of the manuscript, we find ourselves in the midst of a discussion of the merits of astrology. the author addresses himself to combat the prevalent confidence in prophecies and in the influence of the stars: "which judgments (he avers) be not necessarily true;" but merely contingent or likely, and, he adds, "as likely not to be as to be." for if, he puts the case, "a constellation or a prophecy signified that such a year or within {ix} such a time there should fall war, pestilence, or dearth of vitaile to a country or region, or privation of a country, it is said but dispositively, and not of necessity or certainty; for then it should follow that the prophecies, constellations, and influence of the stars were masters over god's power, and that would soune to a heresy, or else to a great error." after this pious determination upon a question that at that period presented great difficulties, the author adds, that he believed god to have bestowed that sovereignty upon man's soul, that, having a clean soul, he might even turn the judgment of constellations or prophecies to the contrary disposition: to which effect he quotes the bold assertion of the famous astrologian ptolemy, _quod homo sapiens dominatur astris._ with these sentiments, rising superior to the general prejudices of the age, our author proceeds confidently to censure the moral causes of the recent calamities, which in his judgment had ensued "for lak of prudence and politique governaunce in dew time provided," and from "havyng no consideracion to the comon wele, but rather to magnifie and enriche one silfe by singler covetise, using to take gret rewardis and suffering extorcions over the pore peple." on this subject he subsequently speaks still more plainly. this leads him to reflect upon the fate of many realms and countries that had been ruined by sin and misgovernance: as the old bretons were, when driven out of england by the saxons into cornwall and wales. "and where (he exclaims[ ]) is nynnyve, the gret cite of thre daies? and babilon, the gret toure, inhabited now withe wilde bestis? the citeis of troy and thebes, ij. grete magnified citeis? also athenes, that was the welle of connyng and of wisdom?" carthage, "the victorioux cite of gret renomme," had been burnt to ashes by the romans. rome {x} herself had for the greater part been overthrown; and jerusalem had shared the like fate. in the succeeding portions of his work the compiler takes much of his matter from roman history: which he derives from the decades of titus livius, either directly, or through the medium of the "tree of batailes." tullius and cato are also repeatedly cited. it is unnecessary to notice here all the historical anecdotes thus introduced, as they will at once be seen on turning over the pages; but attention should be directed to one of the most remarkable passages in the book, in which the writer quotes the sentiments of "myne autor," sir john fastolfe:-- "i hafe herd myne autor fastolfe sey, when he had yong knyghtys and nobles at his solasse (_i.e._ tuition), how that there be twey maner condicions of manly men, and one ys a manlye man called, another ys a hardye man; but he sayd the manlye man ys more to be comended, more then the hardy man; for the hardy man that sodenly, bethout discrecion of gode avysement, avauncyth hym yn the felde to be hadde couragiouse, and wyth grete aventur he scapyth, voidith the felde allone, but he levyth his felyshyp detrussed (or disordered). and the manly man, hys policie ys that (if) he avaunce hym and hys felyshyp at skirmish or sodeyn racountre, he wulle so discretely avaunce hym that he wulle entend [_i.e._ be sure] to hafe the over-hand of hys adversarye, and safe hymself and hys felyshyp." it was thus that the experienced captain sir john fastolfe distinguished between the rashly daring and those who bravely embarked on some feasible and well conceived exploit. it is evident that the term "hardy" was then sometimes understood in the sense we now call fool-hardy.[ ] the author himself uses the word "fool-hardiesse" in p. . {xi} at p. will be found another anecdote of sir john fastolfe. it shows that the writer had access to those books of accompt which sir john had kept when a captain in france. "i fynde (he says) by his bookes of hys purveonds how yn every castell, forteresse, and cyte or towne, he wolde hafe grete providence of vitaille, of cornys, of larde, and beoffes, of stok physsh and saltfysh owt of england commyng by shyppes." it was because of his good management in this respect that the regent and lords of the council intrusted so many castles to his custody that he yearly had under his command three hundred spears (or mounted men-at-arms) with their attendants. also in like manner he purveyed yearly for his soldiers a livery of red and white; and equipments sufficient for any naked man that was able to do the king and regent service. the good result of this provision was manifested on a memorable occasion, when the duke of exeter was captain of the city of paris, and fastolfe captain of the bastille of st. anthoine. it happened, in consequence of the arrest of the lord de lisle adam,[ ] a favourite with the commons of the city, that they suddenly took arms, and rebelled against the duke of exeter, who found it necessary to repair to the bastille for his defence. {xii} at his coming the first question he asked of fastolfe was how far he was furnished with corn, with wheat, beans, peasen, and aveyn for horse-meat, and with other vitail. fastolfe replied, with sufficient for a half-year or more: which gave the prince great "comfort," or re-assurance. so he made ready his ordnance, and discharged the great guns amongst the rebels, with mighty shot of arrows: by which means, and because the french king and queen, who were in the city, also held against the rebels, the burgesses were in a short time constrained to submit to the mercy of the duke of exeter.[ ] at p. occurs a curious chapter in the praise of agriculture, or "labourage of the londe" as it is there termed, illustrated by a description of the gardens and herbers of king cyrus. but the most important portion of the whole work, in an historical point of view, is the chapter commencing at p. , intended to inforce the wisdom and necessity of making just pay to soldiers, for eschewing of great inconveniences that may otherwise insue. it is here admitted that in this respect there had been more neglect in the english possessions in france than was elsewhere known[ ]: {xiii} that in consequence the people had suffered great oppression from the soldiers taking their vitail without payment, and that such abuses had continued unchecked for ten or twelve years previously to the country being lost. our author advises that the chieftains and captains should be duly paid their wages, either monthly, as had been usual during the time of the regent bedford, or quarterly, and that without any reward of courtesy, bribe, defalcation, or abridgment, or any undue assignation; and that such payments be made content without delay, or long and great pursuit. it appears from the writer's statements, that the royal officers, deputies, and commissioners had not only been guilty of the practices thus denounced, but that those officers themselves had been needlessly numerous, living as they did upon bribery and extortion, and neglecting the exercise of arms necessary for the defence and protection of the territory. oftentimes they had wasted of the subjects'[ ] livelode more than was necessary, and oftentimes had suffered them to be menaced and beaten, and mischieved their beasts with their weapons, so that they were nigh out of their wits for sorrow, and thus enforced "for duresse" to forsake the title and laws of their english sovereign. moreover, they had been so often grievously surcharged with paying of tasques, tails (or tolls), subsidies, and impositions, besides their rents paid either to the crown or their landlords, and many of them dwelling upon the marches having also patised (or compounded?) to the adverse party in order to dwell in rest, that these innumerable charges and divers torments had effected their uttermost undoing. the author cannot quit these reflections without this passionate appeal to the almighty: "oh god! which art most mercifulle and highest juge, soverein and just, how maist thou long suffre this (misery) regnyng without the stroke of vengeaunce and ponisshement commyng upon the depryvyng or yelding up of that dukedom?" the next chapter (p. ) appears to intimate that the writer personally sympathised in the degradation of the clergy. "moreover, (he exclaims,) in way of gret pitee, and in the worship of god, suffre ye not the prelates of the chirche of that lande, as archebisshoppis, bisshoppis, abbatis, priours, denes, archedenes, and their ministrours, to be oppressid, revaled, ne vileyned, as in your predecessour's {xiv} daies they have been accepted in fulle litelle reverence or obedience;" having as he alleges been privily coerced to give to the rulers, governors, and masters of the marches and countries great fees, wages, and rewards, for permission to live at rest upon their livelodes. and oftentimes they were visited by strangers of great estate, both spiritual and temporal, and particularly by those intrusted with the administration of the laws, besides other needless people that wasted and surcharged them, an exaction beyond the intent of their foundation, which was merely to maintain their appointed numbers, praying for their founders, and to feed the poor and needy in case of necessity. the following chapter (p. ) is a remarkable one in respect to ancient chivalric usages. it sets forth "how lordis sonnes and noble men of birthe, for the defense of her londe, shulde exercise hem in armes lernyng." it is urged that "the sonnes of princes, of lordis, and for the most part of alle tho that ben comen and descendid of noble bloode, as of auncien knightis, esquiers, and other auncient gentille men, while they ben of grene age, (should be) drawen forthe, norisshed, and excercised in disciplines, doctrine, and usage of scole of armes, as using justis, to renne with speer, handle withe ax, sworde, dagger, and alle othir defensible wepyn, to wrestling, to skeping, leping, and rennyng, to make hem hardie, deliver, and wele brethed;" ... "and not to be unkonnyng, abashed, ne astonied for to take entrepresis, to answer or deliver a gentilman that desires in worship to doo armes in liestis, (either) to the utteraunce or to certein pointis, or in a quarelle rightful to fight," or in time of war to defend their sovereign and his realm. such was the ancient custom of the kings both of france and of england: as especially of king edward the third, and of henry duke of lancaster. that chivalrous knight, who was accounted "a chief auctour and foundour in law of armes," had (as the writer was told by sir john fastolfe) sent to him from princes and lords of strange regions, as out of spain, aragon, portugal, navarre, and france, their children, young knights, "to be doctrined, lerned, and brought up in his noble court, in scole of armes, and for to see noblesse, curtesie, and worship." this useful custom had been maintained by other noble princes and lords of great birth; but now of late days, (continues our author,) the greater pity is! many that be descended of noble blood and born to arms, as the sons of knights and esquires and of other gentle blood, set themselves to "singuler practik" and to "straunge facultees," as to learn "the practique of law or custom of lands, or of civil matier," and so waste greatly their time in such needless business, as to undertake the holding of manorial courts, to keep and bear out a proud {xv} countenance at the holding of sessions and shire-motes,[ ] and "there to embrace[ ] and rule among youre pore and symple comyns of bestialle contenaunce that lust to lyve in rest." and it is added, that whoever could put himself forward as a ruler in such matters, was, "as the worlde goithe now," more esteemed among all estates than he who had expended thirty or forty years of his life in great jeopardies in the conquests and wars of his sovereign. the author pursues the argument at greater length, as the reader will find, and expresses his decided opinion that the high-born personages in question should rather learn to be good men of arms, chieftains, or captains in the field, than to be a captain or ruler at a sessions or shire-day; leaving such matters to the king's justices and officers,[ ] and that "suche singuler practik shulde not be accustumed and occupied undewly with suche men that be come of noble birthe,"--except (it is added on second thoughts) he be the younger brother, having not whereof to live honestly. the following chapter (p. ) discusses "how officers of the law shulde be {xvi} chosen, welle disposid and temperate men, vertuous in condicion, and they to be protectid by lordis and noble men of birthe." there is nothing however in this chapter so remarkable as in that which has preceded. the author next shows (p. ) "how over gret cost and pomp in clothing shulde be eschewed;" in which respect he asserts that in france "alle costius arraiementis of clothing, garmentis, and bobauncees, and the usaige of pellure and furres they have expresselie put away:" whilst in england the like "costues arraymentis and disguising of clothing, of so many divers facion," had caused impoverishing of the land, and excited great pride, envy, and wrath amongst the people. whether this was truly a national grievance may be doubted. it is, however, more probable that the "pore comyns" of england had really suffered, as set forth in the succeeding chapter (p. ), "gret hurt and inconvenientis because the creditours have not been duelie paid of here lonys and prestis made to high sovereins." this, it is stated, had been oftentimes the case in the reign of henry the sixth. they had advanced loans, "prests of vitails and other merchandise," of which the payment was so long delayed that great part of their property was previously expended, and they were sometimes fain to defalke and release part of their dues, in order to recover the rest. as an alternative for this inconvenience the writer recommends a course that would scarcely have proved more efficacious. "let your riche tresours (he advises the king) be spradde and put abrode, both juellis (and) vesselle of golde and silver, among youre true subgettis, and inespecialle to the helpe and avauncement of youre conquest, and to the relief of your indigent and nedie peple, and inespecialle to tho that have lost theire londis, livelode, and goode in the werres, so that the saide tresoure may be put forthe, and late it be set in money to the remedie and socoure of this gret importunyte and necessite, and to the defens of youre roiaume from your adversaries." in another chapter (p. ), having recommended the king, "after the blessed counceile of saint louis," to cherish and favour the good cities and towns, the author pursues the former argument of raising supplies, urgently exhorting all classes to strain their utmost for that object. "youre saide citesins and burgeis and good comyns if they be tendred shalbe of power and of good courage, and wille withe here bodies and goodes largelie depart to be yoven for to resist the adversaries." those who had not able bodies nor usage in arms, were yet to come forth with a good courage, spiritual men as well as temporal, and, as true englishmen should do, "every man put forthe of his goodes after that his power is." with this strain the epistle terminates, its last chapter (p. ) being an illustration of the same argument from the _punica bella_ of titus livius, consisting of {xvii} "a noble history of the largesse of romaynys, how amplye they departed ther godes yn a tym of urgent necessite, to make an armee yn to the contree of auffrique." these final passages of the book, which so urgently recommend a voluntary contribution in aid of the intended war, were certainly written in the year , with which date the whole composition concludes: for it is recorded by the historians of the day that it was on this occasion that king edward the fourth, after he had already raised all the supplies he could obtain by the ordinary methods of taxation, adopted the new device of a contribution nominally voluntary and its amount optional, and therefore termed a benevolence,[ ] but which eventually, when repeated, was regarded with peculiar repugnance and discontent. after this review of the contents of the work, we will proceed to notice the circumstances of the occasion for which it was professedly composed. the english invasion of france in the year originated in the events of and . the temporary deposition of edward the fourth from his throne had been abetted by the aid which the king-making earl of warwick derived from that forger of all mischief louis the eleventh of france. at that time edward took refuge with his brother-in-law the duke of burgundy, a man as ambitious of aggrandisement as king louis, but whose disposition instigated him to pursue it by the more ordinary path of martial enterprise. his enmity to the king of france was bitter and inveterate; and it doubtless formed the topic of much of his discourse with the exiled english monarch. edward, on his part, vowed an ample revenge when the forces of england should be again at his command: and the result was a mutual understanding between these princes to prosecute their common quarrel at the earliest opportunity. having this object in view, edward summoned a parliament[ ] in the autumn {xviii} of , in order to obtain the requisite supplies; and on the last day of november an act was passed whereby the commons granted to the king a force of , archers (the like number which had been granted to his predecessor in the st year of his reign[ ]), assigning as their motives for so doing, that "for the wele and suerte of this your reame inward, and the defence of the same outeward, to assiste youre roiall astate, ye verraily entendyng, in youre princely and knightly corage, with all diligence to youre highnes possible, all your bodely ease leyde apart, to resiste the seid confedered malice of youre and oure seide ennemyes, in setting outeward a myghty armee, able by the helpe of god to resiste the seid ennemyes." the archers were to abide in the king's service by the space of a year, each receiving the pay of six pence a day; and the commons granted for their support a disme, or tenth part of the income from lands, tenements, and possessions of every temporal person, not being a lord of parliament: but, if the said army held not before the feast of saint michael in , the grant was to be void, and the money repaid. [ ] the lords spiritual and temporal made a similar grant, on the consideration "that the kyng oure soverayn lord is disposed by the grace of god in his owne persone to passe forth of this his seid reame with an armee roiall, for the saufegarde of the same reame, and the subduyng of the auncien ennemyes of hym and of his seid reame."[ ] in the next session, on the th april , the commons granted to the king a fifteenth and a tenth, because, among other causes, "that ye verraily entend, as we understond, to aredye youre self, by all measnes to you possible, in youre moost noble persone to goo, departe, and passe with an arme roiall to the parties outward, to subdue by the myght of god youre and oure auncien enemyes, to the weele of you and prosperite of this youre reame."[ ] notwithstanding these earnest intentions and costly preparations, the season of wore away without any embarkation for france; and, at the close of the session on the st of february - , the chancellor, by the king's command, informed the commons that the parliament was prorogued to the th of may following,[ ] "because in the matter of foreign war the king was not certainly {xix} informed of the disposition of his brother of burgundy, and on that account he had lately sent his ambassadors to his said brother." the treaty with burgundy was concluded in july . the principal documents[ ] respecting it bear date on the th of that month, on which day they were ratified both by king edward and duke charles. the former undertook to land in normandy, or in other parts of france, with more than ten thousand men, before the st of july following (_i.e._ ); and the latter agreed to support the king's part in person and with his forces, in order to accomplish the recovery of the duchies of normandy and aquitaine, and the kingdom and crown of france, from louis, then unjustly occupying them. the king engaged not to treat with louis, without the consent of the duke of burgundy; and the duke in like manner covenanted not to treat with him without the consent of king edward. henceforth louis was to be deemed and proclaimed their common enemy. by further articles, dated on the next following day, the contracting parties agreed that, when either of them waged war, they should have liberty to demand from the other aid to the amount of six thousand armed men; which were to be paid at the expense of the party requiring them, unless the war were in his own defence, in which case he was to pay only three fifths, and the other party two fifths of the soldiers' wages. by a further treaty, also dated on the th july , king edward ceded to the duke of burgundy the duchy of barr, the counties of champagne, nevers, rethelle, eu, and guise, the barony of douzi, the cities of tournay and lingon, with their dependencies, the castle and town of picquigny, all the towns and lordships on either side the somme before pledged to him, and further all the lands and lordships then possessed by louis de {xx} luxemburgh count of st. paul: retaining no feudal sovereignty over the same, but conceding that the duke and his successors should in future be esteemed as the sovereign princes thereof. it was further agreed that edward should be crowned and anointed king of france at rheims, notwithstanding that the county of champagne was ceded to the duke of burgundy. from this time the whole military population of england made constant and earnest preparation for hostilities. they were retained by indenture to serve the king for a whole year in his duchy of normandy and realm of france, each receiving the wages assigned to their respective ranks. these were,--to a duke xiij s. iiij d. by the day, to an earl vj s. viij d., to a baron or banneret iiij s., to a knight ij s., to a man at arms xij d. by the day and vj d. more as of reward, and to an archer vj d. by the day.[ ] {xxi} in december proclamations were made throughout england for all bowyers and fletchers to pursue their labours with the utmost haste and diligence, the latter to make only "shefe arrowes;" and purveyors were sent into several circuits to superintend the delivery of their supplies.[ ] other commissions were issued for impressing into the king's service carpenters, wheelers, cartwrights, masons, smiths, plumbers, and other artificers; and also for taking all ships of the burden of sixteen tons and upwards, for the transport of the army.[ ] for all these expenses the large sums already voted by the lords and commons in parliament, together with those granted by the clergy in their convocation, were not sufficient. it was then that recourse was had to the collections called benevolences, to which allusion has been already made, from their being so strongly advocated by the author of the boke of noblesse. the process by which they were first brought into operation is thus described by fabyan the london chronicler: "he sent for the mayer of london and his brethren the aldermen, and them severally examined and exorted to ayde and assyst hym towarde the sayd great journaye; of whiche the maier (robert drope, draper,) for his parte granted xxxli. and the aldermen some xx marke, and the leest xli. and that done he sent for all the thryfty commoners within the sayd cytie, and theym exortyd in lyke maner, whiche for the more partye granted to hym the wages of halfe a man for a yere, the whiche amounted to iiijli. xjs. iijd. and after that he rode about the more part of the lande, and used the people in suche fayre maner, that he reysed therby notable summes of money, the whiche way of the levyinge of this money was after named a benevolence." "but here (adds the chronicler hall on this subject) i wil not let passe a prety conceyt that happened in this gathering, in the which you shall not onely note the humilitie of a kyng, but more the fantasie of a woman. kyng edward had called before hym a wydow, muche aboundynge in substance, and no lesse grown in yeres, of whome he merely demaunded what she gladly woulde geve him towarde his greate charges. by my treuth, (quod she,) for thy lovely countenance thou shalt have even xxl. the kyng, lokyng scarce for the halfe of that summe, {xxii} thanked her, and lovingly kyst her. whether the flavor of his brethe did so comfort her stommacke, or she estemed the kysse of a kynge so precious a juell, she swore incontinently that he should have xxl. more, which she with the same will payed that she offered it. "the kynge, willing to shew that this benefite was to hym much acceptable, and not worthy to be put in oblivion, called this graunt of money a benevolence, notwithstanding that many with grudge and malevolence gave great summes toward that new-founde benevolence. but the using of such gentill fashions toward them, wyth frendly prayer of their assistance in his necessitie, so tempted theim, that they could not otherwise do, but frankely and frely yelde and geve hym a reasonable reward." in the spring of the season for the campaign had at length arrived; and on the st of may proclamation was made that all "the lordes and capitaignes" who were retained for the army should muster at portsdown in the county of southampton on the th of the same month.[ ] john lord dynham, by letters patent dated the th of april, was appointed to conduct the army across the sea.[ ] the transport of the army to calais occupied the greater part of the month of june. the king, having left london on the th of that month,[ ] proceeded towards the coast through the county of kent. on the th and th he was at canterbury, and on the th at sandwich, where on that day he made his will,[ ] and executed the instruments by which he constituted his son edward prince of wales to be custos and lieutenant of the kingdom during his absence.[ ] there was still some further delay, and the king appears not to have crossed the channel until the th of july,[ ] just one month after his quitting london. the king was accompanied in this expedition by his two brothers, the dukes of clarence and gloucester, by the dukes of suffolk and norfolk, the marquess of {xxiii} dorset, the earls of northumberland, rivers, and pembroke, the earl of ormond, the earl of douglas, and lord boyd, the barons grey of ruthyn, scrope, grey of codnor, stanley, hastings, ferrers, howard, lisle, and probably others[ ]; together with a long train of knights, among whom were sir thomas mountgomery and sir ralph hastings bannerets and knights for the king's body, sir john astley a banneret, sir john parre a knight for the body, sir william parre, and sir richard tunstall. when the king had landed at calais his sister the duchess of burgundy came thither to welcome him, on the th of july. she was followed by the duke her husband on the th; at which time the duchess was at st. omer's with her brothers the dukes of clarence and gloucester. on the th the sovereigns of england and burgundy went together to the castle of guisnes, where the duke was entertained at king edward's expense, as he had been at calais.[ ] {xxiv} meanwhile, (relates molinet,) "the army spread itself through the neighbouring countries, numbering about twenty-two thousand men in the king's pay, of which the archers were badly mounted, and little used to go on horseback. the english were then inflated with high expectations, and thought that france might well tremble before them. they brought a new engine of artillery in the form of a carriage, which required, to put it in action, more than fifty horses, and it was calculated to make at every stroke breaches both deep and wide. many of the english, who were natives of the duchies of guienne and normandy, brought with them the deeds of purchase, and registrations duly sealed, of the inheritances and rents that they used to possess in those duchies before their expulsion, looking forward to recover their title and enjoyment thereof. "the king (continues the same chronicler) drew his army towards fauquenbergh, where he raised the richest tent ever seen; then he moved on rousseauville, and stayed for two nights in the place where king henry, the father of his predecessor, had obtained a glorious victory over the french, in the year --_i.e._ at agincourt; from thence he marched to blangy, and from blangy towards peronne. supplies came to his army from the countries and lordships of the duke of burgundy. the english repeatedly passed and repassed the river somme; and the duke of burgundy, in person departing from valenciennes, (where he had been honourably received, and where many pageants had been exhibited and performed before him in compliment to the king of england and himself,) came to view the army of the english, whom he caused to march and countermarch at his orders, to show his desire to lead them. the duke and king edward, who then kept the field, held a conference for the space of three hours. a dove was observed to remain on the king's tent for a whole day and a half[ ]: and after its departure there {xxv} followed a terrible thunder-storm, which did great damage to the army, by the hail stones which fell, as large as walnuts. from that day forward the english were in trouble enough, and began to murmur, saying that the king had kept badly the promises that had been made to them. the time passed away without anything being accomplished. the duke of burgundy parted from them, and went to lorraine, where he had left part of his forces, to conquer the duchy and county of vaudemont." our own historians have not discoursed at any length of the campaign made in france on this occasion. it has not offered to them the attractions of a creci, a poictiers, or an agincourt; nor even presented any minor achievement that might have inspired their eloquence or stimulated their researches. its laurels in fact withered under the wily diplomacy of louis the eleventh; and, besides the chapter of molinet from which the preceding passages have been taken, it is in the pages of that monarch's vivid biographer, philippe de commines, that we are most fully informed of its transactions. its results were entirely in correspondence with the personal characteristics of the three sovereigns concerned. the obstinate self-will of charles the rash, the luxurious indolence of king edward, and the timid but crafty time-serving of louis the eleventh, all contributed to work out their natural effects. when the english began to land in france, the duke of burgundy, already engaged in warfare with the german princes, was besieging the town of neuss, upon the rhine; and, until he could effect his object there, he would not be persuaded to leave the spot, although other projects of far greater political importance were now at stake. commines states that "the lord scales (meaning anthony then earl rivers, the king's brother-in-law,) was sent twice, with several other ambassadors, to the duke[ ]; but the duke was perverse, as if god almighty had infatuated his senses and understanding; for all his life long he had been labouring to get the english over to invade france, and now, when they were ready, and all things prepared to receive them both in bretagne and elsewhere, he obstinately persisted in an enterprise in which it was impossible for him to succeed." {xxvi} there was an apostolic legate at that time with the emperor, and the king of denmark was quartered in the same neighbourhood, and they both endeavoured to negociate a peace, by which means the duke of burgundy might, if he would, have had honourable terms, and thus have been free to join the king of england, but he would not accept their overtures. to the english he excused himself as plausibly as he could, telling them that his honour was engaged, and it would be a lessening to his reputation to raise the siege of neuss, with other like excuses. "the englishmen (adds the historian) were not the same who had flourished in his father's days, and had conducted themselves with so much valour and skill in the old wars with france; but these were all raw soldiers, utterly unacquainted with french affairs; so that the duke acted very unwisely, if he had any design to make a future use of them, for in that case he ought to have led them on, as it were step by step, at least during the first campaign." the earliest bad consequence that resulted to the duke of burgundy from his lingering at the seige of neuss, was the loss of the three towns of montdidier, roye, and corbie, which were taken by the king of france, shortly after the termination of his truce with burgundy, which expired on the st of may . still the duke would not quit the siege of neuss before the th of june. in the meanwhile, king edward landed at calais. his army is described by commines as "the most numerous, the best mounted, and the best equipped, that ever any king of england had invaded france withal. he was attended by all the lords of england, with few exceptions. he had men of arms, richly accoutred after the french fashion, well mounted, and most of them barded,[ ] and every one of them had several persons on horseback in his retinue. the archers were , , all on horseback; besides a great number of footmen, and others to pitch the tents and pavilions, take care of the artillery, and inclose the camp; and there was not one varlet in the whole army. there was besides a body of men who were to be landed in bretagne." after these particulars, commines repeats his censures of the duke of burgundy's infatuated conduct, in throwing away that advantage of english aid, which he had been labouring all his life to procure. he ought (it is remarked) to have known that it was necessary for him to have made at least one campaign with the english, in order to have instructed them in the method of the french wars; for, though no nation is more raw or undisciplined than the english on their first coming over, yet a little time makes them excellent soldiers, equally brave and skilful. but the duke's conduct was just the reverse; and, among other {xxvii} disadvantages which ensued, the season was almost lost, and his own army so worn out and diminished, that he was ashamed they should be seen, for he had lost before neuss of his soldiers, the very flower of his army. the english were, however, assisted in the transport of their horses by the duke of burgundy providing them five hundred flat-bottomed vessels of holland and zeeland; yet, notwithstanding that large number, and all the vessels king edward could procure from his own ports, the passage of his forces occupied more than three weeks: "from whence one may observe (remarks commines) with what amazing difficulty the kings of england transport their armies into france; and, if the king of france had understood maritime affairs as well as he did those of the land, king edward would never have crossed over, at least that year; but king louis had no skill in naval matters, and those to whom he committed his authority knew less of them than himself; yet one of our men-of-war, belonging to eu, took two or three of their transports. "before the king of england embarked from dover, he sent one of his heralds, named garter, who was a native of normandy,[ ] to the king of france, with a letter of defiance, written in such an elegant style, and in such polite language, that i can scarcely believe any englishman indited it. the contents were, that our king should surrender france to the king of england, as his right and inheritance, to the end that he might restore the church, the nobility, and the people to their ancient liberty, and relieve them from the great oppression and burthens they groaned under; and, if king louis refused, it was declared that all the ensuing miseries and calamities would lie at his door, according to the forms usual upon such occasions. "the king of france read the letter to himself, and then, withdrawing into another room, commanded the herald to be called in; to whom he said,--i am very sensible that your master has not made this invasion of his own seeking, but at the importunity of the duke of burgundy and the commons of england. he then remarked that the season was visibly far spent, and that the duke of burgundy {xxviii} had returned from neuss in so weak and miserable a condition, that he would not be in a capacity to assist the invaders; that, as to the constable,[ ] he was satisfied he held intelligence with the king of england, who had married his niece,[ ] but there was no confidence to be reposed in him, for he would deceive king edward, as he had often deceived himself; and, after enumerating the favours which he had conferred upon him, louis added, 'his plan is to live in eternal dissimulation, to traffic with everybody, and to make his advantage of all.' besides these, the king used several other arguments to induce the herald to persuade his master to an accommodation with him, giving him crowns with his own hand, and promising him more upon the conclusion of the peace; and afterwards, in public, his majesty ordered him to be rewarded with a fine piece of crimson velvet, thirty ells in length. "the herald replied, that, according to his capacity, he would contribute all that lay in his power towards a peace, and he believed his master would be glad to entertain the proposal; but nothing could be done until he was landed in france, and then, if king louis pleased, he might send a herald to desire a passport for his ambassadors, if he had a mind to send any to king edward; but withal garter desired the king to address letters to the lords howard or stanley,[ ] and also to himself, that he might introduce the french herald. "there was a host of people attending outside during the king's private discourse with the herald, all of them impatient to hear what the king would say, and to see how his majesty looked when he came forth. when he had done, (continues commines,) he called me, and charged me to entertain the herald till he {xxix} ordered him an escort, that i might keep him from talking privately with anybody; he commanded me likewise to give him a piece of crimson velvet of thirty ells, which i did. after which the king addressed himself to the rest of the company, giving them an account of the letters of defiance; and, having called seven or eight of them apart, he ordered the letters to be read aloud, showing himself very cheerful and valiant, without the least sign of fear in the world; for indeed he was much revived by what he had learned from the herald." when the duke of burgundy first came to wait on the king of england at calais, he was attended only by a small retinue,[ ] having dismissed his army into the countries of barrois and lorraine to plunder and refresh themselves (the duke of lorraine having declared himself his enemy). the english had expected him to have joined them at their landing with at least men at arms, well provided, and a considerable body of horse and foot; and that he should have opened the campaign in france three months before their descent, when they might have found king louis already harassed with the war and in great distress. king edward (by the stages already described from molinet,) marched to peronne, a town belonging to the duke of burgundy. the english, however, except in small companies, were not received within its gates, but they formed their encampment in the adjacent fields.[ ] at this place a messenger arrived from the constable of france, bringing letters both for the duke and the king.[ ] to the former he made strong professions of friendship and service, declaring that he would assist him and his allies, and particularly the king of england, against all persons and princes whatever. in his letter to king edward he referred his good-meaning to the duke of burgundy's testimony. the duke communicated also to the king the contents of his own letter from the constable, somewhat exaggerating them, and assuring edward that the constable would receive him into the town of st. quentin, and all the other towns under his control; and king edward really believed it, because he had married the constable's niece, and he thought him so terribly afraid of the king of france, that he would not venture to break his promise to the duke and himself. nor was the duke of burgundy less credulous than king edward. {xxx} but neither the perplexities of the constable, nor his dread of the king of france, had as yet carried him so far; his design was only to wheedle and amuse them (according to his custom), and suggest to them such plausible reasons as might prevail with them not to force him to declare himself openly. "the king of england and his nobility (remarks commines,) were not so well skilled in artifice and subtlety as the lords of france, but went more bluntly and ingenuously about their business; so that they were not so sharp at discovering the intrigues and deceptions common on this side of the water. the english that have never travelled are naturally headstrong, as the people generally are in all cold countries." commines next relates how the english, when they attempted to occupy the town of st. quentin, were driven off with the loss of some killed and others taken prisoners; and how on the following morning the duke of burgundy took his leave of king edward, in order to return to his forces in barrois, pretending he would do great feats for the english; but the english, being naturally of a jealous temper, novices on this side of the water, and astonished at this kind of proceeding, began to entertain an ill opinion of their ally, and were not satisfied he had any army at all; besides, the duke of burgundy could not reconcile them to the constable's manner of receiving them, though he endeavoured to persuade them all was well, and that what was done would turn to their advantage; but all the duke of burgundy's arguments did not pacify them, and, being disheartened at the approach of winter, they seemed by their expressions to be more inclinable to peace than war. meanwhile, king louis was thinking upon the suggestions which had been made to him by garter king of arms; and a message he received from the lords howard and stanley by a dismissed prisoner determined him to put them in action. with the assistance of commines, he tutored a clever servant to act as a herald, equipping him for the occasion in a coat of arms formed from the banner of a trumpeter,--for king louis was not so stately nor so vain as to maintain a herald in his train as other princes did. the man was sent off to the english camp, where, on his arrival, he was immediately conducted to the tent of king edward. being asked his business, he said he was come with a message from the king of france to the king of england, and had orders to address himself to the lords howard and stanley. he was taken into a tent to dinner, and very gently entertained. when king edward had dined, he sent for the herald, who then said that his errand was to acquaint his majesty that the king of france had long desired to be at amity with him, that {xxxi} both their kingdoms might be at ease, and enjoy the blessings of peace; that, since his accession to the crown of france, he had never made war or attempted anything against king edward or his kingdom; and, as for having formerly entertained the earl of warwick, he had done that more from opposition to the duke of burgundy than from any quarrel with the king of england. he next proceeded to represent that the duke of burgundy had invited king edward over, only in order to make his own terms the better with france; and, if others had joined with him, it was to secure themselves against their former offences, or to advance their private objects; which when they had once compassed, they would not regard the interests of the king of england, provided they had attained their own ends. he represented likewise the lateness of the season, that winter was approaching, that his master was sensible of the great charges king edward had been at, and that he knew that in england there were many, both of the nobility and merchants, who were desirous of a war on this side of the water; yet, if the king should be inclined to a treaty, his master would not refuse to come to such terms as should be agreeable both to himself and to his subjects; and if the king of england had a mind to be more particularly informed of these matters, on his giving a passport for horse, his master would send ambassadors to him with full instructions: or, if king edward should prefer to depute certain commissioners, king louis would gladly consent to that arrangement, and send them a passport to hold a conference in some village between the two armies. the king of england and part of his nobility were extremely pleased with these proposals; a passport was given to the herald according to his request, and, having been rewarded with four nobles in money, he was attended by a herald from the king of england to obtain the king of france's passport in the same form as the other; which being given, the next morning the commissioners met in a village near amiens. on the part of the king of france, there were the bastard of bourbon admiral of france, the lord of st. pierre, and the bishop of evreux. on the king of england's side, there were the lord howard, doctor morton then master of the rolls and afterwards archbishop of canterbury, william dudley dean of the king's chapel, and thomas selynger.[ ] many overtures passed between these negociators. the english at first demanded, according to their custom, the crown of france; and then gradually fell to normandy and guienne. the french commissioners replied as became them; so that the demands were well urged on the one side, and well refused on the other: yet, from the very first day {xxxii} of the treaty there was great prospect of an accommodation, for both parties seemed very inclinable to hearken to reasonable proposals. king louis was exceedingly pleased when matters had taken this favourable turn, and he employed all his arts to bring the negociation to a peaceful termination. he sent every hour to entertain and wheedle the treacherous constable, and prevent him from doing any harm. he resolved to raise without delay the money required to buy off the invaders,[ ] declaring that he would do any thing in the world to get the king of england out of france, except putting any towns into his possession, for, rather than do that, which had been suggested by the constable, he would hazard all. the conclusion of the terms of the treaty was made on the th of august, king edward being then "in his felde beside a village called seyntre,[ ] within vermondose, a litell from peronne," attended by his brothers the dukes of clarence and gloucester, the dukes of norfolk and suffolk, the bishop of lincoln his chancellor, the marquess of dorset, the earls of northumberland, riviers, and pembroke, the lords grey de ruthyn, scrope, grey of codnor, stanley, hastings, ferrers, howard, the earl douglas, lord lisle, the master of the rolls, the dean of the king's chapel, the deans of wells and westminster, sir thomas mountgomery, sir thomas borough, sir william parre, sir richard tunstall, thomas selynger, and john elkyngton treasurer of the king's wars; most of whom signed the public declaration[ ] of the king's determination, which is stated to have been founded on these three considerations,--"the povertie of his armyes, the nygh approachyng of wynter, and small assistance of his allies." it was at the same time agreed, that the two kings should have an interview, and swear mutually to the performance of certain articles; after which the king of england should return to his own country, upon the receipt of , crowns (as stated by commines, but the amount finally settled was , ), leaving the lord howard and sir john cheyne as hostages until his arrival in england. in addition, pensions amounting to , crowns were promised to the privy councillors {xxxiii} of the king of england, viz. to the lord hastings[ ] crowns a-year, to the chancellor (rotherham) , and the remainder to the lord howard, the master of the horse (cheyne), thomas st. leger, sir thomas mountgomery, and several others, besides a great deal of ready money and plate[ ] that was distributed among the rest of the king of england's retinue. louis contrived to carry his corruption through every grade of his adversaries. he purchased from one of the english secretaries for sixty silver marks two letters which had been addressed by the seigneur d'urfé, who was then in the duke of bretagne's service, (and afterwards master of the horse of france,) one directed to the king of england, and the other to the lord hastings, lord chamberlain of england. they were shown to commines, who noticed in them this, among other expressions, that the duke of bretagne would do more by his intelligence in a month, than the king of england and the duke of burgundy both, with all the force they could make. the duke of burgundy, who was then at luxembourg, having intimation of these negociations, came in great haste to the king of england, attended only with sixteen horse.[ ] king edward was much surprised at his unexpected arrival, and inquired what it was that had brought him, for he saw by his countenance that he was angry. the duke told him that he came to talk with him. the king of england asked whether it should be in public or private? then the duke demanded whether he had made a peace? the king replied, that he had made a truce for nine years, in which the duke of bretagne and himself were {xxxiv} comprehended,[ ] and his desire was that they should accept of that comprehension. the duke fell into a violent passion, and in english, a language that he spoke very well, began to recount the glorious achievements of edward's predecessors on the throne of england, who had formerly invaded france, and how they had spared no pains, nor refused any danger, that might render them famous, and gain them immortal honour and renown abroad. then he inveighed against the truce, and told the king he had not invited the english over into france out of any necessity he had of their assistance, but only to put them in a way of recovering their own right and inheritance; and, to convince them he could subsist without their alliance, he was resolved not to make use of the truce until the king had been three months in england. having unburthened himself in this manner, the duke took his leave, and returned to luxembourg. the king of england and his council were extremely irritated by his language, but others who were adverse to the peace highly extolled it. but, however dissatisfied the duke was with the truce, the constable of france had cause to be still more so: for, having deceived all parties, he could expect nothing but inevitable ruin. he made one more attempt to ingratiate himself with king edward, by offering him the towns of eu and st. valery for winter quarters, and a loan of , crowns; but king louis immediately received intimation of this, and at once ordered the two towns to be burned. king edward returned to the constable this answer, "that the truce was already concluded, and could not be altered; but, had the constable performed his former promise (as to the town of st. quentin), the truce would never have been made." this answer stung the constable to the very soul, and made him desperate on all sides. in order to bring the treaty to a conclusion, king edward advanced within half a league of amiens; and the king of france, being upon one of the gates of the city, (where he had arrived on the d of august,) viewed from a distance the english army marching up. "speaking impartially, (continues commines,) the troops seemed but raw and unused to action in the field; for they were in very ill order, and observed no manner of discipline. our king sent the king of england cartloads[ ] of the best wines in france as a present, and i think the {xxxv} carts made as great a show as the whole english army. upon the strength of the truce, numbers of the english came into the town, where they behaved themselves very imprudently, and without the least regard to their prince's honour; for they entered the streets all armed, and in great companies, so that if the king of france could have dispensed with his oath, never was there so favourable an opportunity of cutting off a considerable number of them; but his majesty's design was only to entertain them nobly, and to settle a firm and lasting peace, that might endure during his reign. the king had ordered two long tables to be placed on either side the street, at the entrance of the town gate, which were covered with a variety of good dishes of all sorts of viands most likely to relish their wine, of which there was great plenty, and of the richest that france could produce, with a troop of servants to wait on them; but not a drop of water was drank. at each of the tables the king had placed five or six boon companions, persons of rank and condition, to entertain those who had a mind to take a hearty glass, amongst whom were the lord of craon, the lord of briquebec, the lord of bressure, the lord of villiers, and several others. as the english came up to the gate, they saw what was prepared, and there were persons appointed on purpose to take their horses by the bridles and lead them to the tables, where every man was treated handsomely, as he came in his turn, to their very great satisfaction. when they had once entered the town, wherever they went, or whatever they called for, nothing was to be paid; there were nine or ten taverns liberally furnished with all that they wanted, the french king bearing all the costs of that entertainment, which lasted three or four days." on childermas day (the th of august[ ]) the license of the english visitors had grown to such a height, that it was. estimated that there were at least of them in the town. the councillors of louis were alarmed, and although on that day the superstitious monarch never spoke upon business, nor allowed any one else to address him thereon, but took it as an ill omen, commines was induced to disturb his devotions, in order to inform him of the state of affairs. the king commanded him immediately to get on horseback, and endeavour to speak with some of the english captains of note, to persuade them to order their troops to retire, and if he met any of the french captains to send them to him, for he {xxxvi} would be at the gate as soon as commines. commines met three or four english commanders of his acquaintance, and spoke to them according to the king's directions; but for one man that they directed to leave the town, there were twenty that came in. in company with the lord of gié (afterwards maréchal of france) commines went into a tavern, where, though it was not yet one o'clock, there had already been a hundred and eleven reckonings that morning. the house was filled with company; some were singing, others were asleep, and all were drunk; upon observing which circumstance, commines concluded there was no danger, and sent to inform the king of it; who came immediately to the gate, well attended, having commanded or men at arms to be harnessed privately in their captains' houses, some of whom he posted at the gate by which the english entered. the king then ordered his dinner to be brought to the porter's lodgings at the gate, where he dined, and did several english captains the honour of admitting them to dinner with him. the king of england had been informed of this disorder, and was much ashamed of it, and sent to the king of france to desire him to admit no more of his soldiers into the town. the king of france sent him word back he would not do that, but if the king of england pleased to send a party of his own guards thither, the gate should be delivered up to their charge, and they then might let in or shut out whomever they pleased, which was done accordingly. in order to bring the whole affair to a conclusion, consultation was now taken for the place that might be most convenient for the proposed interview between the two kings, and commissioners were appointed to survey it,--the lord du bouchage and commines on the french part, and the lord howard, thomas st. leger, and a herald on the english. upon taking view of the river, they agreed upon picquigny, where the somme is neither wide nor fordable. on the one side, by which king louis would approach, was a fine open country; and on the other side it was the same, only when king edward came to the river, he was obliged to traverse a causeway about two bow-shots in length, with marshes on both sides, "which might (remarks commines) have produced very dangerous consequences to the english, if our intentions had not been honourable. and certainly, as i have said before, the english do not manage their treaties and capitulations with so much cunning and policy as the french do, let people say what they will, but proceed more openly, and with greater straightforwardness; yet a man must be careful, and take heed not to affront them, for it is dangerous meddling with them." when the place of meeting was settled, the next business was to build a bridge, {xxxvii} which was done by french carpenters. the bridge was large and strong, and in the midst was contrived a massive wooden lattice, such as lions' cages were made with, every aperture between the bars being no wider than to admit a man's arm; at the top were merely boards to keep off the rain, and the area was large enough to contain ten or twelve men on a side, the bars running full out to either side of the bridge, to hinder any person from passing either to the one side or the other. for passage across the river there was provided only one small boat, rowed by two men. the incident in french history which suggested these extraordinary precautions had occurred fifty-six years before; when, at a similar meeting upon a bridge at montereau fault yonne, john duke of burgundy and his attendants were treacherously slaughtered in the presence of charles the seventh (then dauphin), in revenge for the murder of louis duke of orleans. in the barricade of that fatal bridge there was a wicket, which the duke himself incautiously opened; a circumstance which the timid louis well remembered, and he now repeated the story to commines, and expressly commanded that there should be no such doorway. when the bridge at picquigny was ready, the interview between the two kings took place on the th of august . the description which commines gives of it is highly graphic and interesting: "the king of france came first, attended by about men of arms. on the king of england's side, his whole army was drawn up in battle array; and, though we could not ascertain their total force, yet we saw such a vast number both of horse and foot, that the body of troops which was with us seemed very inconsiderable in comparison with them; but indeed the fourth part of our army was not there. it was arranged that twelve men of a side were to attend each of the kings at the interview, and they were already chosen from among their greatest and most trusty courtiers. we had with us four of the king of england's retinue to view what was done among us, and they had as many of ours, on their side, to have an eye over their actions. as i said before, our king came first to the barriers, attended by twelve persons, among whom were john duke of bourbon and the cardinal his brother.[ ] it was the king's pleasure (according to his old and frequent custom) that i should be dressed like him that day.[ ]" {xxxviii} "the king of england advanced along the causeway very nobly attended, with the air and presence of a king." commines recognised in his train his brother the duke of clarence, the earl of northumberland, his chamberlain the lord hastings, his chancellor, and other peers of the realm; "among whom there were not above three or four dressed in cloth of gold like himself. the king wore a black velvet cap upon his head, and on it a large fleur-de-lis made of precious stones--[probably as a compliment to the french king]. he was a prince of a noble and majestic presence, but a little inclining to corpulence. i had seen him before when the earl of warwick drove him out of his kingdom, in [ ]; then i thought him much handsomer, and, to the best of my remembrance, my eyes had never beheld a more handsome person. when he came within a little distance of the barrier he pulled off his cap, and bowed himself within half a foot of the ground; and the king of france, who was then leaning against the barrier, received him with abundance of reverence and respect. they embraced through the apertures of the barriers, and, the king of england making him another low bow, the king of france saluted him thus, 'cousin, you are heartily welcome! there is no person living i was so desirous of seeing; and god be thanked that this interview is upon so good an occasion.' king edward returned the compliment in very good french[ ]." {xxxix} "then the chancellor of england (who was a prelate, and bishop of lincoln) began his speech with a prophecy (with which the english are always provided), that at picquigny a memorable peace was to be concluded between the english and french. after he had finished his harangue, the instrument was produced containing the articles which the king of france had sent to the king of england. the chancellor demanded of the king, whether he had dictated the said articles? and whether he agreed to them? the king replied, yes; and when king edward's letters were produced on our side, he made the like answer. the missal being then brought and opened, both the kings laid one of their hands upon the book, and the other upon the holy true cross, and both of them swore religiously to observe the contents of the truce. "this solemnity performed, king louis (who had always words at command) told king edward in a jocular way that he should be glad to see him at paris, and that if he would come and divert himself with the ladies, he would assign the cardinal of bourbon for his confessor, who he knew would willingly absolve him if he should commit any peccadillo in the way of love and gallantry. king edward was extremely pleased with his raillery, and made him many good repartees, for he was aware that the cardinal was a gay man with the ladies, and a boon companion. "after some further discourse to this purpose, the french king, to shew his authority, commanded those who attended him to withdraw, for he had a mind to have a little private discourse with the king of england. they obeyed; and those who were with king edward, seeing the french retire, did the same, without waiting to be commanded. after the two kings had conversed together alone for some time, our master (continues commines) called me to him, and asked the king {xl} of england whether he knew me. king edward said that he did, naming the places where he had seen me, and told the king that i had formerly endeavoured to serve him at calais, when i was in the duke of burgundy's service. the king of france demanded, if the duke of burgundy refused to be comprehended in the treaty--as might be suspected from his obstinate answer--what the king of england would have him do? the king of england replied, he would offer it to him a second time, and, if he then refused it, he would not concern himself any further, but leave it entirely to themselves. by degrees king louis came to mention the duke of bretagne, who was really the person he aimed at in the question, and made the same demand as to him. the king of england desired that he would not attempt anything against the duke of bretagne, for in his distress he had never found so true and faithful a friend. louis then pressed him no further, but, recalling the company, took his leave of king edward[ ] in the politest and most flattering terms imaginable, and saluted all his attendants with especial courtesy; whereupon both monarchs at the same time retired from the barrier, and, mounting on horseback, the king of france returned to amiens, and the king of england to his army. king edward was supplied from the french household with whatever he required, to the very torches and candles." by the treaty thus concluded king edward engaged to return to england with his army so soon as king louis had paid him the sum of , crowns. a truce for seven years was concluded between the two sovereigns; and they mutually undertook to assist each other in case either prince should be attacked by his enemies or by his rebellious subjects; and, to make this alliance still closer, charles the son of louis was to wed the princess elizabeth, king edward's eldest daughter, so soon as they were both of marriageable age. by the fourth and last article, the king of france engaged to pay annually to the king of england, in two instalments, the sum of , crowns. commines states that the duke of gloucester, king edward's younger brother, and some other englishmen of high rank, being averse to the treaty, were not present at the interview; though (he adds) they afterwards recollected themselves, and the duke of gloucester waited upon king louis at amiens, where he was splendidly entertained, and received noble presents both of plate and of fine horses. {xli} the chronicler jean de molinet also mentions the duke of gloucester's disapproval of the peace, although, as we have seen, he had signed the preliminary articles of agreement on the th of august. it is by no means inconsistent with the aspiring character of richard duke of gloucester--who at this period was not twenty-three years of age--that he should have affected to place himself at the head of the more martial and chivalrous party of the english nobility, and that commines had good information of his policy in that respect. the same delightful historian, who, not content with barren facts, confidentially introduces his readers into the secret motives and reflections of the actors in his story, supplies some remarkable particulars of the sentiments of his master king louis on the result of this memorable interview, which form as it were the finishing touches of his picture. whilst louis was riding back to amiens, he expressed his misgivings upon two incidents in what had passed. one was that the king of england had so readily caught at the idea of visiting paris. "he is (said louis,) a handsome prince, a great admirer of the ladies, and who knows but that he might find one of them at paris, who would say so many pretty things to him, as to make him desirous to come again? his ancestors have been too often in paris and normandy already; and i do not care for his company so near, though on the other side of the water i shall be ready to esteem him as my friend and brother." louis was also displeased to find the english king so resolute in relation to the duke of bretagne, upon whom he would fain have made war; and to that purpose he made him further overtures by the lord de bouchage and the lord de st. pierre; but when edward found himself pressed, he gave them this short but honourable answer, that if any one invaded the duke of bretagne's dominions he would cross the sea again in his defence. upon which the french king importuned him no more. when louis was arrived at amiens, and was ready to go to supper, three or four of the english lords, who had attended upon the king of england at the interview, came to sup with his majesty; and one of them, the lord howard, told the king in his ear that, if he desired it, he would readily find a way to bring the king his master to him to amiens, and perhaps to paris too, to be merry with him. though this proposition was not in the least agreeable to louis, yet he dissembled the matter pretty well, and began washing his hands, without giving a direct answer; but he whispered to commines, and said that what he had dreaded was really coming to pass. after supper the subject was renewed, but the king then put it off with the greatest quietness and tact {xlii} imaginable, alleging that his expedition against the duke of burgundy would require his departure immediately. thus, (as our pleasant friend remarks,) though these affairs were of the highest moment, and required the gravest caution to manage them discreetly, yet they were not unattended by some agreeable incidents that deserve to be related to posterity. nor ought any man to wonder, considering the great mischiefs which the english had brought upon the kingdom of france, and the freshness of their date, that the king should incur so much trouble and expense to send them home in an amicable manner, and endeavour to make them his friends for the future, or at least divert them from being his enemies. the next day the english came into amiens in great numbers, and some of them reported that the holy ghost had made the peace, producing some prophecy in support of the assertion: but their greatest proof was that during the interview a white dove came and sat upon the king of england's tent, and could not be frightened away by any noise they could make. the less superstitious, however, explained the incident more rationally; a shower having fallen, and the sun afterwards shining out very warm, when the pigeon, finding that tent higher than the others, came thither to dry herself. this was the explanation given to commines by a gascon gentleman named louis de bretailles,[ ] who was in the king of england's service. this gentleman was one of those who saw further than others into the state of affairs, and, being an old acquaintance of commines, he privately {xliii} expressed his opinion that the french were making sport of the king of england. during the conversation, commines asked him how many battles king edward had fought. he answered nine, and that he had been in every one of them in person. commines then asked how many he had lost. bretailles replied, never but one; and that was this, in which the french had outwitted him now; for in his opinion the ignominy of king edward's returning so soon after such vast preparations, would be a greater disgrace and stain to his reputation than all the honour he had achieved in his nine previous victories. commines repeated this smart answer to his master, who replied, he is a shrewd fellow, i warrant him, and we must have a care of his tongue. the next day louis sent for him, had him to dinner at his own table, and made him very advantageous proposals, if he would quit his master's service, and live in france; but, finding he was not to be prevailed upon, he presented him with a thousand crowns, and promised he would do great matters for his brothers in france. upon his going away, commines whispered him in his ear, and desired him to employ his good offices to continue and propagate that love and good understanding which was so happily begun between the two kings. though louis could scarcely conceal his delight and self-gratulation at the success of his policy, yet his timidity was continually revived when he imagined that he had dropped any expressions that might reach the ears of the english, and make them suspect that he had overreached and deluded them. on the morning following the interview, being alone in his closet with only three or four of his attendants, he began to droll and jest upon the wines and presents which he had sent into the english camp, but, turning suddenly round, he became aware of the presence of a gascon merchant who lived in england, and was come to solicit license to export a certain quantity of bordeaux wines without paying the duties. louis was startled at seeing him, and wondered how he had gained admission. the king asked him of what town in guienne he was, whether he was a merchant, and whether married in england. the man replied yes, he had a wife in england, but what estate he had there was but small. before he went away, the king appointed one to go with him to bordeaux, and commines had also some talk with him, by his majesty's express command. louis conferred on him a considerable post of employment in his native town, granted him exemption from duty {xliv} for his wines, and gave him a thousand francs to bring his wife over from england, but he was to send his brother for her, and not go personally to fetch her; and all these penalties the king imposed upon himself for having indulged in too great freedom of speech. as soon as king edward had received his money, and delivered the lord howard and sir john cheyne as hostages until he was landed in england, he retired towards calais by long and hasty marches, for he was suspicious of the duke of burgundy's anger, and the vengeance of the peasants; and, indeed, if any of his soldiers straggled, some of them were sure to be knocked on the head. "uppon the xxviijth daye of septembre folowynge he was with great tryumphe receyved of the mayor and cytezeyns of london at blakheth, and with all honoure by theym conveyed thorugh the cytie unto westmynster, the mayer and aldermen beynge clade in scarlet, and the commoners to the nombre of v c. in murrey."[ ] the treacherous constable of france again turning round, in order if possible to recover his lost favour with his own sovereign,[ ] sent a messenger to louis, offering to persuade the duke of burgundy to join his forces with the king's, and destroy the king of england and his whole army on their return. but this last shift of the baffled traitor only contributed to confirm his ruin. king edward communicated to louis (probably before this offer) two letters which the constable had addressed to him, and related all the proposals he had from time to time made; so that his three-fold treasons were revealed to all the princes with whose rival interests he had endeavoured to play his own game, and they were all alike provoked to join in his destruction. louis contemplated his punishment with the bitterest animosity. when he received the overture above stated, there were only in his presence the lord {xlv} howard the english hostage, the lord de coutay, who was newly returned from an embassy to the duke of burgundy, the lord du lude, and commines, which two had been employed to receive the constable's messenger. the king, calling for one of his secretaries, dictated a letter to the constable, acquainting him with what had been transacted the day before in relation to the truce; and adding that at that instant he had weighty affairs upon his hands, and wanted such a head as his to finish them. then turning to the english nobleman and to the lord de coutay, he said, "i do not mean his body. i would have his head with me, and his body where it is." after the letter had been read, louis delivered it to rapine the constable's messenger, who was mightily pleased with it, and took it as a great compliment in the king to write that he wanted such a head as his master's, for he did not perceive the ambiguity and sting of the expression. we are now arrived at the closing reflections of commines upon the course which events had taken in france at this memorable crisis. "at the beginning of our affairs with the english, you may remember that the king of england had no great inclination to make his descent; and as soon as he came to dover, and before his embarkation there, he entered into a sort of treaty with us. but that which prevailed with him to transport his army to calais was first the solicitation of the duke of burgundy, and the natural animosity of the english against the french, which has existed in all ages; and next to reserve to himself a great part of the money which had been liberally granted him for that expedition; for, as you have already heard, the kings of england live upon their own demesne revenue, and can raise no taxes but under the pretence of invading france. besides, the king had another stratagem by which to content his subjects; for he had brought with him ten or twelve citizens of london, and other towns in england, all fat and jolly, the leaders of the english commons, of great power in their countries, such as had promoted the wars and had been very serviceable in raising that powerful army. the king ordered very fine tents to be made for them, in which they lay; but, that not being the kind of living they had been used to, they soon began to grow weary of the campaign, for they expected they should come to an engagement within three days of their landing, and the king multiplied their fears and exaggerated the dangers of the war, on purpose that they might be better satisfied with a peace, and aid him to quiet the murmurs of the people upon his return to england; for, since king arthur's days, never king of england invaded france with so great a number of the nobility and such a formidable army. but, as you have heard, he returned immediately into england upon the conclusion of the peace, and then reserved for his own private use the {xlvi} greater part of the money that had been raised to pay the army; so that, in reality, he accomplished most of the designs he had in view. king edward was not of a complexion or turn of mind to endure much hardship and labour, and such any king of england must encounter who designs to make any considerable conquest in france. besides, our king was in a tolerable posture of defence, though he was not so well prepared in all respects as he ought to have been, by reason of the variety and multitude of his enemies. another great object with the king of england was the arrangement of a marriage between our present king charles the eighth and his daughter; and this alliance, causing him to wink at several things, was a material advantage to our master's affairs. "king louis himself was very desirous to obtain a general peace. the vast numbers of the english had put him into great alarm; he had seen enough of their exploits in his time in his kingdom, and he had no wish to witness any more of them." when louis went to meet the duke of burgundy's plenipotentiaries at a bridge half-way between avesnes and vervins, he took the english hostages with him, and they were present when he gave audience to the burgundians. "one of them then told commines that, if they had seen many such men of the duke of burgundy's before, perhaps the peace had not been concluded so soon. the vîcomte of narbonne, (afterwards comte of foix,) overhearing him, replied, 'could you be so weak as to believe that the duke of burgundy had not great numbers of such soldiers? he had only sent them into quarters of refreshment; but you were in such haste to be at home again, that six hundred pipes of wine and a pension from our king sent you presently back into england.' the englishman was irritated, and answered with much warmth, 'i plainly see, as everybody said, that you have done nothing but cheat us. but do you call the money your king has given us a pension? it is a tribute; and, by saint george! you may prate so much as will bring us back again to prove it.' i interrupted their altercation, and turned it into a jest; but the englishman would not understand it so, and i informed the king of it, and his majesty was much offended with the vîcomte of narbonne." king edward, being highly disgusted with the duke of burgundy's rejection of his truce, and his subsequent offer to make a distinct peace with the king of france, despatched a great favourite of his, named sir thomas mountgomery, to king louis at vervins, and he arrived whilst the negociation was proceeding with the duke of burgundy's envoys. sir thomas desired, on the behalf of the king his master, that the king of france would not consent to any other truce with the {xlvii} duke than what was already made.[ ] he also pressed louis not to deliver st. quentin into the duke's hands; and, as further encouragement, edward offered to repass the seas in the following spring with a powerful army to assist him, provided his majesty would continue in war against the duke of burgundy, and compensate him for the prejudice he should sustain in his duties upon wool at calais, which would be worth little or nothing in war time, though at other times they were valued at , crowns. he proposed likewise that the king of france should pay one-half of his army, and he would pay the other himself. louis returned edward abundance of thanks, and made sir thomas a present of plate: but as to the continuation of the war, he begged to be excused, for the truce with burgundy was already concluded, and upon the same terms as those which had been already agreed to between them; only the duke of burgundy had pressed urgently to have a separate truce for himself; which circumstance louis excused as well as he could, in order to satisfy the english ambassador, who with this answer returned home, accompanied by the hostages. "the king (adds commines) felt extremely surprised at king edward's offers, which were delivered before me only, and he conceived it would be very dangerous to bring the king of england into france again, for between those two nations, when brought into contact, any trifling accident might raise some new quarrel, and the english might easily make friends again with the duke of burgundy." these considerations greatly forwarded the conclusion of the king of france's treaty with the burgundians. in fact, the duke of burgundy at last overreached his brother-in-law king edward, for he concluded a truce with france for nine years, whilst that of england with france was for seven years only. the duke's ambassadors requested king louis that this truce might not be proclaimed immediately by sound of trumpet, as the usual custom was, for they were anxious to save the duke's oath to king edward (when he swore in his passion that he would not accept of the benefit of the truce until the king had been in england three months), lest edward should think their master had spoken otherwise than he designed. as for edward himself, whatever selfish satisfaction he may have derived from the result of the campaign,--such as commines has already suggested--it must have weakened his popularity both with his nobles and with his people, whilst it terminated the former cordiality that had existed with his brother of burgundy. the king of england had now become the pensioner of france, the great {xlviii} absorbing power of that age, which was soon to swallow up england's nearest and best allies, the duchies of burgundy and britany. the french pension of , crowns was, as commines relates, punctually paid every half-year in the tower of london; and by a treaty made in feb. - it was renewed for the lives of edward and louis, and extended for a hundred years after the death of both princes: which seemed to give it more directly the character of a tribute, a term that commines says the english applied to it, but which the french indignantly repelled. however, after little more than four years longer, it had answered its purpose, and its payment ceased. the english voluptuary then found himself entirely outwitted by the wily frenchman. after the duke of burgundy's death (in ) and that of his only daughter the wife of the archduke maximilian (in ) his grand-daughter margaret of austria was suddenly betrothed to the dauphin, in the place of the lady elizabeth of england. louis caught at this alliance in order to detach the counties of burgundy and artois from the territory of the netherlands, and annex them to the crown of france; and the turbulent citizens of ghent, in whose keeping the children[ ] of their late sovereign lady were, were ready to make this concession, without the concurrence of the children's father, in order to reduce the power of their princes. this infant bride was then only three years and a half old; and had consequently made her appearance on the stage of life subsequently to the dauphin's former contract with the english princess.[ ] commines describes at some length the mortification experienced by king edward when he heard of this alliance,--"finding himself deluded in the hopes he had entertained of marrying his daughter to the dauphin, of which marriage both himself and his queen were more ambitious than of any other in the world, and never would give credit to any man, whether subject or foreigner, that endeavoured to persuade them that our king's intentions were not sincere and honourable. for the parliament (or council) of england had remonstrated to king edward several times, when our king was in picardy, that after he had conquered {xlix} that province he would certainly fall upon calais and guines, which are not far off. the ambassadors from the duke and duchess of austria, as also those from the duke of bretagne, who were continually in england at that time, represented the same thing to him; but to no purpose, for he would believe nothing of it, and he suffered greatly for his incredulity. yet i am entirely of opinion that his conduct proceeded not so much from ignorance as avarice; for he was afraid to lose his pension of fifty thousand crowns, which our master paid him very punctually, and besides he was unwilling to leave his ease and pleasures, to which he was extremely devoted." the enervated temper of edward's latter years is faithfully depicted in the opening lines of one of the best-known works of our great dramatic poet: now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, our bruised arms hung up for monuments; our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, our dreadful marches to delightful measures. grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front, and now, instead of mounting barbed steeds, to fright the souls of fearful adversaries, he capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, to the lascivious pleasing of a lute. _shakspeare's richard the third, act i. sc. ._ in another place commines attributes the death of edward the fourth to the vexation he conceived at the great reverse in his political prospects, which disclosed itself on his loss of the french alliance. this conclusion is probably imaginary, though edward's death certainly occurred whilst the dauphin's new betrothal was in progress. the treaty of arras, by which the arrangement was made, was signed on the d dec. , and the lady margaret was delivered to the french, and met the dauphin at amboise, on the d of june following. king edward died on the intervening th of april, a victim, as is generally thought, to his long course of intemperate living. it is obvious, however, that the failure of the french alliance must have been a very serious loss to edward's family, who were left defenceless on his death, although he had previously contracted his daughters to the heirs of france, scotland, spain, and burgundy. altogether, the ruin of the house of york, if we may credit commines, was the eventual result of the fatal compromise made in the campaign of , and of {l} the enervating and corrupting influences exercised by the french pensions which were then accepted by king edward and his ministers. thenceforward, any hope of recovering the english provinces of france was indefinitely deferred; the very echoes of those martial glories which had once made the english name so dreadful in that country were allowed to die away; the dreams of conquest were dissipated; and the hands of englishmen again turned to internecine contests, which resulted in the total destruction of the royal house of plantagenet, and the ruin of a large proportion of the ancient nobility. the boke of noblesse, after the total failure of those more generous sentiments and aspirations which it was intended to propagate, at once became, what it is now, a mere mirror of by-gone days; and, considering these circumstances, we cannot be surprised that it was never again transcribed, nor found its way to the press. it is with regret that i relinquish to some future more fortunate inquirer the discovery of the author of this composition. the manuscript from which it is printed is certainly not his autograph original; for its great inaccuracy occasionally renders the meaning almost unintelligible. and yet the corrections and insertions, which i have indicated as coming _à secundâ manu_, would seem to belong to the author. i have already, in the first page of this introduction, intimated the possibility of the work having been composed in the lifetime of sir john fastolfe, and merely re-edited, if we may use the term, upon occasion of the projected invasion of france in . there are three circumstances which decidedly connect the book with some dependent of sir john fastolfe:-- . that the writer quotes sir john as "mine autour," or informant, in pp. and , as well as tells other anecdotes which were probably received from his relation. . his having access to sir john's papers or books of account (p. ); and . there being still preserved in the volume, bound up with its fly-leaves, the two letters, probably both addressed to fastolfe, and one of them certainly so, which are printed hereafter, as an appendix to these remarks. sir john fastolfe is not commemorated as having been a patron of literature. in the inventory of his property which is printed in the twentieth volume of the archæologia, no books occur except a few missals, &c. belonging to his chapel. though william of worcestre, now famous for his historical collections, (which have been edited by hearne, nasmith, and dallaway,) was fastolfe's secretary, he was kept in a subordinate position, and valued for his merely clerical, {li} not his literary, services. sir john fastolfe's passion was the acquisition of property; whilst william of worcestre, on his part, followed (as far as he could) the bent of his own taste, and not that of his master; being (as his comrade henry windsore declared) as glad to obtain a good book of french or of poetry as his master fastolfe was to purchase a fair manor.[ ] the translation of cicero de senectute, which was printed by caxton in , is indeed in the preface stated to have been translated by the ordinance and desire of the noble ancient knight sir john fastolfe;[ ] and, though worcestre's name is not mentioned by caxton, we may conclude that it was the same translation which from worcestre's own memoranda we know was made by him.[ ] still, it was but a very slight deference to literature, if the ancient knight approved of his secretary's translating "tully on old age," and did not make any further contribution towards its publication. but on the particular subject of the loss of the english provinces in france, and the causes thereof, there can be no question that sir john fastolfe, the "baron {lii} of sillie le guillem," once governor of anjou and maine, and lord of piron and beaumont, took the deepest interest; considering that he had spent his best days in their acquisition, administration, and defence, and that he was one of the principal sufferers by their loss. he may, therefore, well have promoted the composition of the work now before us. william of worcestre has the reputation of having written a memoir[ ] of the exploits of sir john fastolfe; but this is not traceable beyond the bare assertion of bale, and a more recent misapprehension of the meaning of one of the paston letters. {liii} another person whose name has occurred as having been employed in a literary capacity for sir john fastolfe[ ] is peter basset[ ]; who is commemorated with some parade by bale as an historical writer, but whose writings, though quoted by hall the chronicler, have either disappeared or are no longer to be identified. i have, however, mentioned the names of william of worcestre and peter basset only from the circumstance of their being connected with that of sir john {liv} fastolfe; and not from there being any other presumptive proof that either of them wrote "the boke of noblesse." we have no known production of basset with which to compare it; and as to worcestre his "collectanea" and private memoranda can scarcely assist us in determining what his style might have been had he attempted any such work as the present. altogether, the boke of noblesse is more of a compilation than an original essay. it has apparently largely borrowed from the french; and i have already shown that it was partly derived from former works, though i cannot undertake to say to what extent that was the case. in its general character our book resembles one which was popular in the middle ages, as the _secretum secretorum_, falsely attributed to aristotle,[ ] and which was also known under the title _de regimine principum_. the popularity of this work was so great that ms. copies occur in most of our public libraries, and not less than nine english translations and six french translations are known.[ ] a scots translation by sir gilbert de hay, entitled "_the buke of the governaunce of princis_," is contained in a ms. at abbotsford, accompanying a version of _the tree of batailes_, already noticed in pp. iii. vi. another work of the same class is that of which caxton published (about the year ) a translation entitled _the booke of the ordre of chevalrye or knyghthode_, and of which the scots translation by sir gilbert de hay was printed for the abbotsford club by beriah botfield, esq. in . to his translations of the treatises of cicero on old age and friendship, which caxton printed in , he also appended two "declaracyons," or orations, supposed to be spoken by two noble roman knights before the senate, in order "to know wherein noblesse restith," or, as otherwise expressed in the title-page, "shewing wherin honoure should reste." these imaginary orations were the work of an italian, who styled himself, in latin, banatusius magnomontanus. after a time, the term noblesse, which we here find synonymous with honour, and (in p. xv. _ante_) with chivalry, in the sense of a class or order of society, {lv} became obsolete as an english word. in the former sense, at least, it was changed into our english "nobleness;" and about the year we find published a "book of noblenes," printed by robert wyer, without date.[ ] this work had been translated from latin into french, and "now into english by john larke." i have not seen it, but i imagine it was a far smaller and slighter composition than the present.[ ] ames[ ] mentioned our "boke of noblesse" as a printed work, on the authority of tanner's mss., but this was evidently a misapprehension. it only now remains that i should describe the manuscript, which is preserved in the royal collection at the british museum, and marked b. xxii. it is written in a paper book, which is formed of four quires of paper, each consisting of six sheets, and is of the size of a modern quarto volume. the quires are marked in the lower margin with the signatures of the scribe: the first quire consisting of six sheets, placed within one another, and marked j. ij. iij. iiij. v. vj.; the second also of six sheets, marked .a.i. .a.ij. .a.iij. .a.iiij. .a.v. and .a.vj.; the third, b. . .b. . .b. . .b. . .b. .; the fourth .c. . c. . c. . c. . c. . c. . thus it is seen that the sheet containing the leaf b. . and the attached leaf (b. . as it might be called) is lost: and this loss occasions the defects which will be found in the present volume at p. and p. . in front of the volume are bound three leaves of vellum, on the last of which is fastened a slip of the like material, inscribed, apparently edwarde w [iiij?] wych ys bold on the back of the same leaf is the name of _symond'_ _samson._ at the foot of the first paper leaf is the autograph name of _lumley._ _i. e._ john lord lumley, the son-in-law of the last earl of arundel, into whose {lvi} possession the volume probably came by purchase in the reign of elizabeth or james the first. on the leaf .c. . is the autograph name of _robert savylle_. on the last leaf are many scribblings, and attempts in drawing grotesque heads and figures, apparently done about the time of queen mary. among them occurs again the name of _symeon sampson p._ also those of _richarde dyconson_ and _edward jones of clemente in the jor of_ ---- and these sentences, john twychener ys booke he that stellys thys booke he shall be hangid a pon a hooke and that wylle macke ys necke to brake & that wyll macke ys neck awrye a nyes wiffe & a backe dore makythe } outon tymys a ryche man pore. } in the name of the father of the sonne and the holey gost. so be itt. jhesus nazerinus rex iudior[=u] fillij dei miserere mei. jhesus.) god save the king o^r souu'ain lorde. jhesus nazarinus. god save king p. & mary. o gloryous jesu o mekest jesu o moost sweteste jesu have m'cye on us. quite at the bottom of the page is the name of _edward banyster._ * * * * * letters addressed to sir john fastolfe. (royal ms. b. xxii. f. .) from john appulton, captain of pontdonné and the haye de puis. mon treshonnouré et redoubté sr., toute humble recommendacion primier mise, plaise vous savoir que jay entendu que piecha vous aviez quittie et transporté afin de heritaige a degory gamel vostre terre et seignourie de piron pour le prix de deux mille francs lesquelx il devoit paier a chinq annees enssuit du dit transport, cest assavoir pour la premir ann six cens francs, et le demourant es autres quatres anns ensuit, a chacun par egalle porcion; de la quelle chose j'entens que le dit degory na pas acompli ces termes ne ses {lvii} paiemens, car il nest pas tousjours prest de paier, et est de tel gouvernement que p..... que navez eu que peu de chose de vostre ditte s'rie dempuis quil en a eu le gouvernement. et pour ce, mon treshonnouré et redoubté, janvois grant desir davoir icelle terre afin de heritaige si c'estoit vostre plaisir et volenté. car elle est pres de mes et bien a mon aise. sy vous prie et requier tant humblement comme je puis et comme vostre petit et humble serviteur, qu'il vous pla[ira] que j'aie icelle terre et seigneurie de piron par les prix et condicions dessus desclerés et que l'aviez accordee au dit degory en cas que [sera] vostre plaisir de vous en des faire, et que je la puisse avoir aussi tost que ung autre, et j'en seay a tousjours mais tenu ... car vous estes le seigneur qui vive en monde a qui je suis plus tenu et a qui jay greigno' service, et que elle me soit confe[rmé?] par le roy nostre seigneur tellement que je ny puisse avoir empeschement. et je vous promet que je vous paieray loyalment es termes qui seront assignes sans aucune faulte, et se faulte y avez per moy que le marchie ne fust nul, et sur paine de perdre s ... que jen avoie paié. et sy est ce grant chose pour le present de deux mille francs attendans la guerre qui est a present ou ... a l'occasion de la prinse et perte de la place de grantville. car se remede ny est mis de brief tout le bailliage de costentin est en voie destre destruit, et estre comme le pais de caulx, que dieu ne vueille. car se seroit grant dommaige et grant pitie. et pour ceste cause jenvoie jehan dotton devers vous, qui est vostre serviteur, porteur de ces presentes, auquel jay donné pouvoir et puissance den composer et appointier avecque vous ainsi quil vous plaira, et que regarderez quil sera bon a faire, tout aussi comme se je y estoie present, et lequel vous parlera plus a plain de lestate et gouvernement de vostre ditte seigneurie de piron et comme elle a esté gouvernée. et pour ce que autrefois je vous avoie rescript de vostre terre et seigneurie de beaumont, que jeusse volentiers eue se ceust esté vostre plaisir et volenté, pour ce que ma terre d'asineres est parmys la vostre et joingnent ensemble, et en cas que se ne seroit vostre plaisir que jeusse vostre ditte seigneurie de piron, jentend' encores volentiers a icelle de beaumont, et quil vous pleust la mettre a prix de raison, car je ne scay pas bien que elle peult valloir, mes vous le savez bien, car vous en avez fait fe presn(?) et en avez eu la desclaracion, non obstant que les terres depar de cha sy sen vont en tres grant diminucion pour la cause dessus dict. sy vous plaise de vostre grace a y avoir sur le tout advis, et den faire tant que jen puisse estre tous jours vostre petit et humble serviteur, et comme jay tousjours esté et seray tant que je vivray. et se il vous plaist faire quelque appointe des choses dessus dictes, quil vous plaise a le faire vous mesmes, et que ne menvoiez a raouen ne ailleurs, car les chemins sont trop dangereux, et ne voudroie pas aler a rouen voulentiers pour gaignier deux cens frans. mon treshonnouré et redoubté seigneur, je me recommande a vous tant humblement comme je puis et comme vostre petit et humble serviteur, et se il est chose que faire puisse pour vous, mandez le moy et je l'acompliray de tout mon cuer et volentiers, en priant le saint esprit qu'il soit garde de vous et vous donne bonne vie et longue et acomplisse(ment) de vous nobles desirs. escript a la haie du puis, le derrain jour dé may. {lviii} mon treshonnouré et redoubté seigneur, je vous recommande ma fille qui est demour' veufue, et quil vous plaist qelle soit (en) vostre bonne grace et service, et la conseiller et conforter en tous ses afaires. letout vostre humble serviteur jhon 'appulton, cap(itaine) du pont donne et de la haie du puis. (_directed on the back_,) a mon treshonnouré et tresredoubté sire messire jehan fastouf, chevalier, seigneur de piron et de beaumont en normendie. from the bailiffs of winchester.[ ] right worshipfulle sire,--we recommande ws unto you, latyng you wete of howre taryng that we brynge nat hoppe (up) howre money for howre ferme ys for be cawse that we wholde receyve of howre dewte of the cete, and of the awnage sum of xiij. li.; the wheche money we cannat receyve in to the time that we have a wrette to the mayre and to ws ballys, for the cete scholde have of the awnage as easter terme xx. marcs, for that the cete grant(ed) us to howre eryste ferme, and here a pon we tryst; and now the fermeris of the awnage sey it pleynli that the cete schale nat have a peny in to mighelmas terme but zyffe so be that ye sende us a wrytt that we mowe brynge the fermers in to the cheker, and ther to pay ws thys xx. marcs, for we lacke no money but that, for the fermers makit hyrr a skowsce apon the refuson that was thys tyme thre zere, for they fere laste they schold pay agen, and there for they sey it they whole nat pay us no peni but in the cheker, also howre mayre takyt no hede of ws, nother howe whe schal be servyd of the mony, theirefore we pray you sende a wrett down to the mayre and to ws for to brynge ho(ppe, _i.e._ up) howre ferme for the halfe zere, for dowt hyt nat ze schale be as wel payd of ws as zevr (ever) ye w(ere) of zeny men, for in trowyf we pay of howre money more than xiiij. li. no more, but god kepe you. i-wretyn at wynchester the viij. day of may. by the baillifes of wynchester. (to this letter no address is preserved.) * * * * * {lix} additional notes. page liv. _de regimine principum._--sir john paston (temp. edw. iv.) had a copy of this work, which formed part of a volume which he thus described in the catalogue of his library:-- "m^d. my _boke of knyghthode_ and the maner off makyng off knyghts, off justs, off tornaments, ffyghtyng in lystys, paces holden by soldiers and chalenges, statutes off weere, and _de regimine principum_." (paston letters, vol. iii p. .) it is more fully described by william ebesham, the scribe who had written the book, in his bill of accompt, which is also preserved in the same volume, p. :-- "item as to _the grete booke_. "first for wrytyng of the _coronacion_ and other _tretys of knyghthode_ in that quaire, which conteyneth a xiij. levis and more, ij^d. a lefe ij^s. ij^d. "item for the _tretys of werre_ in iiij. books, which conteyneth lx. levis, after ij^d. a leaff x^s. "item for _othea pistill_, which conteyneth xliij. levis vij^s. ij^d. "item for the _chalenges_ and the _acts of armes_, which is xxviij^{ti}. lefs iiij^s. viij^d. "item for _de regimine principum_, which conteyneth xlv^{ti}. leves, after a peny a leef, which is right wele worth iij^s. ix^d. "item for rubriesheyng of all the booke iij^s. iiij^d. the "treatise of knighthood" here mentioned, may probably have resembled _the booke of the ordre of chyvalrye or knyghthode_ printed by caxton (see p. liv.); and the "treatise of war" may have been a version of _the boke of fayttes of armes and of chyvallrye_, which caxton also published from the _arbre de batailes_, &c. as before noticed in p. vi. the "othea pistill" was certainly the same book which passes under the name of christine de pisan, and which was printed at paris by philippe pigouchet, in to, under the title of "_les cent histoires de troye._ lepistre de othea deesse de prudence enuoyee a lesperit cheualereux hector de troye, auec cent hystoires." in every page of this book there is a _texte_ in french verse, and a _glose_ in prose, which agrees exactly with sir john paston's description in his catalogue (where it appears as distinct from ebesham's "great book,") in this entry,--"item, a _book de othea_, text and glose, in quayers." page . _matheu gournay de comitatu somerset._ this personage, whose name has been inserted by the second hand, was a very distinguished warrior in the french wars, and has been supposed to have been the model of the knight in chaucer's canterbury {lx} pilgrims. his epitaph at stoke upon hampden in somersetshire, which has been preserved by leland, describes him as "le noble et vaillant chivaler maheu de gurney, iadys seneschal de landes et capitain du chastel daques por nostre seignor le roy en la duche de guyene, qui en sa vie fu a la batail de beaumarin, et ala apres a la siege dalgezire sur les sarazines, et auxi a les batailles de lescluse, de cressy, de yngenesse, de peyteres, de nazara, dozrey, et a plusiurs autres batailles et asseges, en les quex il gaina noblement graund los et honour per lespece de xxxxiiij et xvj ans, et morust le xxvj jour de septembre, l'an nostre seignor jesu christ mccccvj, que de salme dieux eit mercy. amen." (see records of the house of gournay, by daniel gurney, esq. f.s.a. p. .) page . _sir john fastolfe's victualling of the bastille._ this anecdote is illustrated by the following passage of one of sir john's books of accompt:-- "item, in like wise is owing to the said fastolfe for the keeping and victualling of the bastile of st. anthony in paris, as it appeareth by writing sufficient, and by the creditors of sir john tyrel knight, late treasurer of the king's house, remaining in the exchequer of westminster of record, the sum of xlij li. (paston letters, iii. .) * * * * * { } the boke of noblesse. [ms. reg. b. xxii.] * * * * * the boke of noblesse, compiled to the most hyghe and myghety prince kynge edward the iiij^{the} for the avauncyng and preferryng the comyn publique of the royaumes of england and of fraunce. first, in the worship of the holy trinite, bring to mynde to calle, in the begynnyng of every good work, for grace. and sithe this litille epistle is wrote and entitled to courage and comfort noble men in armes to be in perpetuite of remembraunce for here noble dedis, as right convenient is soo to bee. and as it is specified by auctorite of the noble cenatoure of rome kayus son, in these termes foloweng: "hoc igitur summum est nobilitatis genus, posse majorum suorum egregia facta dicere, posse eorum beneficiis petere honores publicos, posse gloriam rei publicæ hereditario quodam jure vendicare, posse insuper sese eorum partes vocare, et clarissimas in suis vultibus ymagines ostendere. quos enim appellat vulgus nisi quod nobilissimi parentes genuere." de remedio casus reipublicæ. [sidenote: anglorum nacio originem sumpsit ex nacione trojanorum.] [sidenote: nota j^{o}. quod lingua britonum adhuc usitatur in wallia et cornibea, que lingua vocabatur corrupta greca.] here folowethe the evident examples and the resons of comfort for a reformacion to be had uppon the piteous complaintes and dolorous lamentacions made for the right grete outragious and most { } grevous losse of the royaume of fraunce, duchee[gh] of normandie, of gascoyne, and guyen, and also the noble counte of mayne and the erledom of pontife. and for relevyng and geting ayen the said reaume, dukedoms, [and earldoms,] undre correccion of amendement ben shewed the exortacions and mocions, be auctorite, example of actis in armes, bothe by experience and otherwise purposid, meoved and declarid, to corage and comfort the hertis of [the] englisshe nacion, havyng theire first originalle of the nacion of the noble auncient bloode of troy more than m^l. yere before the birthe of crist; in token and profe wherof the auncient langage of the brutes bloode at this day remayneth[ ] bothe in the princedome of walis and in the auncient provynce and dukedom of cornewale, whiche was at tho daies called corrupt greke. [sidenote: ij^{o}. lingua saxonum alias lingua germanorum.] [sidenote: dux cerdicius applicuit in britania tempore regis arthuri, et sic per favorem regis inhabitavit, et . . ex natione grecorum.] and next after the mighty saxons' bloode, otherwise called a provynce in germayne, that the vaileaunt duke cerdicius arrived in this reaume, with whom[ ] arthur, king of the breton bloode, made mighty werre, and suffred hym to inhabit here. and the saxons, as it is writen in berthilmew in his booke of propreteis, also were decendid of the nacion of grekis. [sidenote: iij^{o}. lingua danorum ex nacione grecorum. rex danorum knott conquestum fecit.] and next after came the feers manly danysh nacion, also of grekis bene descendid, that the gret justicer king knowt this land subdued and the saxons' bloode. and sithen the noble normannes, also of the danys nacion, descendid be william conquerour, of whome ye ben lyniallie descendid, subdued this lande. and, last of alle, the victorius bloode of angevyns, by mariage of that puissaunt erle geffry plantagenet, the son and heire of fouke king of jherusalem, be mariage of dame maude, emperes, soule doughter and heire to the king of grete renoune, henry the first of inglond, and into this day lineally descendid in most prowes. and whiche said englisshe nacion ben sore astonyed and dulled { } for the repairing and wynnyng ayen, uppon a new conquest to be hadde for youre verray right and true title in the inheritaunce of the saide reaume of fraunce and the duche of normandie. of whiche duchie, we have in the yere of oure lorde m^l.iiij^cl., lost, as bethyn the space of xv monithes be put out wrongfullie, tho roughe subtile wirkingis conspired and wroughte be the frenshe partie undre the umbre and coloure of trewis late taken betwyxt youre antecessoure king harry the sext then named king, and youre grete adversarie of fraunce charles the vij^{the}. and where as the saide piteous complaintes [and] dolorous lamentacions of youre verray true obeisaunt subjectis for lesing of the said countreis may not be tendrid ne herde, [they] many daies have had but litille comfort, nether the anguisshes, troubles, and divisions here late before in this reaume be cyvyle batailes to be had, may not prevaile them to the repairing and wynnyng of any soche manere outrageous losses to this reaume, whiche hathe thoroughe sodein and variable chaunces of unstedfast fortune so be revaled and overthrow; the tyme of relief and comfort wolde not be despendid ne occupied so: namely with theym whiche that have necessite of relief and socoure of a grettir avauntage and a more profitable remedie for theire avauncement to a new conquest: or by a good tretie of a finalle peace for the recovere of the same: but to folow the counceile of the noble cenatoure of rome boicius in the second prose of his first booke of consolacion seieng _sed medicine_ (inquid) _tempus est_, _quàm querele_. therfor, alle ye lovyng liege men, bothe youre noble alliaunces and frendis, levithe suche idille lamentacions, put away thoughte and gret pensifnes of suche lamentable passions and besinesse, and put ye hem to foryetefulnesse. and doo not away the recordacion of actis and dedis in armes of so many famous and victorious kingis, princes, dukis, erles, barounes, and noble knightis, as of fulle many other worshipfulle men haunting armes, whiche as verray trew martirs and blissid souls have taken theire last ende by werre; { } some woundid and taken prisonneres in so just a title and conquest uppon youre enheritaunce in fraunce and normandie, gasquyn and guyen; and also by the famous king and mighty prince king edward the thrid, first heriter to the said royaume of fraunce, and by prince edwarde his eldist son, and alle his noble bretherin, [who] pursued his title and righte be force of armes, as was of late tyme sithe the yere of crist m^l.iiij^cxv. done, and made a new conquest in conquering bothe the saide reaume of fraunce and duche of normaundie by the prince of blissid memorie king harry the v^{the}. also be the eide of tho thre noble prynces his bretherne and be other of his puissant dukes and lordis, being lieutenaunt[gh] for the werre in that parties, as it is notorily knowen thoroughe alle cristen nacyons, to the gret renomme and[ ] worship of this reaume. how every good man of [worshyp yn[ ]] armes shulde in the werre be resembled to the condicion of a lion. and therfor, in conclusion, every man in hym silf let the passions of dolours be turned and empressid into vyfnes of here spiritis, of egre courages, of manlinesse and feersnesse, after the condicion of the lion resembled in condicions unto; for as ire, egrenesse, and feersnesse is holden for a vertu in the lion, so in like manere the said condicions is taken for a vertue and renomme of worship to alle tho that haunten armes: that so usithe to be egre, feers uppon his advers partie, and not to be lamentable and sorroufulle after a wrong shewed unto theym. and thus withe coragious hertis putting forthe theire prowes in dedis of armes, so that alle worshipfulle men, whiche oughte to be stedfast and holde togider, may be of one intencion, wille, and comon assent to vapour, sprede out, according to the flour delice, and avaunce hem forthe be feernesse of strenght and power to the verray effect and dede ayenst the untrew reproches of oure auncien adversaries halding uppon the frenshe partie, whiche of late tyme by unjust dissimilacions, undre the umbre { } and coloure of trewis and abstinence of werre late hadde and sacred at the cite of tairs the .xxviij. day of maij, the yere of crist of m^l.iiij^cxliiij^{to}. have by intrusion of soche subtile dissimilacion wonne uppon us bethyn v yeres next foloweng withyn the tyme of [the last[ ]] trieux the said reaume and duchees, so that in the meane tyme and sethe contynued forthe the saide trewes from yere to yere, to this land grete charge and cost, till they had conspired and wrought theire avauntage, as it approvethe dailie of experience. and under this they bring assailours uppon this lande and begynneris of the trewis breking. how the frenshe partie began firste to offende and brake the trewis. [sidenote: tempore regis h. vj^{th}.] first by taking of youre shippis and marchaundises upon the see, keping men of noble birthe undre youre predecessoure obedience and divers other true lieges men prisoneris under arest, as that noble and trew knight ser gilis the duke is son of bretaine, whiche for his grete trouthe and love he hadde to this youre royaume warde, ayenst all manhode ungoodely entretid, died in prison. and also before the taking of fugiers ser simon morhier knight, the provost of paris, a lorde also of youre partie and chief of the kingis counceile, take prisoner by deepe and paieng a grete raunson or he was deliverid. and sone after one mauncelle a squier, comyng fro rone, with .xx. parsones in his company, to deepe, pesibly in the monythe of januarij next before the taking of fugiers, were in deepe taken prisoneris wrongfullie undre the umbre of trewis. and sithen the lord faucomberge take prisoner by subtile undew meanys of a cautel taken under safconduct of youre adversarie at pountelarge the xv day of maij, the yere of crist m^l.iiij^cxlix. and also the said forteresse of pountlarge take the said day be right undew meanys taken uppon the said lorde faucomberge contrarie to the said trewis, { } forging here colourable matieris in so detestable unjust quarellis. for reformacion of whiche gret injuries conspired, shewed, and doone, alle ye put to youre handis to this paast and matier. comythe therfor and approchen bothe kyn, affinitees, frendis, subgectis, allies, and alle wellewilleris. now at erst the irnesse be brennyng hote in the fire thoroughe goode courage, the worke is overmoche kindelid and begonne, thoroughe oure dulnesse and sleuthe slommering many day, for be the sheding of the bloode of good cristen people as hathe be done in youre predecessours conquest that now is lost: is said be the wordis of job: criethe and bewailethe in the feelde, frendis and kyn, take heede pitously to your bloode. a question of grete charge and wighte,[ ] meoved first to be determyned, whethir for to make werre uppon cristen bloode is laufulle. [sidenote: : p^{a}] [sidenote: : ij^{da}] [sidenote: : iij^{d}] but first ther wolde be meoved a question, whiche dame cristyn makithe mencion of in the seconde chapitre of the tree of batailles: whethir that werres and batailes meintenyng and using ben laufulle according to justice or no. and the oppinion of many one wolde undrestond that haunting of armes and werre making is not lefull, ne just thing, for asmoche in haunting and using of werre be many infinite[ ] damages and extorsions done, as mourdre, slaugheter, bloode-sheding, depopulacion of contrees, castelles, citees, and townes brennyng, and many suche infinite damages. wherfor it shulde seme that[ ] meintenyng of werre is a cursid deede: not dew to be meyntened. as to this question it[ ] may be answerd that entrepruises and werris taken and founded uppon a just cause and a trew title is suffred of god, for dame cristen seiethe and moevithe, in the first booke of the arbre of bataile, how it is for to have in consideracion why that princes shuld maynteyne werre and use bataile; and the saide dame cristin saiethe v. causes principalle: thre of them { } bene of righte: and the other tweyne of vallente. the first cause is to susteyne right and justice; the second is to withestande alle soche mysdoers the whiche wolde do foule[ ] greif and oppresse the peple of the contre that the kyng or prince is gouvernoure of; the thrid is for to recuver landes, seignories and goodes [that] be other unrightfully ravisshed, taken away be force, or usurped, whiche shulde apperteine to the kyng and prince of the same seignorie, or ellis to whome his subgettys shuld apparteine [and] be meinteined under. and the other tweyne be but of violence, as for to be venged for dammage or griefe done by another; the othir to conquere straunge countrees bethout[ ] any title of righte, as king alexandre conquerid uppon the romayne: whiche tweine last causes, though[ ] the conquest or victorie by violence or by roialle power sownethe worshipfulle in dede of armes, yet ther ought no cristen prince use them. and yet in the first thre causes, before a prince to take an entreprise, it most be done be a just cause, and havyng righte gret deliberacion, by the conduyt and counceile of the most sage approuved men of a reaume or countre that the prince is of: and so for to use it in a just quarelle as[ ] the righte execution of justice requirithe, whiche is one of the principalle iiij. cardinall virtues. and if that using of armes and haunting of werre be doone rather for magnificence, pride, and wilfulnesse, to destroie roiaumes and countreis by roialle gret power, as whan tho that wolde avenge have noo title, but sey _vive le plus fort_, [that] is to sey, let the grettest maistrie have the feelde,-- [in this place the following insertion is made by a second hand in the margin:] lyke as when the duc off burgoyn by cyvyle bataylle by maisterdom expelled the duc of orlyance partie and hys frendis owt of parys cytee the yere of christ m^l.iiij^cxij, and slow many thowsands and[ ] hondredes bethout title of justice, but to revenge a synguler querel betwen both prynces for the dethe of the duc off orlyans, { } slayn yn the vigille of seynt clement by raulyn actovyle of normandie, yn the yeer of crist m^l.iiij^cvij^o. and the bataylle of seynt-clow besyde parys, by the duc of burgoyn with help of capteyns of england owt of england, waged by the seyd duc, was myghtly foughten and had the fielde ayenste theyr adverse partye. albeyt the duc of orlyance waged another armee sone aftyr owt of england to relyeve the ovyrthrow he had at seyntclowe. and the dyvysyon betwene the duc of orlyance and the duc of burgoyn dured yn fraunce continuelly by .xj. yeerday, as to the yeere of crist m^liiij^cxviij, yn wyche yeere phelip duc of burgoyn, a greet frende to the land, was pyteousely slayn at motreaw, and the cyte of parys ayen taken by the burgonons; lord lyseladam pryncipalle capteyn and the erle of armonak conestable sleyn by the comyns the seyd yere. (_end of the insertion._) in soche undew enterprises theire can be thought no grettir tiranny, extorcion, ne cruelte [by dyvysyons[ ]]. how seint lowes exorted and counceiled his sonne to moeve no werre ayenst cristen peple. [sidenote: seynt lowys. .] and the blissid king of fraunce seint lowes exhortid and comaunded in his testament writen of his owne hand, that he made the tyme of his passing of this worlde the year of crist m^l.cclxx to his sonne philip that reigned after hym, that he shulde kepe hym welle, to meove no werre ayenst no christen man, but if he had grevously done ayenst him. and if he seke waies of peace, of grace and mercie, thou oughtest pardon hym, and take soche amendis of hym as god may be pleasid. but as for this blessid kingis counceile, it is notorily and openly knowen thoroughe alle cristen royaumes that oure[ ] adverse party hathe meoved [and] excited werre and batailes bothe by lond and see ayenst this noble royaume bethout any justice [or] title, and bethout waies of pease shewed; and as forto { } defende them assailours uppon youre true title may be bethout note of tiranye, to put yow in youre devoire to conquere youre rightfulle enheritaunce, without that a bettir moyene be had. a exortacion of a courageous disposicion for a reformation of a wrong done. [sidenote: exclamacio.] o then, ye worshipfulle men of the englisshe nacion, which bene descendid of the noble brutis bloode of troy, suffre ye not than youre highe auncien couragis to be revalid ne desceived by youre said adversaries of fraunce at this tyme, neither in tyme to come; ne in this maner to be rebuked and put abak, to youre uttermost deshonoure and reproche in the sighte of straunge nacions, without that it may be in goodely hast remedied [as youre hyghnesse now entendyth,[ ]] whiche ye have be conquerours of, as ye[ ] to be yolden and overcomen, in deffaute of goode and hasty remedie, thoroughe lak of provision of men of armes, tresour, and finaunce of suffisaunt nombre of goodes, in season and tyme convenable to wage and reliefe them. for were ye not sometyme tho that thoroughe youre gret [prowesse,[ ]] corages, feersnes, manlinesse, and of strenght overleid and put in subgeccion the gret myghte and power of the feers and puissaunt figheters of alle straunge nacions that presumed to set ayenst this lande? how many worthi kinges of this lande have made gret conquestis in ferre contrees in the holy lande, and also for the defence and right of this lande, and for the duche of normandie. [sidenote: arthur.] [sidenote: brenus.] [sidenote: edmondus ironside.] [sidenote: willelmus conquestor.] [sidenote: henricus primus fundator plurimorum castrorum.] [sidenote: robertus frater henrici primi, electus rex de jherusalem, sed renuit.] [sidenote: fulco comes de angeu, rex jerusalem.] [sidenote: .] [sidenote: de ricardo rege primo in terra sancta.] [sidenote: archiepiscopus cant', robertus clare comes glouc', comes cestr'.] [sidenote: philippus rex francie, vocatus deo datus, in terra sancta.] [sidenote: edwardus rex primus.] [sidenote: sanctus lodowicus rex francorum obiit in viagio antequam pervenit ad terram sanctam.] [sidenote: ricardus imperator alemannie et comes cornewayle.] [sidenote: edwardus primus rex.] and for an example and witnes of king arthur, whiche discomfit and sleine was undre his banere the emperoure of rome in bataile, and conquerid the gret part of the regions be west of rome. and many othre conquestis hathe be made before the daies of the said { } arthur be many worthi kinges of this roiaume, as brenus, king belynus' brother, a puissaunt chosen duke, that was before the incarnacion, wanne and conquerid to rome, except the capitoile of rome. and sithen of other victorious kinges and princes, as edmonde irensede had many gret batailes [and] desconfited the danes to safe englond. and what victorious dedis william conqueroure did gret actis in bataile uppon the frenshe partie [many conquestys [ ]]. and also his son [kyng[ ]] harry after hym defendid normandie, bilded and fortified many a strong castelle in his londe, to defende his dukedom ayenst the frenshe partie. and how victoriouslie his brother roberd did armes uppon the conquest of the holy londe, that for his gret prowesse there was elect to be king of jherusalem, and refusid it for a singuler covetice to be duke of normandie, returned home, and never had grace of victorie after. and to bring to mynde how the noble worriour fouke erle of angew, father to geffrey plantagenet youre noble auncetour, left his erledom to his sonne, and made werre upon the sarasynes in the holy land, and for his noble dedis was made king of jherusalem, anno christi m^l.cxxxi. as how king richarde the first, clepid cuer de lion, whiche in a croiserie went in to the holy londe, and baldewyne archebisshop of caunterburie, hubert bisshop of salisburie, randolfe the erle of chestre, robert clare erle of gloucestre, and werreied uppon the hethen paynemys in the company of king philip dieu-donné of fraunce, whiche king richard conquerid and wanne by roiall power uppon the sarrasyns in the yere of crist m^l.c.iiij^{xx}vij^o. and toke the king of cipres and many other gret prisonneris. also put the londe of surie in subjeccion, the isle of cipres, and the gret cite of damask wanne be assaut, slow the king of spayne clepid ferranus. and the said king richard kept and defendid frome his adversarie philip dieu-donné king of fraunce, be mighty werre made to hym, the duchees of normandie, gascoigne, gyen, the countee[gh] of anjou and mayne, tourayne, { } pontyve, auverne, and champaigne, of alle whiche he was king, duke, erle, and lorde as his enheritaunce, and as his predecessours before hym did. also in like wise king edward first after the conquest, being prince, in about the yere of crist m^l.ij^c.lxx, put hym in gret laboure and aventure amonges the sarrasins in the countye of aufrik, was at the conquest of the gret cite of the roiaume of thunes. [yn whiche cuntree that tyme and yeere seynt lowys kyng of fraunce dyed, and the croyserye grete revaled by hys trespasseinte, had not the seyd prince edward ys armee be redye there to performe that holy voyage to jerusalem, as he dyd wyth many noble lordes off england.[ ]] also fulle noblie ententid about the defence and saufegarde of the gret cite of acres in the londe of sirie, that had be lost and yolden to the sarrazins had not [hys armee and[ ]] his power bee, and by an hole yere osteyng and abiding there in tyme of gret pestilence and mortalite reigning there, and by whiche his peple were gretly wastid, where he was be treason of a untrew messaunger sarrasin wounded hym in his chambre almost to dethe, that the souldone of babiloyne had waged hym to doo it, becaus of sharpe and cruelle werre the seide edwarde made uppon the sarrasines, of gret fere and doubte he had of the said prince edward and of his power; whiche processe ye may more groundly see in the actis of the said prince edwarde is laboure. and his father king harry thrid decesid while his son was in the holy londe warring uppon the sarasines. and how worshipfullie richard emperoure of almaine and brother to the said king henry did gret actis of armes in the holy londe uppon the sarasynes and in the yere of crist m^l.ij^c.xl. and overmore the said king edwarde first kept under subjeccion bothe irelond, walis, and scotlond, whiche were rebellis and wilde peple of condicion. and also protectid and defendid the duchees of gascoigne and guyen, his rightefull enheritaunce. { } how king edward [the] thrid had the victorie at the bataile of scluse, and gate cane by assaute, and havyng the victorie at the batelle of cressye [and wanne calix by sege.[ ]] [sidenote: t. regis e. iij^{cii} et ejus filiorum.] [sidenote: comes de ew captus. comes tankervyle captus.] [sidenote: cressye.] [sidenote: comes derbye.] and sithen, over that, how that the most noble famous knighte of renomme, king edwarde the thrid, the whiche, with his roialle power, the yere of christ m^l.ccc.xl. wanne [the day of seynt john baptiste[ ]] the gret bataile uppon the see at scluse ayenst philip de valoys callyng hym the frenshe king and his power, and alle his gret navye of shippis destroied, to the nombre of .xxv.m^l. men and ccxxx^{ti}. shippis and barges. and also after that, in the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.xlvj. the said king philip purposid to have entred into englond and had waged a gret noumbre of genues shippis and other navyes. and the said king edward thrid thought rather to werre withe hym in that countre rather: tooke his vyage to cane withe xij^c. shippis, passed into normandie by the hagge,[ ] wynnyng the contrees of constantine [from chyrburgh[ ]] tylle he came to cane, and by grete assautes entred and gate the towne, and fought withe the capitaine and burgeises fro midday till night; where the erle of eu, connestable of fraunce, the erle of tancarville, and others knightes and squiers were take prisoneris: but the castelle and donjoune held still, where the bisshop of baieux and othre kept hem; and than the king departid thens, for he wolde not lese his peple [by segyng yt.[ ]] and after that the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.xlvj descomfit the said king philip and wanne the feelde uppon hym at the dolorous and gret bataile of cressy in picardie the .xxvj. day of august the said yere, where the king of beame was slayne the son of henry the emperoure, and alle the gret part of the noble bloode of fraunce of dukes, erlis, and barons, as the erle of alaunson king of fraunce is brother, the duke of lorraine, the erle of bloys, the erle of flaundres, the erle of harecourt, the erle of sancerre, the erle of fennes, to the nombre of .l. knightis sleyne, as well as to othre gret { } nombre of his liege peple, as in the . . chapitre of the actis of the said king philip more plainly is historied. and also the full noble erle of darby, havyng rule under the said king edwarde in the duchie of guyen, hostied the said tyme and yere, and put in subjeccion fro the towne of saint johan evangelist unto the citee of peyters, whiche he wanne also, be the said erle of derbye is entreprises. how david king of scottis was take prisoner. [sidenote: david rex scotorum captus est apud doraham.] and in the said king edward tyme david king of scottis was take prisoner, as i have undrestond, at the bataile beside deram upon the marchis of scotlond. [sidenote: karolus dux britanniæ captus est per e. iij^{m}.] [sidenote: calicia capta est eodem tempore per edwardum iij^{m}.] [sidenote: calicia reddita est in manus regis edwardi iij.] [sidenote: edwardus princeps cepit johannem vocantem se regem franciæ a^{o}, d'ni m^{o}ccc^{o}lvj^{o}.] [sidenote: edwardus rex angliæ iij^{us} retribuit xx.m^{l}.li. edwardo principi filio suo.] [sidenote: karolus filius regis johannis fraunciæ ac nominando se pro duce normandiæ captus est.] [sidenote: edwardus princeps navim ascendit cum johanne nominando se pro rege franciæ et applicuerunt prope dover iiij^{o}. die maij, a^{o} d'ni m^{l}. &c.] [sidenote: de redempcione johannis dicentis [se] regem franciæ.] [sidenote: de bello de nazar.] [sidenote: chandos.] [sidenote: beauchamp comes.] [sidenote: d'n's hastyngys.] [sidenote: d'n's nevyle.] [sidenote: d'n's rays.] [sidenote: rad's hastyngys ch'l'r.] [sidenote: tho's felton.] [sidenote: robertus knolles.] [sidenote: courteneyes. tryvett.] [sidenote: matheu gournay.] [sidenote: et quam plures alii milites hic nimis diu ad inscribendum.] [sidenote: bertl's clekyn, locum tenens adversæ partis, captus est prisonarius.] and also the said king kept bretaine in gret subjeccion, had the victorie uppon charles de bloys duke of breteine, and leid a siege in breteine to a strong forteresse clepid roche daryon, and kept be his true subjectis. after many assautes and grete escarmisshes and a bataile manly foughten, the said duke was take, and havyng .vij. woundes was presentid to the said king edward. and he also wanne calix after, by a long and puissaunt sieges keping[ ] by see and be londe; and they enfamyned couthe have no socoure of king philip, and so for faute of vitaile yeldid calix up to king edwarde the .iiij. day of august in the yere of crist m^l.ccc.xlvij. and also put normandie gret part of it in subgeccion. and therto in his daies his eldist sonne edward prince of walis the .xix. day of septembre the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.lvj had a gret discomfiture afore the cite of peyters uppon john calling hym king of fraunce, where the said king was taken prisoner, and in whiche bataile was slaine the duke of bourbon, the duke of athenes, the lord clermont, ser geffrey channy that bare the baner of the oriflamble, and also take withe king johan ser philip duc [le hardye[ ]] of bourgoine his yongist sonne, and for whois raunson and othres certaine lordes { } king edwarde rewarded the prince xx.m^l.li. sterlinges. also taken that day ser jaques de bourbon erle of pontieu [and] charles his brother erle of longville, the kingis cosins germains, ser john meloun erle of tancarvile, ser william meleum archebisshop of sens, the erle dampmartyn, the erle vendosme, the erle vaudemont, the erle salebruce, the erle nanson, ser arnolde of doneham mareshalle of fraunce, and many other knightis and gentiles to the nombre of m^l.vij^c. prisonneris, of whiche were taken and sleine .lij. knightis banerettis. and the kingis eldist sonne charlis calling hym duc of normandie, the duc of orliauns the kingis brother, the duc of anjou, the erle of peiters that after was clepid [johan[ ]] the duc of berrie, the erle of flaundris, withe a few other lordis, withdrewe hem and escapid from the seide bataile. and sone after, the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.lvij. the .xvj. day of aprill the said prince edward with king johan tooke the see at burdeux to englond, and londed the .iiij. day of maij and came to london the .xxiiij. day of maij, the said king edwarde his father meeting withe king johan in the feelde, doing hym gret honoure and reverence. and after in the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.lxvij the month of maij the said king johan was put to finaunce and raunson of thre millions of scutis of golde, that two of them be worth .j. noble, of whiche was paied sex hondred thousand scutis be the said king johan comyng to calix, and in certein yeris after was obliged under gret seurtees, as it is declared in the articulis of the pease finalle made betwene both kingis, to be paied , till the said thre hondred m^l crones[ ] were fullie paied, whiche as it is said was not parfourmed. and, after that, the said prince edwarde and harry that noble duke of lancastre had the bataile of nazar in spaine withe king peter ayenst the bastarde henry callinge hym king of spain, haveng lxiij m^l. fighting men in his host, and hym descomfit, voided the feelde, and many a noble knighte of englonde and of gascoigne and guyen withe many othre worshipfulle gentiles quite hem righte manlie, and amongis { } many goode men of chevalrie ser john chandos avaunced hym chief in that bataile [havyng the avauntgard[ ]], for he had in his retenu m^l.ij^c penons armed and x.m^l. horsmen; and ser william beauchampe the erle of warwik is sonne, lorde hue hastinges, lord nevyle, lorde rais a breton lorde of aubterré, withe many gascoignes there also: ser raufe hastingis, ser thomas felton, ser roberd knolles, withe many other notable of the chevalrie of inglonde, passed the streit high monteyns of pirone by runcyvale in the contre of pampilon, going from the cite of burdeux into spaine, and ser hughe courtney, ser philip courtnay, ser john tryvet, [matheu gournay de comitatu somerset[ ]]. and there was take ser barthilmew clekyn the frenshe kingis lieutenaunt for the werre prisoner, also the mareshalle of fraunce, the besque, with many othre notable lordis. whiche bataile of nazar was in the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.lxvj. the thrid day of aprille. how king henry the v. conquerid [normandy and fraunce[ ]]. [sidenote: de henrico quinto.] [sidenote: nota quomodo rex henricus v^{te}. obtinuit harefleet.] [sidenote: de extrema defensione ville harflue contra potestatem franciæ et de fame ibidem.] [sidenote: nota, qualiter per civitates et mare obtinuit.] [sidenote: bellum supermare et le[gh] carrikes.] [sidenote: nota de bello apud agincourt.] [sidenote: henricus rex duxit in uxorem filiam regis fraunciæ.] and sithe now late the noble prince[ ] henry the v^{te}. how in his daies, withyn the space of .vij. yere and .xv. daies, thoroughe sieges lieng, [[ ] wan the towne of harflete bethyn .xl. days, made thomas beauford then erle dorset hys oncle capteyn of yt. and the seyd erle made ser john fastolfe chevaler his lieutenaunt wyth m^l.v^c soudeours, and the baron of carew, wyth .xxxiij. knyghtys, contynuelly defended the seyd toune ayenst the myghty power of fraunce by the space of one yere and half aftyr the seyd prince herry. v^{te}. departed from hareflue. and the seyd towne was beseged by the frenshe partye by lond and also by see, wyth a grete navye of carekys, galeyes, and shyppis off spayne, tille that yn the meene tyme johan duc of bedfor(d), the erle of marche your moste noble antecessour, accompanyed wyth many other nobles, wyth a puissaunt armee of shypps, fought wyth the carrekys and shypps lyeng at seyn hede before hareflue, were { } taken and many one sleyn and drowned; and so vyttailled harflue yn grete famyn, that a wreched cowys hede was solde for vj s. viij d. sterling, and the tong for xl d., and dyed of englysh soudeours mo then v^c. yn defaut of sustenaunce. and the second voyage after wythynne the tyme before seyd johan erle of hontyndon was made cheif admyralle of a new armee to rescue harflue, beseged of the new wyth a grete navy of shyppys and carekys of the frenshe partye, [which] were foughten wyth and ovyrcom throw myghty fyghtyng; and of the new vitailled hareflue, the seyd erle dorset then beyng yn england at the emperour comyng hedre, called sygemondus. i briefly title thys incident to th'entent not to be foryete how suche tweyn myghety batailles were foughten uppon the see bethyn one yere and half, and how the seyd toune of hareflue was deffended and kept ayenst the puyssaunt power of fraunce beseged as yt were by the seyd tyme; and as for wache and ward yn the wynter nyghtys i herd the seyd ser johan fastolfe sey that every man kepyng the scout wache had a masty hound at a lyes, to berke and warne yff ony adverse partye were commyng to the dykes or to aproche the towne for to scale yt. and the seyd prince herry v^{the},[ ]] albeit that it consumed gretlie his peple, and also by batailes yeveng, conquerid [the towne of harflete[ ]], and wanne bothe the saide duchie of normandie first and after the roiaume of fraunce, conquerid and broughte in subjeccion and wanne be his gret manhode, withe the noble power of his lordis and helpe of his comonys, and so overleid the myghtie roialle power of fraunce be the seide sieges lieng, first in his first viage at harflete, and in the second viage he made manly besegid cane, the cite of rone, falleise, argenten, maunt, vernonsurseyne, melun, meulx, enbrie, and at many other castellis, forteressis, citeis, and townes to long to rehers. also had gret batailes on the see ayenst many grete carekkis and gret shippes that beseiged hareflue after it was englisshe. and had a gret discomfiture at the bataile of agincourt in the yere of crist m^l.iiij^cxv. { } at his first viage, where many dukes, erlis, lordis, and knightis were slaine and take prisoneris that bene in remembraunce at this day of men yet livyng. and after allied hym to the frenshe king charlis .vj.^{te} is doughter, because of whiche alliaunce gret part of the roiaume of fraunce were yolden unto hym his obeisaunce. and now also in the said noble conquest hathe be kepte undre the obediaunce of englisshe nacion from the begynnyng of the said late conquest by .xxxv. yeris be continued and kept by roialle power, as first be the noble and famous prince johan duke of bedforde, regent and governoure of the roiaume of fraunce by .xiij. yeris, with the eide and power of the noble lordis of this lande, bothe youre said royaume of fraunce and duchie of normandie was kept and the ennemies kept ferre of in gret subjeccion. [sidenote: joh'es dux bedforde.] how that in johan duke of bedforde tyme be his lieutenaunt erle of salisburie had the victorie at the batelle of cravant. [sidenote: bellum de cravant.] [sidenote: thomas montagu comes sarum.] [sidenote: will's pole comes suff'.] [sidenote: dominus willughby.] [sidenote: vindicatio mortis ducis clarenciæ.] [sidenote: secunda vice punicio mortis ducis clarenciæ.] in profe wherof how and in the first yere of the reigne of king harry the sixt, at whiche tyme his seide uncle toke uppon hym the charge and the name of regent of the roiaume of fraunce, that had the victorie at the bateile of cravant, where as at that tyme thomas montagu the noble erle of salisburie, the erle of suffolke, the marchalle of bourgoine, the lord willoughebie, withe a gret power of phelip the duke of bourgoine is host, holding the partie of the said johan regent of fraunce, duc of bedford, withe the eide and help of the trew subgettis of this lande, had the overhande of the ennemies assembled to the nombre of .ix. m^l. frenshemen and scottis at the said bataile of cravant in the duchie of bourgoine, where there were slayne of the ennemies to the nombre of .iiij. m^l., beside .ij. m^l. prisonneris take, of whiche gret part of them were scottis, the erle bougham being chief capitein over them;[ ] which late before were the cause of the male-infortuned journey at bougée, where the famous { } and victorious knight thomas duc of claraunce, youre nere cousyn, for the right of fraunce, withe a smale company of his side, withe the scottis to a grete nombre there assembled among hem in the feelde, was slayn, withe many a noble lorde, baron, knightis, squyers of englond, that never so gret an overthrow of lordes and noble bloode was seene in no mannys daies as it was then. aboute the nombre of .ij^c. l. cote-armes slaine and take prisoneris as yt was seyd, be the saide scottis holding withe youre adverse party of fraunce, whiche god of his infinite goodenes sone after at the saide batelle [of] cravant, and after at the bateile of vernell, was sent a chastisement upon the saide scottis for theire cruelltie vengeable and mortelle dethe of the said victorious prince, duke of claraunce, and of other of his noble lordis and knightis. how johan duke of bedforde had yn his owne parsone the batelle of vernelle. [sidenote: .] [sidenote: batelle of cravant.] [sidenote: batelle of vernoyle.] [sidenote: .] also in the said daies, sone after the saide batelle of cravant, in the yere of crist m^l.iiij^c.xxiij., the .iij. yere of king harry the sext, the .xvij. day of august, the said johan duke of bedford had a gret discomfiture and the victorie upon your adversaries of fraunce and of scottis at the batelle of vernelle in perche, where as johan cleping hym duc of alaunson, lieutenaunt for the frenshe partie, was take prisoner that day, and the said erle bougham of scotlonde, marchalle of fraunce, whiche was cause of that noble prince thomas duke of claraunce dethe, was in the said bataile overthrow and sleyne, and the erle douglas made duc of tourayne, aswelle as his sonne and heire that was in the feelde at shrewisburie ayenst king henry the .iiij^{the}, and another tyme being ayenst the said johan duc of bedford at homeldonhille in scotlond, was also slaine at the said batelle, withe many other grete lordis of the frenshe partie slayne and taken prisoneris at the said bataile. { } how that the grettir part of the counte of mayne, the cite of mauns, withe many other castellis, were yolden. [sidenote: mayn.] [sidenote: redempcio joh'is dicentis [se] ducem de allunson pro .clx. m^{l}. salux bene solutis ultra alia onera suarum expensarum.] and, overmore, not long after, youre auncien enheritaunce in the counté of mayne, the cite of maunce, conquerid and brought be the said regent duc of bedforde, withe the power of his lordis and helpers, in subgeccion, [by the erle of salysbery, lord scalys, ser john fastalf, ser john popham, ser n. mongomery, ser wylliam oldhalle, chevalers, and many othyr noble men of worshyppe.[ ]] and whiche counté of mayne was accustomed sithen to be in value yerely to the eide and helpe of the werres of fraunce, and to the releve of the kyng ys subgettis obeisauntes lyvyng uppon the werre for the furtheraunce of that conquest, .x. m^l. li. sterlinges. also the said regent of fraunce, with the power of youre noble bloode and lordes, wanne the feeld at the forseid grete bataile of vernelle in perche ayenst the power of the frenshe adverse party of fraunce, being assembled to the nombre of .xl. m^l. fighters of the frenshe partie; and there johan cleping hymsilf duke of alaunson, lieutenaunt to charles the .vij. calling hym frenshe king, taken prisonner, withe many other lordis, barons, and knightes, and noble men of worship, whiche paied to the said regent duc of bedforde for his raunson and finaunce allone .clx. m. salux, beside his other grete costis and charges, whiche was a gret relief and socoure to the eide of the conquest, whiche bataile was in the yere of crist m^l.iiij^c.xxiiij., the seyd .iij^d. yere of the reigne of king henry sext. [sidenote: nota bene pro titulo regis henrici sexti.] how that henry the sext was crouned king be the might of grete lordes. [sidenote: coronatio regis henrici sexti.] [sidenote: de magna fama regni angliæ tempore regis hen. vi^{th}] and he also, for a gret act of remembraunce to be had in writing, was crouned king of fraunce in the noble citee of paris, in the yere of crist m^l.iiij^c.xxix., the .ix. yere of his reigne, withe right gret solennyte amongis the lordis spirituelle and temporelle, and be the gret mighte and power, as well in goodes and richesse, of his graunt { } oncle henry cardinalle of englande, byshop of wynchester, and by the gret mighte and power of his uncle johan regent of the roiaum of fraunce, duc of bedforde, being present at that tyme to their grettist charge and cost to resist theire gret adversarie of fraunce calling hym dolphin. for sethen the roiaume of englonde first began to be inhabite withe peple was never so worshipfulle an act of entreprise done in suche a case, the renoume of which coronacion spradde thoroughe alle cristen kingis roiaumes. [sidenote: a courageous recomfortyng.] [sidenote: exortacio militaris.] o then ye most noble and cristen prince, for notwithestanding gret conquestis and batailes had in the said roiaume be the famous knight king edwarde the thrid, he never atteyned to that souvraine honoure but by valiauntnes of englishe men, whiche have in prowes avaunced hem, and governed so nobly as is before briefly historied and specified, be youre saide noble, puissaunt, and vailaunt progenitours in divers regions, and inespecialle in fraunce and normandie, and in the duchie of gascoigne and guyen, that this sodenly wern put oute of by usurpacion ayenst alle trouthe and knyghthode. now therfore, in repairing this undew intrusion uppon yow, mantelle, fortifie, and make yow strong ayenst the power of youre said adversaries of fraunce. for now it is tyme to clothe you in armoure of defense ayenst youre ennemies, withe the cotes of armes of youre auncien feernesse, haveng in remembraunce the victorious conquestis of youre noble predecessours, the whiche clothing many histories, cronicles, and writinges witnessithe moo than myn simple entendement can not suffice to reherse in this brief epistle. of the noblesse of ectour and other mighty kinges of grece. [sidenote: nota de exemplis aliorum nobilium.] [sidenote: hector.] [sidenote: agamemnon.] [sidenote: ulixes.] [sidenote: hercules.] [sidenote: . j.] [sidenote: . ij.] [sidenote: . iij.] and also let be brought to mynde to folow the steppis in conceitis of noble courage of the mighty dedis in armes of the vaillaunt knight hector of troy, whiche bene enacted in the siege of troy for a perpetuelle remembraunce of chevalrie [that your noblesse ys decended of[ ]]. also of the dedis in armes of agamemnon the { } puissaunt king of greece, that thoroughe cruell and egre werre ayenst the trojens bethin .x. yere day conquerid the gret cite of troie. in like wise of the famous knight ulixes, that alle his daies dispendid in marciall causis. and of the .xij. puissaunt entreprinses and aventurous dedis that hercules, as it is figured and made mencion in the vij^{the} metre of the .v. booke of boecius, toke uppon hym, putting himself frome voluptuouse delites and lustis, being subget to grete laboure, wynnyng renomme and worship; whiche .xij. entreprinses of hercules, albeit it be thought [but a poesye[ ]] impossible to any mortalle man to doo or take uppon hym, as for to bereffe the skyn of the rampant lion, wrestlid withe antheus and poliphemus, the gret giauntes, and hym overthrew, he slow the serpent clepit ydra, made tame the proude beestis clepid centaurus, that be of halfe man and halfe best, and many soche wonderfulle entreprises as is wreten that hercules did, whiche is writen in figure of a poesy for to courage and comfort alle othre noble men of birthe to be victorious in entreprinses of armes. and how, in conclusion, that there is no power, puissaunce, ne strenght, who so lust manly [wyth prudens[ ]] put forthe hymsilf may resist and withestande ayenst such gret entreprises. how a conquerour shulde use in especialle thre thinges. [sidenote: a conqueroure shuld use iij thinges.] [sidenote: j.] [sidenote: ij.] and, as vegecius in his booke of chevalrie counceilithe that a conquerour shulde use thre thinges in especialle whiche the romains used, and alle that tyme they had the victorie of here ennemies, that is to wete, the first was science, that is forto undrestonde prudence, to seene before the remedies of bonchief, or the contrarie; the second was exercitacion and usage in dedis of armes, that they might be apte and redie to bataille whan necessite fille; the thrid was naturalle love that a prince shulde have to his peple, as doing his trew diligence to doo that may be to the comon wele of his peple, whiche is to be undrestonde in the executing of justice egallie. and for to kepe them in tranquillite and pece within hemsilfe. { } [sidenote: menne of noblenesse shuld lefe sensualites and delites.] how men of noblesse ought lefe sensualitees and delites. let it no lenger be suffred to abide rote, no forto use the pouder and semblaunce of sensualite and idille delites, for water malexander seiethe, that voluptuous delitis led be sensualite be contrarie to the exercising and haunting of armes. wherfor, like and after the example of the boore whiche knowethe not his power, but foryetithe his strenghte tille he be chafed and see his owne bloode, in like wise put forthe youre silf, avaunsing youre corageous hertis to werre, and late youre strenght be revyved and waked ayen, furious, egre, and rampanyng as liouns ayenst alle tho nacions that soo without title of right wolde put you frome youre said rightfulle enheritaunce. and where is a more holier, parfiter, or a juster thing than in youre adversary is offence and wrong-doing to make hym werre in youre rightfull title, where as none other moenys of pease can be hadde. and therfore considering be this brief declaracion that youre right and title in alle this royaumes and contrees is so opyn-- [sidenote: mentio brevis de titulo ducatus normandiæ.] here is briefly made mencion of the first title of normandie, and how frely it holdithe. [sidenote: nota pro titulo ducatus normanniæ.] [sidenote: richardus dux normandiæ cepit in bello lodovicum regem franciæ, qui resingnavit totum titulum ricardo de ducatu predicto.] [sidenote: ccccc.^{th}xxx.v^{te}.] [sidenote: arma ducatus illius.] for as youre first auncien right and title in youre duchie of normandie, it is knowen thoroughe alle cristen landes, and also of highe recorde by many credible bookis of olde cronicles and histories, that william conqueroure descendid frome duc rollo, after cristned and called roberd, that came out of dennemarke aboute the yere of crist .ix^c.xij., was righte duke of normandie by yeft of charlys the symple, king of fraunce, [who] maried his doughter to rollo and gave hym the saide ducdome. and after richarde due of normandie, in the yere of crist .ix^c.xlv. in plaine batelle before the cite of rone toke lowes king of fraunce prisoner, and the said lowes relesid the seide dukedom to the said richarde and to alle his successours to holde frely in souvereinte and resort of none creature but of god, as in act therof is made mencion that was sene and rad uppon this writing. { } and after the said william conquerour being king of englond, of whome ye and youre noble progenitours bene descendid and entitled this .v^c.xxxv. yere, and beere in armes by the saide duchie of normandie in a feelde of gulis .ij. libardis of golde. [sidenote: nota de tempore quo rex angliæ intitulatus ducatui de angew et comitatui mayne.] how long the king is entitled to the righte enheritaunce of angew and mayne. [sidenote: matildis filia et heres henrici primi copulata fuit imperatori, et quo mortuo copulata fuit galfrido plantagenet, et ex ea henricus .ij. natus est.] [sidenote: .] [sidenote: angew. nota, pro titulo ducat' andegav'.] and that as for youre next enheritaunce that fille to youre seide progenitoures and to you in the duchie of anjou and countee of mayne and tourayne, it is also notorily knowen among alle cristen princes and be parfit writing how that dame maude, whiche was doughter and soule heire to that puissaunt king henry the first, that after she weddid was to the emperoure of almayne; after his decese the saide maude emperesse was maried the yere of crist .m^l.cxxvij. to geffry plantagenest son to fouke king of jherusalem, that was erle of anjou, of mayne, and toreyne, by whome the saide maude had issue that most famous king in renome henry the seconde, whiche be right of his moder maude was right king and enheritoure of englonde, also duke of normandie seisid. and be right of his foresaide father geffrey plantagenet was bethout any clayme or interupcion right enheritour and seisid of the said countee of anjou, mayne, toreyne continued this .iij^c.xlvij. yer. [and the noble actys of the seyd erles of angew wyth her lynealle dessentys ben wryten yn the cronicles called _ymago historiarum_ that maister raffe de diceto dene of poulys yn seynt thomas canterbery days wrote notablye. and therfore the armys of the noble erlys that for her prowesse were chosen king of jerusalem wold be worshypped, because yowr hyghnes ys descended of the eyr masle, that ys to wete of geffry plantagenest erle of angew, and the countee of mayne by maryage was unyoned to the erledom of angew to longe to wryte.[ ]] { } [sidenote: gyen.] here is made mencion of the title of gascoigne and guien, and how long agoo passed possessid. [sidenote: nota, pro titulo vasconiæ.] [sidenote: m^{l}.cxxxvij.] [sidenote: alienora et aliciæ filiæ et heredes will'mi ducis guion.] [sidenote: nota, divortio facta inter regem franciæ et alienoram.] [sidenote: henricus ij^{d'} angliæ rex superduxit alienoram filiam et heredem willielmi ducis de guien circa m.cxlvj^{ad}] [sidenote: nota pro titulo henrici ij.] [sidenote: nota bene, karolus vij rex fraunciæ primo intrusionem fecit in ducatum normanniæ, gascon, guion, etc. circa annum m^{l}iiij^clj.] and than for to be put in remembraunce of youre auncien enheritaunce, verray right and title in youre duchies of gascoigne and guien, withe the countrees, baronnyees and seignouries therto belonging. it is in like fourme knowen of highe recorde, enacted in divers cronicles, as amongis many other historialle bookis of auctorite, that aboute the yere of crist .m^l.cxxxvij. william the duke of guien died bethout heire masle, uppon his voiage he made to seint james, havyng .ij. doughters and heires, called alienore, the second alice, and king lowes of fraunce in his yong age, by the agrement of lowys le gros his father, spoused the said alienor, to whome the said duchie was hole enheriter. and after the said king lowes came to yeris of discretion, the archebisshoppis of sens, of rayns, of rone, and of burdeux, withe others barouns, made relacion to the said king lowes that the saide alienor was so neere of his blode that he might not laufullie be the chirche kepe her to wiffe, so be theire counceile they bothe were departed laufully, and the said king lowes maried after that constance the king of spayne doughter. and the said alienor the duches of gascoigne and guien went to burdeux. than came the forsaid king harry the seconde of englande, that was the erle of anjou is sonne and heire, and wedded the said alienor about the yere of crist m^l.cxlvj. by whome he was duke of gascoigne and guien, and his heires after hym, of whom ye bene descended and come right downe. and the said king henry the seconde bare in armes frome that day forthe the saide libarde of golde withe the other two libardis of the same that is borne for duke of normandie. so in conclusion he was, be right of his moder dame maude, the empresse, king of englonde and duke of normandie, and, be right of his father geffry plantagenest, erle of anjou and of mayne and torayne; be right of his wiffe dame alienor, duke of guien; of whiche duchie of gascoigne and guien your noble { } progenitours have continually be possessid and seased of, this .iij^c.xxviij. yere complete, tille that by intrusion of youre said adversarie charlis the vij^{the}. of fraunce have disscasid yow in or about the monithe of june the yere of crist m^l.iiij^c.lj., as he hathe late done of youre enheritaunce of fraunce and normandie and of the counte of mayne, thoroughe umbre of the said fenied colour of trewes, ayenst alle honoure and trouthe of knighthode. how the historier procedithe in his matier of exhortacion. [sidenote: nota bonum concilium.] [sidenote: magister alanus de auriga dicit.] and for to think to alle cristen nacions for to fight in bataile if the cas require it soo, that youre said enheritaunce can not be recuverid by none other due meane of pease, bothe for youre defens for the recuverey of youre roiaume of fraunce, duchie of normandie, and sithen sone after the duchie of gascoigne, that alle cristen princes opynly may know it is youre verray true enheritaunce, and for salvacion of youre enheritaunce by undew menys lost; for that yt ys wryten by [maister aleyn chareter, _id est_ de auriga, in hys boke of quadrilogue, secretaire to charlys le bien amée, the yere of crist . . yn thys termys: "ayenst herry the .v^{th}., named kyng," yn provokyng the adverse partye to werre ayenst the seyd king herry. how[ ]] the famous clerke of eloquence tullius seithe in his booke of retherique that, like as a man recevethe his lyving in a region or in a countree, so is he of naturall reason bounde to defende it; and law of nature, as welle as law imperiall whiche is auctorised by popis and emperours, wol condescend and agre to the same. also caton affirmithe withe the said tullie. therfor late not this gret and importune losses now by infortune and of over grete favoure and trust put to youre adversaries, fallen ayenst this lande undre the umbre and coloure of trewes and abstinence of werre late hadde and taken at towris atwixen charlis the .vij^{th}. youre adversaire of fraunce and your predecessour { } harry the sext, and now uppon the exercise and usaige of bataile and left by so little a tyme, forto discomfort or fere to a new recovere. not so: god defende that! for the famous poet ovide seiethe that who so levithe the pursute and foloweing of good fortune for one mysaventure, it shalle never come to hym. and namely the said water malexander agreithe hym to the same saieng, and affermyng that good courages of hertis be not mynissed, broken, ne lessid for disusage and levyng armes for a litille season, nether for sodeyn recountres and hasty comyng on, be force of whiche one mysadventure may folow. [sidenote: nota quod pro defectu excercicii armorum mala sequentur exercitui romanorum.] how for the defaute of exercise of armes the gret nombre of romains were scomfited by men of cartage. [sidenote: syr alanus de auriga.] [sidenote: notand' est.] [sidenote: nota de cede romanorum.] [sidenote: nota de annulis inventis super digitos romanorum occisorum.] a, mercifulle god! what was the losses of the romayns, whiche in defaute and by negligence lost by a litille tyme left the exercise of armes was fulle gret ayenst the doughty men of cartage, whan alle the puissaunce of the romains were assembled in bataile, where that were so many noble men and coragious peple, the whiche were innumerable, assembled and joyned in bataile, that men say was betwene camos and hanibal prince of cartage, the whiche discomfit before duke camos in puylle be suche power that the ringis of golde take frome the fingers of ded bodies of the said romains, whiche were men of price and renomme, and titus livius seiethe in his booke of romayne batailes were extendid and mesurid to the quantite of mesure of .xij. quarters or more, whiche hanibal brought withe hym to his countre of cartage in signe of victorie. [sidenote: nota de experiencia armorum ex parte romanorum.] how after the seide gret descomfiture that a few nombre of romans expert in werre (_unfinished_) but the worthy romains, for alle that, left not the hope and trust of recovering on another day, whan god lust, onnere and fortune, theyme so exercised daily armes, [and] after accustumyng hem ayene { } to werre, were by experience lerned and enhardid, that, as by the exorting and comforting of one of theire princes, he assembled another time in bataile ayenst the litille residue that were left of the said romayns, and by subtile craft of wise policie and good conduyt in actis of werre they fille and tooke uppon theym and charged theym so moche that by unware of theire purveiaunce met withe the said haniballe at certen streightes and narow places fille into the handis of romains, to the gret discomfiture and destruccion of haniballe his gret oost of cartage. [sidenote: exercitium armorum excedit divicias.] how men of armes welle lerned and excercised is of a grettir tresoure then any precious stones or riche tresour. dame cristen saiethe in the first booke of the tree of batailes that there is none erthely thing more forto be allowed than a countre or region whiche be furnisshed and stored withe good men of armes well lerned and exercited; for golde, silver, ne precious stones surmountethe not ne conquerithe not ennemies, nother in time of pease wardithe the peple to be in rest, the whiche thing a puissaunt man in armes dothe. how a few nombre of the romains that were expert and connyng in the werre descomfited .c.iiij^{xx}.m^l. of frenshemen that the prince of hem tolde and set right litille by. [sidenote: magister alanus de auriga. id est compilam de libro suo.] [sidenote: in multitudine gencium non consistit victoria, ut infra. nota bene.] [sidenote: averaunces. d'n's talbot. d'n's fauconberge. harflete.] [sidenote: j. dux som', ed's dors'. cane.] [sidenote: fastolf. harynton.] [sidenote: nota bene et applica.] also ye may consider by example of king bituitus of the countre of gaule clepid fraunce, the whiche went ayenst the romains withe an hondred and fourescore thousande men of armes; and he saw so few a companie of the romains comyng that he despraised hem, and seid of gret pride that there were not inoughe of the romains for to fede the doggis of his oost: neverthelesse, that few company were so welle excersised and lerned in armes that there were ynoughe whiche overcome and destroied the said king of gaule and alle his gret { } oost; whiche storie may be verified in every bataile or journay atwix youre adversarie of fraunce and youre predecessoures entreprises this .xxxv. yeres that continued in possession frome king [named[ ]] henry the .v. is conquest till it was lost: for at the bataile of agincourt descomfited by seid king henry the .v.^{th} [wyth a few nomber.[ ]] and at the bataile of the see ayenst the carrakes descomfited by johan duke of bedforde and the erle of the marche being principalle cheveteins also in that bataile [wyth a few nombre yn comparison of the grete frensh navye.[ ]] also at the journay of kedecause descomfited be thomas beauforde erle dorset after was duke of eccestre; [the erle of armonak conestable of fraunce beyng aboute x.m^l fyghtyng men ayenst aboute .ix^c. accompanyed wyth the erle dorset.[ ]] also at the bataile of cravaunt descomfited by [johan duc of bedford as by hys lieutenaunt[ ]] thomas montague the erle of salisbury and roberd [lord[ ]] willugheby chiefeteynes. and at the bataile of vernelle fought and descomfited by johan regent duke of bedforde, the said erle of salisbury and the erle of suffolke, [lord wyllughby, lord pownynnys, ser john fastolf, and many other noble men yn armys.[ ]] also at the bataylle of roveraye foughte [ayenst the bastard of burbon, the bastard of orlyance,[ ]] be ser johan fastolfe, ser thomas rempstone, chiefteins, upon the vitailing the siege of orliaunce. also at the rescue of the cite [of] averaunces fought by edmonde duke of somerset and the erle of shrewisburie and lorde fauconberge chiefeteins. and at the second wynnyng of hareflete fought [beseged[ ]] by johan duke of somerset, by edmund erle of dorset, and the erle of shrewisbury, at the rescue of cane fought by ser johan fastolfe and ser richarde harington, and his felouship, [ayenst .xxx.m^l. men.[ ]] and so in many other [sodeyn jorneys and[ ]] sharpe recountres sodenly met and foughten, to long to write here. and also for the gret part at any maner bataile, journey, enterprise, [seges,[ ]] and rescuse of places, it hathe bene alway seen that the power of fraunce have be in nombre of peple assembled ayenst youre power { } by double so many, or by the thrid part, yet youre right and title have bene so goode and fortunat, and men so well lernid and exercised in armes, that withe few peple have descomfited the gret multitude of your adverse partie. how vegesse in his booke of chevalrie also gretly recomendithe exercise in men of armes. [sidenote: vegescius de re militari.] o then, seith vegecius in his booke of chevalrie, therbe none that knowethe the gret merveilles and straunge aventures of armes and knighthode, the whiche be comprehendid and nombred in dedis of armes, to tho that be exercised in suche labouris of armes, that withe wise conduyt prudently can aventure and hardely take uppon theym such sodein entreprinses on hande. [sidenote: animacio.] [sidenote: concideracio.] o then, ye noble englisshe chevalrie, late it no mervaile be to yow, in lessing youre courage ne abating of your hardiesse, they that ye renew youre coragious hertis to take armes and entreprinses, seeing so many good examples before yow of so many victorius dedis in armes done by youre noble progenitoures, and that it hathe be a thing to moche left discorage you not; for, thoughe that ye were in renomme accepted alleway withe the most worthi as in dede of armes, but now at this time ye ben take and accepted in suche marcialle causes that concernithe werre on the left hande, as withe the simplest of price and of reputacion. and it is to suppose that it is rather in defaute of exercising of armes left this .xxiiij. yere day that the londes were lost, thoroughe the said coloure of trewes, and for lak of good provisions bothe of artillery and ordenaunce for the werre and soudeyng to be made in dew season, and for singuler covetice reignyng among some peple endowed with worldly goodes, that can not depart but easily withe finaunce [wagyng[ ]] and soulde theim in tyme of nede, then for defaut of good corage and manhode, whiche is to deme werre never feerser ne corageouser to dedis of armes, so they may be cherished and avaunced therafter, as ben at this day. { } how dame cristen counceilithe to make true paimentis to sowdieris. [sidenote: hic nota optime pro solucione soldariorum.] [sidenote: nota concilium.] [sidenote: nota bene, ne forte.] for ye shalle rede in the first part of the arbre of batailes, where dame cristen exhortithe and counceilithe that every chieftein and capiteyne of men of armes ought to have goode paimentis and sewre for assignacion of paiment for his sowdieris for so long tyme that he trustithe to endure and be souded in that voiage and armes; for to that singlerly before thing alle chieveteyns shulde have regarde, by as moche as it is the principalle and chief cause of the good spede and conduit of here entreprise, and the undoing and mischief of it [the contrarye[ ]], if the paimentis be not duely made to the soudeours; for late it be put in certein that no cheveteyn can not have ne kepe long tyme good men of armes eville paied or long delaied, but discoragethe them as sone as paiment failethe, and takethe theire congie and licence of theire prince, if they can have licence, orellis they departethe bethout licence. and also of overmoche trust and avauntage gyven to your adversaries be this dissimiled trewes as otherwise. and also when that the cheveteins take more kepe to good than to worship [and] using justice. and as welle as in defaute of largesse to youre obeissauntes, not rewarding ne cherisshing youre obeissauntes subgettis yolden and sworne stedfastly abiding under your obeissaunce, but suffring them to be oppressid and charged unduely in divers wises, as well by over gret taskis and tailis rered uppon them, and therto they finding bothe horsmete and mannysmete to youre soudeours riding be the contre without contenting or agreing hem, becaus of nompower of youre said men ben not paide of here wages and soude, by lak of simple payment [caused the rather the ducdom of normandy to be lost.[ ]] [sidenote: nota peroptimum concilium istud.] [sidenote: inquiratur pro libro illo, bonum est.] [sidenote: nota bene, ne forte.] [sidenote: nota bene.] [sidenote: dux bedfordiæ.] [sidenote: nota bene.] [sidenote: exhortacio.] [sidenote: nota bene.] [sidenote: exhortacio ad observandum ordinacionem principis in bello.] [sidenote: verba m'ri alani de auriga.] and the same dame cristen in the .xiiij. chapiter seiethe that a noble good cheveteyn, whiche wolbe a leder of a felowship in werre, he must use justice to goddis pleasure; and that he may stand in the grace and favoure of the worlde, and of his retenu and { } of other peple undre hym, that the said chieftein must pay his men of soude so justly and truly, bethout any defalking [or] abbregging of here wagis, that they have no nede to lyve by pillage, extorcion, and rapyn uppon the countreis of here frendis that be yolden undre obeisaunce of here prince. and be this way the ost may never faut, for then the ost shalbe furnished of alle costis coostis[ ] commyng withe vitailes inoughe; so that it be provided that marchauntes and vitailers may surely passe and come, and that a payne resonable be made, that uppon forfeiting that payne no man take vitaile beforce without payment made in hande, as the proclamacions made by henry the .v^{the}., that victorious prince, in his host. [and also the statutes made by johan regent of fraunce, duc of bedford, by a parlement at cane, yn the .ij^{de}. yeere of [blessed[ ]] henry .vj^{te}., named kyng, uppon the conduyt of the werre, that i delyvered to your hyghenes enseled, the day before your departyng out of london, that remayned yn the kepyng of ser johan fastolfe for grate autoritee, a. iij.[ ]] and that no damage or offence be done to the marchauntes. it is fulle gret jupardie and perille to an oost where as covetise of pillage and rappyne reignithe among men of armes more than theire entencion is to kepe and meinteine the right of theire prince's partie. and the worship of chevalrie and knighthode ys that they shulde peine hem to wynne. and suche as ben of that inordynat condicion of covetise and rappyne oughte rather be clepid pilleris, robberis, extorcioneris, than men of armes chevalerous. in example the said dame cristen puttithe that the men of armes of the countre of gaule, whiche now is fraunce, that had in a tyme a discomfiture and the overhande uppon the romains, being assembled withe a grete oost embatailed upon the river of rosne in burgoyne; and the men of gaule had wonne gret praies and good, as horse harneis, vesselle of golde and of silver gret plente; but as to the worldly goodes they set no count ne prise of it, but cast it into the river. and in semblable wise it was saide of johan duke of bedforde, then regent, that the day he had the victorie at the { } bataile of vernaile, he exhorted, making an oration to his peple, that they attende not to covetise, for no sight of juelx and riches of cheynes of golde or nouches [or] ringis cast before hem or left in the feelde, to take them up, whiche might be the losse of the feeld, tille god had shewed his power and fortune; but onely to worship and to doo that that they come for. and so be the jugement of god had the victorie withe gret worship and riches, be the raunsonyng of prisoneris, and be rewardis of the said regent in londis and goodis to every man for theire welle doing that day, rewarded in lifelode of londes and tenementis yoven in the counte of mayne to the yerely valeu of .x.m^l. marcs yerely, whiche was .lx.m^l.li. turneis, as it is of record to shew; the whiche was don aftyr the romayns' condicion, seeing that thei set so litille by goodis dispising but onely by worship, the whiche the saide romains were gretly astonied and dred her power, for thei saw it never done before. and wolde jhesus for his highe grace that every prince, chieftein, or captein wolde be of so noble condicions as is before made mencion of! i have be credibly enfourmed by tho as were present in bateile withe the fulle noble and victorius prince of renomme king henry the .v^{te}. youre cousin and antecessour, used the saide counceile among his ostes. and also at the bateile of agincourt be the exortacion of that forseyd noble prince henry the .v^{the}. counceiled to set not be no tresure, praies, ne juelx and vesselle of golde and of silver, aswelle of tho that were his there lost, ne of the juelx that he wonne, but only to his right and to wonne worship. and that also fulle noble prince youre cousin johan duke of bedforde, another victorius prince, folowed his steppis tho daies that he was regent of the roiaume of fraunce, and whan his chariottes of his tresoure and vesselle at the bataile of vernelle in perche was bereved frome hym by lombardis and other sowdieris holding youre adverse partie, he comaunded the oost embatailed not forto breke ne remeve [theyr aray[ ]] for wynnyng or kepyng worldly goodis, but only to wynne worship in the right of englonde that day, whiche he hadde the victorie to his grettist renomme. { } but yet it most be suffred paciently the fortune that is gevyn to youre ennemies at this tyme, and late the case be taken for a new lerning, and to the sharping of goode corages, to the refourmyng and amendement of theire wittis. for the saide ovide the lawreat poet saiethe that it happithe often times that mysaventures lernithe tho that bene conquerid to be wise. and so at other times in actis and dedis of armes that for lak of providence or mysfortune were overthrow, enforcethe hem to be conquerours [another seson.[ ]] here is yet noone so gret inconvenient of aventure ne mysfortune falle at this tyme, but that it hathe be seene fallen er now [yn kyng johan dayes and in kyng edward iij^d day, as yn hys gret age put owt of normandye and off many castells and townes yn gyen by kyng charlys the .v^{te}.[ ]] [sidenote: defectus pecuniæ ad solvendum soldarios fuit causa una prodicionis ducatus normanniæ.] how the duchie of normandie for lak of a sufficient arme waged in due time, that king johan [of england[ ]] had not sufficiently wherof to wage [his peple,[ ]] he lost the duchie of normandie. [sidenote: infinita mala ex sensualitate corporis.] [sidenote: . .] for a like mysfortune and overthrow fille unto us for defaute of providence and helpe in dew tyme, and sensualite of lustis of the bodie idely mispendid, and for lak of finaunce and goode[gh] to soude and wage goode mennys bodies over into normandie and other contrees, ande thoroughe the umbre of trewes, the hole privacion of your duchie of normandie, and of angew, mayne, and torayne, and a gret part of gascoigne and guyen, was in king johan daies by king philip dieudonné of fraunce, the yere of crist .m^l.ij^c.iij^o. in the monithe of maij began. { } [sidenote: treugæ pluries infractæ.] how many divers times trewes that were taken betwene king richarde the first, king johan, and king edward the thrid at the finalle peas generalle betwene tho kinges and the frenshe kinges, were afterwarde be the frenshe partie first broken. [sidenote: nota fallacias francorum in rupcione treugarum; vide et attende bene.] [sidenote: treuga pessima a^{o} xp'i .] [sidenote: de infinitis dampnis ex ilia treuga sine pace.] [sidenote: de pluribus treugis sine effectu durationis.] [sidenote: edward ij^{d}.] [sidenote: nota pro titulo regis.] [sidenote: effectus maritagii isabellæ reginæ heredis regni franciæ.] [sidenote: edwardus ij^{us} duxit isabellam filiam et heredem karoli regis franciæ a^{o}. x^{l}. m^{l}.ccc.xxv^{t}i.] and thus undre the coloure of trewes at divers times taken atwixt youre noble progenitoures king henry the seconde, and also divers treties taken betwene the said king johan and king philip, and also sondry tymes trewes taken betwene king richarde the first and the frenshe king philip dieudonné. and notwithestanding so oft tymes trewes and alliaunces taken and made betwene the forsaide kinges of englonde and of fraunce, alle waye whan the frenshe partie coude have and fynde any avauntage or coloure to breke here trewes they did make new werre ayenst this lande. also there was another trewes made at paris the monithe of octobre the yere of crist m^l.cclix. betwene king henry the thrid and lowes king of fraunce, the whiche king lowes haveng grete conscience that he heelde bethout title of right the duchie of normandie, the counté of angew, mayne, and toureyne, out of the handis of the kinges of englonde, therfore toke a trewis withe king henry the thridde; and the saide king lowes graunted and confirmed to the saide king henry and to his heires for ever all the right that he hadd or myght have in the duchie of gascoigne, withe thre eveschies clepid diocesis and citees in the saide duchie, that is to witt, limogensis, caourcensis, and pieregourt. also at[ ] agenois and peito. and a peas to be made atwix bothe kinges undre the condicion that the saide king henry thrid shuld relese unto king lowes alle his right in normandie and in the countre of anjou, of mayne, and toreyne, your verray auncient enheritaunce tailed, whiche albeit if the said king henry thrid had alone made any suche relese it was of none strenght ne effect, for it was never graunted be the auctorite of the parlement of thre astatis of his roiaume. for it is to be undrestande that be no law imperialle ne by no dew reason can be founded { } that a prince may not gyve away his duchees or countees ne his demaynes that is his propre enheritaunces to a straunge parsone, of what astate or degre he is, bethout the agrement and consenting of a parlement of his lordis spirituelle and temporelle, and of his comyns assembled, and a sufficient nombre of every of hem, as it hathe bene accustumed; so in conclusion the relese of king henry thrid to king lowes was and is voide. and if any relese of king lowes to the said king henry in the said duchie of gascoine had be made it standithe of fulle litille effect, becaus it was the said king henry propre enheritaunce by his aiel king henry the second that weddid dame alienor duchesse and heriter of guien, as is before expressid. and so the said king lowes relese was a confirmacion of the said duchie of guien into king henry thrid is possession and a disclayme frome the kinges of fraunce for ever. also ther was another trux and pease made the yere of crist m^l.cclxxix., at amyens, betwen king edwarde first and king philip of fraunce, that the said king edwarde shulde holde peasibly all the saide landes in gascoigne. another trewes and peas made at paris the yere of crist m^l.ij^c.lxxxvj. betwene the said king edwarde first and king philip of fraunce for the saide duchie of guien. another trews made at paris, the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.iij^o., the monithe of maij, betwene king edwarde first and king philip of fraunce, that marchauntes and alle maner men might passe to bothe roiaumes of englond and fraunce bethout empeshement, and heelde not long. another trux made in the yere of crist m^l.cc.xiij., in a towne clept in latyn pissaicus, betwene king edwarde second and king phelip king of fraunce for the said duchie of guien. and in the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.xxiiij. king charles of fraunce and of navarre seased certein townes and forteresses in guien for defaut of homage of the king edwarde second for the said duchie of guien, whiche townes and forteresses after was delivered ayen to the king edwarde by the moyen of edmonde erle of kent, his lieftenaunt. also another pease made in the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.xxv. betwene king edwarde second and king charles de valoys of fraunce, be reason and meane that { } the saide king edwarde weddid dam isabel king charles of fraunce daughter, [soule[ ]] enheriter of fraunce; and at that tyme king edward made edmond his brother erle of kent his lieftenaunt for the duchie of guyen, whiche fulle nobly governed and kept that contre. [sidenote: a^{o}. x^{l}. m^{l}.ccc.xxv^{t}i.] [sidenote: bellum scluse.] also in semblable wise in the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.xl. the .xiij. yere of king edwarde the thrid, after the saide king had wonne the gret bataile of scluse ayenst philip de valois his adversarie, and besieged tourenay in picardie, whan the saide philip de valois and the [kyngis[ ]] frenshe lordis were gretly rebuked and put abak, they desired a trux of king edwarde frome the monithe of septembre tille the feest of saint john next sueng, to the gret damage of the king edwarde conquest. and the bretons making under that colour mortalle werre to this land, but they were kept in subgeccion, and a gret bataile of descomfiture ayenst them had by the erle of northampton, then the kingis lieutenaunt in that parties. also the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.xliij^o., the .xix. day of januarii, another gret trux for the yere take withe philip de valois calling hym king, youre saide adversarie, and his allies, and the saide trux broken be the seide philip bethin thre yeris after, comaunding the bretons to make werre ayenst youre progenitours. [sidenote: obcidio cane.] [sidenote: bellum cressye.] and the noble king edwarde the thrid, seeing that, in the monithe of julie, the yere of crist m^l.ccc.xlvij^o., the .xx. yere of his reigne, disposed hym ayen to werre ayen withe the saide philip, and wanne upon hym the strong towne of cane, [and had[ ]] the sore fought bataile of cressy, the castelle of calix by a harde siege bethin few daies after leide and (_unfinished_.) [sidenote: de pace finali quamvis non sortiebatur diu effectum.] [sidenote: . .] [sidenote: chaundos chevalier.] [sidenote: de magnificencia joh'is chundos.] [sidenote: princeps edwardus.] [sidenote: de pluribus comitatibus in vasconia sub obediencia regis angliæ.] [sidenote: .] how notwithestonding a finalle peas was made solempnely be the fulle assent of king johan of fraunce prisoner, as it is the chief auctorite, and comprehendid in many articles most sufficiauntly grounded by auctorite of the pope, confermed that, for alle that it helde not passe .vij. or .viij. yere after. and so contynued by .xiij. { } yeris fro the saide tyme mortal werre continued tille a final generalle peas was made after by agrement of king johan of fraunce that was take betwene the said noble king edwarde the thrid and the saide king johan the monithe of maij the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.lx., at bretigny, the pope assentyng, and be mediacion of cardinales, archebishoppis, bisshoppis, abbotis, dukes, erles, barons, and lordis, and by the assent of bothe parties of englande as of fraunce, and confermed by the saide pope and the sacramentis of both cristen kinges, made bothe by hemselfe and by here commissaries in suche solempne wise that alle cristen princes wolde have thought it shulde stande ferme and have bene stable for ever, ande whiche finalle peas dured not scant .viij^{the}. yere after, but that it was broke fraudulentlie be feyned causes and colourable quarellis of the frenshe partie, as of the erle of armenak and other lordis of guien. and after king charles the .v^{the}, of fraunce, son to king johan, under colour of the seide trux and fynal peas made be his father, put king edwarde the thrid and his sonnes and other his lieutenauntes out of alle his conquest, aswelle of alle the londis that king edwarde conquerid in fraunce, normandie, burgoyne, and flaundres, and out of many other countee[gh], baronies, and lordshippes, and of a gret part of the duchie of guien, whiche countee[gh] and lordshippes in gascoigne and guien were given utterly and plenerlie to doo none homage, ne sovereinte to holde but of the saide noble king edwarde, and of alle his enheriteris, never to resort ayen in homage ne feute to youre adversaries of fraunce, as it is expresly enacted and recorded in the registres of alle the homagieris of guien and gascoigne, that was made by the erle of armenak, the lorde de la brette, vicecountes, barons, chevalers, and escuiers, and alle other nobles of the saide duchies, made to the saide king edwarde and to prince edwarde the duke of guien the kingis lieutenaunt; that is to wete, in the cathedralle chirche of saint andrieu chirche at burdeux, the .xix. day of juilly, the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.lxiij., present there ser thomas beauchampe erle of warewik, that aventurous and most fortunat knighte in his daies, and ser john chaundos of herfordshire { } vicount de saint saveoure [in normandye,[ ]] whiche had bene in many batailes, and had the governaunce of m^l. speris, and was comissarie for king edwarde, withe a fulle grete ost of multitude of peple well defensid in guien. and so, after that prince edwarde had received alle the homages aboute bourdeux, bordelois, and bassedois, within the seneschalcie of gascoigne, than he and the said comissaries went to alle the countees foloweng and received theire homages and feutees bothe in the name of king edwarde .iij^d., and than in like fourme did homage to the prince as duc of guien. and was no differens betwene the bothe homages doing to the king and to the duc of guien, except that homager at his othe making to the saide duke he reserved the sovereinte and the ressort dew to his highe soverein seigneur king edwarde. [so he] toke the homages of alle the vassallis and subgettis in the seneschalcie of agenois, after in the seneschalcie of landis, after in the counte of bigorre, then in the seneschalcie of pierregort, in the seneschalcie of caoursyn and roergev' and lymosyn, also in the counté of engwillom, also in the seneschalcie of xantonge, than in the counté of poitou and poytiers. by whiche it may be considerid be the said countees and countrees before specified, it was of a wide space and many a thousand peple that were at that tyme and yet ought be under youre obeisaunce. and the saide prince edwarde and the kinges commissaries made here journeis by .viij. monithes day as tille the .iiij^{the}. day of aprille the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.lxiiij., or thei coude receive alle the saide homagiers; whiche now in the yere of crist m^l.iiij^c.li., after that hole normaundie was lost, and also gascoigne and guien yoven up in defaute of socoure [of an armee made[ ]] in season, many of youre saide trew liege peple be overcome by youre adversaries of fraunce, and many a thousand peple of nobles and others coherted and be force ayenst theire hertis wille and entent to become homagiers to youre saide adversarie by the hole privacion of the saide duchie of guien, as of normandie, whiche withe the helpe of almightie god and { } saint george, chief defendoure and protectoure of these youre londis, withe the comfort of youre true subgectis, shalnot abide long in theire possession ne governaunce. [sidenote: de pace finali.] [sidenote: . .] [sidenote: pro titulo regis nota.] and now of late tyme a peas finalle was made and take withe king charlis the sext, and the whiche finalle peas made solempnelie at trois in champayne, the .xxj. day of maij the yere of crist m^l.cccc.xx., and registred in the court of parlement, confermed that alle divisions and debates betwene the roiaume of englande and the roiaume of fraunce shulde for ever cease; and the saide finalle peas heelde not fullie .ij. yeris, but brake sone after the decese of that victorioux prince king harry the .v^{the}., upon his mariage withe quene katerin. [sidenote: de infractione treugarum nota hoc.] and now last of alle the gret trewes taken and made at towris betwene henry the sext, the innocent[ ] prince, and charlis the .vij^{the}., youre adversarie of fraunce, in the said .xxiiij. yere of his reigne, solempnely sworne and sealed, and sone after broken be the frenshe partie. [sidenote: de continuacione hereditatis ducatus normandiæ. rollo dux vocatus robertus filius magnifici d'ni in regno daciæ vocati byercoteferre.] [sidenote: nota causam &c.] [sidenote: nota optime.] and none of alle these trewes hathe ben observed ne kept, notwithstanding any sacremente, othes, [or] promisses made by youre adversarie and be his dukes, erlis, and barones of the seide frenshe partie, but alway brake the saide trewes whan they coude take any avauntage ayenst us, as it shewethe openly, and may be a mirroure for ever to alle cristen princes to mystrust any trewes taking by youre saide adversarie or his allies and subjectis, be it the duke of breteyne, the duke of orliens, or any suche other his complisses: for where as youre noble progenitours were seased and possessid of the said duchie of normandie sithe that duke rollo of the nacion of denmarke, the yere of crist .ix^cxij. conquerid it upon charlis le simple, to whome he gave his doughter in mariage withe the seide duchie, and so hathe continued from heire to heire .cc.iiij^{xx}xj. yere, but after as it may be cast it was .cc.iiij^{xx}xj. yere that it was nevor in no king of fraunce is hande tille it was lost in king johan is daies of englande. and than for suche inconvenientis as was used now be mysfortune under { } [the umbre of trewes and for puttyng down arthur of breteyn,[ ]] it was lost and yoven up to the seide king phelip dieudonné in the yere of crist m^l.cc.iij., about the first [and second[ ]] yere of the seide king johan. and frome the saide first yere of king johan the possession of the saide duchie of normandie discontynued .c.xxxvj. yere, that was to the yere of crist m^l.ccc.xxxix., that youre right and possession was refourmed by youre noble progenitoure king edwarde the thrid, whiche by many yeris leide segis and had batailes withe philip de valois and johan of fraunce, occupieris of that kingdom. how king edwarde the thrid made first grete alliaunces withe gret astatis or he began to make werre in fraunce. [sidenote: nota de auxilio regis edwardi.] [sidenote: conciderand'.] [sidenote: in cronicis frodsard.] [sidenote: pax finalis sperata fuit.] [sidenote: . .] [sidenote: exclamacio.] [sidenote: consideracio.] and therto king edwarde allied hym withe fulle mighty princes to socour and reliefe hym in his werres or he began to set on hem: first withe lowes emperoure of allemayne, to whome he rewardid fifty thousande sak wolle for perveaunce, and soulde men of werre that he shulde make to helpe king edward the thrid in his conquest; and after allied hym to the erle of heynew and to the erle of flaundres, and also withe the duke of bretein; the whiche alliaunces was a fulle gret socoure and helpe to his conquest in fraunce and normandie, for he wanne at the first raise that he made over the see m^l.m^l.v^c. townes and castellis, and soforthe reigned and continued in armes .xxxiiij. yeris, by putting the frenshe king and his allies in gret subgeccion for the right of his enheritaunces, like as who so lust rede the booke [of] his actis clepid [mayster[ ]] froddesarde more plainly may perceyve. and so alle his daies contynued tille unto the tyme that be dissimulacion of the gret peas taken atwix hym and his prisoner king johan of fraunce, made at bretigny the yere of crist m^l.iij^c.lx., that undre umbre of the seid trewes charles le sage his sonne, after the decese of king johan, did put king edwarde thrid out of alle his said conquest in fraunce and normandie, and partie of guyen. and sithen more effectuelle laboures and dedis of armes { } hathe be done by that victorioux prince henry the .v^{the}., he being parsonelly bothe at many sieges, leyng at assautes, at batailes, and journeis frome the second yere of his reigne [exclusyfe[ ]] into the day of his trespassement the space of .vij. yere. whiche labouris parcellis of them briefly bene specified before. and there youre obeisaunt subgeitis and trew liege peple be put owt of their londis and tenementis yoven to hem by youre predecessoures, as wel as be that highe and mighty prince richarde duke of yorke youre father, being at two voiages lieutenaunt and gouvernaunt in fraunce, for service done unto hem in theire conquest, not recompensed ayen to theire undoing. heh allas! thei did crie, and woo be the tyme they saide, that ever we shulde put affiaunce and trust to the frenshe partie or theire allie[gh] in any trewes keping, considering so many folde tymes we have ben deceived and myschevid thoroughe suche dissimuled trewes as is late before specified. and yet not for alle these inconvenientis that have falle to us be conspiring of deceitis undre umbre of suche dissimuled trewes, late it be out of doubte that, thoughe they holde theym never so proude, puissaunt, and strong, ne so sotill and crafty in suche deceitis conspiring, they by goddis might shalbe overcome and brought to the right astate that it oughte be, where as the title and clayme of thenheritaunce of fraunce is verray trew, whan dew diligence have be shewed by us in executing the saide right, as it is verefied briefly by examples here before. [sidenote: divina concideracio enodanda per theologos.] how be it that at som tymes that god suffrithe the partie that hathe a true title and right to be overcome, yet for alle that a man shulde not be discouraged alway to sew his right. [sidenote: . .] [sidenote: infortunium bellum apud fermenye ultima vice.] [sidenote: gyen.] [sidenote: burdeux.] [sidenote: de sancto lodovico rege fraunciæ.] and albeit that at som tymes god suffrethe the partie that hathe right and a trew title, and that livethe after his lawes, to be gretly parsecuted, and to be put to over gret aventure, laboure, and peyne, some tyme to be overthrow, some tyme to be prisoner or slaine in { } bataile be divine providence whan hym lust to be juge, thoughe the peple be never so goode, ne the querelle, title, and right never so trew; and yet not for no suche adversite and as have fallen the yere of crist m^l.iiij^c.l., be the last overthrow of a notable arme at fremyny, where ser thomas kirielle knight, lieftenaunt in that voiage, [was take prysoner wyth many othyrs to the nombre about .ix^c.,[ ]] a grete caus was that the pety capteins wolde not obbey at the day of that journay at that sodeyne recountre to her chieftein, and taried lengir in his voiage after he was londed or he came to any strong holde was present.[ ] also another gret armee and voiage fordone for defaut and lak of spedy payment this yere of crist m^l.cccclj., whiche were at last redy to goo to gyen, the armee taried upon the see coostis in englande almost a quarter of a yere or theire payment was redie. and the cite of burdeux lost in the meane tyme for lak of rescue. yet god defende that thoroughe suche adversitees we shulde be utterly discoraged. late us take example in according to this. it is wretin in the booke of machabeus, in the .viij. chapitre, how the worshipfull judas machabeus, seeyng goddis peple gretly febled and abashed be divers discomfitures of theym, seide to his knightis, a, a, it is bettir to us to avaunce us forthe and rather to die in bataile then lengre to suffre the gret passions and troubles of oure infortune. and fro thens forthe by the wille of god, good corage and comfort taken to theyme, they were made conquerours and had the victorie in alle theire batailes. also another example by seint lowes king of fraunce, whiche in encresing the cristyn feithe made gret armees into the holy land in [about[ ]] the yere of crist m^l.ij^c.lxx., and suffrethe gret adversiteis among the sarresyns, he and his knightis overthrow and take prisoneris to the soudan of babilon, and the king put to gret raunsom paide, his peple died up by gret mortalite of pestilence, suffred famyne, hungur, and thurst, yet god at the last releved hym, and [he] came into fraunce withe gret worship. { } [sidenote: animacio.] an nother exhortacion of the historier. o ye highe and myghtifulle prince, king of englande and of fraunce, and alle ye other noble princes and other puissaunt lordes and nobles of divers astates olde or yong, of so auncien a stok and of so worthy a lineage, as of the noble trojan is blode descendid, as it is auctorised and may appere by many croniclers and histories of noble doctours enacted and registred, that ye alonly have ever ben halden without note of errour or deformite of the law withe the most puissaunt and of power thoroughe alle regions cristen or hethen, haveng alway under youre regencie and governaunce the habondaunce of noble men of chevalrie, passing alle othir landes after the quantite and afferaunt of youre roiaume, lete then be as a mirrour noted and had before youre eyen by contynuell remembraunce to thentent that the excersising of theire noble actis in conquestis may the more vigorously endeuce you to succede the prowesse and vaillauntnesse of youre highe predecessoures in armes, like as it shewethe welle at this tyme of what worship they have bene by here victorious dedis, for they in difference of other nacions have ever ewred and shewed the renomme and excellence of youre highe and mighty antecessours' corages, aswelle in straunge regions as among the sarrazyns in the region of sirie and turkie, as in the said neere regions of fraunce, spayne, lumbardie, spruce, and other countrees. and therfor ye shulde yeve laude and praisingis alway to god, for, sithe the trespassement of prince edwarde and good henry duc of lancaster that was, [ther wer but few like to hem in armys.[ ]] here is brieflie made mencion of the recomendacion of acyn[ ] worship of henry the .v^{the}. and his bretheryn thomas, johan, and humfrey, .iiij. noble princes. where was he of late daies descendid of noble bloode that was so corageous in dedis of armes as was that mightifull prince of renommee of { } youre noble lynage henry .v^{te}. and his said thre full mighty and noble princes his brethern, and next .ij. cosyns germayns of youre kynne, that in here daies were as the pilours and chief postis of the holders up of the [last conquest, and of the[ ]] possession of youre rightfulle enheritaunce, bothe of youre roiaumes of fraunce as of justice keping, tranquillite and pease in youre roiaume of englonde, also of the duchies of normandie, gascoigne, guyen, and of the counte of mayne. [sidenote: dux clarence.] [sidenote: conciderandum est.] for as for a brief advertisement and remembraunce how thomas the duc of clarence in his yong age, the yere of crist m^l.cccc.iij., lieutenaunt of alle irelonde, and after that lieutenaunt and governoure of youre duchees of gascoyne and guien, defending the true subgettis frome theire adversaries, holding up youre right and keping youre peple and subgettis under youre lawes. and after [the seyd duc,[ ]] in company of the victorioux prince henry the .v^{te}., labourid in armes upon that noble conquest in fraunce and the duchie of normandie, there being lieutenaunt for that marchis, where as he in bataile among youre adversaries in the duchie of anjou at bowgée most worshiplie at a sodeyn recountre fighting withe a few felouship of lordes and nobles, levyng his hoste behynde, not abiding theire comyng, ayenst a gret multitude of fighters, the yere of crist m^l.cccc.xxj. among the frenshemen and scottis was slayne; whiche not long after god thoroughe power suffred the seid capteyns of scottis to be overthrow bothe at the batailes of cravant, also at the bataile of vernelle, and [also[ ]] at the bataile of rouverey. [sidenote: j. dux bedfordie regens regni frauncie.] [sidenote: conquestus comitatus de mayn.] [sidenote: . .] also youre second cousyn johan duc of bedforde, that in his grene age was lieutenaunt of the marchis, werrid ayenst the scottis, keping them in subgeccion, havyng gret journeis and batailes ayenst them. after that made admirall and kepar of the see, havyng a gret mortal bataile and victorie ayenst the carrakes, galeis, and othir gret shippis. beyng also a certayn tyme lieutenaunt and protectoure in this lande; and sethe yeede upon youre said conquest into fraunce and { } normandie, therof being regent and gouvernoure in the daies of the devout prince henry the sext over alle the subgeitis of fraunce and normandie .xiij. yeris, and conquerid the counte of mayne, defending, keping, and gouvernyng the said countreis in gret tranquillite and peace, to the gret worship of bothe roiaumes, and there made his faire ende at rone, where he liethe tombid, the yere of crist m^l.cccc.xxxv., the .xiiij. day of septembre. [sidenote: dux glouc'.] [sidenote: comes de marche. comes suff'.] [sidenote: calix.] [sidenote: . .] [sidenote: . .] and how the thrid brother humfrey duc of gloucestre, withe a notabille power, was upon youre conquest in normandie withe his said brother, and at the bataile of agyncourt was sore woundid, and after he wanne [with help of the noble erle of marche and the erle of suffolk acompanyed,[ ]] brought in subjeccion, beforce of siegislieng among youre adversaries, base normandie, the castelle of chierbourgh, the cite of bayeux, costances, withe all the close of costantyne and averances, seynt lowe, carenten, and valoignez, withe alle othir forteressis and villages in that marcher. and over that sithe he was protectoure and defendoure of your roiaume of englond, in the tyme of the said henry the sext of grene age, keping gret justice, tranquillite, and peace withyn youre saide roiaume. and after whan youre nobille castelle and towne of calix was beseigid in the yere of crist m^l.cccc.xxxvj., without long respit or tarieng, he puissauntly rescued it. and many other souvereyne and princely condicions he used in this youre roiaume of englonde, as in [bokys yovyng as yt ys seyd to the value of m^l. marks of all the .vij. sciences, of dyvinite, as of lawe spirituell and cyvyle, to the universite of oxford, and[ ]] cherisshing the noble clergie of youre said roiaume. and also havyng gret charge and cost aboute the gret tendirnesse and favoure shewed and done to alle straungiers, were they ambassatours, messangiers, and other noblesse that sought worship of armes, that of divers regions visited this lande, for whiche favoure and bounteous chier, withe gret rewardes done to theym, the renome of his noble astate and name sprad thoroughe alle cristyn roiaumes { } and in hethynesse. and after he had by many wyntris lyved in worship, he making his ende at the towne of bury, the yere of crist m^l.cccc.xlvij., the .xxv. day of februarie. and over alle these puissaunt dedis done and meynteyned by the foreseid .iiij. noble princes in theire daies, and now sithen many of youre noble bloode, as cosins germayns and other allie[gh] of youre nere kyn, as dukis, erlis, barons, bene deceasid sithe the tyme of the last conquest of fraunce and normandie. [sidenote: nota de ordine militum de la gartere.] for what cause the knightys of the order and felouship of saint george was ordeigned. [sidenote: non sunt oblivio tradend'.] [sidenote: nobilitas johannis chaundos de comitatu herefordie, senescalli de peytou.] [sidenote: senlys] [sidenote: . .] [sidenote: parys.] and also of the vaillaunt chosen knightes of the noble and worshipfulle ordre of the garter, founded by the right noble prince king edward thrid, and to bere about his legge a tokyn of the garter, in the castelle of wynsore, the .xxiij. yere of his reigne. and [as yt ys seyd[ ]] in token of worship that he being in bataile what fortune fille shuld not voide the feeld, but abide the fortune that god lust sende. whiche for gret prowesse and here manlynesse approved in armes was founded for her gret labouris in werre and vaillaunt dedis of armes be now passid to god and ought be put in memorialle, that in what distresse of bataile or siege that they have ben yn for the righte title in the crowne of fraunce they alway avaunsid hem forthe withe the formost in example of good corage gyvyng to alle theire felouship, to opteyne the overhande of here entreprise. he allas! sethe that none suche were never sene withdrawers or fleers frome batailes or dedis of worship, but rather vigorouslie foryeting theymsilfe, as did the full noble knight, a felow of the garter, ser johan chaundos, as a lion fighting in the feelde [at the bataylle of fizar, yn spayn, wyth prince edward[ ]] of the lion condicion, and defendid youre roiaume of fraunce frome youre adversaries, preservyng theire prince's right and theire subgettis, avaunced youre conquest of fraunce and normandie, angew, and mayne, and the noble duchie of gascoigne and gyen, { } and maynteyned theire honoure and astate, to the welle of youre bothe roiaumes and relief of youre treu subgettis of this lande. and thereto they have ben of the condicions of lyons fighting withe gret strenght, puissauntlie and stifly sett to withestande youre ennemies, notwithestanding gret part of the said adverse partie have voided, fledd, and forsake the feeld and theire felouship at suche tyme as they sought to abide. in example, of the fulle noble jorney late had in the yere of crist m^l.cccc.xxxj., at senlys, where youre lieutenaunt and youre power being present, and charlis the .vij^{the}, youre gret adversarie of fraunce withe alle his power to the nombre of .l^{ti}.m^l. fighters on his side, and embatilled by thre daies in the feeld, fled and voided unfoughten at the said jorney of senlis, youre saide kynnesman johan duc of bedford being then lieutenaunt, and present in the feeld before hym thre daies. and also sone after the saide worshipfull journey of senlis, your saide adversarie of fraunce, after that made his entreprise, comyng before the noble cite of paris, with alle his roialle power to have entred the said cite, and to put out youre saide cosyn duke of bedford; whiche havyng knowlege therof incontinent disposed hym (albeit he had upon so soden warnyng but a few felouship) to mete ayen withe youre saide adversarie, and put hym in gret aventure, and entred in youre saide cite of paris to relief and defende theym as he promised, and sent worde unto hem late before to theire grettist yoie and comfort. and youre said adversarie, that ententid to gete the saide cite, besieging theym withe a grete nombre, mightilie resisted withe men and ordenaunce, so grevously hurt, being fayne to voide incontinent. and as in this maner it shewithe evidently that youre true obeisaunt lordis, and noble chieveteins, also true subgettis, have abandonned theire bodies, putting them in gret jupardie unto the parelle of dethe, or to be taking prisoneris, and yet god hathe served hem soo, that thoroughe his grace and theire manhod withe wise governaunce [they] have had the overhande of youre adversaries, and kept bothe the saide citee and the feelde withe other good men that aboode, whan theire partie contrarie have ben nombred double or treble { } moo than youris, as is before expressid. and at whiche tyme the saide citee was so mightly besegid, ser john radclif knight, withe his felouship, had gret worship. [sidenote: exclamacio.] [sidenote: nota. , .] [sidenote: tempus ultimi conquestus.] [sidenote: de pace finali apud bretygnye.] [sidenote: . .] o ye right noble martirs! whiche that for youre verray righte of the coroune of fraunce, and for the welfare of the kingis highenesse, and for the worship of his bothe roiaumes of englond and fraunce, ye forto susteyne righte and forto wynne worship, have ben often put in gret aventure, as was often tymes of the worshipfulle romayns. and therfore of you may be saide that ye were alway stedfast and obeieng youre souvereyn unto the jupardie and perille of dethe. so wolde jhesus that in the brief seson of the sodeyne and wrecchid intrusion late had by the unmanly disseising and putting oute of fraunce, normandie, angew, and mayne, withe the duchies of gasquien and guyen, whiche is done bethin the space of .j. yere and .xiiij. wekis, that is to wete frome the .xv. day of maij in the yere of crist m^l.cccc.xlix. unto the .xv. day of the monithe of august the yere of crist m^l.cccc.l, that every castelle, forteresse, and towne defensable of the said duchiees [were delyvered upp by force or composicion to the adverse partye.[ ]] and if they had be alway furnished and stuffed withe suche suffisaunt nombre of men of armes, with ordenaunce, vitaile, and wages duely kept and be paied, that they myght couraged and enforced hem to have bene kept stille the possession,[ ] and they so being of the lyonns kynde as to have bene of soo egir courage and so manly and stedfast as they were before this tyme in that parties of normandie, conquering, keping, and defending it as they did by the space of .xxxv. yeris complete and .vij. daies frome the begynnyng of the last conquest the thrid yere of king henry the .v^{the}., and not the whele of fortune turned ayenst this lande as it hathe. notwithestanding king edwarde the thrid occupied not in his conquest of fraunce and normandie passe .xxxiiij. yere, whiche that after undre certayne condicions upon apoyntement of a smalle pease made atwix hym and king johan of fraunce was { } graunted that the saide king johan shulde be seased and possessid ayen of a part of the said roiaume and duchie for certeyne countees, baronnyes, and seignories that we shulde in chief halde in guien and other contrees, whiche is more amplie declared in the saide finalle trety of pease made at bretygny; yet for alle the othes, sacrementis, seles of bothe kingis and here lordis made, the said trety of pease was sone broken by the adverse partie when they couth take theire avauntage, about the yere of crist m^l.ccc.lxxj. [sidenote: exclamacio alia.] [sidenote: de amicicia per maritagia et alias alligancias fienda.] [sidenote: nota bene.] [sidenote: nota et concidera ad honorandum extraneos.] he allas! we dolorous parsones suffring intollerabille persecucions and miserie, aswelle in honoure lost as in oure[ ] lyvelode there unrecompensid, as in oure meveable goodes bereved, what shalle we doo or say? shalle we in this doloure, anguisshe, and hevynesse contynew long thus? nay, nay, god defende that suche intrusions, grete wrongis, and tiranye shuld be left unpunisshed, and so gret a losse unpunysshed and not repared! for one good moyen, undre correccion, may be this, and if youre lordis wolde enforce hem to renew theire olde allie[gh] of straunge regions and countrees, as the romayns did whan they werrid in auffrik ayenst the cartages, and of late daies king edwarde the thrid gafe example and sithe king harry the .v^{te}. in oure daies, and also his noble brothir johan duke of bedford after hym; whiche allies be almost werid out and foryete to oure grete desolacion, whiche and they were renewed by meane of mariages of gret birthe, by cherisshing of lordis, nobles, and marchauntes of the regions that we have been allied unto, or desire to be gyvyng renomme and honoure in armes to the princes that we desire alliaunce, or[ ] sending at suche tymes as the cas shalle require to the princes ambassiatours that be halden worshipfulle men of astate and degree that have sene worship in divers contreis, whiche prudently can purpose and declare the urgent cause and necessite of this royaume, it wolde be to think verralie than that tho yowre[ ] people true subgettis of fraunce were mynusshed or abated as it is, but oure saide allies wolde enforce hem withe alle hir power and might to the { } reformacion of the saide intrusions, and under colour of trewes wrought ayenst us. in example of this matier, it bathe bene specified herebefore, and how it hathe be rad among the romayne stories that, whan haniballe, prince of cartage, had so gret a descomfiture ayenst camos, governour of the romayne ooste, that the men of cartage gaderid of the fingers of the ded romayns three muys fulle of golde ringis. so it shewed that the power of rome was gretly mynusshed and febled. than, whan this tidingis come to cartage, one hamon, a wise man, a senatoure, demaunded if it so were that for alle so gret a discomfiture is [at this place a leaf of the ms., or more, has been lost.] [sidenote: tullius cicero.] [sidenote: boecius.] [sidenote: constellacio non necessitat sed forte disponit mores hominum altor' bene vel contra, ac impressiones aeris et causa mere naturalia concernencia.] [sidenote: contra fiduciam adhibendam in prophesiis. nota conclusionem. nisi fuerit sanctissimis viris.] [sidenote: josephus. orosius. titus livius.] [sidenote: gyldas.] [sidenote: deexpulsione britonum in walliam et cornewaylle propter peccata. destruccio regnorum.] [sidenote: nynyve. babylon. troye. thebes. athenes.] [sidenote: rome.] [sidenote: jerusalem.] [sidenote: picti gentes.] [sidenote: saxones.] [sidenote: danii. normanni. andegavenses.] [sidenote: galfridus plantagenest.] [sidenote: lucius valerius.] [sidenote: boicius.] [sidenote: de republica custodienda.] [sidenote: de justicia.] whiche may noie be, for cicero seicthe in the booke that he made of divinacion, and the famous doctour seint austyn in the book of fre wille, and also boecius in his booke of consolacion, or[ ] comforte ayenst mysfortune, accorden to the same, that we shuld not only trust that the thinges whiche sounethe to adversite or infortune, and the whiche comethe to us adversarily or on the lift side, for oure offenses not keping the lawes of god, that oft tymes comythe, they dyvynyng that they fallithe be casuelte of fortune, by prophesies, orellis thoroughe influence and constellacions of sterris of hevyn, whiche jugementes be not necessarilie true, for and if it were like to trouthe it were but as contingent and of no necessite, that is to sey, as likely to be not as to be. and if a constellacion or prophesie signified that suche a yere or bethin suche a tyme there shulde falle werre, pestilence, or deerthe of vitaile to a contree or region, or privacion of a contre, it is said but dispositiflie and not of necessite or certente, for than it shulde folow that the prophesies, constellacions, and influence of sterris were maistris over goddis power, and that wolde soune to an herisie orellis to a gret erroure. and if suche { } prophesies and influence of the seide constellacions might be trew, yet god hathe gyve that souvereynte in mannys soule that he, havyng a clene soule, may turne the contrarie disposicion that jugement of constellacion or prophesies signified. as it is verified by the famous astrologien ptolome in his booke called centilogie, the capitalle, seieng _quod homo sapiens dominatur astris_, that a man is sovereyn abofe suche domes of constellacions. and therfor ye oughte not deme ne conceyve the gret adversite that fallithe to us is not falle to us by prophesie or by influence of constellacion of sterris, but only for synne and wrecchidnes, and for lak of prudence and politique governaunce in dew tyme provided, and havyng no consideracion to the comen wele, but rathir to magnifie and enriche oure silfe by singler covetise, using to take gret rewardis and suffring extorcions over the pore peple, for whiche inconvenientis by the jugementis and suffraunce of god, and of his divine providence, the whiche by divers and of his secretis and as misteries unknowen to us he hathe suffred this mysfortune among us here, and privacion of the saide roiaume of fraunce and contreis ther to falle upon us. and who so wolle considre welle the histories of olde croniclers, as of josephas, libro antiquitatum, orosius de ormesta mundi, titus livius of the romayne battelis, and such othirs, how that gret chaunge of roiaumes and countreis frome one nacion to another straunge tong hathe be, for synne and wrecchidnesse and mysgovernaunce reignyng in the roiaume so conquerid. and as it is made mencion in the olde historien called gildas that for pride, covetice, and flesshely lustis used amongis the olde breton bloode lordis of this roiaume, god suffred the saxons of duche ys tung, a straunge nacion, to dryve them out of this land in angle in cornewale and walis. and where is nynnyve, the gret cite of thre daies? and babilon, the gret toure, inhabited now withe wilde bestis? the citeis of troy [and] thebes, .ij. grete magnified citeis? also athenes, that was the welle of connyng and of wisdam? and cartage, the victorioux cite of gret renomme, most doubtable, by the romayns was brent to asshes. { } and also rome, so gloriously magnified thoroughe alle the world, overthrow the gret part of it; aswelle as was jerusalem. and to take an example of the many overthrowes and conquestis of this lande by straunge nacions sithen the breton bloode first inhabited, as withe peple callid pictics, commyng out of ferre northe partie of the worlde. then after the saxones drove out the olde breton bloode. than after the danys peple conquerid the saxons, and than the normans conquerid the danys. and sone after the angevyns of highe fraunce, full noble knightis of renomme, geffrey erle plantagenet erle of angew maried withe dame maud, doughter of the duke of normandie and king of englande, harry the second, whych doughter, called dame maude emperesse, and so haldyn stille the normandie bloode and the angevyns into this tyme. and job in his booke seithe that nothing fallithe or risithe on the erthe without a cause, as who saiethe that none adversite fallithe not to us, but only for wikkidnesse of lyvyng and synne that reignithe on us; as pride, envye, singuler covetice, and sensualite of the bodie now a daies hathe most reigned over us to oure destruccion, we not havyng consideracion to the generalle profit and universalle wele of a comynalte. and to bring to mynde how the worshipfulle senatours romayns did gife us many examples, as lucius valerius, and also the noble juge cenatoure of rome boecius, [of the grete lofe[ ]] had alway to the cite of rome. for the saide lucius valerius despendid so gret good upon the comyn profit of the said cite, to kepe and maynteyne the honoure of the citee, defending the cite and contreis about from here ennemies, that he died in gret povertee, but by the cenatours relevyng, and for his worshipfulle dedis they buried hym in the most solempne wise according to his worship. and the said juge boecius loved rightwisnesse to be kept, and the pore comyns of rome in that susteyned and maynteyned that he spared nothir lord ne none astate. but suffred hym to stande in the daunger of the hethyn king of rome, and to be in exile rathir { } than he wolde offende justice. notwithestanding the saide adversite and tribulacions felle unto hem for avaunsing and tendring the comyn wele, and alle men of worship may put hem in worshipfulle remembraunce among worthy princes to here gret renomme and laude. also it is to be noted that was one of the gret causis that the princes romayns were so gret conquerours and helde the straunge roiaumes so long in subjeccion, but only using of trouthe and justice keping in here conquestis. [sidenote: de justicia camilli in obcidionibus historia gloriosa.] a fulle noble historie how that camillus the duke of rome wolde use justice in his conquest. [sidenote: quod princeps debet vincere cicius per justiciam quam per traditionem.] [sidenote: titus livius decade primo.] [sidenote: florens cytee.] [sidenote: camillus.] [sidenote: conciderandum.] [sidenote: proposicio ad romanos gentes.] in example i rede in the romayns stories of titus livius in the booke of the first decade that a prince romayn clepid camillus, whiche did so many victorioux dedis, and loved so welle the comyn profit of the cite of rome, that he was called the second romulus whiche founded first rome, besieged a gret cite of falistes, whiche is nowe as it is saide called florence, to have hem undre the governaunce of the romayne lawes. and as he had leyne long at the siege, and after gret batailes and scarmysshes it fortuned that a maister of sciencis of falliste called now florence, the whiche had all the enfauntes and childryn of the gouvernours and worshipfulle men of the saide citee in his rule to lerne hem virtuous sciencis, thought to wynne a gret rewarde and thank of the noble prince camillus, and by the umbre of treson ayenst justice that the said maistre wolde wirke to cause the senatours of faliste [the rather[ ]] to deliver up the cite to the prince, the said maister by flatering and blandishing wordis meoved his clerkis to desport bethout the cite in the feeldis, and so fedde hem forthe withe sportis and plaies tille he had brought hem withyn the siege and power of camillus, and came to his presence, saiyng to hym that he had brought to hym the sonnes of the chief lordes and governours of the cite of falliste, { } whiche and he wolde kepe the said chyldryn in servage, the faderis of hem wolle deliver hym the cite bethout any more werre making. than saide that just prince camillus that it was not the romayns condicions to werre and punisshe such innocentis as never offendid in werre, ne knew not what werre meoved; and wolde not suffre that the falistes be defrauded of here contre and cite by unjust menes of treason or fals covyn or undew alliaunce, but as naturalle werre wol fortune by manhod and just dede of armes to take the cite. and there the saide prince comaunded the scolemaister for his gret deceite to be dispoilid and to be betyn nakid withe baleese and sharpe roddis withe his owne clerkis into the cite ayen; than the governours and maistres of the cite, havyng consideracion of the gret justice and manhod that he used in his conquest, sent to camillus ambassatours withe the keies of the cite, and purposid unto him, saieng, o ye fathir and prince of justice, wher as the welle honoure and renommee of justice and of victorioux dedis reignithe among you romaynes by using of justice, and that for asmoche they perceyved that princes romayns used feithe and justice, and peyned theym to kepe theire peple conquerid hem to be subgettis to rome by justice, they were fulle joifulle and glad to lyve undre theire lawes, and so delivered hym the [keys and the[ ]] citee, to the gret renomme of the saide prince and to alle the romayns gretly to be magnified. historie of dame cristyn, declaring how a prince and a ledar of peple shulde use prudence and justice by example of the noble cenatoure called fabricius. [sidenote: res publica.] and also as dame cristyn[ ] in the .xv. chapitre of the first partie of hir seid booke of tree of batailes leiethe a noble example that { } among alle vertues that shulde long to a prince, a duke, a cheveteyne, or to a governoure of a contre, citee, or towne, or a leder of peple, rehersithe how it is necessarie that he shulde be a prudent man and a wise and of gret trouthe, as by example it is write of the noble and trew senatoure fabricius, leder of the roman oostis, the whiche for his gret trouthe, vailliaunce, and manhod, and wise governaunce, king pirrus his adversarie offred to gyve hym the .iiij^{the}. part of his roiaume and of his tresoure and goodis, so that the saide fabricius wolde yelden and turne to his partie and become his felow in armes. to whiche pirrus the said fabrisius answerd, that a trew man might not to over moche hate and dispreise tresoure and richesse by treason and falshed evylle getyn, where as by possibilite and alle liklinesse may be honourable and truly vanquisshid and wonne bye armes, and not in noo maner wise by untrouthe and falshed. in whiche matier verifieng, saiethe vigecius in his booke of chevalrie, to a chiefteyne, to whome is commytted so gret a thing as is deliverid hym the charge and governaunce of noblesse of chevalrie, the dedis and entreprises of a prince is office is principally comytted hym for the governaunce of comon publique of a roiaume, dukedom, erledom, barnage, or seignourie, castelle, forteresse, citee, and towne, that is clepid vulgarlie the comon profite, the suerte and saufegarde of alle the saide contreis. and if by the fortune of batailes he might not only have a generall consideracion and cure of alle his ooste or over alle the peple, contree, or citee that he hathe take the charge of, but he must entende to every particuler charge and thing that nedithe remedie or relief for his charge; and any thing myssfortune to a comon universall damage in defaut of oversight of remedie of a particuler and singuler thing or charge, thoroughe whiche might grow to an universall damage, than it is to be wited his defaute. { } and therefore in conclusion of this, late it take example to folow the noble and fructufulle examples of the noble cenatours. and we ought so to kepe us frome the offending and grevyng of oure sovereyne maker not to usurpe ayenst justice as hathe be doo, in suche wise that thoroughe oure synfulle and wrecchid lyvyng ayenst his lawes he be not lengir contrarie to us, suffring us this grevouslie for oure offensis to be overthrow, rebukid, and punished as we bee, but lyve and endure in suche clene life, observyng his .x. preceptis, that he have no cause to shew on us the rod of his chastising as he dothe. [sidenote: deploracio contra iniquos malefactores prevalentes.] another exhortacion to kepe the lawes of god, for in doubte that ellis god wulle suffre oure adversaries punisshe us withe his rodde. [sidenote: nota optime.] o mightifulle god, if it be soo as holy scripture seiethe, the whiche is not to mystrust, have not we deserved cause this to be punished, seeyng so many wrecchid synnes as among us dailie uncorrectid hathe reigned, for whiche we ought know we be righte worthy of moche more chastising and grettir punishement of god, he being just and not chaungeable; for it is wretyn in the booke of paralipomenon that for the gret synnes used be theym of israelle, god of his rightwisnesse suffred the phillistyns that were they never so eville ne in so eville a quarelle to be persecutours and destroiers of the lande of judee and of goddis peple, and the rathir that the saide israelites had a law gyven hem by moises and kept it not. [sidenote: de republica augmentanda.] how every officer spirituelle and temporelle shulde put hym in his devoire to the avaunsing of the comon profite. [sidenote: tullius in nova rethorica.] and it is for to remembre among alle other thingis that is made mencion in this epistille that every man after his power and degre shuld principallie put hym in devoire and laboure for the { } avaunsment of the comon profit of a region, contre, cite, towne, or householde; for, as alle the famous clerkis writen, and inespecialle that wise cenatoure of rome tullius in his booke de officiis [de republica, that novius marcellus makyth mencion of yn dyvers chapiters,[ ]] and in other bookis of his de amicicia, paradoxis, and tusculanis questionibus, that res publica welle attendid and observed, it is the grounde of welfare and prosperite of alle maner peple. and first to wete the verray declaracion of these .ij. termys res publica, as seint austyn seiethe in the .v. booke and .xxviij. chapitre of the cite of god, and the saide tullius the famous rethoricien accordithe withe the same, saieng in latyn termes: "res publica est res populi, res patriæ, res communis; sic patet quod omnis qui intendit bonum commune et utilitatem populi vel patriæ vel civitatis augere, conservare, protegere, salva justicia intendit et rempublicam augere et conservare." and it is forto lerne and considre to what vertues respublica strecchithe, as i rede in a tretie that wallensis, a noble clerk, wrote in his book clepid commune loquium, c^o. ^o. p^e partis, seithe quod, "respublica ordinatur hiis virtutibus, scilicet, legum rectitudine, justiciæ soliditate, equitatis concordia, unanimitatis fidelitate mutua adjuvante, concilio salubri dirigente, morum honestate decorante, ordinata intentione consumpnante." as for the first partie it is verified by tullie in his rethorik the first booke: "omnes leges ad commodum reipublicæ judicis referre oportet, et lex nichil aliud est quam recta racio et anima justa, imperans honesta, prohibens contraria." and it is right expedient that alle tho that be justices, governours, or rulers of contrees, citees, or townes, to a comon profit, must doo it by prudent counceile and good avise of auncien approved men; for a governoure of a comon profit were in olde tyme named amongis the romayns, havyng the astate that at this daies bene used [by] alle tho that bene called to highe digniteis, the emperoure, kingis, princes, dukis, marques, erlis, vicountes, barons, baronettis, consules, chevalers, esquiers, and aldermannes, justices, { } baillifis, provostis, maires, and suche othirs officers. and tullius in the first booke of offices seiethe: "parva sunt foris arma ubi consilium non est domi." how auncient men growen in yeris be more acceptable to be elect for a counceilour, or for to gouverne a cite for a comyn profit, than yong men. [sidenote: tullius de senectute.] [sidenote: examplum amplum.] [sidenote: experiencia, &c.] [sidenote: job.] tullius in his book de senectute saiethe that auncient men that bene growen in age bene more profitable in gyvyng counceile for the avaunsing and governyng a comon profit of a citee, towne, or village, as to bere offices, than othirs that bene yong of age, althoughe he be [of] mighty power of bodie. for an example he puttithe, as there be men in a ship som that be yonge of mighty power halithe up the ankirs, othirs goithe feersly aboute the ropis fastenyng, and some goithe to set up the saile and take it downe as the govenoure the maister avisithe hem. yet the eldist man that is halde wisist among hem sittithe and kepithe the rothir or sterne [of] the ship, and seethe to the nedille for to gide the ship to alle costis, behofefulle to the savyng of the ship frome dangers and rokkis, whiche dothe more profit and grettir avauntage to the vesselle than alle tho yong lusty men that rennen, halithe, or clymethe. wherfor it may be concluded that the auncien approved men by long experience, made governours and counceilours of roiaumes, contrees, citeis, and townes, done grettir dedis by theire wise counceile, than tho that labouren in the feelde, cite, or towne by mighty power of her hand. and it is saide by job, . ^o. that roboam, whiche forsooke the counceile of olde men, and drew after the counceile of yong men, lost the kingdom [of] whiche he had the gouvernaunce; and whiche example is right necessarie to be had in remembraunce in every wise governoure is hert. and so wolde the mightifulle god that every governoure wolde have a verray parfit love to the governaunce of a comon wele by wise and goode counceile, and to folow the pathis and weies and examples { } of the noble senatours of rome, how they were attending to the commyn profit, setting aside singular availe. so tho famous region and citeis aboute undre theire obeissaunce reigned alle that tyme by many revolucion of yeris in gret worship and prosperite, as i shalle in example put here in remembraunce, and is founden writen in divers stories, as of one among othir ys [sidenote: de preferramento rei publice.] how fabius the noble cenatoure set by no worship of vayne glorie, but only laboured for the comon profit of rome. [sidenote: fabius cenator dexspexit vanam gloriam.] [sidenote: quomodo romani gentes fuerant divinatores et auguriste pro conservacione rei publice.] tullius de senectute the first partie maketh mencion of a noble prince romayne clepid fabius, whiche had gret batailes and journeis withe hanibal prince of cartage, to kepe the conquest of romayne contreis, and to see theire libertees and fraunchises observed and kept for the wele of alle maner peple; whiche fabius despraised renommee and vayne glorie, but onlie gafe his solicitude, thought, and his bisy cure about the comon profit of rome; for whiche cause the saide fabius after his dethe was put in gret renomme and more magnified among the romayns than he was in his liffe tyme. and the saide fabius, after the right and usage was in tho daies, did gret diligence to lerne and know by augures and divinacions of briddis and by other causes naturell after the ceasons of the yeris and in what tymes prosperite, welthe, and plente, derthe, or scarsite of cornes, wynes, [and] oilis shulde falle to the contre of romayns, to his grettist comfort for the avauncement of the comon wele. and he delited gretly to rede actis and dedis of armes of straunge nacions, to have a parfiter remembraunce and experience to rule a comon wele, that was moche bettir than before his daies ne sithe was no consulle like to his governaunce except the worthy scipion's. and it were fulle necessarie that princes and lordis shuld know by naturalle cause of philosophie the seasons and yeris of prosperite or adversite falling to the region that he is of, to th'entent he might make his provision thereafter; but more pite is few { } profound clerkis in this lande ben parfitelie grounded in suche workis or they fauten her principales in scolis, so they have no sufficient bookis, orellis they taken upon them the connyng of judicielle mateiris to know the impressions of the heire and be not expertid, and be this maner the noble science of suche judicielle mater in causis naturelle concernyng the influence of the bodies of hevyn ben defamed and rebukid. how lucius paulus fabricius and curius cornicanus, cenatours, in her grete age onlie studied and concellid for the proferring of the comon wele. also to bring to mynde for to folow the steppis of the full noble consulle of rome lucius paulus, whiche the wise caton is sonne maried the doughter of the saide lucius paule. also the senatours clepid fabricius and curiois cornecanois, that they aswelle as the forsaide fabius in her grete age did none othir bisinesse but only by theire counceile and by theire auctorite counceiled, avised, and comaunded that that shulde bee to the comon profit of the saide cite of rome. how appius the highe preest of the tempill of mynerfe, albeit he was blinde, of good corage purposid tofore the romains to make werre withe king pirrus then to be com subjet to her auncient ennemy king pirrus. [sidenote: tullius de senectute.] [sidenote: ennius poeta.] in like wise the [hyghe[ ]] preest of the tempille of mynerve of rome clepid appius, after he was for gret age blinde and feble, whan king pirrus, king of epirotes, werrid so ayenst rome that he had [febled and[ ]] werried them so sore and wan upon hem so gret contreis, that the romains ayenst theire worship wolde have made pease and alliaunces withe hym to her uttermost dishonoure, { } but the said appius purposid tofore the noble senatoures romayn and required hem to doo after the counceile of ennius the wise consul, that the romains shulde take good hert to hem, and not to abate here noble courages, to become subjet to theire auncient adversarie pirrus; and that they shulde take new entreprinses upon pirrus and destroie his gret armees; whiche the saide senatours were revived in theire courages thoroughe the wise exhortacions of appius, and had the victorie of pirrus. [sidenote: de officiis catonis.] this chapitre declarithe how many gret offices of highe dignite caton was called and auctorised for his gret manhode and wisdom, and how he in his age couraged the yong knightis to goo to feelde to venquisshe cartage or he died. also the noble senatoure of rome caton, that was so manlie, prudent, and of holsom counceile, whiche in his yong daies occupied the office of a knight in excersising armes, anothir season he occupied the office of tribune as a chief juge among the romayns, another season was a legat as an ambassatoure into ferre contreis, yet anothir tyme in his gret auncien age, that he might not gretlie laboure, was made consul of rome to sit stille and avise the weies and meenys how the romayns might alway be puissaunt to resist ayenst cartage, whiche he hopid verralie or he died to see the saide cite destroied. and the said caton, in presence of yong scipio and lelius, .ij. noblest yong knightis of rome that visited cato to here of his wise conduit and counceile, he being then of full gret age, tendred so ferventlie the well of comon profit of rome, that he required and besought the immortalle godis[ ] of licence that he might not die till he might know cartage destroied by victorie of bataile, and to be avengid of the servage and miserie of the noble romayns whiche were prisoneris withe quintus fabius in cartage xxxiij yere passed. { } [sidenote: doctor militum in armis.] of a semblable noble condition of quintus fabius according to caton. and quintus fabius, albeit he might not in his gret age laboure, left the usage that he in his youthe taught yong knightis, as to renne, lepe, just withe speris, fight afoote withe axes, yet he had in his olde age alway gret solicitude and thought for the avauncement of the comon profit of the citee by counceile, by reason and by inure deliberacion of hymsilf and of the wise senatoure. the diffinicion of the office that belongithe to the senate. [sidenote: tullius de senectute.] and whiche terme senate is as moche for to say a companie of aged men assembled togither. how caton writithe that citeis and contreis that were governed by men of yong age were destroied, and they lost also theire lifelode wastefullie. [sidenote: ita officia danda juvenibus.] and caton saide that who so wolde rede in auncien histories he shulde finde that citeis whiche were conduit and governed by men of yong age, were destroied and brought to desert, as well rome as othirs, and it was not revived ne encresid ayen, but onlie be the counceile of auncien men. and the saide cato makithe a question to tho saide yong joly knightis, scipion and lilius, demaunding them why they and suche othir yong counceilours had wasted and brought to nought theire inheritaunce callid patrimonie, and the comon profit of theire cite and countre destroied. and nennius the poet made answere for hem and saide, tho that were made counceilours for the { } comon profit of the towne, also suche that were of scipion and lilius counceile, were but new [not expert[ ]] drawen maistris, ignoraunt advocat[gh] and pledours, yong men not roted ne expert in the law ne in policie [of] governaunce, whiche by theire fole-hardiesse and be the proprete and nature of grene age causid the patrimonie of lelius and scipion to be lost, and also the countreis that they hadde to governaunce. and he that wolle have prudent avise and sure conceile must doo by counceile of men of gret age, aswelle in counceile of civile causes as in conduct of armees and oostis of men of armes in werre, for the defence of the comon publique. [sidenote: agamenon.] of the answere and reson of agamenon duke and leder of the greekis hoost ayenst the troiens. for agamenon the noble knight that was leder and governoure of the grekis batailes ayenst the noble troiens, [sidenote: nestor.] of the wisdom of king nestor a troian. [sidenote: de conciliis antiquorum militum in experiencia preferrendorum.] when he herde of king nestor, how he was holden the wisist lyvyng of counceile yevyng and of gret eloquence in his auncien age, [sidenote: ayax.] of the recomendacion of the prowesse of ayax a knight of grece. and in like wise one ayax a knight of grece was halden the best fighter amonge the grekis ayenst the trojens; in so moche that the grekis desired of the immortell goddis to have only but .xl. suche batellous knightis as ayax is to fighte withe the grekis ayenst the troyens, { } how duke agamenon trusted so gretlie in the counceile of agid men, that he required the immortelle goddis to have suche .vj. olde kingis as nestor is, doubted not to wynne troie in short tyme. but that noble duke agamenon required of the goddis six suche wise viellars as was nestor, that then he doubted not within short tyme that troie shulde be take and destroied. [sidenote: publius decius.] how that most noble centoure publius decius, so hardie an entreprennoure in the bataile, whan the romains were almost overthrow, he avaunsid hym silfe so ferre in the bataile, to die to th'entent to make the romains more gret, and felle for his dethe in fighting tille they had the victory. [sidenote: nota bene diversitatem militum.] [sidenote: publius decius non est recomendandus in hoc negocio.] in semblable wise tullius writithe of that vaillaunt citezin romayne publius decius, at a tyme he was chosen consulle and as a chiefteyne among the romayne ostes, he saw how the romayne oost was almost bete downe to grounde, he thought in his soule that he wolde put his bodie in jubardie frely to die, forto make the romains more egir and fellir in that bataile to revive hem silfe thoroughe cruelte of his dethe. he tooke his hors withe the sporis, and avaunsing hym silfe among his adversaries, and at the last was so sore charged withe hem that he was fellid to grounde deede. the romayns, havyng consideracion in theire courageous hertis how knyghtly he avaunsid hym in bataile fighting and suffered dethe for here sake, tooke courage and hert to hem, and recomforting hem foughten so vigorouslie ayenst theire adversaries that they hadde the victorie. [here is added in the margin the following anecdote:] hyt ys to remembre that i hafe herd myne autor fastolfe sey, whan he had yong knyghtys and nobles at hys solasse, how that { } there be twey maner condicions of manly men, and one ys a manlye man called, another ys an hardye man; but he seyd the manly man ys more to be commended, more then the hardy man; for the hardy man that sodenly, bethout discrecion of gode avysement, avauncyth hym yn the felde to be halde courageouse, and wyth grete aventur he scapyth, voydith the felde allone, but he levyth hys felyshyp destrussed. and the manly man, ys policie ys that, or he avaunce hym and hys felyshyp at skirmysshe or sodeyn racountre, he wille so discretely avaunce hym that he wille entend to hafe the ovyr hand of hys adversarye, and safe hymsylf and hys felyshyp. and therfore the aventure of publius decius ys not aftyr cristen lawes comended by hys willefulle deth, nother hys son. how the son of the said publius died in the same case. and the sonne of the said publius, that was foure tyme electe and and chose consul among the romains, put hym in so gret jupardie of bataile, for the helthe, prosperitie, and welfare of the romains, that he died in bataile in like wise. here folowithe the historie of the most noble recommendacion in perpetuite of marcus actilius, a chief duke of the romayne hostes, of his gret providence using in hostes ayenst derthes and scarsetees[ ] of cornes, wines, [and] oilis; and how he of fortune of werre, being prisoner in cartage amongis his dedlie adversaries, albeit he was put to raunson, suffred wilfullie for to die in prison, because he was so gretly aged and wered in bataile, then to the romains to pay so infenite a somme for his finaunce and raunson. [sidenote: autor rei publicæ.] hit is historied also of worshipfulle remembraunce how that verray trew lover of the comon wele of the romains, marcus actilius, that first yave hym to labouragis and approwementis of londes and { } pastures, to furnisshe and store the saide countre withe plente of corne and vitaile; after, for his gret policie, wisdom, and manhod, was made consulle and conestable of the romayne batailes, and fulle often sithis discomfited theire adversaries of cartage. and he, at a tyme, by chaunge of fortune in bataile, was take prisoner into cartage, being of gret age than. and for deliveraunce of whiche actilius the governours of cartage desired hym that he shulde laboure and sende to rome forto deliver out of prison a gret nombre of yong men of werre of cartage that were prisoneris in rome, and he shulde goo frank and quite. and the saide actilius denyed and refused it utterly, but that he wolde rather die in prison than to suffre the werrours of cartage to be delyverid for his sake, for he loved the comon wele and proffit of rome; and becaus that noble actilius wolde not condescende to deliver the prisoneris of cartage, they turmentid hym in prison in the most cruelle wise to dethe; that, and it were expressid here, it wolde make an harde hert man to falle the teris of his yen. the voluntarie dethe of whiche marcus actilius, for the welfare, prosperite, and comon profit of rome, causithe hym to be an example to alle othir, and to be put perpetuelly in remembraunce for worship. how the noble duke scipion affrican put hym in so gret aventure in his gret age ayens the cartages, that he died upon,[ ] rathir than to life in servage. [sidenote: scypio affricanus.] [sidenote: scipio asyanus.] [sidenote: scipio affricanus.] also to have in remembraunce to folow the steppis of the full noble and glorious champions two bretherin scipion africanus and scipion asian, whiche alle their lyve daies emploied and besied hem in divers entreprises of armees and batailes ayenst the affricains, for the saufegarde and defense of the comon wele of theire contre. and the saide scipion affrican wilfully died in armes of chevalrie rathir than to lyve in servage and distresse among his adversaries in cartage. { } how scipion asian, a noble conqueroure for the romayns, yet in his age he was envyed, accused to king antiochus, [and] died pitouslie in prison for his rewarde. and notwithestanding after many triumphes and victories done by scipion asian, that put in subjeccion the contre of asie, and enriched gretlie the tresoure of rome thoroughe his conquestis, he was by envious peple accused falsely to king antiochus, that he hadde withehalde the tresoure of rome, and was condempned to prison, where he endid his daies. [sidenote: lucius paulus.] how lucius paulus, a cenatoure, in defaute that his hoste wolde not doo by counceile, he was slayne in bataile. [sidenote: quod capitanei non debent renunciare concilia peritorum.] also lucius paulus, a noble consul romayne, that spared not hym silfe to die in bataile in puylle withe .ccc. noble romains that were assemblid unwitting the saide lucius paulus, and alle for lak of counceile that the saide .iij^c. nobles romayns wolde not be governed by hym: he seeng anothir consul romayn toke the entreprise, was so overthrowen withe his felouship, the saide lucius paulus avaunced hym wilfully among his adversaries withe the residew of the romains that [were] lefte, and there died withe them, to th'entent that it shulde be noted and know that the saide entreprise was not lost in his defaute. [sidenote: marcus marcellus.] [sidenote: haniballe.] how marcus marcellus, a consul that for the welfare of rome, bethout avise, went hastilie to bataile ayenst haniballe of cartage, and he being so sorie for the dethe of so manlie a duke did hym to be buried in the most worshipfulle wise. also it is [to be] remembrid of marcus marcellus, a consulle romayne that set noughte of dethe, for he upon a tyme, bethout gret { } deliberacion or advisement, desired to fight ayenst haniballe prince of cartage, assemblid withe a gret power ayenst the romains, whiche were feerse [here again a leaf of the manuscript is lost.] [sidenote: res publica.] of man, his beeis for hony, his medewis purveied for sustenaunce of his grete bestis, and every man after his degree to store hym silfe, that whan ther falle by fortune of straunge wethirs, as thoroughe excessife moist, colde, heet, mildewis, or by fortune of bataile and werre, the saide countre, cite, towne, village, or menage so provided and stuffid before shalle mow withe gret ease endure the persecucion of a scarsete or derthe fallen [by] suche straunge menys. and aswelle the terme of res publica, whiche is in englisshe tong clepid a comyn profit, it ought aswelle be referred to the provision and wise gouvernaunce of a mesuage or a householde as to the conduit and wise governaunce of a village, towne, citee, countree, or region. [the following addition is here made in the margin.] hyt ys to remembre thys caase of rebellyon of parys felle in abcence of herry .v^{te}. kyng beyng in england wyth hys queene. and bethoute noote of vaynglory, yff i do wryte of myne autor[ ] i fynde by hys bokes of hys purveours how yn every castelle, forteresse, and cyte or towne he wolde hafe grete providence of vitaille of cornys, of larde, and beoffes, of stokphyshe and saltfyshe owt of england commyng by shyppes. and that policie was one of the grete causes that the regent of fraunce and the lordes of the kyng ys grete councelle lefft hym to hafe so many castells to kepe that he ledd yerly .iij^c. sperys and the bowes. and also yn semblable wyse purveyed yeerly for lyverey whyte and rede for hubes for hys soudeours, and for armurs wepyns redye to a naked man that was hable to do the kyng and the sayd regent service. and yt fille yn the .viij^{te}. yere of herry the .v^{the}., named kyng, when he was capteyn of the bastyle of seynt antonye of parys, and thomas beauford, dux of excestyr, { } beyng then capteyn of the cytee, hyt fortuned that for the arrestyng of the lord lyseladam, who[ ] was yn so grete favour of the cyte that alle the comyns of the seyd cyte [stode] sodanly to harneys and rebelled ayenst the duc of exetyr and ayenst hys armee and felyshyppe; so the duc for more suerte wyth hys felyshype were coherced to take the bastyle for her deffence. and at hys commyng the chieff questyon he demaunded of the seyd fastolf how welle he was stored of greynes, of whete, of benys, pesyn, and aveyn for horsmete, and of othyr vitaille; he seyd for half yere and more suffisaunt. and hyt comforted gretly the prince. then the duc made redy the ordenaunce wyth shot of grete gonnys amongys the rebells and shot of arowes myghtelye, that they kept her loggeyns. and the frenshe kyng and the quene beyng yn the cytee, helde ayenst the rebellys, so yn short tyme the burgeyses wer constreyned to submytt them and put hem yn the duc ys grace. [sidenote: de magnificencia felicitatis cultoribus terrarum adhibenda, specialiter cyro regi.] caton magnifiethe that prince that cherisshith and favourithe erthe tiliers. [sidenote: socrates.] [sidenote: de quodam lysander ph'o.] [sidenote: de ciro rege persarum.] [sidenote: tullius.] and as caton writithe that it is one of the principalle dedis of a prince to maynteyne, kepe, and avaunce labourage of the londe, and of all tho that bee laboureris of the londe, whiche men soo cherisshed most of verray necessite cause a roiaume, countree, or cite to be plenteous, riche, and well at ease. and the philosophur socrates writithe that cirus king of perse was excellent in wit, glorious in seignorie terrien; in the daies [of] whiche cirus one lisander, of the cite of lacedemone in grece, a man halden of gret vertew and noblesse, came owt of ferre contrees to see the saide king cirus, being in the cite of sardes, and presented hym withe clothis of golde, juellis, and othir ricchesses sent by the citezeins of lacedemonois; the whiche king cirus received the saide li[gh]ander full worshiplie in his palais, and, for the grettist ricchesse roialle and pleasure that the said { } king cirus had to doo hym worship and pleasure and chier, he broughte the saide lisander to see his gardins and herbers, whiche gardins were so proporcionallie in a convenient distaunce sett and planted withe treis of verdure of divers fructis, the gardyns so welle aleyed to walke upon, and rengid withe beddis bering fulle many straunge and divers herbis, and the herbers of so soote smyllis of flouris and herbis of divers colours, that it was the joieust and plesaunt sighte that ever the saide citesyn lisander had see beforne. and the saide cirus saide unto lisander that he had devised and ordeined the herbers to be compassed, rengid, and made, and many of the treis planted it withe his owne hande. and the saide lisander, beholding the gret beaute, semlinesse of his parson, [and] the riche clothis he ware of tissue and precious stones, he saide that fortune and felicite mondeyne was joyned and knyt withe his vertue and noblesse roiall, forasmoche as the saide cirus emploied and intentife[ ] besynesse in tymes oportune in tilieng, ering, and labourage of his londis to bere corne and fruit, whiche is the principalle partie of beneurte and felicite mondeyne, that is to wete the naturelle richesse of worldlie joie. also tullius writithe that valerius corvinus, an auncien citesyn romayne, did his gret peyne and diligence to laboure londes and make it riche withe labourage and tilieng upon the londe for the comon wele of the cite of rome, that in tyme and yeris of scarsete the garners in rome shulde be alway furnisshed and stuffid withe greyn, that a meane price of corne shulde be alway hadde. [sidenote: de re publica.] how the noble cenatours of rome avaunced here parsones in gret perille and jubardie ayenst theire adversaries for the comon welfare of the romains. [sidenote: lucius brutus.] [sidenote: lucius romanus.] [sidenote: non est laudendum secundum legem christianorum.] and the saide famous clerk tullius, in the . . disc' of the saide booke, puttithe in remembraunce whiche of the noble and famous { } dukis, princes, and cenatours of romains abandonned her bodies and goodis, only putting them to the uttermost jubardy in the feelde ayenst theire adversaries, for the avauncement and keping in prosperite, worship, and welfare of rome. among whiche, one of the saide romains was lucius brutus, that whan arnus, a leder of peple, assemblid a gret oost ayenst the romains to have discomfit hem and put hem in servage out of her fraunchise, the saide noble lucius, being then governoure of the ooste of romains, thought rathir to die upon the said arnus, so that he mighte subdew hym, rathir than the saide citee shulde stande in servage. he mounted upon his hors, and leide his spere in the rest, and withe a mightie courage renne feerslie upon the saide arnus being in the myddille of his oost, and fortuned by chaunce that bothe of hem wounded[ ] othir to dethe. and whan it was undrestonde in the hooste that the saide arnus, capitalle adversarie to romains, was dede, his gret oost departed out of their feelde, whiche had not soo done had not bene by mightie aventure the wilfulle dethe of the saide lucius brutus. how a prince, be he made regent, governoure, or duke[ ], chieveteyne, lieutenaunt, capetaine, conestable, or marchalle, make alwaie just paiment to her soudeours, for eschewing of gret inconvenientis might falle. [sidenote: autor. notandum est super omnia effectus istius articuli, quoad execucionem justicii.] [sidenote: notandum est de ordinaria solucione joh'is ducis bedfordie.] [sidenote: concidera.] [sidenote: nota multiplicacionem officiariorum.] and overmore, most highe and excellent prince, of youre benigne grace and providence, if it please youre highenesse to have consideracion, in way of justice and keping, to remedie one singuler offence and damage to youre liege people, the whiche by goddis law, and by law of reason and nature, is the contrarie of it righte dampnable,[ ] and which grevous offence, as it is voised accustumablie, rennythe and hathe be more usid under [tho that oughte be[ ]] youre obeisaunce in fraunce and normandie than in othir straunge regions: and to { } every welle advised man it is easy to undrestande that it is a thing that may welle bene amendid and correctid, and to be a gret mene to the recuvere of youre londes in the saide adverse partie; that is to say, that shalle be men of soude and of armes, as well tho that [shalle be[ ]] undre youre lieutenauntis as the chiefteins and capetains, may be duely paide of her wages by the monithe, [lyke as johan regent of fraunce payd,[ ]] or by quarter, bethout any rewarde [of curtesyie of colour[ ]] gyven, bribe, defalcacion, or abreggement, or undew assignacion not levable assigned or made unto them, aswelle in this londe as in normandie, to deceyve hem, or cause hem be empoverisshed in straunge contreis, as it hathe be accustumed late in the saide contreis. and that suche paymentis be made content bethout delaie or nede of[ ] long and grete pursute, upon suche a resonable peyne as the cause shalle require it. and that none of youre officers roialle, nethir hir debitees or commissioneris, shalle darre doo the contrarie to take no bribe, rewarde, or defalke the kingis wagis; wherbie youre souldeours shalle not have cause to oppresse and charge youre obeissauntis and youre peple in taking theire vitaile bethout paieng therfor, whiche gret part of theym in defaut of due payment hathe ben accustumed, by .x. or .xij. yere day contynued, or the saide londes were lost, uncorrectid ne punisshid, [as] turned to the gret undoing of youre saide obeisauntes, and one othir of gret causis that they have turned their hertis frome us, breking theire allegeaunce by manere of cohercion for suche rapyn, oppressions, and extorcions. and also the officers than being nedithe not to have so many lieutenauntis or undre officers as they have hadde, whiche wastithe and destroiethe youre saide peple by undew charges to enriche hemsilfe; and many of the officers have be but esy vaileable to the defense of youre countre, thoroughe negligence of exersising of armes for theire defense and proteccion in tyme of necessite. for it was never seen that any countre, cite, or towne did encrece welle wherover many nedeles officers and governours that onlie wolde have a renomme, and { } undre that colour be a extorcioner, piller, or briboure, was reignyng and ruling over theym. [sidenote: exclamacio.] [sidenote: de lamentabili oppressione subditorum nostrorum in frauncia.] [sidenote: alia exclamacio soldariorum ultimo in normannia commorancium.] [sidenote: deploracio miseriæ.] o mighetie king, and ye noble lordes of this roiaume, if ye were wele advertised and enfourmed of the gret persecucions, by way of suche oppressions and tirannyes, ravynes, and crueltees, that many of suche officers have suffred to be done unponisshed to the pore comons, laborers, paissauntes of the saide duchie of normandie, it is verailie to deme that certe[gh] ye of noble condicions, naturally pitous, wolde not have suffred suche grevous inconvenientis to be redressid and amendid long or the said intrusion fille, and the regalite of justice had be in tho daies in youre possession. for often tymes suche as have pretendid theym officers wastid of youre [predecessour[ ]] is livelode more than nedithe, and often tymes suffred them to be manassed [and] beten, and mischieved theire bestis withe theire wepyns, that they were nighe out of theire wittis for sorow, and so enforced for duresse to forsake youre title and youre lawes, and but esilie relevyd and socoured. and therto they have ben so often surcharged grevouslie withe paieng of tasques, tailis, subsides, and imposicions beside theire rentis, paieng to the somme righte importable sommes, paide to your predecessours for youre demains, and to theire landlordis that halden of you, and many of theym duelling upon the marches patised to youre adverse partie also to dwelle in rest, and this innumerable charges and divers tormentis have ben done to theym to theire uttermost undoing. he allas! and yet seeing they bene christen men, and lyvyng under youre obeissaunce, lawes-yovyng, and yeldyng to youre lawes as trew englisshe men done, by whome also we lyve and be susteyned, and youre werre the bettir born out and mainteyned, why shulde it here after be suffred that suche tormentrie and cruelte shulde be shewed unto theym? o god! whiche art most mercifulle and highest juge, soverein, and just, how maist thow long suffre this regnyng without the { } stroke of vengeaunce and ponisshement commyng upon the depryvyng or yelding up of that dukedom? [sidenote: nota tria.] [sidenote: prima.] [sidenote: .ij^{a}.] [sidenote: .iij. causa.] [sidenote: conciderandum est super omnia.] late it be noted and construed what gret inconvenientis have folow herof. there may be undrestonde to folow .iij. thingis inespecialle of gret hurtis. one is the ire of god and his rod of vengeaunce fallen now upon us by his dyvyne punisshement [of god,[ ]] aswelle in suffring oure saide adversaries to have the overhande upon us, as in destroieng of oure lordis by sodeyn fortunes [of dyvysyons[ ]] in this lande the saide yere and season, the yere of crist .m^liiij^cl. that youre [grete[ ]] adversarie made his intrusion in the saide normandy, for pite of his peple so oppressid, hiring theire clamours and cries and theire curses. the second is theire rebellion, as thoroughe theire wanhope, havyng no trust of hastie socoure and relief of an armee to come in tyme covenable, be turned awaie frome her ligeaunce and obedience to youre adverse partie, seeing theym thus ungoodelie entretid under tho whiche were comytted to kepe, defende, and maynteyn them. the .iij^{de}. is famyn of vitaile and penurie of money, and lak of provision of artillerie and stuffe of ordenaunce, whiche youre saide obeissauntis for faute of these were constreined to flee to youre adverse partie, and to leve rathir theire natife contree, orellis to die for famyn and povertee. [sidenote: ecclesia honoranda.] [sidenote: nota bene.] [sidenote: hospitalitas in ecclesia est preferranda.] [sidenote: lamentacio.] [sidenote: cogita.] an exortacion how princes, lordes, and officers roialle shulde worship and meynteyne the chirche, and defende hem from oppression. and moreover in way of gret pitee and in the worship of god suffre ye not the prelates of the chirche of that lande, as archebisshoppis, bisshoppis, abbatis, priours, denes, archedenes, and theire ministrours, to be oppressid, revaled, ne vileyned, as they have bene in youre predecessour daies accepted in fulle litille reverence or { } obedience, for how that men usurpen in tho daies in surchargeyng them unduelie it is by experience knowen welle ynoughe, as they be manere of a prive cohercion to lyve in more rest withe theire lyvelode, be dryve too forto gyve out to rulers, gouvernours, and maistris of the marchis and contrees that they dwellin upon or have her lyvelode, gret fees and wages and rewardis nedelese. and the peple that were welle set[ ] and often tymes they ben visited withe straungiers of gret astatis, as welle spirituelle as temporelle, and namelie withe tho that have the lawes to mynistre and to kepe, and withe other nedeles peple that waste and surcharge theym, for they were founded to that entent but to kepe theire nombre of fundacion, praieng for theire foundoures, and [kepe hospitalitee for to[ ]] feede the pore and the nedie in case of necessite. a mercifulle jhesu! many auctours rehersithe in her cronicles that pompeus, whiche that was so chevalrous a paynym knighte amongis the romains, the cause of his wofulle dethe and mortalle ende was alonlie that he on a tyme disdeyned to reverence and worship holy places, as chirches and seyntuaries, stabled his hors in salamon is temple, the whiche the saide salamon had edified to be the most sovereyn chirche or temple of the erthe to serve and praise god. and in example of late daies yn king johan of fraunce tyme suche chieveteins as was in his armee before he was take at the bataile of peitiers, as it is saide, avaunted hym silfe to stabille her hors in the cathedralle chirche of salisbury. and after he was take and had sighte of the saide chirche [they[ ]] had gret repentaunce of. and therfor, fulle noble king and ye puissaunt lordis of renomme, let a covenable and a necessarye medecyn be counceiled and yoven to us for provision and reformacion of this infirmite, and that it may be purveied for by so dew meenes that it may be to god is pleasaunce. and that we may withedraw and leve oure wrecchid governaunce that temporelle men wolde so inordinatlie rule and oppresse the chirche. so that now this begon mischiefe and stroke of pestilence in youre { } predecessour daies be not set as a jugement in oure arbitracion as to be decreed, juged, or determyned for oure wele and availe, but as a chastising of oure mysdoeng, so to be take for oure savacion. what saiethe saint jeroyme amongis his dolorous lamentacions upon the prophesie of jooelle? if we have not, (seithe he,) know god in welthe and prosperite, then, at the leest, let us know hym in oure adversite, in suche wise there we have erred and fauted by over gret haboundaunce of suche chargeable crimes and synnes of delites, of suche oppression, covetice, inespecialle pride and envy, &c. let us withedraw us from hem withe goode corage, and to that ende that we be not chastised ne punisshed by the stroke of vengeaunce and pestilence, nor of none suche affliccions as we hafe ben dailie by youre predecessour's daies by youre saide adversaries. [sidenote: quod officium deffencionis adversariorum patriæ est preferrandum quemcunque singularem facultatem sive practicam.] how lordis sonnes and noble men of birthe, for the defense of her londe, shulde excersise hem in armes lernyng. [sidenote: introduccio juvenum nobilium natu.] [sidenote: ser johan fastolf.] [sidenote: optativus modus.] and also moreover for the grettir defens of youre roiaumes, and saufe garde of youre contreis in tyme of necessite, also to the avauncement and encrece of chevalrie and worship in armes, comaunde and doo founde, establisshe, and ordeyne that the sonnes of princes, of lordis, and for the most part of alle tho that ben comen and descendid of noble bloode, as of auncien knightis, esquiers, and other auncient gentille men, that while they ben of grene age ben drawen forthe, norisshed, and excersised in disciplines, doctrine, and usage of scole of armes, as using justis, to can renne withe speer, handle withe ax, sworde, dagger, and alle othir defensible wepyn, to wrestling, to skeping, leping, and rennyng, to make hem hardie, deliver, and wele brethed, so as when ye and youre roiaume in suche tyme of nede to have theire service in entreprises of dedis of armes, they may of experience be apt and more enabled to doo you service honourable in what region they become, and not to be [unkonnyng,[ ]] abashed, ne astonied, { } forto take entreprises, to answere or deliver a gentilman that desire in worship to doo armes in liestis to the utteraunce, or to certein pointis, or in a quarelle rightfulle to fight, and in cas of necessite you[ ] and youre roiaume forto warde, kepe, and defende frome youre adversaries in tyme of werre. and this was the custom in the daies of youre noble auncestries, bothe of kingis of fraunce as of englande. in example wherof, king edwarde .iij^{de}. that exersised his noble son edwarde the prince in righte grene age, and all his noble sonnes, in suche maiestries, wherby they were more apt in haunting of armes. and, [as myne autor seyd me,[ ]] the chevalrous knight [fyrst[ ]] henry duke of lancastre, which is named a chief auctour and foundour in law of armes, had sent to hym frome princes and lordis of straunge regions, as out of spayne, aragon, portingale, naverre, and out of fraunce, her children, yong knightis, to be doctrined, lerned, and broughte up in his noble court in scole of armes and for to see noblesse, curtesie, and worship. wherthoroughe here honoure spradde and encresid in renomme in all londis they came untoo. and after hym, in youre antecessour daies, other noble princes and lordis of gret birthe accustomed to excersise maistries apropred to defense of armes and gentilnes[ ] to them longing. but now of late daies, the grettir pite is, many one that ben descendid of noble bloode and borne to armes, as knightis sonnes, esquiers, and of othir gentille bloode, set hem silfe to singuler practik, straunge [facultee[gh][ ]] frome that fet, as to lerne the practique of law or custom of lande, or of civile matier, and so wastyn gretlie theire tyme in suche nedelese besinesse, as to occupie courtis halding, to kepe and bere out a proude countenaunce at sessions and shiris halding, also there to embrace and rule among youre pore and simple comyns of bestialle contenaunce that lust to lyve in rest. and who can be a reuler and put hym forthe in suche matieris, he is, as the worlde goithe now, among alle astatis more set of than he that hathe despendid .xxx. or .xl. yeris of his daies in gret jubardies in youre { } [antecessourys[ ]] conquestis and werris. so wolde jhesus they so wolle welle lerned theym to be as good men of armes, chieveteins, or capetains in the feelde that befallithe for hem where worship and manhode shulde be shewed, moche bettir rathir then as they have lerned and can be a captaine or a ruler at a sessions or a shire day, to endite or amercie youre pore bestialle peple, to theire [enpoveryshyng[ ],] and to enriche hem silfe or to be magnified the more, but only they shulde maynteyn your justices and your officers usyng the goode custom of youre lawes. and than ye shulde have righte litille nede to have thoughte, anguisshe or besinesse for to conquere and wyn ayen youre rightfulle enheritaunce, or to defende youre roiaume from youre ennemies. and that suche singuler practik shulde [not[ ]] be accustumed and occupied [undewly[ ]] withe suche men that be come of noble birthe, [but he be the yonger brother, havyng not whereof to lyve honestly[ ].] and if the vaillaunt romayns had suffred theire sonnes to mysspende theire tyme in suche singuler practik, using oppressing by colours [of custom of the law, they had not conquered twyes[ ]] cartage ayenst alle the affricans. how officers of the law shulde be chosen, welle disposid and temperate men, vertuous in condicion, and they to be protectid by lordis and noble men of birthe. [sidenote: exclamacio.] hit was in auncient tyme used that suche practik and lernyng of the custumes and law of a lande shulde onlie be comytted to suche parsones of demure contenaunce that were holden vertuous and welle disposid, thoughe he were descendid but of esie birthe to occupie in in suche facultees, and to mynistre duelie and egallie the statutis and custumes of the law to youre peple, bethout meintenaunce ayenst justice. and the saide officers and ministrours of the law to be protectid and meyntened by the princes, lordis, and men of worship when the case shalle require, namelie tho that oughte defende yow and youre { } roiaume that halden theire londis of you by that service onlie, and gyven to that entent by youre noble auncestries. and over this that they be lerned and introducid in the drede of god, and not presumptuously take upon hem to offende theire law, for the whiche, and in example to this purpose, it is wretin in the . . chapitre of the prophete jeremye, because that joachym king of juda despraised the admonestementis, advertisementis, and the doctrines of god, that jeremie had doo set yn certein bookes and quaiers, the whiche he made to be cast in the fire and disdeyned to hire theym, but usid after his owne wilfulnesse and hedinesse and without counceile, therfor god seiethe by the mouthe of the prophete that of hym shuld issew ne come none heire to succeede ligneallie that after hym shulde enjoie and holde his roiaume, and overmore that he shulde visit hym by punisshement, and that aswelle his kynne as hym that had suffred and caused to be so eville inducid. and so it fille after the prophesie. o ye than in the same wise puttithe away the delites of sensualitees of suche inconvenient occupacion as before is specified frome the children of noble men. and late theym be inducid and lerned of youthe that in thingis [of noblesse[ ]] that apparteynithe and belongithe to theym to lerne, as in excercising[ ] of armes and to suche occupacions of worship. these thingis provyded and ordeined oughte not be long delaied, but incontinent stedfastlie to be persevered, that then doubte not but that god, whiche is most mercifulle and allway in every necessite to relief us, despraisithe not the humble and contrite hertis, but that he of his infinite goodenesse wolle accept and take in gree and his grace oure good entent, and shalbe withe us in alle oure gode actis and dedis. how over gret cost and pomp in clothing shulde be eschewed. and therfore in witnesse herof eschew and leve the superfluite and excesse of arraie and clothing. and late everie astate use as { } the worthie romains did, the whiche, in tyme of affliccions and turmentis or anguisshes by occasion of werres and batailes, used one manere clothing, and anothir maner clothing in tyme of prosperite and felicitee reignyng. and the same maner the ryte and custom of youre adverse partie of fraunce hathe used, escheweng alle costius arraiementis of clothing, garmentis, and bobauncees, and the usaige of pellure and furres they have expresselie put away. whiche costues arraymentis and disgising of clothing of so many divers facion used in this youre roiaume, inespecialle amongis youre pore comyners, hathe be one of the gret inconvenientis of the empoverisshing of youre lande, and enforced gret pride, envy, and wrathe amongis hem, whiche hathe holpe broughte them to gret indigence and povertee. how that gret hurt and inconvenientis have fallen to the roiaume because the creditours have not been duelie paide of here lonys and prestis made to highe sovereins. [sidenote: nota optime.] moreover, youre pore comyns, [yn your antecessour dayes,[ ]] not paied holy theire duteis for theire lones, prestis of vitailis and othir marchaundise, as by opyn example was often tymes lent and taken to the behofe of youre predecessoure henry sext, named king, but in sondrie wises be delaied and despende gret part of her goode, or they can nighe her deutees and paiementis, and fayn to suffre to defalke and relese partie of her dutee to receyve the othir part, whiche is the cause of gret charge and hinderaunce of youre peple. and therefore, to voide this inconvenient, righte noble king, withe the discrete avise of youre noble lordis, let youre riche tresours be spradde and put abrode, bothe juellis, vesselle of gold and silver, among youre true subgettis, and inespecialle to the helpe and avauncement of youre conquest, and to the relief of youre indigent and nedie peple. and inespecialle to tho that have lost theire londis, livelode, and { } goode in the werres, so that the saide tresoure may be put forthe, and late it be set in money to the remedie and socoure of this gret importunyte and necessite, and to the defens of youre roiaume from youre adversaries before specified; for it is saide that [an empyre or[ ]] roiaume is bettir without tresoure of golde than without worship, and also bettir it is to lyve a pore life in a riche roiaume in tranquillite and pease than to be riche in a pore roiaume where debate and strife reignithe. and if ye wolle doo thus, every man than in his degree wolle doo the same. and to example of us alle ye [soo[ ]] puissaunt and mighetie men of good counceile and stere,[ ] every man helpe after his degree. [sidenote: nota bene.] how saint lowis, king of fraunce, in his testament writen of his owne hande, counceiled his sonne [that] after hym reigned, to cherisshe and favoure the good citeis and townes of his lande, and use justice and peas. and to doo and werke after the blissid counceile of saint lowes, king of fraunce, [who] declared among othir exhortacions and counceile in his testament, the chapiter where he exhorted and comaundid his sonne phelip that reigned king after hym, that he shulde put and doo alle his diligence that he shulde kepe his peple in pease and justice, and inespecialle to favoure and cherisshe the good citeis and townes of his roiaume, and to kepe theym in fraunchise and fredoms soo as they may encrese and lyve puissauntlie, for if they be tendred, that they be of power and mighetie of goode, the ennemies of youre roiaume or of youre adverse partie wol doubt and be ware to take any entreprise ayenst youre noble mageste. and if the adversaries wolle werke ayen the honoure of youre parsone, and the welfare of youre roiaume, youre saide citesins and burgeis and good comyns shalbe of power and of goode courage, and wille withe here bodies and goodes largelie depart to be yoven forto resist them. and, { } therefore, favoure and forbere the pore peple and namelie the nedie, in signe that ye in youre hertis may bring to mynde and remembre the vengeaunce of hard offensis to this roiaume shewed, and to the recuvere of the worship of the roiaume late lost. and who so hathe not a bodie habille herto, or usage to emploie hym in dedis of armes, or think it long not to hym, as men of religiouste[ ] and spirituelle, temporelle men wolde sey, yet com forthe withe a goode courage, and not by constreint ne in manere of tasque ne of thraldom in tyme to come, but of fre wille withe a bounteuous hert at this tyme that is so expedient and necessarie, as trew englisshe men shulde doo, every man bring and put forthe of his goodes after that his power is. now in the worship of god let this be timelie done. it shall now shew, or it may be shewed, who that shalbe founde goode and profitable to the comonwele, or set hym silfe to the employ and fortheraunce of this dede of gret necessite. and who so hathe no power to ley out finaunce, good, or tresoure, yet put his good wille therto. a noble roiaume of gret price and of noble renomme as thow hast be. whan god lust to shew thy power, and to be victorious, who may noy the? shall thou than suffre the to be confunded withe simpler people of reputacion then thow art, withe the whiche ye and youre noble progenitours have conquerid and overcom diverse tymes before this? it is welle to undrestonde that ye have no protectoure, kepar, ne defendour but it come of god, of the whiche he is witnesse and the leder. som say that the floode of temmys rennythe beting hier than the londe in stormye seasons. yet for alle that, withe goddis mighte and grace, thow art not in the extremitee of tho stormes, ne never mote it come there in suche indigence and necessite. { } how that when the romains were yn that uttermost necessite that bothe mete and money failed hem and here chevalrie destroied, yet tho that [were] left toke goode hert to hem, bothe widowes and othirs, that releved ayen the frauncheis and libertees of rome. and where as the romains fonde theym yn that urgent necessite whan that bothe mete and monney failed theym to susteyne and support theire manhode, neverthelesse noble courage ne goode hope failed not among hem; so that, what time the auncien gentille bloode was wastid in bataile, than they made knightis of theire bounde men, to avaunce theire conquest forto encrese withe theire hoost. and that the goode worshipfulle ladies of rome, and namely the soroufulle widowes, whiche at that tyme were not usid of custom nothing to pay ne yelde to the souding of men of armes, yet at that tyme whan suche necessite fille, they offred and brought right liberallie of theire juellis and goodis, for the whiche they were right gretly thanked and praised, and after the victorie had welle recompensid and contentid. [sidenote: titus livius. a noble historye of the largesse of romaynys, how amplye they departed ther godes yn a tym of urgent necessite to make an armee yn to the contree of auffrique.] [sidenote: lenius.] also i rede of a noble example in titus livius the . . booke of the seconde decade of punica bella, that whan the noble romains, in the tyme of werris long continued ayen theire adversaries of aufrik, what by tasques, tailes, and imposicions had for the defens of theire countree habandonned and yoven largelie of theire goodis meveable, that the saide romains had no more in substaunce to lyve by except theire londes. and it fille soo that the countree of cisiliens and champenois hadde doo purvoie for a gret armee and an oost of peple, as well of men for to defende and kepe the see as the lond. and so the comons of rome had borne so many gret chargis before that they might no more, but if the lordis senatours and counceilours of rome wolde put too theire hande. and in so moche that the comons of rome complained and grugged in open market places { } ayenst the saide gret astatis and governours of rome, seieng but they wolde sille theire bodies and goodis of the comons, they might pay no more tasque ne taile, the saide governours of rome, to appaise the peple, saiden they wolde counceile togither and advise a day to purvey for the comon wele, and seiden in conclusion that, were[ ] it righte or wrong, we senatours, astatis, and governours must put out largelie of oure goodis, and so yeve example to the comons for the defens of the contree of cesille and keping of the lande and see frome ennemies. and one lenius, a noble senatoure, pronounced and saide that, forasmoche the senatours have power of goode and rule of the cite in preferraunce of worship and dignite, in like wise it is reason that they here a charge to defende the comons and yeve example to doo as thow woldist comaunde hem to doo; therfore late us, in yevyng the comons example, to morne yn opyn market place before hem, bring forthe the gret part of the golde and silver of coyne and print money that every of us senatours and statis haven, so that none of us reserve and kepe to his propre use but ringis and nouches for to worship his wiffe and children withalle; so that every officer shulde have noo more silver vesselle but for a chapelle and a cupbourde; and every senatoure to kepe but a pounde of coyned silver; and every weddid man havyng wiffe and children to kepe for every of hem an ounce of silver or suche a litille weight; and every citesyn of havyour and degre to reserve only but .v^{mil}. pens of brasse money, and soo that alle othir golde, silver, and brasse money coyned to be brought to the tresorers of the citee. and aftre than the comons of rome, havyng consideracion that the senatours and governours of rome of here owne fre voulente haboundonned and put out so habundantlie and largelie of her golde and tresour for the comon wele, to the defense and keping of the see withe shippis and maryneris, to the defense and rebutting of her adversaries, that every of the comons of rome, after her power and havyoure, of gret courage brought frelie of gold, silver, and othir coyne money to the { } tresorers and chaungers that were comytted to receyve the money, the prese was so grete that they had no tyme to write the names of the noble citesins, ne forto nombre and telle the quantite and porcion of everie manis part that they broughte; and by this accord and moien the comon profit was soo augmentid that the knightis and men of werre had suffisaunt and more than nedid to defende and kepe the countre of cecilians and champenois, and also to be maistris of the see; and alle thingis and ordenaunces that longid to werre was purveied for and put forthe in onure and worke, that alle the senatours counceilours had no nede to tarie lenger for counseiling, but every of hem wente forthe into her countre to dispose for hemsilfe; and in so gret discomfort stode never the romayns as they did in this urgent necessitee, and was by this moien of largesse repared and brought ayen to worship, prosperite, and welfare. and wolde the mightifulle god that every harde covetouse hert were of suche largesse and distributif of here meveable good and tresoure to the comon wele, as for defending us frome oure adversaries, and keping the see aswelle as the londe, that we may alway be lordis and maistris thereof, as noble governours were before this tyme. here endyth thys epistle, undre correccion, the .xv. day of june, the yeere of crist .m^liiij^clxxv., and of the noble reyne of kyng edward the .iiij^{the}. the .xv^{ne}. * * * * * { } general index. * * * * * acre, actovylle, raulyn, africa, , agamemnon, , agincourt, battle of, , , , ajax, , alencon, duke of ; taken prisoner ; his redemption alexander, king, anjou, the title of, appius, appulton, john, his letter to sir john fastolfe, lvi arms (to do) in lists to the utterance, or to certain points, armonac, earl of, , , arras, treaty of, xlix arthur, king, , ---- of breteyn, astrology depreciated, viii, authors quoted:-- de auriga, alanus, his quadrilogus, , , ; preface iii, vi, vii, ix austyn, of the city of god, ; ---- of free will, ; bartholomeus, de proprietatibus rerum, ; basset, peter, liii; boetius de consolatione, , , , ; cato, , , ; chartier, see auriga cicero, of divination, ; ---- _see_ tullius; cristina, arbre de batailes, _bis_, , , , (her biography _ib._); de diceto, radulphus, ymago historiarum, ; dudley's tree of commonwealth, vii; froissart, ; gildas, ; governance of princes,liv; jeremye the prophet, ; jerome, saint, ; job, , , ; josephus, liber antiquitatum, ; kayus son, ii, ; livius (titus, , , , ; machabeus, ; malexander, walter, , ; nennius, ; novius marcellus, ; orosius de ormesta mundi, ; ovid, , ; paralipomenon, ; philip, the acts of king, (the philippiados), ; pliny the younger, ii; du premier-faict, laurence, li; ptolomy, centilogie, ; _de regimine principum_, liv; socrates, ; tree of batailes, iii, liv; tullius, , _ter_, _bis_, , , , ; vegetius, his book of chivalry (_de arte militari_), , , ; preface, p. vi.; wallensis, commune loquium, ; worcestre, william of, l, averaunces, { } baldwin archbishop of canterbury, basset, peter, an historical writer, liii bastille of st. anthoine, victualling of, xi, lx, beauchamp, sir william, bedford, john duke of, , ; wins the battle of vernelle ; and conquers the county of maine ; other victories ; statutes of ; eulogy on ; defended paris ; his payment of wages benevolence, a voluntary taxation, xvii, xxi bituitus, king, boecius, boke of noblesse, its scope and intention, i; probable date of its composition, _ib._; abstract of its contents, i-xvii; the question of its authorship, l; other books of the same character, liv; the ms. described, lv bonnet, honoré, iv bordeaux, bougée, battle of, , bourbon, the bastard of, xxxi, xxxvii, xxxviii, ---- the cardinal of, xxxi, xxxvii, xxxix brennus, bretagne, charles duke of, ---- giles son of the duke of, ii, ---- the duke of, protected by king edward, xl, xli bretailles, louis de, xlii bretigny, peace of, , , buchan, earl of, burgoyne, duke of, , ---- marshal of, burgundy, charles duke of, i; his designation of _le hardi_, x; brother-in-law both to king louis and king edward, xxviii; interviews with king edward, xxiv, xxix, xxxiii; character of, xxv; suspected by the english, xxx, xlvi; his truce with france, xlvii ---- john duke of, his murder, xxxviii ---- margaret duchess of, xxiii caen, won by assault, , ; rescue of, ; parliament at, calais, siege of, , , camillus, canute (knowt), carew, the baron of, carthage, wars of the romans with, , , cato, caulx, pais de, the destruction of, lvi caxton, works of:-- book of the ordre of chevalrye or knyghthode, liv; fayttes of armes and of chyvallrye, vi; curial, vii; tully on old age, li; dicts and sayings of the philosophers, xliii cerdic, champenois, chandos, sir john, , , charles v. of france, purchased fortresses from the english, xxxii; mentioned, , charles vii. his re-conquest of normandy ii, iii; his secretary alain chartier vii; mentioned , charles le bien amé, charles le simple, charles the sage, chartier; _see_ authors chester, randolfe earl of, cheyne, sir john, xxxii, xxxiii, xliii childermas day, xxxv chirburgh, chivalry, synonymous with noblesse, xv christine, dame; _see_ passy _and_ pisan church, oppressed in normandy, xiii, citizens, their contributions to the war, xxi; their experience in the campaign, xlv clarence, george duke of, his retinue and their pay, xx, xxiii, xxxii, xxxviii clarence, thomas duke of, ; eulogy on, clekyn, sir barthilmew, cleret, pierre, xxxiii clergy oppressed in normandy, xiii, ; { } clothing, cost and pomp in, commines, philippe de, the historian, xvii, xxv; employed by king louis, xxviii, xxx, xxxvi; dressed like his master, xxxvii; characteras an historian, xli commons, or people, termed "bestial", , conquerors, duties of, cornwall, language of, countour, a commissioner of taxes, xv courtenay, sir hugh, ---- sir philip, _ib._ cravant, battle of, , , , cressy, battle of, , cyprus, king of, cyrus, his gardens at sardis, damascus, david king of scots, derby, earl of, dieppe, dorset, edmond earl of, ---- thomas earl of, douglas, earl of, dove, the omen of the, xxiv, xlii dress; _see_ clothing dudley, edmonde, his "tree of common wealth", vii dudley, william, xxxi, xxxii durham ("deram upon the marchis of scotland"), dynham, john lord, xxii education, military, edmond ironside, edward the first, edward the third, , , , , ; he made great alliances, edward prince of wales, , , ; received homage as duke of guienne, , edward the fourth, his prosperous state in his second reign, i; prepares to invade france xvii; salutes the generous widow xxi; lands at calais xxvi; interviews with the duke of burgundy xxiv, xxix; with king louis xxxvi; character of xxv, xli, xlv; his personal appearance xxxviii; ruin of his political schemes and death xlviii elkyngton, john, xxxii english, their character as soldiers xxvi; beat a double or treble number of frenchmen, ennius, , eu, earl of, exeter, thomas duke of , ; captain of paris, xi, xii fabius, , , fabricius, , faliste, fastolfe, sir john, "myne autor", i; anecdotes and sayings of, v, x, xi, xiv; his books of accompt, xi; captain of the bastille of st. anthoine, _ib._; his connection with "the boke of noblesse", l; his services in france, li; mentioned, , , , _ter_, , , fauconberg, lord, ; taken prisoner, iii, felton, sir thomas, ferranus king of spain, fizar, battle, florence, formigny, the battle of, viii, fougeres, the capture of, iii, france, oppression of the english subjects in, vii; its sufferings from quartering soldiers, xii; narrative of the invasion of in , xvii-xliv; difficulties of an english invasion of, xxvii; costly dress put away in, franklin, character of, xv frenchmen, if double or treble in number, beaten by englishmen, fulke earl of anjou, , garnett, richard, xxi garter, the order of the, ; { } gascony, the title of, geoffrey plantagenet, , , gloucester, humphrey duke of, eulogy on, ---- richard duke of, his retinue and their pay, xx, xxiii, xxxii; affects to lead the english chivalry, xli ---- robert clare, earl of, gourney, mathew, lix, grey, thomas, his retainer as the king's custrel, xx guienne, duchy of, treaties respecting, guisnes, castle of, xxiii the hagge, hannibal, , , hardy man, definition of, x harflete, siege of, harington, sir richard, hastings, hugh lord, ---- sir ralph, ---- william lord, accepts pensions both from burgundy and france, xxxiii, xxxviii hay, sir gilbert, liv hector, henry the first, henry the second, henry the fifth, ; how he conquered normandy and france, ; his marriage, ; wins the battle of agincourt, , ; "that victorious prince", , ; praise of him and his brethren, ; his historians, liii henry vi. his coronation at paris, ; "the innocent prince", hercules, homeldon hill, battle of, howard, lord, xxiii, xxviii, xxx, xxxvi; left as hostage with the french, xxxii, xli, xliii, xlvi hubert bishop of salisbury, huntingdon, john earl of, jerusalem, joachym king of juda, john, king, john king of france taken prisoner and brought to england, , , , judas machabeus, kedecause, journey of, kent, edmond earl of, , knollys, sir robert, knowt (canute), kyriell, sir thomas viii, lancaster, henry duke of, ; "a chief auctour and foundour in law of armes," law, the practice of, not worthy of those born to arms, xv, ; choice of officers of, lelius, , lenius, library of sir john paston, lix; of humphrey duke of gloucester, lion, the emblem of knightly valour, and particularly of the royal house of england, ii; men of war should resemble, , , , , l'isle adam, jean de villiers seigneur de, biogr. note on, xi; , loans, xvi. lombards, louis, saint, counsel to his son, v. , , , louis xi. abetted the earl of warwick, xvii; character, xxv; his reception of king edward's defiance, xxvii; kept no herald, xxx; his "disguised apparel", xxxvii; his timidity, xliii; anecdotes of xli _et seq._ lucius brutus, lucius paulus, , lucius valerius, lumley, john lord, lv lysander, maine, county of, the conquest of, , ; the title of, , ; revenues of { } manly man, distinguished from the (fool-)hardy man, mansel, an esquire, iii, march, earl of, , , marcus actilius, marcus marcellus, margaret of austria, her matrimonial alliances, xlviii maude, the empress, , montgomery, sir n., morhier, sir simon, iii, morton, doctor, xxv, xxxi, xxxii montreuil (motreaw), mountgomery, sir thomas, xxiii, xxv, xxxii, xxxiii, xlvi narbonne, the vicomte de, xlvi nazar, battle of, nestor, , neuss, the siege of, xxv neville, lord, noblesse, identical with chivalry, xv; and with honour, liv.; _see_ boke of noblesse normandy, the title of, ; arms of, ; the wretched state of, ; the clergy oppressed, ; its re-conquest by the french, ii, iii, viii oldhall, sir william, orleans; bastard of, ---- duke of, , ---- siege of, paris, , , ; siege of, ; rebellion in, ; bastille of st. anthony, xi, lx, ; in the hands of the english, xi parliament, the english, as described by commines, xvii passy, dame christine of, iv; biographical note upon, paston, sir john, his library, lix peace, the treaty of, in , xxxviii philip, king of france, philip dieu-donné, , , , philip of valois, picquigny, the royal interview at, xxxvi de pisan, christine, vi plantagenet, , , poitiers, battle of, , pompeus, pont l'arche, the capture of iii, popham, sir john, poynings, lord, prophecies, the english always provided with, xxxix, publius decius, pyrrhus, , radcliff, sir john, rais, lord, rempston, sir thomas, respublica, richard emperor of almaine, richard the first, riviers, anthony earl of, his embassies to the duke of burgundy, xxv; his connections with royalty, xxvi. _see_ scales robert, king of jerusalem, rochedaryon, rollo, duke of normandy, romans, their wars with carthage, ; the largess of, to make an army to africa, rome, rotherham, archbishop, xxxiii, xxxviii, xxxix rouen, roveraye, battle of, , runcyvale, st. cloud, battle of, st. leger, sir thomas, xxxi, xxxiii, xxxvi st. pol, louis de luxembourg comte de, brother-in-law to king louis, and uncle to queen elizabeth wydville, xxviii; his temporising and treacherous conduct, xxix; circumstances of his ruin, xxxiv, xl, xliv salisbury, thomas earl of, , , { } scales, lord, ; _see_ riviers sciences, the, vii, scipio, , scipio africanus and scipio asianus, scluse, battle of, , senlys, sensuality, evils of, , , sessions, , shire-days, holding of, xv, , shrewsbury, shrewsbury, earl of, _bis_ sicily, smert, john, garter king of arms, xxvii soldiers, on the just payment of, somerset, edmond duke of, ---- john duke of, stanley, lord, xxiii, xxviii, xxx, xxxi suffolk, william earl of, , , surie (syria), , tancarville, earl of, thames, the flood of, tours, , ; truce of, ii "tree of batailes," a popular work, iii; its author, editions, and manuscripts, iv; quoted, vii troy, , , , truces with france, the history of, ; truce of tours, ii tryvet, sir john, tunis, tunstall, sir richard, xx, xxiii, xxxii ulixes, d'urfé, seigneur, xxxiii valerius corvinus, vernelle, battle of, , , , _bis_, virtues, the iiij principalle cardinall, wales, language of, warwick, thomas earl of, william the conqueror, , , willoughby, robert lord, , winchester, bailiffs of, their letter (to sir john fastolfe), lvii worcestre, william of, the secretary of sir john fastolfe, l; his supposed _acta d'ni joh. fastolff_, lii wyer, robert, liv york, richard duke of, . * * * * * { } glossarial index. * * * * * admonestementis afferaunt aiel amercie approwementis assailours astonyed atwix (betwixt) avaunt aventure aveyn baleese barnage (baronage) batellous be (by) beforce (by force) beforne benecute benevolence xvii, xxi, xxii bestialle , bethout (without) _et passim_ bethyn (within) _et passim_ bobauncees bonchief chevalrie , , clepid , , , congie convenable , costius, costues (costly) cote-armer cotes of armes countour xv covyn croiserie , custrell xx defalke , defend (drive away) deliver (agile) deliver (to fulfil a challenge in arms) depart (part with) , side note detrussed , _detroussé_, unbound devoire , dissimiled (dissembled) , dissimuled dissimulacion dulled egallie (equally) embrace (to take part, or patronise) xv, empeshement enfamyned entendement entreprennour entreprinses _and_ entreprises, , , ering at erst escarmisshes esy (little _or_ scarcely) , esilie (scarcely), ewred fauten feernesse (_for_ feersnesse?) , fellir (more fell) fille (fell) , , , , finaunce , , , , , fole-hardiesse , _see_ hardy fraunchise { } fructufulle grene age hardiesse hardy (or fool-hardy) man, haunting arms , , , havyour herbers (of soote smyllis of flowris and herbis of divers colours) hethynesse historier , hostied hubes infortune , inure joieuest (most joyful) jorney (military expedition) jupardie , , labourage , , lifelode , , , , lust (_verb_) lyes (leash) manassed manly man mantelle masty hound meintenaunce menage messangiers moien mondeyn mow (shall mow endure) muys namelie (especially) , noblesse xv. liv nompower nouches noy obeisaunce _and_ obediaunce , , obeissauntes , onure, oost (host) , , , , , osteyng ovyr hand paast, paissauntes (peasants) , patised payneymys paynym peine hem (take pains) perveaunce piller (thief) , plenerlie practik (singler) , practique of law print money, puissaunt , , , , , , purveonds puttithe away (_plur._) quaiers (of books) lix, raise . chaucer says of his knight, in lettowe had he _reysed_ and in russe. ravyne , recordacion renomme revaled , , , rightwisnesse rothir or sterne servage sille (sell) sleuth (sloth) soude , ; soulde , soudeours , , ; sowdieris soudeyng ; souding, souneth (threaten) synguler (personal) , , { } tailis , , take in gree tasques , , terrein tilieng (tilling) tofore (before) to morne (tomorrow) trespasseinte trespassement , umbre , , , , viellars vileyned voulenté vyfnes wanhope well (easy), "it is well to undrestonde" werreied (made war) wited (considered) yen (eyen _or_ eyes) yoven (given) * * * * * notes [ ] giles brother to francis i. duke of bretagne. having differences with his brother respecting his apanage, he was with the duke's consent arrested by king charles vii.; and, perhaps in consequence of the english taking his part, he was put to death in the year . his fate was commemorated in the "histoire lamentable de gilles seigneur de chateaubriand et de chantocé, prince du sang de france et de bretagne, estranglé en prison par les ministres d'un favory." see daru's histoire de bretagne, , vol. ii. pp. et seq. [ ] sir simon morhier is one of the commissioners named for concluding a treaty with "our adversary of france," dated july . (rymer, x. .) monstrelet relates that at the battle of rouvray, commonly called the battle of the herrings, which took place during the siege of orleans in , the only man of note slain on the english side was one named bresanteau, nephew to simon morhier provost of paris. [ ] i do not find the name of this esquire in the memoirs of the mansel family, privately printed in , by william w. mansell, esq. there were mansels in bretagne as well as in england. [ ] a description of the taking of pont de l'arche will be found in the _histoire du roy charles vii._, by alain chartier. he states that from a hundred to six score englishmen were there either killed or taken prisoners: "entre les autres y fut prins le sire de faucquembergue, qui d'aventure y estoit venu la nuict." this was william neville, lord fauconberg, a younger son of the first earl of westmerland, and uncle to the king-making earl of warwick. dugdale describes his imprisonment on the authority of letters patent ( hen. vi. p. , m. ) whereby he was granted some compensation: "being sent ambassador into normandy, to treat of peace and truce betwixt both realms, he was most perfidiously seized upon by the french, and kept prisoner: in respect of which sufferings he had in hen. vi. an assignation of l. s. ¼d. then in arrears to him for his pay whilst he was governor of roxburgh, to be received out of the customs of wool, cloths, skins, lead, and other commodities, arising in the ports of boston, kingston upon hull, and ipswich." in hen. vi. ( - ) he was still prisoner in france. (baronage of england, i. , .) [ ] fougères was a strongly fortified town, and was considered one of the keys of bretagne. it was taken by surprise, in the night of the - of march , by françois de surienne, on the part of the english: an event which was followed by very important results, for charles vii. made it an excuse for resuming hostilities in order to protect the duke of bretagne as his vassal and ally: the constable of france artur de richemont, who was the duke's uncle, (but who had been opposed to the arrest of his nephew giles,) recovered the captured town; the duke invaded lower normandy, whilst the king of france entered the upper province, and by a rapid series of successes they within fifteen months drove the english out of the country. [ ] honoré bonnet was prior of salon in provence, as is shown by his own dedication of the book to charles vi. written during the sovereignty of louis ii. of anjou in provence, that is, from to . in some of the early editions of the book the author's name was altered to bonnor: its title is "larbre des batailles. sensuyt larbre des batailles qui traicte de plusieurs choses comme de leglise. et aussi des faictz de la guerre. et aussi c[=o]ment on se doyt gouuerner. paris, ." folio. also paris, , to. among the royal collection of manuscripts in the british museum ( c. viii.) is a magnificent copy in large folio, and another, in quarto, has been recently purchased (addit. ms. , .) respecting others at paris see the work of m. paulin paris on "les manuscrits français de la bibliothèque du roi," vol. v. pp. , . on the fly-leaf of the royal ms. is the following inscription in an old hand, the writer of which avowedly followed the note at p. of the present volume: _l'arbre des battailles compose par honore bonet prieur de sallon en prouuence._ note y^t in some authors this booke is termed dame christine of y^e tree of battayles, not that she made yt; but bicause she was a notable benefactour to learned men and perchaunce to y^e autor of this booke. and therefore diuers of them sette furthe their bookes under her name. see y^e booke of noblesse in englishe and chrystines life amongste y^e autors de claris mulieribus as i rem[=e]ber. on the title-page are the autograph inscriptions of two of the former owners of the volume, _sum humfridi lloyd_ and _lumley_: and at the end is inscribed _iste liber constat joh'i gamston' generoso_. it seems not improbable that the entry above extracted was written by lord lumley. [ ] at the end of the life of saint louis by geoffroi de beaulieu, in the _historiens de la_ _france_, tome xx. p. , ( , folio,) will be found the instructions of king louis to his son, in their vernacular language. a copy of them, headed "ce sont les enseignemens que mons^r sainct loys fist a son filz charles roy de france," occurs in the ms. at the college of arms which contains many things about sir john fastolfe. (ms. arundel xxvi. fol. ii v.) [ ] vegetius was a great authority with the writers of the middle ages. monstrelet commences the prologue to the second volume of his chronicles by citing the book of "un trèsrenommé philosophe nommé végèce, qu'il feist de la vaillance et prudence de chevalerie." the treatise of vegetius de re militari had been translated into french about the year , by jean de meun, one of the authors of the roman de la rose. in the fifteenth century it was one of the principal sources of a book entitled "lart de cheualerie selon vegece; lequel trait de la maniere que les princes doiuent tenir au fait de leurs guerres et batailles." this was printed at paris by anthoine verard in ; and it was, at the command of king henry vii. translated by caxton, and printed by him at westminster in the following year, as "the fayttes of armes and of chyvallrye," which (he states in his colophon,) "christian of pise made and drew out of the book named vegecius de re militari, and out of the arbre of battles." now, christina de pisan was a poetess: and it is not likely that she had more to do with this treatise on the art of war than the "dame christine" of our present author had with the arbre des batailles. indeed it is probable that the two misappropriations are connected in their origin. on the actual productions of christine de pisan, which furnished other works to our first english printer, see the description by m. paulin paris of "les manuscrits français de la bibliothèque du roi," vol. iv. , vol. v. - , vi. , : and an "essai sur les ecrits politiques de christine de pisan, suivi d'une notice litteraire et de pièces inédites. par raimond thomassy, ." vo. pp. . [ ] alain chartier was a writer both in prose and poetry. there are separate editions of several of his works: and a collected volume of them was edited by andrew du chesne in . an english translation of his "curial" was printed by caxton without date. see an account of various manuscripts of the works of chartier given by m. paulin paris in his vol. vi. pp. - , vol. vii. pp. - . [ ] the personages speaking in the quadrilogue are france, le peuple, le chevalier, and le clergie, to whose conversation l'acteur, or the author, occasionally interposes some remarks. le chevalier is also the gendarmerie, and described as being identical with the estat de noblesse--an identity which is thus maintained at the beginning of the reign of henry the eighth:--"in all the chevalrie of this realme, wherein be intended all dukes, erles, barons, knightes, esquires, and other gentlemen by office or aucthoritie." i quote this from the tree of common wealth, by edmonde dudley, (written in or ,) printed for the brotherhood of the rosy cross, at manchester, , p. . [ ] "magister alanus de auriga. id est compilam de libro suo." sidenote in p. . [ ] this battle, from which the final loss of normandy ensued, was fought at formigny, between charenton and bayeux, on the th of april . sir thomas kyriell, who was there taken prisoner, was a veteran warrior of agincourt, and had for some years been lieutenant of calais. by a writ of privy seal dated the th august , henry vi. granted the sum of crowns and lent another , out of the bonds due from the duke of orleans, in order to provide for the ransom of sir thomas kyriell. (rymer, xi. .) sir thomas was elected a knight of the garter at the close of the reign of henry the sixth, feb. , - , and beheaded by the victorious yorkists on the th of the same month. [ ] this passage was an abridgment from one in _le quadrilogue invectif_ of alain chartier: which is as follows: "toutes anciennes escriptures sont plaines de mutations, subversions, et changemens de royaulmes et des principaultez. car comme les enfans naissent et croissent en hommes parfaitz, et puis declinent à vieillesse et à mort; ainsi ont les seigneuries leur commencement, et leur accroissement, et leur declin. où est ninive la grant cité, qui duroit trois journées de chemin? qu'est devenue babiloine, qui fut edifiée de matiere artificieuse pour plus durer aux hommes, et maintenant est habitée de serpens? que dira l'en de troye la riche et tres renommée? et de ylion le chastel sans per, dont les portes furent d'ivoire, et les colonnes d'argent; et maintenant à peine en reste le pié des fondemens, que les haulx buissons forcloent de la veue des hommes? thebes qui fut fondée de cadmus le fils de agenor, et la plus peuplée de dessus la terre pour son temps: en laquelle part pourroit en trouver tant de reliques de son nom, que gens se puissent monstrer nez de sa semence? lacedemoine, dont les loix vindrent à diverse nations, desquelles encores nous usons, ne peut oncques tant estroictement garder les loix de licurgus le doicturier, qui furent faictes pour sa perpetuation, que sa vertu ne soit extaincte et aneantie. athenes fontaine de sapience, et source des haultes doctrines de philosophie, n'est elle pas en subversion, et les ruisseaulx de son escole taris et asseichez? carthage la batailleresse, qui domptait les elephans à batailler, et qui jadis fut tant redoubtée aux romains, où a elle tourné sa grant glorie, sinon en la cendre du feu où elle fut arse et embrasée? mais parlons de romme, qui fut derreniere en souveraine majesté, et excellente en vertu. et notons bien la parolle de lucan, qui dit que de elle mesme par sa pesanteur elle decheut. car les trops pesans faiz font les plus griefues cheoistes. par ceste maniere chascune à sa tour et en son ordre se changent, rebaissent, ou soubvertissent les eureuses fortunes, et le bruit des royaulmes. ainsi comme la monarchie du monde et la dignité du souverain empire fut jadis translatée des assiriens aux persans, des persans aux grecz, des grecz aux rommains, et des rommains es mains des françois et des germains." [ ] it was in this sense that the duke of burgundy was called charles le hardi, which was equivalent to the modern _le temeraire_, that is, not only bold, but rash. we find that the author of _l'arbre des batailles_ discusses in his third book, chapter viii., the various causes from which "est ung chevalier bien hardy:" and he asserts them to be many: "car premierement ung chevalier sera hardy pour avoir et conquerir vaine gloire et l'honneur de ce monde: pour ce seulement quil voit les hardis honnourez et le couhars dishonnourez. ung autre chevalier sera hardy pour avoir peur de perdre honneur et proffit de son seigneur, et pour peur destre prins sil estoit couhart. la tierce par usaige; car se ung chevalier a grant temps porté le harnois il seulement qui scaurra bien l'usaige prandra ardement in ce quon ne parle contre lun sil faisoit le contraire. aultre chevalier y a qui est hardy pour ce quil sent son harnois et armeures estre bons et de bonne espreuve. aultre chevalier y a qui est hardy pour son cappitaine quil scet estre bien sage et bien fortuné. aultre chevalier y a qui est hardy par droicte fureur, et par droicte coulere hayreuse. aultre chevalier y a qui est hardy par ignorance: car il est si simple quil ne scet que est vertu de force: mais faite ainsi comme il voit faire au plus avance. aultre chevalier y a qui est hardy par couvoitise de gaigner richesses et non pour aultre chose. or saiches maintenant comme en toutes ces hardiesses na vertu si non en cellui qui est hardy de droicte congnoissance et de droit scavoir, et ayt la voulente entendue a vertu et a justice et ferme voulenté d'attendre et de soustenir toute chose deue et possible par la vertu de force. et te souffise de ceste vertu quant à present." [ ] jean de villiers, seigneur de l'isle adam et de villiers le bel, having joined the party of the duke of burgundy, was by his influence made maréchal of france in . he was arrested by the duke of exeter at paris in , and released by the duke of bedford in , at the request of philip duke of burgundy. by duke charles he was highly favoured, made one of the first knights of the order of the golden fleece, and captain of paris when the duke of bedford left that city in . he was killed during a popular commotion at bruges in . see his life in anselme's histoire genealogique, , vii. . [ ] the account which monstrelet gives of this insurrection entirely corresponds with that of our author. it is as follows: "en apres le duc d'excestre, qui estoit capitaine de paris, pour certaines causes qui à ce le meurent, feit prendre en icelle ville le seigneur de l'isle adam par aucuns de ses anglois: pour laquelle prinse s'assemblerent jusques a mille hommes ou plus du commun de paris, pour le rescourre à ceux qui le menoient en la bastille s. anthoine. mais tantost ledit duc d'excestre à tout six vingts combattans, dont il y avoit la plus grand partie archiers, alla frapper en eux et faire tirer les dessusdits archiers au travers desdites communes: pourquoy tant par la cremeur dudict traict, comme par le commandement qu'il leur feit de par le roy, se retrahirent assez brief en leurs maisons: et ledit seigneur de l'isle adam fut (comme dit est) mis prisonnier, et y demoura durant la vie du roy henry d'angleterre, lequel l'eust faict mourir, ce n'eust esté la requeste du duc de bourgongne." (chroniques de monstrelet, vol. i. chap. ccxxxviii.) [ ] it is very remarkable how entirely these statements correspond with some passages of commines, (book iv. chap. xviii.) in which he describes the conduct of tyrannical princes, and the way in which france especially suffered from quartering soldiers. "to the common people they leave little or nothing, though their taxes be greater than they ought to be; nor do they take any care to restrain the licentiousness of their soldiers, who are constantly quartered throughout the country without paying anything, and commit all manner of excesses and insolencies, as everybody knows; for, not contented with the ordinary provisions with which they are supplied, they beat and abuse the poor country people, and force them to bring bread, wine, and other dainties, on purpose for their eating; and if the goodman's wife or daughter happens to be good-looking, his wisest course is to keep her out of their sight. and yet, where money is abundant, it would be no difficult matter to prevent this disorder and confusion, by paying them every two months at furthest, which would obviate the pretence of want of pay, and leave them without excuse, and cause no inconvenience to the prince, because his money is raised punctually every year. i say this in compassion to this kingdom, which certainly is more oppressed and harassed in quartering soldiers than any in all europe." [ ] this word, or "obeissauntis," which was used in the same sense, may be taken as the original reading of the erasure in p. , in the place of "predecessours," which is an alteration for the worse. [ ] chaucer says of his franklin-- at sessions there was he lord and sire, full often time he was knight of the shire, a sheriff had he been, and a countour. the countour--a term which has been involved in some doubt, was probably a commissioner of taxes, who had to return his accompt to the royal exchequer. [ ] _i.e._ take a factious or unjust part. [ ] sir harris nicolas, in his memoir on the scrope and grosvenor roll (ii. ), has remarked "the slighting manner in which the profession of the law is mentioned, in comparison with that of arms," in the deposition of sir william aton. speaking of sir henry scrope, that witness stated that he was come of noble and gentle ancestry, and yet by the consent of his parents was put to the law, and became the king's justice, but nevertheless used in his halls, on his beds, in windows, and on plate the arms of _azure, a bend or_. at a much later date ( ) sir edmund knightley, though a younger brother and a serjeant at law, is represented in a full suit of armour at fawsley, co. northampton. his epitaph commemorates both his gentilitial and his professional merits: natus erat claro de stemmate et ordine equestri, qui fuit et gentis gloria magna suæ; legis erat patriæ gnarus, compescere lites assuetus vulgi et jurgia seva lenis. but, whilst these passages are certainly indicative of the prevailing chivalric sentiments, it is still to be remembered that very absurd class-prejudices exist in all ages, and they must not always be taken in proof of the general opinions of society. it is indisputable that, from the conquest downwards, the "younger brothers" of some of our greatest families have been bred to the law, and the inns of court were always the resort of young men of noble birth. [ ] the notices which the chroniclers fabyan and hall give of the first benevolence will be found in a subsequent page. [ ] commines gives the following somewhat satirical account of an english parliament. "the king was not able to undertake such an affair without calling his parliament, which is in the nature of our three estates, and, consisting for the most part of sage and religious men, is very serviceable and a great strengthening to the king. at the meeting of this parliament the king declares his intention, and desires aid of his subjects, for no money is raised in england but upon some expedition into france or scotland, and then they supply him very liberally, especially against france. yet the kings of england have this artifice when they want money, and have a desire to have any supplies granted,--to raise men, and pretend quarrels with scotland or france, and, having encamped with their army for about three months, to disband it, return home, and keep the remainder of the money for their own private use; and this trade king edward understood very well, and often practised it." [ ] at that time the parliament first granted the number of , archers, which was afterwards reduced to , . rot. parl. v. , . [ ] rotuli parl. vi. . [ ] ibid. p. . [ ] ibid. p. . [ ] the parliament re-assembled accordingly on the th of may : and during that session, on the th of july, the commons again granted to the king a quinsisme and a disme (a fifteenth and a tenth), and the further sum of , l. s. ¾d. in full payment of the wages of the , archers, who, notwithstanding the condition of the former grants, were still maintained in readiness for the proposed expedition. in making these votes, the commons recited, as before, the king's intention to set outward a mighty army, "as dyvers tymes by the mouth of your chancellors for the tyme beyng hath to us been declared and shewed;" and it was now ordained "that, if the said viage roiall hold not afore the feste of seynt john baptist the year of our lord m cccclxvj. that then aswell the graunte of the forsaid xiij m. men as of all the sommes severally graunted for the wages of the same," should be utterly void and of none effect, (rot. parl. vi. , .) on the re-assembling of parliament in january - a further act was passed to hasten the payment of the disme first voted (ibid. p. ); and again, on the th of march, immediately before the dissolution of the parliament, the commons granted another fifteenth and tenth, and three parts of a fifteenth and tenth, to provide for the before-mentioned sum of , l. s. ¾d. (ibid. pp. , .) [ ] they are printed in rymer's foedera, &c. vol. xi. pp. et seq. [ ] an account of the payment of these wages for the first quarter, is preserved on the pell records of the exchequer, and an abstract printed in rymer's foedera, vol. xi. p. . it includes the names of the dukes of clarence, norfolk, and suffolk, the earls of ormonde and northumberland, the lords grey, scrope, ferrers, stanley, fitzwarren, hastynges, lisle, and cobham, and as bannerets sir ralph hastings, sir thomas mountgomery, and sir john astley; besides the earl of douglas and the lord boyd, noblemen of scotland; with many knights, esquires, and officers of the king's household. the item to the duke of clarence will afford a specimen of these payments: "georgio duci clarentiæ pro cxx hominibus ad arma, seipso computato ut duce ad xiijs. iiij d. per diem, et pro viginti eorum militum quilibet ad ij s. per diem, et xcix aliis hominibus ad arma quilibet ad xij d. per diem et vj d. ultra de regardo, et pro mille sagittariis [ li. summa totalis,] mmmcxciij l. vj s. x d. the payments to the duke of gloucester (omitted by rymer, but extracted in devon's issues of the exchequer, , p. ,) were nearly to the same amount, viz. for men at arms, to himself as a duke at s. d. per day, l. s. d.; for six knights, to each of them s. per day, l. s.; to each of the remainder of the said men at arms d. per day, and d. per day as a reward,-- l. s. d.; and to archers, to each of them d. per day, l. s.--total l. s. d. rymer has also (vol. xi. pp. - ) given at length three specimens of the indentures made with several persons. the first (dated august ) is an indenture retaining sir richard tunstall to serve the king for one whole year in his duchy of normandy and realm of france, with ten speres, himself accompted, and one hundred archers well and sufficiently abiled, armed and arraied, taking wages for hymself of ij s. by the day, for everiche of the said speres xij d. by the day, and rewardes of vj d. by the day for everich of the said other speres, and for everich of the said archers vj d. by the day. the next is an indenture made (on the th november) with thomas grey esquire, "for one whole year, as a custrell to attend about the king our soveraine lord's own persone, and with six archers well and sufficiently abled, armed, and arraied," his pay being xij d. by the day, an additional vj d. by the day by "meane of reward," and vj d. a day for each of his archers. the third is the indenture made with richard garnet esquire, serjeant of the king's tents, who was retained for the like term to do service of war "as a man of armes at his spere, with xxiiij yomen well and sufficiently habiled, armed and arraied," taking wages himself iiij s. a day, for two of the yeomen each xij d. a day, and for the remainder each vj d. a day. [ ] ibid. pp. , . [ ] ibid. pp. , , . [ ] rymer, xi. . [ ] foedera, vol. xii. p. . lord dynham had the principal command at sea by previous appointments in the and edw. iv. see dugdale's baronage, i. . [ ] fabyan says that "upon the iiij day of july (_an error for_ june) he rode with a goodly company thorugh the cytie towarde the see syde." [ ] printed in the excerpta historica, , p. . [ ] they are printed in rymer, vol. xii. pp. , . this was merely a constitutional form, for the prince was then only four years of age. [ ] hall states that "he hymself with his nobilitie warlikely accompaigned passed over betwene dover and caleys the iiij daye of july," his army, horses, and ammunitions of war having in their transport occupied twenty days. [ ] monstrelet in his chronicle attempts to present a list of the principal english lords and knights (the latter more than fifty in number), but every name is so disfigured that they are almost past recognition: as the names he gives to the nobility will show. he calls them, the dukes of sufflocq and noirflocq, the earls of crodale (arundel?), nortonbellan, scersebry, (shrewsbury, and not as buchon his editor suggests salisbury, which title did not then exist,) willephis (wiltshire?), and rivière; the lords stanlay, grisrufis, gray, erdelay, ondelay, verton, montu, beguey, strangle, havart, and caubehem. the last name (cobham) and that of lord fitzwaren are among the indentures printed by rymer in his vol. xi. pp. - , already noticed in the note in p. xx. [ ] these particulars are derived from the diary kept by the _maistres d'hostel_ of the burgundian court, which gives the following minute and curious account of the duke's movements, including the positions, not elsewhere to be found, of the english army during the months of july and august. "le . juillet la duchesse de bourgoyne, qui avoit été presque toujours a gand, arriva a calais vers le roy d'angleterre son frere, qui la deffraya. "le . ce duc arriva à calais vers le roy d'angleterre, qui le deffraya, la duchesse etant pour lors à sainct omer, avec les ducs de clarence et de glocestre ses freres. le . il alla au chasteau de guines avec ce roy, qui le fit deffraiyer. il en partit le , et alla à sainct omer, où il trouva la duchesse. il en partit le ., et alla à fauquemberghe, près l'ost du roy d'angleterre. il y sejourna le ., et en partit le . après déjeuner, et alla disner, soupper, et coucher en la cité d'arras; et ce jour il mangea du poisson, à cause de la veille de sainct jacques. le . il partit d'arras après disner, et alla coucher à dourlens. il en partit le . après disner, et alla voir l'ost du roy d'angleterre, et coucher en le cense de hamencourt: la duchesse partit ce jour de sainct omer, pour retourner à gand, où mademoiselle de bourgoyne étoit restée. "le mardy premier août, ce duc disna en la cense de hamencourt, coucha au village d'aichen, près l'ost du roy d'angleterre. il en partit le . après disner, et coucha à ancre. il en partit le . après disner, et coucha a curleu sur somme, près ledit ost. il y disna le . passa par l'ost du roy d'angleterre, et coucha à peronne. il y resta jusques au . qu'il en partit après disner, passa par l'ost du roy d'angleterre, et alla coucher à cambray. il y disna le . et coucha à valenciennes, d'où il partit le . après disner, souppa à cambray, et alla coucher à peronne. il y disna le . alla encore voir le roy d'angleterre au mesme camp, et alla coucher à cambray. le . il disna à valenciennes, coucha à mons. le . il disna à nivelle, et coucha à namur, où les ambassadeurs de naples, arragon, venise, et autres se rendirent. le . août, entreveue du roy avec le roy d'angleterre, au lieu de pequigny; ces princes convinrent d'une treve entre eux, et que le dauphin épouseroit la fille de ce roy d'angleterre." (mémoires de p. de cominines, edited by lenglet du fresnoy, , vol. ii. p. .) [ ] another version of this omen of the dove will be found in the extracts from commines hereafter. [ ] the fact of earl rivers having repaired to the duke of burgundy _once_, at the end of april, is confirmed by the chronicle formed from the journals of the duke's _maistres d'hoste_: "le . de ce mois (avril) le sire de riviers, ambassadeur du roy d'angleterre, arriva vers ce duc, et en fut regalé." (appendix to the edition of commines, by the abbé lenglet du fresnoy, to. , ii. .) but in the previous january we read, "the king's ambassadors, sir thomas mountgomery and the master of the rolls (doctor morton), be coming homeward from nuys." (paston letters, vol. ii. p. .) [ ] _i.e._ their horses protected by armour. [ ] hall, following this part of commines's narrative, on mentioning this english herald, adds, "whome argenton (meaning commines,) untrewly calleth garter borne in normandy, for the rome of gartier was never geven to no estraunger." the office of garter was at this time occupied by john smert, who was appointed in hen. vi. and died in edw. iv. he was the son-in-law of bruges his predecessor in the office: and there are large materials for his biography in anstis's collections on the heralds, at the college of arms, but containing no evidence either to prove commines's assertion, or hall's denial, of his being a native of normandy. [ ] the constable of france, jacques de luxembourg, comte de st. pol. after temporising between burgundy and france at this crisis, he paid the penalty for his vacillation, the duke surrendering him to louis, by whom he was decapitated before the end of the year (dec. , ). [ ] jacqueline duchess of bedford, the mother of the queen of england, was one of the constable's sisters. the constable was also connected by marriage with king louis, who called him "brother" from their having married two sisters. the relationship of all the principal actors in the transactions described in the text is shown in the following table:-- pierre louis charles vii. richard comte de st. pol duke of savoy. king of france. duke of york. = = = = | | | | +-----+ +-----+-----+ +-----+-+ +-----+ | | | | | | | | | louis comte=mary of charlotte=louis katharine=charles=margaret | | de st. pol, savoy. of savoy. xi. of duke of of york.| | the constable. france. burgundy. | | | jacqueline = richard | duchess of | earl | bedford. | rivers. | +-+------------------------------------+ +-------+ | | | anthony lord scales, elizabeth wydville.=king edward and earl rivers. the fourth. [ ] afterwards the first duke of norfolk and earl of derby of their respective families. [ ] the narrative is continued on the authority of commines. [ ] see the extracts from the register of the burgundian _maistres d'hostel_ already given in p. xxiii. the english camp is described as near fauquemberghe on the d of july, and near aichen on the st of august. its position near peronne is believed to have been at st. christ, on the river somme, and it appears to have remained there for a considerable time. [ ] the duke was at peronne from the th to th of august. see the note on his movements before, p. xxiv. [ ] the last was afterwards the husband of the king's daughter the lady anne of york, and ancestor of the earls and dukes of rutland. [ ] the prudent and conciliatory conduct of louis xi. towards the english at this crisis seems to have had a precedent in that of his ancestor charles v. "le sage roy de france charles quint du nom, quant on lui disait que grant honte estoit de recouvrer des forteresses par pecune, que les anglois à tort tenoient, comme il eust assez puissance pour les ravoir par force, il me semble (disoit-il,) que ce que on peut avoir par deniers ne doit point estre acheté par sang d'homme." (from the end of the twelfth chapter of the second book of the faits d'armes de guerre et de chevalerie par christine de pisan.) [ ] st. christ. [ ] it is printed in rymer's collection, vol. xii. p. . [ ] lord hastings was previously a pensioner of the duke of burgundy. lenglet du fresnoy has published a letter of the duke granting to william lord hastings a yearly pension of crowns of flanders, dated at the castle of peronne, may ; a receipt of lord hastings for that sum on the th july ; and another receipt for livres of flanders, dated th april . (mémoires de p. de commines, , iii. , .) commines, in his sixth book, chapter ii. relates how he had himself been the agent who had secured lord hastings to the burgundian interest, and how he subsequently negociated with him on the part of king louis. hastings accepted the french pension, being double the amount of the burgundian, but on this occasion, according to commines, would give no written acknowledgment. in an interview with the french emissary, pierre cleret, of which commines in his book vi. chapter ii. gives the particulars at some length, he said the money might be put in his sleeve. cleret left it, without acquittance; and his conduct was approved by his master. [ ] in the article of plate "his bountie apperyd by a gyfte that he gave unto lorde hastynges then lord chamberlayne, as xxiiij. dosen of bollys, wherof halfe were gylt and halfe white, which weyed xvij. nobles every cuppe or more." fabyan's chronicle. [ ] this passionate interview must have taken place on the th or th of august: see the note on the duke's movements in p. xxiv. [ ] we are continuing to follow the account of commines. but the truce, which was not yet concluded, was made for seven years only; and the dukes of burgundy and britany were not mentioned in the articles. the duke of burgundy, shortly after, himself made a truce with france for nine years. it was dated on the th of september, only fifteen days after that of the english. [ ] molinet says, "de quatrevingts à cent chariots de vin." [ ] the real childermas day was on the th of december; but sir john fenn, the editor of the paston letters, has suggested that the th of every month was regarded as a childermas day; for the th of june, , being childermas, and consequently a day of unlucky omen, was avoided for the coronation of edward the fourth. from other authorities it appears that the day of the week on which childermas occurred was regarded as unfortunate throughout the year. [ ] molinet mentions three other names, those of the admiral, the seigneur de craon, and the mayor of amiens. [ ] according to our london historian, fabyan, louis's attire was by no means becoming: "of the nyse and wanton disguysed apparayll (he says) that the kynge lowys ware upon hym at the tyme of this metynge i myght make a longe rehersayl: but for it shulde sownde more to dishonour of suche a noble man, that was apparaylled more lyke a mynstrell than a prynce royall, therfor i passe it over." [ ] commines saw king edward at the burgundian court in . on that occasion he gives him this brief character: "king edward was not a man of any great management or foresight, but of an invincible courage, and the most beautiful prince my eyes ever beheld." [ ] the documents which bear date on the day of the royal interview are these, as printed in the edition of commines by the abbé lenglet du fresnoy, , to. vol. iii:-- . the treaty of truce for seven years between edward king of france and england and lord of ireland and his allies on the one part, and the most illustrious prince louis of france (not styled king) and his allies, on the other. (in latin.) dated in a field near amiens on the th august . the conservators of the truce on the part of the king of england were the dukes of clarence and gloucester, the chancellor of england, the keeper of the privy seal, the warden of the cinque ports, and the captain or deputy of calais for the time being; on the part of the prince of france his brother charles comte of beaujeu and john bastard of bourbon admiral of france. . obligation of louis king of the french to pay to edward king of england yearly, in london, during the life of either party, the sum of , crowns. (in latin.) dated at amiens on the th of august. . a treaty of alliance between king edward and louis of france (in latin) stipulating, . that if either of them were driven from his kingdom, he should be received in the states of the other, and assisted to recover it. . to name commissioners of coinage, which should circulate in their dominions respectively. . that prince charles, son of louis, should marry elizabeth daughter of the king of england, or, in case of her decease, her sister mary. dated in the field near amiens, on the th of august. . another part of the treaty, bearing the same date, appointing for the arbiters of all differences, on the part of the king of england his uncle the cardinal thomas archbishop of canterbury and his brother george duke of clarence, and on the part of louis of france, charles archbishop of lyons and john comte de dunois. in april the three years were prolonged by another like term to the th august ; the letters patent relative to which are printed ibid. p. . on the th feb. - the truce was renewed for the lives of both princes, and for one hundred years after the decease of either, king louis obliging himself and his successors to continue the payment of the , crowns during that term: the documents relating to this negotiation are printed ibid. pp. -- . [ ] molinet, in his account of the conference, states that it lasted for an hour and a half, and that a principal topic of discussion was the conduct of the constable, louis showing a letter, in which the constable had engaged to harass the english army as soon as it was landed. [ ] this gascon gentleman is a person of some interest, from his name being mentioned by caxton. he was resident at the english court, as a servant of anthony lord scales (the queen's brother) as early as the year , when in a letter, dated at london, on the th of june, he challenged sir jehan de chassa, a knight in the retinue of the duke of burgundy, to do battle with him in honour of a noble lady of high estimation, immediately after the performance of the intended combat in london between the lord scales and the bastard of burgundy. his letter of challenge, in which he terms the king of england his sovereign lord, is printed in the excerpta historica, , p. ; and that of sir jehan de chassa accepting it at p. , addressed, _a treshonnouré escueire louys de brutallis_. his own signature is _loys de brutalljs_. the encounter is thus noticed in the annals of william of wyrcestre: "et iij^o die congressi sunt pedestres in campo, in præsencia regis, lodowicus bretailles cum burgundiæ; deditque rex honorem ambobus, attamen bretailles habuit se melius in campo:" and thus by olivier de la marche: "on the morrow messire jehan de cassa and a gascon squire named louis de brettailles, servant of mons. d'escalles, did arms on foot: and they accomplished these arms without hurting one another much. and on the morrow they did arms on horseback; wherein messire jean de chassa had great honour, and was held for a good runner at the lance." lowys de bretaylles, as his name is printed by caxton, was still attendant upon the same nobleman, then earl rivers, in , when he went to the pilgrimage of st. james in galicia; and upon that occasion, soon after sailing from southampton, he lent to the earl the book of _les dictes moraux des philosophes_, written in french by johan de tronville, which the earl translated, and caused it to be printed by caxton, as _the dicts and sayings of the philosophers_, in . [ ] fabyan's chronicle. [ ] the former importance and power of the constable are thus described by commines: "some persons may perhaps hereafter ask, whether the king alone was not able to have ruined him? i answer, no; for his territories lay just between those of the king and the duke of burgundy: he had st. quintin always, and another strong town in vermandois: he had ham and bohain, and other considerable places not far from st. quintin, which he might always garrison with what troops (and of what country) he pleased. he had four hundred of the king's men at arms, well paid; was commissary himself, and made his own musters,--by which means he feathered his nest very well, for he never had his complement. he had likewise a salary of forty-five thousand francs, and exacted a crown upon every pipe of wine that passed into hainault or flanders through any of his dominions; and, besides all this, he had great lordships and possessions of his own, a great interest in france, and a greater in burgundy, on account of his kinsmen." [ ] none had actually been made with burgundy by the treaty of the th of august. commines certainly wrote under a misapprehension in that respect, as well as upon the number of years of the truce with england. [ ] besides the lady margaret there were two sons: maximilian, afterwards the emperor maximilian, and philip. there was a contract of marriage in between the latter and the lady anne of england, one of the daughters of edward the fourth. (rymer, xii. .) [ ] margaret herself was eventually rejected by charles viii. who was nearly nine years her senior. when he had the opportunity of marrying the heiress of bretagne, and thereby annexing that duchy to france, margaret was sent back to her father in , and afterwards married in to john infante of castile, and in to philibert duke of savoy. she subsequently nearly yielded to the suit of charles brandon lord lisle, (afterwards the husband of mary queen dowager of france,) who was made duke of suffolk by his royal master in order to be more worthy of her acceptance; but at last she died childless in , after a widowhood of six and twenty years, and a long and prosperous reign as regent of the netherlands. [ ] paston letters, vol. i. p. . [ ] "whiche book was translated and thystoryes openly declared by the ordinaunce and desyre of the noble auncyent knyght syr johan fastolf, of the countee of norfolk banerette, lyvyng' the age of four score yere, excercisyng' the warrys in the royame of fraunce and other countrees for the diffence and universal welfare of bothe royames of englond' and' fraunce, by fourty yeres enduryng', the fayte of armes haunting, and in admynystryng justice and polytique governaunce under thre kynges, that is to wete, henry the fourth, henry the fyfthe, henry the syxthe, and was governour of the duchye of angeou and the countee of mayne, capytayn of many townys, castellys, and fortressys in the said royame of fraunce, havyng' the charge and saufgarde of them dyverse yeres, ocupyeng' and rewlynge thre honderd' speres and' the bowes acustomed thenne, and yeldyng' good' acompt of the foresaid townes, castellys, and fortresses to the seyd' kynges and to theyr lyeutenauntes, prynces of noble recomendacion, as johan regent of fraunce duc of bedforde, thomas duc of excestre, thomas duc of clarence, and other lyeutenauntes." this may be considered as a grateful tribute from william of worcestre, when himself advanced in years (he died in or about ), to the memory of his ancient master, sir john fastolfe, who had died in . the biography of william of worcestre was written by the rev. james dallaway in the retrospective review, vol. xvi. p. ; and reprinted in to. , in his volume entitled "william wyrcestre redivivus: notices of ancient church architecture, particularly in bristol," &c.; but the latest and most agreeable sketch of worcestre's life is that given by mr. g. poulett scrope in his history of castle combe, , to. [ ] he has recorded that in he presented a copy of his translation to bishop waynflete,--"but received no reward!" his version was not made from the original, but from the french of laurentius de primo facto, or du premier-faict: an industrious french translator, who flourished from to . [ ] bale, in his list of the works of worcestre, whom he notices under his _alias_ of botoner, mentions _acta domini joannis fastolf_, lib. i, (commencing) "anno christi , et anno regni--" oldys (in the biographia britannica, , p. ) attributes to worcestre "a particular treatise, gratefully preserving the life and deeds of his master, under the title of _acta domini johannis fastolff_, which we hear is still in being, and has been promised the publick;" but in the second edition of oldys's life of fastolfe (biographia britannica, , v. ), we find merely this note substituted: "this is mentioned in the paston letters, iv. p. ." the letter there printed is one addressed by john davy to his master john paston esquire after sir john fastolfe's death. it relates to inquiries made of one "bussard" for evidences relative to fastolfe's estate; and it thus concludes: "he seyth the last tyme that he wrot on to william wusseter it was beffor myssomyr, and thanne he wrote a cronekyl of jerewsalem and the jornes that my mayster dede whyl he was in fraunce, that god on his sowle have mercy, and he seyth that this drew more than xx whazerys (quires) off paper, and this wrytyng delyvered onto wursseter, and non other, ne knowyth not off non other be is feyth." it appears, i think, very clearly that this passage was misunderstood by oldys, or his informant, and that the historian of the "journeys" and valiant acts of sir john fastolfe was not worcestre, but the person called bussard. it is not impossible that the person whom john davy meant by that name was peter basset, who is noticed in the next page. mr. benjamin williams, in the preface to "henrici quinti gesta," (printed for the english historical society, ,) says of worcestre that "he wrote the _acts of sir john fastolfe_, contained in the volume from which this chronicle is extracted," _i.e._ the arundel ms. xlviii. in the college of arms; but that statement appears to have been carelessly made, without ascertaining that the volume contained any such "acts." "also (mr. williams adds) the _acts of john duke of bedford_ (ms. lambeth);" but those "acts" again are not an historical or biographical memoir, but a collection of state papers and documents relating to the english occupation of france, which will be found described in archdeacon todd's catalogue of the lambeth manuscripts as no. . its contents are nearly identical with those of a volume in the library of the society of antiquaries, mss. no. , as will be found on comparison with sir henry ellis's catalogue of that collection, p. . the latter is the volume which oldys, in his life of sir john fastolfe, in the biographia britannica , has described at p. as a "quarto book some time in the custody of the late brian fairfax esquire, one of the commissioners of the customs," and of which oldys attributes the collection to the son of william of worcestre, because a dedicatory letter from that person to king edward the fourth is prefixed to the volume. another very valuable assemblage of papers of the like character, and which may also be regarded as part of the papers of sir john fastolfe, is preserved in the college of arms, ms. arundel xlviii., and is fully described by mr. w. h. black in his catalogue of that collection, vo. . this is the volume from which hearne derived the annals of william of worcestre, and mr. benjamin williams one of his chronicles of the reign of henry the fifth. it is probable that the lambeth ms. was formerly in the royal library, for abstracts of some of its more important documents, in the autograph of king edward the sixth, are preserved in the ms. cotton. nero c. x. these have been printed in the literary remains of king edward the sixth, pp. - . [ ] from the authority of tanner and oldys, we gather that there was formerly a volume in the library of the college of arms, bearing the following title: "liber de actis armorum et conquestus regni franciæ, ducatus normanniæ, ducatus alenconiæ, ducatus andegaviæ et cenomanniæ, &c. compilatus fuit ad nobilem virum johannem fastolff, baronem de cyllye guillem vel cylly quotem, &c. , per pet. basset armig." (tanner, bibliotheca britannica, , p. ; oldys, biographia britannica, , iii. , again, p. ; and nd edit. , v. .) both tanner and oldys describe this book as being in the heralds' office at london, but it is not now to be found there; and is certainly not a part of the arundel ms. xlviii. the contents of which curious and valuable volume are minutely described in the catalogue of the collection by mr. w. h. black, f.s.a. [ ] bale (scriptores brytanniæ, vii. , folio, , p. ,) describes peter basset as an esquire of noble family, and an attendant upon henry the fifth in his bedchamber throughout that monarch's career. bale states that this faithful esquire wrote the memoirs of his royal master, very fully, from his cradle to his grave, in the english language; and we find that the work was known to the chronicler hall, who quotes basset in regard to the disease of which the king died. it is remarkable, however, that this work, like that formerly in the college of arms, mentioned in the preceding note (if it were not the same), has now disappeared; and the name of basset has been unknown to mr. benjamin williams and mr. charles augustus cole, the editors of recent collections on the reign of henry the fifth for the english historical society and the series of the present master of the rolls, ( and ,) as also to sir n. harris nicolas, the historian of the battle of agincourt, and the rev. j. endell tyler, the biographer of king henry of monmouth ( vols. vo. ). [ ] its real author is supposed to have been Ægidius romanus, or de columna, who was bishop of berri, and died in . see les manuscrits francois de la bibliothèque du roi, par m. paulin paris, , i. . it was printed at rome in , and at venice in : see cave, historia literaria, vol. ii. p. . thomas occleve, the contemporary of chaucer, wrote a poem _de regimine principum_, founded, to a certain extent, upon the work of Ægidius, but applied to the events of his own time, and specially directed to the instruction of the prince of wales, afterwards king henry v. the roxburghe club has recently committed the editorship of this work to mr. thomas wright, f.s.a. [ ] preface to the buke of the order of knyghthede (abbotsford club, ,) p. xxiii. [ ] ames's typographical antiquities, by dibdin, iii. . moule (bibliotheca heraldica, , p. ,) conjectures that this may have been the same with "a treatise of nobility," by john clerke, mentioned by wood, in his athenæ oxonienses, as being also a translation from the french; this was printed in mo, . (ath. oxon. edit. bliss, i. .) in that case the name of _larke_ is an error of ames. [ ] wyer also printed "the boke of knowledge," a work on prognostics in physic, and on astronomy (dibdin's ames, iii. , ), and "the book of wysdome, spekyng of vyces and vertues, ." (ibid. p. .) [ ] typographical antiquities, first edition, iii. . [ ] mr. b. b. woodward, f.s.a. the author of a history of hampshire now in progress, kindly undertook for me to search the records of the city of winchester in order to discover, if possible, any information in elucidation of this document; but he found them in so great confusion, that at present it is impossible to pursue such an inquiry with any hope of success. [ ] _here is written above the line, in a later hand_, yn yo^r most noble persone and [ ] _in ms._ whiche whan [ ] _ms._ of [ ] _these words are inserted by a second hand._ [ ] _inserted above the line by a second hand._ [ ] _sc._ weight [ ] _ms._ infinitee [ ] _ms._ to [ ] _ms._ if it [ ] _ms._ defoule [ ] _ms._ be that [ ] _ms._ they [ ] _ms._ it is [ ] _the words_ thowsands and _are inserted above the line._ [ ] _added by second hand._ [ ] _altered by second hand to_ youre [ ] _inserted above the line by a second hand._ [ ] _qu._? yet [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _added by second hand._ [ ] _this passage is inserted by the second hand._ [ ] _added by second hand._ [ ] _the hague._ [ ] _so the ms._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _ms._ cons. [ ] _inserted by the second hand._ [ ] _the word_ king _has been erased, and altered to_ prince. [ ] _the insertion occupying the ensuing page is written by the second hand in the margin._ [ ] _inserted by the second hand._ [ ] overthrow _in ms._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _added in the margin by second hand._ [ ] _added by second hand in the margin._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _so in ms._ [ ] _inserted by third hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by the second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] ? all. [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _the word_ innocent _is written by some lancastrian over an erasure_. [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _added by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _so in the ms._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _so in ms._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _so in the ms._ [ ] _ms._ youre. [ ] _ms._ of. [ ] _ms._ they owre. [ ] of _in ms._ [ ] _added by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _in the margin is here placed the following note respecting dame christina of passy:--_ "notandum est quod cristina [fuit] domina præclara natu et moribus, et manebat in domo religiosarum dominarum apud passye prope parys; et ita virtuosa fuit quod ipsa exhibuit plures clericos studentes in universitate parisiensi, et compilare fecit plures libros virtuosos, utpote _liber arboris bellorum_, et doctores racione eorum exhibicionis attribuerunt nomen autoris christinæ, sed aliquando nomen autoris clerici studentis imponitur in diversis libris; et vixit circa annum christi , sed floruit ab anno christi ." [ ] _inserted by second hand in the margin._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _ms._ goodis. [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _ms._ startees. [ ] _so in ms._ [ ] sir john fastolfe. [ ] _this word has been in the ms. by error altered to_ stode, _which belongs to the next line_. [ ] _so. in ms._ [ ] _ms._ wounding. [ ] _this word is written on an erasure._ [ ] _so in the ms._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _written over an erasure._ [ ] _ms._ nede or of. [ ] _written on an erasure._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _so in the ms._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _ms._ youre. [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _ms._ gentiles. [ ] _written on an erasure._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _written on an erasure._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _ms._ excersing. [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _inserted by second hand._ [ ] _so in ms. sc._ stir? [ ] _so in ms._ [ ] _ms._ where. * * * * * corrections made to printed original. page xxxvi. "the gate should be delivered up": 'he delivered' in original. page . "the seneschalcie of pierregort": 'of of' (across line break) in original. tales from spenser chosen from the faerie queene by sophia h maclehose published by james maclehose and sons, glasgow, publishers to the university. macmillan and co., london and new york. _london, simpkin, hamilton and co._ _cambridge, macmillan and bowes._ _edinburgh, douglas and foulis._ mdcccxcii. to my nephews hamish and crawford. preface. in writing these tales from "the faerie queene," no attempt has been made to interpret their allegorical or explain their historic bearing. intended for children, the stories are related simply as stories, and therefore only those episodes in the poem most interesting and most complete in themselves have been chosen. in no case do the tales pretend to relate the whole that spenser tells of their heroes and heroines. contents. una and the lion prince arthur helps una to find the red-cross knight how the red-cross knight slew the dragon britomart and the magic mirror britomart and amoret the story of marinell and florimell braggadochio how britomart found artegal cambello and triamond the story of timias calidore and pastorella tales from spenser. una and the lion. faerie queene. book i. cantos i., iii., vi. once upon a time, while fairies and goblins still lingered in the forests of merry england, a great queen named gloriana reigned over faeryland. the subjects over whom she ruled were not tiny creatures like oberon and titania, but brave knights who went out from her court endowed with magic powers to redress wrongs and help those in trouble. now there lived at this time a king and queen of very ancient lineage, whose dominions stretched from east to west, and who had once held all the world in subjection. but a cruel enemy had arisen against them, and destroyed their rich lands, and killed the inhabitants, and forced the king and queen to take refuge in a strong castle, guarded by a mighty wall of brass. this enemy was no other than a huge and fearful dragon. from every quarter of the globe knights came to fight the accursed beast, but only those whose faith was strong and conscience clear could prevail; and thus knight after knight fell before the dragon, who grew stronger and more cruel in his success. the king and queen had one child, a daughter, whose name was una. she loved her parents dearly, and hearing of the knights of queen gloriana, she resolved to go to the faerie court and pray for assistance for her parents who had now been four years prisoners, and were in great distress. she set out upon her journey, dressed in a long black robe covered by a deep veil; she rode an ass as white as snow, and led by a line a milk-white lamb, a symbol of innocence. behind her followed a dwarf, bearing a spear in his hand, and leading a war-like steed, on whose back was laid a suit of armour. thus accoutred, una appeared at the court of gloriana. shortly before, a young man, tall and powerful, but clownish in appearance, had arrived at the faerie court and had prayed to be sent on the first adventure that should arise. when, therefore, una came and preferred her request, the young man claimed the enterprise as his right. gloriana wondered at his boldness, for he had not a knightly air, and una herself objected, but he only urged his suit the more, and at length una said he might try on the armour she had brought, but that, unless it fitted him perfectly, it was impossible he could succeed in so dangerous an enterprise. now, the armour which una had was that of a christian knight; and when it was tried on, lo! the clownish youth changed into the noblest of all the company. and queen gloriana conferred knighthood upon him; and he, mounting the steed led by the dwarf, went forth with una to vanquish her foe. henceforth the youth is called the red-cross knight, for on his silver shield, and on the breast-plate of his armour, was a blood-red cross, the symbol of the christian faith. and the knight proved right worthy of his cross: he was true and faithful both in word and deed, and his countenance was grave and sober, befitting one who dreaded no danger, but was himself held in dread; so una loved him well. now, it happened that, shortly after una and her knight had left the court of gloriana, they met a grave old man dressed in long black weeds; he had bare feet, and a hoary head, and a book hung from his side; and as he walked, he prayed and smote upon his breast in the manner of a hermit. but he was, instead, a wicked enchanter named archimago, who, by means of the most cunning tricks, deceived the red-cross knight, made him think una an impostor, and beguiled him and also the dwarf away from her. this made the lady very sad, for not only was she lonely and helpless in the strange land through which she was passing, but, unless she could find the knight, she must give up the hope of seeing the cruel dragon subdued and her dear parents set free. so una, brave as she was good, put away her fears, and travelled on through vast forests and desolate moors, seeking for her knight. one day, when almost wearied out, una alighted from her slow-footed steed, and, taking off her robe and unbinding the band which confined her hair, lay down to rest; and so fair and lovely was she that her sweet countenance made sunshine in the shady place in which she lay. now, while she rested, there suddenly burst out from the forest a lion, hungry and greedy, who, seeing the maiden, ran towards her with jaws wide-open, ready to devour his prey. but, as the lion drew nearer to the maiden, his rage changed into pity, and, amazed at the fair sight before him, he forgot his savage fury and licked her lily hands and kissed her weary feet. and una, unable at first to cease from the fear of death, watched him, hardly believing her eyes, and then her heart began to melt in gratitude and her tears to flow, as she thought how this fierce lord of beasts pitied her, while her own lord, whom she loved as her very life, had forsaken her. at length una checked her tears, and, trying to put away her grief, arose, and, remounting her humble steed, set out again to seek her knight. but she was no longer a defenceless maiden, for with her went the lion--a strong guardian and faithful comrade--who, while she slept, kept both watch and ward, and, while she waked, waited on her will, taking direction from his lady's eye. one day, as the damsel and the lion travelled thus through untrodden deserts, they unexpectedly came upon a beaten path. following this path, which led under the brow of a steep mountain, una observed a young girl walking slowly before them, bearing on her shoulder a water-pot. to her una called, and asked if there were any dwelling-place near at hand. but the girl was rude, and did not reply; indeed, she seemed neither to hear nor understand, and when she saw the lion fear seized upon her, and, throwing down her pitcher, she fled. she dared not once look back, but ran as if her life depended on her speed, until she reached her home, where sat her mother old and blind. this was corceca, a wicked woman and a hypocrite, who was wont daily to fast and pray and do painful penance. with trembling hands, the girl caught hold of the old woman, and exhibited such signs of terror that her mother rose in great alarm and hastened to close the door just as una and her strange page arrived. una prayed hard for admittance, but in vain; and at this the lion lifted his great paws, and, tearing down the wicket door, let his lady in. she found the two women almost dead with fright, crouching in the darkest corner of the hovel. una tried to calm their fears by gentle words and looks, and after a time succeeded so far as to receive permission to rest there for the night. she was very weary and laid herself down on the floor--the lion at her feet--but she was too sad for the loss of the red-cross knight to sleep, and so spent the long hours in sighs and groans and bitter tears. at length morning approached, and with it came some one knocking at the door. he knocked loud and repeatedly, and was heard to curse and swear because the door was not more readily opened to him. now, he who knocked was a wicked thief, who robbed churches and stole money from the poor men's box. at this very moment he had on his back a heavy load of stolen goods, for all that he got, whether by lawful means or unlawful, he brought to this old woman's house and bestowed upon her daughter abessa, who was as wicked as herself. there he stood knocking at the door, but neither abessa nor corceca dared pass by the lion to open. at length, kirk-rapine, for such was his name, became quite furious and would wait no longer, but burst open the door. alas! for kirk-rapine; the moment he entered, the lion rose from una's feet, and, outstretching his lordly paws, laid the robber low. the wretched man was powerless to resist, nor did abessa or corceca dare to go to his assistance, and very soon kirk-rapine lay quite dead--his body torn in pieces, and his blood flowing into the earth. now, when the broad daylight returned, una arose, and with her the lion, and once more set out together to seek the knight. as soon as she was gone, the women came out from their dark corner, to see whether or not their worst fears were realized. when they saw that kirk-rapine was indeed slain, they tore their hair, and beat their breasts, and, half mad with malice and revenge, rushed forth in pursuit of una. as soon as they got near her, they began to shout and cry after her, calling her all sorts of bad names and praying that every kind of evil might befall her. at length, tired out with their own curses, they turned back, and on the way met one clad in armour as became a knight. this was, however, no knight, but archimago, the wicked enchanter, who, not content with having separated una from her champion, sought to lead her into further distress. he stopped the old woman, and, describing una, asked if she had seen any such lady. thereupon corceca's passion became renewed, and, crying and cursing, she declared she knew her but too well, and told him which way to take. before long, archimago came where "una travelled slow," her fierce guardian treading by her side. the sight of the lion alarmed the enchanter, and he turned aside, not daring to approach too near. now archimago had taken care to disguise himself as una's own red-cross knight. when, therefore, she recognized the well-known shield, she turned and rode towards him, and, as she approached more near, became assured in her own mind that this was indeed her lost lord. hastening on, in much humility and with tears in her eyes, she exclaimed: "ah! my long-lost lord, where have you been so long hidden from my sight?" the pretended knight replied "that his absence had been enforced in that a certain archimago had sent him on an adventure, from which he had now returned successful, and ready henceforth to abide by her and defend her by land and sea." his words made una very happy. in her new-found joy, she forgot the pains and toils she had encountered and journeyed on, discoursing happily of all that had befallen her. they had not, however, travelled far when they saw an armed horseman riding towards them at full speed. although his horse was covered with foam, the warrior kept spurring it from time to time, and looked as if he were breathing forth dread threats of vengeance on some unknown victim. on his shield his name sansloy was written in red letters. now, this sansloy was a saracen knight, and was brother of another knight named sansfoy, but this brother had encountered the red-cross knight shortly after he and una left the faerie court, and had been slain by him. the moment, therefore, that sansloy had seen the cross on archimago's armour, he had determined to avenge his brother's death, and bore down thus fiercely on the enchanter and the lady. but archimago had no mind to fight; he grew faint and fearful when he saw the warrior, and it was only when una cheered him on that he ventured to couch his spear or put spurs to his horse. sansloy showed no mercy, but came on with such force and fierceness that his spear went right through archimago's shield and hurled his antagonist from his charger, so that he fell heavily to the ground, while the blood gushed from his wound. immediately sansloy leapt from his steed and hastened toward his prostrate foe exclaiming, "lo! there the worthy meed of him who slew sansfoy with bloody knife," and thereupon began to unlace archimago's helmet, thinking to sever his head at one stroke. but una saw his purport, and cried out, beseeching him to hold "that heavy hand," urging that surely sansloy's revenge was enough when he saw his foe lie vanquished at his feet. to her piteous words the cruel saracen paid no attention, but tore off the other's helmet, and would have given the fatal blow had he not perceived before him, instead of the red-cross knight, the hoary head of archimago the enchanter. he stayed his hand, and gazed on the old man in amazement, for he knew him well, and knew that, skilful as archimago was in charms and magic, he was but little used to war. "why, archimago," he exclaimed, "what do i see? what hard mishap is this?" the enchanter answered him never a word, but lay in a trance, apparently dying, and sansloy, who had no compassion in his soul, made no attempt to render him assistance. he turned instead to una, who, poor damsel, was in sore amazement to see that he whom she had believed her own true knight was the cruel enchanter who had caused all her distress. her wonder soon changed into terror, for sansloy proceeded to seize hold of her white veil and pluck her rudely from her steed and gaze boldly in her face. but now arose the lion, her fierce servant, and, full of kingly rage at seeing his lady thus maltreated, sprang upon the saracen, and with sharp-rending claws strove to tear away his shield. but sansloy was very strong and wary, and, redeeming the shield from the lion's paws, he drew his sword. alas! the power of the wild beast was all too weak to withstand a foe armed at every point and so mighty in strength and in skill as sansloy. very soon the deadly steel pierced the lion's heart, and he roared aloud, and life forsook him. una was left alone in the hands of a cruel warrior, bereft of hope, for her faithful guardian was slain. she knew not where to look for help, and indeed help seemed very far away. the saracen would listen to no entreaty, but lifted her on to his own steed and bore her off, while the lowly ass, who would not forsake his lady, followed as best he could. with piteous words, she wept and begged for freedom, but all in vain; her words only increased the hardness of her captor's heart. after a time, una found herself borne into a wild forest. here the damsel's terror became extreme, and she cried aloud in her distress. she had no hope of succour, but succour came. "eternal providence, exceeding thought, where none appears, can make herself a way." and a wondrous way in this case it proved. far off in the wood, a troop of fauns and satyrs, wild, untamed inhabitants of deepest forests, were dancing, whilst old sylvanus, their god, lay sleeping. these, hearing una's cry, left their sport, and, running towards the spot from which the cry had come, appeared suddenly on the scene. they were a rude, misshapen, even frightful-looking crowd, and sansloy, like the wicked knight that he was, seized with superstitious fears, took fright and fled. but, when the satyrs beheld una all alone, sad and desolate, her fair face stained with tears, they stood still before her, astonished at her beauty, and pitiful of her distress. and she, more amazed than they, began to fear and tremble afresh, for wild stories were told of the satyrs and of their lawless deeds. and it seemed to her that a worse lot than ever before had now befallen her. so fearful was she that she dared neither speak nor move. the wild people read una's sorrow in her sad countenance, and, laying aside the rough, frowning looks they usually wore, began to grin and smile and bend their knees before her, trying thus to comfort her. uncertain whether or not she dare trust herself to them, una stood irresolute. they, as they watched her, were overcome by pity of her tender youth and wonder at her sovereign beauty, and prostrating themselves on the ground, kissed her feet and fawned upon her with their most kindly looks. then una, guessing their hearts aright, gave herself up to their care, and, rising, went fearlessly among them. glad as birds in the joyous spring-time, they led her forth dancing, shouting, singing, and strewing green branches before her. all the way they played on their merry pipes, until the woods rang with their echo; and, worshipping the lady as a queen, they crowned her with an olive garland and led her to sylvanus, their god. he had wondered at the sounds of rejoicing which had roused him from his sleep, but when, leaning on his cypress staff, he came forth from his bower and saw una, he stood amazed and wondered not when his wood-born subjects fell prostrate before her. and then came tree-nymphs and light-footed naiads, flocking to see the new-comer. but when they saw how fair and good she was, sharp envy seized upon them, and they fled away lest the satyrs, in their new-born reverence for una, should scorn their ancient playmates. so una, thankful for the favour she found and the respect shown to her, remained a long time among this forest people, and rested from her weariness. in return for their hospitality, she tried to teach them something of truth, and to prevent their worship of herself, but it was in vain, for when they found they might not worship the lady, they turned to the milk-white ass, her lowly steed, and worshipped it in her stead. one day there came to the forest a certain sir satyrane, a noble knight who had been born in these woods, and who was in the habit of revisiting them from time to time. now, when he came unexpectedly on this fair lady sitting among the satyrs and endeavouring to teach them true sacred lore, he wondered at her heavenly wisdom, the like of which he had never before seen in woman. and when he watched her courteous deeds and heard the story of her sad misfortunes, his wonder changed into admiration, and he became her scholar and learned of her "the discipline of truth and faith." thus una and sir satyrane grew close friends, and at length she told him her most secret grief, how deeply she longed to find the red-cross knight, and how all her secret thoughts were spent in contriving an escape from her kind but rude guardians. so sir satyrane began to devise how he might help her, and one day while the satyrs had all gone to pay homage to sylvanus, the strong knight led away the gentle virgin, and after further adventures, of which you shall hear in the next tale, una did at last rejoin her long-lost knight to the great comfort of them both. prince arthur helps una to find the red-cross knight. faerie queene. book i. cantos viii., x. una and the good sir satyrane travelled together for some time, seeking her knight. in the course of their search sir satyrane became separated from una, who must have gone on alone had not her long-lost dwarf unexpectedly appeared. this was a most welcome sight, and yet una's heart sank within her as she looked at the dwarf, for he travelled alone and carried with him the silver shield, the mighty spear and ancient armour of the red-cross knight. seeing these, she fell helpless to the ground, for she knew some terrible misfortune must have happened to her lord. the dwarf, as he drew near and beheld his lady in such distress, became as sorrowful as she; for he bore heavy tidings and feared greatly to impart them. his heart sank within him, but he made a show of hopefulness and set about to rub and chafe the poor damsel's temples until she began to give signs of life, and to moan and groan aloud. she was very weary, and she thought her effort to save her parents was all in vain. loathing the very sunshine she cried out for death, and, believing her prayers about to be answered, once more sank upon the ground. three times she sank and three times the dwarf raised and revived her with busy care and pains. when at length life fairly won the victory, with trembling limbs and failing tongue una prayed him to tell her what woful tragedy had befallen her knight. "thou canst not," she said, "tell a more heavy tale than that i already know to be true." then the dwarf began to relate all the adventures which had happened to him and the knight from the time that archimago, the wicked enchanter, had parted them from una until now. these were many, but at present i can only tell you of that in which the red-cross knight lost his armour. first, you must know that the knight ought never to have left una. in leaving her he followed a false imagination put into his mind by archimago, instead of remaining strictly true to the charge given him by gloriana, queen of faeryland, and this one false step led him into much misfortune. it was thus he came to trust in duessa, a wicked witch, who one day led him to rest by a stream whose waters had the fatal effect of rendering every one who drank of them weak and powerless against all attacks of evil. the knight, then, resting by the stream, drank of its waters, and immediately his strength gave way, his blood ran slow, and a chill struck at the very root of his courage. while lying in this feeble condition, a dreadful sound was heard, that seemed to shake the earth and cause the trees to tremble. starting up, the knight began to collect his weapons and to don his armour in great haste. but before he could do so, before he had even got his shield in his hand, a hideous giant, more than three times the height of any mortal man, and so huge that the earth groaned under his weight, came stalking into sight. in his hand the giant orgoglio bore a gnarled oak torn up from the forest, which he used both as staff and weapon, and when he saw the knight he raised this formidable cudgel and bore down upon him in a fury. alas! the red-cross knight was little able to sustain the combat. unarmed, disgraced and inwardly dismayed by the power of the fatal waters, he could hardly wield his single blade. the giant struck with a force that might overthrow a tower of stone, much more a defenceless man: but the knight watched carefully where the blows fell, and skilfully leapt out of their way, and thus for a time evaded them. but not for long: so furious were the blows that the wind they raised presently overthrew him and flung him stunned upon the ground. the giant was not slow to see his advantage. he uplifted his powerful arm, and with one stroke would have made an end of his opponent had not duessa interfered. she besought orgoglio to spare the life of the red-cross knight and take only his liberty: and to this the giant consented on condition that duessa would become his lady-love. he then raised the knight in his cruel arms and carried him in haste to his strong castle, where he threw him into its darkest dungeon. such was the tale the dwarf had to tell. una heard him patiently to the end, and strove to master her sorrow, but it only grew stronger the more she contended against it. at length, when the first passion of grief had worn itself out, she rose, and, attended by the dwarf, resolved to find her knight, alive or dead. but ever as she wandered through low dales, and over high hills and among thick woods, her grief broke forth from time to time as if from a wound that had not healed. after a time una and her dwarf chanced to meet a very noble-looking knight attended by a single follower. these were none other than the great and good prince arthur and timias his much loved squire. the armour of the prince glittered from afar, and on his breast he wore a bauldric beset with precious stones, in the midst of which shone one shaped like a lady's head, which was of wondrous worth and was possessed of magic powers. by the bauldric hung the prince's sword: its sheath was of ivory curiously wrought. the hilt and the buckle were of burnished gold and the handle was of mother-of-pearl. his helmet was also of gold and had a dragon for its crest: the wings of the dragon spread wide apart, while its head couched close upon the prince's beaver, and its tail stretched low upon his back, and on the top of all was a tuft of divers coloured hair sprinkled with gold and pearls, and quivering in the sunlight. his shield was closely covered and might not be seen of mortal eyes, for it was made of pure and perfect diamond:--one massive piece cut solid from the rock, and no spear could pierce it nor any sword divide its substance. and never did prince arthur reveal its brightness to any single foe, but if he wished to dismay huge monsters or daunt whole armies, then would he discover its exceeding brightness, and so discomfit them. no magic art or enchanter's word had power over it, and all things that were not what they seemed, faded away before its brightness. by it the prince could blind the proud, turn men into stones, stones to dust, and dust to nought. this wondrous shield, with the rich sword and armour, had been made for prince arthur by merlin, the great and good magician. timias, the prince's squire, was a gentle youth. he bore a spear of ebony, with a square pike head, which had been three times heated in the furnace; and he rode a proud and stubborn steed that chafed under its rider, but was kept well in hand. as prince arthur approached the lady, he spoke courteously to her, and when he perceived that his words drew forth slow and unwilling answers, he guessed that a secret sorrow rent her heart. he then tried to draw from her the cause of her distress, until, moved by his kind words, una spoke. "what happiness," she asked, "could reach a heart plunged in a sea of sorrow, and heaped with huge misfortunes?" as soon as she thought of her distress a cold chill crept over her, and she felt as if stung by an iron arrow. griefs which could not be cured were best not spoken of,--she could only weep and wail. then said the prince--"ah! dear lady, well do i believe that your grief is a heavy one, for only to hear you speak fills my soul with sadness; but let me entreat of you to unfold it, for counsel eases the worst sorrow." "but great grief," said una, "will not bear to be spoken of; it is easy to think about, but hard to utter." "true," replied the prince, "but he that wills not, can do nothing." "ah!" pleaded una, "but grief that is spoken, and finds no relief, grows still heavier, and leads to despair." "not so," said the prince, "when there is trust and faith." and thus was una at length persuaded to disclose her secret sorrow. she told the prince the story you already know: how her dear parents were imprisoned by a huge dragon, and how the red-cross knight, who was to have rescued them, had been betrayed into the hands of a cruel giant, in whose dungeons he lay, disarmed and helpless. before she had quite ended her tale, the poor damsel grew faint from grief and dread, but the prince comforted her with cheering words. "truly," he said, "you have great cause of sorrow; but take comfort and courage, for until i have rescued your captive knight be assured that i will not leave you." so the whole party went on together, until they reached a great castle. here, said the dwarf, lay his luckless lord, and here the prince must try his prowess. whereupon the prince alighted from his steed, and bidding una remain where she was and watch the issue of the fight, took timias, his squire, and strode up to the castle wall. he found the gates fast closed, and no one to keep guard or answer to his call. at this, the squire blew a small bugle, which hung by his side, adorned with twisted gold and gay tassels, and writ all over with the wonders of its virtue. none ever heard its shrill call who did not tremble before it. there was no gate however strong, or lock however firm, that did not burst open at its summons. and now, as the squire blew the magic horn, the grim castle quaked, every door flew open, and the giant himself rushed forth with an angry stare on his cruel countenance, eager to learn who or what this might be that had dared his dreaded power. after him appeared duessa, riding a many-headed monster, with a fiery, flaming tongue in every one of its many heads. at once the prince began a furious attack on the monster. thereupon the giant buckled to the fight, and lifting up his dreadful club, all armed with ragged knobs and gnarled knots, thought to have slain the prince at a single blow. but he, wise and wary, leapt swiftly aside, and the great weapon fell so heavily, that it sank three yards deep into the ground, making the earth tremble. now, orgoglio could not easily uplift his club, and as he strove to drag it from the deep cleft, the prince smote off his left arm, which fell to the ground, a senseless block, while streams of blood gushed from the wound. dismayed by the pain, orgoglio roared aloud, and duessa hastened to draw up her many-headed charger to his aid. but the squire soon forced the horrid beast to retreat, and at this duessa in her pride rebelled and urged the monster afresh; but in vain, for timias dealt mighty strokes, and stood firmly to his post. then duessa resorted to her witch ways, and taking out a golden cup, murmured enchantments over it, and sprinkled some of its contents upon timias. his courage immediately faded away, and his senses became dull and numb, and he fell helpless before the monster. the dreadful beast laid its claws upon timias' neck, and kept him pinned to the ground, until his life was nearly crushed out: then it left him with neither power nor will to rise. but when prince arthur beheld the sad plight into which his well-loved squire had fallen, he left off fighting with orgoglio, and turned upon the beast, and struck off one of its monster heads. thereupon orgoglio went to duessa's aid, and putting all his force into his remaining arm, he let drive his oaken club with such terrible fury, that falling on the prince's shield, it bore him to the ground. but as prince arthur fell, his shield became uncovered, and suddenly there blazed forth a light of such dazzling brightness, that no eye could bear it. the giant let his arm drop to his side, and the many-headed beast turned blind and staggered so that duessa cried out wildly, "o! help, orgoglio, help, or we perish all!" the giant was moved by her piteous cry, and strove to wield his weapon in her aid, but all in vain, for the bright shield had sapped his powers. and now prince arthur struck at him, smiting off his right leg, and while he lay prostrate and helpless, leapt lightly upon him, and smote off his head. lo! orgoglio's body shrank away, and nothing was left but an empty dried-up skin--such is the end of pride. when duessa saw the grievous fate of orgoglio, she cast away her golden cup, and fled fleetly from the bloody scene; but the squire, light of foot as she, speedily brought her back captive. and now una, who had watched the fight from afar, came forward with sober and modest gladness, hardly able to find words with which to greet and thank the victor, declaring that heaven, not she, must requite him the service he had done. she then went on to pray that since heaven and his prowess had made him master of the field, he would end that he had so fair begun, and would rescue her red-cross knight from the deep dungeon in which he lay. thereupon the prince gave duessa into the charge of timias, while he himself proceeded to make forcible entrance into the castle. no living creature did he see, and when he called aloud, no man answered to his cry; but a solemn silence reigned in hall and bower. at length there came forth an old, old man, with a beard as white as snow, who walked along with a creeping, crooked pace, and leant his feeble steps on a staff, groping his way, for his eyesight had failed him long ago. on his arm hung a bunch of keys, overgrown with rust: these were the keys of the inner doors, but he could not use them, and only kept them by him from ancient custom. it was a strange sight to watch his feeble pace, for as he moved slowly forward his face was seen to be turned backward. he was the ancient keeper of the place, foster-father to the slain orgoglio, and his name, ignaro, betrayed his true nature. but the prince honoured his grave and reverend appearance, and asked him gently where were all the dwellers in the castle, to which he replied in a quiet voice that he could not tell. again the prince asked where the knight whom orgoglio had vanquished lay captive, and ignaro replied he could not tell. then the prince inquired by which way he might pass into the castle, and still the old man said he could not tell; whereupon the prince, courteous as he ever was, grew displeased, and thinking that ignaro mocked at his questions, upbraided him, and demanded an answer befitting the gravity of the old man's years, but the reply was ever the same, he could not tell. at this the prince looked attentively at the aged sire, and, guessing that he was indeed ignorant, stayed his wrath in pity for his imbecility, and, stepping up to him, took the bunch of keys from his unresisting hand, and made free entrance for himself. he opened all the doors, and neither bar nor foeman presented any hindrance. he found all within furnished with great richness and splendour, but everywhere he beheld traces of the giant's cruelty. he sought through every room and every bower, but nowhere could he find the red-cross knight. at length, prince arthur came upon an iron door, which was fast locked. he searched among the keys, but in all the bunch there was not one to open it. presently he espied a small grating in the door, and through this he called with all his strength that he might discover whether any living wight were imprisoned there. by-and-bye he heard a hollow, dreary, murmuring voice. it asked who this might be that brought tidings so welcome as the news of death to one who had lain dying for three weary months, but yet lived on. when the prince heard this sad plaint, his heart thrilled with pity and indignation, and he rent open the iron door in fierce fury; but when the iron door was open, there was nothing before him but a deep descent, dank, dark, and foul. however, neither the darkness nor the foulness could stay the strong purpose of the prince, and after long labour and great perseverance, he succeeded in finding means whereby to rescue the prisoner from the dismal hole. but alas! when the knight was lifted out, he presented a sad spectacle of ghastly suffering. his feeble limbs could scarce support his body, his eyes were dull and sunken, and could ill bear the light, his cheeks were thin and hollow, his once powerful arms wasted away, and his whole appearance was withered and shrivelled. when una saw him she ran towards him, tears in her eyes, and joy and sadness mingled in her feelings, and as soon as she could speak for her tears, she exclaimed, "ah, dearest lord, what evil power hath thus robbed you of yourself, and marred your manly countenance? but welcome now, whether in weal or in woe." the knight was too feeble to answer, and the prince replied for him, saying that nothing was gained in recounting woes, since the only good to be had from past peril is to be wise and ware of like again. he then asked una what he should do with duessa, the false witch. una declared that to have her die would be too spiteful an act, and, therefore, having despoiled her of the scarlet and purple robes, and rich ornaments, with which she imposed upon men, they let her go, and una and the knights remained in the castle to rest a while. but this rest was not sufficient to fit the red-cross knight for his approaching conflict with the dragon, and so una, seeing that his limbs were weak, and his spirit damped by the long and miserable imprisonment, conducted him to an ancient house, called the house of holiness, in which she knew they would have a kind welcome and good food. in this house they remained for some time, and here the knight met an aged sire, who told him many curious things concerning his origin. the knight rejoiced greatly as he heard that he was descended from ancient saxon kings, and was destined to do great deeds for his native land. inspired with fresh courage he returned to una, who had been resting with the good lady charity, and her women, in their side of the great house of holiness. after many thanks rendered and many blessings bestowed, they once more set out to find the dragon. how the red-cross knight slew the dragon. faerie queene. book i. cantos xi., xii. as una and the red-cross knight rode on their way they came near her father's wasted lands and the brazen tower in which her parents were imprisoned. "dear knight," said una, "we are now come where our peril must begin," and warning him that they might encounter the dragon at any moment she prayed him to be constantly on his guard. as she spoke, the maiden pointed out the tower, and at the same time a hideous roar filled the air with horror. they looked up and beheld the dragon stretched out on the sunny side of a hill. the moment that the monster saw the knight's shining armour, he raised his great frame and hastened towards them as if delighting at the prospect of fresh prey. then the knight bade una leave him and withdraw to a hill at a little distance, where she could watch the fight and yet be secure from danger. the dreadful beast came on steadily, half walking, half flying in his haste. he covered the ground quickly, and as he went, cast a huge shadow over the wasted land. as the dragon approached the knight, he reared his monstrous body on high, which looked the more horrible that it was swollen with wrath and venom. it was covered with brazen scales, so closely placed, that nothing could pierce them, and the dragon shook the scales until they sounded like the clashing of armour. he had wings which he spread out like great sails, and when these smote the air, the clouds fled in terror before them, and the heavens stood still in astonishment. his tail was twisted in a hundred folds, and lay over his scaly back, and when he unfolded its coils and displayed its full length, it swept the land behind him for three furlongs. at its extremity were inserted two deadly stings, sharper than the sharpest steel. and still sharper and more cruel were his claws; so cruel and ravenous, that all they touched, and all they drew within their reach, suffered certain destruction. but most fearful of all was the dragon's head. it had deep-set eyes, that burned with rage, and shone forth like shining shields; and gaping jaws, in which were set three rows of iron teeth. from these trickled the blood of the creatures he had lately devoured, while from between his jaws issued clouds of smoke that filled the air with sulphurous stench. such was the foe the red-cross knight must face and conquer. on came the dragon, raising his haughty crest, shaking his scales, and hastening so joyously to the combat, that the knight inwardly quaked for fear. and now began the first of three days' mortal strife. the red-cross knight couched his spear, and ran fiercely at his foe. the spear did not wound, but it annoyed the dragon: he turned aside, and as he turned, swept both the horse and its rider to the ground. in a moment the knight had risen, and renewed the attack. never before, although many a knight had fought with him, had the dragon felt such force in the arm of a foe, and yet the deadly thrusts glanced back from his well-armed breast, leaving him unhurt. but the knight's persistent attacks roused the monster's rage. he spread his great wings, and lifting himself into the air, swooped down upon his foe, and seized both horse and man in his cruel claws. he carried them an arrow's shot, when their fierce struggles obliged him to let them fall; and the knight, putting the force of three men into a single blow, once more aimed his spear at the impenetrable scales. again the blow glanced aside, but this time it glided close under the dragon's upraised wing, and there inflicted so sore a wound, that the monster, unaccustomed to pain, roared aloud with a noise like that of the ocean in a wintry storm. the weapon stuck in the dragon's flesh, until he contrived to tear it out with his claws, whereupon black blood streamed forth from his wound, and flames of fire from his nostrils. in his rage, he flung his great tail about: it twisted round the horse's legs, and the steed in its effort to get free, only became the more entangled, and at length was forced to throw the knight. quickly he arose, and laying hold of his powerful sword, struck the dragon a stroke that seemed as if it must prove fatal. but the hardened iron took little effect upon the still more hardened crest, although it fell with a force that made the dragon careful to avoid its blows. the knight grew angry when he saw his strokes of no avail, and struck again with greater might, but the steel recoiled, leaving no mark where it had fallen. now the dragon was suffering from the wound under his wing, and impatient of the pain, tried again to rise into the air. but the injured wing impeded his effort, and full of rage and disappointment, he uttered a roar such as had never before been heard, and once more sent out flames of fire. these came right into the face of the knight, and making their way through his armour, burned him so sorely that he could hardly endure its weight. faint and weary, burned, and sore with his wounds, worn out with heat and toil, and the very arms he bore, death seemed to him much easier than life. "but death will never come when needs require," and his despair well nigh cost him dear. the dragon, seeing his discomfiture, turned upon him, and smiting him with his tail, felled him to the ground. very near, then, was the knight to the death he coveted. however, it so happened that, unknown to him, a well of rare virtue lay close by. its waters could cure sicknesses, make the aged young, wash sinful crimes away, and even restore the dead to life. in the happy days before the accursed dragon had brought ruin to the land, it had been called the well of life; and though he had denied its sacred waters with innocent blood, it still retained many of its ancient virtues. into this spring the knight fell. and now the sun began to set, and una, watching from her hill, saw her champion fall, and saw, too, that the monster swelled out his proud breast, and clapped his great wings as if in victory. little knowing the boon that had befallen her knight, the maiden grew very sad at heart, thinking all was lost. no sleep was possible to her. with folded hands, on lowly knees, she spent the long anxious hours in earnest prayer. when morning came, una arose and looked anxiously around to see if, haply, she might discover the warrior still alive, for with the morning new hopes frequently arise. by-and-bye, to her great joy, she saw him start up, all fresh and invigorated by the powers of the wondrous well. the dragon was confounded at the sight, and knew not whether this was his foe of yesterday, or another come to take his place, when the knight uplifted his bright blade, and struck the monster a blow upon the skull, which wounded him in right earnest. whether the sword had received some secret virtue from the waters of the well, or whether they had only increased the strength of the knight's right arm, none can tell, but never before had a blow taken such effect on the cruel monster. he yelled aloud as if he were a hundred lions all in one; he tossed his great tail aloft, and scourged the air into a tempest, and flung about its mighty length, so that it overthrew high trees, and tore rocks into pieces. then advancing his tail high above his head, the dragon struck the knight and smote him to the ground. the cruel sting pierced through his shield and fixed itself in his shoulder. there it remained, causing him very severe pain. the knight was nearly overcome, but more mindful of the issues involved in the combat than of his own suffering, he rose and tried to free himself. unable to loose the sting, and inflamed with wrath and anguish, he struck the dragon on the tail, and at one blow cut off five of the mighty joints. deeply enraged, the creature thought to avenge himself once for all, and gathering himself up, fell fiercely on the knight's shield, and kept fast hold of it. and now was the red-cross knight terribly encumbered. three times he strove to release his shield from the dragon's clutch, and three times failed. in despair he summoned his trusty sword to his aid, and laid about with it so ruthlessly that at length the creature was forced to withdraw one foot in order to defend himself. then the knight directed all his blows against the other foot, still fast fixed on the shield, until, by happy fortune, the sword fell upon the ankle-joint, and severed it. upon this there burst forth from the beast such smoke and flames and brimstone as to dim the light of heaven itself and force the warrior to retreat, lest he should be scorched alive. as he did so, his weary feet slipped, and he fell down, sore terrified with the dread of shame. now it chanced that close by where he fell, there grew a goodly tree, laden with apples. great virtue had belonged to this tree, and even now there trickled forth from it a stream of balm that fell on the ground and watered it as if with dew. this little stream imparted life and long health to all whom it benefited, and into its soothing power the knight fell, on this, the close of the second day's fight. once more his life was saved, for the dragon, who was of death and darkness, dared not approach aught life-giving. and now the daylight began to fade, and una, seeing her lord again fall and lie motionless, knowing not that he lay in the healing balm, was once more stricken with sore affright, and watched and prayed for him all through the weary darkness. when morning again dawned una saw her knight arise, healed and refreshed, ready for renewed combat. and the dragon, who had lain waiting for the day that he might destroy him, grew afraid when he beheld his foe as fresh as if he had not fought at all. nevertheless, he advanced, full of his wonted pride and rage, with jaws wide open, thinking to devour his foe at the first encounter. but the knight was prepared to meet him; thrusting his keen weapon between the monster's open jaws, he ran it through his mouth, and wounded him with a mortal wound. then the dragon fell, and as he fell the earth groaned as if unable to support his weight. and the valiant knight himself trembled, so huge and hideous did the slain dragon look. una, who had seen all from her hill, dared not at first approach; but at length finding that the huge mass made no movement, she shook off her terror, and, drawing near, saw that the terrible monster was indeed dead. then praising god, she thanked her brave champion for the great deliverance. the sun had scarcely risen above the eastern horizon, when the watchman who stood on the battlements of the brazen tower, saw the last breath of the monster fade away, and knowing then that the dragon was dead, shouted out the glad tidings. the king heard the shout, and rose in joyful haste, although for his feebleness he could not make much speed, and looked forth to see if the tidings were indeed true. when he found that they were, he commanded the brazen gate, long closed, to be thrown open, and peace and joy to be proclaimed throughout the land--for the dragon was slain! then the trumpets sounded the happy victory, and the people, with one accord, assembled as in solemn festival, to rejoice over the fall of the great and terrible beast. from the tower came forth the king and queen, clad in worn and sober garments. grave nobles attended them, and a band of young men, bearing laurel boughs, followed in glad procession. headed by the king these made their way to the red-cross knight, and, prostrating themselves before him, loudly proclaimed him their lord and patron, casting the laurels at his feet. as they did so, there issued from the brazen gate maidens adorned with garlands, bearing sweet-sounding timbrels, and dancing as they went; while with them were children who sang to the maidens' music. this second procession wended its way until it came where una stood, and there they stayed and sang aloud her praises, and set a green garland on her head, crowning her "'twixt earnest and 'twixt game." last of all came the mob, hurrying to see the dragon-slayer, whom they looked upon as sent from heaven, and at whom they stared with gaping wonder. but when they arrived where lay the dead dragon they were filled with fear. some, indeed, were so terrified that they fled away; others pretended to conceal their fear, while one who wished to be thought wiser than all the rest, suggested that the dragon might not be really dead. at this another immediately declared that he could see fire sparkle in his eye, while a third was persuaded he had seen the monster wink. others, more bold, stood near its carcase, in order to measure how many acres it covered. thus the people flocked about the dead dragon, while the king and his train were entertaining the knight with gifts of ivory and gold. after thanking him a thousand times, and embracing their fair daughter una, the king and queen conducted them to the palace, while the people strewed the way with their garments and shouted aloud for joy. now when the red-cross knight had rested and been feasted, the king and queen called upon him to relate the story of his adventures. tears ran down their cheeks as they listened, and when he had ended, the king again welcomed him to the palace, and spoke of his resting there from all further toil. but the knight declared that he might not rest yet, for he was bound by vow to gloriana, queen of faeryland, to return and serve her for the space of six years. then the king called for una, his only daughter and sole heir, and with his own hands betrothed her to the knight. never in all her loveliness had una looked so fair as when her father called her forth. the toil of the journey over, she had put aside her sober mournful robe, and was arrayed in a dress of pure and shining white, while the brightness of her beautiful countenance astonished even her own true lord. there was great joy among both old and young at the marriage, and a solemn feast was ordered throughout the land. the red-cross knight held himself a thrice happy man, and ever as he looked on his dear lady rejoiced anew. in great peace and happiness he remained with una until his conscience and his vow compelled him to return for a time to the court of gloriana, leaving her in her dear parent's care. after this he was no longer known as the red-cross knight, but as st. george, the slayer of the dragon--the great saint george whom england has made her patron saint. britomart and the magic mirror. faerie queene. book iii. cantos ii., iii. once upon a time there lived in cambria a king whose name was ryence. now ryence was a good king, and dealt justly with his people, and on this account he won the approval of merlin, the great magician. and merlin gave king ryence a boon. this boon was a looking-glass, so wonderfully made, and possessed of such strange properties, that its fame spread throughout the wide world. the glass was round, shaped like a ball, and hollow inside. he who looked into it, saw not himself, but saw there portrayed anything that was happening in any part of the world that might be of consequence to him. if a foe were working him secret ill, or a friend feigning false kindness, this glass revealed their deeds. such, then, was the boon which merlin had given to king ryence; and from it the king could learn the approach of an enemy more surely and more quickly than from the swiftest messenger. now the king of cambria had one only child. this was britomart, his daughter and his heir. she was a noble damsel, tall and stately, with rich golden hair, which, when loosened from its silken bands, fell like a sunny shower, reaching down to her feet. and she was brave as she was beautiful: gentle towards the weak, and ready to help those in trouble; one who scorned to take advantage of the misfortunes of others. a fit daughter of a great king, from whom her father kept no secrets. it chanced that one day, as britomart was wandering over the palace, she found herself in the small apartment where ryence kept the mirror. forgetful of its strange virtues, the princess looked into it, and was surprised that she did not see a reflection of herself. then she remembered that merlin's gift was no ordinary looking-glass, and as she recalled its properties, she began to wonder what she might look for there that was of importance to herself. standing lingering by the mirror, her thoughts fell on love, and she wondered--as maidens will--whom fortune would allot for her husband. now britomart was no foolish maiden, dwelling ever on her future, and in it forgetting the duties of the present; but she was a rich and lovely princess, and it was only natural that she should expect to marry some day. by-and-bye, as she gazed into the mirror, there appeared before her the image of a knight, completely armed. his countenance was a right manly one; a countenance to awe his foes, but to endear him to his friends. his frame was large and strong, its natural strength increased by deeds of chivalry which he continually practised. his armour was massive, and seemed of some antique mould, as indeed it was, for in golden letters there was written on it these words-- "achilles' arms which artegal did win." artegal's crest was a hound couchant, and on his shield he bore the figure of a crowned ermine on an azure field. as britomart looked on the image, she liked it, and having looked at it well, she went her way, and little thought that cupid, the false archer, had shot an arrow into her heart. after a time, the stately britomart began to droop. she no longer moved about with her customary princely bearing, but became sad, low-spirited, and full of foolish fears; nor could she discover the cause of her discomfiture. at night when she lay down to sleep, glaucé, the old nurse who still attended her, wondered at her wakefulness, and at the tears which britomart tried in vain to conceal. and when sleep visited her weary eyes, it was only for a few minutes at a time, and she started in her sleep as if some ghastly dream had affrighted her. she did not know that she loved, but her thoughts ever returned to the fair image she had seen. one night when britomart seemed more uneasy than usual, glaucé determined to inquire into the cause of her unrest. with loving words she besought the princess to tell her how it was that her former cheerfulness had changed into this sad melancholy. "ah me," said the old nurse, "how much i fear lest love it be;" and added-- "but be it worthy of thy race and royal seed, then i avow by this most sacred head of my dear foster-child to ease thy grief and win thy will." the nurse was a powerful personage in the king's household, and praying britomart to put away this melancholy humour, she promised that neither death nor danger should prevent her from relieving her sorrow. then she took her dear foster-child in her arms and fondled her tenderly, and chafed her cold limbs, and kissed and bathed her fair eyes, praying her all the time to take courage and disclose the secret trouble of her heart. britomart did not answer at once; but at length she spoke, and begged glaucé to inquire no further, since there was no remedy for her distress. "dear daughter," said the nurse, "despair not; there never yet was a wound which something could not soothe." "but mine," said britomart, "is like no other; for it, reason can find no remedy." "nevertheless," replied glaucé, "love can mount higher than reason, and has oft done wondrous things." "but," urged the poor princess, "not even love can do that which is not possible to be done." "things often seem impossible," said glaucé, "before they are attempted." then britomart broke out bitterly--"these idle words," she said, "do me no good; mine is no common grief, but, since you will know it, i shall no longer conceal my crime, if crime it be. neither for prince nor peer is my heart pained, but only for the image and semblance of a knight, aye, and the semblance of one i have not even seen." so saying, she related to glaucé the adventure of the magic mirror, and added that the image haunted her so that she almost longed for death itself. "daughter," replied glaucé, "why be so dismayed? thy love hath a strange beginning, but there is nothing to be ashamed of in it, joy therefore have thou, and eternal bliss;" and stooping over the maiden she kissed her tenderly. "ah! nurse," said the princess, "what you say comforts me but little; for what good is it although my love be worthy if it be fixed on nothing more than a shadow?" "nay," said glaucé, "there never was a shadow that had not a substance, and one which could not by some means be discovered. still, if thou can'st conquer this evil before it grows more powerful, yield thee not, but if it prove too great for thee, i promise that the beloved knight shall be found." cheered by her words, britomart laid herself down to sleep. glaucé covered her with tender care, and by-and-bye the damsel slept. well pleased, the nurse darkened the light of the rude oil lamp and sat down to watch her charge, and as she watched, tears fell from her aged eyes. when morning dawned glaucé roused britomart, and together they went to the church to pray. but even there britomart could not command her thoughts--nor for that matter could glaucé--and as soon as they returned home the old melancholy came back upon the princess. when glaucé perceived this she called britomart into her own bower, and there tried the effect of spells much resorted to in those old fairy days. but the spells were of no avail, and britomart grew worse, and became so thin and pale that glaucé was well nigh in despair. at length it occurred to her that it might be wise to consult merlin, the great magician. she therefore disguised herself and the princess, and set out. now merlin dwelt in a dark cave which ran low underneath the ground. it was entered from a rock which lay a little way from a fierce brawling stream that flowed amongst densely-wooded hills. it was a dismal spot, and when the travellers reached it they paused and feared to enter, and half repented their coming. but britomart, whose nature was full of spirit, recovered courage, and entered, followed by her nurse. they found the magician busied in his mysteries, writing strange characters on the ground. their entrance did not surprise him, for by his art he knew before-hand of their coming, and knew also the nature of their business; but feigning ignorance, he bade them tell their errand. then glaucé spoke, humbly praying him not to be offended by their coming since no light cause had brought them there. she paused, but he bade her go on. then she related how for the last three months the maiden before him had been afflicted by a sore evil, but what it was she scarce could tell; of one thing only was she certain, that unless a remedy were found her nursling must die. on hearing this merlin began to smile, and knowing that she had not yet told him the whole truth, said quietly, "if this be all, the damsel hath need of a physician rather than of me," and added these words, "who help may have elsewhere in vain seeks wonders out of magic spell." this speech rather disconcerted glaucé, who wished to secure his help without confessing who they were or referring to the magic mirror, which would at once reveal the maiden's parentage. "ah," she exclaimed, "if physicians' skill or any learned means could have relieved my dear daughter, truly i should be loath to disturb thee; but this evil has arisen from a source beyond nature." thereupon the wizard laughed outright. "glaucé," he said, "why try to cloak what is self-betrayed? and thou, fair britomart," he continued, turning towards the princess, "art no more hidden by thy disguise than is the sun when a passing cloud conceals him. thy good fortune hath brought thee hither to ask my help, and it shall be granted thee." on finding herself thus addressed, britomart blushed deeply, but old glaucé took heart and replied, "since then thou knowest our grief, pity it, i pray thee, and relieve us." whereupon merlin sat silent for a time, and then spoke thus. "be not thou dismayed, most noble virgin, by the sharp pangs which have so sore oppressed thine heart, for so must all excellent things begin. nor was it idle chance that led thee to look into the charmed mirror; thine eyes were guided by eternal providence in order that heaven's destiny be fulfilled. thine is no evil fate, thus to love the noblest among knights. therefore submit thyself to heaven, and take all due means to fulfil thy destiny." "but," said glaucé "advise us, thou great magician, what means to take. how shall she find this knight, or indeed why need she do aught since the fates can of themselves fulfil their own purpose." "nay," replied merlin, "true is it that naught can shake the heavenly destiny, nevertheless men must use their own endeavour to work it out. know then that he whom britomart loves, and is to marry, is the knight artegal. he dwells in the faeryland, and yet he is neither born of a fairy nor in any way related to one, but was by them stolen from his cradle, and to this day he is ignorant that he belongs not to their race. but he is in truth a son of gorlois, and a brother of cador, the great cornish king, whose deeds are renowned from east to west. and to thee, britomart, is it given to bring artegal back to his native soil. he shall return to help his country to withstand the foreign invasion which now threatens thy father's territory. his great strength and his dreaded name shall render great assistance against the foe; and thy prowess shall be added unto his, and together ye shall wear arms and bear great command." then the magician saw before him a vision of the future. in his vision he beheld wars and desolation, a ruined church, and a king made captive. overcome by the sorrows which lay before his people, the aged wizard passed into an ecstasy which much alarmed the two women, who stood silent and confused. presently it passed away, the natural colour returned to his face, and the expression of horror gave way to one of calm cheerfulness. he then instructed britomart and her nurse as to what they should do, and they, with lightened hearts, bade him farewell and returned home. there they held secret counsel how best to carry out their difficult enterprise, proposing now one, and now a different plan. at length glaucé hit upon a bold device. "daughter," she said, "i think that plan is ever the wisest that takes into consideration present advantages. good king uther is now making war upon the saracens, and all britain is in arms. let us too wear arms and learn to use the shield and spear; so shall we pass unrecognized where we will throughout the land. thou art tall and large of limb, and armour will befit thee well, and practice will soon bring thee the needful skill in handling weapons. truly," continued glaucé waxing eager in praise of her plan, "it ought to inflame thy courage to remember how many women of thy house--a house inferior to none--have done deeds to rival those of the bravest men. remember bold bundeca, brave gwendolin, martia, and emmeline; and more than these, let the example of the saxon virgin incite thy courage." "ah," said britomart, "what is her name?" "men call her fair angela," replied the nurse, "for she is as fair as she is courageous in battle: she is more dreaded than all the saxons by her foes, and so beloved by her people that they call themselves by her name. therefore, fair child, take her example for thine, and equal her in courage." these hearty words of glaucé sank deep into britomart's heart, and inspired in her a great desire to excel in arms. she therefore resolved to undertake the perils of knighthood, and consulted with her nurse how to attire herself in suitable array. now it chanced that only a few days previously a band of cambrians who had gone out against the saxons had returned with much prey, and among other booty had carried back a complete suit of the armour worn by angela, the saxon queen. it was a rich and beautiful suit, and fretted over with gold. this suit along with other spoils of war king ryence had caused to be hung up in his chief church as a lasting monument of his success and victory. in the same church was a famous and mighty spear. it had been fashioned in olden days by magic lore, and was preserved on account of its magic powers. no matter how well or firmly a warrior sat his charger, this spear bore him to the ground. glaucé remembered these things, and late in the evening she led britomart to the church, and taking down angela's armour from its place on the wall, arrayed her fair nursling therein. she took also the spear, and with it a shield, and gave them to britomart. when she had thus completed the princess' attire, she took another suit of armour and put it on herself, that she might attend britomart and act as her squire. and now, both being fully equipped, they mounted the horses which glaucé had caused to be ready, and under cover of the darkness escaped from the palace, nor did they rest until they reached the faeryland to which merlin, the great magician, had directed them. britomart and amoret. faerie queene. book iii. cantos xi., xii. after britomart and glaucé left the palace of king ryence, many adventures befel them. in all her adventures britomart's magic sword and matchless prowess gained for her great renown, and she was spoken of far and wide as the knight of the heben spear, while old glaucé, her nurse, was believed to be her squire. they encountered many a famous knight, but they had not yet found him whom they sought. one day, as they were continuing in their search, they came suddenly upon a stranger knight, who lay with his face on the ground, his armour scattered near him, and who seemed either asleep or in great distress. lest he should be sleeping, britomart did not speak, but stood waiting patiently. presently the knight groaned as if his very heart were breaking, and then burst forth into a piteous wail over the loss of amoret, his wife. unconscious that he was heard, the knight cried out against the cruelty of the wicked enchanter who had taken her prisoner, and kept her for the last seven months cruelly tormented, and shut out from the light of day, in a stronghold guarded by thick smoke and magic fires. then followed such an outburst of grief that britomart thought his very life in danger, and no longer able to forbear, stooped down and spoke to him. at the sound of her voice, the knight raised himself, and looked up, but seeing a stranger, he hastily flung himself down, angry at being disturbed. britomart, however, was not to be easily daunted, and again spoke. "ah! gentle knight," she exclaimed, "whose grief seems well-nigh past bearing, scorn not the relief which providence may send you. to my hand it may be given to relieve your woe, and wreak vengeance on your enemy." her brave words so touched the knight's heart that he poured out the whole bitterness of his woe, telling her how hard it was to reach amoret, since the tyrant had her in strong enchantment, and had guarded her dungeon with dreadful fiends. britomart was greatly moved by his sad tale, and again offered her aid. "sir knight," she said, "if you will listen to me, i will either deliver her to you from thence or die with her." at first the knight, whose name was scudamour, would not accept so great a boon, but britomart at length succeeded in persuading him to arise and accompany her to the scene of amoret's captivity. arrived at the tyrant's stronghold, they dismounted, and went boldly to its entrance. there they found neither gate nor porter, but a porch from which issued flames of fire, mingled with smoke and sulphurous stench. at this britomart was greatly dismayed, and turning to scudamour, consulted with him how best to overcome this dreadful obstacle, "for," said she, "to run into danger without care and thought is worthy only of the beasts." "alas!" said scudamour, "this is the worst cause of my distress, for the fire cannot be quenched by any wit or skill; what then is there left to me but ceaseless sorrowing. leave me to my grief, let amoret dwell in chains, and scudamour die of misery." "nay," replied the noble maid, "to abandon a brave deed for the mere show of danger were a shameful thing; better run all risks than turn aside for fear." thereupon, resolved to trust her weapons to the utmost, britomart threw her great shield before her face, and pointing her magic sword straight in front, moved onward; when lo! the dread flames parted on either side of her, and she passed through scatheless. when scudamour saw that she had passed beyond the fire and was uninjured, he, too, tried to force a way. but he was full of proud passions, and commanded the flames to yield to him, and being foolish enough to threaten them, increased their mighty rage so that with imperious sway they sent him back scorched and burned. impatience and disappointment raged in his bosom, and in a very madness of misery he again flung himself on the ground and beat his head and breast, and would take neither hope nor comfort. meantime britomart pursued her way, and going through the first door, entered an outer chamber. it was full of precious stores, and was hung round with rich arras, into which was woven many a fair scene, portraying the feats of cupid, the blind god. at the upper end of the chamber stood an altar, built of gems of great beauty, and on the altar was an image of massive gold with wings of divers colours, more varied and brilliant than the hues of the rainbow. this image represented cupid with the fatal bow and arrows in his hand, and at his feet a wounded dragon. underneath were written these words--"unto the victor of the gods this be," and all the people that dwelt in the great castle paid it homage. britomart stood still for a while, gazing at the golden image, fascinated by its brightness; but at length she turned to look back and take in the other wonders of the chamber. then, for the first time, she noticed the words "be bold" written over a doorway. she puzzled over their meaning for some time, and could not find it, but no way dismayed by the apparent warning, she followed their advice, and advanced from the first to a second chamber. this chamber was still richer than the other. its walls were overlaid with gold wrought with figures of antique story, and all about were the spoils and arms and trophies of mighty conquerors, who had been taken captive by the cruel cupid. for a long time britomart gazed around her, and the more she looked the more she wondered, both at the richness of the room and at the wasteful emptiness and solemn silence that pervaded the place. as she continued her survey, she saw over the door through which she had just passed the same words, three times written, "be bold." while trying to make out their import, her eye chanced to light upon an iron door at the other end of the room, on which was written, "be not too bold." this puzzled her still more; but no living creature appeared from whom she could ask an explanation. and now the shadows lengthened, and darkness fell, yet britomart would not sleep, but sat in watchfulness, her armour on, and her weapons all about her. when night had quite set in, she was startled by the shrill sound of a trumpet. after the trumpet blast, there arose a hideous storm of wind, with thunder, lightning, and an earthquake, followed by a horrible stench of sulphur and smoke, which lasted from four in the morning until six--yet britomart remained steadfast in her watch. then suddenly arose a whirlwind throwing open the heavy iron door, and from an inner room there entered a grave personage bearing a branch of laurel, and clad as if for the tragic stage. before britomart had time to recover from the surprise of this apparition, a band of minstrels, followed by a troop of masquers, issued also from the chamber. sweet music and strange and gay figures now filled the hitherto empty room. there were fancy and desire, dressed in silk and embroidery; doubt and danger in more sober garb; fear, armed from head to foot; hope, with golden locks and samite robes; suspicion and deceit, grief and fury, pleasure and displeasure--six couples in all. behind these came a fair lady, led by cruelty and despight, who goaded and tormented her as she walked. after these rode the winged god, mounted on a lion, and closely followed by reproach, shame, and repentance, while a confused rabble brought up the rear. the procession marched three times round the chamber, and disappeared into the inner room. as soon as it had passed through, the iron door was violently closed by the same whirlwind which had opened it. then britomart came forth from the shady corner in which she had stood unnoticed, and tried to follow; but she could by no means pass the door, and was obliged to wait patiently for any opportunity that might arise. all day the maiden waited, and when the next night came with its garment of darkness her hopes rose, and not in vain. about the second watch, the door flew open, and afraid neither of masques nor enchantments, britomart walked boldly in. as soon as she entered, she looked round for those persons whom she had seen the previous night. but of all the motley crew only one was visible, and this was the fair lady who had been led by the cruel villains, and who indeed was amoret. her hands were fast bound, and round her waist was an iron band that fastened her to a brass pillar. before her was the wicked enchanter, drawing strange characters with amoret's own heart's blood, which he drew from her by means of a cruel transfixed dart. by such strange spells, he sought to charm her into loving him. but he had already tried a thousand charms, and had utterly failed to touch her love and loyalty to scudamour, and indeed she was little likely to love one who wrought such cruel imprisonment. the moment the enchanter saw britomart in her knightly attire, he cast away his books of wicked magic, and drawing a murderous knife from his pocket ran fiercely at poor amoret, whom for very spite he was ready to kill rather than see her escape. britomart leapt forward, seized his arm, and stayed his murderous intent. in a moment the enchanter's rage turned upon her, and his sword inflicted a wound upon her snowy throat. then britomart drew forth her deadly spear, and struck him so dire a blow, that he fell on the ground half dead. another stroke must have killed him, and she was on the point of dealing it when amoret made sign to her to hold her hand, telling britomart that only he who had enchained could set her free. hearing this the noble maiden paused, and very unwilling to spare her wicked captive, addressed him thus, "thou wretched man, for whom no punishment can be too severe, be sure that nothing shall save thee from death, unless thou immediately restore this lady to health and freedom." glad to secure his life on any terms, the enchanter at once yielded, and rising up, began to look over the leaves of his accursed books, that he might learn how to reverse the charms he had wrought. britomart stood over him with her sword drawn, and so dreadful were the things he read, that her hair stood on end with horror. by and bye she perceived that the house shook and the door rattled, but not for a moment did she slacken the grasp of her weapon. with steadfast eye and stout courage she waited to see what these strange omens meant. at length she saw the chain that wound round the waist of amoret fall slowly to the ground, and the brazen pillar to which she was bound break in pieces. the dart that pierced her bosom fell out as of its own accord. the wound it had made closed up as though it had never existed, and all the hurts and bruises caused by her long imprisonment were forthwith healed. when the fair dame found herself free, she fell on the ground before britomart, thanking her out of the fulness of her heart, and begging to be permitted to render her deliverer some service or reward. britomart raised her, and replied courteously that her labour received more than sufficient reward in seeing amoret thus free and safe. she then besought the lady to take comfort, and putting away the remembrance of her past cruel sufferings, think rather of what scudamour, her loving husband, had lately endured on her account. it cheered and comforted amoret to hear scudamour, whom of all living wights she loved best, thus spoken of by her deliverer. but britomart's work was not yet done. she turned to busyran, the wicked enchanter, bound him firmly by the chain which had held amoret captive, and thus secured, led him forth from his own stronghold. then britomart was amazed to find that the rooms which had so lately astonished her by their beauty and richness had completely vanished. still more surprised was she to find the flames which had guarded the porch quenched, and the porch itself gone. but now a sore disappointment befel both britomart and the lady amoret, for when they reached the spot where scudamour had been left, neither he nor old glaucé, the squire, were anywhere to be seen. britomart's brave heart was sorely astonished, and poor amoret, in whom hope had sprung up, was filled with alarm and misgiving lest she had been betrayed. scudamour's faint-heartedness was the cause of their grief and disappointment. for a time after the war-like maiden's disappearance within the castle, he lay eagerly expecting her return. but she did not come back all that day, and scudamour, who was not a very great and therefore not a very patient knight, gave way to despair, and made up his mind that britomart had been consumed by the flames. he took counsel with old glaucé, and together they resolved to leave their post, and go in search of further help; thus it was that britomart and amoret came forth to find themselves deserted. and so scudamour and glaucé and britomart and amoret sought each other for many a long day in vain; how they met at last another tale must tell. the story of marinell and florimell. faerie queene. book iii., cantos iv., vii., viii.; book iv., canto xii.; book v., canto iii. in the days of britomart there lived a famous knight named marinell. now this marinell was a sea-nymph's son, and dwelt in a rocky cave by the sea-shore. his mother had trained him to deeds of daring and a life of hardihood. along the strand on which he dwelt no man durst pass without first doing battle with marinell. he had subdued and made vassals of a hundred brave knights, and his renown had reached the court of gloriana, queen of faeryland. yet cymoent, his mother, was not satisfied, but prayed the sea-god to make her son richer than the son of any of the mortals. the sea-god granted her prayer, and bade the waves yield him their treasure--treasure gained by the wreck of many a gallant craft. so there were heaped upon his shores great riches--gold, amber, ivory, pearls, jewels, rings, and all else that was precious, until marinell became as great a lord as any that dwelt in the land. so powerful did he grow that his mother began to fear lest his boldness and haughtiness might cost him his life, and she counselled him to forbear further warfare and be at rest. that she might be the more secure of his welfare, cymoent inquired of proteus, the sea-god, concerning her son's future. proteus replied that marinell must beware of all womankind, as one day a strange maiden would cause him much dismay, if not destroy his life. now cymoent supposed this to mean that marinell must not love any woman; she counselled her son accordingly, and he listened to her words and followed her advice. one day as marinell rode on the rich strand dressed in gay arms, looking here and there, he descried a rider on the forbidden ground. this was no other than britomart, journeying in disguise. marinell rode fiercely up to her, and haughtily bade her retire before he made retreat impossible. she was filled with disdain at his proud threat, and replying, "fly they that need to fly," thrust at him with her magic spear. thereupon marinell struck her on the breast; for a moment her head bent low upon her horse's neck; then she raised herself and smote him so hard a blow that her spear pierced his shield and hauberk, and glancing off, wounded his side. thus britomart bore him down until he fell helpless on the sand. she did not stay to lament his fall, but went on her way, passing by his treasure, and caring nothing for it. this then was the woman of whom proteus, the sea-god, had given warning. now, the sad tidings of marinell's overthrow reached cymoent as she and her sister-nymphs were disporting themselves by a pond gathering daffodils to make garlands wherewith to shade their foreheads from the sun. when cymoent heard the melancholy news, she flung away her flowers, and rending her hair, threw herself speechless on the ground. the nymphs likewise tore off their garlands, and loudly lamented marinell's fate. at length cymoent arose out of her swoon. she at once called for her chariot, while the sea-nymphs called for theirs, and set out with her on their mournful errand. the waves ceased to rage, and helped them on their way, while the dolphins which drew the chariots sped swiftly through the water, and brought cymoent and her sisters to where marinell lay. they found him in a deadly faint. when his mother saw him lying thus, she fell from one swoon into another, and when she at length recovered, made such piteous moanings that the very rocks could scarce refrain from tears. she bewailed her son's fall, and wished that she too had been mortal to have shared his fate. at length, after long sorrowing and great wailing, the sea-nymphs took marinell's armour off, spread their silver-fringed garments on the strand, and laid him upon them. they then examined his wound, washed the blood away, and poured in balm and nectar. then liagore, the lily-handed, trained by apollo in the surgeon's lore, felt his pulse, and discovered that life still lingered in his frame. whereupon his mother no longer despaired, but, aided by the sea-nymphs, bore him to her chariot. at her command the dolphin-team remained still while flowers were strewn over him as if he were already dead. the sister-nymphs then climbed into their chariots, and marinell was borne swiftly to cymoent's sea cave. it was far down at the bottom of the sea, and built up of hollow billows heaped high on all sides. here, on the softest of couches, they laid him, while cymoent sent for tryphon, the best esteemed among the sea-gods in the art of healing, and the nymphs sat round bemoaning his sad plight. now, the news of marinell's sad overthrow reached the court of gloriana, queen of faeryland, where was the lady florimell, who was famed for her rare goodness and great beauty, and was held in high repute throughout all elfin-land. she was loved of many knights, but she herself loved only marinell, and when the news of his fall reached her, florimell resolved to leave the court of gloriana, and vowed that she would not return until she had found her love, alive or dead. she mounted a snow-white palfrey, and attended by a trusty dwarf, set forth: she was clad in a dress of cloth of gold, and her fair locks were bound in a jewelled circlet. some days after, it happened that prince arthur, accompanied by timias, his squire, and one or two others whom they had encountered on their way, were riding leisurely through the woods that led to marinell's abode, when the fair florimell dashed suddenly across their path. she had burst out from the brushwood, and rode as if for her life. her hair streamed behind her, and she constantly looked back as if fearing pursuit. and sure enough, there appeared a rough forester, riding a jaded steed, which he was urging over bush and bank until the blood flowed from its sides. now, when the prince saw this, he and a knight named guyon hastened to florimell's rescue, while timias, the prince's squire, followed the forester. through thick and thin, over hill and plain, the prince and the knight followed, but the poor damsel feared them as much as she feared the forester, and fled from them so swiftly, that when they reached a double way she was out of sight, and they could not tell which path to take. each took a separate one, and that chosen by the prince proved right. at length he came in sight of florimell. urging afresh his foaming steed, he approached the terrified damsel, and called on her to have no fear. she looked back, but, not recognizing prince arthur's arms or shield, paid no attention to his call. and so it fell that darkness came on, and the prince was reluctantly obliged to give up all hope of helping her. little did she think from how great and good a deliverer she fled, or into what miseries this flight would lead her. thus florimell sped on, fearing every shadow and every sound, until when darkness fell, she grew so weary that her palfrey wrested the reins from her slack hold, and went where he would. at length even he could go no farther, and to her dismay, lay down. florimell was now forced to alight and lead him. after travelling slowly for some time, she came to a hill-side, and here she saw below her a little valley thickly clothed with wood. from amongst its high trees there arose a wreath of thin blue smoke, and encouraged by this sign of habitation, the maiden went on her way more hopefully. but she was very weary and worn when she reached the place from which the smoke proceeded. it was a cottage built of sticks and reeds, walled round with sods, where dwelt a witch, dressed in poor and dirty rags, and living wilfully in want. she dwelt in these dark woods because her deeds were evil. here poor florimell entered, and found the hag seated on the ground, apparently busied in magic arts; she started up when she saw florimell, stared at her, but said nothing. very soon her fear, for such it seemed, turned to anger, and she asked the damsel who she was, and what ill fortune had sent her there, unwelcome and uninvited. florimell replied that she had lost her way, and prayed her not to be angry with one who was unwilling to intrude on her, and only begged shelter and rest for a little space. as she spoke, tears dropped from her eyes, and she sighed so gently and sadly that the wicked old woman could not help being sorry for her, and began in her rude way to show some kindly feeling; wiping the tears from florimell's eyes, she bade her sit down and rest. florimell gladly obeyed; she sat down on the dusty ground, put her torn garments into better order, smoothed her fair hair, and fastened it into its golden circlet. when the hag saw the rich ornaments in florimell's hair, and beheld how beautiful she was, she wondered greatly, and feared lest a goddess had found her way to the hut. this old witch had a son who was as wicked as herself. he was also lazy and good-for-nothing, loving to lounge in the sunshine, and sleep away his time. when he returned home, and found a fair lady sitting by his mother, he was so astonished at the sight of beauty in such a place, that he stood quite still, staring at florimell, and saying never a word. at length he went up to his mother, and asked her in a whisper by what strange chance this vision had appeared. his mother only replied by a scared look, as if her wits were gone, and the two gazed first at florimell, and then at one another. by-and-bye, however, they grew accustomed to her presence. her ways were so gentle that the witch's son became enamoured of her beauty, and brought her young birds and garlands of flowers, and a wild squirrel which he tamed. florimell received his gifts courteously, but she feared him, and so, when an opportunity came, she saddled and bridled her palfrey, and early one morning made her escape. she went in great trepidation, for she was afraid that she might be followed and overtaken. now when the witch and her son awoke and found her gone, their grief was very great. indeed, the son became almost frantic, and nothing his mother could do would pacify him. so she bethought herself of her wicked arts, and retiring to her secret cave, called up a hideous beast, monstrous and misshapen;--its back speckled with a thousand spots, and so swift that it could overtake the fleetest steed. nothing like it had ever been seen, yet it more resembled a hyena than any other creature. this monster the hag sent after florimell, charging it not to pause until it found her, and either to bring her back or slay and devour her. the moment she ceased speaking, it set off, and by the help of its keen sense, surely and swiftly traced the maiden. when florimell saw the cruel monster, and perceived that it began to overtake her, her heart quaked with fear. terror also seized her palfrey, who, as long as breath supplied him with strength, fled onwards. at length his pace began to slacken fatally, and then indeed, florimell believed herself at the last extremity. but just as her horse's strength gave way, she reached the shore, and slipping hastily to the ground, sped towards the water, thinking to drown herself rather than have the monster seize her. all unexpectedly she found a little boat, with an old fisherman asleep in it, drawn up at the water's edge. leaping into the boat, she seized an oar, and pushed it out from the land. her escape was none too soon, for the monster was close upon her, and ready to spring just as her boat left the shore. it gaped greedily at her, but durst not venture into the water, and turning back avenged its wicked spite upon the noble palfrey. by-and-bye the good sir satyrane, who had delivered una from the satyrs, rode that way, and seeing the dead body of the horse, recognized it as belonging to florimell. he feared some ill must have befallen the maiden, and his fears were confirmed when he found a golden girdle she was wont to wear lying on the sand. full of grief and rage, he fell upon the speckled beast, and wounded it severely; but it managed to escape from him, and returned to the old hag, while sir satyrane was forced to go on his way. when the old woman saw the beast return, she believed that florimell was dead, and rejoiced in her heart, but her son became more wretched than ever, and to comfort him, his mother made an image, and calling a wicked spirit into it, gave it such a likeness to florimell that her son mistook it for her, and was comforted. meanwhile the true florimell was in fresh straits. for a long time the fisherman slept on, so that she had to steer the boat as best she could, but this was an easy task, for the wind was light and the sky clear. but when the old man awoke, she discovered that he was rude and cruel, and would have made a slave of her if he could. it chanced, however, that proteus, god of the seas, was abroad that day, and was roving over the foamy waves, drawn by his finny steeds. he came upon the little boat, and when he saw that the fisherman behaved roughly to the damsel, he beat the old man and took florimell into his own chariot. now proteus was an aged god, whose hoary hair was frozen, and on whose long beard icicles hung. he told the still affrighted florimell who he was, and bade her no longer fear, and spoke so kindly to her that she was comforted and cheered. the sea-god bore her to his own dwelling, a hollow cave eaten out by the angry waves from under a mighty rock at the bottom of the sea. here proteus dwelt with no living being save an old nymph whose name was panopè, and whose care it was to keep the cavern clean. he was very pleased to have florimell, and thought to keep her there. but he soon discovered that she thought much more of marinell than of anyone else, and that nothing he could do would make her forget the knight, or be content to remain in the ocean cave. at this he became very angry, and at last let her down into a deep dungeon, where he threatened to keep her until she died. and for seven long months the poor damsel was imprisoned there bound in chains, guarded by raging waves and grizzly ocean monsters. meantime marinell still lingered in his mother's bower. by the aid of tryphon, the sea-god's surgeon, he had been cured of the wound inflicted by britomart. but so fearful was his mother lest further ill should befall her son, that sorely against his will she kept him in her cave almost as closely confined as if he had been a prisoner. it happened at this time that all the sea-gods met to celebrate the wedding of the thames and the medway. a solemn feast in honour of the event was held at the abode of proteus, and there cymoent, with many others, was summoned. with her went marinell, but, as his father was only a mortal, marinell was not accounted a god, and might not banquet with immortals or eat of their food. therefore, while his mother was within, he wandered about examining the strange abode, and, as he did so, there befel to him a strange adventure. from under a hideous overhanging cliff he heard a sad voice uttering such piteous lamentations that the cruel rocks and raging billows seemed moved in sympathy. it was florimell, who, believing herself alone, bewailed her fate aloud. though none could hear, she nevertheless spoke out her grief in the hope that the very recital might yield her some comfort, for heaven, that unto all lends equal ear, is far from hearing of my heavy plight, and lowest hell, to which i lie most near, cares not what evils hap to wretched wight, and greedy seas do in the spoil of life delight. she mourned that while the beating of the waves pierced the hardest rocks, her piteous plaints only hardened the tyrant's heart against her. then she prayed all the sea-gods to release her, or else to let her die at once, and ended by the words, "know, marinell, that all this is for thee." after this followed such an outburst of grief and weeping that it seemed as if poor florimell's heart must break. on hearing her sad complaint, marinell, who had never yet been touched by pity for the misfortune of any, was filled with remorse and grief at the thought of florimell's condition. in his sorrow began the dawning of his love, and he set himself to devise the fair damsel's escape. he thought of suing proteus for her release, but this he could not do without his mother's aid, and he remembered her charge against the love of women. for a moment he contemplated rescuing her by force of arms, but proteus was a god, while he had only mortal's might. then he bethought himself of carrying her off by stealth, but the damsel was surrounded by water, and he possessed no means of getting her to land. so he wandered sadly about the rock, blaming himself severely for not having acknowledged her goodness and beauty long ago. at length the feast was over, and marinell was obliged to accompany his mother home, and, sore against his will, leave florimell in her sea-walled dungeon. thinking of nothing but her sad fate, he was silent and disinclined for companionship, and so brooded over his secret sorrow that he could neither eat nor sleep. he pined and languished and wept until he grew so weak and ill that he could not stand upright, but was forced to lie upon his couch. when his mother saw his miserable state, she was greatly troubled, and knew not what to think, for she could not discover the source of his malady. she fancied his old wound was the cause, and repaired to tryphon, whom she chid sharply because of her son's distress. he returned with her and examined the wound, but said that marinell's present discomfiture must have some other source, perhaps an unknown grief. at this cymoent was more troubled than before, and went to her son, beseeching him to reveal to her what lay hidden in his heart, but he would not. then forsaking the sea-gods as of no avail, she hastened to the heavens, and thence brought apollo, god of healing, to see her son. he declared the disease to be love. cymoent grieved and fretted greatly when she heard this, and went to her son and prayed him in gentle words to tell her which one of the sea-nymphs he loved. she felt sure it must be a sea-nymph, and was the less concerned since the god's warning had been only against a mortal maid. she therefore promised, whoever it might be, to aid him in his suit. great was her dismay when marinell replied that he loved florimell. but it was no time to indulge in fruitless grief, for her son lay in danger of his life. cymoent therefore went straight to neptune, and telling him of proteus' cruelty towards florimell, begged him to order her release. this neptune at once did, and armed with his warrant she went to proteus' cave, and there saw the maiden whom her son loved. the old sea-god read his monarch's mandate in moody silence, but was forced to obey, and therefore yielded his prisoner to cymoent. she, charmed by florimell's grace and gentle loveliness, took her by the hand, and welcomed her lovingly, rejoicing that her son should have so fair a wife. then cymoent showed her son the fair maiden, and his heart and spirit were so cheered within him that his strength gradually returned, and he became himself again. nor was florimell less glad. after a time marinell took her back to faeryland, where he married her, and there was a great banquet held in honour of the wedding, and after the feast a tournament, in which marinell did deeds of great renown, of which you shall hear more in the tale of braggadochio. braggadochio. faerie queene. book ii., canto iii.; book iii., canto viii.; book iv., cantos iv., v.; book v., canto iii. among the good and brave knights who fought in faeryland was a false one named braggadochio. wandering aimlessly about the forests, this man had one day come upon a noble horse, fully caparisoned, and a spear lying by its side. here was his chance! he made no endeavour to find the owner of the steed, but straightway appropriated both horse and spear. finding himself thus armed and mounted, his ambition rose; he determined to call himself a knight, and to set out for the famous court of gloriana. he had not gone far when he saw a man sitting idly on a sunny bank. at this braggadochio puffed himself out in order to look grand, pricked on his horse, and ran at the man full tilt. in terror the man fell flat upon the ground, and lifting up his hands, cried out piteously for mercy. thereupon braggadochio thought himself a great warrior, and thundered at his victim in a loud voice, calling him all sorts of names, and commanding him to yield or die, adding that he might think himself happy to be permitted a choice. the man cried out that he yielded. then braggadochio told him, that if he would prostrate himself on the earth and kiss his stirrups he would accept him as his thrall. immediately the coward cringed at his feet, and did him homage as his liege lord. by-and-bye this craven thrall became emboldened, for he found out braggadochio's character, and being full of cunning, resolved to keep in his master's favour by humouring his vanity. so they went forth. braggadochio the knight, and trompart the squire, a fitting pair. very soon after they had cast in their fortunes together, they met archimago, the great and cruel wizard. now archimago had a secret grudge against certain knights, and was in search of some one to avenge his fancied wrong. delighted to see so imposing a personage as braggadochio, he inquired of trompart what mighty man this was that rode on a golden saddle, yet carried no weapon save a single spear. trompart replied that his lord was a great adventurer, who had lost his sword in a hard fight, and had sworn never to wear another until he had avenged himself of his loss. his master's spear, he alleged, was weapon enough to make a thousand combatants quake. archimago was much delighted, and he bowed low to braggadochio, and told the story of his wrongs. when braggadochio heard it, he pretended to be very angry, and threatened the offending knights with instant death if archimago would only tell him where to find them. this the enchanter at once did; but he warned braggadochio that his enemies were two of the mightiest knights that lived, and begged him to arm himself with a sword as well as his spear. but braggadochio scorned his advice, laughed at the notion of measuring his might by the arms he bore, and taunted the enchanter with the weakness of old age, declaring that archimago little knew what his right arm had done. at this the old man grew ashamed of his mistrust, yet could not dismiss it from his mind. as he hesitated whether to speak again braggadochio broke out into a loud boast, declaring that he had once slain seven knights with a single blade, and had then sworn never again to wear a sword unless it were that belonging to the noblest knight alive. by this grand speech he thought to get rid of archimago and his troublesome request. but not so, for the enchanter at once promised to bring him by next day the flaming sword of prince arthur, "noblest knight alive"; and as he spoke he vanished, leaving no trace behind. and now the boaster began to fear, and to wonder who this strange man might be. his wonder soon changed to panic, and the bold champions, trompart and braggadochio, fled from the spot as if the very ground archimago had trod would rise and pursue them. they did not once look back until they reached a green forest, and there they concealed themselves. but their terror was by no means gone: every leaf that moved, every sound the wind made caused their valiant hearts to quake, while all the time they feigned that they were only pretending fear. at length a shrill horn echoed through the wood, and some one was heard moving quickly in the thicket. this new cause of fright so overcame braggadochio that he tumbled hastily from his horse and crept into a bush. trompart waited to see what would happen. presently there issued from the brushwood a lady in hunting dress. she was very beautiful: her habit was adorned with rich jewels, and her stately bearing showed her to be of princely birth. in her hand she carried a boar-spear, and at her back was slung a bow and a quiver full of steel headed darts. when trompart saw the lady, fear seized upon him, and he could not tell whether to flee away or to remain in hiding, but she soon spied him out, and asked whether he had seen a wounded hind pass by. addressing her in most respectful terms, trompart replied that he had not, and then begged of her to tell him which of the goddesses she was. she was on the point of replying when something moved in the thicket. it was braggadochio, but the damsel thought it was her prey, and, bending her bow, would have made a speedy end of the boaster had not trompart stayed her hand, and explained that his lord, far-famed for bold achievement, lay shrouded there. as he spoke braggadochio crept forth on hands and knees; then, rising up boldly, shook his helmet fiercely, trying to appear as if he had just been awakened from deep slumber. the sight of her beauty restored him to self-confidence, and he was beginning to resume airs of vanity when a vision of the weapons she carried cowed him. her manner, however, again reassured him. she addressed him as a companion-in-arms, and braggadochio, taking up the strain, recounted the wondrous deeds he had done, then boldly asked who she was that thus ranged the forest and did not dwell at court. to this she replied, that honour was only truly to be found in toil, and that he who idled at home need not hope to win it. while she spoke braggadochio, presuming on her graciousness, grew more and more insolent in his demeanour. indignant, the goddess bent her javelin threateningly, then turned and fled apace. braggadochio was at first dismayed, but was far too great a coward to pursue. so, concluding that he had better depart lest worse things should befall, he mounted his steed and rode away in so clumsy and untrained a manner that the noble animal chafed under him, and yearned to be eased of his burden. some time after this, as braggadochio and trompart, who now also possessed a steed, were going on their way, they saw a rude rustic seated on the roadside by a beautiful lady, richly decked with jewels. now, these were no other than the false florimell and her lover, son of the old witch who had sent the cruel beast after florimell the true. braggadochio thought a knight such as himself more suited to the fair lady than any rustic. he therefore couched his spear, rode up to the man, declaring that the damsel was his, and must be yielded to him on pain of death. the rustic, greatly alarmed, and not daring to fight against so powerful-looking an enemy, let his lady go, and braggadochio mounted her on trompart's horse and led her off, a proud and happy man. as they journeyed he began to make love to her, but presently their love-making came to an abrupt end, for they encountered an armed knight, who advanced towards them on a heavy charger that trampled the ground with a sound like thunder. the appearance of this knight greatly disconcerted braggadochio, but he looked as fierce as he could, and made a show of cheering his lady, who also was afraid. the knight came on, fierce and powerful, and bade braggadochio give up the lady or else do battle for her. this challenge made the boaster quake with terror, but he put on the best appearance of bravery he could, and addressing the stranger declared that man to be very foolish who sought to win with words what he had gained with blows. at this the knight grew angry, and told braggadochio to prepare to fight. "then," said braggadochio, "since die thou wilt, let us both turn our steeds, ride back a certain distance, and meet in equal tilt." they did as he suggested, and retired one from the other about a furlong's space, when braggadochio, whose last intention was to fight, rode away, and without looking back, left his lady-love to take her chance, caring only for his own safety. thus did his valour show itself! after several further adventures, braggadochio one day encountered a party of knights and ladies who were on their way to a great tournament. he rode up to them and they treated him courteously, and allowed him to accompany them. now, it happened that the fair but false florimell whom braggadochio had so basely deserted was of this company, and rode with a knight named blandamour. no sooner did braggadochio see her than he wished to have her back again. he therefore declared that he had before won her in battle and that she was his by right. but blandamour would not listen to his claim, and taunting him with having lost his lady-love decreed that braggadochio must fight for her once more if he wished to make good his pretended right. he further proposed that the false florimell should stand side by side with a wicked old witch named até, who was of their company, and that he who won the day should have the lady, and he who was beaten, the witch. the company were all pleased with this proposal, and false florimell and the hag were brought forward, whereupon all began to laugh. then braggadochio, glad of any excuse which saved him from fighting, declared that he would be no party to any such bargain; if blandamour liked to offer another lady as fair as florimell, he would agree to fight, but he would not risk his life on the chance of gaining so poor a prize as até. at this they all smiled, the false florimell upbraided him with want of gallantry and até, the witch, tried to urge him on, but he cared for none of them, and remained obstinate. in order to keep the peace, a brave knight, cambello, who chanced to ride with them, reminded the company that they were on their way to a great tournament, and had better not waste their strength in quarrelling on the way, but wait until they arrived where each could fight his fill and, if they wished, fight out this quarrel also. so they passed off blandamour's proposal as a joke, and went on together; but all the way they mocked at braggadochio and made a laughingstock of him. now, the tournament to which this company was going was one arranged by the good knight satyrane, he who had picked up the lost girdle of the true florimell. it was to be held in her honour, and to last for three days. to the combatant who most distinguished himself the right was reserved of claiming the hand of the fairest lady present, and to that lady satyrane would yield florimell's golden girdle. on the first day, sir satyrane himself was judged the victor. on the second, braggadochio's opportunity arose; but when his turn came to fight, he looked so uncertain and fearful that the knight triamond, indignant at his cowardly hesitation, stepped forward and took his place. the third day was no more favourable to the braggart, for a strange knight appeared within the lists, who bore all others down, and won the honours of the tournament. then followed a contest as to which was fairest of the many damsels who had graced the combat. knight after knight advanced his lady, but of them all, florimell the false was deemed most lovely, and to her the girdle was awarded. now, this girdle had been framed by magic skill, and could not be made to clasp upon falsehood of any kind. it would not therefore fasten on the false florimell, who, however, insisted upon wearing it, although she was forced to tie it on. and here fortune favoured braggadochio, for there arose a great quarrel as to whose florimell should be. the knight who had rightfully won her was no other than britomart, who cared nothing for her prize. then braggadochio stepped forward and called florimell to witness that he had before won her in battle. at his audacity the uproar grew more loud, for all the knights hated and despised braggadochio. at length sir satyrane proposed that all should forego their claim, and that the false florimell should be placed in their midst, and of her own free will choose her rightful lord. to this the knights agreed, and after looking long at each one, as if she would fain have pleased them all, florimell turned to braggadochio. the knights were almost mad with disappointment and anger at her choice, so braggadochio, feeling rather uncomfortable and not very safe among them, bore her off in the night, and left them to complain. soon after this the true florimell was married, as you have already heard, to marinell. immediately after the wedding, marinell held a great tournament, in which he and six friendly knights maintained florimell's beauty against that of any lady all the world over. the lists were open to all who cared to enter them, and many were the honours lost and won, but when the third day dawned, marinell still wore the victor's laurel. this day was to end the tournament, and as the fight grew more and more fierce, marinell became surrounded, and was in serious danger. at that moment the brave sir artegal, whom britomart sought, entered the tilting-yard, and at the same time, braggadochio, trompart, and the lady. sir artegal saw marinell's danger, and hastened to his aid, but not wishing to be recognized, he changed shields with braggadochio before entering the lists. after a hard combat, he succeeded in rescuing marinell from the opposing knights, and together they won every honour of the field. the tournament ended, sir artegal returned his shield to braggadochio, and the whole company repaired to the great hall, where the judges of the tilting match were to announce the name of him who had won the prize. there also stood the true florimell, ready to greet every knight according to the deeds he had done. then the judges called for the stranger knight who had rescued marinell, but artegal did not move, and in his stead braggadochio advanced and showed his shield, which all recognized as that belonging to the victor. the trumpets sounded three times in his honour, the judges awarded him the prize, and florimell came forth to greet him and to thank him for the honour he had done her name. but braggadochio received her courteous words with scorn, declaring that what he had done had been for his own lady's sake, and not for hers. at these rude words, florimell turned aside, and braggadochio, who had kept his lady veiled until now, brought her boldly forth before all the people, maintaining that she and not the other was florimell the true. she was indeed fair, and for a moment the assemblage was stupified, and agreed that if this were not the florimell famed throughout faeryland, she was yet more beautiful. even marinell was dismayed, and knew not what to believe. then arose sir artegal, and no longer able to contain his anger against braggadochio, plainly discovered himself, and charging the boaster with utter falsehood, declared it was he and not braggadochio who had rescued marinell; for proof of which he pointed to the false knight's unused sword. he next called for florimell, and leading her up to the other, caused the two to stand side by side. behold, the false could not abide the presence of the true, and the false florimell faded away before their eyes, and no trace of her was left but the empty girdle. the people were struck dumb with astonishment, and braggadochio was seized with despair and remained as still as if he were lifeless. artegal broke the silence, for he stooped and lifted the girdle, and presented it to florimell. she fastened it on her waist, and it fitted perfectly; and all were convinced that this was indeed florimell, and crowded around her, giving her tokens of their joy. meantime, a commotion arose in the hall. the knight guyon, to whom the stolen horse belonged, had arrived, and seeing braggadochio's horse recognized it as his own. seizing its reins with one hand and drawing his sword with the other, he insisted on having it restored. braggadochio refused, and a quarrel ensued, which bade fair to be a bloody one. then artegal came forward and asked guyon whether he could prove the steed to be his own. guyon replied that there was a mark inside the horse's mouth by which he could certainly recognize it. at this several of those present tried to open its mouth, and were severely bitten for their pains. then came guyon himself, and called his steed by its name, at which the horse broke loose from its bonds in its joy and followed guyon, opening its mouth so that all could see whose he was. now artegal was deemed the just, and all looked to him for judgment in the quarrel. he decreed the proof sufficient, and condemned braggadochio to go on foot until he could obtain a horse honestly. braggadochio raged and raved in fury, and made artegal at length so angry that he three times laid his hand on his sword to kill him, but sir guyon stayed his anger, saying that braggadochio was unworthy the vengeance of a true knight. so was sir artegal pacified, but talus, his servant, seized braggadochio, and, dragging him out of the hall, shaved off his beard, reversed his shield, blotted out his device, broke his sword, and scattered his armour. then, rushing after trompart, who had tried to make away, he disarmed him also, and scourged him out of the court; and, amidst the laughter and scorn of the knights and their ladies, braggadochio and his follower finally disappeared. how britomart found artegal. faerie queene. book iv. cantos iv., v., vi. after leaving the abode of busyran, the cruel enchanter, britomart and amoret met with many adventures, but in none of these did they encounter either scudamour or artegal. at length britomart heard of sir satyrane's famous tournament, and to it, accompanied by amoret, she repaired. it was the last day of the tournament when they arrived. many brave combats had already taken place, but for this day was reserved the most eager display of valour. full many a knightly deed was wrought, and when fortune seemed to forsake the side of satyrane, he himself was ever ready to assist his knights and uphold their honour, proving once again his far-famed prowess. nor was there one that day who did not put forth his utmost strength, as might be well seen from the many wounds received, the shivered spears and broken swords, and horses that ran riderless. still the knights of sir satyrane kept the ascendency. but when the day had dragged on a weary pace, there appeared from out the other side a stranger. whence he came no man could say, nor could they discover aught from the arms which he bore. his steed was caparisoned with oaken leaves, his armour looked like wild weeds decked with wood mosses, and on his ragged shield was the strange device, "salvagesse sans finesse." on entering the lists this new-comer levelled his spear at the first knight he met, and overthrew him at the first encounter. knight after knight he vanquished, until his spear split, and then he drew his sword, and with it hewed and slashed at helmets until everyone began to shun the very sight of him as of death itself. and now all men wondered who this was, and whence he came, inquiring one of another by what name he was called, and when they could learn nothing they dubbed him the savage knight because of his wild appearance. he was, however, no knight of the woods, but artegal, the brave and mighty. thus were sir satyrane and his knights dismayed by the sole power of artegal, and none of them durst stand in the field before him, but were beaten back and chased about all the day, until evening came, and the sun began to slant downwards in the heavens. then, again, there rushed out from the thickest press, an unknown knight, who in turn put to shame even the glory of sir artegal. this was britomart, who, eager to restore the day to sir satyrane, bent her powerful spear towards artegal's helmet, and smote him so sore a blow that he fell from his charger, and was for a time unable to arise. nor did others who crossed spears with the stranger fare better; and when the fighting was over, britomart, content with having restored the glory of the field to satyrane, went on her way with amoret, ignorant that she had, all unawares, seen and fought with artegal her love. he, however, was sore at heart, by reason of his defeat, and eager to have his revenge on the unknown warrior. meantime, scudamour still sought his wife. he had, by this time, heard of her rescue, but instead of feeling grateful to britomart, he was jealous and suspicious of her, for the wicked hag até had spoken ill of the noble maid, and tried to create enmity against her. from being suspicious, scudamour became unjust, and in his wrath against britomart, had nearly slain old glaucé, her faithful squire. in vain did the aged dame try to pacify his wrath; the more calmly she spoke, the more angry he grew, and yet their common interest held them together. at length, after various wanderings, they one day encountered an armed knight, who, when he saw them approach, rode rapidly towards them as if bent on an attack. scudamour, perceiving his purpose, rode forward, ready for the combat, but, as the other knight came near and saw the arms which scudamour bore, he checked his charger, and riding quietly up, addressed him courteously, calling him by his name, and praying to be pardoned for the offence against a friend which he had so nearly committed. to this, scudamour replied, that at worst it were a slight offence to try his sword with any venturous knight, and begged to know who it was that had thus called him by name. "call me the savage knight," said artegal, "as others do." "then," said scudamour, "interpret your name; have you taken it for some secret purpose, or only because your home is in the forest?" "the other day," artegal replied, "a stranger knight did me shame, and i wait to wreak revenge upon him when he shall pass this way." at this answer, scudamour asked who the stranger knight might be, and artegal told him that he was one whose name was unknown, although his fame was far renowned. he was called the knight of the heben spear, and having borne down all opponents in a great tournament lately held by sir satyrane, had departed, carrying with him the fairest lady ever seen. when scudamour heard mention of the dread spear, he knew it must be britomart of whom artegal spoke, and his rage kindling afresh, he exclaimed in angry accents-- "this is not the first uncourtly deed of which that knight is guilty; he hath stolen from me my true love, and if this hand can aid in the revenge you purpose, it shall not fail you when the time arrives." so together they plotted vengeance on the unconscious and noble britomart. while they were thus talking, they saw far off, a knight, dressed in foreign arms and strange accoutrements, whom on nearer approach, they recognized as none other than this same knight of the heben spear. then scudamour prayed sir artegal to let him make the first attack. artegal granted the request, and scudamour, preparing his spear for battle, ran fiercely against his foe. britomart, seeing his intention, prepared to receive the onset, and so entertained sir scudamour, that presently both horse and rider were on the ground. and now artegal, beholding scudamour's mischance, advanced his lance, and full of rage and vengeance, rode against the maiden; but lo! all unawares, artegal also left his saddle, and to his great amazement, found himself on the ground. he leapt lightly up, and snatching his deadly blade, sprang upon britomart, assailing her with such vigour that although she was mounted and he on foot, she was forced to give way before him. now, as they fought, it happened that britomart wheeled suddenly round, when sir artegal's sword struck a blow behind her crest, which falling backward, wounded her steed, and forced her to dismount. not a whit dismayed, she cast from her the enchanted spear, and betook herself to her shield and sword. so furiously did she fight that artegal, exhausted by his long combat, had to yield before her, and her sword pierced through his armour and wounded him so that his blood flowed freely on the green grass. but now the tide of battle began to change, for britomart grew weary, while artegal, through very fighting, seemed to gain rather than to lose strength. he showered blow after blow on his opponent as if he would tear her body from her soul, and then gathering together all his force, the savage knight upraised his arm to deal a stroke from which it seemed impossible that britomart could escape with her life. down came the cruel blow, and falling on her helmet, struck off the face-piece, then glancing aside, did no further hurt. and now appeared the maiden's beauteous countenance, shining like the ruddy morn; and all around, her fair hair--loosened from its band by the stir of the fight--fell like a golden shower glistening as the shining sand. and as sir artegal once more raised his sword, thinking to deal the last deadly blow, his arm was suddenly arrested; and benumbed with secret fear, shrank from its revengeful purpose, while the cruel sword fell from his slackened fingers to the ground. then artegal, having gazed long on the fair and unexpected vision, fell humbly on his knee, thinking that she who stood before him was a heavenly goddess, and horror-struck with what he had done, prayed for pardon. but britomart, full of wrath because of the stroke that had revealed her face, still held her arm uplifted, and standing sternly over the knight, threatened to strike unless he would return to the combat, bidding him arise or he should surely die. but artegal only prayed the more earnestly for pardon, or if that were refused him, besought that she would take her will and inflict on him what punishment she chose. and when scudamour, who now quaked with fear, watched her as she stood resolute, and beheld how fair and heavenly her countenance appeared, he crossed himself, and began to worship her as a celestial vision. and old glaucé seeing this, and knowing that now all jealousy of britomart would be at rest, was joyful at the thought of a good ending to her sore trouble, and greeting her lost nursling, prayed her as she loved her faithful squire to grant these warriors a truce. the maiden yielded to her request, and the knights raised their beavers to show who they were. when britomart beheld the face of artegal in all its manly beauty, she saw that it was the countenance she had beheld in the magic mirror in her father's house; her angry courage gave way, her haughty spirit became subdued, and her upraised arm fell quietly by her side. but the maiden was very proud, and cared not to show that she was conquered, so by-and-bye she tried to uplift her hand again, as if rage and revenge still remained in her soul, but it fell harmless, for she caught sight of sir artegal's fair countenance. then she tried to force bitter, angry words from her tongue, but it too refused to obey her will, and instead of wrathful speeches, would utter only mild and gentle words. and scudamour, relieved from all his jealous fears by the vision of her loveliness, grew sportive in his speech, rallying sir artegal on his so sudden humble behaviour towards his late opponent. "indeed, sir artegal," he exclaimed, "i delight to see you, who were wont to despise all fair dames, become so suddenly a lady's thrall." when britomart heard the name of artegal, she knew in very truth that this was the knight whom merlin had told her she should wed. her heart gave a great leap. she trembled for sudden joy and secret fear, while the blood rushed through her veins and mounted to her fair face. then, fearful of betraying herself, she strove the harder to continue in her former angry mood, trying thus to hide her newly-awakened feeling. and now old glaucé began to speak wise words. "ye gentle knights," she said, "whom fortune hath brought to be spectators of the emotion which secret fate hath wrought in this fair lady, marvel not, and henceforth be not the prey of idle fears and jealous thoughts. nor may you, sir artegal, again disdain the might of woman's arm, which hath twice conquered you, nor any longer be rebellious unto love, which is the crown of knighthood and the bond of noble minds. and you, fair lady knight," continued the old woman, "relent, and grant him your grace." britomart blushed deeply at her nurse's words, but artegal rejoiced in his inmost heart, yet dared not make too sudden a change in his demeanour, nor show openly the love which her beauty and quiet dignity of manner, so grave and full of princeliness, inspired within him. but his passion grew the stronger from the very restraint imposed upon him. here scudamour, whose heart had all this time been racked with fear and hope, interposed, with a request for tidings of amoret. this britomart at once granted, and went on to relate a sad tale: how, after freeing her from the enchanter, and guarding her with tender care and love for many a day, she had lost her in a wild desert, where from sheer weariness britomart had fallen asleep. poor scudamour was terribly cast down by these melancholy tidings, and only plucked up a faint hope when britomart pledged herself to remain with him until together they found the missing dame. meantime the three combatants being thus reconciled one to another, mounted their steeds, and rode towards a certain resting-place known to sir artegal, where they were well received and cared for. here they remained until their wounds were healed, and their weary limbs thoroughly rested. and all the time they sojourned there, sir artegal served britomart with meek service, watching continually how he might best please her. thus day by day he made progress in his suit; and though britomart in her womanly pride tried hard to conceal the love she bore him she could not quite succeed. so well did artegal woo, so skilfully did he contrive, that at length he brought the noble damsel to bay and forced her to lay aside her seeming indifference and to hearken to his words. and as she listened to the vows with which he swore to love and guard her, britomart's reserve gave way, and she yielded a glad consent to love and own him for her lord until marriage should unite them for ever. but their marriage might not be yet, for sir artegal had been sent out from the court of gloriana, queen of faeryland, on a hard adventure, and until it was achieved he might not turn aside from following after it. and now that his limbs were rested and his wounds were healed, the knight knew the time was come when he must leave britomart and continue on his way, so he told her of the adventure on which he was bound. she, poor maiden, having just begun to taste of the rest and comfort of his presence, was sorely grieved and exceeding loth to be so soon parted from her "dearest love." but he, strong in the sense of duty, persuaded her to acquiesce, and with fresh vows of love and constancy, promised to return to her so soon as ever his enterprise was ended, which would not, he thought, be longer than three months. early next morning, sir artegal rose and pursued his way unattended, save by britomart, who insisted on accompanying him a certain distance. as they rode, she found first one, and then another excuse for delay, and talked of the perils he must encounter; perils of which the fearless maiden would have thought little for herself. but it was of no avail; all her stratagems but served to wear away the day; evening came, when they must part. full often britomart took leave of her lord, each time finding some last injunction to give, until at length she had spent all her words and could find no further pretext for delay, and so with right heavy heart she left him, and returned to fulfil her promise to scudamour. how sir artegal did at last return from his enterprise and marry the princess britomart, spenser does not say, for he did not live to end all the tales he had begun. but we know that they were married and lived happily, for merlin prophesied this when britomart and glaucé went together to his cave. cambello and triamond. faerie queene. book iv. cantos ii., iii. once upon a time there lived a knight named cambello, who had a sister called canacée. this sister was very beautiful, and was the most learned lady of her day. she was skilled in the works of nature and in magic arts; she understood the virtues of herbs and the sounds of beasts and birds, and was as good as she was learned. now many lords and knights loved canacée. she, however, showed favour to none; but the more difficult she was to gain, the more was she sought after. then arose quarrels among her numerous wooers, who ofttimes fought for her in bloody combat. when cambello saw this, he perceived it would cause much mischief, and he set about to consider how to prevent these unseemly deeds. so one day, when this bold and mighty company of knights were assembled together, and were quarrelling as usual, cambello proposed that if they really loved his sister they should choose three from among their number as champions. these three were to challenge and fight him for his sister's hand, and the bravest was to become her acknowledged suitor. this was a bold offer on cambello's part, but canacée employed her skill on his behalf. she sent him a ring, which, amongst its many virtues had the strange power of staunching the bleeding of a mortal wound. the properties of the ring were well-known, and when her lovers saw cambello receive it, they began to falter and to wonder whether it were worth while to risk life against such odds for a lady of whose favour they were after all uncertain. amongst the knights were three brothers, priamond, diamond, and triamond. these three were born on the same day and loved one another dearly. each had his own way of fighting. priamond fought on foot, and for weapons used a spear and cutlass, triamond on horseback with spear and shield, while diamond, who was equally at home on horse or foot, used only a cutlass. bolder men never lived. now their mother, agapé, was a fairy, and had the power of knowing secret things, and as her sons grew up and showed a love of daring, she feared lest they should thereby incur disaster. she therefore determined to visit the three sister fates and to inquire of them concerning her sons. she had to leave the bright earth and go far underground to a deep dark abyss where was their dwelling. agapé found the sisters sitting round the fateful distaff, which clotho held while lachesis span the threads that measured out men's lives, and cruel atropos cut them in twain. saluting the fates she sat by, and as she watched them spin and cut the threads, her heart grew sad, and she trembled as she told them the cause of her coming. they at once consented to reveal to her the fate of her sons, and proceeded to spin out their threads. agapé trembled still more to see how short and thin these were. she besought that they might be drawn out longer, but to this the sisters would not listen. then she craved another boon, and asked that when the eldest, whose thread was shortest, died, his life might pass into the second son, and that when the second died, both lives might pass into the third. this boon they granted, and agapé went home to find her sons arrayed in armour ready for fight. she did not tell them their destiny, but warned them to beware of danger and exhorted them to love each other. now these three brothers were the champions chosen by canacée's wooers to challenge cambello. the day of combat was appointed, and as soon as it was dawn the knights assembled in the field clad in shining armour. the lists were enclosed with rails to keep off the press of people; at one side sat six judges, while at the other, canacée, beautifully dressed, was seated on a stage where she could both see and be seen by those who fought for her. the first to enter the lists was cambello, who walked with stately step and fearless countenance; soon after came the three brothers, bearing gilt shields and broad banners. they marched three times round the field, bowing low to canacée each time they passed her stage, while trumpets sounded and clarions played. this ceremony over, cambello and sir priamond advanced from the opposite sides of the lists; a trumpet blew, and they met in fierce encounter. they were a well-matched pair, and it was hard for the on-lookers to say who was the better man. at length priamond struck so mighty a blow that it pierced cambello's shoulder, and forced him to lower his shield. yet no blood fell from the wound, and the pain of it only made cambello fight the more fiercely. driving his spear at priamond, he smote him in the thigh so that the knight reeled in agony; then cambello drove at him afresh, and this time fixed his spear so firmly that in drawing it out the head broke. mad with pain and rage, priamond now charged, thrusting his spear through cambello's beaver. the weapon broke in his hand, and cambello, dragging out the broken head, flung it back with fury. it struck priamond in the throat, and wounded him so that he died, whereupon his life passed into diamond, as the fates had predicted. at once sir diamond rushed forth into his brother's place, and, accepting cambello's challenge, the trumpets sounded, and the fight began again. fiercely they fought, while blood flowed freely, and their weapons flashed fire as stroke fell on stroke; but for a long time the issue was uncertain. at length diamond heaved his axe at cambello with such force that it must have killed him had he not seen it and swerved aside. then diamond, who was bowed almost to the ground with the weight of his own blow, slipped. seizing his opportunity, cambello with one dread stroke severed his opponent's head from his shoulders. and behold! his body remained upright for a time before it fell senseless to the earth. the spectators were much astonished, for they did not know the fates' decree, nor that the lifeless trunk had been inhabited by a double soul, which lingered awhile before it passed to triamond. then triamond, filled with the life and grief of two, leapt forth to avenge his brothers' death. and, notwithstanding the hard fight and his many wounds, cambello met him as fresh as if he had not fought at all, for the ring not only prevented his wounds from bleeding, but restored his wearied spirits and revived his powers. but triamond was a fearless foe, and fought so desperately that cambello was forced to retreat, until from his very fury triamond grew breathless. then cambello attacked him in turn, compelling him to retire. and so the fight went on until both were sorely wounded, and triamond's strength gave way from loss of blood. but cambello, through the virtue of the ring, grew ever stronger, and striking triamond on the hauberk, pierced it through, and so wounded him that he fell, to all appearance, dead. but only one of his three lives had gone from him, and, to the utter surprise of all beholders, he suddenly arose and began again to assail cambello. cambello was astounded at this strange sight, and in his amazement stood still and off his guard, until triamond's repeated thrusts compelled him to defend himself. he now fought more cautiously than he had done before, as if his adversary were some uncanny thing, so that triamond imagined the knight was getting faint-hearted, and that victory was at hand. so thinking, he upheaved his mighty blade and aimed a terrible blow at cambello. he, seeing it come, leapt skilfully aside, and pierced triamond under the arm, wounding him right through to the shoulder. but cambello did not altogether escape the heavy blow, which, falling on his head, hurt him wofully. both combatants fell to the ground, seemingly dead. thereupon the on-lookers thought the tournament ended, and the judges rose from their seats. the field-marshals broke up the lists, and went to remove the armour from the slain warriors, and poor canacée wailed aloud for her brother. when, behold! both knights started lightly from the ground, and once more began the combat. for a long time they fought fiercely, recklessly, as if caring only to end the contest. no one could say who would win, and all were watching eagerly, yet sadly, for the death of one or both, when suddenly a great noise was heard, so great that the champions themselves stood still. and lo! driving at a furious speed, there appeared a chariot, drawn by lions and decked with gold and precious ornaments, in which there sat a lady of wondrous beauty. she was bounteous as well as beautiful, and learned in all magic arts, for she was cambina, the daughter of agapé, and sister of triamond, to whose aid she came. there was terrible confusion as she drove through the thick crowds, for the people pressed to see her, and her unruly steeds grew restive, and overthrew many of the mob. in one hand she held a rod of wondrous power, in the other a cup filled with nepenthe, a drink devised by the gods to take away anger from the hearts of men, and give peace in its stead. as she came up to the lists she touched the rail with her wand, and it at once flew open. then she descended from her chariot, and bid "all hail!" first to her brother and then to cambello. but they were eager to return to the combat, and paid her scant attention. seeing this, she flung herself on the bloody ground, and with tears prayed them by all that was dear to them to cease. her entreaty availing not, she touched them lightly with her wand, whereupon their swords fell from them, and as they stood doubtful whether or not to resume them, she handed them the soothing draught, and they being very thirsty, drank of it eagerly. then was a wonder wrought, for the two fierce combatants ceased fighting, and kissed each other, and plighted hands as friends for evermore. when the on-lookers beheld this fair sight they shouted aloud for joy, and canacée descended in haste from her exalted seat, and came to see what the shout portended. when she found the fighting ended and the foes at peace, she greeted cambina, the strange lady, and offered her love and friendship. the trumpets sounded, and they all arose to depart. cambina took canacée in her chariot, and triamond and cambello returned home together, and the people rejoiced with great feasting in the land. and after a time triamond took canacée, and cambello took cambina to be their wives, and no such friends or lovers were anywhere to be found. the story of timias. faerie queene. book iii., canto v.; book iv., cantos vii., viii.; book vi., canto v. you may remember that the good prince arthur had a squire named timias. he it was who went in pursuit of the forester that so rudely followed florimell. he thus became separated from his lord and had many adventures before he again saw prince arthur, who grieved sorely over the loss of his beloved squire. timias' first adventure was an encounter with the forester. he chased him through thick woods, a long and weary way, and more than once had nearly avenged the rude fellow's discourtesy towards florimell. but the forester managed to escape, either because his horse was swifter or his knowledge of the woods better than that of timias. he made his way to his two brethren, who dwelt with him in the wilds. to them he complained of the ill done him by the squire, and so excited their wrath that they determined to set out forthwith and aid him in making an end of timias. all three therefore repaired to a hidden glade, close by a narrow ford, difficult at any time to cross, and now swollen by recent rains. they knew that timias must pass this ford, and here they lay in wait. things fell out just as the brothers expected. all unaware of danger the squire rode up, and began to cross the ford. the moment he did so, the forester stepped out upon the opposite bank, and daring timias to move another step, threw a dart at him, which struck his habergeon. the blow did not harm him but it made him very angry, all the more so that the bank on which the forester stood was so high that timias could not reach his antagonist. at this moment one of the brothers shot a poisoned arrow out of the thicket, which wounded the squire, and caused him exceeding pain. still he struggled on against all difficulties, and at length reached the opposite bank, where the third brother now attacked him with a bill-hook. timias avoided the blow and killed the man with a thrust of his spear. this increased the rage of the surviving brothers, who made a fresh attack with renewed energy. timias, however, singled out one, and directing his whole force against him, struck a blow which cleft his head from skull to chin. filled with rage and horror, the last brother shot an arrow at the squire, and immediately attempted flight, but timias overtook him, and just as he entered the stream, struck off his head. timias was now freed from the three brothers, but his troubles were not over, for his poisoned wound bled so profusely that he soon fell from his horse in a deadly faint. he was in a sad plight all alone in the forest, but-- providence heavenly passeth living thought, and doth for wretched man's relief make way. while he lay in the swoon, belphoebe the huntress, she whom braggadochio had seen, came where the squire lay. she found him lying in a pool of blood, his hair matted and tangled, his eyes fixed and his lips pale. she recoiled with horror at the sight, but she was a good and brave woman and looked again, and as she looked her heart grew pitiful, and stooping down she felt his pulse. finding that it still beat she raised his head and rubbed his temples, and then unfastened his armour. this done, she hastened to the woods, where she found herbs, which she carefully prepared. the juice of the herbs she poured into the wound and then bound it with her scarf. by-and-bye timias opened his eyes and saw the lady standing by him, her bow and golden quiver lying at her feet. he thought her an angel or a goddess, and addressing her as such, asked what service he could render in return for her care. to this belphoebe replied that she was only the daughter of a wood-nymph and that she desired nothing but his recovery for reward. by this time the damsels of the huntress arrived and were despatched to recover timias' strayed steed. having brought it back, they set him upon it and led him gently to their dwelling. it lay in a pleasant glade, surrounded by mountains whose mighty woods cast great shadows, and in the midst of which a little stream murmured softly over a rocky bed. by the stream was a fair spot planted with myrtles and laurels, and among these stood a rich pavilion. here they laid timias on a soft couch, and here belphoebe daily dressed his wounds until he became quite well and strong. and then, from gratitude for belphoebe's care and admiration of her rare virtues, timias gave up all thought of returning to the prince, and remained in the forest as her faithful attendant. one day when hunting with belphoebe and her damsels, timias, as often happens in the chase, got separated from his companions, and while wandering about in search of them, came suddenly upon a poor lady who was being carried off by a cruel giant. he instantly went to her rescue, and succeeded in freeing the lady. but he was himself in great danger when belphoebe, attracted by the noise of the fight, came to his aid, and bending her bow pursued the giant to the door of his den, where she slew him with an arrow. meantime timias, always kind and gentle, was filled with pity for the fair lady whom he had rescued. she had fainted from terror and was much bruised by the fray and the cruel grasp of the monster. the squire knelt by her side, examined her wounds with tender touch, wiped her dewy and unconscious eyes, and in his pitifulness kissed them. at that moment belphoebe returned, and when she saw her faithful squire so tender towards the lady, her heart swelled with proud disdain. in her sudden passion she was ready to have killed both squire and lady with the very bow which had already slain the monster. she however restrained herself, and drawing near to timias, exclaimed, "is this the faith?" then turned and fled. distressed at her rebuke timias instantly arose and followed her, but ever as he drew near she threatened him with her bow and would not permit him to approach her. after a long and fruitless pursuit the squire was forced to turn back with a sad heart. finding a solitary part of the forest he chose a glade made gloomy with mossy trees, and there built a hut to live in. he broke his weapons and threw them away, vowing never again to fight nor ever again speak to a woman, but to live alone and deplore his grief. the better to keep his foolish vow he cut and spoiled his clothes, let his hair grow until it fell untended over his shoulders, ate only wild fruits and drank only running water. thus he weakened himself until he was unfit to carry arms, and disguised himself until no one could recognize him. indeed it chanced that one day prince arthur came into that part of the forest and found timias in this wretched plight. the prince talked to him and tried to make out who he was, but never guessed he was all the time addressing his lost squire. timias would not speak, but only bowed reverently, and the prince was obliged to go away sad at heart. he thought the miserable man some love-lorn swain, for he saw the name of belphoebe cut on many of the trees, and remarked how he brightened at the sound of the name and even kissed the ground where it was written. thus timias dwelt alone, wasting his youth in selfish solitude, until one day, as he lay bemoaning himself, a turtle dove that had lately lost her mate happened to come that way. seeing one so sad, she paused in her flight and began to mourn with timias. she sat by his side and sang so pitiful and so human a ditty that the squire fancied he heard in it his own name; and as he listened, he shed many tears and beat his breast and tore his hair in his sadness. day by day the bird sat by him and sang; she showed no sign of fear and for guerdon of her song, he never failed to share with her his scanty meal. timias grew to regard her as a companion, and one day when looking at some mementoes given him by belphoebe, he chose out a ruby, shaped like a heart, and bound it on the dove's neck. he expected to find some pleasure in gazing at it as he lay and listened to her song, but suddenly the dove finding herself thus decked flew away. timias was now more sad than ever, for he had lost both the jewel which belphoebe had given him and his companion. meantime the bird flew right through the forest until she came where belphoebe rested after the chase. there she alighted and straightway began her mournful ditty, hoping thus to attract the maiden's attention. she succeeded, and after watching her for some time belphoebe noticed on the dove's neck the well-known jewel. rising hastily she attempted to grasp it, but the dove flew out of her reach, and when she saw that belphoebe followed, lingered until the maid was near, when she again flew a little way forward, and thus flying and resting lured her far into the forest. they at length arrived near to the abode of timias, when the dove flew straight into his hand. there she began a most piteous plaint, as if to force belphoebe to understand who this was. the maiden, however, although sorry for this wretched-looking man, and wishful to do him any good she could did not recognize him. but timias knew her: he said nothing, but fell humbly at her feet, and kissing the ground on which she trod, washed it with his tears and looked at her with wistful looks. she did not understand him, but wondered at his courtly manners, and pitying his misery, asked him whether heaven or the cruelty of man or his own wilfulness were its cause. when she ended speaking timias broke his long silence and with it his vow, and replying that his suffering arose from all three, added that she herself had done the wrong. he went on to pray her forgiveness and the sad words touched belphoebe's proud heart when she found that it was timias who thus addressed her. relenting from her severity she received him into favour again. for a long time he lived happily in the forest ever attending belphoebe and forgetting the prince, his rightful lord, who still sought for his lost squire. by-and-bye men grew envious of the high distinction timias received from the great belphoebe, and said unjust and malicious things of him, but he behaved wisely and continued in her favour. there were three men more anxious than any others for the overthrow of timias. these were despetto, decetto, and defetto. they tried all sorts of mean tricks by which to work his ruin, but in vain. at length they resolved to send the blattant beast to destroy him. this was a horrid monster, treacherous and cruel, given to turn suddenly on its pursuer, and bite with poisonous fangs. on a day when timias was hunting, these bad men sent the beast into the forest, hoping that he would give it chase and so be led to destruction. just as they expected, timias charged the monster as soon as he saw it, and with such fury that the beast turned and fled. as it turned it bit him; he, however, paid no attention to the wound, but hotly pursued the beast, which led him into thick woods and rough places full of briers, and thus wore out his strength until it had him in a woody glade where his three foes lay concealed. all three sprang out and attacked him fiercely, so that it required his utmost skill to defend himself. they closed round him and rained blows on every side and yet he contrived to withstand them all and even to make them yield before him. but after a long fight his strength began to fail before the heavy odds, and he feared he must soon yield. just then he heard the trampling and neighing of a horse. the sound inspired him with fresh hope, and the next moment he saw a knight in full armour riding hastily to his rescue. despetto, decetto, and defetto saw this also, and like the cowards that they were, fled precipitately into the thick brushwood whither the knight did not choose to follow. he turned instead to timias, and in the sorely bested combatant, prince arthur, for he it was, recognized his long-lost squire. exceedingly rejoiced the prince took him in his arms and embraced him tenderly, and thus was timias restored to his rightful lord. calidore and pastorella. faerie queene. book vi. cantos i., ix., x., xi., xii. of all the knights that lived at gloriana's faery court, there was none more gentle or more courteous than sir calidore. he was beloved by every one, for to his natural gentleness of spirit and grace of manner was added a manly bearing and courtesy of speech that stole men's hearts away. he was tall and strong, and much renowned for his bravery in battle, and he never employed his great gifts for mean purposes or flattered any one, for he loved simple truth and steadfast honesty. now about this time a very hideous monster was wandering about in faeryland. this was the blattant beast, the same that attacked timias, and so terrible a creature was it, that even the wicked race from which it sprang dreaded and hated it. this monster had iron teeth, and within the iron teeth were a thousand tongues--of dogs, cats, bears, and tigers,--but the greatest number were human tongues, and these uttered cruel scandals, caring not when or where. there were also serpents' tongues, with three-forked stings, which spat out poison and said hateful things of any who interfered with the beast. indeed the delight of this horrid creature was to annoy and injure and destroy good men and women. it was the very plague and curse of mankind, whom it bit and wounded and tormented with its venomous teeth and wicked tongues. against the blattant beast sir calidore was sent, and he was commanded to give it incessant chase until he overtook and subdued it. it was a hard quest, for the beast never remained in one place, and sir calidore, without guide or good direction, had to go forth in untried ways, to unknown dangers, and to laborious effort. at length after a weary search and many adventures, after permitting himself little rest either by night or by day, after pursuing the beast from the court to cities, and from cities to country places, sir calidore came into open pasture land where shepherds watched their flocks. here he so nearly overtook the monster that he forced it to hide itself from him amongst empty sheds and huts. by the help of these it once more escaped the knight, who, as he still followed in pursuit, chanced to espy a group of shepherds singing and playing, whilst their sheep wandered among the fresh young plants, and nipped off their tender buds. all tired and heated, calidore went up to the shepherds, and asked them whether they had seen a beast such as he described. they replied that they had neither seen it nor anything else to excite their alarm, and prayed god to deliver them from all such. then one of the shepherds seeing that calidore perspired from the heat, offered him a draught to quench his thirst, and food to relieve his hunger. the knight courteously accepted their kindness, and, sitting down at their request, partook of their homely hospitality. as he rested after the meal, sir calidore noticed at a little distance a fair damsel, dressed in home-spun, home-dyed green, with a crown of flowers tied with ribbon on her head. she sat on a little hillock higher than the others, and around her was a circle of fair companions, while beyond these the shepherds lay about, piping and singing her praises, delighting in her beauty, and shouting aloud for very wonder that so beautiful a maiden should be found amongst them. she was as good and modest as she was lovely, and they treated her as if she were a goddess, singing day and night of fairest pastorella. many of the shepherds loved pastorella, but one named coridon loved her beyond all the others, and yet the maiden cared neither for him nor any of them. now, while sir calidore looked at the fair damsel and noted the difference in her mien from that of her companions, his heart, all unawares, became drawn towards her, and he stood gazing on her, quite forgetful of his quest, and that the beast was all this time getting farther and farther away from him. and after the repast was quite over, he still stayed talking to the shepherds, hoping all the time that pastorella would overhear the adventures he recounted. thus the day wore on until night advanced, and the ground grew damp, so that the shepherds knew that it was time to take their flocks to rest. then there came out to them an old man with silver locks, carrying a shepherd's crook in his hand, and he told pastorella to arise. the old man's name was meliboæ, and he was accounted by all, even by pastorella herself, as her father, but he was only her adopted father, for he had found her as an infant in the fields and had brought her up as his own. at his bidding she arose and gathered together her little flock of sheep, and the shepherds who had sat round her gathered theirs also, while they vied one with another in helping pastorella; yet coridon gave her most help. when meliboæ found sir calidore left alone, and night so near, he invited him to his cottage, which, though poor, was a better resting-place than the fields, and the knight accepted gladly. he was kindly welcomed both by meliboæ and his wife, who invited him to lay aside his armour and to rest until supper was ready and pastorella had returned from tending her sheep. when the frugal meal was ended, pastorella removed the table, and sir calidore in his most courteous manner gave thanks to his host and hostess for their kindness, and praised the simple life which shepherds led. meliboæ replied by dwelling on the delights of a country life, adding that in his youth he had sought a prince's court and had worked as a gardener at the palace; ten years spent there, however, made him return home more contented than before. calidore listened much delighted, and anxious to stay on in the shepherd's hut, replied that the world's gay shows were but vanity, and that he wished that his lot were that of meliboæ. "but," said the old man, "the mind is the true fortune, and happiness is in each man's power." "then," said sir calidore, "let me make my happiness by staying here and resting awhile from the storms of fortune." and lest the expense of his stay should prove burdensome to the old man, he drew forth much gold with which to pay for his food. this offer meliboæ refused but he granted calidore permission to remain. so he remained there, and saw pastorella daily and offered her many courtesies; but she, unaccustomed to courtly ways, loved the kindness of the shepherds better than his. calidore therefore laid aside his armour, and dressing as a shepherd, went out into the fields and helped pastorella with her flocks. at this coridon became jealous, and whenever sir calidore was present, looked cross and angry; yet sir calidore was ever kind to coridon, and when coridon brought birds and squirrels from the wood to pastorella, the knight praised their beauty. but the maiden ceased to care for coridon's gift, for her heart was beginning to turn towards sir calidore. one day, when the shepherds were in a merry mood, they called for music and began to dance. they invited sir calidore to lead the ring, for he was held to be first in pastorella's favour. but coridon frowned and bit his lips in anger, and seeing this, sir calidore courteously yielded to him the place of honour, and when pastorella placed her garland on the knight's head, he put it instead upon coridon. another day games were proposed by the shepherds, and pastorella was chosen judge, and held the garland which was to be the victor's reward. coridon, renowned for his skill in wrestling, challenged calidore. but the knight was much stronger than coridon expected, and easily threw him, whereupon the garland was awarded to sir calidore. in his never-failing courtesy the knight gave it up to coridon, declaring him well worthy the honour. thus calidore proved himself ever courteous, and won love and honour even from his rival, and pastorella's heart was turned more and more towards him, but he still forgot the blattant beast and his vow to follow it without rest. one day, as sir calidore, coridon, and pastorella were gathering strawberries in a green wood, a tiger rushed suddenly out of the forest, and with cruel jaws and wide open mouth ran straight at pastorella. it happened that the others had wandered a little way from her, and the poor damsel, left defenceless, cried out for help. coridon came running to her aid, but seeing the fierce beast, fled in terror, for his own life was dearer to him than hers. but when sir calidore came up and saw the tiger ready to tear pastorella's limbs, rage, not fear, filled his soul, and with no weapon but his shepherd's hook, he ran at the wild beast and stunned it by his blow, and before it had time to recover he had struck off its head, which he laid at the feet of the trembling pastorella. from that time she showed marked preference for calidore, and a little after promised to be his bride. but one dreadful day, whilst calidore was hunting in the woods, a party of brigands came down upon the shepherds' dwellings, and spoiling their homes, murdered many of the occupants and carried off the others to sell as slaves. amongst those taken captive were meliboæ, pastorella, and coridon. they were carried off during the night, for the brigands wished no man to know where they dwelt. now, their home was on an island, covered with brushwood, but there was no appearance of dwellers on the island, for the brigands lived in underground caves, dark and dreary, and lighted only by candles. here they brought their captives, meaning to sell them to the first merchants who passed that way. but they had not been long in the island before the captain of the brigands fell in love with pastorella and wished her for his wife. now pastorella, being betrothed to calidore, could not listen to his wish, and this made him angry, and yet he loved her so much that he continued to try hard to gain her affection. all this made her so unhappy that she became ill. while pastorella lay ill, a band of free-booting merchants arrived in search of slaves. the brigands came and told the captain who was watching near the sick maiden, and the news made him sorrowful, for he feared that his men would insist on pastorella's being sold with the others. yet he dared not refuse; so he showed the merchants old meliboæ and coridon and others. but one of the merchants had heard of the shepherdess, and demanded to see her also. at this the captain grew angry and declared that the maiden was his prize, and that, moreover, she lay sick; and to prove his words, he took them to see her. but the sight of her pale beauty only made the merchants still more desirous to have her, and they declared that unless they might buy pastorella they would buy no one. thereupon the brigands demanded her sale, but the captain stoutly refused and drew his sword, and a fierce fight began, in which blood was freely spilt. and first of all, the captives were slain, old meliboæ, his aged wife, and many others. but coridon escaped in the darkness, thinking nothing of his friends. all this time pastorella was defended by the captain who stood between her and the enemy. he was slain at length, and fell with pastorella in his arms, who fainted from fear and weakness. and as she lay there the fight continued, and those slain fell upon her, so that she was nearly stifled to death. when the brigands found that their captain was gone, the fighting ceased, and the combatants became as eager to make friends as they were before to quarrel; so having agreed among themselves, they lighted candles and began the melancholy search for the dead. their captain they found cruelly slain, and by him the dying maid. seeing that there was still life in pastorella, they used every means to restore her, and at length succeeded. but when she was able to look round, and saw her father and her friends lying dead, wringing her hands, she wept and wailed and wished herself of their number. however, as the brigands were very anxious that she should get well, they took care of her in their rude way. when they went out to plunder, they left one of themselves--the best, although all were bad--in charge of her, but he was of little use, scarce giving her food or rest. meantime sir calidore had returned from the chase and had found the desolation caused by the brigands. he was almost mad with grief and rage, and his anguish was increased by the sad fact that there was no one to whom he could speak, nor any of whom he could ask tidings. he sought everywhere, but in vain; the woods and the plain were alike silent and empty. roaming about restlessly in his despair, he at length saw someone coming towards him. the new-comer was dressed in rags, his hair was standing on end, and he was running as if from great danger. as he came near, sir calidore saw that it was coridon. hastening up to him the knight asked where pastorella and the others had been taken. "ah," said coridon, sighing deeply, "would that i had never lived to see this day, but had died before i saw pastorella dead." "what," exclaimed calidore, "pastorella dead? how dared death touch her?" and then he persuaded coridon to tell his sad tale; and coridon told how he had seen meliboæ die, and the captain defend pastorella, but as he believed,--in vain. on hearing these tidings, sir calidore's heart well-nigh broke; but after a time he recovered spirit and determined to rescue pastorella were she still alive, or to avenge her, were she dead. he asked coridon to show him the way to the island, but he had great difficulty in inducing him to do so. at length calidore prevailed upon him, and they went forth dressed as shepherds, although the knight wore armour under his peaceful garb. as they neared the island they came to a hill, on which they saw shepherds with their flocks. they determined to go and learn from them the latest tidings. great was their surprise when coridon recognized the flocks as the very ones that had been stolen from them, and these shepherds no other than the thieves. this discovery alarmed him greatly, and his heart began to lose all courage, but sir calidore reassured him as best he could and prevailed upon him to advance upon the men, who were all asleep. coridon would have slain them, but sir calidore, who had another plan, prevented him. sitting down by their side, he wakened them gently, told them the time of day, and beginning to talk, asked them questions which would, he hoped, reveal the truth as to pastorella. and when the brigands in turn questioned sir calidore and asked who he and his comrade might be, the knight replied that they were herdsmen who sought for hire. on hearing this the thieves at once offered them wages to take care of their flocks. sir calidore accepted the offer, and when night came, he and coridon returned with the outlaws as their hired servants. they quickly learned all the secrets of the caverns, and to their great joy found that pastorella still lived. after a time of patient waiting sir calidore's opportunity came. the brigands had returned from a fray and slept soundly. in the dead of night sir calidore arose, and armed only with an old sword which he had found, made his way to the new captain's cavern. coridon, too cowardly to join boldly with him, too fearful to be left behind, followed faltering. they found the doors fast closed, but sir calidore attacked them with all his force and burst them open. the noise awoke the chief brigand, who came rushing to the entrance, where in a few moments sir calidore slew him. meantime the sound of the fray struck terror into the heart of pastorella, but when the well-known and much-loved voice of sir calidore called to her, joy and comfort took the place of misery and despair, and her spirit revived within her. his voice was to her as the sunshine to the wintry earth, and she who had longed for death felt the spring of life arise anew within her. nor did sir calidore rejoice less: like one distraught he rushed to her, and taking her in his strong arms kissed her a thousand times. but now the alarm had roused all the brigand camp, who came flocking to their captain's cavern. sir calidore stood in the doorway, and as they pressed forward, he slew them one by one until the entrance was fairly blocked by dead bodies. then he rested until daylight dawned; and when there was sufficient light to see his way, he arose, chose from among the slain a trusty sword and went out into the open day. there a great crowd awaited ready to attack him. then began a terrible fight. on every side the brigands set upon him, and sorely they oppressed him, nor did any spare him; yet so skilled and powerful was sir calidore that by the aid of his trusty brand he dispersed and scattered his enemies, slaying all that came into his way. then sir calidore returned to pastorella his betrothed, and brought her forth to the light of day, which she had not seen since she was taken captive, and did all he could to make her forget the sorrows she had suffered. when he had thus comforted her he returned to the robbers' caves and took away their treasure. bestowing the flocks they had stolen from old meliboæ on coridon, sir calidore went forth, taking with him pastorella. now all this time the blattant beast was ranging at will, no one stopping or restraining his course. and sir calidore deemed it high time to follow his quest once more, although he must first secure the safety of his love. he therefore took her to the castle belgard, where dwelt the good sir bellamour with claribell, his wife, and there they were warmly welcomed and hospitably entertained, for sir bellamour knew sir calidore right well, and had loved him for his prowess ever since they had served together in the field. and claribell was drawn towards the fair pastorella, and tended her so lovingly that she soon grew strong and well. when sir calidore saw the maiden recover strength and health, he resolved to leave her in castle belgard, and to return to his quest, for he was ashamed to remember how long he had neglected the enterprise entrusted to him by gloriana. with ceaseless pains and toils sir calidore resumed his task. it was in some respects easier than before, for the beast had gradually waxed more powerful, and wherever it went left traces of its spoil. the knight found that it had invaded the homes of men of all conditions of life and in all had done great damage; that at length it had reached the clergy, and among them had wrought such spoil and havoc, and committed such thefts that to tell all would be impossible. and now sir calidore, who had followed its track with ceaseless care, came to a monastery, where he found the blattant beast destroying and despoiling with might and main. it had broken into the cloisters and scattered the monks hither and thither; it had pursued them into their cells and had not spared even the holy things of religion. for it broke into the church and robbed the chancel; threw down the desks and injured the altar, and cast everything into confusion. here sir calidore found it; and the blattant beast, knowing his power of old, at once fled, but the knight pursued with great swiftness and got nearer and nearer to the monster, until at length he overtook it in a narrow place. attacking it fiercely, sir calidore forced the beast to turn and face him. then the knight struck it with his sharp steel, and in return it rushed savagely upon him, its ugly mouth wide open so as to expose the double row of iron teeth, and the thousand yelling, barking, back-biting tongues therein. not one whit afraid, sir calidore fell upon the monster with such might that he obliged it to give way, and for a moment so mastered it that all it could do was to spit forth poisonous venom from its foaming, bloody jaws, threatening in vain to bite. then rearing itself on its hind legs, it attacked him with its claws as if it would have rent him in pieces. but sir calidore was on his guard, and thrust his shield before him; then putting out all his strength he forced the creature back until it fell. quick as thought the knight flung his shield upon it, and with all his strength held it down. at this the beast raged and roared most horribly, and foamed out bloody gore, and strove in vain to rear itself upright. the more it strove, the firmer the knight held it. it bit, and scratched, and threw out venom, and behaved like a very fiend, so mad was its rage that any should hold it under, and still sir calidore kept on, for the more its anger increased the greater became his power. then when the beast felt it could do nothing against the knight, it began to reveal its deepest, most wicked nature, and used its tongue no longer to spit out blood or venom, but to speak reproaches and to utter wicked lies of sir calidore. but even these could not cause this true knight so to forget himself as to grow angry and release his hold for a single moment. he held on tighter and tighter until the beast was almost strangled in his grasp. at length when he saw that the creature's power was growing less, he drew forth a muzzle made of the strongest iron, and with it closed its cruel mouth and shut in its blasphemous tongues. to the muzzle he fastened a long chain, and by this drew forth the blattant beast, cowed and captive. never before had any dared to curb its will or restrain its tongues, and it greatly repined at its bondage, inwardly chafing under a restraint which nevertheless it did not dare to withstand. it trembled under sir calidore's mighty hand, and like a beaten dog followed him where he went. thus was the once powerful beast led through all faeryland, its former victims thronging out of the towns to see it captive and to praise and admire its captor. thus then did sir calidore rid the world during his lifetime of a scandalous pest, although after his days the beast broke its chain and ranged once more at liberty. his quest ended, the knight returned to pastorella, to whom a strange fortune had befallen. sir bellamour and claribell had known troublous days in their youth. in these days an infant daughter had been born to them, which, owing to the sad woes that had befallen them, claribell was forced to send away from her. her maid melissa had borne the infant to the fields. with many tears she had laid it down and watched behind bushes until a shepherd coming to the spot lifted the babe and carried it away. and now melissa, who still lived with claribell, recognized a certain mark on pastorella's fair skin by which she was persuaded that the damsel was none other than the long-lost babe. she ran to her mistress with the glad tidings; at first claribell could hardly believe her, and trembling with uncertain joy, hurried to pastorella and asked her many questions. to all pastorella gave satisfactory answers, and claribell overcome with the gladness of a mother's love, tenderly embraced her child, and then went to tell her husband. deeply rejoiced, he too acknowledged pastorella as his daughter. thus was the fair shepherdess proved to be a right worthy bride for the mighty sir calidore by birth as well as by beauty and goodness, and we may be very sure that they were, as the old story-books say, "happy ever after." the end. generously made available by the internet archive.) the history of chivalry or knighthood and its times. by charles mills, esqr. author of the history of the crusades in two volumes. vol: i. [illustration: engraved by a. le petit from a sketch by r. w. sievier.] london. printed for longman, hurst, rees, orme, brown and green mdcccxxv. preface. the propriety of my writing a history of chivalry, as a companion to my history of the crusades, was suggested to me by a friend whose acquaintance with middle-age lore forms but a small portion of his literary attainments, and whose history of italy shows his ability of treating, as well as his skill in discovering, subjects not hitherto discussed with the fulness which their importance merits.[ ] the works of menestrier and colombiere sleep in the dust of a few ancient libraries; and there are only two other books whose express and entire object is a delineation of the institutions of chivalry. the first and best known is the french work called "mémoires sur l'ancienne chevalerie; considérée comme un etablissement politique et militaire. par m. de la curne de sainte palaye, de l'académie françoise," &c. tom. mo. paris, . the last half, however, of the second volume does not relate to chivalry, and therefore the learned frenchman cannot be charged with treating his subject at very great length.[ ] it was his purpose to describe the education which accomplished the youth for the distinction of knighthood, and this part of his work he has performed with considerable success. but he failed in his next endeavour, that of painting the martial games of chivalry, for nothing can be more unsatisfactory than his account of jousts and tournaments. as he wished to inform his readers of the use which was made in the battle field of the valour, skill, and experience of knights, a description of some of the extraordinary and interesting battles of the middle ages might have been expected. here also disappointment is experienced; neither can any pleasure be derived from perusing his examination of the causes which produced the decline and extinction of chivalry, and his account of the inconveniences which counterbalanced the advantages of the establishment. sainte palaye was a very excellent french antiquarian; but the limited scope of his studies disqualified him from the office of a general historian of chivalry. the habits of his mind led him to treat of knighthood as if it had been the ornament merely of his own country. he very rarely illustrates his principles by the literature of any other nation, much less did he attempt to trace their history through the various states of europe. he has altogether kept out of sight many characteristic features of his subject. scarcely any thing is advanced about ancient armour; not a word on the religious and military orders; and but a few pages, and those neither pleasing nor correct, on woman and lady-love. the best executed part of his subject regards, as i have already observed, the education of knights; and he has scattered up and down his little volume and a half many curious notices of ancient manners. the other work is written in the german language, and for that reason it is but very little known in this country. it is called ritterzeit und ritterwesen, (two volumes octavo, leipzig, ,) and is the substance of a course of lectures on chivalry delivered by the author, mr. büsching, to his pupils of the high school at breslau. the style of the work is the garrulous, slovenly, ungrammatical style which lecturers, in all countries, and upon all subjects, think themselves privileged to use. a large portion of the book is borrowed from sainte palaye; much of the remainder relates to feudalism and other matters distinct from chivalry: but when the writer treats of the state of knighthood in germany i have found his facts and observations of very great value. attention to the subjects of the middle ages of europe has for many years been growing among us. it was first excited by warton's history of our national verse, and percy's edition of the relics of ancient english poetry. the romances of chivalry, both in prose and metre, and the numberless works on the troubadour, and every other description of literature during the middle ages which have been published within the last few years, have sustained the interest. the poems of scott convinced the world that the chivalric times of europe can strike the moral imagination as powerfully and pleasingly in respect of character, passion, and picturesqueness of effect, as the heroic ages of greece; and even very recently the glories of chivalry have been sung by a poetess whom ariosto himself would have been delighted to honour.[ ] still, however, no attempt has been hitherto made to describe at large the institutions of knighthood, the foundation of all that elegant superstructure of poetry and romance which we admire, and to mark the history of chivalry in the various countries of europe. those institutions have, indeed, been allowed a few pages in our encyclopædias; and some of the sketches of them are drawn with such boldness and precision of outline that we may regret the authors did not present us with finished pictures. our popular historians have but hastily alluded to the subject; for they were so much busied with feudalism and politics, that they could afford but a small space for the play of the lighter graces of chivalry. for a description, indeed, of antique manners, our materials are not so ample as for that of their public lives. but still the subject is not without its witnesses. the monkish chroniclers sometimes give us a glimpse of the castles of our ancestors. many of the knights in days of yore had their biographers; and, for the most interesting time of chivalry, we possess an historian, who, for vividness of delineation, kindliness of feeling, and naïveté of language, is the herodotus of the middle ages. "did you ever read froissart?" "no," answered henry morton. "i have half a mind," rejoined claverhouse, "to contrive that you should have six months' imprisonment, in order to procure you that pleasure. his chapters inspire me with more enthusiasm than even poetry itself." froissart's[ ] history extends from the year to . it was begun by him when he was twenty years old, at the command of his dear lord and master, sir robert of namur, lord of beaufort. the annals from to are founded on the chronicles compiled by him whom he calls "the right reverend, discreet, and sage master john la bele, sometime canon in st. lambertis of liege, who with good heart and due diligence did his true devoir in writing his book; and heard of many fair and noble adventures from his being well beloved, and of the secret counsel of the lord sir john of hainault." froissart corrected all this borrowed matter on the information of the barons and knights of his time regarding their families' gestes and prowesses. he is the chronicler both of political events and of chivalric manners. of his merits in the first part of his character it falls not within my province to speak. for the office of historian of chivalry no man could present such fair pretensions. his father being a herald-painter, he was initiated in his very early years into that singular form of life which he describes with such picturesque beauty. "well i loved," as he says of his youth, in one of his poems, "to see dances and carolling, and to hear the songs of minstrels and tales of glee. it pleased me to attach myself to those who took delight in hounds and hawks. i was wont to toy with my fair companions at school, and methought i had the art well to win the grace of maidens."--"my ears quickened at the sound of opening the wine-flask, for i took great pleasure in drinking, and in fair array, and in fresh and delicate viands. i loved to see (as is reason) the early violets, and the white and red roses, and also chambers brilliantly lighted; dances and late vigils, and fair beds for my refreshment; and for my better repose, i joyously quaffed a night-draught of claret, or rochelle wine mingled with spice." froissart wrote his chronicles "to the intent that the honourable and noble adventures of feats of arms, done and achieved in the wars of france and england, should notably be enregistered, and put in perpetual memory; whereby the preux and hardy might have ensample to encourage them in their well-doing."[ ] to accomplish his purpose, he followed and frequented the company of divers noble and great lords, as well in france, england, and scotland, as in other countries; and in their chivalric festivals he enquired for tales of arms and amours. for three years he was clerk of the chamber to philippa of hainault, wife of edward iii. he travelled into scotland; and, though mounted only on a simple palfrey, with his trunk placed on the hinder part of his saddle, after the fashion in which a squire carried the mail-harness of a knight, and attended only by a greyhound, the favourite dog of the time, instead of a train of varlets, yet the fame of his literary abilities introduced him to the castle of dalkeith, and the court of the scottish king. he generally lived in the society of nobles and knights,--at the courts of the duke of brabant, the count of namur, and the earl of blois. he knew and admired the black prince, du guesclin, the douglas, and hotspur; and while this various acquaintance fitted him to describe the circumstances and manners of his times, it prevented him from the bias of particular favouritism. the character of his mind, rather than his station in life, determined his pursuits. his profession was that of the church: he was a while curate of lestines, in the diocese of liege; and, at the time of his death, he was canon and treasurer of the collegiate church of chimay. but he was a greater reader of romances than of his breviary; and, churchman though he was, knighthood itself could not boast a more devoted admirer of dames and damsels. he was, therefore, the very man to describe the chivalric features of his time. the romances of chivalry are another source of information. favyn says, with truth and fancy, "the greater part of antiquities are to be sought for and derived out of the most ancient tales, as well in prose as verse, like pearls out of the smoky papers of ennius." the romance-writers were to the middle ages of europe what the ancient poets were to greece,--the painters of the manners of their times. as sir walter scott observes, "we have no hesitation in quoting the romances of chivalry as good evidence of the laws and customs of knighthood. the authors, like the artists of the period, invented nothing, but, copying the manners of the age in which they lived, transferred them, without doubt or scruple, to the period and personages of whom they treated." from all these sources of information i have done my devoir, in the following pages, to describe the origin of chivalry; and, after escaping from the dark times in which it arose, to mark the various degrees of the personal nobility of knighthood. an enquiry into the nature and duties of the chivalric character then will follow; and we cannot pass, without regard and homage, the sovereign-mistress and lady-love of the adventurous knight. after viewing our cavalier in the gay and graceful pastime of the tournament, and pausing a while to behold him when a peculiar character of religion was added to his chivalry, we shall see him vault upon his good steed; and we will accompany him in the achievement of his high and hardy emprises in britain, france, spain, germany, and italy. as a view of chivalry is, from its nature, a supplement or an appendix to the history of europe, i have supposed my readers to be acquainted with the general circumstances of past ages, and therefore i have spoken of them by allusion rather than by direct statement. i have made the following work as strictly chivalric as the full and fair discussion of my subject would permit me, avoiding descriptions of baronial and feudal life, except in its connection with knighthood. i have not detailed military circumstances of former times, unless they proceeded from chivalric principles, or were invested with chivalric graces. thus the celebrated battle of the thirty had nothing in it of a knightly character, and therefore i have left it unnoticed. judicial combats had their origin in the state of society from which both feudalism and chivalry sprang; but they were not regulated by the gentle laws of knighthood, and therefore have not been described by me. i have not imposed any dry legal facts and discussions upon my readers; for the incidents attached to the tenure of land called the tenure in chivalry were strictly feudal; and the courts of the constable and marshal, holding cognisance as they did of all matters regarding war, judicial combats, and blazonry of arms, relate not so much to chivalry as to the general preservation of the peace of the land, and the good order of society. and it should be mentioned, that it has not been my purpose to give a minute history of every individual cavalier: for a work strictly confined to biographical detail, however convenient it might be for occasional reference, would be tiresome and tedious by reason of the repetition of circumstances only varied with the difference of names, and would be any thing but historical. i have brought the great characters of chivalry, who have received but slight attention from the political historian, in illustration of the principles of knighthood. thus full-length portraits of those english knights of prowess, sir john chandos and sir walter manny, will be more interesting than pictures of edward iii. and the black prince, whose features are so well known to us. from the lives of these royal heroes i have therefore only selected such chivalric circumstances as have not been sufficiently described and dwelt upon, or which it was absolutely incumbent on me to state, in order to preserve an unbroken thread of narrative. i shall not expatiate on the interest and beauty of my subject, lest i should provoke too rigid an enquiry into my ability for discussing it. i shall therefore only conclude, in the good old phrase of chaucer,-- "now, hold your mouth, pour charitie, both knight and lady free, and herkneth to my spell, of battaille and of chivalry, of ladies' love and druerie, anon i wol you tell." while these volumes were passing through the press, the tales of the crusaders appeared. in the second of them is contained a series of supposed propositions from saladin for peace between his nation and the english. the conclusion of those propositions is thus expressed:--"saladin will put a sacred seal on this happy union betwixt the bravest and noblest of frangistan and asia, by raising to the rank of his royal spouse a christian damsel, allied in blood to king richard, and known by the name of the lady edith of plantagenet," vol. iv. pp. , . upon this passage of his text the author remarks in a note: "this may appear so extraordinary and improbable a proposition that it is necessary to say such a one was actually made. the historians, however, substitute the widowed queen of naples, sister of richard, for the bride, and saladin's brother for the bridegroom. they appear to be ignorant of the existence of edith of plantagenet. see mill's (mills') history of the crusades, vol. ii. p. ." in that work i observe, that "richard proposed a consolidation of the christian and muhammedan interests; the establishment of a government at jerusalem, partly european and partly asiatic; and these schemes of policy were to be carried into effect by the marriage of saphadin (saladin's brother) with the widow of william king of sicily." m. michaud, the french historian of the crusades, makes a similar statement. he says that richard "fit d'autres propositions, auxquelles il intéressa adroitement l'ambition de malec adel, frère du sultan. la veuve du guillaume de sicile fut proposée en marriage au prince musulman." hist. des croisades, vol. ii. p. . whether or no "the historians" are ignorant of the existence of "edith of plantagenet" is not the present question. the question is, which of the two opposite statements is consistent with historical truth. the statement of m. michaud and myself is supported by the principal arabic historians, by writers, who, as every student in history knows, are of unimpeachable credit. bohadin, in his life of saladin, says, that "the englishman was desirous that almalick aladin should take his sister to wife. (her brother had brought her with him from sicily, when he passed through that island, to the deceased lord of which she had been married."[ ]) to the same effect abulfeda observes, "hither came the embassadors of the franks to negotiate a peace; and offered this condition, that malek al adel, brother of the sultan, should receive the sister of the king of england in marriage, and jerusalem for a kingdom."[ ] that this sister, joan, the widowed queen of sicily, was with richard in the holy land is proved by a passage in matthew paris, p. . she and the wife of richard are mentioned together, and no other person of royal rank. thus, therefore, "the historians" are correct in their statement, that the matrimonial proposition was made by the english to saladin, and that the parties were to be the brother of saladin and the widowed queen of sicily. the novelist has not supported his assertion by a single historical testimony; and we may defy him to produce a tittle of evidence on his side. in the composition of his tales, the author of waverley has seldom shown much respect for historical keeping. but greater accuracy than his no person had a right to expect in the text of a mere novel; and as long as he gave his readers no excuse for confounding fiction with truth, the play of his brilliant and excursive imagination was harmless. thus in the talisman, the poetical antiquarian only smiles when he finds the romance of the squire of low degree quoted as familiar to the english long before it was written; and when, in the betrothed, gloucester is raised into a bishoprick three centuries and a half before the authentic æra, we equally admit the author's licence of anachronism. on these two occasions, as in innumerable other instances, in which the novelist, whether intentionally or unwittingly, has strayed from the path of historical accuracy, he has never given formal warranty for the truth of his statements, and he is entitled to laugh at the simple credulity which could mistake his tales for veracious chronicles: but his assertion respecting the marriage of saladin with his "edith of plantagenet" is a very different case. for here he throws aside the fanciful garb of a novelist, and quits the privilege of his text, that he may gravely and critically vouch in a note for the errors of our historians, and his own superior knowledge. if this can possibly be done merely to heighten the illusion of his romance, it is carrying the jest a little too far; for the preservation of historical truth is really too important a principle to be idly violated. but if he seriously designed to unite the province of the historian with that of the novelist, he has chosen a very unlucky expedient for his own reputation; and thus, in either case, he has rather wantonly led his readers into error, and brought against others a charge of ignorance, which must recoil more deservedly on himself. contents of the first volume. page chap. i. the origin and first appearances of chivalry in europe. general nature of chivalry ... military and moral chivalry ... origin of chivalry ... usages of the germans ... election of soldiers ... fraternity ... dignity of obedience ... gallantry ... the age of charlemagne ... chivalry modified by religion ... ceremonies of anglo-saxon inauguration ... chivalry sanctioned by councils, and regarded as a form of christianity ... nature of chivalric nobility ... its degrees ... knight banneret ... his qualifications ... by whom created ... his privileges ... his relation to the baron ... and incidentally of the war-cry and the escutcheon ... the knight ... qualifications for knighthood ... by whom created ... the squirehood ... general view of the other chapters on the institutions of chivalry chap. ii. the education of a knight. the ceremonies of inauguration and of degradation. description in romances of knightly education ... hawking and hunting ... education commenced at the age of seven ... duties of the page ... personal service ... love and religion ... martial exercises ... the squire ... his duties of personal service ... curious story of a bold young squire ... various titles of squires ... duties of the squire in battle ... gallantry ... martial exercises ... horsemanship ... importance of squires in the battle-field ... particularly at the battle of bovines ... preparations for knighthood ... the anxiety of the squire regarding the character of the knight from whom he was to receive the accolade ... knights made in the battle-field ... inconveniences of this ... knights of mines ... general ceremonies of degradation ... ceremonies in england chap. iii. the equipment. beauty of the chivalric equipment ... the lance ... the pennon ... the axe, maule, and martel ... the sword ... fondness of the knight for it ... swords in romances ... the shield ... various sorts of mail ... mail ... mail and plate ... plate harness ... the scarf ... surcoats ... armorial bearings ... surcoats of the military orders ... the dagger of mercy ... story of its use ... value of enquiries into ancient armour ... a precise knowledge unattainable ... its general features interesting ... the broad lines of the subject ... excellence of italian armour ... armour of the squire, &c. ... allegories made on armour ... the horse of the knight chap. iv. the chivalric character. general array of knights ... companions in arms ... the nature of a cavalier's valiancy ... singular bravery of sir robert knowles ... bravery incited by vows ... fantastic circumstances ... the humanities of chivalric war ... ransoming ... reason of courtesies in battles ... curious pride of knighthood ... prisoners ... instance of knightly honour ... independence of knights, and knight-errantry ... knights fought the battles of other countries ... english knights dislike wars in spain ... their disgust at spanish wines ... principles of their active conduct ... knightly independence consistent with discipline ... religion of the knight ... his devotion ... his intolerance ... general nature of his virtue ... fidelity to obligations ... generousness ... singular instance of it ... romantic excess of it ... liberality ... humility ... courtesy ... every-day life of the knight ... falconry ... chess playing ... story of a knight's love of chess ... minstrelsy ... romances ... conversation ... nature and form of chivalric entertainments ... festival and vow of the pheasant chap. v. dames and damsels, and lady-love. courtesy ... education ... music ... graver sciences ... dress ... knowledge of medicine ... every-day life of the maiden ... chivalric love ... the idolatry of the knight's passion ... bravery inspired by love ... character of woman in the eyes of a knight ... peculiar nature of his love ... qualities of knights admired by women ... a tale of chivalric love ... constancy ... absence of jealousy ... knights asserted by arms their mistress's beauty ... penitents of love ... other peculiarities of chivalric love ... the passion universal ... story of aristotle ... chivalric love the foe to feudal distinctions ... but preserved religion ... when attachments were formed ... societies of knights for the defence of ladies ... knights of the lady in the green field ... customs in england ... unchivalric to take women prisoners ... morals of chivalric times ... heroines of chivalry ... queen philippa ... the countess of march ... tales of jane of mountfort and of marzia degl' ubaldini ... nobleness of the chivalric female character chap. vi. tournaments and jousts. beauty of chivalric sports ... their superiority to those of greece and rome ... origin of tournaments ... reasons for holding them ... practice in arms ... courtesy ... by whom they were held ... qualifications for tourneying ... ceremonies of the tournament ... arrival of the knights ... publication of their names ... reasons for it ... disguised knights ... the lists ... ladies the judges of the tournament ... delicate courtesy at tournaments ... morning of the sports ... knights led by ladies, who imitated the dress of knights ... nature of tourneying weapons ... knights wore ladies' favours ... the preparation ... the encounter ... what lance-strokes won the prize ... conclusion of the sports ... the festival ... delivery of the prize ... knights thanked by ladies ... the ball ... liberality ... tournaments opposed by the popes ... the opposition unjust ... the joust ... description of the joust to the utterance ... joust between a scotch and an english knight ... jousting for love of the ladies ... a singular instance of it ... joust between a french and an english squire ... admirable skill of jousters ... singular questions regarding jousts ... an earl of warwick ... celebrated joust at st. inglebertes ... joust between lord scales and the bastard of burgundy ... the romance of jousts ... the passage of arms ... use of tournaments and jousts chap. vii. the religious and military orders of knighthood. general principles of the religious orders ... qualifications for them ... use of these orders to palestine ... modern history of the knights templars ... their present existence and state ... religious orders in spain ... that of st. james ... its objects ... change of its objects ... order of calatrava ... fine chivalry of a monk ... fame of this order ... order of alcantara ... knights of the lady of mercy ... knights of st. michael ... military orders ... imitations of the religious orders ... instanced in the order of the garter ... few of the present orders are of chivalric origin ... order of the bath ... dormant orders ... order of the band ... its singular rules ... its noble enforcement of chivalric duties towards woman ... order of bourbon ... strange titles of orders ... fabulous orders ... the round table ... sir launcelot ... sir gawain ... order of the stocking ... origin of the phrase blue stocking chap. viii. progress of chivalry in england, from the norman conquest to the close of the reign of edward ii. chivalry connected with feudalism ... stipendiary knights ... knighthood a compulsory honour ... fine instance of chivalry in the reign of edward i. ... effect of chivalry in stephen's reign ... troubadours and romance writers in the reign of henry ii. ... chivalric manners of the time ... coeur de lion the first chivalric king ... his knightly bearing ... john and henry iii. ... edward i. ... his gallantry at a tournament ... his unchivalric cruelties ... he possessed no knightly courtesy ... picture of ancient manners ... edward ii. ... chivalric circumstance in the battle of bannockburn ... singular effect of chivalry in the reign of edward ii. the history of chivalry. chap. i. the origin and first appearances of chivalry in europe. _general nature of chivalry ... military and moral chivalry ... origin of chivalry ... usages of the germans ... election of soldiers ... fraternity ... dignity of obedience ... gallantry ... the age of charlemagne ... chivalry modified by religion ... ceremonies of anglo-saxon inauguration ... chivalry sanctioned by councils, and regarded as a form of christianity ... nature of chivalric nobility ... its degrees ... knight banneret ... his qualifications ... by whom created ... his privileges ... his relation to the baron ... and incidentally of the war-cry and the escutcheon ... the knight ... qualifications for knighthood ... by whom created ... the squirehood ... general view of the other chapters on the institutions of chivalry._ there is little to charm the imagination in the first ages of chivalry. no plumed steeds, no warrior bearing on his crested helm the favour of his lady bright, graced those early times. all was rudeness and gloom. but the subject is not altogether without interest, as it must ever be curious to mark the causes and the first appearances in conduct of any widely spread system of opinions. [sidenote: nature of chivalry.] the martial force of the people who occupied northern and central europe in the time of the romans, was chiefly composed of infantry[ ]; but afterwards a great though imperceptible change took place, and, during all the long period which forms, in historic phrase, the middle ages, cavalry was the strongest arm of military power. terms, expressive of this martial array, were sought for in its distinguishing circumstances. among the ruins of the latin language, _caballus_ signified a horse, _caballarius_ a horseman, and _caballicare_, to ride; and from these words all the languages that were formed on a latin basis, derived their phrases descriptive of military duties on horseback. in all languages of teutonic origin, the same circumstance was expressed by words literally signifying service. the german _knight_, the saxon _cnight_, are synonymous to the french _cavalier_, the italian _cavaliere_, and the spanish _caballero_. the word _rider_ also designated the same person, preceded by, or standing without, the word _knight_. [sidenote: military and moral chivalry.] in the kingdoms which sprang from the ruins of the roman empire, every king, baron, and person of estate was a knight; and therefore the whole face of europe was overspread with cavalry. considered in this aspect, the knighthood and the feudalism of europe were synonymous and coexistent. but there was a chivalry within this chivalry; a moral and personal knighthood; not the well-ordered assemblage of the instruments of ambition, but a military barrier against oppression and tyranny, a corrective of feudal despotism and injustice. something like this description of knighthood may be said to have existed in all ages and countries. its generousness may be paralleled in homeric times, and vice has never reigned entirely without control. but the chivalry, the gallant and christian chivalry of europe, was purer and brighter than any preceding condition of society; for it established woman in her just rank in the moral world, and many of its principles of action proceeded from a divine source, which the classical ancients could not boast of. [sidenote: origin of chivalry.] [sidenote: usages of the germans.] [sidenote: election of soldiers.] some of the rules and maxims of chivalry had their origin in that state of society in which the feudal system arose; and regarded particularly in a military light, we find chivalry a part of the earliest condition of a considerable part of the european world. the bearing of arms was never a matter of mere private choice. among the germans, it rested with the state to declare a man qualified to serve his country in arms. in an assembly of the chiefs of his nation, his father, or a near relation, presented a shield and a javelin to a young and approved candidate for martial honours, who from that moment was considered as a member of the commonwealth, and ranked as a citizen. in northern as well as in central europe, both in scandinavia and germany, the same principle was observed; and a young man at the age of fifteen became an independent agent, by receiving a sword, a buckler, and a lance, at some public meeting.[ ] [sidenote: fraternity.] the spirit of clanship, or fraternity, which ran through the chivalry of the middle ages, is of the remotest antiquity. it existed in germany, in scandinavia, and also in gaul.[ ] in all these countries, every young man, when adorned with his military weapons, entered the train of some chief; but he was rather his companion than his follower; for, however numerous were the steps and distinctions of service, a noble spirit of equality ran through them all. these generous youths formed the bulwark of their leader in war, and were his ornament in peace. this spirit of companionship shewed itself in all its power and beauty in the field. it was disgraceful for a prince to be surpassed in valour by his companions; their military deeds were to be heroic, but the lustre of them was never to dim the brightness of his own fame. the chief fought for victory, the followers fought for their chief. the defence of the leader in battle, to die with him rather than to leave him, were, in the minds of the military fathers of europe, obvious and necessary corollaries of these principles. the spirit of companionship burnt more fiercely in remote ages, than in times commonly called chivalric; for if, by the chance of war, a person was thrown into the hands of an enemy, his military companions would surrender themselves prisoners, thinking it disgraceful to live in security and indolence, when their chief and associate was in misery.[ ] and to bring the matter home to english readers, it may be mentioned, that in the history of our anglo-saxon ancestors, many instances are recorded where vassals refused to survive their lord. cyneheard, brother of the deposed king sigebyrcht, slew the usurper cynewulf; and though he offered freedom to the attendants of the slain, yet they all preferred death to submission to a new lord, and they died in a vain and wild endeavour to revenge him. immediately afterwards fortune frowned on cyneheard, and his eighty-four companions, save one, were slain, though liberty had been offered to them; but declaring that their generosity was not inferior to the generosity of the attendants of cynewulf, they perished in a hopeless battle.[ ] [sidenote: dignity of obedience.] the feeling which, in chivalric times, became designated as the dignity of obedience, may be traced in these circumstances, but it is more clearly shewn in a singular record of the domestic manners of ancient europe; for we learn from athenæus, in his treatise of the suppers of the celts, that it was the custom of the gaulish youths to stand behind the seats, and to attend upon their fathers during the principal daily meal.[ ] here we see the germ, if not of the duties of the squire to the knight, yet of the feeling which suggested their performance. the beautiful subordination of chivalry had its origin in the domestic relations of life; obedience became virtuous when nature sanctioned it, and there could be no loss of personal consideration in a youth performing services which his own father had performed, and which, as years and circumstances advanced, would be rendered to himself. [sidenote: gallantry.] the gallantry of knighthood, that quality which distinguishes, and distinguishes so much to its advantage, the modern from the ancient world, was not created by any chivalric institution. we know indeed that it was cradled in the same sentiments which nursed the other principles of chivalry, but its birth is lost in the remoteness of ages; and i would rather dwell in my ignorance of the precise period of its antiquity, than think with plutarch that the feeling arose from a judicious opinion delivered by some women on occasion of a particular dispute between a few of the celtic tribes.[ ] it was in truth the virtue of the sex, and not any occasional or accidental opinion, that raised them to their high and respectful consideration. the roman historian marked it as a peculiarity among the germans, that marriage was considered by them as a sacred institution[ ], and that a man confined himself to the society of one wife. the mind of tacitus was filled with respect for the virtuous though unpolished people of the north; and, reverting his eyes to rome, the describer of manners becomes the indignant satirist, and he exclaims, that no one in germany dares to ridicule the holy ordinance of marriage, or to call an infringement of its laws a compliance with the manners of the age.[ ] in earlier times, when the cimbri invaded italy, and were worsted by marius, the female teutonic captives wished to be placed among the vestal virgins, binding themselves to perpetual chastity, but the romans could not admire or sympathize with such lofty-mindedness, and the women had recourse to death, the last sad refuge of their virtue. strabo picturesquely describes venerable and hoary-headed prophetesses seated at the council of the cimbri, dressed in long linen vestments of shining white. they were not only embassadresses, but were often entrusted with the charge of governing kingdoms.[ ] the courage of the knight of chivalry was inspired by the lady of his affections, a feature of character clearly deducible from the practice among the german nations, of women mingling in the field of battle with their armed brothers, fathers, and husbands. women were always regarded as incentives to valour, and when warring with a nation of different manners, the german general could congratulate his soldiers on having motives to courage, which the enemy did not possess.[ ] the warrior of the north, like the hero of chivalry, hoped for female smiles from his skill in athletic and martial exercises; and we may take the anecdote as an instance of the general manners of european antiquity, that the chief anxiety of a danish champion, who had lost his chin and one of his cheeks by a single stroke of a sword, was, how he should be received by the danish maidens, when his personal features had been thus dreadfully marred.--"the danish girls will not now willingly or easily give me kisses, if i should perhaps return home," was his complaint. harald the valiant was one of the most eminent adventurers of his age. he had slain mighty men; and after sweeping the seas of the north as a conqueror, he descended to the mediterranean, and the shores of africa. but a greater power now opposed him, and he was taken prisoner, and detained for some time at constantinople. he endeavoured to beguile his gloomy solitude by song; but his muse gave him no joy, for he complains that the reputation he had acquired by so many hazardous exploits, by his skill in single combat, riding, swimming, gliding along the ice, darting, rowing, and guiding a ship through the rocks, had not been able to make any impression on elissiff, or elizabeth, the beautiful daughter of yarilas, king of russia.[ ] [sidenote: the age of charlemagne.] such were the features of the ancient character of europe, that formed the basis of the chivalry of the middle ages; such was chivalry in its rude, unpolished state, the general character of the whole people, rather than the moral chastener of turbulence and ferocity. from receiving his weapons in an assembly of the nation; associating in clans; protecting and revering women; performing acts of service, when affection and duty commanded them: from these simple circumstances and qualities, the most beautiful form of manners arose, that has ever adorned the history of man. it is impossible to mark the exact time when these elements were framed into that system of thought and action which we call chivalry. knighthood was certainly a feature and distinction of society before the days of charlemagne, and its general prevalence in his time is very curiously proved, by the permission which he gave to the governor of friesland to make knights, by girding them with a sword, and giving them a blow.[ ] [sidenote: chivalry modified by religion.] but the key-stone of the arch was wanting, and religion alone could furnish it. a new world of principles and objects was introduced. the defence of the church was one great apparent aim of knightly enterprise, and on this principle, narrow and selfish as it was, many of the charities of christianity were established. the sword was blessed by the priest, before it was delivered to the young warrior. by what means this amalgamation was effected, we know not; the less interesting matter, the date of the circumstance can be more easily ascertained. it was somewhere between the ninth and the eleventh centuries. it surely was not the custom in the days of charlemagne, for he girt the military sword on his son louis the good, agreeably to the rude principles of ancient germanic chivalry[ ], without any religious ceremonies; and a century afterwards we read of the saxon monarch of england, edward the elder, cloathing athelstan in a soldier's dress of scarlet, and fastening round him a girdle ornamented with precious stones, in which a saxon sword in a sheath of gold was inserted.[ ] in the century following, however, during the reign of edward the confessor, we meet with the story of hereward, a very noble anglo-saxon youth, being knighted by the abbot of peterborough. he made confession of his sins, and, after he had received absolution, he earnestly prayed to be made a legitimate _miles_ or knight. [sidenote: ceremonies of anglo-saxon inauguration.] it was the custom of the english, continues the historian, for every one who wished to be consecrated into the legitimate militia, to confess his sins to a bishop, abbot, monk, or other priest, in the evening that preceded the day of his consecration, and to pass the night in the church, in prayer, devotion, and mortifications. on the next morning it was his duty to hear mass, to offer his sword on the altar, and then, after the gospel had been read, the priest blessed the sword, and placed it on the neck of the _miles_, with his benediction. the sacrament of the lord's supper was then communicated to the knight.[ ] this passage, though professedly descriptive only of the military customs of england, may be applied to the general state of europe, with the exception of normandy, whose people despised the religious part of the ceremony. but this feeling of dislike did not endure through all ages, for there is abundant evidence to prove, that in the reign of the norman dynasty in england, the ceremonies of knighthood were religious as well as military; and in the same, the eleventh, century, the usage was similar over all continental europe. [sidenote: chivalry sanctioned by councils, and regarded as a form of christianity.] the eleventh century is a very important epoch in the history of chivalry; for it was declared by the celebrated council of clermont, (which authorised the first crusade) that every person of noble birth, on attaining twelve years of age, should take a solemn oath before the bishop of his diocese, to defend to the uttermost the oppressed, the widows, and orphans; that women of noble birth, both married and single, should enjoy his especial care; and that nothing should be wanting in him to render travelling safe, and to destroy tyranny. in this decree we observe, that all the humanities of chivalry were sanctioned by legal and ecclesiastical power; and that it was intended they should be spread over the whole face of christendom, in order to check the barbarism and ferocity of the times. the form of chivalry was martial; but its objects were both religious and social, and the definition of the word from military circumstances ceased to express its character. the power of the clergy was shewn in a singular manner. chivalry was no longer a soldierly array, but it was called the order, the holy order, and a character of seriousness and solemnity was given to it.[ ] it was accounted an honourable office, above all offices, orders, and acts of the world, except the order of priesthood, for that order appertained to the holy sacrament of the altar. the knightly and clerical characters were every where considered as convertible, and the writers of romances faithfully reflected manners, when their hero at the commencement of the tale was a sir knight, and when at the close of his quests, we find him a sir priest; "and soothly it was said by common fame, so long as age enabled him thereto, that he had been a man of mickle name, renowned much in arms and derring do. but being aged now, and weary too of war's delight, and world's contentious toil, the name of knighthood he did disavow; and hanging up his arms and warlike spoil, from all this world's incumbrance did himself assoil."[ ] [sidenote: nature of chivalric nobility.] knighthood was an institution perfectly peculiar to the military and social state of our ancestors. there was no analogy between the knights of chivalry and the equites of rome, for pecuniary estate was absolutely necessary for the latter; whereas, though the european cavalier was generally a man of some possessions, yet he was often a person promoted into the order of chivalry, solely as a reward for his redoubted behaviour in battle. the roman equites discharged civil functions regarding the administration of justice and the farming of the public revenue; but the chivalry of the middle ages had no such duties to perform. knighthood was also distinct from nobility; for the nobility of europe were the governors and lords of particular districts of a country, and although originally they held their dignities only for life, yet their title soon became hereditary. but knighthood was essentially and always a personal distinction. a man's chivalry died with him. it was conferred upon noblemen and kings, not being like their other titles, the subject of inheritance. it was not absorbed in any other title of rank, and the common form of address, sir[ ] king, shews its high consideration. in the writs of summons to parliament, the word _chevalier_ sometimes followed the baronial title, and more frequently the barons were styled by their martial designation, than named by the titles of their baronies.[ ] [sidenote: its degrees.] there were three degrees in the chivalry of europe, knights-banneret, knights, and esquires. [sidenote: knight-banneret.] [sidenote: his qualifications.] [sidenote: by whom created.] a soldier must have passed through the ranks of esquire and knight, before he could be classed with the knights-banneret. that high dignity could only be possessed by a knight who had served for a length of years in the wars, and with distinction, and who had a considerable retinue of men-at-arms, and other soldiers. to avoid the inconveniences of too minute a division of the martial force of a country, every knight-banneret ought to have had fifty[ ] knights and squires under his command, each being attended by one or more horse soldiers, armed with the cross-bow, or with the long-bow and axe. several followers on foot completed the equipment. but as we often meet with instances of elevating men of very few followers[ ] to the rank of knights-banneret, it is probable that kings usurped the right of conferring the distinction upon their favorites, or men of fame, not chusing that any title of merit should be demanded as a right, or that the royal name should be used only as a passive instrument; for a knight who had proved his chivalry and power, could demand from his sovereign the distinction of banneret. the laws and usages of the world allowed the well-tried and nobly attended soldier to carry his emblazoned pennon to the constable or marshal of the army before or after a battle, and in the field of contest itself, and require leave to raise his banner. a herald exhibited the record of his claim to the distinction, and the leader of the forces cut off the end of the pennon, and this military ensign then became a square banner. a brief exhortation to valiancy and honour was generally added by the constable or herald. these were the whole ceremonies of creation. [sidenote: his privileges.] the privileges of a knight-banneret were considerable. he did not fight under the standard of any baron, but he formed his soldiers under his own. like the rest of the feudal force, he was subject to the commands of the king; but his pride was not galled by being obliged to obey the behests of men of his own rank. [sidenote: his relation to the baron.] [sidenote: the war-cry.] every baron had his banner, and a feudal array of knights, men-at-arms, and others, was numbered by its banners. the banneret and the baron were therefore soldiers of equal authority. the banneret, too, like the baron, had his words of courage, his cry of arms, which he shouted before a battle, in order to animate his soldiers to the charge, and whose sound, heard in the moment of direst peril, rallied the scattered troops by the recollection of the glories of their commander's house, and their own former achievements. the war-cry was also the underwritten ornament of the armorial shield, and worked on the surcoat and banner, and was carved on the tomb both of the knight-banneret and the baron. each of these representatives of chivalry and nobility had his square escutcheon. the wife of a banneret was styled _une dame bannerette_, and the general title of his family was a _hostel bannière_. * * * * * [sidenote: the knight.] the second and most numerous class of chivalric heroes consisted of knights, who were originally called bas-chevaliers, in contradiction to the first class, but in the course of time the word bachelor designated rather the esquire, the candidate for chivalry, than the cavalier himself. these knights of the second class were in spain called _cavalleros_, in distinction from the _riccos hombres_, or knights-banneret; and in france, the illiberal and degrading title of _pauvres hommes_ was sometimes applied to them, to mark their inferiority to the bannerets. [sidenote: qualifications for knighthood.] a general qualification for knighthood was noble or gentle birth, which, in its widest signification, expressed a state of independence. noblemen and gentlemen were words originally synonymous, describing the owners of fiefs. in countries where there were other forms of tenure, some military merit in the occupiers of land seems to have been necessary for elevation to the class of gentlemen. the mere frankelein was certainly not entitled to the designation of gentle; but if he became a distinguished man, an honorary rank was given to the family, and they were esteemed noble.[ ] it is scarcely necessary to mention, that that distinction could alone be obtained by military achievements; for in the early periods of society, the only path to glory was stained with blood. the gentility of a father was more regarded than that of a mother[ ]; and in strictness, if a man were not noble on his paternal side, his lord might cause his spurs to be cut off on a dunghill.[ ] the amount of estate necessary for knighthood was not regulated by any chivalric institution. but the expence of the order was by no means inconsiderable. his inauguration was a scene of splendour; and liberality was one of the chiefest duties of his character. he could not travel in quest of adventures without some charge[ ], and his squire and other personal attendants were of course maintained by him. though a man, says froissart, be never so rich, men of arms and war waste all; for he that will have service of men of war, they must be paid truly their wages, or else they will do nothing available.[ ] the knight's harness for the working day was not without its ornaments; and the tournament was rendered splendid by the brilliancy of his armour and his steed's caparisons. there was always a rivalry of expence among knights who formed an expedition; and of all the recorded instances of this feeling, perhaps the most interesting one is furnished by froissart. speaking of a projected invasion of england by the french about the year , he says, that gold and silver were no more spared than though they had rained out of the clouds, or been skimmed from the sea. the great lords of france sent their servants to sluse, to apparel and make ready their provisions and ships, and to furnish them with every thing needful. every man garnished his ship, and painted it with his arms. painters had then a good season, for they had whatever they desired. they made banners, pennons, and standards of silk so goodly, that it was a marvel to behold them; also they painted the masts of their ships from the one end to the other, glittering with gold, and devices, and arms; and especially the lord guy de la tremouille garnished his ship richly; the paintings cost more than two thousand francs.[ ] [sidenote: by whom created.] we have seen that originally a body of soldiers was selected by the state from the general mass of the people. afterwards, kings and nobles in their several jurisdictions maintained the power of creation. it was also assumed by the clergy, but not retained long; nor were they anxious to recover it, for, as they assisted in the religious ceremonies of inauguration, they possessed a considerable share of power by the milder means of influence. knighthood never altogether lost its character of being a distinction, a reward of merit, presumed, indeed, rather than proved, in the original instances which have been mentioned. but though it was often bestowed as an ornament of custom on the nobility and gentry of a state, yet it often was the bright guerdon of achievements in arms. of military merit every knight was supposed to be a sufficient judge; and therefore every knight had the power of bestowing its reward. men-at-arms and other soldiers were often exalted to the class of knights, and the honour was something more than a chimera of the imagination; for the title and consideration of a gentleman immediately accompanied the creation.[ ] thus, in the time of richard ii., the governor of norwich, called sir robert sale, was no gentleman born, says froissart; but he had the grace to be reputed sage and valiant in arms, and for his valiantness king edward had made him a knight. the same sovereign also knighted a man-at-arms, who had originally been a tailor, and who, after the conclusion of the king's wars in france, crossed the alps into italy, and under the name of sir john hawkwood, headed the company of white or english adventurers, so famous in the italian wars.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: squirehood.] the third and last class of chivalry was the squirehood. it was not composed of young men who carried the shields of knights, and were learning the art of war; but the squires were a body of efficient soldiers, inferior in rank to the knight, and superior to the men-at-arms.[ ] they had been originally intended for the higher classes of chivalry, but various considerations induced them to remain in the lowest rank. it was a maxim in chivalry, that a man had better be a good esquire than a poor knight. many an esquire, therefore, declined the honor of knighthood, on account of the slenderness of his revenues. edward iii., during his wars in france, would have knighted collart dambreticourte, the esquire of his own person; but the young man declined the honor, for, to use his own simple phrase, he could not furnish his helmet.[ ] barons, knights, and esquires, form froissart's frequent description of the parts of an army; and although there were many young men in the field, who, released from their duties on knights, were aiming at distinction, yet there were many more who remained squires during all their military career, and therefore became recognised as a part of the chivalric array. some men of small landed estate, wishing to avoid the expences and the duties of knighthood, remained esquires. they lost nothing of real power by their prudence, for they were entitled to lead their vassals into the field of battle under a penoncele, or small triangular streamer, as the knight led his under a pennon, or a banneret his under a banner. military honours and commands also could be reached by the squirehood, as well as by the knighthood of a country. both classes were considered gentle, and were entitled to wear coat armour. * * * * * such was the general form of the personal nobility of chivalry. some parts of the outline varied in different countries, as will be seen when we watch its progress through europe; but previously to that enquiry, the education, the duties, and the equipment of the knight require description; and as _loyauté aux dames_ is the motto alike of the writers and the readers of works on chivalry, i shall make no apology for suspending the historical investigation, while i endeavour to portray the lady-love of the gallant cavalier, and delay my steps in that splendid scene of beauty's power, the tournament. chap. ii. the education of a knight. the ceremonies of inauguration and of degradation. _description in romances of knightly education ... hawking and hunting ... education commenced at the age of seven ... duties of the page ... personal service ... love and religion ... martial exercises ... the squire ... his duties of personal service ... curious story of a bold young squire ... various titles of squires ... duties of the squire in battle ... gallantry ... martial exercises ... horsemanship ... importance of squires in the battle field ... particularly at the battle of bovines ... preparations for knighthood ... the anxiety of the squire regarding the character of the knight from whom he was to receive the accolade ... knights made in the battle field ... inconveniences of this ... knights of mines ... general ceremonies of degradation ... ceremonies in england._ [sidenote: description in romances of knightly education.] the romances of chivalry, in their picturesque and expressive representation of manners, present us with many interesting glimpses of the education in knighthood of the feudal nobility's children. the romance of sir tristrem sings thus; "now hath rohant in ore[ ], tristrem, and is full blithe, the childe he set to lore, and lernd him al so swithe[ ]; in bok while he was thore he stodieth ever that stithe[ ], tho that bi him wore of him weren ful blithe, that bold. his craftes gan he kithe[ ], oyaines[ ] hem when he wold. "fiftene yere he gan him fede, sir rohant the trewe; he taught him ich alede[ ] of ich maner of glewe;[ ] and everich playing thede, old lawes and newe. on hunting oft he yede[ ], to swich alawe he drewe, al thus; more he couthe[ ] of veneri than couthe manerious." very similar to this picture is the description of the education of kyng horn, in the romance which bears his name. "stiward tac thou here, my fundling for to lere of thine mestere, of wode and of ryvere, ant toggen o' the harpe, with is nayles sharpe; ant tech him alle the listes that thou ever wystes byfore me to kerven, ant of my coupe to serven; ant his feren devyse with ous other servise. horn, child, thou understand tech him of harpe and of song."[ ] for only one more extract from the old romances, shall i claim the indulgence of my readers in the words of the minstrel, "mekely, lordynges gentyll and fre, lysten awhile and herken to me." the life of sir ipomydon is a finished picture of knightly history. his foster-father, sir tholomew, ----"a clerk he toke that taught the child upon the boke bothe to synge and to rede, and after he taught him other dede. afterwards to serve in halle, both to grete and to small. before the king meat to kerve hye and low feyre to serve. both of houndis and hawkis game, after he taught him all and same, in se, in field, and eke in river, in wood to chase the wild deer; and in the field to ride a steed, that all men had joy of his deed." [sidenote: hunting and hawking.] the mystery of rivers and the mystery of woods were important parts of knightly education. the mystery of woods was hunting; the mystery of rivers was not fishing, but hawking, an expression which requires a few words of explanation. in hawking, the pursuit of water-fowls afforded most diversion. chaucer says that he could "ryde on hawking by the river, with grey gos hawk on hand." the favourite bird of chase was the heron, whose peculiar flight is not horizontal, like that of field birds, but perpendicular. it is wont to rise to a great height on finding itself the object of pursuit, while its enemy, using equal efforts to out-tower it, at length gains the advantage, swoops upon the heron with prodigious force, and strikes it to the ground. the amusement of hawking, therefore, could be viewed without the spectators moving far from the river's side where the game was sprung; and from that circumstance it was called the mystery of rivers.[ ] but i shall attempt no further to describe in separate portions the subjects of knightly education, and to fill up the sketches of the old romances; for those sketches, though correct, present no complete outline, and the military exercises are altogether omitted. we had better trace the cavalier, through the gradations of his course, in the castle of his lord. * * * * * the education of a knight generally commenced at the age of seven or eight years[ ], for no true lover of chivalry wished his children to pass their time in idleness and indulgence. at a baronial feast, a lady in the full glow of maternal pride pointed to her offspring, and demanded of her husband whether he did not bless heaven for having given him four such fine and promising boys. "dame," replied her lord, thinking her observation ill timed and foolish, "so help me god and saint martin, nothing gives me greater sorrow and shame than to see four great sluggards who do nothing but eat, and drink, and waste their time in idleness and folly." like other children of gentle birth, therefore, the boys of this noble duke guerin of montglaive, in spite of their mother's wishes, commenced their chivalric exercises.[ ] in some places there were schools appointed by the nobles of the country, but most frequently their own castles served. every feudal lord had his court, to which he drew the sons and daughters of the poorer gentry of his domains; and his castle was also frequented by the children of men of equal rank with himself, for (such was the modesty and courtesy of chivalry) each knight had generally some brother in arms, whom he thought better fitted than himself to grace his children with noble accomplishments. [sidenote: duties of the page.] [sidenote: personal service.] the duties of the boy for the first seven years of his service were chiefly personal. if sometimes the harsh principles of feudal subordination gave rise to such service, it oftener proceeded from the friendly relations of life; and as in the latter case it was voluntary, there was no loss of honourable consideration in performing it. the dignity of obedience, that principle which blends the various shades of social life, and which had its origin in the patriarchal manners of early europe, was now fostered in the castles of the feudal nobility. the light-footed youth attended the lord and his lady in the hall, and followed them in all their exercises of war and pleasure; and it was considered unknightly for a cavalier to wound a page in battle. he also acquired the rudiments of those incongruous subjects, religion, love, and war, so strangely blended in chivalry; and generally the intellectual and moral education of the boy was given by the ladies of the court. [sidenote: love and religion.] from the lips of the ladies the gentle page learned both his catechism and the art of love, and as the religion of the day was full of symbols, and addressed to the senses, so the other feature of his devotion was not to be nourished by abstract contemplation alone. he was directed to regard some one lady of the court as the type of his heart's future mistress; she was the centre of all his hopes and wishes; to her he was obedient, faithful, and courteous. while the young jean de saintré was a page of honour at the court of the french king, the dame des belles cousines enquired of him the name of the mistress of his heart's affections. the simple youth replied, that he loved his lady mother, and next to her, his sister jacqueline was dear to him. "young man," rejoined the lady, "i am not speaking of the affection due to your mother and sister; but i wish to know the name of the lady to whom you are attached _par amours_." the poor boy was still more confused, and he could only reply, that he loved no one _par amours_. the dame des belles cousines charged him with being a traitor to the laws of chivalry, and declared that his craven spirit was evinced by such an avowal. "whence," she enquired, "sprang the valiancy and knightly feats of launcelot, gawain, tristram, giron the courteous, and other ornaments of the round table; of ponthus, and of those knights and squires of this country whom i could enumerate: whence the grandeur of many whom i have known to arise to renown, except from the noble desire of maintaining themselves in the grace and esteem of the ladies; without which spirit-stirring sentiment they must have ever remained in the shades of obscurity? and do you, coward valet, presume to declare that you possess no sovereign lady, and desire to have none?" jean underwent a long scene of persecution on account of his confession of the want of proper chivalric sentiment, but he was at length restored to favour by the intercession of the ladies of the court. he then named as his mistress matheline de coucy, a child only ten years old. "matheline is indeed a pretty girl," replied the dame des belles cousines, "but what profit, what honour, what comfort, what aid, what council for advancing you in chivalrous fame can you derive from such a choice? you should elect a lady of noble blood, who has the ability to advise, and the power to assist you; and you should serve her so truly, and love her so loyally, as to compel her to acknowledge the honourable affection which you entertain for her. for, be assured, that there is no lady, however cruel and haughty she may be, but through long service, will be induced to acknowledge and reward loyal affection with some portion of mercy. by such a course you will gain the praise of worthy knighthood, and till then i would not give an apple for you or your achievements: but he who loyally serves his lady will not only be blessed to the height of man's felicity in this life, but will never fall into those sins which will prevent his happiness hereafter. pride will be entirely effaced from the heart of him who endeavours by humility and courtesy to win the grace of a lady. the true faith of a lover will defend him from the other deadly sins of anger, envy, sloth, and gluttony; and his devotion to his mistress renders the thought impossible of his conduct ever being stained with the vice of incontinence."[ ] [sidenote: martial exercises.] the military exercises of the page were not many, and they were only important, inasmuch as they were the earliest ideas of his life, and that consequently the habits of his character were formed on them. he was taught to leap over trenches, to launch or cast spears and darts, to sustain the shield, and in his walk to imitate the measured tread of the soldier. he fought with light staves against stakes raised for the nonce, as if they had been his mortal enemies, or met in encounters equally perilous his youthful companions of the castle.[ ] during the seven years of these instructions he was called a valet, a damoiseau, or a page. the first title was of the most ancient usage, and was thoroughly chivalric; the second is of nearly equal authority[ ], but the word page was not much used till so late a period as the days of philip de comines.[ ] before that time it was most frequently applied to the children of the vulgar. * * * * * [sidenote: the squire.] [sidenote: his duties of personal service.] the next titles of the candidate for chivalry were armiger, scutifer or escuyer: but though these words denoted personal military attendance, yet his personal domestic service continued for some time. he prepared the refection in the morning, and then betook himself to his chivalric exercises. at dinner he, as well as the pages, furnished forth and attended at the table, and presented to his lord and the guests the water wherewith they washed their hands before and after the repast. the knight and the squire never sat before the same table, nor was even the relation of father and son allowed to destroy this principle of chivalric subordination. we learn from paulus warnefridus, the historian of the lombards in italy, that among that nation the son of a king did not dine with his father, unless he had been knighted by a foreign sovereign.[ ] such too was the practice among nations whose chivalry wore a brighter polish than it shone with among the italian lombards. in arragon, no son of a knight sat at the table of a knight till he had been admitted into the order.[ ] the young english squire in the time of edward iii. carved before his fader at the table; and again, in the merchant's tale, it is said,-- "all but a squire that hight damian, that carft before the knight many a day." [sidenote: curious story of a squire.] and about the same time the sewers and cup-bearers of the earl of foix were his sons.[ ] the squire cup-bearer was often as fine and spirited a character as his knight. once, when edward the black prince was sojourning in bourdeaux, he entertained in his chamber many of his english lords. a squire brought wine into the room, and the prince, after he had drank, sent the cup to sir john chandos, selecting him as the first in honour, because he was constable of acquitain. the knight drank, and by his command the squire bore the cup to the earl of oxenford, a vain, weak man, who, unworthy of greatness, was ever seeking for those poor trifles which noble knights overlooked and scorned. feeling his dignity offended that he had not been treated according to his rank, he refused the cup, and with mocking gesture desired the squire to carry it to his master, sir john chandos. "why so?" replied the youth, "he hath drank already, therefore drink you, since he hath offered it to you. if you will not drink, by saint george, i will cast the wine in your face." the earl, judging from the stern and dogged manner of the squire that this was no idle threat, quietly set the cup to his mouth.[ ] after dinner the squires prepared the chess tables or arranged the hall for minstrelsy and dancing. they participated in all these amusements; and herein the difference between the squire and the mere domestic servant was shown. in strictness of propriety the squire's dress ought to have been brown, or any of those dark colours which our ancestors used to call '_sad_.' but the gay spirit of youth was loth to observe this rule. "embroudered was he, as it were a mede, alle ful of freshe floures, white and rede." his dress was never of the fine texture, nor so highly ornamented as that of the knight. the squires often made the beds of their lords, and the service of the day was concluded by their presenting them with the vin du coucher. "les lis firent le escuier, si coucha chacun son seignor." [sidenote: various titles of squires.] personal service was considered so much the duty of a squire that his title was always applied to some particular part of it. the squires of a lord had each his respective duties--one was the squire of the chamber, or the chamberlain; and another the carving squire. every branch of the domestic arrangements of the castle was, under the charge of an aspirant to chivalry. spenser, who has opened to us so many interesting views of chivalric manners, has admirably painted the domestic squire discharging some of his duties:-- "there fairly them receives a gentle squire, of mild demeanour and rare courtesy, right cleanly clad in comely sad attire; in word and deed that show'd great modesty, and knew his good to all of each degree, hight reverence. he them with speeches meet, does faire entreat, no courting nicety, but simple, true, and eke unfained sweet, as might become a squire so great persons to greet."[ ] [sidenote: his duties in battle.] the most honorable squire was he that was attached to the person of his lord; he was called the squire of the body, and was in truth for the time the only military youth of the class: every squire, however, became in turn by seniority the martial squire. he accompanied his lord into the field of battle, carrying his shield and armour, while the page usually bore the helmet.[ ] he held the stirrup, and assisted the knight to arm. there was always a line of squires in the rear of a line of knights; the young cavaliers supplying their lords with weapons, assisting them to rise when overthrown, and receiving their prisoners.[ ] the banner of the banneret and baron was displayed by the squire. the pennon of the knight was also waved by him when his leader was only a knight, and conducted so many men-at-arms, and other vassals, that, to give dignity and importance to his command, he removed his pennon from his own lance to that of his attendant. we can readily believe the historians of ancient days, that it was right pleasant to witness the seemly pride and generous emulation with which the squires of the baron, the banneret, and the knight displayed the various ensigns of their master's chivalry. [sidenote: gallantry.] but whatever were the class of duties to which the candidate for chivalry was attached, he never forgot that he was also the squire of dames. during his course of a valet he had been taught to play with love, and as years advanced, nature became his tutor. since the knights were bound by oath to defend the feebler sex, so the principle was felt in all its force and spirit by him who aspired to chivalric honours. hence proceeded the qualities of kindness, gentleness, and courtesy. the minstrels in the castle harped of love as well as of war, and from them (for all young men had not, like sir ipomydon, clerks for their tutors) the squire learnt to express his passion in verse. this was an important feature of chivalric education, for among the courtesies of love, the present of books from knights to ladies was not forgotten, and it more often happened than monkish austerity approved of, that a volume, bound in sacred guise, contained, not a series of hymns to the virgin mary, but a variety of amatory effusions to a terrestrial mistress.[ ] love was mixed in the mind of the young squire with images of war, and he, therefore, thought that his mistress, like honour, could only be gained through difficulties and dangers; and from this feeling proceeded the romance of his passion. but while no obstacle, except the maiden's disinclination, was in his way, he sang, he danced, he played on musical instruments, and practised all the arts common to all ages and nations to win the fair. in chaucer, we have a delightful picture of the manners of the squire:-- "singing he was or floyting all the day, he was as fresh as is the month of may.[ ] he could songs make, and well endite, just and eke dance, and well pourtraie and write; so hote he loved, that by nighterdale (night time) he slept no more than doth the nightingale." [sidenote: martial exercises.] military exercises were mingled with the anxieties of love. he practised every mode by which strength and activity could be given to the body. he learnt to endure hunger and thirst; to disregard the seasons' changes, and like the roman youths in the campus martius, when covered with dust, he plunged into the stream that watered the domains of his lord. he accustomed himself to wield the sword, to thrust the lance, to strike with the axe, and to wear armour. the most favourite exercise was that which was called the quintain: for it was particularly calculated to practise the eye and hand in giving a right direction to the lance. a half figure of a man, armed with sword and buckler, was placed on a post, and turned on a pivot, so that if the assailant with his lance hit him not on the middle of the breast but on the extremities, he made the figure turn round, and strike him an ill-aimed blow, much to the merriment of the spectators. the game of the quintain was sometimes played by hanging a shield upon a staff fixed in the ground, and the skilful squire riding apace struck the shield in such a manner as to detach it from its ligatures.[ ] [sidenote: horsemanship.] but of all the exercises of chivalry, none was thought so important as horsemanship. "wel could he sit on horse and fair ride," is chaucer's praise of his young squire. horsemanship was considered the peculiar science of men of gentle blood. that braggadochio had not been trained in chivalry was apparent from his bad riding. even his valiant courser chafed and foamed, for he disdained to bear any base burthen.[ ] notions of religion were blended with those of arms in the mind of the squire, for his sword was blessed by the priest, and delivered to him at the altar. as he advanced to manhood he left to younger squires most of the domestic duties of his station. without losing his title of squire he became also called a bachelor, a word also used to designate a young unmarried knight. he went on military expeditions. the squire in chaucer, though but twenty years old, had "sometime been in chevauchee, in flanders, in artois, and in picardy." love was the inspirer of his chivalry: for he "bore him well, as of so little space, in hope to stonden in his lady's grace."[ ] [sidenote: importance of squires in battles.] [sidenote: particularly at the battle of bovines.] for the squire, instead of being merely the servant of the knight, often periled himself in his defence. when the knight was impetuous beyond the well-tempered bravery of chivalry, the admirer of his might followed him so close, and adventured himself so jeopardously, as to cover him with his shield.[ ] a valiant knight, ernalton of saint colombe, was on the point of being discomfited by a squire called guillonet, of salynges; but when the squire of sir ernalton saw his master almost at utterance, he went to him, and took his axe out of his hands, and said, "ernalton, go your way, and rest you; ye can no longer fight;" and then with the axe he went to the hostile squire, says froissart, and gave him such a stroke on the head that he was astonied, and had nigh fallen to the earth. he recovered himself, and aimed a blow at his antagonist, which would have been fatal, but that the squire slipped under it, and, throwing his arms round guillonet, wrestled, and finally threw him. the victor exclaimed that he would slay his prostrate foe, unless he would yield himself to his master. the name of his master was asked: "ernalton of saint colombe," returned the squire, "with whom thou hast fought all this season." guillonet seeing the dagger raised to strike him, yielded him to render his body prisoner at lourde within fifteen days after, rescue or no rescue.[ ] the squires were brought into the _mêlée_ of knights, at the famous battle of bovines, on the th of july, . the force of philip augustus was far inferior in number to that of the united germans and flemish; and, in order to prevent them from surrounding him, he lengthened his line by placing the squires at the two extremities of the knights. the mail-clad chivalry of the emperor otho were indignant at such soldiers daring to front them; but the young warriors were not dismayed by haughty looks and contumelious speeches, and their active daring mainly contributed to the gaining of the victory, the most considerable one that france had ever obtained.[ ] [sidenote: preparations for knighthood.] seldom before the age of twenty-one was a squire admitted to the full dignity of chivalry. chaucer's squire was twenty, and had achieved feats of arms. st. louis particularly commanded that the honour of knighthood should not be conferred upon any man under the age of twenty-one. as the time approached for the completing and crowning of his character, his religious duties became more strictly enforced. knighthood was assimilated, as much as possible, to the clerical state, and prayer, confession, and fasting were necessary for the candidate for both. the squire had his sponsors, the emblems of spiritual regeneration were applied to him, and the ceremonies of inauguration commenced by considering him a new man. he went into a bath, and then was placed in a bed. they were symbolical, the bath of purity of soul, and the bed of the rest which he was hereafter to enjoy in paradise. in the middle ages people generally reposed naked[ ], and it was not till after he had slept that the neophyte was clad with a shirt. this white dress was considered symbolical of the purity of his new character. a red garment was thrown over him to mark his resolution to shed his blood in the cause of heaven. the vigil of arms was a necessary preliminary to knighthood. the night before his inauguration he passed in a church, armed from head to foot[ ], and engaged in prayer and religious meditation. one of the last acts of preparation was the shaving of his head to make its appearance resemble that of the ecclesiastical tonsure. to part with hair was always regarded in the church as a symbol of servitude to god.[ ] [sidenote: the inauguration.] the ceremony of inauguration was generally performed in a church, or hall of a castle, on the occasion of some great religious or civic festival. the candidate advanced to the altar, and, taking his sword from the scarf to which it was appended, he presented it to the priest, who laid it upon the altar, praying that heaven would bless it, and that it might serve for a protection of the church, of widows, and orphans, and of all the servants of god against the tyrannies of pagans and other deceivers, in whose eyes he mercifully hoped that it would appear as an instrument of terror. the young soldier took his oaths of chivalry; he solemnly swore to defend the church, to attack the wicked, to respect the priesthood, to protect women and the poor, to preserve the country in tranquillity, and to shed his blood, even to its last drop, in behalf of his brethren. the priest then re-delivered the sword to him with the assurance that, as it had received god's blessing, he who wielded it would prevail against all enemies and the adversaries of the church. he then exhorted him to gird his sword upon his strong thigh, that with it he might exercise the power of equity to destroy the hopes of the profane, to fight for god's church, and defend his faithful people, and to repel and destroy the hosts of the wicked, whether they were heretics or pagans. finally, the soldier in chivalry was exhorted to defend widows and orphans, and to restore and preserve the desolate, to revenge the wronged, to confirm the virtuous; and he was assured that by performing these high duties he would attain heavenly joys.[ ] the young warrior afterwards advanced to the supreme lord in the assembly, and knelt before him with clasped hands;--an attitude copied from feudal manners, and the only circumstance of feudality in the whole ceremony. the lord then questioned him whether his vows had any objects distinct from the wish to maintain religion and chivalry. the soldier having answered in the negative, the ceremony was permitted to advance. he was invested with all the exterior marks of chivalry. the knights and ladies of the court attended on him, and delivered to him the various pieces of his harness.[ ] the armour varied with the military customs of different periods and of different countries, but some matters were of permanent usage. the spurs were always put on first, and the sword was belted on last. the concluding sign of being dubbed or adopted into the order of knighthood was a slight blow[ ] given by the lord to the cavalier, and called the accolade, from the part of the body, the neck, whereon it was struck. the lord then proclaimed him a knight in the name of god and the saints, and such cavaliers as were present embraced their newly-made brother. the priest exhorted him to go forth like a man, and observe the ordinances of heaven. impressed with the solemnity of the scene, all the other knights renewed in a few brief and energetic sentences their vows of chivalry; and while the hall was gleaming with drawn swords, the man of god again took up the word, blessing him who had newly undertaken, and those who had been long engaged in holy warfare, and praying that all the hosts of the enemies of heaven might be destroyed by christian chivalry. the assembly then dispersed. the new knight, on leaving the hall, vaulted on his steed, and showed his skill in the management of the lance, that the admiring people might know that a cavalier had been elected for their protection. he distributed largesses among the servants and minstrels of the castle, for whoso received so great a gift as the order of chivalry honoured not his order if he gave not after his ability. the remainder of the day was passed in congratulation and festivity.[ ] many of the most virtuous affections of the heart wound themselves round that important circumstance in a man's life, his admission into knighthood. he always regarded with filial piety the cavalier who invested him with the order. he never would take him prisoner if they were ranged on opposite sides, and he would have forfeited all title to chivalric honours if he had couched his lance against him. [sidenote: squires anxious to be knighted by great characters.] a noble aspirant to chivalry would only receive the accolade from a warrior, whose fame had excited his emulation, or sometimes the feelings of feudal attachment prevailed over the higher and sterner sense of chivalry. in expectation of a battle, the earl of buckingham called forth a gentle squire of savoy, and said, "sir, if god be pleased, i think we shall this day have a battle; therefore i wish that you would become a knight." the squire excused himself by saying, "sir, god thank you for the nobleness that ye would put me unto; but, sir, i will never be knight without i am made by the hands of my natural lord, the earl of savoy."[ ] a very singular tribute was paid to bravery during the famous battle of homildon hill. when the cloth-yard arrows of the english yeomen were piercing the opposite line through and through, sir john swinton exhorted the scotsmen not to stand like deer to be shot at, but to indulge their ancient courage and meet their enemy hand to hand. his wish, however, was echoed only by one man, adam gordon, and between their families a mortal feud existed. generously forgetting the hatred which each house bore to the other, gordon knelt before swinton, and solicited to be knighted by so brave a man. the accolade was given, and the two friends, like companions in arms, gallantly charged the english. if a kindred spirit had animated the whole of the scottish line the fate of the day might have been reversed; but the two noble knights were only supported by about an hundred men-at-arms devoted to all their enterprises; and they all perished.[ ] [sidenote: knights made in battle-field.] [sidenote: inconvenience of this.] the ceremonies of inauguration which have been described were gone through when knighthood was conferred on great and public occasions of festivity, but they often gave place to the power of rank and circumstances. princes were exempted from the laborious offices of page and squire. men were often adopted into chivalry on the eve of a battle, as it was considered that a sense of their new honours would inspire their gallantry. once during the war of our black prince in spain, more than three hundred soldiers raised their pennons; many of them had been squires, but in one case the distinction was entirely complimentary, for peter the cruel, who could boast neither chivalric qualities nor chivalric services, was dubbed. there was scarcely a battle in the middle ages which was not preceded or followed by a large promotion of men to the honour of knighthood. sometimes, indeed, they were regularly educated squires, but more frequently the mere contingency of the moment was regarded, and soldiers distinguished only for their bravery and ungraced by the gentle virtues of chivalry were knighted. we often read of certain squires being made cavaliers and raising their pennons, but very often no pennons were raised, that is to say, the men who were knighted were not able to summon round their lances a single man-at-arms; hence it ocurred that the world was overspread with poor knights, some of whom brought chivalry into disgrace by depredations and violence; others wandered about the world in quest of adventures, and let out their swords to their richer brethren. in the romance of partenopex of blois, there is a picture of a knight of this last class. "so riding, they o'ertake an errant knight, well hors'd, and large of limb, sir gaudwin hight, he nor of castle nor of land was lord, houseless he reap'd the harvest of the sword; and now, not more on fame than profit bent, rode with blithe heart unto the tournament; for cowardice he held it deadly sin, and sure his mind and bearing were akin, the face an index to the soul within; it seem'd that he, such pomp his train bewray'd, had shap'd a goodly fortune by his blade; his knaves were point device, in livery dight, with sumpter nags, and tents for shelter in the night." [sidenote: knights of mines.] cavaliers sometimes took their title from the place where they were knighted: a very distinguished honor was to be called a knight of the mines, which was to be obtained by achieving feats of arms in the subterranean process of a siege. the mines were the scenes of knightly valour; they were lighted up by torches; trumpets and other war instruments resounded, and the general affair of the siege was suspended, while the knights tried their prowess; the singularity of the mode of combat giving a zest to the encounters. no prisoners could be taken, as a board, breast high, placed in the passage by mutual consent, divided the warriors. swords or short battle-axes were the only weapons used. in the year , the castle of vertueill, in poictou, then held by the english, was besieged by the duke of bourbon. its walls raised on a lofty rock were not within the play of the battering ram, and therefore the tedious operation of the mine was resorted to: both parties frequently met and fought in the excavated chambers, and a battle of swords was one day carried on between regnaud de montferrand, the squire of the castle, and the duke of bourbon, each being ignorant of the name and quality of the other. at length the cry "bourbon, bourbon! our lady!" shouted by the attendants of the duke, in their eager joy at the fray, struck the ears of the squire, and arrested his hand. he withdrew some paces, and enquired whether the duke were present: when they assured him of the fact, he requested to receive the honour of knighthood in the mine, from the hands of the duke, and offering to deliver up the castle to him in return for the distinction, and from respect for the honour and valour he found in him. never was a castle in the pride of its strength and power gained by easier means. the keys were delivered to the duke of bourbon by regnaud de montferrand, and the honor of knighthood, with a goodly courser and a large golden girdle, were bestowed on the squire in return.[ ] [sidenote: general ceremonies of degradation.] such were the various ceremonies of chivalric inauguration. those of degradation should be noticed. what the offences were which were punishable by degradation it is impossible to specify. if a knight offended against the rules of the order of chivalry he was degraded, inasmuch as he was despised by his brother knights; and as honour was the life-blood of chivalry, he dreaded contempt more than the sword. still, however, there were occasions when a knight might be formally deprived of his distinctions. the ceremony of degradation generally took place after sentence, and previous to the execution of a legal judgment against him.[ ] sometimes his sword was broken over his head, and his spurs were chopped off; and, to make the bitterness of insult a part of the punishment, these actions were performed by a person of low condition; but at other times the forms of degradation were very elaborate. the knight who was to be degraded was in the first instance armed by his brother knights from head to foot, as if he had been going to the battle-field; they then conducted him to a high stage, raised in a church, where the king and his court, the clergy, and the people, were assembled; thirty priests sung such psalms as were used at burials; at the end of every psalm they took from him a piece of armour. first, they removed his helmet, the defence of disloyal eyes, then his cuirass on the right side, as the protector of a corrupt heart; then his cuirass on the left side, as from a member consenting, and thus with the rest; and when any piece of armour was cast upon the ground, the king of arms and heralds cried, "behold the harness of a disloyal and miscreant knight!" a basin of gold or silver full of warm water was then brought upon the stage, and a herald holding it up, demanded the knight's name. the pursuivants answered that which in truth was his designation. then the chief king of arms said, "that is not true, for he is a miscreant and false traitor, and hath transgressed the ordinances of knighthood." the chaplains answered, "let us give him his right name." the trumpets sounded a few notes, supposed to express the demand, "what shall be done with him?" the king, or his chief officer, who was present replied, "let him with dishonour and shame be banished from my kingdom as a vile and infamous man, that hath offended against the honour of knighthood." the heralds immediately cast the warm water upon the face of the disgraced knight, as though he were newly baptized, saying, "henceforth thou shalt be called by thy right name, traitor." then the king, with twelve other knights, put upon them mourning garments, declaring sorrow, and thrust the degraded knight from the stage: by the buffettings of the people he was driven to the altar, where he was put into a coffin, and the burial-service of the church was solemnly read over him.[ ] [sidenote: ceremonies in england.] the english customs regarding degradation are minutely stated by stowe in the case of an english knight, sir andrew harcley, earl of carlisle who (in the time of edward ii.) was deprived of his knighthood, previously to his suffering the penalties of the law for a treasonable correspondence with robert bruce. "he was led to the bar as an earl, worthily apparelled, with his sword girt about him, horsed, booted, and spurred, and unto him sir anthony lucy (his judge) spoke in this manner: 'sir andrew,' quoth he, 'the king for thy valiant service hath done thee great honour, and made thee earl of carlisle, since which time thou as a traitor to thy lord, the king, led his people, that should have helped him at the battle of heighland, away by the county of copland, and through the earldom of lancaster, by which means our lord the king was discomfited there of the scots, through thy treason and falseness; whereas, if thou haddest come betimes, he hadde had the victory, and this treason thou committed for the great sum of gold and silver that thou received of james douglas, a scot, the king's enemy. our lord the king wills, therefore, that the order of knighthood, by the which thou received all the honour and worship upon thy body, be brought to nought, and thy state undone, that other knights of lower degree may after thee beware, and take example truly to serve.' then commanded he to hew his spurs from his heels, then to break his sword over his head, which the king had given him to keep and defend his land therewith, when he made him earl. after this, he let unclothe him of his furred tabard, and of his hood, of his coat of arms, and also of his girdle; and when this was done, sir anthony said unto him, 'andrew,' quoth he, 'now art thou no knight, but a knave; and for thy treason the king wills that thou shalt be hanged and drawn, and thy head smitten off from thy body, and burned before thee, and thy body quartered, and thy head being smitten off, afterwards to be set upon london bridge, and thy four quarters shall be sent into four good towns of england, that all others may beware by thee;' and as sir anthony lucy had said, so was it done in all things, on the last day of october."[ ] chap. iii. the equipment. _beauty of the chivalric equipment ... the lance ... the pennon ... the axe, maule, and martel ... the sword ... fondness of the knight for it ... swords in romances ... the shield ... various sorts of mail ... mail ... mail and plate ... plate harness ... the scarf ... surcoats ... armorial bearings ... surcoats of the military orders ... the dagger of mercy ... story of its use ... value of enquiries into ancient armour ... a precise knowledge unattainable ... its general features interesting ... the broad lines of the subject ... excellence of italian armour ... armour of the squire, &c. ... allegories made on armour ... the horse of the knight._ the fierce equipage of war deserves a fuller consideration than was given to it in the last chapter. the horse whereon the knight dashed to the perilous encounter should be described, the weapons by which he established the honour of his fame and the nobleness of his mistress's beauty deserve something more than a general notice. never was military costume more splendid and graceful than in the days which are emphatically called "the days of the shield and the lance." what can modern warfare present in comparison with the bright and glittering scene of a goodly company of gentle knights pricking on the plain with nodding plumes, emblazoned shields, silken pennons streaming in the wind, and the scarf, that beautiful token of lady-love, crossing the strong and polished steel cuirass. [sidenote: the lance.] the lance was the chief offensive weapon of the knight: its staff was commonly formed from the ash-tree. [sidenote: the pennon.] its length was fitted to the vigour and address of him who bore it, and its iron and sharpened head was fashioned agreeably to his taste.[ ] to the top of the wooden part of the lance was generally fixed an ensign, or piece of silk, linen, or stuff. on this ensign was marked the cross, if the expedition of the soldier had for its object the holy land, or it bore some part of his heraldry; and in the latter case, when the lance was fixed in the ground near the entrance of the owner's tent, it served to designate the bearer. originally this ensign was called a gonfanon, the combination of two teutonic words, signifying war and a standard. subsequently, when the ensign was formed of rich stuffs and silks, it was called a pennon, from the latin word pannus.[ ] the pennon cannot be described from its exact breadth, for that quality of it varied with the different fancies of knights, and it had sometimes one, but more often two indentations at the end. when the pennon was cut square on occasion of a simple knight becoming a knight banneret it received the title of a banner, the ancient german word for the standard of a leader, or prince.[ ] [sidenote: the axe.] [sidenote: the maule and martel.] to transfix his foe with a lance was the ordinary endeavour of a knight; but some cavaliers of peculiar hardihood preferred to come to the closest quarters, where the lance could not be used. the battle-axe, which they therefore often wielded, needs no particular description. but the most favourite weapons were certain ponderous steel or iron hammers, carrying death either by the weight of their fall or the sharpness of the edge. they were called the martel and the maule, words applied indifferently in old times; for writers of days of chivalry cared little about extreme accuracy of diction, not foreseeing the fierce disputes which their want of minuteness in description would give rise to. this was the weapon which ecclesiastics used when they buckled harness over rochet and hood, and holy ardour impelled them into the field; for the canons of the church forbad them from wielding swords, and they always obeyed the letter of the law. some cavaliers, in addition to their other weapons, carried the mallet, or maule, hanging it at their saddle bow, till the happy moment for 'breaking open skulls' arrived. when it was used alone, this description of offensive armour was rather gothic than chivalric; yet the rudeness of earlier ages had its admirers in all times of chivalry, the affected love of simplicity not being peculiar to the present day. a lance could not execute half the sanguinary purposes of richard coeur de lion, and it was with a battle-axe[ ], as often as with a sword, that he dashed into the ranks of the saracens. bertrand du guesclin had a partiality for a martel, and so late as the year the battle-axe was used. among the hosts of the duke of burgundy was a knight named sir john vilain. he was a nobleman from flanders, very tall, and of great bodily strength: he was mounted on a good horse, and held a battle-axe in both hands. he pressed his way into the thickest part of the battle, and, throwing his bridle on the neck of his steed, he gave such mighty blows on all sides with his battle-axe that whoever was struck was instantly unhorsed, and wounded past recovery.[ ] generally speaking, however, the polite and courteous knights of chivalry thought it an ungentle practice to use a weapon which was associated with ideas of trade; and the romance-writers, who reflect the style of thinking of their times, commonly give the lance to the knight, and the axe or mallet to some rude and ferocious giant.[ ] [sidenote: the sword.] [sidenote: fondness of the knight for it.] the usual weapon for the press and mêlée was the sword, and there were a great many interesting associations attached to it. the knight threw round it all his affections. in that weapon he particularly trusted. it was his _good_ sword, and with still more confidence and kindness he called it his _own good_ sword. he gave it a name, and engraved on it some moral sentence, or a word referring to a great event of his life. not indeed that these sentences were confined to the sword; they were sometimes engraven on the frontlet of the helmet, or even on the spurs[ ], but the hilt or blade of the sword were their usual and proper places. the sword rather than the lance was the weapon which represented the chivalry of a family, and descended as the heir loom of its knighthood. when no one inherited his name, there was as much generous contention among his friends to possess his good sword, as in the days of greece poetry has ascribed to the warriors who wished for the armour of achilles.[ ] the sword was the weapon which connected the religious and military parts of the chivalrique character. the knight swore by his sword, for its cross hilt was emblematical of his saviour's cross. david in his daies dubbed knights, and did hem _swere on her sword_ to serve truth ever. p. ploughman. the word jesus was sometimes engraven on the hilt to remind the wearer of his religious duties. the sword was his only crucifix, when mass was said in the awful pause between the forming of the military array and the laying of lances in their rests. it was moreover his consolation in the moment of death. when that doughty knight of spain, don rodrigo frojaz was lying upon his shield, with his helmet for a pillow, he kissed the cross of his sword in remembrance of that on which the incarnate son of god had died for him, and in that act of devotion rendered up his soul into the hands of his creator.[ ] the handle of the sword was also remarkable for another matter. the knight, in order not to lose the advantage of having his seal by him, caused it to be cut in the head of his sword, and thus by impressing his seal upon any wax attached to a legal document, he exhibited his determination to maintain his obligation by the three-fold figure of his seal, the upholden naked sword, and the cross.[ ] the sword of the knight was held in such high estimation, that the name of its maker was thought worthy of record. thus when geoffery of plantagenet received the honor of knighthood, a sword was brought out of the royal treasury, the work of galan, the best of all sword smiths.[ ] spain was always famous for the temper and brilliancy of its swords. martial speaks in several places of the spanish swords which, when hot from the forge, were plunged in the river salo near bilbilis in celtiberia. the armourers at saragossa were as renowned in days of chivalry as those of toledo in rather later times, for it was not only the sword of toledo that became a proverbial phrase for the perfection of the art. sometimes the armourers had establishments in both towns. the excellence, however, of the swords of julian del rey, who lived both at saragossa and toledo, is referred to by the keeper of the lions in don quixote. the weapons of this artist had their peculiar marks. el perillo, a little dog; el morillo, a moor's head, and la loba, a wolf.[ ] but perhaps it may be thought i am passing the bounds of my subject. to return then to earlier days. the girdle round the waist, or the bauldrick descending from the shoulder across the body was simple tanned leather only, or sometimes its splendour rivalled that of prince arthur in the fairy queen. athwart his breast a bauldrick brave he ware that shind like twinkling stars, with stones most precious rare; * * * * * and in the midst thereof, one precious stone of wond'rous worth, and eke of wondrous mights, shapt like a lady's head, exceeding shone, like hesperus among the lesser lights, and strove for to amaze the weaker sights: thereby his mortal blade full comely hung in ivory sheath, ycarv'd with curious slights, whose hilt was burnish'd gold, and handle strong of mother perle, and buckled with a golden tong. book . c. . st. , . [sidenote: swords in romances.] many of the historical circumstances just now related regarding the sword of the knight are pleasingly exaggerated in the beautiful extravagancies of romantic fabling. the most famous sword in the imagination of our ancestors was that of king arthur; it was called escalibert (corrupted into caliburn). the romance of merlin thus explains the name. escalibert est un nom ebricu qui vault autant à dire en français, comme tres cher fer et acier, et aussi dissoyent il vrai. the history of this sword enters largely into the romances of arthur, and the knights of the round table, and the subject was fondly cherished by those who detailed the exploits of other heroes. the fame of caliburn was remembered when richard the first went to the east. the romances affirm that he wore the terrible and trusty sword of arthur. but, instead of mowing down ranks of saracens with it, he presented it to tancred, king of sicily. and richard at that time gaf him a faire juelle. the good sword caliburne, which arthur luffed so well.[ ] the romancers followed the practices of the northern scalds[ ], of naming the swords of knights: that of sir bevis of hampton was called morglay; and that of the emperor charlemagne himself fusberta joyosa.[ ] the poets were also as faithful delineators of manners as their predecessors the romance writers had been, and therefore we find in ariosto that the sword of the courteous rogero was called balisarda, and that of orlando, durindana. in the romance of sir otuel, the address of the same orlando to his sword is perfectly in the spirit of chivalry. then he began to make his moan and fast looked thereupon, as he held it in his hond. "o sword of great might, better bare never no knight, to win with no lond! thou hasty--be in many batayle, that never sarrazin, sans fayle ne might thy stroke withstond. go! let never no paynim into battle bear him, after the death of roland! o sword of great powere, in this world n'is nought thy peer, of no metal y--wrought; _all spain and galice_, through grace of god and thee y--wis, to christendom ben brought. thou art good withouten blame; in thee is graven the holy name that all things made of nought."[ ] regarding inscriptions on swords mentioned in the concluding lines, there is a very interesting passage in the romance of giron the courteous. on one occasion where the chaste virtue of that gentle knight and noble companion of arthur was in danger, his spear, which he had rested against a tree, fell upon his sword, and impelled it into a fountain. giron immediately left the lady with whom he was conversing, and ran to the water. he snatched the weapon from the fountain, and, throwing away the scabbard, began to wipe the blade. then his eyes lighted on the words that were written on the sword, and these were the words that were thus written:--loyaulte passe tout, et faulsete si honneit tout, et deceit tous hommes dedans quals elle se herberge. this sentence acted with talismanic power upon the heart of that noble knight giron the courteous, and so his virtue was saved. * * * * * [sidenote: the shield.] [sidenote: impresses.] leaving those pictures of manners which the old romances have painted, i come to the defensive harness of the knight, a subject which has many claims to attention. the shield was held in equal esteem in chivalric as in classic times; for "to lose the badge that should his deeds display," was considered the greatest shame and foulest scorn that could happen to a knight. the shape of the shield was oblong or triangular, wide at the top for the protection of the body, and tapering to the bottom.[ ] other shapes were given to it agreeably to the fancy of the knight, and it was plain or adorned with emblazonry of arms and other ornaments of gold and silver, according to his estate, and the simplicity or comparative refinement of his age. some knights, as gentle as brave, adorned their shields with a portrait of their lady-love[ ], or stamped on them impresses quaint, with a device emblematical of their passion. knights formed of sterner stuff retained their heraldic insignia, and their mottoes breathed war and homicide; but gallant cavaliers shewed the gentleness of their minds, and their impressed sentences were sometimes plain of meaning, but oftener dark to all, except the knight himself, and the damsel whose playful wit had invented them. we can readily imagine that those amorous devices and impresses were not so frequently used in the battle field as in the tournament, and that they were sometimes worn together with gentilitial distinctions. [sidenote: various sorts of mail.] the casing of the body is a very curious subject of enquiry. the simplicity of ancient times, in using the skins of beasts, is marked in the word _loricum_, from the word _lorum_, a thong, and the word _cuirasse_ is traceable to _cuir_, leather. body harness has three general divisions; mail; plate and mail mixed; plate mail entirely. rows of iron rings, sown on the dress, were the first defences, and then, for additional defence, a row of larger rings was laid over the first. these rings gave way to small iron plates which lapped over each other, and this variety of mail is interesting, for armour now resembled the _lorica squammata_ of the romans, and hence ancient mail of this description has generally been called scale-mail, while the ordinary appearance of armour being like the meshes of a net, gained it the title of mail from the _macula_ of the latins, and the _maglia_ of the italians. sometimes the plates were square, and sometimes of a lozenge form: but it would be considering the matter much too curiously to divide armour into as many species as the shapes and forms which a small piece of iron or steel was capable of being divided into.[ ] all this variety of mail harness was sown on an under garment of leather or cloth, or a more considerable wadding of various sorts of materials, and called a gambeson. if the garment were a simple tunic or frock the whole was called a hauberk. the lower members were defended by _chausses_, which may be intelligible to modern understandings by the words breeches or pantaloons. when the mailed frock and _chausses_ were joined, the union was called the haubergeon. in each case, the back and crown of the head were saved harmless by a hood of mail, which sometimes formed part of the hauberk or haubergeon, and sometimes was detached. in spain, the hood and the other parts of the dress were united, if the case of the cid be held as evidence of the general state of manners; for after his battles, he is always represented as slowly quitting the field with his gory hood thrown back. the mail covered also the chin, and sometimes the mouth; in the latter case the office of breathing being entirely committed to the care of the nose. finally, the sleeves of the jacket were carried over the fingers, and a continuation of the _chausses_ protected the toes. "a goodly knight all armed in harness meet that from his head no place appeared to his feete." it is curious that foppery in armour began at the toe. it was the fashion for the knight to have the toe of the mail several inches in length and inclining downwards. to fight on foot with such incumbrances was impossible, and, therefore the enemies of the crusaders (for foppery prevailed even in religious wars) shot rather at the horses than at the men. the fashion i am speaking of crossed the pyrenees, for in the pictorial representation of a tournament at grenada, between moorish and christian knights, the former are drawn with the broad shovel shoes of their country, while the latter have long pointed shoes, like the cavaliers of the north. such were the various descriptions of mail armour from the earliest æra of chivalry to the thirteenth century. they were worn at different times in different countries, and often in the same country at the same time by different individuals: but at length so excellent an improvement was made in chain mail, that military fashion could have no longer any pretence for variety. the different descriptions of mail armour show the skill of the iron-smiths among our ancestors, and that they were capable of inventing the next and last great change. but as it was made at a time when the asiatic mode of warfare was known in europe, and as the improvement i am about to mention was the general mode of the saracenian soldiers, it is as probable that it was borrowed, as that it was invented. the rings of mail were now no longer sewn on the dress, but they were interlaced, each ring having four others inserted into it, and consequently the rings formed a garment of themselves. the best coats of mail were made of double rings.[ ] the admirable convenience of this twisted or reticulated mail secured its general reception. a knight was no longer encumbered by his armour in travelling. his squire might be the bearer of his mail, for it was both flexible and compact, or it could be rolled upon the hinder part of a saddle. [sidenote: mail and plate.] [sidenote: plate harness.] before, however, this last great improvement in mail-armour took place, changes were made in that general description of harness which foretold its final fall, although it might be partially and for a time supported by any particular invention of merit. plates of solid steel or iron were fixed on the breast or other parts of the body, where painful experience had assured the wearer of the insufficiency of his metal rings. the new fashion of reticulated mail added nothing to the strength of defence, and, therefore, ingenuity and prudence were ever at work to make defensive armour equal to offensive. new plates continually were added, and many of them received their titles from the parts of the body which they were intended to defend: the pectoral protected the breast, the cuisses were for the thighs, the brassarts for the arms, the ailettes for the shoulders, while the gorget defended the throat, and a scaly gauntlet gloved the hand. the cuirass was the title for the defence of the breast and the back. this mixed harness gained ground till the knight had nearly a double covering of mail and plate. the plate was then found a perfect defence, and the mail was gradually thrown aside; and thus, finally, the warrior was entirely clad in steel plates. this harness was exceedingly oppressive to the limbs, and therefore we find the circumstance so frequently mentioned in old writers, that when a knight alighted at his hostel or inn, he not only doffed his armour, but went into a bath. no wonder that it was necessary to keep changes of dress to present to the cavaliers who arrived. plate-armour must have been as destructive of clothes as the old chain mail, and describing his knight, chaucer says, "of fustian he wered a gipon alle besmotred with his habergeon. for he was of late y come fro his viage, and wente for to don his pilgrimage." the plate harness was in one respect far more inconvenient than the armour it superseded. the coat of chain mail could be put on or slipped off with instantaneous celerity; but the dressing of a plate-armed knight was no simple matter. "from the tents the armourers, accomplishing the knights, with busy hammers closing rivets up, give dreadful note of preparation." besides this deprivation of rest before a battle, the knight, in order to prevent surprise, was obliged to wear his heavy harness almost constantly. it is curious to observe, that chain mail formed some part of the harness of a knight until the very last days of chivalry, chivalric feelings seeming to be associated with that ancient form of armour. it was _let into_ the plates round the neck, and thus there was a collar or tippet of mail; and it also generally hung over other parts of the body, where, agreeably to its shape and dimensions, it became, if i may again express myself in the language of ladies, if not of antiquarians, an apron or a short petticoat. [sidenote: the scarf.] [sidenote: surcoats.] the armour of the knight was often crossed by a scarf of silk embroidered by his lady-love. he wore also a dress which in different times was variously designated as a surcoat, a cyclas, or a tabard. it was long[ ] or short, it opened at the sides, in the back, or in the front, as fashion or caprice ruled the wearer's mind; but it was always sleeveless. originally simple cloth was its material; but as times and luxury advanced it became richer. for the reason that this sort of dress was almost the only one in which the lords, knights, and barons could display their magnificence, and because it covered all their clothing and armour, they had it usually made of cloths of gold or silver, of rich skins, furs of ermine, sables, minever, and others.[ ] there was necessarily more variety in the appearance of the surcoat than in that of any other part of his harness, and hence it became the distinction of a knight. in public meetings and in times of war the lords and knights were marked by their coats of arms; and when they were spoken of, or when any one wished to point them out by an exterior sign, it was sufficient to say, that he wears a coat of or, argent, gules, sinople, sable, gris, ermine, or vair, or still shorter, he bears or, gules, &c. the words coat of arms being understood. but as these marks were not sufficient to distinguish in solemn assemblies, or in times of war every lord, when all were clothed in coats of arms of gold, silver, or rich furs, they, in process of time, thought proper to cut the cloths of gold, and silver, and furs, which they wore over their armour, into various shapes of different colours, observing, however, as a rule never to put fur on fur, nor cloths of gold on those of silver, nor those of silver on gold; but they intermixed the cloths with the furs, in order to produce variety and relief.[ ] with these cloths and furs were mingled devices or cognizances symbolical of some circumstance in the life of the knight, and with the crest the whole formed in modern diction the coat of arms. [sidenote: armorial bearings.] every feudal lord assumed the right of chusing his own armorial distinctions: they were worn by all his family, and were hereditary. it was also in his power to grant arms to knights and squires as marks of honour for military merit; and from all these causes armorial distinctions represented the feudalism, the gentry, and the chivalry of europe. one knight could not give more deadly offence to another than by wearing his armorial bearings without his permission, and many a lance was broken to punish such insolence. kings, as their power arose above that of the aristocracy, assumed the right of conferring these distinctions;--an assumption of arms without royal permission was an offence, and the business of heralds was enlarged from that of being mere messengers between hostile princes into a court for the arranging of armorial honours. thus the usurpation of kings was beneficial to society, for disputes regarding arms and cognisances were settled by heralds and not by battle. it is totally impossible to mark the history of these circumstances. instances of emblazoned sopra vests are to be met with in times anterior to the crusades. they were worn during the continuance of mail and of mixed armour: but they gradually went out of usage as plate armour became general, it being then very much the custom to enamel or emboss the heraldic distinctions on the armour itself, or to be contented with its display on the shield or the banner. on festival occasions and tournaments, however, all the gorgeousness of heraldic splendour was exhibited upon the cyclas or tabard. [sidenote: surcoats of the military orders.] a word may be said on the surcoats of the military orders. the knights of st. john and the temple wore plain sopra vests, and their whole harness was covered by a monastic mantle, marked with the crosses of their respective societies. the colour of the mantle worn by the knights of st. john was black, and from that colour being the usual monastic one, they were called the military friars. their cross was white. the brethren of the temple wore a white mantle with a red cross, and hence their frequent title, the red cross knights. * * * * * [sidenote: helmets.] the history of the covering of the head is not altogether unamusing. the knight was not contented to trust the protection of that part of himself to his mailed hood alone; he wore a helmet, whose shape was at first conical, then cylindrical, and afterwards resumed its pristine form. the defence of the face became a matter of serious consideration, and a broad piece of iron was made to connect the frontlet of the helm with the mail over the mouth.[ ] this nasal piece was not in general use, it being a very imperfect protection from a sword-cut, and the knight found it of more inconvenience than service when his vanquisher held him to earth by it. cheek-pieces of bars, placed horizontally or perpendicularly, attached to the helmet, were substituted or introduced. then came the aventaile, or iron mask, joined to the helmet, with apertures for the eyes and mouth. it was at first fixed and immoveable, but ingenuity afterwards assisted those face defences. by means of pivots the knight could raise or let fall the plates or grating before the face, and the defence was called a vizor. subsequently, plates were brought up from the chin, and this moveable portion of the helmet was called, as most people know, the bever, from the italian _bevere_, to drink. in early times the helmet was without ornament; it afterwards (though the exact time it is impossible to fix) was surmounted by that part of the armorial bearings called the crest. a lady's glove or scarf was often introduced, and was not the least beautiful ornament. the templars and the knights of st. john were not permitted to adorn their helmets with the tokens either of nobility or of love; the simplicity of religion banishing all vain heraldic distinctions, and the soldier-priests being obliged, like the monks themselves, to pretend to that ascetic virtue which was so highly prized in the middle ages. all the splendour of chivalry is comprised in the helmet of prince arthur. "his haughty helmet, horrid all with gold, both glorious brightness and great terror bred; for all the crest a dragon did enfold with greedy paws, and over all did spred his golden wings: his dreadful hideous head close couched on the bever, seem'd to throw from flaming mouth bright sparkles fiery red, that sudden horror to faint hearts did show, and scaly tail was stretch'd adowne his back full low. "upon the top of all his lofty crest a bunch of hairs discoloured diversely, with sprinkled pearl and gold full richly drest, did shake and seem'd to dance for jollity, like to an almond-tree ymounted hye on top of green selinis all alone, with blossoms brave bedecked daintily; whose tender locks do tremble every one at every little breath that under heaven is blown."[ ] the helmet, with its vizor and bever, was carried by the squire, or page, on the pommel of his saddle, a very necessary measure for the relief of the knight, particularly when the sarcasm of the duke of orleans was applicable, that "if the english had any intellectual armour in their heads, they could never wear such heavy head-pieces."[ ] the reader should know, with the barber in don quixote, that, except in the hour of battle, a knight wore only an open casque, or bacinet, a light and easy covering. the bacinet derived its title from its resemblance to a basin; but the word was sometimes used, however improperly, for the helmet, the close helmet of knighthood. a vizor might be attached to the bacinet, and then the covering for the head became a helmet. bacinez à visieres are often spoken of. the helmet of war appeared to complete the perfection of defensive harness; for the lance broke hurtless on the plate of steel, the arrow and quarrel glanced away, and it is only in romance that we read of swords cutting through a solid front of iron, or piercing both plate and mail, as some bolder spirits say. "from top to toe no place appeared bare, that deadly dint of steel endanger may."[ ] [sidenote: the dagger of mercy.] the only way by which death could be inflicted was by thrusting a lance through the small holes in the vizor. such a mode of death was not very common, for the cavalier always bent his face almost to the saddle-bow when he charged. the knight, however, might be unhorsed in the shock of the two adverse lines, and he was in that case at the mercy of the foe who was left standing. but how to kill the human being inclosed in the rolling mass of steel was the question; and the armourer, therefore, invented a thin dagger, which could be inserted between the plates. this dagger was called the dagger of mercy, apparently a curious title, considering it was the instrument of death; but, in truth, the laws of chivalry obliged the conqueror to shew mercy, if, when the dagger was drawn, the prostrate foe yielded himself, rescue or no rescue. * * * * * it may be noticed that a dagger or short sword was worn by the knight even in days of chain mail, for the hauberk was a complete case. "straight from his courser leaps the victor knight, and bares his deadly blade to end the fight; the uplifted hauberk's skirt he draws aside, in his foe's flank the avenging steel is dyed."[ ] [sidenote: story of its use.] froissart's pages furnish us with an interesting tale, descriptive of the general chivalric custom, regarding the dagger of mercy. about the year , the lord of langurante in gascony rode forth with forty spears and approached the english fortress called cadilhac. he placed his company in ambush, and said to them, "sirs, tarry you still here, and i will go and ride to yonder fortress alone, and see if any will issue out against us." he then rode to the barriers of the castle, and desired the keeper to shew to bernard courant, their captain, how that the lord langurante was there, and desired to joust with him a course. "if he be so good a man, and so valiant in arms as it is said," continued the challenger, "he will not refuse it for his ladies sake: if he do, it shall turn him to much blame, for i shall report it wheresoever i go, that for cowardice he hath refused to run with me one course with a spear." a squire of bernard reported this message to his master, whose heart beginning to swell with ire, he cried, "get me my harness, and saddle my horse; he shall not go refused." incontinently he was armed, and mounted on his war steed, and taking his shield and spear, he rode through the gate and the barriers into the open field. the lord langurante seeing him coming was rejoiced, and couched his spear like a true knight, and so did bernard. their good horses dashed at each other, and their lances struck with such equal fierceness that their shields fell in pieces, and as they crossed bernard shouldered sir langurante's horse in such a manner that the lord fell out of the saddle. bernard turned his steed shortly round, and as the lord langurante was rising, his foe, who was a strong as well as a valiant squire, took his bacinet with both his hands, and wrenching it from his head, cast it under his horse's feet. on seeing all this the lord of langurante's men quitted their ambush, and were coming to the rescue of their master, when bernard drew his dagger, and said to the lord, "sir, yield you my prisoner, rescue or no rescue; or else you are but dead." the lord, who trusted to the rescue of his men, spoke not a word; and bernard then gave him a death-blow on his bare head, and dashing spurs into his horse, he fled within the barriers.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: value of enquiries into ancient armour.] such was the general state of armour in days of chivalry. a more detailed account of the subject cannot be interesting; for what boots it to know the exact form and dimensions of any of the numerous plates of steel that encased the knight. nor indeed was any shape constant long; for fashion was as variable and imperious in all her changes in those times as in ours; and as we turn with contempt from the military foppery of the present day, little gratification can be expected from too minute an inspection of the vanities of our forefather. chaucer says, "with him ther wenten knights many on, some wol ben armed in an habergeon, and in a breast-plate, and in a gipon; and som wol have a pair of plates large; and som wol have a pruse sheld or a targe. som wol ben armed on his legges well, and have an axe, and some a mace stele. ther n'is no newe guise, that it n'as old. _armed they weren_, as i have you told, _everich after his opinion_." [sidenote: a precise knowledge unattainable.] a chronological history of armour, minutely accurate, is unattainable, if any deduction may be made from the books of laborious dulness which have hitherto appeared on the armour of different countries. who can affirm that the oldest specimen which we possess of any particular form of harness is the earliest specimen of its kind? no one can determine the precise duration of a fashion; for after ruling the world for some time it suddenly disappears, but some years afterwards it rears it's head again to the confusion and dismay of our antiquarians. our best authorities sometimes fail us. the monumental effigies were not always carved at the moment of the knight's death: that the bust is tardily raised to buried merit is not the peculiar reproach of our times. it is complimenting the sculptors of the middle ages too highly if we suppose that they did not sometimes violate accuracy, in order to introduce some favorite fashion of their own days. as for the illuminations of manuscripts which are so much boasted of, they are often the attempts of a scribe to imitate antiquity, beautiful in respect of execution, but of problematical accuracy, and more frequently mark the age when the manuscript was copied, than that when the work was originally written. we know that violation of costume was common in the romances. thus, in the morte d'arthur, an unknown knight, completely armed, and having his vizor lowered so as to conceal his features, entered the hall of the king. again, "cometh sir launcelot du lake, ridand right into the hall; his steed and armour all was blake his visere over his eyen falle,"[ ] now if the romance whence the above lines are extracted is to be considered as a picture of the earliest days of chivalry it is certainly incorrect, for it was not before the middle age of knighthood that the face was concealed by a vizor, the earlier defence of the nasal piece certainly not serving as a mask. the romances are unexceptionable witnesses for the general customs of chivalry, but we cannot fix their statements to any particular time, for they were varied and improved by successive repetitions and transcriptions, and when they were rendered into prose still further changes were made in order to please the taste of the age. thus, in an old danish romance, a knight fighting for his lady remains on his horse; but when in the fifteenth century the tale was translated into the idioms of most chivalric countries, he is represented as alighting from his milk-white steed and giving it to his fair companion to hold; and the reason of this departure from the old ballad was, that the translators, wishing to make their work popular, adapted it to the manners of the age; and it was the general fashion then for the knights to dismount when they fought. [sidenote: its general features interesting] in spite of all our attempts at chronological accuracy, something or other is perpetually baffling us. we commonly think that mixed armour was the defensive harness in the days of our edward the third; but in chaucer's portrait of the knightly character of that time, only the haubergeon is assigned to the cavalier. plate-armour seems to have been the general costume of the fifteenth century; and in any pictorial exhibition of the murder of john duke of burgundy in the year , the artist who should represent the duke as harnessed in chain-mail, would be condemned by a synod of archæologists as guilty of an unpardonable anachronism; yet we know, on the unquestionable authority of monstrelet, that when the duke lay on the ground, olivier layet, assisted by pierre frotier, thrust a sword under the haubergeon into his belly; and that after he had been thus cruelly murdered, the dauphin's people stripped from him his coat of mail.[ ] but though it is difficult to determine the fashion of any part of armour in any particular century, and life may afford nobler occupations than considering the precise year and month when the normans gave up the clumsy expedient of inserting the sword through a hole in the hauberk, and adopted the more graceful and convenient form of a belt[ ], yet viewing the subject of armour in some of its broad features, matter of no slight interest may be found. we may not regard the precise form and fashion of a warrior's scarf, or care to enquire whether the embroidery were worked with gold or silver, but the general fact itself involves the state of manners and feelings among our ancestors: it carries us to the lady's bower where she was working this token of love; our fancy paints the time and mode of bestowing it; and we follow it through all the subsequent career of the knight as his silent monitor to courage and loyalty. [sidenote: the broad lines of the subject.] it is curious also to mark the perpetual efforts of defensive armour to meet the improvements in the art of destruction. chain-mail was found an inadequate protection; plates of steel were added, and still this mixed harness did not render the body invulnerable. the covering of steel alone at length became complete, and defensive harness reached its perfection. it is utterly impossible for us to state with accuracy the year when plate-armour began to be mixed with chain-mail in any particular country, or to determine what particular part of the body the first plate that was used defended; but the general features of the subject are known well enough to enable us to sketch to our imagination the military costume of some of the most remarkable events in the warfare of the middle ages. in the first crusade, the armour was in the rude state of mail worn on the tunic. there was the emblazoned surcoat, for that part of dress was of very early use; the hood was the common covering of the head, and when the helmet was worn it was of the simplest form, and occasionally had a nasal piece. the crusades began at the close of the eleventh century, and before the end of the thirteenth, not only was the hauberk composed of twisted mail, but mixed armour of plate and mail was common. the english wars in france during the reign of our edward iii. are the next subject to which our chivalric recollections recur. by that time plate had attained a general predominance over chain-mail. perhaps, at no period of chivalry was armour more beautiful than in those days when france was one vast tilting ground for the culled and choice-drawn cavaliers of the two mighty monarchies of europe. it was equally removed from the gloomy sternness of chain-mail, and the elaborate foppery of embossed steel: its solid plates satisfied the judicious eye by showing that the great principle of armour was chiefly attended to, and the surcoat and scarf gave the warrior's harness a character of neat and simple elegance. the horses, too, were barded in the most vulnerable parts; the symmetry of the form not being obscured, as it was in after-times by a casing of steel which left only part of the legs free of action. the helmet had its crest and silken ornament; the former being the sign of nobility, the latter of love: and no warriors were so justly entitled to those graceful tokens of ladies' favour, as the warriors of edward iii., for love was the inspiring soul of their chivalry.[ ] in the second series of our french wars complete plate-armour was in general fashion. gradually, as armour became more and more ponderous, the knights preferred to fight on foot with their lances. that mode of encounter was found best fitted for the display of skill, for in the rude encounter of the horses many cavaliers were thrown, and the field presented a ludicrous spectacle of rolling knights.[ ] some traces of the custom of cavalry dismounting may be found in the twelfth century. the practice grew as plate-armour became mixed with mail; and when complete suits of steel were worn, knights sought every occasion of dismounting; and they were wont to break their lances short for the convenience of the close conflict. as the spirit of chivalry died away, the military costume of chivalry increased in brilliancy and splendour. ingenuity and taste were perpetually varying decorations: the steel was sometimes studded with ornaments of gold and silver, and sometimes the luxury of the age was displayed in a complete suit of golden armour. "in arms they stood of golden panoply, refulgent host." but such splendour was only exhibited in the courteous tournament; less costly armour sheathed the warrior of the working day. armour gradually fell out of use as infantry began to be considered and felt as the principal force in war. it was not, however, till the beginning of the seventeenth century that the proud nobility of europe would abandon the mode of combat of their ancestors, and no longer hope that their iron armour of proof should hang up in their halls as an incentive to their children's valour. "they first laid aside the jambes or steel boots; then the shield was abandoned, and next the covering for the arms. when the cavalry disused the lance, the cuisses were no longer worn to guard against its thrust, and the stout leathern or buff coat hung down from beneath the body armour to the knees, and supplied the place of the discarded steel. the helmet was later deprived of its useless vizor; but before the middle of the seventeenth century nothing remained of the ancient harness but the open cap and the breasts and backs of steel, which the heavy cavalry of the continent have more or less worn to our times. in our service these have been but lately revived for the equipment of the finest cavalry in europe, the british life-guards, who, unaided by such defences, tore the laurels of waterloo from the cuirassiers of france."[ ] [sidenote: excellence of italian armour.] the history of armour would be interesting in another point of view, if any of the great battles in the middle ages had been decided by the superior qualities of any particular weapon possessed by either side. no such circumstances are recorded. nor can we trace the progress of armour through the various countries of chivalry. but the superiority of italian civilisation, and our knowledge that the long-pointed sword was invented in italy, authorise our giving much honour to the italians; and we also know that down to the very latest period of chivalric history milanese armour was particularly esteemed.[ ] germany, as far as the ancient martial costume of that country is known, can claim nothing of invention, nor did armour always take in that country during its course from italy through other lands. france quickly received all the varieties in armour of italian ingenuity, and in a few years they, passed into england. this geographical course was not however the usual mode of communicating ideas in chivalric ages. knights of various countries met in tournaments, and in those splendid scenes every description of armour was displayed, and fashions were interchanged. notwithstanding the general similarity of costume which these gallant and friendly meetings of cavaliers in tournaments were likely to produce, each nation had its peculiarities which it never resigned. thus it may be mentioned that the swords of the germans and also of the normans were always large, and that those of the french were short. as the bow was the great weapon of the normans, the attendants of the english knights used the bow more frequently than similar attendants in any other country. the peasantry of scotland, in spite of repeated statutes, never would use the bow: spears and axes were their weapons, while their missiles were cross-bows and culverins. the mace was also a favourite, and their swords were of excellent temper. their defensive armour was the plate-jack, hauberk, or brigantine; and a voluminous handkerchief round their neck, "not for cold but for cutting," as one of their writers describes it. almost all the scottish forces, except a few knights, men-at-arms, and the border prickers, who formed excellent light cavalry, acted upon foot.[ ] [sidenote: of the knight's armour; of the squire, &c.] little need be said concerning the military costume of the esquire, and the men-at-arms. the esquire wore silver spurs in distinction from the golden spurs of the knight; but when an esquire as a member of the third class of chivalry held a distinct command, he was permitted to bear at the end of his lance a penoncel, or small triangular streamer. in countries where the bow was not used, the weapons of the men-at-arms were generally the lance and the sword. this was the case when the knight led his personal retainers to battle; but when his followers were the people of any particular town which he protected, few chivalric arms were borne, and the bill more frequently than the spear was brought into the field. the cross-bow can hardly be considered a weapon of chivalry. it required no strength of arm like the long-bow; it allowed none of that personal display which was the soul of knighthood. the popes, to their honour, frequently condemned its use; and it was more often bent by mercenaries than the regular attendants of knights. the men-at-arms generally fought on horseback, and it often happened that archers, after the asiatic mode, were mounted. the defensive armour of the knight's attendants was not so complete as his own, for they could not afford its costliness, and difference of rank was marked by difference of harness. thus, in france, only persons possessed of a certain estate were permitted to wear the haubergeon, while esquires had nothing more than a simple coat of mail, without hood or hose[ ], though their rank in nobility might equal that of the knights. the men-at-arms had generally the pectoral and the shield, and the morion or open helmet, without vizor or beaver. they frequently wore a long and large garment called the aketon, gambeson, or jack, formed of various folds of linen cloth or leather: but it is totally impossible to give any useful or interesting information on a subject which caprice or poverty perpetually varied. * * * * * [sidenote: allegories made on armour.] armour had other purposes in the mind of the knight besides its common and apparent use. days of chivalry were especially times when imagination was in its freest exercise, and every thing was full of allegories and recondite meanings. to the knight a sword was given in resemblance of a cross to signify the death of christ, and to instruct him that he ought to destroy the enemies of religion by the sword. this is intelligible; but there is something apparently arbitrary in the double edge signifying that a knight should maintain chivalry and justice. the spear, on account of its straitness, was the emblem of truth, and the iron head meant strength, which truth should possess. the force and power of courage were expressed by the mace. the helmet conveyed the idea of shamefacedness; and the hauberk was emblematical of the spiritual panoply which should protect a man and a soldier from the vices to which his nature was liable. the spurs meant diligence. the gorget was the sign of obedience; for as the gorget went about the neck protecting it from wounds, so the virtue of obedience kept a knight within the commands of his sovereign and the order of chivalry; and thus neither treason nor any other foe to virtue corrupted the oath he had taken to his lord and knighthood. the shield showed the office of a knight; for as the knight placed his shield between himself and his enemy, so the knight was the barrier between the king and the people, and as the stroke of a sword fell upon the shield and saved the knight, so it behoved the knight to present his body before his lord when he was in danger. the equipment and barding of the horse furnished also subjects of instruction. the saddle meant safety of courage; for as by the saddle a knight was safe on his horse, so courage was the knight's best security in the field. the great size of the saddle was regarded as emblematical of the greatness of the chivalric charge. it was added, that as the head of a horse went before its rider, so should reason precede all the acts of a knight; and as the armour at the head of a horse defended the horse, so reason kept the knight from blame. the defensive armour of a horse illustrated the necessity of wealth to a knight; for a knight without estate could not maintain the honours of chivalry, and be protected from temptation, for poverty opens the door to treason and vice. it was in this manner that the romantic imaginations of the knights of chivalry drew moralities from subjects apparently little capable of furnishing instruction; and then assuming a more sober and rational tone, they would exclaim that chivalry was not in the horse, nor in the arms, but was in the knight, who taught his horse well, and accustomed himself and his sons to noble actions and virtuous deeds; and a foul and recreant knight, who taught himself and his son evil works, converted one into the other, the cavaleresque and equestrian qualities, making himself and his son beasts, and his horse a knight.[ ] [sidenote: the horse of the knight.] before we close our account of the cavalier's equipment, something must be said regarding his steed, his _good_ steed, as he was fond of calling him. the horse of the knight was necessarily an animal of great power when his charge was a cavalier with his weighty armour. the horses of spain were highly famed. in the country itself those of asturia were preferred, but in other chivalric states they regarded not the particular province wherein the horse was bred.[ ] the favourite steed of william the conqueror came from spain. the crusades were certainly the means of bringing asiatic horses into europe; and it was found that the arabian, though smaller than the bony charger of the west, had a compensating power in his superior spirit. french and english romance writers were not from natural prejudices disposed to praise any productions of heathenesse, yet the arabian horse is frequently commended by them. that doughty knight, guy, a son of sir bevis of hampton, ----"bestrode a _rabyte_,[ ] that was mickle and nought _light_,[ ] that sir bevis in paynim lond had iwunnen with his hond." the arab horse was the standard of perfection, as is evident from the romancer's praise of the two celebrated steeds, favel and lyard, which richard coeur de lion procured at cyprus. "in the world was not their peer, dromedary, nor destreer, steed, rabyte, ne camayl, that ran so swift sans fail. for a thousand pounds of gold should not that one be sold." the arabian horse must have been already prepared for part of the discipline of a chivalric horse. on his own sandy plains he had been accustomed to stop his career when his fleetness had cast the rider from his seat; and in the encounter of lances so often were knights overthrown, that to stand firm, ready to be mounted again, was a high quality of a good horse. the steed of the cid was very much celebrated in spain; and, in acknowledgment for an act of great kindness, the owner wished to present him to the king, alfonso of castile. to induce the king to accept him, he showed his qualities. "with that the cid, clad as he was in mantle furr'd and wide, on bavieca vaulting, put the rowel in his side; and up and down, and round and round, so fierce was his career, stream'd like a pennon on the wind ruy diaz' minivere. and all that saw them prais'd them,--they lauded man and horse, as matched well, and rivalless for gallantry and force. ne'er had they look'd on horseman might to this knight come near, nor on other charger worthy of such a cavalier. thus, to and fro a-rushing, the fierce and furious steed, he snapp'd in twain his hither rein:--'god pity now the cid;' 'god pity diaz,' cried the lords;--but when they look'd again, they saw ruz diaz ruling him with the fragment of his rein; they saw him proudly ruling, with gesture firm and calm, like a true lord commanding,--and obey'd as by a lamb. and so he led him foaming and panting to the king, but 'no,' said don alphonso, 'it were a shameful thing that peerless bavieca should ever be bestrid by any mortal but bivar,--mount, mount again, my cid.'"[ ] it has been often said that the knight had always his ambling palfrey, on which he rode till the hour of battle arrived; and that the war-horse, from the circumstance of his being led by the right hand of the squire, was called dextrarius.[ ] with respect to sovereigns and men of great estate this was certainly the custom, but it was by no means a general chivalric practice. froissart's pages are a perfect picture of knightly riding and combatting; and each of his favorite cavaliers seems to have had but one and the same steed for the road and the battle-plain. even romance, so prone to exaggerate, commonly represents the usage as similar; for when we find that a damsel is rescued, she is not placed upon a spare horse, but the knight mounts her behind himself.[ ] the _destrier_, _cheval de lance_, or war-steed, was armed or barded[ ] very much on the plan of the harness of the knight himself, and was defended, therefore, by mail or plate, agreeably to the fashion of the age. his head, chest, and flanks were either wholly or partially protected, and sometimes, on occasions of pomp, he was clad in complete steel, with the arms of his master engraven or embossed on his bardings. his caparisons and housings frequently descended so low that they were justly termed bases, from the french _bas à bas_, upon the ground. his head, too, was ornamented with a crest, like the helmet of a knight. the bridle of the horse was always as splendid as the circumstances of the knight allowed; and thus a horse was often called brigliadore, from _briglia d'oro_, a bridle of gold. the knight was fond of ornamenting the partner of his perils and glories. the horse was not always like that of chaucer's knight; "his hors was good, but he was not gay." bells were a very favourite addition to the equipment of a horse, particularly in the early times of chivalry. an old troubadour poet, arnold of marsan, states very grave reasons for wearing them. he says, "let the neck of the knight's horse be garnished with bells well hung. nothing is more proper to inspire confidence in a knight, and terror in an enemy." the war-horse of a soldier of a religious order of knighthood might have his collar of bells, for their jangling was loved by a monk himself. "and when he rode men might his bridel hear, gingeling in a whistling wind as clere, and eke as loud as doth the chapel bell." but here the comparison ceases, for the horse-furniture of the religious soldiers was ordered to be free from all golden and silver ornaments.[ ] this regulation was however ill observed; for the knights-templars in the middle of the thirteenth century were censured for having their bridles embroidered, or gilded, or adorned with silver.[ ] chap. iv. the chivalric character. _general array of knights ... companions in arms ... the nature of a cavalier's valiancy ... singular bravery of sir robert knowles ... bravery incited by vows ... fantastic circumstances ... the humanities of chivalric war ... ransoming ... reason of courtesies in battles ... curious pride of knighthood ... prisoners ... instance of knightly honour ... independence of knights, and knight errantry ... knights fought the battles of other countries ... english knights dislike wars in spain ... their disgust at spanish wines ... principles of their active conduct ... knightly independence consistent with discipline ... religion of the knight ... his devotion ... his intolerance ... general nature of his virtue ... fidelity to obligations ... generousness ... singular instance of it ... romantic excess of it ... liberality ... humility ... courtesy ..._ every day life of the knight _... falconry ... chess playing ... story of a knight's love of chess ... minstrelsy ... romances ... conversation ... nature and form of chivalric entertainments ... festival and vow of the pheasant._ [sidenote: general array of knights.] the knight was accompanied into the field by his squires and pages, by his armed vassals on horseback and on foot, all bearing his cognisance. the number of these attendants varied necessarily with his estate, and also the occasion that induced him to arm; and i should weary, without instructing my readers, were i to insert in these volumes all the petty details of history regarding the amount of force which in various countries, and in different periods of the same country's annals, constituted, to use the phraseology of the middle ages, the complement of a lance. armies were reckoned by lances, each lance meaning the knight himself with his men-at-arms, or lighter cavalry, and his foot soldiers. * * * * * [sidenote: companions in arms.] the knight was not only supported by his vassals, who formed the furniture of his lance, but by his brother in arms, when such an intercourse subsisted between two cavaliers; and instances of such unions are extremely frequent in chivalric history: they may be met with in other annals. in the early days of greece, brotherhood in arms was a well-known form of friendship: the two companions engaged never to abandon each other in affairs however perilous, and in pledge of their mutual faith they exchanged armour. no stronger proof of affection could be given than thus parting with what they held most dear. among barbarous people the fraternity of arms was established by the horrid custom of the new brothers drinking each other's blood: but if this practice was barbarous, nothing was farther from barbarism than the sentiment which inspired it. the chivalry of europe borrowed this sacred bond from the scandinavians, among whom the future brothers in arms mingled their blood, and then tasted it. "father of slaughter, odin, say, rememberest not the former day, when ruddy in the goblet stood, for mutual drink, our blended blood? rememberest not, thou then dids't swear, the festive banquet ne'er to share, unless thy brother lok was there?"[ ] this custom, like most others of pagan europe, was corrected and softened by the light and humanity of religion. fraternal adoptions then took place in churches, in presence of relations, and with the sanction of priests. the knights vowed that they would never injure or vilify each other, that they would share each other's dangers; and in sign of the perfection of love, and of true unity, and in order to possess, as much as they could, the same heart and resolves, they solemnly promised true fraternity and companionship of arms.[ ] they then received the holy sacrament, and the priest blessed the union. it was a point rather of generous understanding than of regular convention, that they would divide equally all their acquisitions. of this custom an instance may be given. robert de oily and roger de ivery, two young gentlemen who came into england with the duke of normandy, were sworn brothers. some time after the conquest, the king granted the two great honours of oxford, and st. waleries, to robert de oily, who immediately bestowed one of them, that of st. waleries, on his sworn brother, roger de ivery[ ]. fraternity of arms was entered into for a specific object, or general knightly quests, for a limited term, or for life. it did not always occur, however, that the fraternity of arms was established with religious solemnities: but whatever might have been the ceremonies, the obligation was ever considered sacred; so sacred, indeed, that romance writers did not startle their readers by a tale, whose interest hangs upon the circumstance of a knight slaying his two infant children for the sake of compounding a medicine with their blood which should heal the leprosy of his brother in arms.[ ] this form of attachment was the strongest tie in chivalry. "from this day forward, ever mo neither fail, either for weal or wo, to help other at need, brother, be now true to me, and i shall be as true to thee." so said sir amylion to sir amys, and it was the common language of chivalry. friendship was carried to the romantic extremity of the homeric age. brethren in arms adopted all the enmities and loves of each other, "a generous friendship no cold medium knows, burns with one love, with one resentment glows." and so powerful was the obligation that it even superseded the duty of knighthood to womankind. a lady might in vain have claimed the protection of a cavalier, if he could allege that at that moment he was bound to fly to the succour of his brother in arms. * * * * * [sidenote: qualities of the chivalric character.] thus accompanied, the knight proceeded to achieve the high emprises of his noble and gallant calling. both the principles and the objects of chivalry having been always the same, a general similarity of character existed through all the chivalric ages; and as certain moral combinations divide human nature into classes, so the knight was a distinct character, and the qualities peculiar to his order may be delineated in one picture, notwithstanding individual and national variations, which had better be described when we come to mark the degrees of the influence of chivalry in the different countries of europe. [sidenote: the nature of their valiancy.] [sidenote: singular bravery of sir robert knowles.] the courage of the knight is the part of his character which naturally calls for our first attention. it was daring and enterprising: but i cannot insist upon recklessness of danger as the quality of chivalry only, for in every nation's battles, to be the first to advance and the last to retreat have been the ambition of warriors. the knight however cared little for the cause or necessity of his doing battle so that he could display his valour. about the year , sir robert knowles marched through france, and laid waste the country as far as the very gates of the capital. a knight was in his company, who had made a vow that he would ride to the walls or gates of paris, and strike at the barriers[ ] with a spear. and for the finishing of his vow he departed from his company, his spear in his hand, his shield suspended from his neck, armed at all points, and mounted on a good horse, his squire following him on another, with his helmet. when he approached paris he put on the glittering head-piece, and leaving his squire behind him, and dashing his spurs into his steed, he rode at full career to the barriers which were then open. the french lords, who were there, weened that he would have entered the town, but that was not his mind, for when he had struck the barriers according to his vow, he turned his rein and departed. then the knights of france immediately divined his purpose, and cried, "go your way; you have right well acquitted yourself."[ ] about the same time a band of english knights advanced to the french town of noyon, and spread their banners abroad, as a defiance to the garrison. but the french made no sally; and a scottish knight, named sir john swinton, impatient of rest, departed from his company, his spear in his hand, and mounted on a _cheval de lance_, his page behind him, and in that manner approached the barriers. he then alighted, and saying to his page, "hold, keep my horse, and depart not hence," he went to the barriers. within the pallisades were many good knights, who had great marvel what this said knight would do. then swinton said to them, "sirs, i am come hither to see you; as you will not issue out of your barriers, i will enter them, and prove my knighthood against yours. win me if you can!" he then fought with the french cavaliers, and so skilfully, that he wounded two or three of them; the people on the walls and the tops of the houses remaining still, for they had great pleasure to regard his valiantness, and the gallant knights of france charged them not to cast any missiles against him, but to let the battle go fairly and freely forward. so long they fought that at last the page went to the barriers, and said to his master, "sir, come away; it is time for you to depart, for your company are leaving the field." the knight heard him well, and then gave two or three strokes about him, and armed as he was he leapt over the barriers, and vaulting upon his horse behind his faithful page, he waved his hand to the frenchmen, and cried, "adieu, sirs, i thank you." he then urged his noble horse to speed, and rode to his own company. this goodly feat of arms was praised by many folks.[ ] [sidenote: bravery incited by vows.] this love of causeless perils was often accompanied by curious circumstances. on the manners of the ancestors of the heroes of chivalry it has been said, "in the caverns of the west, by odin's fierce embrace comprest, a wond'rous boy shall rinda bear, who ne'er shall comb his raven hair, nor wash his visage in the stream, nor see the sun's departing beam, till he on hoder's corse shall smile flaming on the fun'ral pile!" [sidenote: fantastic circumstances.] and king harold made a solemn vow never to clip or comb his hair till he should have extended his sway over the whole country. tacitus informs us, that the youthful germans, particularly those among the catti, did not shave the hair from the head or chin until they had achieved renown in arms. the same feeling influenced the knight of chivalry. he was wont to wear a chain on his arm or leg until he had performed some distinguishing exploit; and when his merit became conspicuous, the mark of thraldom was removed with great solemnity.[ ] a young knight would not at first assume his family arms, but wore plain armour and shield without any device till he had won renown. he would even fight blindfold, or pinion one of his hands to his body, or in some other manner partially disable himself from performing his deed, of arms. before the gate of troyes there was an english squire, resolved to achieve some high and romantic feat. his companions were unable to judge whether or not he could see, but with his spear in his hand, and his targe suspended from his neck, he recklessly spurred his horse to the barriers, leaped over them, and careered to the gate of the town, where the duke of burgundy and other great lords of france were standing. he reined round his foaming steed and urged him back towards the camp. the duke shouted applause at his boldness: but some surrounding men-at-arms had not the same generous sympathy for noble chivalry, and they hurled their lances like javelins at the brave squire, till they brought him and his horse dead to the ground, wherewith the duke of burgundy was right sore displeased.[ ] equally singular, and more fantastic, was the conduct of certain young knights of england during the french wars of edward iii., for each of them bound up one of his eyes with a silk ribbon, and swore before the ladies and the peacock, that he would not see with both eyes until he had accomplished certain deeds of arms in france.[ ] [sidenote: the sageness of knights]. nothing appears incredible in romances after reading these tales of a very faithful historian; but we should wrong chivalry were we to suppose that this wild, this phrenetic, courage was its chief character. perhaps it was in general the quality of young soldiers only; for discretion was certainly a part of cavaleresque valour. that a knight was sage is frequently said to his honour. not, indeed, that his skill ever degenerated into the subtlety of stratagem, for bold and open[ ] battle was always preferred to the refinements of artifice, and he would have debased his order if he had profited by any mischance happening to his foe. but in the choice of ground, in the disposition of his squires and men-at-arms, he exerted his best skill, for to be adventurous was only one part of valour. the soldier in chivalry was also imaginative, a word constantly used by our old authors to show a mind full of resources, and to express military abilities.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: their humanities of war.] there was not so much ruthlessness in his heroism as distinguished those ages of the ancient world which fancy and poetry have sometimes painted as chivalrous. the prostrate and suppliant foe seldom sued for mercy in vain from the true knight. it was a maxim, that a warrior without pity was without worship.[ ] even the pride of knighthood often softened the fierce and rugged face of war, for inferior people were spared, because they were unworthy of the lance. a knight trained to warlike exercises cared little for a battle unless he could prove his skilful bearing; and what honour could he gain from slaying rude and unarmed peasantry? the simple peasant was often spared from motives of prudence. richard brembrow, an english knight, was ravaging brittany, in the year , but was reproached for his conduct by beaumanoir, a partisan of the house of blois, who was astonished that a valiant cavalier should make war, not only on men bearing arms, but on labourers and others. "in all wars guided by chivalric principles," continued the knight of brittany, "true soldiers never injure the tillers of the ground; for if they were to do so, the world would be destroyed by famine."[ ] more generous feelings, however, sometimes had their influence. the stern du guesclin, when on his death-bed, desired his old companions in arms to remember that "neither the clergy, nor women, nor children, nor poor people, were their enemies;" and the charge came with peculiar propriety from him, for his past life could furnish no instance of needless severity. to show the reverse of such mildness was the unhappy fate of the black prince, who, by his massacre of three thousand people at limoges[ ], tarnished the lustre of all his former glories. the narrative of this affair which froissart has left us, shews that such barbarities were not so frequent in chivalric times as modern hatred of aristocratical power has represented. we may learn from our historian that the massacre at limoges proceeded from the unhappy disposition to cruelty which at that time clouded the mind of the prince of wales, and not from the general principles of chivalry; for he tells us, that the knights prepared themselves to do evil, to slay men, women, and children, because they were so commanded; and he whose heart leaped for joy in describing a manly conflict, where banners and standards waved in the wind, with horses barded, and knights and squires richly armed, yet sighs over the massacre of limoges, and says it was "great pity" to see the slaughter.[ ] it was only when cities that belonged to the enemies of the church were taken, that the sword of the victorious christian was embrued in blood to the very hilt; for pagans, saracens, jews, and heretics were not considered within the pale of the humane courtesies of chivalry. frequent pauses were made in the single encounters of knighthood, for generousness was thought an essential part of bravery, and the soldier would rather vanquish by his skill than by any accidental advantage. a giant of the first enormity requested of his antagonist, sir guy of warwick, a momentary respite for the purpose of slaking his thirst in a neighbouring stream. the noble knight assented to this request, and the giant, perfectly recovered from his fatigue, renewed the combat with fresh vigour. sir guy, in his turn, was oppressed by heat and fatigue, and requested a similar favour; but the uncourteous giant refused.[ ] in a battle between the celebrated roland and a saracen knight, named sir otuel, a stroke of the former's sword cut into the brain of his antagonist's horse. the paladin of charlemagne, with true chivalric courtesy, reined in his steed, and rested on his arms till sir otuel had disengaged himself from the equipments of his horse. the saracen rallied him for want of skill in missing his gigantic frame; but on the renewal of the battle otuel was guilty of a similar awkwardness, and conscious that his raillery might now be retorted with double force, he imitated the knightly courtesy of roland, and waited till his foe was completely free from his fallen steed.[ ] the preliminaries of a battle between the famous oliver and a saracen cavalier, hight sir ferumbras, was still more courteous, for the christian knight assisted his foe to lace his helmet, and before they encountered, the combatants politely bowed to each other.[ ] veracious chroniclers confirm the stories of romance writers. in a battle of honour between the english and french, when it was thought contrary to chivalry for either party to be more numerous than the other, the knights contended for several hours with intervals of repose. when any two of them had fought so long as to be fatigued, they fairly and easily departed, and sat themselves down by the side of a stream, and took off their helmets. on being refreshed they donned their armour, and returned to the fight.[ ] [sidenote: ransoming] [sidenote: reason of courtesies in battles.] we commonly refer to the principles of honour in chivalry to account for the interesting fact, that a victorious knight permitted his prisoner to go to his own country or town, in order to fetch his ransom; and we know that his word of honour was considered a sufficient pledge for his return at the appointed season. the true reason of this general practice of chivalry may be learnt from a passage in froissart. after describing a battle between the english and french in the year , he says, that the english dealt like good companions with their prisoners; and suffered many to depart on their oaths and promises to return again at a certain day to bergerac or to bourdeaux.[ ] the scots were equally courteous to the english after the truly chivalric battle of otterbourn. they set them to their ransom, and every man said to his prisoner, "sir, go and unarm yourself, and take your ease;" and so made their prisoners as good cheer as if they had been brethren, without doing them any injury.[ ] a short while after the battle sir matthew redman yielded himself prisoner to sir james lindsay, rescue or no rescue, so that he dealt with him like a good companion.[ ] it was, therefore, because all the knights of europe were united in one universal bond of brotherhood, that one knight showed courtesy to another. it was the principle of fraternity which the christian religion inculcates, that created all the kindly consideration in war which distinguished chivalry; and base and barbarous, as we may chuse to call our ancestors, i know not whether the principles of christian friendship were not as well understood in their days as in our own age of boasted light and improvement. there is truth as well as beauty in froissart's observation, that "nobleness and gentleness ought to be aided by nobles and gentles." not only were prisoners released on their parole of honour, but their ransom was never set so high that they could not pay it at their ease, and still maintain their degree.[ ] [sidenote: curious pride of knighthood.] [sidenote: prisoners.] one curious particular, illustrative of knightly dignity, remains to be mentioned. it was beneath the bearing of chivalry for a cavalier to surrender himself prisoner to one of the raskall rout, and if he ever was reduced to such a sad necessity he would amuse his pride by raising his conqueror to the rank of chivalry. the earl of suffolk, during our wars in france, was taken prisoner by william renaud; but he would not surrender to him until he had given him the accolade, bound a sword round him, and thus dignified him with knighthood. but there was no loss of chivalric dignity in a knight being taken prisoner by a squire, for a squire, though inferior in rank, was of the same quality as a knight. the renowned du guesclin, whom i so often mention as a pattern of chivalry, yielded to the prowess of a squire of england who fought under the standard of sir john chandos. [sidenote: instance of knightly honour.] in the course of the fourteenth century the duke of gueldres was taken prisoner by a squire named arnold, and was removed to a castle, where he promised to pay his ransom. the lords of prussia, hearing that the duke had been captured in his course to their country, summoned a mighty force, and marched to the place of the duke's confinement. the squire dreaded their power, and resolved to quit the castle: but before his departure he went to the duke of gueldres, and said to him, "sir duke, you are my prisoner, and i am your master: you are a gentleman and a true knight; you have sworn and given me your faith, and whithersoever i go you ought to follow me. i cannot tell if you have sent for the great master of prussia or not, but he is coming hither with a mighty power. i shall not remain: you may tarry if you list, and i will take with me your faith and promise." gueldres made no answer. the squire soon afterwards mounted horse and departed, telling the duke that he would always find him at such a place, naming a strong castle, in a remote situation. the prussians soon arrived and liberated their friend: but he resolved to perform his promise to the squire whom he called his master, and neither absolution, nor dispensation, nor argument, nor raillery could induce him to break his faith. his friends and relations then treated with the squire for his freedom, and by paying the customary ransom the duke of gueldres recovered that honourable liberty of mind which above all things was dear to the true knight.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: independence of knights and knight errantry.] certainly the virtues of a knight were not necessarily patriotic. they were rather calculated to weaken than to strengthen his tendencies to king and country. although as an individual he was bound to his native land, yet the character of his knighthood was perpetually pressing him to a course of conduct distinct from all national objects. he was the judge of right and wrong[ ]; he referred to no external standard of equity; he was an independent agent. these qualities of chivalry gave birth to knight errantry, that singular feature in the character of the middle ages. "long so they travell'd through wasteful ways, where dangers dwelt and perils most did wonne, to hunt for glory and renowned praise: full many countries they did overrun, from the uprising to the setting sun, and many hard adventures did atchieve; of all the which they honour ever wonne, seeking the weak oppressed to relieve, and to recover right for such as wrong did grieve."[ ] it was considered the first praise of knighthood to efface foul outrage, and the advantages arising to society from this disposition are confessed even by satirists. ------------"knyghtes shoulde ryden and rappe adoune in remes aboute, and to take trespassours and tye them faste. * * * * * truly to take, and truly to fight, is the profession and the pure order that apendeth to knights."[ ] the happy consequences to woman of this chivalric principle, and its tendencies to ameliorate manners, will best be seen in our delineation of the character of dames and damsels in the middle ages. with respect to the general interests of society it may be observed, that knight errantry was a very considerable means of correcting the state of violence and misrule in feudal times. the monks of st. albans held a body of knights in pay, who defended the abbey and preserved the roads free from robbers, whether of the baronial or the vulgar class.[ ] until the discipline of laws had tamed the world into order, force was the only measure of power; and it was by the sword alone that injuries committed by the sword could be avenged. the protection of the wronged being a great principle of chivalry, no oppressed person was at a loss for a mode of redress. some gentle knight was ever to be found who would lay his lance in its rest to chastise the evil doer. while edward the first was travelling in france, he heard that a lord of burgundy was continually committing outrages on the persons and property of his neighbours. in the true spirit of chivalry edward attacked the castle of this uncourteous baron. his prowess asserted the cause of justice; and he bestowed the domains which he had won upon a nobler and more deserving lord.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: knights fought the battles of other countries.] [sidenote: englishmen's disgust at spanish wines.] when he was neither engaged in his country's wars, nor errant in quest of adventures, the knight fought among the chivalry of foreign princes. this was a matter of daily occurrence; the english knights obtaining licences from the king on their pledging the honour of their chivalry not to disclose the secrets of the court, nor to fight on the side of the nation's enemies. it is curious to observe that the service of france was always preferred by the english adventurers to that of spain or portugal. france, they said, was a good, sweet country, and temperate, possessing pleasant towns and fair rivers, but castile was full of barren rocks and mountains, the air was unwholesome, the waters were troubled, and the people were poor and evil arrayed. the wines of spain formed, however, the principal grievance. the english complained that they were so strong and fiery as to corrupt their heads, dry their bowels, and consume their very livers; and what with hot suns and hot wines englishmen, who in their own country were sweetly nourished, were in castile burnt without and within. there is another passage of froissart which i shall lay before the reader in the right genuine and expressive old english of john bourchier, knight, lord berners. "the englishmen ate grapes (in spain) when they might get them, and drank of the hot wines, and the more they drank the more they were set on fire, and thereby burnt their livers and lungs; for that diet was contrary to their nature. englishmen are nourished with good meats and with ale, which keep their bodies in temper." in spain the nights were hot because of the great heat of the day, and the mornings marvellously cold, which deceives them; for in the night they could suffer nothing on them, and so slept all naked, and in the morning cold took them ere they were aware, and that cast them into fevers and fluxes without remedy, and as well died great men as mean people.[ ] [sidenote: principles of this active conduct.] all this adventurousness proceeded from the principle, that the life of a knight was not to be regarded as a course of personal indulgence. his virtues were of an active, stirring nature, and he was not permitted to waste his days in dark obscurity, or to revel in ease. like falcons that disdained confinement, he could not remain long at rest without wishing to roam abroad. "why do we not array ourselves and go and see the bounds and ports of normandy?" were the words of war by which our english knights and squires would rouse one another to arms. "there be knights and squires to awake us and to fight with us."[ ] and honour was always the quest of the true knight. "in woods, in waves, in wars she wont to dwell, and will be found with peril and with pain; nor can the man that moulders in idle cell, unto her happy mansion attain. before her gate high god did sweat ordain, and wakeful watchers ever to abide: but easy is the way and passage plain to pleasure's palace: it may soon be spide, and day and night her doors to all stand open wide."[ ] [sidenote: knightly independence consistent with discipline.] it has often been supposed[ ] that the chivalric array must have been inconvenient to the feudal and national disposition of armies, and that knightly honours would be continually striving with other distinctions for pre-eminence. but this supposition has arisen from a want of attention to chivalric principles. chivalry was not opposed to national institutions; it was a feeling of honour that pervaded without disturbing society; and knightly distinctions were altogether independent of ranks in the state. as every lord was educated in chivalry, he was of course a knight; but he led his troops into the field in consequence of his feudal possessions; and any that were attached to his knighthood, it would be in vain to enquire after. the array of an army was always formed agreeably to the sageness and imagination of the constable, or marshal, or whatever other officer of the nation was commander, without the slightest reference to chivalry. a squire frequently led knights, certainly not on account of his chivalric title, but by reason of favour or merit, or any other of the infinity of causes that occasion advancement. * * * * * [sidenote: religion of the knight.] [sidenote: his devotion.] the religion of the knight was generally the religion of the time; and it would be idle to expect to see religious reformers start from the bands of an unlettered soldiery, whose swords had been consecrated by the church. the warrior said many orisons every day; besides a nocturne of the psalter, matins of our lady, of the holy ghost, and of the cross, and also the dirige.[ ] the service of the mass was usually performed by both armies in the presence of each other before a battle; and no warrior would fight without secretly breathing a prayer to god or a favourite saint. brevity was an important feature in a soldier's devotion, as the following anecdote proves. when the french cavalier, lahire, had just reached his army, he met a chaplain, from whom he demanded absolution. the priest required him to confess his sins. but the knight answered he had not time, for he wanted immediately to attack the enemy. he added, that a minute disclosure of his offences was not necessary, for he had only been guilty of sins common to cavaliers, and the chaplain well knew what those sins were. the priest thereupon absolved him, and lahire raised his hands to heaven, and exclaimed, "god, i pray thee that thou wouldest do to-day for lahire as much as thou wouldest lahire should do for thee, if he were god and thou wert lahire." he then dashed spurs into his horse, and his falchion was stained with foeman's blood before the good chaplain had recovered from his astonishment at this singular form of prayer. the union of religion and arms was displayed in a very remarkable manner at a joust which was held at berwick, in the year . the lance of an english knight pierced the helmet of his scottish opponent, william de ramsey, and nailed it to his head. it being instantly perceived that the wound was mortal, a priest was hastily sent for. the knight was shriven in his helm, and soon afterwards died, and the good earl of derby, who was present, was so much delighted at the religious and chivalric mode of the scotsman's death, that he hoped god of his grace would vouchsafe to send him a similar end.[ ] the knight visited sacred places, and adopted all the superstitions, whether mild or terrible, and the full spirit of intolerant fierceness, of his time. the defence of the church formed part of his obligation. "chevaliers en ce monde cy ne peuvent vivre sans soucy: ils doivent le peuple défendre, et leur sang pour la foi espandre." [sidenote: his intolerance.] the knight knew no other argument than the sword to gainsay the infidel, and he was ready at all times to "thrust it into the belly of a heretic as far as it would go." this was the feeling in all chivalric times; but st. louis was the knight who had the merit of arraying it in the form of a maxim. the wars of these soldiers of the church were not purely defensive. the cavalier fought openly and offensively against heretics. this was part of the spirit and essence of his character, encouraged by the crusades, and the principles of the military orders; and thus no knight's military reputation was perfect, unless it was adorned with laurels which had been won in heathennesse as well as in christendom; for it was the general opinion, that, as heaven had chosen learned clerks to maintain the holy catholic faith with scripture and reason against the miscreants and unbelievers, so knights had also been chosen, in order that the miscreants might be vanquished by force of arms.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: general nature of his virtue.] the highest possible degree of virtue was required of a knight: it was a maxim in chivalry, that he who ordained another a knight must be virtuous himself; for it was argued if the knight who made a knight were not virtuous, how could he give that which he had not; and no man could be a true son of chivalry unless he were of unsullied life.[ ] he was not only to be virtuous, but without reproach; for he considered his honourable fame as a polished mirror, whose beauty may be lost by an impure breath and an unwholesome air, as well as by being broken into pieces. but there was nothing so abstract and refined in the nature of knightly virtue as has been generally thought. it was the duty of the cavalier to peril himself in the cause of the afflicted and of the church; and his exertions and endeavours to perform the conditions of his oath of chivalry were to be rewarded, not by the mere gratification of any metaphysical fancies, but by the hope of joy in heaven. this was the leading principle of his duty, however often it might be abused or forgotten; and this was the feeling which his oath taught him to encourage. but it did not exclude from his conduct the operation of personal motives. thus, in displaying his love of justice, he displayed his chivalric skill; and by the same action he gratified his laudable aspirations for fame, and soothed and satisfied his conscience. certes all knights were not religious, even in the sense in which religion was understood in chivalric times. one cavalier made it his heart's boast that he had burnt a church, with twenty-four monks, its contents.[ ] the joyousness of youth often broke out in witty sentences, and the sallies of the buoyant spirits of the young cavalier were neither decent nor moral. when his imagination was inflamed by chivalry and love, he forgot his rosary, and said that paradise was only the habitation of dirty monks, priests, and hermits; and that, for his own part, he preferred the thoughts of going to the devil; and, in his fiery kingdom, he was sure of the society of kings, knights, squires, minstrels, and jugglers, and, above all the rest, the mistress of his heart.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: fidelity to obligations.] of his moral virtues perfect fidelity to a promise was very conspicuous, for his nobleness disdained any compromise with convenience or circumstances. however absurd the vow, still he was compelled to perform it in all the strictness of the letter. notwithstanding the obvious inconveniences of such a course, a man frequently promised to grant whatever another should ask; and he would have lost the honour of his knighthood, if he had declined from his word when the wish of him to whom the promise had been made was stated. sir charles du blois promised sir loyes of spain whatever gift he might require for the service he had rendered him. "then," said sir loyes, "i require you to cause the two knights that are in prison in favet to be brought hither, and give them to me to do with them at my pleasure, for they have injured me, and slain my nephew. i will strike their heads off before the town, in sight of their companions." sir charles was obliged to comply and deliver up the knights; only remonstrating with sir loyes on the cruelty of putting two such valiant knights to death, and on the impolicy of such a measure, as giving occasion to their enemies of dealing in a similar manner with them when the fortune of war changed her face.[ ] [sidenote: generousness.] [sidenote: singular instance of it.] there was a generousness about chivalry unknown to other warfare. if in these days of improved jurisprudence we revert our eyes with horror and contempt to times when every question was decided by the sword, still an air of graceful courtesy hung over them, which charms the imagination. a cavalier always granted safe-conduct through his territories to all who required it, even to those who asserted pretensions, which, if established, would deprive him of his possessions. when matilda landed near arundel, to contend for the throne of england, stephen gave her honourable conduct to the castle of his brother, the earl of gloucester.[ ] this instance of chivalric generousness seems scarcely credible to those who view ancient times by the light of modern prejudices. it was not the passive virtue that declined to profit by any mischance happening to an adversary, but it was one knight drawing the sword, and placing it in the hands of his foe. [sidenote: romantic excess of it.] more full in its circumstances, and equally romantic in its character, is the following tale. about the year , sir peter courtenay, an english knight of approved valiancy, went to france in order to joust with the renowned sir guy of tremouille. they ran one course with spears, and the king then stopped the martial game, saying that each had done enough. he made the stranger-knight fair presents, and set him on his way to calais, under the care of the lord of clary, who is characterised by our old chivalric chronicler as a lusty and frisky knight. they rode together till they reached lucen, where resided the countess of st. poule, sister of the king of england, and whose first husband had been a lord of courtenay. during the noble entertainment with which she greeted her guests, the countess enquired of sir peter his opinion of france. he complimented the country in most of its forms, and praised the demeanour of the french chivalry, except in one thing, for he complained that none of their knights would do any deed of arms with him, although he had with great trouble and cost left england to encounter them. the lord of clary heard with pain the knights of his country reviled, in the presence of the sister of the king of england; but he restrained his feelings, because sir peter was then under his protection. the next day they took their leave of the countess, who, like a noble lady, threw a chain of gold round the neck of each. they proceeded to calais, and when they reached the frontier, and sir peter stepped on the english territory, the lord of clary reminded him of the language he had used at the board of the countess st. poule, regarding the french chivalry, and added, that such an opinion was not courteous nor honorable, and that simple knight as he was he would do his devoir to answer him, saying, however, that he was influenced not by any hatred to his person, but the desire of maintaining the honor of french knighthood. accordingly they jousted in the marshes of calais, in the presence of noble cavaliers and squires of the two nations. in the second course the lance of lord clary pierced the shoulder of sir peter, and the wounded knight was led to the neighbouring town. the lord of clary returned to paris, proud that he had vindicated the chivalric honor of his country, and expecting praise. but when it was reported that a strange knight, travelling under the royal safeguard, had been required to do a deed of arms, the king and his council felt alarmed, lest the honor of their nation had received a stain. it was also thought that the joust had been intentionally a mortal one, a matter which aggravated the offence. the lord of clary was summoned before them, and interrogated how he had presumed to be so outrageous, as to hold a joust to the utterance with a knight-stranger that had come to the king's court for good love and to exalt his honor, to do feats of arms, and had departed thence with good love and joy, and to the intent that he should not be troubled in his return, he had been delivered to his charge. the lord of clary, in reply, simply related his tale, and instead of deprecating the anger of his liege lord, he claimed reward for his vindication of the french chivalry. he said he would abide the judgment of the constable and the high marshal of france, the knights and squires of honor in every land; and so highly did he esteem the chivalry of that noble knight himself, sir peter courtenay, that he would appeal to his voice and discretion. notwithstanding this defence, the lord of clary was committed to prison, nor was he delivered thence till after a long time, when the entreaties of the countess of st. poule, the lord of bourbon, the lord of coucy, and other nobles, prevailed with the king. he was dismissed with this reproof and exhortation: "sir of clary, you supposed that you had done right well, howbeit you acted shamefully, when you offered to do arms with sir peter courtenay, who was under the king's safeguard, and delivered to you to conduct to calais. you did a great outrage when you renewed the words, which were spoken only in sport before the countess of st. poule. before you had so renewed them, you ought to have returned to the king, and then what counsel the king had given, you should have followed; because you did not this, you have suffered pain. beware better another time, and thank the lord of bourbon and the lord of coucy for your deliverance, for they earnestly solicited for you, and also thank the lady of st. poule."[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: liberality.] the virtue of liberality seems to have been a striking feature of the chivalric character. it proceeded from that loftiness of spirit which felt that avarice would have debased a heroism that should contend for crowns and kingdoms. the minstrels of the times, who kept alive the flame of chivalry, encouraged this virtue above all others, for upon it depended their own subsistence. but it often sprang from better motives than pride or vanity. the good lord de foix gave every day five florins, in small money, at his gate, to poor folks, for the love of god; and he was liberal and courteous in his gifts to others; for he had certain coffers in his chambers, out of which he would oft-times take money to give to lords, knights, and squires, such as came to him, and none departed from him without a gift.[ ] a knight, indeed, was taught to consider nothing his own, save his horse and arms, which he ought to keep as his means of acquiring honour, by using them in the defence of his religion and country, and of those who were unable to defend themselves.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: humility.] the valiancy of chivalry was beautifully chastened by humility; "and of his port as meek as is a maid." every hero, as well as chaucer's knight, demeaned himself in all things as if he had been in the hands of god, and in his name used his arms, without vaunting or praising himself; for praise was regarded as blame in the mouth of him who commended his own actions. it was thought that if the squire had vain-glory of his arms, he was not worthy to be a knight, for vain-glory was a vice which destroyed the merits and the claims of chivalry. the heroes of the round table were the mirror of all christian knights; and the generous modesty of sir lancelot was reflected in the conduct of many a true soldier of chivalry. in the lofty fancies of romantic europe that valiant friend of arthur was the prowest of all the heroes of britain; yet he always gave place to sir tristram, and often retired from the field of tournament when that noble son of arms was performing his devoir. even when he was entitled to the prize, sir lancelot would not receive it, maugre the offering of king, queen, and knights; but when the cry was great through the field, "sir lancelot, sir lancelot hath won the field, this day!" that noble subject of praise cried, on the contrary, "sir tristram hath won the field; for he began first, and endured last, and so hath he done the first day, the second, and the third day."[ ] [sidenote: courtesy.] the catalogue of knightly virtues is not yet complete; and nothing can be more beautiful to the moral eye than some of the characteristics of the ancient chivalry. kindness and gentleness of manner, which, when adopted by kings from knightly customs, were called courtesy, were peculiar to the soldier of the middle ages, and pleasingly distinguished him from the savage sternness of other warriors, whether roman or barbarian. courtesy was the appearance, in the ordinary circumstances of life, of that principle of protection which, in weightier matters, made the sword leap from its scabbard; and, like every other blessing of modern times, it had its origin in the christian religion. the world thought that courtesy and chivalry accorded together, and that villainous and foul words were contrary to an order which was founded on piety.[ ] whether historians or fabulists speak of a true knight, he is always called gentle and courteous. to be debonnaire was as necessary as to be bold; "preux chevalier n'en doutez pas, doit ferir hault et parler bas."[ ] the following anecdote curiously marks the manners of chivalric ages with relation to the quality of courtesy:--the wife and sister of du guesclin were once living in a castle which was attacked and taken by a force of normans and englishmen. the success was great and important; but public indignation was excited against the invaders, because they had transgressed the licence of war, and been guilty of the uncourteous action of surprizing and disturbing ladies while they were asleep.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: every-day life of the knight.] [sidenote: falconry.] these military and moral qualities of knighthood were sustained and nourished by all the circumstances of chivalric life, even those of a peaceful nature. hunting and falconry, the amusements of the cavalier, were images of war, and he threw over them a grace beyond the power of mere baronial rank. dames and maidens accompanied him to the sport of hawking, when the merry bugles sounded to field; and it was the pleasing care of every gallant knight to attend on his damsel, and on her bird which was so gallantly bedight; to let the falcon loose at the proper moment, to animate it by his cries, to take from its talons the prey it had seized, to return with it triumphantly to his lady, and, placing the hood on its eyes, to set it again on her hand. every true knight could say, like the cavalier in spenser, "ne is there hawk which mantleth her on perch, whether high towering or accosting low, but i the measure of her flight do search, and all her prey and all her diet know." these amusements of every-day life were always mingling themselves with the humanities of war. edward iii., when in france, in the year , was attended by sixty couple of dogs, and by thirty falconers, on horseback, carrying birds. various barons in the army had their dogs and birds with them, like the king. during the reign of richard ii., when the duke of lancaster was in france and spain, many ladies accompanied the army, for the objects of the expedition were not altogether military; pleasure was as much the occupation as affairs of moment, and for the space of a month or more the duke lay at cologne, and removed not, except it were hunting or hawking; for the duke and other lords of england had brought with them hawks and hounds for their own sport, and sparrow-hawks for the ladies.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: chess-playing.] to play the game of chess, to hear the minstrel's lays, and read romances, were the principal amusements of the knight when the season and the weather did not permit hawking and hunting. a true knight was a chess-player, and the game was played in every country of chivalry; for as the chivalric states of midland europe obtained a knowledge of it from the scandinavians, so the southern states acquired it from the arabs. "when they had dined, as i you say, lords and ladies went to play; some to tables, and some to chess, with other games more and less."[ ] [sidenote: story of knights' love of chess.] the fondness of our ancestors for the game of chess appears by the frequent mention of the amusement in the ancient romances. sometimes a lover procured admittance to the place where his mistress was confined, by permitting the jailor to win from him a game at chess. again, the minstrels in the baronial hall, spread over their subject all the riches of their imagination. they were wont to fancy the enchanted castle of a beautiful fairy, who challenged a noble knight to play with her at chess. flags of white and black marble formed the chequer, and the pieces consisted of massive statues of gold and silver, which moved at the touch of a magic wand held by the player. such fables show the state of manners: but a curious story remains on historical record, which displays the practical consequences of chess-playing. during part of the reign of our edward iii. the town and castle of evreux were french. a noble knight of the neighbourhood, named sir william graville, who was secretly attached to the english side, thought he could win the place, and he formed his scheme on his knowledge of the governor's character. he first gained some friends among the burgesses, who were not very strongly attached to the french cause. as he had not declared himself the friend of either party, he was permitted to walk in whatever quarters of the city he chose, and one day he loitered before the gate of the castle till he attracted the attention of the governor. they saluted each other, and conversed awhile on the topics of the season. sir william found his auditor credulous to every tale, till, when he had told one of wondrous improbability, the governor demanded his authority. "sir," replied the knight of graville, "a cavalier of flanders wrote this to me on the pledge of his honour, and sent with the letter the goodliest chess-men i ever saw." the governor dropped all care for the story at the mention of chess-men, and he anxiously desired to see them. "i will send for them," said sir william, "on condition that you will play a game with me for the wine." the governor assented, and sir william desired his squire to fetch the chess-men and bring them to the gate. the two knights then passed through two wickets into the castle yard; and while the stranger was viewing the edifice, his faithful squire ran at speed to the burgesses' houses, and summoned them to arms. they soon donned their harness and repaired with him to the castle gate, where, agreeably to a concerted scheme, he sounded a horn. when sir william heard it, he said to the governor, "let us go out of the second gate, for the chess-men are arrived." sir william passed the wicket, and remained without. in following him the governor stooped and put out his head. sir william drew a small battle-axe from under his cloak, and therewith smote to death his defenceless foe. he then opened the first gate, the burgesses entered in numerous and gallant array, and incontinently the castle was taken.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: minstrelsy.] the minstrel's lay, the poetry of the troubadour, the romance of the learned clerk, all spoke of war and love, of the duties and sports of chivalry. every baronial knight had his gay troop of minstrels that accompanied him to the field, and afterwards chaunted in his hall, whether in their own or another's verse, the martial deeds which had renowned his house. a branch of the minstrelsy art consisted of reciting tales; and such persons as practised it were called jesters. "i warn you first at the beginning, that i will make no vain carping of deeds of arms nor of amours as do minstrelles and jestours, that make carping in many a place of octoviane and isembrase, and of many other jestes, and namely when they come to festes; nor of the life of bevis of hampton, that was a knight of great renown; nor of sir guy of warwick, all if it might some men like."[ ] minstrels played on various musical instruments during dinner, and chaunted or recited their verses and tales afterwards both in the hall, and in the chamber to which the barons and knights retired for amusement. "before the king he set him down, and took his harp of merry soun, and, as he full well can, many merry notes he began. the king beheld, and sat full still, to hear his harping he had good will. when he left off his harping, to him said that rich king, minstrel, me liketh well thy glee, what thing that thou ask of me largely i will thee pay; therefore ask now and asay."[ ] a minstrel's lay generally accompanied the wine and spices which concluded the entertainment.[ ] kings and queens had their trains of songsters, and partly from humour and partly from contempt, the head of the band was called king of the minstrels.[ ] but men of the first quality, particularly the younger sons and brothers of great houses, followed the profession of minstrelsy, and no wonder, if it be true that they gained the guerdon without having encountered the dangers of war; for many a doughty knight complained that the smiles for which he had perilled himself in the battle field were bestowed upon some idle son of peace at home. the person of a minstrel was sacred, and base and barbarian the man would have been accounted, who did not venerate him that sang the heroic and the tender lay, the magic strains of chivalry, and could shed a romantic lustre over fierce wars and faithful loves. "in days of yore how fortunately fared the minstrel! wandering on from hall to hall, baronial court or royal; cheered with gifts munificent, and love, and ladies' praise: now meeting on his road an armed knight, now resting with a pilgrim by the side of a clear brook: beneath an abbey's roof one evening sumptuously lodg'd; the next humbly, in a religious hospital; or with some merry outlaws of the wood; or haply shrouded in a hermit's cell. him, sleeping or awake, the robber spared; he walk'd--protected from the sword of war by virtue of that sacred instrument his harp, suspended at the traveller's side; his dear companion wheresoe'er he went, opening from land to land an easy way by melody, and by the charm of verse."[ ] every page of early european history attests the sacred consideration of the minstrel, and the romances are full of stories, which at least our imagination can credit, of many a knight telling his soft tale in the dress of a love-singing poet. that dress had another claim to respect, for it was fashioned like a sacerdotal robe, as we learn from the story of two itinerant priests gaining admittance to a monastery, on the supposition of their being minstrels; but as soon as the fraud was discovered the poor ecclesiastics were beaten and driven from the monastery by their happier brethren.[ ] the minstrel also was often arrayed in a dress of splendour, given to him by a baron in a moment of joyous generosity. the earl of foix, after a great festival, gave to heralds and minstrels the sum of five hundred franks; and he gave to the minstrels of his guest, the duke of tourrain, gowns of cloth of gold, furred with ermine, valued at two hundred franks.[ ] [sidenote: romances.] there were other classes of poets in days of chivalry, who, under the names of troubadours, trouveurs, and minnesingers, were spread over all chivalric countries, and sang the qualities by which a knight could render himself agreeable to his mistress. the board of a baron was sometimes enlivened by a tenson, or dialogue in verse, on the comparative merits of love and war; and the argument was often supported by warmer feelings than those which could influence a hireling rhymer, for the harp of the troubadour was borne by kings, and lords, and knights. the romances, or poems longer than the minstrels' or troubadour lay, were also faithful ministers of chivalry. all their heroes were advocates of the church, and enemies of the saracens and pagans. the perilous adventures of the gothic knights, their high honor, tender gallantry, and solemn superstition were all recorded in romances[ ], and there was not a bay window in a baronial hall without its chivalric volume, with which knights and squires drove away the lazy hours of peace. the fictitious tales of arthur and charlemagne were the study and amusement of the warrior in his moments of ease, and even the few relics of classical literature, which, after the gothic storm, were cast on the shores of modern europe, were fashioned anew by chivalry. the heroes of troy were converted into knights, and troilus and cressida moved like a warrior and damsel of chivalric times. indeed, as the tale of troy divine was occasioned by a lady, it blended very readily with the established fictions of the times. and the romancers, like the minstrels and troubadours, were highly favoured by the great, who knew that their actions, unless recorded by _clerc_, could have no duration, and therefore they often made handsome presents to authors in order to have their names recorded in never-dying histories.[ ] [sidenote: conversation.] the conversation of knights, like their lives and literature, related only to love and war. "then were the tables taken all away, and every knight, and every gentle squire, gan choose his dame with _basciomani_[ ] gay, with whom he meant to make his sport and play, * * * * * some fell to dance; some fell to hazardry; some to make love; some to make merriment." every knight was welcome at another knight's castle, if it were only for the intelligence he could communicate regarding the deeds of arms that had been done in the countries which he had visited; and the great charm of the castle of the earl of foix, to the imagination of froissart, was the goodly company of knights and squires of honor, pages and damsels, that he met in the hall, chamber, and court, going up and down, and talking of arms and amours.[ ] "after meat they went to play, all the people, as i you say; some to chamber, and some to bower, and some to the high tower, and some in the hall stode, and spake what them thought gode; men that were of that cytè, enquired of men of other contrè."[ ] [sidenote: nature and forms of chivalric entertainments.] knights were wont, at these entertainments, to repose on couches, or sit on benches. the guests were placed two by two, and only one plate was allotted to each pair; for to eat on the same trencher or plate with any one was considered the strongest mark of friendship or love.[ ] peacocks and pheasants were the peculiar food of knights on great and festival occasions; they were said to be the nutriment of lovers, and the viand of worthies. the peacock was as much esteemed in chivalric as in classic times; and as jupiter clothed himself with a robe made of that bird's feathers, so pope paul, sending to king pepin a sword, in sign of true regard, accompanied it with a mantle ornamented with a peacock's plumes. the highest honours were conferred on these birds; for knights associated them with all their ideas of fame, and vowed by the peacock, as well as by the ladies, to perform their highest enterprises. a graceful splendour often characterised the circumstances in which the vow of the pheasant or peacock was made. on a day of public festival, and between the courses of the repast, a troop of ladies brought into the assembly a peacock, or a pheasant, roasted in its feathers, in a golden or silver dish.[ ] the hall was adorned with scenes, and wooden or other semblances of men, animals, or nature, all being expressive of the object for which the vow of the peacock was to be taken. if the promotion of religious wars was in view, a matron, clad in habiliments of woe, entered the room, and, approaching the dais, or lofty seat, which the chief lords and knights surrounded, she recited a long complaint, in verse, on the evils she suffered under the yoke of infidels, and complained of the tardiness of europe in attempting her deliverance. some knights then advanced, to the sound of solemn minstrelsy, to the lord of the castle, and presented two ladies, who bore between them the noble bird, in its splendid dish. in a brief speech the ladies recommended themselves to his protection. the lord promised to make war upon the infidels, and sanctioned his resolution by appealing to god and the virgin mary, the ladies and the peacock. all the knights who were in the hall drew their swords and repeated the vow; and, while bright falchions and ladies' eyes illumined the scene, each knight, inflamed by thoughts of war and love, added some new difficulty to the enterprise, or bound himself, by grievous penalties, to achieve it. sometimes a knight vowed that he would be the first to enter the enemy's territory. others vowed that they would not sleep in beds, nor eat off a cloth, nor drink wine, till they had been delivered of their emprise. the dish was then placed upon the table, and the lord of the festival deputed some renowned knight to carve it in such a manner that every guest might taste the bird. while he was exercising his talents of carving and subdivision, a lady, dressed in white, came to thank the assembly, presenting twelve damsels, each conducted by a cavalier. these twelve represented, by emblematical dresses, faith, charity, justice, reason, prudence, temperance, strength, generosity, mercy, diligence, hope, and courage. this bevy of bright damsels trooped round the hall, amidst the applauses of the assembly, and then the repast proceeded.[ ] * * * * * these were the military, the religious, and the social qualities of a preux chevalier. the gentler feelings of his heart will be best delineated in the next chapter; and, as we have seen him adventurous and imaginative, so we shall find him amorous and true.[ ] chap. v. dames and damsels, and lady-love. _courtesy ... education ... music ... graver sciences ... dress ... knowledge of medicine ... every-day life of the maiden ... chivalric love ... the idolatry of the knight's passion ... bravery inspired by love ... character of woman in the eyes of a knight ... peculiar nature of his love ... qualities of knights admired by women ... a tale of chivalric love ... constancy ... absence of jealousy ... knights asserted by arms their mistress's beauty ... penitents of love ... other peculiarities of chivalric love ... the passion universal ... story of aristotle ... chivalric love the foe to feudal distinctions ... but preserved religion ... when attachments were formed ... societies of knights for the defence of ladies ... knights of the lady in the green field ... customs in england ... unchivalric to take women prisoners ... morals of chivalric times ... heroines of chivalry ... queen philippa ... the countess of march ... tales of jane of mountfort and of marzia degl' ubaldini ... nobleness of the chivalric female character._ [sidenote: courtesy.] if we fancy the knight of chivalry as valiant, noble-minded, and gentle, our imagination pictures to our minds the lady of his love in colours equally fair and pleasing. but we must not lose her individuality in general expressions of admiration, for she had a distinct and peculiar character, which from the circumstances of her life can be accurately traced. the maiden of gentle birth was, like her brother, educated in the castle of some knight or baron, her father's friend, and many of her duties were those of personal attendance. as the young candidate for chivalric honours carved at table, handed the wines, and made the beds of his lord, so his sister's care was to dress her lady, to contribute by music and conversation to her amusement, and to form a part of her state retinue[ ]: and while there was no loss of dignity in this description of service, the practice being universal and of immemorial antiquity, feelings of humility insensibly entered the mind, and a kind consideration for those of harder fortunes softened the severity of feudal pride. thus a condescending deportment to inferiors was a duty which their moral instructors enforced. it was represented to them by the pleasing image of the sparrow-hawk, which, when called in gentle accents, would come and settle on her hand, but if, instead of being courteous, she were rude and cruel, he would remain on the rock's pinnacle heedless of her calls. courtesy from persons of superior consideration was the fair right of people of gentle birth though of small estate, for gentility was always to be respected, and to the poor man or woman it ought to be shown, because it gives pleasure to them, and reflects honour on those who bestowed it. a lady once in company of knights and ladies took off her hood and humbled herself courteously unto a mechanic. one of her friends exclaimed in astonishment, "why, noble dame, you have taken off your hood to a tailor."--"yes," she replied, "and i would rather have doffed it to him than to a gentleman:" and her courteous friends reputed that she had done right well.[ ] [sidenote: education.] [sidenote: music.] the mental education of women of those days was not of a very high polish. to repeat the prayers of the church, to sing the brief piece of poetry called the lai, or the longer romaunt were the only tasks on the intellect. "the king had a daughter dear, that maiden ysonde hight; that glee was lef to hear and romance to read aright."[ ] the ladies also played upon the harp. "they were wont to harp and syng, and be the merriest in chamber comyng."[ ] the same particular of ancient manners is recorded by another poet: "the lady that was so fair and bright, upon the bed she sat down right, the harpers notes sweet and fine, her maids filled a price of wine. and sir degore sat him down, for to hear the harper's sown."[ ] [sidenote: graver sciences.] but sometimes the graver sciences were introduced into female education, and felice, the daughter of rohand, earl of warwick, was not without parallels. "gentle she was, and as demure as ger-fauk, or falcon to lure, that out of mew were y-drawe. so fair was none, in sooth sawe. she was thereto courteous, and free and wise, and in the seven arts learned withouten miss. her masters were thither come out of thoulouse all and some, white and hoar all they were; busy they were that maiden to lere; and they her lered of astronomy, of armsmetrick, and of geometry; of sophistry she was also witty, of rhetorick, and of other clergy: learned she was in musick; of clergy was her none like."[ ] maidens were taught that a mild dignity of demeanour beseemed them, and moralising their duty into a thousand similies, their teachers declared that they ought not to resemble the tortoise or the crane, which turn the visage and the head above their shoulders, and winde their head like a vane; but their regard and manner ought to be steadfast, in imitation of the beautiful hare, which always looks right on. if an occasion required a damsel to look aside, she ought to turn the visage and body together, and so her estate would be more firm and sure; for it was unmaidenly lightly to cast about her sight and head, and turn her face here and there.[ ] [sidenote: dress.] simplicity of dress was another part of instruction: but there was to be no lack of jewels of price and other splendid ornaments on festive occasions, and, consistently with the general magnificence of religious worship of the age, maidens were commanded to wear their gorgeous robes at church, and not merely at courtly festivals. there was a gravity about chivalry which accorded well with the recommendation for women not quickly to adopt new dresses introduced from strange countries. modesty of attire was the theme of many a wise discourse, and every castle had its story of the daughter of a knight who lost her marriage by displaying too conspicuously the graces of her figure, and that the cavalier who was her intended suitor preferred her sister who had modesty, though not beauty, for her dower.[ ] [sidenote: knowledge of medicine.] all the domestic oeconomy of the baronial mansion was arranged by these young maidens: and the consideration which this power gave them was not a little heightened by their sharing with the monks in the knowledge which the age possessed of vulnerary medicaments. this attribute of skill over the powers of nature was a clear deduction from that sublime, prophetic, and mysterious character of women in the ages which preceded the times both of feudalism and chivalry. the healing art was not reduced to an elaborate system of principles and rules, for memory to store and talent to apply, but it was thought that the professors of medicine enjoyed a holy intercourse with worlds unknown to common minds. the possession of more than mortal knowledge was readily ascribed to a pure, unearthly being like woman, and the knight who felt to his heart of hearts the charm of her beauty was not slow in believing that she could fascinate the very elements of nature to aid him. there are innumerable passages in the various works which reflect the manners of chivalric times on the medicinal practice of dames and damsels. a pleasing passage of spenser illustrates their affectionate tendance of the sick. "where many grooms and squires ready were to take him from his steed full tenderly; and eke the fairest alma met him there with balm and wine and costly spicery, to comfort him in his infirmity. eftesoones she caus'd him up to be conveyed, and of his arms despoiled easily: in sumptuous bed she made him to be laid, and, all the while his wounds were dressing, by him stay'd."[ ] chirurgical knowledge was also a necessary feminine accomplishment, and we will accept the reason of the cavalier with "high thoughts, seated in a heart of courtesy," for such a remarkable feature in their character. "the art of surgery," says sir philip sidney, "was much esteemed, because it served to virtuous courage, which even ladies would, even with the contempt of cowards, seem to cherish."[ ] a fair maiden could perform as many wonderful cures as the most renowned and skilful leech. the gentle nicolette successfully treated an accident which her knight aucassin met with. "so prosper'd the sweet lass, her strength alone thrust deftly back the dislocated bone; then, culling curious herbs of virtue tried, while her white smock the needful bands supplied: with many a coil the limb she swath'd around, and nature's strength return'd, nor knew its former wound." spenser favours us with the ladies' method of treating a wound. "mekely she bowed down, to weete if life yet in his frozen members did remain; and, feeling by his pulses beating rife that the weak soul her seat did yet retain, she cast to comfort him with busy pain: his double-folded neck she reared upright, and rubb'd his temples and each trembling vein; his mailed haberieon she did undight, and from his head his heavy burganet did light. into the woods thenceforth in haste she went, to seek for herbs that mote him remedy; for she of herbes had great intendiment, taught of the nymph from whom her infancy her nourced had in true nobility. * * * * * the soveraine weede betwixt two marbles plain, she powder'd small, and in pieces bruize; and then atweene her lily handes twain into his wound ye juice thereof did scruze; and round about, as she could well it use, the flesh therewith she suppled and did steepe t'abate all spasm and soke the swelling bruise; and, after having search't the intuse deep, she with her scarf did bind the wound, from cold to keep."[ ] [sidenote: every-day life of the maiden.] the every-day life of a young maiden in chivalric times is described with a great deal of spirit in the fine old english tale, of the squire of low degree. i am not acquainted with any other passage of the metrical romances which contains so vivid a picture of the usages of our ancestors. to dissipate his daughter's melancholy for the loss of her lover, the king of hungary says, "to-morrow ye shall on hunting fare, and ride, my daughter, in a chair,[ ] it shall be covered with velvet red, and cloths of fine gold all about your head; with damask white and azure blue well diapered with lilies new. your pomelles shall be ended with gold, your chains enameled many a fold; your mantle of rich degree, purple pall and ermine fre. jennets of spain that be so white trapped to the ground with velvet bright. ye shall have harp, sawtry, and song, and other myrthes you among; ye shall have rumney and malmesyne, both ypocrass and vernage wine, mount rose and wine of greek, both algrade and despice eke; antioch and bastard, piment also and gamarde; wine of greek and muscadell, both clare piment and rochell,[ ] the red your stomach to defy, and pots of osey set you by. you shall have venison ybake,[ ] the best wild fowl that may be take. a lese of greyhounds with you to strike, and hart and hind and other lyke, ye shall be set at such a tryst[ ] that hart and hind shall come to your fist. your disease to drive you fro, to hear the bugles there yblowe. homeward thus shall ye ride, on hawking by the river's side, with goss hawk and with gentle falcon, with egle-horn, and merlyon.[ ] when you come home your men among, ye shall have revel dance and song, little children great and small shall sing as doth the nightingale. then shall ye go to your even song, with tenors and trebles among, threescore of ropes of damask bright full of pearls they shall be pight,[ ] your censers shall be of gold indent with azure many a fold: your choir nor organ song shall want with counter note and discant. the other half on organs playing, with young children full fair singing. then shall ye go to your supper, and sit in tents in green arbour, with cloth of arras pight to the ground, with saphires set and diamond. the nightingale sitting on a thorn shall sing you notes both even and morn. an hundred knights truly told, shall play with bowls in alleys cold, your disease to drive away, to see the fishes in pools play. and then walk in arbour up and down, to see the flowers of great renown. to a draw-bridge then shall ye, the one half of stone, the other of tree; a barge shall meet you, full right, with twenty-four oars full bright, with trumpets and with clarion, the fresh water to row up and down. * * * * * into your chamber they shall you bring with much mirth and more liking. your blankets shall be of fustain, your sheets shall be of cloths of rayne;[ ] your head sheet shall be of pery pyght,[ ] with diamonds set and ruby bright. when you are laid in bed so soft, a cage of gold shall hang aloft, with long pepper fair burning, and cloves that be sweet smelling, frankinsence and olibanum,[ ] that when you sleep the taste may come, and if ye no rest can make, all night minstrels for you shall wake." [sidenote: chivalric love.] in that singular system of manners which we call chivalric, religion was a chief influential principle of action; but scarcely less consequence ought in truth to be given to another feeling apparently incompatible with it; and if venus, in the greek mythology, was called the universal cause, her empire seems not to have been less extensive in days of knighthood. a latin poet, of no mean authority in such subjects, has described love as the sole employment of woman's life, and of man's only a part[ ]; and boccacio says, that he composed his tales for the solace of fair and noble ladies in love, who, confined within their melancholy chambers, had no other occupation, but perpetually to revolve in their minds the same consuming thoughts, rendered intolerable by shame and concealment: while man might hunt, hawk, fish, and had a thousand channels for his thoughts. but the state of society at rome was not similar to that in days of knighthood, and though boccacio lived in those days, he describes the manners of commercial cities rather than of chivalric courts, of fair florence and not of a frowning baronial castle. the ideas of god and of love were always blended in the heart of the true knight, and to be loving was as necessary as to be devout. cervantes expresses the feelings of chivalry in the declaration of don quixote, that "a knight without a mistress was like a tree without either fruit or leaves, or a body without a soul." a ship without a rudder, a horse without a bridle, were other illustrations of the prevailing sentiment, and more expressive of the characteristic of chivalric love, which assigned superiority to woman, which made her the directress of the thoughts, and inspirer of the courage of her chosen cavalier. "a knight may never be of prowess, but if he be a lover," was the sentiment of sir tristram, a valiant peer of arthur, and it was echoed by every gentle son of chivalry.[ ] not, indeed, that every knight felt this strength and purity of passion. spenser has described four cavaliers, and each represents a large class. "druon's delight was all for single life, and unto ladie's love would lend no leasure; the more was claribell engaged rife with fervent flames, and loved out of measure: so eke lov'd blandamour, but yet at pleasure would change his liking, and new lemans prove: but paridell of love did make no threasure, but lusted after all that did him move: so diversely these four disposed were to love."[ ] [sidenote: the idolatry of the knight's passion.] the true knight, he whose mind was formed in the best mould of chivalric principles, was a more perfect personification of love than poets and romancers have ever dreamed. the fair object of his passion was truly and emphatically the mistress of his heart. she reigned there with absolute dominion. his love was, "all adoration, duty, and observance." our old english poet, gower, whose soul was filled with romantic tenderness and gallantry, says, "in every place, in every stead, what so my lady hath me bid, with all my heart obedient, i have thereto been diligent." and every gallant spirit of gower's days, the reign of edward iii., said of his mistress, "what thing she bid me do, i do, and where she bid me go, i go. and when she likes to call, i come, i serve, i bow, i look, i lowte, my eye followeth her about. what so she will, so will i, when she would set, i kneel by. and when she stands then will i stand, and when she taketh her work in hand, of wevying or of embroidrie, then can i not but muse and prie, upon her fingers long and small." gower, in describing the knight's mode of tendance on his mistress, has drawn a pleasing picture of the domestic life of chivalry. "and if she list to riden out, on pilgrimage, or other stead, i come, though i be not bid, and take her in my arms aloft, and set her in her saddle soft, and so forth lead her by the bridle, for that i would not be idle. and if she list to ride in chare, and that i may thereof beware, anon, i shape me to ride, right even by the chares side, and as i may, i speak among, and other while, i sing a song."[ ] these quotations show that the expression in ancient times of knights being servants of the ladies was not a mere figure of the imagination. the instances from gower, however, which prove the propriety of the title, may not be thought exclusively chivalric. a story in froissart will fully supply the want. a bourbon knight, named sir john bonnelance, a valiant soldier, gracious and amorous, was once at montferrand, in auvergne, sporting among the ladies and damsels of the town. while commending his chivalry, they urged him to undertake an enterprise against the english, and she who, as his lady-love, was ruler of his actions, told him that she would fain see an englishman, for she had heard much of the valiancy of the knights of england. bonnelance replied, "that if it should ever be his good fortune to take one, he would bring him into her presence." soon afterwards he was able to perform his word. he took to montferrand some english prisoners, and addressing her who fancied the wish of seeing an englishman, he said "that for her love he had brought them to the town." the ladies and damsels laughed, and turned the matter to a great sport. they thanked him for his courtesy, and entertained him right sweetly during his three days abode at montferrand.[ ] [sidenote: love inspired bravery.] the knight, whose heart was warmed with the true light of chivalry, never wished that the dominion of his mistress should be less than absolute, and the confession of her perfect virtue, which this feeling implied, made him preserve his own faith pure and without a stain. love was as marked a feature in the chivalric character as valour; and, in the phrase of the time, he who understood how to break a lance, and did not understand how to win a lady, was but half a man. he fought to gain her smiles, for love in brave and gentle knights kindled aspirations for high desert and honour. "oh! that my lady saw me," was the exclamation of a knight in the pride of successful valour as he mounted the city's wall, and with his good sword was proving the worth of his chivalry.[ ] he wore her colours, and the favour of his lady bright was the chief ornament of his harness. she judged the prize at the tournament, assisted him to arm, and was the first and the most joyous to hail his return from the perils of war. "a damisel came unto me, the seemliest that ever i se, luffumer[ ] lifed never in land, hendly she take me by the hand; and soon that gentle creature al unlaced mine armure into a chamber she me led, and with a mantle she me cled; it was of purpur fair and fine, and the pane of rich ermine; al the folk war went us fra, and there was none than both we twa; she served me hendely to hend, her manners might no man amend; of tong she was true and renable, and of her semblant soft and stabile. fullfain i would, if that i might, have woned[ ] with that sweet wight: and when we sold go to sopere that lady with a lufforn chere, led me down into the hall, that war we served wele at all."[ ] [sidenote: character of woman in the eyes of a knight.] a soldier of chivalry would go to battle, proud of the title, a pursuivant of love[ ], and in the contests of chivalric skill, which, like the battles of homer's heroes, gave brilliancy and splendour to war, a knight challenged another to joust with a lance for love of the ladies; and he commended himself to the mistress of his heart for protection and assistance. in his mind woman was a being of mystic power; in the forests of germany her voice had been listened to like that of the spirit of the woods, melodious, solemn, and oracular; and when chivalry was formed into a system, the same idea of something supernaturally powerful in her character threw a shadowy and serious interest over softer feelings, and she was revered as well as loved. while this devotedness of soul to woman's charms appeared in his general intercourse with the sex, in a demeanor of homage, in a grave and stately politeness, his lady-love he regarded with religious constancy. fickleness would have been a species of impiety, for she was not a toy that he played with, but a divinity whom he worshipped. this adoration of her sustained him through all the perils that lay before his reaching his heart's desire; and loyalty (a word that has lost its pristine and noble meaning) was the choicest quality in the character of the preux chevalier. [sidenote: peculiar nature of his love.] it was supported, too, by the state of the world he lived in. he fought the battles of his country and his church, and he travelled to foreign lands as a pilgrim, or a crusader, for such were the calls of his chivalry. to be the first in the charge and the last in the retreat was the counsel which one knight gave to another, on being asked the surest means of winning a lady fair. love was the crowning grace, the guerdon of his toils, and its gentle influence aided him in discharging the duties of his gallant and solemn profession. the lady isabella, daughter of the earl of jullyers, loved the lord eustace damberticourt for the great nobleness of arms that she had heard reported of him; and her messengers often carried to him letters of love, whereby her noble paramour was the more hardy in his deeds of arms.[ ] "i should have loved him better dead than alive," another damsel exclaimed, on hearing that her knight had survived his honour. [sidenote: qualities in knights admired by women.] [sidenote: a tale of chivalric love.] no wonder that in those ages of violence bravery was the manly quality, dear, above all others, in woman's eyes. its possession atoned for want of every personal grace; and the damsel who, on being reproached for loving an ugly man, replied, "he is so valiant i have never looked in his face," apologised for her passion in a manner that every woman of her time could sympathise with. as proficiency in chivalric exercises was the only distinction of the age, it would have been contrary to its spirit and laws for a gentle maiden to have loved any other than a knight who had achieved high deeds of arms. the advancement of his fame was, therefore, among the dearest wishes of her heart, and she fanned his love of noble enterprise in order to speed the hour of their union. the poets and romance-writers of the days of chivalry bear ample testimony to the existence of this state of feeling, and to the perils which brave men underwent to gain fair ladies' smiles; but all their tales must yield in pathos to the following simple historical fact:--when the scots were endeavouring to throw off the yoke which edward i. had imposed on them, the recovery of the castle of douglas was the unceasing effort of the good lord james. it was often lost and won; for if the vigilance of the english garrison relaxed for a moment, the scots, who lived in the neighbourhood, and were ever on the watch, aided their feudal lord in regaining the fortress, which, however, he could not maintain long against the numerous chivalry of england. the possession of this castle seemed to be held by so perilous a tenure, that it excited the noblest aspirations for fame in the breasts of the english; and a fair maiden, perplexed by the number of knights who were in suit of her, vowed she would bestow her hand upon him who preserved the adventurous or hazardous castle of douglas for a year and a day. sir john walton boldly and gladly undertook the emprise, and right gallantly he held possession of the fortress for some months. at length he was slain in a sally which douglas provoked him to make. on his person was found a letter which he had lately received from his lady-love, commending his noble chevisance, declaring that her heart was now his, and praying him to return to her forthwith, without exposing himself to further peril. the good lord james of douglas grieved when he read this letter, and it was generous and gallant of him to lament that a brother knight should be slain when his fairest hopes of happiness seemed on the point of being realised.[ ] [sidenote: constancy.] the loves of chivalric times must often have been shaded with gloom, and so convulsed was the state of europe, so distant were its parts often thrown from each other, that the course of true love seldom ran smoothly, and affianced knights and damsels more frequently breathed the wish of annihilating time and space than is necessary in the happier monotony of modern times. in almost every case of attachment absence was unavoidable, and constancy, therefore, became a necessary virtue of love in chivalry. "young knight whatever, that dost arms profess, and through long labours huntest after fame, beware of fraud, beware of fickleness, in choice, and change, of thy dear loved dame; least thou of her believe too lightly blame, and rash misweening do thy heart remove; for unto knight there is no greater shame than lightness and inconstancy in love."[ ] * * * * * his mistress was ever present to his imagination, and he felt there would be a witness to his disloyalty. even if he could dismiss her picture from his mind, his own sense of honour preserved his virtue, and the reply of a knight to a beautiful temptress, that though his sovereign-lady might never know of his conduct, yet his heart, which was constantly near her, could not be ignorant, was conceived in the purest spirit of chivalry. [sidenote: absence of jealousy.] the troubadours, who were the teachers of the art of love, refined upon this respectful passion of the knight in a very amusing manner. they were wont to affirm, that though a knight saw cause for jealousy, yet if his lady-love were to deny the circumstances, he was to reply that he was convinced of the verity of her assertions; but he really did believe he had witnessed such and such matters.[ ] [sidenote: knights asserted by arms their mistress' beauty.] chivalric love had, indeed, its absurdities as well as its impieties. it was a pleasing caricature of chivalry, when the knight of la mancha stationed himself in the middle of a high road, and calling to the merchants of toledo, who were bound to the silk fairs at murcia, forbad them to pass, unless they acknowledged that there was not in the universe a more beautiful damsel than the empress of la mancha, the peerless dulcinea del toboso. for the knights of chivalry were not satisfied to fight in defence of the ladies, and to joust in their honour, but from the extravagancy of their love, each knight maintained at the point of his lance, that his mistress surpassed all other ladies in beauty.[ ] the knight jehan de saintré (whose education in chivalry has been already described by me) vowed to wear a helmet of a particular shape, and to visit, during three years, the courts of europe, maintaining against all their chivalry the beauty of his mistress. four knights and five squires, who had made a similar vow, were his companions. at a tournament held by the emperor of germany, the noble undertaking was held to be accomplished, and the emblems of the emprise were unchained from the left shoulder of the gallant knights and squires.[ ] indeed, wherever a knight went, to court or to camp, he asserted the superiority of his lady and his love, but he hurled his defiances not against simple merchants, as our right worshipful knight don quixote did, but against persons of his own rank, who were in amours as well as himself. instances of this chivalric disposition occur frequently in chivalric history: but cervantes caricatured the romances, and not the sober chronicles of chivalry, when, in reply to the natural enquiry of one of the merchants regarding the beauty of the lady, he made his hero exclaim, "had i once shown you that beauty, what wonder would it be to acknowledge so notorious a truth? the importance of the thing lies in obliging you to believe it, confess it, affirm it, swear it, and maintain it, without seeing her." but the display of chivalric bravery in avowal of woman's beauty proceeded from so noble a feeling, that it must not be censured or satirised too severely, for "who is the owner of a treasure above all value, but, without offence, may glory in the glad possession of it?" [sidenote: penitents of love.] as history, however, should be a record, and not a panegyric, i proceed to observe, that the most marked display of the extravagancies of our knights took place in the courts of love; but as i have dilated on that topic in another work, i am precluded of treating the subject here, and it is the tritest of all the subjects of chivalry. equally ridiculous among the amatory phrenzies of the middle ages was the society of the penitents of love, formed by some ladies and gentlemen in poictou, at the beginning of the fourteenth century. they opposed themselves to nature in every thing, on the principle that love can effect the strangest metamorphoses. during the hottest months of summer, they covered themselves with mantles lined with fur, and in their houses they sat before large fires. when winter came they affected to be burning with the fires of love, and a dress of the slightest texture wrapt their limbs. this society did not endure long, nor was its example pernicious. a few enthusiasts perished, and reason then resumed her empire.[ ] [sidenote: other peculiarities of chivalric love.] the knight was as zealous in the gentle as in the more solemn affections of the soul. he believed that both god and love hated hard and hypocritical hearts. in a bolder strain of irreverence he thought that both god and love could be softened by prayer, and that he who served both with fidelity would secure to himself happiness in this life and the joys of paradise hereafter. on other occasions the gallant spirit of chivalry spoke more rationally. love, according to one renowned knight, is the chaste union of two hearts, which, attached by virtue, live for the promotion of happiness, having only one soul and one will in common. "liege lady mine! (gruélan thus return'd,) with love's bright fires this bosom ne'er hath burn'd. love's sovereign lore, mysterious and refined, is the pure confluence of immortal mind; chaste union of two hearts by virtue wrought, where each seems either in word, deed, and thought, each singly to itself no more remains, but one will guides, one common soul sustains."[ ] [sidenote: the passion universal.] [sidenote: story of aristotle.] so prevailing was amatory enthusiasm, that not only did poets fancy themselves inspired by love, but learned clerks were its subjects, and in spite of its supposed divinity some natural satire fell upon the scholar who yielded to its fascination. in gower's confessio amantis, the omnipotence of love is strikingly displayed; for besides those whom we might expect to see at the feet of the goddess, we are presented with plato and socrates, and even him who was the object of veneration bordering on idolatry in the ages which we in courtesy to ourselves call dark. gower, the moral gower, says with some humour, "i saw there aristotle also, whom that the queen of greece also hath bridled, that in thilke time she made him such a syllogisme that he forgot all his logike." the story whereon this sentence was founded was among the most popular of the times. the delights of love had made alexander pause in the career of ambition. his host of knights and barons were discontented at the change, and aristotle, as the tutor and guardian of his youthful course, endeavoured to rouse anew the spirit of the hero. the prince attempted no lengthened reply to this appeal to his chivalry; "sighing, alone he cried, as inly mov'd, alas! these men, meseems, have never lov'd." the grave saws of the sage took root, however, in alexander's heart, and he absented himself from his mistress. she wailed her fate for some time in solitude, but at length assured that it was not the mere capriciousness of passion which kept him from her, she forced herself into the presence of her lord. her beauty smiled away all dreams of glory from his mind, and in the fondness of his love he accused aristotle of breaking in upon his joy. but the dominion of his passion was only momentary, and recovering the martial tone of his soul, he declared the sad necessity of their parting. she then requested a brief delay, promising to convince the king that his tutor's counsel derived no additional recommendation from his practice, for that he stood in need of as much instruction as alexander himself. accordingly, with the first appearance of the next morning, the damsel repaired to the lawn before the chamber where aristotle lay. as she approached the casement, she broke the stillness of the air by chanting a love ditty, and the sweetness of her wild notes charmed the philosopher from his studious page. he softly stole to the window, and beheld a form far fairer than any image of truth which his fancy had just previously been conceiving. her face was not shrouded by vail or wimple, her long flaxen tresses strayed negligently down her neck, and her dress, like drapery on an antient statue, displayed the beauty of a well-turned limb. she loitered about the place on pretence of gathering a branch of a myrtle-tree, and winding it round her forehead. when her confidence in her beauty assured her that aristotle was mad for her love, she stole underneath the casement, and, in a voice checked by sighs, she sang that love detained her there. aristotle drank the delicious sounds, and gazing again, her charms appeared more resplendent than before. reason faintly whispered that he was not born to be loved, and that his hair was now white with age, his forehead wrinkled with study; but passion and vanity drove away these faint remonstrances, and aristotle was a sage no more. the damsel carelessly passed his window, and in the delirium of his love he caught the floating folds of her robe. she affected anger, and he avowed his passion. she listened to his confession with a surprize of manner that fanned his flame, and she answered him by complaining of the late coldness of alexander. the greybeard, not caring for a return of love, so that she accepted his suit, promised to bring his pupil to her feet, if she would but confer some sign of favour upon himself. she feigned an intention of compliance, but declared that, before she yielded, she must be indulged in a foolish whim which long had distracted her fancy. aristotle then renewed his professions of devoted love, and she in sentences, broken by exclamations of apparent shame at her folly, vowed that she was dying to mount and ride upon the back of a wise man. he was now so passionately in love, that the fancies of his mistress appeared divinest wisdom to his mind, and he immediately threw himself along the ground in a crawling attitude. she seated herself in a gorgeous saddle which she placed on his back, and, throwing a rein round his neck, she urged him to proceed. in a few moments they reached the terrace under the royal apartments, and the king beheld the singular spectacle. a peal of laughter from the windows awoke the philosopher to a sense of his state, and when he saw his pupil he owned that youth might well yield to love, as it had power to break even the frost of age. such was the lay of aristotle which the wandering minstrel chanted in the baronial hall, and the damsel in her lady's bower, and the pleasing moral of the fable was not more sincerely echoed by the shouts of the gallant knights and squires than by the broken sighs of beauty. "mark ye, who hear me, that no blameful shade be thrown henceforth on gallant or on maid. for here, by grave example taught, we find that mighty love is master of mankind. love conquers all, and love shall conquer still, last the round world how long soe'er it will."[ ] it is singular to observe that in the north and in the south, in germany and in languedoc, the love of the cavalier bore the same character, the same blending of tender and devotional feelings. the troubadour burned tapers, and caused masses to be said for the success of his love, and when the fervour of passion for his mistress was crossed by religious awe, he declared that the part of his heart which god held was still under the superior dominion of his lady-love. the german knight wrote poems to the honour of the virgin mary and the damsel of his heart, and it is not always easy to distinguish to which of these persons his vows are addressed.[ ] he adored the shadow, nay, the very neighbourhood of his mistress, and declared that nothing could induce him to violate his vow of fidelity. here, however, the resemblance ceases, for the knights of france, england, and spain were not more highly distinguished for chivalric courtesy, than the germans were remarkable for ferocity and savageness.[ ] once, and once only, were there courts of love in germany. they were established by frederic barbarossa, and they did not long survive their founder. [sidenote: chivalric love the foe to feudal distinctions.] chivalric love took delight in reconciling and joining the opposites of the world.[ ] it was no cold and calculating principle; it abrogated the distinctions of wealth and rank, and many a knight, whose whole fortune lay in his prowess, gained the hand of high-born beauty. "how can i hope," observed a young candidate for chivalry to a lady of high estate, "how can i hope to find a damsel of noble birth, who will return the affection of a knight that, ungraced by rank, has only his good sword to trust to?"--"and why should you not find her?" replied the lady; "are you not gently born? are you not a handsome youth? have you not eyes to gaze on her, ears to hear her, feet to move at her will, body and heart to accomplish loyally her commands? and, possessed of these qualities, can you doubt to adventure yourself in the service of a lady, however exalted her rank?"[ ] a squire of low degree often aspired to the hand of a king's daughter: "and i have seen that many a page have become men by marriage." the intenseness of passion, and the generousness of soul implied in this state of manners, were sternly opposed by feudal pride and tyranny; but chivalry could not always beat down the absurd distinctions of society. when the countess of vergy returned the passion of sir agolane, she was obliged to love in secret, lest the dignity of the court of burgundy should be offended.[ ] the maidens themselves sometimes sanctioned the prejudices of feudalism, in opposition to the generous feelings of chivalry and nature. felice, daughter of rahand, earl of warwick, disdained to return the passion of guy, her father's steward, till an angel in a dream commanded her to love him.[ ] [sidenote: but preserved religion.] agreement in religious opinions was as necessary as sympathy of souls in the loves of chivalry; and many a story is related of a knight reposing in a lady's chamber, where, instead of adoring the divinity of the place, he assailed her with a fierce invective against her religious creed.[ ] on such occasions he forgot even his courtesy, and shamed his knighthood by calling her a heathen hound: "i will not go one foot on ground for to speak with an heathen hound; unchristen hounds i rede ye flee, or i your heart's blood will see." but "'mercy,' she cried, 'my lemman sweet!'-- (she fell down and 'gan to weep)-- 'forgive me that i have mis-said, i will that ye be well assayed! my false gods i will forsake, and christendom for thy love take.' 'on that covenant,' said sir bevis than, 'i will thee love, fair josyan!'"[ ] [sidenote: when attachments were formed.] the occasions which kindled the flame of love in the heart of the knight and the maiden of chivalry were various, and many of them well calculated to give rise to romantic and enthusiastic attachments. sometimes the parties had been educated in the same castle, and passion insensibly succeeded childish amusements. the masque and the ball were often the theatre of love; but, above all other scenes, it spread its light over the brilliant tournament. performed in honour and in view of the ladies, it was there that love exerted its mightiest power. she who gave the prize bestowed almost universally her heart upon the brave and skilful vanquisher, and many were the tears she shed, if she found that the knight had been proving his puissance only to win the heart of some other fair one. it often happened that the circumstances of life carried a young cavalier to a baronial castle, where he found more peril in the daughter's fair looks than in the frowning battlements of her father. at the feast which welcomed the stranger, eyes mingled in love, and the suddenness of passion was always considered as the strongest proof of its purity and strength. the damsel might then avow her affection without any violation of maidenly shame; for generous, confiding love, reading another's heart in its own, dreaded no petty triumphs of vanity from confessing its fondness. it often occurred that a knight, weary and wounded, was confided to the ministrations of woman's tenderness; and spenser, who had read the history as well as the romance of chivalry, tells us, "o foolish physick, and unfruitful pain, that heals up one, and makes another wound." [sidenote: societies of knights for defence of ladies.] [sidenote: knights of the lady in the green field.] the rude state of society, which it was the noble object of chivalry to soften, presented many occasions for the display of generous affections, and love was the grateful return of protection. a cavalier called the knight of the swan reinstated a lady in the possessions of which the duke of saxony had deprived her. indignant that the throne, and not chivalry, should be regarded as the fountain of justice, knights sometimes formed themselves into associations for the express object of defending the rights of all ladies that required their aid. at one period (during the reign of charles vi.) of great violence in france, the ladies and gentlewomen of the country laid before the king grievous complaints of their sufferings from powerful lords, and lamented that gallantry was so much degenerated, that no knights and squires had attempted to defend them. they appealed, therefore, to the king, as the fountain of justice, to afford them protection. this appeal roused the dormant chivalry of france; and the valiant knight and marshal, boucicaut[ ], whose skill as a jouster will be described anon, gathered round him twelve preux chevaliers, and the fraternity avowed themselves champions of oppressed dames and damsels. the gallantry of their object was proclaimed to the world by the device on their shields of a fair lady in a green field, and their letters of arms, circulated throughout france, promised that they would assist all ladies and gentlewomen who were injured in their honours or fortunes.[ ] [sidenote: custom in england.] the same generous feeling warmed the hearts of the english chivalry. we become acquainted with this feature of our ancient national character, not in dry monkish chronicles, but in the living page of one of our earliest and greatest poets. chaucer makes all the persons of his dramatic tale speak agreeably to their rank and station in the world; and he puts into the mouth of his very perfect and gentle knight the following spirited description of the gallant feelings of english nobles and gentles in the time of edward iii. "for every knight that loved chivalry, and would his thanks have a passant name, hath prayed that he might be of that game, and well was him that thereto chosen was! for if there to-morrow such a case, ye knowen well that every lusty knight that loveth _par amour_, and hath his might, were it in engleland, or elsewhere, they would, hir thanks, willen to be there. _to fight for a lady, a! benedicite, it were a lusty sight for to see!_"[ ] and thus it continued in every age of chivalric history. noble knights of prowess were ever perilling themselves in the cause of woman. so late as the year , when the title to certain territories in hainault was contested between the english duke of gloucester and john of brabant on behalf of the lady jacquiline, those gallant cavaliers, the bastard of st. pol, and andré de humieres appeared at hesden with silver rings on their right arms, proclaiming the superior title of jacquiline.[ ] these are a few of the historical facts, which shew that the ancient romancers did not paint from their imagination when they described gallant cavaliers wandering over the gloomy waste of feudal europe, in order to redress wrongs and injuries, to relieve widows, and defend the honor of damsels. sometimes a knight rode alone, and like the valorous don quixote left it to his horse's discretion to go which way he pleased. in other cases they went in parties of three or four in quest of adventures. that they might surprise the enemy they sought for, they changed or disguised their armorial distinctions. a year and a day was the general term for enterprises of this nature; and at the conclusion they rendered to their sovereign mistresses an account of their adventures, and ingenuously confessed their faults and misfortunes.--but i find myself stepping into the regions of romance, which are not the province of this work. i return therefore, to the realities of chivalry, which are no less pleasing than its fictions. [sidenote: unchivalric to take women prisoners.] the protection of widows and orphans, and all ladies of virtuous repute, was indeed the serious duty ever present to the imagination of a preux chevalier. the praiseworthy soldier was he who chose to fight for dames and damsels in preference to contending in vain-glorious frays, and with equal spirit it was thought that death was too slight a punishment for the man who could offer scathe or dishonour to, or deceive or wrong a gentle lady. from this generous consideration for woman proceeded the honorable maxim in chivalry, of its not being just or courteous to take ladies in war.[ ] when a town was captured, the heralds of the conqueror proclaimed his will, that no violence nor displeasure should be done to any lady or gentlewoman. in the reign of edward iii. caen fell into the hands of the english, and sir thomas holland preserved many ladies, damsels, and nuns, from outrage worse than death. about the same time the castle of poys was taken by the english, and two noble knights (one was the renowned sir john chandos) saved from violation two fair damsels, daughters of the lord of poys. the ladies were conducted into the presence of edward, who, for his honor, made them good cheer, and caused them to be carried in safety to a town friendly to their family.[ ] and the generous feelings of cavaliers for ladies were nobly requited. in the wars of the guelphs and the ghibellines, the emperor conrad, as an offended sovereign, had refused all terms of capitulation to the garrison of winnisberg; but as a courteous knight, he permitted the women to depart with such of their precious effects as they themselves could transport. the gates of the town were thrown open, and a long procession of matrons, each bearing a husband, or a father, or brother, on her shoulders, passed in safety through the applauding camp.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: morals of chivalric times.] some writers have severely censured the morals of the chivalric æra, and according to them every species of licentiousness was practised by its dames and damsels. this opinion is as erroneous as the one which it superseded, that in the times we speak of every knight was brave, and every woman was chaste; an assertion bearing more liberality than truth on its face, considering that it refers to a period of seven or eight centuries, and that the objects of the panegyric were the largest part of the european world. for my part, i shall not, like the knight of la mancha, challenge to a _joust à l'outrance_ any discourteous cavalier who has the audacity to declare that queen madasima was scandalously familiar with a barber-surgeon; but i think that our imaginations do not altogether deceive us in painting the days of chivalry as days of feminine virtue. if we regard the times in reference only to their baronial and feudal features, the view is deeply dyed with turpitude, and the romances, whence the denunciations against the ladies of forepast ages have been drawn, are not sparing in their pictures of licentiousness. but chivalry was the golden thread that ran through the middle ages, the corrective of vice, the personification of virtue. that it did not altogether succeed in colouring with its brightness the surrounding gloom is sufficiently true, and the times warranted the assertion of a character in amadis de gaul, that our country yields, as others do, both good and bad. the romances present us with instances of the profligacy of women, and so they also do of the baseness of knights: but as no one will contend that chivalry did not in general inspire its professors with sentiments of honour, so its virtuous influence cannot in fairness be denied to the maidens of its age. let us not, as spenser says, blame the whole sex for the fault of one. "fair ladies that to love captived are and chaste desires do nourish in your mind, let not her fault your sweet affections mar; ne blot the bounty of all womankind, 'mongst thousands good, one wanton dame to find: amongst the roses grow some wicked weeds: for this was not to love, but lust, inclin'd; for love doth always bring forth bounteous deeds, and in each gentle heart desire of honour breeds."[ ] the romance writers were satirists, but they had more humour than malignity. every one of them introduces a magical test of feminine virtue, a drinking cup, a mantle or a girdle. this is harmless; and their general censure of women is without point; for they were for the most part men of profligate habits, and judged the other sex by the standard of their own vices. "safe her, i never any woman found that chastity did for itself embrace but were for other causes firm and sound; either for want of handsome time and place, or else for fear of shame and foul disgrace."[ ] this is the burthen of all their declamations against women; and spenser has shewn how little credit he gave to it, for he does not let it proceed from the mouth of any of his preux chevaliers, but from a wretched profligate, misnamed the squire of dames.[ ] however highly some enthusiastic minds may have coloured the manners of the chivalric ages, still it is unquestionable that the love of the knight was not the mere impulse of passion, but that the feeling was raised and refined by respect. now, as nature is ever true to herself, as certain causes have had certain operations in all ages and in all countries, so this purity of love must have been followed by a corresponding correctness of morals. women had every reason to retain and support the virtues of their nature; for it was only in behalf of those of fair reputation and honour, that the knight was compelled by his principles to draw his sword; all others were without the pale of chivalry; and although many instances can be found in the romances of feminine indiscretion, yet the princess in the celebrated romance of tirante the white accurately describes the general feeling when she submits to lose all her claims on the noble chevisance of knights, if she failed in observing a promise of marriage which she had given to a gallant cavalier that loved her. the knights, though courteous to the highest polish of refinement, were rigid and inflexible censors; and in those days as well as in these, each sex formed the character of the other.[ ] the cavalier in travelling would write on the door of a castle where a dame of tarnished reputation resided, some sentence of infamy; and on the contrary, he would pause at the door of a lady of pure honour and salute her courteously. even on solemn and public occasions distinctions were made between women in matters of ceremony. if any lady of sullied fame took precedence of a dame of bright virtue, a cavalier would advance and reverse the order, saying to her who was displaced, "lady, be not offended that this lady precedes you, for although she is not so rich or well allied as you are, yet her fame has never been impeached."[ ] here, therefore, chivalry vindicated its purity, and showed itself as the moral guide of the world. its tendencies were beneficent; for christianity was deeply infused into all its institutions and principles, and it not only spread abroad order and grace, but strung the tone of morals to actions of virtue. * * * * * [sidenote: chivalric heroines.] all ladies were not of the opinion of amadis de gaul, that their best weapons were sighs and tears. what they admired they imitated; and a high-spirited damsel would, in private, divest herself of her robe, gird round her a belt, and drawing its sword from the scabbard, fight with the air till she was wearied. the gallant youths of chivalry called a lady of this martial temperament--le bel cavalier. were we to meet in romances with dames engaged in mortal combat, we should say that the writers had not faithfully represented the manners of the times; but such facts are recorded by sober chroniclers. two ladies decided some fierce disputes by the sword. each summoned to her aid a band of cavaliers, and the stoutest lances of normandy felt no loss of dignity in being commanded by a woman. the lady eloisa and the lady isabella rode through their respective ranks with the address of experienced leaders, and their contest, like that of nations, was only terminated by burning and plundering each other's states. in the crusades, parties of fair and noble women accompanied the chivalry of europe to the holy land, charming the seas 'to give them gentle pass,' and binding up the wounds of husbands and brothers after a well foughten field with the bold mussulman. sometimes they wielded the flaming brand themselves, and the second crusade in particular was distinguished by a troop of ladies harnessed in armour of price, and mounted on goodly steeds. a lady often wore a sword even in times of peace, and every great landed proprietress sat _gladio cincta_ among the justices at sessions and assizes.[ ] in england, particularly, was this martial spirit recognised, for in the time of edward the first a lady held a manor by sarjeanty to conduct the vanguard of the king's army as often as he should march into wales with one; and on its return it was her duty to array the rear-guard.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: queen philippa.] the victory of the english over the scots at neville cross is mainly attributable to the spirited demeanour of philippa, wife of edward the third. at her father's court in hainault, she had witnessed war in its splendid image, the tournament; and now, in a perilous moment, when the king her husband was far away, and the fate of england was in her hands, she showed that she was not unworthy of her race or her alliance. she rode among the battles or divisions of her host, exhorting them to perform their _devoir_, to defend the honour of her lord the king of england, and in the name of god she implored every man to bear a good heart and courage, promising them that she would reward them better than if her lord the king were personally in the field. she then quitted the ranks, recommending her soldiers to the protection of god, and of st. george, that special defender of the realm of england. this exhortation of the queen nerved the hearts of the english yeomen, and they shot their arrows so fiercely and so wholly together, that the scottish battle-axe failed of its wonted might.[ ] [sidenote: the countess of march.] for the heroism of women, the page of scottish history furnishes a remarkable instance. in the beginning of the year , william de montague, earl of salisbury, by command of the earl of arundel, the leader of the army of edward iii., laid siege to the castle of dunbar, the chief post which the scots possessed on the eastern coast of their country. the castle stood upon a reef of rocks which were almost girdled by the sea, and such parts of it as could be attacked were fortified with great skill. the earl of march, its lord, was absent when salisbury commenced the siege, but the defence lacked not his presence. his wife was there, and while to the vulgar spirits of the time, she was known, from the unwonted darkness of her eyes and hair, as black agnes, the chivalric sons of scotland joyfully beheld a leader in the person of the high-spirited daughter of the illustrious thomas ranulph, earl of moray. the countess of march performed all the duties of a skilful and vigilant commander. she animated her little band by her exhortations and munificence; she roused the brave into heroism, and shamed the timid into courage by the firmness of her bearing. when the warlike engines of the besiegers hurled stones against the battlements, she, as in scorn, ordered one of her female attendants to wipe off the dust with a handkerchief, and when the earl of salisbury commanded the enormous machine called the sow, to be advanced to the foot of the walls, she scoffingly cried out, 'beware, montague, thy sow is about to farrow,' and instantly by her command a huge fragment of rock was discharged from the battlements, and it dashed the engine to pieces. many of the men who were about it were killed, and those who crawled from the ruin on their hands and knees were deridingly called by the scots, montague's pigs. foiled in his attempts, he endeavoured to gain the castle by treachery: he bribed the person who had the care of the gates to leave them open; but the man, faithful to his duty as well as to his pecuniary interest, disclosed the whole transaction to the countess. salisbury himself headed the party who were to enter; finding the gates open, he was advancing, when john copeland, one of his attendants, hastily passing before him, the portcullis was let down, and copeland, mistaken for his lord, remained a prisoner. the countess, who from a high tower was observing the event, cried out to salisbury with her wonted humour, 'farewell, montague; i intended that you should have supped with us, and assisted in defending this fortress against the english.' the english turned the siege into a blockade, but still without success. the gallantry of the countess was supported by some favourable circumstances, and finally, in june, the earl of salisbury consented to a cessation of hostilities, and he abandoned the place.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: tale of jane of mountfort.] but the most interesting of all the heroines of chivalry was jane countess of mountfort, who, as froissart says, had the courage of a man and the heart of a lion. she was a worthy descendant of those german women whom tacitus describes as mixing with the warriors, administering refreshment, and exhorting them to valour. about the year , the right to the duchy of bretagne was disputed between the earl of mountfort and charles of blois. the question turned on certain points of inheritance which the earl dreaded the court of paris would decide in favor of his rival, who was a relation of the french king. he, therefore, sought another alliance, and repairing to england, he performed homage for the duchy to edward iii.[ ] his next steps were directed to paris, but his journeys were not so secretly taken as he expected; for on presenting himself before king philip he was charged with having acknowleged the sovereignty of the english monarch. the earl pretended that his journey to england had only related to his private affairs, but the king did not credit his story, and in distrust of his purposes he ordered him to remain in paris. mountfort, equally suspicious of his sovereign's honor, effected his escape from the city in the guise of a merchant. he went to brittany, and took his station in the castle of nantes. the decision of the court at paris was adverse to his claims; and the successful candidate, charles of blois, levied an army, and pursued his former rival, who was taken in his retreat, conveyed to paris, and lodged in the louvre. to those who did not know the noble spirit of his countess the cause of the mountfort family seemed hopeless. she was at rennes when he was taken prisoner, and although she had great sorrow in her heart, yet she valiantly recomforted her friends and soldiers, and showing them her little son john, she said, 'sirs, be not too sore abashed of the earl my lord, whom you have lost, (he was but a man): behold my little child, who shall be by the grace of god his restorer, and he shall advance you all, and i have riches enough: you shall not lack; and i trust that i shall prosper in such wise that you shall be all recomforted.'[ ] all her friends and soldiers vowed to die in her service; and she then went to her other fortresses and towns, replenishing them with warlike stores and provisions, and exhibiting her little son to the people, in order to rouse the allegiance of the friends of her family. she stationed herself in hennebon, a town seated near the shores of brittany.[ ] in the following summer charles of blois was aided by the whole puissance of france in his attempt to make himself complete master of brittany; but so able were the dispositions of the countess, that, instead of sweeping over the whole country as they expected, they were detained before rennes, and it was not till after much labour that they won it. the countess, in the mean while, had sent one of her knights, sir amery of clysson, into england, desiring royal succour, on condition that the earl of mountfort's son and heir should marry a daughter of the king, who was to be adorned with the highly splendid title, the duchess of brittany. edward iii., always anxious to strengthen his power in france, accepted the alliance, and ordered one of his noblest knights of prowess, sir walter manny, to join the valiant countess with three thousand archers. charles of blois, after the capture of rennes, was counselled to lay siege to hennebon; but before he reached that town jane de mountfort was apprised of his purpose, and she commanded the watch-bell to be sounded, and every man to be armed, and standing at his post. when sir charles and the frenchmen came near the town, they pitched their tents; but many of their gay and valorous spirits went skirmishing to the barriers. some of the cavaliers of hennebon did not suffer them to brandish their swords in the air; and it was only the shades of night that separated those preluders of battle. the next day the frenchmen spent in council, and it was resolved that a general assault should be made on the barriers. accordingly, on the third morning they fiercely pressed to the outward works of the town, and continued the assault till noon, when they retired with diminished forces. the lords of france rallied their soldiers, and urged the assault anew; but they that were within defended themselves right valiantly. the countess herself, clad in mail, and mounted on a goodly courser, rode from street to street, exhorting her people to defend their posts; and if in the din of battle her woman's voice was sometimes drowned, nothing could mar her cheering smiles, which lighted the flame of noble chevisance in every gallant breast. she caused damsels and other women to cut short their kirtels, and carry stones and pots full of lime to the walls, to be cast upon the enemy. she then mounted a tower, and espied that the frenchman's camp was deserted. her resolution was immediately taken: she drew around her three hundred of her best knights, and, grasping a targe and spear, and mounting again her good steed, she quitted the town by a gate which the enemy had overlooked. at the head of her gallant troop she made a short circuit, and then dashed into the frenchmen's lodgings. when the assailants, reverting their eyes, saw their tents on fire, and heard cries of terror from a few boys and varlets in the camp, they quickly returned to their lodgings to stop the conflagration. the countess and her noble band could not cope with so vast a force, and her retreat to the city being cut off, she took the road to the castle of brest, where she was received with great joy. for five days the good soldiers of hennebon wist not of the fate of their right valiant lady; but on the sixth morning they saw her golden banners glittering in the rising sun, and a hill in the distance crowned by a noble troop of five hundred lances, which her beauty and her just cause had drawn to her side at brest. with the gay curvetting pace of gallant cavaliers progressing to a tournament, they gallantly held on their way to the town, smiling defiance to the martial front of the french, and entered hennebon amidst the flourishes of their own trumpets, and the exulting cries of the people. but the siege was advanced by the french with such courage, and their engines so dreadfully injured the walls, that the soldiers of hennebon were in time discomfited. all except the countess were anxious to yield the town upon honourable terms; but she hoped for succour from edward; and while her knights and men-at-arms sullenly guarded the walls which fronted the enemy, a solitary warder paced the ramparts that looked towards england. one day the members of her council were on the point of compelling her to submit, when, casting her eyes on the sea, whereon she had so often gazed in vain, she saw a dark mass rising out of the horizon. her smile of fearful joy, before she discovered that it was the english fleet, excited the attention of her friends. they all rushed to the window, but her sight was the most piercing, for her heart was the most deeply anxious, and she was the first to exclaim, "i see the succours of england coming!" the joyful news quickly spread, the walls of hennebon were crowded with the townsfolk, and the english fleet entered the harbour. when the soldiers landed, she went to them with great reverence, and feasted them right hospitably. she lodged the knights and others in the castle and in the town, where she dressed up halls and chambers for them; and the next day she made them a great feast at dinner. the exploits of sir walter manny and his archers will be more appropriately related in another place. the siege of hennebon was raised, and it is not unworthy of notice as a trait of manners, that on one occasion of valiancy on the part of the english, the countess descended from the castle with a glad cheer, and went and kissed sir walter manny and his companions, one after another, two or three times, like a valiant lady.[ ] after some time a truce was concluded between sir charles of blois and the countess of mountfort, their aiders and assisters; and the countess, on the invitation of edward iii., took ship for england, accompanied by the earls of richmond, pembroke, salisbury, suffolk, oxford, the barons stamford, spenser, bourchier, and divers other knights of england, and their companies. when they were off guernsey they were approached by sir loyes of spain and his fleet. at first the countess supposed it was with a friendly purpose, for sir loyes, as the ally of sir charles of blois, was virtually bound by the treaty: but she was soon assured of his unchivalric purpose. the mariners cried to the knights, "sirs, arm yourselves quickly, for these genoese and spaniards will soon attack you." all in a moment the englishmen sounded their trumpets, and reared their standards with the great banner of st. george, and marshalled themselves on the decks of the ships, the archers, as on land, being in front. "looking far forth into the ocean wide, a goodly ship with banners bravely dight, and flag in her top-gallant i espied, through the main sea making her merry flight; fair blew the wind into her bosom right, and the heavens look'd lovely all the while, that she did seem to dance as in delight, and at her own felicity did smile."[ ] [sidenote: a.d. .] and in this gallant trim the english fleet bore down upon the superior force of their ungenerous foe. the arrows of the one side, and the cross-bows of the other, did murderous execution; and when the lords, knights, and squires came together, the battle was so dreadful that it furnished matter of song to the minstrels of england and france for years afterwards. the countess that day was worth the bravest knight; she had the heart of a lion, and, with a sharp glaive in her hand, she fought fiercely. they contended till it became so dark that one could scarcely know another. the fleets then separated, the men remaining in their harness, intending to renew the battle next morning. but at midnight a tempest arose so horrible that every one thought the end of the world was approaching; and those very cavaliers who, a few hours before, had gallantly courted death, would now have abandoned their chivalry and their cause, if a safe landing could have been effected.[ ] the battle was not renewed the next day; the english fleet sailed to brittany; the troops landed near vannes, which they immediately besieged, the countess being always foremost in the press. soon afterwards edward iii. went to france, in the contest for whose throne the affairs of brittany were lost, and the noble countess of mountfort disappeared from the scene[ ], while her husband escaped from prison only to die of a fever at hennebon.[ ] [sidenote: and of marzia.] a few years after this beautiful display of the chivalric character of woman in france, the gloom of war in italy was illuminated by a noble trait of female heroism. marzia, a lady of the family of the ubaldini, so celebrated for its virtue and noble gestes, was the wife of francesco d'ordelaffi, lord of forli, the only prince in romagna who maintained his independence against the tyranny of the papal power. knowing her firmness and spirit, he entrusted the defence of the town of cesena to his wife, while he himself maintained the more important position of forli. in the beginning of the year , marzia tore herself from her husband, and, throwing aside the gorgeous robe of peaceful power, donned the casque and the cuirass. she stationed herself in cesena with two hundred soldiers, equipped like knights, and the same number of ordinary troops. she was accompanied also by her son and daughter, and that sage counsellor of the ordelaffi family, sgariglino de pétragudula. an army ten times more numerous than all the defenders of cesena soon beleaguered the place. at the end of april some of the terrified burgesses opened the gates of the lower part of the town to the enemy; but in that moment of peril marzia remembered that her husband had declared that, unless the pope would treat with him on honourable terms, he would sustain a siege in every one of his castles, and when he had lost them he would defend the walls of forli, and then its streets, its squares, his palace, and the last tower of his palace, rather than give his consent to surrender that which was his own. marzia retreated into the upper part of the town with such of the soldiers and citizens who continued faithful to her. she now discovered that sgariglino had been a traitor. justice then had her due, and the head of him whom no feelings of honour or gallantry could preserve in the path of virtue was rolled from the battlements among the besieging army. marzia relied entirely on her own wisdom and courage; she took on herself all the duties of governor and captain, and, wearing her cuirass both by night and day, she braved all those hardships which, in former moments of happiness and ease, she would have thought herself incapable of supporting. but the besiegers smiled with indifference at her courage, for their miners were slowly and surely effecting her ruin. she was compelled to retreat to the citadel with four hundred soldiers and citizens, who vowed to be faithful to death. the miners persevered, and at length the citadel almost hung in air. the father of marzia at that moment reached cesena, and his passage had been facilitated by the legate. he entreated his heroic daughter to surrender, as bravery had accomplished its utmost, and still the besiegers were gradually prevailing. her reply was simple and firm,--that her husband had given her a duty to perform, and that she must obey, without forming any opinion on the nature of his command. her heroism was not supported by the people, for they unanimously declared the folly of further resistance. compelled, then, to surrender, she herself opened the negociations; and so skilfully did she act, so much dreaded was the despair to which she might be tempted, that she obtained from the legate a treaty, whereby it was agreed that all the soldiers who had bravely supported her might return home with their arms and equipments. on the st of june she opened the gate of the citadel: she disdained to ask any favour for herself; and the legate, untouched by any chivalric sympathy for female heroism, cast her and her children into prison.[ ] [sidenote: chivalric titles of ladies.] the honorary titles of ladies in days of chivalry favoured this martial spirit in women. the wife of a knight was often called equitissa or militissa, or chevaliére. in france, too, ladies, as ruling over fiefs, having the right of war, judicature, and coining money, could confer the honour of knighthood. but in general the feudal law opposed the chivalry of women, for a woman alone could not hold a fief, it not being supposed that she could head her vassals or accompany her liege lord into the field. the instances, therefore, that are scattered over the middle ages of the brave gestes of women sprang from the spirit of chivalry and not from any other principle of society. they were always praised, and joyfully remembered; and when the direction of war was entirely usurped by men, the world reverted with a melancholy pleasure to the chivalry of womankind. "where is the antique glory now become, that whilome wont in women to appeare? where be the brave atchievements done by some? where be the battles, where the shield and spear, and all the conquests which them high did rear, that matter made for famous poets verse, and boastful men so oft abasht to hear? be they all dead, and laid in doleful hearse? or do they all sleep, and shall again reverse?"[ ] though 'meek-eyed women' were 'without fear,' yet this martial disposition was never displayed at the sacrifice of the sex's milder qualities. the same lady who placed a lance in rest was in her castle gentle and courteous, dispensing hospitality, tending the sick, or reading romance in hall and bower. her heart was as tender as her's who was rocked in pleasure's wanton lap. spenser's picture of his martial maid, britomart, in love, represents the whole class of chivalric heroines: "thenceforth the feather in her lofty crest, ruffed of love, gan lowly to availe; and her proud portance and her princely gest, with which she erst triumphed, now did quail, sad, solemn, sour, and full of fancies frail, she woxe yet wist she neither how, nor why; she wist not, silly maid, what she did ail, yet wist she was not well at ease perdy, yet thought it was not love, but some melancholy."[ ] there were other points in the character of women in days of chivalry hardly necessary to be noticed as not being peculiar to the times. the artifices and sleights of some of them would beseem more refined ages. to repress the presumption of lovers when circumstances did not favour an avowal of passion, they would reprove the sighs and glances which they pretended to see interchanged between the young squires and maidens of the table; but the admirer of the dame sometimes mistook this demeanour for the sign of a coquettish spirit, and left the lady to lament his dulness.[ ] the spirit of chivalry, which disposed the heart to all noble feelings, was not universal in its influence, and we accordingly read of ladies who were deformed by the mood of envy and detraction. "then was the lady of the house a proud dame and malicious, _hokerfull, iche mis-segging_[ ] squeamous and eke scorning."[ ] [sidenote: nobleness of the chivalric character.] but the subject need not be pursued further; for it is woman, as formed by chivalric principles, and not as uninfluenced by that noble spirit whose lineaments it is my purpose to pourtray. that lofty consideration in which she was held had, as we have seen, a remoter origin than the days of chivalry, and to that elevation much of her moral dignity may be ascribed. but chivalry saved her from being altogether oppressed into slavery and degradation under the tyranny of feudalism. that odious system endeavoured to bring under its sway even the very affections of the heart; for not only no woman of rank and estate could marry without the consent of her sovereign, but in some countries she was obliged to accept a husband at his nomination, unless for a large pecuniary payment he restored her to the privileges of her sex. by preserving woman in her noble state of moral dignity, chivalry prevented the harsh exercise of feudal rights. a sovereign who prided himself on his knighthood could never offend the inclinations of one of that sex which by his principles he was bound to protect and cherish. chivalry hung out the heart-stirring hope that beauty was the reward of bravery. a valiant, but landless knight was often hailed by the whole martial fraternity of his country as worthy the hand of a noble heiress, and the king could not in every case bestow her on some minion of his court. woman was sustained in her proud elevation by the virtues which chivalry required of her; and man paid homage to her mind as well as to her beauty. she was not the mere subject of pleasure, taken up or thrown aside as passion or caprice suggested, but being the fountain of honour, her image was always blended with the fairest visions of his fancy, and the respectful consideration which she, therefore, met with, showed she was not an unworthy awarder of fame. fixed by the gallant warriors of chivalry in a nobler station than that which had been assigned to her by the polite nations of antiquity, all the graceful qualities of her nature blossomed into beauty, and the chastening influence of feminine gentleness and tenderness was, for the first time in his history, experienced by man. chap. vi. tournaments and jousts. _beauty of chivalric sports ... their superiority to those of greece and rome ... origin of tournaments ... reasons for holding them ... practice in arms ... courtesy ... by whom they were held ... qualifications for tourneying ... ceremonies of the tournament ... arrival of the knights ... publication of their names ... reasons for it ... disguised knights ... the lists ... ladies the judges of the tournament ... delicate courtesy at tournaments ... morning of the sports ... knights led by ladies, who imitated the dress of knights ... nature of tourneying weapons ... knights wore ladies' favours ... the preparation ... the encounter ... what lance strokes won the prize ... conclusion of the sports ... the festival ... delivery of the prize ... knights thanked by ladies ... the ball ... liberality ... tournaments opposed by the popes ... the opposition unjust ... the joust ... description of the joust to the utterance ... joust between a scotch and an english knight ... jousting for love of the ladies ... a singular instance of it ... joust between a french and an english squire ... admirable skill of jousters ... singular questions regarding jousts ... an earl of warwick ... celebrated joust at st. inglebertes' ... joust between lord scales and the bastard of burgundy ... the romance of jousts ... the passage of arms ... use of tournaments and jousts._ [sidenote: beauty of chivalric sports.] [sidenote: superiority to those of greece and rome.] all our most delightful imaginings of chivalry are associated with the tournament. we see in fancy's mirror the gay and graceful knight displaying on his plumed steed the nobleness of his bearing, and the lady of his affections smiling upon his gallant skill, while the admiring people in rude and hearty joy shout their loud acclaims. those who were illustrious for ancestral or newly acquired renown met in the listed plain. the fierceness of war was mellowed into elegance, and even feudalism abated something of its sternness, when called on to perform tendance on the ladies and damsels who graced the scene. baronial pomp, knightly gallantry, woman's beauty, gay caparisons, rich attire, and feudal pageantry, throng the mind in wild and splendid confusion, when we hear the herald's trumpet-clang summoning the knights to achievement. it was in the tournament especially that the chivalric nations of europe asserted their superior claims to gracefulness and humanity; for though the greeks might vaunt their olympic games, yet in them woman's favour did not bestow the garland, and though matrons mingled with senators in the coliseum, and a virgin gave the signal for the commencement of the sports, yet the tortures and death of their fellow-creatures constituted the amusement. [sidenote: origin of tournaments.] our ancestors were so proud of the trojan descent which their historians deduced for them, that they even regarded the games which Æneas celebrated to the honour of his dead father, anchises, as the origin of their own knightly joust and tournament. but in those games there was no encounter of two lances as in the joust, and no courteous battle between two parties of warriors, as was the case in the tournament. this learned enthusiasm was needless and absurd; for the knights might have discovered in the nature and tendency of circumstances, and in the practice of their known and immediate forefathers, sufficient matter of originality. the romans were wont to exercise themselves in mock combats, and so were the goths[ ]; but it would be difficult to prove any chain of connection between these people. war was an art in the middle ages, and a long and painful education preceded the practice of it. it was the delight as well as the occupation of the world; for fame[ ], fortune, and woman's love[ ], could only be obtained by gallant bearing. hence we find that thoughts of war were not abandoned in times of peace, and that some softened images of battle formed the grace of festive solemnities. [sidenote: reasons for holding them.] [sidenote: practice in arms.] [sidenote: courtesy.] the martial spirit of the world was nourished by such customs, for kings were always eager to hold tourneys for the better training up of soldiers in feats of arms.[ ] it was the beneficial nature of tournaments to shed the amenities and courtesies of peace over the horrid front of war. thus there were rules for conducting these images of battle which no knight could violate without forfeiting his title to chivalry. the display of address, with as little danger as possible to life and limb, was the chief character of these encounters, and skill, therefore, in real war, became more esteemed than brute violence. to profit by the mischance of an adversary would, in the tournament, have been considered unknightly; and it followed that even in the most deadly encounters of nations no cavalier would avail himself of any accident happening to his foe. [sidenote: by whom they were held.] military exercises, when performed by two parties of cavaliers with hurtless weapons, were called tournaments. if the occasion were high and solemn, heralds repaired to different courts, announcing their sovereign's purpose of holding martial exercises at a particular time, and inviting all those who valued their knighthood, and respected dames and maidens, to repair to the appointed city, and prove their chivalry.[ ] in germany matters were somewhat different, and should be stated. except in saxony (which had its own tournaments), the germans who were entitled to appear in the tourneying lists were divided into four companies; namely, that of the rhine--of bavaria--of swabia--and of franconia. the assembled cavaliers were called the chivalry of the four countries. each country by rotation held the tournament, and chose its leader or judge of the sports, who appointed three ladies to give the arms to the knights, and three others to distribute the prizes. it was usual for one of the ladies to be a wife, another a widow, and the third a maiden.[ ] [sidenote: qualifications for tourneying.] originally, in most countries, no person could tourney unless he proved himself to be maternally a knight of gentle birth, by four descents, and displayed a legitimate coat-armour. but this regulation was every where relaxed in favour of hardy knights who could not boast of ancestral honours.[ ] in early times, knights, whether bannerets or bachelors, contended in the listed plain; but, subsequently, the squire (both the follower of the knight and the soldier of the third class of chivalry) was permitted to joust or tourney with knights. safe-conduct through hostile lands was always allowed to those who wished to tourney; and the silence and solitude of the country in those dark times were pleasingly relieved by bands of jolly and amorous cavaliers, with trains of squires and pages, riding apace to court to the tune of a merry roundelay. it was particularly the custom of newly-made knights to attend a tournament in order to show that they deserved their spurs, and to establish their prowess.[ ] nor did simple knights alone thus progress to the tournament. kings and princes pricked over the plain in gallant and graceful array; for though their rank excused them from performing many knightly observances, yet their chivalric spirit disdained the pride of their station, and their souls were inflamed with the noble desire of illustrating their royalty by deeds of high knighthood. [sidenote: ceremonies of the tournament.] [sidenote: arrival of the knights.] [sidenote: publication of their names.] [sidenote: reasons for it.] the knights were wont to arrive, at the respective hostels or tents assigned them by the kings-at-arms and the heralds somewhile before the day of tournament; and they affixed their armorial ensigns over the entrances, and raised their banners and pennons in front of their parades. the tourneying knights were known by their heraldry, and this publication of their names was made for a very noble purpose. if any one of them had been guilty of unchivalric deportment, the matter might be proved before the ladies or other judges of the tournament, and they would strike down his banner. none could tourney who had blasphemed god, or offended the ladies: he who had been false to gratitude and honour; he who had violated his word, or deserted his brother in arms in battle, was unworthy of appearing at the splendid show; and the high courtesy of chivalry was maintained by the law, that no one could tourney who had without warning assailed his enemy, or by indirect means had despoiled his territory.[ ] [sidenote: disguised knights.] these rules, however, were not always observed; for cavaliers were often permitted to partake of chivalric sports, though they declined to name themselves to the heralds. if they were novices in arms, and not very confident in their prowess, they would conceal their names till they had won renown; and if the chance of the game were against them, the spectators knew not who had failed to acquire honour. the baron who held the tournament might be the enemy of a gallant knight, who, from prudence, would not wish to make himself known, unless he could appear with the bold front of a conqueror. sometimes the persons of the knights were not concealed by common armour, but by the guise which fancy had thrown over the fabled knights of yore. a troop of cavaliers calling themselves king arthur and the knights of the round table often dashed into the lists; and their trumpet's defiance was answered by that of another band meeting them at speed from the other end, and calling themselves charlemagne and his paladins. this was a beautiful mode of realising the romances of chivalry. other disguises were not equally praiseworthy; and i can only state as an historical fact, without attempting to apologise for its madness and impiety, that at a tournament held at valladolid in the year , the king of castille was accompanied by twelve knights, who personated the twelve apostles.[ ] [sidenote: the lists.] the place of combat was the lists, a large space surrounded by ropes or railing in single or double rows. sometimes there was a wooden division in the lists or area to prevent the horses of the adverse knights from careening against each other.[ ] the lists were decorated with the splendid richness of feudal power. besides the gorgeous array of heraldic insignia near the champions' tents, the galleries, which were made to contain the proud and joyous spectators, were covered with tapestry, representing chivalry both in its warlike and amorous guise: on one side the knight with his bright faulchion smiting away hosts of foes, and on the other kneeling at the feet of beauty. [sidenote: ladies were the judges of tournaments.] the ladies were the supreme judges of tournaments; and if any complaint was raised against a knight, they adjudged the cause without appeal.[ ] generally, however, they deputed their power to a knight, who, on account of this distinction, was called the _knight of honour_. he bore at the end of his lance a ribbon or some other sign of woman's favour; and with this badge of power he waved the fiercest knights into order and obedience. the heralds read to the knights the regulations of the sport, and announced the nature of the prize they were to contend for. the dames and maidens sometimes proposed jewels of price, a diamond, a ruby, and a sapphire, as rewards of valour. but the meed of renown was often more military; and the reader of italian history remembers that at a tournament celebrated at florence in the year , lorenzo de' medici bore away the prize of a helmet of silver with a figure of mars as the crest. it was the general wont of tournaments for a vanquished knight to forfeit his armour and horse to his victor. [sidenote: delicate courtesy at tournaments.] nothing was more beautiful than the courtesy of chivalric times. at a martial game held in smithfield, during the reign of richard ii., the queen proposed a crown of gold as the reward of the best jouster, were he a stranger; but if an english knight had the praise, then a rich bracelet was to be his reward. the same polite preference of strangers influenced the chivalry of england, and they promised to give to the lord of best desert, if he were a foreign knight, a fair horse, with his trappings; but if he were one of their own land, then only a falcon should reward him. [sidenote: morning of the sports.] on the morning of the tournament, "when the day 'gan spring, of horse and harneis, noise and clattering, ther was in the hostelries all about."[ ] [sidenote: knights led by ladies,] the knights then trooped to the listed plain, with lords, ladies, and damsels, the chivalry and beauty of the country, mounted on gaily-caparisoned steeds and palfreys, whose housings swept the ground. sometimes a lady fair led the horse of her chosen knight, and in the song of the minstrel the bridle became a golden chain of love. at the day appointed for a merry tournament, in the reign of richard ii., there issued out of the tower of london, first, three-score coursers, apparelled for the lists, and on every one a squire of honour riding a soft pace. then appeared three-score ladies of honour, mounted on fair palfreys, each lady leading by a chain of silver a knight sheathed in jousting harness. the fair and gallant troop, with the sound of clarions, trumpets, and other minstrelsy, rode along the streets of london[ ], the fronts of the houses shining with martial glory in the rich banners and tapestries which hung from the windows. they reached smithfield[ ], where the queen of england and many matrons and damsels were already seated in richly adorned galleries. the ladies that led the knights joined them; the squires of honour alighted from their coursers, and the knights in good order vaulted upon them. [sidenote: who imitated the dress of knights.] this mode of conducting knights to the tournament was not the only pleasing prelude of the sports. as it was in perfect harmony with the general tone of chivalric feeling for knights to array themselves in weeds, which woman's taste had chosen or approved of, so dames and maidens, with equal courtesy, imitated in their attire the semblance of knights. they often rode to the tournament with their girdles ornamented with gold and silver, to resemble military belts, and, sportively, wielding short and light swords, embossed with emblems of love and war. [sidenote: nature of tourneying weapons.] when the knights reached the lists, their arms were examined by the constable; and such as were of a frame and fabric contrary to good chivalry were rejected. the lances were hurtless, the points being either removed altogether, or covered with broad pieces of wood, called _rockets_. the gallant manners of the age gave such lances the title of _glaives courtois_. the swords were blunted and rebated. instances are on record of knights encountering with swords made of whalebone, covered with parchment, the helmet and hauberk being made of leather. there existed very often, however, a disposition to convert tournaments into real battles. national rivalry broke through the restraints of knightly gentleness; envy of martial prowess, or of woman's love, had found an occasion of venting its passion; and, in spite of the authority of the king-at-arms and heralds to reject weapons of violence, bribery and power appear often to have introduced them. as the nature of offensive armour may be judged from the defensive harness, so in the laws of a country we may read the state of manners. the practice of converting the elegant tournament into a deadly fray occasioned an oath to be imposed on all knights that they would frequent tournaments solely to learn military exercises[ ]; and, by a law of england made towards the close of the thirteenth century, a broad-sword for tourneying was the only weapon that was allowed to the knight and squire; and there was a stern prohibition of a sword pointed, a dagger pointed, or a staff or mace. knights banneret and barons might be armed with mufflers, and cuishes, and shoulder-plates, and a scull-cap, without more. spectators were forbidden from wearing any armour at all, and the king-at-arms and heralds, and the minstrels, were allowed to carry only their accustomed swords without points. [sidenote: knights wore ladies' favors.] the tilting armour in which knights were sheathed was generally of a light fabric, and splendid. its ornaments came under a gentler authority than that of royal constables and marshals. if the iron front of a line of cavaliers in the battle-field was frequently gemmed with the variously coloured signs of ladies' favors, those graceful additions to armour yet more beseemed the tournament. damsels were wont to surmount the helmets of their knights with chaplets, or to affix streamers to their spears[ ], and a cavalier who was thus honoured smiled with self-complacency on the highly emblazoned surcoat of his rival in chivalry. the desire to please ladies fair formed the very soul of the tournament.[ ] every young and gallant knight wore the device of his mistress, while, indeed, the hardier sons of chivalry carried fiercer signs of their own achievements: but they were unmarked by the bright judges of the tourney, for their eyes could only follow through the press their own emblems of love. nothing was now to be heard but the noise and clattering of horse and armour. "ther mayst thou see devising of harneis so uncouth[ ], and so rich, and wrought so wele of goldsmithey, of brouding[ ], and of stele, the sheldes bright, testeres[ ], and trappures; gold hewn helms, hauberks, cote-armures; lords in paramentes[ ], on hir courseres, knights of retinue, and eke squires, nailing the speres, and helmes buckling, gniding[ ] of sheldes, with lainers[ ] lacing; ther as need is they were nothing idle: the fomy steeds on the golden bridle gnawing, and fast the armourers also with file and hammer pricking to and fro; yeomen on foot, and communes many on, with short staves, thick as they may gone; pipes, trompes, nakeres[ ], and clariounes, that in the bataile blowen blody sounes."[ ] [sidenote: the preparation.] after the arms had been examined, "_à l'ostelle, à l'ostelle_, to achievement knights and squires to achievement," was cried by the well-voiced heralds from side to side, and the cavaliers, making their obeisances to the ladies, retired within their tents to don their harness. at the cry, "come forth, knights, come forth," they left their pavilions, and mounting their good steeds, stationed themselves by the side of their banners. the officers-at-arms then examined their saddles; for though they might grow unto their seats, yet it could only lawfully be done by noble horsemanship, and not by thongs attaching the man and horse together.[ ] [sidenote: the encounter.] the ladies and gallant spectators being fairly ranged round the lists, and the crowds of plebeian gazers being disciplined into silence and order, the heralds watched the gestures of the knight of honour, and, catching his sign that the sports might begin, they cried, "_laissez aller_." the cords which divided the two parties were immediately slackened, and the cavaliers dressing their spears to their rests, and commending themselves to their mistresses, dashed to the encounter, while the trumpets sounded the beautiful point of chivalry, for every man to do his devoir.[ ] each knight was followed by his squires, whose number was, in england, by the ancient statute of tournaments already alluded to, limited to three. they furnished their lord with arms, arranged his harness, and raised him from the ground, if his foe had dismounted him. these squires performed also the more pleasing task of being pages of dames and damsels. they carried words of love to re-animate the courage and strength of the exhausted cavalier, and a ribbon drawn from a maiden's bosom was often sent to her chosen knight, when in the shock of spears her first favour had been torn from the place where her fair hand had fixed it.[ ] the chivalric bands were so well poised, that one encounter seldom terminated the sport. lances were broken, horses and knights overthrown, and the tide of victory flowed to either end of the lists. the air was rent with names of ladies. war-cries were changed for gentler invocations. each noble knight called upon his mistress to assist him, thinking that there was a magic in beauty to sustain his strength and courage. "on, valiant knights, fair eyes behold you!" was the spirit-stirring cry of those older warriors who could now only gaze at and direct the amusements of chivalry. the poursuivants-at-arms cried at every noble achievement, "honor to the sons of the brave!"[ ] the minstrels echoed it in the loudest notes of their martial music, and the chivalric spectators replied by the cry, "loyauté aux dames!" [sidenote: what lance-strokes won the prize.] the keen and well-practised eyes of the heralds noted the circumstances of the contest. to break a spear between the saddle and the helmet was accounted one point or degree of honour. the higher on the body the lance was attainted or broken, the greater was the consideration; and the difficulty of breaking it on the helmet was regarded as so considerable, that the knight who performed this feat was thought to be worthy of ten points. either to strike one of the opposite party out of his saddle, or to disable him so that he could not join the next course, was an achievement that merited three points. a curious question once arose at a tournament held in naples. a knight struck his antagonist with such violence as to disarm him of his shield, cuirass, and helmet, and in turn, he was unhorsed. the judges had some difficulty in determining who merited least reproach; and it was at length decided, quite in consonance with chivalric principles, that he who fell from his horse was most dishonoured, for good horsemanship was the first quality of a knight. hence it was thought less dishonourable for a tourneying cavalier to fall with his horse than to fall alone. he who carried his lance comelily and firmly was more worthy of praise, although he broke not, than he who misgoverned his horse, and broke. he who ran high and sat steadily, accompanying his horse evenly and gently, was worthy of all commendation. to take away the rest of his adversary's lance merited more honour than to carry away any other part of his harness. to break his lance against the bow or pommel of the saddle was accounted greater shame than to bear a lance without breaking. it was equally dishonourable to break a lance traverse, or across the breast of an opponent, without striking him with the point; for as it could only occur from the horse swerving on one side, it showed unskilful riding.[ ] the courtesies of chivalry were maintained by the laws that he who struck a horse, or a man, when his back was turned, or when he was unarmed, deserved no honor. any combatant might unhelm himself, and until his helmet was replaced, none could assail him.[ ] [sidenote: conclusion of the sports.] [sidenote: the festival.] [sidenote: delivery of the prize.] [sidenote: knights thanked by ladies.] when all the knights had proved their valiancy, the lord of the tournament dropped his warder[ ], or otherwise signed to the heralds, who cried "_ployer vos bannieres_." the banners were accordingly folded, and the amusements ended. the fair and noble spectators then descended from their galleries, and repaired to the place of festival. the knights who had tourneyed clad themselves in gay weeds of peace, and entering the hall amidst long and high flourishes of trumpets, sat under the silken banners whose emblazonings recorded the antique glory of their families. favourite falcons were seated on perches above their heads, and the old and faithful dogs of the chace were allowed to be present at this joyous celebration of their master's honor. sometimes the knights encircled, in generous equality, a round table. on other occasions the feudal long table with its dais, or raised upper end, was used; and to the bravest knights were allotted the seats which were wont to belong to proud and powerful barons.[ ] every preux cavalier had by his side a lady bright. the minstrels tuned their harps to the praise of courtesy and prowess; and when the merriment was most joyous, the heralds[ ] presented to the ladies the knights who had worthily demeaned themselves.[ ] she, who by the consent of her fair companions was called _la royne de la beaulté et des amours_, delivered the prizes to the kneeling knights.[ ] this queen of beauty and love addressed each of them with a speech of courtesy, thanking him for the disport and labour which he had taken that day, presenting to him the prize as the ladies' award for his skill, and concluding with the wish that such a valorous cavalier would have much joy and worship with his lady.[ ] "the victory was entirely owing to the favor of my mistress, which i wore in my helmet," was the gallant reply of the knight; for he was always solicitous to exalt the honor of his lady-love. as tournaments were scenes of pleasure, the knight who appeared in the most handsome guise was praised; and, to complete the courtesies of chivalry, thanks were rendered to those who had travelled to the lists from far countries.[ ] [sidenote: the ball.] [sidenote: liberality.] dancing then succeeded, the knights taking precedence agreeably to their feats of arms in the morning. and now, when every one's heart was exalted by the rich glow of chivalry, the heralds called for their rewards. liberality was a virtue of every true knight, and the officers-at-arms were more particular in tracing the lines of his pedigree, than in checking him from overleaping the bounds of a prudent and rational generosity. one day's amusement did not always close the tournament: but on the second morning the knights resigned the lists to their esquires, who mounted upon the horses, and wore the armour and cognisances of their lords. they also were conducted by young maidens, who possessed authority to adjudge and give the prize to the worthiest esquire. at the close of the day the festival was renewed, and the honours were awarded. on the third morning there was a mêlée of knights and esquires in the lists, and the judgment of the ladies was again referred to, and considered decisive.[ ] [sidenote: tournaments opposed by the popes.] [sidenote: the opposition was unjust.] such were the general circumstances and laws of tournaments during the days of chivalry. these warlike exercises even survived their chief purpose, for they formed the delight of nations[ ] after the use of artillery had driven the graceful and personal prowess of chivalry from the battle-field.[ ] in all the time of their existence they were powerfully opposed by the papal see, avowedly on the ground of humanity. there was some little excuse for this interference; for though the lances were headless, and the swords rebated, yet the shock of the career sometimes overthrew men and horses, and bruises were as deadly as the lances' wounds. the historians of the middle ages, who generally echoed the wishes of the vatican, carefully record every instance where a life was lost in a tournament; and, perhaps, a dozen such unfortunate events are mentioned by the chroniclers of all european nations during the fourteenth century: a number exceedingly small when we reflect upon the nature of the conflict; that the time now spoken of was the very noonday of chivalry; and that not a circumstance of public joy, not a marriage among the nobles and high gentry of the land, but was celebrated by a tournament. the vatican might thunder its denial of christian sepulture to those who fell in a tilting ground; but still the knights would don their gorgeous harness to win the meed of noble chevisance. while learned casuists were declaring from the pulpits that they who were killed at tournaments were most assuredly damned[ ], heralds' trumpets in every baronial court were summoning knights and squires to gentle exercise and proof of arms; and though fanatical monks might imagine visions where knights were perishing in hell flames[ ], yet gallant cavaliers, warm and joyous with aspirations for fame and woman's love, could not be scared by such idle phantasms. it was not, however, from any sincere considerations for humanity that the popes opposed themselves to the graceful exercises of the age; for, at the celebrated council held at lyons in , it was openly and for the first time declared, that tournaments were iniquitous, because they prevented the chivalry of europe from joining the holy wars in palestine. the shores of syria might drink torrents of christian blood, and the popes would bless the soil; but if in the course of several centuries a few unfortunate accidents happened in the lists of peace and courtesy, all the graceful amusements of europe were to be interdicted, and the world was to be plunged into the state of barbarism from which chivalry had redeemed it. tournaments were also interdicted on account of their expensiveness. wealth poured forth its treasures, and art exercised its ingenuity in apparelling the barons, knights, and ladies; and even the housings of the horses were so rich as to rival the caparisons of asiatic steeds: but the popes could see no advantage to the social state in all this gay and prodigal magnificence, and they wished that all the treasures of the west should be poured into the holy land.[ ] [sidenote: the joust.] the joust was the other chief description of military exercises. it was so far inferior to the tournament, that he who had tourneyed, and had given largess to the heralds, might joust without further cost; but the joust did not give freedom to the tournament, nor was it the most favourite amusement, for baronial pomp was not necessary to its display, and many a joust was held without a store of ladies bright distributing the prize. there were two sorts of jousts, the _joute à l'outrance_, or the joust to the utterance, and the _joute à plaisance_, or joust of peace. [sidenote: description of the joust to the utterance.] and, first, of the serious joust. the joust to the utterance expressed a single combat between two knights, who were generally of different nations. in strictness of speech, the judicial combat was a joust _à l'outrance_, and so was every duel, whether lawful or unlawful; but with such jousts chivalry has no concern.[ ] [sidenote: joust between a scotch and english knight.] in a time of peace, during the year , there were sundry jousts and combats between scots and englishmen, for proof of their valiant activity in feats of arms, and to win fame and honour. the most remarkable encounter was that which took place between sir david de lindsay, first earl of crawford, and the lord wells, in the presence of richard ii. and his court. they agreed[ ] to run certain courses on horseback, with spears sharply ground, for life or death. the place appointed for these jousts was london bridge; the day was the feast of st. george. the doughty knights appeared sheathed in armour of proof, and mounted on mighty war-horses. they ran together with all the fierceness of mortal hate; and though they attainted, yet both kept their saddles. lord crawford retained his seat with such remarkable firmness that the people cried out that assuredly he was locked in his saddle. incontinently that right noble knight leaped from his steed, and again, armed as he was, vaulted on his back, and amazed the beholders by his perfect horsemanship. the battle was renewed on foot; the skill of the scotsman prevailed, and the life of the lord wells was in his power. de lindsay now displayed the grace and courtesy of his chivalry, for he raised his foe from the ground, and presented him as a gift to the queen, wishing, like a true knight, that mercy should proceed from woman. the queen thanked the valiant and courteous scot, and then gave liberty to the lord wells.[ ] [sidenote: jousting for love of the ladies.] woman's love was as frequent a cause for a joust to the utterance as national rivalry. many a knight would sally from a besieged town during a suspension of general hostilities, and demand whether there was any cavalier of the opposite host who, for love of his lady bright, would do any deed of arms. "now let us see if there be any amorous among you[ ]," was the usual conclusion of such a challenger, as he reined in his fiery steed, and laid his spear in its rest. such an invitation was generally accepted; but if it passed unheeded, he was permitted to return to the gates of his town; for it would not have been thought chivalric to surround and capture a cavalier who offered to peril himself in so noble a manner. [sidenote: a singular instance of it.] two parties of french and english met by adventure near cherbourg, and, like valiant knights, each desired to fight with the other. they all alighted, except sir launcelot of lorrys, who sat firm and erect upon his horse, his spear in his hand, and his shield hanging from his neck. he demanded a course of jousting for his lady's sake. there were many present who right well understood him; for there were knights and squires of the english part in love as well as he was. all was bustle, and every man ran to his horse, anxious to prove his gallantry against the noble frenchman. sir john copeland was the first who advanced from the press, and in a moment his well-pointed ashen lance pierced through the side of lorrys, and wounded him to death. every one lamented his fate, for he was a hardy knight, young, jolly, and right amorous[ ]; and the death of a gallant cavalier was always lamented by his brethren in arms; for the good companionship of chivalry was superior to national distinctions. [sidenote: joust between a french and an english squire.] this noble feeling of knighthood was very pleasingly displayed in a circumstance that happened in france, during the year . the duke of brittany profited by the weakness and confusion consequent on the death of king john, and easily made his peace with the court of the new monarch. the duke of buckingham, uncle of richard ii. of england, had been acting as the ally of the duke of brittany; but now, as the war was over, he prepared to conduct most of his army home. he had been joined by some knights from cherbourg, then an english town, and in the new martial arrangements it was agreed that they should return to their garrison; but they were not allowed to wear their harness during their march. the constable of france, who was then at the castle of josselyn, gave them safe-conduct. after embracing their good companions at vannes, they mounted their palfreys, and commenced their course. an hour's riding brought them to josselyn, and they rested awhile in the town, without the castle, intending merely to dine there, and then depart. while they were at their lodging, certain companions of the castle, knights and squires, came to see them, as was the wont of men of war, and particularly englishmen and frenchmen. a french squire, named john boucmell, discovered among the stranger band a squire called nicholas clifford, with whom, on former occasions, he had often exchanged looks and words of defiance. thinking that a very fair opportunity for chevisance had presented itself, he exclaimed, "nicholas, divers times we have wished and devised to do deeds of arms together, and now we have found each other in place and time where we may accomplish it. let us now, in presence of the constable of france, and other lords, have three courses on foot with sharp spears, each of us against the other." nicholas replied, "john, you know right well that we are now going on our way by the safe-conduct of my lord your constable. what you require of me, therefore, cannot now be done, for i am not the chief of this safe-conduct, for i am but under those other knights who are here. i would willingly abide, but they will not." the french squire replied, "you shall not excuse yourself by this means: let your company depart, if they list, for i promise you, by covenant, that when the arms are performed between you and me, i will bring you to cherbourg without peril. make you no doubt of that." nicholas answered, that he did not mean to gainsay his courtesy, but that he could not fight, as he and the rest of the english were journeying without their armour. this objection was readily answered by the frenchman, who proffered his own stores of harness; and nicholas, though exceedingly indisposed to a joust, was obliged to say, that if the lords whom he accompanied would not permit the encounter there, he promised him, as soon as he arrived at cherbourg, and was apprised of john's arrival at boulogne, he would come to him, and deliver him of his challenge. "nay, nay," quoth john, "seek no respite: i have offered, and continue to offer, so many things so honourable, that you cannot depart and preserve your good name, without doing deeds of arms with me." the frenchmen then retired to the castle, leaving the englishmen to dine in their lodging. after dinner the travelling knights repaired to the castle, to require from the constable a troop of cavaliers to conduct them through brittany and normandy to cherbourg. the subject of the challenge had been much discussed by the frenchmen, and as the execution of it appeared to be within their own power, they earnestly requested their leader to forbid the further journey of the englishmen, while the deed of arms remained unaccomplished. the constable received the strangers sweetly, and then, softening the harshness of his words by the chivalric courtesy of his manner, he said to them, "sirs, i arrest you all, so that ye shall not depart this day; and to-morrow, after mass, you shall see deeds of arms done between our squire and yours; and you shall dine with me, and after dinner you shall depart with your guides to cherbourg." the english were right glad to be summoned to a chivalric sport, and, after drinking of the constable's wine, they took their leave, and returned to their lodging. on the next morning each squire heard mass, and was confessed. they then leapt on their horses, and, with the lords of france on one part, and the englishmen on the other, they rode all together to a fair plain, near the castle of josselyn. john boucmell had prepared, according to his promise, two suits of harness, fair and good, and offered the choice to nicholas; but the englishman not only waved his choice, but, with still further courtesy, assisted john to arm. the frenchman, in return, helped him to don the other suit of harness. when they were armed they took their spears, and advanced against each other on foot, from the opposite ends of the lists. on approaching they couched their spears, and the weapon of nicholas struck john on the breast, and, sliding under the gorget of mail, it entered his throat. the spear broke, and the iron truncheon remained in the neck. the english squire passed onwards, and sat down in his chair. the frenchman appeared transfixed to the spot, and his companions advanced to him in alarm. they took off his helmet, and, drawing out the truncheon, the poor squire fell down dead. grief at this event was general, but the saddest and sincerest mourners were nicholas and the earl of march, the former for having slain a valiant man of arms, and the other because john boucmell had been his squire. the constable spoke all the words of comfort to his noble friend which his kindness could prompt, and then made the knightly spectators repair to the castle, in whose hospitable hall every disposition to jealousy and revenge was discarded. after dinner the english troop bade farewell to the noble constable, and, under the conduct of the gentle knight, the barrois of barres, they resumed their course to cherbourg.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: jousts of peace.] i come now to describe the joust _à plaisance_. jousts of this friendly description often took place at the conclusion of a tournament; for a knight who had shown himself worthy of the tourneying prize caracoled his prancing steed about the lists; and, animated by the applauding smiles of dames and damsels, he called on the surrounding cavaliers by their valiancy, and for love of the ladies, to encounter him in three strokes with the lance. [sidenote: skill of jousters.] more frequently jousts were held at places appointed expressly for the occasion. when they were jousts of peace, the mode of combat was always specifically described. a knight would often challenge another for love of his lady to joust three courses with a spear, three strokes with a sword, three with a dagger, and three with an axe.[ ] it was the rule for knights to strike at each other only on the body, or within the four quarters, as the times phrased their meaning. the loss of his good name and the forfeiture of his horse and arms were the penalties of violating this usage. sometimes the weapons were similar to those used in tournaments; but more frequently they were weapons of war[ ]; and though the lances were sharp, and the bright swords were not rebated, seldom was blood shed in these jousts, so truly admirable was the military skill of the soldiers in chivalry. the tournaments are interesting in the general circumstances of their splendour and knightly gallantry; but the jousts give us a far more curious knowledge of ancient manners. [sidenote: singular questions regarding jousts.] but before i describe these martial amusements, let me call my reader's attention for a few moments to the subtlety of intellect with which questions respecting the circumstances that happened at jousts were discussed. two gentlemen agreed to fight on horseback, and he who first fell was to be deemed the vanquished man. by the chance of battle it happened that they both fell together, and the sage spirits of chivalry were agitated by the question, who should be accounted victorious. some thought that the defender ought to have the honour, for in all doubtful cases the challenged person should be favoured; others contended, that as the fall of the challenger might proceed from his own force, and not the virtue of the enemy, the judgment ought to lie dead: but the best and general decision was this:--if the combat were for trial of skill or love of the ladies, the challenger ought to lose the honour; but if it were for the decision of any mortal quarrel, the battle ought to be resumed some other day, because in combats of that kind no victory was gained until one of the parties were either slain or yielded himself prisoner, or had with his own mouth denied the words whereon the combat was occasioned. on another occasion, seven knights agreed with seven of their companions to run certain courses for honour and love of the ladies. when the joust took place, five of one side acquitted themselves right chivalrously, but their two brother-tilters were overthrown. on the other side, two only performed their courses well, the rest of that company lost many lances and ran very foul. it was then debated whether unto five well-doers and two evil, or unto two well-doers and five evil, the honour ought to be allotted. as the question did not regard the merit of any particular man, but which party in general best performed the enterprise, it was alleged that the party wherein were most well-doers ought to have the honour, notwithstanding the fall of two of their companions. this opinion was met by the acknowledged rule of arms, that the fall from horseback by the enemies' force or skill was the most reproachful chance that could happen to a knight. therefore it was contended that the misadventure of two men only might reasonably be the loss of honour to the rest.[ ] but further details of chivalric subtleties would afford little pleasure, and contenting myself with having shown that our ancestors' intellects were as sharp as their swords, we will progress to the tilting ground. [sidenote: an earl of warwick.] one of the earls of warwick went to france dressed in weeds of peace, but carrying secretly his jousting harness. in honour of his lady he set up three shields on three pavilions, and his heralds proclaimed his challenges, apparently from three different knights, among the lords, knights, and squires of honour in france. the devices on his shields and the names he assumed were emblematical of love and war. three skilful jousters of france on three successive days touched the shields, and the earl, dressed in different guises, overthrew them all. they now became his friends: he entertained them with chivalrique magnificence, and gave jewels of price to them all. for himself he had acquired renown, and that was all he wished; for he now could return to his lady, and showing how he had sped in his chivalric courses, could proudly claim the reward of valour.[ ] [sidenote: celebrated joust at st. ingelbertes.] "ye have heard oftentimes, it said, how the sport of ladies and damsels encourageth the hearts of young lusty gentlemen, and causeth them to desire and seek to get honour."[ ] such is froissart's beautiful and romantic prelude to his account of a very interesting joust. in the year , the king charles v. tarried several days at montpellier, delighting himself with the pastime of the ladies; and the gentlemen of his court were no bad imitators of his fancy. three cavaliers, in particular, were chiefly marked. they were the young sir boucicaut, sir raynold of roy, and the lord of st. pye. their valour was inspired by gallantry, and they resolved to achieve high feats of arms in the ensuing summer; and if it had been possible for a knight to entertain any other object in his imagination, than the favour of his sovereign lady, the gallant knights of france had a very noble motive to enterprise, for some reflections had lately been cast upon their honour by an english cavalier. the noble knighthood that was in them felt a stain like a wound; and this imputation on their honor gave the form and color to the joust they meditated; for they resolved to perform their deeds of arms in the frontier near calais, hoping that englishmen might be incited to meet them. the holding of the joust at such a place was not deemed courteous by some members of the king's council, for it was thought that the english would consider it presumptuous; and the more sage and prudent knights murmured their opinion, that it was not always right to consent to the purposes of young men, for incidents rather evil than good often sprang from them. the king, however, who was young and courageous, overruled all scruples, and ordered that the joust should proceed, because the knights had promised and sworn it before the ladies of montpellier. then the king sent for the three knights into his chamber, and said to them, "sirs, in all your doing regard wisely the honor of us and of our realm; and to maintain your estate, spare nothing, for we will not fail you for the expence of ten thousand franks." the three knights knelt before the king, and thanked his grace. so important to the national honor was this joust considered, that the challenge was not published till it had been revised by charles and his council. this was its form:--"for the great desire that we have to come to the knowledge of noble gentlemen, knights, esquires, strangers, as well of the nation of france, as elsewhere of far countries, we shall be at st. ingelbertes, in the marshes of calais, the th day of the month of may next coming, and there continue thirty days complete, the fridays only excepted, and to deliver all manner of knights and squires, gentlemen, strangers of any nation, whosoever they be, that will come thither for the breaking of five spears, either sharp or rockets, at their pleasure; and without our lodgings shall be the shields of our arms, both shields of peace and of war, and whosoever will joust, let him come or send the day before, and with a rod touch which shield he pleases. if he touch the shield of war, the next day he shall joust with which of the three he will; and if he touch the shield of peace, he shall have the jousts of peace and of war; so that whosoever shall touch any of the shields shall shew their names to such as shall be then limited by us to receive them. and all such stranger-knights as will joust shall bring each some nobleman on his part who shall be instructed by us what ought to be done in this case. and we require all knights and squires, strangers that will come and joust, that they think not we do this for any pride, hatred, or evil will, but that we only do it to have their honorable company and acquaintance, which with our entire hearts we desire. none of our shields shall be covered with iron or steel, nor any of theirs that will come to joust with us, without any manner of fraud or unfair advantage, but every thing shall be ordered by them to whom shall be committed the charge of governing the jousts. and because that all gentlemen, noble knights, and squires, to whom this shall come to knowledge, should be assured of its being firm and stable, we have sealed the present writing with the seals of our arms. written at montpellier the twentieth day of november, in the year of our lord god one thousand, three hundred, four-score and nine, and signed thus. raynolde du roy--boucicaut--st. pye." when this challenge was published, the knights and squires of england entertained great imaginations to know what to do; and most of them thought it would be deeply to their blame and reproach that such an enterprise should take place near calais, without their passing the sea. they therefore thanked the french chivalry for deporting themselves so courteously, and holding the joust so near the english marshes. accordingly, in the fresh and jolly month of may, when the spring was at its finest point, the three young knights of france mounted their gay steeds, and sportively held their course from paris to boulogne. they then progressed to the abbey of st. ingilbertes, and were right joyful to learn that a number of knights and squires of merry england had, like good companions, crossed the sea, and were arraying themselves for the joust. the frenchmen raised three green pavilions, in a fair and champaign spot, between st. ingilbertes and calais. to the entrance of each pavilion they affixed two shields, with the arms of the knights, one shield of peace, and the other of war; and again proclaimed that such knights as would do deeds of arms should touch one of the shields, or cause it to be touched, whichever mode pleased him, and he should be delivered according to his desire. on the day appointed for the jousts, all the respective chivalries of france and england poured from the gates of st. ingilberte and calais, eager for the gallant fray. such as proposed to be mere spectators met in friendly union, without regard to national differences. the king of france was present in a disguise.[ ] the three french knights retired within their pavilions, and squires donned their harness. the english jousters apparelled themselves, and took their station at the end of the plain, opposite the pavilions. a flourish of clarions proclaimed the commencement of the joust, and the herald's trumpet sounded to horse. when all was hushed in breathless expectation, sir john holland, earl of huntingdon, pricked forth with the slow and stately pace of high-born chivalry, from the end of the lists which had been assigned to the english strangers. he was a right gallant cavalier, and he commanded his squire to touch the war-shield of sir boucicaut. incontinently, that noble son of chivalry, ready mounted, left his pavilion with shield and spear. the knights marked each other well, and then spurred their horses to the encounter. the spear of sir boucicaut pierced through the shield of the english knight; but it passed hurtless over his arm, and their good steeds bounded to either end of the plain. this course was greatly commended. the second course was altogether harmless; and in the third course the horses started aside, and would not cope. the earl of huntingdon, who was somewhat chafed, came to his place, waiting for sir boucicaut taking his spear; but he did not, for he showed that he would run no more that day against the earl, who then sent his squire to touch the war-shield of the lord of st. pye. he issued out of his pavilion, and took his horse, shield, and spear. when the earl saw that he was ready, he spurred his horse, and st. pye did not with less force urge his own good steed. they couched their spears: at the meeting their horses crossed, but with the crossing of their spears the earl was unhelmed. he returned to his squires, and incontinently was rehelmed. he took his spear, and st. pye his, and they ran again, and met each other with their spears in the middle of their shields. the shock nearly hurled both to the ground, but they saved themselves by griping their horses with their legs, and returned to their places, and took breath. sir john holland, who had great desire to do honourably, took again his spear, and urged his horse to speed. when the lord of st. pye saw him coming, he dashed forth his horse to encounter him. each of them struck the other on the helms with such force that the fire flew out. with that attaint the lord of st. pye was unhelmed; and so they passed forth, and came again to their own places. this course was greatly praised, and both french and english said that those three knights, the earl of huntingdon, sir boucicaut, and the lord st. pye, had right well done their devoirs. again the earl desired, for love of his lady, to have another course; but he was refused, and he then mixed with the knights, and spectators, and gave place to others, for he had ran all his six courses well and valiantly, so that he had laud and honour of all parties. these noble jousts continued for four days.[ ] the gallant champions assembled after matins, and did not quit the course till the vesper-bell of the abbey summoned them to prayer. of the noble company of knights and squires there were few who did not add something to their fame; for if a knight happened to be unhelmed, yet perhaps he did not lose his stirrups, and he was admired for sustaining a severe shock. such was the noble chevisance of the jousters that no mortal wound was inflicted.[ ] the lance was the only weapon used. to unhelm the adverse knight by striking his frontlet was the chiefest feat of arms, and in the fierce career of opposing steeds, the firmest strength and the nicest skill could alone achieve it. helms struck fire, lances were splintered, and the lance-head was lodged in the shield: but sometimes the shield resisted the lance, and men and steeds reeled back to their several pavilions. each gallant knight, however, "grew unto his seat, and to such wond'rous doing brought his horse as he had been incorps'd and demi-natur'd with the brave beast." the knighthood and squirery of england sent forth nearly forty of their host to vindicate their chivalry, and right nobly did they deport themselves against the doughtiest lances of france. there was only one knight who disgraced the order of chivalry. by birth he was a bohemian, in station an attendant of the king of england. it was demanded of him with whom he would joust. he answered, with boucicaut. they then prepared themselves and ran together, but the bohemian struck a prohibited part of the armour, and he was greatly blamed that he demeaned his course so badly. by the laws of the joust he should have forfeited his arms and horse, but the frenchman, out of courtesy to the englishmen, forgave him. the bohemian to redeem his shame required again to joust one course. he was demanded against whom he would run; and he sent to touch the shield of sir raynolde du roy. that gallant knight was not long before he answered him. they met in the middle of their shields, and the french cavalier struck his antagonist from his horse; and the englishmen were not displeased that he was overthrown, because he had ran the first course so ungoodly. this sir raynolde du roy was one of the best jousters in all the realm of france, and no wonder; for our faithful and gallant chronicler reports that he lived in love with a young maiden, which availed him much in all his affairs.[ ] one of his most valiant antagonists was a gentle knight of england, young and fresh, a jolly dancer and singer, called sir john arundell. at the first course they met rudely, and struck each other on the shields, but they held themselves without falling, and passed forth their course. the second course they struck each other on the helms; the third course they crossed and lost their staves; the fourth course resembled the second; the fifth course they splintered their spears against their shields, and then sir john arundell ran no more that day. at the conclusion of the jousts the earl of huntingdon, and the earl marshal, and the lord clifford, the lord beaumont, sir john clinton, sir john dambreticourt, sir peter sherborne, and all other knights that had jousted those four days with the french knights, thanked them greatly for their pastime, and said, "sirs, all such as would joust of our party have accomplished their desires; therefore now we will take leave of you: we will return to calais, and so cross to england; and we know that whoever will joust with you will find you here these thirty days, according to the tenor of your challenge." the french knights were grateful for this courtesy, saying, that all new comers should be right heartily welcome; "and we will deliver them according to the rights of arms, as we have done you; and, moreover, we thank you for the grace and gallantry that you have shewn to us." thus in knightly manner the englishmen departed from saint ingilbertes, and rode to calais, where they tarried not long, for the saturday afterwards they took shipping and sailed to dover, and reached that place by noon. on the sunday they progressed to rochester, and the next day to london, whence every man returned to his home. the three french knights remained the thirty days at saint ingilbertes, but no more englishmen crossed the sea to do any deed of arms with them.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: joust between lord scales and the bastard of burgundy.] perhaps the most interesting joust in the middle ages was that which was held between lord scales, brother of the queen of edward the fourth, and the bastard of burgundy. many of the circumstances which attended it are truly chivalric.[ ] on the th of april, , the queen and some ladies of her court, in a mood of harmless merriment, attached a collar of gold, enamelled with the rich floure of souvenance[ ], to the thigh of that right worshipful and amorous knight, anthony woodville, lord scales, for an emprise of arms on horseback and on foot.[ ] the most renowned cavalier at that time was the bastard of burgundy, and accordingly lord scales addressed him in courteous wise, praising his prowess, and vowing before god and the ladies that his own great desire was to rival his fame. in order, then, that there might exist that love and fraternity between them which became knights of worship, he related the goodly adventure at the court of england, and requiring the bastard, in all affection for the honour of chivalry, to do him so much favour as to discharge him of his bond. the earl of worcester, lord high constable of england, certified the fact of the delivery of the floure of souvenance to the lord scales, and the king's permission for his herald to cross the seas to burgundy. the bastard received the letter on the last day of april, and with permission of his father, the duke of burgundy, he consented to assist the lord scales in accomplishing his emprise. lord scales and the court of england were right joyous and grateful at the news, and edward granted a safe-conduct to the adventurous burgundian, the earl of roche, and a thousand persons in his company, to come into england, to perform certain feats of arms with his dearly beloved brother anthony woodville, lord scales, and nucelles.[ ] the bastard accordingly set sail for england, nobly accompanied by four hundred of his father's prowest chivalry. by edward's command, garter king-at-arms met him at gravesend. the gallant squadron sailed towards london, and at blackwall it was joined by the earl of worcester, attended by a noble troop of lords, knights, and squires, and also by many of the aldermen and rich citizens of london. the lord of burgundy landed at billingsgate, and was welcomed by another party of the nobility and trades of england, (so general was the interest of the expected joust,) who conducted him on horseback through cornhill and cheap to the palace of the bishop of salisbury in fleet street, which royal courtesy had appointed for his abode. lord scales soon afterwards came to london, attended by the nobility and chivalry of his house, and the king assigned him the palace of the bishop of ely in holborn for his residence. the noble stranger was introduced to edward on his coming to london from kingston, in order to open the parliament. the ceremonies of the joust were then arranged by well experienced knights, and strong lists were erected in smithfield, one hundred and twenty yards and ten feet long, eighty yards and ten feet broad, with fair and costly galleries around. on the morning appointed for the gallant show, the king and queen with all the chivalry and beauty of the land, repaired to smithfield. the king sat under a richly canopied throne, at one end of the lists; on each side were lords and ladies, and underneath him were ranged the knights, the squires, and the archers of his train. the city magistrates then appeared; the lord mayor bowing, and the mace-bearer lowering his sign of authority, as they passed the king in their procession to the other end of the lists, where scaffolds of similar form, but inferior magnificence to the royal chambers, were erected for them. the eight guards of the lists entered on horseback, and received their charge from the earl marshal and lord high constable of england, who gently paced their horses to and fro beneath the throne. when every thing was fairly arranged, lord scales appeared at the gate of the lists. at the sound of his trumpet the constable advanced and demanded his purpose. the young lord, with the grace and modesty of chivalry, replied, that he solicited the honor of presenting himself before his sovereign liege the king, in order to accomplish his arms against the bastard of burgundy. the gate was then thrown open by command of the constable, and the lord scales entered the lists, followed by nine noblemen on horseback, bearing parts of his harness and arms, and nine pages riding on gaily caparisoned steeds. they advanced to the king, and after having made their obeisances, they retired to a pavilion at one end of the lists. with similar forms the lord of burgundy, attended by the chosen chivalry of his country, approached the king, and then repaired to his tent. the heralds commanded silence, and forbad any one, by the severest penalties, from intermeddling with the jousters. two lances and two swords were taken to the king, who, being satisfied of their fitness, commanded the lords who bore them to take them to the combatants. the stranger-knight made his election, and dressed his lance to its rest. lord scales prepared himself with equal gallantry, and they dashed to the encounter. their spears were sharp; but so perfect was their knowledge of chivalry, that no wounds were inflicted. the nicest judges could mark no difference of skill, and the noble knights jousted their courses, when the king dropped his warder, and the amusements ended. the next day the court and city repaired to smithfield, with their accustomed pomp, and the spectacle was varied by the jousters contending with swords. the sports were, however, untimely closed by the steed of lord scales with the spike of his chaffron overthrowing the bastard of burgundy and his horse; and the king would not allow the tourney to proceed, though the bruised knight gallantly asserted his wish not to fail his encounter companion. not wearied by two days' amusement, the chivalry and beauty of england assembled in the lists of smithfield on the third morning. the noblemen now fought on foot with pole-axes. at last the point of lord scales's weapon entered the sight of the burgundian's helmet, and there was a feeling of fear through the galleries that a joust of peace would have a fatal termination. but before it could be seen whether lord scales meant to press his advantage, the king dropped his warder, and the marshals separated them. the bastard of burgundy prayed for leave to continue his enterprise; and the lord scales consented. but the matter was debated by the assembled chivalry; and it was declared by the earl of worcester, then constable of england, and the duke of norfolk the marshal, that if the affair were to proceed, the knight of burgundy must, by the law of arms, be delivered to his adversary in the same state and condition as he was in when they were separated. this sentence was a virtual prohibition of the continuance of the joust, and the bastard therefore relinquished his challenge. the herald's trumpet then sounded the well known point of chivalry that the sports were over; but as the times were joyous as well as martial, the knights and ladies before they parted held a noble festival at mercer's hall.[ ] the feats of arms at st. ingilbertes displayed the martial character of the joust; and the emprise of lord scales shows how beautifully love could blend itself with images of war, and the interest which a whole nation could take in the circumstance of certain fair ladies of a court binding round the thigh of a gallant knight a collar of gold, enamelled with a floure of souvenance. [sidenote: the romance of jousts.] but the high romantic feeling of chivalric times is, perhaps, still more strikingly displayed in the following tale. in the beginning of the year , an esquire of spain, named michel d'orris, being full of valour and love, attached a piece of iron to his leg, and vowed that he would endure the pain till he had won renown by deeds of chivalry. the prowess of the english knights most keenly excited his emulation; and, as his first measure to cope with it, he journeyed from arragon to paris. he then issued his defiance to the english chivalry at calais, to perform exercises on foot with the battle-axe, the sword, and the dagger, and to run certain courses on horseback with the lance. a noble soldier, hight sir john prendergast, a companion of lord somerset, governor of calais, being equally desirous to gain honour and amusement, like a gentleman, to the utmost of his power, accepted the challenge in the name of god, of the blessed virgin mary, and of his lords saint george and saint anthony. like a true brother in chivalry, he expressed his wish to relieve the arragonian esquire from the pain he was suffering; and, agreeably to the nobleness and modesty of his profession, he avowed his joy at the occasion of making acquaintance with some of the french nobility[ ], and learning from them the honourable exercise of arms; and then, in a fine strain of gallantry, he concludes his acceptance of the challenge by praying that the author of all good would grant the gentle esquire joy, honour, and pleasure, and every description of happiness to the lady of his affection, to whom sir john prendergast entreated that those letters might recommend him. political affairs recalled orris to arragon, and the english knight, not knowing that circumstance, wrote to him at paris, pressing the performance of the emprise, reminding him how much his honour was concerned in the matter, and entreating cupid, the god of love, as orris might desire the affections of his lady, to urge him to hasten his journey.[ ] no answer was returned to this heart-stirring epistle; and, after waiting several months, prendergast again addressed orris, expressing his astonishment that the challenge had not been prosecuted, and no reason rendered for the neglect by the valiant esquire. he was ignorant if the god of love, who had inspired him with courage to undertake the emprise, had since been displeased, and changed his ancient pleasures, which formerly consisted in urging on deeds of arms, and in promoting the delights of chivalry. he was wont to keep the nobles of his court under such good government, that, to add to their honor, after having undertaken any deeds of arms, they could not absent themselves from the country where such enterprise was to be performed, until it was perfectly accomplished. anxious to preserve the favour of the god of love, and from respect to the ladies, sir john prendergast was still ready, with the aid of god, of saint george, and saint anthony, to deliver him whom he still hoped was the servant of cupid; and unless within a short time the emprise was accomplished, he intended to return to england, where he hoped that knights and esquires would bear witness that he had not misbehaved towards the god of love, to whom he recommended his own lady and the lady of orris.[ ] the esquire returned to paris, after he had finished his military duties in arragon, still wearing the painful badge of iron. he found at paris all the letters of prendergast. his chivalric pride was wounded at the thought that the god of love had banished him from his court, and made him change his mind; and he informed his noble foe that assuredly, without any dissembling, he should never, in regard to the present emprise, change his mind, so long as god might preserve his life; nor had there ever been any of his family who had not always acted in such wise as became honest men and gentlemen. notwithstanding the appeal of orris to the chivalry of prendergast no deeds of arms were achieved. the delay of answers to his letters had offended the english knight, and some misunderstanding regarding the petty arrangements of the joust abruptly terminated the affair.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: the passage of arms.] a very favourite description of joust was that which was called a passage of arms. a knight and his companions proclaimed that they would on a certain day guard a particular road or bridge from all persons of cavaleresque rank, who attempted to pass.[ ] those who undertook such an emprise had their arms attached to pillars at the end of the lists with some plain shields of different colours, in which were marked the nature of the adventure, and the description of arms that were to be employed, so that he, who repaired to the passage, with the design of trying his skill, chose his mode of combat by touching one of the shields whereon it was specified. officers at arms were in waiting to collect and register the names of such as touched the different shields, that they might be called out in the rotation of their first appearance. in the spring of the year , the lord of chargny, a noble knight of the court of burgundy, made known to all princes, barons, cavaliers, and esquires without reproach, that, for the augmentation and extension of the most noble profession and exercise of arms, it was his will and intention, in conjunction with twelve knights, squires, and gentlemen, of four quarterings, whose names he mentioned, to guard and defend a pass d'armes, situated on the great road leading from dijon toward exonne, at the end of the causeway from the said town of dijon, at a great tree called the hermit's tree, or the tree of charlemagne. he proposed to suspend on the tree two shields, (one black, besprinkled with tears of gold, the other violet, having tears of sable,) and all those who by a king at arms or pursuivant should touch the first shield should be bounden to perform twelve courses on horseback, with him the lord of chargny, or one of his knights and squires, with blunted lances; and if either of the champions, during their twelve courses, should be unhorsed by a direct blow with the lance on his armour, such person so unhorsed should present to his adversary a diamond of whatever value he pleased. those princes, barons, knights, and esquires, who should rather take their pleasure in performing feats of arms on foot, were to touch the violet shield, and should perform fifteen courses with battle-axes or swords, as might be most agreeable to them, and if during those courses any champion should touch the ground with his hand or knees he should be obliged to present to his adversary a ruby of whatever value he pleased. the lord of chargny was a right modest as well as a valiant knight, for he besought all princes, barons, knights, and esquires, not to construe his intention as the result of pride and presumption, for he assured them that his sole motive was to exalt the noble profession of arms, and also to make acquaintance by chivalric deeds with such renowned and valiant princes and nobles as might be pleased to honor him with their presence. for the forty days that followed the first of july, the passage of arms lasted, and right nobly did the burgundian chivalry comport themselves. their most skilful opponent was a valiant knight of spain, hight messire pierre vasque de suavedra, with whom the lord of chargny jousted on horseback and on foot, and the nicest eye of criticism could not determine which was the doughtiest knight. at the conclusion of the jousts the cavaliers repaired to the church of our lady at dijon, and on their knees offered the shields to the virgin.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: use of tournaments and jousts.] such were the martial amusements and exercises of preux chevaliers. all the noble and graceful virtues of chivalry were reflected in the tournament and joust, and the warrior who had displayed them in the lists could not but feel their mild and beneficent influence even in the battle-field. he pricked on the plain with knightly grace as if his lady-mistress had been beholding him: skill and address insensibly softened the ferocity of the mere soldier, and he soon came to consider war itself only as a great tournament. thus the tourneying lists were schools of chivalric virtue as well as of chivalric prowess, while the splendour and joyousness of the show brought all classes of society into kind and merry intercourse. through the long period of the middle ages tournaments were the elegant pastimes of europe, and not of europe only, but of greece; and knighthood had its triumph over classical institutions when the games of chivalry were played in the circus of constantinople. the byzantines learnt them from the early crusaders; and when the french and venetians in the twelfth century became masters of the east, chivalric amusements were the common pastimes of the people, and continued so even when the greeks recovered the throne of their ancestors; nor were they abolished until the mussulmans captured constantinople, and swept away every christian and chivalric feature.[ ] in the west the tournament and joust survived chivalry itself, whose image they had reflected and brightened, for changes in the military art did not immediately affect manners; and the world long clung with fondness to those splendid and graceful shows which had thrown light and elegance over the warriors and dames of yore. chap. vii. the religious and military orders of knighthood. _general principles of the religious orders ... qualifications for them ... use of these orders to palestine ... modern history of the knights templars ... their present existence and state ... religious orders in spain ... that of st. james ... its objects ... change of its objects ... order of calatrava ... fine chivalry of a monk ... fame of this order ... order of alcantara ... knights of the lady of mercy ... knights of st. michael ... military orders ... imitations of the religious orders ... instanced in the order of the garter ... few of the present orders are of chivalric origin ... order of the bath ... dormant orders ... order of the band ... its singular rules ... its noble enforcement of chivalric duties towards woman ... order of bourbon ... strange titles of orders ... fabulous orders ... the round table ... sir launcelot ... sir gawain ... order of the stocking ... origin of the phrase blue stocking._ such were the institutions by which the character of the true knight was formed; and we might now resume our historical course did not a matter of considerable interest detain us, which, as it belongs to chivalry in general, and not entirely to any state in particular, can no where be treated with so much propriety as in this place. it has been shown that from the union of religion and arms chivalry arose, and that the defence of the church and the promoting of its interests were among the chief objects of the new system of principles and manners. but knighthood had various duties to discharge, and the cavalier, who was sometimes distracted by their number, consecrated his life to the single purpose of upholding the cross of christ. thus orders called the religious orders of knighthood were founded, and in imitation of them, fraternities, called military orders, appeared, all being ranged within the general pale of chivalry. [sidenote: general principles of the religious orders.] the religious orders, as might be expected, were sanctioned by papal authority. they were both martial and monastic in their general principles, but their internal conduct was entirely regulated by the discipline of the cloister; and, like the establishments of monks, they took some existing rule of a favourite saint as their guide. theirs was a singular compound of the chivalric and the cloisteral characters, "the fine vocation of the sword and lance with the gross aims and body-bending toil of a poor brotherhood who walk the earth pitied."[ ] like the monks they were bound by the three great monastic vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience. the first of these matters needs no explanation[ ]; the second meant a total oblivion of individuality, the community and not a peculiar possession of property; and by the third, the members were confined to obey the head of their order, to the exclusion of all other authority. these general principles of the religious societies of knighthood gave way, however, and fitted themselves to the occasions and demands of society, for like the chain-mail, which was flexible to all the motions of the body, the orders of chivalry have varied with every change of european life. ascetic privations gave place to chivalric gallantry, the vow of chastity was mitigated into a vow of connubial fidelity; and when men of noble birth and high fortune became knights of the holy and valiant societies of saint john, the temple, or saint james, the vow of poverty was dispensed with, or explained away to the satisfaction of conscientious scruples. in the fraternity of the temple a knight was permitted to hold estates, so that at his death he bequeathed some portion of them to his order.[ ] in another very important respect the religious brotherhoods were moulded to the general frame of political society. their independence of civil authority was given up, as the papal power declined, and kings refused admittance of the bulls of rome into their states without their previous license. the knights of the religious fraternities became connected with the state by professing that their duties to god and their country were prior and paramount to the rules and statutes of the brotherhood; and they adopted this form of phrase rather to prevent the suggestions of malice than from any existing necessity, for they contended that the obligations of chivalry, instead of contravening the duty of a citizen, gave it strength, and dignity, and grace.[ ] [sidenote: qualifications for them.] in their origin all the military orders and most of the religious ones were entirely aristocratic; proofs of gentility of birth were scrupulously examined; and no soldier by the mere force of his valiancy could attain the honours of an order, though such a claim was allowed for his admission into the general fraternity of knighthood. these requisites for nobleness of birth kept pace with the political state of different countries, for the sovereigns of europe and chivalry did not accord upon any particular form. thus a french candidate for the knighthood of saint john of jerusalem must have shown four quarters of gentility on his coat-armour, but in the severer aristocracies of spain and germany no less than eight heraldic emblasonings were requisite. in italy, however, where commerce checked the haughtiness of nobility, it was not expected that the pedigree should be so proud and full, and at length the old families conceded, and the new families were satisfied with the concession, that the sons of merchants should be at liberty to enter into the religious orders. it would be tedious and unprofitable to detail the history of all these chivalric societies; and were i to repeat or abridge the usual books on the topic i should in many cases be only assisting to give currency to fraud, for the title, a religious order of knighthood, was often improperly bestowed on an establishment, while in truth it was only a fraternity of monks who maintained some soldiers in their pay: other associations obtained a papal sanction, but they were small and insignificant, and their history did not affect the general state of any country. [sidenote: use of these orders to palestine.] not so, however, the noble fraternities of saint john and the temple[ ], and next, though the intervening space of dignity was considerable, the teutonic knights. these religious orders of chivalry by their principles and conduct are strongly marked in the political history of the world, for they formed the firm and unceasing bulwark of the christian kingdom in palestine during the middle ages. they were its regular militia, and maintained the holy land in the interval between the departure of one fleet of crusaders and the arrival of another. generous emulation sometimes degenerated into envy, and the heats and feuds of the knights of saint john and the temple violated the peace of the country; but these dissensions were usually hushed when danger approached their charge, and the atabal of the muselmans was seldom sounded in defiance on the frontier of the kingdom without the trumpets of the military orders in every preceptory and commandery receiving and echoing the challenge. [sidenote: particularly of the templars.] the valiancy of the templars was particularly conspicuous in the moments of the kingdom's final fate; for when the christians of the holy land were reduced to the possession of acre, and two hundred thousand mameluke tartars from egypt were encamped round its walls, the defence of the city was entrusted to peter de beaujeau, grand master of the templars. and well and chivalrously did he sustain his high and sacred charge. acre fell, indeed, but not until this heroic representative of christian chivalry and most of the noble followers of his standard had been slain. the memory of the templars is embalmed in all our recollections of the beautiful romance of the middle ages, for the red cross knights were the last band of europe's host that contended for the possession of palestine. a few survived the fall of acre and retired to sis in armenia. they were driven to the island of tortosa, whence they escaped to cyprus, and the southern shore of the mediterranean no longer rang with the cry of religious war. the origin and peculiar nature of these three great religious orders have been detailed by me in another work, and also their history as far as it was connected with the crusades; but on one subject our present deductions may be carried further: for though the annals of the cavaliers of saint john and also of the teutonic knights are mixed with general european history, yet those of the templars stand isolated. in the history of the crusades, i described the circumstances of the iniquitous and sanguinary persecution of the brotherhood of the temple, the consequent suspension of their functions[ ], and the spoliation of all those possessions with which the respect of the world had enriched them. [sidenote: modern history of the templars.] but the persecution of the templars in the fourteenth century does not close the history of the order, for though the knights were spoliated the order was not annihilated. in truth, the cavaliers were not guilty, the brotherhood was not suppressed, and, startling as is the assertion, there has been a succession of knights templars from the twelfth century down even to these days; the chain of transmission is perfect in all its links. jacques de molai, the grand master at the time of the persecution, anticipating his own martyrdom, appointed as his successor, in power and dignity, johannes marcus larmenius of jerusalem, and from that time to the present there has been a regular and uninterrupted line of grand masters. the charter by which the supreme authority has been transmitted is judicial and conclusive evidence of the order's continued existence. this charter of transmission, with the signatures of the various chiefs of the temple, is preserved at paris, with the ancient statutes of the order, the rituals, the records, the seals, the standards, and other memorials of the early templars. the brotherhood has been headed by the bravest cavaliers of france, by men who, jealous of the dignity of knighthood, would admit no corruption, no base copies of the orders of chivalry, and who thought that the shield of their nobility was enriched by the impress of the templars' red cross. bertrand du guesclin was the grand master from till his death in , and he was the only french commander who prevailed over the chivalry of our edward iii. from to , we may mark robert lenoncourt, a cavalier of one of the most ancient and valiant families of lorraine. philippe chabot, a renowned captain in the reign of francis i., wielded the staff of power from to to . the illustrious family of montmorency appear as knights templars, and henry, the first duke, was the chief of the order from to . at the close of the seventeenth century the grand master was james henry de duras, a marshal of france, the nephew of turenne, and one of the most skilful soldiers of louis xiv. the grand masters from to were three princes of the royal bourbon family. the names and years of power of these royal personages who acknowledged the dignity of the order of the temple were louis augustus bourbon, duke of maine, - ; louis henry bourbon condé - ; and louis francis bourbon conty - . the successor of these princes in the grand-mastership of the temple was louis hercules timoleon, duke de cossé brissac, the descendant of an ancient family long celebrated in french history for its loyalty and gallant bearing. he accepted the office in , and sustained it till he died in the cause of royalty at the beginning of the french revolution. the order has now its grand master, bernardus raymundus fabré palaprat, and there are colleges in england and in many of the chief cities in europe. [sidenote: present existence and state of the templars.] thus the very ancient and sovereign order of the temple is now in full and chivalric existence, like those orders of knighthood which were either formed in imitation of it, or had their origin in the same noble principles of chivalry. it has mourned as well as flourished; but there is in its nature and constitution a principle of vitality which has carried it through all the storms of fate. its continuance, by representatives as well as by title, is as indisputable a fact as the existence of any other chivalric fraternity. the templars of these days claim no titular rank, yet their station is so far identified with that of the other orders of knighthood, that they assert equal purity of descent from the same bright source of chivalry. nor is it possible to impugn the legitimate claims to honorable estimation, which the modern brethren of the temple derive from the antiquity and pristine lustre of their order, without at the same time shaking to its centre the whole venerable fabric of knightly honor.[ ] [sidenote: religious orders in spain.] the holy land was not the only country which gave birth to the religious orders of knighthood. several arose in spain, and their arms were mainly instrumental in effecting the triumph of the christian cause over that of the moors. war with the usurpers was the pristine object of some of these societies, and in other cases it was based and pillared upon a foundation of charity. perpetual enmity to the arabian infidels was the motto of all. unlike the christian kings of spain, the orders never relaxed in their hostility; they never mingled with the moors in the delights of peace, and their character was formed by their own rules and principles, unaffected by the graceful softenings of oriental luxury and taste. [sidenote: that of st. james.] the most considerable of these spanish religious orders of knighthood was that of saint james, of compostella, which sprang from the association of some knights and monks in the middle of the twelfth century, for the protection of the pilgrims who flocked from all countries to bow before the relics of the tutelar saint of spain.[ ] the monks were of the society of st. eloy, a holy person of great fame among our english ancestors; for chaucer's demure prioress was wont to verify her assertions by appealing to his authority. "her greatest oath n'as but by st. eloy." the monks and knights lived in friendly communion, the prior of the convent regulating the spiritual concerns, and a grand master, chosen by the cavaliers, leading the soldiers. they were taken under the protection of the papal see, on their professing the vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience; but afterwards pope alexander the third sank the ascendancy of the monastic portion of their character, for he permitted an oath of connubial fidelity to be substituted for that of chastity. a descent of two degrees of gentle birth was required for admission into the order of saint james, and the christian blood must have been uncontaminated with any jewish or moorish mixture. [sidenote: its objects.] the guarding of the passages to the shrine of saint james from the incursions of the moors became extended into a general defence of the kingdom against the hostilities of those enemies of the christian name; and in time their active military operations far exceeded their defensive wars in consequence and splendour. the simple object of their association being forgotten, their glories became associated with the earliest struggles of the christians for the repossession of their inheritance; and they pretended to trace their line up to the ninth century, when saint james himself, riding on a white horse, and bearing a banner marked with a red cross in his hand, assisted them to discomfit the moors. a cross, finished like the blade of a sword, and the hilt crossleted, became the ensign of the order, and the order was then appropriately called _la orden de santiago de la espada_. the centre of the crosslet was ornamented with an escalop-shell, the badge of saint james; and nothing can more strongly mark the popularity of his shrine in the middle ages than the fact of the escalop-shell being the usual designation of an european palmer. the cross was worn on a white cross mantle, and was painted red, agreeably, as it might seem, to that on the banner already alluded to. but don rodrigo ximines, an archbishop of toledo, who dealt in allegories, observed the reason to be that the sword was red with the blood of the arabs, and that the faith of the knights was burning with charity. the grand master of the order of saint james had precedence over the grand masters of other spanish orders; but the internal government of the fraternity was in the hands of a council, whose decrees were obligatory, even on the grand master himself. the order of saint james had two great commanderies, one in leon and the other in castile; and to them all other establishments were subordinate. there were perpetual disputes for precedency between these commanderies, and the kings of castile and leon fomented them, thus preventing an union which might be dangerous to the state itself, and obtaining military aid in return for occasional interference. the gratitude of sovereigns enriched the order with various possessions; but it was its own good swords that won for it the best part of its territories. notwithstanding that, like all other religious orders of knighthood, the order of saint james had originally enjoyed independence of royal authority, yet in the course of time the kings of castile acquired the right of delivering to every newly-elected grand master the standard of the order. the obedience was only titular till the beginning of the sixteenth century, when the emperor charles v. obtained from popes leo x. and adrian vi. the supreme direction of all the affairs of the order, and, consequently, the dignity of grand master became attached to the crown. but the power of the king was not suffered to be absolute; for the popes compelled him to consent that the affairs of the order should be managed by a council, with a right of appeal to the pope himself. the power of the spanish kings then became a species of influence, rather than of direct prerogative. [sidenote: change of its objects.] the object of the association, the expulsion of the moors from spain, being accomplished, this religious order became an order of merit,--a feather in the plume of spanish dignity. it could be gained only by the nobility; for it then behoved every knight to prove the gentility of his descent, maternal and paternal, for four degrees. the old vows of poverty, obedience, and conjugal chastity were preserved, with a mental reservation regarding the two former. in the year , the knights of st. james as well as the knights of calatrava and alcantara, in the fervour of their zeal for what they called religion, added a vow to defend and maintain the doctrine of the immaculate conception of the virgin mary. the people of madrid were invited to three churches to witness the taking of the vows by the knights. after the celebration of the mass a cavalier in the name of all his brothers pronounced the vow[ ], and every one repeated it, placing his hand on the cross and the gospels. and thus an order, which in its origin was charitable, in its progress patriotic, had the bright glories of its days of honor sullied by superstition.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: order of calatrava.] the next station in the dignity of rank was occupied by the knights of calatrava, who, considering the circumstances of their origin, may be regarded as a more honourable fraternity than the brotherhood of st. james. about the year , alfonso king of spain recovered from the moors the fortress of calatrava, which was the key of toledo. the king committed it to the charge of the knights templars. that noble order of christian soldiers was then in the very infancy of its career of honour, and so few were the red crosses in spain, that they could not drive back the swelling tide of muselman power. after retaining it for only eight years, the templars resigned it into the hands of don sancho, successor of alfonso, who endeavoured to secure for it defenders, by proposing to accord calatrava and its lands in perpetual possession to such knights as would undertake the guarding of the fortress. the chivalry of spain, remembering that the brave militia of the temple had quailed before the moors, hung back in caution and dismay; and sancho already saw the fate of calatrava sealed in arabian subjection, when the cloisters of a convent rang with a cry of war which was unheard in the baronial hall. [sidenote: fine chivalry of a monk.] the monastery of santa maria de fetero in navarre contained a monk named diego velasquez, who had spent the morning of his life in arms, but afterwards had changed the mailed frock for a monastic mantle, for in days of chivalry, when religion was the master spring of action, such conversions were easy and natural. the gloom of a convent was calculated only to repress the martial spirit; but yet the surrounding memorials of military greatness, the armed warrior in stone, the overhanging banner and gauntlet, while they proved the frail nature of earthly happiness, showed what were the subjects wherein men wished for fame beyond the grave. the pomp of the choir-service, the swelling note of exultation in which the victories of the jews over the enemies of heaven were sung, could not but excite the heart to admiration of chivalric renown, and in moments of enthusiasm many a monk cast his cowl aside, and changed his rosary for the belt of a knight. and thus it was with velasquez. his chivalric spirit was roused by the call of his king, and he lighted a flame of military ardor among his brethren. they implored the superior of the convent to accept the royal proffer; and the king, who was at first astonished at the apparent audacity of the wish, soon recollected that the defence of the fortress of calatrava could not be achieved by the ordinary exertions of courage, and he then granted it to the cistertian order, and principally to its station at santa maria de fetero, in navarre. and the fortress was wisely betowed; for not only did the bold spirits of the convents keep the moors at bay in that quarter, but the valour of the friars caused many heroic knights of spain to join them. to these banded monks and cavaliers the king gave the title of the religious fraternity of calatrava, and pope alexander iii. accepted their vows of poverty, obedience, and chastity. the new religious order of knighthood, like that of saint james of compostella, was a noble bulwark of the christian kingdom. [sidenote: discipline of the order.] [sidenote: fame of this order.] nothing could be more perfect than the simplicity of the knights of calatrava. their dress was formed from the coarsest woollen, and the edges were not like those of many a monk of the time, purfiled or ornamented with vair or gris, or other sorts of rich fur. their diet, too, reproached the usual luxury of the monastery, for the fruits of the earth sustained them. they were silent in the oratory, and the refectory, one voice only reciting the prayers, or reading a legend of battle; but when the first note of the moorish atabal was heard by the warder on the tower, the convent became a scene of universal uproar. the caparisoning of steeds, and the clashing of armour, broke the repose of the cloister, while the humble figure of the monk was raised into a bold and expanded form of dignity and power. through all the mighty efforts of the christians for the recovery of their throne, the firm and dense array of the knights of calatrava never was tardy in appearing on the field; but the kingdom, as its power and splendour increased, overshadowed the soldiers of every religious order of chivalry. the grand mastership of the calatrava fraternity became annexed to the thrones of castile and leon by the decree of pope innocent viii., and the kings of spain kept alive the chivalry of their nation by using the crosses and other emblems of the ancient knighthood as signs of military merit.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: order of alcantara.] inferior in dignity and power to both these orders was the order of alcantara. it was formed soon after the establishing of the fraternity of saint james of compostella, at a town called saint julian of the pear-tree, near ciudad rodrigo. the ancient badge was a pear-tree, in allusion to the origin of the order. the knights of the pear-tree were so poor in worldly estate and consideration, that the knights of calatrava took them under their protection, and gave them the town of alcantara. the knights of the pear-tree then quitted their humble title for a name of loftier sound, though ideas of dependence were associated with it. for nearly two centuries the cavaliers of alcantara remained the vassals and retainers of the knights of calatrava; but the spirit of independence gradually rose with their prowess in the field; and about the year their martial array was led to battle by their own grand master. until the union of the spanish crowns in the persons of ferdinand and isabella, they rivalled their former lords and the knights of saint james in power and rank: the crown then placed them within its own control, and like the other fraternities, the main object of whose institution had been the expulsion of the moors from spain, the cross of the order of alcantara became a mere decoration of nobility.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: knights of our lady of mercy.] co-existent with these religious brotherhoods was a charitable establishment, which completed the blessings of chivalry in spain. experience of the wretchedness of imprisonment taught james i. of arragon to sympathise with the hapless fate of others; and about the year he associated several valiant knights and pious ecclesiastics in barcelona, whose whole thoughts and cares were to have for their chief end and aim the applying of the alms of the charitable towards the liberation of christian captives. knights of our lady of mercy was their title; and every cavalier at his inauguration professed his heart's resolve to observe the vows of chastity, obedience, and poverty, to apply the whole energies of his mind and feelings to succour such of his unhappy countrymen as, by the chance of battle, were in moorish prisons, and if necessary to remain a slave in the hands of the saracens rather than abandon his duty of procuring the redemption of captives. the general course of their lives was directed by the rule of saint benedict, for a knight as a monk,-- "when he is reckless,[ ] is like to a fish that is waterless."[ ] so zealous were the spaniards in promoting the noble objects of this order, that within the first six years of its institution no less than four hundred captives were ransomed. originally the government of the order was in the hands of the knights, afterwards the priests obtained a share of the command, and finally they usurped it altogether, a matter of little reprehension, considering that the purpose of the institution had no military features. after the complete triumph of the christian cause the scene of charity was changed from spain to africa; and it is curious to observe, that the order sullied the impartiality of its principle by releasing first the monks who had fallen into the hands of the african moors, and then, but not before, the laity.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: knights of st. michael.] superstition as well as charity gave birth to some religious orders of knighthood. the knights of the wing of saint michael, in portugal, a very honourable order in chivalric times, had their origin in the opinion of alfonso, king of portugal, that saint michael the archangel assisted him in to gain a great victory over the moors. only persons of noble birth could be admitted members of this order. the knights lived in their monastery agreeably to the rule of saint benedict. their most anxious care in private life was to discharge the chivalric duty of protecting widows and orphans, and when they marched into the field of battle, the support of the catholic faith was the motto on their standard.[ ] [sidenote: military orders.] but it would be profitless to pursue the subject; for the religious orders of knighthood are only worthy of enquiry as far as they are connected with the defence of the holy land, and the expulsion of the moors from spain. "turn we now all the matere, and speke we of" the military orders founded in imitation of those whose history has just been related; not that i shall transcribe their statutes or paint their costume,--such matters belong to the herald. it is the part of the historian to notice their existence, to trace the principles which gave rise to them, and to mark such parts of their rules or their annals as reflect the state of manners. though knights were often created before battle, for the purpose of stimulating them to achieve high exploits, yet many were invested after they had fought, and proved themselves worthy of their spurs. but knighthood was so much diffused through society, that it almost ceased to be a distinction; and kings and other rulers who wished to shew their power or their gratitude were obliged to give a new form to chivalric dignity. the religious orders of knighthood presented a fair example of the benefits of close fraternity; and as those societies often gave a patriotic direction to chivalric feelings, so kings found the orders of military merit which they established admirable means of uniting in a bond of brotherhood their high-spirited nobles. when louis, king of hungary, avenged the murder of his brother andrew, he endeavoured to unite the hungarian and neapolitan nobles by associating them in a fraternity called the order of the knot. the order did not live long. there were some singular provisions in this order of the knot: there was to be an annual meeting of the knights on the day of pentecost; and each knight was obliged to deliver to the chaplain of the order a written account of his adventures in the preceding year. the chaplain delivered it to the king and council, who ordered such parts as they approved of to be registered in the great book of the order. the order of the argonautes of saint nicholas, at naples, was instituted by charles the third, for the avowed purpose of fraternising his lords; and in the year , when indeed the days of chivalry may be considered as past, the order of the holy ghost was established in france: the friendly union of the nobility and prelates of the land was declared to be a great purpose of the order. the throne of france had already been strengthened by the order of saint michael, founded about a century before by louis xi., to draw the affections of the nobility to himself. knights who were associated under one title, and lived under one code of regulations, were in truth companions in arms; and, like any two cavaliers who had vowed to live in brotherhood, the banded knights were united for weal or woe, and were bound to assist each other with council and arms, as if a perfect community of interest existed. this was the general principle, but it was relaxed in favour of knights of foreign countries. kings frequently interchanged orders, stipulating at the same time that in case of war they should be at liberty to return them. instances of this nature occur repeatedly in the history of the middle ages; and in the last days of chivalry the principle of the companionship of knights was very artfully applied by henry vii. to the support of his own avarice. the french king wished to borrow from him a sum of money in order to prosecute a war with the king of naples; but henry replied that he could not with honour aid any prince against the sovereign of naples, who had received the garter, and was therefore his companion and ally. to give such assistance would be to act contrary to the oath which he had taken to observe the statutes of the order.[ ] [sidenote: imitations of the religious orders.] [sidenote: instanced in the garter order.] the rewarding of noble achievements in the higher classes of society was a principle that ran through all the martial orders, but they were not exclusively aristocratic when simple knighthood fell into disuse, and the military brotherhood represented the ancient chivalry. these associations of merit adopted many of the principles and usages of the religious orders of knighthood. notwithstanding the real causes of their foundation, religious objects were always set forth. fraternisation and the reward of military merit were undoubtedly the reasons for instituting the most noble order of the garter; and yet in the statutes the exaltation of the holy faith, catholic, is declared to be the great purpose of the brotherhood. this is expressed in the statutes of the order promulgated in the reign of henry the eighth, and the words are evidently copied from earlier authorities.[ ] as the exaltation of the roman catholic religion is certainly not in the minds of the modern members of the garter, i may adduce these facts in proof of my position in an early part of this chapter, that the orders of knighthood have always been flexible to the change of society. the military, like the religious orders, had their establishments of priests. thus, to the knights companions of the garter were added a prelate, a chancellor, and the chapel of saint george at windsor, with its dean and chapter. prayers and thanksgivings were perpetually to be offered to heaven, and masses were ordered to be celebrated for the souls of deceased companions. some military orders, like their religious exemplars, forgot not the promotion of charitable objects, and edward the third, with particular propriety, connected with that most noble order which he founded, a number of poor or alms-knights, men who through adverse fortune were brought to that extremity, that they had not of their own wherewith to sustain them, or live so richly and nobly as became a military condition.[ ] every military fraternity had a cross of some shape or other among its emblems. to the highest order of merit in england a cross, as well as a garter, was assigned; but the silver star of eight points, which charles i. with so little propriety, and with such wretched taste, commanded the knights to wear, renders insignificant the original chivalric designation of the order. the associations of nobles were always expressed to have been formed to the honor of god, or of some of his saints. thus, even in the present days, a knight of the garter is admonished at his installation to wear the symbols of his order, that, by the imitation of the blessed martyr and soldier of christ, saint george, he may be able to overpass both adverse and prosperous adventures; and that, having stoutly vanquished his enemies, both of body and soul, he may not only receive the praise of this transitory combat, but be crowned with the palm of eternal victory. [sidenote: few of the present orders are of chivalric origin.] considering the fact that many of the honours of the present day have a chivalric form, we might expect that most of our military orders could be traced to the splendid times of knighthood. attempts to prove so high an origin have been often made. knights of the order called the most ancient order of the thistle justly think that a foundation in the sixteenth century scarcely merits so august a title. they have ascended, therefore, to the days of charlemagne himself; and, boasting an union between their king fergus and that emperor, have contended that the order of the thistle was founded to commemorate the glorious event. the supporters of this hypothesis tread with timid steps the sombre walks of antiquity; others, with bolder march, have ascended several centuries higher, and fancied that they saw a great battle between the scots and the english, when the former won the victory by the aid of saint andrew, and that an equestrian order, properly called the order of st. andrew, and vulgarly, the order of the thistle, was founded. with equal extravagance, the order of st. michael, in france, pretends to the possession of a regular descent from michael the archangel, who, according to the enlightened judgment of french antiquarians, was the premier chevalier in the world, and it was he, they say, who established the earliest chivalric order in paradise itself. but, in simple truth, the order of saint michael was founded by louis xi., king of france in the year , and the name of michael was used, for he stood as high in favour in france as saint george did in england. except the orders of the garter and the golden fleece, the one established in , the other in , and the order of st. michael already mentioned, a chivalric origin cannot be successfully claimed for any of the institutions of knighthood. thus, the order of saint stephen was founded in , that of saint michael, in germany, in , and those of the holy ghost in , and of saint louis in ; and none of these years dates with the age of chivalry. a view, therefore, of most of the military orders that now flourish comes not within the scope of the present work. on one of them, however, a few words may be said. [sidenote: order of the bath.] england, above all other countries, can pride herself on the chivalric nature of her military rewards; for her most honourable order of the bath is a revival of an institution of chivalry, while her most noble order of the garter has suffered no suspension of its dignity. in tracing the progress of chivalry in england, i shall show that the knighthood of the bath was an honour distinct from that which constituted the ordinary knighthood of the sword; and that from very early times to the days of charles ii. it was conferred on occasions of certain august solemnities, with great state, upon the royal issue male, the princes of the blood-royal, several of the nobility, principal officers, and other persons distinguished by their birth, quality, and personal merit. george i., in the year , not only revived that order of knighthood, but converted it into a regular military order. the curious ceremonies regarding the bath itself were dispensed with; but in many other respects the imitation was sufficiently exact. it was ordained that a banner of each knight was to be placed over, and a plate of his crest, helmet, and sword, was to be affixed to his stall in the chapel of henry vii. in westminster abbey. all the romantic associations of early times were pleasingly attended to; for on the seal of the order were to be represented three imperial crowns _or_, being the arms usually ascribed to the renowned king arthur. the lady-love of chivalric times was to be commemorated in the collar; for its seventeen knobs, enamelled white, which linked imperial crowns of gold and thistles, were intended to represent the white laces mentioned in the ancient ceremonial of conferring knighthood of the bath, and which were worn till the knight had achieved some high emprise, or till they had been removed by the hand of some fair and noble lady. the collar, however, is an honorary distinction of the order, whereas the white laces were regarded as a stigma. the form of the old oath was also strictly preserved, even with the singular clause that a knight would defend maidens, widows, and orphans, in their rights; and, as it had been said in old times, a newly-made companion was admonished to use his sword to the glory of god, the defence of the gospel, the maintenance of his sovereign's right and honour, and of all equity and justice, to the utmost of his power. at the close of the ceremony, and without the door of the abbey, the king's master-cook made the usual admonition to him, viz. "sir, you know what great oath you have taken; which, if you keep it, will be great honour to you; but if you break it, i shall be compelled, by my office, to hack off your spurs from your heels." * * * * * [sidenote: dormant orders.] of those orders, which are either dormant or extinct, the account needs only be brief; for their history contains little matter that is either fanciful or instructive. an enlightened curiosity could find no satisfaction in investigating the annals of the extinct order of saint anthony of hainault, or of the order of the sword of cyprus, and a thousand others, whose history, presenting only a list of grand masters, and the ceremonies of knightly inauguration, adds nothing to our pleasure or our knowledge. [sidenote: order of the band.] [sidenote: its singular rules.] a few exceptions may be made to this opinion. in the year alphonso xi., king of spain, attached many of the nobility to his interests by founding an order of merit, which from the circumstance of every knight wearing a red ribbon three inches broad across the breast and shoulder was called the order of the band or scarf. some of the rules of the institution are exceedingly interesting, as reflecting the state of manners and opinions in spain during the fourteenth century. not only were the duties of patriotism and loyalty inculcated by the statutes of the order, but, singular as it may seem in the history of spain, virtue was to be cultivated at court, for every knight was charged to speak nothing but truth to his sovereign, and to abhor dissimulation and flattery. he was not to be silent whenever any person spoke against the king's honour, upon pain of being banished from the court, and deprived of his band: but he was to be always ready to address the king for the general good of the country, or on the particular affairs of any individual; and supposing that his patriotic virtue might be checked by his attachment to his sovereign, the punishment for neglecting this duty was a forfeiture of all his patrimony, and perpetual banishment. of the two extremes, taciturnity was to be preferred to loquaciousness: he was to be rather "checked for silence" than "taxed for speech;" and if in his conversation he uttered an untruth, he was to walk in the streets without a sword for a month. he was bound to keep his faith to whomever he had pledged it; but he was to associate only with men of martial rank, despising the conversation of mechanics and artisans. every knight was enjoined always to have good armour in his chamber, good horses in his stable, good lances in his hall, and a good sword by his side; nor was he to be mounted upon any mule nor other unseemly hackney, nor to walk abroad without his band, nor to enter the king's palace without his sword; and he was to avoid all ascetic practices, for he was particularly enjoined not to eat alone. the vices of flattery and of scoffing were to be shunned; and the penalty for committing them was for the knight to walk on foot for a month, and to be confined to his house for another month. boasting and repining were both prohibited: the reproof of the grand master and the neglect of him by his companions were to punish the offender. a knight was not permitted to complain of any hurt[ ]; and even while he was being mangled by the surgeons of the times, he was to deport himself with stoical firmness. in walking, either in the court or the city, the gait of the knight was to be slow and solemn; and he was exhorted to preserve a discreet and grave demeanour, when any vain and foolish person mocked at and scorned him. [sidenote: duties to women.] chivalric duties to women were more insisted upon in this order than in any other. if a knight instituted an action against the daughter of a brother-knight, no lady or gentlewoman of the court would ever afterwards be his lady-love, or wife. if he happened, when he was riding, to meet any lady or gentlewoman of the court it was his duty to alight from his horse, and tender her his service, upon pain of losing a month's wages and the favour of all dames and damsels. the circumstance was scarcely conceived to be possible, but the statutes of the order, to provide for every imaginable as well every probable offence, decreed that he who refused to perform any service which a fair lady commanded should be branded with the title, the discourteous knight. the statutes echoed the voice of nature in all her appeals to the heart; and thus every cavalier was enjoined to select from the ladies of the court some one upon whom his affections might rest, some one who was to be to him like a light leading him forward in the noble path of chivalry. there was no penalty for disobedience to this command, for disobedience seems to have been thought impossible. all the higher acts of chivalric devotion to his lady-love were presumed to be performed by the knight; and to show that his daily duties to his order were to give way to his attention to his mistress, it was commanded that whenever she pleased to walk, he was to attend upon her on foot or on horseback, to do her all possible honour and service. when by his valiant feats against the moors he had proved himself worthy of her love, the day of his marriage was a festival with his brother-knights, who made rich presents to the lady, and honoured the nuptials with cavaleresque games and shows. nor did this generous consideration for woman stop here; for when a knight died, his surviving brothers were bound to solicit the king to make such grants of land and money to the family as would enable the widow to maintain her wonted state, and would furnish the marriage-portions of his daughters. the band of the deceased knight was, agreeably to the general usage of the military orders, to be re-delivered to the king, who was to be solicited to bestow it upon one of the sons of its last wearer. the king was to select the knights from among the younger sons of men of station in the country, but no elder brother or other heir-apparent could be received; for it was the purpose of the founder to advance the fortunes of the nobly born, but indifferently provided, gentlemen of his court. only one species of exception was made to this form of introduction. the honor of the order was conferred upon any stranger-knight who overcame one of the companions in the joust or tournament. this regulation was made for the general honor of chivalry, and the promotion of noble chevisance among the knights of the band. it was a bold defiance, and was seldom answered.[ ] the order of bourbon, called of the thistle, and of our lady, must not pass unnoticed. it was instituted at moulins, in the bourbonnois, in the year , by louis ii., duke of bourbon, who was named, on account of his virtues, the good duke. it had for its object the winning of honor by acts of chivalry. the device of the order was a golden shield; and when it was given to knights they were exhorted to live as brethren, and die for each other if occasion should require it. they were told that every good action which beseemed chivalry ought to be performed by the knights of bourbon. above all things, they were exhorted to honor ladies, not permitting any man to speak slanderous matters of them, because, after god, comes from them all honor which men can acquire. nothing could be more base than to vilify that sex which had not the strength to redress its wrongs. the knights were charged not to speak evil of each other, for that was the foulest vice which a nobleman or gentleman could be taxed with; and in conclusion, as the summary of their duty, they were exhorted to practise faith and loyalty, and to respect each other as became knights of praise and virtue.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: strange titles of orders.] the occasions of the titles of many of the military orders are more interesting than a view of the external marks of their chivalry. notwithstanding the haughtiness of knighthood, one of the most celebrated orders took its name from no chivalric source. the order was instituted by philip duke of burgundy, who named the fraternity the knights of the golden fleece, in gratitude to the trade in woollens by which he and his family had been so much enriched. in the fifteenth century, the order of the porcupine was highly celebrated in france; and it was furnished with its singular title from the fancy of the founder (louis duke of orleans, second son of charles v. king of france), that by such a sign he should commemorate the fact, that he had been abandoned by his friends in adversity, and that he was able to defend himself by his own weapons. while the porcupine was a favourite order in france, that of the dragon-overthrown was famous in germany; and by this ferocious title, the emperor sigismond intended to express his conquest over heresy and schism. the dukes of mantua fancied that they possessed three drops of our saviour's blood; and an order of knighthood was instituted in the year , which took for its title the order of the precious blood of our saviour jesus christ, at mantua. * * * * * [sidenote: fabulous orders.] the chivalric nations of europe attached as much consequence to orders which existed only in their own fervid imagination as to those whose lineage was certain. to constantine the great was ascribed the honor of inventing the first military order of knighthood. the great captains of his court were said to have been associated under the title of the order of the constantinian angelic knights of saint george, that saint being in greece, as well as in england, the patron of military men. the grand-mastership resided in the imperial family. after the fall of the eastern empire, the order passed into italy; and the knights of that country imagined the existence of papal bulls, which permitted the grand masters to sit at the same table with the popes, to coin money, and to confer titles of honor, whether in nobility or learning, and exercise every prerogative of independent princes. but it would be in vain to enquire after the names of any of these mensal companions of the pope; and no cabinet of curiosities contains any coins which they struck in attestation of their power. the memory of charles martel's great victory over the moors was preserved in the middle ages of france, by the belief that the conqueror had established an order of knighthood called the order of the gennet; and lists of cavaliers were drawn out, and statutes imagined, attesting only the love of the french for chivalric distinctions. the spaniards delighted to imagine that their early victories over the moors were commemorated by an order called the order of the oak in navarre, and founded on occasion of the holy cross, adored by an infinite number of angels, appearing to a gothic chief who led the christians. [sidenote: the round table.] but of all these imaginary orders none is so interesting as that of the round table, instituted by uther pendragon, king of great britain, and which reached its perfection of martial glory in the reign of his son arthur. while our ancient historians exaggerated into heroism the patriotic efforts of the last of the british kings, the minstrels who sang in the baronial halls superadded the charms of chivalric circumstance. since the time of adam, god hath not made a man more perfect than arthur, was the favourite opinion; and when his remains were discovered in the abbey of glastonbury, in the year , the people from their idea that prowess always corresponded with size of limb fancied that his bones were of gigantic frame.[ ] the court of arthur was supposed to be the seminary of military discipline of knights of all countries; and it was thought that his hundred and fifty[ ] good companions felt it their chief devoir to protect widows, maidens, and orphans[ ], not only in england, but in every country whither they might be invited. they were champions of the public weal, and like lions repulsed the enemies of their country. it was their duty to advance the reputation of honor, and suppress all vice, to relieve people afflicted by adverse fortune, to fight for holy church, and protect pilgrims. they were likewise supposed to be enjoined to bury soldiers that wanted sepulture, to deliver prisoners, ransom captives, and heal men who had been wounded in the service of chivalry and their country. independently of these patriotic and humane charges, they were thought to have formed a standing court for the redress of injuries; for arthur, in case of any complaint being laid before him, was bound to send one of his knights to redress it. [sidenote: sir launcelot.] the virtues of the knights of the round table were the mirror in which the chivalry of england arrayed themselves. these virtues are admirably described in the lamentation of sir ector over the dead body of sir launcelot of the lake, the prowest of all the companions of arthur:--"thou wert never matched of none earthly knight's hands; and thou wert the curtiest knight that ever bare shield; and thou wert the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrode horse; and thou wert the truest lover of a sinful man that ever loved woman; and thou wert the kindest man that ever struck with sword; and thou wert the goodliest person that ever came among press of knights; and thou wert the meekest man and the gentlest that ever ate in hall among ladies; and thou wert the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spere in the rest."[ ] next in rank to sir launcelot was his friend sir tristram, the history of whose emprises and love entered so largely into the fancies and conversation of our ancestors. then came sir gawaine, a nephew of arthur, the bright exemplar of courtesy, the virtue which was so highly prized in chivalric times. chaucer makes a very pleasing allusion to him in his squire's tale. describing the entrance of the strange knight, our old bard says that he "salueth king and lordes alle by order as they sat in the hall, with so high reverence and observance, as well in speech as in his countenance, that gawain with his old courtesy, though he were come agen out of faerie, ne coude him not amenden with a word."[ ] the most prominent of all the chivalric virtues which the institutions of arthur shadowed forth was that of fraternity: for it was believed that round one vast and mysterious table, the gift of the enchanter merlin, arthur and all his peerage sat in perfect equality; and to this idea may be traced the circumstance that the friendly familiarity of a chivalric round table broke down the iron distinctions of feudal haughtiness, and not only "mitigated kings into companions, but raised private men to be fellows with kings." localities unlock the gates of memory, whether the stores within be treasured there by imagination or the sterner powers of the mind; and with a more serious interest than that with which the modern traveller follows don quixote in the sierra morena our ancestors were wont to mark winchester and windsor, camelot in somersetshire, carlion in monmouthshire, where "uther's son, begirt with british and armoric knights," held his solemn feasts about the round table. [sidenote: order of the stocking.] [sidenote: origin of the phrase blue stocking.] many of the orders whose histories fill the pages of works on knighthood have no claims to their places; for they were only associations of cavaliers without royal or pontifical authority, and wearing no badge or cross, except in the imagination of the writer. only one of these fraternities merits mention here. the society de la calza (of the stocking) was formed at venice in the year , to the honor of the inauguration of the doge, michele steno. the employments of the members were conversation and festivity; and so splendid were the entertainments of music and dancing, that the gay spirits of other parts of italy anxiously solicited the honor of seats in the society. all their statutes regarded only the ceremonies of the ball or the theatre; and the members being resolved on their rigorous performance, took an oath in a church to that tendency. they had banners and a seal like an authorised order of knighthood. their dress was as splendid and elegant as venetian luxury and taste could fashion it; and, consistently with the singular custom of the italians of marking academies and other intellectual associations by some external signs of folly, the members when they met in literary discussion were distinguished by the colours of their stockings. the colours were sometimes fantastically blended, and at other times one colour, particularly the _blue_, prevailed. the society de la calza lasted till the year [ ] when the foppery of italian literature took some other symbol. the rejected title then crossed the alps, and found a congenial soil in the flippancy and literary triflings of parisian society, and particularly branded female pedantry as the strongest feature in the character of french pretension. it diverged from france to england, and for a while marked the vanity of the small advances in literature of our female coteries. but the propriety of its application is now gradually ceasing; for we see in every circle that attainments in literature can be accomplished with no loss of womanly modesty. it is in this country, above all others, that knowledge asserts her right of general dominion, or contends that if she be the sustaining energy of one sex, she forms the lighter charm, the graceful drapery of the other. chap. viii. progress of chivalry in england, from the norman conquest to the close of the reign of edward ii. _chivalry connected with feudalism ... stipendiary knights ... knighthood a compulsory honour ... fine instance of chivalry in the reign of edward i ... effect of chivalry in stephen's reign ... troubadours and romance writers in the reign of henry ii ... chivalric manners of the time ... coeur de lion the first chivalric king ... his knightly bearing ... john and henry iii ... edward i ... his gallantry at a tournament ... his unchivalric cruelties ... he possessed no knightly courtesy ... picture of ancient manners ... edward ii ... chivalric circumstance in the battle of bannockburn ... singular effect of chivalry in the reign of edward ii._ in the first chapter we traced, by the help of the few lights which yet remain, the rise of chivalry in europe. we may now mark its progress, and, in order to avoid the inconvenience of frequent transitions, it will be better to follow the historical train in each chivalric country, than to attempt to form one general collection of knightly events. and first, of its influence in england. * * * * * many chivalric principles and customs were known to the anglo-saxons[ ], and affected, in some degree, the character of the nation.[ ] many of the elements of chivalry were brought into england by the normans, and, in the course of time, they were framed, by the energy which was involved in them, into a fair and noble system. the adventurousness of knighthood comported well with a people who, quitting the inhospitable shores of scandinavia, had impressed their conquests on france, italy, and even greece. the norman nation was one vast brotherhood, and therefore it was natural for them to nourish the principles of chivalric fraternity.[ ] it is recorded of them that they brought from the north a love of splendor, and having learnt courtesy of manner from the french, they were fitted to admire the shows and the gallantry of knighthood.[ ] they affected, indeed, to despise the religious parts of the saxon ceremonies of initiation into knighthood, but they soon adopted them; for we find that william rufus himself was knighted by archbishop lanfrank.[ ] [sidenote: chivalry connected with feudalism.] [sidenote: stipendiary knights.] chivalry became established as part of the national constitution when william the conqueror divided the country into about sixty thousand knights' fees, with the tenure of military service. the clergy, as well as the laity, were compelled to furnish armed knights, on horseback, as the price of their possessions, when the king went abroad against his enemies; and, consequently, knights became attached to every ecclesiastical foundation. these servants of the church were generally younger members of baronial families; and as there was constant occasion for them, chivalry became a military profession. in england, as in every country, the feudal array was found insufficient for foreign wars, and wide-spread domestic rebellions; for few contests could be finished in forty days,--and that was the brief space which, in the earliest simplicity of feudal times, had been fixed for the duration of military service. as petty states swelled into kingdoms, and their public operations became extensive, many a martial enterprise was broken up before achievement, because the time of service had expired. so frequent were the calls on the holders of knights' fees, that they were glad to compromise for attendance by pecuniary penalties. the sovereigns were exorbitant in their exactions, in order to be able to pay the stipendiary substitutes; but one of the most important provisions of magna charta gave to parliament alone the power of imposing this escuage or military tax.[ ] when the custom of escuage arose is a matter which no antiquarian researches have settled. the clause in magna charta shows not only its existence, but its being used as an instrument of tyranny; and under this aspect of chivalric history, the reign of john is important. most of these stipendiary subsidiaries were knights, with their equipments of men-at-arms and archers; and the sovereign was accustomed to contract with his barons for their attendance upon him in his foreign expeditions. chivalry and feudal tenure were, therefore, no longer convertible terms; yet the spirit of knighthood long survived the decay of the forms of feudal obligation; for the practice of escuage was fully established in the days of edward iii.; and that was the brightest era of english chivalry. [sidenote: knighthood a compulsory honor.] in england, knighthood was always regarded as the necessary distinction of people of some substance and estate.[ ] in the reigns of our three first edwards the qualification for knighthood varied from land of the yearly value of forty to that of fifty pounds. the king was the sovereign and supreme judge of chivalry, and he might confer knighthood on whomsoever he chose. he could compel men of worth to be knights, for knighthood was honourable to the kingdom. like the performance of every other duty in all states of society, that of knighthood could be commuted for by money; and the royal invitation to honour was so extensive as to be inconvenient; for a statute was passed in the reign of edward ii. whereby the king respited for some time the payment of the fines of such persons whose station in the world made knighthood a necessary part of their consequence. besides all these ways of forming the knighthood of england, must be added the custom of elevating to chivalric dignities men who had gained renown by martial exploits. this was indeed a mode more pure in principle, and, therefore, more honourable than any we have mentioned. the military necessities of many of our sovereigns favoured the growth of chivalry. william rufus invited to his court the prowest cavaliers from every country[ ]; for as his father had effected the subjugation of harold not merely by the feudal force of normandy, but by hired soldiers, it was the natural policy of the kings of the norman line to attach to their person valiant men who were not connected by ties of nature with the people. [sidenote: fine instance of chivalry in reign of henry i.] the principles and feelings of chivalry were firmly established in england in the reign of henry i., and gave the tone and character to our foreign military warfare. this state of things is proved in an interesting manner by a circumstance that occurred during the war of henry with louis the french king. the reader remembers that the latter had espoused the cause of william the son of robert, henry's elder brother, who was kept by his uncle from his rightful inheritance of normandy. the chivalric anecdote is this: the two armies were approaching each other near audelay, when, instead of rushing to the conflict with their whole masses, five hundred knights on the english side and four hundred on the french prepared for an encounter, a joust to the utterance. about eighty normans, friends of the french king, charged the centre of henry's line with true chivalric fire. the english monarch was severely wounded in the head, but the normans could not pierce the firm line of the english, and they were all taken prisoners. the three hundred remaining knights of louis made a fine attempt to redeem their companions in arms. again the english line was impenetrable, and the recoil of the shock scattered the french. henry's soldiers now were assailants; and so fiercely did they press their advantage, that even the french king scarcely escaped with life.[ ] [sidenote: effect of chivalry in stephen's reign.] the knightly character had an important effect on england during the troublous reign of stephen. as he was deserted by his barons, he called in foreign cavaliers to assist him in his resistance to the empress maud. their valour was rewarded by the grant of estates; and thus a new order of nobility arose to shake the arrogance of the old; and new opinions, feelings, and manners, became blended with english habits. [sidenote: troubadours and romance writers,--reign of henry ii.] [sidenote: chivalric manners of the time.] the arms of chivalry grew rusty in the long and unwarlike reign of henry ii.; but many of the milder graces of knighthood were cultivated in consequence of the love of letters entertained by the sovereign and his queen. the troubadours found royal and, from the force of example, noble, patronage in england; and, however offensive to a classic ear their conceits and bombast may sound, yet, since they treated love as an affair of the fancy rather than as an appetite, they contributed to purify the manners of the age. by another channel literature promoted the cause of arms. romance with her bold fictions and splendid colouring inspired the tamest hearts with the love of adventure. such of the traditions and fables regarding arthur and the knights of the round table as dwelt in the memory of the people of britanny (that ancient colony of england) were collected by an archdeacon walter, of oxford, and formed part of a latin history of great britain that was written in the time of henry i. by jeffry of monmouth. wace, the translator-general of the age, turned it into anglo-norman verse, mingling with it all the stories of his hero that were floating in the english mind. the subject was fitted to the martial taste of the time; and as the book was now rendered into the language of the upper classes of life, it found its way into the baronial hall and the lady's bower. this was the earliest of the french metrical romances; and before the close of the twelfth century nothing was read by the nobility but romances of arthur and his knights. and the sports and exercises of the time nourished the chivalric spirit. a writer of those days has given us a graphic description of them. "every sunday in lent, immediately after dinner, crowds of noble and sprightly youths, mounted on war-horses, admirably trained to perform all their turnings and evolutions, ride into the fields in distinct bands, armed with lances and shields, and exhibit representations of battles, and go through all their martial exercises. many of the young nobility, who have not yet received the honour of knighthood, issue from the king's court, and from the houses of bishops, earls, and barons, to make trial of their courage, strength, and skill in arms. the hope of victory rouses the spirits of these noble youths; their fiery horses neigh and prance, and champ their foaming bits. at length the signal is given, and the sports begin. the youths, divided into opposite bands, encounter one another. in one place some fly, and others pursue, without being able to overtake them. in another place, one of the bands overtakes and overturns the other."[ ] [sidenote: coeur de lion, the first chivalric king.] martial daring, thus fostered and promoted, broke out with fresh vigour in the reign of richard coeur de lion; and england, which hitherto had but partially and occasionally engaged in the crusades, now took up those sacred and perilous enterprises with the ardour of the french. richard was the first king of england of knightly character; for i cannot, with some writers, place william rufus among our chivalric sovereigns. i cannot with them see any thing magnanimous in his receiving under his banners an enemy's soldier who had unhorsed him, and who had foreborne to slay him because he declared himself king of england. the conduct of the soldier merited reward; and william acted only with common selfishness in taking so good a soldier into his service. rufus had mere brutal courage, but that quality was not the character of chivalry. his bravery was not directed either by religion or the love of fame, nor was it tempered into virtue by the charities of life. when with robert he besieged his brother henry in his castle, rufus was guilty of one of the most unchivalric acts on record. henry's supply of water was exhausted, and he solicited some from his brothers on the true knightly principle that valour should decide a triumph, and that it was unworthy of a soldier's pride to gain a victory merely by the circumstance of his antagonists being in want of the common necessaries of life. robert, with fine chivalric generosity, supplied his brother, much to the regret of william, who ridiculed and was angry at his simplicity.[ ] [sidenote: his knightly bearing.] but in richard the whole knightly character appeared in all its martial dignity and splendor. his courage was not the mere savage confidence in superior strength, but the fine display of chivalric exercises. such was the might of his arm, and such the fierceness of his spirit, that he could sweep from the field whole squadrons of knights. when we see his javelin transfixing a turk on the walls of acre[ ], the exploits of grecian heroes appear to be no longer poetical fictions; and when he appears on the plains of palestine, grasping his lance and riding from wing to wing of the saracenian host without meeting an enemy who dared to encounter his career, the stories of arthur and the round table seem the calm relations of truth. no one was more attentive than richard to the regulations of chivalry. in the course of his crusade he was assailed by some rustics, against whom it was unlawful for a knight to use his sword. he beat them with the flat part of it till it broke, and he then took up stones, and drove them away.[ ] richard's mind was framed in the finest spirit of chivalric liberality. his largesses, both to his own soldiers and those of his ally, philip augustus, while in sicily during their voyage to palestine, were so magnificent, that it was acknowledged he had given more treasure in a month than his predecessors in a year.[ ] like the knights of romance, he revelled in gorgeousness and splendour, and his court resounded with the minstrel's lay. one of the provençal poets followed him into palestine: nor did he entirely want the minds of others to soften into grace his martial spirit; for often his own fancy played with poetical images. in the history of chivalric amusements, richard is an important character. all his predecessors in sovereignty had forbidden jousts and tournaments; and their absurd regulations had only been violated in the time of stephen. when richard was in the holy land, he observed the inferiority of the english chivalry to that of the french: his own knights were rude soldiers, with none of the dexterity and skill of their crusading brethren, which could only be acquired in tournaments, the schools of war. richard broke through the jealousy of adopting foreign customs, and, like a politic monarch, he allowed and encouraged his soldiers to practise martial exercises.[ ] these circumstances and the various other events of his chivalric life, which i have described at length in another work complete the authentic character of our lion-hearted king, for i dare not invest the severe simplicity of history with those golden fictions, which romance has delighted to throw over the story of his eastern atchievements. [sidenote: john and henry iii.] there was nothing chivalric in the character and conduct of his brother and successor king john, or he would not have suffered the foreign possessions of england's crown to be wrested from it. in the reign of henry iii. the flame of chivalry was kept alive by some english knights, who assisted the emperor in his milanese wars, and whose prowess was the most distinguished of the day. the crusades to the holy land were not altogether forgotten; but the page of our history is marked with the peculiar disgrace that english knights assisted the french in their inhuman war on the albigenses. [sidenote: edward i.] [sidenote: his gallantry at a tournament.] there was much of the chivalric character in edward i. he was a diligent reader of the ancient romances; and, as soon as he was invested with knighthood, he went to foreign courts, in order that he might display his prowess.[ ] for the sake of acquiring military fame, he exposed his person in the holy land, and, during his journey homeward, though ill and forespent with travel, he displayed remarkable heroism at a tournament in savoy.[ ] the challenger was the count of chalons; but if pontifical authority could have destroyed chivalry, the knights never would have met. the pope feared that some hostility was menaced, and earnestly dissuaded edward from the tournament. he warned him of his danger: he exhorted him, as a son of the church, to decline these encounters, which the church had forbidden; and he added, that as edward now was king, he might decline the challenge, as kings were not wont to risk their persons in these perilous shocks. but most of these reasons were so many stimulants of his courage: the more danger, the greater share of honour, and it was beneath the gallantry of his bearing to have thrown his rank as a shield before his knighthood. followed by a thousand men-at-arms, and archers on horseback and on foot, edward pressed his bounding steed upon the chosen plain, and the count of chalons met him with equal spirit, and nearly twice the number of companions. the english king soon found that no lofty courtesy, no love of chivalric exercises, had influenced the french lord. the graceful tournament soon became a deadly fray. the cause of honour triumphed, and the knights of chalons were either slain or driven from the field. after many cavaliers on each side had been disabled, the lords of either host encountered. their lances met and shivered; and if chalons had been a courteous knight, he would have passed to the other end of the plain, and seized a new lance to continue his emprise; but, maddened at his weapon failing, he threw himself upon edward, endeavouring to crush him by his prodigious weight. at that moment edward's horse started forwards, and the count was thrown on the ground. his companions raised him; but he was so much bruised by the fall that he cried for mercy. his conduct had put him without the pale of chivalry, and edward, therefore, treated him like a base-born churl. he beat him with the flat part of his sword; and, refusing to take him as his prisoner, he compelled him to surrender himself to a man of mean condition.[ ] [sidenote: his unchivalric cruelties.] [sidenote: he possessed no knightly courtesy.] edward's love of chivalric exercises was imitated by his nobility. tournaments and jousts were held in various parts of the country; and kenilworth is particularly marked as famous for its round table, to which knights from every nation flocked.[ ] in his scotch wars, therefore, his armies were not deficient in chivalric bravery. at the battle of falkirk the strength of the scots was foot, as that of the english was horse; and the repeated charges of edward's chivalry decided the fate of that memorable day. in his welsh wars he had sullied his reputation for knightly generosity by making a public exhibition of the head of his worsted foe, llewelyn ap gryffyth, the last sovereign of wales[ ]; and his well-known conduct to wallace betrayed such an absence of all nobleness of mind, that he forfeited his claims to knightly consideration. the beautiful parts, the embellishments of chivalry, were subservient to his ambition. before his second war in scotland he vowed, in wesminster abbey, by god, and also by two swans which were introduced into the assembly with great pomp and splendour, that he would punish the scottish nation for their breach of faith, and for the death of comyn. nor did any of the courtesies of chivalry grace edward: the queen of bruce and her ladies fell into his power, and in defiance of all chivalric gallantry, he treated them as prisoners. there was something peculiarly ferocious in his treatment of the countess of buchan, who was also his captive. her offence was, that she had crowned bruce. edward exclaimed, with the deliberation of malignity, "as she has not used the sword, she shall not perish by the sword; but for her lawless conspiracy, she shall be shut up in a stone and iron chamber, circular as the crown she gave; and at berwick she shall be suspended in the open air, a spectacle to travellers, and for her everlasting infamy."[ ] and the english tamerlane did not relent.[ ] [sidenote: picture of ancient manners.] the close of the reign of edward i. is remarkable for a very splendid scene illustrative of the ancient mode of creating knights, and of the chivalric manners of our forefathers. before his last and fatal journey to scotland, edward caused proclamation to be made throughout england, that all persons who were entitled to the honour of knighthood by custom of hereditary succession, or who had estates sufficient to support the dignity, should, at the next feast of pentecost, repair to westminster, and that to every one would be delivered out of the king's wardrobe, at the king's expence, the festive and inauguratory dress of a knight. accordingly, at the time and place appointed, there was a fair and gallant show of three hundred young gentlemen, sons of earls, barons, and knights, and among these aspirants to chivalry were distributed in ample measure, according to their different ranks, purple, fine linen, furs, and mantles embroidered with gold. the royal palace, though magnificently spacious, could not accommodate all these young esquires with their retinue of yeomen and pages. many of them repaired to the new temple, where, cutting down the trees and levelling the walls of the garden, they set up their tents and pavilions in brave emulation of actual war. they performed their vigils in the temple church, while the prince of wales, by command of the king his father, passed the night in prayer in westminster abbey. on the following day, the king invested his son with the military belt, and assigned to him the duchy of aquitaine. the prince, being knighted, went to the abbey that he might confer the like military honor on his companions. so close was the press of spectators round the high altar, that two knights were stifled, and several fainted, though each was supported by three knights of experienced prowess. the prince, accompanied by his father and the chief nobility, at length reached the altar, and his guards made a passage for his friends to receive knighthood at his hands. after he had dubbed and embraced them all, his attendants introduced two swans covered with golden nets, which were adorned and embossed with studs of gold. this was the most joyous part of the ceremony in the eyes of the people, and their rude and joyous shouts drowned the clangor of the trumpets. the king, as before stated, vowed by heaven and the swans that he would go to scotland; and even if he should die in the enterprise, he would avenge the death of comyn and the violated faith of the scots. he then adjured the prince and the nobles, and his band of knights by their fealty and chivalry, that if he should die in his journey to scotland, they would carry his body forwards, and never bury it till his son had established his dominion. every heart assented to this high resolve, and the ceremony closed. the knights were feasted that day at the royal palace; and while they were quaffing muscadel in honour of chivalry and the ladies, the minstrels in their songs reminded them of their duty to pledge themselves before the swans to perform some rare feats of arms. the prince vowed that he would never rest two nights in one place until he had performed his father's high behests; and the other knights made various fantastic vows for the promotion of the same object.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: edward ii.] [sidenote: chivalric circumstances in the battle of bannockburn.] the defeat of the english chivalry at the battle of bannockburn, ( th june, ,) was the most remarkable circumstance in the reign of edward ii. on the preceding day, douglas[ ] and sir robert keith, marshal of scotland, were dispatched by robert bruce from the main body of his army to descry whether the enemy was approaching. "and soon the great host have they seen, where shields shining were so sheen, and basinets burnished bright, that gave against the sun great light. they saw so fele[ ] brawdyne[ ] baners, standards, and pennons, and spears, and so fele[ ] knights upon steeds, all flaming in their weeds. and so fele[ ] bataills[ ], and so broad, and too so great room as they rode that the maist host, and the stoutest of christendom, and the greatest should be abaysit[ ], for to see their foes into such quantity." the bruce, vol. ii. p. . the english vanguard, commanded by the earls of gloucester and hereford, soon came in general sight. the appearance of edward's army is described by barbour in a rich chivalric style. "the sun was bright, and shined clear, and armouris that burnished were, so blomyt[ ], with the sun's beam, that all the land was in a leme[ ], banners right fairly flawinand[ ], and pensels to the wind wawand."[ ] barbour, xi. - . bruce was riding on a palfrey and marshalling his men, when sir henry de bohun started from the opposite host, and careered his horse against him. sir henry was a fierce rather than a gallant knight, or he would not have pressed his war-steed upon a foe who was riding on a palfrey.[ ] but his want of chivalric gallantry was justly punished. "and when glosyter and hertfurd were, with their battle approaching near, before them all there come riding, with helm on head and spear in hand, sir henry boune, the worthy, that was a wight knight, and a hardy; and to the earl of hertfurd cousin; armed in arms good and fine; come on a steed, a bow-shot nere, before all other that there were. and knew the king, for that he saw him so range his men in row; and by the crown, that was set also upon his bacinet, and towards him he went on haste. and the king so apertly saw him come, forth all his feres[ ] in hy[ ] to him the horse he steers. and when sir henry saw the king come on forouting abaysing,[ ] to him he rode in full great hy[ ] he thought that he should well lightly win him and have him at his will, since he him horsed saw so ill. sprent[ ] they came unto a ling,[ ] sir henry missed the noble king. and he, that in his stirrups stood, with the axe, that was hard and good, with so great mayn[ ] reached him a dint, that neither hat nor helm might stynt, the hewy dusche[ ] that he him gave, that near the head to the harness clave. the hand-axe shaft fruschyt[ ] in tow; and he down to the yird gan go all flatlyngs[ ], for him failed might. this was the first stroke of the fight." barbour, vol. ii. p. . the fine generousness of chivalry was very nobly displayed in another circumstance which preceded the great battle. it was a main object with the english to throw succours into the castle of stirling; and edward, therefore, commanded sir robert clifford and eight hundred horsemen to make a circuit by the low grounds to the east, and approach the castle. bruce, in anticipation of the englishmen's purpose, had charged randolph who commanded his left wing to prevent stirling from being relieved; and when he saw the english troops holding on their gallant course unchecked, he cried, "a rose has fallen from thy chaplet, randolph,"[ ] and bitterly reproached him for his want of vigilance. nothing but the utmost desperateness of valour could efface this shame; and gathering round him a few hundred bold spirits, the scottish general advanced against the english. clifford, in his pride of chivalry, thought that he could soon disperse a band of lightly armed troops of foot-soldiers, who were now being marshalled into a circle with their spears resting on the ground, the points protruded on every side. the english charged, but the resistance was more gallant than what they had foreseen. still, however, the scots seemed gradually sinking under the force of numbers; and douglas, who saw the peril, requested the king's permission to go and join him. "you shall not move from your ground," cried the king: "let randolph extricate himself as he best may. i will not alter my order of battle, and lose the advantage of my position." but douglas reiterated his request, and wrung leave from the king. he flew to the assistance of his friend. but before he reached him he saw that the english were falling into disorder, and that the perseverance of randolph had prevailed over their impetuous courage. "halt," cried douglas, like a generous knight, "these brave men have repulsed the enemy; let us not diminish their glory by sharing it." of the battle of bannockburn itself little need be said by me, because there was not much chivalric character about it. some historians describe the defeat of the english as having been principally occasioned by the scottish cavalry throwing the rear of their archers into confusion. others affirm that bruce, seeing the inadequacy of his own cavalry to cope with that of the english, formed the battles or divisions of his army entirely of foot-soldiers, and dug trenches before his line, slightly covering them with turf and hurdles. the gallant knights of england, with the sun streaming on their burnished helms and gilt shields, advanced to charge the bristled front of the scots: but the turf sunk beneath the pressure of their horses' feet, and men and their steeds lay at the mercy of their enemy. one or other of these circumstances turned the event of the battle, and the scotch reserve being judiciously brought up, completed the victory. in every way the generalship of bruce was admirable: but the fate of the battle reflects nothing on the personal character of the english chivalry; for they were not worsted in an encounter of lance to lance, and horse to horse. the bravery of one english knight must not pass unrecorded. sir giles d'argentyn, upon seeing some of his friends around him pause in alarm, cried that he was not used to fly, and spurring his war-steed into the thickest of the press, gallantly perished. nor was this a solitary instance of courage; and even edward seemed for a moment to be inspired with the fire of the plantagenets. he dashed into the enemy's lines, and was by force drawn away by the earl of pembroke, when courage was evidently unavailing.[ ] [sidenote: singular effect of chivalry in his reign.] though the chivalric character was only for one moment of his life sustained by edward ii., yet it was too deeply fixed in the national mind to die on account of its neglect by any particular monarch. there is a singular circumstance on record illustrative of the power of this feeling. during his war with the barons, which his system of unprincipled favouritism had provoked, one of the lords refused the queen the hospitality of his castle. this act of individual insult had general consequences. disgusted with a cause which was blended with so much uncourtesy, barons and knights immediately flocked round the standard of the king; his arms completely triumphed, and the spencers were recalled.[ ] end of the first volume. london: printed by a. & r. spottiswoode. new-street-square. footnotes: [ ] the history of italy, from the fall of the western empire to the commencement of the wars of the french revolution. by george perceval, esq. vols. vo. . [ ] a third volume was added in the year , which also bears the title "mémoires sur l'ancienne chevalerie;" though more than half of the volume relates to the sport of hunting, which is a baronial or feudal rather than a chivalric subject. [ ] the troubadour, &c. by l. e. l., author of the improvisatrice. mo. [ ] jean froissart, called sir jean froissart, (the title, sir, being in the middle ages common to all who were either in the holy orders of the church or in the holy order of knighthood,) was born at valenciennes in the year , and died in . [ ] the prologue of froissart--lord berners' translation. [ ] i subjoin schultens' latin version of the arabic passage in bohadin, vita et res gestæ saladini, c. . p. . "cupere anglum ut almalichus aladilus sororem ipsius in matrimonium duceret (eam e sicilia cujus functo domino nupta fuerat, secum avexerat frater, quum insulam illam trajiceret)." [ ] reiske's latin version of abulfeda is this:--"illuc commeabant francorum pacis causa legati, eam offerentes conditionem, ut malec-al-adel, frater sultani sororem regis angliæ in matrimonium, et hierosolymas in regnum acciperet." abulfeda, vol. iv. p. . [ ] tacitus germania, sec. . cæsar de bello gallico, lib. i. s. . [ ] tacitus germania, s. . mallet's northern antiquities, vol. i. p. . [ ] tacitus germania. cæsar, lib. . s. . [ ] ammianus marcellinus, lib. . c. . [ ] chron. saxon, , &c. florence, ad an. . william of malmsbury, . [ ] athenæus, lib. iv. c. . [ ] treatise on the virtue of the female sex. [ ] tacitus germania, s. . c. . [ ] ibid. [ ] strabo, lib. iv. tacitus historia, lib. iv. c. . . pomponius mela, lib. iii. c. . [ ] tacitus, hist. lib. iv. c. . life of agricola, s. . germania, s. . [ ] barthol. p. . as cited by warton, dissert. i. of the origin of romantic fiction in europe, in the first volume of the late admirable edition of his history of english poetry. [ ] it is also curious that this blow was said to have been customary.--"dato eisdem, sicut consuetudinis est, manu colapho." [ ] not exactly according to the form, for by this time a belt with a sword inserted was girded round the military candidate, instead of delivering a javelin to him. see the preceding page. [ ] william of malmsbury, lib. ii. c. . [ ] ingulph, p. . [ ] caxton, fayts of arms and chivalry, chapter entitled "of the honor that ought to be done to a knight." [ ] spencer's fairy queen, book v. canto . st. . the romance of the morte d'arthur says, that in early times there were no hermits, but who had been men of worship and prowess; "and the hermits held great household, and refreshed people that were in distress." lib. . c. . [ ] the reader will find in johnson's dictionary the etymology of _sir_. when this word, acknowledging power and superiority, was first used as the title of chivalry, i do not know. instances exist as high as the reign of henry ii. [ ] coke, instit. . in the reports of the lords' committees respecting the peerage, (printed d july ), doubts are often expressed regarding the meaning of the word banneret. a little attention to the difference between the personal nobility of chivalry, and the nobility which arose as a franchise appurtenant to land, would have prevented the entertaining of such doubts, and the conclusion might have been drawn from principles, instead of being guessed from precedent, that the title of banneret had no relation to the dignity of lord of parliament. the lords' committees seem surprised that barons should sometimes have had the addition of knights, and at other times of bannerets but in truth chevalier was the title which comprehended all others, and, like the word 'lord,' was used in a general sense. [ ] see du cange, dissertation . on joinville. this learned commentator seems inclined to confound knights-banneret with barons, chivalry with nobility; and a herd of subsequent writers, refining on his error, have gravely placed knights-banneret as an order or class of society mediate between nobility and knighthood. [ ] some fortune was, however, always thought necessary for the support of the dignity of knight-banneret. in the th of edward iii. john de cobham was made a banneret, and had a grant of an annuity of marks, out of the issues of the county of norfolk, expressly for the better support of that dignity. dugdale's baronage, vol. ii. p. . many similar instances are mentioned in the parliamentary rolls. [ ] a note of waterhouse on fortescue will illustrate this. "the title of franklein is 'good man;' and yet they have oft knights' estates. many are called by courtesy 'masters,' and even 'gentlemen;' and their sons are educated in the inns of court, and adopted into the orders of knights and squires." [ ] illegitimacy seems not to have been a matter of the slightest consequence. froissart. ii. . [ ] favyn. i. . [ ] when don quixote was dubbed a knight, the landlord asked him whether he had any money. "not a cross," replied the knight; "for i never read in any history of chivalry, that any knight-errant ever carried money about him."--"respondio don quixote que no traia blanca, porque él nunca habia leido en las historias de los caballeros andantes, que ninguno los hubiese traido." this was a very singular error in cervantes, for in amadis de gaul, which he characterizes as the best work of its class, and which is evidently one of his textbooks, we read that the queen gave adrian the dwarf enough money to last amadis de gaul his master for a whole year. book iii. c. . [ ] froissart, i. c. . [ ] froissart, ii. c. . [ ] thus, as bracton observes, if a villain be made a knight, he is thereby immediately enfranchised, and consequently accounted a gentleman, l. iv. f. . b. [ ] froissart, i. . [ ] du cange says, the third order of chivalry consisted of the esquires; but he evidently thinks they were the personal attendants of knights, for he calls them infancons or damoiseaux. he does not seem to have thought that a grave old squire ever existed. [ ] ----"mais le dit escuyer s'excusa; et dit qu'il ne pouvoit trouver son bacinet."--froissart, i. . [ ] favour. [ ] soon. [ ] diligently. [ ] attempted. [ ] against. [ ] rule. [ ] the minstrelsy art. [ ] went. [ ] knew. [ ] geste of kyng horn, v. . [ ] mr rose's note on the romance of partenopex of blois, p. . [ ] caxton, fayt of armes and of chyvalrye, c. ., mémoires du bon messire jean le maingre, dit boucicaut, maréchal de france, c. , . in the sixth volume of the large collection of french memoirs. [ ] l'histoire de guerin de montglaive. [ ] l'histoire et plaisante cronicque du petit jehan de saintré, vol. . c. - . i have the authority of sir walter scott and other able writers on chivalry, to cite this romance as good evidence for the laws and manners of knighthood. it was written in ; the first edition was printed in gothic characters in , and it was reprinted in three volumes, mo. in . [ ] caxton, fayt of armes and chevalrye, c. . [ ] _damoisel_ et eescuyer sont arrivés à novandel demandant chivalarie, lequel layant reçu n'est plus appellé de tels tiltres, ains seulement des tiltre de chevalier.--amadis de gaul, liv. . c. . [ ] fauchet de l'origine des chevaliers, liv. . ch. . monstrelet, vol. . c. . l'histoire de bertrand du guesclin, c. . [ ] paulus warnefridus, lib. . c. . [ ] eximinus petri salonava justitia arragonum. lib. de privilegiis baronum et riccorum hominum. [ ] froissart, vol. . c. . [ ] froissart, vol. . c. . the earl of oxenford had reason to repent of his arrogance. sir john chandos, observes froissart, marked well all the matter between his squire and the earl, and remained quiet till the prince was gone from them, and then coming to the earl, he said, "sir thomas, are you displeased that i drank before you? i am constable of this country; i may well drink before you, since my lord the prince, and other lords here, are content therewith. it is of truth that you were at the battle of poictiers; but all who were there do not know so well as i what you did. i shall declare it. when my lord the prince had made his voyage in languedock and carcassone to narbonne, and was returned hither to his town of bourdeaux, you chose to go to england. what the king said to you on your arrival i know right well, though i was not present. he demanded of you whether you had finished your voyage, and what you had done with his son the prince. you answered, that you had left him in good health at bourdeaux. then the king said, 'how durst you be so bold as to return without him? i commanded you and all others when ye departed, that you should not return without him, and you thus presume to come again to england. i straitly command you, that within four days you avoid my realm and return again to him, and if i find you within this my realm on the fifth day, you shall lose your life, and all your heritage for ever.' and you feared the king's words, as it was reason, and left the realm, and so your fortune was good, for truly you were with my lord the prince four days before the battle of poictiers. on the day of the battle you had forty spears under your charge, and i had fourscore. now you may see whether i ought to drink before you or not, since i am constable of acquitain." the earl of oxenford was ashamed, and would gladly have been thence at the time; but he was obliged to remain and hear this reproof from that right noble knight, sir john chandos. [ ] fairy queen, book . canto . st. . [ ] froissart, . c. . m. paris, . [ ] "les prisons firent arreter, et en lieu seur tourner, a leurs escuyers les liverent et à garder les commandement." [ ] ulrich von lichtenstein, p. . ulrich was a german knight, who lived in the fourteenth century, and wrote his own memoirs. they often give us curious glimpses into ancient chivalry. [ ] chaucer, in drawing his squire, had certainly in mind a passage from his favourite poem, "the romaunt of the rose:"-- "si avoient bien a bachalier, que il sache de vieler, de fleuter et de danser." i do not notice this circumstance on account of the literary coincidence, but to shew that the squire of france and the squire of england were in chaucer's view the same character. [ ] du cange, dissert. . au joinville, and menage, dict. et. in verb. [ ] fairy queen, book . canto . st. . "so to his steed he got, and 'gan to ride, as one unfit therefore, that all might see he had not trained been in chivalry; which well that valiant courser did discern; for he despised to tread in dew degree, but chaf'd and foam'd with courage fierce and stern, and to be eas'd of that base burthen still did erne." in the old poem called the siege of karvalerock, a knight is praised for not appearing on horseback like a man asleep. "ki kant seroit sur le cheval, ne sembloit home ki someille." [ ] chaucer, prologue to the canterbury tales. selden, titles of honour, part . c. , . [ ] froissart, vol. . c. . 'the lord langurant did that day marvels in arms, so that his own men and also strangers had marvels of his deeds. he advanced himself so much forward that he put his life in great jeopardy, for they within the town (against whose walls he was standing on a ladder,) by clean force raised his helm from his head, and so had been dead without remedy, if a squire of his had not been there, who followed him so near that he covered him with his target, and the lord and he together descended down the ladder by little and little, and in their descending they, received on their target many a great stroke. they were greatly praised by all that saw them.'--berner's froissart. [ ] froissart, liv. . c. . [ ] rigordus in du chesne, vol. . p. . mr. maturin, in that powerful and magnificent romance, the albigenses, has made a very fine use of the instance related above of the squirehood of philip augustus. [ ] this strange practice prevailed, says mr. ellis, (specimens of early english poetry, vol. i. p. .) at a time when the day-dress of both sexes was much warmer than at present, it being generally bordered, and often lined with furs; insomuch that numberless warrens were established in the neighbourhood of london for the purpose of supplying its inhabitants with rabbit skins. "perhaps," continues mr. ellis, in his usual style of pleasantry, "it was this warmth of clothing that enabled our ancestors, in defiance of a northern climate, to serenade their mistresses with as much perseverance as if they had lived under the torrid zone." [ ] this circumstance was satirised, as the reader must remember, by cervantes, who did not always spare chivalry itself in his good humoured satire of the romances of chivalry. [ ] du cange, articles barbani radere, and capilli. the complete shaving of the head was not often submitted to by knights. it was generally thought sufficient if a lock of hair was cut off. [ ] in the fabliau of the order of knighthood the exhortation is somewhat different, and necessarily so, for the candidate was a saracen. it was not to be expected that he would vow to destroy his erring brethren. the exhortation deserves to be extracted, for it contains some particulars not noticed in the one which i have inserted in the text. whether specially mentioned or not, attendance at church and serving the ladies were always regarded as essentials of a knight's duty. "still to the truth direct thy strong desire, and flee the very air where dwells a liar: fail not the mass, there still with reverend feet each morn be found, nor scant thy offering meet: each week's sixth day with fast subdue thy mind, for 'twas the day of passion for mankind: else let some pious work, some deed of grace, with substituted worth fulfil the place: haste thee, in fine, where dames complain of wrong, maintain their right, and in their cause be strong. for not a wight there lives, if right i deem, who holds fair hope of well-deserv'd esteem, but to the dames by strong devotion bound, their cause sustains, nor faints for toil or wound." way's _fabliaux_, vol. i. p. . the expressive conciseness of the exhortation to the duties of knighthood in the romance of ysaie le triste is admirable. "chevalier soies cruel a tes ennemys, debonnaire a tes amys, humble a non puissans, et aidez toujours le droit a soustenir, et confons celluy qui tort a vefves dames, poures pucelles et orphelins, et poures gens aymes toujours a ton pouvir, et avec ce aime toujours saincte eglise." [ ] the more distinguished the rank of the aspirant, the more distinguished were those who put themselves forward to arm him. the romances often state that the shield was given to a knight by a king of spain, the sword by a king of england, the helmet from a french sovereign, &c. [ ] the word dub is of pure saxon origin. the french word adouber is similar to the latin adoptare, not adaptare, for knights were not made by adapting the habiliments of chivalry to them, but by receiving them, or being adopted into the order. many writers have imagined that the accolade was the last blow which the soldier might receive with impunity: but this interpretation is not correct, for the squire was as jealous of his honour as the knight. the origin of the accolade it is impossible to trace, but it was clearly considered symbolical of the religious and moral duties of knighthood, and was the only ceremony used when knights were made in places (the field of battle, for instance,) where time and circumstances did not allow of many ceremonies. [ ] caxton, fayt of armes and chivalry, c. . favyn theatre of honour, liv. i. c. . daniel, hist. de la milice francaise, liv. i. c. . [ ] froissart, vol. i. c. . the romance writers made strange work of this disposition of candidates for chivalry to receive the wished for honours from the hands of redoubted heroes. in one of them a man wanted to be knighted by the famous sir lancelot of the lake. he however happened to be dead, but that circumstance was of no consequence, for a sword was placed in the right hand of the skeleton, and made to drop upon the neck of the kneeling squire, who immediately rose a knight. [ ] pinkerton's history of scotland, vol. i. p. . [ ] favyn, liv. iii. c. . monstrelet, vol. vi. p. . honoré, dissertations historiques et critiques sur la chevaliere. to. paris. . p. . [ ] selden likens the degradation of a knight to the degradation of a clergyman by the canon law, previously to his being delivered over to the secular magistrate for punishment. the order of the clergy and the order of knighthood were supposed to be saved from disgrace by this expulsion of an unworthy member. selden, titles of honour, p. . [ ] segar, of honour, lib. ii. c. . [ ] stow's chronicle. [ ] the iron of poictou was particularly famous for making admirable lance-heads; nor was it disliked as a shield. thus an old french poet says,-- "et fu armé sor le cheval de pris, d'aubere, et d'iaume, d'escu poitevin." du cange, art. ferrum pictavense. the iron of bourdeaux is frequently mentioned by froissart as of excellent use in armour. liv. . c. . . . and the old chronicle of bertrand du guesclin says,-- "un escuier y vint qui au comte lanca d'une espée de bourdeaux, qui moult chier li cousta." [ ] menage, diction. etym. in verb. [ ] it is not worth while to say much about mere words. i shall only add that the banner was sometimes called the gonfanon. "li barons aurent gonfanons li chevaliers aurent penons." [ ] this battle-axe is very amusingly described in the metrical romance of richard coeur de lion:-- "king richard i understond, or he went out of englond, let him make an axe for the nones, to break therewith the sarasyns bones. the head was wrought right wele, therein was twenty pounds of steel, and when he came into cyprus land, the ax he took in his hand. all that he hit he all to-frapped, the griffons away fast rapped natheless many he cleaved, and their unthanks there by lived, and the prison when he came to, with his ax he smot right thro, dores, barres, and iron-chains, and delivered his men out of pains." line , &c. [ ] monstrelet. johnes' edit. vol. . p. . [ ] thus pandaro the giant in palmerin of england carried a huge mallet:--but i need not multiply instances. [ ] en loyal amour tout mon coeur, was a favourite motto on the shank of a spur. [ ] ritterzeit und ritterwesen, vol. . p. . [ ] chronicle of the cid. p. . [ ] ritterzeit und ritterwesen, vol. . p. . [ ] hoveden. [ ] pellicer's note on don quixote, edit. madrid, . dillon's travels in spain, p. . [ ] robert of brune. [ ] wormius, lit. run. p. . hickes thes. vol. . p. . [ ] the notion of applying the word jocosé to a sword is thus pleasantly dilated on by st. palaye. "ils ont continuellement repandu sur toutes les images de la guerre un air d'enjouement, qui leur est propre: ils n'ont jamais parlé que comme d'une fête, d'un jeu, et d'un passe-temps. _jouer leur jeu_, ont-ils dit, les arbalétriers qui faisoient pleuvoir une grêle de traits. _jouer gros jeu_, pour donner battaile. _jouer des mains_, et une infinité d'autres façons de parler semblables se recontrent souvent dans la lecture de recits militaires nos écrivains." [ ] ellis' metrical romances. . . [ ] the shield therefore was fitted by its shape to bear a wounded knight from the field, and to that use it was frequently applied. another purpose is alluded to in the spirited opening to the lay of the gentle bachelor. "what gentle bachelor is he sword-begot in fighting field, rock'd and cradled in a shield, whose infant food a helm did yield." [ ] malmsbury, p. . [ ] dr. meyrick, in his huge work on armour, divides the sorts of this early mail into the rustred, the scaled, the trellissed, the purpointed, and the tegulated. the grave precision of this enumeration will amuse the curious enquirer into the infinite divisibility of matter. [ ] in a masterly dissertation upon ancient armour, in the sixtieth number of the quarterly review, it is said, that "though chain-mail was impervious to a sword-cut, yet it afforded no defence against the bruising stroke of the ponderous battle-axe and martel; it did not always resist the shaft of the long or cross bow, and still less could it repel the thrust of the lance or the long-pointed sword."--there is a slight mistake here. all good coats of mail were formed of duplicated rings, and their impenetrability to a lance thrust was an essential quality. "induitur lorica incomparabili, quæ maculis duplicibus intexta, nullius lanceæ ictibus transforabilis haberetur." mon. l. . ann. . [ ] froissart describes sir john chandos as dressed in a long robe, which fell to the ground, blazoned with his arms on white sarcenet, argent a field gules, one on his breast, and another on his back. [ ] du cange, dissert. the first on joinville. the extravagance of people in the middle ages on the subject of furs is the theme of perpetual complaint with contemporary authors. by two statutes of the english parliament, holden at london in and , all persons who could not expend one hundred pounds a-year were forbidden to wear furs. [ ] du cange, ubi supra. [ ] montfaucon, pl. . xiv. . and gough i. . [ ] fairy queen, book i. canto vii. st. , . [ ] shakspeare, henry v. act iii. sc. . [ ] fairy queen, book i. c. . st. . [ ] lay of the knight and the sword. [ ] froissart, livre i. c. . [ ] ellis's specimens of metrical romances, i. . . [ ] monstrelet, johnes's edition, vol. v. p. . ., et prestement un nommé olivier layet à l'ayde de pierre frotier lui bouta une espée par dessoules son haulbergeon tout dedans le ventre, &c.--en apres le dessusdit duc mis à mort, comme dit est fut tantost par les gens du daulphin desuestu de sa robbe, de son haulbergeon, &c. monstrelet, vol. i. c. , . [ ] books of military costume may illustrate the truth, how important every man's occupation is in his own eyes. the old french writer, fauchet, has devoted some pages to a description of the regular process of dressing, and his example has been followed by some of our english antiquarians. [ ] in dr. meyrick's three ponderous quartos on armour there is one interesting point: he shews that the celebrated title of the black prince, which the prince of wales gained for his achievements at the battle of cressy, did not arise, as is generally supposed, from his wearing black armour on that day, nor does it appear that he ever wore black armour at all. plain steel armour was his usual wear, and the surcoat was emblazoned with the arms of england labelled. when he attended tournaments in france or england he appeared in a surcoat with a shield, and his horse in a caparison all black with the white feathers on them; so that the colour of the covering of the armour, and not of the armour itself, gave him his title. dr. meyrick thinks the common story an erroneous one, that the ostrich feathers in the crest of our princes of wales arose from young edward's taking that ornament from the helmet of the king of bohemia, who was slain by him at the battle of cressy. he contends that the feathers formed a _device_ on the banner of the monarch, and were not worn on the helmet, because plumes of feathers were not used as crests till the fifteenth century. that dr. meyrick has not been able to find any instance of their being thus worn goes but very little way to prove the negative. on the other hand, we know that the swan's neck, the feathers of favourite birds, such as the peacock and pheasant, were devices on shields, and also at the same time continually surmounted the helmet, and the ostrich feathers, which ever since the crusades the western world had been familiar with, might in all probability have been used in this twofold manner. how the king of bohemia wore his we do not know with historic certainty, but it is very difficult to believe that he, or our chivalric ancestors, with their love of splendid ornament, would have been contented with placing the ostrich feathers as a mere device on a shield, and not have also fixed it where they set every thing peculiarly graceful, on the summit of the helm. [ ] a very singular instance of the inconvenience of heavy armour occurred in the year , during a war between the milanese and the venetians. carmagnola, the venetian general, had skilfully posted his army behind a morass, the surface of which, from the dryness of the season, was capable of bearing the weight of infantry. he irritated the enemy (the milanese) to attack him, by capturing the village of macalo before their eyes, but their heavy cavalry had no sooner charged along the causeway intersecting the marshy ground, which he purposely left unguarded, than his infantry assailed them with missiles on both flanks. in attempting to repulse them the milanese cuirassiers sank into the morass: their column was crowded on the narrow passage, and thrown into confusion, and the infantry of carmagnola then venturing among them on the causeway, and stabbing their horses, made prisoners of the dismounted cuirassiers to the number of eight thousand, as they lay helpless under the enormous weight of their own impervious armour. perceval's history of italy, vol. ii. p. . [ ] quarterly review, no. lx. p. . [ ] in marking the progress of chivalry through italy i shall again have occasion to notice the excellence of the milanese armour. [ ] note . on marmion, canto . [ ] grose, ii. . [ ] caxton, fayt of armes and of chyvalrye, c. , &c. if the reader be curious for information on the subject of the allegories which were formed from the armour and dress of the knights of the garter and the bath, he will find it in anstis's register of the garter, p. , , and his history of the knighthood of the bath, p. - . [ ] asturco dextrarius est, astur caput ejus nam prius astur equum dextrandi repperit usum. ebrardus betuniensis in græcismo, c. . [ ] an arabian horse. [ ] weak. [ ] lockhart's spanish ballads, p. . [ ] william of newbridge, c. . lib. ii. brunetus in thesauro, ms. part . c. , says "il y a chevaus de plusieurs manieres, à ce que li un sont déstreir quant pour li combat, li auter sont palefroy pour chevaucher à l'aise de son cors pour li autres son roueis pour sommes porter," &c. and the continuator of nangis says, "et apres venoient les grans chevaux et palefrois du roy tres rechement ensellez, et les valets les menaient en dextre sur autres roussins." [ ] history of the crusades, vol. i. p. . note. [ ] lest the reader's mind should wander in conjecture regarding the purpose of barding a horse, i will transcribe, for his instruction and illumination, a few lines from dr. meyrick's chronological inquiry into ancient armour, vol. ii. p. . "the principal reason for arming the horse in plate as well as his rider was to preserve his life, on which depended the life or liberty of the man-at-arms himself; for when he was unhorsed, the weight of his own armour prevented him from speedily recovering himself or getting out of the way, when under the animal. besides this, by thus preserving the horse, the expence of another was saved." wonderful! [ ] statutes of the templars, c. . [ ] vincent de beauvais, hist. lib. . c. . [ ] from the loka lenna, or strife of loc, cited in the notes on sir tristrem, p. .; st. palaye, "memoires sur l'ancienne chevaliere," partie .; du cange, twenty-first dissertation on joinville; glossary, arma mutare, companionship in weal and woe sanctioned by religious solemnities, still exists among the albanians and other people of the eastern shore of the adriatic. the custom is wrought into a very interesting story in the tale of anastasius, vol. i. c. . [ ] juv. des ursins anno . vraye fraternité et compagnie d'armes, is the frequent expression in old writers for this chivalric union. [ ] kennet's parochial antiquities, p. . cited in henry's history of england, vol. iii. p. . to. [ ] the romance of amys and amylion. it is abridged by mr. ellis in the third volume of his specimens of early english metrical romances, and inserted at length by mr. weber in the second volume of his collection. the reader may be amused to learn that the mother of the children was so complaisant to her husband as to approve of his having cut their little throats. "o lef lief! she said tho, god may send us children mo! of them have thou no care. and if it were at my heart's root, for to bring thy brother boot, my life i would not spare. there shall no man our children sene, for to morrow they shall buried ben, as they fairly dead were. thus that lady, fair and bright, comforted her lord with her might, as ye may understand sin[a] they went both right to sir amylion, that gentle knight, that ever was fre to fonde[b] when sir amylion awaked tho, all his foulehead away was go through grace of god's son. then was he as fair a man as ever he was ere than since he was been in londe." the conclusion of the story shows the belief of the writer that heaven approved of such sacrifices to friendship. "then were they all blithe, their joy could no man kithe, they thanked god that day. as ye may at me liste and lythe.[c] into the chamber they went swythe.[d] ther as the children lay. without wern[e], without wound, all whole the children there they found, and lay together in play. for joy they went there, they stood and thanked god with mild mode their care was all away." [a] after. [b] that ever could be met with. [c] now you must listen to me. [d] quickly. [e] scar. [ ] it may be as well to notice that the barriers of a town, or its outer fortification, are described by froissart as being grated pallisades, the grates being about half a foot wide. [ ] the remainder of this knight's story should be told, although it does not relate to the matter of the text. "in the suburbs he had a sore encounter, for, as he passed on the pavement, he found before him a bocher, a big man, who had well seen this knight pass by, and he held in his hands a sharp heavy axe, with a long point; and as the knight returned, and took no heed, this bocher came on his side and gave him such a stroke between the neck and shoulders, that he fell upon his horse, and yet he recovered; and then the bocher struck him again, so that the axe entered into his body, so that, for pain, the knight fell to the earth, and his horse ran away, and came to the squire who abode for his master at the streets; and so the squire took the horse, and had great marvel what was become of his master, for he had seen him ride to the barriers, and strike thereat with his glaive, and return again. then he rode a little forth thitherward, and anon he saw his master laying upon the earth between four men, who were striking him as they would strike an anvil. and then the squire was so affrighted he durst not go farther, for he saw he could not help his master. therefore he returned as fast as he might; so there the said knight was slain. and the knights that were at the gate caused him to be buried in holy ground." lord berners's froissart, c. . [ ] froissart, vol. i. c. . [ ] froissart, c. .; gray's descent of odin.; herbert's icelandic translations, p. ; scott's minstrelsy, vol. . p. . [ ] froissart c. . [ ] froissart, c. . "et si avoit entre eux plusieurs jeunes bacheliers, qui avoient chacun un oeil couvert de drap, à fin qu'ils n'en puissent veoir; et disoit on que ceux là avoient voué, entre dames de leur pais, que jamais ne verroient que d'un oeil jusques à ce qu'ils auroient fait aucunes prouesses de leur corps en royaume de france." the disposition of knights to make vows was an excellent subject for cervantes' raillery. "tell her," continued i, (don quixote) "when she least expects it, she will come to hear how i made an oath, as the marquis of mantua did, when he found his nephew baldwin ready to expire on the mountains, never to eat upon a table-cloth, and several other particulars, which he swore to observe, till he had revenged his death. so in the like solemn manner will i swear, never to desist from traversing the habitable globe, and ranging through all the seven parts of the world, more indefatigably than ever was done by prince pedro of portugal, till i have freed her from her enchantment." don quixote, part . c. . [ ] every true knight said like him in the morte d'arthur, "though the knight be never so false, i will never slay him sleeping; for i will never destroy the high order of knighthood." and again, "well, i can deem that i shall give him a fall. for it is no mastery, for my horse and i be both fresh, and so are not his horse and he, and weet ye well that he will take it for great unkindness, for every one good is loth to take another at disadvantage." [ ] the true son of chivalry was like banquo, of whom macbeth says, "'tis much he dares; and, to that dauntless temper of his mind, he hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour to act in safety." sir philip sidney excellently well describes the nature of chivalric courage. "their courage was guided with skill, and their skill was armed with courage; neither did their hardiness darken their wit, nor their wit cool their hardiness: both valiant as men despising death, and both confident as unwonted to be overcome. their feet steady, their hands diligent, their eyes watchful, and their hearts resolute." arcadia, p. . edit. . [ ] morte d'arthur. . . [ ] argentré, histoire de la bretagne, p. . [ ] limoges had revolted on account of a tax which had been imposed on the english dominions in france, to pay the expences of the war, which had had for its object the restoration of peter the cruel. [ ] froissart, liv. . c. . "then the prince, the duke of lancaster, the earl of cambridge, the earl of pembroke, sir guiscard dangle, and all the others, with their companies, entered into the city, and all other footmen ready apparelled, to do evil, and to pillage and rob the city, and to slay men, women, and children; for so it was commanded them to do. it was great pity to see the men, women and children that kneeled down on their knees to the prince for mercy, but he was so inflamed with ire, that he took no heed to them, so that none was heard; but all put to death as they were met withal, and such as were nothing culpable. there was no pity taken of the poor people who wrought never no manner of treason; yet they bought it dearer than the great personages, such as had done the evil and trespass. there was not so hard a heart within the city of limoges, and if he had any remembrance of god, but that wept piteously for the great mischief that they saw before their eyes: for more than three thousand men, women and children were slain that day. god have mercy on their souls, for i trow they were martyrs." lord berners' translation. [ ] romance of guy of warwick. [ ] romance of sir otuel. and in the morte d'arthur it is said, "and thus by assent of them both, they granted either other to rest, and so they set them down upon two mole hills there beside the fighting place, and either of them unlaced his helmet, and took the cold wind, for either of their pages was fast by them to come when they called to lace their harness, and to set them on again at their commandment." morte d'arthur. lib. . c. . [ ] romance of sir ferumbras. [ ] froissart, liv. . c. . this story of froissart reminds one of mortimer, "when on the gentle severn's sedgy bank, in single opposition, hand to hand, he did confound the best part of an hour in changing hardiment with great glendower: three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink, upon agreement, of swift severn's flood; who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, and hid his crisp head in the hollow bank, blood-stain'd with these valiant combatants." henry iv. part . act . sc. iii. [ ] froissart liv. . c. . [ ] froissart, liv. . c. . [ ] froissart, liv. . c. . [ ] froissart, liv. . c. . . [ ] froissart, liv. . c. . . liv. . c. . [ ] thus don quixote pleasantly says in his enumeration of chivalric qualities, "whoever possesses the science of knight errantry ought to be learned in the laws, and understand distributive and commutative justice, in order to right all mankind." [ ] fairy queen, book iii. canto . st. .; and tasso, with equal attention to truth, thus describes the duty of a knight. premer gli alteri, e sollevar gli imbelli, defender gli innocenti, e punir gli empi, fian l'arti lor. la ger. lib. . . [ ] piers ploughman, first vision. [ ] m. paris. . [ ] matthew of westminster, p. . [ ] froissart, . c. . . . . . [ ] froissart, . . [ ] fairy queen, book ii. canto c. st. . [ ] even so judicious a writer as mr. dunlop says, (hist. of fiction, vol. ii. p. .) that vigor of discipline was broken by want of unity of command. st. palaye, in whom want of acquaintance with the subject is less excusable, says, "si le pouvoir absolu, si l'unité du commandement est le seul moyen d'entretenir la vigueur de la discipline, jamais elle ne dut être moins solidement établie, et plus souvent ébranlée que du temps de nos chevaliers. quelle confusion, en effet, ne devoient point apporter tant d'especes de chefs, dont les principes, les motifs et les interêts n'etoient pas toujours d'accord, et qui ne tiroient point d'une même source le droit de se faire obeir?" memoires sur l'ancienne chevalerie, partie . [ ] froissart, vol. ii. c. . [ ] "then said the gud erl of derby, lo! here a fair sight sykkyrly. a fairer sight how may man see, than knight or squire which ever he be, in-til his helm him thus got schryive? when i shall pass out of this life, i would god of his grace would send to me a like manner to end." wyntown's cronykil of scotland, book viii. c. . [ ] caxton, fayt of armes and chevalrie, fol. . [ ] ibid. c. . [ ] malmsbury, p. . [ ] lai of aucassin and nicolette. [ ] froissart, livre . c. . the romances of chivalry are full of tales expressive of this feature of the knightly character. as amusing a story as any is to be found in the morte d'arthur. "there came into the court a lady that hight the lady of the lake. and she came on horseback, richly bysene, and saluted king arthur, and asked him a gift that he promised her when she gave him the sword. 'that is sooth,' said arthur, 'a gift i promised you. ask what ye will, and ye shall have it, an it be in my power to give it.'--'well,' saith the lady, 'i ask the head of the knight that hath wore the sword, or the damsel's head that brought it. i take no force though i have both their heads, for he slew my brother, a good knight and a true, and that gentlewoman was causer of my father's death.'--'truly,' said king arthur, 'i may not grant either of their heads with my worship, therefore ask what ye will else, and i shall fulfill your desire.'--'i will ask none other thing,' said the lady. when balyn was ready to depart, he saw the lady of the lake, that by her means had slain balyn's mother, and he had sought her three years; and when it was told him that she asked his head of king arthur, he went to her streyte, and said, 'evil be you found, you would have my head, and therefore shall lose yours,' and with his sword lightly he smote off her head before king arthur. 'alas! for shame,' said arthur, 'why have you done so? you have shamed me and all my court; for this was a lady that i was beholden to, and hither she came under my safe-conduct. i shall never forgive you that trespass.'--'sir,' said balyn, 'me forthinketh of your displeasure; for this same lady was the untruest lady living, and by enchantment and sorcery she hath been the destroyer of many good knights, and she was causer that my mother was burnt through her falsehood and treachery.'--'what cause soever ye had,' said arthur, 'you should have forborne her in my presence; therefore, think not the contrary, you shall repent it, for such another despite had i never in my court, therefore withdraw you out of my court in all haste that you may.'" morte d'arthur, lib. ii. c. . [ ] malmsbury, p. . quem cuilibet, quamvis infestissimo inimico negare, laudabilium militum mos non est. [ ] froissart, vol. ii. c. . [ ] froissart, ii. . [ ] this was part of the exhortation of a king of portugal, on knighting his son, according to a portuguese historian, cited in lord lyttleton's history of henry ii., vol. ii. p. . to. [ ] morte d'arthur; first book of sir tristram, c. . [ ] caxton, c. . [ ] the necessity of courtesy of manner was so important in the minds of the old poets that they ascribed it not only to every favourite hero, but even to animals, whether real or imaginary. our moral poet gower thus gravely sets forth the politeness of a dragon. "with all the cheer that he may, toward the bed there as she lay, till he came to her the beddes side, and she lay still and nothing cried; for he did all his things fair, and was courteous and debonair." confessio amantis, lib. . fol. . [ ] extrait de l'histoire de du gueslin, par p. h. du chastelet, p. , &c. [ ] froissart, vol. ii. c. . it is difficult to fancy the extravagant degree of estimation in which hawks were held during the chivalric ages. as mr. rose says in one of his notes to the romance of partenopex of blois, they were considered as symbols of high estate, and as such were constantly carried about by the nobility of both sexes. barclay, in his translation from brandt, complains of the indecent usage of bringing them into places appropriated to public worship; a practice which, in the case of some individuals, appears to have been recognized as a right. the treasurer of the church of auxerre enjoyed the distinction of assisting at divine service on solemn days, with a falcon on his fist; and the lord of sassai held the privilege of perching his upon the altar. nothing was thought more dishonorable to a man of rank, than to give up his hawks, and if he were taken prisoner, he would not resign them even as the price of liberty. [ ] romance of ipomydon. [ ] froissart, vol. i. c. ; and sir walter scott's note to the romance of sir tristrem, p. . [ ] this statement of the objects of the minstrelsy art, is taken from a manuscript cited by tyrwhitt, chaucer ii. . it is the railing of a sour fanatic, who wished to destroy all the harmless pleasures of life. but we may profit by his communication, while we despise his gloom. i shall add another description of the various subjects of minstrelsy from the lay le fraine. "some beth of war and some of woe, and some of joy and mirth also; and some of treachery and of guile, of old adventures that fell while; and some of jests and ribaudy; and many there beth of fairy; of all things that men see, most of love, forsooth, there be." [ ] sir orpheo. [ ] froissart, vol. ii. c. . . . in dr. henderson's history of wines, p. , it is stated that our ancestors mixed honey and spices with their wine, in order to correct its harshness and acidity, and to give it an agreeable flavour. true, but it should also have been remarked that the spices were not always mixed with the wine, but that they were served up on a plate by themselves. this custom is proved from an amusing passage in froissart, which involves also another point of manners. describing a dinner at the castle of tholouse, at which the king of france was present, our chronicler says, "this was a great dinner and well stuffed of all things; and after dinner and grace said, they took other pastimes in a great chamber, and hearing of instruments, wherein the earl of foix greatly delighted. then wine and spices were brought, the earl of harcourt served the king of his spice plate, and sir gerrard de la pyen served the duke of bourbon, and sir monnaut of nouailles served the earl of foix." vol. ii. c. . another passage is equally expressive: "the king alighted at his palace, which was ready apparelled for him. there the king drank and took spices, and his uncles also; and other prelates, lords, and knights." thus too, at a celebration of the order of the golden fleece, at ghent, in , olivier de la marche, describing the dinner, says, "longuement dura le disner et le service. là jouerent et sonnerent menestries et trompettes; et herauts eurent grans dons, et crierent largesse; et tables levées furent les espices aportées, et furent les princes et les chevaliers servis d'espices et de vins, &c." memoires, d'olivier de la marche, in the vol. ix. c. . of the great collection of french memoirs: and in the morte d'arthur it is said they went unto sir persauntes pavilion, and drank the wine and ate the spices. [ ] he was a great personage, if wealth could confer dignity. the hospital and priory of st. bartholomew in smithfield, london, were founded by royer or raherus, the king's minstrel, in the third year of the reign of henry i. a. d. . percy, essay on the ancient minstrels, p. . the serjeant of the minstrels was another title for the head of the royal minstrelsy. a circumstance that occurred in the reign of edward iv. shews the confidential character of this officer, and his facility of access to the king at all hours and on all occasions. "and as he (king edward iv.) was in the north country in the month of september, as he lay in his bed, one, named alexander carlisle, that was _serjeant of the minstrels_, came to him in great haste, and bade him arise, for he had enemies coming." this fact is mentioned by warton, on the authority of an historical fragment. ad calc. sportti chron. ed. hearne, oxon, . [ ] wordsworth's excursion, book ii. [ ] wood, hist. antiq. un. oxon. . . sub anno ; and percy, notes on his essay on the ancient minstrels, p. . [ ] froissart, vol. ii. c. . writers on chivalry have too often affirmed, that the minstrels besides singing, reciting, and playing on musical instruments, added the entertainments of vaulting over ropes, playing with the pendent sword, and practising various other feats of juggling and buffoonery. that this was sometimes the case during all the ages of the minstrelsy art, is probable enough, for the inferior minstrels were in a dreadful state of indigence. but the disgraceful union of poetry and juggling was not common in the best ages of chivalry. chaucer expressly separates the minstrel from the juggler. "there mightest thou karols seen, and folk dance, and merry ben, and made many a fair tourning upon the green grass springing. there mightest thou see these flouters. minstrallis and eke jugelours." romaunt of the rose, l. , &c. other passages to the same effect are collected in anstis order of the garter, vol. i. p. ; and warton, history of english poetry, vol. ii. p. . as chivalry declined, minstrelsy was discountenanced, and its professors, fallen in public esteem, were obliged to cultivate other arts besides those of poetry and music. [ ] dunlop, history of fiction, vol. i. p. . [ ] wace, a canon of bayeux, and one of the most prolific rhimers that ever practised the art of poetry, continually reminded the great of the benefits which accrued to themselves from patronising poets. "bien entend conuis e sai que tuit morrunt, e clerc, e lai; e que mult ad curte decrée, en pres la mort lur renumee; si per clerc ne est mis en livre, ne poet par el dureement vivre. * * * * suvent aveient des barruns, e des nobles dames beaus duns, pur mettre lur nuns en estroire, que tuz tens mais fust de eus memoire." ms. bib. reg. iv. c. . cited by mr. turner, history of england, vol. i. p. . to. [ ] this description (spenser's) of chivalric manners, has sadly puzzled his commentators. they are quite agreed, however, on one point, namely, that to kiss the hand of a fair lady (which the word basciomani signified) was not a custom indigenous to england, but that it was imported hither from italy or spain. a preux chevalier of the olden time would have been indignant at this insult to the originality of his gallantry. [ ] froissart, vol. ii. c. . [ ] the life of ipomydon, fytte, . [ ] thus in the romance of perceforest (cited by ellis, notes to way's fabliaux, vol. i. p. ) it is said, "there were eight hundred knights all seated at table, and yet there was not one who had not a dame or damsel at his plate!" in the tale of the mule without a bridle, it is said, "fill'd with these views the attendant dwarf she sends: before the knight the dwarf respectful bends; kind greetings bears as to his lady's guest, and prays his presence to adorn her feast. the knight delays not; on a bed design'd with gay magnificence the fair reclin'd high o'er her head, on silver columns rais'd, with broidering gems her proud pavilion blaz'd. herself, a paragon in every part, seem'd sovereign beauty deck'd with comeliest art. with a sweet smile of condescending pride she seats the courteous gawaine by her side, scans with assiduous glance each rising wish, feeds from her food the partner of her dish!" [ ] m. le grand, in his valuable histoire de la vie privée des français, has given us some very curious information regarding the mode of dressing this distinguished bird. "it was generally," he says, "served up roasted. instead of plucking the bird (observes the complete housekeeper of former times) skin it carefully so as not to damage the feathers; then cut off the feet, stuff the body with spices and sweet herbs; roll a cloth round the head, and then spit your bird. sprinkle the cloth, all the time it is roasting, to preserve its crest. when it is roasted enough, tie the feet on again; remove the cloth; set up the crest; replace the skin; spread out the tail, and so serve it up. some people, instead of serving up the bird in the feathers, carry their magnificence so far as to cover their peacock with leaf gold: others have a very pleasant way of regaling their guests. just before they serve up, they cram the beak of their peacock with wool, rubbed with camphor: then, when the dish is placed upon the table, they set fire to the wool, and the bird instantly vomits out flames like a little volcano." [ ] du chesne, house of montmorencí, liv. i. p. , &c. m. de couci, (c. .) , &c. olivier de la marche, p. . hist. de boucicaut, ed. de godefroi. [ ] like sir guiscard dangle, earl of huntingdon, who, according to froissart, possessed all the noble virtues that a knight ought to have, for "he was merry, true, amourous, sage, sweet, liberal, preux, hardy, adventurous, and chivalrous," vol. i. c. . [ ] see the verses of des escas, a troubadour at the court of the king of arragon. [ ] knight of the tower, chap. "how goodly women ought to maintain themselves courteously." [ ] sir tristram, fytte second, st. . and scott's note. [ ] squire of low degree. [ ] sir degore. [ ] romance of guy of warwick. [ ] knight of the tower, chap. "how young maidens ought not lightly to turn their heads here and there." [ ] knight of the tower, chap. intitled, "of them that will not wear their good clothes on high feasts and holy-days," and, "how the daughter of a knight lost her marriage." memoires de louis de la tremouille, cap. xii. p. , &c. in the th vol. of the great collection of french memoires. [ ] fairy queen, book ii. canto . st. . [ ] the manners of his times might, perhaps, have been the origin of this picture, for even so late as the reign of elizabeth, it is mentioned among the accomplishments of the ladies of her court, that the eldest of them are skilful surgeons. harrison's description of england, prefixed to holinshed. [ ] fairy queen, book iii. canto . st. . . [ ] before the year , when coaches were first used in england, as percy observes, ladies rode chiefly on horseback, either single on their palfreys, or double behind some person on a pillion. not but in case of sickness, or bad weather, they had horse-litters, and even vehicles called chairs, and carrs or charres. note on the northumberland household book. [ ] it is evident that the good king of hungary was a boon companion, and we will fancy that it was from a very common and natural feeling, that he supposed his daughter's inclinations similar to his own. of the formidable list of wines which he gives, some names declare their growths very clearly; of the rest, i believe, that rumney wine means the wine from la romanée, a vineyard of burgundy. dr. henderson, however, suggests that it was an andalusian growth. malmesyne was a greek wine, from malvagia in the morea, the original seat of the malmsey grape. vernage was perhaps a tuscan wine. osey was alsatian wine. respice, (vin rapé) was the produce of unbruised grapes, and bastard was a sweet spanish wine. [ ] baked meats were the usual food of our ancestors. thus chaucer says of his frankelein (the modern country squire), "withoutin bake-mete never was his house." [ ] station. [ ] two species of hawks. [ ] sewed or quilted. [ ] rennes in brittany was highly famous for its manufacture of linen. [ ] inlaid with jewels. [ ] a modern princess, as mr. ellis says (specimens of the early english poets, vol. i. p. ), might possibly object to breathe the smoke of pepper, cloves, and frankincense during her sleep; but the fondness of our ancestors for those, and indeed for perfumes of all kinds was excessive. mr. ellis adds, that in the foregoing description of diversions, the good king of hungary has forgotten one, which seems to have been as great a favorite with the english and french as ever it was with the turkish ladies; this is the bath. it was considered, and with great reason, as the best of all cosmetics; and mr. strutt has extracted from an old ms. of prognostications, written in the time of richard ii., a medical caution to the women, against "going to the bath _for beauty_" during the months of march and november. women also often bathed together for purposes of conversation. the reader knows that the public baths were not always used for such healthful and innocent purposes. [ ] "vos, modo venando, modo rus geniale colendo ponitis in varia tempora longa mora. aut fora vos retinent, aut unctæ dona palæstræ; flectitis aut fræno colla sequaris equi. nunc volucrem laqueo, nunc piscem ducitis hamo. diluitur posito serior hora mero. his mihi submotæ, vel si minus acriter utar, quod faciam, superest, præter amare, nihil. quod superest, facio; teque, o mi sola voluptas, plus quoque, quam reddi quod mihi possit, amo." ovid. ep. hero leandro. [ ] don quixote affirmed, that no history ever made mention of any knight errant that was not a lover; for were any knight free from the impulses of that generous passion, he would not be allowed to be a lawful knight, but a misborn intruder, and one who was not admitted within the pale of knighthood at the door, but leaped the fence, and stole in like a thief and a robber. vivaldo, who was talking with the don, asserted in opposition to this opinion and statement, that don galaor, the brother of amadis de gaul, never had any mistress in particular to recommend himself to, and yet for all that he was not the less esteemed. don quixote, after borrowing one of sancho's proverbs, that one swallow never makes a summer, replied that he knew don galaor was privately very much in love; and as for his paying his addresses wherever he met with beauty, this was an effect of his natural inclination, which he could not easily restrain. it was an undeniable truth, concluded the don, that galaor had a favourite lady whom he had crowned empress of his will; and to her he frequently recommended himself in private, for he did not a little value himself upon his discretion and secrecy in love. this defence of galaor is very amusing, and vivaldo submitted to it. but he ought to have adduced the opinions of that mad knight and merry talker of the round table, sir dynadan, who marvelled what could ail sir tristram and many others of his companions, that they were always sighing after women. "why," said la belle isaud, "are you a knight and no lover? you cannot be called a good knight, except you make a quarrel for a lady." "god defend me!" replied dynadan, "for the joy of love is so short, and the sorrow thereof and what cometh thereof endureth so long." morte d'arthur, lib. i. c. . [ ] fairy queen, book iv. canto . st. . [ ] gower's confessio amantis, book iv. p. , &c. [ ] froissart, vol. ii. c. and . [ ] essais histor. sur paris, by st. foix, vol. iii. p. , cited by strutt. sports and pastimes, &c. "as it happened, sir palomydis looked up towards her (la belle isaud) where she lay in the window, and he espied how she laughed, and therewith he took such a rejoicing that he smote down what with his spear and with his sword all that ever he met, for through the sight of her he was so enamoured of her love, that he seemed at that time, that had sir tristrem and sir launcelot been both against him, they would have won no worship of him." morte d'arthur, book x. c. . [ ] lovelier. [ ] lived. [ ] romance of ywaine and gawin. [ ] froissart, c. . "le duc de lancastre avoit de son heritage en champaigne: c'estassavoir un chastel entre troye et chalons, qui s'appelait beaufort, et duquel un escuyer anglais (qui se nommoit le poursuivant d'amour) estait capitaine." [ ] froissart, liv. i. c. . [ ] barbour's bruce, book vi. hume's (of godscroft) history of the house of douglas, p. , &c. the description of the good lord james of douglas, in barbour's bruce, is not uninteresting. "in visage was he some deal gray, and had black hair, as i heard say, but then he was of limbs well made, with bones great and shoulders braid. his body well made and lenzie, as they that saw him said to me. when he was blyth he was lovely and meek and sweet in company. but who in battle might him see another countenance had he. and in his speech he lispt some deal, but that set him right wonder well." the bruce, p. . [ ] spenser's fairy queen, book i. canto . st. . [ ] "e se la us fa gelos e us en dona razo, e us ditz c'ancre no fo de so que dels huelhs vis, diguatz don. en suy fiz que vos disetz vertat, mas yeu vay simiat." the name of the gentleman who thus consented to distrust the evidence of his senses was amanieu des escas, a favourite troubadour in spain during the thirteenth century. one of the "statutes" in the court of love is, according to chaucer's report of it, pretty much in the same strain: "but think that she, so bounteous and fair, could not be false, imagine this algate, and think that tongues wicked would her appair, slandering her name, and worshipful estate, and lovers true to settin at debate, and though thou seest a fault, right at thine eye, excuse it blith, and gloss it prettily." chaucer, urry's edit. fol. . [ ] mr. skottowe, in his essays on shakspeare (essays which have done more for the right understanding of the great dramatist than all the works of his commentators from theobald to malone), observes that, in the play of troilus and cressida, a courtly knight of chivalry is often seen under the name of a trojan hero. the following challenge of hector is conceived and executed in the true chivalric spirit. "kings, princes, lords, if there be one, among the fair'st of greece, that holds his honour higher than his ease; that seeks his praise more than he fears his peril; that knows his valour, and knows not his fear; that loves his mistress more than in confession, (with truant vows to her own lips he loves,) and dare avow her beauty and her worth, in other arms than hers,--to him this challenge. hector, in view of trojans and of greeks, shall make it good, or do his best to do it. he hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer, than ever greek did compass in his arms; and will to-morrow with his trumpet call, midway between yon tents and walls of troy, to rouse a grecian that is true in love: if any come, hector shall honour him; if none, he'll say in troy, when he retires, the grecian dames are sun-burn'd, and not worth the splinter of a lance." troilus and cressida, act i. sc. . [ ] cronique de saintré, vol. iii. c. . [ ] this society of the penitents of love is mentioned by the chevalier of the tower, whose book i have so often quoted in illustration of the chivalric character. [ ] the lai of sir gruélan. [ ] way's fabliaux, vol. ii. p. . the _moral_ of the lay of aristotle brings to mind voltaire's two celebrated lines under a statue of cupid:-- "qui que tu sois, tu vois ton maitre, il l'est, le fut, ou le doit être." [ ] illustrations of northern antiquities, p. , &c. [ ] ibid. p. . [ ] lai of the canonesses and the gray nuns. [ ] l'histoire et plaisante cronicque du petit jehan de saintré, vol. i. c. . [ ] lai of the countess of vergy. [ ] romance of guy of warwick. [ ] illustrations of northern antiquities, p. . [ ] romance of sir bevis. in ariosto, the heroine bradamante wishes rugiero to be baptized; and he replies, with great gallantry, that he would put his head not only into water, but into fire, for the sake of her love. non che nell' acqua, disse, ma nel foco per tuo amor porre il capo mi fia poco. orlando furioso, canto xxii. st. . [ ] don quixote himself was not a greater idolater of the ladies, than was the valiant marshal boucicaut, who, however, carried his fear of impertinent intrusion to a more romantic pitch than perhaps the ladies liked, for he would not even permit the knights of his banner to look a second time at a window where a handsome woman was seated. mémoires, partie . c. . [ ] boucicaut, mémoires, partie i. c. , . the commencement of the letters of those knights of the lady in the green field is worthy of insertion on account of its chivalric tone. "a toutes haultes et nobles dames and damoiselles, et à tous seigneurs, chevaliers, et escuyers, apres tous recommendations, font á sçavoir les treize chevaliers compagnons, portans en leur devise l'escu verd à la dame blanche. premièrement pour ce que tout chevalier est tenu de droict de vouloir garder et deffendre l'honneur, l'estat, les biens, la renommée, et la louange de toutes dames et damoiselles de noble lignée, et que iceulx entre les autres sont tres desirans de le vouloir faire, les prient et requierent que il leur plaise que si aulcune ou aulcunes est ou sont par oultraige, ou force, contre raison diminuées ou amoindries des choses dessus dictes, que celle ou celles à qui le tort ou force en sera faicte veuille ou veuillent venir ou envoyer requerir l'un des dicts chevaliers, tous ou partie d'iceulx, selon ce que le cas le requerra, et le requis de par la dicte dame ou damoiselle, soit un, tous ou partie, sont et veulent estre tenus de mettre leurs corps pour leur droict garder et deffendre encontre tout autre seigneur, chevalier, ou escuyer, en tout ce que chevalier se peut et doibt employer au mestier d'armes, de tout leur pouvoir, de personne à personne, jusques au nombre dessus dicts et au dessoutes, tant pour tant. et en breifs jours après la requeste à l'un, tous ou partie d'iceulx, faicte de par les dictes dames ou damoiselles, ils veulent presentement eulx mettre en tout debovir d'accomplir les choses dessus dictes, et si brief que faire se pourra. et s'il advenoit, que dieu ne veuille que celuy au ceulx qui par les dictes dames ou damoiselles seroient requis, eussent essoine raisonnable; a fin que leur service et besongne ne se puisse en rien retarder qu'il ne prist conclusion, le requis ou les requis seront tenus de bailler prestement de leurs compaignons, par qui le dict faict seroit et pouvoit estre mené à chef et accomply." [ ] the knight's tale, l. , &c. the following is dryden's version of the above lines. the spirit of the last two lines of chaucer is entirely lost. "beside the champions, all of high degree, who knighthood lov'd and deeds of chivalry, throng'd to the lists, and envy'd to behold the names of others, not their own, enroll'd. nor seems it strange, for every noble knight who loves the fair, and is endu'd with might, in such a quarrel would be proud to fight." [ ] monstrelet, vol. vi. p. . boucicaut, memoirs, c. . [ ] froissart, liv. i. c. . [ ] froissart, liv. ii. c. .; liv. i. c. , . "puis passerent oultre destruisans le pais d'entour et vindrent ainsi jusques au chastel de poys: ou il y avoit bonne ville, et deux beaux chasteaux: mais nul des seigneurs n'y estait, fors deux belles damoiselles, filles au seigneur de poys: qui tost eussent esté violees, si n'eussent esté deux chevaliers d'angleterre; messire jehan chandos, et le sire de basset: qui les deffendirent: et pour les garder les menerent au roy: qui pour honneur leur fit bonne chere, et leur demanda ou elles voudroyent estre, si disent à corbie. là les fit le roi conduire sans pareil." [ ] i have taken this story from gibbon, (antiquities of the house of brunswick, miscellaneous works, vol. iii. p. ,) who says it is told (if he is not mistaken) by the spectator, and may certainly be supported by ancient evidence. [ ] fairy queen, book iii. canto . st. . [ ] ibid. book iii. canto . st. . [ ] another writer says, "ah! well was he that he forebore to blame; misfortune be his lot and worldly shame, nor, dying, let him taste of heavenly bliss whoe'er of dame or damsel speaks amiss; and sure no gentle clerk did ever vex with foul discourtesy the gentle sex, but churl or villain, of degenerate mind, brutal and base, the scandal of his kind." s. rose's partenopex of blois, canto ii. and in a similar strain of courtesy is the beginning of the fabliau of constant du hamel, as translated by m. le grand. "je ne pardonne pas qu'on se moque des dames. on doit toute sa vie les honorer et les servir et ne leur parler jamais que pour leur dire choses courtoises. qui agit autrement est un vilain." [ ] as the romance of the rose says, "les chevaliers mieux en valoient, les dames meilleures etoient et plus chastement en vivoient." [ ] caxton's chevalier of the tower, cap. "how every good woman ought to keep her renommèe." [ ] ord. vit. p. , &c. [ ] harleian ms. no. . . p. . cited in retrospective review. no. . p. . [ ] froissart, liv. i. c. . lord hailes is not pleased that the queen should have shared in the honour of the battle, and wishes to doubt her presence, because froissart is the _only_ writer who states it. upon which mr. turner (history of england, vol. . p. , vo.) very judiciously observes, that, if we disbelieve all the facts of this reign, for which we have _only_ froissart's authority, our scepticism must take a large sweep. [ ] wyntown's cronykil of scotland, book viii. c. . lord hailes, vol. . p. , . border antiquities, vol. ii. p. . [ ] avesbury, p. . froissart, liv. i. c. . [ ] la comtesse de montfort avoit courage d'homme et coeur de lion. elle estoit en la cité de rénes, quand elle entendit que son seigneur fut prins; et, combien qu'elle eust grand dueil au coeur, elle reconfortoit tous ses amis vaillamment, et tous ses soudoyers: et leur monstroit un petit fils (qu'elle avoit appelé jehan, comme son pere) et leur disoit, haa, seigneurs, ne vous ébahissez mie de monseigneur, que nous avons perdu. ce n'estoit qu'un homme. veez cy mon petit enfant, qui sera (si dieu plaist) son restorier, et vous sera des biens assez et j'ai de savoir à planté; si vous en donneraz assez, et vous pourchaceray tel capitaine, parquoy vous serez tous reconfortes. froissart, liv. i. c. . [ ] mrs. charles stothard, in her interesting tour through normandy and brittany, observes (p. .) that the massive walls which once surrounded the town of hennebon, remain in many places entire, and must have been impregnable in their strength and construction. [ ] froissart, c. . lors descendit la comtesse du chastel, à joyeuse chere, et vint baiser messiu gautier de manny et ses compaignons, les uns apres les autre, deux fois ou trois, comme vaillante dame. [ ] spenser, vision of the world's vanity, st. . [ ] like gonzalo in the tempest. "now would i give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any thing. the wills above be done; but i would fain die a dry death." act i. sc. . [ ] the principal facts in the heroic life of the countess of mountfort are recorded by froissart, c. , , , , &c. lobineau, histoire de bretagne, vol. i. p. , &c. argentré, histoire de bretagne, liv. vii. c. , . [ ] hist. gen. de la france, l. . [ ] see the chronicle of m. villani in the th vol. of muratori, rerum scrip. ital.; and sismondi, histoire des rep. ital. tom. vi. c. . italy has not many romantic associations, and there are now no remains of cesena to awaken the admiration of the traveller to the heroism of marzia. forsyth, remarks on italy, vol. ii. p. . [ ] fairy queen, book iii. canto , st. . [ ] ibid, book iii. canto ii. st. . [ ] "the lady's heart was on him cast, and she beheld him wonder fast; ever on him she cast her eye, ipomydon full well it seye[f]; anon it gave him in his thought, to loke again let would be not. nor no more coward thought he to be of his looking than was she. the lady perceived it full well, of all his looking every dell, and therewith began to shame, for she might lightly fall in blame, if men perceived it any thing, betwixt them two such looking, then would they say all bydene[g], that some love were them between; then should she fall in slander, and lose much of her honour. she thought to warn him privily, by her cousin that set him by. 'jason,' she said, 'thou art to blame, and therewith the ought to shame, to behold my maid in vain; every man to other will sayne, that betwixt you is some sin, of thy looking, i rede[h], thou blynne[i].' ipomydon him bethought anon, then that she blamed jason, without deserving every dell: but the encheson[j] he perceived well. down he looked and thought great shame, that jason bore for him the blame. still he sat, and said no more, he thought to dwell no longer there." romance of sir ipomydon. [f] saw. [g] together. [h] council. [i] cease. [j] occasion. [ ] full of frowardness, each mis-saying or reviling, as ellis renders the passage. [ ] lai le fraine. [ ] du cange gravely quotes saint isidore for this truth; and it is credible even upon less solemn authority. [ ] thus holingshed, speaking of a royal joust and martial tournament, held at smithfield in , says, "and so many a noble course and other martial feats were achieved in those four days, to the great contentation and pleasure of many a young bachelor desirous to win fame." p. . edit. . [ ] the objects and tendencies of tournaments are extremely well expressed by jeffry of monmouth:--"many knights famous for feats of chivalry were present, with apparel and arms of the same colour and fashion. they formed a species of diversion, in imitation of a fight on horseback; and the ladies being placed on the walls of the castles, darted amorous glances on the combatants. none of these ladies esteemed any knight worthy of her love but such as had given proof of his gallantry in three several encounters. thus the valour of the men encouraged chastity in the women, and the attention of the women proved an incentive to the soldier's bravery." lib. ix. c. . [ ] holingshed, vol. ii. p. . reprint. [ ] froissart, vol. ii. c. . [ ] ritterzeit und ritterwesen, vol. i. p. . . [ ] the german nation, as it may be easily supposed, were more strict than other people regarding the nature of the birth-right which authorised a man to tourney. if any person be curious enough to enquire into the fantastic subtleties of german heraldry about this matter, i refer him to the ritterzeit und ritterwesen, vol. i. p. . . [ ] m. westm. p. . [ ] segar of honor, lib. ii. c. . ritterzeit und ritterwesen, vol. i. p. . there was a singular law in germany, prohibiting from the tournament those who had been the cause of imposing taxes or duties, or had used their endeavours to get them imposed. ritterzeit und ritterwesen, vol. i. p. . [ ] croneca del conde d. pero nino, p. ., cited in the notes to the preface to the reprint of the morte d'arthur, p. . [ ] monstrelet, vol. vi. p. . [ ] ritterzeit und ritterwesen, vol. i. p. . [ ] chaucer, knight's tale, l. , &c. so froissart says, "on the next day you might have seen in divers places of the city of london squires and varlettes going about with harness, and doing other business of their masters." vol. ii. p. . [ ] froissart, vol. ii. c. . [ ] smithfield was famous many years earlier, both as the place of sports and the horse-market of london. fitzstephen, who wrote in the time of henry ii., says, "without one of the gates is a certain field[k], plain (or smooth) both in name and situation. every friday, except some greater festival come in the way, there is a brave sight of gallant horses to be sold: many come out of the city to buy or look on, to wit, earls, barons, knights, citizens, all resorting thither." [k] smethfield, as it were smoothfield. [ ] du cange, dissertation . on joinville. [ ] memoires d'olivier de la marche, liv. i. c. . [ ] this feeling is exceedingly well expressed in a challenge given by some foreign knights in england to the english chivalry. "ever in courts of great kings are wont to come knights of divers nations, and more to this court of england, where are maintained knighthood and feats of arms valiantly for the service of ladies in higher degrees and estates than in any realm of the world: it beseemeth well to don francisco de mendoza, and carflast de la vega, that here, better than in any place, they may shew their great desire that they have to serve their ladies." antiquarian repertory, vol. i. p. . [ ] elegant. [ ] embroidery. [ ] head-pieces. [ ] ornamented dresses. [ ] rubbing. [ ] straps. [ ] brazen drums. [ ] chaucer, the knight's tale, line , &c. chaucer must have had in his imagination one of the splendid tournaments of the days of edward iii. when he wrote these spirited lines; for there is much more circumstance in his description than could have belonged to a simple joust between the two knights, palamon and arcite. [ ] du cange (diss. . on joinville) on the authority of an ancient ms. regarding tournaments; and ritterzeit und ritterwesen, vol. i. p. . [ ] harleian mss. no. . [ ] hist. de charles vi. vol. ii. p. . fol. . as every thing regarding the ladies of chivalric as well as of other times is interesting, no apology will be required for my hazarding a conjecture, that the colour of the ribbon mentioned in the text was blue, the emblem of constancy. "lo, yonder folk, quoth she, that kneel in blue! they wear the colour ay and ever shall, in sign they were and ever will be true, withouten change." chaucer's court of love, l. , &c. the author of the romance of perceforest has made a strange exaggeration of the custom of ladies sending favours to knights during the heat of a tournament. he says, that at the end of one of those martial games, "les dames étoient si dénues de leur atours, que la plus grande partie étoit en pur chef (mie tête) car elles s'en alloient les cheveux sur leurs epaules gisans, plus jaunes que fin or, en plus leurs cottes sans manches, car tous avoient donné aux chevaliers pour eux parer et guimples et chaperons, manteaux et camises, manches et habits: mais quand elles se virent à tel point, elles en furent ainsi comme toutes honteuses; mais sitost qu'elles veirent que chacune étoit en tel point, elles se prirent toutes a rire de leur adventure, car elles avoient donné leurs joyaux et leurs habits de si grand coeur aux chevaliers, qu'elles ne s'appercevoient de leur dénuement et devestemens." [ ] the reader may wonder at this form of expression; but it proceeded from the very noble principle of teaching young knights to emulate the glories of their ancestors, and from the peculiar refinement and delicacy of chivalry which argued that there was no knight so perfect, but who might commit a fault, and so great a one as to efface the merit of all his former good deeds. heralds, therefore, observes monstrelet, do not at jousts and battles cry out, "honour to the brave!" but they exclaim, "honour to the sons of the brave!" no knight can be deemed perfect, until death has removed the possibility of his committing an offence against his knighthood. "il n'est nul si bon chevalier au monde qu'il ne puisse bien faire une faute, voire si grande que tous les biens qu'il aura faits devant seront adnihillez; et pour ce on ne crie aux joustes ne aux batailles, aux preux, mais on crie bien aux fils des preux après la mort de leur pere car nul chevalier ne peut estre jugé preux se ce n'est après le trépassement." monstrelet, vol. i. p. . [ ] "to break across," the phrase for bad chivalry, did not die with the lance. it was used by the writers of the elizabethan age to express any failure of wit or argument. to the same purpose, celia, in "as you like it," says of orlando, tauntingly, "o that's a brave man. he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover, as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose." [ ] the old english ordinances, fortunately, have been preserved, and are exceedingly curious. the ordinances, statutes, and rules, made and enacted by john earl of worcester, constable of england, by the kinge's commandement, at windsor, the th day of may, in the seventh year of his noble reign (edward iv.), to be observed and kept in all manner of justes of peace royal, within this realm of england, before his highness or lieutenant, by his commandment or licence, had from this time forth, reserving always to the queen's highness and to the ladies there present, the attribution and gift of the price, after the manner and form accustomed, the merits and demerits attribute according to the articles following:-- first, whoso breaketh most spears, as they ought to be broken, shall have the price. item, whoso hitteth three times in the helm shall have the price. item, whoso meteth two times coronel to coronel, shall have the price. item, whoso beareth a man down with stroke of spear shall have the price. how the price should be lost. first, whoso striketh a horse shall have no price. item, whoso striketh a man, his back turned, or disarmed of his spear, shall have no price. item, whoso hitteth the toil or tilt thrice shall have no price. item, whoso unhelms himself twice shall have no price without his horse fail him. how spears broken shall be allowed. first, whoso breaketh a spear between the saddle and the charnel of the helm shall be allowed for one. item, whoso breaketh a spear from the charnel upwards shall be allowed for two. item, whoso breaketh a spear so as he strike him down or put him out of his saddle, or disarm him in such wise as he may not run the next course, shall be allowed for three spears broken. how spears broken shall be disallowed. first, whoso breaketh on the saddle shall be disallowed for a spear breaking. item, whoso hits the toil or tilt over shall be disallowed for two. item, whoso hitteth the toil twice, for the second time shall be abased three. item, whoso breaketh a spear within a foot of the coronall, shall be judged as no spear broken, but a good attempt. for the price. first, whoso beareth a man down out of the saddle, or putteth him to the earth, horse and man, shall have the price before him that striketh coronall to coronall two times. item, he that striketh coronall to coronall two times shall have the price before him that striketh the sight three times. item, he that striketh the sight three times shall have the price before him that breaketh the most spears. item, if there be any man that fortunately in this wise shall be deemed he bode longest in the field helmed, and ran the fairest course, and gave the greatest strokes, helping himself best with his spear. antiquarian repertory, l. , &c. [ ] olivier de la marche, a hero of burgundy in the fifteenth century, thus describes a warder:--"et tenoit le duc de bourgogne un petit blanc baton en sa main pour jetter et faire séparer les champions, leurs armes achivees, comme il est de coustume en tel cas." memoires, p. . [ ] walsingham, p. . in early times, in england, those tournament festivals were held about a round table, and therefore the tournaments themselves were often called round tables. walter hemingford, vol. i. p. . ed. hearne. [ ] this was the address of the heralds after a tournament in the days of edward iv.:-- "oyez, oyez, oyez, we let to understand to all princes and princesses, lords, ladies, and gentlewomen of this noble court, and to all others to whom it appertaineth, that the nobles that this day have exercised the feats of arms at the tilt, tourney, and barriers, have every one behaved themselves most valiantly, in shewing their prowess and valour worthy of great praise. "and to begin, as touching the brave entry of the lord ----, made by him very gallantly, the king's majesty more brave than he, and above all, the earl ----, unto whom the price of a very rich ring is given by the queen's majesty, by the advice of other princesses, ladies, and gentlewomen of this noble court. "and as touching the valiantness of the piques, the duke of m. hath very valiantly behaved himself, the earl of p. better than he, and above all others, the earl of d., unto whom the price of a ring of gold with a ruby is given, by the most high and mighty princess the queen of england, by the advice aforesaid. "and as touching the valiantness of the sword, ---- knight hath very well behaved himself, the earl of n. better than he, and sir j. p., knight, above all the rest, unto whom is given the price of a ring of gold with a diamond, by the queen's most excellent majesty, by the advice of other princesses, ladies, and gentlewomen. "and as touching the valiantness of the sword at the foil, sir. w. r., knight, hath very valiantly behaved himself, the marquis of c. better than he, and above all others, the king's majesty, unto whom was given the price of a ring of gold with a diamond, by the queen's majesty, by the advice of other princesses, ladies, and gentlewomen. "finally, touching the valiancy of the pique, the point abated, thomas p. hath well and valiantly behaved himself, charles c. better than he, and above all others, z. s., unto whom was given by the queen's majesty a ring of gold, by the advice of other princesses, ladies, and gentlewomen." [ ] knights are always mentioned as good or unskilful tilters, according to the judgment of the ladies. froissart, vol. ii. c. . monstrelet, vol. i. c. .; and see the last note. [ ] the account of every tournament in our grave old chronicles warrants the sentence in the romance of perceforest, "pris ne doit ne peult estre donne sans les _dames_; car pour elles sont toutes les prouesses fautes." [ ] this form of thanks prevailed also at the joust, as we learn from an account of one in the days of edward iv. see lansdowne mss., british museum, no. . art. . [ ] ritterzeit und ritterwesen, vol. i. p. . [ ] a tournament of this three-fold description took place at st. denys, in the year . [ ] the love of our ancestors for tournaments is evident in a curious passage of an ancient satirical poem, which strutt has thus rendered: "if wealth, sir knight, perchance be thine, in tournaments you're bound to shine; refuse--and all the world will swear, you die not worth a rotten pear." [ ] mr. sharon turner (history of england, vol. i. p. . to. edit.) says, that nothing could break the custom (of holding tournaments) but the increased civilisation of the age. this is a mistake, for tournaments increased in number as the world became more civilised. there were more tournaments in the fourteenth century than in the thirteenth, and even so late as the reign of henry viii. the whole of england seems to have been parcelled out into tilting grounds. [ ] "de his vero qui in torneamentis cadunt, nulla quæstio est, quin vadant ad inferos, si non fuerint adjuti beneficio contritionis." du cange on joinville, dissert. . [ ] still more absurd is the story of matthew paris, that roger de toeny, a valiant knight, appeared after death to his brother raoul, and thus addressed him: "jam et pænas vidi malorum, et gaudio beatorum; nec non supplicia magna, quibus miser deputatus sum, oculis meis conspexi. væ, væ mihi, quare unquam torneamenta exercui, et ea tanto studio dilexi?" [ ] thus lambert d'ardres writes: "cum omnino tunc temporis propter dominici sepulchri peregrinationem in toto orbe, interdicta fuissent torneamenta." du cange, diss. . on joinville. [ ] du cange calls any combat between two knights preliminary to a general battle, a joust to the utterance. he might as well have called the battle itself a joust. [ ] the agreement was made in legal form, as we learn from wyntown. sir david de lindsay had a safe-conduct for his purpose, and came to london with a retinue of twenty-eight persons,-- "where he and all his company was well arrayed, and daintily, and all purveyed at device. there was his purpose to win prize: with the lord of the wellis he thought til have done there a _journée_ (day's battle), for both they were by _certane taillé_ obliged to do there that deed, _sauf faillie_ (without fail)." macpherson says, that challenges of this sort were called taillés indentures, because they were bonds of which duplicates were made having indentures taillés answering to each other. [ ] holingshed, history of scotland, p. . ed. . wyntown's cronykil of scotland, book ix. c. . the sir david de lindsay, mentioned above is the knight of whom sir walter scott tells an amusing story in his notes to marmion, canto i. note . [ ] "or verra l'on s'il y a nul d'entre vous anglois, qui soit amoureux." froissart, vol. ii. c. . lyons's edit. [ ] froissart, i. . [ ] berners' froissart, vol. i. c. . [ ] froissart, vol. ii. c. . [ ] some writers, confounding the joust with the duel, have said that bearded darts, poisoned needles, razors, and similar weapons, were lawful in the jousts. the instance to support this assertion is the challenge of the duke of orleans to henry iv. of england, recorded by monstrelet, vol. i. c. ., where the duke declined to use them. but orleans challenged lancaster to a duel, and not to a chivalric joust. [ ] segar, of honor, lib. iii. c. . [ ] i do not know when exactly this truly chivalric circumstance occurred. the story is told in a manuscript, in the lansdowne collection, british museum, no. . it is described as the challenge of an ancestor of the earl of warwick, and the ms. bears date in the days of edward iv. [ ] vous savez, et bien l'avez oui dire et recorder plusieurs fois, que les ebatemens des dames et damoiselles encouragent voulontiers les coeurs des jeunes gentils-hommes, et les elevent, en requerant et desirant tous honneur. froissart, vol. iv. c. . ed. lyons, . [ ] "ye may know well that charles the french king was sore desirous to be at those jousts: he was young and light of spirit, and glad to see new things. it was shewed me that from the beginning to the ending he was there present, disguised as unknown, so that none knew him but the lord of garansyers, who came also with him as unknown, and every day returned to marquise." froissart, vol. i. c. . [ ] as the weather was bright, according to froissart, i wonder he did not, in his fondness for detail, mention the number of barrels of water that were every evening poured on the dusty plain. on one occasion he says, "the knights complained of the dust, so that some of them said they lost their deeds by reason thereof. the king made provision for it: he ordained more than two hundred barrels of water that watered the place, whereby the ground was well amended, and yet the next day they had dust enough, and too much." vol. ii. p. . [ ] du cange (dissertation . on joinville) is incorrect in saying that a joust seldom terminated without some knights being slain, or very grievously wounded. the jousts at st. ingilberte were on the most extensive scale, and nothing worse than a flesh-wound or a bruise from falling was felt, even by the most unskilful or unlucky knight. froissart perpetually describes jousts of three courses with lances, three strokes with axes, three encounters both with swords and daggers; and generally concludes with saying, "and when all was done, there was none of them hurt." "you should have jousted more courteously," was the reproach of the spectators to a knight, when his lance had pierced the shoulder of the other jouster. froissart, vol. ii. c. . du cange preserved no clear idea in his mind of the difference between the joust _à la plaisance_ and the joust _à l'outrance_, and most subsequent writers have only blindly followed him. i shall notice in this place another popular error on the subject of jousts. mr. strutt, (sports and pastimes of the people of england, book iii. c. .) and an hundred writers after him, assert that the authority of the ladies was more extensive in the joust than in the tournament. mr. strutt says, that "in the days of chivalry jousts were made in honor of the ladies, who presided as judges paramount over the sports." now there are many jousts mentioned in froissart and other chivalric historians that were held only in the presence of knights. but i can find no instance of a tournament being held without ladies. the joust was a martial exercise; but the tournament was connected with all the circumstances of domestic life. [ ] "et si aimoit, par amour, jeune dame: dont en tous estats son affaire en valoit grandement mieux." froissart, vol. iii. c. . edit. lyons, . [ ] froissart, vol. ii. c. . . . memoires du mareschal de boucicaut, partie i. c. . the writer of those memoirs, a contemporary of boucicaut's, in his zeal for his hero, gives all the honor to the french knights. juvenal des ursins (p. , &c.) is more modest, and he makes certain judges of the court compliment many of the knights for their valiancy. [ ] most of these circumstances are unnoticed by our historians. i can pardon their unacquaintance with the lansdowne manuscripts, for those are but recently acquired national treasures: but every scholar is supposed to know the biographia britannica,--and in the article caxton, some of the chivalric features of the joust in question are mentioned. [ ] a very amusing little volume might be made on the romance of flowers, on the tales which poetry and fancy have invented to associate the affections and the mind with plants, thus adding the pleasures of the feelings and the imagination to those of the eye. the reader remembers the love in idleness, in shakspeare's midsummer night's dream. the floure of souvenance, the forget-me-not, is an equally pleasing instance. the application of this name to the myosotis scorpioidis of botanists is of considerable antiquity: the story in the text proves that the plant with its romantic associations was known in england as early as the days of our edward iv. the following tale of the origin of the fanciful name has been communicated to me by my friend anthony todd thomson, whose lectures on the elements of botany, at once scientific and popular, profound and elegant, take a high place in the class of our most valuable works. "two lovers were loitering on the margin of a lake, on a fine summer's evening, when the maiden espied some of the flowers of myosotis growing on the water, close to the bank of an island, at some distance from the shore. she expressed a desire to possess them, when her knight, in the true spirit of chivalry, plunged into the water, and, swimming to the spot, cropped the wished-for plant, but his strength was unable to fulfil the object of his achievement, and feeling that he could not regain the shore, although very near it, he threw the flowers upon the bank, and casting a last affectionate look upon his lady-love, he cried, 'forget-me-not,' and was buried in the waters." "there are three varieties of the plant," mr. thomson adds; "the one to which the tradition of the name is attached is perennial, and grows in marshes and on the margins of lakes." [ ] the lord scales was a right good knight of worship, in spite of the reflections on his courage which edward iv. once threw out against him. "the kyng hathe sayd of hym that even wyr he hathe most to do, then the lord scalys wyll soonest axe leve to depart, and the kyng weenyth that it is mist because of kowardyese." paston letters, vol. iv. p. . [ ] rymer, foedera, tom. ii. p. . [ ] besides holingshed, stow, and other chroniclers, i have consulted for this very interesting joust a curious collection of contemporary documents, among the lansdowne manuscripts (no. .) in the british museum. the chevalier de la marche accompanied the bastard of burgundy to england, and his memoirs furnish a few particulars not noticed by english writers. his account of the joust itself differs from that of our chroniclers, (whom i have followed,) for he makes all the advantage lie with his own knight. it is neither possible nor important to discover the truth. the spirit of the age which gave birth to the challenge and the general interest excited by the joust are the points that deserve to be marked. there is also much confusion regarding the dates of most of the circumstances, and i hold my readers in too much respect to enter into any arguments touching such trifling matters. such few dates as are undoubted i have mentioned. let me add hawkins's conjecture (origin of the english drama, vol. iii. p. .), that the word _burgullian_ or burgonian meaning a bully, a braggadochio, was derived from this joust. this is by no means unlikely, observes mr. gifford, (note on every man in his humour, act iv. sc. .) for our ancestors, who were not over delicate, nor, generally speaking, much overburdened with respect for the feelings of foreigners, had a number of vituperative appellations derived from their real or supposed ill qualities, of many of which the precise import cannot now be ascertained. [ ] prendergast mistook orris for a french knight. orris afterwards refused the honor intended him, expressing, however, very high compliments to the chivalry of france, and merely stating his arragonese descent, on the ground, that no honest man ought to deny his country. [ ] "si prie au dieu d'amour qu'ainsi comme vous desirez l'amour de ma dame la vostre, il ne vous l'ait de vostre dicte venue." monstrelet, vol. i. p. . ed. . [ ] lest it should be thought that i am drawing from a romance, i subjoin part of the original letter from the grave old chronicler monstrelet. "je ne scay se le dieu d'amours qui vous enhorta et meit en couraige de vosdictes, lettres quand les envoyes, ait en aucune chose esté si despleu: parquoy il ait changé ses conditions anciennes, qui souloient estre telles que pour esbaudir armes et à cognoistre chevalerie. il tenoit les nobles de sa court en si royalle gouvernance, que pour accroissement de leur honneur, apres ce qu'ils avoient fait leur dicte emprise, jusques à tant que fin en fut faicte: ne aussi ne faisoient leurs compagnons frayer, travailler, ne despendre leurs biens en vain. non pourtant que n'y voudroye pas qu'il trouvast celle deffaute en moy, si qu'il eut cause de moy bannir de sa court. je vueil encores demourer par deça jusques au huictiesme jour de ce present mois de may preste a l'ayde de dieu, de st. george, et de st. anthoine à vous deliverir, ainsi que ma dame et la vostre le puissent scavoir que pour reverence d'icelles j'ai voulenté de vous aiser de vostre griefue: qui par long temps vous a desaisié comme vosdictes lettres contiennent: pourquoy aussi vous avez cause de desirer vostre allegeance. apres le quel temps se venir ne voulez, je pense au plaisir de dieu de m'enretourner en angleterre par devers nos dames: ausquelles j'ai espai en dieu que sera tesgmoigné par chevaliers et escuyers que je n'ai en riens mesprins envers le dit dieu d'amours: le quel vueille avoir lesdits madame et la vostre pour recommandées, sans avoir desplaisir envers elles pour quelque course qui soit advenue." [ ] monstrelet, vol. i. c. . [ ] the phrase, the passage of arms, is used in the romance of ivanhoe as a general expression for chivalric games. but this is incorrect; for the defence of a particular spot was the essential and distinguishing quality of the exercise in question. now there was no such circumstance in the affair near ashby-de-la-zouche. five knights challengers undertook to answer all comers, but it was not expected that those comers should attempt to pass any particular place. the encounters which were the consequences of the challenges were simple jousts, and constituted the first day's sport, on the second day there was a general tourney or mélée of knights, and as in chivalric times the tournament was always regarded as the chief military exercise, the amusements at ashby-de-la-zouch were a tournament, and by that name, indeed, the author of ivanhoe has sometimes called them. [ ] the challenge of the lord of chargny is contained in monstrelet, vol. viii. c. , . the description of the passage of arms is given by olivier de la marche in his mémoires, c. . there are many other passages of arms recorded in the histories of the middle ages, but there is only one of them of interest, and it will find a place in my description of the progress of chivalry in spain. [ ] nicetas, hist. byzant. . iii. c. . johannes cantacuzenus, . i. c. . [ ] wordsworth. [ ] i may observe, however, that the ancient templars were so dreadfully afraid of their virtue, that they forbad themselves the pleasure of looking in a fair woman's face; at least the statutes attempted to put down this instinct of nature. no brother of the temple was permitted to kiss maid, wife, or widow, his sister, mother, or any relation whatever. the statute gravely adds, that it behoves the knights of jesus christ to avoid the kisses of women, in order that they may always walk with a pure conscience before the lord. i shall transcribe the statute in the original latin, and i hope that it will not be perused with that levity which an allusion to it during rebecca's trial at temple-stowe excited in the younger members of the valiant and venerable order of the temple. the title is sufficiently ascetic,--ut omnium mulierum oscula fugiantur. it proceeds thus:--"periculosum esse credimus omni religioni, vultum mulierum nimis attendere, et ideo nec viduam, nec virginem, nec matrem, nec sororem, nec amitam, nec ullam aliam foeminam aliquis frater osculari præsumat. fugiat ergo foeminea oscula christi militia, per quæ solent homines sæpe periclitari, ut pura conscientia, et secura vita, in conspectu domini perenniter valeat conversare." cap. . [ ] statutes, c. . . [ ] "i was a scotsman ere i was a templar," is the assertion of vipont in the dramatic sketch of halidon hill,--a sentiment confessedly borrowed from the story of the venetian general, who, observing that his soldiers testified some unwillingness to fight against those of the pope whom they regarded as father of the church, addressed them in terms of similar encouragement:--"fight on--we were venetians before we were christians." [ ] the templars find no favour in the eyes of the author of ivanhoe, and tales of the crusaders. he has imbibed all the vulgar prejudices against the order; and when he wants a villain to form the shadow of his scene, he as regularly and unscrupulously resorts to the fraternity of the temple, as other novelists refer to the church, or to italy, for a similar purpose. [ ] the pope (clement v.) committed the glaring absurdity of making a provisional decree to be executed in perpetuity. the bull which he issued at the council of vienne, without asking the judgment of the assembled bishops and others, declares, that although he cannot of right, consistently with the inquisition and proceedings, pronounce a definitive sentence, yet by way of apostolical provision and regulation, he perpetually prohibited people from entering into the order and calling themselves templars. the penalty of the greater excommunication was held out as a punishment for offending. [ ] i add a complete list of the grand masters of the temple, from the time of jacques de molai to these days. (manuel des chevaliers de l'order du temple. paris. .) a.d. johannes marcus larmenius, hierosolymetanus thomas theobaldus, alexandrinus arnaldus de braque johannes claromontanus bertrandus du guesclin johannes arminiacus bernardus arminiacus johannes arminiacus johannes croyus bernardus imbaultius, vic. mag. afric. (regens.) robertus lenoncurtius galeatius de salazar philippus chabotius gaspardus de salceaco, tavannensis henricus de montmorenciaco carolus valesius jacobus ruxellius de granceio jacobus henricus de duroforti, dux de duras philippus, dux de aurelianensis ludovicus-augustus borbonius, dux de maine ludovicus-henricus borbonius, condæus ludovicus-franciscus borbonius, conty ludovicus-henricus timoleo de cossé brissac claudius mathæus radix de chevillon, vic. mag. europ. (regens.) bernardus-raymundus fabré palaprat [ ] "i would fain know," quoth sancho, "why the spaniards call upon that same st. james, the destroyer of the moors: just when they are going to give battle, they cry, st. jago and close spain. pray is spain open, that it wants to be closed up? what do you make of that ceremony?"--"thou art a very simple fellow, sancho," answered don quixote. "thou must know, that heaven gave to spain this mighty champion of the red cross, for its patron and protector, especially in the desperate engagements which the spaniards had with the moors; and therefore they invoke him, in all their martial encounters, as their protector; and many times he has been personally seen cutting and slaying, overthrowing, trampling, and destroying the moorish squadrons; of which i could give thee many examples deduced from authentic spanish histories." don quixote, part ii. c. . [ ] the words are these:--y asi mesmo hago voto, detener, voto defender, y guardar en publico, y en secreto, que la vergen maria madre de dios, y senora nuestra, fue concebida sin mancha de peccato original. [ ] favyne. theat. d'honneur, l. . c. . carode torres, hist. de las ordines militares, l. . mariana, l. . c. . [ ] mennenius, delic. equest. p. , &c. marquez tesoro milit. de cavale., p. . favyn, theat. de l'honneur, lib. . [ ] mennen. delic. equest. p. , &c. miræus, and fr. caro de torres, in locis. [ ] without rule. [ ] chaucer's prologue to the canterbury tales. [ ] reman, hist. gen. de la ordere de la mercie, passim. mennen. del. eq. p. . [ ] marquez, tesoro milit. , &c. [ ] caligula. d. . in bib. cott. (cited in anstis, register of the most noble order of the garter, vol. i. p. .) "que le roy ne povoit avec son honneur bailler aide et assistence a icelluy son bon frere et cousin a l'encontre du roy de naples, qui estoit son confrere et allye, veu et considere qu'il avoit prins et receu l'ordre de la jarretiere. et si le roi autrement faisoit ce seroit contrevenir au serment, qu'il a fait par les statuz du dit ordre," &c. [ ] this assertion may be supported by some lines in a poem which chaucer addressed to the lords and knights of the garter. he says to them, "do forth, do forth, continue your succour, hold up christ's banner, let it not fall." and again: "ye lordis eke, shining in noble fame, to which appropred is the maintenance of christ 'is cause; in honour of his name, shove on, and put his foes to utterance." [ ] ashmole on the garter, c. iv. s. . [ ] this rule did not escape cervantes. "if i do not complain of the pain," says don quixote, after the disastrous chance of the windmills, "it is because a knight-errant must never complain of his wounds, though his bowels were dropping out through them."--"then i have no more to say," quoth sancho; "and yet, heaven knows my heart, i should be glad to hear your worship hone a little now and then when something ails you; for my part, i shall not fail to bemoan myself when i suffer the smallest pain, unless, indeed, it can be proved, that the rule of not complaining extends to the squires as well as knights." don quixote, part i. book . c. . [ ] favyn, lib. vi. mariana, lib. xvi. c. . [ ] favyn, lib. iii. c. . [ ] giraldus says, that the leg-bone of arthur was three fingers longer than that of the tallest man present at the opening. selden, in his illustrations of drayton, gives a very interesting account of the discovery of great arthur's tomb. "henry ii., in his expedition towards ireland, was entertained by the way, in wales, with bardish songs, wherein he heard it affirmed, that in glastonbury (made almost an isle by the river's embracements) arthur was buried betwixt two pillars; he gave commandment to henry of blois, then abbot, to make search for the corpse; which was found in a wooden coffin some sixteen foote deepe; but, after they had digged nine foot, they found a stone, on whose lower side was fixt a leaden cross with his name inscribed, and the letter-side of it turned to the stone. he was then honored with a sumptuous monument; and, afterwards, the skulls of him and his wife guinever were taken out (to remain as separate reliques and spectacles) by edward longshanks and eleanor. the bards sang, that, after the battle of camlan, in cornwall, where traitorous mordred was slain, and arthur wounded, morgan le fay conveyed the body hither to cure it; which done, arthur is to return (yet expected) to the rule of his country." [ ] at the high feast, evermore, there should be fulfilled the hole number of an hundred and fifty, for then was the round table fully accomplished. morte d'arthur, lib. vii. c. . [ ] the general objects of the knights of the round table are exceedingly well stated in the following fine passage of genuine, expressive old english:--"then king arthur stablished all his knights, and to them that were of lands not rich he gave them lands, and charged them never to do outrageouste, nor murder, and always to flee treason. also by no means to be cruel, but to give mercy unto him that asketh mercy, upon pain of forfeiture of their worship and lordships to king arthur, for evermore; and always to do ladies, damsels, and gentlewomen, succour, upon pain of death. also, that no man take no battles in a wrongful quarrel for no law, nor for no world's goods. unto this were all the knights sworn of the table round, both old and young. and every year were they sworn at the high feast of pentecost." morte d'arthur, lib. iv. c. last. [ ] morte d'arthur, lib. ult. cap. ult. [ ] ashmole, p. . [ ] pp. . . . ante. [ ] the exact degree of this influence it is impossible to ascertain now. the author of the romance of ivanhoe appears to deny it altogether; and while he represents the normans as perfectly chivalric, he describes, for the sake of contrast, the anglo-saxons as totally unadorned with the graces of knighthood. this is a sacrifice of historic truth to dramatic effect, and materially detracts from the merit of ivanhoe as a faithful picture of ancient manners. [ ] glaber rod. c. . [ ] snorre. malmsbury, p. . [ ] ingulf, p. . order. vit. p. . , &c. malmsbury, passim. dudo, p. . [ ] magna charta, cl. xiv. [ ] lord lyttleton gives no higher date to this compulsory knighthood than the reign of henry iii. but it surely must have existed earlier, as it seems the natural consequence of the change of constitution, effected by william i., by his uniting chivalry to feudalism. [ ] wace tells us that william rufus never could hear a knight of prowess spoken of without endeavouring to engage his services. "li reis ros fu de grant noblesce proz, et de mult grant largesce. n'oist de chevalier parler, qui de proesse oist loer, qui en son breif escrit ne fust, et qui par an del soen n'eust." [ ] h. huntingdon, p. . order. vit. , &c. [ ] stephan. descrip. lond. p. . [ ] malmsbury, p. . [ ] vinesauf, p. . [ ] hoveden, p. . this principle of chivalric pride did not escape the good-humoured ridicule of cervantes. "as for myself," answered the bruised don quixote, after his battle with the yanguesian carriers, "i must own i cannot set a term to the days of our recovery; but it is i who am the fatal cause of all this mischief; for i ought not to have drawn my sword upon a company of fellows, upon whom the honor of knighthood was never conferred; and i do not doubt, but that the lord of hosts suffered this punishment to befall me for thus transgressing the laws of chivalry. therefore, friend sancho, observe what i am going to tell thee, for it is a thing that highly concerns the welfare of us both: it is, that, for the future, whenever thou perceivest us to be any ways abused by such inferior fellows, thou art not to expect i should offer to draw my sword against them, for i will not do it in the least; no, do thou then draw, and chastise them as thou thinkest fit; but if any knights come to take their parts, then will i be sure to step between thee and danger, and assault them with the utmost vigour and intrepidity." don quixote, part i. book . c. . [ ] hoveden, p. . [ ] william of newbridge, lib. v. c. . [ ] m. of westminster, p. . [ ] walsingham, p. . [ ] matthew of westminster, p. . hemingford, p. . [ ] walsingham, p. . leland's collectanea, p. . [ ] he sent the head up to london, adorned in derision with a silver crown, that it might be exhibited to the populace in cheapside, and fixed upon the tower. knyghton, p. . mr. sharon turner (history of england, vol. ii. p. .) judiciously contrasts the conduct of edward with the reprimand of william the conqueror, to the knight who had wounded the dead body of harold. [ ] matthew of westminster, p. . [ ] the chamberlain of scotland was directed by edward i., a. d. , to fit up one of the turrets of the castle of berwick-upon-tweed, and therein to build a strong cage of lattice-work, constructed with stout posts and bars, and well strengthened with iron. the countess was prohibited from speaking with any person, scotch or english, except the keeper of the castle and a woman or two of the town of berwick, appointed by him to deliver her food. the sister of robert bruce was prisoner at the same time, and treated in the same manner. lord hailes's observation on this passage is amusing. "to those who have no notion of any cage but one for a parrot or a squirrel, hung out at a window, i despair of rendering this mandate intelligible." [ ] matthew of westminster, p. , &c. trevet, p. . [ ] this was the good lord james of douglas, of whom see p. ante. [ ] many. [ ] displayed. [ ] many. [ ] battalions. [ ] alarmed. [ ] gleamed. [ ] flame of fire. [ ] flowing. [ ] waving. [ ] sir walter scott has made king edward the author of this unknightly conduct "'knows't thou,' he said, 'de argentine, yon knight who marshals thus their line?'-- 'the tokens on his helmet tell the bruce my liege: i know him well.'-- 'and shall the audacious traitor brave the presence where our banners wave?'-- 'so please my liege,' said argentine, 'were he but hors'd on steed like mine, to give him fair and knightly chance, i would adventure forth my lance.'-- 'in battle-day,' the king replied, 'nice tourney rules are set aside. --still must the rebel dare our wrath? set on--sweep him from our path.' and at king edward's signal, soon dash'd from the ranks sir henry boune." the lord of the isles, canto vi. st. . [ ] companions. [ ] haste. [ ] without shrinking. [ ] haste. [ ] spurred. [ ] line. [ ] moan. [ ] heavy clash. [ ] broken. [ ] flat. [ ] "for the king had said him rudely, that a rose off his chaplet has fallen; for quhar[l] he was set to kep the way these men were past." barbour, vol. ii p. - . [l] where. [ ] mon. malms., p. , &c. moor, p. . fordun, vol. xii. p. . scala chronica, p. . dalrymple, vol. ii. p. , &c. [ ] trokelowe in hearne, p. . moor in camden, angl. norm. p. . generously made available by the internet archive.) the history of chivalry. by g. p. r. james, esq., author of "de l'orme," "darnley," "richelieu," etc. new york: harper & brothers, publishers, cliff street. preface. in writing the pages which follow this preface, i have had to encounter the difficulty of compressing very extensive matter into an extremely limited space. as the subject was, in my eyes, a very interesting one, and every particular connected with it had often been food for thought and object of entertainment to myself, the task of curtailing was the more ungrateful: nor should i have undertaken it, had i not been convinced by my publisher that one volume would be as much as the public in general would be inclined to read. i wished to write upon chivalry and the crusades, because i fancied that in the hypotheses of many other authors i had discovered various errors and misstatements, which gave a false impression of both the institution and the enterprise; and i have endeavoured, in putting forth my own view of the subject, to advance no one point, however minute, which cannot be justified by indisputable authority. a favourite theory is too often, in historical writing like the bed of the ancient greek; and facts are either stretched or lopped away to agree with it: but to ensure as much accuracy as possible, i have taken pains to mark in the margin of the pages the different writers on whose assertions my own statements are founded, with a corresponding figure, by which each particular may be referred to its authority. in regard to these authors themselves, it seems necessary here to give some information, that those persons who are inclined to inquire beyond the mere surface may know what credit is to be attached to each. on the first crusade we have a whole host of contemporary writers, many of whom were present at the events they describe. besides these are several others, who, though they wrote at an after-period, took infinite pains to render their account as correct as possible. the authors i have principally cited for all the earlier facts of the holy war are, william of tyre, albert of aix, fulcher of chartres, raimond of agiles, guibert of nogent, radulph of caën, and robert, surnamed the monk. william of tyre is, beyond all doubt, the most illustrious of the many historians who have written on the crusades. born in palestine, and though both educated for the church and raised step by step to its highest dignities, yet mingling continually in the political changes of the holy land--the preceptor of one of its kings--frequently employed in embassies to europe, and ultimately archbishop of tyre and chancellor of the kingdom of jerusalem, william possessed the most extensive means of gathering materials for the great work he has left to posterity. he brought to his task, also, a powerful mind, as well as considerable discrimination; and was infinitely superior in education and every intellectual quality to the general chroniclers of his age. he was not born, however, at the time of the first crusade; and consequently, where he speaks of the events of that enterprise, we may look upon him as an historian, clear, talented, elegant, and not extremely credulous; but we must not expect to find the vivid identity of contemporaneous writing. in regard to the history of his own days he is invaluable, and in respect to that of the times which preceded them, his work is certainly superior, as a whole, to any thing that has since been written on the subject. a much more vivid and enthusiastic picture of the first crusade is to be found in albert of aix, from whom william of tyre borrowed many of his details; but the syrian archbishop, living long after, saw the events he recounted as a whole, rejected much as false that albert embraced as true, and softened the zealous fire which the passions and feelings of the moment had lighted up in the bosom of the other. albert himself was not one of the crusaders; but living at the time, and conversing continually with those who returned from the holy land, he caught, to an extraordinary extent, the spirit of the enterprise, and has left behind him a brilliant transcript of all the passed-by dreams and long-extinguished enthusiasms of his day. thus, as a painting of manners and customs, the _chronicon hierosolymitanum_ is one of the most valuable records we possess, and the account there given of peter the hermit and _gautier sans avoir_ is in many points more full and comprehensive than any other. fulcher of chartres set out for the holy land with stephen, count of blois, one of the first crusaders. he soon after became chaplain to baldwin, the brother of godfrey de bouillon, and ended his days a canon of the holy sepulchre. his relation is useful in many respects, especially in regard to the march of the crusaders through italy--the proceedings of baldwin at edessa, and the history of jerusalem for several years after its conquest. his style, however, is tumid and circumlocutory, and his credulity equal to that of raimond d'agiles. raimond d'agiles accompanied the count of toulouse on the first crusade, in quality of chaplain. superstitious to the most lamentable degree, and as bigoted in party politics as in religion, he wrote as he lived, like a weak and ignorant man. nevertheless there is, in his account, much excellent information, detailed with simplicity; and very often, through the folly of the historian, we arrive at truths which his prejudices concealed from himself. guibert of nogent did not visit the holy land; but he lived during the first crusade, and, in common with all europe, felt deeply interested in the fate of that expedition. he examined and noted with accuracy all the anecdotes which reached europe, and painted, with great vivacity, scenes that he had not himself witnessed. in his account of the crusade many circumstances, evincing strongly the spirit of the age, are to be met with which do not appear elsewhere; and, as we have every reason to feel sure of his general accuracy, it is but fair to suppose that these are well founded. radulph, or raoul, of caën, is inflated in style, and often inexact; but he is perhaps less superstitious than any other chronicler of the crusades. by poetical exaggeration, he often renders his narrative doubtful; yet, as the biographer of tancred, he tends to elucidate much that would otherwise have remained in darkness. robert, called the monk, was present at the council of clermont, at which the first crusade was determined; and, though he did not immediately take the cross, he set out for the holy land not long after, and was present at the siege of jerusalem. he is, in general, accurate and precise; and, though not a little credulous in regard to visions, apparitions, and such imaginations of the day, he is on the whole more calm, clear, and exact than any other contemporary author. besides these writers, i have had occasion to cite several others of less authority. of these, baldric bears the highest character; and, notwithstanding the fact of his not having been present at the crusade, he is in general accurate. tudebodus is both brief and imperfect. matthew of edessa deserves little or no credit; and the part of the alexiad which refers to the first crusade is far more likely to mislead than to assist. the most important part, of the whole work, as it is published at present, consists in the notes of ducange. william of malmsbury is more useful, but still his account is merely a repetition of what we find in other sources. for all the affairs of normandy, i have consulted orderic, vital, and william of jumieges. the history of william of tyre was afterward continued by several writers, the chief of whom is an author taking the title of bernard the treasurer. a latin version of his book was published by muratori: martenne, however, has since printed a work from an old french manuscript, the identity of which with the account of bernard the treasurer has been proved by mansi. this work is one of the most interesting extant; for although it wants entirely either the power or the grace of william of tyre's composition, and is full of errors, in respect to every thing beyond the immediate limits of the holy land, yet there is a simple and interesting minuteness--an individuality of tone through the whole, where it relates to the affairs of syria, which could not have been given but by an eyewitness. even the old french in which it is written, slightly different from the exact language of france at the same period, gives it a peculiar character, and stamps it as the work of a syrian frank. another continuation of william of tyre is extant, by a suabian of the name of herold. this, however, is a much later composition, and possesses few of the qualities of the other. the cardinal de vitry also wrote an abbreviated history of the crusades, bringing it down to his own time a. d. . his work is principally to be consulted for the account it gives of the events which passed under the author's own eyes, while bishop of acre, and for a great many curious particulars concerning the manners and customs of the saracens, which are to be found in no other work. the second book of the cardinal de vitry's history has been omitted, i cannot conceive why, in the gesta dei per francos. it is, nevertheless, infinitely valuable, as showing the horrible state of the christians of palestine, and displaying those vices and weaknesses which eventually brought about the ruin of the latin kingdom. the authorities for the second crusade are lamentably few, and by their very paucity show what a change had come over the spirit of the age in the short space of fifty years. the only eyewitnesses who have written on the subject, as far as i can discover, are odo, a priest of deuil, or diagolum, in the neighbourhood of paris, and otho, bishop of freysinghen. the first of these authors followed louis vii. to the holy land as his chaplain, and his account is, more properly speaking, an epistle to the famous suger, abbot of st. denis, than a chronicle. otho of freysinghen was nearly related to the emperor conrad, whom he accompanied on his unfortunate expedition. both these authors, therefore, had the best means of obtaining information; and in the writings of each there is an air of truth and sincerity, which does much towards conviction. i have had occasion in speaking of this crusade to cite casually a number of authors, of whom it is not necessary to give any very detailed account. their works are to be found in the admirable collections of dom bouquet, duchesne, martenne, or muratori. wherever i have been obliged to quote from any of the arabian writers, i am indebted to the extracts of monsieur reinaud. in regard to the crusade of richard coeur de lion and philip augustus; for the history of the first, i have borrowed from benedict of peterborough, from hovedon, and especially from vinesauf, whose work is inestimable. these, with the other english authorities i have cited, are too well known to need comment. having some time ago written a romance, not yet published, on the history of philip augustus, i had previously studied almost all the old chroniclers who speak of that monarch. the most important treatise on his reign is the work of rigord, who was at once monk, physician, and historiographer at the court of philip. william the breton, one of the king's chaplains, continued his history in prose, from the period where rigord abandoned the task. he also wrote a bombastic poem on the reign of his patron, which, however exaggerated and absurd, is useful as an historical document, and a painting of the manners and customs of the time. on the taking of constantinople by the french, i have found no want of authorities. villehardouin, one of the principal actors in the scenes he describes, has been my chief source of information. i have also met with much in nicetas, who was present; and i have confirmed the evidence of other writers, by the chronicle in the rouchy dialect, published by monsieur buchon, and by the metrical chronicle of philippe mouskes in the same collection. i need hardly say that the works of ducange have proved invaluable in every part of my inquiry, and that his history of constantinople under its french monarchs both gave me facts and led me to authorities. joinville is the principal writer on the crusade of st. louis. he was an eyewitness, a sufferer, and a principal actor in the scenes he describes. of all old chroniclers, with the exception, perhaps, of froissart, joinville offers the most original, simple, and delightful painting of times and manners long gone by. with the notes of ducange, his work is an erudite repertory for antique manners and usages, and may be read and reread with gratification, and studied deeply with advantage. the folio edition in my own library comprises the observations, and dissertations of ducange, and the commentaries of claud menard; together with the establishments of st. louis, and a curious treatise upon the ancient law of france, by pierre de fontaines. all these works afford a great insight into the spirit of that day; and many other particulars are to be found in the _branche aux royaux lignages_, and in the sermon of robert de sainceriaux. besides the authors i have here particularized, i have had occasion to cite casually a great number of others, whose names, with some account of the works of each, may be found in the _manuel_ of brunet. vertot also has furnished us with much information concerning the knights of st. john; and dupuy, raynouard, &c. have spoken largely of the templars. i cannot close the enumeration of authors to whom i am under obligations for information or instruction without mentioning m. guizot, one of the most clearsighted and unprejudiced of all modern historians. his views of causes i have often adopted, sometimes with very slight modifications, and sometimes with none; and, in all instances to which his writings extend, i have been indebted to him for light to conduct me through the dark sanctuary of past events, to the shrine of truth, even where he has not unveiled the deity herself. i can only regret that his essays did not embrace more of the very comprehensive subject on which i was called to treat. several motives have impelled me to give this long account of my authorities; one of which motives was, that often, in reading works on history, i have myself wished that the sources from which facts were derived had been laid open to my examination; but still, my principal view in the detail was, to show the ground on which i had fixed opinions directly opposed to those of several other authors. in many cases, the aspect under which i have seen the events of the crusades has been entirely different from that under which mills has regarded them, and i felt myself called upon not to attack any position of a clever writer and a learned man, without justifying myself as completely as possible. in regard to my own work i shall say nothing, but that i have spared neither labour nor research to make it as correct as if it had appeared under a much more imposing form. in space, i have been confined; and in time, i have been hurried: but i have endeavoured to remedy the one inconvenience, by cutting off all superfluous matter; and to guard against evil consequences from the other, by redoubling my own exertions. whether i have succeeded or not the world must judge; and if it does judge with the same generous lenity which it has extended to my other productions, i shall have every reason to be both satisfied and grateful. contents. page chapter i. a definition, with remarks and evidence--an inquiry into the origin of chivalry--various opinions on the subject--reasons for doubting the great antiquity of chivalry, properly so called--the state of society which preceded it, and of that which gave it birth--its origin and early progress. chapter ii. of chivalrous customs--education--grades--services on the reception of a knight--on tournaments--jousts--combats at outrance--passages of arms--the round table--privileges of knighthood--duties of knighthood. chapter iii. the progress of chivalry in europe--exploits--that some great enterprise was necessary to give chivalry an extensive and permanent effect--that enterprise presented itself in the crusades--pilgrimage to jerusalem--haroun al raschid-- charlemagne--cruelties of the turks--pilgrimages continued-- peter the hermit--council of clermont. chapter iv. the effects of the council of clermont--state of france-- motives of the people for embracing the crusade--benefits produced--the enthusiasm general--rapid progress--the first bodies of crusaders begin their march--gautier sans avoir-- his army--their disasters--reach constantinople--peter the hermit sets out with an immense multitude--storms semlin-- defeated at nissa--his host dispersed--the remains collected--joins gautier--excesses of the multitude--the italians and germans separate from the french--the germans exterminated--the french cut to pieces--conduct of alexius. chapter v. the chivalry of europe takes the field--the leaders--godfrey of bouillon--conducts his army towards constantinople--hugh the great--leads his army through italy--embarks for durazzo--taken prisoner--liberated--robert, duke of normandy--winters in italy--arrives at constantinople-- robert, count of flanders--joins the rest--boemond of tarentum--tancred--their march--defeat the greeks--boemond does homage--tancred avoids it--the count of toulouse arrives--refuses to do homage--robert of normandy does homage. chapter vi. germ of after-misfortunes already springing up in the crusade--siege of nice--first engagement with the turks-- siege continued--the lake occupied--surrender of nice to the emissaries of alexius--discontent--march towards antioch--the army divides into two bodies--battle of doryloeum--dreadful march through phrygia--adventures of baldwin and tancred-- arrival at antioch--the city invested chapter vii. the host of the crusade invests antioch--description of that city--difficulties and errors of the crusaders-- improvidence--famine--spies--desertions--embassy from the calif of egypt--succours from the genoese and pisans-- battle--feats of the christian knights--boemond keeps up a communication within the town--the town betrayed to the christians--massacres--arrival of an army from persia--the christians besieged in antioch--famine--desertions--visions-- renewed enthusiasm--diminished forces of the christians-- battle of antioch--the crusaders victorious--spoils--disputes with the count of toulouse--the chiefs determine to repose at antioch--ambassadors sent to alexius--fate of their embassy chapter viii. pestilence in antioch--death of the bishop of puy--the chiefs separate--siege of marrah--cannibalism--disputes between the count of toulouse and boemond--the count marches towards jerusalem--siege of archas--godfrey of bouillon marches-- siege of ghibel--treachery of raimond--fraud of the holy lance investigated--ordeal of fire--decisive conduct of the crusaders towards the deputies of alexius, and the calif of egypt--conduct of the crusaders towards the emir of tripoli-- first sight of jerusalem--siege and taking of the city-- fanatical massacres chapter ix. election of a king--godfrey of bouillon--sketch of the history of jerusalem--death of the chief crusaders--new bodies of crusaders set out from europe--their destruction in asia minor--armed pilgrimages--the northern armaments--the venetians--the genoese and pisans--anecdotes of the crusaders--battle of the children at antioch--the thafurs-- baldwin's humanity well repaid--superstitions--arms of the crusaders--of the turks--hospitallers--templars chapter x. consequences of the loss of edessa--the state of france unfavourable to a new crusade--view of the progress of society--causes and character of the second crusade--st. bernard--the emperor of germany takes the cross, and sets out--louis vii. follows--conduct of the germans in greece-- their destruction in cappadocia--treachery of manuel comnenus--louis vii. arrives at constantinople--passes into asia--defeats the turks on the meander--his army cut to pieces--proceeds by sea to antioch--fate of his remaining troops--intrigues at antioch--louis goes on to jerusalem-- siege of damascus--disgraceful failure--conrad returns to europe--conduct of suger, abbot of st. denis--termination of the second crusade chapter xi. progress of society--the rise of poetry in modern europe-- troubadours--trouveres--various poetical compositions--effect of poetry upon chivalry--effect of the crusades on society-- state of palestine after the second crusade--cession of edessa to the emperor manuel comnenus--edessa completely subjected by the turks--ascalon taken by the christians-- state of egypt under the last califs of the fatimite race-- the latins and the atabecks both design the conquest of egypt--struggles for that country--rise of saladin--disputes among the latins concerning the succession of the crown--guy of lusignan crowned--saladin invades palestine--battle of tiberias--fall of jerusalem--conquest of all palestine--some inquiry into the causes of the latin overthrow chapter xii. the news of the fate of palestine reaches europe--the archbishop of tyre comes to seek for aid--assistance granted by william the good, of sicily--death of urban, from grief at the loss of jerusalem--gregory viii. promotes a crusade-- expedition of frederic, emperor of germany--his successes-- his death--state of europe--crusade promoted by the troubadours--philip augustus and henry ii. take the cross-- laws enacted--saladin's tenth--war renewed--death of henry ii.--accession of richard coeur de lion--the crusade-- philip's march--richard's march--affairs of sicily--quarrels between the monarchs--philip goes to acre--richard subdues cyprus--arrives at acre--siege and taking of acre--fresh disputes--philip augustus returns to europe--richard marches on--battle of azotus--heroism of richard--unsteady councils-- the enterprise abandoned chapter xiii. death of saladin--disunion among his successors--celestine iii. preaches a new crusade--henry of germany takes the cross--abandons his purpose--crusaders proceed without him-- saif eddin takes the field, and captures jaffa--the crusaders are reinforced--defeat saif eddin--lay siege to thoron-- seized with panic, and retreat--disperse--death of henry of champagne, king of jerusalem--his widow marries almeric, king of cyprus--truce--death of almeric; and isabella mary, heiress of jerusalem, wedded to john of brienne--affairs of europe--innocent iii. and foulque, of neuilly, promote a crusade--the barons of france take the cross--proceed to venice--their difficulties--turn to the siege of zara--a change of purpose--proceed to constantinople--siege and taking of that city--subsequent proceedings--a revolution in constantinople, alexius deposed by murzuphlis--second siege and capture of the greek capital--flight of murzuphlis-- plunder and outrage--baldwin, count of flanders, elected emperor chapter xiv. divisions among the moslems--among the christians--crusade of children--innocent iii. declares he will lead a new crusade to syria--the king of hungary takes the cross--arrives in syria--successes of the pilgrims--abandon the siege of mount thabor--the king of hungary returns to europe--the duke of austria continues the war--siege of damietta--reinforcements arrive under a legate--famine in damietta--the moslems offer to yield palestine--the legate's pride--he refuses--taking of damietta--the army advances towards cairo--overflowing of the nile--the army ruined--the legate sues for peace--generous conduct of the sultaun--marriage of the heiress of jerusalem with frederic, emperor of germany--his disputes with the pope--his treaties with the saracens--he recovers jerusalem-- he quits the holy land--disputes in palestine--the templars defeated and slaughtered--gregory ix.--crusade of the king of navarre ineffectual--crusade of richard, earl of cornwall-- jerusalem recovered--the corasmins--their barbarity--they take jerusalem--defeat the christians with terrible slaughter--are exterminated by the syrians--crusade of st. louis--his character--arrives in the holy land--takes damietta--battle of massoura--pestilence in the army--the king taken--ransomed--returns to europe--second crusade of st. louis--takes carthage--his death--crusade of prince edward--he defeats the saracens--wounded by an assassin-- returns to europe--successes of the turks--last siege and fall of acre--palestine lost chapter xv. fate of the orders of the temple and st. john--the templars abandon all hopes of recovering jerusalem--mingle in european politics--offend philip the fair--are persecuted--charges against them--the order destroyed--the knights of st. john pursue the purpose of defending christendom--settle in rhodes--siege of rhodes--gallant defence--the island taken-- the knights remove to malta--siege of malta--la valette-- defence of st. elmo--gallantry of the garrison--the whole turkish army attempt to storm the castle--the attack repelled--arrival of succour--the siege raised--conclusion notes history of chivalry and the crusades chapter i. _a definition, with remarks and evidence--an inquiry into the origin of chivalry--various opinions on the subject--reasons for doubting the great antiquity of chivalry properly so called--the state of society which preceded it, and of that which gave it birth--its origin and early progress._ the first principles of whatever subject we may attempt to trace in history are ever obscure, but few are so entirely buried in darkness as the origin of chivalry. this seems the more extraordinary, as we find the institution itself suddenly accompanied by regular and established forms, to which we can assign no precise date, and which appear to have been generally acknowledged before they were reduced to any written code. although definitions are dangerous things--inasmuch as the ambiguity of language rarely permits of perfect accuracy, except in matters of abstract science--it is better, as far as possible, on all subjects of discussion, to venture some clear and decided position, that the subsequent reasoning may be fixed upon a distinct and unchanging basis. if the position itself be wrong, it may be the more speedily proved so from the very circumstance of standing forth singly, uninvolved in a labyrinth of other matter; and if it be right, the arguments that follow may always be more easily traced, and afford greater satisfaction by being deduced from a principle already determined. these considerations lead me to offer a definition of chivalry, together with some remarks calculated to guard that definition from the consequences of misapprehension on the part of others, or of obscurity on my own. when i speak of chivalry i mean a military institution, prompted by enthusiastic benevolence, sanctioned by religion, and combined with religious ceremonies, the purpose of which was to protect the weak from the oppression of the powerful, and to defend the right cause against the wrong. its military character requires no proof; but various mistaken opinions, which i shall notice hereafter, render it necessary to establish the fact, that religious ceremonies of some kind were always combined with the institutions of chivalry. all those written laws and regulations affecting knighthood,[ ] which were composed subsequent to its having taken an acknowledged form, prescribed, in the strictest manner, various points of religious ceremonial, which the aspirant to chivalry was required to perform before he could be admitted into that high order. what preceded the regular recognition of chivalry as an institution is entirely traditional; yet in all the old romances, fabliaux, sirventes, ballads, &c. not one instance is to be found in which a squire becomes a knight, without some reference to his religious faith. if he be dubbed in the battle-field, he swears to defend the right, and maintain all the statutes of the noble order of chivalry, upon the _cross_ of his sword; he calls _heaven_ to witness his vow, and the _saints_ to help him in its execution. even in one of the most absurd fables[ ] of the chivalrous ages, wherein we find saladin himself receiving the order of chivalry from the hands of the count de tabarie, that nobleman causes the infidel sultan to be shaved, and to bathe as a symbol of baptism, and then to rest himself upon a perfumed bed, as a type of the repose and joy of paradise. these tales are all fictitious, it is true; and few of them date earlier than the end of the twelfth century: but at the same time, as they universally ascribe religious ceremonies to the order of knighthood, we have every reason to suppose that such ceremonies formed a fundamental part of the institution. before proceeding to inquire into the origin of chivalry, i must be permitted to make one more observation in regard to my definition; namely, that there was a great and individual character in that order, which no definition can fully convey. i mean the spirit of chivalry; for, indeed, it was more a spirit than an institution; and the outward forms with which it soon became invested, were only, in truth, the signs by which it was conventionally agreed that those persons who had proved in their initiate they possessed the spirit, should be distinguished from the other classes of society. the ceremonial was merely the public declaration, that he on whom the order was conferred was worthy to exercise the powers with which it invested him; but still, _the spirit was the chivalry_. in seeking the source of this order through the dark mazes of the history of modern europe, it appears to me that many writers have mistaken the track; and, by looking for the mere external signs, have been led into ages infinitely prior to the spirit of chivalry. some have supposed that the institution descended to more modern times, from the equestrian order of the ancient romans; but the absence of all but mere nominal resemblance between the two, has long placed this theory in the dusty catalogue of historical dreams. others again have imagined that the franks, and the rest of the german nations, who, on the fall of the roman empire, subdued and divided gaul, brought with them the seeds of chivalry, which spontaneously grew up into that extraordinary plant which has flourished but once in the annals of the world. this opinion they support by citing the customs of the german tribes[ ] who, not only at particular periods invested their youth with the shield and the javelin, but also (especially towards the period of the conquest of gaul) chose from the bravest of the tribe a number of warriors, to be the companions and guards of the chief. these were termed _leudes_, and we find them often mentioned under the whole of the first race of french kings. they served on horseback, while the greater part of each german nation fought on foot only; and they were bound to the chief by an oath of fidelity.[ ] the reception of an aspirant into the body of _leudes_ was also marked with various ceremonies; but in this, if we examine correctly, we find neither the spirit nor the forms of chivalry. the oath of the frank was one of service to his prince; that of the knight, to his god and to society: the one promised to defend his leader; the other to protect the oppressed, and to uphold the right. the _leudes_ were in fact the nobility of the german tribes, though that nobility was not hereditary; but they were in no respect similar to the knights of an after-age, except in the circumstance of fighting on horseback. a third opinion supposes the origin of chivalry to be found among the ancient warlike tribes of northmen, or normans, who, towards the ninth century, invaded in large bodies the southern parts of europe, and established themselves principally in france; and certainly, both in their traditions, and even in their actions, as recorded by abbon, an eyewitness to their deeds in the siege of paris, there is to be found an energetic and romantic spirit, not unlike that which animated chivalry at the rudest period of its existence. still, there is much wanting. the great object of chivalry, the defence of the weak, was absent, as well as every form and ceremony. the object of the northman's courage was plunder; and all that he had in common with the knight was valour, contempt of death, and a touch of savage generosity, that threw but a feint light over his dark and stormy barbarities. many persons again have attributed the foundation of all the chivalrous institutions of europe to the bright and magnificent reign of charlemagne; and as this opinion has met with much support, among even the learned, it is worth while more particularly to inquire upon what basis it is raised. of the reign of charlemagne we have not so many authentic accounts as we have romances, founded upon the fame of that illustrious monarch. towards the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth centuries, when chivalry was in its imaginative youth, a thousand tales of wild adventure were produced, in which charlemagne and his warriors were represented with all the qualities and attributes of those knights, whose virtues and courage had by that time wrought deeply on the heart and fancy of the people. we should be as much justified, however, in believing that virgil was a celebrated necromancer, or that hercules was a _preux chevalier_--characters which have been assigned to them by the very same class of fables--as in giving any credit to the distorted representations that those romances afford of the days of charlemagne. in regard to the tales of king arthur, i am perfectly inclined to use the energetic words of menestrier, who, in speaking of the famous knights of the round table, says, without hesitation, "all that they tell of king arthur and that fictitious chivalry of which they represent him as the author, is nothing but a lie;"[ ] for, though beyond all doubt the romances of chivalry afford a great insight into the manners of the times wherein they were written, they are, nevertheless, quite worthless as authority concerning the ages which they pretend to display, and which had preceded their composition by nearly three centuries. after rejecting the evidences of such tales, we find nothing in the authentic records of charlemagne which gives the slightest reason to suppose that chivalry was known, even in its most infant state, during his reign. though his great system of warfare had that in common with chivalry which all warfare must have--feats of daring courage, heroic valour, bursts of feeling and magnanimity, and as much of the sublime as mighty ambition, guided by mighty genius, and elevated by a noble object can achieve--yet the government of charlemagne was, in fact, any thing but a chivalrous government. too powerful a hand held the reins of state for chivalry either to have been necessary or permitted; and in reading the annals of eginhard, his life of charlemagne, or the account, given by the monk of st. gall, we find a completely different character from that which is visible in every page of the history of the knightly ages. we find, indeed, that charlemagne, according to the immemorial custom of his german[ ] ancestors, solemnly invested his son lewis with the arms of a man. a thousand years before, in the forests of the north, his predecessors had done the same: and charlemagne, one of whose great objects ever was, to preserve both the habits and the language of the original country[ ] free from amalgamation with those of the conquered nations, not only set the example of publicly receiving his son into the ranks of manhood and warfare, but strictly enjoined that the same should be done by his various governors in the provinces. but this custom of the franks, as i have before attempted to show, had no earthly relation to knighthood. were nothing else a proof that chivalry was perfectly unknown in the days of charlemagne, it would be sufficient that the famous capitularies of that monarch, which regulate every thing that can fall under the eye of the law, even to the details of private life, make no mention whatever of an institution which afterward exercised so great an influence on the fate of europe. nor can we trace in the annals of the surrounding countries, a mark of chivalry having been known at that period to any other nation more than to the franks. alfred, it is true, invested athelstan with a purple garment and a sword; but the saxons were from germany as well as the franks, and no reason exists for supposing that this ceremony was in any degree connected with the institutions of chivalry. there have been persons, indeed, who supposed that pharaoh conferred knighthood upon joseph, when he bestowed upon him the ring and the golden chain, and probably the egyptian king had fully as much knowledge of the institution of chivalry as either charlemagne or alfred. of the annals that follow the period of charlemagne, those of nithard, hincmar, and thegan, together with those called the annals of st. bertinus and of metz, are the most worthy of credit; and in these, though we often meet with the word _miles_, which was afterward the name bestowed upon a knight, it is used simply in the signification of a soldier, or one of the military race.[ ] no mention whatever is made of any thing that can fairly be looked upon as chivalrous, either in feeling or institution. all is a series of dark conflicts and bloodthirsty contentions, among which the sprouts of the feudal system, yet young and unformed, are seen springing up from seeds sown long before. in the picture of those times, a double darkness seemed to cover the earth, which, a chaos of unruly passions, showed no one general institution for the benefit of mankind except the christian religion: and that, overwhelmed by foul superstitions and guarded chiefly by barbarous, ignorant, selfish, and disorderly priests, lay like a treasure hidden by a miser, and watched by men that had not soul to use it. this was no age of knighthood. up to this period, then, i fully believe that chivalry did not exist; and having attempted to show upon some better ground than mere assertion, that the theories which assign to it an earlier origin are wrong, i will now give my own view of its rise, which possibly may be as erroneous as the rest. charlemagne expired like a meteor that, having broken suddenly upon the night of ages, and blazed brilliantly over a whole world for a brief space, fell and left all in darkness, even deeper than before. his dominions divided into petty kingdoms--his successors waging long and inveterate wars against each other--the nations he had subdued shaking off the yoke--the enemies he had conquered avenging themselves upon his descendants--the laws he had established forgotten or annulled--the union he had cemented scattered to the wind--in a lamentably brief space of time, the bright order which his great mind had established throughout europe was dissolved. each individual, who, either by corporeal strength, advantageous position, wealth, or habit, could influence the minds of others, snatched at that portion of the divided empire which lay nearest to his means, and claimed that power as a gift which had only been intrusted as a loan. the custom of holding lands by military service had come down to the french from their german ancestors, and the dukes, the marquises, the counts, as well as a whole herd of inferior officers, who in former days had led the armies, or commanded in the provinces as servants of the crown, now arrogated to themselves hereditary rights in the charges to which they had been intrusted; and, in their own behalf, claimed the feudal service of those soldiers to whom lands had been granted, instead of preserving their allegiance for their sovereigns. the weak monarchs, who still retained the name of kings, engaged in ruinous wars with each other and in vain attempts to repel the invasions of the northmen or normans, first tolerated these encroachments, because they had at the time no power of resisting, and then gradually recognised them as rights, upon the condition that those who committed them should assist the sovereign in his wars, and acknowledge his title in preference to that of any of his competitors. thus gradually rose the feudal system from the wrecks of charlemagne's great empire. but still all was unstable and unconfirmed; the limits of the different powers in the state undecided and variable, till the war of paris, the incompetence of the successors of charlemagne, and the elevation of hugues capet, the count of paris, to the throne, showed the barons the power they had acquired, and crowned the feudal compact by the creation of a king whose title was found in it alone. great confusion, however, existed still. the authority of the sovereign extended but a few leagues round the city of paris; the normans ravaged the coast; the powerful and the wicked had no restraint imposed upon their actions, and the weak were every where oppressed and wronged. bands of plunderers raged through the whole of france and germany, property was held by the sword, cruelty and injustice reigned alone, and the whole history of that age offers a complete medley of massacre, bloodshed, torture, crime, and misery. personal courage, however, had been raised to the highest pitch by the very absence of every thing like security. valour was a necessity and a habit, and eudes and his companions, who defended paris against the normans, would have come down as demigods to the present day, if they had but possessed a homer to sing their deeds. the very normans themselves, with their wild enthusiasm and supernatural daring, their poetical traditions, and magnificent superstitions, seemed to bring a new and extraordinary light into the very lands they desolated. the plains teemed with murder, and the rivers flowed with blood; but the world was weary of barbarity, and a reacting spirit of order was born from the very bosom of confusion. it was then that some poor nobles, probably suffering themselves from the oppression of more powerful lords, but at the same time touched with sincere compassion for the wretchedness they saw around them, first leagued together with the holy purpose of redressing wrongs and defending the weak.[ ] they gave their hands to one another in pledge that they would not turn back from the work, and called upon st. george to bless their righteous cause. the church readily yielded its sanction to an institution so noble, aided it with prayers, and sanctified it with a solemn blessing. religious enthusiasm became added to noble indignation and charitable zeal; and the spirit of chivalry, like the flame struck forth from the hard steel and the dull flint, was kindled into sudden light by the savage cruelty of the nobles, and the heavy barbarity of the people. the spirit spread rapidly, and the adoration of the populace, who almost deified their heroic defenders, gave both fresh vigour and purity to the design. every moral virtue became a part of knightly honour, and the men whose hands were ever ready to draw the sword in defence of innocence--who in their own conduct set the most brilliant example--whose sole object was the establishment of right, and over whom no earthly fear or interested consideration held sway, were readily recognised as judges, and appealed to as arbitrators. public opinion raised them above all other men, even above kings themselves; so much so, indeed, that we find continually repeated, in the writings of the chivalrous ages, such passages as the following:-- chevaliers sont de moult grant pris, ils ont de tous gens le pris, et le los et le seignorie. thus gradually chivalry became no longer a simple engagement between a few generous and valiant men, but took the form of a great and powerful institution; and as each knight had the right of creating others without limit, it became necessary that the new class thus established in society should be distinguished by particular signs and symbols, which would guard it against the intrusion of unworthy or disgraceful members. the time at which fixed regulations first distinguished chivalry from every other order in the state cannot be precisely determined; certainly it was not before the eleventh century. then, however, it is probable, that this was done more from a general sense of its necessity, and by slow and irregular degrees, than by any one law or agreement. every thing in that age was confusion, and though the spirit of chivalry had for its great object the restoration of order, it is not likely that its own primary efforts should be very regular, amid a chaos of contending interests and unbridled passions, which rendered general communication or association difficult, if not impossible. each knight, in admitting another to the noble order of which he himself was a member, probably added some little formality, as he thought fit, till the mass of these customs collected by tradition formed the body of their ceremonial law. the first point required of the aspirants to chivalry, in its earliest state, was certainly a solemn vow, "_to speak the truth, to succour the helpless and oppressed, and never to turn back from an enemy_."[ ] this vow, combined with the solemn appeal to heaven in witness thereof, was the foundation of chivalry; but, at the same time, we find, that in all ages, only one class of people was eligible to furnish members to the institution; namely, the military class, or, in other words, the northern conquerors of the soil; for, with very few exceptions, the original inhabitants of europe had been reduced to the condition of serfs, or slaves of the glebe. some few, indeed, had held out till they forced the invaders to permit their being incorporated with themselves upon more equal terms; but this was very rare, and the _race rustique_, as it was called, though it furnished archers to the armies, was kept distinct from the military race by many a galling difference. this lower race, then, could not be invested with the honours of chivalry; and one of the first provisions we find in any written form, respecting the institution of knighthood, is designed to mark this more particularly. _ad militarem honorem nullus accedat qui non sit de genere militum_, says a decree of the twelfth century. we may therefore conclude that this was the first requisite, and the vow the first formality of chivalry. it is more than probable that the ceremony next in historical order, attached to the admission of an aspirant into the ranks of knighthood, was that of publicly arming him with the weapons he was to use, in pursuance of his vow. this is likely, from many circumstances. in the first place, to arm him for the cause was naturally the next preceding to his vowing himself to that cause, and also by his receiving those arms in the face of the public, the new defender that the people had gained became known to the people, and thus no one would falsely pretend to the character of a knight without risking detection. in the second place, as i have before said, the arming of the german youth had been from the earliest ages, like the delivery of the virile robe to young romans, an occasion of public solemnity; and it was therefore natural that it should be soon incorporated with the ceremonial of the new military institution which now took the lead of all others. the church of course added her part to secure reverence for an order which was so well calculated to promote all the objects of religion, and vigils, fasts, and prayers speedily became a part of the initiation to knighthood. power is ever followed by splendour and display; but to use the energetic words of a learned and talented writer of the present day,[ ] the knights for long after the first institution of chivalry, were "simple in their clothing, austere in their morals, humble after victory, firm under misfortune." in france, i believe, the order first took its rise; and, probably, the disgust felt by some pure minds at the gross and barbarous licentiousness of the times, infused that virtuous severity into the institutions of chivalry which was in itself a glory. if we may give the least credit to the picture of the immorality and luxury of the french, as drawn by abbon in his poem on the siege of paris, no words will be found sufficient to express our admiration for the men who first undertook to combat not only the tyranny but the vices of their age; who singly went forth to war against crime, injustice, and cruelty who defied the whole world in defence of innocence, virtue, and truth; who stemmed the torrent of barbarity and evil; and who, from the wrecks of ages, and the ruins of empires, drew out a thousand jewels to glitter in the star that shone upon the breast of knighthood. for long the christian religion had struggled alone, a great but shaded light through the storms of dark and barbarous ages. till chivalry arose there was nothing to uphold it; but from that moment, with a champion in the field to lead forth the knowledge that had been imprisoned in the cloister, the influence of religion began to spread and increase. though worldly men thereunto attached the aggrandizement of their own temporal power, and knaves and villains made it the means of their avarice, or the cloak of their vice, still the influence of the divine truth itself gradually wrought upon the hearts of men, purifying, calming, refining, till the world grew wise enough to separate the perfection of the gospel from the weakness of its teachers, and to reject the _errors_ while they restrained the _power_ of the roman church. in the mean time chivalry stood forth the most glorious institution that man himself ever devised. in its youth and in its simplicity, it appeared grand and beautiful, both from its own intrinsic excellence, and from its contrast with the things around. in its after-years it acquired pomp and luxury; and to pomp and luxury naturally succeeded decay and death; but still the legacy that it left behind it to posterity was a treasure of noble feelings and generous principles. there cannot be a doubt that chivalry, more than any other institution (except religion) aided to work out the civilization of europe. it first taught devotion and reverence to those weak, fair beings, who but in their beauty and their gentleness have no defence. it first raised love above the passions of the brute, and by dignifying woman, made woman worthy of love. it gave purity to enthusiasm, crushed barbarous selfishness, taught the heart to expand like a flower to the sunshine, beautified glory with generosity, and smoothed even the rugged brow of war. for the mind, as far as knowledge went, chivalry itself did little; but by its influence it did much. for the heart it did every thing; and there is scarcely a noble feeling or a bright aspiration that we find among ourselves, or trace in the history of modern europe, that is not in some degree referable to that great and noble principle, which has no name but the _spirit of chivalry_. chapter ii. _of chivalrous customs--education--grades--services on the reception of a knight--on tournaments--jousts--combats at outrance--passages of arms--the round table--privileges of knighthood--duties of knighthood._ although the customs which i am about to detail at once grew gradually up under the various circumstances of different centuries, and were for the most part unknown to the infancy of chivalry, i think it right to notice here the principal peculiarities of the institution, rather than to interrupt the course of my narrative afterward, when the history of knighthood may be traced continuously down to its final extinction. we have already seen that each individual member of the order possessed the power of admitting any other person to its honours without restraint; but it did not by any means follow that all previous trial and education was dispensed with. very soon after the first institution of chivalry every one became covetous of the distinction, and it naturally followed that the object of each boy's aspirations, the aim of every young man's ambition, was one day to be a knight. those, however, who had already received the order, were scrupulously careful to admit none within its fellowship who might disgrace the sword that dubbed them; and knighthood gradually became as much the reward of a long and tedious education, as the bonnet of the doctor or the stole of the clerk. the feudal system had now reached its acme; and each individual lord, within his own domain, assumed the state and importance of a prince. with the vain spirit of ostentatious imitation which unhappily is common to all climes and all centuries, the great feudatories of the crown copied the household of the sovereign, and the petty barons imitated them. each had his crowd of officers, and squires, and pages, and varlets. even the monasteries and the abbeys affected the same pomp and ceremonial, so that we find the abbot of st. denis riding[ ] forth accompanied by his chamberlain and marshal, whose offices were held as feoffs. the manor or the castle of each feudal chieftain, however, soon became the school of chivalry, and any noble youth whose parents were either dead or too poor to educate him to the art of war was willingly received in the dwelling of a neighbouring baron, who took care that his pupil should be instructed in all military exercises, glad to attach to his own person as large a body of armed retainers as his circumstances would permit. till they reached the age of seven years the youths, afterward destined to arms, were left to the care of the females of the household, who taught them the first principles of religion and of chivalry. they were then in general sent from home, those fathers even, who possessed the means of conducting their education themselves, preferring to intrust it to some other noble knight who could be biassed[ ] by no parental tenderness to spare the young aspirant to chivalry any of those trials and hardships absolutely necessary to prepare him for his after-career. on entering the household of another knight, the first place filled by the youths, then fresh from all the soft kindnesses of home, was that of page or varlet, which, though it implied every sort of attendance on the person of their new lord, was held as honourable, not degrading. here they still remained[ ] much among the women of the family, who undertook to complete their knowledge of their duty to god and their lady, instilling into their infant minds that refined and mystic idea of love, which was so peculiar a trait in the chivalry of old. in the mean while the rest of their days were passed in the service of their lord, accompanying him in his excursions, serving him at table, pouring out his drink; all of which offices being shared in by the children and young relations of the baron himself,[ ] were reckoned, as i have said, highly honourable, and formed the first step in the ascent to chivalry. at the same time infinite pains were bestowed upon the education of these pages. they were taught all sorts of gymnastic exercises which could strengthen the body; and, by continually mingling with the guests of the castle, receiving them on their arrival, offering them every sort of service, and listening respectfully to the conversation of their elders, they acquired that peculiar grace of manner which, under the name of courtesy, formed a principal perfection in the character of the true knight. at fourteen the page was usually admitted to the higher grade of squire, and exchanged his short dagger for the manly sword. this, however, was made a religious ceremony; and the weapon which he was in future to wear was laid upon the altar, from whence it was taken by the priest,[ ] and after several benedictions, was hung over the shoulder of the new squire, with many a sage caution and instruction as to its use. his exercises now became more robust than they had ever been before; and, if we are to believe the old biographer of the celebrated boucicaut, they were far more fatiguing than any man of the present age could endure. to spring upon horseback armed at all pieces, without putting a foot in the stirrup; to cast somersets in heavy armour[ ] for the purpose of strengthening the arms; to leap upon the shoulders of a horseman from behind, without other hold than one hand laid upon his shoulder--such, and many others, were the daily exercises of the young noble, besides regular instruction in riding and managing his arms. though it would seem at first that few constitutions could undergo for any length of time such violent exertions, we must remember the effects produced--we must call to mind that these very men in their after-life, are found bearing a weight, that few persons of the present times could lift, through the heat of a whole summer's day, under the burning sun of palestine. we must remember the mighty feats of strength that these men performed; and, when we see a boemond fighting from noon to sunset cased from head to foot in thick iron, or in long after-days a guise swimming against a torrent armed cap-a-pie, we must naturally conclude that no ordinary course of training could produce such vigour and hardihood. several degrees of squires or esquires are mentioned in the ancient chronicles; and it is difficult to distinguish which class included the young noble--which was filled by an inferior race. that there was a distinction is evident; for in the life of bayard[ ] we find an old squire mentioned more than once, from whom he received instructions, but who never appears to have aspired to any higher degree. nevertheless it is equally certain that many services which we should consider menial, were performed by the squires of the highest race about the persons of their lords. nor was this confined to what might be considered military services; for we learn that they not only held the stirrup for their lord to mount, and then followed, carrying his helm, his lance, his shield, or his gauntlets; but they continued to serve him at table, to clean his armour, to dress his horses, and to fulfil a thousand other avocations, in which they were aided, it is true, by the _gros varlets_ or common servants, but which they still had their share in accomplishing with their own hands.[ ] the highest class of esquires, however, was evidently the _écuyer d'honneur_, who, from the manner of froissart's mention of many at the court of the count de foix, appears to have had in charge the reception and entertainment of guests and strangers. the squires of course had often more important duties to perform. it was for them to follow their lords to the battle-field; and, while the knights, formed in a long line, fought hand to hand against their equals, the squires remained watching eagerly the conflict, and ready to drag their master from the _mêlée_, to cover him if he fell, to supply him with fresh arms, and, in short, to lend him every aid; without, however, presuming to take an active part against the adverse knights, with whose class it was forbidden for a squire to engage. st. palaye limits to these defensive operations the services of the squires in the field of battle,[ ] and it is possible that the strict laws of chivalry might justify such a restriction. nevertheless there can be no earthly doubt that they were often much more actively engaged, even in the purest days of chivalry. in all the wars between richard coeur de lion and philip augustus,[ ] we find them often fighting bravely; and at the battle of bovine, a squire had nearly taken the life of the famous count de boulogne. these services in the field perfected the aspirant to chivalry in the knowledge of his profession; and the trials of skill which, on the day that preceded a tournament, were permitted to squires, in the lists, gave him an opportunity of distinguishing himself in the eyes of the people, and of gaining a name among the heralds and chroniclers of knightly deeds. if a noble squire had conducted himself well during the period of his service, it seldom occurred that his lord refused to bestow upon him the honour of knighthood at the age of twenty-one; and sometimes, if he had been distinguished by any great or gallant feat, or by uniform talent and courage,[ ] he was admitted into the order before he had reached that age. this, nevertheless, was rare, except in the case of sovereign princes; and, on the contrary, it occasionally happened that a knight who did not choose to part so soon with a favourite squire would delay on various pretences a ceremony which almost always caused some separation between the young knight and his ancient master.[ ] the squire, however, had always the right to claim the knighthood from the hand of another, if his lord unjustly refused to bestow it; and that high sense of honour which was their great characteristic prevented the knights thus applied to from ever refusing, when the aspirant was fully justified in his claim. the times chosen for conferring knighthood were generally either those of great military ceremony,[ ] as after tournaments, _cours plénières_, the muster or _monstre_, as it was called, of the army, or on days consecrated by the church to some peculiar solemnity, as easter-day, the day of pentecost, or even christmas-day.[ ] this was, nevertheless, by no means imperative; for we have already seen that knighthood was often conferred on any particular emergency, and even on the field of battle.[ ] on these occasions the forms were of course abridged to suit the necessity of the case, but the knighthood was not the less valid or esteemed. the more public and solemn the ceremony could be made, the more it appeared to the taste of the nobles of the middle ages. nor was the pomp and display without its use, raising and dignifying the order in the eyes of the people, and impressing deeply upon the mind of the young knight the duties which he had voluntarily taken upon himself. we all know how much remembrance depends upon external circumstance, and it is ever well to give our feelings some fixed resting-place in the waste of life, that in after-years memory may lead us back and refresh the resolutions and bright designs of youth by the aid of the striking scenes and solemn moments in which those designs and resolutions were first called into activity. nothing could be better calculated to make a profound impression on the mind than the ceremonies of a knight's reception in the mature times of chivalry. on the day appointed,[ ] all the knights and nobles at that time in the city where the solemnity was to be performed, with the bishops and clergy, each covered with the appropriate vestments of his order, the knight in his coat-of-arms, and the bishop in his stole, conducted the aspirant to the principal church of the place. there, after the high mass had been chanted, the novice approached the altar and presented the sword to the bishop or priest, who, taking it from his hand, blessed and consecrated it to the service of religion and virtue. it often happened that the bishop himself then solemnly warned the youth of the difficulties and requisites of the order to which he aspired. "he who seeks to be a knight,"--said the bishop of valenciennes to the young count of ostrevant on one of these occasions,[ ] "he who wishes to be a knight should have great qualities. he must be of noble birth, liberal in gifts, high in courage, strong in danger, secret in council, patient in difficulties, powerful against enemies, prudent in his deeds. he must also swear to observe the following rules: to undertake nothing without having heard mass fasting; to spare neither his blood nor his life in defence of the catholic faith; to give aid to all widows and orphans; to undertake no war without just cause; to favour no injustice, but to protect the innocent and oppressed; to be humble in all things; to seek the welfare of those placed under him; never to violate the rights of his sovereign, and to live irreprehensibly before god and man." the bishop, then taking his joined hands in his own, placed them on the missal, and received his oath to follow the statutes laid down to him, after which his father advancing dubbed him a knight. at other times it occurred, that when the sword had been blessed, the novice[ ] carried it to the knight who was to be his godfather in chivalry, and kneeling before him plighted his vow to him. after this the other knights, and often the ladies present, advanced, and completely armed the youth, sometimes beginning with one piece of the armour, sometimes another. st. palaye declares that the spurs were always buckled on before the rest, but in the history of geoffrey, duke of normandy, we find the corslet and the greaves mentioned first, and the spear and sword last. after having been armed, the novice still remained upon his knees before his godfather in arms, who then, rising from his seat, bestowed upon him the _accolade_, as it was called, which consisted generally of three blows of the naked sword upon the neck or shoulder. sometimes it was performed by a blow given with the palm of the hand upon the cheek of the novice, which was always accompanied by some words, signifying that the ceremony was complete, and the squire had now become a knight. the words which accompanied the accolade were generally, when the kings of france bestowed the honour, "in the name of god, st. michael, and st. george, i make thee knight; be loyal, bold, and true." sometimes to the blow were joined the words,[ ] "bear this blow and never bear another," and sometimes was added the more christian admonition to humility, "remember that the saviour of the world was buffeted and scoffed."[ ] whatever was its origin the custom was a curious one, and bore a strong resemblance to the ceremony of manumission among the romans, who, on freeing a slave, struck him a slight blow, which claudian happily enough terms _felicem injuriam_. i do not, however, intend to insinuate that the one custom was derived from the other, though, perhaps, the fact of a serf becoming free if his lord struck him with any instrument,[ ] except such as were employed in his actual labour, may have been, in some degree, a vestige of the roman law in this respect, which we know descended entire to many of the barbarous nations. however that may be, after having submitted to the blow which ended his servitude as a squire, the new knight was decorated with his casque, which had hitherto been held beside him, and then proceeding to the door of the church, or of the castle, where his knighthood had been bestowed, he sprang upon his horse and showed himself armed in the principal places of the city, while the heralds proclaimed his name and vaunted his prowess.[ ] as long vigils, fast, prayers, and confessions had preceded and accompanied the admission of the new knight, festivals, banquets, and tournaments followed.[ ] the banquets and the festivals, as common to all ages, though differing in each, i will pass over: suffice it, that one of the strictest laws of chivalry forbade gluttony and intemperance. the tournament, as a purely chivalrous institution, i must mention; though so much has been already written on the subject, that i could have wished to pass it over in silence. the most complete description ever given of a tournament is to be found in the writings of one whose words are pictures; and if i dared but copy into this place the account of the passage of arms in ivanhoe, i should be enabled to give a far better idea of what such a scene really was, than all the antiquarian researches in my power will afford. all military nations, from the earliest antiquity, have known and practised various athletic games in imitation of warfare; and we of course find among the franks various exercises of the kind from the very first records which we have of that people. nithard,[ ] however, gives an elaborate picture of these mock-fights as practised in the reigns succeeding charlemagne; and we find but little resemblance to the tournament. four equal bands of saxons, gascons, austrasians, and armoricans (or britons,[ ] as they are there called) met together in an open place, and, while the populace stood round as spectators, pursued each other, in turn, brandishing their arms, and seeming fiercely to seek the destruction of their adversaries. when this had proceeded for some time, louis and charles (the two monarchs in whose history the description is given) suddenly rushed into the field with all their choice companions, and, with quivering lances and loud cries, followed, now one, now another, of the parties, who took care to fly before their horses. the first authentic mention of a tournament[ ] is to be found in the chronicle of tours, which records the death of geoffrey de priuli in ; adding the words _qui torneamenta invenit_--who invented tournaments. from the appearance[ ] of these exercises in germany[ ] about the same time, we may conclude that this date is pretty nearly correct; and that if tournaments were not absolutely invented at that precise period, they were then first regulated by distinct laws. in england[ ] they did not appear till several years later, when the norman manners introduced after the conquest had completely superseded the customs of the saxons. thus much has seemed necessary to me to say concerning the origin of tournaments, as there are so many common fables on the subject which give far greater antiquity to the exercise than that which it is entitled to claim. the ceremonies and the splendour of the tournament of course differed in different ages and different countries; but the general principle was the same. it was a chivalrous game, originally instituted for practising those exercises, and acquiring that skill which was likely to be useful in knightly warfare. a tournament was usually given upon the occasion of any great meeting, for either military or political purposes. sometimes it was the king himself who sent his heralds through the land to announce to all noblemen and ladies, that on a certain day he would hold a grand tournament, where all brave knights might try their prowess. at other times a tournament was determined on by a body of independent knights; and messengers were often sent into distant countries to invite all gallant gentlemen to honour the passage of arms. the spot fixed upon for the lists was usually in the immediate neighbourhood of some abbey or castle, where the shields of the various[ ] cavaliers who purposed combating were exposed to view for several days previous to the meeting. a herald was also placed beneath the cloisters to answer all questions concerning the champions, and to receive all complaints against any individual knight. if, upon investigation, the kings of arms and judges of the field found that a just accusation was laid against one[ ] of the knights proposing to appear, a peremptory command excluded him from the lists; and if he dared in despite thereof to present himself, he was driven forth with blows and ignominy. round about the field appointed for the spectacle were raised galleries, scaffoldings, tents,[ ] and pavilions, decorated with all the magnificence of a luxurious age. banners and scutcheons, and bandrols, silks and cloth of gold, covered the galleries and floated round the field; while all that rich garments and precious stones, beauty and youth, could do to outshine the inanimate part of the scene, was to be found among the spectators. here too was seen the venerable age of chivalry--all those old knights whose limbs were no longer competent to bear the weight of arms, surrounding the field to view the prowess of their children and judge the deeds of the day. heralds and pursuivants, in the gay and many-coloured garments which they peculiarly affected, fluttered over the field, and bands of warlike music were stationed near to animate the contest and to salute the victors. the knights, as they appeared in the lists, were greeted by the heralds and the people[ ] according to their renown; but the approbation of the female part of the spectators was the great stimulus to all the chivalry of the field. each knight, as a part of his duty, either felt or feigned himself in love; and it was upon these occasions that his lady might descend from the high state to which the mystic adoration of the day had raised her, and bestow upon her favoured champion a glove, a riband, a bracelet,[ ] a jewel, which, borne on his crest through the hard-contested field, was the chief object of his care, and the great excitement to his valour. often, too, in the midst of the combat, if accident or misfortune deprived the favoured knight of the gage of his lady's affection, her admiration or her pity won her to supply another token, sent by a page or squire, to raise again her lover's resolution, and animate him to new exertions. the old romance of perce-forest gives a curious picture of the effects visible after a tournament, by the eagerness with which the fair spectators had encouraged the knights. "at the close of the tournament," says the writer, "the ladies were so stripped of their ornaments, that the greater part of them were bareheaded. thus they went their ways with their hair floating on their shoulders more glossy than fine gold; and with their robes without the sleeves, for they had given to the knights to decorate themselves, wimples and hoods, mantles and shifts, sleeves and bodies. when they found themselves undressed to such a pitch, they were at first quite ashamed; but as soon as they saw every one was in the same state, they began to laugh at the whole adventure, for they had all bestowed their jewels and their clothes upon the knights with so good a will, that they had not perceived that they uncovered themselves." this is probably an exaggerated account of the enthusiasm which the events of a tournament excited in the bosom of the fair ladies of that day: but still, no doubt can be entertained, that they not only decorated their knights before the tournament with some token of their approbation, but in the case of its loss, often sent him even a part of their dress in the midst of the conflict. the other spectators, also, though animated by less thrilling interests, took no small share in the feelings and hopes of the different parties. each blow of the lance or sword, struck well and home, was greeted with loud acclamations; and valour met with both its incitement and its reward, in the expecting silence and the thundering plaudits with which each good champion's movements were waited for and seen. in the mean while, without giving encouragement to any particular knight, the heralds strove to animate all by various quaint and characteristic exclamations, such as "the love of ladies!" "death to the horses!" "honour to the brave!" "glory to be won by blood and sweat!" "praise to the sons of the brave!" it would occupy too much space to enter into all the details of the tournament, or to notice all the laws by which it was governed. every care was taken that the various knights should meet upon equal terms; and many a precaution was made use of to prevent accidents, and to render the sports both innocent and useful. but no regulations could be found sufficient to guard against the dangerous consequences of such furious amusements; and ducange gives a long list of princes and nobles who lost their lives in these fatal exercises. the church often interfered, though in vain, to put them down; and many monarchs forbade them in their dominions; but the pomp with which they were accompanied, and the excitement they afforded to a people fond of every mental stimulus, rendered them far more permanent than might have been expected. the weapons in tournaments were, in almost all cases, restrained to blunted swords and headless spears, daggers, and battle-axes; but, as may well be imagined, these were not to be used without danger; so that even those festivals that passed by without the absolute death of any of the champions, left, nevertheless, many to drag out a maimed and miserable existence, or to die after a long and weary sickness. and yet the very peril of the sport gave to it an all-powerful interest, which we can best conceive, at present, from our feelings at some deep and thrilling tragedy. after the excitement, and the expectation, and the suspense, and the eagerness, came the triumph and the prize--and the chosen queen of the field bestowed upon the champion whose feats were counted best, that reward, the value of which consisted more in the honour than the thing itself. sometimes it was a jewel,[ ] sometimes a coronet[ ] of flowers or of laurel; but in all cases the award implied a right to one kiss from the lips of the lady appointed to bestow the prize. it seems to have been as frequent a practice to assign this prize on the field, as in the chateau[ ] or palace whither the court retired after the sports were concluded; and we often find that the female part of the spectators were called to decide upon the merits of the several champions, and to declare the victor[ ] as well as confer the reward. mirth and festivity ever closed the day of the tournament, and song and sports brought in the night. every thing that could interest or amuse a barbarous age was collected on the spot where one of these meetings was held. the minstrel or _menestrier_, the juggler, the saltimbank, the story-teller, were present in the hall to soothe or to entertain; but still the foundation of tale and song was chivalry;--the objects of all praise were noble deeds and heroic actions; and the very voice of love and tenderness, instead of seducing to sloth and effeminacy, was heard prompting to activity, to enterprise, and to honour--to the defence of virtue, and the search for glory. it may be here necessary to remark, that there were several sorts of tournaments, which differed essentially from each other; but i shall not pause upon these any longer than merely to point out the particular differences between them. the joust, which was certainly a kind of tournament, was always confined to two persons, though these persons encountered each other with blunted arms.[ ] the combat at outrance was, in fact, a duel, and only differed from the trial by battle in being voluntary, while the other was enforced by law. this contest was often the event of private quarrels, but was, by no means, always so; and, to use the language of ducange, "though mortal, it took place ordinarily between persons who most frequently did not know each other, or, at least, had no particular misunderstanding, but who sought alone to show forth their courage, generosity, and skill in arms." sometimes, however, the combat at outrance was undertaken by a number of knights[ ] together, and often much blood was thus shed, without cause. the _pas d'armes_ or passage of arms, differed from general tournaments, inasmuch as a certain number of knights fixed their shields and tents in a particular pass, or spot of ground, which they declared their intention to defend against all comers.[ ] the space before their tents was generally listed in, as for a tournament; and, during the time fixed for the defence of the passage, the same concourse of spectators, heralds, and minstrels were assembled. the round table was another distinct sort of tournament,[ ] held in a circular amphitheatre, wherein the knights invited jousted against each other. the origin of this festival, which was held, i believe, for the last time by edward iii., is attributed to roger mortimer,[ ] who, on receiving knighthood, feasted a hundred knights and a hundred ladies at a round table. the mornings were spent in chivalrous games, the prize of which was a golden lion, and the evenings in banquets and festivities. this course of entertainments continued three days with the most princely splendour; after which mortimer, having won the prize himself, conducted his guests to warwick, and dismissed them. from this account, taken from the history of the priory of wigmore, menestrier deduces that those exercises called "round tables" were only tournaments, during which the lord or sovereign giving the festival entertained his guests at a table which, to prevent all ceremony in respect to precedence, was in the form of a circle. perhaps, however, this institution may have had a different and an earlier origin, though i find it mentioned in no author previous to the year .[ ] chivalry, which in its pristine purity knew no reward but honour, soon--as it became combined with power--appropriated to itself various privileges which, injuring its simplicity, in the end brought about its fall. in the first place, the knight was, by the fact of his chivalry, the judge of all his equals, and consequently of all his inferiors.[ ] he was also, in most cases, the executor of his own decree, and it would indeed have required a different nature from humanity to secure such a jurisdiction from frequent perversion. the knight[ ] also took precedence of all persons who had not received chivalry, a distinction well calculated to do away with that humility which was one of knighthood's strictest laws.[ ] added to this was the right of wearing particular dresses and colours, gold and jewels, which were restrained to the knightly class, by very severe ordinances. scarlet and green were particularly reserved for the order of knighthood, as well as ermine, minever, and some other furs. knights also possessed what was called privilege of clergy, that is to say, in case of accusation, they could claim to be tried before the ecclesiastical judge.[ ] their arms were legally forbidden to all other classes, and the title of sire, monseigneur, sir, don, &c., were applied to them alone, till the distinction was lost in the course of time. though these privileges changed continually, and it is scarcely possible to say what age gave birth to any one of them, yet it is evident that monarchs, after they had seen the immense influence which chivalry might have on their own power, and had striven to render it an engine for their own purposes, took every care to secure all those rights and immunities to the order which could in some degree balance the hardships, fatigues, and dangers inevitably attendant upon it, and supply the place of that enthusiasm which of course grew fainter as the circumstances which excited it changed, and the objects which it sought were accomplished. it is probable that there would always have been many men who would have coveted chivalry for the sole purpose of doing good and protecting the innocent; but monarchs sought to increase the number of knights as a means of defending their realms and extending their power, and, consequently, they supplied other motives and external honours as an inducement to those persons of a less exalted mind. chivalry was indeed a distinction not to be enjoyed without many and severe labours. the first thing after receiving knighthood was generally a long journey[ ] into foreign countries, both for the purpose of jousting with other knights, and for instruction in every sort of chivalrous knowledge. there the young knight studied carefully the demeanour of every celebrated champion he met, and strove to glean the excellencies of each. thus he learned courtesy and grace, and thus he heard all the famous exploits of the day which, borne from court to court by these chivalrous travellers, spread the fame of great deeds from one end of the world to the other.[ ] it cannot be doubted that this practice of wandering armed through europe gave great scope to licentiousness in those who were naturally ill-disposed; and many a cruelty and many a crime was assuredly committed by that very order instituted to put down vice and to protect innocence. to guard against this the laws of chivalry were most severe;[ ] and as great power was intrusted to the knight, great was the shame and dishonour if he abused it. the oath taken in the first place was as strictly opposed to every vice, as any human promise could be, and the first principle of chivalrous honour was never to violate an engagement. i must here still repeat the remark, that it was the spirit which constituted the chivalry, and as that spirit waned, chivalry died away. one of the most curious institutions of chivalry was that which required a knight, on his return from any expedition,[ ] to give a full and minute account to the heralds, or officers of arms, of all his adventures during his absence, without reserve or concealment; telling as well his reverses and discomfitures, as his honours and success. to do this he was bound by oath; and the detail thus given was registered by the herald, who by such relations learned to know and estimate the worth and prowess of each individual knight. it served also to excite other adventurers to great deeds in imitation of those who acquired fame and honour; and it afforded matter of consolation to the unfortunate, who in those registers must ever have met with mishaps to equal or surpass their own. the spirit of chivalry, however, led to a thousand deeds and habits not required nor regulated by any law. were two armies opposed to each other, or even encamped in the neighbourhood of each other, though at peace,[ ] the knights would continually issue forth singly from the ranks to challenge any other champion to come out, and break a lance in honour of his lady. often before a castle, or on the eve of a battle, a knight would vow to some holy saint never to quit the field, or abandon the siege, till death or victory ended his design. frequently, too, we find that in the midst of some great festival, where all the chivalry of the land was assembled, a knight would suddenly appear, bearing in his hands[ ] a peacock, a heron, or some other bird. presenting it in turn to each noble in the assembly, he would then demand their oath upon that bird to do some great feat of arms against the enemy. no knight dared to refuse, and the vow so taken was irrevocable and never broken. one of the most extraordinary customs of chivalry, and also one of the most interesting, was the adoption of a brother in arms.[ ] this custom[ ] seems to have taken its rise in england, and was in common use especially among the saxons. after the conquest, however, it rapidly spread to other nations, and seems to have been a favourite practice with the crusaders. esteem and long companionship were the first principles of this curious sort of alliance, which bound one knight to another by ties more strict than those of blood itself. it is true the brotherhood in arms was often contracted but for a time, or under certain circumstances,[ ] which once passed by, the engagement was at an end; but far oftener it was a bond for life, uniting interests and feelings, and dividing dangers and successes. the brothers in arms[ ] met all perils together, undertook all adventures in company, shared in the advantage of every happy enterprise, and partook of the pain or loss of every misfortune. if the one was attacked in body, in honour, or in estate, the other sprang forward to defend him. their wealth and even their thoughts were in common; so that the news which the one received, or the design that he formed, he was bound to communicate to the other without reserve. even if the one underlay a wager of battle[ ] against any other knight, and was cut off by death before he could discharge himself thereof, his brother in arms was bound to appear in the lists, in defence of his honour, on the day appointed. sometimes[ ] this fraternity of arms was contracted by a solemn deed; sometimes by a vow ratified by the communion and other ceremonies of the church. in many cases,[ ] however, the only form consisted in the mutual exchange of arms, which implied the same devotion to each other, and the same irrevocable engagement. i have now said sufficient concerning the habits and customs of the ancient knights, to give a general idea of the rules by which chivalry was governed, and the spirit by which it was animated. that spirit waxed fainter, it is true, as luxury and pomp increased, and as the barbarities of an early age merged into the softer licentiousness that followed. but the rules of the order themselves remained unchanged, and did far more than any other institution to restrain the general incontinence[ ] of the age. even in those days when chivalrous love was no longer pure, and chivalrous religion no longer the spring of the noblest morality, the spirit of the days of old lingered amid the ruins of the falling institution. an edward, a du guesclin, a bayard, a sidney, would rise up in the midst of corrupted times, and shame the vices of the day by still showing one more true knight; and even now, when the order has altogether passed away, we feel and benefit by its good effects. so complete a change has come over manners and customs, so rapid has been our late progress, and so many and vast have been the events of latter years, that to trace the remains of chivalry in any of our present feelings or institutions, seems but a theoretical dream. the knights of old are looked upon as things apart, that have neither kin nor community with ourselves; their acts are hardly believed; and their very existence is doubted. let him who would make historical remembrance more tangible, and see how nearly the days of chivalry approach to our own, run his eye over one short page in the chronology of the world, and he will find that no more than three centuries have passed since bayard himself died, a knight without reproach. chapter iii. _the progress of chivalry in europe--exploits--that some great enterprise was necessary to give chivalry an extensive and permanent effect--that enterprise presented itself in the crusades--pilgrimage to jerusalem-- haroun al raschid--charlemagne--cruelties of the turks--pilgrimages continued--peter the hermit--council of clermont._ the picture which i have just attempted to draw of the various customs of chivalry must be looked upon rather as a summary of its institutions and feelings, as they changed through many ages and many nations, than as a likeness of chivalry at any precise period, or in any one country. previous to the age of the crusades, to which i now propose to turn as speedily as possible, the state of chivalry in europe had made but little progress. it had spread, however, as a spirit, to almost all the nations surrounding the cradle of its birth. in spain alphonso vi.[ ] was already waging a completely chivalric war against the moors, and many of the knights of france, who afterward distinguished themselves in the holy land, had, in the service of one or other of the spanish princes, tried their arms against the saracens. in england we have seen that there is reason to suppose the institution of knighthood was known to the saxons,[ ] though the indiscriminate manner in which the word _miles_ is used in the latin chronicles of the day renders it scarcely possible to ascertain at what period the order was introduced. the same difficulty indeed occurs in regard to the normans, though from various circumstances connected with the accounts given by william of jumieges,[ ] of the reigns of william i. and richard i., dukes of normandy, we are led to believe that chivalry was very early introduced among that people. at all events it seems certain that after the accession of richard to the ducal dignity, a. d. , knightly feelings made great progress among the normans, and in , we find an exploit so purely chivalrous, performed by a body of forty gentlemen from normandy, that we cannot doubt the spirit of knighthood in its purest form had already spread through that country. "forty norman gentlemen," says vertot, "all warriors, who had distinguished themselves in the armies of the duke of normandy, returning from a pilgrimage to the holy land, disembarked in italy without arms. having learned that the town of salerno was besieged by the saracens, their zeal for religion caused them instantly to throw themselves into that place. guimard, the prince of salerno, had shut himself up in the town, to defend it to the last against the infidels; and he immediately caused arms and horses to be given to the norman gentlemen, who made so many vigorous and unexpected sallies upon the saracens, that they compelled them to raise the siege." in italy we find many traces of chivalry at an early date, and it would appear that the institution which took its rise in france was no sooner known than adopted by most other nations. the normans, whom we have seen above succouring the prince of salerno in his necessity, did not remain a sufficient length of time in italy to spread the chivalrous spirit; but it is said that guimard, after using every effort to induce them to stay, sent deputies after them to normandy, praying for aid from the nobles of that country against the saracens. several large bodies of norman adventurers, in consequence of his promises and persuasions, proceeded to establish themselves in apulia and calabria, defeated the saracens, cleared the south of italy and part of greece of those locust-like invaders, and re-established the greek and italian princes in their dominions. these princes, however, soon became jealous of their new allies, and employed various base means to destroy them. they, on the other hand, united for mutual defence, and under the famous robert guiscard, one of twelve brothers who had left normandy for italy together, they speedily conquered for themselves the countries which they had restored to ungrateful lords. guiscard was now universally acknowledged as their chief, and thus began the chivalrous norman empire in italy. nothing, perhaps, more favoured the general progress of chivalry than the state of religion in that day; which, overloaded with superstitions, and decked out with every external pomp and ornament, appealed to the imagination through the medium of the senses, and woke a thousand enthusiasms which could find no such fitting career as in the pursuits of knighthood. the first efforts of the feudal system, too, gradually extending themselves to every part of europe, joined to make chivalry spread through the different countries where they were felt, by raising up a number of independent lords who--each anxious to reduce his neighbours to vassalage, and to preserve his own separate lordship--required continual armed support from others, to whom he offered in return honour and protection. thus, for about a century, or perhaps a little more, after the first institution of knighthood, chivalry slowly gained ground, and by each exploit of any particular body of knights (such, for instance, as we have recorded of the normans) the order became more and more respected, and its establishment more firm, decided, and regular. it wanted but one great enterprise commenced and carried through upon chivalrous principles alone to render chivalry, combined as it was with religion and the feudal system, the great master power of europe--and that enterprise was at hand. the natural reverence for those countries, sanctified and elevated by so many miracles, and rendered sublimely dear to the heart of every christian, as the land in which his salvation was brightly but terribly worked out, had from all ages rendered palestine an object of pilgrimage. in the earliest times, after the recognition of the christian faith by constantine, the subjects of the roman empire had followed the example of the empress helena, and had deemed it almost a christian duty to visit the scenes of our saviour's mortal career. for many ages while the whole of judea remained under the sway of the cesars, the journey was an easy one. few difficulties waylaid the passenger, or gave pilgrimage even the merit of dangers encountered and obstacles overcome. towards the seventh century, the eastern provinces of the roman empire, already weakened by many invasions, had to encounter the exertions of another adversary, who succeeded in wresting them from their christian possessors. the successors of mahomet, who from a low station had become a great legislator, a mighty conqueror, and a pretended prophet, carried on the conquest which he had begun in arabia, and one by one made themselves masters of syria, antioch, persia, medea, and in fact the greater part of the rich continent of asia. it is not here my purpose to trace the progress of these conquerors, or to examine for a moment the religion they professed. suffice it, that in the days of charlemagne the fame of that great prince produced from the calif haroun al raschid many liberal concessions in favour of the christian pilgrims to jerusalem, now in the hands of the unbelievers. particular ages seem fertile in great men; and it is very rare to find one distinguished poet, monarch, or conqueror standing alone in his own century. nay more;--we generally discover--however different the country that produces them, and however opposite the circumstances under which they are placed--that there is a similarity in the character of the mind, if i may so express myself without obscurity, of the eminent persons produced in each particular age. this was peculiarly the case in the age of charlemagne. it seemed as if the most remote corners of the earth had made an effort, at the same moment, to produce from the bosom of barbarism and confusion a great and intelligent monarch--an alfred, a haroun, and a charlemagne. the likeness seemed to be felt by the two great emperors of the east and the west; and a reciprocation of courtesy[ ] and friendship appears to have taken place between them, most rare in that remote age. various presents were transmitted from one to the other; and the most precious offering that the christian monarch could receive, the keys of the holy city, were sent from bagdad to aix, together with a standard, which has been supposed to imply the sovereignty of jerusalem resigned by haroun to his great contemporary. nothing could afford a nobler proof of a great, a liberal, and a delicate mind, than the choice evinced by the calif in his gift. charlemagne took advantage so far of haroun's liberality,[ ] as to establish an hospital and a library for the latin pilgrims. the successors of haroun, and more particularly monstacer billah, continued to yield tolerance at least, if not protection, to the christians of jerusalem. the pilgrims also were more or less protected during the reigns that followed, both from motives of liberal feeling and of interest, as the great influx of travellers, especially from italy, brought much wealth and commerce into syria. under the califs of the fatemite race several persecutions took place; and when at length the invasion of the turkish hordes had brought the whole of palestine under the dominion of a wild and barbarous race, jerusalem was taken and sacked; and while the christian inhabitants were treated with every sort of brutal cruelty, the pilgrims were subject to taxation[ ] on their arrival, as well as liable to plunder by the way. a piece of gold was exacted for permission to enter the holy city; and at that time, when the value of the precious metals was infinitely higher than in the present day, few, if any, of the pilgrims on their arrival possessed sufficient to pay the cruel demand. thus, after having suffered toils unheard of--hunger, thirst, the parching influence of a burning sky, sickness, danger, and often robbery, and wounds; when the weary wanderer arrived at the very entrance of the city, with the bourn of all his long pilgrimage before him, the enthusiastic object of all his hopes in sight, the place of refuge and repose for which he had longed and prayed within his reach--unless he could pay the stipulated sum, he was driven by the barbarians from the gates, and was forced to tread back all his heavy way unfurnished with any means, and unsupported by any hope, or to die by the roadside of want, weariness, and despair. the pilgrimages nevertheless continued with unremitting zeal; and the number of devotees increased greatly in the tenth and eleventh centuries. in the tenth, indeed, the custom of pilgrimage became almost universal, from a misinterpretation[ ] of a prophecy in the apocalypse. a general belief prevailed that at the end of the tenth century, the thousand years being concluded, the world was to be judged; and crowds of men and women, in the frantic hope of expiating their sins by the long and painful journey to the holy land, flocked from all parts of europe towards jerusalem. many of the more clear-sighted and sensible of the christian prelates had from time to time attempted to dissuade the people from these dangerous and fatal pilgrimages; but the principle of bodily infliction being received as a mark of internal penitence and a means of obtaining absolution, had been so long inculcated by the church of rome, that the current of popular opinion had received its impulse, and it was no longer possible to turn it from its course. no penance could be more painful or more consistent with the prejudices of the multitude, than a pilgrimage to the holy land; and thus the priests continued often to enforce the act, while the heads of the church themselves, as religion became corrupted, learned to see this sort of penitence in the same light as the people, and encouraged its execution. they found the great efficacy of external excitements in stimulating the populace to that superstitious obedience on which they were fast building up the authority of the roman church, and probably also were not without a share in the bigoted enthusiasm which they taught. thus in the tenth century the pilgrimages which fear lest the day of judgment should be approaching induced many to undertake in expiation of their sins, met but little opposition; while various meteoric phenomena, of a somewhat awful nature, earthquakes, hurricanes, &c., contributed to increase the general alarm. when these had passed by, and the dreaded epoch had brought forth nothing, the current still continued to flow on in the course that it had taken; and during the eleventh century several circumstances tended to increase it. among others the terror spread through france by the papal interdict, called forth by the refractory adherence of robert i. to his queen[ ] bertha, brought more pilgrims than usual from that country. of many thousands who passed into asia,[ ] a few isolated individuals only returned; but these every day, as they passed through the different countries of europe on their journey back, spread indignation and horror by their account of the dreadful sufferings of the christians in judea. various[ ] letters are reported as having been sent by the emperors of the east to the different princes of europe, soliciting aid to repel the encroachments of the infidel; and if but a very small portion of the crimes and cruelty attributed to the turks by these epistles were believed by the christians, it is not at all astonishing that wrath and horror took possession of every chivalrous bosom. pope sylvester ii. had made an ineffectual appeal to christendom towards the end of the tenth century, bringing forward the first idea of a crusade;[ ] but the age was not then ripe for a project that required a fuller developement of chivalrous feelings. gregory vii. revived the idea, and made it the subject of a very pompous epistle; but he himself was one of the first to forget the miseries of his fellow-christians in palestine, in the pursuit of his own aggrandizement. still, the persecution of the christians in palestine, and the murder and pillage of the pilgrims continued; still the indignation of europe was fed and renewed by repeated tales of cruel barbarity committed in the holy land--sufferings of the church--insults to religion--and merciless massacres of countrymen and relations: still, also, the spirit of chivalry was each day spreading further and rising more powerfully, so that all was preparing for some great and general movement. the lightning of the crusade was in the people's hearts, and it wanted but one electric touch to make it flash forth upon the world. at this time a man, of whose early days we have little authentic knowledge, but that he was born at amiens, and from a soldier had become a priest,[ ] after living for some time the life of a hermit, became seized with the desire of visiting jerusalem. he was, according to all accounts,[ ] small in stature and mean in person; but his eyes possessed a peculiar fire and intelligence, and his eloquence was powerful and flowing. the fullest account of his manners and conduct is to be found in robert the monk, who was present at the council of clermont, and in guibert of nogent, who speaks in the tone of one who has beheld what he relates. the first of these authors describes peter the hermit,[ ] of whom we speak, as esteemed among those who best understand the things of earth, and superior in piety to all the bishops or abbots of the day. he fed upon neither flesh nor bread, says the same writer, though he permitted himself wine and other aliments, finding nevertheless his pleasure in the greatest abstinence. guibert, or gilbert, of nogent, speaks still more fully of his public conduct.[ ] "he set out," says the writer, "from whence i know not, nor with what design; but we saw him at that time passing through the towns and villages, preaching every where, and the people surrounding him in crowds, loading him with presents, and celebrating his sanctity with such high eulogiums, that i never remember to have seen such honours rendered to any other person. he showed himself very generous, however, in the distribution of the things given to him. he brought back to their homes the women that had abandoned their husbands, not without adding gifts of his own, and re-established peace between those who lived unhappily, with wonderful authority. in every thing he said or did, it seemed as if there was something of divine; so much so, that people went to pluck some of the hairs from his mule, which they kept afterward as relics; which i mention here not that they really were so, but merely served to satisfy the public love of any thing extraordinary. while out of doors he wore ordinarily a woollen tunic, with a brown mantle, which fell down to his heels. he had his arms and his feet bare, eat little or no bread, and lived upon fish and wine." such was his appearance after his return: prior to that period it is probable that this hermit had made himself remarkable for nothing but his general eloquence and his ascetic severity. great and extraordinary men are often long before opportunity gives scope for the display of the particular spirit whose efforts are destined to distinguish them. i mean not to class peter the hermit among great men; but certainly he deserves the character of one of the most extraordinary men that europe ever produced, if it were but for the circumstance of having convulsed a world--led one continent to combat to extermination against another, and yet left historians in doubt whether he was madman or prophet, fool or politician. peter, however, accomplished in safety his pilgrimage to jerusalem,[ ] paid the piece of gold demanded at the gates, and took up his lodging in the house of one of the pious christians of the holy city. here his first emotion[ ] seems to have been indignant horror at the barbarous and sacrilegious brutality of the turks. the venerable prelate of tyre represents him as conferring eagerly with his host upon the enormous cruelties of the infidels, even before visiting the general objects of devotion. doubtless the ardent, passionate, enthusiastic mind of peter had been wrought upon at every step he took in the holy land, by the miserable state of his brethren, till his feelings and imagination became excited to almost frantic vehemence. after performing the duties of the pilgrimage, visiting each object of reputed holiness,[ ] and praying in those churches which had the fame of peculiar sanctity, peter, with his heart wrung at beholding the objects of his deepest veneration in the hands of the church's enemies, demanded an audience of the patriarch, to whom some latin friend presented him. simeon the patriarch, though a greek, and consequently in the eyes of peter a heretic, was still a christian, suffering in common with the rest of the faithful in the holy land, and the hermit saw in him that character alone. the union--the overflowing confidence with which the hermit and the prelate appear to have treated each other--raises them both in our estimation; but it also throws an historical light upon the character of peter, which places him in a more elevated situation than modern historians have been willing to concede to him. the patriarch simeon, a man as famous for his good sense as for his piety, would not, surely, have opened his inmost thoughts to a wandering pilgrim like peter, and intrusted to him a paper sealed with his own seal, which, if taken by the turks, would have ensured death to himself and destruction to christianity in palestine, had he not recognised in the hermit "a man,"[ ] to use the words of william of tyre, "full of prudence and experience in the things of this world." this, however, was the case; and after long conversations, wherein many a tear was shed over the hapless state of the holy land, it was determined, at the suggestion of peter, that the patriarch should write to the pope and the princes of the west, setting forth the miseries of jerusalem and of the faithful people of the holy city, and praying for aid and protection against the merciless sword of the saracen. peter, on his part, promised to seek out each individual prince, and to show, with his whole powers of language, the ills of the christians of palestine. from these conversations peter went again and again to pray in the church of the resurrection, petitioning ardently for aid in the great undertaking before him. on one of these occasions it is said that he fell asleep,[ ] and beheld the saviour in a vision, who exhorted him to hasten on his journey, and persevere in his design. without searching for any thing preternatural, the vision is not at all difficult to believe, though the place of its occurrence seems to have been fictitious. nothing could be more natural than for peter the hermit, with his mind full of the mission he was about to undertake, to dream that the being in whose cause he believed himself engaged appeared to encourage him, and to hasten his enterprise; and it is easy to conceive that, with full confidence in this manifestation of heavenly favour, he should set forth upon his journey with enthusiastic zeal. bearing the letter of the patriarch, peter now returned in haste to italy, and sought out the pope, to declare the miseries of the church in the holy land, and to propose the means of its deliverance. urban ii., who then occupied the apostolic chair, had inherited from gregory wars and contestations with the emperor henry iv., and was at the same time embroiled with the weak and luxurious philip i. of france, on the subject of that king's adulterous intercourse with bertrade. he, as well as gregory, had taken refuge in apulia and calabria, and had thrown himself upon the protection of the famous robert guiscard, who readily granted him the aid of that powerful mind which made the utmost parts of the earth tremble.[ ] it does not correctly appear at what place urban sojourned at the time of peter's arrival in italy.[ ] his whole support was, evidently, still in the family of guiscard; and it seems that with boemond, prince of tarentum, the gallant and chivalrous son of robert, he first held council upon the hermit's[ ] great and interesting proposal, before he determined on the line of conduct to be pursued. one of the historians of the crusades,[ ] attributing perhaps somewhat too much the spirit of modern politics to an age whose genius was of very different quality, supposes that the course determined on by the pope and his ally was, in fact, principally a shrewd plot to fix urban firmly in the vatican, and to forward boemond's ambitious views in greece. it seems to me, however, that such a supposition is perfectly irreconcilable with the subsequent conduct of either. the pope shortly after threw himself into the midst of his enemies, to hold a council on the subject of the crusades; and boemond abandoned every thing in europe to carry on the holy war in palestine. it is much more natural to imagine that the spirit of their age governed both the prelate and the warrior--the enthusiasm of religion the one, and the enthusiasm of chivalry the other. however that may be, peter the hermit met with a most encouraging reception from the pope. the sufferings of his fellow-christians brought tears from the prelate's eyes; the general scheme of the crusade was sanctioned[ ] instantly by his authority; and, promising his quick and active concurrence, he sent him on, the pilgrim to preach the deliverance of the holy land through all the countries of europe. peter wanted neither zeal nor activity[ ]--from town to town, from province to province, from country to country, he spread the cry of vengeance on the turks, and deliverance to jerusalem! the warlike spirit of the people was at its height; the genius of chivalry was in the vigour of its early youth; the enthusiasm of religion had now a great and terrible object before it, and all the gates of the human heart were open to the eloquence of the preacher. that eloquence was not exerted in vain; nations rose at his word and grasped the spear; and it only wanted some one to direct and point the great enterprise that was already determined. in the mean time the pope did not forget his promise; and while peter the hermit spread the inspiration throughout europe,[ ] urban called together a council at placentia, to which deputies were admitted from the emperor of constantinople, who displayed the progress of the turks, and set forth the danger to all christendom of suffering their arms to advance unopposed. the opinion of the assembly was universally favourable to the crusade; and trusting to the popularity of the measure, and the indications of support which he had already met with, the pope determined to cross the alps and to hold a second council in the heart of gaul. the ostensible object of this council was to regulate the state of the church, and to correct abuses; but the great object was, in fact, the crusade. it is useless to investigate the motives which gave urban ii. courage to summon a council, destined, among other things, to solemnly reprobate the dissolute conduct of philip of france, in the midst of dominions, if not absolutely feudatory to the crown[ ] of that monarch, at least bound to it by friendship and alliance. whether it arose from fortitude of a just cause, or from reliance on political calculation, the prelate's judgment was proved by the event to be right. after one or two changes in regard to the place of meeting, the council was assembled at clermont, in auvergne,[ ] and was composed of an unheard-of multitude of priests, princes, and nobles, both of france and germany, all willing and eager to receive the pope's injunctions with reverence and obedience. after having terminated the less important affairs which formed the apparent business of the meeting, and which occupied the deliberation of seven days, urban, one of the most eloquent men of the age, came forth from the church[ ] in which the principal ecclesiastics were assembled, and addressed the immense concourse which had been gathered into one of the great squares, no building being large enough to contain the number. the prelate[ ] then, with the language best calculated to win the hearts of all his hearers, displayed the miseries of the christians in the holy land. he addressed the multitude as a people peculiarly favoured by god, in the gift of courage, strength, and true faith. he told them that their brethren in the east were trampled under the feet of infidels, to whom god had not granted the light of his holy spirit--that fire, plunder, and the sword had desolated completely the fair plains of palestine--that her children were led away captive, or enslaved, or died under tortures too horrible to recount--that the women of their land were subjected to the impure passions of the pagans, and that god's own altar, the symbols of salvation, and the precious relics of the saints were all desecrated by the gross and filthy abomination of a race of heathens. to whom, then, he asked--to whom did it belong to punish such crimes, to wipe away such impurities, to destroy the oppressors, and to raise up the oppressed? to whom, if not to those who heard him, who had received from god strength, and power, and greatness of soul; whose ancestors had been the prop of christendom, and whose kings had put a barrier to the progress of infidels? "think!" he cried, "of the sepulchre of christ our saviour possessed by the foul heathen!--think of all the sacred places dishonoured by their sacrilegious impurities!--o brave knights, offspring of invincible fathers, degenerate not from your ancient blood! remember the virtues of your ancestors, and if you feel held back from the course before you by the soft ties of wives, of children, of parents, call to mind the words of our lord himself: 'whosoever loves father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me. whosoever shall abandon for my name's sake his house, or his brethren, or his sisters, or his father, or his mother, or his wife, or his children, or his lands, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit eternal life.'" the prelate then went on to point out the superior mundane advantages which those might obtain who took the cross. he represented their own country as poor and arid, and palestine as a land flowing with milk and honey; and, blending the barbarous ideas of a dark age with the powerful figures of enthusiastic eloquence, he proceeded--"jerusalem is in the centre of this fertile land; and its territories, rich above all others, offer, so to speak, the delights of paradise. that land, too, the redeemer of the human race rendered illustrious by his advent, honoured by his residence, consecrated by his passion, repurchased by his death, signalized by his sepulture. that royal city, jerusalem--situated in the centre of the world--held captive by infidels, who deny the god that honoured her--now calls on you and prays for her deliverance. from you--from you above all people she looks for comfort, and she hopes for aid; since god has granted to you, beyond other nations, glory and might in arms. take, then, the road before you in expiation of your sins, and go, assured that, after the honour of this world shall have passed away, imperishable glory shall await you even in the kingdom of heaven!" loud shouts of "god wills it! god wills it!" pronounced simultaneously by the whole people, in all the different dialects and languages of which the multitude was composed, here interrupted for a moment the speech of the prelate: but, gladly seizing the time, urban proceeded, after having obtained silence, "dear brethren, to-day is shown forth in you that which the lord has said by his evangelist--'when two or three shall be assembled in my name, there shall i be in the midst of them;' for if the lord god had not been in your souls, you would not all have pronounced the same words; or, rather, god himself pronounced them by your lips, for he it was that put them in your hearts. be they, then, your war-cry in the combat, for those words came forth from god.--let the army of the lord, when it rushes upon his enemies, shout but that one cry, 'god wills it! god wills it!'[ ] "remember, however, that we neither order nor advise this journey to the old, nor to the weak, nor to those who are unfit to bear arms. let not this way be taken by women, without their husbands, or their brothers, or their legitimate guardians, for such are rather a burden than an aid. let the rich assist the poor, and bring with them, at their own charge, those who can bear arms to the field. still, let not priests nor clerks, to whatever place they may belong, set out on this journey without the permission of their bishop; nor the layman undertake it without the blessing of his pastor, for to such as do so their journey shall be fruitless. let whoever is inclined to devote himself to the cause of god, make it a solemn engagement, and bear the cross of the lord either on his breast or on his brow till he set out; and let him who is ready to begin his march place the holy emblem on his shoulders, in memory of that precept of the saviour--'he who does not take up his cross and follow me, is not worthy of me.'" the pontiff thus ended his oration, and the multitude prostrating themselves before him, repeated the _confiteor_[ ] after one of the cardinals. the pope then pronounced the absolution of their sins, and bestowed on them his benediction; after which they retired to their homes to prepare for the great undertaking to which they had vowed themselves. miracles are told of the manner in which the news of this council, and of the events that distinguished it, spread to every part of the world; but nevertheless it did spread, as may easily be conceived, with great quickness, without any supernatural aid; and, to make use of the words of him from whom we have sketched the oration of the pope, "throughout the earth, the christians glorified themselves and were filled with joy, while the gentiles of arabia and persia trembled and were seized with sadness: the souls of the one race were exalted, those of the others stricken with fear and stupor." great, certainly, was the influence which the zeal and eloquence of urban gave him over the people. some authors, with a curious sort of historical puritanism, which leads them to judge of ages past only by the principles of the day in which they themselves exist, have reproached the pope with not using the means in his hands for purposes which would have needed the heart of a fenelon to conceive properly, and the head of a napoleon to execute. they say that, with the powers which he did possess, he might have reformed a world! it is hardly fair, methinks, to require of a man in a barbarous, ignorant, corrupted age the enlightened visions of the nineteenth century. pope urban ii., at the end of the eleventh century, showed a great superiority to the age in which he lived, and at the council of clermont evinced qualities of both the heart and the mind which have deservedly brought his name down to us with honour. his first act in the council was to excommunicate, for adulterous profligacy, philip, monarch of the very ground on which he stood; and, in so doing, he made use of the only acknowledged authority by which the kings of that day could be checked in the course of evil. whether the authority itself was or was not legitimate, is not here the question; but, being at the time undisputed, and employed for the best of objects, its use can in no way fairly be cited as an instance either of pride or ambition. the pope's conduct in preaching the crusade is equally justifiable. his views were of course those of the age in which he lived, and he acted with noble enthusiasm in accordance with those views. he made vast efforts, he endangered his person, he sacrificed his ease and comfort, to accomplish what no churchman of his day pretended to doubt was a glorious and a noble undertaking. in thus acting, he displayed great qualities of mind, and showed himself superior to the century in powers of _conducting_, if he was not so in the powers of _conceiving_ great designs. it would be very difficult to prove, also, that the pope, had he even possessed the will, could, by the exertion of every effort, have produced the same effect in any other cause that he did in favour of the crusades. i have already attempted to show that all things were prepared in europe for the expedition to the holy land, by the spirit of religious and military enthusiasm; and the task was light, to aid in pouring on the current of popular feeling in the direction which it had already begun to take, when compared with the labour necessary to have turned that current into another channel. he who does not grasp the spirit of the age on which he writes, but judges of other days by the feelings of his own, is like one who would adapt a polar dress to the climate of the tropics. before closing this chapter, one observation also must be made respecting the justice of the crusade, which enterprise it has become somewhat customary to look upon as altogether cruel and unnecessary. such an opinion, however, is in no degree founded on fact. the crusade was not only as just as any other warfare of the day, but as just as any that ever was waged. the object was, the protection and relief of a cruelly oppressed and injured people--the object was, to repel a strong, an active, and an encroaching enemy--the object was, to wrest from the hands of a bloodthirsty and savage people territories which they themselves claimed by no right but the sword, and in which the population they had enslaved was loudly crying for deliverance from their yoke--the object was, to defend a weak and exposed frontier from the further aggression of a nation whose boast was conquest. such were the objects of the crusades; and though much of superstition was mingled with the incitements, and many cruelties committed in its course, the evils were not greater than ordinary ambition every day produces; and the motives were as fair as any of those that have ever instigated the many feuds and warfares of the world. chapter iv. _the effects of the council of clermont--state of france--motives of the people for embracing the crusade--benefits produced--the enthusiasm general--rapid progress--the first bodies of crusaders begin their march--gautier sans avoir--his army--their disasters--reach constantinople--peter the hermit sets out with an immense multitude-- storms semlin--defeated at nissa--his host dispersed--the remains collected--joins gautier--excesses of the multitude--the italians and germans separate from the french--the germans exterminated--the french cut to pieces--conduct of alexius._ the immediate effects of the council of clermont are detailed with so much animation by guibert of nogent, that i shall attempt to trace them nearly in his own words, merely observing, that previous to his departure from france, urban ii., having taken every means in his power to secure the property of the crusaders during their absence, committed the chief direction of the expedition to adhemar, bishop of puy, in auvergne.[ ] "as soon as the council of clermont was concluded," says the historian, "a great rumour spread through the whole of france, and as soon as fame brought the news of the orders of the pontiff to any one, he went instantly to solicit his neighbours and his relations to engage with him in the _way of god_, for so they designated the purposed expedition. "the counts palatine[ ] were already full of the desire to undertake this journey; and all the knights of an inferior order felt the same zeal. the poor themselves soon caught the flame so ardently, that no one paused to think of the smallness of his wealth, or to consider whether he ought to yield his house and his fields, and his vines; but each one set about selling his property, at as low a price as if he had been held in some horrible captivity, and sought to pay his ransom without loss of time. "at this period, too, there existed a general dearth. the rich even felt the want of corn; and many, with every thing to buy, had nothing, or next to nothing, wherewithal to purchase what they needed. the poor tried to nourish themselves with the wild herbs of the earth; and, as bread was very dear, sought on all sides food heretofore unknown, to supply the place of corn. the wealthy and powerful were not exempt; but finding themselves menaced with the famine which spread around them, and beholding every day the terrible wants of the poor, they contracted their expenses, and lived with the most narrow parsimony, lest they should squander the riches now become so necessary. "the ever insatiable misers rejoiced in days so favourable to their covetousness; and casting their eyes upon the bushels of grain which they had hoarded long before, calculated each day the profits of their avarice. thus some struggled with every misery and want, while others revelled in the hopes of fresh acquisitions. no sooner, however, had christ inspired, as i have said, innumerable bodies of people to seek a voluntary exile, than the money which had been hoarded so long was spread forth in a moment; and that which was horribly dear while all the world was in repose, was on a sudden sold for nothing, as soon as every one began to hasten towards their destined journey. each man hurried to conclude his affairs; and, astonishing to relate, we then saw--so sudden was the diminution in the value of every thing--we then saw seven sheep sold for five deniers. the dearth of grain, also, was instantly changed into abundance; and every one, occupied solely in amassing money for his journey, sold every thing that he could, not according to its real worth, but according to the value set upon it by the buyer. "in the mean while, the greater part of those who had not determined upon the journey, joked and laughed at those who were thus selling their goods for whatever they could get; and prophesied that their voyage would be miserable, and their return worse. such was ever the language one day; but the next--suddenly seized with the same desire as the rest--those who had been most forward to mock, abandoned every thing for a few crowns, and set out with those whom they had laughed at but a day before. who shall tell the children and the infirm that, animated with the same spirit, hastened to the war? who shall count the old men and the young maids who hurried forward to the fight?--not with the hope of aiding, but for the crown of martyrdom to be won amid the swords of the infidels. 'you, warriors,' they cried, 'you shall vanquish by the spear and brand; but let us, at least, conquer christ by our sufferings.' at the same time, one might see a thousand things springing from the same spirit, which were both astonishing and laughable: the poor shoeing their oxen, as we shoe horses, and harnessing them to two-wheeled carts, in which they placed their scanty provisions and their young children; and proceeding onward, while the babes, at each town or castle that they saw, demanded eagerly whether that was jerusalem." such is the picture presented, by an eyewitness, of the state of france after the first promulgation of the crusade; and a most extraordinary picture it is. the zeal, the enthusiasm, the fervour of the spirit, the brutal ignorance and dark barbarity of the people, are the objects that catch the eye from the mere surface; but underneath may be seen a hundred fine and latent tints which mingle in the portrait of the age. there may be found the hope of gain and the expectation of wealth in other lands, as well as the excitement of devotion; and there also may be traced the reckless, daring courage of a period when comfort was unknown, and when security was scarcely less to be expected among the swords of the saracens, than in the fields of france and germany. while the thirst of adventure, the master-passion of the middle ages, prompted to any change of scene and circumstances, imagination portrayed the land in view with all that adventitious splendour which none--of all the many betrayers of the human mind--so well knows how to bestow as hope. the same land, when the jews marched towards it from the wilderness, had been represented to them as a land flowing with milk and honey,--rich in all gifts; and doubtless that inducement moved the stubborn hebrews, as much as the command of him they had so often disobeyed. now the very same prospect was held out to another host of men, as ignorant of what lay before them as the jews themselves; and it may be fairly supposed that, in their case too, imaginary hopes, and all the gay phantasma of ambition, shared powerfully with religion in leading them onward to the promised land. still zeal, and sympathy, and indignation, and chivalrous feeling, and the thirst of glory, and the passion for enterprise, and a thousand vague but great and noble aspirations, mingled in the complicated motive of the crusade. it increased by contagion; it grew by communion; it spread from house to house, and from bosom to bosom; it became a universal desire--an enthusiasm--a passion--a madness. in the mean while, the crusade was not without producing a sensible benefit even to europe. the whole country had previously been desolated by feuds[ ] and pillage, and massacre. castle waged war with castle: baron plundered baron; and from field to field, and city to city, the traveller could scarcely pass without injury or death. no sooner,[ ] however, had the crusade been preached at the council of clermont, than the universal peace, which was there commanded, called the _truce[ ] of god_, was sworn throughout the country, the plunder ceased and the feuds disappeared. the very fact of the wicked, the infamous, and the bloodthirsty having embraced the crusade, either from penitence or from worse motives, was a positive good to europe. that not alone the good,[ ] the religious, the zealous, or the brave, filled the ranks of the cross is admitted on all hands; yet those who had once assumed that holy sign were obliged, in some degree, to act as if their motives had been pure, and their very absence was a blessing to the land they left. still the crusade went on; and the imagination of the people being once directed towards a particular object found, even in the phenomena which in former days would have struck nations with fear and apprehension, signs of blessing and omens of success. an earthquake itself[ ] was held as good augury; and scarcely a meteor shot across the sky without affording some theme for hope. the sign of the cross was now to be seen on the shoulder of every one; and being generally cut in red[ ] cloth, was a conspicuous and remarkable object. as these multiplied, the hearts even of the fearful grew strong, and the contagion of example added to the number every hour. peter the hermit, indefatigable in his calling, though his mind seems day by day[ ] to have become more excited, till enthusiasm grew nearly akin to madness, gathered a vast concourse of the lower orders, and prepared to set out by the way of hungary. but the real and serviceable body of crusaders was collected from among another class, whose military habits and chivalrous character were well calculated to effect the great object proposed. in france, hugh, the brother of king philip, robert, count of flanders, stephen, count of chartres and blois, adhemar, bishop of puy, william, bishop of orange, raimond, count of toulouse, and many others of the highest station, assumed the cross, and called together all the knights and retainers that their great names and influence could bring into the field. robert, duke of normandy, son of william the conqueror of england, accompanied by a number of english barons, prepared also for the crusade. godfrey of loraine, and his brothers were added to the number; and boemond, prince of tarento, the valiant son of robert guiscard, cast from him the large possessions which his sword and that of his father had conquered, and turned his hopes and expectations towards the east. the immense multitudes thus assembled are said to have amounted to nearly six millions of souls;[ ] and one of the most astonishing proofs of the rapidity with which the news of the crusade must have spread, and the enthusiasm with which it was received, is to be found in the fact, that the council of clermont was held in the november of the year , and that early in the spring of a large body of the crusaders was in motion towards palestine. the historians of the day are not at all agreed in regard to which was the multitude that led the way towards the holy land. it appears[ ] almost certain, however, that _gautier sans avoir_, or walter the penniless, a burgundian gentleman, without fortune, who had assembled a considerable band of the lower classes under the banner of the cross, was the first who set out in compliance with the general vow. he was, according to all accounts, a complete soldier of fortune, renowned for his poverty even to a proverb, but by no means, as has been asserted, without military fame. all[ ] the contemporary writers designate him by his cognomen of poverty; but all at the same time describe him as an illustrious warrior. nevertheless, the host that he led was rather an ill-governed crowd of men on foot than an army; and but eight knights accompanied the leader on his expedition. the difficulties of the undertaking were incalculable; and the followers of walter had provided but little for the necessities of the way. it showed, however, no small skill in that leader to conduct the disorderly rabble by which he was followed, so far as he did in safety. passing through germany,[ ] he entered into hungary; where, entangled among the marshes and passes of that kingdom, his whole followers must have perished inevitably, had he not met with the greatest kindness and assistance from the king and people of the country, who, professing the christian religion, understood and venerated the motives of the crusade. thus the host of walter swept on till their arrival at semlin, where some stragglers were attacked and plundered by a party of hungarians less humane than their brethren. the arms and crosses of the crusaders who had thus been despoiled, were fixed upon the walls of the city as a sort of trophy; but walter, though strongly urged by his followers to seek vengeance for the insult, wisely forbore and passing forward, entered into bulgaria. here the champions of the cross met with no further aid. the people regarded them with jealous suspicion; the cities shut their gates upon them; all commerce was prohibited, and all supplies denied. famine now imperiously urged them to violence; and having taken possession of whatever flocks and herds they could find, the crusaders soon found themselves attacked by the bulgarians, by whom considerable numbers were cut off and destroyed. walter himself, with great wisdom[ ] and resolution, forced his way through innumerable difficulties, till he had left behind him the inhospitable country of the bulgarians; and at length brought his army, infinitely wasted by both famine and the sword, to the neighbourhood of constantinople. here he obtained permission to refresh his forces, and wait the arrival of peter the hermit himself, who followed close upon his steps. the multitude which had been collected by the hermit was even of a less uniform and regular description than that which had followed _gautier sans avoir_. men, women, and children,--all sexes, ages, and professions,--many and distinct languages--a quantity of baggage and useless encumbrance, rendered the army of peter as unwieldy and dangerous an engine as ever was put in motion. notwithstanding its bulk and inconsistency, it also proceeded in safety, and without much reproach, through germany and hungary; but at semlin, the sight of the crosses and vestments which had been stripped from[ ] the stragglers of walter's host roused the anger of the multitude. the town was attacked and taken by assault, with all the acts of savage ferocity which usually follow such an occurrence; and the crusaders, without remorse, gave themselves up to every barbarity that dark and unrestrained passions could suggest.[ ] the news of this event soon reached the king of hungary; who, calling together a considerable force, marched to avenge the death and pillage of his subjects. his approach instantly caused peter to decamp from semlin; but the passage of the morava was opposed by a tribe of savage bulgarians: few boats were to be procured; those that were found were of small dimensions; and the rafts that could be hastily constructed were but little manageable in a broad and rapid river. some of the crusaders thus perished in the water, some fell by the arrows of the enemy; but the tribe that opposed the passage being defeated and put to flight, the rest of peter's followers were brought over in safety. the hermit now, after having sacrificed the prisoners to what was then considered a just resentment, pursued his way to nissa, in which town the duke of bulgaria had fortified himself, having abandoned belgrade at the approach of the army of the cross. finding, however, that peter did not at all contemplate taking vengeance for the inhospitality shown to _gautier sans avoir_, the duke wisely permitted his subjects to supply the crusaders with necessaries. thus all passed tranquilly under the walls of nissa, till peter and his host had absolutely departed, when some german stragglers, remembering a controversy of the night before with one of the bulgarian merchants, set fire to several mills and houses without the walls of the town. enraged at this wanton outrage, the armed people of the city rushed out upon the aggressors, and, not contented with sacrificing them to their fury, fell upon the rear of the hermit's army, glutted their wrath with the blood of all that opposed them, and carried off the baggage, the women, the children, and all that part of the multitude whose weakness at once caused them to linger behind, and left them without defence. the moment that peter heard of this event, he turned back; and, with a degree of calmness and moderation that does high honour to his memory, he endeavoured to investigate the cause of the disaster, and conciliate by courtesy and fair words. this negotiation was highly successful; the duke, appeased with the vengeance he had taken, agreed to return the prisoners and the baggage, and every thing once more assumed a peaceful aspect; when suddenly, a body of a thousand imprudent men, fancying that they saw an opportunity of seizing on the town, passed the stone bridge, and endeavoured to scale the walls. a general conflict ensued; the ill-disciplined host of the crusaders was defeated and dispersed, and peter himself, obliged to fly alone, took refuge, like the rest, in the neighbouring forests. for some time he pursued his way over mountains,[ ] and wastes, and precipices; and it may easily be conceived that his heart--so lately elated with honour, and command, and gratified enthusiasm--now felt desolate and crushed, to find the multitude his voice had gathered dispersed or slain, and himself a wandering fugitive in a foreign land, without shelter, protection, or defence. at length, it is said, he met by chance several of his best and most courageous knights at the top of a mountain, where they had assembled with no more than five hundred men, which seemed at first all that remained of his vast army.[ ] he caused, however, signals to be made and horns to be sounded in the different parts of the forest, that any of the scattered crusaders within hearing might be brought to one spot. these and other means which were put in practice to call together the remnants of his army, proved so successful, that before night seven thousand men were collected, and with this force he hastened to march on towards constantinople. as he went, other bands, which had been separated from him in the confusion of the flight, rejoined him, and the only difficulty, as the host advanced, was to procure the necessaries of life. the news of peter's adventures flew before them, and reached even constantinople. alexius, the emperor, who had not yet learned to fear the coming of the crusaders, sent deputies to meet the hermit, and to hasten his journey; and at philippopoli the eloquent display of his sufferings, which peter addressed to the assembled people, moved their hearts to compassion and sympathy. the wants of the host were plentifully supplied, and, after reposing for some days in the friendly city, the whole body, now again amounting to thirty thousand men, set out for constantinople, where they arrived in safety, and joined the troops which walter the penniless had conducted thither previously. here they found a considerable number of lombards and italians; but these, also, as well as the troops which they had themselves brought thither were not only of the lowest, but of the most disorderly classes of the people. it is no wonder therefore--although alexius supplied them with money and provisions, and tried to secure to them the repose and comfort that they needed in every respect--that these ruffian adventurers should soon begin to tire of tranquillity and order, and to exercise their old trades of plunder and excess.[ ] they overturned palaces, set fire to the public buildings, and stripped even the lead off the roofs of the churches, which they afterward sold to the greeks from whom they had plundered it. horrified by these enormities,[ ] the emperor soon found a pretext to hurry them across the bosphorus, still giving them the humane caution, to wait the arrival of stronger forces, before they attempted to quit bithynia. here, however, their barbarous licentiousness soon exceeded all bounds, and peter the hermit himself, having lost command over his turbulent followers, returned to constantinople in despair, upon the pretence of consulting with the emperor on the subject of provisions.[ ] after his departure, the lombards and germans separated themselves from the french and normans, whose crimes and insolence disgusted even their barbarous fellows. _gautier sans avoir_ still continued in command of the french, who remained where peter had left them; but the italians[ ] and germans chose for their leader one renault, or rinaldo, and, marching on, made themselves masters of a fortress called exorogorgon, or xerigord. here they were attacked by the sultaun soliman, who cut to pieces a large body placed in ambuscade, and then invested the fort, which, being ill supplied with water, he was well aware must surrender before long. for eight days the besieged underwent tortures too dreadful to be dwelt upon, from the most agonizing thirst. at the end of that time, rinaldo and his principal companions went over to the turks, abandoned their religion, and betrayed their brethren. the castle thus falling into the hands of the infidels, the christians that remained were slaughtered without mercy. the news of this disaster was soon brought to the french camp, and indignation spread among the crusaders.[ ] some say a desire of vengeance, some a false report of the fall of nice, caused the french to insist upon hurrying forward towards the turkish territory. gautier wisely resisted for some time all the entreaties of his troops, but at length finding them preparing to march without his consent, he put himself at their head, and led them towards nice. before reaching that place, he was encountered by the turkish forces. the battle was fierce, but unequal: gautier and his knights fought with desperate courage,[ ] but all their efforts were vain; the christians were slaughtered in every direction; and gautier himself, after having displayed to the last that intrepid valour for which he was renowned, fell under seven mortal wounds. not above three thousand christians effected their escape to civitot. here again they were attacked by the turks, who surrounded the fortress with vast piles of wood, in order to exterminate by fire the few of the crusaders that remained. the besieged, however, watched their moment, and while the wind blew towards the turkish camp, set fire to the wood themselves, which thus was consumed without injury to them, while many of their enemies were destroyed by the flames.[ ] in the mean time one of the crusaders had made his way to constantinople, and communicated the news of all these disasters to peter the hermit. the unhappy peter, painfully disappointed, like all those who fix their enthusiasm on the virtues or the prudence of mankind, was driven almost to despair, by the folly and unworthiness of those in whom he had placed his hopes. he nevertheless cast himself at the feet of the emperor alexius,[ ] and besought him, with tears and supplications, to send some forces to deliver the few crusaders who had escaped from the scimitar of the turks. the monarch granted his request, and the little garrison of civitot were brought in safety to constantinople. after their arrival, however, alexius ordered them to disperse and return to their own country; and with wise caution bought their arms before he dismissed them;[ ] thus at once supplying them with money for their journey, and depriving them of the means of plundering and ravaging his dominions as they went. most of the historians[ ] of that age accuse alexius of leaguing with the turks, even at this period, to destroy the crusaders, or, at least, of triumphing in the fall of those very men whom he had himself called to his succour. the conduct of alexius in this transaction is not very clear, but it is far from improbable that, fearful of the undisciplined multitude he had brought into his dominions, horrified by their crimes, and indignant at their pillage of his subjects, he beheld them fall by their own folly and the swords of the enemy, without any effort to defend them, or any very disagreeable feeling at their destruction. and indeed, when we remember the actions they did commit within the limits of the greek empire, we can hardly wonder at the monarch, if he rejoiced at their punishment, or blame him if he was indifferent to their fate. thus ended the great expedition of peter the hermit: but several others of a similar unruly character took place previous to the march of those troops, whose discipline, valour, and unity of purpose ensured a more favourable issue to their enterprise. i shall touch but briefly upon these mad and barbarous attempts, as a period of more interest follows. the body of crusaders which seems to have succeeded immediately to that led by peter the hermit was composed almost entirely of germans, collected together by a priest called gottschalk.[ ] they penetrated into hungary; but there, giving way to all manner of excesses, they were followed by carloman, the king of that country, with a powerful army, and having been induced to lay down their arms, that the criminals might be selected and punished, they were slaughtered indiscriminately by the hungarians, who were not a little glad to take vengeance for the blood shed by the army of peter at semlin. about the same period, immense bands of men and women came forth from almost every country of europe, with the symbol of the crusade upon their shoulders, and the pretence of serving god upon their lips. they joined together wheresoever they met, and, excited by a foul spirit of fanatical cruelty, mingled with the most infamous moral depravity, proceeded towards the south of germany. they gave themselves up, we are told,[ ] to the pleasures of the table without intermission: men and women, and even children, it is said, lived in a state of promiscuous debauchery; and, preceded by a goose and a goat,[ ] which, in their mad fanaticism, they declared to be animated by the divine spirit, they marched onward, slaughtering the jews as they went; and proclaiming that the first duty of christians was to exterminate the nation which had rejected the saviour himself. several of the german bishops bravely opposed them, and endeavoured to protect the unhappy hebrews; but still, vast multitudes were slain, and many even sought self-destruction rather than encounter the brutality of the fanatics, or abjure their religion. glutted with slaughter, the ungodly herd now turned towards hungary; but at mersburg they were encountered by a large hungarian force, which disputed their passage over the danube, absolutely refusing the road through that kingdom to any future band of crusaders. the fanatics forced their way across the river, attacked mersburg itself with great fury and perseverance, and succeeded in making a breach in the walls, when suddenly an unaccountable terror seized them--none knew how or why--they abandoned the siege, dispersed in dismay, and fled like scattered deer over the country. the hungarians suffered not the opportunity to escape, and pursuing them on every side, smote them during many days with a merciless fury, that nothing but their own dreadful cruelties could palliate. the fields were strewed with dead bodies, the rivers flowed with blood, and the very waters of the danube are said to have been hidden by the multitude of corpses. disaster and death had, sooner or later, overtaken each body of the crusaders that had hitherto, without union or command, set out towards the holy land; but each of these very bands had been composed of the refuse and dregs of the people. i do not mean by that word _dregs_ the poor, but i mean the base--i do not mean those who were low in station, or even ignorant in mind; but i mean those who were infamous in crime, and brutal in desire. doubtless, in these expeditions, some fell who were animated by noble motives or excellent zeal; but such were few compared with those whose objects were plunder, licentiousness, and vice. the swords of the hungarians and the turks lopped these away; and i cannot find in my heart to look upon the purification which europe thus underwent with any thing like sorrow. the crusade itself was by this means freed from many a base and unworthy member; and chivalry, left to act more in its own spirit, though still participating deeply in the faults and vices of a barbarous age, brought about a nobler epoch and a brighter event. chapter v. _the chivalry of europe takes the field--the leaders--godfrey of bouillon--conducts his army towards constantinople--hugh the great--leads his army through italy--embarks for durazzo--taken prisoner--liberated-- robert, duke of normandy--winters in italy--arrives at constantinople-- robert, count of flanders--joins the rest--boemond of tarentum--tancred-- their march--defeat the greeks--boemond does homage--tancred avoids it-- the count of toulouse arrives--refuses to do homage--robert of normandy does homage._ while the undisciplined and barbarous multitudes who first set out were hurrying to destruction, various princes and leaders were engaged, as i have before said, in collecting the chivalry of europe under the banner of the cross. six distinguished chiefs--godfrey of bouillon, duke of loraine--hugh the great, count of vermandois, and brother of philip, king of france--robert, duke of normandy, brother of william rufus--robert, count of flanders--boemond, prince of tarentum--and raimond, count of toulouse--conducted six separate armies towards constantinople: and i propose, in this chapter, to follow each of them till their junction in bithynia. it is indeed a pleasure to turn our eyes from scenes of horror and crime to the contemplation of those great and shining qualities--those noble and enthusiastic virtues, which entered into the composition of that rare quintessence, the spirit of chivalry. doubtless, in the war which i am about to paint there occurred many things that are to be deeply regretted, as furnishing abundantly that quantity of alloy which is ever, unhappily, mixed with virtue's purest gold: but, at the same time, i now come to speak of men, in many of whom splendid courage, and moral beauty, and religious zeal, and temperate wisdom, and generous magnanimity, combined to form the great and wonderful of this earth's children. indeed, if ever there was a man who well merited the glorious name of a true knight, that man was godfrey of bouillon; and few have described him without becoming poets for that once. i will not borrow from tasso--who had the privilege of eulogium--but, in striving to paint the character of the great leader of the crusade, i shall take the words of one of the simplest of the writers of his age,[ ] and give them as nearly as possible in their original tone: "he was beautiful in countenance," says robert the monk, "tall in stature, agreeable in his discourse, admirable in his morals, and at the same time so gentle, that he seemed better fitted for the monk than for the knight; but when his enemies appeared before him, and the combat approached, his soul became filled with mighty daring; like a lion, he feared not for his person--and what shield, what buckler, could resist the fall of his sword?" perhaps of all men of the age, godfrey of bouillon was the most distinguished. his mother ida, daughter of godfrey, duke of loraine, was celebrated for her love of letters,[ ] and from her it is probable that godfrey himself derived that taste for literature, so singular among the warriors of that day. he spoke several languages, excelled in every chivalrous exercise, was calm and deliberate in council, firm and decided in resolution; he was active, clearsighted, and prudent, while he was cool, frank, and daring; in the battle he was fierce as the lion, but in victory he was moderate and humane. though still in his prime of years when the crusades were preached, he was already old in exploits: he had upheld henry iv. on the imperial throne, had attacked and forced the walls of rome, and had shone in a hundred fields, where his standard ever was raised upon the side of honour and of virtue. long ere the idea of such an enterprise as the crusade became general in europe, godfrey had often been heard to declare, when tales were brought him of the miseries of the holy land, that he longed to travel to jerusalem,[ ] not with staff and scrip,[ ] but with spear and shield; and it may well be conceived that his was one of the first standards raised in the ranks of the cross. a fever that had hung upon him for some time left him at the tidings, and he felt as if he had shaken off a load of years, and recovered all his youth.[ ] his fame as a leader soon collected an immense number of other barons and knights, who willingly ranged themselves under his banner; and we find that besides baldwin, his brother[ ]--and many other relations--the lords of st. paul, of hainault, of gray, of toul, of hache, of conti, and of montagne, with their knights and retainers, had joined him before the beginning of august,[ ] and towards the middle of that month they began their march with all the splendour of chivalry.[ ] the progress of this new body of crusaders was directed, like that of peter the hermit, towards hungary; but the conduct maintained by the followers of godfrey was as remarkable for its strict discipline, moderation, and order, as that of his predecessors had been for turbulence and excess.[ ] the first objects, however, that presented themselves on the hungarian frontier were the unburied corpses of the fanatic crowd slain near mersburg. here then godfrey paused during three weeks,[ ] investigating calmly the causes of the bloody spectacle before him; after which he wrote to carloman, king of hungary; and his letter on this occasion, mingling firmness with moderation, gives a fair picture of his noble and dignified character. having mentioned the horrible sight which had arrested him in his progress, and the rumours he had heard, he proceeds--"however severe may have been the punishment inflicted on our brethren, whose remains lie round about us, if that punishment was merited, our anger shall expire; but if, on the contrary, you have calumniated the innocent, and given them up to death, we will not pass over in silence the murder of the servants of god, but will instantly show ourselves ready to avenge the blood of our brethren."[ ] it was easy for carloman to prove that the aggression had been on the side of the crusaders; and after various acts of confidence between godfrey[ ] and the king, the army of the cross was permitted to pass through hungary, which they accomplished in safety and peace, maintaining the strictest discipline and regularity, and trading with the people of the country with good faith and courtesy. hence, proceeding through bulgaria and thrace, godfrey led his troops peacefully on to philippopoli, where he was met by deputies from the emperor, charged with orders to see that the crusaders should be furnished with every kind of necessary provision. in passing through dacia and bulgaria, the army of godfrey had been not a little[ ] straitened for food, and it is impossible to say what might have been the consequences, had the same dearth been suffered to continue. the prudent conduct of the emperor did away all cause of violence, and after the arrival of his deputies, the troops of the cross celebrated his liberality with joy and gratitude. news soon reached the army[ ] of godfrey, however, which changed their opinion of alexius, and showed him as the subtle and treacherous being that he really was. to explain what this news consisted of, i must turn for a moment to another party of crusaders, who, while godfrey pursued his peaceful course through hungary, marched towards the general meeting-place at constantinople, by the way of italy. hugh, count of vermandois, had assembled an army even superior in number to that of godfrey of bouillon, and was himself in every respect calculated to shine at the head of such an armament. he was gallant,[ ] brave, handsome, and talented; but the calm and dignified spirit of moderation, which so characterized godfrey of bouillon, was wanting in the brother of the french king. joined to his expedition, though marching in separate bodies, and at distinct times,[ ] were the troops of robert, duke of normandy, and stephen, count of blois; with those of robert, count of flanders, in another division.[ ] the count of vermandois, impetuous and proud, took his departure before his companions, traversed italy, and embarking at barri, landed with but a scanty train at durazzo. his expectations were high, and his language haughty, supposing he should find in the greek emperor the same humbled supplicant who had craved, in abject terms, assistance against the infidels from his christian brethren of the west. but the position of the emperor had now changed. the turks, occupied with other interests, no longer menaced his frontier. the imperial city slept in peace and splendour; and if he had any thing to fear, it was from his own restless and turbulent subjects rather than from his saracen foes. nor, in fact, had he ever been desirous of any thing like the expedition that was entering his dominions. he had prayed for aid and assistance to defend his country, but urban had preached a crusade, and the princes were now in arms to reconquer the christian territories in asia, as well as to protect those of europe. he had gladly heard of the crusade, and willingly consented to it, it is true, as he well knew it would afford a mighty diversion in his favour, but he then dreamed not of the armed millions that were now swarming towards his capital. his position, too, had changed, as i have said, and he immediately determined upon a line of policy well suited to the weak subtlety of his character. alexius was one of those men whose minds are not of sufficient scope to view life as a whole, and who therefore have not one great object in their deeds; who act for the petty interests of the moment, and whose cunning, compared with the talents of a really great mind, is like the skill of a fencing-master compared with the genius of a great general. he saw not, and felt not, the vast ultimate benefit which he might receive from maintaining a dignified friendship with the princes commanding the crusade. he did not perceive what an immense and powerful engine was placed, if he chose it, at his disposition.--in his narrow selfishness, he only beheld a temporary danger from the great forces that were approaching, and he strove to diminish them by every base and petty artifice. he did not endeavour to make himself great by their means, but he tried to bring them down to his own littleness. it is true, that on some occasions he showed feelings of liberality and humanity; but from his general conduct it is but fair to infer that these were the inconsistencies of selfishness; and that though he was sometimes prudent enough to be liberal, he was not wise enough to be uniformly generous. on the arrival of hugh at durazzo, he was at first received with respect, and entertained with honour and profusion; and thus finding himself at ease, he was induced to remain for a time in confident security. suddenly, however, without a pretence for such violence, he was arrested, together with his train, and sent to constantinople, some authors say, _in chains_.[ ] nevertheless, it is not probable that alexius dared to carry his inhospitality so far; and one of the historians[ ] of the day particularly marks, that the prisoner was treated with every testimony of respect. guibert also ventures a supposition respecting the motives of alexius, far superior to the general steril course of ancient chronicles. he imagines--and i wonder that the idea has not been adopted by any one--that the object of the greek emperor, in confining hugh, was to obtain from him, before the other princes should arrive, that act of homage which he intended to exact from all. the brother of the king of france himself having taken the oath, would be so strong a precedent, that it is more than probable, alexius[ ] fancied the rest of the crusaders would easily agree to do that which their superior in rank had done previous to their arrival. at philippopoli[ ] the news of hugh's imprisonment reached the army of godfrey de bouillon, and with the prompt but prudent firmness of that great leader's character, he instantly sent messengers to alexius, demanding the immediate liberation of the count of vermandois and his companions, accompanying the message with a threat of hostilities, if the demand were not conceded. godfrey then marched on to adrianople,[ ] where he was met by his deputies, bringing the refusal of the emperor to comply with his request: in consequence of which the country was instantly given up to pillage; and so signal were the effects of this sort of vengeance, that alexius speedily found himself forced to put his prisoners at liberty. the moment that a promise to this effect was received, godfrey recalled his forces; and with wonderful discipline and subordination, they instantly abandoned the ravages they were before licensed to commit, and marched on peacefully towards constantinople. had the armies of the cross continued to show such obedience and moderation, palestine would now have been christian. in the neighbourhood of the imperial city godfrey pitched his tents, and the innumerable[ ] multitude of his steel-clad warriors struck terror into the heart of the fearful monarch of the east.[ ] to the count of vermandois, however, it was a sight of joy; and issuing forth from constantinople with his friends and followers, he galloped forward to the immense camp of the crusaders, where, casting himself into the arms of godfrey,[ ] he gave himself up to such transports of delight and gratitude, that the bystanders were moved to tears. the emperor now turned the whole force of his artful mind to wring from godfrey an act of homage, and for several weeks he continued, by every sort of fluctuating baseness, to disturb his repose, and to irritate his followers. at one time, he was all professions of kindness and liberality; at another, he breathed nothing but warfare and opposition. sometimes the markets were shut to the crusaders, sometimes the private stores of the emperor himself were opened. at length, after having twice defeated the bands of plunderers sent by alexius to attack him,[ ] godfrey gave way to his wrath, and for six days successively ravaged the country round constantinople with fire and sword. alexius on this again changed his conduct, and with every profession of regard demanded an interview with the chief of the crusaders, offering his son as a hostage for his good faith. with this safeguard godfrey, followed by several other noble knights, entered constantinople, and proceeded to the imperial palace, clothed in his robes of peace,[ ] and bearing purple and ermine and gold, instead of the iron panoply of war.[ ] the great leader was received by the emperor with the highest distinction, was honoured with the kiss of peace, and underwent that curious ceremony of an adoption of honour (as it was then called) as son to the emperor.[ ] he was clothed with imperial robes,[ ] and the monarch, calling him his son, nominally placed his empire at godfrey's disposal. in return for the distinctions he had received--and probably pressed by hugh, count of vermandois, who loved not to stand alone, in having yielded homage to alexius--godfrey consented to give the emperor his hand, according to the feudal forms of france, and to declare himself his liegeman. his fears dissipated by this concession, and his hopes of winning the princes who were to follow, by so illustrious an example, raised to the highest pitch, alexius loaded godfrey and his followers with magnificent presents, and suffered them to depart. peace was now permitted to remain unbroken; and after having refreshed themselves for some days, the army of the crusaders passed the hellespont, and encamped at chalcedon,[ ] to wait the arrival of their brethren. it is more than probable that godfrey was induced to quit the original place of rendezvous by the solicitations of alexius, who took care, it has been since observed, to guard his capital from the presence of any two of the crusading hosts at one time. boemond, prince of tarentum, and son of the famous guiscard, had quitted italy shortly after the departure of godfrey from loraine. various tales are told of the manner in which he first declared his purpose of joining the crusade. some have asserted, that on hearing of the expedition, while engaged in the siege of amalfi, he dashed his armour to pieces with his battle-axe,[ ] and caused it to be formed into small crosses, which he distributed among his soldiery. others reduce the anecdote to a less chivalrous but perhaps more civilized degree of energy, and state, that he caused his mantle to be cut into crosses for his troops.[ ] as many relate the tale, it is likely to have had some foundation; and there is no doubt that boemond abandoned all his vast possessions in italy, with the reserve only of tarentum, and devoted himself to the wars of the cross. his presence might have proved more generally advantageous to the cause, had he not, by this enthusiastic renunciation, given himself other motives in the warfare before him, besides those of religion and humanity. he had naturally in his veins quite sufficient of the blood of guiscard to require no additional stimulus to the desire of conquering for himself. he was nevertheless one of the best soldiers of the cross, so far as military skill availed--bold, powerful, keen, and active; and possessing that sort of shrewd and even wily art, which, joined with his other qualities, formed an enterprising and successful leader, more perhaps than a distinguished knight. with him, however, came the noblest of all the christian chivalry, tancred--whose valour, generosity, enthusiasm, and courtesy have been the theme of so many a song--of whom tasso, in seeking to describe him in the highest language of poetry, could say nothing more than truth, vien poi tancredi, e non è alcun fra tanti tranne rinaldo--o feritor maggiore, o più bel di maniere e di sembianti o più eccelso ed entrepido di core.[ ] few characters can be conceived more opposed to each other than those of the relations,[ ] tancred and boemond; and yet we find tancred willingly serving in the army of the prince of tarentum, as second to that chief. the same unambitious modesty is to be discovered throughout the whole history of the young knight; and though we ever behold him opposed to meannesses, by whomsoever they may be adopted, we still see him willing to take upon himself the danger and labour of an inferior station. under the banners of these chiefs marched a host of italian and norman nobles; the army, it is said, amounting to ten thousand horse,[ ] and an immense multitude of foot, in which view of the forces we must remember that only men of noble birth were usually admitted to fight on horseback.[ ] these troops were even increased as they marched to the seacoast of apulia; and the great body of those normans who, not a century before, had taken complete possession of the country, now left it for the holy land. mills,[ ] following his particular theory, supposes urban the pope to smile with triumphant self-gratulation on seeing the army of boemond depart; but it seems strange, that the prelate should rejoice in the absence of the very men by whom he had been always protected, while his enemies remained, and were even in possession of the old church of st. peter[ ] at rome, as we learn by a contemporary crusader. the forces of boemond and tancred landed at durazzo, and made their way, with much more regularity than could have been expected, through epirus.[ ] they were harassed, however, on their march by various skirmishes with the greek troops, who did every thing in their power to destroy the crusading army, although alexius[ ] had sent messengers to boemond himself congratulating him on his arrival, and promising every kind of assistance. these attacks, nevertheless, only amounted to a petty degree of annoyance, till the host of the cross came to the passage of the axius. here, a part of the forces having traversed the river with almost the whole of the cavalry, the rear of the army was suddenly attacked by an infinitely superior body of greeks.[ ] tancred, already on the other side, lost not a moment, but, spurring his horse into the water, followed by about two thousand knights, he charged the greeks so vigorously as to drive them back with considerable loss in killed and prisoners. when brought before boemond, the captives justified themselves by avouching the commands of the emperor, and tancred would fain have pursued and exterminated the forces of the perfidious greek. boemond, however, more prudently forbore, and, without retaliation of any kind, advanced to adrianople. i see no reason to qualify this moderation as subtilty, which mills has not scrupled to do. boemond was artful beyond all doubt, but this was not a fair instance of any thing but wisdom and self-command. at adrianople, well knowing the character of alexius, to whom he had frequently been opposed, and foreseeing that his troops might be irritated by various acts of annoyance,[ ] boemond drew up his army, and, in a calm and temperate speech, represented to them that they had taken up arms in the cause of christ, and therefore that it was their duty to refrain from all acts of hostility towards their fellow-christians. shortly after this, the prince of tarentum was met by deputies from the emperor, inviting him to come on with all speed to constantinople, leaving his army behind, under the command of tancred. boemond at first refused to trust himself in the power of his ancient enemy,[ ] but godfrey of bouillon having visited him in person, and guarantied his security, the italian chief agreed to the arrangement proposed, and accompanied the duke of loraine to the imperial palace. gold and dominion were always motives of great force with the mind of boemond, and alexius did not spare such temptations, either present or to come, for the purpose of inducing the prince of tarentum to do homage to the eastern empire. his promises were limitless, and the actual presents[ ] which he heaped upon the normo-italian immense. he also granted him, it is said, a territory in romania, consisting, in length, of as much ground as a horse could travel in fifteen days; and, in breadth,[ ] of as much as could be traversed in eight; besides which, he loaded him with jewels and gold, and rich vestments, till boemond, from one of his most inveterate enemies, became one of his firmest allies. this, indeed, proceeded from no confidence or friendship on either side. boemond still felt how little alexius could forgive the injuries he had in former days inflicted, and dared not trust himself to eat of the meat set before him at the emperor's table. alexius, with all the penetration of his race, evidently dived into the norman's thoughts, and saw that he aspired even to the imperial crown itself.[ ] no reliance, therefore, existed between them; but, on the one hand, boemond, for considerations of interest, forgot his dignity, and did homage to the emperor, while alexius, on his part, agreed that the homage should be void, if the promises he made were not exactly fulfilled.[ ] the news of his relation's humiliation soon reached tancred, who was leading on their united forces towards constantinople; and though unquestionably, the lamentation attributed to him by his biographer[ ] is somewhat more poetical than real, little doubt can be entertained that the gallant prince was painfully struck by boemond's disgraceful concessions. hugh of vermandois had done homage to obtain his liberty; godfrey of bouillon, to restore peace and unanimity between the christian emperor and the crusaders; boemond _sold_ his homage, with no palliating circumstance. the determination of tancred seems to have been taken almost immediately on hearing this news, and marching upon constantinople as if it were his intention to follow exactly the course of his relation, he suddenly crossed the hellespont[ ] without giving notice to any one, and joined the army of godfrey at chalcedon.[ ] this conduct greatly irritated alexius, and he made several efforts to bring tancred back without success; but the arrival of raimond de st. gilles, count of toulouse, with the immense army of the languedocian crusaders, soon called the attention of the emperor in another direction. the count of toulouse has been very variously represented, and no doubt can exist that he was a bold and skilful leader, a courageous and resolute man. he was, it is said, intolerant and tenacious of reverence, fond of pomp and display, and withal revengeful, though his revenge was always of a bold and open character. not so his avarice, which led him to commit as many pitiful meannesses as ever sprang from that basest of desires. he was proud, too, beyond all question; but where his covetousness did not overbalance the other great principle of his nature, he maintained, in his general conduct, that line of moral firmness which dignifies pride, and raises it almost to a virtue. under the banners of the count of toulouse marched the gay chivalry of all the south of france--gascons, and provençals, and auvergnats--people, in whose hearts the memory of saracen invasions from spain was still fresh; and whose quick and passionate dispositions had at once embraced with enthusiasm the holy war. a glorious train of lords and knights followed their noble chief, and the legate of the pope, as well as several other bishops, gave religious dignity to this body of the crusaders. the count directed his course by sclavonia towards greece, notwithstanding that the season was unfavourable, as he set out in winter.[ ] during the journey he displayed, in the highest degree, every quality of a great commander. innumerable difficulties, on which we cannot pause, assailed him even during the first part of his march through the barren and inhospitable passes which lay between his own fair land and greece. when he had reached the dominions of alexius, whose call for aid he had not forgotten, the count imagined, to use the words of his chaplain, that he was in his native land, so much did he rely upon the welcome and protection of the greek emperor. but he, like the chiefs who had preceded him, was deceived, and the same series of harassing persecutions awaited him on the way. an act of seasonable[ ] but barbarous vengeance, however, in mutilating and disfiguring several of the prisoners, so much frightened the savage hordes which the emperor had cast upon his track, that the rest of the journey passed in comparative tranquillity. like those who had gone before, the count was permitted to enter the imperial city with but few attendants. here the same proposal of rendering homage was made to raimond which had been addressed to the other leaders of the crusade, but he rejected it at once with dignified indignation, and maintained his resolution with unalterable firmness.[ ] the means which had been tried with godfrey of bouillon were now employed against the count of toulouse; and as no very strong body of crusaders was soon expected from europe, the emperor seems confidently to have anticipated the destruction of the languedocian force. the bosphorus lay between it and the armies of godfrey, of hugh, of boemond, and of robert of flanders,[ ] whose arrival we have not thought it necessary to dwell upon, as it was accompanied by no circumstance of interest. alexius had taken especial care, that no vessels should remain on the other side of the straits, which would facilitate the return of the crusaders even if they should wish it,[ ] and boemond was devoted to his cause from motives of interest. under these circumstances alexius did not scruple to order a night attack to be made upon the camp of the french knights. at first it proved successful, and many fell under the treacherous sword of the greeks. at length, however, the languedocians recovered from their surprise, repulsed the enemy with great loss, and for some time gave full way to their indignation. raimond even resolved to declare war against the emperor, but abandoned his intention on finding that the other princes would not succour him, and that boemond threatened to join his arms to those of alexius. thus upheld, the emperor still continued to insist on the homage of the count; but raimond declared that he would sooner lay down his head upon the block than yield to such an indignity.[ ] "he had come,"[ ] he said, "to fight for one lord, which was christ, and for him he had abandoned country, and goods, and lands, but no other lord would he acknowledge; though, if the emperor would, in person, lead the host towards constantinople, he would willingly put himself and his troops under his august command." all that could ultimately be obtained from him, even at the intercession of his companions in arms, was a vow that he would neither directly nor indirectly do any act which could militate against the life or honour of the emperor.[ ] this concession, however, seemed to satisfy alexius, upon whose weakness the ambitious spirit of boemond was pressing somewhat too hard. the power of raimond of toulouse, the monarch saw, might be used as a good counterpoise to the authority which the prince of tarentum was inclined to assume; and in consequence, alexius soon completely changed his conduct, and loaded the count with distinctions and courtesy. the pleasures of the imperial palace, the rivalry which the artful emperor contrived to raise up between him and boemond, and the false but polished society of the greek court, excited and pleased the count of toulouse, who remained some time in the midst of pomp and enjoyment. his character, also, though it had much of the steady firmness of the north, had, in common with that of his countrymen in general, a sparkling and vivacious urbanity, a splendid yet easy grace, which suited the taste of the greeks much more than the simple manners of the northern crusaders. indeed, to judge from the terms in which she speaks of him, his handsome person and elegant deportment seem to have made no small impression on the imagination of the princess anna,[ ] although raimond had already passed the middle age. boemond, however, had by this time departed, and had marched from chalcedon with godfrey and the rest of the crusading host[ ] towards nice, the capital of the turkish kingdom of roum.[ ] his honour demanded the presence of the count of toulouse, and abandoning the pleasures of constantinople, he superintended the embarkation of his troops, and hastened to join the rest of his companions in arms. scarcely had the forces of the count quitted constantinople, when another army appeared under the walls of that city. its principal leader was robert, duke of normandy--a man, debauched, weak, and unstable; endowed with sufficient talents to have dignified his illustrious station, had he possessed that rare quality of mind which may be called _conduct_. he was eloquent in speech, brave in the field, skilful in warlike dispositions, and personally humane, even to excess;[ ] but at the same time he was versatile as the winds, and so easily persuaded, that the common expression, _he had no will of his own_, was, perhaps, more applicable to him than to any other man that ever existed. on the first preaching of the crusade, he had caught the flame of enthusiasm with others, and perhaps not more than those around him; for we must not take the immediate sale of his dutchy of normandy to william rufus as a proof of his zeal. it was, in fact, but a proof of that wretched facility which ultimately brought about his ruin. the price he obtained,[ ] was only ten thousand marks of silver, but with so petty a sum this modern esau thought he could conquer worlds. with him was stephen, count of blois, more famous in the council than the field,[ ] while all the norman and english crusaders of rank, together with eustace, brother of godfrey of bouillon,[ ] joined themselves to his forces. thus, followed by a numerous and well-equipped army, robert took the way of italy, and having encountered the pope at lucca, proceeded to apulia, where he remained to pass the winter. here, however,[ ] many deserted his army, and returned to their native land, and several were drowned, subsequently, in their passage to durazzo; but, on the whole, the march of robert of normandy was more easy and less disastrous than that of any other chief of the crusaders. we find no mention of any attack or annoyance on the part of alexius; and, on the arrival of the norman host at constantinople, the oath of homage seems to have been presented and received, with a sort of quiet indifference well according with the indolent and careless character of the duke.[ ] alexius simply informed the leaders, that godfrey, boemond, hugh, and the rest had undergone the ceremony proposed. "we are not greater than they,"[ ] replied robert, and the vows were taken without hesitation. loaded with presents, and supplied with money and provisions, of both which robert stood in great want, the norman crusaders now passed the hellespont, and marched towards nice to join their companions. the timid alexius thus found himself delivered from the last body of these terrific allies; and, indeed, the description given of their arrival, in rapid succession, before constantinople, is not at all unlike the end of camaralzaman's history in the arabian nights, where no sooner is one army disposed of, than another is seen advancing towards the city from a different quarter of the globe. chapter vi. _germ of after-misfortunes already springing up in the crusade--siege of nice--first engagement with the turks--siege continued--the lake occupied--surrender of nice to the emissaries of alexius--discontent-- march towards antioch--the army divides into two bodies--battle of doryloeum--dreadful march through phrygia--adventures of baldwin and tancred--arrival at antioch--the city invested._ one of the most unfortunate events which occurred to the crusaders in their march was their stay at constantinople, for it was the remote but certain cause of many other evils. the jealousies and differences raised up among them by the intriguing spirit of alexius were never entirely done away; and besides this, the intervention of petty motives, long discussions, and schemes of individual aggrandizement chilled the fervour of zeal, and thus weighed down the most energetic spring of the enterprise. enthusiasm will conquer difficulties, confront danger and death, and change the very nature of the circumstances in which it is placed, to encouragement and hope; but it will not bear to be mingled with less elevated feelings and considerations. the common ambitions and passions of life, cold reasonings, and thoughtful debates, deaden it and put it out; and amid the intrigues of interest, or the speculations of selfishness, it is extinguished like a flame in the foul air of a vault. a great deal of the enthusiasm of the crusade died away amid the bickerings of constantinople; and even the cowardly effeminacy of the greeks proved in some degree contagious, for the army of the count of toulouse, we find, had at one time nearly disbanded itself. the luxury of the most luxurious court of europe, too, was not without its effect upon the crusaders, and the memory of the delights of the imperial city was more likely to afford subjects of disadvantageous comparisons, when opposed to the hardships of palestine, than the remembrance of the turbulent and governless realm from which they had first begun their march. the greatest misfortune of all, however--the cause of many of their vices, and almost all their miseries,--was the want of one acknowledged leader, whom it would have been treason to disobey. each chief was his own king, but he was not the king of even those who served under him. many who had followed his banner to the field were nearly his equals in power, and it was only over his immediate vassals that he had any but conditional right of command. in respect to his vassals themselves, this right was much affected by circumstances; and over the chiefs around him, he had no control whatever. thus, unity of design was never to be obtained; and discord, the fatal stumblingblock of all great undertakings, was always ready in the way, whenever the folly, the passions, or the selfishness of any individual leader chose to dash upon it the hopes of himself and his companions. nevertheless, during the siege of nice, which was the first undertaking of the crusaders, a considerable degree of harmony seems to have prevailed among the leaders. each, it is true, conducted his part of the attack according to his own principles, but each seemed happy to assist the other, and we hear of no wrangling for idle punctilios. the morals, too, of the troops were hitherto pure, reaching a much higher point of virtue, indeed, than might have been anticipated from the great mixture of classes. i do not mean to say that they were free from vice, or were exempt from the follies of their nature or their age; but the noble and dignified manner in which the chiefs of the crusade, and the people in general, bore the conduct of alexius (mentioned hereafter), would lead me to believe that they had preserved a considerable share of purity and singleness of heart. the first body of the crusaders which reached the city of nice was that led by godfrey of bouillon. he was not alone, however, being accompanied by hugh, count of vermandois; and very shortly after, the troops of robert of flanders and boemond of tarentum arrived, and took up their position on the northern side, while those of godfrey had marked their camp towards the east. the count of toulouse and the bishop of puy followed, and sat down before the southern side,[ ] leaving the west open for the duke of normandy, who was expected from day to day.[ ] this city, the capital of the kingdom of roum, was occupied by the seljukian turks, and strongly defended by a solid wall, flanked by three hundred and fifty towers. it was situated in the midst of a fertile plain, and the waters of the lake ascanius, to the west, gave it a facility of communication with a large extent of country. the army of the crusaders, after the arrival of the count of toulouse,[ ] waited not the coming of robert of normandy, but began the siege in form. their forces were already immense; and after the junction of peter the hermit with the ruins of his multitude, and the duke of normandy with his powerful army, the amount of the fighting men is said to have been six hundred thousand, without comprising those who did not carry arms.[ ] the number of knights[ ] is stated to have reached nearly two hundred thousand, which left a fair proportion of inferior soldiers. the general disposition of the troops had been made before the arrival of the count of toulouse, and he marched his division towards the spot assigned him on the sunday after ascension-day.[ ] his coming, however, was destined to be signalized by the first regular battle between the turks and their christian invaders. soliman, or kilidge aslan, the sultaun of roum, on the approach of the crusaders, had left his capital[ ] defended by a strong garrison, and travelling through his dominions, hastened in every direction the levies of his subjects. he soon collected a considerable body of horse,[ ] and leading them to the mountains which overlooked the plain of nice, he sent down two messengers to the city to concert with the governor a double attack upon the camp of the christians. the messengers fell into the hands of the outposts of godfrey. one was killed on the spot, and the other, under the fear of death, betrayed the secrets of the sultaun, giving at the same time an exaggerated account of his forces.[ ] information of soliman's approach was instantly sent to raimond of toulouse, who was advancing from nicomedia,[ ] and by a night-march he succeeded in joining the army of the cross in time. scarcely had he taken up his position, when the moslems began to descend from the mountains, clad like the christians in steel,[ ] and borne by horses fleet as the wind. divided into two bodies,[ ] the one attacked the wearied troops of the count of toulouse, seeking to force its way into the city, while the other fell upon the quarters of godfrey of bouillon. doubtless soliman thought to meet, in the immense multitude before him, a wild and undisciplined crowd, like that of peter the hermit; but he soon found bitterly his mistake. the crusaders received him every where with chivalric valour, repulsed him on all points, became in turn the assailants, and the plain round nice grew one general scene of conflict. the charging of the cavalry, the ringing of the lances and the swords upon shields and corslets, the battle-cries of the christians, and the _techbir_ of the turks; the shouts, the screams, the groans, rose up, we are told, in a roar horrible to hear.[ ] at length, finding that the sally he had expected was not made, soliman retreated to the mountains; but it was only to repeat the attempt the following day.[ ] in this, although the besieged now comprehended his intention, and issued forth upon the christians on the one side, while he attacked them on the other, he was not more fortunate than before. he was again repelled with great loss, owning his astonishment at the lion-like courage of the christian leaders, who with a thousand lances would often charge and put to flight twenty times the number of turkish horsemen. according to a barbarous custom prevalent at that time, and which even descended to a much later period, the crusaders hewed off the heads of the fallen moslems,[ ] and cast many of them into the city. others were sent to constantinople in token of victory; and alexius, as a sign of gratitude and rejoicing, instantly despatched large presents to the principal chiefs of the crusade, with great quantities of provisions for the army, which had long been straitened to a fearful degree. after the defeat of soliman,[ ] the siege was pressed with renewed vigour; and battering-rams, catapults, and mangonels were plied incessantly against the walls, while moveable towers of wood, called beffroys, filled with armed men, were rolled close to the fortifications, for the purpose of carrying on the fight hand to hand with the enemy, and of endeavouring to effect a lodgment on the battlements. in the mean while, the plains round nice offered a spectacle of the most extraordinary brilliancy. the glittering arms of the knights, their painted shields, and fluttering pennons--the embroidered banners of the barons, their splendid coats-of-arms and magnificent mantles--the gorgeous robes of the latin priests, who were present in immense numbers, and the animated multitude of bowmen and foot-soldiers, mingled with thousands of that most beautiful of beasts, the horse, all spread out in the unclouded brightness of an asiatic sky, formed as shining and extraordinary a scene as the eye could look upon. not frightened, however, by the terrific splendour that surrounded them, the turks continued to defend their battlements with persevering valour. every attack of the christians was met with dauntless intrepidity, and every laboured attempt to sap the wall, or its towers, was frustrated with unwearied assiduity. those who approached near were either slain by poisoned arrows,[ ] or crushed under immense stones; and the moment any one was killed at the foot of the wall,[ ] "it was horrible to see the turks," says an eyewitness, "seize upon the body with iron hooks let down from above, and lifting it up through the air strip it completely, and then cast it out from the city." innumerable artifices were resorted to by the assailants to force their way into the town; and none of the chiefs seem to have been more active and ingenious than the count of toulouse,[ ] who once succeeded in undermining a tower, and casting it to the ground. before this work was concluded, however, night had fallen over the army, and ere the next morning the laborious activity of the turks had repaired the damage which their wall had suffered. two of the principal[ ] german barons, also, contrived a machine of wood, to which they gave the name of _the fox_. it was capable of containing twenty knights, and was secured by its immense solidity from all the efforts of the enemy. when this was completed, a vast multitude began to push it towards the part of the curtain which they intended to sap, but the inequality of the ground and the great weight of the machine itself caused some of the joints to give way, when the whole fabric fell to pieces, crushing under its ruins the unhappy knights within. the arrival[ ] of robert of normandy brought a vast accession of strength to the besiegers; notwithstanding which, during the remainder of the siege of nice, the immense numbers of the crusaders did not produce that scarcity of provision which ultimately fell upon them; for alexius, interested more than any one in the capture of the city, took care, after the first few days, that the supplies should be ample and unremitted. nevertheless the courage of the garrison did not at all decrease, and for five weeks they still continued to return the assailants combat for combat, the whole day being consumed in a storm of arrows from the bows and arbalists, and of stones from the catapults and mangonels.[ ] numerous instances of extraordinary personal courage, shown on both sides, are of course recorded, and each different historian has his own hero, whose deeds are lauded to the sky. one turk in particular signalized himself by an immense slaughter of the crusaders, showing himself exposed upon the battlements, and plying his terrible bow, which winged death in every direction. the christians became so fearful of him, that that most imaginative passion, terror, began to invest him with some supernatural defence.[ ] the best-aimed arrows proved totally ineffectual, and reports spread rapidly that he might be seen, still sending destruction around from his hand, while twenty shafts--each carrying the fate of a common mortal--were sticking unheeded in his flesh. godfrey of bouillon, to end the panic that this man occasioned, at length took a crossbow himself, though that machine[ ] was considered but a fit weapon for a yeoman, and directing the quarry with a steadier hand than those which had before aimed at the turkish archer, he sent the missile directly to his heart.[ ] a multitude of the noblest crusaders had now fallen before the bows of the enemy, and many more had yielded to the effects of a climate totally different from their own. "thus," says one of the followers of the cross, "nothing was to be seen on the highways, in the woods, and the fields, but a crowd of tombs,[ ] where our brethren had been buried." at last, the leaders perceived the existence of a circumstance, their neglect of which, in the very first instance, showed how much the art of warfare was then in its infancy. one evening, after a fierce assault, the soldiers stationed near the water, who, in common with the rest of the host, usually rested from the labours of the siege during the night, suddenly perceived boats upon the lake ascanius, and it immediately became evident that the turks received every kind of supply by this easy means of communication. as soon as this was discovered, various vessels were brought from constantinople, and being drawn to the lake over a narrow neck of land which separated it from the sea, were filled with imperial archers;[ ] and the blockade of the town was thus rendered absolute. this was executed during the night, and all hope abandoned the turks from the next morning, when they beheld that which had proved their great resource suddenly cut off. the crusaders now hoped to force the city to surrender at discretion; and their expectations of such an event were much raised by the fact of the sultauness, the wife of soliman, who had hitherto courageously undergone all the miseries and dangers of a siege, being taken in endeavouring to make her escape by the lake.[ ] by this time the besieged had determined to surrender; but alexius had taken care to send with the army of the cross an officer on whose art and fidelity he could depend, to secure for the imperial crown a city which he would probably have rather seen still under the dominion of the turks, than in the hands of the latins. this man's name was taticius, or, according to the crusaders' corruption, tatin.[ ] his face was dreadfully mutilated, and his mind seems to have been as horrible as his countenance. what communication he kept up within the town it is difficult to discover; and how this communication was concealed from the latins is hardly known, but probably it took place, as mills conjectures, by means of the lake and the greek vessels which now covered it. certain it is, that the turks entered into a private treaty with the emissary of alexius, who granted them the most advantageous terms, securing to them not only life,[ ] but immunity and protection. it had been covenanted beforehand, between the emperor and the crusaders, that on the fall of the city it should be resigned to alexius, who promised to give up to the troops all the riches it contained,[ ] and to found there a monastery, and an hospital for pilgrims, under the superintendence of the latins.[ ] not contented with this, or doubting the faith of his allies, he took the means i have stated to secure possession. suddenly the imperial ensigns appeared upon the walls of nice, when the host of the crusade was just rushing to the attack in the full confidence of victory. it was now found that the people of the city had surrendered privately to alexius, and had admitted his troops within the walls; but it required the greatest efforts of the leaders of the crusade, although disgusted with this treachery themselves, to quiet their forces, and reconcile them to the perfidy of their base ally.[ ] on the part of the christians, the wife and children of kilidge aslan, who had fallen into their hands, were delivered to the turks; and, at the same time, all those prisoners which had been taken by soliman, on the defeat of _gautier sans avoir_, were restored to liberty. so little, however, did alexius keep his treaty with the crusaders, that, instead of yielding to them the whole plunder of nice, he contented himself with distributing some rich presents to the chiefs,[ ] and some money to the poor of the army; and suffered them, thus dissatisfied and injured, to raise their camp and march on towards jerusalem, without permitting them to set foot within the city they had conquered.[ ] the army of the cross waited no time under the walls of nice, but as soon as the principal leaders had returned from pelicanum, whither they had gone once more to confer with alexius, it began its march.[ ] at the end of the second day the forces of the different chiefs[ ] were accidentally separated,[ ] boemond and the duke of normandy taking a path considerably to the left of that followed by godfrey and the rest of the host. they proceeded on their way, notwithstanding, knowing that they could not be very far from the principal body, and towards night pitched their camp in the valley of gorgon, in the midst of some rich meadows, and near a running stream.[ ] their situation was, nevertheless, not near so desirable as they imagined, for soliman, who during the siege of nice had made the most immense efforts for the purpose of relieving that city, now that it had fallen, hung with the whole of his force,[ ] to the amount of nearly two hundred thousand men,[ ] upon the left flank of the army of the crusaders, concealing his own evolutions by his perfect knowledge of the country, and watching those of his enemies with the keen anxiety of a falcon hovering over her prey. no sooner had the separation we have mentioned taken place in the host of the cross, than the sultaun hastened his march to overtake the army of boemond, which was infinitely the weaker of the two divisions. accustomed to every sort of rapid movement, soliman soon came up with the forces of the prince of tarentum and the duke of normandy. the crusaders had been from time to time warned, during the preceding day, that an enemy was in the neighbourhood, by the sight of scattered parties of arabs hovering round their army.[ ] they nevertheless encamped by the side of a beautiful stream, that, flowing on through the rich valley in which they were advancing, proceeded to join itself to the waters of the sangarius. here they passed the night in repose, taking merely the precaution of throwing out sentinels to the banks of the stream. early the next morning, boemond and robert again commenced their march, and had advanced some way,[ ] when the immense army of soliman began to appear upon the hills. boemond instantly sent off messengers to godfrey of bouillon, and the rest of his noble companions, of whose proximity he had now become aware, and gave orders for drawing up his forces, for pitching the tents, and for making a rampart of the wagons[ ] and baggage for the defence of the sick and the weak from the arrows of the turks. in the mean while, turning to his knights and men at arms, he addressed them with the brief eloquence of courage. "remember the duties of your calling!" he exclaimed. "behold the peril in which you are placed--charge boldly to meet the infidels--defend your honour and your lives!" while he spoke, the turks rushed down to the battle with terrific cries,[ ] which, mingling with the tramp of two hundred thousand horse, and the ringing of their armour, together with the trumpets of the christian host, and the shouts of the chiefs and the heralds, raised so fearful a din, that no one could hear another speak among the followers of the cross. the army of boemond, hastily drawn up, presented a mingled front of horse and foot soldiers, and pilgrims,[ ] some but half-armed, some not armed at all; while the turks came down in one torrent of cavalry. the immense numbers which it contained all blazing with glittering arms, and provided with bows of horn and scimitars, dazzled and dismayed the troops of the christians. as the infidels approached, the european chivalry dropped the points of their long lances, and prepared to hurl back their foes, as was their wont, by the heavy and decided charge which proved always so effective; but suddenly, each moslem raised his bow even as he galloped forward,[ ] a thick cloud seemed to come over the sun, and then, two hundred thousand arrows dropping at once among the crusaders, a multitude[ ] of men and horses were instantly stretched upon the plain. before the christians could rally from the surprise, a second flight of arrows followed the first, doing dreadful execution among the foot-soldiers and the steeds of the knights.[ ] but now tancred and boemond led on their troops to the charge, and spurred their horses into the midst of the enemy. the turks, as was their habit, yielded ground on every side, avoiding, by the swiftness of their chargers, the lances and the swords of the christians, and, like the parthians of old, continuing their fearful archery even as they fled. vain were all the efforts of the european chivalry, though, throwing away their useless spears, they endeavoured to reach the turks with their swords;[ ] but now, in turn, the swarming multitudes of their foes, pouring down fresh from the mountains on every side, no longer retreated, but pressed closer and closer upon them; and as each adversary fell beneath the vigorous blows of the knights, new foes started up to meet them. in the mean while, thick and fast was mown the flower of the christian army. the brother of tancred, famed alike for his beauty and his courage, was slain before the eyes of his relation.[ ] tancred himself, surrounded by a thousand enemies, fought as if fate had put the weapon in his hands, but fought in vain. boemond, with all his efforts, could scarcely extricate his gallant cousin from the torrent of adversaries in the midst of which he struggled, and even then it was with the loss of the banner of otranto.[ ] borne back by the growing multitude that pressed upon them, the knights gave way before the saracens, and were driven struggling upon the very pikes[ ] of the foot-soldiers that were advancing to their support. at the same time soliman, whose numbers gave him the means of surrounding the army of the crusaders, directed several large bodies of his cavalry through some marshes to the rear of the christians, and in a moment the camp[ ] of boemond was invaded and deluged with the blood of the old, the women, and the helpless![ ] robert of normandy, however, who had commanded the reserve, now beholding the flight of his allies, roused all the courage of his heart; and uncovering his head in the midst of the fray, shouted forth his battle-cry[ ] of "normandy! normandy! whither fly you boemond?" he exclaimed; "your apulia is afar! where go you tancred? otranto is not near you! turn! turn upon the enemy! god wills it! god wills it!" and seizing his banner, he spurred on with his followers against the turks, drove them back, rallied the cavalry, and restored order and regularity to the defence. boemond, in the mean while, had turned his arms towards the camp; and the turks had retreated from that quarter of the field, bearing with them all that was valuable, and a considerable number of prisoners. the army of the crusade was now concentrated on one spot, while that of the turks, surrounding it on all sides, gave it not a moment's repose. soldier fell beside soldier, knight beside knight.[ ] fatigue and thirst rendered those that remained little capable of defence; and the dust and the hot sun made many of the wounds mortal, which otherwise would have been slight in comparison. in this conjuncture,[ ] the women that remained proved infinitely serviceable, bringing to the troops water from the river, and by prayers and exhortations encouraging them to the fight. thus lasted the battle for many hours, when first a cloud of dust, rising from behind the hills, announced that some new combatants were hurrying to the field. then rose above the slope banner, and pennon, and lance, and glittering arms, while the red cross fluttering on the wind brought hope and joy to the sinking hearts of the crusaders, and terror and dismay to the victorious turks.[ ] in scattered bands, spurring on their horses as for life, came the chivalry of the west to the aid of their brother christians. none waited for the others; but each hastened to the fight as the fleetness of his charger would permit, and rank after rank, troop after troop, banner followed by banner, and spear glittering after spear, came rushing over the mountains to the valley of the battle. "god wills it! god wills it!" echoed from hill to hill.[ ] robert of normandy shouted his war-cry, boemond, with renewed hope, couched his lance, and tancred rushed upon the slayers of his brother. at the same time[ ] godfrey of bouillon arrayed his army as they came up, and, with levelled lances, drove down upon the turks. hugh of vermandois attacked them on the flank, and raimond of toulouse, with the warlike bishop of puy, soon increased the forces of the cross. the turks[ ] still made great and valorous efforts to maintain the superiority they had gained, but the charge of the latin chivalry was irresistible. the infidels were driven back, compelled to fly in disorder, and pursued over the mountains by the victorious crusaders.[ ] in the hills the christians, who followed hard upon their course, discovered the camp of the saracens, where immense booty, both in gold and provisions,[ ] became the recompense of their exertions. here, also, they found all the prisoners who had been taken in the first part of the battle, and a great number of beasts of burthen, of which they were themselves in great need. among the rest was a multitude of camels, an animal which few of the franks had ever seen before. these were all brought to the christian encampment, and rejoicing succeeded the fatigues and horrors of the day. the loss of the crusaders, after so long and severe a battle, if we can depend upon the account generally given, was very much less than might have been anticipated. only four thousand men[ ] are supposed to have fallen on the part of the christians; these were principally, also, of the inferior classes, who, unprotected by the armour which defended the persons of the knights, were fully exposed to the arrows of the turks. three men of great note, among the champions of the cross, were added to this list of killed[ ]--william, the brother of tancred; geoffrey of mount scabius; and robert of paris, whose conduct at the court of alexius we have before mentioned. the loss on the part of the turks was infinitely more considerable, and thus, at the close of the battle of doryloeum, the christian leaders found that they had marked their progress towards the holy land by a great and decisive victory. the crusading armies now paused for several days,[ ] enjoying the repose and comfort which the spot afforded, and which their exhausted troops so much required. the wounds of the soldiers who had suffered in the late battle were thus in some degree healed; and the abundance of provisions the enemy had left behind served to renovate the strength and raise up the hopes and enthusiasm of the christians. in the mean while, the turks, who had survived their defeat at doryloeum, spread themselves in large bands over the country, and, pretending to have totally overcome the latins, forced themselves into the cities, destroying and wasting every thing in their way.[ ] the christians thus, in their march through phrygia, had to cross a large tract which had been completely ravaged by the enemy. with their usual improvidence, they had exhausted the provisions they had found in their adversary's camp; and ignorant of the country, they had provided themselves with no water, so that they had to encounter all the heat of the solstitial days of a phrygian climate, without a drop of liquid to allay their burning thirst. men and horses fell by thousands in the way;[ ] and the women, parched with drought, and dying with fatigue, forgot delicacy, feeling, and even the ties of human nature--rolled prostrate on the ground with the agony of thirst--offered their naked bosoms to the swords of the soldiers, and prayed for death--or threw down their new-born children in the track of the army, and abandoned them to a slow and miserable fate! the most terrible mortality prevailed among the beasts of burden, so that the animals accustomed to bear the baggage of the host having nearly all died by the way, dogs and oxen, and even hogs,[ ] are said to have been loaded with the lighter articles of necessity, while an immense quantity of luggage was cast away on the road. many falcons and dogs--a part of knightly equipage never forgotten--had been brought from europe to asia; but the dogs, spreading their nostrils in vain to the hot wind for the least breath of moisture, left the long-accustomed hand that they were wont to love, and straying through the desolate land, died among the mountains; while the clear eye of the noble falcon withered under the fiery sky, which nothing but a vulture could endure; and, after long privation, he dropped from the glove that held him.[ ] at length water was discovered, and the whole army rushed forward to the river. their intemperate eagerness[ ] rendered the means of relief nearly as destructive as the thirst which they had endured, and many were added to the victims of that horrible march by their own imprudent indulgence in the cool blessing that they had found at last. the country now had changed its aspect, and nothing presented itself but splendid fertility till the host of the crusade reached the city of antiochetta, where, surrounded by rivulets, and forests, and rich pastures, they pitched their tents, determined to enjoy the earthly paradise that spread around them. some of the warriors, however, whose energetic spirit no fatigues could daunt[ ] or subdue, soon tired of the idle sweets of antiochetta[ ] and voluntarily separated themselves from the army, seeking either renown or profit, by detached enterprises. tancred on the one hand, with the prince of salernum, and several other nobles, five hundred knights, and a party of foot-soldiers, set out from the army of boemond, to explore the country, and ascertain the strength of the enemies by which they were surrounded. detaching himself, at the same time, from the division of godfrey of bouillon, baldwin, the brother of that leader, joined tancred with a somewhat superior force, actuated probably more by the hope of his own individual aggrandizement, than by any purpose of serving the general cause of the crusade. after wandering for some time through the districts round iconium and heraclea,[ ] which the turks had taken care to desolate beforehand, the two chieftains again separated, and tancred, pursuing his way by cilicia, came suddenly before tarsus. the turks, by whom that city was garrisoned, knowing that the greater part of the populace was opposed to them, surrendered almost immediately on the approach of the christian leader, and while he encamped with his forces under the walls, waiting, according to stipulation, for the arrival of boemond, his banner was hoisted upon the towers of the town.[ ] scarcely had this been done when baldwin also appeared, and at first, the two armies, each conceiving the other to be an enemy, prepared to give one another battle. the mistake was soon discovered, and tancred welcomed his comrade in arms to tarsus. the feelings of baldwin, however, were less chivalric than those of the noble chief of otranto, and the banner of tancred flying on the walls of tarsus was an object that he could not long endure. after passing a day or two in apparent amity, he suddenly demanded possession of the city, declaring, that as he led the superior force, he was entitled to command. tancred scoffed at the absurd pretence, and both parties had nearly betaken themselves to arms.[ ] the noble moderation of the italian leader brought about a temporary reconciliation. he agreed that the people of the city themselves should be referred to, and choose the chief to whom they would submit. this was accordingly done, and the inhabitants instantly fixed upon the knight to whom they had first surrendered.[ ] but baldwin was yet unsatisfied; and after having made a proposal to sack and pillage the town, which was rejected with scorn and abhorrence by his more generous fellow-soldier, he caballed with the citizens and the turks, till he won them to throw down tancred's banner, and yield themselves to him. mortified, indignant, even enraged, the steady purpose of right within the bosom of the chief of otranto maintained him still in that undeviating course of rectitude which he had always pursued; and, resolved not to imbrue a sword drawn for honour and religion in the blood of his fellow-christians,[ ] he withdrew his forces from before tarsus, and turned his arms against mamistra. the turks here, more bold than those of the former city, beheld his approach unawed, and held out the town for several days, till at length it fell by storm, and the victorious chief planted his banner on those walls with far more honourable glory than that which surrounded the standard of baldwin at tarsus. in the mean while, another body of crusaders, detached from the troops of boemond, arrived before the city in which baldwin had established himself, and demanded entrance, or at least assistance and provisions. baldwin[ ] cruelly caused the gates to be shut upon them; and had it not been for the charitable care of some of the christian inhabitants, who let them down wine and food from the walls, they would have been left to expire of want. a fate hardly better awaited them. the turks had still, by their capitulation, maintained possession of several of the towers of tarsus, but fearful of the superior force of baldwin, they sought but a fair opportunity to escape without pursuit. the very night that the detachment of which i have spoken above arrived, the turks carried their intentions into effect,[ ] and finding a small body of christians sleeping under the walls without defence, they made the massacre of the whole the first step in their flight. the soldiers of baldwin and the citizens of tarsus, who had together witnessed, with indignation, the barbarous conduct of the french chieftain, now rose in absolute revolt.[ ] baldwin, however, having remained in concealment for a few days, contrived to pacify his followers, and to overawe the city. after this he joined himself to a band of piratical adventurers, who about that time arrived accidentally at tarsus, and who, mingling their lust of prey with some dark and superstitious notions of religion, had turned their course towards the holy land, in the pleasant hope of serving both god and mammon with the sword.[ ] with these baldwin continued to ravage cilicia, and at length approaching mamistra, in which tancred had established himself, he pitched his tents upon the immediate territory of that city. tancred now gave way to his indignation, and issuing forth, though accompanied by very inferior forces, he attacked baldwin sword in hand, when a fierce engagement ensued between the two christian armies. the struggle was severe but short: the superior numbers of the french prevailed, and tancred was forced to retreat into the city. on one side, the prince of salernum was made prisoner by baldwin,[ ] and on the other, gilbert of montclar was taken; but the next day, shame for their unchristian dissensions took possession of each chief. peace was agreed upon; they embraced in sight of the two hosts; the captives were exchanged, and, as usual, satan got the credit of the dispute. baldwin proceeded, after this, to join the main army, and left his piratical associates to aid tancred in laying waste the country. during these events the great body of the crusade had remained for some time at antiochetta, where the people continued to acquire new health and strength, in the enjoyment of that tranquillity and abundance which had been so long withheld from them. not so the chiefs, two of whom[ ]--and those of the most distinguished--had nearly, in this period of repose and peace, found that death which they had so often dared in the midst of battle and hardship. godfrey of bouillon, in delivering a pilgrim from the attack of a huge[ ] bear in the woods of antiochetta, had almost fallen a victim to his chivalrous courage: he received so many wounds, that even after having slain his ferocious adversary, he could not drag himself from the forest to the camp; and remained long and dangerously ill in consequence. at the same time, the count of toulouse was seized with a violent fever, which brought him to the brink of the grave. he was taken from his bed and laid upon the ground--as was customary among the pilgrims at the hour of death, that they might expire with all humility--and the bishop of orange administered the last sacraments of the church:[ ] but a certain count of saxe, who accompanied the army, came to visit the leader of the provençals, and told him that st. giles (the patron saint of the counts of toulouse) had twice appeared to him in a dream, assuring him that so valuable a life should be spared to the crusaders. whether from the effect of that most excellent medicine, hope, or from a natural turn in his disease, the count suddenly began to recover, and before long was sufficiently well to accompany the army in a litter. the chiefs of the crusade now directed their march towards antioch, suffering not a little from the desolate state of the country, which, devastated on every side by the turks, afforded no means of supplying the immense multitude that followed the standard of the cross. after passing iconium and heraclea, their fatigues were destined to increase rather than diminish. their road now lay through uninhabited wilds, which robert the monk describes in language at once picturesque and terrific.[ ] "they travelled," says he, "with deplorable suffering through mountains where no path was to be found except the paths of reptiles and savage beasts, and where the passages afforded no more space than just sufficient to place one foot before the other, in tracks shut in between rocks and thorny bushes. the depths of the precipices seemed to sink down to the centre of the earth, while the summits of the mountains appeared to rise up to the firmament. the knights and men-at-arms walked forward with uncertain steps, the armour being slung over their shoulders, and each of them acting as a foot-soldier, for none dared mount his horse. many would willingly have sold their helmets, their breastplates, or their shields, had they found any one to buy, and some, wearied out, cast down their arms, to walk more lightly. no loaded horses could pass, and the men were obliged to carry the whole burdens. none could stop or sit down: none could aid his companion, except where the one who came behind might sometimes help the person before him, though those that preceded could hardly turn the head towards those that followed. nevertheless, having traversed these horrible paths, or rather these pathless wildernesses, they arrived at length at the city named marasia, the inhabitants of which received them with joy and respect." at marasch the host was rejoined by baldwin, whose wife died a few days before his arrival. his brother godfrey,[ ] too, was still suffering from the effects of his combat with the wild beast, and all the chiefs of the crusade, indignant at his conduct at tarsus, gave him but a chilling and gloomy reception.[ ] the spirit of individual aggrandizement was still the strongest passion in the breast of baldwin, and the coldness of his companions in arms yielded him no great encouragement to stay and employ his efforts for the general object of the expedition, rather than for the purposes of his own selfish ambition. he very soon abandoned the rest of the chiefs, contriving to seduce two hundred knights, and a large party of foot-soldiers, to join him; and as his course was thenceforth separate from the rest of the crusaders, i shall follow the example of guibert, and briefly trace it out, till it falls again into the general stream of events. accompanied by pancrates,[ ] an armenian, who painted in glowing colours the wealth of the provinces on the other side of the euphrates,[ ] and the facility with which they might be conquered, he set out with the vague hope of plundering something and overcoming some one, he knew not well what or whom. however, his skill as a commander was certain to find matter on which to exercise itself, in a country possessed by an active enemy, while his rapacious propensities were very likely to be gratified in a rich and plentiful land, where the many were oppressed by the few. turbessel[ ] and ravendel fell immediately into his hands, and were at first placed under the command of his companion, pancrates; but beginning to suspect that personage, he forced him to deliver up the cities, by imprisonment, torture, and a threat of having him torn limb from limb.[ ] he then passed onward, crossed the euphrates, and at the invitation of thoros, sovereign of edessa, entered that city, to free it from the power of the turks. thoros, a weak and childless old man, was driven by the inhabitants--who were terrified at their infidel neighbours, and had no confidence in their feeble monarch--to adopt the brother of godfrey, with all the curious ceremonies then practised on such occasions. he passed his own shirt over baldwin's shoulders,[ ] pressed him to his naked breast, and publicly declared him his son.[ ] the transactions that followed are very obscure, and as i have not been able to satisfy myself in regard to the share which baldwin had in the tumults that succeeded, and the death of thoros, i will but state the facts, without attempting to trace them to secret causes, which are now hidden in the dark tabernacle of the past. something we know--baldwin was ambitious, unscrupulous, intriguing, cruel--and shortly after his arrival, the people of edessa rose against their unhappy prince, slew him, and elected baldwin in his place. it does not absolutely appear that baldwin was the instigator of these riots, or the prompter of the death of thoros; but it does appear that he did not exert himself as he might have done to put them down. that it was in his power to suppress them is evinced by the rapidity with which he reduced the edessians[ ] to the most submissive obedience, immediately that the rank for which he had to contend was his own. he afterward proceeded to aggrandize his dominions, by attacking various of the neighbouring cities, and thus, in continual struggles, he passed his days, till some time after his companions in arms had completed their conquest of the holy land. in the mean while, tancred took possession of the whole country as far as the town of alexandretta, in the gulf of ajasse; and the great army of the crusade continued its march, throwing forward robert of flanders to seize on artesia.[ ] the mahommedan soldiery prepared to resist; but the armenian inhabitants opened the gates to their christian deliverers, and the infidels were massacred without mercy. on the news of this event, baghasian, the commander of the turkish garrison of antioch, apparently not knowing the immediate proximity of the whole christian force, endeavoured to cut off, by stratagem, the small army of the count of flanders, who was accompanied by only one thousand knights. for this purpose the turk advanced from antioch,[ ] followed by nearly twenty thousand horsemen, whom he placed in ambush in a plain near the city, while he himself, at the head of a petty detachment, armed alone with bows of horn,[ ] advanced as if to reconnoitre the christian troops. robert of flanders and his knights suffered themselves to be deceived, and charged the enemy, who fled before them, but in a moment they were surrounded by immensely superior numbers, who, with terrific cries, rushed on, to what appeared a certain victory. the gallantry[ ] and courage of the christian warriors served to deliver them from the danger into which the excess of that very courage had brought them, and charging the turks with vigour in one decided direction, they succeeded in cutting their way through, and effecting their retreat to the city. here, however, they were besieged by the enemy; but the arrival of tancred, on his return from his victorious expedition, together with reinforcements from the main army, relieved them from the presence of the turks, who retreated upon antioch. chapter vii. _the host of the crusade invests antioch--description of that city-- difficulties and errors of the crusaders--improvidence--famine--spies-- desertions--embassy from the calif of egypt--succours from the genoese and pisans--battle--feats of the christian knights--boemond keeps up a communication within the town--the town betrayed to the christians-- massacres--arrival of an army from persia--the christians besieged in antioch--famine--desertions--visions--renewed enthusiasm--diminished forces of the christians--battle of antioch--the crusaders victorious-- spoils--disputes with the count of toulouse--the chiefs determine to repose at antioch--ambassadors sent to alexius--fate of their embassy._ the army now began to approach towards antioch; and it was evident, that the task which the champions of the cross had undertaken was becoming more and more difficult, as it drew near its consummation. the host was proceeding further and further from all resources; its enemies were gathering strength and falling back upon fresh supplies; multitudes of the invaders had died, and others were each day joining the dead: little hope of fresh reinforcements could be entertained, and the flame of enthusiasm was waxing dim, while fatigue, privation, and continual anxiety were gradually bringing disgust to the enterprise. the council of leaders,[ ] well aware of the increasing dangers, now issued orders that in future no party whatever should absent itself from the main body; and all considerable detachments having rejoined it, they marched on to the valley of the orontes. over that river a stone bridge of nine arches was the only passage: this was strongly fortified, and closed with doors plated with iron, from which circumstance it had received the name of the iron-bridge. the turks defended this formidable position with great valour against robert, duke of normandy, who commanded the advance guard of the crusading army; but on the arrival of godfrey and the other forces, the bridge was carried, the river passed, and antioch invested. in the vast plain situated at the foot of the mountains,[ ] the orontes wanders on towards the sea, skirting, during a part of its course, the steep boundary which closes in the plain of antioch from the south. on one of the bendings of the river was situated the town of antioch, which, climbing up the hills, took within the embrace of its massy walls three high peaks of the mountain, one of which standing towards the north is separated from the others by a steep precipice, and was then crowned by a high and almost impregnable citadel.[ ] the town itself, which extended in length two miles, was so strongly fortified by art and nature, that none of the active means then known seemed likely to take it by assault. the walls of the city were not absolutely washed by the orontes; for between them and that river was a space of level ground, the breadth of which raimond d'agiles estimates at an arrow's flight; but, as the river turned in its course, it approached nearer to the town, and an antique bridge,[ ] which the crusaders at first neglected to secure, gave infinite facility to the turks, both in annoying their adversaries, and in procuring supplies. on the other side, spreading from the river to the foot of the mountains, was a marsh supplied constantly by some fresh springs. over this also was thrown a bridge, which equally remained in the hands of the infidels. the encampment of the crusaders was conducted without any degree of military science.[ ] various points were left open and unguarded; each chief seemed to choose his own situation, and form his own plan of attack; and the most scandalous waste and profusion from the very first laid the foundation of after want and misery. such were the obstacles which impeded the progress of the forces of the cross, and which might, ultimately have rendered all their efforts abortive, had not other circumstances arisen to bring about an event that their own skill and conduct would never have accomplished. it is not necessary here to describe the position of the several leaders: suffice it, that tatin, as he is called by the writers of that day, the commander of the troops of alexius, took up his station in a spot detached from the rest. three hundred thousand men capable of bearing arms,[ ] sat down under the walls of antioch; and such a profusion of provisions was found, even for this immense multitude, that the greater part of each animal slaughtered was wasted, the crusaders in the wantonness of luxury refusing to eat any but particular parts of the beast.[ ] such was the formidable appearance of the city, however, that a council was held to consider whether it would be advisable to attack it at once, or, remaining beneath the walls, to wait and see if famine would spare the work of the sword, or spring bring fresh resources to the besiegers. this opinion was soon negatived, and the attack began; but the walls of antioch resisted all efforts. every means then known was employed by the crusaders to batter the heavy masonry of those mighty bulwarks, but in vain. moveable towers, and catapults, and mangonels, and battering-rams, were all used ineffectually; while the besieged, in a variety of sallies, harassed night and day the christian camp, and destroyed many of the assailants. the consequences[ ] of their first improvidence were soon bitterly visited on the heads of the crusaders. famine began to spread in the camp; and pestilential diseases, engendered by unwholesome food and the neighbourhood of a large tract of marshy land, in the autumn and winter seasons, raged through the hosts of the cross, and slew more fearfully even than the arrows of the enemy. death in every shape grew familiar to their eyes, and the thought of passing to another world lost all the salutary horror which is so great a check on vice. crimes of various descriptions were common;[ ] and the sharp urgency of famine, joined with that horrible contempt of all human ties, which the extreme of mortal need alone can bring, induced many of the crusaders, deprived of other aliments, to feed upon the dead bodies of the slain.[ ] at the same time, the turks suffered not their miseries to pass without aggravation, but kept the unsparing sword constantly at their throats;[ ] while, by a number of spies, dressed in the garb of greeks and armenians, the garrison became aware of all the movements and necessities of their besiegers.[ ] to correct the crimes of the camp, a court was instituted, with full power to try and punish; while, to prevent the immorality which was growing too glaring for endurance, the women were separated from the general host, and provided for and protected apart. at the same time, boemond employed a somewhat savage mode of freeing the army from the spies by which it was infested. having detected some turks in disguise, he caused them to be slain and roasted in his presence; declaring, that famine knew no delicacies, and that in future he should feed upon such fare. still, however, the mortality and the dearth increased; and though an excursion made by boemond[ ] and robert of flanders brought a temporary supply to the camp, yet that was soon improvidently wasted like the rest, and the scarcity became more rigorous than ever. desertion of course followed.[ ] among such a multitude, there were many whose hearts were not of that firm and all-enduring mould which could alone carry on an enterprise surrounded by such horrors and distresses. taticius,[ ] the greek, upon pretence of searching for assistance at constantinople, retreated with the few troops he commanded; and his example was fatal to the resolution of many others. various bodies of crusaders abandoned the army, and found refuge in the different christian states that still subsisted in the neighbouring countries: many tried to tread their way back to europe; and the count de melun,[ ] a celebrated warrior, but a notorious plunderer, attempted to quit the host of the cross, and seek some other adventure, where personal danger was not accompanied by famine and privation. even peter the hermit himself,[ ] no longer looked upon as a great leader or an inspired preacher, seeing misery, death, and horror pursuing the object of all his enthusiasm, and feeling himself, perhaps, less valued than his zeal merited, was abandoned by that ardour which had been his great support. whereas, had he been still regarded as a prophet, or followed as a mighty chief, he would probably have borne the extremity of suffering without a murmur; now, told to endure want and wretchedness as a private individual, he yielded, like the weakest of those that surrounded him, and tried to flee from the pangs which he had no stimulus to endure. both of these fugitives[ ] were brought back by tancred; and after undergoing a severe reprimand, were forced to vow that they would never abandon the enterprise till the army had reached jerusalem. in the mean while,[ ] the camp of the crusaders received embassies from two different and unexpected quarters. which arrived first, or at what period of the siege either arrived, is of little consequence, and impossible exactly to determine; for on this subject, as well as every other collateral circumstance, each of the contemporary authors differs from his fellows; and the historian may think himself fortunate when he finds them agreeing even on the principal facts. the news of the progress of the christian host had spread even to cairo;[ ] and the calif of egypt, from whose hands syria had been wrested by the turks, sent deputies to the leaders of the crusade, probably more with the intent of ascertaining their real condition, and the likelihood of their ultimate success, than for the purpose of binding himself to them by any formal treaty. his messengers, however, were charged to congratulate the latins on their progress, and to offer the most advantageous terms of union, if they would consent to act in concert with the egyptian power. they[ ] detailed the mild and liberal measures which the calif had employed towards the christians of their country, and they engaged the leaders to send back ambassadors to the court of their sovereign.[ ] after the siege had continued some time, a most welcome aid, both in men and stores, arrived at the little port of st. simeon, situated at the mouth of the orontes. this town had already, for many years, served as a seaport to antioch, which, in its high prosperity,[ ] had carried on considerable trade with the italian cities of the mediterranean; and to it the states of genoa and pisa now sent a large reinforcement of soldiers,[ ] and several ship-loads of provisions. the famished crusaders proceeded towards the spot in straggling crowds, and boemond,[ ] with the count of toulouse, at the head of some regular troops, marched down to escort their newly arrived brethren, and the supplies they were conveying, to the general camp of the crusaders. the turks of antioch, however, let no opportunity of vengeance and annoyance pass unemployed. boemond, embarrassed with a multitude of rabble, and encumbered with baggage, was encountered, as he returned through the mountains, by a large body of moslems, who, taking him unprepared, slew a great number of the people, and put the leaders and their knights to flight. boemond arrived breathless at the camp, but the rumour of the battle had preceded him. godfrey of bouillon[ ] was already in the saddle; and now, joined by raimond and boemond, together with hugh of vermandois, the duke of normandy, and robert of flanders, he advanced to the top of the hills, behind which the victorious turks were winding onward, on their return to the city. a skirmish took place for the position on the mountains, but the christians obtained it with little difficulty; and thus cut off the enemy from the town.[ ] the turks were forced to fight once more; but they were opposed no longer by an undisciplined crowd; and the chivalry of europe never displayed that almost superhuman valour[ ] which distinguished them, with greater effect. allowing even for the exaggeration of eulogy, the efforts of the knights must have been extraordinary. godfrey is reported to have mown the heads of the turks as a mower strikes down the thistles; and all the authorities of that day repeat the tale of his having at one blow severed an armed infidel in twain, though protected by his cuirass.[ ] every chief rivalled the other; and, beyond all doubt, several of the infidels must have fallen by the hand of each knight. while thus the sword raged among the turkish host, many made their way to the bridge, and rushed across it in such crowds, that hundreds were thrust over into the water. on the other side, too, boemond, with a large body of pikemen on foot, opposed their passage,[ ] and hurled them at the point of the lance into the river, the banks of which were lined with the crusaders, who repelled even those that swam to land.[ ] thus lasted the fight till the sun going down put a stop to the carnage; and the christians, with songs of victory and loaded with spoil, returned to their camp for the night. more than two thousand men, several of whom were of high rank, were left by the turks on the field of battle: a multitude found death in the orontes; but the number of the fallen was never correctly ascertained,[ ] although the christians, with the characteristic barbarity of the time, dug up many of the dead bodies that the turks had buried during the night.[ ] various efforts both from within and without were made to raise the siege, but in vain. on one occasion an immense body of saracens, arabs, and turks was defeated by seven hundred christian knights, to which small number[ ] the disposable cavalry of the army was reduced. famine, however, disease, and tempests did more to alarm and destroy the crusading force than all the efforts of the infidels. the winds[ ] became so high that the tents even of the chiefs were blown down, and for some time they were forced to sleep in the open air. an earthquake[ ] was felt towards the beginning of the year, and was of course considered as an omen. a comet,[ ] too, blazed through the sky; but as the superstitious fancied they beheld in it the form of the cross, this rather increased than abated their hope. in the midst of these circumstances stephen,[ ] count of blois, never very famous for his valour, pretended illness, and retired from the army of the crusade, accompanied by four thousand men, whom he led to alexandretta. a more serious desertion, also, was threatened, though no design ever existed of its execution: boemond[ ] himself began to murmur at the length of the siege. he was poor, he declared: he had given up every thing in his native country for the cross, and he could not waste his blood and treasure, and see all his soldiers fall in a siege which was to be productive of no advantage to himself. such murmurs had their object, and might perhaps spring, in some degree, from a weak quarrel with godfrey of bouillon, on the subject of a tent, which had been sent to the duke by the prince of armenia, but which had been waylaid by pancrates, the armenian i have had occasion to mention in speaking of baldwin; and had by him been given to boemond. the prince of tarentum had been obliged to yield it by the decision of all the leaders; but though this was a subject of irritation, he had more ambitious projects in view. boemond for some time, through a proselyte turk to whom he had given his name at baptism, had kept up a communication with the commander of one of the chief towers, on that part of the city wall which looked towards the gorges of the mountains. this man,[ ] by birth an armenian, had embraced mahometanism, and raised himself high in the opinion of the prince of antioch. he had in consequence received the command of the important[ ] station i have mentioned, while his two brothers occupied the neighbouring towers.[ ] the origin of his communication with boemond is variously stated, but the event is the same. he was won over by magnificent promises to engage that he would admit that chief and his followers into the town when called upon. boemond, however, did not intend at all that the intelligence which he had thus practised within the walls should be lost to himself, and benefit others alone:[ ] but knowing[ ] the jealous nature of his companions, he waited patiently till circumstances compelled them to concede to him the sovereignty of antioch, in the event of its being taken by his means. at first the proposal was rejected by the other leaders; but soon, increasing reports that an immense army, commanded by the warlike sultaun of persia, was advancing to the relief of the besieged, induced the christian chiefs, under the distress and despondency which affected the army generally, to concur in the views of the ambitious prince of tarentum. boemond then intrusted his secret to godfrey and the other great leaders, but it was under the most solemn promises of silence[ ] on the subject; for, notwithstanding all the precautions that could be taken, it was well known that the turkish spies infested the christian camp. with the utmost caution all the measures were concerted for carrying the project into effect, and through the whole army the rumour was spread that the preparations made by the chiefs were for the purpose of laying an ambush for the persian forces, that were approaching. phirouz, the armenian traitor, was warned that boemond was about to take advantage of his offer; and as soon as night had completely set in, the prince of tarentum, with a body of chosen knights, proceeded into the mountains,[ ] as if with the design of surprising the host of the persians. only seven hundred men, however, were selected for this perilous expedition; and marching in the dead of the night, they crossed the valleys and precipices of the rocky chain on which the city rested, and halted in a deep dell at some distance from the walls. the wind was blowing in sharp gusts, and its howlings among the gorges of the mountains prevented the tramp of the armed men from reaching the watchers on the walls. having assembled their forces in the valley, godfrey and boemond explained to their followers the real nature of the enterprise they meditated. a single interpreter was sent forward, to confer with their traitorous coadjutor, and to ascertain that all was prepared. phirouz assured him that he was ready, and asked eagerly where were the knights; being told that they were near,[ ] he pressed them to advance, lest any thing should excite the suspicion of the other commanders, especially as, from time to time, men with lighted torches patrolled the wall during the night, and it was necessary that they should take advantage of the interval. godfrey, robert of flanders, and boemond instantly led the troops to the foot of the fortifications; a rope was let down, and a ladder of hides raised. at first,[ ] no one could be found to mount. unaccustomed to carry on any warlike operations during the night, a thousand unwonted fears took possession of the bosoms of the crusaders. at length, urged by the chiefs, and encouraged by phirouz from above, one knight--which of the body is not certain[ ]--began to ascend the ladder, and was followed by several others. silence then succeeded, and temporary hesitation once more took possession of the force below: but the voices of their companions who had ascended, whispering assurances of safety and fidelity, soon renewed their courage, and many attempting to climb the ladder at once,[ ] it gave way under their weight, precipitating them upon the lance-heads that were buried in the fosse. the clang of their armour as they fell was a new cause of alarm, lest the sound should reach the other towers: so loud, however, was the roaring of the wind, and the hollow rushing sound of the orontes, that the noise was not heard by any but those immediately around. the ladder was easily repaired, and more than sixty knights had reached the top of the battlements when the torch of the patrol began to gleam along the walls in its approach towards them. hid[ ] in the shadows of the tower, the crusaders waited the officer's approach, and before he could spread the alarm death had fixed the seal of silence on his lips for ever. the knights now descended through the staircase in the masonry, and finding the soldiers of the guard asleep, they speedily rendered their slumbers eternal. a postern gate was then forced open,[ ] and the seven hundred champions rushed into the city sounding their horns in every direction, as had been agreed between the chiefs, in order that on this signal the town might be at the same time attacked from without. it would be painful to dwell upon the scene of slaughter that ensued. the turks were soon awakened by the shrieks of their falling comrades, and by the trumpets of their victorious foe: they ran to arms,[ ] and for many hours manfully opposed their conquerors hand to hand, though all hope of victory was now over. the greeks and armenians hastened to force open the gates and give entrance to the rest of the army of the cross: but, in the darkness that prevailed, many of the christians as well as the turks were slaughtered by the victors, who butchered all ages, sexes, and conditions, with indiscriminate rage and haste,[ ] in which fear and agitation had probably as much to do as cruelty and fanaticism. during the whole of the night the crusaders continued the massacre of their enemies; and albert of aix[ ] declares, that the following morning they found they had slain many of their own countrymen by mistake. such a fact is not difficult to conceive of a body of men wandering without guide through a hostile town, with the paths of which they were unacquainted. as ever follows the violent capture of a large city, the soldiery first satisfied themselves with bloodshed, and perhaps added some extra cruelties to gratify their fanaticism, and then betook themselves to plunder and debauchery; nevertheless, they committed not greater excesses than we have seen perpetrated in days not very distant from our own, by the troops of civilized nations, without the fiery stimulus of religious zeal for a palliation. i mean not to defend the cruelties of the crusaders, but i mean to say, that they were not extraordinary in that age, or in any age that has yet passed: god only knows what may be to come. the crusaders treated the infidels as the infidels had often treated the christians; and as christians, unhappily, have too often treated christians like themselves. their plunder was not at all of a more atrocious kind than that which attends every storm; and as to the hypocrisy[ ] with which mills charges them, that writer quite loses sight of the spirit of the age on which he writes, and metes men's actions by a standard that they never knew. the crusaders were _not_ hypocrites, they were merely fanatics; and in the relentless fury with which they pillaged, injured, and massacred the turks, they thought they did god as good and pleasing service as in singing praises to him for the victory they had obtained. they were fearfully wrong in their principle, it is true, but still they acted upon principle, and therefore in this they were not hypocrites. baghasian, the turkish prince of antioch,[ ] fled with a part of his troops to the citadel, but finding that security could not long be found within the walls of the town, he escaped alone to the mountains, where he was waylaid by some syrian christians and slain. his head, with all the venerable marks of extreme age, was struck off by his slayers, and carried, with his rich sword-belt, into antioch, where it proved an acceptable present to the rude victors. though much spoil[ ] of various kinds was found in antioch, little that could satisfy the cravings of hunger had been left by the turks. they, themselves closely blockaded, had been driven nearly to want; and the christians soon began to suffer from the very precautions they had formerly taken against their enemies. in the first joy of their conquest, too, the little discipline that ever existed in a chivalrous host was completely relaxed, and before it could be sufficiently restored for necessary measures to be taken in order to procure supplies, famine was in the city, and the hosts of the persian sultaun[ ] encamped beneath the walls. the invasion of the christians, the fall of nice, and the siege of antioch had spread consternation through the empires of the crescent; and the monarch of persia had roused himself from the contemptuous sloth in which he had first heard of the crusades, and raised an immense army, to sweep away, as the moslem expressed it, the band of locusts that had fallen upon the land. kerboga, or corbohan, as he was named by the christians, the emir of mosul, and favourite of the calif, took the command of the army; and being joined by kilidge asian, the sultaun of roum, with a considerable force, proceeded at the head of about three hundred thousand men towards antioch. he would, in all probability have reached that city in time to prevent its fall, had he not turned from the direct road to ravage the principality of edessa, and dispossess baldwin.[ ] from thence, however, he was called, before he could accomplish his object, by the news of the christians' success, and in a few days antioch was once more invested. the first attempt of the moslems was to throw supplies into the citadel, which the latins had hitherto neglected to attack. in this they in some degree succeeded; and the crusaders, being roused to watchfulness, took what measures they could against further reinforcements reaching the castle. in the mean while the christians, who had suffered what appeared the extreme of privation while assailing the very walls they now defended, were reduced to a state of famine which beggars all description.[ ] the most noisome animals, the most unsavoury herbs, became dainties at the tables of the great. the horses that remained were slaughtered without consideration, and all virtue and order gave way under the pressure of necessity. all sorts of vice became rife, and debauchery grew the more horrid from being the debauchery of despair. the persians, encamped closely round them, had burnt the vessels, destroyed the port of st. simeon, and cut off all communication with the neighbouring country. nevertheless their guard was not so strict but that many of the crusaders escaped over the walls,[ ] and fled to the count of blois at alexandretta, excusing their pusillanimity by tales of the horrors they had undergone. stephen of blois, now rejoicing in his timely evasion, abandoned his comrades altogether, and with the stragglers who had joined him from antioch, among whom were many knights and nobles of distinction, he retreated towards constantinople.[ ] by the way he encountered a large force commanded by alexius, who was marching, not to succour the crusaders, whose condition he did not yet know, but to take advantage of their conquests. the cowardly monarch, in deep sympathy with the cowardly fugitives, turned his back upon antioch the moment he heard of its danger, and pursued his journey towards his capital, forcing along with him a considerable body of french and italian crusaders, who, under the command of guy,[ ] the brother of boemond, had been advancing to the aid of their brethren. the news of alexius's approach had filled the hearts of the besieged with joy, and the tidings of his retreat of course cast them into still deeper despair. the soldiers forgot their honour and abandoned their posts, hiding in the houses and avoiding every thing that called them into activity. as a last resource to drive them to their duty, boemond[ ] set fire to parts of the town where they were supposed principally to linger; but hope seemed extinguished in every breast, and though the inferior troops returned to some degree of energy, yet the leaders knew full well that without succour--and no succour was near--nothing short of a miracle could save them from their distress. within the walls they starved,[ ] and died, and wasted; and they could hardly be expected to issue forth upon the enemy, when godfrey himself, their noblest leader, and tacitly their chief, was destitute of even a horse to carry him to the battle. at the same time, from the walls of the city, the luxuries of the turkish camp might be beheld in tantalizing splendour.[ ] gold and jewels, and rich silks, and beautiful horses, and gay seraglios, seemed rather indications of some joyous company than of a fierce besieging army. troops of cattle, too, of all kinds, were seen feeding round about, while the acute tooth of famine was gnawing the entrails of those who stood and looked upon all the magnificence and profusion before them. many even of the leaders of the crusade[ ] were reduced to absolute beggary, and several became completely dependent on the bounty of godfrey for mere food, till he himself had no more to give. the people, accustomed to privation, still in some degree bore up, but the knights themselves gave way, and had it not been for the noble firmness of adhemar, bishop of puy, godfrey, raimond, boemond, and tancred, the whole of the barons would have fled, and left the people to their fate.[ ] the chiefs i have named, however, never ceased their exertions. they bound themselves by the most solemn vows not to abandon each other or the cause they had undertaken; and tancred, always the first where chivalrous enthusiasm was concerned, pledged himself by oath not to turn back from the road to jerusalem so long as forty knights would follow his banner. at length superstition came to animate the courage of the soldiery. visions were seen promising victory to those who endured to the last. the apostles, the saints, and even the saviour appeared to many of the priests, who took care that their miraculous visitations should be noised abroad.[ ] whether originating in the policy of the leaders, or in the cunning of the lower order of priests, these supernatural consolations had a prodigious effect upon people who, their reliance on every earthly means being gone, were fain to turn to heaven. enthusiasm, supported by superstition, proved a most excellent nurse to hope. activity, energy, resolution, returned; and the wan and ghastly herds demanded loudly to be led against the enemy. one more pious fraud[ ] was destined to be committed before the troops were brought to the last resource of an almost hopeless battle. a clerk of provence, serving under raimond of toulouse, sought out the chiefs of the armament, and declared that st. andrew the apostle had manifested himself in a vision, and had revealed to him that the lance with which our saviour's side was pierced, at the crucifixion, might be found in a certain spot in the church of st. peter of antioch. accompanied by this holy relic the army was directed by the saint to issue forth upon the saracens with assurances of victory. the bishop of puy,[ ] whose religious feelings were of too pure a kind to practise, or even countenance, such cheats, declared that the tale must be false, and several chiefs agreed with him in opinion:[ ] but raimond of toulouse and others strongly supported the story; and the whole of the leaders soon became convinced that good policy required the lance should be found, a battle seeming the only resource. as no support could be given to the bodies of the emaciated troops, it was as well, also, to stimulate their minds as far as possible. the lance was therefore sought for in form, and though at first it could not be discovered, because it was not there, it very naturally happened that no sooner did the clerk who had been favoured with the vision descend into the pit,[ ] than the iron head was perceived, and brought up to the wonder and edification of the people. the matter being now decided, the hearts of the multitude were all enthusiasm, a great many more almost sacrilegious visions were seen, fasting and prayer, and the ceremonies of the church were used to excite and increase the popular ardour; and, in the end, peter the hermit was sent out to the camp of kerboga,[ ] not to offer terms of capitulation, but rather to threaten vengeance, and to bid the turks depart. the reply of the emir was as contemptuous as might have been expected, and peter returned with a message that would have somewhat quelled the daring of the crusaders if it had been repeated. this, however, was prevented by godfrey, and every preparation made for a battle. the citadel,[ ] i have before said, had remained in the hands of the turks, who had fled thither on the taking of antioch. its commanding situation enabled the garrison to see whatever passed in the town; and the governor being strictly enjoined to give due notice to the army of kerboga of all the christian movements, on the morning of the th of june, a. d. , a black flag,[ ] hoisted on the highest tower of that fortress, announced to the besiegers that the latins were about to march out and attack them. the army of the cross presented but a miserable sight; the ghastly hand of famine had wrought horribly on the wan countenances of the soldiery. of all the fair chivalry of europe, whose heavy horses and steel-clad limbs had crushed like the fall of a mountain every thing that opposed them, but two hundred knights appeared mounted as was their wont.[ ] those who could get them were glad to go forth upon mules and asses; some having sold or lost their arms, were furnished with the small shields and scimitars taken from the turks; and godfrey of bouillon himself rode the borrowed horse of the count of toulouse, who was left to guard the town. in this state of wretchedness, the crusading army marched out against a splendid force, which, at the beginning of the siege amounted to more than three hundred thousand fighting men, and had every day been increasing.[ ] nevertheless, all was enthusiasm in the christian ranks. the priests in their pontifical robes,[ ] bearing crosses and holy banners, mingled with the soldiers, and, singing hymns of joy, already taught them to anticipate victory. the number of knights going to the fight on foot encouraged the common men by their presence and their example; and, in fact, though destitute of many of the physical means which had given them superiority in former battles, the valour and the self-confidence,[ ] which are the soul of victory, were never more present among the christian warriors. kerboga committed the great fault that has lost a thousand battles. he despised his enemy. when first the news was brought to him that the christians were advancing, he was playing at chess,[ ] and hardly rose from his game. it was only the complete route of two thousand men, whom he had stationed to defend the bridge, that convinced him the attack was serious. he thus lost the opportunity of annoying the crusaders as they defiled, and now he found his error and began to tremble for the consequences. hugh of vermandois,[ ] robert of flanders, and the duke of normandy, each advanced steadily at the head of his followers towards the mountains, where the turkish cavalry were likely to find more difficulty in manoeuvring. godfrey of bouillon followed; and then adhemar, bishop of puy, clothed in armour,[ ] and bearing the sacred lance, led on the troops of provence. boemond and tancred brought up the rear, and thus the whole wound on towards their position. kerboga now used every effort to remedy his first neglect, and made several skilful movements for the purpose of surrounding the crusaders. they, on their part, with little attention to the arts of warfare, continued to march on, their courage increasing rather than diminishing, and persuading themselves that even the morning dew of a fine summer's day, which refreshed both themselves and their horses, was a special sign of favour from heaven.[ ] it is said, that kerboga, at this moment seized with a sudden and unaccountable fear, sent messengers to declare that he would accept the terms formerly offered, and commit the decision of the quarrel to a combat of five or ten champions to be chosen on each side.[ ] this proposal (if really made) was instantly refused, and kerboga, drawn up before his camp, waited the attack of the christians; while soliman or kilidge aslan, taking a wide circuit with an immense force of cavalry, prepared to fall upon the rear of the army commanded by boemond. to conceal this evolution the vizier caused the dry grass and weeds with which great part of the ground was covered to be set on fire, and by the smoke thus raised[ ] succeeded in obscuring the movements of his cavalry. during this manoeuvre he extended his line, and endeavoured to turn the flanks of the crusading army. the banner-bearers,[ ] in front of the host, were now within bow-shot of the enemy, and the arrows began to fall like hail on either side. the columns of the christians came up one after another to the attack, and fighting hand to hand forced back the turkish centre upon their camp, so that in that part of the field victory seemed leaning towards the champions of the cross. at the same time, however, soliman had fallen upon the rear of boemond,[ ] who, enveloped by infinitely superior forces, was pressed hard and separated from the rest of the army. the dense cloud occasioned by the burning weeds embarrassed the lombards and italians, and the sword of the persians was reaping a terrible harvest in the ranks of the crusaders. tancred flew to the rescue of boemond, and hugh of vermandois as well as godfrey of bouillon abandoning the attack[ ] they were making on the centre of the infidel army, turned to the rear, and succeeded in repelling the troops of soliman. still, the battle raged undecided;[ ] while kerboga used every effort to secure the victory, and hurrying up the columns from his wings, caused them to charge the rear of godfrey as he advanced to the succour of the prince of tarentum. all was now confusion in that part of the field, the fight became hand to hand, blade crossed with blade, and man struggled against man. meanwhile the bishop of puy, still bearing the sacred lance,[ ] pressed forward upon a corps at the head of which kerboga had placed himself; and with the provençals urged the battle manfully against the infidels. the persians fought bravely, and their numbers, as well as their great superiority in cavalry, gave them vast advantages over the latins. returning again and again to the charge with unequalled rapidity, fighting as well when their columns were broken as when their ranks were entire, and unrivalled in the use of the bow, they gave the crusaders not a moment to pause, without some enemy to attack, and some blow to repel. at length a report was raised through the christian host that the saints were fighting on their side; and either by accident, by the force of imagination, or by some preconcerted artifice, the crusaders saw--or thought they saw--some figures clothed in white raiment, and mounted on white horses, coming over the mountains to their aid.[ ] all fear, all suspense was at an end. the enthusiasm was prodigious, extraordinary, overpowering. the redoubted battle-cry "god wills it! god wills it!" once more rang over the field, and the weapons of the christians seemed swayed by the force of giants. at the same time, among the moslems spread the sickening news that the latins had forced their way into the camp. the hopes of the infidels fell, and terror took possession of them, while the courage of the people of the cross, raised into ecstasy by the belief of visible aid from on high, bore down all that opposed it, and soon converted feeble resistance into flight. in vain kerboga tried to rally his troops, the panic was general, the pursuers fierce and resolute; and the mighty army of the persians was scattered to the four winds of heaven. tancred,[ ] leaving to others the plunder of the camp, followed the fugitives over the hills, and prevented them from reassembling, while the rest of the chiefs entered the tents of the persians, and added to their slaughtered enemies the blood of the helpless and unoffending.[ ] a number of women and children were either slain by the sword or borne down in the flight, and an immense booty in gold, arms, horses, cattle, and rich vestments made the host of the crusade richer than even when it took its departure from europe. the pavilion of kerboga himself, though not the most valuable, was perhaps the most curious part of the spoil, being formed like a town, with walls, towers, and battlements,[ ] and comprising streets, squares, and avenues within itself. it fell to the share of boemond, and was capable, they say, of containing two thousand men. sixty-nine thousand turks[ ] died in the battle of antioch, while the loss of the crusaders is not estimated at more than ten thousand; but it must be remembered that this is the account of the christians themselves. one of the immediate consequences[ ] of this great victory was the surrender of the citadel of antioch, which was now given up in despair. a considerable number of the soldiers forming its garrison embraced christianity, and remained in the town; while the rest, who firmly adhered to their ancient faith, were honourably conducted beyond the conquered territory. the whole army, loaded with wealth, and rejoicing in abundance, entered once more the walls of the city, and offered up to heaven manifold thanksgivings for the victory they had obtained. the only occurrence that for the time troubled the public joy[ ] was, that the count of toulouse, who had remained behind to guard the town, looked upon the citadel, which had surrendered previous to the return of the host, as his own conquest, and had raised his banner on the walls.[ ] the council of leaders determined that their agreement with boemond embraced the castle as well as the town, and raimond was, in consequence, forced to resign the authority he had usurped to the prince of tarentum. the count, notwithstanding, still retained possession of one of the city-gates,[ ] with its adjoining towers, which he maintained for some months, but was obliged at last, by force of arms, to yield the whole. the first occupation of the crusaders after quieting this dispute was to restore the temples, which the moslems had converted into mosques, to the service of the christian religion. the priests were re-established, the ceremonies of the church recalled; and though they adhered to the forms of the latin ritual, with wise and christian moderation they abstained from interfering with the greek patriarch, notwithstanding that they considered his dogmas heretical. the next question more related to their further advance into the country; and the people, proud in their victory, and forgetful of privations in the fulness of sudden satiety, clamoured loudly to be led on to jerusalem. the chiefs,[ ] however, saw how greatly repose was required; their army was lamentably diminished; most of the soldiers were suffering from wounds or weariness, and few, though refreshed by their lately acquired stores, were capable of bearing more fatigue and fresh necessities. at the same time, the fiery months of august and september, with the exposed plains of syria, lay before them; and it was known that water, scanty on the road to jerusalem even in the best times, was now hardly to be procured. on these considerations, the chiefs determined to postpone their advance till october, and in the mean while despatched hugh[ ] the great, count of vermandois, with baldwin of mons, count of hainault, to the court of constantinople. these ambassadors were instructed to urge the base alexius to fulfil the many promises which he had made and neglected; and to threaten him, in case of his refusal, with the anger both of god and man. baldwin of mons was betrayed into a turkish ambuscade, and his fate was never clearly ascertained;[ ] but hugh of vermandois made his way safely through asia minor, and arrived at constantinople. admitted to the presence of alexius, he detailed the sufferings of the christians, and their diminished forces, and showed the necessity which they felt of supplies and reinforcements. he announced also their victory over the turks, and the signal humiliation which had been inflicted on the proud moslems. this news in both respects gratified alexius: but, equally well content that the turks should be made weak, and that the latins should not grow strong, he found the affairs of the east progressing exactly as he could have desired, and determined to leave them in the course which they had themselves taken. the wrath of heaven for his broken engagements, and the vengeance of the crusaders on the same score, were far too remote evils for the narrow-minded despot to yield them any consideration. hugh of vermandois--now near home[ ] and the comforts which he had so long abandoned, anticipating little pleasure and no small danger on the journey back, and having neither satisfactory news nor necessary reinforcements to take to the crusaders--determined upon pursuing his journey into france, and leaving his companions to their fate. knowing, however, that it would be difficult to justify himself in their eyes, he did not even take the trouble to write for that purpose; others on his part have done so for posterity, and have failed. chapter viii. _pestilence in antioch--death of the bishop of puy--the chiefs separate--siege of marrah--cannibalism--disputes between the count of toulouse and boemond--the count marches towards jerusalem--siege of archas--godfrey of bouillon marches--siege of ghibel--treachery of raimond--fraud of the holy lance investigated--ordeal of fire--decisive conduct of the crusaders towards the deputies of alexius, and the calif of egypt--conduct of the crusaders towards the emir of tripoli--first sight of jerusalem--siege and taking of the city--fanatical massacres._ the crusaders[ ] in antioch had reason to regret they had not at once marched onward. a pestilence began to spread in the city, and multitudes were buried every day. among the first was the venerable bishop of puy,[ ] whose high qualities of mind and excellent character as a priest had given much dignity and strength to the enterprise. many celebrated knights also fell victims to this plague; and all the dissensions[ ] and crimes that indolence acting on semi-barbarians can produce, begin to spring up within the walls of antioch. to effect some change, the chiefs agreed to separate, and to canton their men in the countries round about. boemond proceeded to reduce all cilicia to obedience, and carried on a desultory but successful warfare against the turks. godfrey[ ] led his men to the assistance of the emir of hezas, who solicited his aid against the sultaun of aleppo. being joined by baldwin, and by some auxiliary forces from antioch, godfrey succeeded in delivering the emir, who was besieged in his fortress by the sultaun. hezas was then placed by the prince under the protection of his new allies, whom he found somewhat exacting in their friendship. the plague still raging in antioch, godfrey turned his steps towards edessa, the principality of his brother baldwin, to whom he was now fully reconciled. after a short repose at turbessel,[ ] he engaged in the wars which his brother was carrying on against the turks, whose dominions surrounded edessa, and also punished pancrates for the rapine which he had for some time exercised with impunity against all parties. the other princes in various bodies carried on the same separate hostilities against the saracens, and many towns were added to the christian dominions. the time fixed for the march of the general army at length arrived; but, whether from a taste for the desultory sort of warfare to which they had now habituated themselves, or from the hope of still receiving some aid from europe, the crusaders tarried on their way, and laid siege to marrah.[ ] the moslems made a brave resistance, and the latins having, with their wonted improvidence, begun the siege without any supplies whatever, were soon again reduced to famine and the most horrible cannibalism.[ ] at length marrah was taken by storm on the arrival of boemond and his forces. the slaughter was terrible, and a repetition of all the scenes on the taking of antioch was here enacted with many circumstances of aggravation. new disputes now arose between boemond and the count of toulouse, upon the possession of marrah; the prince of tarentum refusing to give up the portion of the city he had conquered, till raimond should yield the towers which he still held in antioch.[ ] days and weeks passed in these unworthy contests, other chiefs attempting in vain to reconcile the two ambitious princes. at length the people, indignant at the conduct of their leaders, broke out into revolt, and destroyed the fortifications of marrah, in spite of all that could be done to prevent them,[ ] vowing that it, at least, should not be a new cause of delay. they declared also that they would choose a chief for themselves, who should conduct them to jerusalem. this, of course, compelled the leaders of the army to begin their march, but it in no degree produced a reconciliation, and raimond of toulouse,[ ] with robert of normandy and tancred, proceeded on their way to jerusalem, leaving the rest of the princes to follow as they might. town after town submitted to raimond; but archas proved a stumblingblock to his glory, and resisted the efforts of all the force he could bring against it. the saracen emirs of the neighbouring country, however, whether from fear of the christians, or from misunderstandings among themselves, no longer pursued the firm and destructive plan formerly adopted of desolating the land before the steps of the invaders. the army of the cross found provisions in plenty, and many of the towns which it approached bought immunity from attack, at the price of large presents to the crusaders.[ ] soon after the departure of raimond, godfrey of bouillon, robert of flanders, boemond, and the other leaders marched out of antioch, and directed their course towards laodicea, where boemond[ ] again quitted them, and returned to his new principality, leaving a great part of his troops to aid his brethren. as some compensation for this desertion, the host of the crusade was joined by a considerable body of english who had sailed round spain; and, entering the mediterranean by gibraltar, had touched first at st. simeon, and then proceeded to laodicea--a wonderful undertaking, indeed, as raimond d'agiles observes, considering the state of the art of navigation in that day. from laodicea, godfrey, marching along the coast, turned his arms against ghibel, or gabala, whither he was accompanied by the ships of the band of pirates whom we have seen serving under baldwin; and who, having fallen into the hands of the greeks of laodicea, had been kept in strict imprisonment till the arrival of the crusaders. the emir of ghibel attempted, by the offer of large bribes, to divert the forces of the cross from the attack of his city, but his proposals were met with contempt by godfrey and the chiefs who accompanied him; and the infidel commander, in consequence, sent messengers to raimond of toulouse[ ] (then besieging archas), whose disinterestedness was reported to be of a different quality. raimond, always fond of gold, caught at the bait held out, and immediately agreed to draw his fellow-crusaders from ghibel by artifice. he lost no time, therefore, in sending word to godfrey, that an immense body of saracens was marching down against his provençals under the walls of archas. this tale of course caused godfrey[ ] to raise the siege of ghibel, and hasten to the assistance of his comrade. on his arrival, however, tancred, and the other knights of raimond's army, undeceived the duke of loraine, who, indignant at the treachery of the count of toulouse, renounced all communication[ ] with him, and withdrew his men to the distance of two miles, resolving to give him no aid in the siege of archas. tancred, at the same time, disgusted with the avarice of the count, who withheld from him the recompense he had promised for his services, retired with the forty[ ] lances that accompanied him, and joined himself to godfrey. new disputes of every kind arose among the leaders, and as raimond of toulouse affected a sort of spiritual superiority, as guardian of the holy lance that had been discovered at antioch, its virtues and authenticity were manfully denied. peter barthelmy, who had found it, had vision after vision, till his commerce with heaven drew so heavily on belief, that men, even the most superstitious, yielded him no further credit. the business was investigated, and barthelmy brought before a sort of council of inquiry, where he maintained his position, supported by the count of toulouse and his chaplain, our worthy chronicler, raimond d'agiles, who, fully convinced of the truth of the miracle, unhappily proposed that his _protégé_ should prove his virtue by the fiery ordeal.[ ] this was agreed to; fasts and prayers succeeded: peter walked through the fire with the lance in his hand, got frightened, stopped in the middle, and was burned to death.[ ] some still believed; and, declaring that their martyr had been pressed to death by the crowd,[ ] held to their credulity the more eagerly, because it was unsupported by any thing like reason. the fame of the count of toulouse suffered as much by the affair of the lance as by his deceit in respect to ghibel; and the crusaders, wearied with the delay before archas, determined to raise the siege and proceed to jerusalem. in the mean while, the emir[ ] of tripoli,[ ] finding that the christians were about to traverse his country, sent messengers to the leaders, begging them to spare his towns and fields, and offering abundant supplies, together with several rich presents. these proffers were so favourably received that the emir even visited the camp of godfrey himself, and concluded a treaty which was inviolably adhered to on both sides. at the same time[ ] the deputies who had been despatched to the calif of egypt returned, with very unfavourable accounts of their entertainment. the saracen monarch still offered to join his arms to those of the christians, for the purpose of subduing palestine; but it was evident that he proposed to enjoy the fruits of victory without participation. his envoys, and the presents which they bore, were sent back with scorn,[ ] the crusaders declaring that they would conquer jerusalem with the sword of christ, and keep it with the same. ambassadors from alexius were received also under the walls of archas; and by their lips the perfidious emperor dared to remonstrate against the cession of antioch to boemond, who by this time had expelled the troops of raimond of toulouse,[ ] and was in full possession of the town. the reply given to these messengers was not less haughty than that which had been sent to the calif.[ ] the emperor, the crusaders said, had broken his most sacred oaths; he had neglected to succour them when succour was needful; he had betrayed the cause of christ, and violated his covenant with them. they could not, therefore, be bound by an engagement which he had not found binding on him; and they would neither stay for his coming, as he desired, nor would they yield him what they had conquered with their own hands. these measures of decision having been taken, godfrey and his companions set fire to their camp, and quitted the siege of archas: many of the provençals abandoned raimond, and hastened after the rest; and the count himself,[ ] though unwillingly, was obliged to follow. the noble sincerity and moderation of the crusaders in their conduct to the emir of tripoli has not been dwelt upon sufficiently by those authors who have lost no opportunity of pointing out their cruelties and excesses. they entered a rich and beautiful country, where spoil of every kind lay around them. the inhabitants were infidels, and had been enemies: but the host of the crusade passed through the whole without the slightest violation of their treaty.[ ] to prevent even casual injury, they encamped at a distance from the towns, waited for the supplies that had been promised them, and followed, with confidence and regularity, the guide who was appointed to conduct them through the land.[ ] when at war, the crusaders waged it with all the barbarity of the age--the slaughter of the infidel adversary was a virtue praised by historians, and sung by poets, and mercy would have been held a weakness: but with those to whom they had bound themselves in peace, we seldom find that, _as a body_, they violated the most chivalric adherence to their promises. in the neighbourhood of tripoli, the europeans first beheld the sugar-cane,[ ] and learned the method of preparing the valuable juice which has since been such an article of commerce in europe. so great was the reliance between the people of tripoli and the crusaders, that they mutually frequented the camp[ ] and the city during the stay of the army. the emir also delivered from the chains in which they had long remained, three hundred christian pilgrims; and, according to some authorities, promised to embrace the faith of his new allies,[ ] in case they were ultimately successful. at the end of three days, the host of the cross was once more in motion; and passing by sidon, acre, ramula, and emmaus, approached the city of jerusalem.[ ] at emmaus, deputies arrived from the christians of bethlehem, praying for immediate aid against their infidel oppressors. tancred was[ ] in consequence sent forward with a hundred lances; but the tidings of a deputation from bethlehem spread new and strange sensations through the bosoms of the crusaders. that word bethlehem, repeated through the camp, called up so many ideas connected with that sweet religion, which, however perverted, was still the thrilling faith of every heart around. the thoughts of their proximity to the saviour's[ ] birthplace, banished sleep from every eyelid; and before midnight was well past, the whole host was on foot towards jerusalem. it was a lovely morning, we are told, in the summer time; and after they had wandered on for some time in the darkness, the sun rushed into the sky with the glorious suddenness of eastern dawn, and jerusalem lay before their eyes. the remembrance[ ] of all that that mighty city had beheld; the enthusiasm of faith; the memory of dangers, and ills, and fatigues, and privations, endured and conquered; the fulfilment of hope; the gratification of long desire; the end of fear and doubt; combined in every bosom to call up the sublime of joy. the name was echoed by a thousand tongues--jerusalem! jerusalem! some shouted to the sky;[ ] some knelt and prayed; some wept in silence; and some cast themselves down and kissed the blessed earth. "all had much ado," says fuller, with his emphatic plainness, "to manage so great a gladness."[ ] to rejoicing, at the sight of the holy city, succeeded wrath, at seeing it in the hands of the infidels. the army marched forward in haste, drove in some parties of saracens, who had vauntingly come forth from the gates; and jerusalem was invested on all sides. some of the people, indeed, approached barefoot, in deep humiliation, and in remembrance[ ] of the sufferings of him who had purchased salvation to a world by agony and death; but the greater part of the soldiers advanced with purposes of wrath, and took up their various warlike positions round about the town. the attack was begun almost immediately after the first preparations; and godfrey of bouillon, tancred, the duke of normandy, and robert of flanders, by a vigorous effort, carried the barbicans, and reached the wall.[ ] a portion of this, also, was thrown down with axes and picks; and several knights, mounting by ladders[ ] to the top of the battlements, under a hail of arrows and greek fire, fought for some time hand to hand with the turks. at length, after many had fallen on both sides, it became evident to the leaders that nothing could be effected without the usual machines, and the assault was suspended. all the energies of the host were now employed in constructing implements of war. timber was procured from sichon:[ ] some genoese seamen, having arrived at jaffa, were pressed by the crusaders into the service of the cross, and by their mechanical skill greatly facilitated the construction of the engines required. catapults, mangonels,[ ] and large moveable towers were prepared, as in the siege of nice; and to these was added a machine called the sow, formed of wood, and covered with raw hides to protect it from fire, under cover of which soldiers were employed in undermining the walls.[ ] during the fabrication of these implements, a dreadful drought pervaded the army; and all the wells in the circumjacent country having been filled up by the turks, the only water that reached the camp was brought from far, and paid for as if each drop had been gold. the soldiers, unable to procure it, wandered away in the search, or watched[ ] the morning dew, and licked the very stones for moisture. vice and immorality again grew prevalent, and superstition was obliged to be called, in aid of virtue. from forty to sixty thousand men were all that remained of multitudes; and it became obvious to the leaders that dissensions could no longer exist without hazarding their destruction. tancred,[ ] the first in every noble act, set the example of conciliation, and embraced his foe raimond of toulouse, in the sight of the whole army. an expiatory[ ] procession was made by the chiefs, the soldiers, and the clergy, round the city of jerusalem; and prayers were offered up on each holy place in the neighbourhood for success in this last field. the turks, on their part, forgetting the desperate valour which the crusaders had displayed on every occasion, beheld these ceremonies with contempt; and raising up the image of the cross upon the walls, mocked the procession of the christians, and threw dirt at the symbol of their faith. the wrath of the crusaders was raised to the uttermost, and the sacrilegious insult[ ] was remembered to be atoned in blood. the engines were at last completed, and the attack once more begun. the towers[ ] were rolled on to the walls, the battering-rams were plied incessantly, the sow was pushed on to the foundations; and while the saracens poured forth fire[ ] and arrows upon the besiegers, the crusaders waged the warfare with equal courage from their machines. thus passed the whole day in one of the most tremendous fights that the host of the cross had ever sustained. night fell, and the city was not taken. the walls of the town were much injured, as well as the engines used by the assailants; but by the next morning both had been repaired, and the assault recommenced, and was received with equal ardour.[ ] the leaders of the christian army occupied the higher stages of their moveable towers, and godfrey of bouillon himself,[ ] armed with a bow, was seen directing his shafts against all who appeared upon the walls. such soldiers as the machines could not contain were ranged opposite the walls, urging the battering-rams, plying the mangonels, and, by flights of arrows, covering the attack from the towers. the enthusiasm was great and general; the old, the sick, and the feeble lent what weak aid they could, in bringing forward the missiles and other implements of war, while the women encouraged the warriors to daring, both by words and their example; and hurried through the ranks, bearing water to assuage the thirst of toil and excitement. still the saracens resisted with desperate valour. for their homes and for their hearths they fought; and so courageously, that when more than half the day was spent, the host of the crusade was still repulsed in all quarters. at that moment a soldier was suddenly seen on mount olivet, waving on the crusaders to follow.[ ] how he had penetrated does not appear, or whether he was not the mere creature of fancy. the idea, at all events, instantly raised the fainting hopes of the christians. immense and almost supernatural efforts were made in every quarter; the tower of godfrey of bouillon was rolled up till it touched the wall; the moveable bridge was let down, and a knight called lutold[ ] sprang upon the battlements--his brother followed--another and another came to his support.--godfrey, baldwin de bourg, and eustace de bouillon rushed in; and the banner of the cross announced to the anxious eyes of the army that christians stood upon the battlements of jerusalem.[ ] tancred and robert of normandy burst open one of the gates, while raimond of toulouse, almost at the same instant,[ ] forced his way into another part of the city by escalade. the turks fought[ ] for a time in the streets, but then fled to the mosques, and were in every direction massacred by thousands. it is dreadful to read of the blood which on that awful day washed the pavements of jerusalem. the courts of the mosque of omar floated in gore, and scarcely the most remote and obscure corners of the city gave shelter to an infidel head. the soldiers[ ] remembered the impious mockeries with which the turks had insulted the cross, and the leaders believed that they were doing god good service in exterminating the blasphemous strangers who had polluted the holy places of jerusalem, persecuted and butchered the unhappy christians of judea, and desecrated the altars of god. to have spared them or their accursed race would have been considered impious: and godfrey himself not only encouraged the slaughter, but aided with his own hand. an immense number of saracens had betaken themselves to the temple of soliman, as it was called,[ ] and there had prepared to defend themselves to the last; but the pursuers were too strong to be resisted, and nearly ten thousand men are said to have fallen in that building. those even who had climbed to the roof were sought out the next day,[ ] and several, to avoid the sword, cast themselves down and were dashed to pieces. some authors mention a second massacre,[ ] and greatly exaggerate the butchery that was perpetrated. in regard to this second massacre, there is much historical evidence to show that no such event took place; and i would fain believe that it was not the case. it cannot, however, be denied, that the most humane of the christian leaders in that age were taught to look upon all mercy to the infidels as an injury to religion; and it is beyond doubt, that after the general slaughter committed on the capture of jerusalem, godfrey de bouillon,[ ] with the other leaders and soldiers, washed away the marks of gore, cast off their armour, assumed the robe of penitents, and, going to the holy sepulchre, offered up their prayers to the mild teacher of our beautiful religion, convinced that they had accomplished a great and glorious work, and consummated an acceptable sacrifice in the blood of the infidels. such was the doctrine which, in that day, men were taught from their cradles: such the strange interpretation put upon the gospel of peace. chapter ix. _election of a king--godfrey of bouillon--sketch of the history of jerusalem--death of the chief crusaders--new bodies of crusaders set out from europe--their destruction in asia minor--armed pilgrimages--the northern armaments--the venetians--the genoese and pisans--anecdotes of the crusaders--battle of the children at antioch--the thafurs--baldwin's humanity well repaid--superstitions--arms of the crusaders--of the turks--hospitallers--templars._ the great end of the crusade was now accomplished. jerusalem was delivered from the hands of the infidels; but much remained to be done. to conquer the holy city had been a work of prodigious difficulty; to keep it was perhaps more so; and it became evident that its defence must be intrusted to one powerful chief. for this purpose the several leaders who had formed the general council of the crusade met to elect a king of jerusalem. the nomination to that high office was so extraordinary an honour, that the writers of each nation whose forces contributed to the crusade have declared their own particular prince to have been chosen;[ ] and, as it was known that none of these did actually reign, they have furnished each with a suitable excuse for declining the distinguished task. it is probable, however, that the choice of the assembly really fixed at once upon the only person fitted for the office; and (to combine the words of fulcher and robert the monk) that, "considering the excellence of his nobility,[ ] his valour as a knight, his gentleness and patient modesty, as well as the purity of his morals, godfrey of bouillon was elected king by the whole people composing the army of god, with the unanimous wish, the general consent, and the judgment of all." various clerical cabals followed for the dignity of patriarch, of which it is not necessary to speak here. scarcely was the new monarch[ ] seated on his throne, when the gathering forces of the moslems called him again into the field. with the wise policy of activity, godfrey did not wait to be besieged in jerusalem, but marching out with all the troops he could muster, he advanced towards ascalon, where a large infidel army had assembled, attacked and routed it completely, and thus secured the conquest he had gained.[ ] but the virtues of godfrey were not long destined to bless, or his talents to protect, the new kingdom of jerusalem.[ ] in the month of july, , he was seized with a severe illness, on his return from a distant expedition, and in a few days the throne of the holy land was vacant. such an unexpected event of course spread dissension and consternation among the crusaders. tancred, who was at jerusalem, and from his great military name enjoyed no small power, offered the crown to boemond, and beyond all doubt would have succeeded in causing his election, had boemond been able to accept immediately the sceptre thus held out to him.[ ] but the prince of antioch[ ] was at the moment a prisoner in the hands of some armenian turks.[ ] the patriarch, on his part, endeavoured to raise jerusalem into a simple hierarchy,[ ] and to unite the crown with the mitre. the partisans of the count of toulouse also struggled in his behalf for the supreme power; but in the end, baldwin, prince of edessa, the brother of godfrey, was elected, and after some intriguing on the part of the patriarch, was anointed king of jerusalem. it does not enter into the plan of this book to give a history of jerusalem under its latin kings: i shall, however, briefly notice each, that the occasion and object of the after-crusades may be properly understood. baldwin, on his election,[ ] displayed virtues that had slumbered, and lost vices that had been displayed on other occasions. he extended the boundaries of his kingdom, humbled its saracen enemies, instituted wise and salutary laws, and showed firmness, moderation, and activity in his new station, as well as the great military skill and enterprising spirit he had formerly evinced. he took assur,[ ] cesarea, and acre; and added beritus, sidon, and several other places to the kingdom of jerusalem. at length, in the execution of a bold expedition into egypt, baldwin died, and his body, after being embalmed, by his own particular direction, was carried back to the holy city. baldwin de bourg, who, on the elevation of baldwin i. to the throne of jerusalem, had received the principality of edessa, was now called to the vacant throne, and proved himself one of the wisest and most valiant of the latin sovereigns of judea. he also greatly extended the limits of his dominions; but in passing between turbessel and edessa, accompanied by a few soldiers only,[ ] and unsuspicious of any ambuscade, he was suddenly surrounded, and carried a prisoner to khortopret, where he remained in close confinement for several years. during his imprisonment tyre was added to the territories of jerusalem,[ ] and various successful battles were fought against the moslems. after his liberation he offered the hand of his daughter to foulk of anjou, who had some time before visited jerusalem upon an armed pilgrimage. the count of anjou gladly accepted the proposal, and returning to the holy land, espoused melesinda, soon after which he ascended the throne of jerusalem, on the death of baldwin. foulk combined many virtues;[ ] was kind, affable, and humane, as well as skilful and courageous in the field. after a reign of thirteen years he left the kingdom to his son, entire, indeed, but neither more extended in territory, nor more consolidated in power, than when he received it. baldwin iii. succeeded; at the time of his accession being but a boy. dissensions and animosities raged among all the feudal dependants of the crown of jerusalem.[ ] the moslems scattered through the country, and girding it on every side, took advantage of each new dispute to harass their latin invaders with desultory warfare. the emperors of the east strove continually to wrest something of their old possessions from the descendants of the crusaders, and thus divided the forces, and paralyzed all the efforts made by the christians to establish and secure their yet infirm dominion. at length zenghi, emir of aleppo, and mosul marched against edessa, the government of which principality had been transferred, on the accession of baldwin de bourg to the throne of jerusalem, to joscelyn de courtenay, and from him had descended to his son. the son had not inherited the virtues or the valour of his father; and while zenghi attacked, stormed, and took edessa, he was rioting in debaucheries at turbessel. so severe a reverse spread consternation through palestine. others, though of a less important nature, followed; and the news of these misfortunes soon reached europe, where it gave matter to the eloquence of st. bernard, and occasion for a new crusade. long before this period, all the chiefs who had at first led the armies of the cross to jerusalem had tasted of the cup reserved for all men, and few words will end the history of each. godfrey, baldwin, and baldwin de bourg we have already conducted to the tomb. boemond,[ ] as i have said, fell into the hands of the moslems; and after a captivity of two years, was permitted to pay a ransom, and return to his principality. on arriving, he found that his noble relative, tancred,[ ] had not only preserved, but increased his territories during his absence; and after several years continual warfare with alexius on the one hand, and the moslems on the other, mingled with opposition to the king of jerusalem, boemond sailed for europe. there the fame he had acquired obtained for him the hand of constantia,[ ] daughter of the king of france. her younger sister, cecilia, was bestowed upon tancred, who had remained in the government of antioch. by the aid of france, boemond raised large forces and landing in greece, ravaged the dominions of alexius, who was at length fain to conclude a peace with the powerful and enterprising italian. the prince of antioch then sent forward the greater part of his troops to the holy land, while he himself returned to italy to prepare for the same journey. death, however, staid his progress;[ ] for, after a short illness, he ended his career in apulia, in .[ ] tancred still survived, and defended constantly the territories of his cousin against every attack for three years after the decease of boemond. at last the consequences of a wound he had received some time before proved fatal, and the noblest and most chivalrous of all the christian warriors died in the prime of his days. on his death-bed he called to him his wife, and pontius, the son of the prince of tripoli,[ ] and, aware of the necessity of union among the christians, he recommended strongly their marriage, after death should have dissolved the ties between himself and cecilia. the government of antioch he bequeathed to his cousin roger;[ ] but, with the same noble integrity which he had displayed through life, he made the new regent promise, that in case the son of boemond should ever come to claim those territories, they should be resigned to him without dispute. thus died tancred; who, from all that we read of the crusaders, was, with the exception of godfrey, the noblest of the followers of the cross--a gallant leader, a disinterested man, a generous friend, a true knight. previous to his death, however, he had been engaged in all the great events in palestine. after the election of godfrey, and the battle of ascalon, the other chiefs of the crusade had either returned to europe or spread themselves over the country, in pursuit of their own schemes of private ambition, leaving the new kingdom of jerusalem to be supported by its king and tancred, with an army of less than three thousand men. this penury of forces however, did not long continue, or the holy land must soon have resumed the yoke it had thrown off. the spirit of pilgrimage was still active in europe; and combined with this spirit was the hope of gain, springing from vague and exaggerated accounts of the wealth and the principalities which the leaders of the first expedition had acquired. pilgrimages now differed from those that had preceded the conquest of jerusalem, in being armed; and many bodies, of several thousand men each, arrived both by sea and land, and proved exceedingly serviceable in peopling the devastated lands of palestine. various larger enterprises, more deserving the name of crusades, were planned and attempted, which it would be endless to name, and tedious to recount. nearly five hundred thousand people set out from europe for syria,[ ] and to these several of those crusaders who had gone back to europe joined themselves, urged either by shame for their former desertion, or by the hope of obtaining easier conquests, and less dangerous honours. of these, then, i will speak first, before noticing more particularly the armed pilgrimages, in order that i may trace to the end all those leaders of the first crusade who died in the holy land. the first great expedition set out not many years after the taking of jerusalem, and consisted of several smaller ones from various countries, which united into larger bodies as they proceeded, and endeavoured to force their way through asia minor. at the head of these armies were count albert,[ ] of lombardy; conrad, constable of the western empire; stephen, count of blois, whom we have seen flying from the land to which shame now drove him back; stephen, duke of burgundy; the bishops of laon and of milan; the duke of parma; hugh, count of vermandois,[ ] who now again turned towards jerusalem; and the count of nevers: as well as william, count of poitiers; guelf, duke of bavaria; and ida, marchioness of austria. at constantinople the first division met with raimond of toulouse,[ ] who had returned to that city from the holy land, in search of aid to pursue the schemes of a grasping and ambitious spirit. the new crusaders put themselves, in some degree, under his command and guidance; but their first step was to disobey his orders, and to take the way of paphlagonia, instead of following the track of the former crusade. they were for many days harassed in their march by the turks, then exposed to famine and drought, and finally attacked and cut to pieces by kilidge aslan, who revenged, by the death of more than a hundred thousand christians,[ ] all the losses they had caused him to undergo. the principal leaders made good their escape, first to constantinople, and then to antioch; except hugh of vermandois, who died of his wound at tarsus. the count of nevers,[ ] who commanded the second body, met the same fate as the rest, and followed them to antioch, after the destruction of his whole force. william of poitiers, with the duke of bavaria and the marchioness ida, were also encountered by the victorious saracens, and their defeat added another to the triumphs of the infidels and to the christian disasters. the duke of bavaria, stripping himself of his arms, fled to the mountains, and made his escape. the precise fate of ida of austria remained unknown; but it appears certain she was either suffered to die in captivity, or was crushed to death under the horses' feet.[ ] the count of poitiers, completely destitute of all resources, and separated from his companions, wandered on foot till he arrived at antioch,[ ] where he was kindly received by tancred, still alive, and met the other chiefs who had encountered disasters like his own.[ ] the principal leaders proceeded straight to jerusalem, with the exception of raimond of toulouse, who had long fixed his heart upon the conquest of the rich tract of tripoli, which he attempted for some time in vain. death staid him in his progress,[ ] and baldwin succeeded in accomplishing what he had designed; after which the king erected the territory acquired into a feudal county, which was bestowed upon the son of the deceased raimond. in the mean while stephen, count of blois, reached jerusalem; and having, by a second completed pilgrimage, wiped out, as he thought, the disgrace of having quitted the first crusade, he embarked, with william of poitiers, to return to europe. a contrary wind, however, drove back the vessel into jaffa,[ ] and here stephen found himself called upon to join baldwin in an attack upon the turks. the king advanced with only seven hundred knights,[ ] deceived by reports of the enemy's weakness; but in the plains of ramula he found himself suddenly opposed to the whole turkish army. the spirit of chivalry forbade his avoiding the encounter, and in a short time the greater part of his force was cut to pieces. he himself, with his principal knights, made their way to the castle of ramula, from which he contrived to escape alone. the rest were taken, fighting bravely for their lives; and though some were spared, stephen of blois[ ] was one of several who were only reserved for slaughter. thus died the leaders of the first crusade who met their fate in palestine, and thus ended the greater and more general expeditions which had been sanctioned by the council of clermont, and excited by the preaching of peter the hermit. the ultimate fate of that extraordinary individual himself remains in darkness. on the capture of jerusalem, when the triumphant europeans spread themselves through the city, the christian inhabitants flocked forth to acknowledge and gratulate their deliverers.[ ] then it was that all the toils and dangers which the hermit had endured, were a thousand fold repaid, and that all his enthusiasm met with its reward. the christians of jerusalem instantly recognised the poor pilgrim who had first spoken to them words of hope, and had promised them, in their misery under the turkish oppression, that aid and deliverance which had at length so gloriously reached them.[ ] in the fervour of their gratitude they attributed all to him; and, casting themselves at his feet, called the blessing of heaven on the head of their benefactor. after that period peter is mentioned several times by the historians of jerusalem;[ ] and we find that he certainly did act a very principal part in the clerical government of the city.[ ] whether he returned to europe or not i confess i do not know. he is said to have founded the abbey of montier, in france, and to have died there; but this rests upon no authority worthy of confidence. in the meanwhile, many of the christians who had escaped the active swords of the saracens in asia minor made their way to jerusalem, and served to people and protect the land. various armaments, also, arrived at the different seaports, bearing each of them immense numbers of military pilgrims, who, after having visited the holy places, never failed to offer their services to the king of jerusalem, for the purpose of executing any single object that might be desirable at the time. three only of these bodies are worthy of particular notice, that of the english, danes,[ ] and flemings, who assisted baldwin at the unsuccessful siege of sidon--the norwegian expedition which succeeded in taking that city--and that of the venetians, who afterward aided in the capture of tyre. the genoese[ ] and the pisans, also, from time to time sent out vessels to the coast of palestine; but these voyages, which combined in a strange manner the purposes of traffic, superstition, and warfare, tended rather to the general prosperity of the country by commerce, and to its protection, by bringing continual recruits, than to any individual enterprise or conquest. many anecdotes are told of the first crusaders by their contemporary historians, which--though resting on evidence so far doubtful as to forbid their introduction as absolute facts--i shall mention in exemplification of the manners and customs of the time. the number of women and children who followed the first crusaders to the holy land is known to have been immense; but it is not a little extraordinary, that in spite of all the hardships and dangers of the way, a great multitude of both arrived safe at jerusalem. the women we find, on almost all occasions, exercising the most heroic firmness in the midst of battles and destruction; and guibert gives a curious account of the military spirit which seized upon the children during the siege of antioch. the boys of the saracens and the young crusaders, armed with sticks for lances, and stones instead of arrows, would issue from the town and the camp, and under leaders chosen from among themselves,[ ] who assumed the names of the principal chiefs, would advance in regular squadrons, and fight in the sight of the two hosts, with a degree of rancour which showed to what a pitch the mutual hatred of the nations was carried. even after the crusaders had fallen in battle or had died of the pestilence, their children still pursued their way, and getting speedily accustomed to fatigue and privation, evinced powers of endurance equal to those of the most hardy warriors. with the army of the cross also was a multitude of men--the same author declares--who made it a profession to be without money; they walked barefoot, carried no arms, and even preceded the beasts of burden in the march, living upon roots and herbs, and presenting a spectacle both disgusting and pitiable. a norman,[ ] who, according to all accounts, was of noble birth, but who, having lost his horse, continued to follow as a foot-soldier, took the strange resolution of putting himself at the head of this race of vagabonds, who willingly received him for their king. among the saracens these men became well known, under the name of _thafurs_ (which guibert translates _trudentes_), and were held in great horror from the general persuasion that they fed on the dead bodies of their enemies: a report which was occasionally justified, and which the king of the thafurs took care to encourage. this respectable monarch was frequently in the habit of stopping his followers one by one, in any narrow defile, and of causing them to be searched carefully, lest the possession of the least sum of money should render them unworthy of the name of his subjects.[ ] if even two sous were found upon any one, he was instantly expelled from the society of his tribe, the king bidding him, contemptuously, buy arms and fight. this troop, so far from being cumbersome to the army, was infinitely serviceable, carrying burdens, bringing in forage, provisions, and tribute, working the machines in the sieges, and, above all, spreading consternation among the turks, who feared death from the lances of the knights less than that further consummation, they heard of, under the teeth of the thafurs. mercy towards the turks was considered, by the contemporary clergy, to whom we owe all accounts of the crusades, as so great a weakness, that perhaps fewer instances of it are on record than really took place; for we seldom find any mention of clemency to an infidel, without blame being attached to it. thus the promise of tancred to save the turks on the roof of the temple is highly censured, as well as the act of the count of toulouse, in granting their lives to some five hundred wretches, who had taken refuge in the tower of david. one deed of this kind is told of baldwin i., more as in its consequences it saved the king's person, than as any thing praiseworthy in itself. passing along one day on horseback, after his troops had been employed in wasting the country, baldwin is said to have met with an arabian woman, who had been taken in labour by the way.[ ] he covered her with his own cloak, ordered her to be protected by his attendants, and having left her with two skins of water, and two female camels, he pursued his march. the chances of the desultory warfare of those times soon brought back her husband to the spot, and his gratitude was the more ardent as the benefit he had received was unusual and unexpected. after the fatal day of ramula, while baldwin, with but fifty companions, besieged in the ill-fortified castle of that place, was dreaming of nothing but how to sell his life dearly, a single arab approached the gates in the dead of the night, and demanded to speak with the king. he was in consequence brought to baldwin's presence,[ ] where he recalled to his mind the kindness once shown to the arab woman, his wife; and then offered to lead him safely through the lines of the enemy. the fate of palestine at that moment hung upon baldwin's life, and, trusting himself in the hands of the arab, he was faithfully conducted to his own camp,[ ] where he appeared, says william of tyre, like the morning star breaking through the clouds. superstition, which in that age was at its height in europe, was, of course, not unknown in palestine, and all sorts of visions were seen. battles, according to the monkish accounts, were won by relics and prayers more than by swords and lances. a part of the holy cross was said to be found in jerusalem, a thousand more martyrs were dug up than ever were buried, and we find one of the bishops _ferens in pyxide lac sanctæ mariæ virginis_. ghosts[ ] of saints, too, were seen on every occasion, and the devil himself, in more than one instance, appeared to the crusaders, tempting them with consummate art to all kinds of crimes. the evil spirit, however, often--indeed generally--found himself cheated by his victims in the end, who, by repentance, gifts to the church, and fanatical observances, easily found means to "swear the seal from off their bond." the appearance of an army in the times of the first crusade was highly gorgeous and magnificent.[ ] the number of banners of purple and gold, and rich colours--each feudal baron having the right to bear his banner to the field--rendered the christian host in full array as bright a spectacle as the sun could shine upon. the armour of the knights also gave a glittering and splendid effect to the scene; nor was this armour as has been represented, entirely of that kind called chain mail, which formed the original hauberk. it varied according to various nations, and it is evident from the continual mention of the corslet or breastplate, by all the authors i have had occasion to cite in this work, that that piece of plate armour was used during the first crusade.[ ] it is probable, however, that the armour generally worn was principally linked mail, which, in the case of the knights, enveloped the whole body, being composed of a shirt of rings, with hose, shoes, and gauntlets, of the same materials. the helmet might also be covered with a chain hood, which completed the dress. in addition to this, it is not unlikely that a cuirass was frequently worn with the shirt, as we find, from the poem of william the breton on philip augustus, that it was even then a common practice to wear a double plastron or cuirass, though plate armour had returned into common use. the shield, charged with some design, but certainly not with regular armorial bearings, together with the lance, sword, and mace, completed the arms, offensive and defensive, of a knight of that day.[ ] i cannot find that either the battle-axe or the armour for the horse is mentioned during the crusade; yet we know that both had been made use of long before. the foot-soldiers were in some cases allowed to wear a shirt of mail, but not a complete hauberk, and were armed with pikes, bows, and crossbows; though it would seem that they gained their knowledge of the latter instrument from the saracens, there being several lamentations, in all the accounts of their first entrance into asia minor, over their unskilfulness in the use of the arbalist. the luxury with which the christians marched to the crusade may be conceived from the narrative given by albert of aix, of the rout of the troops of conrad and his companions, who followed to the holy land, immediately after the capture of jerusalem. among the spoils taken by the turks, he mentions ermines,[ ] sables, and all kinds of rich furs, purple and gold embroidery, and an incalculable quantity of silver. the roads, he says, were so strewed with riches, that the pursuers trod upon nothing but besants and other pieces of money, precious stones, vases of gold and silver, and every sort of silk and fine stuff. the turks proceeded to battle with even greater magnificence; and, after the victories of antioch and ascalon, we read continually of invaluable booty, jewels,[ ] golden helmets and armour standards of silver, and scimitars of unknown worth. the arms of the turks were lighter, in all probability, than those of the christians, and in general consisted of the sword and the bow, in the use of which they were exceedingly skilful.[ ] we find, however, that the various nations of which the mahommedan armies were composed used very different weapons; though all were remarkable for the manner in which they eluded their enemies, by their skill in horsemanship, and the fleetness of their chargers. one nation, mentioned by albert of aix under the title of azoparts, are called _the invincible_, and were furnished with heavy maces, with which they aimed at the heads of the horses, and seldom failed to bring them down. after the conquest of palestine by the christians,[ ] the surrounding tribes continued to wage an unceasing war against their invaders; but nevertheless many of the mussulman towns within the limits of the kingdom of jerusalem submitted to the conquerors, and were admitted to pay tribute. a free communication also took place between the followers of the two religions, and a greater degree of connexion began to exist than was very well consistent with the fanaticism of either people. a mixed race even sprang up from the european[ ] and asiatic population, the children of parents from different continents being called pullani. at the same time the country was governed by european laws,[ ] which, not coming within the absolute scope of this book, i must avoid treating of, from the very limited space to which i am obliged to confine myself. suffice it to say, that godfrey of bouillon, among the first cares of government, appointed a commission to inquire into the laws and customs of the various nations which formed the population of the country he was called to rule. from the investigation thus entered into was drawn up an admirable code of feudal law, under the title of _assizes de jerusalem_. two institutions of a strictly chivalrous nature, which were founded, properly speaking, between the first and second crusades,[ ] i must mention here, as all the after-history of knighthood is more or less connected with their progress. i mean the two military orders of the hospital and the temple. the spirit of religious devotion and military fervour had been so intimately united during the whole of the crusade, that the combination of the austere rules of the monk, with the warlike activity of the soldier, seems to have been a necessary consequence of the wars of the cross. long previous to the crusade, some of the citizens of amalfi having been led to jerusalem,[ ] partly from feelings of devotion, partly in the pursuit of commerce, had witnessed the misery to which pilgrims were exposed on their road to the holy land, and determined to found an hospital in which pious travellers might be protected and solaced after their arrival at the end of their journey. the influence which the italian merchants possessed through their commercial relations at the court of the calif, easily obtained permission to establish the institution proposed. a piece of ground near the supposed site of the holy sepulchre was assigned to them, and the chapel and hospital were accordingly built, at different times, and placed under the patronage, the one of st. mary, and the other of st. john the almoner. a religious house was also constructed for those charitable persons, of both sexes, who chose to dedicate themselves to the service of the pilgrims, and who, on their admission, subjected themselves to the rule of st. benedict. all travellers, whether greeks or latins, were received into the hospital; and the monks even extended their charitable care to the sick or poor mussulmans who surrounded them. during the siege of jerusalem by the crusaders, all the principal christians of the town were thrown into prison; among others, the abbot (as he is called by james of vitry)[ ] of the monastery of st. john. he was a frenchman by birth, named gerard; and, after the taking of the city, was liberated, with other christian prisoners, and returned to the duties of his office, in attending the sick and wounded crusaders who were brought into the hospital. after the battle of ascalon, godfrey visited the establishment, where he still found many of the followers of the crusade, who, struck with admiration at the institution, and filled with gratitude for the services they had received, determined to embrace the order, and dedicate their lives also to acts of charity. godfrey, as a reward for the benefits which these holy men had conferred on his fellow-christians, endowed the hospital (now in a degree separated from the abbey of st. mary) with a large estate, in his hereditary dominions in brabant. various other gifts were added by the different crusaders of rank; and the poor brothers of the hospital of st. john began to find themselves a rich and flourishing community. it was at this period that they first took the black habit and the white cross of eight points, and subjected themselves, by peculiar vows, to the continual attendance on pilgrims and sick persons.[ ] pascal ii. soon after bestowed upon the order several valuable privileges, among which were, exemption from all tithes, the right of electing their own superior, and absolute immunity from all secular or clerical interference. the constant resort of pilgrims to the holy land not only increased the wealth of the hospitallers, but spread their fame to other countries. princes and kings conferred lands and benefices upon them, and the order began to throw out ramifications into europe, where hospitals, under the same rule, were erected, and may be considered as the first commanderies of the institution. at the death of gerard, which took place almost immediately after that of baldwin i., raimond dupuy, one of the crusaders who had attached himself to the hospital on having been cured of his wounds received at the siege of jerusalem, was elected master, and soon conceived the idea of rendering the wealth and number of the hospitallers serviceable to the state in other ways than those which they had hitherto pursued. his original profession of course led him to the thought of combining war with devotion, and he proposed to his brethren to reassume the sword, binding themselves, however, by a vow, to draw it only against the enemies of christ. in what precise year the hospitallers first appeared in arms is not very clearly ascertained; but it is a matter of no moment, and it is certain that they became a military body during the reign of baldwin du bourg.[ ] the order of st. john was then divided into three classes, knights, clergy, and serving brothers. each of these classes still, when absent from the field, dedicated themselves to the service of the sick; but the knights were chosen from the noble or military rank of the hospitallers, and commanded in battle and in the hospital. the clergy, besides the ordinary duties of their calling, followed the armies as almoners and chaplains; and the serving brothers fought under the knights in battle, or obeyed their directions in their attendance on the sick. at first, the garments and food of these grades were the same. the vows also were alike to all, and implied chastity, obedience to their superior and to the council, together with individual poverty. the objects now proposed were war against the infidels, and protection and comfort to the christian pilgrims. the knights were bound by strict and severe rules; they were enjoined to avoid all luxury, to travel two or three together, seeking only such lodging in the various towns as was provided for them by their community, and burning a light during the night, that they might be always prepared against the enemy. their faults[ ] were heavily punished by fasts, by imprisonments, and even by expulsion from the order; and they were taught to look for no reward but from on high. nevertheless, before the good bishop of acre composed his curious work on the holy land, probably about the year , the hospitallers, he tells us, were buying for themselves castles and towns, and submitting territories to their authority like the princes of the earth. the origin of the order of red-cross knights, or templars, was very different, though its military object was nearly the same. the christian power in palestine was probably as firmly established at the time of baldwin du bourg, as during any other period of its existence; yet the mixture of the population, the proximity of a thousand inimical tribes, the roving habits of the turks, who--generally worsted by the christians in the defence of cities and in arrayed fields--now harassed their enemies with a constant, but flying warfare; all rendered the plains of the holy land a scene of unremitting strife, where the pilgrim and the traveller were continually exposed to danger, plunder, and death. some french knights, who had followed the first crusade,[ ] animated beyond their fellows with the religious and military fury which inspired that enterprise, entered into a solemn compact to aid each other in freeing the highways of the holy land, protecting pilgrims and travellers, and fighting against the enemies of the cross. they embraced the rule of st. augustin; renounced all worldly goods, and bound themselves by oath to obey the commands of their grand master; to defend the christian faith; to cross the seas in aid of their brethren; to fight unceasingly against the infidel, and never to turn back from less than four adversaries.[ ] the founders of this order were hugh de paganis and geoffrey de st. aldemar--or, according to some, de st. omer--who had both signalized themselves in the religious wars. having no fixed dwelling, the templars were assigned a lodging in a palace in the immediate vicinity of the temple, from whence they derived the name by which they have since been known. the number of these knights was at first but nine, and during the nine years which followed their institution, they were marked by no particular garb,[ ] wearing the secular habit of the day, which was furnished to them by charity alone. the clergy of the temple itself conferred on their body a space of ground between that building and the palace,[ ] for the purpose of military exercises, and various other benefices speedily followed. at the council[ ] of troyes, their situation was considered, and a white garment was appointed for their dress. their vows became very similar to those of the knights of st. john; the numbers of the body rapidly augmented; possessions and riches flowed in upon them apace, as their services became extended and general. they added a red cross to their robe, and raised a banner of their own, on which they bestowed the name of _beauséant_. the order, as it increased, was soon divided into the various classes of servants of arms, esquires, and knights; and, in addition to their great standard, which was white with the red cross--symbolical, like their dress, of purity of life, and courage, even to death--they bore to battle a banner composed of white and black stripes, intended to typify their tenderness to their friends and implacability towards their enemies.--their valour became so noted, that, like that of the famous tenth legion,[ ] it was a support to itself; and, according to james of vitry, any templar, on hearing the cry to arms, would have been ashamed to have asked the number of the enemy. the only question was, "where are they?" on entering the order, the grand master cautioned the aspirant that he was, in a manner, called upon to resign his individuality. not only his property and his body, but his very thoughts, belonged, from the moment of his admission, to the institution of which he became a part. he was bound in every thing to obey the commands of his superior, and poverty of course formed a part of his vow. his inclinations, his feelings, his passions, were all to be rendered subservient to the cause he embraced; and he was exhorted to remember, before he engaged himself to the performance of so severe an undertaking, that he would often be obliged to watch when he desired to sleep, to suffer toil when his limbs required rest, and to undergo the pangs of thirst and the cravings of hunger when food would be most delightful. after these and similar warnings of the painful and self-denying nature of the task which he was about to impose upon himself, he was asked three times if he still desired to enter into the order, and on giving an answer in the affirmative, he was invested with the robe, and admitted to the vows, after previous proof that he was qualified in other respects, according to the rules of the institution. no possible means has ever been devised of keeping any body of men poor; and the templars, whose first device was two knights riding on one horse, to signify their poverty and humility, were soon one of the richest, and beyond comparison the proudest, of the european orders. their preceptories were to be found in every country, and as their vows did not embrace[ ] the charitable avocations which, with the knights of st. john, filled up the hours unemployed in military duties, the templars soon added to their pride all that host of vices which so readily step in to occupy the void of idleness. while the knights of st. john, spreading benefit and comfort around them, notwithstanding many occasional faults and errors, remained esteemed and beloved, on the whole, both by sovereigns and people; the knights of the temple were only suffered for some centuries, feared, hated, avoided; and at last were crushed, at a moment when it is probable that a reform was about to work itself in their order.[ ] chapter x. _consequences of the loss of edessa--the state of france unfavourable to a new crusade--view of the progress of society--causes and character of the second crusade--st. bernard--the emperor of germany takes the cross and sets out--louis vii. follows--conduct of the germans in greece--their destruction in cappadocia--treachery of manuel comnenus--louis vii. arrives at constantinople--passes into asia--defeats the turks on the meander--his army cut to pieces--proceeds by sea to antioch--fate of his remaining troops--intrigues at antioch--louis goes on to jerusalem--siege of damascus--disgraceful failure--conrad returns to europe--conduct of suger, abbot of st. denis--termination of the second crusade._ the loss of edessa shook the kingdom of jerusalem; not so much from the importance of the city or its territory, as from the exposed state in which it left the frontier of the newly established monarchy. the activity, the perseverance, the power of the moslems had been too often felt not to be dreaded; and there is every reason to believe, that the clergy spoke but the wishes of the whole people, when in their letters to europe they pressed their christian brethren to come once more to the succour of jerusalem. shame and ambition led the young count of edessa to attempt the recovery of his capital as soon as the death of zenghi, who had taken it, reached his ears. he in consequence collected a large body of troops, and on presenting himself before the walls during the night, was admitted, by his friends, into the town. there he turned his whole efforts to force the turkish garrison in the citadel to surrender, before nourhaddin, the son of zenghi, could arrive to its aid. but the saracens held out; and, while the latin soldiers besieged the castle, they found themselves suddenly surrounded by a large body of the enemy, under the command of nourhaddin. in this situation, they endeavoured to cut their way through the turkish force, but, attacked on every side, few of them escaped to tell the tale of their own defeat. nourhaddin marched over their necks into edessa, and, in order to remove for ever that bulwark to the christian kingdom of jerusalem, he caused the fortifications to be razed to the ground. the consternation of the people of palestine became great and general. the road to the holy city lay open before the enemy, and continual applications for assistance reached europe, but more particularly france. the state of that country, however, was the least[ ] propitious that it is possible to conceive for a crusade. the position of all the orders of society had undergone a change since the period when the wars of the cross were first preached by peter the hermit; and of the many causes which had combined to hurry the armed multitudes to the holy land, none remained but the spirit of religious fanaticism and military enterprise. at the time of the first crusade, the feudal system had reached the acme of its power. the barons had placed a king upon the throne. they had rendered their own dominion independent of his, and though they still acknowledged some ties between themselves and the monarch--some vague and general power of restraint in the king and his court of peers--yet those ties were so loose, that power was so undefined in its nature, and so difficult in its exercise, that the nobles were free and at liberty to act in whatever direction enthusiasm, ambition, or cupidity might call them, without fear of the sovereign, who was, in fact, but one of their own body loaded with a crown. the people, too, at that time, both in the towns and in the fields, were the mere slaves of the nobility; and as there existed scarcely a shadow of vigour in the kingly authority, so there remained not an idea of distinct rights and privileges among the populace. thus the baronage were then unfettered by dread from any quarter; and the lower classes--both the poorer nobility, and that indistinct tribe (which we find evidently[ ] marked) who were neither among the absolute serfs of any lord, nor belonging to the military caste--were all glad to engage themselves in wars which held out to them riches and exaltation in this world, and beatification in the next; while they could hope for nothing in their own land but pillage, oppression, and wrong; or slaughter in feuds without an object, and in battles for the benefit of others. before the second crusade was contemplated, a change--an immense change had operated itself in the state of society. just fifty years had passed since the council of clermont: but the kings of france were no longer the same; the royal authority had acquired force[ ]--the latent principles of domination had been exercised for the general good. kings had put forth their hands to check abuses, to punish violence and crime; and the feudal system began to assume the character, not of a simple confederation, but of an organized _hierarchy_,[ ] in which the whole body was the judge of each individual, and the head of that body the executor of its sentence. louis vi., commonly called louis the fat,[ ] was the first among the kings of france who raised the functions of royalty above those of sovereignty, and the distinction between the two states is an important one. the former monarchs of france, including philip i., under whose reign the first crusade was preached, had each been but sovereigns, who could call upon their vassals to serve them for so many days in the field, and whose rights were either simply personal, that is to say, for their own dignity and benefit, or only general so far as the protection of the whole confederacy from foreign invasion was implied. louis the fat, however, saw that in the kingly office was comprised both duties and rights of a different character; the right of punishing private crime,[ ] and of opposing universal wrong; the duty of maintaining public order, and of promoting by one uniform and acknowledged power the tranquillity of the whole society and the security of each individual. the efforts of that prince were confined and partial, it is true;[ ] but he and his great minister, suger, seized the just idea of the monarchical form of government, and laid the basis of a well-directed and legitimate authority. this authority, of course, was not pleasing to the barons, whose license was thus curtailed. their views, therefore, were turned rather to the maintenance of their own unjust privileges, than to foreign adventures. at the same time, the nobles found themselves assailed by the classes below them, as well as by the power above, and the people of the towns were seen to struggle for the rights and immunities so long denied to them. the burghers had,[ ] indeed, been permitted to labour in some small degree for themselves. though subject to terrible and grievous exactions, they had still thriven under the spirit of commerce and industry. their lords had sometimes even recourse to them for assistance. the greater part, though of the servile race, had been either freed, or were descended from freed men; and the baron of the town in which they lived, though cruel and tyrannical, was more an exacting protector than a master. at length--the precise time is unknown--the people of the cities began to think of protecting themselves; and, by mutual co-operation, they strove at once to free themselves from the tyranny of a superior lord, and to defend themselves against the encroachments of others. the word _commune_[ ] was introduced, and each town of considerable size hastened to struggle for its liberty. at first the horror and indignation of the nobles were beyond all conception; but the spirit of union among them was not sufficiently active to put down that which animated the commons. each lord had to oppose his revolted subjects alone; and after long and sanguinary contests,[ ] sometimes the baron, the bishop, or the abbot succeeded in subjugating the people; sometimes the burghers contrived, by perseverance, to wring from the nobles themselves a charter which assured their freedom. this struggle[ ] was at its height, at the time when the fall of edessa and the growing power of the moslems called europe to engage in a second crusade; but the barons at that moment found their privileges invaded both by the crown and the people; and the latter discovered that they had rights to maintain in their own land--that they were no longer the mere slaves to whom all countries were alike--that prospects were opened before them which during the first crusade they hardly dreamed of--that the swords which had before been employed in fighting the quarrels of their lords at home, or raising them to honour and fame abroad, were now required to defend their property, their happiness, and the new station they had created for themselves in society. thus the period at which aid became imperatively necessary to the christians at jerusalem, was when france was least calculated to afford it. nevertheless, the superstition of a king and the eloquence of a churchman combined to produce a second crusade; but in this instance it was but a great military expedition, and no longer the enthusiastic effort of a nation, or a great popular movement throughout the whole of the christian world. one of the strongest proofs of this fact[ ] is the scantiness of historians on the second crusade, and the style in which those that do exist, speak of its operations. it is no longer the glory of christendom that they mention, but the glory of the king; no more the deliverance of the holy land, but merely the acts of the monarch. in pursuance of the general plan of extending the dominion of the crown, which had been conceived by louis vi., and carried on with such infinite perseverance by his great minister suger, louis vii., the succeeding monarch, on hearing of the election of the archbishop of bourges by the chapter of that city, without his previous consent, had declared the nomination invalid, and proceeded to acts of such flagrant opposition to the papal jurisdiction, that the church used her most terrific thunders to awe the monarch to her will. thibalt, count of champagne, armed in support of the pope's authority, and louis instantly marched to chastise his rebellious vassal. thibalt was soon reduced to obedience, but the anger of the monarch was not appeased by submission; for, even after the town of vitry had surrendered, he set fire to the church, in which nearly thirteen hundred people had taken refuge, and disgraced his triumph by one of the direst pieces of cruelty upon record. a severe illness, however, soon followed, and reflection brought remorse. at that time the news of the fall of edessa was fresh in europe; and louis, in the vain hope of expiating his crime, determined to promote a crusade, and lead his forces himself to the aid of jerusalem. deputies were speedily sent to the pope eugenius, who willingly abetted in the king's design, and commissioned the famous st. bernard, abbot of clairvaux, to preach the cross through france and germany. st. bernard possessed every requisite for such a mission.[ ] from his earliest years he had been filled with religious enthusiasm; he had abandoned high prospects to dedicate himself entirely to an austere and gloomy fanaticism; he had reformed many abuses in the church, reproved crime wherever he found it, and raised the clerical character in the eyes of the people, too much accustomed to behold among his order nothing but vice, ignorance, and indolence. he was one of the most powerful orators of his day, endowed with high and commanding talents of many kinds; and in his controversy with the celebrated abelard, the severe purity of his life and manners had proved most eloquent against his rival. thus, when after repeated entreaties[ ] he went forth to preach the crusade, few that heard him were not either impressed by his sanctity, persuaded by his eloquence, or carried away by his zeal: and thus, notwithstanding the unfavourable state of france,[ ] a multitude of men took the symbol of the cross, and prepared to follow the monarch into palestine. in germany the effects of his overpowering oratory were the same. those who understood not even the language that he spoke, became awed by his gestures and the dignified enthusiasm of his manner, and devoted themselves to the crusade, though the tongue in which it was preached was unknown to them. wherever he went his presence was supposed to operate miracles, and the sick are reported to have recovered by his touch, or at his command; while all the legions of devils, with which popish superstition peopled the atmosphere, took flight at his approach. for some time conrad, emperor of germany, suffered[ ] st. bernard to call the inhabitants of his dominions to the crusade without taking any active part in his proceedings, but at length the startling eloquence of the abbot of clairvaux reached even the bosom of the monarch, and he declared his intention of following the cross himself. at vezelai louis vii. received the symbol: but the most powerful obstacle that he found to his undertaking was the just and continued opposition of his minister,[ ] suger, who endeavoured by every means to dissuade the monarch from abandoning his kingdom. all persuasions were vain; and having committed the care of his estates to that faithful servant,[ ] louis himself, accompanied by eleonor, his queen, departed for metz, where he was joined by an immense multitude of nobles and knights, among whom were crusaders from england[ ] and the remote islands of the northern sea. ambassadors from roger, king of apulia, had already warned louis of the treachery of the greeks, and besought him to take any other way than that through the dominions of the emperor; but the french monarch was biassed by other counsels, and determined upon following the plan before laid down. the emperor of germany was the first[ ] to set out, and by june reached constantinople in safety, followed by a large body of armed men, and a number of women whose gay dress, half-military, half-feminine, gave the march the appearance of some bright fantastic cavalcade. the king of france, having previously received[ ] at st. denis, the consecrated banner as a warrior, and the staff and scrip[ ] as a pilgrim, now quitted metz, and proceeded by worms and ratisbon. here he was met by envoys from the emperor of the east, charged with letters so filled with flattery and fair speeches, that louis is reported to have blushed, and the bishop of langres to have observed-- timeo danaos et dona ferentes. here,[ ] too, the french beheld, for the first time, the custom of an inferior standing in the presence of his lord. the object of the emperor was to obtain from louis a promise to pass through his territories without violence, and to yield to him every town from which he should expel the turks, and which had ever belonged to the grecian territory. part of this proposal was acceded to, and part refused; and the army marched on through hungary into greece. the progress of the second crusade was of course subject to the same difficulties that attended that of the first, through a waste and deserted land; but many other obstacles no longer existed--the people of the country were more accustomed to the appearance of strangers;[ ] the army was restrained by the presence of the king; and the whole account of the march to constantinople leaves the impression of a more civilized state of society than that which existed at the period of the first crusade. we meet with no massacres, no burning of towns, no countries laid waste: and though there are to be found petty squabbles between the soldiers and the townspeople, frays, and even bloodshed; yet these were but individual outrages, kindled by private passions, and speedily put down by the arm of authority. the germans[ ] were less fortunate on their way than the french, and some serious causes of quarrel sprung up between them and the greeks, in which it is difficult to discover who were the chief aggressors. the greeks call the germans[ ] barbarians, and the germans accuse the greeks of every kind of treachery; but it appears evident,[ ] that conrad himself was guilty of no small violence on his approach to constantinople. a most magnificent garden had been laid out at a little distance from that capital, filled with every vegetable luxury of the day, and containing within its walls vast herds of tame animals, for whose security woods had been planted, caverns dug, and lakes contrived; so that the beasts which were confined in this vast prison might follow their natural habits, as if still at liberty. here also were several buildings, in which the emperors were accustomed to enjoy the summer: but conrad, with an unceremonious freedom, partaking not a little of barbarism, broke into this retreat, and wasted and destroyed all that it had required the labour of years to accomplish. manuel comnenus, who now sat on the throne of constantinople, beheld, from the windows of his palace, this strange scene of wanton aggression; and sent messengers[ ] to conrad, who was connected with him by marriage,[ ] desiring an interview. but the greek would not trust himself out of the walls of his capital, and the german would not venture within them, so that a short time was passed in negotiation; and then conrad passed over the hellespont with his forces, relieving the eastern sovereign from the dread and annoyance of his presence. manuel, however, furnished the german army with guides to conduct it through asia minor; and almost all accounts attribute to the greek the design of betraying his christian brethren into the hands of the infidels. after passing the sea, the troops of conrad proceeded in two bodies,[ ] the one under the emperor, and the other under the bishop of freysinghen; but the guides with which they had been provided led them into the pathless wilds of cappadocia, where famine soon reached them. at the moment also when they expected to arrive at iconium,[ ] they found themselves attacked by the army of the infidels, swelled to an immense extent by the efforts of the sultaun of the seljukian turks, who, on the first approach of the christian forces, had spared no means to ensure their destruction. the heavy-armed germans[ ] in vain endeavoured to close with the light and agile horsemen of the turkish host. the treacherous guides had fled on the first sight of the infidels, and the enemy hovered round and round the german army, as it struggled on through the unknown deserts in which it was entangled, smiting every straggler, and hastening its annihilation by continual attacks. favoured by the fleetness of their horses, and their knowledge of the localities, they passed and repassed the exhausted troops of the emperor,[ ] who now endeavoured to retrace his steps under a continued rain of arrows. no part of the army offered security. the famous count bernard, with many others, was cut off fighting in the rear; the van was constantly in the presence of an active foe; and the emperor himself was twice wounded by arrows which fell in the centre of the host. thus, day after day, thousands on thousands were added to the slain; and when at length conrad reached the town of nice, of seventy thousand knights, and an immense body of foot, who had followed him from europe, scarcely a tenth part were to be found in the ranks of his shattered army. that he was betrayed into the hands of the turks by the guides furnished by the emperor no earthly doubt can be entertained; nor is it questionable that manuel comnenus was at that time secretly engaged in treaty with the infidels. it is not, indeed, absolutely proved that the monarch of constantinople ordered or connived at the destruction of the christian forces; but every historian[ ] of the day has suspected him of the treachery, and when such is the case it is probable there was good cause for suspicion. in the mean while, louis the younger led the french host to constantinople, and, unlike conrad, instantly accepted the emperor's invitation to enter the city with a small train. manuel received him as an equal, descending to the porch of his palace to meet his royal guest. he, of course, pretended to no homage from the king of france, but still his object was to secure to himself all the conquests which louis might make in the ancient appendages of greece, without acting himself against the infidels. to force the french monarch into this concession, he pursued a plan of irritating and uncertain negotiations, not at all unlike those carried on by his predecessor alexius,[ ] towards the leaders of the former crusade. in the midst of these, however, it was discovered that manuel had entered into a secret treaty with the turks; and, indeed, the confidence which the deceitful greeks placed in the promises of the crusaders forms a singular and reproachful comment on the constant and remorseless breach of their own. there were many of the leaders of the french who did not scruple to urge louis to punish by arms the gross perfidy of the greek emperor; and, by taking possession of constantinople, to sweep away the continual stumblingblock by which the efforts of all the crusades had been impeded. had louis acceded to their wishes, great and extraordinary results would, no doubt, have been effected towards the permanent occupation of the holy land by the christian powers; but that monarch was not to be seduced into violating his own good faith by the treachery of another, and after having, on the other hand, refused to aid manuel in the war which had arisen between him and roger, king of apulia, he crossed the bosphorus, and passed into asia minor. thence advancing through nicomedia,[ ] louis proceeded to nice, and encamped under the walls of that city. here the first reports reached him of the fate of the german army, for hitherto the greeks had continued to fill his ears with nothing but the successes of his fellows in arms. for a time the news was disbelieved, but very soon the arrival of frederic, duke of suabia, charged with messages from the german monarch, brought the melancholy certainty of his defeat. louis did all that he could to assuage the grief of the emperor conrad,[ ] and uniting their forces, they now marched on by the seacoast to ephesus. here, however, conrad, mortified at a companionship in which the inferiority of his own troops was painfully contrasted with the multitude and freshness of the french, separated again from louis; and, sending back the greater part of his army by land, took ship himself and returned to constantinople, where he was received both with more distinction and more sincerity, on account of the scantiness of his retinue, and the disasters he had suffered. in the mean while, the french proceeded on their way, and after travelling for some days without opposition, they first encountered the turks on the banks of the meander.[ ] proud of their success against the germans, the infidels determined to contest the passage of the river; but the french knights, having found a ford, traversed the stream without difficulty, and routed the enemy with great slaughter. the loss of the christians was so small, consisting only of one knight,[ ] who perished in the river, that they as usual had recourse to a miracle, to account for so cheap a victory. passing onward to laodicea they found that town completely deserted, and the environs laid waste; and they here heard of the complete destruction of that part of the german army which had been commanded by the bishop of freysinghen.[ ] in the second day's journey after quitting laodicea, a steep mountain presented itself before the french army, which marched in two bodies, separated by a considerable distance. the commander of the first division, named geoffroy de rancun,[ ] had received orders from the king, who remained with the rear-guard, to halt on the summit of the steep, and there pitch the tents for the night. that baron, unencumbered by baggage, easily accomplished the ascent, and finding that the day's progress was considerably less than the usual extent of march, forgot the commands he had received, and advanced two or three miles beyond the spot specified. the king, with the lesser body of effective troops and the baggage, followed slowly up the mountain, the precipitous acclivity of which rendered the footing of the horses dreadfully insecure, while immense masses of loose stone gave way at every step under the feet of the crusaders,[ ] and hurried many down into a deep abyss, through which a roaring torrent was rushing onward towards the sea. suddenly, as they were toiling up, the whole army of the turks, who had remarked the separation of the division, and watched their moment too surely, appeared on the hill above. a tremendous shower of arrows instantly assailed the christians. the confusion and dismay were beyond description: thousands fell headlong at once down the precipice, thousands were killed by the masses of rock which the hurry and agitation of those at the top hurled down upon those below; while the turks, charging furiously all who had nearly climbed to the summit, drove them back upon the heads of such as were ascending. having concluded,[ ] that his advance-guard had secured the ground above, louis, with the cavalry of his division, had remained in the rear, to cover his army from any attack. the first news of the turkish force being in presence was gathered from the complete rout of the foot-soldiers, who had been mounting the hill, and who were now flying in every direction. the king instantly sent round his chaplain, odon de deuil, to seek for the other body under geoffroy de rancun, and to call it back to his aid; while in the mean time he spurred forward with what cavalry he had, to repel the turks and protect his infantry. up so steep an ascent the horses could make but little progress, and the moslems, finding that their arrows turned off from the steel coats of the knights, aimed at the chargers, which, often mortally wounded, rolled down the steep, carrying their riders along with them. those knights who succeeded in freeing themselves from their dying steeds were instantly attacked by the turks, who, with fearful odds on their side, left hardly a living man of all the chivalry that fought that day. the king even, dismounted by the death of his horse, was surrounded before he could well rise; but, catching the branches of a tree, he sprang upon a high insulated rock, where, armed with his sword alone, he defended himself, till the night falling freed him from his enemies. his situation now would have been little less hazardous than it was before, had he not luckily encountered a part of the infantry who had remained with the baggage. he was thus enabled, with what troops he could rally, to make his way during the night to the advance-guard, which had, as yet, remained unattacked. geoffroy de rancun had nearly been sacrificed to the just resentment of the people, but the uncle of the king, having been a participator in his fault, procured him pardon; and the army, which was now reduced to a state of greater discipline than before, by the grand master of the templars,[ ] who had accompanied it from constantinople arrived without much more loss at attalia.[ ] here the greeks proved more dangerous enemies than the turks, and every thing was done that human baseness and cunning could suggest, to plunder and destroy the unfortunate crusaders. much discussion now took place concerning their further progress, and the difficulties before them rendered it necessary that a part of the host should proceed by sea to antioch. the king at first determined that that part, should be the pilgrims on foot; and that he himself with his chivalry would follow the path by land. the winter season, however, approaching, the scanty number of vessels that could be procured, and the exorbitant price which the greeks demanded for the passage of each man--being no less than four marks of silver[ ]--rendered the transport of the foot impossible. louis, therefore, eager to reach jerusalem, distributed what money he could spare among the pilgrims, engaged at an enormous price a greek escort and guide to conduct them by land to antioch, left the count of flanders to command them, and then took ship with the rest of his knights. the count of flanders soon found that the greeks, having received their reward, refused to fulfil their agreement, and the impossibility of reaching antioch without their aid being plain, he embarked and followed the king. the unhappy pilgrims, who remained cooped up beneath the walls, which they were not permitted to enter, on the one hand, and the turkish army that watched them with unceasing vigilance, on the other, died, and were slaughtered by thousands. some strove to force their passage to antioch by land, and fell beneath the moslem scimitar. some cast themselves upon the compassion of the treacherous greeks, and were more brutally treated than even by their infidel enemies. so miserable at length became their condition, that the turks themselves ceased to attack them, brought them provisions and pieces of money, and showed them that compassion which their fellow-christians refused. thus, in the end, several hundreds attached themselves[ ] to their generous enemies, and were tempted to embrace the moslem creed. the rest either became slaves to the greeks, or died of pestilence and famine. in the mean while, louis and his knights[ ] arrived at antioch, where they were received with the appearance of splendid hospitality by raimond, the prince of that city, who was uncle of eleonor, the wife of the french monarch. his hospitality, however, was of an interested nature: antioch and tripoli hang upon the skirts of the kingdom of jerusalem as detached principalities, whose connexion with the chief country was vague and insecure. no sooner, therefore, did the news of the coming of the king of france reach the princes of those cities, than they instantly laid out a thousand plans for engaging louis in extending the limits of their territories, before permitting him to proceed to jerusalem. the prince of antioch assuredly had the greatest claim upon the king, by his relationship to the queen;[ ] and he took every means of working on the husband, by ingratiating himself with the wife. eleonor was a woman of strong and violent passions,[ ] and of debauched and libertine manners, and she made no scruple of intriguing and caballing with her uncle to bend the king to his wishes. the archbishop of tyre, who was but little given to repeat a scandal, dwells with a tone of certainty upon the immoral life of the queen of france, and says, she had even consented that her uncle should carry her off, after louis had formally refused to second his efforts against cesarea. however that may be, her conduct was a disgrace to the crusade; and louis, in his letters to suger, openly complained of her infidelity. the king resisted all entreaties and all threats, and, equally rejecting the suit of the count of tripoli,[ ] he proceeded to jerusalem, where the emperor conrad, having passed by sea from constantinople, had arrived before him. here the whole of the princes were called to council; and it was determined that, instead of endeavouring to retake edessa, which had been the original object of the crusade, the troops of jerusalem, joined to all that remained of the pilgrim armies, should attempt the siege of damascus. the monarchs immediately took the field, supported by the knights of the temple and st. john, who, in point of courage, equalled the chivalry of any country, and in discipline excelled them all. nourhaddin and saphaddin, the two sons of the famous zenghi, threw what men they could suddenly collect into damascus, and hastened in person to raise as large a force as possible to attack the christian army. the crusaders advanced to the city, drove in the turkish outposts[ ] that opposed them, and laid siege to the fortifications, which in a short time were so completely ruined, that damascus could hold out no longer. and yet damascus did not fall. dissension, that destroying angel of great enterprises, was busy in the christian camp. the possession of the still unconquered town[ ] was disputed among the leaders. days and weeks passed in contests, and at length, when it was determined that the prize should be given to the count of flanders, who had twice visited the holy land, the decision caused so much dissatisfaction, that all murmured and none acted. each one suspected his companion; dark reports and scandalous charges were mutually spread and countenanced; the templars were accused of having received a bribe from the infidels; the european monarchs[ ] were supposed to aim at the subjugation of jerusalem; the conquerors were conquered by their doubts of each other; and, retiring from the spot where they had all but triumphed, they attempted to storm the other side of the city, where the walls were as firm as a rock of adamant. repenting of their folly, they soon were willing to return to their former ground, but the fortifications had been repaired, the town had received fresh supplies, and saphaddin, emir of mousul, was marching to its relief. only one plan was to be pursued. the siege was abandoned, and the leaders,[ ] discontented with themselves and with each other, retreated gloomily to jerusalem. the emperor of germany set out immediately for europe; but louis, who still hoped to find some opportunity of redeeming his military fame, lingered for several months; while eleonor continued to sully scenes, whose memory is composed of all that is holy, with her impure amours. at length the pressing entreaties of suger induced the french monarch to return to his native land. there he found the authority he had confided to that great and excellent minister had been employed to the infinite benefit of his dominions--he found his finances increased and order established in every department of the state;[ ]--and he found, also, that the minister was not only willing, but eager, to yield the reins of government to the hand from which he had received them.--during the absence of the king, his brother, robert of dreux, who returned before him, had endeavoured to thwart the noble abbot of st. denis, and even to snatch the regency from him; but suger boldly called together a general assembly of the nobility of france, and intrusted his cause to their decision. the court met at soissons, and unanimously supported the minister against his royal opponent; after which he ruled, indeed, in peace; but robert strove by every means to poison the mind of the king against him; and it can be little doubted, that louis, on his departure from palestine, viewed the conduct of suger with a very jealous eye. the effects of his government, however, and the frankness with which he resigned it, at once did away all suspicions. the expedition was now over, but yet one effort more was to be made, before we can consider the second crusade as absolutely terminated. suger had opposed the journey of the king to the holy land, but he was not in the least wanting in zeal or compassionate enthusiasm in favour of his brethren of the east.[ ] any thing but the absence of a monarch from his unquiet dominions he would have considered as a small sacrifice towards the support of the kingdom of jerusalem; and now, at seventy years, he proposed to raise an army at his own expense, and to finish his days in palestine.--his preparations were carried on with an ardour, an activity, an intelligence, which would have been wonderful even in a man at his prime; but, in the midst of his designs, he was seized with a slow fever, which soon showed him that his end was near. he saw the approach of death with firmness; and, during the four months that preceded his decease, he failed not from the bed of sickness to continue all his orders for the expedition, which could no longer bring living glory to himself. he named the chief whom he thought most worthy to lead it; he bestowed upon him all the treasures he had collected for the purpose; he gave him full instructions for his conduct, and he made him swear upon the cross to fulfil his intentions. having done this, the abbot of st. denis waited calmly the approach of that hour which was to separate him from the living; and died, leaving no one like him in europe. with his life appears to have ended the second crusade, which, with fewer obstacles and greater facilities than the first, produced little but disgrace and sorrow to all by whom it was accompanied.[ ] chapter xi. _progress of society--the rise of poetry in modern europe--troubadours-- trouveres--various poetical compositions--effect of poetry upon chivalry-- effect of the crusades on society--state of palestine after the second crusade--cession of edessa to the emperor manuel comnenus--edessa completely subjected by the turks--ascalon taken by the christians--state of egypt under the last califs of the fatimite race--the latins and the atabecks both design the conquest of egypt--struggles for that country-- rise of saladin--disputes among the latins concerning the succession of the crown--guy of lusignan crowned--saladin invades palestine--battle of tiberias--fall of jerusalem--conquest of all palestine--some inquiry into the causes of the latin overthrow._ before proceeding to trace the events which occurred in the holy land between the second and third crusades, it may be as well to keep our eyes upon europe for a few moments, and to remark the advance of society towards civilization. prior to the period of the first expedition to palestine, germany had been occupied alone in struggling against the papal authority, and in fighting for dominions in italy, the limits of which were always sufficiently vague to admit of disputes and aggressions on all parts. apulia and the southern portion of italy had been subjected, as we have seen, by the normans; and the rest of that country, with the exception of some small republican cities, was divided into feudal baronies, the right of homage over which was very uncertain. engaged in private wars and feuds, where personal interest was the sole object, unmixed with any refining principle, the chivalry of italy made but small progress. from time to time a great and distinguished chief started up, and dignified his country; but the general feeling of knightly zeal was not extended far in italy, or was wasted in the petty purposes of confined and unimportant struggles. in germany also chivalry advanced but little. there was much dignified firmness in the character of the people; and--under the walls of damascus--in the wars with the pope, and with the norman possessors of calabria--the german knights evinced that in the battle-field none were more daring, more powerful, or more resolute; but we find few instances where enthusiasm was mingled with valour, and where the ardour of chivalric devotion was joined to the bold courage of the teutonic warrior. in spain the spirit was at its height; but spain had her own crusades; and it was quite enough for the swords of her gallant band of knights to free their native land, inch by inch, from her saracen invaders. military orders[ ] were there instituted in the middle of the twelfth century; and the knights of calatrava and st. james might challenge the world to produce a more chivalrous race than themselves; still the object of all their endeavours was the freedom of their native country from the yoke of the moors, and they engaged but little in any of those great expeditions which occupied the attention and interest of the world. it is to france, then, and to england, under the dominion of its norman monarchs, that we must turn our eyes; and here, during the course of the twelfth century, we shall find great and extraordinary progress. previous to the epoch of the crusades, france, though acknowledging one king, had consisted of various nations, whose manners, habits, and languages differed in the most essential points.[ ] the provençal was as opposite a being to the frank of that day, as the italian is now to the russian. the norman and the breton also descended from distinct origins, and in most cases these separate tribes hated each other with no slight share of enmity. the character of the norman was in all times enterprising, wandering, cunning, and selfish; that of the breton, or armorican, savage, ferocious, daring, and implacable; but imaginative in the highest degree, as well as superstitious. the provençal was light, avaricious, keen, active, and sensual; the frank, bold, hardy, persevering, but vain, insolent, and thoughtless.[ ] distinctive character lies more generally in men's faults than their virtues; and thus, all these different races possessed the same higher qualities in common. they were brave to a prodigy; energetic, talented, enthusiastic; but during the eleventh, and the beginning of the twelfth centuries, the rude state of society in which chivalry had arisen, continued to affect it still. the first crusade, however, gave an impulse to all those countries that joined in it, which tended infinitely to civilize europe, by uniting nations and tribes, which had long been separated by different interests, in one great enterprise, wherein community of object, and community of danger, necessarily harmonized many previously discordant feelings, and did away many old animosities, by the strong power of mutual assistance and mutual endeavour. the babel of languages which fulcher describes in the christian camp before long began to form itself into two more general tongues. latin, notwithstanding all the support it received in the court, in the church, and in the schools, was soon confined to the cloister; and the _langue d'oc_, or provençal, became the common language of all the provinces on the southern side of the loire, while the _langue d'oil_ only was spoken in the north of france. the manners and habits of the people, too, were gradually shaded into each other; the distinctions became less defined: the provençal no longer looked upon the breton as a savage; and the frank no longer classed the provençal with the ape. a thousand alliances were formed between individuals of different tribes, and the hand of kindred smoothed away the remaining asperities of national prejudice. such assimilations tend of course to calm and mollify the mind of man; so that the general character of the country became of a less rude and ferocious nature. at this time, too, sprang up that greatest of all the softeners of the human heart, poetry; and immense was the change it wrought in the manners and deportment of that class which constituted the society of the twelfth century. the poetry of that age bore as distinct and clear a stamp of the epoch to which it belonged, as any that the world ever produced; and it is absurd to trace to an earlier day the origin of a kind of poesy which was founded upon chivalry alone, and reflected nothing but the objects of a chivalrous society. it is little important which of the two tongues of france first boasted a national poet, and equally unimportant which gave birth to the most excellent poetry. the _langue d'oc_ was the most mellifluous; the _langue d'oil_ was the most forcible; but neither brought forth any thing but the tales, the songs, the satires, the ballads of chivalry. it is more than probable that some musical ear in provence first applied to his own language the melody of regularly arranged syllables, and the jingle of rhyme. no sooner was this done than the passion spread to all classes. chivalrous love and chivalrous warfare furnished subjects in plenty; and the _gai savoir_, the _biau parler_, became the favourite relaxation of those very men who wielded the lance and sword in the battle-field. the troubadours were multiplied to infinity; the language lent itself almost spontaneously to versification; and kings, warriors, and ladies, as well as the professed poets, occasionally practised the new and captivating art, which at once increased chivalrous enthusiasm, by spreading and perpetuating the fame of noble deeds, and softened the manners of the age, by the influence of sweet sounds and intellectual exercises. the songs themselves soon became as various as those who composed them, and were divided into _sirventes_, _tensons_, _pastourelles_, and _nouvelles_, or _contes_.[ ] the conte, or tale in verse, needs no description, and the nature of the pastourelle also is self-evident. the _sirvente_ deserves more particular notice. it was in fact a satire, of the most biting and lively character; in which wit and poetry were not used to cover or to temper the reprobation of either individual or general vice, but rather, on the contrary, to give point and energy to invective. the keen bitterness of the troubadours spared neither rank nor caste; kings, and nobles, and priests, all equally underwent the lash of their wit; and it is from these very sirventes that we gain a clear insight into many of the customs and manners of that day, as well as into many, too many, scenes of grossness and immorality, from which we would fain believe that chivalry was free. the tensons, or _jeux partis_, were dialogues between two persons on some subject of love or chivalry, and in general show far more subtilty than poetical feeling. to these were added occasional epistles in verse; and _plaintes_, or lamentations, in which the death or misfortune of a friend was mourned with a touching simplicity that has since been too often imitated with very ineffective art. other compositions, such as the _aubade_ and the _serenade_, were in use, the difference of which from the common _lay_ consisted merely in their metrical construction: the word _alba_ being always repeated at the end of each stanza of the aubade, and the word _ser_ continually terminating each division of the serenade.[ ] such was the poesy of the _langue d'oc_ and the troubadours. the _langue d'oil_ had also its poets, the trouveres, and its poesy, which differed totally from that of the _langue d'oc_. the art was here more ambitious than with the provençals; and we find, among the first productions of the trouveres, long and complex poems, which would fain deserve the name of epics. the first of these, both in date and importance, is the norman romance of rou, which bears a considerable resemblance, in its object and manner, to the fragments of old scandinavian poetry which have come down to us, but has a continuous and uniform subject, and strong attempts at unity of design. the romance of the rose also, commenced by guillaume de lorris,[ ] and concluded by jean de meung, is one of the most extraordinary compositions that the world ever produced, and stands perfectly alone--an allegory in twenty-two thousand verses! various subjects, quite irrelevant to the object of the song, are introduced in its course; and the poet mingles his tale with satire and sarcasm, which were fully as often misdirected as deserved. besides these were all the famous romances of chivalry which probably originated in the fabulous but interesting story of charlemagne's visit to the holy land, falsely attributed to the archbishop turpin. this work bears internal evidence of having been written after the first crusade, and, we have reason to suppose, was translated into french,[ ] from the latin manuscript of some monkish author. in all the romances of the round table, we trace the end of the twelfth, and the beginning of the thirteenth century. they could not have been composed prior to that epoch; for we find many customs and objects mentioned, which were not known at an earlier period; and it is probable, from various circumstances, that they are not referable to a later age. besides these, multitudes of _fabliaux_[ ] have descended to us from the trouveres, and in this sort of composition, it is but fair to say, we find more originality, variety, and strength, though less sweetness and less enthusiasm, than among the compositions of the troubadours. at this period also we meet with an institution in provence, of which i shall speak but slightly, from many motives, though undoubtedly it had a great influence upon the character of chivalry: i mean the court of love, as it was called, where causes concerning that passion were tried and judged as seriously, as if feelings could be submitted to a tribunal. could that be the case, the object of such a court should certainly be very different from that of the provençal court of love, the effect of which was any thing but to promote morality. it tended, however, with every thing else, to soften the manners of the country, though all the mad absurdities to which it gave rise were a scandal and a disgrace to europe. besides all these causes of mitigation, the constant journeys of the people of europe to the holy land taught them gradually the customs of other nations; and in that age there was much good to be learned by a frequent intercourse with foreigners. the great want of europe was civilization; the vices of the day were pretty equally spread through all countries, and the very circumstance of mingling with men of different habits and thoughts promoted the end to be desired, without bringing any great importation of foreign follies or crimes. many useful arts, and many sciences, previously unknown, were also obtained from the saracens themselves; and though in the crusades europe sacrificed a host of her noblest knights, and spent immense treasures and energies, yet she derived, notwithstanding, no small benefit from her communication with palestine. the state of that country, in the mean while, was every day becoming more and more precarious. the nations by whom it was surrounded were improving in military discipline, in political knowledge, and in the science of timing and combining their efforts, while the christians were losing ground in every thing but courage. the military orders of the temple and st. john were the bulwarks of the latin kingdom of jerusalem; but at the same time, by their pride, their disputes, and their ambition, they did nearly as much to undermine its strength at home as they did to support it with their swords in the field of battle. it would be endless to trace all the events in palestine which brought about the third crusade, and to investigate minutely the causes which worked out the ruin of the christian dominion in the holy land. the simple facts must be enough in this place. although the crusade which went forth for the express purpose of delivering edessa never even attempted that object, joscelyn of courtenay did not neglect to struggle for his lost territory, and gained some splendid successes over the infidels, which were all in turn reversed, by his capture and death in prison.[ ] after his failure, the difficulty of keeping edessa was so apparent, that the monarch of jerusalem[ ] determined to yield it to the emperor manuel comnenus, on condition of his defending it against the turks. manuel, therefore, received the principality; but the weak and cowardly greeks soon lost what the valiant franks could not maintain; and before a year was over, nourhaddin the great, sultaun of aleppo, was in full possession of edessa and all its dependencies. baldwin iii., however, who had cast off the follies of his youth, and now displayed as great qualities as any of his race, more than compensated for the loss of that principality by the capture of ascalon.[ ] after this great success, eight years of varied warfare followed; and at the end of that period baldwin died, leaving behind him the character of one of the noblest of the latin kings. his brother almeric ascended the vacant throne, but with talents infinitely inferior, and a mind in no degree calculated to cope with the great and grasping genius of nourhaddin, who combined, in rare union, the qualities of an ambitious and politic monarch with the character of a liberal, frugal, and unostentatious man. almeric was ambitious also; but his avarice was always a check on his ambition, and he suffered himself often to be bribed, where he might have conquered. at this time[ ] the fatimite califs of egypt had fallen into a state of nonentity. the country was governed by a vizier, and the high office was struggled for by a succession of military adventurers. such a state of things awakened the attention of the monarchs of jerusalem and aleppo, and each resolved to make himself master of egypt. an opportunity soon presented itself. shawer, the vizier of egypt, was expelled from his post by dargham, a soldier of fortune. the disgraced vizier fled to the court of nourhaddin, and prayed for assistance against the usurper. nourhaddin willingly granted a request which yielded the means of sending his troops into egypt; and two curdish refugees, uncle and nephew, who had risen high in his army,[ ] under the names of assad eddyn chyrkouh, and salah eddyn or saladin, were despatched with considerable forces to expel dargham, and to re-establish shawer. dargham saw the gathering storm, and to shelter himself from its fury called the christians from palestine to his aid. but the movements of the moslems were more rapid than those of almeric; and, before the king of jerusalem could reach cairo, chyrkouh had given battle to dargham, and defeated and killed him, and shawer was repossessed of the authority he had lost. shawer soon found that his power was fully as much in danger from his allies as it had been from his enemies; and, to resist the turks whom he had brought into egypt, he was obliged to enter into a treaty with the christians. almeric marched immediately to cairo, and after a multitude of manoeuvres and skirmishes, forced chyrkouh and saladin to quit the country; displaying, through the whole of this war, more scientific generalship than was at all usual in that age. no sooner were the turks gone, than the latin monarch[ ] broke his truce with the egyptians, and shawer was once more obliged to apply to nourhaddin. chyrkouh again advanced into the fatimite dominions with increased forces, obliged almeric to retreat with great loss, took possession of cairo, beheaded shawer, and installed himself in the office of vizier to adhad, calif of egypt, though he still retained the title of lieutenant for nourhaddin of aleppo. not long after these successes, chyrkouh died, and nourhaddin, doubtful of the fidelity of the turkish emirs, gave the vacant post to saladin, the nephew of the late vizier; in which choice he was as much guided by the apparently reckless and pleasure-seeking despotism of the young curdish chief, as by the military skill he had shown when forced unwillingly into action. saladin, however, was scarcely invested with supreme power in egypt when his real character appeared. he cast from him the follies with which he had veiled his great and daring mind; and, by means of the immense treasures placed at his command, soon bound to his interests many who had been at first disgusted by his unexpected elevation. the califs of egypt had been always considered as schismatics by the califs of bagdat, to whom nourhaddin still affected homage; and saladin was forthwith instructed to declare the fatimite dynasty at an end, and to re-establish in egypt the nominal dominion of the abassides. this was easily accomplished; adhad, the calif, either died before the revolution was completed, or was strangled in the bath; the people little cared under whose yoke they laboured. the children of the late calif were confined in the harem; and motshadi, calif of bagdat, was prayed for as god's vicar on earth. saladin's ambitious projects became every day more and more apparent, and nourhaddin was not blind to the conduct of his officer. submission quieted his suspicions for a time; and, though repeated causes for fresh jealousy arose, he was obliged to forego marching into egypt in person, as he undoubtedly intended, till death put a stop to all his schemes. no sooner was nourhaddin dead, than almeric attacked his widow at paneas,[ ] and saladin began to encroach upon other parts of his territories: but saladin was the only gainer by the death of the great sultaun, and made himself master, by various means, of the whole of his syrian dominions, while internal dissensions and changes in the government of palestine gradually weakened every bulwark of the latin throne. almeric[ ] died in returning from paneas, and his son, baldwin iv, surnamed the leper, succeeded him. had his corporeal powers been equal to the task of royalty, it is probable that baldwin would have been a far greater monarch than his father; but, after many struggles for activity, he found that disease incapacitated him for energetic rule, and he intrusted the care of the state to guy of lusignan, who had married his sister sybilla, widow of the marquis of montferrat, to whom she had borne one son.[ ] guy of lusignan soon showed himself unworthy of the charge, and baldwin,[ ] resuming the government, endeavoured to establish it in such a form that it might uphold itself after his death, which he felt to be approaching. with this view he offered the administration to the count of tripoli,[ ] during the minority of his sister's child; but the count refused to accept it, except under condition that the charge of the young prince should be given to joscelyn de courtenay, the surviving branch of the courtenays of edessa, and son of the unhappy count who died in a saracen prison. he also stipulated that the castles and fortresses of the kingdom should be garrisoned by the hospitallers and templars; and that in case the boy should die in his youth, the question of succession should be determined by the pope, the emperor of germany, the king of france, and the king of england.[ ] not many years after this the king died, and baldwin v. succeeded, but his death followed immediately upon his accession. without abiding by the dispositions of the former monarch, no sooner was the young king dead, than the grand master of the temple, renauld of chatillon, count of karac, and the patriarch of jerusalem joined to raise sybilla to the throne, in spite of the formal protest of all the other barons and the grand master of the hospital. the gates of jerusalem were shut;[ ] and it was only by sending one of their followers, disguised as a monk, that the nobles assembled with the count of tripoli at naplousa could gain any tidings of what passed. sybilla was crowned in form; and then the patriarch, pointing to the other crown which lay upon the altar, told her that it was hers to dispose of, on which she immediately placed it on the head of guy of lusignan.[ ] after this some of the barons refused to do homage to the new king, and some absented themselves from his court; but the imminent danger in which the country was placed at length brought back a degree of concord, when concord could no longer avail. saladin had by this time made himself master of all syria;[ ] and had not only consolidated into one great monarchy dominions which for ages had been separated into petty states, but also, by the incessant application of a powerful and expansive mind, he had drawn forth and brought into action many latent but valuable resources which had previously been unknown or forgotten. he had taught the whole interests of his people to centre in his own person, and he now determined to direct their energies to one great and important enterprise. that enterprise was the conquest of palestine, and with an army of fifty thousand horse, and near two hundred thousand foot, he advanced towards jerusalem, and laid siege to tiberias.[ ] within the walls of that fortress the countess of tripoli held out against the saracens, while her husband joined guy of lusignan, and brought his forces to the field in defence of the holy land. the conduct of the count of tripoli is very obscure.[ ] that from time to time he had treated with the saracens is evident, and almost every european authority, except mills, accuses him of having, in this instance, betrayed his countrymen into the hands of the infidels. whether with or against his advice matters little to the general result--the christians marched down to meet saladin at tiberias.[ ] beyond doubt it was by the counsel of the count of tripoli that they pitched their tents in a spot where no water was to be found. the troops suffered dreadfully from thirst; and in the morning, when they advanced to attack saladin in the cool of the dawn, the wary monarch retired before them, resolved not to give them battle till the heat of the risen sun had added to their fatigues. to increase the suffocating warmth of a syrian summer's day, he set fire to the low bushes and shrubs which surrounded the christian camp; so that when the battle did begin, the latin forces were quite overcome with weariness and drought. the contest raged throughout the day, the christians fighting to reach the wells which lay behind the saracen power,[ ] but in vain; and night fell, leaving the strife still doubtful. the next morning the latins and turks again mixed in combat. the count of tripoli[ ] forced his way through the saracens, and escaped unhurt; but the scimitars of the moslems mowed down whole ranks of the christians, for their immense superiority of numbers allowed them to surround the height upon which the king and the chief of his army were stationed, and to wage the warfare at once against every face of the latin host. such a conflict could not long endure. multitudes of the infidels fell, but their loss was nothing in proportion to their number, when compared with that which their adversaries underwent. the grand master of the hospital[ ] alone clove his way from the field of battle, after having staid till victory had settled upon the paynim banners. he reached ascalon that night, but died on the following day of the wounds he had received. the king--renault de chatillon, count of karac, who had so often broken faith with the moslems--and the grand master of the temple, whose whole order was in abhorrence among the mussulmans--were taken alive and carried prisoners to the tent of saladin. that monarch remained for some time on the field, giving orders that the knights of st. john[ ] and those of the temple, who had been captured, should instantly embrace islamism, or undergo the fate of the scimitar. a thousand acts of cruelty and aggression on their part had given cause to such deadly hatred; but at the hour of death not one knight could be brought to renounce his creed; and they died with that calm resolution which is in itself a glory. after this bloody consummation of his victory, saladin entered the tent where lusignan and his companions expected a similar fate: but saladin, thirsty himself, called for iced sherbet, and having drank, handed the cup to the fallen monarch, a sure pledge that his life was secure. lusignan in turn passed it to renaul of chatillon,[ ] but the sultaun, starting up, exclaimed, "no hospitality for the breaker of all engagements!"[ ] and before chatillon could drink, with one blow of his scimitar, saladin severed his head from his body. tiberias surrendered immediately. city after city now fell into the power of the victor, and at length, after an obstinate defence, jerusalem once more was trodden by the moslems.[ ] but the conduct of the infidel sultaun on this occasion shames the cruelty of the crusaders. when the people could hold out no longer, saladin, who had at first offered the most advantageous terms, insisted that the city should now throw itself upon his mercy. he then agreed upon a moderate ransom for the prisoners, and promised to let each man carry forth his goods without impediment. when this was done, with extraordinary care he saw that neither insult nor injury should be offered to the christians; and, having taken possession of the town, he placed a guard at one of the gates to receive the ransom of the inhabitants as they passed out. nevertheless, when the whole wealth which could be collected in the town had been paid down, an immense number of the poorer christians remained unredeemed. these were destined to be slaves; but bernard the treasurer relates, that saif eddyn, the brother of the monarch, begged the liberty of one thousand of these, and that about the same number were delivered at the prayer of the patriarch and of baléan de ibelyn,[ ] who had commanded in the place, and communicated with the curdish monarch on its surrender. after this saladin declared that his brother, the patriarch, and ibelyn had done their alms, and that now he would do his alms also; on which he caused it to be proclaimed through the city,[ ] that all the poor people who could give no ransom might go forth in safety by the gate of st. lazarus; but he ordered that if any attempted to take advantage of this permission who really could pay for their deliverance, they should be instantly seized and cast into prison. many of the nobler prisoners also he freed at the entreaty of the christian ladies; and in his whole conduct he showed himself as moderate in conquest, as he was great in battle. antioch and the neighbouring towns, as well as the greater part of the county of tripoli,[ ] were soon reduced to the saracen yoke, and with the exception of tyre, which was defended by the gallant conrad, marquis of montferrat, the whole of palestine became subject to the victor of tiberias. such was the sudden and disastrous termination of the christian dominion in the holy land;[ ] a misfortune which all the contemporary writers attribute to the vices of the inhabitants. without presuming to assign it, as they do, to the special wrath of heaven, we may nevertheless believe that the gross and scandalous crimes of the people of jerusalem greatly accelerated its return to the moslem domination. after the successes of the first crusade, the refuse of european populations poured into palestine in hopes of gain, and brought all their vices to add to the stock of those that the country already possessed. the clergy were as licentious as the laity, the chiefs as immoral as the people. intestine quarrels are sure to follow upon general crime; and unbridled passions work as much harm to the society in which they are tolerated, as to the individuals on whom they are exercised. the latins of palestine retained their courage, it is true; but they knew no confidence in each other. virtue, the great bond of union, subsisted not among them, and each one caballed, intrigued, and strove against his neighbour. the ambition of the two great military orders bred continual hatred and opposition,[ ] and the discord that existed between the hospitallers and the clergy caused another breach in the harmony of the state. during the time that the kingdom of jerusalem was thus dividing itself, by passions and vices, into ruinous factions and enfeebled bodies, saladin and those that preceded him were bending all their energies to consolidate their power and extend their dominion. zenghi was a great warrior, nourhaddin a great monarch,[ ] and saladin added to the high qualities of both, not only a degree of civilization in his own person which neither had known, but, what was still more, the spirit of civilization in his heart. saladin was as superior to any of the princes of palestine in mind as he was in territory; and with clear and general views of policy, keenness and strength of perception in difficulties, consummate skill in war, innumerable forces, and the hearts of his soldiers, it was impossible that he should not conquer. there can be no doubt that the latins were a more powerful and vigorous race of men than the turks. the event of every combat evinced it; and even in their defeats, they almost always left more dead upon the field of the enemy's forces than of their own. their armour, too, was weightier,[ ] and their horses heavier and more overpowering in the charge. but the turkish horseman and the turkish horse were more active and more capable of bearing long fatigue, privation, and heat than the european; and this in some degree made up for the slighter form and lighter arms of the saracen. in war, also, as a science, the turks had improved more than the christians. we find that the troops of saladin employed means in their sieges that they had acquired from the crusaders; that they stood firmly the charge of the cavalry; that they now fought hand to hand with the mailed warriors of europe, and mixed all the modes of chivalrous warfare with those they had practised before. we do not perceive, however, that the latins adopted their activity or their skill with the bow; and at the same time it must be remarked, that the armies of the moslem fought as a whole, under the absolute command of one chief; while the christians, divided in the battle as in the time of peace, were broken into separate corps under feudal leaders, who each consulted his own will fully as much as that of his sovereign. many other causes might be traced for the christian fall and the mussulman triumph; but perhaps more has been already said than was required. whatever were the causes the result was the same--jerusalem was taken by the moslem, and consternation spread through christendom. chapter xii. _the news of the fate of palestine reaches europe--the archbishop of tyre comes to seek for aid--assistance granted by william the good, of sicily--death of urban, from grief at the loss of jerusalem--gregory viii. promotes a crusade--expedition of frederic, emperor of germany--his successes--his death--state of europe--crusade promoted by the troubadours--philip augustus and henry ii. take the cross--laws enacted--saladin's tenth--war renewed--death of henry ii.--accession of richard coeur de lion--the crusade--philip's march--richard's march--affairs of sicily--quarrels between the monarchs--philip goes to acre--richard subdues cyprus--arrives at acre--siege and taking of acre--fresh disputes--philip augustus returns to europe--richard marches on--battle of azotus--heroism of richard--unsteady councils--the enterprise abandoned._ we have seen the solicitations of the church, and the eloquence of two extraordinary men, produce the first and second crusades; but many other incitements were added to clerical exhortations before the inveterate enmity of the french and english could be sufficiently calmed to permit of any thing like a united expedition for the recovery of the holy land. the italian merchants,[ ] who at that time carried on the commerce of the world, were the first that brought to europe the terrible news of the battle of tiberias, the capture of jerusalem, and the fall of palestine: but very soon after, william of tyre,[ ] the noble historian of the crusades, set out in person to demand assistance in behalf of his afflicted country from all the princes of christendom. he first landed in sicily, where william, king of that country, who had married joan of england, received him with kindness, and instantly took measures for furnishing such assistance to the christians of the holy land, that the small territory yet unconquered might be successfully defended till further succour could arrive. three hundred knights and a considerable naval force were despatched at once; and william of sicily was continuing zealously his preparations, when death cut him off in the midst; and the crown was seized by tancred, natural son of roger i. from sicily, the archbishop of tyre proceeded to rome; but he only arrived in time to witness the death of pope urban iii.,[ ] whose mind was so deeply affected by the loss of the holy land, and the capture of the sepulchre, that his enfeebled constitution gave way under the shock, and he literally died of grief. gregory viii., who succeeded, lost not a moment in preaching a new crusade; and during his short pontificate of but two months, he left no means untried to heal the dissensions of christendom, and to turn the arms of the princes who now employed them against each other to the service of god, as it was then considered, in the deliverance of that land which had been sanctified by his advent. the first who took the cross was the famous frederic barbarossa,[ ] who conducted a magnificent army across hungary and greece, saw through and defeated the perfidious schemes of the greek emperor, isaac angelus,[ ] passed on into asia minor, overthrew in a pitched battle the saracen forces which had been called against him by the base and cowardly greek, and took the city of iconium itself. such splendid successes, with so little loss, had never before attended any christian host; but the light that shone upon the german arms was soon changed to darkness by the death of frederic, who, bathing imprudently in the orontes,[ ] returned to his tent in a dying state, and soon after expired[ ] at seventy years of age. after the decease of the emperor, while henry, his eldest son, who had remained in germany, assumed the imperial crown, philip duke of suabia led on the host towards antioch. but the very name of frederic had been a subject of such fear, even to saladin himself,[ ] that he had ordered the towns of laodicea, ghibel, tortosa, biblios, berytes, and sidon to be dismantled at the approach of the germans. now, again, the saracens resumed the offensive; and, between war and famine, the teutonic crusaders were reduced to a small body when they reached antioch. their force was still sufficient to give them the command of that city, and proved a most serviceable aid to the christian troops, who were slowly beginning to rally throughout palestine. a new military institution was soon after attached, by the duke of suabia, to the german hospital, which had been founded at jerusalem many years before by some northern merchants, and had since been greatly enlarged by the hanseatic[ ] traders of bremen and lubec. on this establishment he grafted the order of the knights of the holy cross, or the teutonic knights of the hospital of st. mary,[ ] which soon greatly increased, and was sanctioned by papal authority. i must now return to france and england, where private feuds had prevented the distresses of palestine from producing so immediate an effect as they had wrought with the germans. henry ii. had, as we have already seen, espoused eleonor, the repudiated wife of louis vii., and had obtained with her the whole of aquitain.[ ] this, in addition to normandy, which he also held as a feudatory of the french crown, rendered the kingly vassal a greater territorial lord than even the sovereign to whom he did homage for his continental lands. such a state of things, was alone quite sufficient to cause endless dissensions; but soon more immediate matter was found. louis vii. died. philip augustus succeeded, yet in his youth; and henry ii., after having himself, in execution of the feudal duty of the dukes of normandy, lifted the crown with which philip's brow was to be decorated, endeavoured to strengthen his own party in france as much as possible against the young monarch. his second son, geoffrey, he married to constance, dutchess of brittany: his eldest son, henry, espoused marguerite, sister of philip, and received with her the lordship of gisors,[ ] and the territory of the vexin. prince henry died early, leaving no children; and the land, by his marriage contract, reverted to the crown of france; but his father refused to yield it. war broke out in consequence, and was raging fiercely when the news of the fall of jerusalem reached europe. the tidings were so unexpected, each one felt so deep and religious a devotion for the holy land, every knight had there so many relations or friends, that the news found a thousand avenues open to the hearts of all who heard it. the world, too, was then mad with song. nations in that early age had all the zealous passions of youth. that fresh ardour--that wild spirit of pursuit, which almost every one must have felt in his own young days, was then the character of society at large. europe was as an enthusiastic boy, and whatever it followed, love, religion, song, it followed with the uncontrolled passion, the fiery desire which burns but in the days of boyhood among nations as among men. poetry had now become both the great delight, and the great mover of the day; and all the eloquence of verse found a fit subject in the sorrows of palestine. the troubadours[ ] and the trouveres vied with each other, which should do most to stimulate the monarchs and the chivalry of europe to lay aside their private quarrels, and to fly to the deliverance of the holy land. the _plainte_ was heard from castle to castle, mourning over the loss of jerusalem. the _sirvente_ and the _fabliau_ were spread far and wide, lashing with all the virulence of indignant satire those whom feuds or interests withheld from the battles of the cross. the papal authority enjoined, with its menaces and its inducements, peace to europe and war to the saracen: but even superstition and zeal effected little, when compared with the power of the new passion for song. the first crusade had been the effect of a general enthusiasm; the second of individual eloquence; but this was the crusade of poetry. the first two were brought about by the clergy alone; but this was the work of the troubadours. a truce between henry ii. and philip augustus was agreed upon, and a meeting was fixed between trie and gisors,[ ] for the purpose of considering the manner of settling all difficulties, and the best means of delivering jerusalem. the whole of the barons of france and england were present at this parliament, which was held in the month of january, and mutual jealousies and hatred had nearly turned the assembly, which met to promote peace, to the purposes of bloodshed. at length the cardinal of albano and william, archbishop of tyre, presented themselves to the meeting; and the oriental prelate having related all the horrors he had himself beheld in the holy land--the slaughter of tiberias, the fall of jerusalem, the pollution of the temple, and the capture of the sepulchre--the symbol of the cross was unanimously adopted by all; private wars were laid aside, and a mode of proceeding was determined on which promised to furnish vast supplies for the holy enterprise to which the kings and barons bound themselves. the first of the measures resolved was to enforce a general contribution from all persons who did not take the cross, whether clergy or laity, towards defraying the expense of the crusade. this consisted of a tenth of all possessions, whether landed or personal, and was called _saladin's tithe_. each lord, clerical or secular, had the right of raising this tax within his own feoff. the lord of the commune could alone tithe his burghers, the archbishop his see, the abbot the lands of the monastery, the chapter the lands of the church. any knight having taken the cross, and being the legitimate heir of a knight or a widow[ ] who had not taken the cross, was entitled to lay the tax upon the lands of the other; while all who refused or neglected to pay their quota were given absolutely to the disposal of him who had the right to require it. at the same time that such inflictions were adjudged to those who rejected the call to the holy land, many immunities were accorded to such as followed the crusade. great facilities were given to all the crusaders for the payment of their anterior debts; but they were by no means, as has been frequently asserted,[ ] liberated from all engagements during the time they were occupied in the expedition. such were the regulations which were first brought forward at gisors. each of the monarchs proposed them afterward to a separate court of their barons and clergy, philip at paris, and henry, first at rouen, to his norman council, and afterward to his english vassals at geddington, in northamptonshire. all seemed now to tend rapidly towards the great enterprise; nothing was seen in the various countries but the symbol of the cross, which in england was of _ermine_ or white, of _gules_ or red for france, and of _synople_ or green for flanders. but the whole current of feeling was suddenly turned, by an aggression of richard, duke of guienne, afterward king of england, upon the territories of the count of toulouse. philip augustus flew to arms to avenge his vassal and friend; richard met him with equal fierceness, and the feuds between france and england were renewed with increased violence.[ ] many of the french and english knights, several of the clergy of the two countries, together with a great multitude of germans, italians, and flemings, waited not for the tardy journey of the crusading monarchs, but passed over into the holy land, and joined themselves to guy of lusignan, who had now collected the remnants of all the military orders, and with those princes and knights who had escaped the moslem scimitar, was engaged in besieging acre. his forces[ ] gradually increased till they became immense; and, owing to the skill of those by whom he was accompanied, rather than his own, the camp of lusignan was fortified in such a manner that no efforts of the saracens could penetrate its lines. saladin pitched his tents on the mountains to the south, not long after the christians had undertaken the siege, and innumerable battles in the open field succeeded, in which neither army gained any material advantage that was not compensated by some following reverse. the fleet of the saracens supplied the town,[ ] and the fleet of the christians brought aid to the camp, so that the conflict seemed to be interminable, from the equal zeal and force of the contending parties. in the mean while, the war between henry and philip continued; and, from a personal dispute between richard coeur de lion and the french monarch, had so changed its character, that richard, accompanied by his brother john, went over to the faction of the enemy, and did homage to the crown of france.[ ] henry, abandoned by his children and the greater part of his nobles, found himself forced to sign an ignominious peace; and after one of the violent fits of passion to which he so often yielded himself, was taken ill, and concluded a long life of vice and crime before the altar of the lord,[ ] which he had once caused to be stained with blood.[ ] richard and philip were already in alliance; and no sooner had the new monarch of england ascended the throne, than the preparations for the crusade were resumed with activity. ample treaties were entered into between the french and english kings; and as the clergy, though willing enough to preach the crusade, were in general unwilling to aid it by the payment of saladin's tenth, richard had recourse to the most arbitrary[ ] extortions, to furnish the sums necessary for his enterprise. philip augustus, the count of flanders, and richard coeur de lion met at nonancourt, on the confines of normandy, and engaged mutually to live in peace and defend each other, as true allies, till a period of forty days after their return from palestine.[ ] richard also published a code of laws or regulations for the government of his troops during the expedition. by these it was enacted, that whoever slew a brother crusader should be tied to the corpse and buried alive; or, if the murder were perpetrated at sea, should be plunged with the dead body into the waves. a man who drew his knife upon another, or struck him so as to produce blood, was destined to have his hand cut off. other chastisements were instituted for simple blows, abusive language, and blasphemy;[ ] and if any one were discovered in committing a robbery, he was sentenced to have his head shaved and to be tarred and feathered. this is, i believe, the first mention in history of that curious naval punishment. each of the crusading monarchs now made large donations to abbeys, churches, and religious communities,[ ] and performed various acts of grace to bring down the blessing of heaven upon their enterprise. they took every measure that could be devised for the security and good of their respective realms during their absence, and then proceeded towards lyons, where, finding that the followers of their camp were becoming somewhat more numerous than was desirable, and remembering the vices and irregularities of the former crusades, they instituted several new laws; among which it was strictly enjoined that no woman should be permitted to accompany either army, except washerwomen, and such as had accomplished fifty years. here, also, the two kings separated,[ ] and philip, traversing the alps, soon arrived at genoa,[ ] where he hired vessels to carry him to messina, the general rendezvous, which place he reached with no other impediment than a severe storm. richard, in the mean time, hurried on to marseilles, where he waited a few days for the fleet which was to have joined him from england; but his impatient spirit could never brook delay, and after a pause of little more than a week, he hired all the vessels he could find, and proceeded to genoa. leaving that city he touched at several places on the coast of italy, and near the mouth of the tiber was encountered by octavian, bishop of ostia, who demanded various sums, stated to be due to the church of rome from the english monarch, as fees, on the election of the bishop of ely, and the deposition of the bishop of bourdeaux. richard replied by boldly reproaching the prelate with the simoniacal avarice of his church, and sent him indignantly from his presence. in the gulf of salernum, the english king was met by his fleet, and soon anchored before messina, causing all the horns of his armament to blow as he entered the port. the noise was so great, that the inhabitants crowded to the walls, where they beheld the thousand banners of england covering the sea with all the gay and splendid colours of chivalrous blazonry.[ ] richard was fond of such display, and, perhaps, so slight a thing as this first woke that jealousy in the bosom of philip augustus which afterward proved ruinous to the crusade. nevertheless that monarch came down to meet richard, with tancred, the usurping king of sicily, who had every thing to fear from the anger of the hasty sovereign of england. after dispossessing constantia, the heiress of the crown, tancred had imprisoned joan, sister of richard, the widow of the last king william the good. he had freed her, it is true, on the news of richard's arrival; but the first act of the english monarch[ ] was to demand the restitution of his sister's dowery, and the legacies which had been bequeathed by william of sicily to henry ii. of england. these together amounted to forty thousand ounces of gold,[ ] and for some time richard's application was met by nothing but quibbling and evasion. the best intelligence had hitherto reigned between the french and english, but not so with richard's knights and the people of sicily. the anglo-normans were dissolute and reckless, and the sicilians soon proceeded from squabbling and opposition, to seek bloody revenge. it is probable that both parties were in fault. every thing at messina was charged at a most exorbitant price,[ ] and the normans were very apt to take what they could not buy. the sicilians cheated them, and they plundered the sicilians, till at length some of the norman soldiers were killed.[ ] hugh lebrun, a favourite of richard, was wounded; and richard himself, finding the peasantry supported by tancred in the attack on his soldiers, lost command of his temper, fell upon the people who had come forth from messina, stormed the walls of the city; and in an inconceivably short time, the banner of the king of england was flying over the capital of sicily.[ ] philip augustus, who had interfered on many occasions to quiet the differences between the normans and the sicilians, could not bear to see the english standard on the towers of messina, and a coolness rose up between the two monarchs from that moment. all angry discussion, however, was removed by the conduct of richard, which was calm and moderate, far beyond his usual habits. he offered to give up the guard of the city to either the knights of the temple or of st. john, till his claims on tancred had been fairly met. this tranquillized the matter for a time; but eleonor, richard's mother, now arrived in sicily,[ ] bearing with her the beautiful berengaria, of navarre. the king of england had been affianced to alice of france, the sister of philip; but criminal intercourse, it was supposed, had existed between the french princess and henry ii., and richard had long meditated breaking off formally an alliance he never intended to fulfil. the sight of berengaria decided him.[ ] some letters were shown to him by tancred, king of sicily, in which philip augustus promised aid to the sicilians in case of their warring with the english. richard, with the papers in his hand, cast himself on horseback, and galloped to the tent of the french monarch. philip declared the letters were forged, and that richard's anger was a mere pretence to break off a marriage which suited not his taste. war between the two sovereigns seemed inevitable, and how it was averted does not very clearly appear. probably the higher barons interposed; but at all events the concessions were on the side of philip, who, by a formal treaty, renounced all pretensions to richard's hand, on the part of his sister;[ ] confirmed him in all the feoffs he held from the crown of france; and, leaving him and berengaria to conclude their marriage, he set sail with his fleet for acre. the appearance of the french before that place caused great rejoicing among the christians, for notwithstanding every effort on the part of the assailants the city still held out; and, girt in themselves by the army of saladin, the scarcity[ ] was little less in their camp than in the town. before the coming of their allies, the crusaders under the walls of acre had done all that human ingenuity could invent to force the garrison to yield. they had turned the course of the river which supplied the city with fresh water; they had been incessant in their attacks and, during nearly two years, had never relaxed one moment in their endeavours.[ ] it was apparent, therefore, that nothing but assault by a large force could carry the fortress, and this the arrival of philip gave the possibility of attempting. that monarch, however, either from some engagement to that effect, or from the scantiness of the succour he brought, which, according to boha eddin, consisted only of six large ships,[ ] determined to wait the arrival of richard coeur de lion, contenting himself with battering the walls in the mean while. the coming of the king of france had spread as much alarm among the saracens as joy among the christians; but his inactivity calmed their apprehensions; and the escape of a magnificent white falcon which philip had brought from europe, was considered by the infidels as an evil omen for the french monarch. the bird flew into the besieged city, and was thence sent to saladin, who would not be prevailed upon to part with it, though philip offered a thousand pieces of gold for his favourite falcon.[ ] richard remained some time in sicily, enjoying the idleness and luxury of a delicious climate, and a fertile and beautiful land; but the preaching of a wild enthusiast, called joachim, together with various celestial phenomena, which the superstition of the age attributed to divine wrath, awoke the monarch from his dream of pleasure, and after having submitted to an humiliating penance,[ ] he set sail for acre. a tempest soon dispersed his fleet, and three of the vessels were lost upon the rocky shores of cyprus. the monarch of that island, one of the comneni of constantinople, had rendered himself independent of greece, and had taken the title of emperor. in the madness of insatiable greediness, he pillaged the crews and passengers of the english vessels stranded on his coast, and refused a refuge to the bride and sister of richard himself, when driven by the storm into the port of limisso. at rhodes[ ] the lion-hearted king heard of the disasters of his fleet, and the inhospitality of the emperor of cyprus, and no sooner had he gathered together his ships, than he sailed for limisso, and demanded reparation and apology. with infinite moderation, the more admirable in the conduct of a violent and irritable monarch, he three times required satisfaction before he proceeded to any act of aggression. at length, finding it not to be obtained but by the sword, he landed on the island, drove the coward greeks[ ] before him, took the ungenerous usurper isaac, and reduced the whole country to his sway. his wrath had now been roused, and all temper was forgotten: he taxed the unfortunate inhabitants of the country to an enormous extent and then, after having spent some time at limisso, where he celebrated his marriage with berengaria, he once more set sail for acre. in the passage the fleet of the english monarch came suddenly upon a large vessel bearing the arms of the king of france. something suspicious in the appearance of the ship induced richard to pursue her, and it was soon discovered that she was filled with saracen troops. the attack was instantly ordered;[ ] the infidels defended themselves with the greatest bravery; the sea was covered with greek fire, and a rain of arrows fell upon the decks of the low european galleys from the high sides of the arabian vessel. but resistance against the whole fleet of the english king was vain; and the emir jacob, who commanded, ordered the ship to be sunk by cutting through the bottom with hatchets. before this could be completely accomplished, however, the english and normans were masters of the vessel, and ere she went down a great part of her cargo was saved. this principally consisted of military stores for the camp of saladin: and, among other implements of destruction, the english were surprised and horrified to find a number of large earthen vases filled with poisonous reptiles, from the bites of which it was known that the christians near acre suffered most dreadfully. whether these animals were or were not really destined by saladin as the means of a new and direful mode of warfare, such was the purpose which the christian monarch[ ] attributed to those who carried them; and giving way to his wrath, he ordered all the prisoners to be put to death. some few were saved, who were afterward ransomed according to the universal custom of the day.[ ] but little time now elapsed ere richard, with a hundred sail, arrived before the city of acre, and the shouts of joy that welcomed him made his proud heart beat with more than wonted ardour. all the chivalry of europe were upon the sandy plain between ptolemais and the mountains of carouba:[ ] the templars, the hospitallers, the knights of france, of england, of germany, of italy, of flanders, and of burgundy. thousands of banners floated on the wind; and every sort of arms, device, and ensign glittered through the camp. on the inland hills lay the millions of saladin, with every accessory of eastern pomp and eastern luxury. there, too, was the pride of all the saracen tribes, called into the field by their great monarch to meet the swarming invasion of the christians.[ ] one wing of the moslem army was commanded by malek adel saif eddin,[ ] brother of saladin, and the other by that monarch's nephew, modaffer. through the host were seen banners of green, and black, and yellow; and armour of as many kinds, and of as great magnificence, as that of the europeans. nor was the chivalrous courtesy of the day confined to the christian camp. in times of truce the adverse nations mingled together in friendship; and at one moment they sent mutual presents, and reciprocated good offices, while at another they met in bloody and impetuous strife. saladin himself seems to have conceived the highest respect for the character of richard; and when he was not opposing him in the field, he was always desirous of showing that the moslems were not to be outdone in generous sentiment by any of the christian knights. it would be endless to recount all the transactions of the siege of acre. the _spirit_ of the whole of this crusade (which i could wish to dwell upon more than any thing else) has been already fully, perfectly, and feelingly displayed, in that most beautiful composition, the talisman; wherein sir walter scott, however he may have altered some historical facts to suit the purposes of fiction, has given a more striking picture of the human mind in that age--of the character of nations as well as individuals--than any dull chronicle of cold events can furnish. richard coeur de lion, soon after his arrival before acre, was seized with the fever of the country, and in the attack made upon the town by philip augustus the english monarch was not present.[ ] philip murmured highly, and his assault was repulsed from the want of sufficient forces to follow up his first advantage. richard in his turn attempted to storm the city without the aid of france, and notwithstanding efforts of almost incredible valour, was likewise repelled. mutual necessity brought some degree of concord; and it was agreed that while one army assailed the walls the other should guard the camp, but still the endeavours of both were ineffectual to take the town by storm; and continual disputes were every day springing up between the two monarchs and the two hosts. philip strove to seduce the vassals of richard to follow his banner, as the sovereign of their sovereign, and paid three pieces of gold per month to each of the norman knights who would join his standard:[ ] richard gave four pieces of gold to all who came over from philip, and many a french feudatory joined himself to the english king. the siege of acre still advanced, notwithstanding, less indeed by the presence or efforts of the two sovereigns, than by the simple fact of the city being cut off from all supplies. it had now held out for many months; and for long had endured but little privation from its communication with the sea; but as one article of the first necessity after another became exhausted, that means of receiving provisions was not sufficiently productive or regular for the supply of a great city. even when ships arrived the town was in a state of scarcity, and a day's delay brought on a famine. acre could resist no longer,[ ] and after a short truce, which was asked in the hope of assistance from egypt, it surrendered to the monarchs of france and england, on very rigorous terms. all the christian prisoners within the town were to be freed, together with one thousand men and two hundred knights, chosen from those that saladin detained in captivity; two hundred thousand pieces of gold were to be paid, and the true cross was to be restored to the christians. such was the only capitulation granted to the people of acre, who were also to remain in the hands of the crusaders till the stipulations had been fulfilled by saladin; and in case the conditions were not accomplished within forty days, the prisoners were left to the disposal of their conquerors. saladin neglected to fulfil any of the terms which depended on him; the ransom was not paid; the wood of the cross was not restored; and richard[ ] cruelly commanded his prisoners to be put to death.[ ] after the capture of the city, the archduke of austria boldly placed his banner on one of the towers but no sooner was it seen by richard, than with his own hand he tore it down, and rending it to pieces,[ ] trampled it under his feet. the insult was neither forgotten nor unrevenged, though from that moment the banners of the kings[ ] only continued to float from the walls of acre. thus new dissensions were added to those which had already arisen, and the two monarchs, by taking possession of the whole spoil and dividing it between them, gave high disgust to the rest of the crusaders. another more tangible cause of animosity soon sprang up. sybilla, the wife of guy of lusignan, through whom alone he possessed the title of king of jerusalem, died during the siege of acre, but he still pretended a right to the throne. conrad of montferrat, lord of tyre, had seized upon isabella, sister of sybilla, and wife of the weak and cowardly humphrey de thoron; and having obtained, by one means or another, a divorce between her and her husband, had married her; on which marriage, he also claimed the empty vanity of the crown. richard, with the pisans and the hospitallers, maintained the cause of lusignan; philip augustus, with the genoese and the templars, supported conrad; and the schism was only healed by lusignan acknowledging conrad to be heir to the nominal kingdom, while conrad allowed lusignan to retain the title for his life. soon after this, the crusade received[ ] its deathblow, by the defection of philip augustus. no doubt can exist that that monarch had really lost his health since his sojourn in the holy land; but as little doubt is there that his chief motive in returning to europe was his disgust[ ] at the overbearing conduct of richard, and his jealousy at the great superiority of his rival in all military exercises. philip augustus was an expert and able general, a brave and distinguished knight; but richard was the wonder of his day, and what philip might have admired in an inferior, he could not bear in a fellow-king. he therefore proclaimed aloud his illness, and his intention to return to europe, most unwisely--as james of vitry observes--for the interest of the crusade; for saladin[ ] had been so much depressed by the fall of acre, that beyond all question immense concessions might have been obtained, had the monarchs but made a demonstration of acting in concert. as bound to him by treaties, richard's permission was demanded by the king of france. at first richard exclaimed, with a burst of honest indignation, "eternal shame on him and on all france, if for any cause he leave the work unfinished!"[ ] but he added afterward, "well, let him go, if his health require it, or if he cannot live without seeing paris." with this surly leave, philip hastened his departure, after having made over to conrad of tyre his share in the city of acre, and having sworn, in the most solemn manner, to respect richard's possessions in europe--an oath which he soon found occasion to break. the duke of burgundy,[ ] with ten thousand men, was left behind to support richard; and that monarch, after repairing the fortifications of acre, having seen the churches purified, and the christian religion restored, marched out with considerable force, and took the road by the seaside towards ascalon. vessels laden with provisions followed along the shore; but, on the other hand, the moslems, who had now recovered confidence at the dissensions which they knew reigned among the christians, pursued the army as it marched, and harassed it by continual attacks. richard[ ] refrained from any thing like a general engagement, as long as such conduct was possible; but near azotus he found himself compelled to fight, and he accordingly drew out his men in battle array. eudes, duke of burgundy, commanded the left, and the famous jacques d'avesnes the right, of the crusaders, while richard himself appeared in the centre. saladin[ ] led the attack against the christian army, and the right gave way. at the same time the left repulsed the moslems, and with the usual impetuous courage of the french, who composed it, followed up their success till they were cut off from the main body. richard advanced to the aid of the duke of burgundy, but only so far as to save him from being destroyed. with wonderful coolness he waited till the saracens had exhausted their arrows, and wearied their horses with rapid evolutions, so that the knights murmured at the unwonted inactivity of their monarch. at length, seeing that saladin had weakened his left wing to attack the duke of burgundy, that the hail of missiles was passed, and that there existed some confusion in the enemy's[ ] lines, the king commanded his knights to charge, and leading them on himself, he with his own hand overthrew all that opposed him. the infidels whom he slew, and the feats that he performed, are almost incredible; but certain it is, that his voice, his eye, his look, brought inspiration to the christians and dismay to the hearts of the moslems. the saracen host fled amain, and richard remained master of the field, having to mourn few of his distinguished soldiers besides jacques d'avesnes who was slain towards the end of the battle.[ ] the road both to ascalon and jerusalem was now open to the host of the cross;[ ] but either from treachery, as some have supposed, or from envy, as others have imagined, richard was continually opposed in the council of war: the operations of the crusaders became vacillating, uncertain, and ill-judged, and the kingdom of jerusalem was virtually cast away. the army, instead of following its advantages, proceeded to jaffa,[ ] wasted time in fortifying that city, and suffered the saracens to recover from their panic. various attacks were soon made upon the christians; a party of templars was surrounded by the foe, and would have been cut to pieces, with the earl of leicester and some english who had come to their aid, had not richard, with his lion-heart, rushed, almost unarmed, into the fight; and, scattering the enemy like a whirlwind, delivered his friends from their peril. on another occasion, he had himself nearly been taken prisoner while falconing, and would certainly have fallen into the hands of the saracens, had not one of his followers, named william de pratelles,[ ] exclaimed, "i am the king!" and thus drawn the attention of the enemy to himself. after this, various treaties[ ] were entered into, which ended in nothing, and probably were devised by the saracens merely for the purpose of gaining time to recruit their forces. it was even proposed that joan of sicily, the english monarch's sister, should be given in marriage to saphaddin, or saif eddin; and that jerusalem should be yielded to the parties in this strange alliance. all these negotiations, however, terminated as they began, and hostilities were often commenced and suspended, equally without cause. richard advanced to ramula, and nothing opposed his proceeding to jerusalem; but at a council of war it was determined that the army should retire upon ascalon.[ ] this was done, and ascalon was once more fortified; but here the troops were cut off from supplies, new divisions arose, and many desertions took place. the duke of burgundy retreated to acre; the genoese and pisans broke out into open warfare, and one party, supported by conrad of montferrat, would have destroyed the other, had not richard marched to the spot, forced conrad to withdraw, and re-established peace between the contending nations. conrad, frustrated in the views he had entertained, rejected all conciliation from richard, and allied himself with saladin. that monarch immediately hastened once more to attack the divided army of the cross;[ ] but conrad was stabbed by two of a class of men called the assassins,[ ] at the moment that richard, to obtain concord, had consented to his coronation as king of jerusalem, in opposition to the claim of guy of lusignan. the french attributed the death of conrad to richard, and all parties flew to arms; but in the midst of this confusion, henry count of champagne came forward, married the widow of conrad, was proclaimed king of jerusalem[ ] with the consent of all, and the united host once more prepared to march and conquer the kingdom for which they had just been providing a king. during this time, richard coeur de lion, while waging the war for jerusalem, was neglecting all his best interests in europe. john, his brother, was striving for the crown of england, and philip augustus was stripping him of his territories in france. messenger after messenger brought naught but tidings of danger, and pressing solicitations for his return. still richard advanced towards jerusalem,[ ] but his force was too small to attempt a long-protracted siege. he found himself far from resources, and in a country where supplies could be obtained but with the greatest difficulty.[ ] the marches before him were barren and hot; little water was to be procured and at bethlehem a council of twenty persons was appointed to inquire into the possibility of proceeding. certain information was received that the turks had destroyed all the wells and cisterns round the holy city, and it was determined to abandon the enterprise. richard felt the disappointment with all the bitterness of broken hope and crushed ambition. he was led to a hill from whence he could behold jerusalem; but the sight and its memories were too much, and, covering his eyes with his shield,[ ] the warrior monarch turned away with a swelling heart to concert measures for gaining something, at all events, to compensate the loss of jerusalem. but discord was in the bosom of the crusade; the soldiers murmured,[ ] the chiefs rebelled, and the only thing that could save the army was immediate retreat. such, then, after many plans had been proposed and rejected, was the ultimate step. the great body of the forces, with richard and the duke of burgundy, fell back upon acre; but a smaller part threw itself into jaffa; and saladin, recovering his energies as the crusaders lost theirs, collected his power and prepared to reap the fruits of their disunion. the hope of saving the holy land was now gone, and richard determined to abandon an endeavour which jealousies and treacheries had rendered infeasible; and, returning to europe, to give his thoughts to the consolidation and security of his own dominions. before he set out, however, the news reached him that saladin had attacked jaffa with immense forces; and that the only hope of the garrison was in aid from him.[ ] sending the bulk of the army by land, he took advantage of a favourable wind, and set sail with a very small retinue for the besieged city. when he arrived at jaffa, he perceived that the gates were already in the hands of the saracens, and that the christians were fighting to the last, to sell their lives dearly. "when king richard found that the place was taken," to use the words of bernard the treasurer, "he sprang on shore, with his shield round his neck, and his danish axe in his hand, retook the castle, slew the saracens that were within the walls, and drove those that were without back to their camp, where he halted on a little mound--he and his men. saladin asked his troops why they fled; to which they replied, that the king of england had come to jaffa, had slain much people, and retaken the town. then saladin asked, 'where is he?' and they replied, 'there, sire, upon that hillock with his men.' 'what!' cried saladin, 'the king on foot among his servants! this is not as it should be.' and saladin sent him a horse,[ ] charging the messenger to say, that such a man ought not to remain on foot in so great danger." the attempts of the saracens were vain to recover the position they had lost, and their terror at the tremendous name of richard made that name a host. this victory again placed the king of england in a commanding situation, and he took advantage of it to demand peace. saladin gladly met his advances. a treaty was entered into, and a truce was concluded for three years and eight months, during which period the christians were to enjoy the liberty of visiting jerusalem, as pilgrims, exempt from all grievance. tyre and jaffa, with the whole district between them, were yielded to the latins, who, on their part, agreed to demolish the fortifications of ascalon. the troops of the cross were permitted to resort as palmers to jerusalem, where the sultaun received and treated them with courteous hospitality. richard would not visit the city he could not capture; but the bishop of salisbury was entertained in the sultaun's own palace, and obtained from the generous saracen leave to establish three societies of latin priests, in jerusalem, in bethlehem, and in nazareth. various other splendid acts of kingly magnanimity closed saladin's communication with the crusaders. on the th of october, a. d. , richard set sail for europe. the fruits of his crusade were but small, as far as the recovery of the holy land was concerned; but in his own person he acquired a degree of military glory that enmity could not wrest from him, and ages have not been able to dim. he had many faults and many failings; and his own pride contributed as much as the jealousy of his enemies to create disunion among the allies, and frustrate the object of the expedition. but he had also to contend with many wrongs and difficulties, and possessed many bright and noble qualities. he carried the heart of a lion to his grave;[ ] and for centuries after the women of palestine scared their children with his name.[ ] chapter xiii. _death of saladin--disunion among his successors--celestine iii. preaches a new crusade--henry of germany takes the cross--abandons his purpose--crusaders proceed without him--saif eddin takes the field, and captures jaffa--the crusaders are reinforced--defeat saif eddin--lay siege to thoron--seized with panic, and retreat--disperse--death of henry of champagne, king of jerusalem--his widow marries almeric, king of cyprus--truce--death of almeric and isabella--mary, heiress of jerusalem, wedded to john of brienne--affairs of europe--innocent iii. and foulque of neuilly promote a crusade--the barons of france take the cross--proceed to venice--their difficulties--turn to the siege of zara--a change of purpose--proceed to constantinople--siege and taking of that city--subsequent proceedings--a revolution in constantinople--alexius deposed by murzuphlis--second siege and capture of the greek capital--flight of murzuphlis--plunder and outrage--baldwin, count of flanders, elected emperor._ for some time the christians of the holy land enjoyed an interval of repose. saladin was a religious observer of his word; and during the short space that intervened between the departure of richard coeur de lion and the death of his great adversary, the latins received the full benefit of the treaty which had been executed between those monarchs. a year had scarcely elapsed ere saladin was seized with a mortal sickness; and, finding his end approaching, he commanded the black standard, which had so often led the way to victory, to be taken down, and replaced by the shroud which was to wrap his body in the grave. this was then borne through the streets, while the criers called all men to behold what saladin, the mighty conqueror, carried away with him of all his vast dominion.[ ] saladin died, a monarch in whose character, though the good was not unmixed with evil, the great qualities so far preponderated, that they overbalanced the effects of a barbarous epoch and a barbarous religion, and left in him a splendid exception to most of the vices of his age, his country, and his creed. at that period the principle of hereditary succession was not very clearly ascertained either in europe or in asia; and the vast monarchy which saladin had been enabled to consolidate was broken in pieces at his death. saif eddin, his brother, took possession of the greater part of syria, and strengthened himself by the soldiers of his dead relative, who both loved and esteemed him. three of the great monarch's sons seized upon such portions of their father's dominions as they could reach; and civil dissensions followed, highly detrimental to the power of the moslem, and favourable to the security of the christians. this, indeed, was the moment when a crusade was most practicable, and pope celestine iii. exhorted all christendom to snatch the opportunity. in most instances his call fell upon cold and unwilling ears. philip augustus was too deeply engaged in those vast and magnificent schemes which, however impeded by the prejudices of the day, rendered his reign a great epoch in the history of nations.[ ] richard coeur de lion had learned the danger of quitting his own kingdom, and the vanity of hoping for union among ambitious men. henry of germany alone, moved by wild schemes for aggrandizing his territories, assented at once to the crusade; but finding that sicily seemed ready to receive him, he deemed the nearer conquest the more advisable; and on the same principle he had taken the cross, he abandoned it again. not so his subjects; an immense number of the vassals followed eagerly the road which he had quitted;[ ] and several teutonic bishops, with the dukes of saxony, brabant, and bavaria, set out from germany, and reached acre in safety. the christians of palestine were at that moment in the enjoyment of peace,[ ] and they beheld the coming of new crusaders with horror and despair. had the troops that arrived been sufficient, indeed, to give any thing like certainty to their enterprise, all the latins of the holy land would willingly have concurred; but the prospect of new and desolating wars, waged by scanty forces, was, notwithstanding the dissensions of their enemies, a hopeless and painful anticipation. nevertheless, the germans began their operations at once;[ ] and saif eddin, with his whole attention suddenly directed to the christians, showed, by the energetic activity of his movements, that the spirit of saladin survived in his brother. jaffa was taken by assault,[ ] with a great slaughter of the christians, and all promised a speedy destruction to the small remains of the latin kingdom. fresh succours, however, were received from europe; the hopes of the christians revived; and, under the command of the duke of saxony, they marched on towards beritus. saif eddin hastened to meet them, and attacked the latin forces near sidon; but his army was completely routed by the firm and steady gallantry of the germans; and the way to jerusalem was once more open to the followers of the cross. but the crusaders embarrassed themselves with the siege of the castle of thoron. the saracens had time to recover from their panic; civil dissensions were forgotten; and while the garrison of thoron held out with persevering valour, the sultaun of egypt advanced to join his uncle, and repel the christian invasion. vague rumours of immense preparation on the part of the infidels reached the besieging army. the crusaders were, as usual, disunited among themselves; the saracens within the castle were fighting with the coinage of despair; and, at last, a sudden panic seized the leaders of the german army.[ ] they abandoned the camp in the night, and, flying to tyre, left their soldiers to follow as they could.[ ] a complete separation ensued between the germans and the latins, each accusing the other of treachery; while the syrian christians remained at tyre, the teutonic crusaders proceeded to jaffa. thither saif eddin pursued them; and another battle was fought, in which the germans were once more victorious, though victory cost them the lives of many of their princes. almost at the same time news reached their camp of the death of the emperor henry. from that moment, none of the german nobles remembered aught but the election of a new emperor; and as soon as vessels could be procured, the principal barons set off for europe. they left behind them in jaffa about twenty thousand of the inferior soldiers, and a few knights; but the town was surprised by the saracens on the night of the following festival of st. martin; and the germans, plunged in revelry and drunkenness,[ ] were slaughtered to a man. such was the end of the german crusade in palestine; and before proceeding to speak once more of the affairs of europe, it may be as well to touch upon the brief and uninteresting series of events that followed in that country. henry, count of champagne, who had married isabella, the heiress of jerusalem, had proved but an indolent monarch; and in the year , at the precise moment when the saracens had newly captured jaffa, he was killed by falling from a window. his loss was attended by no evil consequences;[ ] for the saracens were soon involved once more in civil dissensions by the death of saladin's second son, malek el aziz, sultaun of egypt, and the truce with the christians was willingly renewed. isabella, the queen, whose grief was not even so stable as that of the dame of ephesus, was easily prevailed on, by the grand master of the order of st. john,[ ] to give her thrice-widowed hand to almeric of lusignan, now--by the cession of richard of england--king of cyprus. this marriage was certainly a politic one, as cyprus afforded both a storehouse and a granary to palestine; but the peace with the saracens remained unbroken till the bigoted simon de montfort, detaching himself from another body of knights,[ ] which i shall mention hereafter, arrived at acre, and made some feeble and ineffectual incursions on the mussulman territory. after his fruitless attempts, the truce was once more established, and lasted till the death of almeric and isabella, when the crowns of jerusalem and cyprus were again separated. the imaginary sovereignty of the holy city now became vested in mary,[ ] the daughter of isabella, by conrad of tyre, while the kingdom of cyprus descended to the heirs of lusignan. according to feudal custom it was necessary to find a husband for mary who could defend her right, and on every account it was determined to seek one in europe. the choice was left to philip augustus; and he immediately fixed upon jean de brienne, a noble, talented, and chivalrous knight, who willingly accepted the hand of the lady of palestine, and that thorny crown which was held out to him from afar. the news of his coming, and the prospect of large european reinforcements to the christians,[ ] depressed the mind of saif eddin, who had already to struggle with vast and increasing difficulties. he tendered the most advantageous terms of peace; but at that time the two great military orders may be said to have governed palestine.[ ] they were then, as usual, contending with jealous rivalry;[ ] and the templars, having for the moment the superiority, the offers of the sultaun were refused, because the hospitallers counselled their acceptance. jean de brienne arrived, and wedded mary, but the succour that he brought was very far inferior to that which the latins had anticipated, and the war which had begun was confined to predatory excursions on the territory of the enemy.[ ] i must now retrograde in my history for some years, and speak of the affairs of europe. no crusade, as we have seen, had been desired by the christians of palestine[ ] since they had enjoyed the comforts of peace, and no crusade had reached that country; but, nevertheless, one of the most powerful expeditions which europe had ever brought into the field had set out for the purpose of delivering jerusalem.[ ] this crusade was, in the first place, instigated by the preaching of a man less mighty than st. bernard in oratory,[ ] and less moved by enthusiasm than peter the hermit; but it was encouraged by one of the most talented and most ambitious of the prelates of rome. foulque of neuilly would have produced little effect, had he not been supported by innocent iii.; and the influence of neither the one nor the other would possibly have obtained the object desired, had not the young and enterprising thibalt, count of champagne, embraced the badge of the cross with his court and followers, at a grand tournament[ ] to which he had invited all the neighbouring princes. in the midst of their festivities, foulque appeared, and called the whole assembly to the crusade. partly, it is probable, from the love of adventure, partly from religious feeling, thibalt, in his twenty-second year, assumed the cross. the count of blois, who was present, followed his example; and of eighteen hundred knights who held vassalage under the lord of champagne, scarcely enough were left to maintain the territories of their sovereign. nothing, except fear, is so contagious as enthusiasm: the spirit of crusading was revived in a wonderfully short time. the count of flanders, with various other persons, took the cross at bruges, and many more knights joined them from different parts of france, among whom was simon de montfort, who afterward proved the detestable persecutor of the albigeois. after holding two general conferences at soissons and at compiegne, it was determined to send messengers to italy for the purpose of contracting with one of the great merchant states to convey the armament to the holy land.[ ] the choice of the city was left to the deputies; and they proceeded first to venice, furnished with full powers from the crusading princes to conclude a treaty in their name. venice was at that time governed by the famous henry dandolo, who, with the consent of the senate, agreed not only to carry the crusaders to palestine for a certain sum, but also promised to take the cross himself and aid in their enterprise.[ ] well satisfied with this arrangement, the deputed barons returned to france, but found the count of champagne sick of a disease which soon produced his death. after having been refused by eudes, duke of burgundy, and thibalt, count of bar, the office of commander of the expedition was offered to boniface, marquis of montferrat, and accepted. the new chief of the crusade repaired to soissons, to confer with the rest of the knights, and then proceeded to italy to prepare for his departure. all these delays retarded their departure till the year , when they set out in several bodies for venice, and arrived safely at that city with very little difficulty.[ ] innocent iii. had made infinite efforts in favour of the crusade: and, with the daring confidence of genius, had even taxed the unwilling clergy, while he merely recommended charitable subscriptions among the laity. under such circumstances it will be easily conceived that the voluntary donations amounted to an equal sum with the forced contributions; but what became of the whole is very difficult to determine. certain it is, that when the crusaders arrived at venice, not half the money could be raised among them which they had agreed to pay for the use of the republic's transports,[ ] although the chiefs melted down their plate to supply those who had not the means to defray their passage. this poverty was attributed to the fact of various large bodies having, either by mistake or perversity, taken the way to the holy land[ ] by other ports, and carried with them a large part of the stipulated sum; but it does not appear that the pope, into whose hands flowed the full tide of european alms, made any effort to relieve the crusaders from their difficulties. in this distress the venetians offered to compromise their claim, and to convey the french to palestine, on condition that they should aid in the recapture of the city of zara, in sclavonia, which had been snatched from the republic some time before by the king of hungary.[ ] with this stipulation, dandolo, though aged and stone blind, agreed to take the cross; and so deeply affected were the knights, both with his forbearance and gallant enthusiasm, that the iron warriors of europe were melted to tears by the old man's noble daring. the news of this undertaking having reached rome, the most vehement opposition was raised to any change of destination; and innocent[ ] launched the thunders of the church at the refractory crusaders. many of the chiefs--terrified by the excommunication pronounced against those who should quit the direct road to the holy land, to attack the possessions of a christian prince--remained in italy;[ ] but the greater part made every preparation to second the venetians against zara. before their departure, the crusaders received envoys, the event of whose solicitations afterward gave a new character to their expedition. at the death of manuel comnenus, emperor of the east, andronicus, his brother, seized upon the throne and murdered his nephew, alexius ii., who had succeeded. either urged by indignation or ambition, isaac angelus, a distant relation of the slaughtered prince, took arms against the usurper, overthrew and put him to death; after which he in turn ascended the throne of constantinople.[ ] his reign was not long; for, at the end of two years, a brother, named alexius, whom he had redeemed from turkish captivity, snatched the crown from his head, and, to incapacitate him from ruling, put out his eyes. his son, named also alexius, made his escape from prison, and fled to italy, where he endeavoured to interest the pope in his favour. but the church of rome entertained small affection for the schismatic greeks; and though innocent wrote an impotent letter[ ] to the usurper, he showed no real favour to the unhappy prince. the young exile then turned to philip of suabia (then emperor of germany), who had married his sister irene; and at the same time hearing of the crusade, which was delayed at venice,[ ] he sent deputies from verona to the chiefs, to solicit their aid against his treacherous uncle. the barons of france met his prayers with kindness; and the envoys were accompanied, on their return to the court of philip of suabia,[ ] by a party of the crusaders, who were instructed to receive any proposition which alexius might think fit to make. in the mean while, the knights embarked on board the venetian galleys, round the decks of which they ranged their shields, and planted their banners; and having been joined by conrad, bishop of halberstadt, with a large body of german soldiers, a finer armament never sailed from any port.[ ] the chain which protected the harbour of zara was soon broken through; the crusaders landed, pitched their tents,[ ] and invested the city on all sides. the besiegers, as usual, were much divided among themselves; and those who had unwillingly followed the host to zara, against the commands of the pope,[ ] still kept up a continual schism in the camp, which produced fatal consequences to the people of the city. the morning after the disembarkation, a deputation of citizens came forth to treat with dandolo for the capitulation of the town. the doge replied that he could enter into no engagement without consulting his allies, and went for that purpose to the tents of the french chiefs. during his absence, those who opposed the siege persuaded the deputies from zara that the crusaders[ ] would not assist the venetians in an assault. with this assurance the doge's reply was not waited for; the envoys returned, and the city prepared for defence. at the same time, the abbot of vaux cernay presented himself to the assembled barons, and commanded them, in the name of the pope, to refrain from warring against christians while engaged under the banners of the cross. on this the doge angrily remonstrated; the greater part of the knights embraced his cause; and zara, after being furiously attacked, surrendered at discretion. the town was now occupied during the winter by the army of the crusade; and the chiefs of the french forces sent a deputation to rome to obtain pardon for their disobedience. this was easily granted; but the venetians, who seemed to care little about excommunication, remained under the papal censure. notwithstanding the forgiveness they had obtained, many of the most celebrated knights quitted zara,[ ] and made their way to the holy land. such desertions took place especially after the return of the deputies sent to philip of suabia; and it was difficult to keep the army[ ] together, when it became known that its destination was likely to be changed from acre to constantinople. alexius, however, offered, in case of his being re-established in his father's dominions,[ ] to place the greek church under the authority of the roman pontiff, to turn the whole force of the eastern empire against the infidels of palestine, and either to send thither ten thousand men, and there maintain five hundred knights during his life, or to lead his forces towards jerusalem in person. besides this he promised to pay two hundred thousand marks of silver[ ] to the crusading army, and to place himself in the hands of the chiefs till the city of constantinople was retaken. these offers were so advantageous that the greater part of the barons embraced them at once: but many exclaimed loudly against the proposed interruption of the main purpose of the crusade, and many abandoned the host altogether. alexius the usurper trembled at the news of the treaty between his nephew and the crusaders, and sent instant ambassadors to rome,[ ] in order to engage the pontiff in his interest. such of the chiefs as were opposed to the measure talked loudly of the papal injunction to refrain from all wars with the christians;[ ] but it does not appear that innocent exerted himself strenuously to turn the latins from their design. it was far too much his desire to bring the greek church under the domination of the roman see, for him to dream of thwarting an enterprise backed with the solemn conditions i have mentioned; and it was not at all likely that the clearsighted prelate should renounce absolute engagements, as mills has supposed,[ ] for the vague hope of wringing the same from a treacherous usurper. at length, after the venetians had demolished zara,[ ] to prevent its falling again into the hands of their enemies, the expedition, having been joined by the prince alexius, set sail, and at the end of a short and easy passage came within sight of constantinople.[ ] the allies were instantly met by ambassadors from the emperor, who, mingling promises with threats, endeavoured to drive them again from the shore, but in vain. the crusaders demanded the restoration of isaac, and submission from the usurper, and prepared to force their landing; but before they commenced hostilities, they approached the walls of constantinople, and sailed underneath them, showing the young alexius to the greek people, and calling to them to acknowledge their prince. no sympathy was excited, and the attack being determined on, the chiefs held a council on horseback, according to the custom of the ancient gauls, when the order of their proceedings was regulated. the army was portioned into seven divisions, the first of which was commanded by the count of flanders, and the last by the marquis of montferrat. having procured a number of flat-bottomed boats, one of which was attached to every galley, the knights entered with their horses, armed at all points, and looking, as nicetas says, like statues of bronze.[ ] the archers filled the larger vessels, and it was the general understanding that each should fight as he came up. "the morning was beautiful,"[ ] writes the old mareschal of champagne, "the sun beginning to rise, and the emperor alexius waited for them with thick battalions and a great armament. on both sides the trumpets were sounded, and each galley led on a boat. the knights sprang out of the barks, while the water was yet to their girdle,[ ] with their helmets laced and their swords in their hands; and the good archers, the sergeants, and the crossbowmen did the same wherever they happened to touch. the greeks, at first, made great show of resistance, but when they saw the lances levelled they turned their backs and fled." the tents and camp equipage of the fugitives fell immediately into the hands of the crusaders; and siege was laid to the tower of galata, which guarded one end of the great chain wherewith the mouth of the harbour was closed. before night the greeks had recovered from their panic, and some severe fighting took place ere the fort could be taken and the barrier removed; but at length this being accomplished, the venetians entered the port. after ten days of continual skirmishing, a general attack was determined upon; and it was agreed that the venetians[ ] should assail the city by sea, while the french attempted to storm the walls by land. the enterprise began on the land side against the barbican; but so vigorously was every inch of ground disputed by the pisans, the english and danish mercenaries who guarded the fortifications, that though fifteen french knights obtained a footing for some time on the ramparts, they were at length cast out, while four of their number were taken. in the mean while, the fleet of the venetians advanced to the walls; and after a severe fight of missiles between the defenders and the smaller vessels which commenced the assault, the galleys themselves approached the land; and, provided with high towers of wood, began to wage a nearer warfare with those upon the battlements. still the besieged[ ] resisted with extraordinary valour, and the galleys were beaten off; when the blind chief of the republic, armed at all points, commanded, with tremendous threats in case of disobedience, that his vessel should be run on shore;[ ] and then, borne out with the standard of st. mark before him, he led the way to victory. shame spread through the rest of the fleet; galley after galley was brought up close under the walls, and all the principal towers round the port were in a moment stormed and taken. alexius made one great effort to recover the twenty-five towers which the venetians had captured; but, with remorseless resolution, dandolo set fire to the neighbouring buildings, and thus raised up a fiery bulwark to his conquest.[ ] as a last resource, the emperor now issued forth to give battle to the french: and so infinite was the superiority of his numbers, that the hearts of the pilgrims almost failed them. the gallant doge of venice no sooner heard of their danger, than, abandoning the ramparts he had so nobly won, he brought his whole force[ ] to the aid of the french, declaring that he would live or die with his allies. even after his arrival, however, the disparity was so great, that the crusaders dared not quit their close array to begin the fight, and the troops of alexius hesitated to attack those hardy warriors whose prowess they had often witnessed. the courage of the latins gradually increased by the indecision of their enemy, while the fears of the greeks spread and magnified by delay and at length alexius abandoned the last hope of courage, and retreated into the city. the weary crusaders hastened to disarm and repose themselves, after a day of immense fatigues; but alexius, having no confidence either in his own resolution, or in the steadiness of his soldiery, seized what treasure he could carry, and abandoned constantinople to its fate.[ ] the coward greeks, deserted by their chief, drew forth the miserable isaac from his prison; and having robed the blind monarch in the long-lost purple, they seated him on the throne, and sent to tell the franks that their object was accomplished. the crusaders would hardly believe the tidings, but despatched four of their body to ascertain the truth. the envoys found isaac enthroned in the palace of blachernæ,[ ] and surrounded by as large and splendid a court as if fortune had never ceased to smile upon him. they now represented to the restored emperor the conditions of their treaty with his son; and isaac, after some slight hesitation, accepted them as his own. he also agreed to associate the young alexius in the throne; but as all these hard terms, especially that which implied the subjection of the greek church to the roman prelate, deeply offended his subtle and revengeful subjects, he prayed the crusaders to delay their departure till complete order was re-established.[ ] this was easily acceded to; and the franks and venetians, during their stay, wrote to innocent iii., excusing their having again turned from the road to jerusalem.[ ] the pope willingly pardoned both; but intimated, that to make that pardon efficacious, they must be responsible that the schism in the church should be healed by the submission of the greeks to the see of rome. at first, the harmony between the franks and the greeks appeared to be great. the young alexius paid several portions of the money which had been stipulated;[ ] and while the presence of the latin army kept the capital in awe, he proceeded to reduce the provinces to obedience. when this was completed, however, and the tranquillity of the empire seemed perfectly restored, his conduct changed towards his benefactors. a fire which broke out in the city[ ] was attributed to the french, who were at the very moment engaged in serious dispute with a party of greeks, exasperated by an insult to their religion. the very domineering presence of the crusaders was a continual and irritating reproach, and the greeks began to testify no small hatred towards their armed guests. alexius himself, ungrateful in his own nature, contending with his father about their divided sovereignty, and hesitating between the people he was called to govern and those who upheld him in the government, refused or evaded the fulfilment of many of the items in his treaty with the latins. the chiefs soon found that they were deceived, and formally summoned the young monarch to accomplish his promises. the messengers who bore the haughty demand to a despotic court hardly escaped with their lives; and the same desultory warfare which had been waged by the emperors against each body of crusaders that had passed by constantinople was now commenced against the count of flanders and his companions.[ ] a thousand encounters took place, in which the franks were always victorious; and though the greeks directed a number of vessels, charged with their terrific fire, against the venetian fleet, the daring courage and conduct of the sailors freed them from the danger, and only one pisan galley was consumed. in the mean while the greeks of the city, hating and despising a monarch who had seated himself among them by the swords of strangers, and who had drained their purses to pay the troops that held them down;[ ] seeing, also, that his ingratitude, even to his allies, had left him without the support by which alone he stood, suddenly rose upon alexius, and cast him into prison. isaac himself died, it is said, of fear; and the greeks at first elected a nobleman of a different family, named nicholas canabus; but he was mild and weak, a character which little suited the times or country in which he assumed so high a station. a rival, too, existed in a man who had shown unremitting enmity to the latins, and after a short struggle, alexius ducas, a cousin of the late monarch, a bold, unscrupulous villain,[ ] was proclaimed emperor. among his first acts--though at what exact period remains in doubt[ ]--the new alexius, who was more commonly called murzuphlis, caused the preceding alexius to be put to death. the manner of his fate is uncertain: but the usurper had the cunning impudence to yield his victim's body a public funeral. war was now determined between the crusaders and murzuphlis, and the attack of the city was resolved; but previous to that attempt, the crusaders, who were in great want of provisions, despatched henry, brother of the count of flanders, with a considerable force to philippopoli, in order to take possession of the rich magazines which it contained. returning loaded with spoil, he was attacked by murzuphlis; but the greeks scattered like deer before the latins,[ ] and henry rejoined his companions not only rich in booty, but in glory also. negotiations were more than once entered into, for the purpose of conciliating the differences of the greeks and the latins; but all proved ineffectual; and early in the spring the armies of france and venice prepared for the attack. the first step was, as usual, a treaty between the allies to apportion the fruits of success. by this it was determined that the whole booty should be divided equally between the french and venetians;[ ] that six persons from each nation should be chosen to elect an emperor; that the venetians should retain all the privileges they had hitherto enjoyed under the monarchs of constantinople; and that, from whichever of the two nations the emperor was selected, a patriarch should be named from the other. there were various other conditions added, the principal of which were, that one-fourth of the whole conquest should be given to the new emperor, besides the palaces of bucoleon and blachernæ, while the rest was divided among the french and venetians; and that twelve persons should be selected from each nation, to determine the feudal laws by which the land was to be governed, and to allot the territory in feoffs among the conquerors. on the th of april, , the whole army, having embarked on board the ships,[ ] as had been previously concerted, attacked the city by water. the vessels approached close to the walls, and a tremendous fight began between the assailants and the besieged: but no hope smiled on the franks; they were repelled in every direction; and those who had landed,[ ] were forced to regain their vessels with precipitancy, approaching to flight. the greeks rejoiced in novel victory, and the franks mourned in unwonted defeat. four days were spent in consultations regarding a further attempt; and the chiefs, judging that no one vessel contained a sufficient number of troops to effect a successful assault on any particular spot,[ ] it was resolved to lash the ships two and two together, and thus to concentrate a greater force on each point of attack. on the fourth day the storm was recommenced, and at first the fortune of battle seemed still in favour of the greeks; but at length, a wind springing up, drove the sea more fully into the port, and brought the galleys closer to the walls.[ ] two of those lashed together, called the pilgrim and the paradise, now touched one of the towers, and, from the large wooden turret with which the mast was crowned, a venetian and a french knight named andrew d'arboise sprang upon the ramparts of the city.[ ] the crusaders rushed on in multitudes; and such terror seized the greeks, that the eyes of nicetas magnified the first knight who leaped on the walls to the unusual altitude of fifty feet.[ ] one latin drove before him a hundred greeks;[ ] the defence of the gates was abandoned; the doors were forced in with blows of axes; and the knights, leading their horses from the ships, rode in, and took complete possession of the city. murzuphlis once, and only once, attempted to rally his troops before the camp he had formed, in one of the open spaces of the town. but the sight of the count of st. pol, with a small band of followers, was sufficient to put him to flight; and a german having set fire to a part of the buildings[ ] no further effort was made to oppose the victorious crusaders. the fire was not extinguished for some time; and the latin host, in the midst of the immense population of constantinople, like a handful of dust in the midst of the wilderness, took possession of the purple tents of murzuphlis, and keeping vigilant guard, passed an anxious and a fearful night, after all the fatigues and exploits of the day. twenty thousand was the utmost extent of the latin numbers;[ ] and constantinople contained, within itself, four hundred thousand men capable of bearing arms. each house was a citadel, which might have delayed and repelled the enemy; and each street was a defile, which might have been defended against a host. but the days of leonidas were passed; and the next morning the latins found that murzuphlis had fled, and that their conquest was complete. plunder and violence of course ensued;[ ] but there was much less actual bloodshed than either the nature of the victory or the dangerous position of the victors might have occasioned. fear is the most cruel of all passions; and perhaps the fact that not two thousand persons were slain in constantinople after the storm, is a greater proof of the courage of the latins than even the taking of the city. many noble and generous actions mingled with the effects of that cupidity and lust which follow always upon the sack of a great town. nicetas mentions a striking example which happened to himself, wherein a noble venetian dedicated his whole attention to protect an ancient benefactor;[ ] and a body of frenchmen, in the midst of the unbounded licentiousness of such a moment, were moved by a father's agony to save his daughter from some of their fellows. this is the admission of a prejudiced and inveterate enemy; and it is but fair to suppose, that many such instances took place. the great evils that followed the taking of the eastern capital, originated in the general command to plunder. constantinople had accumulated within it the most precious monuments of ancient art,[ ] and these were almost all destroyed by the barbarous hands of an avaricious soldiery. naught was spared; the bronzes, which, valueless as metal, were inestimable as the masterpieces and miracles of antique genius, were melted down,[ ] and struck into miserable coin; the marble was violated with wanton brutality; all the labour of a phidias or a lysippus was done away in an hour; and that which had been the wonder and admiration of a world left less to show what former days had been, than the earth after the deluge. in this the latins were certainly _barbarians_; but in other respects--unless subtilty, deceit, vice, and cowardice can be called civilization, and courage, frankness, and honour can be considered as barbarism--the latins deserved not the opprobrious name by which the greeks designated them. the plunder of the city was enormous. in money[ ] a sufficient sum was collected to distribute twenty marks to each knight, ten to each servant of arms, and five to each archer. besides this, a vast quantity of jewels and valuable merchandise was divided between the french and venetians; and the republic, who understood the value of such objects better than the simple frankish soldiers, offered to buy the whole spoil from their comrades, at the rate of four hundred marks for a knight's share, and in the same proportion to the rest. the booty--with a few individual instances of concealment,[ ] which were strictly punished with death when discovered--was fairly portioned out; and, after this partition, the twelve persons selected to choose an emperor proceeded to their deliberations. they were bound by oath to elect without favour the best qualified of the nobles; and after a long hesitation, between the marquis of montferrat and the count of flanders, they named the latter.[ ] in all probability the determining consideration was, that baldwin, by his immediate connexion with france, was more capable of supporting the new dynasty than the marquis, whose italian domains could not afford such effective aid. to prevent the evil consequences of rivalry, the island of crete and the whole of asiatic greece were given to montferrat, who afterward, with the consent of baldwin, exchanged them for the sclavonian territory. baldwin was then raised upon a buckler,[ ] and carried to the church of st. sophia. after a brief space of preparation, he was formally proclaimed, and crowned as emperor; and, according to old usage, a vase filled with ashes,[ ] and a tuft of lighted wool, were presented to the new monarch, as a symbol of the transitory nature of life and the vanity of greatness--emblems too applicable to himself and his dominions; for ere two years had passed, baldwin had gone down into the grave; and less than the ordinary life of one man elapsed before the dynasty that he established was again overthrown. chapter xiv. _divisions among the moslems--among the christians--crusade of children--innocent iii. declares he will lead a new crusade to syria--the king of hungary takes the cross--arrives in syria--successes of the pilgrims--they abandon the siege of mount thabor--the king of hungary returns to europe--the duke of austria continues the war--siege of damietta--reinforcements arrive under a legate--famine in damietta--the moslems offer to yield palestine--the legate's pride--he refuses--taking of damietta--the army advances towards cairo--overflowing of the nile--the army ruined--the legate sues for peace--generous conduct of the sultaun--marriage of the heiress of jerusalem with frederic, emperor of germany--his disputes with the pope--his treaties with the saracens--he recovers jerusalem--quits the holy land--disputes in palestine--the templars defeated and slaughtered--gregory ix.--crusade of the king of navarre ineffectual--crusade of richard, earl of cornwall--jerusalem recovered--the corasmins--their barbarity--they take jerusalem--defeat the christians with terrible slaughter--are exterminated by the syrians--crusade of st. louis--his character--arrives in the holy land--takes damietta--battle of massoura--pestilence in the army--the king taken--ransomed--returns to europe--second crusade of st. louis--takes carthage--his death--crusade of prince edward--he defeats the saracens--wounded by an assassin--returns to europe--successes of the turks--last siege and fall of acre--palestine lost._ the fifth crusade had ended, as we have seen, without producing any other benefit to palestine than a deep depression in the minds of the turks, from the knowledge that the weak dynasty of the greeks had been replaced by a power of greater energy and resolution. the famine also, which about this time desolated the territories of the egyptian sultaun, and the contests[ ] between the remaining attabecs and the successors of saladin, crippled the efforts of the moslems; while the courageous activity of jean de brienne[ ] defeated the attempts of saif eddin. nevertheless, many bloody disputes concerning the succession of antioch, and the fierce rivalry of the orders of the temple and hospital, contributed to shake the stability of the small christian dominion that remained. each year,[ ] two regular voyages of armed and unarmed pilgrims took place, from europe to the holy land: these were called the _passagium martii_, or the spring passage; and the _passagium johannis_, or the summer passage which occurred about the festival of st. john. a continual succour was thus afforded to palestine: and that the spirit of crusading was by no means extinct in europe is evinced by the extraordinary fact of a crusade of children[ ] having been preached and adopted towards the year . did this fact rest alone upon the authority of alberic of three fountains abbey, we might be permitted to doubt its having taken place, for his account is, in several particulars, evidently hypothetical; but so many coinciding authorities exist,[ ] that belief becomes matter of necessity. the circumstances are somewhat obscure; but it seems certain that two monks, with the design of profiting by a crime then too common, the traffic in children, induced a great number of the youth of both sexes to set out from france for the holy land, habited as pilgrims, with the scrip and staff. two merchants of marseilles,[ ] accomplices in the plot, as it would seem, furnished the first body of these misguided children with vessels, which, of course, were destined to transport them for sale to the african coast. several of the ships were wrecked on the shores of italy, and every soul perished, but the rest pursued their way and accomplished their inhuman voyage. the two merchants, however, were afterward detected in a plot against the emperor frederic, and met the fate they deserved. another body, setting out from germany, reached genoa after immense difficulties; and there the genoese, instead of encouraging their frantic enthusiasm, wisely commanded them to evacuate their territory; on which they returned to their homes, and though many died on the road, a great part arrived in safety,[ ] and escaped the fate which had overtaken the young adventurers from france. when innocent iii. heard of this crusade, he is reported to have said, "while we sleep, these children are awake:" and it is more than probable, that his circumstance convinced him, that the zealous spirit which had moved all the expeditions to the holy land was still active and willing. certain it is, that he very soon afterward sent round an encyclical letter, calling the christian world once more to arms against the moslems. indulgences were spread, and extended in their character: a council of lateran was held, and innocent himself declared[ ] his intention of leading the warriors of christ to the scene of his crucifixion. de courçon, an english monk, who had become cardinal, preached the new crusade with all the pomp of a roman prelate, and a great number of individuals were gathered together for the purpose of succouring palestine. but the kings of the earth had now more correct views of policy; and policy never encourages enthusiasm except as an instrument. only one king therefore could be found to take the cross--this was andrew,[ ] monarch of hungary; and the dukes of austria and bavaria, with a multitude of german bishops and nobles, joined his forces, and advanced to spalatro. innocent iii. was by this time dead, but the expedition sailed in venetian ships to cyprus, and thence, after having given somewhat too much rein to enjoyment, proceeded to acre, carrying with it a large reinforcement from france and italy. the saracens had heard less of this crusade than of those which had preceded it, and were therefore less prepared to oppose it. the christian army advanced with success, and many thousands of the infidels felt the european steel; but the crusaders, not contented with plundering their enemies, went on to plunder their friends; and serious divisions began, as usual, to show themselves, which were only healed by the influence of the clergy, who turned the attention of the soldiers from pillage and robbery to fasts and pilgrimages. when the host was once more united, its exertions were directed to the capture of the fort[ ] built by the saracens on mount thabor. after overcoming infinite difficulties in the ascent of the mountain, the latins found themselves opposite the fortress: the soldiers were enthusiastic and spirited; and it is more than probable that one gallant attack would have rendered the greatest benefit to the christian cause, by obtaining possession of such an important point. the leaders,[ ] however, seized with a sudden fear of being cut off, abandoned their object without striking a blow, and retired to acre. the rest of the season was passed in excursions, by which the christians obtained many prisoners and much spoil; and in pilgrimages, wherein thousands were cut to pieces by the saracens. the kings of cyprus and hungary then turned their course to tripoli, where the first died, and the hungarian monarch[ ] was suddenly seized with the desire of returning to his own dominions;[ ] which he soon put in execution, notwithstanding the prayers and solicitations of the syrian christians. still the latins of palestine were not left destitute. the duke of austria remained, with all the german crusaders; and the next year a large reinforcement arrived from cologne; nor would these have been so tardy in coming, had they[ ] not paused upon the coast of portugal to succour the queen of that country against the moors. the efforts of the christians had proved hitherto so fruitless for the recovery of jerusalem, while the saracens could bring vast forces from egypt continually to the support of their syrian possessions, that the latins now resolved to strike at the very source of their power. damietta was supposed to command the entrance of the nile, and consequently to be the key of egypt; and thither the crusaders set sail, for the purpose of laying siege to that important city. they[ ] arrived in the month of may, and landed on the western bank of the river opposite to the town. a tower in the centre of the stream, connected with the walls by a strong chain, was the immediate object of attack; but the first attempt was repulsed with great loss, though made by the hospitallers, the teutonic order, and the germans, united. an immense machine[ ] of wood was now constructed on board two of the vessels, which, lashed together, were moved across to the point of assault, and, after a long and courageous resistance, the garrison of the castle was forced to surrender at discretion.[ ] the besieging party then abandoned themselves to joy and revelry; they looked upon the city as taken; and the news of the death of saif eddin increased their hopes of the complete deliverance of the holy land. the victories which saif eddin had gained over the christians were indeed but small, nor had he struck any one great blow against the attabecs, but he had gradually, and almost imperceptibly, extended his dominions in every direction, and left a large territory and full treasury to his successors. his high qualities were different from those of saladin, and his character was altogether less noble and striking, but he possessed more shrewdness than his brother; and if his mind had not the same capability of expanding, it had more powers of concentration. to saif eddin succeeded his two sons, cohr eddin and camel, the first of whom took possession of syria and palestine in peace. but egypt, which the second had governed for some time, instantly broke out into revolt on the news of his father's death, and had the franks pushed the war in that country with vigour, greater effects would have been produced than were ever wrought by any preceding crusade. they neglected their opportunity; spent their time in rioting and debauchery under the yet unconquered walls of damietta: and, after the arrival of large reinforcements from france, england, and italy, under the cardinals pelagius and courçon, the earls of chester and salisbury, and the counts of nevers and la marche, they only changed their conduct from revelling to dissension. at length they awoke from their frantic dreams, and prepared to attack the city itself; but before they could accomplish their object, cohr eddin had entered egypt, put down rebellion, and re-established his brother camel in full possession of his authority. the siege of damietta now became, like the first siege of antioch, a succession of battles and skirmishes. for three months the various nations that composed the besieging force as well as the templars, the hospitallers, and the teutonic knights, vied with each other in deeds of glory; nor were the saracens behind their adversaries in courage, skill, or resolution. but famine took up the sword against the unhappy people of damietta. pestilence soon joined her, and the fall of the city became inevitable.[ ] cohr eddin, fearful that jerusalem might be turned to a post against him, had destroyed the walls of that town; but now that he saw the certain loss of damietta, and calculated the immense advantages the christians might thence gain, he with the best policy agreed to make a vast sacrifice to save the key of his brother's dominions. conferences were opened with the christians, and the saracens offered, on the evacuation of egypt by the latins, to yield the whole of palestine, except the fortresses of montreal and karac, to restore all european prisoners, and even to rebuild the walls of jerusalem for the christians. the king of jerusalem, the english, the french, and the germans looked upon their warfare as ended, and their object achieved, by the very proposal; but the cardinal pelagius, the two military orders, and the italians, opposed all conciliation, contending that no faith was to be put in the promises of infidels. heaven only knows whether the saracens would have broken their engagements, or whether calm moderation might not have restored palestine to the followers of the cross; but moderation was not consulted, and the walls of damietta were once more attacked. it was no longer difficult to take them, and when the crusaders entered the city, they discovered nothing-but a world of pestilence. death was in every street; and of seventy thousand souls, not three thousand were found alive.[ ] discord, of course, succeeded conquest; and after having cleansed and purified damietta, a winter was spent in dissensions, at the end of which a great part of the army returned to europe; and jean de brienne, offended by the arrogance of pelagius, retired to acre. concessions soon brought him back, and hostilities were resumed against the moslems, but the legate overbore all counsel; and instead of directing their[ ] arms towards palestine, which was now open to them, the crusaders marched on towards cairo. the forces of the sultaun had greatly increased, but he still offered peace, on conditions as advantageous as those that had been previously proposed. the legate insultingly rejected all terms, wasted his time in inactivity, the nile rose, the sluices were opened, and pelagius found himself at once unable to advance, and cut off from his resources at damietta. there is nothing too mean for disappointed pride, and the legate then sued in the humblest language for permission to return to acre. the sultaun of egypt, with admirable moderation, granted him peace, and the king of jerusalem became one of the hostages that damietta should be given up. the troops would still have perished for want, had not the noble sultaun been melted by the grief of john of brienne, who wept while recounting the distress in which he had left his people. the saracen mingled his tears with those of the hostage king, and ordered the army of his enemy to be supplied with food.[ ] damietta was soon after yielded, and the hostages exchanged. john of brienne retired to acre, wearied of unceasing efforts to recover his nominal kingdom; and pelagius passed over into europe, loaded with the hatred and contempt of palestine. john of brienne had received the crown of jerusalem as his wife's dowry, and it was destined that the marriage of his daughter should restore the holy city to the christians. the emperor frederick ii. had often vowed in the most solemn manner to lead his armies into palestine, and had as often broken his oath. at length it was proposed to him that he should wed violante, the beautiful heiress of the syrian kingdom; and it was easily stipulated that john of brienne should give up his rights on palestine to his daughter's husband. frederic eagerly caught at the idea. by the intervention of the pope the treaty was concluded between the king and the emperor; and violante, having been brought to europe, was espoused by her imperial lover.[ ] many causes combined to delay the new crusade, though it was preached by two succeeding popes with all the zeal and promises that had led to those that went before. france and italy remained occupied entirely by intestine dissensions; but england showed great zeal, and sent sixty thousand men at arms to the field.[ ] the emperor collected together immense forces, and proceeded to brundusium; but there, being taken ill of a pestilential disease which had swept away many of his soldiers, he was obliged to return after having put to sea. gregory ix. was now in the papal chair; and--wroth with the emperor for many a contemptuous mark of disobedience to the ecclesiastical authority--he now excommunicated him for coming back, however necessary the measure. frederic was angry, though not frightened; and, after having exculpated himself to europe by a public letter,[ ] he sent his soldiers to plunder the pope's territories while he recovered his health. at length, in , he set sail from brundusium, still burdened with the papal censure, which he was too much accustomed to bear to feel as any oppressive load. he arrived without difficulty at acre; but all men wondered that so great an enterprise should be undertaken with so small a force as that which could be contained in twenty galleys; and it soon appeared that frederic had long been negotiating with camel, sultaun of egypt, who, fearful of the active and ambitious spirit of his brother cohr eddin,[ ] had entered into a private treaty with the german monarch. the emperor, on his arrival in palestine, found that the revengeful pope had laid his injunction upon all men to show him no obedience, and afford him no aid while under the censure of the church.[ ] none, therefore, at first, accompanied him in his march but his own forces and the teutonic knights. the hospitallers and templars soon followed, and, too fond of active warfare to remain neuter, joined themselves to the army on some verbal concession on the part of frederic. about this time cohr eddin died; and camel,[ ] freed from apprehension,[ ] somewhat cooled towards his christian ally. he was, nevertheless, too generous to violate his promises, and after frederic had advanced some way towards jerusalem, a treaty was entered into between the german monarch and the saracens, whereby the holy city and the greater part of palestine was yielded to the christians, with the simple stipulation that the moslems were to be allowed[ ] to worship in the temple, as well as the followers of the cross.[ ] frederic then proceeded to jerusalem to be crowned; but the conditions he had agreed to had given offence to the christians of judea, and the pope's excommunication still hung over his head. all the services of the church were suspended during his stay; he was obliged to raise the crown from the altar himself and place it on his own brow; and he discovered, by messengers from the sultaun of egypt, that some individuals[ ] of the military orders had offered to betray him into the hands of the saracens. frederic now found it necessary to depart,[ ] and after having done justice upon several of the chief contemners of his authority, he set sail for europe, leaving palestine[ ] in a far more favourable state than it had known since the fatal battle of tiberias. soon after the departure of frederic, a new aspirant to the crown of jerusalem appeared in the person of alice, queen of cyprus, the daughter of isabella and henry, count of champagne, and half sister of mary, through whom john of brienne had obtained the throne. her claims were soon disposed of; for the three military orders,[ ] uniting in purpose for once, adhered to the emperor of germany, and alice was obliged to withdraw. after this struggle the attention of the christians was entirely turned to the general defence; and the right of the emperor, who had now made his peace with the pope, was universally recognised.[ ] nevertheless, the truce which he had concluded with camel, the sultaun of egypt, did not in all instances save the latins of palestine from annoyance and warfare. the whole country was surrounded by a thousand petty mahommedan states not included in the peace, and the moslems left no opportunity unimproved for the purpose of destroying their christian neighbours. their incursions on the latin territory were incessant; and many large bodies of pilgrims were cut to pieces, or hurried away into distant lands as slaves. a truce had been agreed upon also, between the templars and the sultaun of aleppo; but at the death of that monarch both parties had again recourse to arms, and the templars were defeated with such terrible slaughter that all europe was moved with compassion. even their ancient rivals, the hospitallers, sent them immediate succour; and from the commandery of st. john, at clerkenwell,[ ] alone, a body of three hundred knights took their departure for the holy land. a council likewise was held about this time at spoletto, where another crusade was announced; and gregory ix., who combined in his person every inconsistency that ambition, bigotry, and avarice can produce, sent the dominican and franciscan friars to stimulate europe to take the cross. no sooner had the crusade been preached, and the enthusiastic multitudes were ready to begin the journey, than gregory and his agents persuaded many to compromise their vow;[ ] and, by paying a certain sum towards the expenses of the expedition, to fill the papal treasury, under the pretence of assisting their brother christians. those who would not thus yield to his suggestions he positively prohibited from setting out, and engaged the emperor frederic to throw impediments in their way, when they pursued their purpose. nevertheless, the king of navarre, the duke of burgundy, the count of brittany, and the count de bar proceeded to palestine in spite of all opposition; and their coming was of very timely service to the defenders of the holy land, for no sooner had the period of his truce with the christians expired, than camel, finding that preparations for war were making on their part, anticipated their efforts, retook jerusalem, routed all the forces that could be opposed to him, and overthrew what was called the tower of david. he died shortly after this victory, and on the arrival of the crusaders, a prospect of success seemed open before them. but the operations of the chiefs were detached, and though the count of brittany gained some advantages towards damascus, the rest of the french knights were completely defeated in a pitched battle at gaza, and most of their leaders were either killed or taken. the king of navarre was glad to enter into a disgraceful treaty with the emir of karac, which was conducted through the intervention of the templars;[ ] and the rest of the latins formed alliances with what neighbouring powers they could. the hospitallers, however, would not subscribe to the truce with the emir of karac[ ] through jealousy towards the templars, and there was no power in the state sufficiently strong to force them to obedience. shortly after this event, the king of navarre returned to europe, and richard, earl of cornwall, with many knights and large forces, arrived in palestine. their expedition had been sanctioned by all the authorities of europe, except the pope. henry iii. conducted them in person to the shore; the prayers and benedictions of the people and the clergy followed them, and their journey through france was accompanied by shouts and acclamations. on his arrival in palestine, richard instantly marched upon jaffa, but he was met by envoys from the sultaun of egypt--who was now at war with the sultaun of damascus--offering an exchange of prisoners, and a complete cession of the holy land,[ ] with some unimportant exceptions. richard instantly accepted such advantageous proposals; jerusalem was given up to the christians, the rebuilding of the walls was commenced, the churches were purified, and the earl returned to europe with the glorious title of the deliverer of palestine. the templars would not be parties to this treaty, as the hospitallers had refused to participate in the other; and thus, one of the great military orders remained at war with the sultaun of damascus,[ ] and the other with the sultaun of egypt. while these events had been passing in palestine, a new dynasty had sprung up in the north of asia, and threatened a complete revolution in the whole of that quarter of the world. genjis khan and his successors had overturned all the northern and eastern governments of asia; and, spreading over that fair portion of the earth precisely as the goths and huns had spread over roman europe, had reduced the more polished and civilized nations of the south, by the savage vigour and active ferocity of a race yet in the youth of being. among[ ] other tribes whom the successors of genjis had expelled from their original abodes, was a barbarous and warlike horde called the corasmins; and this people, wandering about without a dwelling, destroying as they went, and waging war against all nations, at length directed their course towards palestine. so quick and unexpected had been their arrival, that the christians employed in the re-edification of the city-walls never dreamed of invasion till fire and massacre had swept over half the holy land.[ ] no troops were collected, no preparations made, the fortifications of the city were incomplete, and the only resource of the people of jerusalem was to retire in haste to the shelter of jaffa, under the guidance of the few templars and hospitallers who were on the spot. some few persons remained, and made an attempt at defence; but the town was taken in a moment, and every soul in it put to the sword.[ ] the bloodthirsty barbarians, not satisfied with the scanty number of victims they had found, artfully raised the banner of the cross upon the walls, and many of the latins who had fled returned. seven thousand more were thus entrapped and massacred; and the corasmins exercised every sort of barbarous fury on those objects they thought most sacred in the eyes of the christians. at length the fugitives at jaffa received a succour of four thousand men from their allies, the sultauns of emissa and damascus,[ ] and resolved to give battle to the barbarians. the patriarch of jerusalem precipitated the measures of the army, and after a dreadful struggle the latins were defeated, the grand masters of the temple and st. john slain, the three military orders nearly exterminated, and the sultaun of emissa forced to fly for shelter to his fortifications. walter de brienne, the lord of jaffa, was taken; and to force that town to surrender, the corasmins hung the gallant knight by the arms to a cross, declaring to the garrison that he should there remain till the city was yielded. walter heard, and raising his voice, unmindful of his own agonies, solemnly commanded his soldiers to hold out the city to the last.[ ] the barbarians were obliged to retire, and walter was sent captive into egypt. the sultaun of emissa soon raised the standard a second time against the barbarians and after several struggles, in which the monarch of egypt sometimes upheld, and sometimes abandoned the corasmins, they were at length entirely defeated, and not one, it is said, escaped from the field of battle.[ ] barbaquan, their leader, was slain; and thus asia was delivered of one of the most terrible scourges that had ever been inflicted on her. at this time a monarch reigned over france who combined in a remarkable degree the high talents of his grandfather philip augustus with the religious zeal or, perhaps i may say, fanaticism of his father, louis viii. louis ix. was in every respect an extraordinary man; he was a great warrior, chivalrous as an individual, and skilful as a general: he was a great king, inasmuch as he sought the welfare of his people more than the aggrandizement of his territories: he formed the best laws that could be adapted to the time, administered them often in person, and observed them always himself: he was a good man, inasmuch as he served god with his whole heart, and strove in all his communion with his fellows to do his duty according to his sense of obligation. had he been touched with religious fervour to the amount of zeal, but not to the amount of fanaticism, he would have been perhaps too superior to his age. previous to the news of the corasminian irruption, st. louis had determined to visit the holy land, in consequence of a vow made during sickness.[ ] it appears, that after the signal defeat which he had given to henry iii. of england at saintonge, louis's whole attention was turned to the sufferings of the christians in palestine; and so deeply was his mind impressed with that anxious thought, that it became the subject of dreams, which he looked upon as instigations from heaven. the news of the destruction of the christians by the barbarians, the well-known quarrels and rivalry of the two military orders, and the persuasions of innocent iv., who then held the thirteenth oecumenical council at lyons, all hastened louis's preparations. william longsword and a great many english crusaders[ ] joined the french monarch from great britain; and after three years' careful attention to the safety of his kingdom, the provision of supplies, and the concentration of his forces, louis, with his two brothers, the counts of artois and anjou, took the scrip and staff, and set sail for cyprus. the third brother of the king, alphonso, count of poitiers, remained to collect the rest of the crusaders, and followed shortly after.[ ] the queen-consort of france, and several other ladies of high note, accompanied the monarch to the holy land.[ ] at cyprus, louis spent eight months in healing the divisions of the military orders, and endeavouring to bring about that degree of unity which had been unknown to any of the crusades. at length, early in the spring, he set sail from cyprus with an army of fifty thousand chosen men. a tremendous storm separated the king's fleet, and, supported by but a small part of his troops he arrived at damietta, where the sultaun of egypt, with his whole force, was drawn up to oppose the landing of the christians. the sultaun himself was seen in golden armour, which shone, joinville says, like the sun itself; and so great was the noise of drums and trumpets that the french were almost deafened by the sound. after some discussion, it was determined that the landing should be attempted without waiting for the rest of the army. among the first who reached the shore was joinville, seneschal of champagne, who, accompanied by another baron, and their men-at-arms, landed in the face of an immense body of turkish cavalry, that instantly spurred forward against them. the french planted their large shields[ ] in the sand, with their lances resting on the rim, so that a complete chevaux-de-frise was raised, from which the turks turned off without venturing an assault. st. louis himself soon followed, and in his chivalrous impatience to land, sprang into the water up to his shoulders, and, sword in hand, rushed on to charge the saracens. intimidated at the bold actions of the french, the moslems fled from the beach; and as the crusaders advanced, the unexpected news of the death of their sultaun reached the saracens, upon which they abandoned even the city of damietta itself, without waiting to destroy the bridge, though they set fire to the bazaars.[ ] at damietta louis paused for the arrival of his brother, the count of poitiers, and the rest of the forces; and here, with the usual improvidence that marked all the crusades, the army gave itself up to luxury and debauchery, which the king neither by laws nor example could check. at length the reinforcements appeared, and louis, leaving the queen at damietta, marched on towards cairo; but near massoura he found his advance impeded by the thanisian canal, on the other side of which the saracens were drawn up to oppose his progress under the command of the celebrated emir ceccidun. no other means of passing the canal seemed practicable, but by throwing a causeway across. this was accordingly commenced, under cover of two high moveable towers, called _chats chatiels_, or cat-castles, which were scarcely raised before they were burnt by quantities of greek fire, thrown from the _pierriers_ and mangonels. at length an arabian peasant agreed, for a large bribe, to point out a ford. the count of artois, with fourteen hundred knights, was directed to attempt it. he succeeded, repulsed the saracens on the banks, and pursued them to massoura. the panic among the moslems was general, and massoura was nearly deserted. the more experienced and prudent knights of all classes advised the count of artois to pause for the arrival of the king and the rest of the army. the count, with passionate eagerness, accused his good counsellors of cowardice. chivalrous honour thus assailed forgot reason and moderation; each one more ardently than another advanced into massoura: the moslems, recovered from their fear, returned in great numbers; the fight began in earnest, and almost the whole of the imprudent advance-guard of the christians was cut to pieces. the count of artois fell among the first;[ ] and when louis himself arrived, all was dismay and confusion. the battle was now renewed with redoubled vigour; louis fought in every part of the strife, and the french and saracens seemed emulous of each other in the paths of glory and destruction. the sun went down over the field of massoura, leaving neither army assuredly the victors; but the saracens had been repulsed, and louis remained master of the plain. sickness and famine soon began to rage in the christian camp. the moslems had now interrupted the communication with damietta; and every soldier in the army was enfeebled by disease. negotiations were begun for peace; but were broken off, because the sultaun would receive no hostage for the evacuation of damietta but louis himself; and it was determined to attempt a retreat. many strove to escape by the river, but were taken in the attempt; and the host itself was incessantly subject to the attacks of the saracens, who hung upon its rear during the whole march, cutting off every party that was detached, even to procure the necessaries of life. in this dreadful state louis long continued to struggle against sickness, fighting ever where danger was most imminent, and bearing up when the hardiest soldiers of his army failed. at length he could hardly sit his horse; and in the confusion of the flight--which was now the character of the retreat--he was separated from his own servants, and attended only by the noble geoffroy de sergines, who defended him against all the attacks of the enemy. he was led to a hut at the village of cazel, where he lay, expecting every moment that the plague would accomplish its work. he was thus taken by the saracens,[ ] who assisted in his recovery and treated him with honour. the greater part of the army fell into the moslems' power, but an immense number were slain and drowned in attempting their escape. several difficulties now arose with regard to the ransom of the king; the saracens demanding the cession of various parts of palestine still in the hands of the christians. this, however, louis refused; and conducted himself in prison with so much boldness, that the sultaun declared he was the proudest infidel he had ever beheld. to humble him to his wishes, the torture of the bernicles was threatened;[ ] but the monarch remained so unmoved, that his enfranchisement was at last granted on other terms. ten thousand golden besants were to be paid for the freedom of the army; the city of damietta was to be restored to the saracens, and a peace of ten years was concluded. during the interval which followed these arrangements, the sultaun was assassinated, and the fate of st. louis was again doubtful; but the murderers agreed to the same terms which had been before stipulated. nevertheless, some acts of cruelty were committed; and a great number of the sick were massacred at damietta. the treasure which the king possessed on the spot not being sufficient to furnish the whole ransom, his friends were obliged to seize upon the wealth of the grand master of the temple, who basely refused to lend a portion to redeem his fellow-christians. at length the first part of the sum was paid; the great body of the foreign nobles who had joined in the crusade returned to europe, and louis himself retired to acre. the saracens had already broken the treaty with louis by the murder of the sick at damietta, and by the detention of several knights and soldiers, as well as a large body of christian children. the promise of peace, therefore, was not imperative; and the sultaun of damascus eagerly courted the french king to aid him in his efforts against the people of egypt.[ ] the news of this negotiation immediately brought deputies from egypt, who submitted to the terms which louis thought fit to propose; and that monarch, without mingling in the wars that raged between the two moslem countries, only took advantage of them to repair the fortifications of jaffa and cesarea. after having spent two years in putting the portion of palestine that yet remained to the latins[ ] into a defensible state, he set sail for france, where his presence was absolutely required. before proceeding to trace the after-fate of the holy land,[ ] it may be as well to conduct st. louis to his last crusade. sixteen years after his return to europe, that monarch once more determined on rearing the banner of the cross. immense numbers flocked to join him, and england appeared willing to second all the efforts of the french king. edward, the heir of the english monarchy, assumed the cross; and large sums were raised throughout britain for defraying the expenses of the war. in , st. louis, accompanied by the flower of his national nobility, and followed by sixty thousand chosen troops, set sail for palestine, but was driven by a storm into sardinia. here a change in his plans took place; and it was resolved that the army should land in africa, where the king of tunis some time before had professed himself favourable to the christian religion. st. louis had been long so weak, that he could not bear the weight of his armour,[ ] nor the motion of a horse, for any length of time; but still his indefatigable zeal sustained him; and after a short passage, he arrived on the coast of africa, opposite to the city of carthage. although his coming had been so suddenly resolved,[ ] a large mahommedan force was drawn up to oppose his landing; but the french knights forced their way to the shore, and after a severe contest, obtained a complete victory over the moors. siege was then laid to carthage, which was also taken; but before these conquests could be turned to any advantage, an infectious flux began to appear in the army. st. louis was one of the first attacked. his enfeebled constitution was not able to support the effects of the disease, and it soon became evident that the monarch's days were rapidly drawing to their close. in this situation, with the most perfect consciousness of his approaching fate, st. louis called his son philip,[ ] and spoke long to him on his duty to the people he left to his charge; teaching him with the beautiful simplicity of true wisdom. the king then withdrew his thoughts from all earthly things, performed the last rites of his religion, and yielded his soul to god.[ ] scarcely was the monarch dead, when charles of sicily arrived with large reinforcements, and unknowing the event, approached carthage with martial music, and every sign of rejoicing. his joy was soon turned into grief by the tidings of his brother's fate;[ ] and the courage of the moors being raised by the sorrow of their enemies, the united armies of france and sicily were attacked by a very superior power. after a variety of engagements, philip, now king of france, and charles, of sicily, compelled the defeated moors to sue for peace; and collecting his troops, the new monarch returned to europe, driven from the coast rather by the pestilence that raged in his army,[ ] than by the efforts of the infidels. prince edward of england had taken the cross, as i have already said, with the intention of following louis ix. to the holy land; and with the small force he could collect, amounting to not more than fifteen hundred men, he arrived in the mediterranean, but hearing that louis had turned from the direct object of the crusade, he proceeded to sicily, where he passed the winter. as soon as spring rendered navigation possible, he set sail, and arrived at acre, where he found the state of palestine infinitely worse than it had been since the first taking of jerusalem. disunion and violence had done far more to destroy the christians of the holy land than the swords of the infidels. the two military orders had been constantly opposed to each other, and had often been engaged in sanguinary warfare. the knights of st. john had ever the advantage; and at one time the templars of palestine had nearly been exterminated. the clergy attempted to encroach upon the privileges of both. the different italian republics, who had secured to themselves various portions of territory, and various commercial immunities, were in continual warfare; and while the saracens and the mamelukes were gradually taking possession of the whole soil--while the fortresses of cesarea, jaffa, and saphoury fell into the hands of the infidels, as well as all the cities and feoffs of the latins, except acre and tyre--the sands of palestine were often wet with christian blood, shed by the hands of christians. antioch also fell almost without resistance, and the citizens were either doomed to death or led into captivity. such was the state of the holy land at the time of prince edward's arrival. his name, however, was a host; the disunion among the christians was healed by his coming;[ ] every exertion was made to render his efforts effectual; and he soon found himself at the head of a small but veteran force, amounting to seven thousand men. with this he advanced upon nazareth, and after a severe conflict with the moslems, he made himself master of that city, in which all the saracens that remained were slaughtered without mercy. the climate put a stop to his successes. it was now the middle of summer, and the excessive heat brought on a fever, from which edward was recovering, when a strange messenger desired to render some despatches to the prince's own hand. he was admitted; and as the young leader lay in his bed, without any attendants, he delivered the letters, and for a moment spoke to him of the affairs of jaffa. the instant after, he drew a dagger from his belt, and before edward was aware, had stabbed him in the chest. the prince was enfeebled, but was still sufficiently vigorous to wrench the weapon from the assassin, and to put him to death with his own hand. his attendants, alarmed by the struggle, rushed into the apartment, and found edward bleeding from the wound inflicted by a poisoned knife. skilful means[ ] were instantly used to preserve his life;[ ] and an antidote, sent by the grand master of the temple, is said to have obviated the effects of the poison. edward's natural vigour, with care, soon restored him to health; and the sultaun of egypt, daunted by the courage and ability of the english prince, and engaged in ruinous wars in other directions, offered peace on advantageous conditions, which were accepted. edward and his followers returned to europe, and the christians of palestine were left to take advantage of a ten years' truce. such was the end of the last expedition. in , gregory x., who had himself witnessed the sorrows of palestine, attempted to promote a new crusade, and held a council for that purpose at lyons, where many great and noble personages assumed the cross. the death of the pope followed shortly afterward, and the project was abandoned, on the loss of him who had given it birth. in palestine, all now tended to the utter expulsion of the christians. the latins themselves first madly broke the truce, by plundering some egyptian merchants near margat. keladun, then sultaun of cairo, hastened to revenge the injury, and margat was taken from the christians, after a gallant defence.[ ] tripoli, which had hitherto escaped by various concessions to the moslems, fell shortly after margat; and in the third year from that period, two hundred thousand mahommedans were under the walls of acre, the last possession of the christians. the grand master of st. john had collected together a small body of italian mercenaries, but no serviceable support could be won from the kings of europe. the grand master[ ] of the temple, however, with the rest of the military orders, and about twelve thousand men, being joined by the king of cyprus, resolved to undergo a siege. the greater part of the useless inhabitants were sent away by sea, and the garrison prepared to defend themselves to the last. this was the final blaze of chivalric valour that shone on the holy land. the numbers of the moslems were overpowering, and after a breach had been made in the walls by the fall of what was called the _cursed tower_, a general assault took place. the king of cyprus made a dastardly flight, but the templars and the teutonic knights died where they stood, and the hospitallers only left the city to attack the rear of the besieging army. here they met with infinite odds against them, and fell man by man, till the news came that the grand master of the temple was killed and that the city was taken. the hospitallers then, reduced to seven in number, reached a ship, and quitted the shores of palestine. about an equal number of templars fled to the interior, and thence fought their way through the land, till they gained the means of reaching cyprus. the inhabitants of the city who had not before departed fled to the sea;[ ] but the elements themselves seemed to war against them, and ere they could escape, the saracen sword died the sands with their blood. the moslems then set fire to the devoted town, and the last vestige of the christian power in syria was swept from the face of the earth. chapter xv. _fate of the orders of the temple and st. john--the templars abandon all hopes of recovering jerusalem--mingle in european politics--offend philip the fair--are persecuted--charges against them--the order destroyed--the knights of st. john pursue the purpose of defending christendom--settle in rhodes--siege of rhodes--gallant defence--the island taken--the knights remove to malta--siege of malta--la valette--defence of st. elmo-- gallantry of the garrison--the whole turkish army attempt to storm the castle--the attack repelled--arrival of succour--the siege raised--the progress of chivalry independent of the crusades--chivalrous exploits--beneficial tendency of chivalry--corruption of the age not attributable to chivalry--decline of the institution--in germany, england, france--its extinction._ from the period of the fall of acre crusades were only spoken of; but the spirit of chivalry was perhaps not the less active, though it had taken another course: nor did it lose in purity by being directed, moderated, and deprived of the ferocity which always follows fanaticism. the holy land had become a place of vice and debauchery, as well as a theatre for the display of great deeds and noble resolution; and we find, that however orderly and regular any army was on its departure from europe, it soon acquired all the habits of immorality and improvidence which seemed some inherent quality of that unhappy climate. this was peculiarly apparent in the two orders of the hospital and the temple, the rules of which were particularly calculated to guard against luxury of every kind; yet, the one, till its extinction and both, during their sojourn in palestine, were the receptacle of more depravity and crimes than perhaps any other body of men could produce. after the capture of acre the knights of these two orders retreated to cyprus; and when some ineffectual efforts had been made to excite a new crusade for the recovery of palestine, the templars retired from that country, and, spreading themselves throughout their vast possessions in europe, seem really to have abandoned all thought of fighting any more for the sepulchre. with the rest of europe they spoke of fresh expeditions, it is true; but in the mean while they gave themselves up to the luxury, pride, and ambition which, if it was not the real cause of their downfall, at least furnished the excuse. philip the fair of france, on his accession to the throne, showed great favour to the templars,[ ] and held out hopes that he would attempt to establish the order once more in the land which had given it birth. but the templars were now deeply occupied in the politics of europe itself: their haughty grand master was almost equal to a king in power, and would fain have made kings his slaves. in the disputes between philip and boniface viii., the templars took the part of the pope, and treated the monarch, in his own realm, with insolent contempt; but they knew not the character of him whose wrath they roused. philip was at once vindictive and avaricious, and the destruction of the templars offered the gratification of both passions: he was also calm, bold, cunning, and remorseless; and from the vengeance of such a man it was difficult to escape. the vices of the templars were notorious,[ ] and on these it was easy to graft crimes of a deeper die. reports, rumours, accusations, circulated rapidly through europe; and philip, resolved upon crushing the unhappy order, took care that on the very first vacancy his creature, bertrand de got, archbishop of bourdeaux,[ ] should be elevated to the papal throne. before he suffered the ambitious prelate to be elected, he bound him to grant five conditions, four of which were explained to him previously, but the fifth was to be kept in secrecy till after his elevation. bertrand pledged himself to all these terms; and as soon as he had received the triple crown, was informed that the last dreadful condition was the destruction of the order of the temple. he hesitated, but was forced to consent; and after various stratagems to inveigle all the principal templars into france, philip caused them suddenly to be arrested throughout his dominions,[ ] and had them arraigned of idolatry, immorality, extortion, and treason, together with crimes whose very name must not soil this page. mixed with a multitude of charges, both false and absurd, were various others too notorious to be confuted by the body, and many which could be proved against individuals. several members of the order confessed some of the crimes laid to their charge, and many more were afterward induced to do so by torture; but at a subsequent period of the trial, when the whole of the papal authority was used to give the proceeding the character of a regular legal inquisition, a number of individuals confessed, on the promise of pardon, different offences, sufficient to justify rigorous punishment against themselves, and to implicate deeply the institution to which they belonged. james de mollay, however, the grand master, firmly denied every charge, and defended himself and his brethren with a calm and dignified resolution that nothing could shake. it would be useless as well as painful to dwell upon all the particulars of their trial, where space is not allowed to investigate minutely the facts: it is sufficient to say, that the great body of the templars in france were sentenced to be imprisoned for life, and a multitude were burned at the stake, where they showed that heroic firmness which they had ever evinced in the field of battle. their large possessions were of course confiscated. in spain, their aid against the moors was too necessary to permit of similar rigour, and they were generally acquitted in that country. in england, the same persecutions were carried on, but with somewhat of a milder course: and the last blow was put to the whole by a council held at vienne, which formally dissolved the order, and transferred its estates to the hospitallers. james de mollay and the grand prior of france were the last victims, and were publicly burned in paris for crimes that beyond doubt they did not commit. to suppose that the templars were guilty of the specific offences attributed to them would be to suppose them a congregation of madmen; but to believe they were a religious or a virtuous order would be to charge all europe with a general and purposeless conspiracy. in the mean while, the knights hospitallers confined themselves to the objects for which they were originally instituted; and, that they might always be prepared to fight against the enemies of christendom, they obtained a cession of the island of rhodes, from which they expelled the turks. here they continued for many years, a stumblingblock in the way of moslem conquest; but at length, the chancellor of the order, named d'amaral,[ ] disappointed of the dignity of grand master, in revenge, it is said, invited the turks to the siege, and gave them the plan of the island with its fortifications. soliman ii. instantly led an army against it; but the gallant knights resisted with a determined courage, that drove the imperious sultaun almost to madness. he commanded his celebrated general, mustapha, to be slain with arrows,[ ] attributing to him the misfortune of the siege; and at length had begun to withdraw his forces, when a more favourable point of attack was discovered, and the knights were ultimately obliged to capitulate. the city of rhodes was by this time reduced to a mere heap of stones, and at one period of the siege, the grand master himself remained thirty-four days in the trenches, without ever sitting down to food, or taking repose, but such as he could gain upon an uncovered mattress at the foot of the wall. so noble a defence well merited an honourable fate; and even after their surrender, the knights were the objects of admiration and praise to all europe, though europe had suffered them to fall without aid. the sultaun, before he allowed the order to transfer itself to candia, which had been stipulated by the treaty, requested to see the grand master: and to console him for his loss, he said, "the conquest and the fall of empires are but the sports of fortune." he then strove to win the gallant knight who had so well defended his post to the ottoman service, holding out to him the most magnificent offers, and showing what little cause he had to remain attached to the christians,[ ] who had abandoned him; but villiers replied, that he thanked him for his generous proposals, yet that he should be unworthy of such a prince's good opinion if he could accept them. before the order of st. john could fix upon any determinate plan of proceeding, it was more than once threatened with a complete separation, by various divisions in its councils. at length motives, partly political, partly generous, induced the emperor charles v. to offer the island of malta to the hospitallers. this proposal was soon accepted,[ ] and after various negotiations the territory was delivered up to the knights, who took full possession on the th of october, . thirty-five years had scarcely passed, when the order of st. john, which was now known by the name of the order of malta, was assailed in its new possession by an army composed of thirty thousand veteran turkish soldiers. the news of this armament's approach had long before reached the island, and every preparation had been made to render its efforts ineffectual. the whole of the open country was soon in the hands of the turks, and they resolved to begin the siege by the attack of a small fort, situated at the end of a tongue of land which separated the two ports. the safety of the island and the order depended upon the castle of st. elmo--a fact which the turkish admiral well knew, and the cannonade that he soon opened upon the fortress was tremendous and incessant. the knights who had been thrown into that post soon began to demand succour; but the grand master, la valette, treated their request with indignation, and speedily sent fresh troops to take the place of those whom fear had rendered weak. a noble emulation reigned among the hospitallers, and they contended only which should fly to the perilous service. a sortie was made from the fort, and the turks were driven back from their position; but the forces of the moslems were soon increased by the arrival of the famous dragut; and the succour which the viceroy of sicily had promised to the knights did not appear. after the coming of dragut, the siege of st. elmo was pressed with redoubled ardour. a ravelin was surprised, and a lodgment effected; and the cavalier, which formed one of the principal fortifications, had nearly been taken. day after day, night after night, new efforts were made on either part; and the cannon of the turks never ceased to play upon the walls of the fort, while, at the same time, the ravelin which they had captured was gradually raised till it overtopped the parapet. the whole of the outer defences were now exposed: the garrison could only advance by means of trenches and a subterranean approach; and to cut off even these communications with the parapet, the pacha threw across a bridge from the ravelin, covering it with earth to defend it from fire. after this, the mine and the sap both went on at once; but the hardness of the rock was in favour of the besieged, and by a sortie the bridge was burnt.[ ] in a wonderfully short time it was reconstructed; and the terrible fire from the turkish lines not only swept away hundreds of the besieged, but ruined the defences and dismounted the artillery. in this state the knights sent a messenger to the grand master, representing their situation, showing that the recruits they received only drained the garrison of the town, without protracting the resistance of a place that could stand no longer, and threatening to cut their way through the enemy, if boats did not come to take them off. la valette knew too well their situation; but he knew also, that if st. elmo were abandoned, the viceroy of sicily would never sail to the relief of malta; and he sent three commissioners to examine the state of the fort, and to persuade the garrison to hold out to the last. two of these officers saw that the place was truly untenable, but the third declared it might still be maintained; and, on his return, offered to throw himself into it with what volunteers he could raise. la valette instantly accepted the proposal, and wrote a cold and bitter note to the refractory knights in st. elmo, telling them that others were willing to take their place. "come back, my brethren," he said, "you will be here more in safety; and, on our part, we shall feel more tranquil concerning the defence of st. elmo, on the preservation of which depends the safety of the island and of the order." shame rose in the bosom of the knights; and, mortified at the very idea of having proposed to yield a place that others were willing to maintain, they now sent to implore permission to stay. la valette well knew, from the first, that such would be their conduct; but, before granting their request, he replied, that he ever preferred new troops who were obedient, to veterans who took upon themselves to resist the will of their commanders: and it was only on the most humble apologies and entreaties that he allowed them, as a favour, to remain in the post of peril. from the th of june to the th of july, this little fort[ ] had held out against all the efforts of the turkish army, whose loss had been already immense. enraged at so obstinate a resistance, the pacha now determined to attack the rock on which it stood, with all his forces; and the grand master, perceiving the design by the turkish movements, took care to send full supplies to the garrison. among other things thus received were a number of hoops covered with tow, and imbued with every sort of inflammable matter. for the two days preceding the assault, the cannon of the turkish fleet and camp kept up an incessant fire upon the place, which left not a vestige of the fortifications above the surface of the rock. on the third morning the turks rushed over the fosse which they had nearly filled, and at the given signal mounted to storm. the walls of the place were gone, but a living wall of veteran soldiers presented itself, each knight being supported by three inferior men. with dauntless valour the turks threw themselves upon the pikes that opposed them; and after the lances had been shivered and the swords broken, they were seen struggling with their adversaries, and striving to end the contest with the dagger. a terrible fire of musketry and artillery was kept up; and the christians, on their part, hurled down upon the swarms of turks that rushed in unceasing multitudes from below the flaming hoops, which sometimes linking two or three of the enemy together, set fire to the light and floating dresses of the east, and enveloped many in a horrible death. still, however, the turks rushed on, thousands after thousands, and still the gallant little band of christians repelled all their efforts, and maintained possession of the height. from the walls of the town, and from the castle of st. angelo, the dreadful struggle for st. elmo was clearly beheld; and the christian people and the knights, watching the wavering current of the fight, felt perhaps more painfully all the anxious horror of the scene, than those whose whole thoughts and feelings were occupied in the actual combat. la valette himself stood on the walls of st. angelo, not spending his time in useless anticipations, but scanning eagerly every motion of the enemy, and turning the artillery of the fortress in that direction where it might prove of the most immediate benefit. at length he beheld a body of turks scaling a rampart, from which the attention of the besieged had been called by a furious attack on the other side.[ ] their ladders were placed, and still the defenders of st. elmo did not perceive them--they began their ascent--they reached the top of the rampart--but at that moment the grand master opened a murderous fire upon them from the citadel, and swept them from the post they had gained. the cavalier was next attacked; but here also the turks were met by those destructive hoops of fire which caused more dread in their ranks than all the other efforts of the christians. wherever they fell confusion followed; and at the end of a tremendous fight of nine hours, the moslems were obliged to sound a retreat. a change of operations now took place; means were used to cut off the communication with the town; and, after holding out some time longer, the fort of st. elmo was taken, the last knight of its noble garrison dying in the breach. the whole force of the turks was thenceforth turned towards the city; and a slow but certain progress was made, notwithstanding all the efforts of the grand master and his devoted companions. in vain he wrote to the viceroy of sicily; no succour arrived for many days. the town was almost reduced to extremity. the bastion of st. catherine was scaled, and remained some time in the hands of the infidels, who would have maintained it longer, had not la valette himself rushed to the spot; and, after receiving a severe wound, succeeded in dislodging the assailants. a small succour came at length under the command of don juan de cardonna; but this was overbalanced by the junction of the viceroy of algiers with the attacking force. the bulwark of all christendom was being swept away, while christian kings stood looking on, and once more saw the knights of st. john falling man by man before the infidels, without stretching forth a hand to save them. a large army had, in the mean while, been assembled in sicily, under the pretence of assisting malta; and at last the soldiers clamoured so loudly to be led to the glorious service for which they had been enrolled, that the vacillating viceroy after innumerable delays was forced to yield to their wishes, and set sail for the scene of conflict.[ ] the island was reached in safety, the troops disembarked; and though the turks still possessed the advantage of numbers, a panic seized them, and they fled. joy and triumph succeeded to danger and dread, and the name of la valette and his companions, remains embalmed among the memories of the noble and great. this was the last important event in the history of the order of st. john; and since that day, it has gradually descended to later years, blending itself with modern institutions till its distinctive character has been lost, and the knights of malta are reckoned among the past. it does not seem necessary to trace the other military fraternities which originated in the crusades to their close; but something more must be said concerning the progress of chivalry in europe, and the effect that it had upon society in general. the holy wars were, indeed, the greatest efforts of knighthood; but during the intervals between each expedition beyond the seas, and that which followed, and often during the time of preparation, the knight found plenty of occupation for his sword in his own country. the strife with the moors in spain bore entirely the aspect of the crusades, but the sanguinary conflicts between france and england offered continual occasions both for the display of knightly valour and of knightly generosity. the bitterest national enmity existed between the two countries--they were ever engaged in struggling against each other; and yet we find, through the whole, that mutual courtesy when the battle was over, and in the times of truce that frank co-operation, or that rivalry in noble efforts, which belonged so peculiarly to chivalry. occasionally, it is true, a cruel and bloodthirsty warrior would stain his successes with ungenerous rigour--for where is the institution which has ever been powerful enough to root out the evil spot from the heart of man? but the great tone of all the wars of chivalry was valour in the field and courtesy in the hall. deeds were often done in the heat of blood which general barbarism of manners alone would excuse; and most of the men whom we are inclined to love and to admire have left some blot on that page of history which records their lives. but to judge of the spirit of the order, we must not look to those instances where the habits of the age mixed up a vast portion of evil with the general character of the knight, but we must turn our eyes upon those splendid examples where chivalrous feeling reached its height, did away all the savage cruelty of the time, and raised human actions almost to sublimity. remarking these instances, and seeing what the spirit of chivalry could produce in its perfection, we may judge what the society of that day would have been without it: we may trace truly the effect it had in civilizing the world, and we may comprehend the noble legacy it left to after-years. had chivalry not existed, all the vices which we behold in that period of the world's history would have been immensely increased; for there would have been no counteracting incitement. the immorality of those times would have been a thousand degrees more gross, for passion would have wanted the only principle of refinement; the ferocity of the brave would have shown itself in darker scenes of bloodshed, for no courtesy would have tempered it with gentleness. even religion would have longer remained obscured, for the measures taken to darken it, by those whose interest it was to make it a means of rule, would have been but faintly opposed, had not chivalry, by softening the manners of the age, and promoting general communication between man and man, gradually done away darkness and admitted light. because knights were superstitious, it has been supposed that superstition was apart of knighthood; but this was not at all the case. the gross errors grafted by the roman church on the pure doctrine of salvation often taught the knight cruelty, and disgraced chivalry, by making it the means of persecution; but the tendency of the order itself was to purify and refine, and the civilization thereby given to the world in general ultimately produced its effect in doing away superstition. the libertinism of society in the middle ages has also been wrongly attributed to knighthood, and thus the most beneficial institutions are too often confounded with the vices that spring up around them. that the fundamental doctrine of chivalry, if i may so express myself, was decidedly opposed to every infraction of morality, is susceptible of proof. in all authors who have collected the precepts of chivalry, we find sobriety and continence enjoined as among the first duties of a knight: and female chastity was so particularly esteemed, that we are told by the chevalier de la tour, if a lady of doubtful virtue presented herself in company with the good, whatever were her rank, the knights would cause her to give place to those of unsullied fame. from every thing that i can read or hear, i am inclined to believe that the virtues of the knights of old arose in the order of chivalry alone, and that their faults belonged to the age in which they lived.[ ] in common with all human institutions, chivalry presents a new aspect in every page of the book of history. sometimes it is severe and stern; sometimes light and gay; but the qualities of valour, courtesy, and enthusiasm shine out at every period of its existence. at the battle of crecy, edward the black prince, then fourteen years of age, fought for his knightly spurs; and his father, king edward iii., from a mound near the mill, beheld his gallant son surrounded on every side by enemies. the companions of the young hero sent to the king for succour, alleging the dangerous situation of the prince of wales; on which edward demanded, "is he dead, or overthrown, or so wounded that he cannot continue to fight?" and on being informed that his son still lived, he added, "return to him, and to those who sent you, and tell them, whatever happens, to seek no aid from me so long as my son be in life. further say, that i command them to let the boy well win his spurs; for, please god, the day shall be his, and the honour shall rest with him."[ ] in this instance, edward required no more from his child than he was willing in his own person to endure. no one ever evinced more chivalrous courage than that monarch himself; and in the skirmish under the walls of calais, he fought hand to hand with the famous de ribaumont, who brought him twice upon his knee, but was at length vanquished by the king. after the battle, edward entertained his prisoners in the town; and when supper was concluded the victorious monarch approached his adversary, took the chaplet of rich pearls from his own brow, placed it on the head of de ribaumont, and said, "sir eustace, i give this wreath to you, as the best of this day's combatants, and i beg you to wear it a year for my love. i know that you are gay and gallant, and willingly find yourselves where ladies are. tell them, then, wherever you may be, that i gave you this token; and, moreover, i free you from your prison. go to-morrow, if it please you."[ ] such was the character of knighthood; and whether we read anecdotes like the above, or trace in the rolls of history the feats of an edward the black prince, of a duguesclin, of a talbot, a henry, or a bayard, we find the same spirit; varied, indeed, according to the mind of the individual, but raising all his virtues to the highest pitch of perfection, and restraining all his faults as much as human errors can be restrained. it would be endless to detail all those marvels which chivalry at various times effected; nor have i space to dwell upon crecy, or poitiers, or agincourt. with respect to those great battles, where england was so eminently triumphant, it is sufficient to point out the extraordinary fact, that though the glory rested with the british, no disgrace attached to their enemies. each knight in the french armies did every thing that personal valour could do to win the field; and the honour to england consists not so much in having conquered, as in having conquered such opponents. for long, however, it appears that the french commanders were inferior to the english in skill, and that their forces were destitute of that unity which alone secures success. at length, the son of a nobleman of brittany, who had been much neglected in his early years, began to make head against the english. from his infancy bertrand duguesclin had shown the most persevering passion for arms, which had been always repressed; till at a tournament--from the neighbourhood of which he had been purposely sent away--he appeared in disguise, defeated all that encountered him, and was only discovered by refusing to meet his own father. from that hour duguesclin rose in the estimation of the world; and after opposing, with considerable success, edward the black prince himself, on the death of that noble commander he delivered the greater part of france from the domination of the english. one of the favourite schemes of duguesclin was to restore to chivalry its ancient simplicity, and he strove by every means to enforce the more severe and salutary laws by which it had been originally governed. of course, an institution which had vast privileges and obligations was not without rewards and punishments; and many of these were revived by duguesclin after he had become constable of france. the custom of cutting the tablecloth with a knife or dagger before a knight who had in any way degraded himself[ ] is said, by some, to have been brought into use by duguesclin, though others affirm that he only renewed an ancient habit. much more severe inflictions, also, were destined for those who had dishonoured the order to which they belonged by cowardice, treachery, or any other unmanly crime. the criminal, condemned to be stripped of his knighthood, was placed upon a scaffold, in the sight of the populace, while his armour was broken to pieces before his face. his shield reversed, with the coat-of-arms effaced, was dragged through the dirt, while the heralds proclaimed aloud his crime and his sentence. the king-at-arms then thrice demanded his name; and at each time, when the pursuivant replied, the king added, "a faithless and disloyal traitor!" a basin[ ] of hot water was poured upon the culprit's head, to wash away the very memory of his knighthood; and, being drawn on a hurdle to the church, he was covered with a pall, while the funeral prayers were pronounced over him, as one dead to honour and to fame. notwithstanding every means taken to uphold it, chivalry gradually declined from the beginning of the fourteenth century. in england the long civil wars between the houses of york and lancaster called into action a thousand principles opposed to knightly courtesy and generosity. many flashes of the chivalrous spirit blazed up from time to time, it is true; but the general character of those contentions was base and interested treachery on all parts. the mean and avaricious spirit which seized upon henry vii. in his latter years of course had its effect on his court and country; and the infamous extortions of his creatures empson and dudley, the ruin which they brought upon many of the nobility, and the disgust and terror which their tyranny spread through the land, served to check all those pageants and exercises which kept alive the sinking flame of chivalry. henry viii., in the vigour of his youth, made vast efforts to give back to knighthood its ancient splendour; but the spirit had been as much injured as the external form, and though he could renew the one, he could not recall the other. the wavering tyranny of his old age also did more to extinguish the last sparks of knightly feeling, than his youth had done to revive the pomp of chivalry. then came the reformation, and a new enthusiasm grew up through the land. in germany the reign of the emperor maximilian was the last in which chivalry can be said to have existed. charles v. reduced all things to calculation, and though the name of knighthood remained, it soon became nothing but a sound. the land which had given birth to the institution cherished it long; and there its efforts were continually reawakened even in its decline. during the unhappy reign of charles vi., france, torn by factions, each struggling for the sceptre of the insane monarch, saw chivalry employed for the purposes of ambition alone. while all parties turned their arms against their fellow-countrymen, a stranger seized on the power for which they fought, and the english house of lancaster seated itself on the throne of france. charles vii. succeeded to a heritage of wars; but, apparently reckless, from the desperate state of his dominions, he yielded himself wholly to pleasure, without striking a blow for the recovery of his kingdom, till joan of arc recalled him to glory and himself. from that moment chivalry again revived, and no period of french history presents knighthood under a brighter aspect than during the wars of charles vii. at the same time, however, an institution was founded which soon changed the character of chivalry, and in the end reduced it to a name. the inconveniences attached to the knightly mode of warfare were many and striking; order and discipline were out of the question; and though courage did much, charles vii. saw that courage well directed would do infinitely more. to establish, therefore, a body over which he might have some control, he raised a company of _gen-d'armerie_, which soon by its courage and its success drew into its own rank all the great and noble of the kingdom. thus came a great change over the order; knights became mere soldiers, and chivalry was used as a machine. louis xi. contributed still more to do away chivalry, by depressing the nobility and founding a standing army of mercenary troops. charles viii. and louis xii., by romantic wars in italy, renewed the fire of the waning institution; and francis i., the most chivalrous of kings, beheld it blaze up under his reign like the last flash of an expiring flame. he, however unwittingly aided to extinguish it entirely, and by extending knighthood to civilians, deprived it of its original character. the pomps and pageants, the exercises and the games, which had accompanied the order from its early days, were now less frequent: popes had censured them as vain and cruel, and many kings had discountenanced them as expensive and dangerous: but the death of henry ii., from a wound received at a tournament, put an end to them in france; and from that time all the external ceremonies of chivalry were confined to the reception of a knight into any of the royal orders. the distinctive spirit also had by this time greatly merged into other feelings. the valour was as much the quality of the simple soldier as of the knight; the courtesy had spread to society in general, and had become politeness; the gallantry had lost its refinement, and had deteriorated into debauchery. faint traces of the lost institution appeared from time to time, especially in the wars of henry iv. and the league. the artful and vicious policy of catherine de medicis did much to destroy it; the filthy effeminacy of henry iii. weakened it, in common with all noble feelings; and the iron rod of richelieu struck at it as a remnant of the feudal power. still a bright blaze of its daring valour shone out in condé, a touch of its noble simplicity appeared in turenne, but the false brilliancy of louis xiv. completed its downfall; and chivalry is only to be seen by its general effects on society. thus things fleet by us; and in reading of all the great and mighty deeds of which this book has given a slight and imperfect sketch, and looking on the multitudes of men who have toiled and struggled through dangers, difficulties, and horrors for the word glory, the empty echo of renown, or perhaps a worse reward, i rise as from a phantasmagoria where a world of strange and glittering figures have been passing before my eyes, changing with the rapidity of light, and each leaving an impression for memory, though the whole was but the shadow of a shade. notes. note i.--chap. i. menestrier enters into a disquisition on the subject of the two interpretations given to the word _miles_, which would have interrupted the thread of my discourse too much to permit of its introduction in the text. i subjoin it here, however, as a good guide for those who may be inclined to pursue the subject further. "il ne faut pas donc confondre le titre d'ancienne noblesse, ou de noblesse militaire, avec la dignité de chevalier, par l'équivoque du terme latin _miles_, qui convient à l'un et à l'autre; ce que n'ont pas assez observé quelques autheurs, qui n'ont pas fait reflexion que dans la plûpart des actes écrits en langue latine, ce mot signifie également ces deux différentes choses. * * * * * "l'empereur frederic avoir déjà? distingué ces deux espèces de chevalerie, lors qu'il fit une ordonnance à naples, l'an , que personne ne se presentât pour recevoir l'ordre de chevalerie, s'il n'estoit d'une ancienne race militaire, ou d'ancienne chevalerie. _ad militarem honorem nullus accedat, qui non sit de genere militum_; l'une de ces chevaleries est donc _genus militare_, race de chevalerie; l'autre _militaris honor_, honneur de chevalerie, qui n'ont esté confonduës que par quelques autheurs, qui, écrivans de cette matière sans l'entendre, n'ont fait que l'embroüiller, au lieu de la developper. "roger, roy de sicile et de naples, fit une ordonnance, que nul ne pût recevoir l'ordre de chevalerie, s'il n'estoit de race militaire. _sancimus itaque, et tale proponimus edictum, ut quicumque novam militiam acceperit_, il l'appelle nouvelle chevalerie, pour la distinguer de celle de la naissance, _sive quocumque tempore arripuerit, contra regni beatitudinem, pacem, atque integritatem, à militiæ nomine, et professione penitùs decidat, nisi fortè à militari genere per successionem duxit prosapiam_."--menestrier; preuves, chap. . note ii.--chap. ii. st. palaye, in the body of his admirable essays upon chivalry, names the day preceding that of the tournament as the one on which squires were permitted to joust with each other: but in a note he has the following passage, which shows that in this, as in almost every other respect, the customs of chivalry varied very much at different epochs. "les usages out varié par rapport aux tournois, suivant les divers temps de la chevalerie. dans les commencements les plus anciens chevaliers joutoient entre eux, et le lendemain de cette joute les nouveaux chevaliers s'exerçoient dans d'autres tournois, auxquels les anciens chevaliers se faisoient un plaisir d'assister en qualité de spectateurs. la coutume changea depuis: ce fut la veille des grands tournois que les jeunes chevaliers s'essayerent les uns contre les autres, et l'on permit aux écuyers de se mêler avec eux. ceux-ci étoient récompensés par l'ordre de la chevalerie, lorsqu'ils se distinguoient dans ces sortes de combats. ce mélange de chevaliers et d'écuyers introduisit dans la suite divers abus dans la chevalerie, et la fit bientôt dégénérer, comme le remarque m. le laboureur. les écuyers usurpèrent successivement et par degrés les honneurs et les distinctions qui n'appartenoient qu'aux chevaliers, et peu-à-peu ils se confondirent avec eux."--_note on st. palaye._ this note is perfectly just in the statement that in after-times the distinctions between knights and squires were not so strictly maintained as in the early days of chivalry. at the famous jousts between the french and english at chateau joscelin, as related by froissart, we find the squires opposed to the knights upon perfectly equal terms. the limits of this book are too narrow to admit of many long quotations; but the passage will be found well worthy the trouble of seeking, in the sixty fourth chapter of the second book of the admirable froissart. note iii.--chap. ii. to show the manner in which reports of all kinds were spread and collected even as late as the days of edward iii., i have subjoined the following extract from froissart, giving an account of his reception at the court of the count de foix. it also affords a _naive_ picture of that curious simplicity of manners which formed one very singular and interesting trait in the chivalry of old. "_comment messire jean froissart enquéroit diligemment comment les guerres s'étoient portées par toutes les parties de la france._ "je me suis longuement tenu à parler des besognes des lointaines marches, mais les prochaines, tant qu'à maintenant, m'ont été si fraîches, et si nouvelles, et si inclinants à ma plaisance, que pour ce les ai mises arrière. mais, pourtant, ne séjournoient pas les vaillants hommes, qui se désiroient à avancer ens [dans] on [le] royaume de castille et de portugal, et bien autant en gascogne et en rouergue, en quersin [quercy], en auvergne, en limousin, et en toulousain, et en bigorre; mais visoient et subtilloient [imaginoient] tous les jours l'un sur l'autre comment ils se pussent trouver en parti de fait d'armes, pour prendre, embler [enlever], et écheller villes, et châteaux, et forteresses. et pour ce, je sire jean froissart, qui me suis ensoingné [étudié] et occupé de dicter et écrire cette histoire, à la requête et contemplation de haut prince et renommé messire guy de châtillon, comte de blois, seigneur d'avesnes, de beaumont, de scoonhort, et de la gende, mon bon et souverain maître et seigneur; considérai en moi-même, que nulle espérance n'étoit que aucuns faits d'armes se fissent ès parties de picardie et de flandre, puisque paix y étoit, et point ne voulois être oiseux; car je savois bien que encore au temps à venir, et quand je serai mort, sera cette haute et noble histoire en grand cours, et y prendront tous nobles et vaillants hommes plaisance et exemple de bien faire; et entrementes [pendant] que j'avois, dieu merci, sens, mémoire, et bonne souvenance de toutes les choses passées, engin [esprit] clair et aigu pour concevoir tous les faits dont je pourrois être informé, touchants à ma principale matière, âge, corps et membres pour souffrir peine, me avisai que je ne voulois mie séjourner de non poursieure [poursuivre] ma matière; et pour savoir la vérité des lointaines besognes sans se que j'y envoyasse aucune autre personne en lieu de moi, pris voie et achoison [occasion] raisonnable d'aller devers haut prince et redouté seigneur, messire gaston, comte de foix et de berne [béarn]; et bien sçavois que si je pouvois venir en son hôtel, et là être à loisir, je ne pourrois mieux cheoir au monde, pour être informé de toutes nouvelles; car là sont et fréquentent volontiers tous chevaliers et écuyers étranges, pour la noblesse d'icelui haut prince. et tout ainsi, comme je l'imaginai, il m'en advint; et remontrai ce, et le voyage que je voulois faire, a mon très cher et redouté seigneur, monseigneur le comte de blois, lequel me bailla ses lettres de familiarité adressants au comte de foix. et tant travaillai et chevauchai en quérant de tout côtés nouvelles, que, par la grace de dieu, sans péril et sans dommage, je vins en son chatel, a ortais [orthez], au pays de béarn, le jour de sainte catherine, que on compta pour lors en l'an de grace mil trois cent quatre-vingt et huit; lequel comte de foix, si très tôt comme il me vit, me fit bonne chère, et me dit en riant en bon françois: que bien il me connoissoit, et si ne m'avoit oncques mais vu, mais plusieurs fois avoit ouï parler de moi. si me retint de son hôtel et tout aise, avec le bon moyen des lettres que je lui avois apportées, tant que il m'y plut à être; et la fus informé de la greigneur [majeure] partie des besognes qui étoient avenues au royaume de castille, au royaume de portugal, au royaume de navarre, au royaume d'aragon, et au royaume d'angleterre, au pays de bordelois, et en toute la gascogne; et je même, quand je lui demandois aucune chose, il le me disoit moult volontiers; et me disoit bien que l'histoire que je avois fait et poursuivois seroit, au temps à venir, plus recommandée que mille autres: 'raison pourquoi,' disoit-il, 'beau maître: puis cinquante ans en ça sont avenus plus de faits d'armes et de merveilles au monde qu'il n'étoit trois cents ans en devant.' "ainsi fus-je en l'hôtel du noble comte de foix, recueilli et nourri à ma plaisance. ce étoit ce que je désirois à enquerre toutes nouvelles touchants à ma matière: et je avois prêts à la main barons, chevaliers, et écuyers, qui m'en informoient, et le gentil comte de foix aussi. si vous voudrois éclaircir par beau langage tout ce dont je fus adonc informé, pour rengrosser notre matiere, et pour exemplier les bons qui se désirent à avancer par armes. car si ci-dessus j'ai prologué grands faits d'armes, prises et assauts de villes et de châteaux, batailles adressées et durs rencontres, encore en trouverez vous ensuivant grand, foison, desquelles et desquels, par la grace de dieu, je ferai bonne et juste narration."--_froissart_, book iii. chap. . note iv.--chap. ii. as the brotherhood of arms was one of the most curious customs of chivalry, i have extracted from the notes on st. palaye, and from the disquisitions of ducange, some passages which will give a fuller view of its real character and ceremonies than seemed necessary in the body of this work. the notes on st. palaye also show to how late a period the custom descended and here let me say, that of all the treatises on chivalry which i possess, there is none in which i have found the real spirit of knighthood so completely displayed, as in the essays of lucurne de st. palaye, with the elegant and profound observations of m. charles nodier. "les anglois, assemblés peu avant la bataille de pontvalain, tiennent conseil pour déliberer comment ils attaqueroient le connétable duguesclin. hue de carvalai, l'un d'entre eux, ouvre son avis en ces termes: 'se m'aist dieux, bertran est le meilleur chevalier qui regne à present; il est duc, comte et connestable, et a esté long-temps mon compaignon en espaigne, où je trouvay en luy honneur, largesse et amistié si habundamment et avecques ce hardement, fierté vasselage et emprise, qu'il n'a homme jusques en calabre qui sceut que j'amasse autant à veoir ne accompaigner de jour ou de nuit pour moy aventurer à vivre ou à mourir ne fust ce qu'il guerrie, monseigneur le prince. car en ce cas je dois mettre poyne de le nuyre et grever comme mon ennemi. si vous diray mon advis.'--(_hist. de bert. duguesclin_, publiée par menard, p. .) "boucicaut, passant à son retour d'espagne par le comte de foix, se trouva plusieurs fois à boire et à manger avec des anglois. comme ils jugèrent a des abstinences particulieres qu'ils lui virent faire dans ses repas, qu'il avoit voué quelque entreprise d'armes, ils lui dirent que s'il ne demandoit autre chose on auroit bien-tôt trouvé qui le delivreroit; boucicaut leur répondit: 'voirement estoit-ce pour combattre à oultrance, mais qu'il avoit compaignon; c'estoit un chevalier nomme messire regnault de roye, sans lequel il ne pouvoit rien faire, et toutes fois s'il y avoit aucun d'eulx qui voulussent la bataille, il leur octroyoit et que à leur volente prissent jour tant que il l'eust faict à sçavoir à son compaignon.'--(_histoire du maréchal de boucicaut_, publiée par godefroi, p. .) "lorsque le prince de galles eut déclare la guerre au roi henri de castille, il manda à tous les anglois qui etoient alors au service de ce prince de le quitter pour se rendre auprès de lui. hue de carvalai, qui étoit du nombre, obligé de se sêparer de bertrand, vint lui faire ses adieux: 'gentil sire, lui dit-il, il nous convient de partir nous avons esté ensemble par bonne compaignie, comme preudomme, et avons toujours eu du vostre à nostre voulente que oncques n'y ot noise ne tançon, tant des avoirs conquestez que des joyaulx donnez, ne oncques n'en demandasmes part, si pense bien que j'ay plus reçeu que vous, dont je suis vostre tenu. et pour ce vous pris que nous en comptons ensemble. et ce que je vous devray, je vous paieray ou assigneray. si dist bertran, ce c'est qu'un sermon, je n'ay point pensé à ce comte, ne ne sçay que ce puet monter. je ne sçay se vous me devez, ou si je vous doy. or soit tout quitte puisque vient au departir. mais se de cy en avant nous acreons l'un à l'autre, nous ferons nouvelle depte et le convendra escripre. il n'y a que du bien faire, raison donne que vous (suiviez) vostre-maistre. ainsi le doibt faire tout preudomme. bonne amour fist l'amour de nous et aussi en fera la departie: dont me poise qu'il convient que elle soit. lors le baisa bertran et tous ses compagnons aussi: moult fut piteuse la departie.'--(_histoire de bertrand duguesclin_, publiée par ménard, c. xxiv., p. et .) "duguesclin tomba dans la suite au pouvoir des anglois, qui le retinrent long-temps prisonnier. après avoir enfin obtenu sa liberté sous parole d'acquitter sa rançon, carvalai, son ancien frère d'armes, qu'il avoit retrouvé, et qui pendant quelque temps lui tint bonne compagnie, voulut lui parler encore du compte qu'ils avoient à regler ensemble. 'bertran, dit-il à son ami, avant que de se separer nous avons esté compagnons ou pays d'espangne par de la de prisons, et d'avoir (c'est-à-dire en société tant pour les prisonniers que pour le butin que nous aurions) dont je ne comptay oncques à vous et sçay bien de pieça que je suis vostre tenu (redevable, en reste avec vous) dont je vouldray avoir advis: mais de tout le moins je vous aideray ici de trente mille doubles d'or. je ne sçay, dit bertran, comment il va du compte, mais que de la bonne compagnie; ne je n'en vueil point compter; mais se j'ay mestier je vous prieray. adonc baisierent li uns l'autre au departir.'--(_ibid_, p. .) "l'adoption en frere se trouue auoir esté pratiquée en deux manieres par les peuples étrangers, que les grecs el les latins qualifient ordinairement du nom de barbares. car parmay ceux dont les moeurs et les façons d'agir ressentoient effectiuement quelque chose de rude et d'inhumain, elle se faisoit en se piquant reciproquement les veines, et beuuant le sang les vns des autres. baudoüin comte de flandres et empereur de constantinople reproche cette detestable coûtume aux grecs mémes, non qu'ils en vsassent entre eux: mais parce que dans les alliances qu'ils contractoient auec les peuples barbares, pour s'accommoder à leurs manieres d'agir, ils estoient obligez de suiure leurs vsages, et de faire ce qu'ils faisoient ordinairement en de semblables occasions. _hæc est_, ce dit-il, _quæ spurcissimo gentilium ritu pro fraterna societate, sanguinibus alternis ebibitis, cum infidelibus sæpe ausa est amicitias firmare ferales_. l'empereur frederic i. auoit fait auparauant ce mesme reproche aux grecs, ainsi que nous apprenons de nicetas. mais ce que les grecs firent par necessité, nos françois qui estoient resserrez dans constantinople, et attaquez par dehors de toutes parts, furent contraints de le faire, et de subire la meme loy, en s'accommodant au temps, pour se parer des insultes de leurs ennemis. c'est ce que le sire de joinuille dit en ces termes: a iceluy cheualier oüi dire, et comme il le disoit au roy, que l'empereur de constantinople, et ses gens, se allierent vne fois d'vn roy, qu'on appelloit le roy des comains, pour auoir leur aide, pour conquerir l'empereur de grece, qui auoit nom vataiche. et disoit iceluy cheualier, que le roy du peuple des comains pour auoir seurte et fiance fraternel l'vn l'autre, qu'il faillit qu'ils et chascun de leur gens d'vns part et d'autre se fissent saigner, et que de leur sang ils donnassent à boire l'vn à l'autre, en signe de fraternité, disans qu'ils estoient frere, et d'vn sang, et ainsi le conuint faire entre nos gens, el les gens d'iceluy roy, et meslérent de leur sang auec du vin, et en beuuoient l'vn à l'autre, et disoient lors qu'ils estoient freres d'vn sang. georges pachymeres raconte la méme chose des comains. et alberic en l'an , nous fait assez voir que cette coûtume eut pareillement cours parmy les sarazins, écriuant que la funeste alliance que le comte de tripoly contracta auec le sultan des sarazins, se fit auec cette cérémonie, et qu'ils y bûrent du sang l'vn de l'autre. * * * * * "cette fraternité se contractoit encore par l'attouchement des armes, en les faisant toucher reciproquement les vnes aux autres. cette coûtume estoit particuliere aux anglois, auant que les normans se rendissent maîtres de l'angleterre, principalement lorsque des communautez entieres faisoient entre eux vne alliance fraternelle, en vsans de cette maniere, au lieu du changement reciproque des armes, qui n'auroit pas pû s'executer si facilement. * * * * * "mais entre tant de cerémonies qui se sont obseruées pour contracter vne fraternite, celle qui a esté pratiquée par les peuples chrétiens, est la plus plausible et la plus raisonnable: car pour abolir et pour éteindre entierement les superstitions qui les accompagnoient, et qui tenoient du paganisme, ils en ont introduit vne autre plus sainte et plus pieuse en la contractant dans l'eglise, deuant le prétre, et en faisant reciter quelques prieres ou oraisons, nous en auons la formule dans _l'euchologium_." note v.--chap. iii. the fear of robert guiscard was no chimera; for, after having raised himself from indigence to power and authority, he opposed successfully the whole force of two great monarchies, and defeated alternately the emperors of the east and the west. one of the most pointed accounts of this extraordinary freebooter which i have met with i subjoin, from the _melanges curieux_. "robertus wischardi de normania exiens, vir pauper, miles tamen, ingenio et probitate suâ apuliam, calabriam suæ ditioni submisit, et insulam siciliam de manu ismaelitarum liberavit, rotgeriumque fratrem suum ejusdem insulæ comitem appellavit. demum mare transiens, durachium urbem nobilem cepit, dalmatiamque et bulgariam super alexium imperatorem acquisivit: insuper eum ter bello fugavit, et romanum, henricum semel ab urbe fugere compulit, pontificemque romanum, quem ceperat, ab eo liberavit. qui cum innumerabilia penè fecisset probitatis indicia, hoc de illo constans habetur, quod nisi morte præoccupatus fuisset, filium suum boamundum imperatorem faceret, se verò regem persarum, ut sæpè dicebat, constitueret, viamque hieroso, lymorum destructâ paganitate francis aperiret. nunquam victus est quanquam sæpè pugnaverit. venetos, qui contra eum omni virtute sua convenerant cum stolo suo ita profligavit, ut nec fuga, nec pelagus illis esset auxilio. nec fuit terrarum locus ita remotus, in quo rumor, fama, timor wischardi per omnium ferê ora non volitaret. et ut verius de ec dici potest, nulli regum aut imperatorum wischardus secundus extitit."--_pere l'abbe._ note vi.--chap. iii. this cry was not the only cry of arms which the crusaders used in the holy land. though it was the general battle-cry of the whole army, and each leader made use of it occasionally when he wanted to animate the whole host, by rousing up their old enthusiasm; yet when he sought to bring round him his own vassals, he used the appropriate shout of his family. thus we find, by raimond d'agiles, that the battle-cry of raimond de st. giles was "_toulouse!_" the best general account of the old cry of arms which i have met with is given by ducange. "le cry d'armes n'est autre chose qu'vne clameur conceuë en deux ou trois paroles, prononcée au commencement ou au fort du combat et de la mêlée, par un chef, ou par tous les soldats ensemble, suivant les rencontres et les occasions: lequel cry d'armes estoit particulier au general de l'armée ou au chef de chaque troupe. * * * * * "les françois que se trouuérent à la premiere conquéte de la terre sainte avoient pour cry general ces mots, _adjuua deus_, ainsi que nous apprenons de foucher de chartres, et d'vn autre ancien auteur ou bien, _eia deus adiuua nos_, suivant l'histoire de hierusalem. raymond d'agiles rapporte la cause et l'origine de ce cry à la vision de pierre barthelemy, qui trouua la sainte lance au temps que les turcs assiegeoient la ville d'antioche sur les nostre: car durant ce siége s. andré luy estant apparu plusieurs fois, il luy enjoignit de persuader aux chrétiens d'auoir recours à dieu dans les fatigues du siége, et de la faim qu'ils enduroient, et de prendre dans les combats pour cry d'armes ces mots _deus adjuua, et sit signum clamoris vestri, devs adjuva, et reuera deus adjuvabit vos_ qui sont les paroles de s. andre, roderic archeuesque de tolede dit qu'au siége et à la prise de cordouë sur les sarrazins d'espagne, les chrétiens crierent aussi _deus adjuva_. ils ajoustoient quelquefois à ce cry ces mots _deus vult_, ou pour parler en langage du temps, et suiuant qu'ils sont enoncez en la chronique du mont cassin, _diex el volt_, dont l'origine est rapportée au concile de clermont en auuergne, où le pape urbain ii. ayant fait vne forte exhortation pour porter les princes chrétiens à prendre les armes pour aller retirer la terre sainte demains des infidéles, _ita omnium qui aderant affectus in vnum concitauit vt omnes acclamarent, deux volt, deus volt_. aprés quoy le pape ayant rendu graces à dieu, dit entre autres paroles celle-cy, _sit ergo vobis vox ista in rebus bellicis militare signum, quia verbum hoc à deo est prolatum, cùm in hostem fiet bellicosi impetus congressio, erit vni uersis hæc ex parte dei vna vociferatio deus vult, deus vult_. d'où on recueille pourquoy le cry est appelle signum dei dans quelques auteurs."--_ducange, dissertations sur l'histoire de st louis_, dissert. xi. note vii.--chap. iv. i have used the term _counts palatine_, from the old writer whose name stands in the margin. the peculiar position of these counts palatine, under the ever-changing dynasties of early europe, is a curious and interesting subject of inquiry, but one too extensive to be fully treated in this place. i hope, at some future period, to speak of it in a more comprehensive work. the learned author whose works have furnished me with the preceding note affords a good view of the original functions of the counts of the palace, or counts palatine. "sovs la premiere et la seconde race de nos rois, les comtes faisoient la fonction dans les prouinces et dans les villes capitales du royaume, non seulement de gouuerneurs, mais encore celle de juges. leur principal employ estoit d'y decider les differents et les procés ordinaires de leur justiciables; et où ils ne pouvoient se transporter sur les lieux, ils commettoient à cét effet leurs vicomtes et leurs lieutenans. quant aux affaires d'importance, et qui meritoient d'estre jugées par la bouche du prince, nos mémes rois auoient des comtes dans leurs palais, et prés de leurs personnes, ausquels ils en commettoient la connoissance et le jugement, qui estoient nommez ordinairement, acause de cét illustre employ, comtes du palais, ou comtes palatins. * * * * * "il y a lieu de croire que dans la premiere race de nos rois, et méme dans le commencement de la seconde, la charge de comte du palais n'estoit exercée que par vn seul, qui jugeoit les differens, assisté de quelques conseillers palatins, qui sont appellez scabini palatii, echeuins du palais, dans la chronique de s. vincent de wlturne. * * * * * "on ne peut pas toutefois disconuenir qu'il n'y ait eu en méme temps plusieurs comtes du palais. car eguinard en vne de ses epîtres, dit en termes exprés qu'adalard et geboïn estoient comtes du palais en méme temps. et vn titre de louys le debonnaire de l'an , qui se lit aux antiquitez de l'abbaye de fulde est souscrit de ce gebawinus, ou gebuinus, et de ruadbertus, qui y prennent qualité de comtes du palais." note viii.--chap. vi. the habit of carrying a small wallet when bound on a pilgrimage is one of the oldest customs of the christian world. this part of the pilgrim's dress was called afterward an _aumoniere_, and served either as a receptacle for containing the alms received on the journey, or, when worn by the rich, as a repository for those they intended to give away. the curious fact of charlemagne having borne one of these wallets to rome, and of its having been buried with him, is mentioned in the xvth dissertation on joinville. "cassian traitant des habits et des vétemens des anciens moines d'egypte, dit qu'ils se reuetoient d'vn habit fait de peaux de chevre, que l'on appelloit melotes, et qu'ils portoient ordinairement l'escarcelle et le baton. les termes de cét auteur ne sont pas toutefois bien clairs, en cét endroit-là: _vltimus est habitus eorum pellis caprina, quæ melotes, vel pera appellatur, et baculus._ car il n'est pas probable que cét habit de peaux de cheure ait esté appellé pera. ce qui a donné sujet à quelques commentateurs de restituer penula. neantmoins isidore et papias, comme aussi Ælfric dans son glossaire saxon, ont écrit aprés cassian, que melotis, estoit la méme chose que pera. quant à moy j'estime que cassian a entendu dire que ces moines, outre ce vétement fait de peaux, auoient encore coûtume de porter vn petit sachet, et vn baton, dont ils se seruoient durant leurs pelerinages. ce qui ce peut aisement concilier, en restituant le mot appellatur, on le sousentendant, aprés melotes. tant y a que cassian parle du baton des moines au chapitre suiuant; et dans l'vne de ses collations, il fait assez, voir que lorsqu'ils entreprenoient quelque voyage, ils prenoient l'vn et l'autre: cum accepissemus peram et baculum, vt ibi moris est monachis vniuersis iter agentibus. le moine d'angouléme ecrit que le corps de charlemagne, apres sa mort, fut inhumé auec tous ses habits imperiaux, et que pardessus on y posa l'escarcelle d'or, dont les pelerins se seruent ordinairement, et qu'il auoit coûtume de porter lorsqu'il alloit à rom: et super vestimentis imperialibus pera peregrinalis aurea posita est, quam romam portare solitus erat. d'où il resulte que le baton et l'escarcelle ont toûjours esté la marque particuliere des pelerins, ou comme parle guillaume de malmesbury solatia et indicia itineris. "les pelerins de la terre sainte, auant que d'entreprendre leurs pelerinages, alloient rcecuoir l'escarcelle et le bourdon des mains des prestres dans l'eglise. * * * * * "et cela s'est pratiqué mémes par nos rois, lorsqu'ils ont voulu entreprendre ces longs et facheux voyages d'outremer. car aprés auoir chargé leurs épaules de la figure de la croix, ils auoient coûtume de venir en l'abbaye de s. denys, et là, aprés la celébration de la messe, ils receuoient des mains de quelque prelat le baton de pelerin et l'escarcelle, et memes l'oriflamme, ensuite dequoy ils prenoient conge de s. denys, patron du royaume." note ix.--chap. vii. the pretence of the count of toulouse for resisting the claims of boemond to the possession of antioch was, that he had vowed to the emperor alexius to deliver up all conquests to him alone. this was but a specious covering for his own avarice. the terms in which baldric mentions the cession of antioch to boemond are as follows; and it will be seen that much more notice was taken of alexius than that contemptible usurper deserved. "locuti sunt igitur ad invicem christianorum duces, et sponte sua boamundo subintulerunt: vides quo in articulo res nostra posita sit. si civitatem ergo istam vel prece vel pretio, nobis etiam juvantibus poteris obtinere, nos eam tibi unanimiter concedimus: salvo in omnibus quod imperatori, te collaudante, fecimus sacramento. si ergo imperator nobis adjutor advenerit, juratasque pactiones custodierit, perjuri vivere nolumus: sed quod pace tua dictum sit, nos illi eam concedimus: sin autem, tuæ semper sit subdite potestati. _ex historia hierosolymitana baldrici, episcopi dolensis._" note x.--chap. x. even in the days of ducange the form and colour of the oriflamme, or standard borne to battle before the kings of france, was so far forgotten, that the learned antiquary bestowed no small research to ascertain its texture and appearance. his erudition never left any thing in uncertainty; but though he proved the particular banner called the oriflamme to have been red; yet guillaume guiart mentions one of fine azure, which was carried before philip augustus to the siege of acre. ducange speaks of the oriflamme as follows: "pour commencer par la recherche du nom d'oriflamme, la plûpart des ecriuains estiment, qu'on le doit tirer de sa matiere, de sa couleur, et de se forme. quant à sa figure, il est hors de doute qu'elle estoit faite comme les bannieres de nos eglises, que l'on porte ordinairement aux processions, qui sont quarrees, fenduës en diuers endroits par le bas, ornees de franges, et attacheés par le haut à vn baton de trauers, qui les tient etenduës, et est soûtenu d'vne forme de pique. ils ajoûtent que sa matiere estoit de soye, ou de tafetas, sa couleur rouge, et tirant sur celle du feu, et de la sandaraque, à laquelle pline attribue celle de la flamme. il est vray que pour la couleur, tous les ecriuains conuiennent qu'elle estoit rouge. guillaume le breton en sa philippide, la decrit ainsi: 'ast regi satis est tenues crispare per auras vexillum simplex, cendato simplice textum, splendoris rubei, letania qualiter vti ecclesiana solet, certis ex more diebus quod cum flamma habeat vulgariter aurea nomen omnibus in bellis habet omnia signa preire.' "guillaume guiart en son histoire de france, en la vie de philippes auguste, a ainsi traduit ces vers: 'oriflamme est vne banniere, aucune poi plus forte qui quimple, de cendal roujoiant et simple, sans pourtraiture d'autre affaire.' * * * * * "l'oriflamme estoit l'enseigne particuliere de l'abbe et du monastere de s. denys, qu'ils faisoient porter dans leurs guerres par leur auoüe car c'estoit-là la principale fonction des auoüez, qui en qualite de defenseurs et de protecteurs des monasteres et des eglises, entreprenoient la conduit de leurs vassaux pour la defense de leurs droits, et portoient leurs enseignes à la guerre: d'où vient qu'ils sont ordinairement appellez, les porte-enseignes des eglise, signiferi ecclesiarum, comme j'espere justifier ailleurs les comtes du vexin et de pontoise auoient ce titre dans le monastere de s. denys, dont ils estoient les auoüez, et les protecteurs, et en cette qualite ils portoient l'oriflamme dans les guerres qui s'entreprenoient pour la defense de ses biens. * * * * * "il faut donc tenir pour constant que louys le gros fut le premier de nos rois, qui en qualite de comte du vexin tira l'oriflamme de dessus l'autel de l'eglise de s. denys, et la fit porter dans ses armees, comme la principale enseigne du protecteur de son royaume, et dont il inuoquoit le secours dans son cry d'armes. * * * * * "il est arriue dans la suite que nos rois, qui estoient entrez dans les droits de ces comtes, s'en sont seruis, pour leurs guerres particulieres, comme estant la banniere qui portoit le nom du protecteur de leur royaume, ainsi que j'ay remarque, la tirans, de dessus l'autel de l'eglise s. denys, auec les memes ceremonies, et les memes prieres, que l'on auoit accoûteme d'observer, lorsqu'on la mettoit entre les mains des comtes du vexin pour les guerres particulieres de ce monastere. ces ceremonies sont ainsi decrites par raoul de presle, au traite dont je viens de parler en cestermes: premierement la procession vous vient à l'encontre jusques à l'issuë du cloistre, et apres la procession, atteints les benoists corps saints de monsieur s. denys, et ses compagnons, et mis sur l'autel en grande reuerence, et aussi le corps de monsieur s. louys, et puis est mise cette banniere ploise sur les corporaux, où est consacre le corps de n. s. jesus christ, lequel vous receuez dignement apres la celebration de la messe: si fait celuy lequel vous auez esleu à bailler, comme au plus prud homme et vaillant cheualier; et ce fait, le baisez en la bouche, et luy baillez, et la tient en ses mains par grande reuerence, afin que les barons assistans le puissent baiser comme reliques et choses dignes, et en luy baillant pour le porter, luy faites faire serment solemnel de le porter et garder en grande reuerence, et à l'honneur de vous et de vostre royaume. * * * * * note xi.--chap. xiii. villehardouin is undoubtedly the best authority for all the particulars of the siege of constantinople. nicetas was extravagantly prejudiced; and though the emperor baldwin, in his letters to the pope, was as frank as any man in his situation could be, it was but natural that he should endeavour to show the causes of the warfare in the most favourable point of view--that he should represent the conduct of himself and his companions with every advantage--in fact that he should see the events which raised him to the throne through a peculiar medium, and represent them tinged with the same colours that they presented to his own eyes. villehardouin wrote without many of these disadvantages. he did not belong to the pillaged and conquered class, like nicetas, nor did he write to excuse himself in the eyes of the pope. he had his prejudices, of course, like other men, but these prejudices were greatly prevented from affecting his history by the frank simplicity of chivalrous manners, which no one possessed in greater purity than he did himself. in two points philippe mouskes gives a different account of the affairs of constantinople from villehardouin. in the first place, he states that alexius angelus, the brother of isaac, commanded his nephew to be drowned; but that by entreaties the prince moved those persons who were charged with the cruel order. in the next place, he says that murzuphlis caused alexius the younger to be poisoned. in regard to the destruction of the monuments of art committed by the latins, nicetas gives a melancholy, though somewhat bombastic account. the famous works destroyed were as follows, according to his statement: a colossal juno, from the forum of constantine, the head of which was so large that four horses could scarcely draw it from the spot where it stood to the palace. the statue of paris, presenting the apple to venus. an immense bronze pyramid, crowned by a female figure, which turned with the wind. the colossal statue of bellerophon, in bronze, which was broken down, and cast into the furnace. under the inner nail of the horse's hind foot, on the left side, was found a seal, wrapped in a woollen cloth. a figure of hercules, by lysimachus, of such vast dimensions that the circumference of the thumb was equal in measurement to the waist of an ordinary man. from the attitude of this statue, as described by nicetas, it is not improbable that it served as a model for that piece of sculpture, the only part of which that remains is the famous _torso_. the ass and his driver, cast by order of augustus, after the battle of actium, in commemoration of his having discovered the position of antony through the means of a peasant and his beast, the one bearing the name of _fortunate_, and the other that of _conqueror_. the wolf suckling the twins of rome; the gladiator in combat with a lion; the hippopotamus; the sphynxes: and the famous eagle fighting with a serpent; all underwent the same fate, as well as the beautiful statue of helen, which nicetas speaks of as the perfection of statuary. added to these were the exquisite figure on the race-course, and a group, wherein a monster, somewhat resembling a bull, was represented engaged in deadly conflict with a serpent. each appeared expiring under the efforts of the other; the snake crushed between the teeth of the monster, and the bull tainted to the heart by the venom of the reptile: no bad emblem of the struggle between the bold and furious valour of the latins and the poisonous treachery of the greeks themselves. note xii.--chap. xiv. that st. louis was threatened with the torture is an undoubted fact though what that sort of torture was which joinville calls _les bernicles_ is not so clear. ducange fancies that it was the _cippus_ of the ancients: and whether it was or not, the resolution of the monarch in resisting showed not a little fortitude. i subjoin ducange's observations. "le sire de joinville dit que le sultan de babylone, ou son conseil fit faire au roy des propositions peu raisonables, croyant qu'il y consentiroit pour obtenir sa deliurance, et celle de ceux de sa suite, qui auoient este faits prisonniers auec luy en la bataille de massoure. et sur ce que le roy refusa absolument d'y donner les mains, il le voulut intimider; et le menaça de luy faire souffrir de grands tourmens. mathieu paris: cùm frequenter à saracenis cumterribilibus comminationibus sollicitaretur rex vt damiatam redderet, et noluit vlla ratione, postularunt summam sibi pecuniæ persolui sine diminutione, vel diuturno cruciatu vsque ad mortem torqueretur. ce tourment est appelle par le sire de jouinville les bernicles, lequel il decrit en ces termes. et voyans les sarazins que le roy ne vouloit obtemperer à leur demandes, ils le menacerent de le mettre en bernicles: qui est le plus grief tourment qu'ils puissent faire à nully: et sont deux grans tisons de bois, qui sont entretenans au chef. et quant ils veulent y mettre aucun, ils le couschent sur le couste entre ces dieux tisons, et luy font passer les jambes à trauers de grosses cheuilles: puis couschent la piece de bois, qui est là-dessus, et font asseoir vn homme dessus les tisons. dont il auient qu'il ne demeure à celuy qui est là cousche point demy pied d'ossemens, qu'il ne soit tout desrompu et escache. et pour pis luy faire, au bout des trois jours luy remettent les jambes, qui sont grosses et enflees, dedens celles bernicles, et la rebrisent derechief, qui est vne chose moult cruelle à qui sauroit entendre: et la lient à gros nerfs de boeuf par la teste, de peur qu'il ne se remuë là dedans. the end. footnotes: [ ] la père menestrier, ordres de chevalerie; jouvencel; favin théâtre. [ ] fabliau de l'ordene de chevalerie dans les fabliaux de le grand d'aussi. [ ] tacit. de mor. germ. [ ] marculfus. [ ] menestrier de la chevalerie et ses preuves, page . [ ] tacitus de morib. german. [ ] eginhard ann. [ ] see note i. [ ] charles nodier on st. palaye. [ ] ordene de chevalerie fabliaux. [ ] charles nodier. [ ] felibien, hist. st. denis. [ ] coutumes de beauvoisis. [ ] st. palaye. [ ] vie de bayard. [ ] favin théâtre. [ ] vie de boucicaut, coll. pelitot et momerque. [ ] vie de bayard. [ ] froissart. [ ] st. palaye, liv. i. [ ] guillaume guiart.; guill, amoric.; rigord; philipeid. [ ] brantome. [ ] see note ii. [ ] charles nodier's annotations on st. palaye. [ ] ducange, dissert. xxii. menestrier, chap. ; st. palaye. [ ] roman de garin, fabliaux, vol. ii. [ ] menestrier, chap. . and . [ ] menestrier, chap. . [ ] st. palaye. [ ] hartknoch, lib. ii. c. . [ ] existing orders of knighthood. [ ] cappefigue. [ ] menestrier, ix.; st. palaye. [ ] adré favin théât. [ ] nithard, lib. iii. [ ] _britannarum_ is the word. [ ] ducange apud chron. tur. an. . [ ] munster. geogr. lib. iii. [ ] ducange, in his sixth dissertation, has satisfactorily overturned the assertion made by modius, that tournaments were known in germany at a much earlier period than here stated. [ ] ducange, dissert. vii. [ ] menestrier origine. [ ] favin théâtre. [ ] st. palaye. [ ] st. palaye. [ ] vie de bayard. [ ] vie de bayard. [ ] olivier de la marche. [ ] ducange, dissert. vi. [ ] st. palaye. [ ] ducange, dissert. vii. [ ] mat. paris, ann. . [ ] colombiere. [ ] menestrier, vi. [ ] mat. westmonas., page . [ ] should any one be tempted to investigate further, he will find the subject discussed at length in the seventh dissertation of ducange. see also the _chronique de molinet_. [ ] st. palaye; ribeiro, lib. x. [ ] menestrier. [ ] ordonances des rois de france, ann. . [ ] pasquier recherches. [ ] vie de bayard sur jean d'arces. [ ] see note iii. [ ] colombiere. [ ] la colombiere. [ ] froissart olivier de la marche. [ ] see the "voeu du heron and the voeu du paon." cited in st. palaye. [ ] see note iv. [ ] ducange, dissert, xxi. [ ] monstrelet. [ ] juvenal des ursius. [ ] hardouin de la jaille. [ ] see deed between du guesclin and clisson. ducange, dissert, xxi. [ ] ducange, gloss. lat. mutare armas. [ ] see the chevalier de la tour, as cited by st. palaye. [ ] vertot. [ ] sharon turner. [ ] william of jumieges, lib. iv. [ ] eginhard. annal. [ ] mabillon. [ ] william of tyre, lib. i. [ ] voltaire, essai sur les moeurs. [ ] guibert de nogent. [ ] will. tyr. lib. i. [ ] mills mentions one from manuel vii. to pope gregory vii., and guibert of nogent speaks of another which, though he cautiously avoids naming the emperor who wrote it, lest he should mislead from want of correct information, could only have been sent, under some of the circumstances he mentions, by isaac comnenus. mills supposes it to have been the same with a letter written by alexius, though it differs in many parts from the usual version of that epistle. probably, however, this opinion is correct, as a letter is stated to have been addressed to robert of flanders, who was in his extreme youth in the time of isaac comnenus. [ ] murator. script. ital. [ ] albert of aix; william of tyre. [ ] ibid. [ ] robert, lib. i. [ ] guib. nogent, lib. ii. [ ] hist. hieros. abrev. jacob. vit. lib. i. [ ] will. tyr. lib. i.; albert. chron. hieros. [ ] will. tyr.; hist. hieros.; jacob. vit. lib. i. [ ] will. tyr. lib. i. [ ] albert. aquensis; hist. hieros.; jacobi vitr.; will. tyr. [ ] see note v. [ ] william of tyre says that he was wandering from place to place under the protection of guiscard. this opinion i have adopted, although albert of aix declares that peter joined him at rome. [ ] will. of malmsbury. [ ] mills. [ ] will. tyr. lib. i. [ ] guibertus; gesta dei. [ ] a. d. . [ ] mills, chap. ii. [ ] will. tyr. lib. i. [ ] robertus monachus, lib. i. [ ] i have followed as nearly as possible the account of robertus monachus, who was present. having found in no book of any authenticity the speech attributed by more modern writers to peter the hermit, i have rejected it entirely as supposititious. neither robert, nor albertus aquensis, nor william of tyre, nor guibert of nogent, nor james of vitry, the most authentic historians of the crusade, some of whom were present at the council of clermont, and most of whom lived at the time, even mention the appearance of peter at that assembly. that he might be there, i do not attempt to deny, but that he addressed the people i believe utterly unfounded. [ ] see note vi. [ ] robertus monachus. [ ] fulcher of chartres; guibert of nogent; william of tyre. [ ] see note vii. [ ] guibert of nogent. [ ] fulcher of chartres; william of tyre. [ ] guibert; gesta dei. [ ] albert. aquensis; will. tyr.; guibert. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] see ducange in sig. cruc. [ ] albert of aix; james of vitry; robert the monk; guibert. [ ] fulcher. [ ] albert of aix; william of tyre. mills follows this opinion; guibert of nogent and james of vitry are opposed to it, and fulcher gives a different account also. [ ] fulcher; will. tyr.; albert aquen. [ ] will. tyr. [ ] albert of aix; william of tyre. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] guibert. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] ibid. [ ] guibert. [ ] baldric. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] guibert of nogent, lib. ii.; albert of aix, lib. i.; orderic vital, lib. ix. mills says it was the french and normans who thus advanced into the country, but the great majority of writers is against him. [ ] albert of aix; william of tyre. [ ] robert the monk; william of tyre; guibert of nogent; albert of aix. [ ] robert the monk; guibert of nogent. [ ] william of tyre; albert of aix. [ ] robert the monk; guibert of nogent. [ ] ibid. [ ] william of tyre; albert of aix. [ ] albert. aquensis; william of tyre. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] robertus monachus, lib. i. [ ] guibert of nogent. [ ] guibert of nogent. [ ] see note viii. [ ] will. malmsbury. [ ] will. of tyre; albert of aix. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] guibert of nogent. [ ] guibert; will. tyr. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] albert. aquensis. [ ] will tyr.; albert. aquens. [ ] guibert. [ ] fulcher; guibert; will. tyr.; albert. [ ] i have taken perhaps more pains than was necessary to investigate this part of the crusaders' proceedings, which i found nearly as much confused in the writings of mills as in those of the contemporary authors. some assert that the whole mass of the western crusaders proceeded in one body through italy; but finding that fulcher, who accompanied robert of normandy and stephen of blois, never mentions hugh of vermandois; that guibert speaks of that prince's departure first; that the archbishop of tyre marks the divisions distinctly, and that he certainly embarked at a different port in italy from the rest, i have been led to conclude, that though probably looking up to hugh as the brother of their sovereign, the three great leaders proceeded separately on their march. robertus monachus is evidently mistaken altogether, as he joins the count of toulouse with the army of hugh, when we know from raimond d'agiles that that nobleman conducted his troops through sclavonia. [ ] albert of aix; william of tyre. [ ] guibert. [ ] ibid. lib. ii. [ ] will. tyr. lib. ii. [ ] albert of aix; william of tyre. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] guibert. [ ] albert of aix; robertus monachus; will. tyr. [ ] will. tyr.; rob. mon.; guibert; albert. aquens. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] mills, in speaking of this interview, does not distinguish between the coat-of-arms and the mantle or pallium. they were, however, very different, and never, that i know of, worn together. the coat-of-arms was usually extremely small; and the form may be gathered from the anecdote of an ancient baron, who, not readily finding his coat-of-arms, seized the cloth of a banner, made a slit in the centre with his sword, and passing his head through the aperture, thus went to battle. these customs however often changed, and we find many instances of the coat-of-arms being worn long. the mantle was the garb of peace, and was even more richly decorated than the coat-of-arms. another peaceful habiliment was the common surcoat, which differed totally from the tunic worn over the armour, having large sleeves and cuffs, as we find from the notes upon joinville. the size of this garment may be very nearly ascertained from the same account, which mentions ermines having been used in one surcoat worn by the king of france. see joinville by ducange. for the use of the pallium, or mantle, see st. palaye--notes on the fourth part. [ ] i have not chosen to represent this interview in the colours with which mills has painted it. the princess anna, from whom he took his view of the subject, can in no degree be depended upon. her object was to represent her father as a dignified monarch, receiving with cold pomp a train of barbarous warriors; but the truth was, that alexius was in no slight measure terrified at godfrey and his host, and sought by every means to cajole him into compliance with his wishes. almost every other historian declares that the crusaders were received with the utmost condescension and courtesy. robert of paris, one of godfrey's noble followers, did indeed seat himself on the throne of alexius, and replied to baldwin's remonstrance by a braggart boast, for which the emperor only reproved him by a contemptuous sneer. this, however, would, if any thing, prove that the pride and haughtiness was on the part of the crusaders rather than on that of the imperial court. [ ] albert of aix; william of tyre. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] vertot. [ ] robert the monk. [ ] gerusalemme, cant. i. [ ] what the relationship exactly was i have not been able to discover. mills does not satisfy me that the mother of tancred was the sister of robert guiscard. the expressions of ralph of caen on the subject appear to be obscure. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] st. palaye. [ ] mills, chap. . [ ] fulcher. [ ] raoul de caen. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] raoul de caen; william of tyre; albert of aix; guibert. [ ] orderic. vital. lib. ix. [ ] boemond had inherited all his father's hatred to the greek sovereigns, and had waged many a bloody and successful war against alexius himself. [ ] will. tyr.; albert. aquens. [ ] raoul de caen; guibert. [ ] alexiad par ducange. [ ] guibert, lib. iii. [ ] radulph. cad. cap. . [ ] radulph. cadom. cap. . [ ] albertus aquensis says that tancred took with him the whole army. william of tyre follows the same opinion, as well as guibert. orderic vital declares that when the troops were passing, tancred dressed himself as a common soldier, and passed among the crowd; but radulphus cadomensis (or raoul of caen, as the french translate his name), who was his companion and friend in after-years, makes no mention of his having taken with him any part of the forces he commanded, merely stating, that in his eagerness to pass before he was discovered, he aided to row the boat himself. [ ] raimond d'agiles. [ ] ibid. [ ] raimond d'agiles; will. tyr.; guibert. [ ] guibert; albert of aix. [ ] will. tyr. [ ] guibert. [ ] raimond d'agiles. [ ] guibert; raimond; will tyr. [ ] alexiad. [ ] raimond d'agiles; albert of aix. [ ] raimond d'agiles expressly states that the army of the count of toulouse, which he accompanied to the holy land, did not join the other crusaders till they were under the walls of nice. mills is therefore wrong in writing that the provençals joined the other soldiers of the cross before their arrival at nice, and then let them march on again before them. [ ] guibert, lib. ii. [ ] orderic vital. [ ] guibert. [ ] william of tyre; albert of aix. [ ] fulcher. [ ] albert of aix; fulcher. [ ] will. tyr. [ ] raimond d'agiles; guibert. [ ] all authors, those who were present as well as those who wrote from the accounts of others, differ entirely among themselves concerning the dispositions of the siege. fulcher, who accompanied the duke of normandy, says that that chief attacked the south; raimond of agiles, who was present also, says that the south was the post of the count of toulouse. i have, however, adopted the account of raimond, who appears to me to have paid more attention to the operations of the war than fulcher. [ ] fulcher. [ ] ibid. [ ] the word used is _loricati_; and ducange, who seldom makes a positive assertion without the most perfect certainty, states, in the observations on joinville, that we may always translate the word _loricatus_, a knight, "et quand on voit dans les auteurs latins le terme de loricati il se doit entendre des chevaliers."--_ducange, observ. sur l'hist. de st. louis_, page . [ ] guibert. [ ] albert of aix, lib. ii. [ ] albert. [ ] ibid. [ ] albert; raimond d'agiles; guibert. [ ] albert. [ ] raimond. [ ] albert. [ ] guibert. [ ] guibert; albert of aix. [ ] raimond d'agiles; fulcher; albert of aix; robert. mon. [ ] robert. mon. [ ] fulcher. [ ] guibert; raimond d'agiles. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] fulcher. [ ] idun; albert of aix. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] the philippide. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] fulcher. [ ] raimond d'agiles; albert of aix; guibert. [ ] will. tyr. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] guibert; albert. [ ] william of tyre; raimond. [ ] raimond de agiles. [ ] william of tyre; raimond de agiles; guibert de nogent. [ ] fulcher, cap. ; william of tyre. [ ] ten at a time were admitted within the walls, but not more. [ ] june , a. d. . [ ] fulcher, cap. ; raimond d'agiles; orderic vital; raoul de caen. [ ] mills avers that the chiefs separated by mutual consent. i have found nothing to confirm this opinion. radulphus says that there was a rumour to that effect, but shows that it could not be just, as the baggage of the troops of boemond and his party had, by the error that separated them, been left with the other division. william of tyre leaves the question undecided. fulcher says, absolutely, that the separation originated in a mistake. orderic vital follows the same opinion. raimond d'agiles is not precise, but he says that it was done inconsiderately; and guibert decidedly affirms that it was accidental, and through the obscurity of the morning in which they began their march. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] fulcher; raimond d'agiles; albert. [ ] fulcher makes it amount to nearly three hundred and sixty thousand combatants; and raimond reduces the number to one hundred and fifty thousand. [ ] fulcher. [ ] ibid; guibert. [ ] william of tyre; guibert; fulcher, cap. . [ ] guibert; will. of tyr. [ ] fulcher; radulph. cad. cap. . [ ] william of tyre; guibert; fulcher. [ ] fulcher, cap. ; william of tyre. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] raoul of caen. [ ] albert; raoul of caen; william of tyre. [ ] albert. [ ] raoul of caen. [ ] fulcher; albert; raoul of caen. [ ] albert of aix informs us, that the ladies of boemond's camp, seeing the merciless fury with which the turks were dealing death to all ages and sexes, clothed themselves in their most becoming garments, and strove to display their charms to the best advantage, for the purpose of obtaining the durance of the harem rather than the grave. albert was not present, and did not even visit the holy land; and i find his account in this respect confirmed by no other historian. the good canon, indeed, was somewhat fond of little tales of scandal, so that i feel inclined to doubt his authority, where such matters are under discussion. he has an anecdote in a similar style appended to his history of the taking of nice. [ ] radulphus, cap. . [ ] william of tyre. [ ] orderic vital; guibert. [ ] albert of aix; fulcher, cap. ; william of tyre. [ ] radulph. cadom. cap. . [ ] fulcher; albert of aix. [ ] albert; radulphus cadomachus, cap. , , _et seq._; william of tyre. [ ] many of the christians attributed their victory to the miraculous interposition of two canonized martyrs, who, in glittering armour, led on the army of godfrey and the count of toulouse, and scared the turks more than all the lancers of the crusaders. though the supposed interposition of such personages certainly robbed the leaders of no small share of glory, yet it gave vast confidence and enthusiasm to the inferior classes. [ ] albert of aix; fulcher; guibert. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] guibert; william of tyre; albert of aix. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] guibert, lib. iii. [ ] albert of aix, lib. iii.; william of tyre. [ ] fulcher; guibert. [ ] albert. [ ] ibid. [ ] radulph. cadom. cap. ; guibert. lib. iii.; will. tyr. [ ] all the authors of the day that i have been able to meet with declare this expedition of baldwin and tancred to have been voluntary. mills only, as far as i can discover, attributes their conduct to an order received from others. i mark the circumstance more particularly, because, under my view of the case, the fact of tancred and his companions having separated themselves from the rest of the host, after such immense fatigues, abandoning repose and comfort, and seeking new dangers and fresh privations, is one of the most extraordinary instances on record of the effect of the chivalrous spirit of the age. under this point of view, all the historians of that time saw the enterprise which they have recorded; but mills, writing in the least chivalrous of all epochs, has reduced the whole to a corporal-like obedience of orders. [ ] albert of aix, lib. iii.; radulph. cap. . [ ] albert of aix, lib. iii.; guibert; will. tyr. [ ] radulphus, cap. . [ ] albert of aix; guibert, lib. iii. [ ] radulphus; albert of aix; guibert of nogent. [ ] albert. lib. iii. [ ] albert. [ ] ibid. [ ] albert; raoul de caen. see also fulcher, who was chaplain to baldwin. [ ] albert of aix; raoul of caen. [ ] albert of aix; william of tyre; raimond d'agiles. [ ] albert of aix; william of tyre. [ ] raimond d'agiles. [ ] robert. mon. lib. iii. albert of aix; guibert. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] the population of these countries was in general christian. [ ] fulcher; albert. [ ] albert; guibert, lib. iii. [ ] guibert. [ ] albert. [ ] guibert, lib. iii.; where see the manner in which baldwin contrived to subjugate the inhabitants. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] guibert. [ ] albert. [ ] mills declares, that the christians were rescued from this ambuscade by the arrival of tancred. i find the account of albert of aix totally opposed to such a statement; while the passage in raoul of caen relating to this event is so full of errors in other respects, that no reliance could be placed upon it, even if it justified the assertion of mills, which, however, it does not do. he states, that tancred arrived long before the ambuscade, and that he found baldwin at artesia. by this he might mean baldwin de bourg, who, after the other baldwin became king of jerusalem, was also created count of edessa; but this interpretation cannot be admitted here, as he mentions the former disputes between the soldiers of tancred and of the baldwin to whom he refers, and who could therefore be none other than the brother of godfrey, who was, we know, in edessa at the time. we may therefore conclude, that as a principal part of this account is notoriously false, raoul of caen cannot be considered as any authority, so far as this event is concerned. finding the statement of tancred's assistance here not confirmed by any other good authority, i have abided by the account of albert. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] raimond d'agiles. [ ] will. tyr., raimond. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] raimond; guibert of nogent. [ ] raimond; albert says six hundred thousand; guibert of nogent. [ ] raimond. [ ] raimond d'agiles; albert d'aix; guibert de nogent, lib. iv.; robert. [ ] raimond d'agiles; albert of aix; guibert de nogent. [ ] malmsbury. [ ] albert; raimond d'agiles. [ ] guibert de nogent; robertus monachus, lib. iv. [ ] guibert; albert; robert. mon. [ ] raimond d'agiles. [ ] ibid; guibert; robertus monachus. [ ] guibert says he was a boasting coward; but this is contradicted by others. [ ] guibert de nogent; robert. [ ] guibert; robertus monachus, lib. iv. [ ] robert. monac. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] raimond d'agiles; vertot; guibert; william of tyre. [ ] this is one of the points on which the authorities of the day are in direct opposition to each other. mills has chosen the opinion of robertus monachus, who states that the message of the calif was haughty and insolent. i have followed another version of the story, because i find it supported by a greater weight of evidence, and because i do not think the calif would have taken the trouble of sending all the way from egypt to insult a party of men whose persevering conduct showed that they were not likely to be turned back by words. guibert says, that the calif promised even to embrace the christian faith, in case the crusaders overcame the turks, and restored to him his syrian dominions. albert of aix also vouches the same proposal, which, however improbable might have been made for the purpose of deceiving the crusaders. [ ] robertson's historical disquisition on india. [ ] robert, lib. iv. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] albert; robert. mon. [ ] albert of aix, lib. iii. [ ] robertus, lib. iv. [ ] robert.; albert of aix, lib. iii. [ ] guibert; albert of aix, lib. iii. [ ] robertus; albert. [ ] five thousand perished on the bridge and in the water, according to robert the monk. [ ] robertus monachus. [ ] guibert mentions previously that the number of horses was reduced to a thousand; lib. iv. [ ] robertus; guibert. [ ] raimond d'agiles. [ ] guibert, lib. v.; fulcher, cap. . [ ] will. tyr.; albert; fulcher, cap. . [ ] raimond d'agiles. [ ] william of tyre says he was a noble armenian, chief of the tribe of _benizerra_, or the sons of the armour-forgers, and calls him emir feir. abouharagi, however, says he was a persian, and calls him ruzebach. [ ] guibert; will. tyr.; albert. [ ] guibert. [ ] william of tyre, lib. v.; robert, lib. v.; guibert, lib. v. [ ] this transaction is reported variously. albert of aix says, that the proposal of boemond was at once received with joy. raoul of caen gives a different account, and states that the bishop of puy, on the suggestion of boemond, suggested that the town should be given to him who could first obtain it. guibert and robert relate it as i have done above. the archbishop of tyre declares that no one opposed the proposal of boemond but the count of toulouse. [ ] will. tyr.; albert of aix; guibert, lib. v. [ ] albert of aix; robertus, lib. v. [ ] robertus, lib. v., d june, a. d. . [ ] guibert, lib. v.; raimond d'agiles; albert. [ ] there is some reason to believe that boemond was the first who entered, as stated by william of tyre; but as albert of aix makes no mention of the fact, and as guibert de nogent declares positively that boemond, who is certainly his favourite hero, did not mount till sixty others had preceded him, as raimond d'agiles gives the honour of the feat to fulcher de chartres, and as robert the monk confirms that assertion, i have left the matter in doubt, as i found it. in regard to the story of phirouz murdering his brother in his sleep, because he would not aid in his design, i believe fully that it was but one of those ornamental falsehoods with which men are ever fond of decorating great and extraordinary events. i doubt not that the tale was current in the time of william of tyre, who reports it; and the act was, beyond question, looked upon as a noble and devoted one on the part of phirouz; but as i find nothing to confirm it in any book i possess, except the simple fact of that armenian having been a traitorous rascal, please god, till further evidence i will look upon it all as a lie. robert the monk represents, in very glowing terms, the grief of phirouz for the death of his two brothers, who were killed in the _melée_. phirouz became a christian, at least in name; and to cover the baseness of his perfidy, he declared that the saviour himself had appeared to him in a vision, commanding him to deliver up the town. [ ] albert of aix; guibert, lib. v.; raimond d'agiles. [ ] albert of aix, lib. iv. [ ] guibert; albert; raimond d'agiles. [ ] raimond; robertus monachus, lib. vi.; albert. [ ] guibert, lib. v. [ ] albert of aix, lib. iv. [ ] see mills's history of the crusades. [ ] robertus monachus, lib. vi.; guibert; fulcher; albert. [ ] guibert, lib. v.; robertus; albert. [ ] guibert; albert of aix. [ ] william of tyre; albert of aix. [ ] robertus, lib. vi.; albert of aix, lib. iv.; william of tyre. [ ] robertus monachus, lib. vi.; guibert, lib. v. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] robertus, vi.; albert of aix. [ ] guibert. [ ] guibert; fulcher; albert, lib. iv. [ ] guibert, lib. v. [ ] albert of aix, lib. iv. [ ] albert. [ ] guibert; fulcher; albert. [ ] raimond d'agiles; fulcher; william of tyre; albert; guibert. [ ] fulcher; raimond. [ ] radulph. cadom. [ ] raimond d'agiles. [ ] fulcher; raimond; albert; guibert of nogent. [ ] albert of aix; raimond d'agiles; will. tyr. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] albert of aix; guibert, lib. iii. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] guibert; albert; raimond. [ ] raimond d'agiles; fulcher. [ ] raimond; raoul de caen. [ ] raimond. [ ] raimond d'agiles. [ ] histor. hieros; jacob. vit. [ ] raimond d'agiles; fulcher. [ ] guibert. [ ] will. tyr. lib. vi. [ ] raoul of caen. [ ] albert. [ ] albert. [ ] raimond d'agiles. [ ] will. malmsbury; guibert de nogent; raimond d'agiles. [ ] albert; raoul of caen; guibert. [ ] fulcher; albert. [ ] guibert; albert. [ ] mills. [ ] guibert; fulcher. [ ] raimond d'agiles; william of tyre. [ ] see note ix. [ ] albert of aix; will. tyr.; raimond d'agiles. [ ] guibert. [ ] guibert; albert; will. tyr. [ ] guibert; albert. [ ] guibert. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] guibert; raimond d'agiles; albert. [ ] raimond d'agiles. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] albert; guibert. [ ] fulcher; albert of aix; guibert; raoul of caen. [ ] raimond d'agiles; guibert de nogent. [ ] raimond d'agiles. [ ] raoul of caen; raimond. [ ] guibert. [ ] guibert, lib. vi.; albert of aix, lib. v.; william of tyre. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] fulcher; guibert. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] raimond d'agiles; albert of aix. [ ] raimond d'agiles. [ ] fulcher; raoul of caen. [ ] guibert; raimond. [ ] albert of aix; guibert; robert. mon. lib. viii. [ ] mills follows raimond d'agiles. i have chosen the account of albert of aix, because i find it better supported by evidence. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] raimond d'agiles. [ ] fulcher. raimond d'agiles. [ ] william of tyre, lib. vii. [ ] robert. mon. [ ] albert. [ ] william of tyre; albert of aix. [ ] albert. [ ] robert; guibert. [ ] ibid. [ ] albert. [ ] raoul of caen; albert; fulcher. [ ] albert of aix, lib. v. [ ] guibert. [ ] guibert, lib. vii.; robert. [ ] holy war. [ ] raimond. [ ] robert; albert; guibert, lib. vii. [ ] fulcher mentions several ladders, but says they were too few. [ ] albert of aix; guibert. [ ] raimond; albert. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] guibert; albert. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] raimond d'agiles; guibert. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] raimond d'agiles; albert of aix. [ ] albert describes perfectly the effect of the greek fire, and says it could only be extinguished by the means of vinegar, which, on the second day, the crusaders provided in great quantity. [ ] raimond. [ ] guibert; albert of aix. [ ] raimond d'agiles; william of tyre. [ ] robert; guibert. lib. vii.; albert. [ ] th july. a. d. . [ ] guibert; raimond. [ ] albert; robert. [ ] ibid; guibert. [ ] guibert; raimond d'agiles; robert. [ ] tancred and gaston of bearn had promised quarter to these unhappy wretches, and had given them a banner as a certain protection. it was early the next morning, before those chiefs were awake, that this massacre was committed by some of the more bloodthirsty of the crusaders. tancred was with great difficulty prevented from taking signal vengeance on the perpetrators of this crime.--guibert; albert. [ ] the story of the second massacre rests upon the authority of albert of aix, from whose writings it has been copied by all who have repeated it. albert of aix never visited the holy land. none of those who were present at the fall of jerusalem (that i can discover) make the slightest mention of such an occurrence; and we have the strongest proof that part of albert's story is false; for he declares that all the saracens were slaughtered in this second massacre, even those who had previously been promised protection; and we know that many were sent to ascalon.--see _guibert_, lib. vii. robert, who was present speaks of many who were spared.--_robertus_, lib. ix. fulcher, who was in the country, if not present, does not allude to a second massacre. raimond d'agiles, who was a witness to the whole, passes it over in silence; though each of these persons always speaks of the slaughter of the saracens as the most praiseworthy of actions. the archbishop of tyre also, who copied albert wherever he could be proved correct, has stamped doubt upon this anecdote by omitting it entirely. i have thought fit to notice this particularly, because mills lays no small stress upon the tale. [ ] guibert; albert; william of tyre. [ ] see raimond d'agiles; guibert; albert; brompton; william of malmsbury. [ ] fulcher, cap. ; robert. mon. lib. ix. [ ] godfrey appears never to have taken the title of king, from a feeling of religious humility. [ ] robert. [ ] albert; will. tyr. [ ] albert. [ ] he was taken, after having suffered a complete defeat from the emir damisman, as he was hastening to the succour of gabriel of armenia. [ ] will. tyren.; radulph.; cadom. [ ] arnould, one of the most corrupt priests in the army, had been elected patriarch, but was deposed almost immediately; and daimbert, who arrived from rome as legate, was chosen in his stead. this daimbert it is of whom i speak above. he seems to have conceived, from the first, the idea of making jerusalem an eastern rome, and wrung many concessions from godfrey, which were little respected by that chief's successors. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] hist. hieros.; jacob. lib. i.; william of tyre; fulcher; albert. [ ] will. of tyre; fulcher of chartres. [ ] fulcher. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] hist. hieros.; jacob. vit.; will. of tyre. [ ] fulcher; albert. [ ] raoul of caen; will. tyr.; fulcher. [ ] guibert; lib. vii. [ ] will. of tyr.; guibert. [ ] guibert says that boemond died from the effects of poison. other authors declare that grief for having been obliged to enter into a less advantageous treaty with alexius than he had anticipated occasioned his death; but, from his whole history, i should not look upon boemond as a man likely to die of grief. [ ] he was the grandson of that raimond, count of toulouse, of whose conduct i have so often had occasion to speak already, and whose perseverance against tripoli will be mentioned hereafter. [ ] will. tyr. [ ] fulcher; albert of aix; william of tyre. [ ] albert of aix; william of tyre. [ ] fulcher. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] fulcher; albert. [ ] albert. [ ] albert of aix. [ ] fulcher. [ ] albert. [ ] fulcher, cap. , a. d. . [ ] fulcher, cap. . [ ] albert, lib. ix.; fulcher. [ ] albert; fulcher. [ ] james of vitry; hist. hieros. ab. [ ] hist. hieros. abrev. [ ] mills says that the last historical mention of peter is that which relates to his recognition by the christians of jerusalem; but such is not the case. we find him mentioned as a very influential person on the occasion of the battle of ascalon.--see _raimond d'agiles_; _guibert_, lib. vii. [ ] guibert, lib. vii. [ ] albert of aix, lib. x.; william of tyre. [ ] fulcher; william of tyre. [ ] guibert, lib. vii. [ ] guibert. lib. vii. [ ] ibid. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] albert of aix and fulcher give a different account of baldwin's escape. [ ] will. tyr. lib. x. [ ] albert; raimond d'agiles; fulcher; william of tyre; guibert. [ ] albert of aix; raimond d'agiles; guibert. [ ] mills is wrong in supposing that plate armour was not at all known before the beginning of the thirteenth century. as far back as the time of louis the debonair, the monk of st. gall gives a full description of a man in plate armour, and also mentions the barb, or iron covering of the horse. [ ] see, for these particulars, the monk of st. gall; albert of aix; raimond d'agiles; fulcher; guibert; william of brittany; menestrier st. palaye; ducange. [ ] albert of aix, lib. viii. [ ] fulcher; guibert. [ ] albert of aix; fulcher; robertus monachus. [ ] fulcher; william of tyre; albert. [ ] ducange. [ ] assizes par thaumassiere. [ ] william of tyre, lib. xviii. [ ] vertot. [ ] hist. hierosol., jacob. vitri. [ ] vertot preuves. [ ] vertot. [ ] jacob vitriaci in hist. hierosol. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] jac. vitriaci; hist. hierosol. [ ] will. tyrensis, lib. xxii.; jacob. vit. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] william of tyre marks precisely, that the particular rules to which they were subjected, and the dress to which they were restricted, were regularly fixed by the church at the council of troyes, in the course of the ninth year after their first institution. now the council of troyes took place in , and baldwin du bourg ascended the throne of jerusalem on the d or april, , ten years previously. their first institution, therefore, could not be in the reign of baldwin i., as mills has stated it, without a gross error on the part of the archbishop of tyre, who wrote in the year , and therefore was not likely to be mistaken on a subject so near his own days. [ ] hist. hierosol.; jacob. vitriaci. [ ] the templars founded many charitable institutions, but attendance on the sick was not a part of their profession. [ ] for a more particular and correct account of the armour of the crusades, i must refer to the invaluable work of dr. meyrick, which i regret much not to have had by me while writing this book. my sources of information have been alone the historians of the day, in consulting whom the ambiguity of language is very often likely to induce error in matters which, like armour, are difficult to describe. [ ] mills says, "the news of the loss of the eastern frontier of the latin kingdom reached france at a time peculiarly favourable for foreign war." it will be seen that i have taken up a position as exactly the reverse of that assumed by that excellent author as can well be conceived; but i have not done so without much investigation, and the more i consider the subject, the more i am convinced that the moment when the feudal power was checked by the king and assailed by the communes, was not the most propitious to call the nobility to foreign lands--that the moment in which the burghers were labouring up hill for independence, was not a time for them to abandon the scene of their hopes and endeavours--and that the moment when a kingdom was torn by conflicting powers, when the royal authority was unconfirmed, and the nobility only irritated at its exertion, was not the period that a monarch should have chosen to quit his dominions. [ ] a curious essay might be written on the classes or castes in europe at that period. it is quite a mistaken notion which some persons have entertained, that the only distinctions under the monarch, were noble and serf. we find an immense class, or rather various classes, all of which consisted of freemen, interposed between the lord and his slave. thus galbertus syndick, of bruges, in recounting the death of charles the good, count of flanders, a. d. , mentions not only the burghers of the town, but various other persons who were not of the noble race, but were then evidently free, as well as the brabançois or cotereaux, a sort of freebooting soldier of that day. guibert of nogent, also, in his own life, and frodoardus, in the history of rheims, refer to many of whose exact station it is difficult to form an idea. [ ] rouillard, histoire de melun: vie de bouchard. [ ] i know that i use this word not quite correctly, but i can find none other to express more properly what i mean. [ ] suger in vit. ludovic vi. [ ] galbert in vit. carol. [ ] suger in vit. ludovic vi. [ ] chron. vezeliac. [ ] guibert nog. in vit. s. [ ] chron. vezeliac. [ ] gesta regis ludovici vii. [ ] the only two i know who accompanied this crusade, and wrote any detailed account of it, are odon de deuil, or odo de diagolo, and frisingen, or freysinghen. it is an extraordinary fact, that the cardinal de vitry makes no mention of the second crusade. [ ] william of st. thierry, mabillon. [ ] geoffroi de clairvaux, continuation of the life of st. bernard. [ ] odo of deuil. [ ] mabillon. [ ] guizot. [ ] a. d. [ ] odon de deuil. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] odon de deuil. [ ] see note x. [ ] it appears from the passage of odo of deuil which mentions the curious servility, as he designates it, of the greeks never sitting down in the presence of a superior till desired to do so, that the french of that day were not quite so ceremonious as in that of louis xiv. [ ] odo of deuil. [ ] nicetas. [ ] cinnamus, cited by mills. [ ] odon de deuil. [ ] ibid. [ ] manuel comnenus had married bertha, and conrad, gertrude, both daughters of berenger the elder, count of sultzbach. [ ] odon de deuil. [ ] william of tyre; odon de deuil. [ ] the pope, in his exhortation to the second crusade, had not only regulated the general conduct of the crusaders, and formally absolved all those who should embrace the cross, but he had given minute particulars for their dress and arms, expressly forbidding all that might encumber them in their journey, such as heavy baggage, and vain superfluities, and all that might lead them from the direct road, such as falcons and hunting-dogs. "happy had it been for them," says odo of deuil, "if, instead of a scrip, he had commanded the foot pilgrims to bear a cross bow, and instead of a staff, a sword." [ ] odo of deuil; will. tyr. [ ] will. tyr; odon de deuil; gest. ludovic vii; nicetas. [ ] odon de deuil. [ ] will. tyr.; odon de deuil. [ ] odon de deuil; freysinghen; william of tyre. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] odon de deuil. [ ] odo of deuil always calls otho, bishop of freysinghen, brother of the emperor conrad. he was, however, only a half-brother; his relationship being by the mother's side. [ ] will. tyrens lib. xvi.; odon de deuil. [ ] odon de deuil; will. tyr. [ ] odon de deuil. [ ] odon de deuil. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] odon de deuil. [ ] ibid. [ ] william of tyre; vertot. [ ] gest. ludovic. regis; william of tyre; vertot. [ ] vertot, a learned man and a diligent investigator, speaks of eleonor in the following curious terms: "on pretend que cette princesse, peu scrupuleuse sur ses devoirs, et devenue éprise d'un jeune turc baptisé, appellé saladin, ne pouvait résoudre à s'en séparer, &c." these reports of course gave rise to many curious suppositions, especially when richard coeur de leon, eleonor's son by her second marriage, went to war in the holy land. on his return to france, louis vii. instantly sought a plausible pretext for delivering himself from his unfaithful wife without causing the scandal of a public exposure of her conduct. a pretence of consanguinity within the forbidden degrees was soon established, and the marriage was annulled. after this eleonor, who, in addition to beauty and wit, possessed in her own right the whole of aquitain, speedily gave her hand to henry ii. of england, and in the end figured in the tragedy of rosamond of woodstock. [ ] william of tyre; vertot. [ ] gest. regis ludov. vii. [ ] vertot. [ ] william of tyre; col. script. arab.; vertot. [ ] william of tyre; freysinghen, reb. gest. fred.; gest. reg. lud. vii. [ ] guil. monach. in vit. suger. ab. sanct. dion.; gest. reg. lud. vii. [ ] guil. monach. in vit. sug. [ ] all the writers of that day attempt to excuse st. bernard for having preached a crusade which had so unfortunate a conclusion. the principles upon which they do so are somewhat curious. the bishop of freysinghen declares, that it was the vice of the crusaders which called upon their heads the wrath of heaven: and, to reconcile this fact with the spirit of prophecy which elsewhere he attributes to the abbot of clairvaux, declares that prophets are not always able to prophesy.--_freysing. de rebus gestis fred. imperat._ geoffroy of clairvaux, who was a contemporary, and wrote part of the life of st. bernard, would fain prove that the crusade could not be called unfortunate, since, though it did not at all help the holy land it served to people heaven with martyrs. [ ] existing orders of knighthood. [ ] fulcher; raoul glaber. [ ] robert; fulcher; raimond d'agiles. [ ] raynouard, poesies des troubadours; millot, hist. des troubadours; le grand d'aussi fabliaux. [ ] raynouard. [ ] oeuvres de maroc. [ ] fauchet. [ ] le grand d'aussi. [ ] bernard, the treasurer; james of vitry; william of tyre. [ ] william of tyre; bernard. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] cardinal of vitry; william of tyre. [ ] cardinal of vitry; will. of tyre. [ ] bernard; william of tyre. [ ] william of tyre; james of vitry; guillelm de nangis; chron. ann. . [ ] william of tyre. [ ] jacob. vitr. [ ] bernard the treasurer says, that the monarch wished to annul the marriage between his sister and guy. "si grans haine estoit entre le roy et le cuens de jaffe que chascun jor cressoit plus et plus et jusque a tant estoit la chose venue que le roy queroit achaison par quoy il peut desevrer tot apertement le mariage qui iert entre lui et sa seror." [ ] william of tyre; bernard the treasurer: james of vitrv. [ ] bernard the treasurer; james of vitry. [ ] bernard the treasurer. [ ] rog. of hovedon. [ ] william of tyre; william de nangis. [ ] bernard; william of nangis. [ ] will. neub. [ ] bernard. [ ] william of nangis. [ ] bernard the treasurer; william of nangis. [ ] vertot. [ ] rog. of hovedon; william of nangis. [ ] william of nangis; bernard the treasurer. [ ] some writers state that saladin proposed to chatillon to abjure christianity, which he boldly refused: but others do not mention the circumstance, and the act of saladin seems to me to have been more one of hasty passion than of deliberation. [ ] bernard. [ ] bernard the treasurer; continuation of william of tyre. [ ] william of nangis. [ ] bernard. [ ] james of vitry; bernard; william of tyre. [ ] bernard; albert. [ ] william of tyre. [ ] albert of aix; fulcher; robert. [ ] there is a letter in hovedon from a templar to henry ii., giving an account of the state of jerusalem and the holy land, dated . [ ] bernard the treasurer; william of nangis, a. d. ; b. peterborough. [ ] william de nangis; jacob. vit. lib. i. [ ] bernard the treasurer. [ ] a. d. , . [ ] i have followed james of vitry. some say that frederic's death proceeded from bathing in the cydnus, and some in the calycadnus. the matter is of little moment; but, as he was descending towards antioch at the time, it is not improbable that the cardinal de vitry was right. emadeddin, in the collection of arabic historians by reinaud, calls this river the selef. [ ] jacob. vit.; hist. hieros. ab.; bernardus; lection. canisius antiquæ. [ ] james of vitry. [ ] pet. de dusburg.; chron. ord. teuton. [ ] existing orders of knighthood; james of vitry. [ ] vit. ludovic vii.; roger de hovedon. [ ] rigord de gest. phil aug.; hovedon; robert, de monte. [ ] geoffroi rudel in raynouard; millot; ducange. [ ] william of nangis, a. d. ; rigord. [ ] rigord in vit. philip august.; guil. de nangis, a. d. . [ ] see rigord, who gives minutely the statutes on this occasion. [ ] branche des royaux lignages, ann. - , guil. de nangis rigord. william the breton. [ ] bernard the treasurer; james of vitry. [ ] continuation of william of tyre, anon. [ ] r. de diceto; roger de hovedon; matthew paris. ann. . [ ] henry died before the altar of the church of chinon. [ ] hovedon. [ ] brompton; hovedon. [ ] diceto. [ ] rymer, col. diplom. [ ] brequegny, coll. ann. ; rigord in vit. phil. aug. [ ] benedict of peterborough. [ ] rigord says nothing of any illness which philip suffered at messina. [ ] hovedon; brompton. [ ] benedict of peterborough. [ ] rigord; benedict of peterborough. [ ] rigord. [ ] vinesauf. [ ] ben. abb. peter.; r. hovedon. [ ] rigord. [ ] rigordus states positively that berengaria had arrived before the treaty was signed between philip and richard. mills says, that richard remained in sicily after philip's departure, to wait for berengaria; but rigord lived at the time, and was one of the most diligent inquirers who have left us records of that age. the _branche des royaux lignages_ makes richard say to the king of france, "sire vostre suer espousai de laquele atan le don hui; mes onc nul jour ne la connui et j'ai puis prise bérangarre qui fille est au roy de navarre."-- . william the breton, also, who was afterward chaplain to philip augustus, represents richard as saying, "et jam juncta thoro est mihi berengaria, regis filia navarræ." [ ] rigord in vit. phil. aug.; hovedon; rymer. [ ] bernardus. [ ] various knights are mentioned by bernard the treasurer, as having signalized themselves greatly, both prior to the siege and after its commencement. one in particular, whom he calls the green knight, even raised the admiration of the saracens to such a height that saladin sent for him, and made him the most brilliant offers, in hopes of bringing him to join the moslems. it is more than probable that this green knight was the famous jacques d'avesnes, and was so called from the colour of the cross which he wore. [ ] auteurs arabes, rec. de reinaud; branche des loyaux rignages; rigord in vit. phil. august. [ ] boha eddin, rec. de reinaud. [ ] brompton, a. d. ; ben. abb. peterborough, . [ ] hovedon; ben. abb. peterborough. [ ] hovedon; brompton; will. newb. [ ] boha eddin; walter vinesauf; hovedon; benedict of peterborough [ ] peterborough; vinesauf; james, cardinal of vitry, lib. i. [ ] mills speaks of the conduct of richard in the following terms: "the sanguinary and ungenerous richard killed or cast overboard his defenceless enemies; or, with an avarice equally detestable, saved the commanders for the sake of their ransom." that author, however, says not one word of the saracens' fighting under false colours, or of the horrible cargo which they carried in their ship, though he afterward himself alludes to the sufferings of the crusaders from the bites of reptiles. is this historical justice? [ ] bernard the treasurer. [ ] boha eddin, rec. hist. arabes de reinaud. [ ] his name, literally translated, means _the just king, the sword of the faith_. from saif eddin the christians composed the word saphaddin, by which he is generally designated in the chronicles of the time. [ ] vinesauf; hovedon. [ ] chron. st. denis. [ ] james of vitry; hovedon; vinesauf; ben. of pet.; bernard the treasurer. [ ] rigord; william of nangis; james of vitry; bernardus; vinesauf; hovedon. all these authors give different accounts of the numbers sacrificed. [ ] bernard the treasurer affirms that philip caused the prisoners to be executed; but most of the other historians agree, that this piece of cruelty was committed by richard alone. [ ] rigord. [ ] bernard the treasurer says, that the english king lodged in the house of the templars, and that philip augustus occupied the citadel; "le roi de france ot le chastel d'acre, et le fist garnir et le roi d'angleterre se herberja en la maison du temple." most authorities, however, are opposed to this statement, declaring that richard lodged in the palace, and philip with the templars. [ ] bernard the treasurer; rigord; william the breton; branche des royaux lignages. [ ] rigord; robert of gloucester. [ ] james of vitry; boha eddin; emad eddin; recueil de reinaud. [ ] benedict of peterborough. [ ] bernard the treasurer; james of vitry, &c. [ ] hovedon; james of vitry; vinesauf. [ ] vinesauf; boha eddin. [ ] hovedon; vinesauf. [ ] james of vitry; trivet annales. [ ] bernard the treasurer. [ ] james of vitry. [ ] this gentleman was taken prisoner, but was of course ransomed immediately by richard. [ ] hovedon; boha eddin. [ ] vinesauf; james of vitry. [ ] hovedon; william of nangis, ann. ; vinesauf. [ ] for many years a horde of plunderers had been established in the mountains of phoenicia, in the neighbourhood of tortosa and tripoli, who, in the end, obtained the name of assassins, from the small dagger which was their only weapon, and which was called _hassassin_. their religion was a corrupted species of islamism, and their government a fanatical despotism. their chief was called sometimes the ancient, sometimes the lord of the mountains, and among the christians he obtained the name of the old man of the mountains. by working on the exciteable imaginations of an illiterate and fanatical race, the lords of this extraordinary tribe had obtained over them an influence unknown to any other power which was ever brought to sway the mind of man. the will of the old man of the mountains was absolute law to each of his subjects. whatever were his commands, whether to slay themselves or another, they asked no questions--paused not to consider of justice or injustice--but obeyed; and when sent to execute the will of their lord upon anyone, they followed their object with a keen sagacity and unalterable perseverance, that placed the life of each individual in the hands of their remorseless monarch. nothing could turn them aside from the pursuit; no difficulties were too great for them to surmount; and when they had struck the victim, if they escaped, it was well; but if they were taken, they met torture and death with stoical firmness, feeling certain of the joys of paradise as a compensation for their sufferings. the number of this tribe was about sixty thousand, all conscientious murderers, whom no danger would daunt, and no human consideration could deter. such were the men who slew conrad of montferrat; and yet the french with the wild inconsistency of their national hatred, attributed the deed to richard, who never found aught on earth that could induce him to cover his wrath when it was excited, or to stay him from the open pursuit of revenge, which was always as bold and unconcealed as it was fierce and evanescent. from this tribe we have derived the word _assassin_.--see james of vitry; matthew of paris; william of tyre; ducange ou joinville. [ ] bernard the treasurer; james of vitry; william of nangis. [ ] bernard; vinesauf; matthew paris. [ ] little doubt can exist that one great cause of the abandonment of the crusade were the differences between richard and the duke of burgundy. the frenchman was jealous of the fame which the english king would have acquired by taking jerusalem, and consequently took care that he should not effect that object. such is the account given by bernard the treasurer--a frenchman, who always showed a manifest tendency to exculpate his countrymen, whenever there existed a fair excuse. see the chronicle in old french, published in the collection of martenne and durand. it was generally attributed to hugh plagon, but has since been proved to be the original of bernard the treasurer. [ ] vinesauf. [ ] hovedon; vinesauf. [ ] the french refused to march to the assistance of jaffa. [ ] bernard the treasurer. [ ] bernard the treasurer. [ ] the queen berengaria and joan of sicily left acre on the th of september, previous to the departure of richard, who set out on the th of october, . after encountering a violent storm, which scattered his fleet and wrecked the greater number of his vessels, richard, with his single ship, touched at zara, where he landed, accompanied only by two priests and a few knights of the temple, whose garb he had assumed. from zara, richard endeavoured to make his way through germany in disguise, but in vain. the news of his journey had already spread; the unforgiving archduke of austria, whose banner he had trampled on at acre, caused every road to be narrowly watched. one after another of his companions were sent away by the king, till at length, with a single squire, he arrived at a small town near vienna; where, taking up his abode at a petty lodging, richard despatched his follower for provisions. the squire was recognised by some of the spies of the archduke, and richard was taken and cast into prison. the royal captive was speedily given into the hands of the emperor of austria, who concerted with philip augustus the means of detaining him in secrecy. his confinement, nevertheless, was soon known in england, and means were used to discover his precise situation. general tradition gives the merit of having ascertained his lord's prison to his favourite troubadour blondel, or blondiau; and we may be surely allowed to regret that no grave historian has confirmed the tale. however that may be, the place of the king's confinement was discovered, and england began to cry loudly for justice from all christendom. knightly honour and religious feeling were invoked, and the infamy of detaining a traveller, a pilgrim, and a crusader was proclaimed with the loud and powerful voice of a people's indignation. henry at length felt himself obligated to yield some appearance of justice for detaining an independent monarch; and richard was brought before the diet at worms, where he was charged with imaginary crimes, the chief of which was the assassination of conrad, marquis of montferrat. had the least shadow of reason been left on the side of the emperor, richard's fate would have been sealed; but the english monarch defended himself with so much eloquence and justice, that no doubt remained on the minds of those who heard him, and his ransom was agreed upon at one hundred thousand marks of silver. this money was obtained with difficulty, and john and philip strove to raise greater sums to tempt the cupidity of the emperor to retain the lion-hearted monarch. the avaricious henry hesitated on their proposals, and thus was the liberty of the noble king of england set up to auction, till the germanic body indignantly interfered, the ransom was paid, and richard returned to england. [ ] william of nangis. [ ] rigord; william the breton. [ ] will. of nangis, ann. . [ ] james of vitry. [ ] bernard the treasurer. [ ] bernard; will. of nangis, ann. . [ ] james of vitry. [ ] hovedon. [ ] fuller's holy war; bernard the treasurer. [ ] james of vitry; bernard; will. of nangis; a. d. . [ ] vertot; bernard. [ ] james of vitry. [ ] bernard; a. d. . [ ] sanut. cap. . [ ] hovedon. [ ] the power of the orders of the temple and the hospital had, by this time, become immense. riches flowed in upon riches, and donation was added to donation. in the year , matthew paris declares the templars possessed in europe nine thousand manors, and the hospitallers nineteen thousand. [ ] a. d. . [ ] james, cardinal de vitry. [ ] a. d. . [ ] rigord. [ ] ducange; villehardouin chronique. [ ] villehardouin. [ ] ducange, hist. de constantinople sous les français. [ ] vit. innocent iii. [ ] villehardouin. [ ] ducange. [ ] villehardouin. [ ] baronius; gesta innocent iii. [ ] villehardouin. [ ] villehardouin; ducange, hist. de constantinople sous les français. [ ] ducange, notes on villehardouin. [ ] philip mouskes. [ ] villehardouin. [ ] it consisted of three hundred vessels of a large size, besides palanders and storeships. [ ] november, . [ ] gunther; villehardouin. [ ] ducange; villehardouin. [ ] alberic; a. d. . [ ] villehardouin. [ ] ducange. [ ] villehardouin. [ ] ducange. [ ] gunther in canisius. [ ] mills says, that innocent issued decrees and bulls against the expedition to constantinople, and founds his reasoning on a passage of baluzius: but it is extremely probable that the anger of the pope was a mere menace of the party opposed to the enterprise rather than an existing fact. baluzius was not present any more than ducange; and surely, for every thing where research is concerned, ducange is the better authority of the two: yet ducange makes no mention of the opposition of the pope, and absolutely states that the legate counselled the attack on constantinople. see _ducange_, _hist. de constantinople sous les francais_. geoffroy de villehardouin, who was not only present, but one of the chief actors in what he relates, speaks fully of the pope's wrath at the attack of zara, but mentions no opposition to the enterprise against constantinople, though that enterprise was in agitation at the time the deputies were sent to rome. philippe mouskes, bishop of tournay, a contemporary, states that the first application of the young prince alexius to the crusaders was made by the advice of the pope. [ ] villehardouin. [ ] june, . [ ] nicetas, lib. iii. cap. . [ ] villehardouin. [ ] ibid. [ ] dandolo, chron.; villehardouin. [ ] epist. innocent iii. [ ] villehardouin. [ ] ducange; villehardouin; nicetas. [ ] villehardouin. [ ] nicetas. [ ] ducange; villehardouin. [ ] ibid. [ ] gest. innoc. iii. [ ] ducange. [ ] nicetas. [ ] villehardouin. [ ] nicetas. [ ] nicetas; villehardouin; gest. innoc. iii. [ ] villehardouin intimates that murzuphlis put alexius to death immediately after having seized the crown; and the chronicle in the rouchy dialect, no. , bibliothéque de l'arsenal, says, "et ne demeura gaires après que morcuffle estrangla le josne empereur alexes en la prison." [ ] nicetas. [ ] ducange; villehardouin. [ ] villehardouin; ducange. [ ] gunther; ducange. [ ] villehardouin. [ ] ducange. [ ] d april, . [ ] nicetas. [ ] gest. inn. iii. [ ] gunther; villehardouin. [ ] villehardouin; ducange. [ ] nicetas; gunther. [ ] nicetas. [ ] see note xi. [ ] nicetas. [ ] villehardouin; ducange. [ ] villehardouin. [ ] nicetas; ducange; villehardouin; alberic. [ ] ducange. [ ] the cardinal legate invested baldwin with the purple with his own hands, and innocent confirmed, in all points but those of ecclesiastical government, the treaty by which the venetians and the franks had bound themselves. he also took the greatest interest in the new state, and wrote to all the prelates of france and germany to support it by their preaching and influence. this may be added to other proofs, that innocent never seriously opposed the expedition against the schismatic empire of the greeks. the truth in all probability is, that he made a show of turning the crusaders from their purpose, both to preserve consistency and to afford room for any after-exertion of his authority that he might judge necessary: but that, at the same time, the cardinal legate very well understood that he was to promote the enterprise, and to be slightly blamed for it afterward, in order to screen his superior from the charge of that ambitious craving for which, however, he was notorious. it would be difficult to believe that innocent, who triumphed over philip augustus, the greatest monarch of the day, and forced him to abandon his dearest wishes, would confine himself to idle threats, if he entertained any serious disinclination to the attack of constantinople. [ ] reinaud rec. des hist. arabes. [ ] vertot. [ ] ducange. [ ] alberic. mon. trium fontium. [ ] jacob. de voragine; albert stadensis. [ ] albericus. [ ] jacob. de voragine; albert. stadensis. [ ] gest. innocent iii: labbe concil. matthew paris, a. d. . [ ] chron. godefrid mon.; bonfinius. [ ] bernard the treasurer. [ ] jacob. vitriae; bernardus. [ ] bernardus. [ ] mere restlessness is stated by mills to have been the cause of andrew's abandonment of the enterprise, but this was any thing but the case. andrew, it is true, was of a weak and unstable character; but there were far too many dissensions in hungary, and tragic horrors in his own family, to permit of his remaining in palestine without total ruin to himself and his dominions.--see _bonfinius_. [ ] godefrid. moc.; james of vitry. [ ] bernardus; james of vitry. [ ] matthew paris. [ ] the whole of the siege of damietta, and the events that followed, i have taken from james of vitry and the old french of bernard the treasurer, with the recueil des hist. arabes. [ ] james of vitry, bernard the treasurer. [ ] this pestilence seems to have been somewhat like the sea scurvy. it was not at all confined to the city, though it raged more furiously within the walls. nevertheless, many of the soldiers of the cross were attacked by it. james of vitry, describing its effects, says, "a sudden pain took possession of the feet and legs: soon after, the gums and the teeth became affected with a sort of gangrene, and the sick persons were not able to eat: then, the bones of the legs became horribly black; and thus, after having suffered long torments, during which they showed much patience a great number of christians went to repose in the bosom of the lord." [ ] james of vitry; bernardus. [ ] recueil des hist. arabes; matthew paris; bernard the treasurer. [ ] bernard. [ ] matthew paris. [ ] matthew paris, ad. ann. . [ ] bernardus. [ ] rainaldus; sanut.; william of nangis, . [ ] bernard the treasurer; cont. of william of tyre. [ ] for some curious particulars concerning the disputes between the emperor and the templars, see the old french of bernard the treasurer. [ ] bernard. [ ] this story is doubtful. matthew paris says, that the templars and hospitallers gave information to the sultaun that frederic would, on a certain day, make a pilgrimage to bathe in the river jordan. it was not at all likely, however, that two orders which were always at enmity should unite for such a purpose. [ ] matthew paris, ann. . [ ] there were many motives which induced frederic to return to europe besides disgust at the ungrateful conduct of the syrian christians. the pope, not content with using the spiritual sword against him, had unsheathed the temporal one, and was waging a furious war against the imperial lieutenant in italy. it would seem a strange fact that john of brienne, ex-king of jerusalem, and father-in-law of the emperor, was in command of the papal forces which ravaged his son-in-law's territories, had we not good reason to believe that frederic's conduct to violante (who was now dead) had been of a nature that so chivalrous a man as john of brienne was not likely to pass unnoticed, when his daughter was the sufferer. however, it is but just to remark that the reason why his crusade did not entirely restore the holy land to the dominion of the christians, is to be found in the vindictive and unchristian enmity of pope gregory ix. towards the emperor frederic. [ ] matthew paris. [ ] sanutus. [ ] regist. greg. noni, vertot preuves. [ ] matthew paris, . [ ] matthew paris; sanutus. [ ] sanutus, lib. iii. page . [ ] the emir of karac was but a dependant of the sultaun of damascus. [ ] matthew paris; litteræ comit. richardi. [ ] sanutus; vertot. [ ] bibliothéque oriental; joinville; ducange; sanutus, ; continuation of william of tyre. [ ] joinville; matthew paris; bernard in martenne. [ ] joinville; matthew paris; epist. fred. imper. [ ] ducange; joinville; bernard. [ ] bernard; joinville, matthew paris. [ ] the whole of these events are extremely obscure in history. i have followed joinville more than any other author, because i find his account more clear and satisfactory. ducange's valuable notes have greatly aided me; but even that indefatigable investigator has not been able to arrive at precise certainty. the accounts in matthew paris do not well harmonize with those of persons who had more immediate means of information. vincent of beauvais states, that the corasmins were finally exterminated, not in a battle, but in separate bodies by the peasantry. their whole number seems to have been about twenty thousand men. bernard the treasurer, in martenne, corroborates the statement of vincent of beauvais. [ ] joinville; bernard in martenne; guillaume guiart. [ ] matthew paris; joinville. [ ] joinville. [ ] guillaume guiart; joinville. [ ] joinville; branche des royaux lignages. [ ] joinville. [ ] joinville; guillaume guiart; ducange. [ ] joinville; ducange, guillaume guiart. [ ] see note xii. [ ] ducange; joinville; guillaume guiart. [ ] a. d. . [ ] a. d. . [ ] joinville. [ ] guillaume guiart. [ ] joinville. [ ] branche des royaux et lignages; sermon de robert de saincereaux. [ ] charles, king of sicily, was brother to st. louis. [ ] guillaume guiart; william of nangis. [ ] hemingford; langtoft; matthew paris, continuation. [ ] the popular version of this story is, that eleonora, the wife of the prince, who had accompanied him to palestine, sucked the poison from the wound, at the risk of her own life. camden sanctions this account. [ ] hemingford; langtoft. [ ] villani; vet. script.; bernard, old french. [ ] martenne; villani. [ ] martenne, vet. script.; villani; sanutus. [ ] raynouard. [ ] for the history of the templars, see raynouard and du puy, vertot, william of nangis, historia templariorum, &c. almost all the modern writers are more or less in favour of the templars, while every contemporary authority condemns them. as to mills's assertion, that they were loyal and virtuous, it is perfectly untenable. all the historians of the holy land, many of whom died while the templars were at the height of their power, declare that they were a corrupt, proud, perfidious body. mills himself shows that such was the opinion entertained of them by the saracens; and all the general letters of the popes accuse them of manifold vices and depravities. [ ] vertot. [ ] will. of nangis. [ ] vertot. [ ] he was afterward pardoned when the sultaun's wrath had abated but soliman would never see him more. [ ] vertot. [ ] watson; vertot; nic. villagagnon. [ ] vertot; com. de bel. mel. [ ] vertot; com. de bel. mel. nic. villag.; watson. [ ] watson; vertot; com. [ ] vertot. [ ] jouvencel; ordre de chevalerie; fabliaux de le grand d'aussi; chevalier de la tour; notes on st. palaye. [ ] froissart, chap. . [ ] ibid. chap. . [ ] alain chartier le grand. [ ] la colombiere theatre. generously made available by the internet archive.) the history of chivalry or knighthood and its times. by charles mills, esqr. author of the history of the crusades in two volumes vol: ii. [illustration: engraved by a. le petit from a sketch by r. h. sievier.] london. printed for longman, hurst, rees, orme, brown and green. mdcccxxv. contents of the second volume. page chap. i. state of chivalry in england during the reign of edward the third. tournaments ... the round table ... order of the garter ... courtesy of edward ... prevalence of chivalric taste among all classes ... english archers ... the black prince ... story of the king's chivalry ... england regarded as the seat of honour ... instance of this ... chivalric heroes in this reign ... the gestes and prowesses of sir walter manny ... chivalric vow of sir walter ... he fights for the love of his lady ... his rescue of two brother knights ... instance of his joyous adventurousness ... his gallantry before auberoche ... his filial piety ... story of chivalric manners ... the gentle disposition of manny ... his importance at edward's court ... his remarkable sagacity ... his liberality ... his death in ... buried in the charter-house ... heroism of sir james audley ... his generosity ... memoir of sir john chandos ... his gallantry to ladies ... amusing instance of the pride of knighthood ... the importance of his counsel at poictiers ... his exploits in brittany ... and in spain ... is made a knight banneret ... quits the black prince ... but returns ... the remarkable generousness of his conduct to lord pembroke ... the last circumstance of his life ... general grief at his death chap. ii. progress of chivalry in great britain, from the reign of richard ii. to that of henry viii. complaints of the unchivalric state of richard's court ... influence of chivalry on the national character ... scottish chivalry ... chivalric kindness of robert bruce ... mutual chivalry between the scotch and english courts ... french knights' opinions of scottish chivalry ... courtesies between english and scottish knights ... chivalric battle of otterbourn ... hotspur and the douglas ... a cavaleresque story ... reign of henry iv. ... chivalric parley between him and the duke of orleans ... henry's unchivalric conduct at shrewsbury ... henry v. ... knights of the bath ... henry's love of chivalric books ... his chivalric bearing ... commencement of the decline of chivalry ... the civil wars injured chivalry ... caxton's lamentation ... he exaggerates the evil ... many gallant english knights ... character of henry viii. with reference to chivalry ... tournaments in his reign ... field of the cloth of gold ... introduction of italian literature favoured romance ... popularity of chivalric literature ... english knights continued to break lances for ladies' love ... state of scottish chivalry at this period ... james iv. ... chivalric circumstances at flodden field chap. iii. the last years of chivalry in england. the chivalric feelings of the nation supported by spenser ... and by sir philip sidney ... allusions to sidney's life ... particularly his kindly consideration ... chivalric politeness of the age of elizabeth ... the earl of oxford ... tilts in greenwich park ... sir henry lee ... chivalry reflected in the popular amusements ... change of manners ... reign of james the first ... tournaments ceased on prince henry's death ... life of lord herbert of cherbury ... chivalric fame of his family ... his character ... his inferiority to the knights of yore ... decline of chivalric education ... important change in knighthood by the parliament of charles the first ... application of chivalric honours to men of civil station ... knights made in the field ... carpet knights ... knights of the bath ... full account of the ancient ceremonies of creating knights of the bath chap. iv. progress of chivalry in france. chivalry in baronial castles ... chivalry injured by religious wars ... beneficial influence of poetry and romance ... chivalric brilliancy of the fourteenth century ... brittany ... du guesclin ... romantic character of his early years ... his knightly conduct at rennes ... gallantry at cochetel ... political consequences of his chivalry ... he leads an army into spain ... and changes the fortunes of that kingdom ... battle of navaret ... du guesclin prisoner ... treatment of him by the black prince ... ransomed ... is made constable of france ... recovers the power of the french monarchy ... companionship in arms between du guesclin and olivier de clisson ... du guesclin's death before randon ... his character ... decline of chivalry ... proof of it ... little chivalry in the second series of french and english wars ... combats of pages ... further decay of chivalry ... abuses in conferring knighthood ... burgundy ... its chivalry ... the romantic nature of the burgundian tournaments ... last gleams of chivalry in france ... life of bayard ... francis i. ... extinction of chivalry chap. v. progress of chivalry in spain. general nature of spanish chivalry ... religion and heroism ... gallantry ... blending of spanish and oriental manners ... its beneficial tendencies ... peculiarities of spanish chivalry ... forms of knighthood ... various ranks of knights ... spanish poetry ... heroes of chivalry ... pelayo ... bernardo del carpio ... and incidentally of charlemagne's expedition into spain ... the life of the cid ... his early ferocious heroism ... singular marriage ... enters the service of king ferdinand ... the cid's chivalric gallantry ... he is knighted ... death of king ferdinand ... the cid becomes the knight of sancho, king of castile ... mixture of evil and good in the cid's character ... supports the king in his injustice ... the cid's romantic heroism ... sancho's further injustice opposed by him ... death of sancho ... instance of the cid's virtuous boldness ... character of alfonso, successor of sancho ... story of his chivalric bearing ... the cid's second marriage ... is banished from alfonso's court ... becomes the ally of the moors ... but recalled ... is banished again ... singular story of the cid's unknightly meanness ... fortunes of the cid during his exile ... the cid's chivalric nobleness and generosity ... is recalled by alfonso ... the cid captures toledo ... and valentia ... story of spanish manners ... the cid's unjust conduct to the moors ... the unchivalric character of the cid's wife and daughters ... the cid recalled by alfonso ... the marriages of his daughters ... basely treated by their husbands ... cortez at toledo to decide the cause ... picture of ancient manners ... death of the cid ... his character ... fate of his good horse ... spanish chivalry after his death ... gallantry of a knight ... the merits of missals decided by battle ... passage of arms at orbigo ... knights travel and joust for ladies' love ... extinction of spanish chivalry chap. vi. progress of chivalry in germany and italy. chivalry did not affect the public history of germany ... its influence on imperial manners ... intolerance and cruelty of german knights ... their harshness to their squires ... avarice of the germans ... little influence of german chivalry ... a remarkable exception to this ... a female tournament ... maximilian, the only chivalric emperor of germany ... joust between him and a french knight ... edict of frederic iii. destroyed chivalry ... chivalry in italy: ... lombards carried chivalry thither ... stories of chivalric gallantry ... but little martial chivalry in italy ... condottieri ... chivalry in the north ... italians excellent armourers but bad knights ... chivalry in the south ... curious circumstances attending knighthood at naples ... mode of creating knights in italy generally ... political use of knighthood ... chivalric literature ... chivalric sports chap. vii. on the merits and effects of chivalry the history of chivalry. chap. i. state of chivalry in england during the reign of edward the third. _tournaments ... the round table ... order of the garter ... courtesy of edward ... prevalence of chivalric taste among all classes ... english archers ... the black prince ... story of the king's chivalry ... england regarded as the seat of honour ... instance of this ... chivalric heroes in this reign ... the gestes and prowesses of sir walter manny ... chivalric vow of sir walter ... he fights for the love of his lady ... his rescue of two brother knights ... instance of his joyous adventurousness ... his gallantry before auberoche ... his filial piety ... story of chivalric manners ... the gentle disposition of manny ... his importance at edward's court ... his remarkable sagacity ... his liberality ... his death in ... buried in the charter-house ... heroism of sir james audley ... his generosity ... memoir of sir john chandos ... his gallantry to ladies ... amusing instance of the pride of knighthood ... the importance of his counsel at poictiers ... his exploits in brittany ... and in spain ... is made a knight banneret ... quits the black prince ... but returns ... the remarkable generousness of his conduct to lord pembroke ... the last circumstance of his life ... general grief at his death._ [sidenote: tournaments.] the sun of english chivalry reached its meridian in the reign of edward iii., for the king and the nobles all were knightly, and the image of their character was reflected in the minds of the people.[ ] tournaments and jousts, for the amusement and in honour of the ladies, were the universal fashion of the time. in little more than one year, chivalric solemnities were held with unparalleled magnificence at litchfield, bury, guildford, eltham, canterbury, and twice at windsor.[ ] the gay character of edward and his court was pleasingly displayed in the spring of the year , three years after the battle of poictiers. a solemn tournament of three days' duration was proclaimed in london, and the lord mayor, sheriffs, and aldermen, proposed to keep the field against all comers. the time arrived, the martial games were held, and all the honor of arms appeared to be of right due to the officers of the city. the victors then threw aside their shields and surcoats impressed with the city's bearings, removed their beavers, and king edward, the black prince, the princes lionel, john, and edmund, and nineteen noble barons, were recognised.[ ] [sidenote: the round table.] [sidenote: order of the garter.] the round table at kenilworth already mentioned was not a solitary instance of the love of romantic grandeur and gallantry among the people of england. mortimer kept a round table of knights in wales professedly in imitation of arthur,[ ] and afterwards edward iii. endeavoured to realise the golden imaginations of fable which had assigned one hundred and fifty knights as the complement of arthur's chivalry.[ ] we are assured that the round table which edward established at windsor in described a circumference of six hundred feet: but it is more interesting to know, that the nobility and knighthood of france, germany, spain, and other countries flocked to england on the invitation of the king, and that the chivalric bands at windsor were graced by the presence of queen philippa and three hundred english ladies, who, in honour of the friendly union of knights, were all arrayed in splendid dresses of one form and fashion, and looked like the sisters of a military order. policy was mixed with chivalric pride in edward's plan; for he wished to retain in his service some of the foreign knights who repaired to the tournament at windsor. but his intention to strengthen his chivalry was defeated by his rival philip of valois, who established also a round table, to which the cavaliers of the continent could more easily repair than to that of edward.[ ] the knights of france were expressly forbidden by their king to attend the festivities of the round table at windsor. the english monarch found, too, that he could not secure the attachment of stranger knights. that great chivalric principle, the companionship in weal or woe of men forming one society, was never regarded by them. edward's table at windsor was surrounded by gay cavaliers, who talked and sang of war and love, and then merrily returned to their own country full of courtesy to their royal host for his gallant bearing, but not disposed to renounce the chivalric associations of their native land. edward then changed his design, and wished to establish an order of merit, that so "true nobility, after long and hazardous adventures, should not enviously be deprived of that honour, which it hath really deserved, and that active and hardy youth might not want a spur in the profession of virtue, which is to be esteemed glorious and eternal."[ ] he accordingly assembled the nobility and knighthood of his realm, and showed them his intention of forming an especial brotherhood of knights, to be called knights of the blue garter, and of ordaining that a feast should be kept yearly at windsor, on saint george's day. the barons and cavaliers of england joyously agreed to his pleasure; for they were animated by this encouragement to military feats, and they saw that great amity and love would grow and increase among them. twenty-five of the most valiant men of the kingdom were then chosen.[ ] the most noble order of saint george, named the garter, had, therefore, its origin in romance, in the wish to restore the chivalric dignity and splendour of ancient britain. that view was afterwards blended with objects of policy which also were soon abandoned, and a fraternity of companions in arms was established for the promotion of chivalric honour. but though gallantry did not, as is commonly thought, actually found the order, yet perhaps it caused the union to receive the last clause of its title. froissart describes the passion of edward for the countess of salisbury, but is altogether silent on the story of her garter, a silence decisive of the incorrectness of the vulgar tale; for froissart was intimately acquainted with the court of the english king, and his attention was always awake to circumstances of a gallant and romantic nature. it was quite in the spirit of those days for a band to be regarded as an excellent symbol of the friendly union which ought to exist between the knights companions; and if love had not been a chief feature in chivalry, the order might have been only called the order of the band. but gallantly came in, and claimed some share of chivalric honours. ages of fastidious delicacy would have thought of a zone or girdle, but our simple minded ancestors regarded the garter as the wished for symbol. the well known motto of the garter (_honi soit qui mal y pense_) seems to apply, as sir walter scott conjectures, to the misrepresentations which the french monarch might throw out respecting the order of the garter, as he had already done concerning the festival of the round table.[ ] on the collar of the order something should be said. warton appears to think that the earliest collar worn by the knights of the garter was a duplication of the letter s, in allusion to the initial letter of the fair lady's name who, he supposes, gave rise to the fraternity of the most noble order of the garter. but in truth no evidence exists that originally the members of the order wore any collar at all as knights of the garter, though they certainly wore golden collars in their character of knights bachelors and knights banneret. the favourite badge of the lancastrian family was the letter s. sometimes single, and sometimes double, and the golden collar of esses became in time the general collar of english knights, and the silver collar of esses was worn by squires. the letter s. was the initial letter of the sentence, "_soveigne vous de moy_." this was a very favourite motto in the fourteenth century, and was afterwards frequently introduced into collars which were formed of the fleur-de-souvenance, the forget-me-not of modern times. whether at any period the golden collar of esses distinguished the knights of the garter we know not. the collar worn in the present days, composed of garters with the image of saint george dependent thereon, cannot be traced higher than the reign of henry viii. the order was founded in honour of god, the virgin mary, saint george the martyr, and saint edward, king and confessor. the two saints were regarded as the particular patrons of the knights companions. the person that our ancestors understood by the name saint george is a point of doubt. some modern writers have called him a sufferer in the persecutions of diocletian, and others the flagitious george of cappadocia, the arian successor of athanasius in the archbishoprick of alexandria.[ ] it is equally difficult to discover how the saint became invested with military glory. but, leaving such questions to martyrologists and legend-makers, it is sufficient for our purpose to observe that a person called saint george was in very early ages regarded as the tutelary saint of england, and became therefore very naturally one of the heads of the new military order. his brother-protector saint edward soon fell from his lofty station: but at the time concerning which i am writing he was high in fame, for edward iii. was wont to invoke both him and the other patron-saint with perfect impartiality; and when he was cutting his way through a press of knights, one stroke of his sword was accompanied by the exclamation, "ha, saint edward," and another by the cry, "ha, saint george." [sidenote: courtesy of edward.] to pursue, however, the general course of the chivalry of our edward iii. nothing could be more beautiful than his courtesy on all occasions. it was particularly shown in his treatment of the hostages of the french king for the due performance of the treaty of bretigny. he commanded his officers to deport themselves to those lords and their company courteously and favourably; and, accordingly, the french strangers sported without peril in london at their pleasure, and the great lords went hunting and hawking, and rode over the country, and visited ladies and damsels, without any control, so courteous and amiable was the king of england to them.[ ] during all the tournaments that were held in his reign, he permitted his french, scotch, and other prisoners, to share in the games, and sometimes he even furnished them with tourneying harness out of the royal armoury.[ ] [sidenote: prevalence of chivalric taste among all classes.] the taste for chivalry among classes of people apparently little susceptible of its influence may be learned from the masquerading tournament of edward; for knightly games must have been well known to the citizens of london, or the proclamation would not have been issued, that the lord mayor, aided by the court of aldermen and the sheriffs, would, on a certain day, hold a solemn tournament. the same taste was proved some years before, when the black prince entered london, with king john of france as his prisoner. the outsides of the houses were covered with hangings, wrought over with battles in tapestry, and the citizens exposed, in their shops, windows, and balconies, an incredible quantity of bows and arrows, shields, helmets, corselets, breast and back pieces, coats of mail, gauntlets, umbraces, swords, spears, battle-axes, armour for horses, and other armour.[ ] it is also curious to notice, that on the evening preceding candlemas-day, in the year , one hundred and thirty citizens of london, for the entertainment of the young prince, richard, son of the nation's idol, the black prince, rode, disguised as knights, from newgate to kennington, where the court resided, attended with an innumerable multitude, bearing waxen torches, and playing various instruments of music.[ ] as the principal wars of edward's time were waged with a chivalric people, the circumstances which surrounded them favoured the developement of the chivalric qualities of the english character. i shall not repeat the political events of our glorious contests with france, nor describe, for the thousandth time, the battles of cressy and poictiers: but it may be mentioned, that the admirable marshalling of edward's force on the field of cressy was a high proof of his chivalric sageness, and mainly contributed to his victory over the forces of the king of france. [sidenote: english archers.] the battles of cressy and poictiers, however, were not entirely gained by the chivalry of england: the bow was a most important weapon in the english army. it had characterised the normans, and been mainly instrumental in winning for them the battle of hastings. it was afterwards used by the small landholder, the tenant in soccage, and the general mass of the people, while the lance was the weapon of the lord and the knight. the bow was the emblem of freedom, and the pre-eminence of our archers shows that the political condition of england was superior, in the fourteenth century, to that of any continental nation.[ ] the arrow was of the remarkable length of a cloth-yard. the expression in the old ballad of chevy-chase, "an arrow of a cloth-yard long up to the head drew he," marks the usage of our early ancestors; and that sentence of lear, in shakspeare's play, "draw me a clothier's yard," shows that in the sixteenth century the national character had not been lost. it was fostered by every proper means: by royal command archery was practised in towns on holidays, after church; while coits, cock-fighting, and amusements with the ball, were strictly prohibited. other nations drew the bow with strength of arm, but englishmen with their whole vigour: they laid their body in the bow[ ], as an old writer has forcibly expressed the usage; and when in amusement they were exercising their skill, eleven-score yards was the least distance at which the mark was set up. no one could better shoot an arrow than a yeoman in the days of edward iii.: they were the most powerful attendants which our knights could boast of. "a yeoman had he, and servants no mo, at that time, for him lust to ride so; and he was clad in coat and hood of green. a sheaf of peacocks' arwes bright and keen under his belt he bare full thriftily. well coude he dress his takel yemanly. his arwes drooped not with feathers lowe, and in his hand he bare a mighty bowe. a not-hed[ ] had he with a brown visage. of wood-craft coude he well all the usage. upon his arm he bare a gay bracer, and by his side a sword and a bokeler; and on that other side a gay dagger, harnessed well, and sharp as point of spere; a cristofere on his breast of silver shene; an horn he bare, the baudrick was of green. a forster was he, soothly as i guess."[ ] the reader scarcely needs to be informed that the loss of the battle of cressy by the french began with the confusion among the genoese cross-bow men. the english archers then stepped forth one pace, and, as froissart says, let fly their arrows so wholly, and so thick, that it seemed snow was piercing through heads, arms, and breasts. the french cavaliers rushed in to slay the genoese for their cowardice, but the sharp arrows of the english slew them, and their horses too. the chivalry of the black prince decided the victory: the earls of flanders and alençon broke through his archers, but deeper they could not penetrate; and in the personal conflict of the chivalries of the two nations, the english were conquerors.[ ] at the battle of poictiers the english archers threw the french cavalry into confusion, by slaying the unmailed horses. true to say, as froissart observes, the archers did their company that day great advantage; for when the black prince descended the hill on which he had posted himself, the archers were mingled with his chivalry, in true knightly fashion, and shot so closely together, that none durst come within danger.[ ] [sidenote: the black prince.] the well-known conduct of the black prince to his prisoner, king john, after the battle,--his waiting on him at table, saying that he was not sufficient to sit at the board with so great a man as the king,--his riding through london to the savoy, the french monarch mounted on a white and superbly-equipped war-horse, while the prince rode by his side on a little black palfrey,--all this beautiful deportment proceeded from the modesty, the self-abasement of true chivalry, and from that kindly consideration which one knight always showed to his brother in arms.[ ] there were many circumstances in edward's wars amply deserving of notice, as illustrative of national and personal character, but which have been passed over altogether, or but slightly regarded, by the general historians of england; some of whom, in their anxiety for chronological exactness, and others in their desire to make the matter in hand merely illustrative of a few political principles, have very ingeniously contrived to strip their subject of all its splendor, interest, and variety. [sidenote: story of the king's chivalry.] three years after the battle of cressy had given the town of calais to the english, the lord geffray charney, of france, endeavoured to regain it, by bribing the governor, amery de puy, a lombard. edward, hearing of the treaty, sent for his officer from calais to westminster. when the king saw him, he took him apart, and said, "thou knowest well i have given thee in keeping the thing in the world i love best next my wife and children, namely, the town and castle of calais; and thou hast sold it to the frenchmen; wherefore thou deservest to die." then the lombard kneeled down, and said, "noble king, i cry you mercy: it is true what you say; but, sir, the bargain may well be broken, for as yet i have received never a penny." the king, who had warmly loved the governor, replied, "amery, i will that thou goest forward in thy bargain, and the day that thou appointest to deliver the town, let me have knowledge thereof before; and on this condition i forgive thee thy trespass." accordingly amery returned to calais, and continued the negotiation with lord geffray charney. it was finally agreed between them that the surrender of calais should take place on the night of the new year; and the governor, faithful to his allegiance, communicated the progress of the plot to edward. the king immediately rode from london to dover, with three hundred men-at-arms, and six hundred archers, and, crossing the sea, he reached calais in the evening, and secretly lodged his men in the chambers and towers of the castle. he did not wish to head the emprise himself; and selecting sir walter manny from his gallant band, as the prowest chevalier, he told him that he and his son, the prince, would fight under his banner. when the time for surrendering calais approached, the lord geffray, having heard from amery that matters were ripe, advanced from arras, and sent before him twelve knights, and an hundred men-at-arms, to take possession of the castle. amery admitted them over the bridge of the postern, receiving, at the same time, a bag containing twenty thousand crowns, the price of his treachery. he led the soldiers towards the donjon of the castle; and immediately king edward and an hundred men, with swords and axes, furiously poured from it, shouting the war-cry, "manny, manny, to the rescue!" the frenchmen were panic-struck by this wild sweep of war, and incontinently yielded themselves prisoners. edward advanced to the boulogne gate, where he found the lord geffray, who was anxiously expecting it to be opened; and his companions were driving away the tedious moments, by supposing that amery, like a subtle and suspicious lombard, was busy in counting his crowns. the cry, "manny to the rescue!" disturbed their jocularity, and grasping their swords they saw a band of armed men issuing from the gate. in an instant the king, the black prince, the staffords, the suffolks, the salisburys, the beauchamps, the berkeleys, all the pride and flower of english chivalry stood before them. the frenchmen did not decline the combat; and it was chivalrously maintained till a winter's return of morn. the english were finally victors. of the single combats in which the cavaliers signalised their valiancy, the fiercest occurred between the king and the lord eustace of rybamount, a strong and hardy knight. twice was edward struck on his knees; but at last eustace was worsted; and he yielded his sword to the king, saying, not knowing his royal quality, "sir knight, i yield me your prisoner." the king treated his captives like brethren in arms, giving them a noble entertainment, and sitting at the table with them, while the prince, the lords, and the knights of england, acted as attendants. after supper, and when the tables were removed, the king talked a while with his own knights, and then conversed with the frenchmen. he gently reproved the lord geffray of charney for an enterprise so unworthy of nobility and knighthood; and then going to sir eustace of rybamont, he said to him, with all the fine frank joyousness of chivalry, "sir eustace, you are the knight in the world that i have seen most valiantly assail his enemies and defend himself; and i have never found a knight that ever gave me so much ado body to body as you have done this day, and therefore i give you the prize above all the knights of my own court." the king thereupon took from his head a chaplet of pearls, fair, goodly, and rich, and presented it to the knight, with the remark, "sir eustace, i give you this chaplet, for the best doer in arms this day of either party, and i desire you to wear it this year for the love of me. i know that you are fresh and amorous, and oftentimes among ladies and damsels. say wheresoever you go that i gave it you; and i free you from prison, and renounce your ransom. to-morrow, if it so please you, you shall depart."[ ] here chivalry appeared in all its generousness, elegance, and refinement. how beautifully contrasted is edward's deportment to sir eustace de rybamont with his feelings towards eustace de st. pierre and his five fellow-burgesses, three years before, at the surrender of calais to the english. edward had no sympathy with their magnanimous devotion of themselves to save the lives of their fellow-citizens; no consideration of knightly mercy softened his mind; and it was only the supplication of his queen, who was in a state to move the sternest soul to grant her wishes, that restored his better nature. before edward's chivalry, however, be generally and finally condemned, let it be remembered that his severe losses of his own men had sorely grieved his mind against the people of calais, and that at the commencement of the siege, when the captain of the town had driven from its gates all the poor and impotent, edward not only granted them a free passage through his army, but gave them meat and drink and money.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: england regarded as the seat of honor.] the court of the english king was regarded as the very judgment-seat of honour; an opinion of which a very curious proof exists. in the year , a fierce war raged between the soldan of babylon and constantine, king of armenia; the former invading the dominions of the armenian prince with vast and numerous armies, and the latter endeavouring, by the united strength of his own subjects, and the cypriots and rhodians, to repel the violence of the heathen invaders, or at least to arrest their progress, which then began to threaten all christendom. among the many great men who, together with the christian princes, were engaged in this holy war, were a cypriot knight named john de visconti, a relation of the king of cyprus, and a knight of france called thomas de la marche, bastard-brother to john de valois, the french king. both these knights held high commands in the christian army. from certain information, or from jealousy, john de visconti charged the bastard of france with treason; with having agreed, in consideration of a certain sum of gold to be paid unto him beforehand, in part of a greater sum to be paid afterwards, to betray the christian army to the turk. thomas de la marche, with all the confidence of virtue, boldly denied the charge; it was repeated, and again flung back in the accuser's face; opprobrious epithets were interchanged, and a challenge to mortal combat was given and accepted. the friends of the two knights, dreading the displeasure of the king of cyprus and the king of france, and fearing that the consequences of a duel might be felt among themselves, compelled john de visconti and thomas de la marche to agree to stand to the award which should be determined by the confederates in council. the judgment was, that they should carry letters importing their cause fully and clearly from the said christian princes unto king edward of england, and to submit themselves to be tried by combat before him, as the most worthy and honorable prince in all christendom; they swearing to remain as perfect friends until that time. soon afterwards, they set sail for england, where they arrived in the beginning of september, and forthwith presented unto king edward, in the names of the kings of armenia and cyprus and the rest of the princes and captains of the christians, their letters, which contained a narrative of the whole dispute, and the conclusion, that the matter should be determined by combat before him as their judge. in the presence of the king and his court, sir john de visconti accused sir thomas de la marche of his treasonable intent and purpose, challenging to prove it upon his body, and thereupon flinging down his gauntlet. sir thomas boldly took it up, and accepted the challenge in proof of his innocency. king edward having read the letters, and seriously considered the whole matter, appointed a day for the decision of their quarrel in close field within the lists at his palace of westminster. on the day appointed they met accordingly, armed at all points, on horseback, the king, the prince of wales, and the whole court of england being spectators. presently, upon sound of trumpet, a most gallant combat commenced between the two stranger knights. both their spears were broken into splinters upon each other's shield, yet neither of them was cast from his saddle. instantaneously, and, as it were, by mutual consent, they alighted, and drawing their good swords, renewed the combat on foot, till having with equal valour and discretion fought a considerable while, both their weapons became useless, and they were obliged to come to close grapple, and at length by wrestling both fell locked together, still contending for the victory. it was gained by sir thomas de la marche, by means which, though lawful in the duel, would not have been permitted in the courtly joust and tournament. he had armed the joints of his gauntlet with sharp pricks of steel called gadlings, and he struck them with such force and frequency through the small distant bars of his antagonist's visor, that visconti was compelled to call for mercy. the king thereupon threw down his warder, the marshal cried ho! and the combat ceased. edward adjudged the victory to the frenchman, declaring that the vanquished was at his mercy, agreeably to the laws of arms.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: chivalric heroes of edward's time.] the court of edward and his son was as chivalric as that of arthur, and of much more interesting contemplation, from the pleasure of finding that the beauties of the chivalric character were not imaginary. if the round table boasted its sir tristram and its sir launcelot of the lake, the order of the garter possessed its sir walter manny and its sir john chandos, whose lives were so brilliant and glorious that the golden age of chivalry seems not like the golden age of nations, a poet's dream. [sidenote: the gestes and prowesses of sir walter manny.] [sidenote: chivalric vow of sir walter.] in the suite of philippa, daughter of the count of hainault, when in the year she came to england to be married to edward iii., was a gentleman of baronial rank, named walter of manny[ ]; and it was not thought that he lost any quality of his birth by serving at her table as her carver.[ ] he had been educated as a cavalier, and his military accomplishments were soon noticed by edward.[ ] he was knighted, and the ceremony was splendid, the dresses being selected from the royal wardrobe.[ ] when the chance of a war with france was freely talked of in london, and every man's mind was filled with hopes of honor, sir walter vowed before dames and lords of the court, that he would be the first knight to enter the enemy's territory[ ], and win either town or castle, and do some deeds of arms. he then went to flanders, and on the defiances being declared between the french and english nations, he got together about forty spears, and, by riding through brabant night and day, he soon reached hainault. mortaigne was, he heard, in the realm of france; and passing with the utmost speed through the wood of blaton, he arrived at the wished for town before the sun arose, and by good chance he found the wicket of the gate open. leaving a few of his company to keep the entrance, he went into the high street with his pennon before him, and reached the castle. he was then espied by the watch, who blew his horn, and shouted "treason, treason!" it would have been the extreme of rashness for such a little troop as that of sir walter to have attempted to storm the castle. they therefore contented themselves with setting fire to some houses, and then quitted the town; and thus that noble and gentle knight sir walter manny performed the vow which he had made to the dames and lords of england.[ ] [sidenote: he fights for the love of his lady.] afterwards, (in the year ,) being high in favour with edward, he was sent into brittany, with a proud display of knights and archers, to aid the countess of mountfort, at that time besieged in her castle by the french. he was not long before he made a sally on the enemy, and with such effect, that he destroyed all their great engines of assault. the french knights, not anticipating so bold a measure, lay at some distance from their machines; but they soon advanced in formidable numbers. the english and bretons retreated, however, fairly and easily, though the french pursued them with infuriate violence. it would not have been knightly for sir walter to have left the field without having right valiantly acquitted himself; and he exclaimed, "let me never be beloved by my lady, unless i have a course with one of these followers."[ ] he then set his spear in its rest, and so did many of his companions. they ran at the first comers. then legs were seen turned upwards, knights were taken and rescued, and many rare deeds of arms were done by both parties. afterwards the english slowly retired to the castle, and the french to their tents.[ ] [sidenote: his rescue of two brother-knights.] sir walter, in all his measures of succour to the countess of brittany, showed himself one of the prowest knights of the age; but no act of his valor was so interesting as his rescue of two brother-knights, whom an uncourteous cavalier, called sir loyes of spain, had condemned to death.[ ] sir walter said to his companions, "it would be great honor for us if we could deliver out of danger yonder two knights; and even if we should fail when we put it in adventure, yet king edward, our master, will thank us, and so will all other noble men. at least, it shall be said, how we did our utmost. a man should peril his body to save the lives of two such valiant knights." so generous an emprise was willingly undertaken: the greatest part of his force attacked the enemy's camp, while sir walter himself, with a chosen band, went round to the quarter where, by the custom of war, the prisoners were kept. he found there the two knights, and he immediately set them upon good steeds, which he had brought with him for their use, and, shaking them by the hand, he made them gallop to a place of safety.[ ]--the object of his expedition into france, namely, the succour of the countess of montfort, being accomplished[ ], sir walter recrossed the seas, and went to london. [sidenote: instance of his joyous adventurousness.] in the year he was dispatched into gascony with the earl of derby and lancaster, the earl of pembroke, and other noble peers of england, as one of the marshals of the host. manny inspired and directed every enterprise. from the reports of his spies regarding bergerac, he thought the place was pregnable. being one day at dinner with the earl of derby, he exclaimed, with a cup of rich gascon wine in his hand, "if we were good men-of-arms, we should drink this evening with the french lords in bergerac." this bold and manly sentiment was loudly applauded by his brother-knights: tables and benches were overthrown in their haste to quit the hall and don their harness, and in a few moments they bestrode their noble steeds. the earl of derby was right joyous at the sight of the gallant assemblage, and crying, "let us ride to our enemies in the name of god and saint george," banners were displayed, and the english cavaliers urged their horses to speed. they soon reached the fortress of bergerac. the pleasant wish of sir walter was not realised; for night closed upon the combatants, without their drinking the wines of gascony together. all the next day was spent, likewise, in manoeuvres, and in jousts _à l'outrance_, and in the evening the french men-at-arms stole away from bergerac. the common people sent their submissions to the earl of derby, who saying, "he that mercy desireth mercy ought to have," made them swear faith and homage to the king of england.[ ] [sidenote: his gallantry before auberoche.] no circumstance in this war was of more importance than the relief of the castle of auberoche, then beleaguered by the french. the earl of derby had with him only three hundred spears, and six hundred archers, the rest of his force being dispersed over the country. the french could count about ten or twelve thousand; but the english, undismayed by numbers, thought it was a great disgrace to abandon their friends in auberoche. the earl of derby and his knights were then in a wood, two little leagues from auberoche; and while waiting for the earl of pembroke, they left their horses to pasture. while they were loitering in the fields, in this state of restlessness, sir walter manny said to his companions, "let us leap on our horses, and wend our way under the covert of this wood till we arrive at the side which joins the frenchmen's host; and then let us put our spurs into our horses, and cry our cries. our enemy will then be at supper, and, not expecting us, you shall see them so discomfited, that they shall not be able to preserve any array." a scheme so adventurous was readily embraced: every man mounted his horse; and the troop coasted the wood till they came near the french, who were going to supper, and some, indeed, were already seated at the tables. the scene of festivity was broken up when the english displayed their banners and pennons, and dashed their spurs into their horses, and raising the cry, "a derby, a derby!" rushed among them, overthrowing tents and pavilions. when the french recovered from their astonishment, they mounted their steeds, and rode into the field in military array; but there they found the english archers ready to receive them, and those bold yeomen shot so fiercely that they slew many men and horses. on the other side of the castle there was a noble display of french chivalry; and the englishmen, having overcome those who were near the tents, dashed boldly among them. many noble deeds of arms were done, knights were taken and rescued, and the english cause triumphed; for the knights of the castle had armed themselves, and now issued forth, and rushed into the thickest of the press. then the englishmen entered into auberoche; and the earl of derby gave a supper to the earls and viscounts who were prisoners, and to many of the knights and squires, lauding god, at the same time, that a thousand of his own nation had overcome many thousands of their enemies, and had rescued the town of auberoche, and saved their companions that were within, who, in all likelihood, would have been taken within two days. the next morning, at sunrise, the earl of pembroke reached the castle with his company of three hundred spears, and four thousand archers; and his personal chivalry was mortified that so fine a deed of knighthood had been done without him; and he said to the earl of derby, "certainly, cousin, you have shown me great uncourtesy to fight with our enemies without me. you sent for me, and might have been sure i would not fail to come." "fair cousin," quoth the earl of derby, "we greatly desired to have had you with us: we tarried all day till it was far past noon, and when we saw that you did not come, we did not dare to abide any longer; for if our enemies had known of our coming, they would have had great advantage over us, but now we have the advantage over them." the earl of pembroke was well contented with this fair reply, and gallantly fought with his brother noble during the remainder of the war.[ ] [sidenote: his filial piety.] we need not describe sir walter's feats of arms before la reole, besieged by the earl of derby; but when the town surrendered, a little circumstance occurred beautifully illustrative of the character of our knight. his father had been murdered near that place, as he was making a pilgrimage to the shrine of st. james, in spain, and had been buried in a little chapel in the field which then was without the town of la reole, but was inclosed within the walls when the earl of derby conquered it. sir walter enquired if there was any one who could show him his father's tomb, offering an hundred crowns for his knowlege and labour. a man, grey and bent with age, went to the knight and declared, "sir, i think i can bring you near the place where your father was buried." manny then, in his joy at the promise, answered, "if your words be true, i will keep covenant, and more." the townsman led him to the place of sepulture; and they found a little tomb of marble which the servants of the deceased pilgrim had respectfully lain over him. the old man, pointing to it, exclaimed, "sir, under that tomb lies your father." then the lord of manny read the scripture on the tomb, which was in latin[ ]; and finding that his guide had declared the truth, he gave him his reward. he afterwards caused the bones of his father to be taken up, and removed to valenciennes, in the county of hainault. there his obsequies were right sacredly performed: the helmet, the sword, the gauntlet, the spurs, and the tabard, were hung over his grave, and as long as the family of manny lived in that country, sad and solemn priests yearly chanted masses for his soul.[ ] [sidenote: story of chivalric manners.] sir walter so manfully defended the castle of aguillon, that the duke of normandy was compelled to raise the siege. the battle of cressy had just been fought, and our knight was anxious to visit his sovereign, edward. he fell into communication with a cavalier of normandy, who was his prisoner, and demanded of him what money he would pay for his ransom. the knight answered, he would gladly give three thousand crowns. "well," quoth sir walter, "i surely know that you are a kinsman to the duke of normandy, and so warmly beloved by him, that, were i to press you, i wot in sooth he would gladly pay ten thousand crowns; but i shall deal otherwise with you. you shall go to the duke, your lord, upon your faith and promise, and get a safe-conduct for myself and twenty of my companions to ride through france to calais, paying courteously for all our expences; and if you can procure this from the duke, or the king, i will willingly remit your ransom, for i greatly desire to see the king my master. if you cannot do this, return hither in a month, and consider yourself as my prisoner." the knight was well contented, and went to paris to the duke, his lord; and having obtained the passport, he returned with it to sir walter, who acquitted him of his ransom. manny commenced his journey, and proceeded safely till he reached orleans, where he was seized by the officers of the king of france and taken to paris. this circumstance was reported to the duke of normandy, who went to the king, his father, and entreated him, for the honour of chivalry, to release sir walter. he was for a long while inexorable, for he wished to destroy him whom he called his greatest foe; but, at last, good counsel prevailed with him, and manny was delivered out of prison. he dined with the french monarch, who deported himself with knightly generosity. he entertained the englishman right nobly, and gave him a distinguished seat on the dais. he also presented to him jewels to the value of a thousand florins; which sir walter received, only upon the condition of having liberty to return them, if his master, the king of england, did not approve of his retaining them; and the french king declared that he spoke like a noble knight. sir walter then recommenced his journey, and soon reached calais. edward welcomed him; but when he heard of the presents, he said, "sir walter, you have hitherto truly served us, and shall continue to do so, we trust. return the gifts to king philip; you have no cause to keep them: thank god! we have enough for ourselves and for you; and we intend to do much good to you for the service you have rendered us." sir walter immediately gave those jewels to a cousin of his, named sir mansac, and said, "ride into france, to the king, and commend me to him, and say, that i thank him a thousand times for his gift; but as it is not the pleasure of the king my master that i should keep it, i send it to him again." sir mansac, therefore, rode to paris, and had his royal audience. the king would not accept the jewels, but pressed them upon the knight, who, less conscientious than his cousin, thanked his grace, and was not disposed to say nay.[ ] [sidenote: the gentle disposition of manny.] sir walter remained with his sovereign during the memorable siege of calais; and when the inhabitants proposed to capitulate, it was his counsel that swayed with edward to offer mercy to the town, on the surrender of six of its chief burgesses, instead of requiring general submission. though eustace de st. pierre and his noble companions were saved by the tears and entreaties of philippa, yet it was that gentle knight, sir walter manny, who first endeavoured to turn aside the fierce wrath of the king. "noble sir," said he, "refrain your courage. you have the reputation of nobleness; therefore do not any thing that can blemish your renown. every man will say it is great cruelty to put to death such honest persons, who, from their own noble feelings, to save their companions, have placed themselves in your power."[ ] [sidenote: his importance at edward's court.] sir walter lost nothing of edward's consideration by this contradiction of his humour. but he continued in such favour, that he was permitted to marry a lady related to the royal family[ ]: he was invested with the garter; and was summoned to parliament among the barons of england, from the twenty-first to the forty-fourth year of edward's reign.[ ] he was among the english lords who signed the treaty of bretigny in the year ; and i regret that he was one of edward's council who advised the sending of succours to the black prince, when he was about to assist peter the cruel. it is more pleasing to contemplate our cavalier on the battle-plain than in the hall of deliberation. he was, to the height, a sage and imaginative soldier; skilful as well as brave in battle. [sidenote: his remarkable sagacity.] when the war between england and france was renewed, in the year , the duke of lancaster (late earl of derby) prevented the duke of burgundy's descent upon the english shores, by landing a small army at calais, and ravaging the country near boulogne. the duke of burgundy commanded the heights of tournehem: the english were in the neighbourhood, and a battle was daily expected. it was feared, rather than desired, by the english; for their handful of men were opposed by more than four thousand french knights. the duke of burgundy could not engage without the king's permission; but the policy of charles forbad a battle, and the duke then desired leave to retire: the king consented. one night, fires were lighted, and there was an unwonted stir amidst the french camp. such of the english as were near it were rouzed from sleep. they awoke the lord robert namur, who immediately armed himself, and, preceded by a man bearing his banner, went to the tent of the duke of lancaster, who had been already disturbed. the english lords, one by one, drew about the duke, ranging themselves, from the force of habit, fair and softly in battle-order, without any noise or light, and placing the archers in such a form as to be ready to receive an attack by the french. no attack was, however, made; and, after waiting two hours, the duke consulted with his lords. it was the sage opinion of manny that the french had fled, and he advised lancaster to pursue them. but the duke declined this course; for he said he never could believe that so many valiant men-of-arms and noble knights would so shamefully depart. as soon as morning arose, it was discovered, however, that the french camp was deserted; and the duke of lancaster repented that he had not followed the counsel of his experienced friend. [sidenote: his liberality.] such was sir walter manny; gallant, hardy, adventurous, and sage. something still was wanting to the beautiful perfection of his character; for courtesy to the ladies, and bravery and skill in the field, did not of themselves constitute the preux chevalier. liberality was the graceful ornament of the knightly character; and the charitable annals of the city of london place this crown on the brow of our noble representative of english chivalry. during a plague in england, in the year , london and its vicinity were the chief places of suffering; and as no church-yard could contain the victims, the bishop of london bought a piece of ground called _no man's land_[ ], and consecrated it for burials. in the next year, sir walter manny materially added to the charities of the bishop; for he purchased, and caused to be consecrated to the same object, thirteen acres and one rod of ground adjoining to no man's land, and lying in a place called spittle croft, because it belonged to st. bartholomew's hospital. in the very year of the purchase, the purpose seemed accomplished, for (according to certain charters of edward iii. and an inscription on the cross remaining in stow's time,) fifty thousand people were buried there. sir walter built a chapel in the cemetery; and, in the year , he founded an house of carthusian monks, by the appellation of the salutation of the mother of god, to advance charity, and administer the consolations of religion.[ ] [sidenote: his death in .] [sidenote: buried in the charter-house.] the last circumstance of his tale shall be told in the fitting strain of froissart. "that same season ( ) died the gentle knight, sir walter manny, in the city of london, whereof all the barons of england were right sorry, for the truth and good counsel that they had always seen and heard in him. he was buried, with great solemnity, in the monastery of the charter-house, near london; and at the day of his obsequy there were present the king and all his children, and all the prelates, barons, and knights of england. his possessions, both in england and beyond the sea, fell to the earl of pembroke, who had married the lady anne, his daughter and heir."[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: heroism of sir james audley.] among the flower of edward's chivalry, sir james audley must be mentioned; not, indeed, that a detailed history of his exploits would be interesting; but there was one series of circumstances in his life honourable to his name and the chivalric character, and distinct and peculiar from every thing else in the manners of other ages. immediately before the battle of poictiers sir james said to the black prince, "sir, i have always truly served my lord your father, and you also, and i shall do so as long as i live; and, to prove my disposition, i once made a vow that the first battle wherein either the king, your father, or any of his sons, should be engaged, i would be one of the first setters on, or i would die in the endeavour. therefore, i request your grace, in reward for any service that ever i did to the king your father, or to you, that you would give me licence to depart from you, in order that i may accomplish my vow." the prince accorded to his desire; and, taking him by the hand, exclaimed, "sir james, may god give you this day grace to be the prowest knight of all my host." audley then departed, and set himself in front of the english battles, accompanied only by four squires, who had sworn never to desert him. he was anticipated in his gallant purpose by the lord eustace damberticourt, whose chivalry was inspired by the lady juliana[ ], but he continued in the front of the battle, performing marvels of arms. he lost no valuable moments in taking prisoners, but when he had disarmed one adversary he pressed forwards to another. he was severely hurt, both in the body and in the face; and, at the conclusion of the mêlèe, his four squires took him out of the battle, and, laying him under a hedge, they bound up his wounds. edward soon enquired after the fate of his gallant friend; and sir james, expressing his joy that his prince should think of so poor a knight as he was, called eight of his servants, and made them bear him in a litter to the royal tent. the prince took him in his arms, and, embracing him with true fraternal affection, said, "sir james, i ought greatly to honour you, for your valiantness this day has passed the renown of us all." "sir," answered the knight, with true chivalric modesty, "you say as it pleaseth you. i would it were so; but if i have this day advanced myself to serve you, and to accomplish my vow, no prowess ought to be reputed to me." "sir james," replied the prince, "i and all my knights consider you as the best doer in arms this day; and, in order that you may the better pursue these wars, i retain you for ever as my knight, with five hundred marks of yearly revenue." [sidenote: his generosity.] sir james, after expressing his thanks, was taken back to his tent. he then called the four squires before him, and resigned to them the prince's gift, saying, it was to their valiantness that he owed it. the prince soon heard of this noble action, and, sending for him, enquired why he renounced his kindness. sir james craved pardon for his conduct, but affirmed he could do no otherwise; for his squires had that day several times saved his life, and enabled him to accomplish his vow. edward's nobleness disdained any feeling of personal offence; and, in generous emulation of his friend's liberality, he made in his favour a new grant, more valuable than the former one.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: memoir of sir john chandos.] [sidenote: his gallantry to ladies.] but of all the bold and protruding characters of the court of edward iii., none was more distinguished for the greatness and variety of his exploits than that sage and valiant knight, sir john chandos. he was the descendant of a norman family, attached to william the conqueror, and which had been renowned in every age of its history.[ ] while only a squire, he accompanied edward iii. in his first war in france; and, at the siege of cambray, he amazed the prowest knights by the goodly feats of arms done between him and a squire of vermandois. at the battle of vironfosse, immediately afterwards, he was stationed near the person of his sovereign, and, for his valour on that occasion, he received knighthood from the royal sword.[ ] like his friend, sir walter manny, he was gentle, as well as valiant; and it was chandos that, with another cavalier, saved the ladies of the castle of poys from the brutal assaults of the rabble.[ ] he was in the van, with the black prince, at the battle of cressy; and, at the battle of poictiers, he never quitted his side. [sidenote: amusing instance of the pride of knighthood.] on the day that preceded this last great event an amusing proof occurred of the pride of knighthood, regarding armorial bearings. sir john chandos, on the part of the english, and the lord of claremont for the french, had been reconnoitering the other's forces; and, as they returned to their respective hosts, they met, and were mutually astonished that each bore the same armorial emblem. the lord of claremont exclaimed, "chandos, how long have you taken on you to bear my device?" "nay, you bear mine," replied the english knight; "for it is mine as well as yours." "i deny that" observed the lord of claremont; "and were it not for the truce that this day is between us, i would prove immediately that you have no right to bear my device." "sir," rejoined chandos, with the calmness of truth and bravery, "you shall find me to-morrow ready to prove it is mine, as well as yours." claremont passionately closed the conference by saying, "these are common words of you englishmen; for you can invent nothing new; but you take for your own whatever you see handsome belonging to others."[ ] [sidenote: the importance of his counsel at poictiers.] at the battle of poictiers the counsel of chandos was important to the fate of the day: for when the english archers had thrown the french into confusion, he said to the black prince, "sir, take your horse and ride forth; this day is yours. let us press forwards to the french king's battle, for there lies the stress of the matter. i think, verily, by his valiantness, he will not fly. i trust, by the grace of god and st. george, that we shall take him; and, sir, i heard you say that this day i should see you a good knight." it was this advice which guided the courage of edward, and the victory was england's. [sidenote: his exploits in brittany,] nothing remarkable is related of chandos for nine years after the battle of poictiers. in he was the hero and counsellor of the earl of mountfort in his war with the earl of blois. mountfort took no measures which were not of his suggestion, or met not with his judgment. chandos was a valiant as well as a sage knight; for at the battle of auray his mighty curtal-axe battered many a helm of the french. the fate of this battle fixed his friend of mountfort in the dukedom of britany; and in the opinion of the french lords, knights, and squires, the victory had been gained by the skill and high prowess of chandos.[ ] [sidenote: and in spain.] he was seneschal of aquitain, and of all those countries secured to the english by the treaty of bretigny. together with sir thomas phelton, he was summoned into angouleme to advise the black prince regarding the affairs of spain. the deposed king had arrived at bourdeaux; and edward, resolving to assist him, sought to fortify his determination by the judgment of his friends. chandos and his counsel earnestly endeavoured to change his resolve. when, indeed, no considerations could shake the purpose of the black prince, our knight accompanied him into spain, his duties to his liege lord demanding his military service. [sidenote: is made a knight banneret.] before the battle of navaret he took the rank and title of knight banneret. when the sun arose on that memorable day, it was a great beauty to behold the battles or divisions of the black prince's army and their brilliant harness glittering with its beams. the hostile forces slowly approached each other. edward with a brief train of knights ascended a small hill, and clearly saw their enemy marching straight towards them. the prince was then followed by his army; and when they had reached the other side of the hill they formed themselves in dense array, and each man buckled on anew his armour and dressed his spear. sir john chandos advanced in front of the battles with his banner uncased in his hand. he presented it to the prince, saying, "sir, behold, here is my banner. i require you to display it abroad, and give me leave this day to raise it, for, sir, i thank god and you, i possess land and heritage sufficient to maintain it withal." the prince and king peter took between their hands the banner, which was blazoned with a sharp stake gules, on a field argent, and after having cut off the end to make it square they spread it abroad; and the prince delivered it to chandos, saying, "sir john, behold your banner, and god send you joy, and honor, and strength, to preserve it!" chandos bowed, and after thanking the prince, he went back to his own company, and said, "sirs, behold my banner and yours, keep it as your own." they took it and were right joyful thereof, declaring that, by the pleasure of god and st. george, they would keep and defend it to the utmost of their power. the banner was then placed in the hands of a worthy english squire, called william allestry, who bore it that day, and acquitted himself right nobly. in that battle, chandos counselled the duke of lancaster as sagely as at the battle of poictiers he had counselled edward. he performed also wonders in arms, for he was a great and mighty knight, and well formed of all his limbs; but he adventured himself so far that he was closed in among his enemies, and at length pressed to the earth. a spaniard of gigantic stature fell upon him with dreadful force; but sir john drew a knife from his bosom, which he recollected he had about him, and struck his foeman so fiercely in the back and on the sides, that he wounded him to death as he lay on him. sir john turned him over, and rose quickly on his feet, and his men-at-arms at that time joined him, they having with much difficulty broken through the press when they saw him felled.[ ] [sidenote: quits the black prince;] [sidenote: but returns.] chandos had not succeeded in dissuading the prince of wales from his spanish war, and he failed also in withdrawing him from the more fatal project of taxing, beyond usage, his french dominions. finding him resolved in his purpose, and not wishing to bear any blame or reproach about the matter, sir john took his leave of the prince, and made his excuse to go into normandy to visit the land of st. saviour le viscount, whereof he was lord, for he had not been there for several years. when the war so fatal to england's power in france broke out, the black prince wrote to chandos to join him without delay. sir john immediately went to angouleme, and his liege lord joyfully received him. he was made seneschal of poictou at the request of the barons and knights of that country. [sidenote: the remarkable generousness of his conduct to lord pembroke.] his deeds of arms equalled his former fame; but it was his chivalric generosity that was most striking, and the circumstances which accompanied the appearance of that feature of his character are very interesting. he wished the earl of pembroke, who was in garrison at mortaygne, to accompany him in an enterprise into the french territory. the earl was well content to have ridden forth; but some of the knights of his counsel broke his purpose, and said, "sir, you are but young, and your nobleness is to come; and if you put yourself into the company of sir john chandos, he shall have the reputation and voice of it, for you will be regarded only as his companion; therefore, sir, it is better for you, since you are a great lord, that you perform your enterprises by yourself, and let sir john chandos perform his; for in comparison with your estate, he is but a knight bachelor." the earl of pembroke accordingly excused himself; and sir john chandos, unaided by him, went into anjou, accompanied by three hundred spears of knights and squires, and two hundred archers. he achieved all his emprises; and hearing at last that sir louis of sancerre, the marshal of france, with a great number of men of war, was at hay in touraine, he wished to cope with him; but as his own force was inadequate to so great an exploit, he sent word of his intention to the earl of pembroke, desiring him to repair with his soldiers to chatelterault. chandos the herald took the message; but the earl by counsel of his knights again refused. the herald repaired to sir john at chatelterault, and the enterprise was broken up in consequence of the presumption and pride of the earl of pembroke: chandos gave leave to most of his company to depart, and he himself went to poictiers. some of his men joined the earl of pembroke; who, at the head of three hundred knights and squires, committed great destruction in anjou, and returned with immense booty into poictou. the frenchmen, thinking it a more easy chevisance to discomfit him than sir john chandos, assembled seven hundred soldiers from all the garrisons in the country, and sir louis of sancerre took the command. the earl of pembroke heard nothing of the enemy, and not having the vigilance of sir john chandos he took no pains to enquire. the english were one day reposing in a village called puirenon, in the territory of poictou, when suddenly the frenchmen came into the town, their spears in their rests, crying their cry, "our lady of sancerre, for the marshal of france." the english were dressing their horses, and preparing their suppers, when they were thus unexpectedly assailed. several were killed, all the plunder was retaken, many prisoners were made, and the earl of pembroke and some of his knights and archers saved themselves in a preceptory of the templars. the frenchmen assaulted it gallantly, and it was as gallantly defended, till night put an end to the assault. the english were so severely straitened for provisions, that they knew they must speedily surrender, unless chandos came to their succour. a squire, who professed to know the country, offered to go to sir john, and he accordingly left the fortress when the french had retired to rest. but he soon lost his road, and did not recover it till morning. at day-break the french renewed their assaults, and mounted the walls with pavesses to defend their heads from the missiles of the english. the earl of pembroke and his little band fought so bravely, from morning until noon, that the french were obliged to desist, and to resort to the uncavalierlike mode of worsting their gallant foes by sending to the neighbouring villages for pikes and mattocks, that they might undermine and break down the wall. then the earl of pembroke called a squire to him, and said, "friend, take my courser, and issue out at the back postern, and ride straight to poictiers, and show sir john chandos the state and danger we are in; and recommend me to him by this token," added the earl, taking a ring from his finger: "deliver it to him, for sir john knows it well." the squire took the ring, and immediately mounting his courser, fled through the postern, thinking he should achieve great honor if he could reach sir john chandos. the first squire having lost so much time in the confusion of the night did not arrive at poictiers till nine in the morning. he found sir john at mass; and, in consequence of the importance of his message, he disturbed his devotions. chandos's feelings had been severely offended by the pride and presumption of the earl of pembroke, and he was in no great haste to relieve him. he heard the mass out. the tables were then arranged for the noon repast. the servants, among whom the message of the squire had been bruited, enquired of sir john if he would go to dinner. he replied, "yes; if it were ready." he went into the hall, and knights and squires brought him water. while he was washing, the second squire from the earl of pembroke, pale, weary, and travel-soiled, entered the hall, and knelt before him, and took the ring out of his purse, and said, "right dear sir, the earl of pembroke recommends himself to you by this token, and heartily desires your assistance in relieving him from his present danger at puirenon." chandos took the ring; but instead of calling his friends to arm, he coldly observed, that it would be difficult to assist the earl if the affair were such as the squire had represented it. "let us go to dinner," said he; and accordingly the knights sat down. the first course was eaten in silence, for chandos was thoughtful, and the minds of his friends were not idle. in the middle of the second course, when the generous wine of france had roused his better nature, he started from a reverie, and with a smile of pride and generousness exclaimed, "sirs, the earl of pembroke is a noble man, and of great lineage: he is son of my natural lord the king of england, for he hath married his daughter, and in every thing he is companion to the earl of cambridge. he hath required me to come, to him, and i ought to consent to his desire." then thrusting the table from him, and rising to the full height of his fine martial figure, he cried, "gallant knights, i will ride to puirenon." this noble and generous resolve found an echo in the heart of every one that was present. the trumpets sounded, the knights hastily donned their armour, and saddled the first horses they could meet with; and in a few moments the court-yard glittered with more than two hundred spears. they rode apace towards puirenon; but news of their approach reached the vigilant french in sufficient time for them to abandon the siege, and effect their retreat with their prisoners and booty. the earl of pembroke soon found that the terror of the name of chandos had scared the foe, and he proposed to his companions to ride towards poictiers and meet their deliverers. they accordingly left the village in a right pleasant mood, some on foot, others on horses, and many a gallant steed carried double that day. they had not ridden a league before they met sir john chandos and his company, who much to their regret heard of the retreat of the french. the two parties rode in company for the space of three leagues, holding merry converse on deeds of arms. they then departed, chandos returning to poictiers, and the earl of pembroke to mortaygne.[ ] [sidenote: the last curious circumstances of his life.] our knight's career of glory approached its close. by the treachery of a monk, the abbey of st. salvyn, seven leagues from poictiers, fell into the possession of the french, who all that year, , had been harassing the english territories. chandos was deeply mortified at the loss of the abbey, it being within the scope of his seneschalship. to recover it by chivalric skill, or to bring his enemies to fair and manly battle, seemed equally impossible, and his high spirit was wounded at these insults to his military abilities. on the last day of december he made an unsuccessful attempt to recover the abbey; and when he returned to the town of chauvigny, he dismissed two-thirds of his troops, knights of poictou and england. sir thomas percy, with thirty spears, had his leave to go in quest of adventures. his own mind was too ill at rest for him to indulge in mere chivalric exercises; and after he had wished them good speed he went back into the house full of melancholy thoughts. he would not retire to rest though the night was far advanced; but he remained in the kitchen warming himself by the fire, his servants endeavouring by their jests and tales to banish his uneasiness. before daylight a man with the haste and anxiety of the bearer of news of import came into the house. "the frenchmen are riding abroad," said he to sir john. "how knowest thou that?" "i left st. salvyn with them," was the answer. "which way did they ride?" demanded chandos. "their exact course i wot not," replied his informant; "but i saw them on the high road to poictiers." "what frenchmen?" required sir john. "sir louis of st. julian, and carnot the breton." "well," quoth chandos, "i care not: i have no mind to ride forth to-night: it may happen that they may be encountered, though i am not there." the conversation closed here, but chandos could not dismiss the subject from his mind. he mused upon what he had heard, and hope gradually broke through the gloom of his disappointment. he then told his knights he would ride to poictiers, and they joyfully caparisoned their horses. chandos and forty spears left chauvigny before daylight, and getting into the frenchmen's course, they soon overtook them near the bridge of lusac. they were on foot, preparing to attack sir thomas percy and his little band, who had posted themselves on the other side of the bridge. before the frenchmen and bretons had arranged their plan of assault, they heard the trampling of chandos's war-horses, and turning round they saw his dreadful banner displayed. he approached within three furlongs of the bridge and had a parley with them. he reproached them for their robberies and acts of violence in the country whereof he was seneschal. "it is more than a year and a half," he continued, "that i have set all my aim to find and encounter you, and now, i thank god, i see you and speak to you. it shall soon be known who is prowest, you or i. you have often vaunted your desire to meet me; now you may see me before you.--i am john chandos: regard me well," he thundered in their ears, his countenance darkening as he spoke. at that moment an english squire was struck to the earth by the lance of a breton. the generous nature of chandos was rouzed at this ungallant act; and, in a tone of mingled expostulation and reproof, he cried to his own company, "sirs, how is it that you suffer this squire thus to be slain? a foot, a foot!" he dismounted, and so did all his band, and they advanced against the french. his banner, with the escutcheon above his arms, was carried before him, and some of his men-at-arms surrounded it. chandos missed his steps, for the ground was slippery from the hoar-frost of the morning, and in his impatience for battle he entangled his feet in the folds of his surcoat. he fell just as he reached his enemy; and as he was rising, the lance of a french squire entered his flesh, under the left eye, between the nose and the forehead. chandos could not see to ward off the stroke; for, some years before, he had lost the sight of that eye, while hunting the hart in the country round bourdeaux: unhappily, too, his helmet was without the defence of its vizor. he fell upon the earth, and rolled over two or three times, from the pain of the wound, but he never spoke again. the french endeavoured to seize him; but his uncle, sir edward clifford, bestrode the body, and defended it so valorously, that soon none dared to approach him. [sidenote: grief at his death.] the barons and knights of poictou were conquerors, and when the confusion was hushed, they flocked round their outstretched friend and seneschal. they wept, they wrung their hands, they tore their hair, and gave way to every violent expression of grief. they called him the flower of chivalry, and lamented the hour when the lance was forged which had brought him into peril of death. he heard and understood them well, but was unable to reply. his servants then unarmed him; and, laying him upon a pavesse, or large shield, they bore him gently to the neighbouring fortress of mortimer. he died on the following day; and a cavalier more courteous, and more worthily adorned with noble virtues and high qualities, never adorned the english chivalry. he was, in sooth, as gallant a knight as ever laid lance in rest. the prince of wales, the earl of cambridge, the earl of pembroke, and, indeed, all the english barons and knights then in guienne, lamented his fate, as the loss of all the english dominions in france; and many right noble and valiant knights of france mourned the death of a generous foe, and they wished he had been made prisoner; for they said he was so sage and imaginative that he would have planned a peace between the two nations.[ ] chandos was never married. all the estates which he had won by his valour went to his three sisters. chap. ii. progress of chivalry in great britain, from the reign of richard ii. to that of henry viii. _complaints of the unchivalric state of richard's court ... influence of chivalry on the national character ... scottish chivalry ... chivalric kindness of robert bruce ... mutual chivalry between the scotch and english courts ... french knights' opinions of scottish chivalry ... courtesies between english and scottish knights ... chivalric battle of otterbourn ... hotspur and the douglas ... a cavaleresque story ... reign of henry iv. ... chivalric parley between him and the duke of orleans ... henry's unchivalric conduct at shrewsbury ... henry v. ... knights of the bath ... henry's love of chivalric books ... his chivalric bearing ... commencement of the decline of chivalry ... the civil wars injured chivalry ... caxton's lamentation ... he exaggerates the evil ... many gallant english knights ... character of henry viii. with reference to chivalry ... tournaments in his reign ... field of the cloth of gold ... introduction of italian literature favoured romance ... popularity of chivalric literature ... english knights continued to break lances for ladies' love ... state of scottish chivalry at this period ... james iv. ... chivalric circumstances at flodden field._ in the reign of richard ii. the splendor of england's chivalry was clouded. that monarch had neither spirit nor ambition to recover the possessions which had been wrested from the crown during the illness of his father, the black prince, and the imbecility of his grandfather, edward iii.; for though the war with france nominally continued, yet he gave few occasions for his knights to break their lances with the french. not that england enjoyed a state of perfect peace, but the wars in france and portugal had no brilliant results, for the english knights were no longer guided by the sageness of chandos, or the gallantry of prince edward. [sidenote: complaints of the unchivalric state of richard's court.] england was menaced with invasion by charles vi. of france; but the project died away, and nothing gave greater offence to the people than the want of spirit in the court, in not revenging itself for the insult. a comparison was immediately instituted between the present and the preceding reign. where were those great enterprises, it was asked, which distinguished the days of king edward iii.? where could be found the valiant men who had fought with the prince, his son? in those days england was feared, and was reputed as possessing the flower of christian chivalry; but now no man speaks of her, now there are no wars but such as are made on poor men's purses, and thereto every one is inclined.[ ] [sidenote: influence of chivalry on the national character.] the expensive wars of england with france were productive of mighty consequences to the english constitution. an application for redress of grievances always met the demand of supplies, and public liberty benefitted by the costly ambition of the crown. the wars did not spring from chivalry, and we cannot, therefore, ascribe to that bright source any general political advantages which resulted from them: but chivalry gave the tone to the manner in which they were waged; hers were all the humanities of the contest; hers was, at least, half the distinction (for we must remember the bow was as formidable as the lance) of establishing the glory of the country; of giving her that proud character for martial prowess, which has outlived her brief and feeble tenure of the territorial consequences of victory. richard ii. did not emulate the martial fame of his father. his neglect of the warriors of the former reign was not among the slightest causes of that disaffection which ultimately ruined him. one of the public grievances, as stated to the throne by the house of commons, was that the chivalry of the country had been discountenanced and disgraced, and that the growth of vice had consequently increased.[ ] richard was a voluptuous prince; the splendour of chivalry hung over his court; his tilts and tournaments were unusually magnificent; but the martial and, therefore, the chief spring of knighthood was wanting. a warlike sovereign could have found rich materials among his people for ambitious enterprises. the increasing wealth of the nation, arising from its improving commerce, displayed itself in luxuries; and the aspiring commonalty imitated the chivalric courtesies of the great. it marks the state of manners, that the splendid tapestries of the citizens represented the martial achievements of edward iii.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: scottish chivalry.] the names of the douglas and the percy were so highly distinguished in the fourteenth century, that the reign of richard ii. is a fit place for some notices of northern chivalry. the battle of bannockburn proved that, in gallantry and generosity, the essentials of knighthood, the scots were as noble as the cavaliers of the south; and there was a fine wildness of imagination among the people which was suitable to the romantic genius of chivalry.[ ] but those of scotland's heroes whose lives are known to us were patriots rather than cavaliers, the circumstances of the times in which they lived inflaming them with different passions than those which knighthood could inspire. [sidenote: chivalric kindness of robert bruce.] sometimes, however, the stern virtues of patriotism were graced and softened by chivalric courtesy. perhaps the most pleasing instance of this occurred in the conduct of robert bruce, in the year , when he was assisting his brother, edward bruce, to subjugate ireland; and i will not injure the story by telling it in any other way than in the simple and beautiful strain of the poet: "the king has heard a woman cry, he asked, what that was in hy?[ ] it is the layndar[ ], sir, said ane, that her child-ill[ ] right now has ta'en, and must leave now behind us here, therefore she makes an evil cheer.[ ] the king said, "certes, it were pity that she in that point left should be, for certes, i trow there is no man that he no will rue[ ] a woman than." his hosts all then arrested he, and gert a tent soon stintit[ ] be; and gert her gang in hastily, and other women to be her by. while she was delivered he bade, and syne forth on his ways rade. and how she forth should carried be, or he forth fure[ ] ordained he. this was a full great courtesy, that swilk a king and so mighty, gert his men dwell on this manner, but for a poor lavender."[ ] the bruce, book xi. l. . at the court of the scottish kings, knighthood was always regarded as a distinction worthy of the highest ambition. its objects were the same as in other countries,--the defence of the church, protection of the helpless, and generosity to woman. the form of the chivalric oath has been preserved, and it presents us with a curious picture of ancient manners: . i shall fortify and defend the christian religion to the uttermost of my power. . i shall be loyal and true to my sovereign lord the king; to all orders of chivalry, and to the noble office of arms. . i shall fortify and defend justice at my power; and that without favour or enmity. . i shall never flee from my sovereign lord the king; nor from his lieutenants, in time of affray or battle. . i shall defend my native land from all aliens and strangers. . i shall defend the just action and quarrel of all ladies of honour, of all true and friendless widows, of orphans, and of maidens of good fame. . i shall do diligence, wheresoever i hear that there are any murderers, traitors, or masterful robbers, who oppress the king's lieges and poor people, to bring them to the law at my power. . i shall maintain and uphold the noble state of chivalry, with horse, armour, and other knightly habiliments, and shall help and succour those of the same order, at my power, if they have need. . i shall enquire and seek to have the knowledge and understanding of all the articles and points contained in the book of chivalry. all these promises to observe, keep, and fulfil, i oblige myself: so help me god by my own hand, and by god himself.[ ] [sidenote: mutual chivalry between the scotch and english courts.] chivalric honours formed sometimes a bond of connection between the scottish and the english sovereigns. when prince henry (afterwards king henry ii.) arrived at the age of sixteen years, his father geoffry sent him through england with a numerous and splendid retinue into scotland, to receive the honour of knighthood from his mother's uncle, king david. the ceremony was performed with great pomp, in the midst of a prodigious concourse of the english, scottish, and norman nobility; and the prince spent about eight months in the court of scotland, perfecting himself in military exercises.[ ] a few years afterwards chivalric honors were conferred by henry ii. of england upon malcolm ii. but the granting of knighthood was not regarded as a matter of mere courtesy. when the kings met at carlisle, in , the previous cession of the northern provinces by malcolm to henry gave rise to such heats and feuds, that the scottish monarch departed without receiving the honour he desired. in the next year, however, henry, by excellent address, persuaded malcolm to accompany him to france for the recovery of tholouse, which he claimed as part of the inheritance of eleanor his queen; and the honor which henry had refused in the last year to give him at carlisle, he now conferred upon him at tours in france, in the course of his return from the tholouse expedition.[ ] in when king alexander iii. repaired from scotland to york to be married to the princess margaret, daughter of henry iii. of england, the ceremonies of chivalry preceded those of marriage. alexander received the ensigns of knighthood from the king of england on christmas day, and the hand of his bride on the following morning.[ ] tournaments were occasionally held at the scottish court, and strangers were courteously received.[ ] knights from scotland are frequently mentioned in the old chronicles as having won the prize in the chivalric festivals in france and england. in the wars of the scots with edward iii. no circumstances of a character peculiarly knightly can be selected; and in the intervals of truce chivalry could not, as in the wars between england and france, give the guise of friendship to occasional intercourse. in the year , a time of peace, edward passed some time in scotland. tournaments and jousts formed the occupation of the strangers and the natives; but neither party regarded the gentle rules of the tourney, and two scottish knights and one english knight were killed.[ ] [sidenote: french knights' opinions of scottish chivalry.] nothing could contribute more powerfully to the advancement of chivalry in the north than the frequent intercourse between the scots and the french. the latter people, however, would not always acknowlege the chivalric character of their allies. in the year , a troop of french knights joined the scottish king; and they soon were grieved that they had ever left their own country. they complained to their leader sir john of vienne of their unhappy lot. they had no tapestried halls and goodly castles as in france; and instead of soft beds their couches were as hard as the ground. sir john was a true son of chivalry; and he said to them, "sirs, it behoves us to suffer a little, and to speak fair since we are in the perils of war. let us take in cheerfulness that which we find. we cannot always be at paris, dijon, beaune, or at chalons. it behoveth them that live in the world thinking to have honour, to suffer poverty as well as to enjoy wealth." the reader of english history remembers that richard ii. invaded scotland; that at the same time the scots ravaged cumberland and westmorland; and that each army boasted that the destruction it had committed was fully as dreadful as the havoc made by the other. it is more curious to notice the trait of manners which general historians have altogether omitted, that when the french knights returned home, they complained that they had never passed through so painful an enterprise. not that they regarded the perilous mêlée, but it was because they returned without horse or harness, poor and feeble. they wished that the french king, would unite with the english king, and go into scotland and destroy that realm for ever. the scots were an evil people, traitors, and altogether foolish in feats of war.[ ] english knights always more rejoiced when the trumpet summoned them to france than to scotland. the rich wines, the fine country, the superior chivalry of the french were preferred before the poverty and bleakness of the north. when the english knights went to scotland they were obliged to carry provisions with them; and also horses' shoes and harness, the country not furnishing iron or leather.[ ] [sidenote: courtesies between english and scottish knights.] the wars between england and scotland, though fierce and sanguinary, admitted the display of the liberal feelings of chivalry. "englishmen on the one party, and scots on the other," says froissart, "are good men of war; for when they meet there is a hard fight without sparing. there is no pause between them as long as spears, swords, axes, or daggers will endure. when one party hath obtained the victory, they then glorify so in their deeds of arms and are so joyful, that such as are taken are ransomed ere they go out of the field; so that shortly each of them is so content with the other, that at their departing they will say courteously, god thank you."[ ] [sidenote: chivalric battle of otterbourn, st july, .] these remarks of froissart, so interesting because so characteristic of manners, prelude the most chivalric battle that ever was fought between scotland and england. other battles were decided either by the bow or by that general military skill which was not peculiar to chivalry; but the battle of otterbourn was a knightly mêlée, and was as truly chivalric as an encounter of cavaliers in the tournament. in the reign of richard ii. of england, and a few years after the circumstances in his time already alluded to, the scots commanded by james earl douglas, taking advantage of the troubles between the king and his parliament, poured upon the south. when they were sated with plunder and destruction, they rested at newcastle, near the english force which the earl of northumberland and other border-chieftains had hastily levied. [sidenote: hotspur and the douglas.] the earl's two sons were young and lusty knights, and ever foremost at the barriers to skirmish. many proper feats of arms were done and achieved. the fighting was hand to hand. the noblest encounter was that which occurred between the earl douglas and sir henry percy, surnamed hotspur.[ ] the scot won the pennon of his foeman; and in the triumph of his victory he exclaimed that he would carry it to scotland, and set it on high on his castle of dalkeith, that it might be seen afar off. percy indignantly replied, that douglas should not pass the border without being met in a manner which would give him no cause for boasting. with equal spirit the earl douglas invited him that night to his lodging to seek for his pennon. the scots then retired, and kept careful watch, lest the taunts of their leader should urge the englishmen to make an attack. percy's spirit burned to efface his reproach, but he was counselled into calmness. the scots then dislodged, seemingly resolved to return with all haste to their own country. but otterbourn arrested their steps. the castle resisted the assault; and the capture of it would have been of such little value to them that most of the scotch knights wished that the enterprise should be abandoned. douglas commanded, however, that the assault should be persevered in, and he was entirely influenced by his chivalric feelings. he contended that the very difficulty of the enterprise was the reason of undertaking it; and he wished not to be too far from sir henry percy, lest that gallant knight should not be able to do his devoir in redeeming his pledge of winning the pennon of his arms again. hotspur was not altogether that impatient spirit which poetry has described him. he longed, indeed, to follow the douglas, and redeem his badge of honor; but the sage knights of the country, and such as were well expert in arms, spoke against his opinion, and said to him, "sir, there fortuneth in war oftentimes many losses. if the earl of douglas has won your pennon, he bought it dear, for he came to the gate to seek it, and was well beaten: another day you shall win as much of him and more. sir, we say this because we know well that all the power of scotland is abroad in the fields; and if we issue forth and are not strong enough to fight with them, (and perchance they have made this skirmish with us to draw us out of the town,) they may soon enclose us, and do with us what they will. it is better to lose a pennon than two or three hundred knights and squires, and put all the country to adventure." by such words as these hotspur and his brother were refrained from their purpose; for like sage and imaginative knights they would do nothing against counsel. soon afterwards it was discovered that the whole amount of the scottish force did not exceed three thousand men. hotspur's heart leapt for joy at the prospect of glory which this news opened to him; and, like a true son of chivalry, he cried to his friends; "sirs, let us spring upon our horses, for by the faith i owe unto god, and to my lord my father, i will go and seek my pennon, and dislodge the scots this same night." incontinently knights and squires donned their helms and cuirasses, and vaulted on their war-steeds. they rode more than apace to otterbourn, and reached the scottish camp by night. they far outnumbered their foemen, but the numerical was not the physical strength, for the english were forespent with travel, while the scots were fresh and well rested. the hostile banners waved in the night-breeze, and the bright moon, which had been more wont to look upon the loves than the wars of chivalry, lighted up the scottish camp. a battle ensued of as valiant a character as any recorded in the pages of history; for there was neither knight nor squire but that did his devoir and fought hand to hand. the english dashed upon their foemen with such spirit, that their charge would have been irresistible, if douglas, who was of great heart and high of enterprise, had not taken his axe in both his hands, and supported his retreating band. at length he was encountered by three spears at once, and borne perforce to the earth. one of his companions, a gallant knight, and a chaplain who fought on that occasion like a valiant man of arms with a good axe in his hands, skirmished about the earl as he lay, and kept the press from him.[ ] when it was known that douglas had fallen, some of his knights ran with breathless anxiety to the spot and asked him how he sped. "right evil, cousins," quoth the earl; "but, thank god, very few of my ancestors have died in their beds. but i require you to avenge my death, for i feel my heart fainting within me. raise my banner, but do not declare my case to any one; for my enemies would rejoice, and my friends be discomforted, to hear that i had been wounded to death." in a moment the proud ensign of his chivalry waved once again over the scottish knights, and each gallant man-at-arms cheered his companion's heart by crying the war-cry of the douglas. the percys were made prisoners, hotspur[ ] by the earl montgomery, and sir ralph by sir john maxwell. finally, the scottish chivalry prevailed, and they remained masters of the field.[ ] nothing could be more gallant than the demeanor of the scots. they wished to take alive thomas felton, an english squire, whose valour excited their admiration; but, like a true hero, he submitted to be slain rather than to be vanquished. the scots, when the englishmen yielded, were courteous, and set them to their ransom; and every man said to his prisoner, "sir, go and unarm you, and take your ease;" and they lived together as if they had been brethren. [sidenote: a chivalric story.] among the circumstances connected with the battle, none is more interesting than this:--when the fate of the night was decided, sir matthew redman, an englishman, and governor of berwick, spurred his horse from the field, but was hotly pursued by the scottish knight, sir james lindsay, and he could not escape, for his panting charger fell under him. lindsay dismounted, and the two knights fought well and chivalrously, the scotsman with his axe (the favorite weapon of the nation), and the english knight with his sword. the axe prevailed, and redman surrendered himself, rescue or no rescue. he wished to go to newcastle, and his master (for such, as we have often seen, was the title of a knight who held another captive,) permitted him to depart, on his pledging his word of chivalry, that within three weeks he would meet him at edinburgh. the knights then separated; but as lindsay was returning to the scottish host, priding himself on his success, he was surrounded by the bishop of durham and a numerous troop. some hours before, they had marched purposely to the succour of percy; but the clangour of the mêlée had terrified them into a retreat. they possessed sufficient bravery, however, to take a single and battle-worn knight. he was led to newcastle, where he met sir matthew redman; and these two gallant cavaliers dined right merrily together, and, after quaffing many a cup of rich wine, to the honour and health of their mistresses, they arranged with the bishop the conditions of each other's liberation.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: reign of henry iv. chivalric parley between him and the duke of orleans.] the reign of henry iv. of england was not altogether void of chivalric interest. while duke of lancaster he had chosen louis, duke of orleans, for his brother in chivalry. each had promised to the other that they would live in the warmest affection of true friendship. each vowed to be a friend and well-wisher to the friends and well-wishers of the other, and an enemy to his enemies, as became the honour and reputation of both; and that at all times, and in all places, they would by words and deeds assist each other in the defence of his person, honour, and estate. these chivalric engagements between the two dukes had been made known to the world in an instrument called a letter of alliance, dated the th of june, . the friendship lasted during the remainder of the reign of richard ii.; but the deposition of that monarch was so odious a circumstance, in the eyes of the court of france, the daughter of whose sovereign richard had married, that although no open rupture of the existing truce between the two nations took place, yet many high-spirited french noblemen made private war upon the english king. the duke of orleans, his sworn brother in arms, challenged henry iv. to meet him at any place he chose in france, each of them being accompanied by one hundred knights and squires, of name and arms without reproach, and to combat together till one of the parties should surrender. henry declined the challenge, alleging, as his reasons, the public truce between the two countries, to which the duke of orleans was a party, and the particular treaty of alliance between themselves. that treaty, however, he now annulled, and threw aside thenceforth all love and affection towards the duke. he declared that it would be unworthy of his high rank to accept the challenge of any one of inferior dignity to himself, nor had any of his royal progenitors ever employed his arms with one hundred or more persons, in such a cause: but whenever he should think it convenient to visit his possessions on the french side of the sea, accompanied by such numbers of persons as he thought proper, the duke of orleans might assemble as many persons as he should judge expedient, to acquire honour in the accomplishing of all his courageous desires; and he should not depart without being satisfied in a combat between themselves; which mode of terminating their dispute was preferable to any other that might occasion the effusion of more christian blood. the duke of orleans replied that the public truce had been violated by henry himself, when he made war upon richard the ally of france. with respect to the articles of friendship between themselves, the allies of the king of france had been excepted from their provisions, and therefore either party was left to his choice of conduct regarding the deportment of the other to any of their allies. on the subject of a remark of henry that no knight of whatever rank he might be, ought to request a deed of arms, until he should have returned any articles of alliance that might exist between himself and the challenged person, louis satirically enquired whether henry had rendered to his lord, king richard, the oath of fidelity he had made to him, before he had proceeded in the manner he had done against his person. the duke insinuated that richard's death had been compassed by henry, and then enquired how the king could suffer that noble lady, the queen of england, to return to france so desolate after the death of her husband, despoiled of her portion and dower. the man who sought to gain honour was always the defender and guardian of the rights of widows and damsels of virtuous life, such as the niece of the duke of orleans was known to lead; and as he was so nearly related to her, acquitting himself towards god and towards her as a relation, he replied, that to avoid effusion of blood he would cheerfully meet him in single combat. in reply to this letter henry observed, that when public affairs had called him from france to england, louis had promised him aid, and that therefore the duke could not in justice comment on the late revolution: but that with respect to richard personally, he, henry, now king, denied most warmly and solemnly that his death had been occasioned by his order or consent. he declared it to be false, and said it would be false each time that louis uttered it; and this he was ready to prove, through the grace of god, in personal combat. he repelled the charge of cruelty to isabella; contending that, on the contrary, he had ever shown kindness and friendship to her, and wishing that louis had never acted with greater rigour, unkindness, or cruelty towards any lady or damsel than he had done to her. but the proposed combat never took place; nor can it be inferred that either party was very sincere in his challenge, for the ambassadors of henry at the court of france often complained of the conduct of louis, but louis never reiterated his challenge, and no satisfaction was rendered, the king and council waiving the matter entirely, and coldly stating that they would always continue firm to the engagements which they had made with england.[ ] [sidenote: henry's unchivalric conduct at shrewsbury.] in another event, the most important event of his reign, the conduct of henry was most decidedly unchivalric. when at the battle of shrewsbury (july . ,) the banners advanced, and the air was rent with the war-cries "saint george!" and "esperance percy!" the archers on either side drew their tough bow-strings with such murderous energy, that the several lines of knights and men-at-arms with difficulty maintained their ground. in this moment of peril, when the stoutest hearts quailed, the gallant hotspur, and archibald earl douglas[ ], with a small band of brothers in arms, started from their host, and throwing their warlike shields before them, rushed, amidst an iron shower, into the very centre, the best defended part, of the royal army. their battle-axes and good swords made fearful havoc among the king's guards, the standard of england was trodden under foot, and the earl of stafford and that "dear and true industrious friend" of the king, sir robert blunt, who were armed in the royal guise, were slain.[ ] hotspur sought in vain for the king; for when his grace observed the percies sweeping across the field, he had followed the prudent counsel of the earl of dunbar, and changing his armour for that of a common knight, he repaired to another part of the plain. the prince of wales displayed more bravery than his father, and he was wounded while maintaining his position. hotspur now formed his little band into a dense array, and endeavoured to retire to his line of knights. but while he was fighting with all the courage of his high chivalry, a random arrow brought him to the earth. his death was almost instantaneous; and the event was viewed through either army with the various feelings of joy and woe. he had been the inspiring soul of his own host, and his fall was the signal for their dispersion. the character of courage can scarcely be denied to henry iv., but it was not graced by any of the lofty daring of chivalry. an edward would have braved the fiercest danger, he would never have thrown aside the insignia of his rank, and clothing some noble friends in the royal habiliments have left them to perish in his stead. the conduct of henry might have been royal, but it certainly was not chivalric.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: henry v.] [sidenote: knights of the bath.] the glories of chivalry seemed to be revived in the reign of harry monmouth. his coronation was accompanied by a large creation of a class of knights, whose peculiar nature i have not yet expressed. in early ages of english history there seems to have been two descriptions of cavaliers, the knights of the sword, and the knights of the bath. the former were made both in times of war and peace, the latter only at coronations, royal marriages, and other festive occasions. the dubbing with the sword was the simple ceremony of creating knights of the one class; but most of the forms of chivalry were used in the investiture of those of the other: and as the bath was a very remarkable part of the ceremony, and the exhortation to the performance of chivalric duties was delivered to the knight while he was in it, the knights so created were reputed knights of the bath. the knights of the sword, or knights bachelors, were created by the sheriffs of counties, by virtue of letters from the king commanding his officers to knight those persons, who, in consequence of their landed estates, were worthy of the honour; but when the other class was to be enlarged, the king selected a certain number of the young nobility and gentry, and he himself assisted at the ceremony. knights of the bath always took precedence of knights bachelors; and as the superiority of knights of the garter was shown by the circumstance, that on the installation of a knight there was a creation of knights of the bath, so on any other occasion when knights of the bath were made, there was, in honor of the circumstance, a creation of knights of the sword. the exact time when this distinction was first made between knights of the bath and knights of the sword has eluded the investigation of antiquaries, nor does it deserve a lengthened enquiry. it may be marked in the reign of henry iv.[ ], and was probably of earlier origin; and at the coronation of his son this feature of our ancient manners was fully displayed. the king, with a noble and numerous train of lords spiritual and temporal, left his palace at kingston-upon-thames, and rode at a soft pace towards london. he was met and greeted by a countless throng of earls, barons, knights, squires, and other men of landed estate and consideration; and as he approached the city, a solemn procession of its clergy, and a gorgeous train of its merchants and tradesmen, hailed his approach. the king was conducted with every mark of honour to the tower, where about fifty gallant young gentlemen of noble birth were waiting in expectation of receiving the honour of knighthood from the king, on occasion of the august ceremony of his coronation. the sovereign feasted his lords in the tower; and these young candidates for chivalry, in testimony that they should not be compellable at any future time to perform the like service in the habit of esquires, served up the dishes at this royal festival according to the usage of chivalry in england; and immediately after the entertainment they retired to an apartment where dukes, earls, barons, and honourable knights, as their counsellors or directors, instructed them upon their behaviour, when they should become knights of the venerable order of the bath. the young candidates, according to custom, went into the baths prepared severally for them, performing their vigils and the other rites and exercises of chivalric practice. much of the night was passed in watching and prayer, the rest they slept away in rich golden beds. they arose on the first appearance of the next morning's dawn; and, after giving their beds to the domestic servants of the king's household, as their customary fee, they proceeded to hear mass. their devotions concluded, they clad themselves in rich silk mantles, to whose left shoulders were attached a double cordon or strings of white silk, from which white tassels were pendent. this addition to the mantle was not regarded as a decoration, but a badge of gentle shame, which the knight was obliged to wear until some high emprise had been achieved by him. the proud calls of his knighthood were remissible, however, by his lady-love; for a fair and noble damsel could remove this stigma from his shoulder, at her own sweet will; for there were no limits to woman's power in the glorious days of chivalry.[ ] the young soldiers mounted noble war-steeds and rode to the gate of the royal palace, where, dismounting, each of them was supported by two knights, and conducted with all proper marks of honour and respect into the presence of the king, who, sitting in royal magnificence, the throne being surrounded with the great officers of state, promoted them severally to the honour of knighthood. a great festival was then given in their honour, and they were permitted to sit down in their rich silk mantles in the king's presence; but they were not allowed to taste any part of the entertainment; for it was a feature in the simple manners of our ancestors, that new made knights like new made wives ought to be scrupulously modest and abstemious.[ ] after the royal feast was done, the young cavaliers, divesting themselves of their mantles, put on rich robes ornamented with ensigns of dependence on the king. the next day, when the king rode to westminster in much state and solemn order, all these young knights whom he had just honoured with the order of chivalry preceded him, riding with noble chevisance through the middle of the city; and so splendid was their appearance that the spectators (observes the old chronicler) seemed inebriated with joy.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: henry's love of chivalric books.] it is a pleasing and convincing proof of the chivalric spirit of harry monmouth, that he commanded lydgate to translate into english the destruction of troy, in order that the public mind might be restored to its ancient military tone. he wished that the remembrance of the valiant dead should live, that the worthiness and prowess of the old chivalry and true knighthood should be remembered again.[ ] accordingly, the youth of england were on fire, and honour's thought reigned solely in the breast of every man. "they sell the pasture now to buy the horse; following the mirror of all christian kings, with winged heels, as english mercuries. for now sits expectation in the air, and hides a sword, from heels unto the point, with crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, promis'd to harry and his followers."[ ] [sidenote: his chivalric bearing.] certainly the march to calais (after the taking of harfleur) was never exceeded in heroic bravery by any imaginary exploit in romance. the attenuated condition of his army forbad all immediate prosecution of his ambitious aspirations for the french crown; but a direct return to england did not accord with his high and courageous spirit; and, treating the soil of france as if it were his own, he resolved to march to calais. he professed neither desire nor fear to meet his enemies; and he pursued his march with firm and grave steps, openly declaring to the french heralds the destination of his course. political objects were suspended, but he secretly wished to raise the chivalric character of his people; and he had numbers and vigour yet remaining to have a joust to the utterance with his enemies. as at poictiers so at agincourt, the yeomen divided with the knights of england the glory of the conquest: but the battle of agincourt was in itself more heroic, for the english themselves were the assailants, instead of, as in the former battle, waiting the attack. henry's disdain of the wish of having more men from england,--his noble cry, "banners, advance!" when his few thousands were ranged against all the proud chivalry of france,--his rendering himself conspicuous by his crown, his armour, and his splendid tunic,--his knighting some brave welsh soldiers, his personal defenders, even as they lay expiring;--these circumstances, vouched for, as they are, by the most faithful chroniclers, apparently belong to the romance rather than to the history of chivalry. after the battle he was as courteous[ ] to his noble prisoners as the black prince had been on a similar occasion; and there was something very beautiful in his not permitting his battered helmet, with its royal crown, to be exhibited, during the customary show at his public entrance into london.[ ] [sidenote: commencement of the decline of chivalry.] henry v. was the last of our chivalric kings. though he revived the fame of edward iii. and the black prince, yet immediately after his reign the glories of english chivalry began to wane. in our subsequent wars in france, indeed, there were among our nobility many knightly spirits,--the warwicks, the talbots, the suffolks, the salisburys, all worthy to have been the paladins of charlemagne, the knights of arthur's round table. but they went not with the character of the age; they opposed, rather than reflected it. chivalry was no longer a national feature in our wars when there was no sovereign to fan the flame. [sidenote: the civil wars.] [sidenote: caxton's lamentation.] henry vi. was a devotee, and edward iv. a voluptuary. the civil wars in england operated as fatally upon the noble order of knighthood as the civil wars in france had done in that country. in those contests, far fiercer than national hostilities, there was a ruthlessness of spirit that mocked the gentle influences of chivalry. accordingly it was asked, in the time of edward iv., "how many knights are there now in england that have the use and exercise of a knight? that is to say, that he knoweth his horse, and his horse him, ready to a point to have all things that belongeth to a knight; a horse that is according and broken after its kind, his armour and harness meet and fitting."[ ] "i would," continues the father of english printing, "it pleased our sovereign lord that twice or thrice in a year he would cry jousts of peace, to the end that every knight should have horse and harness, and also the use and craft of a knight; and also to tourney, one against one, or two against two, and the best to have a prize, a diamond or jewel. the exercises of chivalry are not used and honoured as they were in ancient time, when the noble acts of the knights of england that used chivalry were renowned through the universal world. o ye knights of england, where is the custom and usage of noble chivalry? what do ye now but go to the bains and play at dice? alas! what do ye but sleep and take ease, and are all disordered from chivalry? leave this, leave it, and read the noble volumes of st. graal, of launcelot, of tristrem, of galaod, of perceval, of perceforest, of gawayn, and many more. there shall ye see manhood, courtesy, and gentilness."[ ] to this testimony of the decline of chivalry must be added the important fact that in people petitioned parliament for liberty to commute by a pecuniary fine the obligation to receive knighthood. this change of manners did not occur, as is generally supposed, in consequence of the use of gunpowder; for during the civil wars in england artillery was seldom and but partially used in the field, and, except at the great battle of tewkesbury, in the year , that arm of power had no effect on the general issue of battles. the cavalry and infantry were arranged in the old system: the lance was the weapon of those of gentle birth, while the bow and the bill were used by people of inferior state. comines, who wrote about the close of the fifteenth century, says, that the archers formed the main strength of a battle.[ ] [sidenote: he exaggerates the evil.] though the civil wars had injured, they had not altogether destroyed the spirit of chivalry. there was yet enough of it remaining among the people to have borne its old shape and appearance, if england had once more been possessed of a black prince or a harry monmouth. but we had no such sovereign; and the increasing use of gunpowder effectually prevented the return of chivalric customs in battle. the feelings of a nation are reflected in its literature; and we find that the taste of the english people was altogether in favour of romances and histories of chivalry, as caxton's various publications prove. the declamation of caxton against the degeneracy of the age, which has been already cited, must not be interpreted literally in all its points. romance writers, like moralists, had before praised the past at the expence of the present times. so early as the thirteenth century, thomas of erceldoune, called the rhymer, had bewailed the depravity of his contemporaries, and had likened the degeneracy of his age to the change which the approaching winter must produce upon the appearance of the fields and groves. "this semly somers day, in winter it is nought sen: this greves (groves), waxen al gray, that in her time were grene; so dos this world i say, y wis and nought at wene; the gode bene al oway, that our elders have bene to abide."[ ] caxton's mind was full of the high interest of chivalry, and it was very natural of him to lament that the same enthusiasm did not warm the hearts of others. but he must have considered the feelings of chivalry as dormant, and not extinct, or he would never have addressed the public in the manner he did at the close of his preface to his edition of the romances relating to arthur and the knights of the round table. he printed the work, he says, "to the intent that noble men may see and learn the noble acts of chivalry, the gentle and virtuous deeds that some knights used in those days, by which they came to honour, and how they that were vicious were punished, and oft put to shame and rebuke, humbly beseeching all noble lords and ladies, with all other estates of what estate or degree they be of, that shall see and read in this said book and work, that they take the good and honest acts in their remembrance, and to follow the same. wherein they shall find many joyous and pleasant histories, and many noble and renowned acts of humanity, gentleness, and chivalry. for herein may be seen noble chivalry, courtesy, humanity, friendliness, hardiness, love, friendship, cowardice, murder, hate, virtue, and sin. do after the good and leave the evil, and it shall bring you to good fame and renommée." [sidenote: many gallant english knights.] his question, how many knights of england were there in england that had the use and exercise of chivalry, could have been answered by many accomplished cavaliers. the king, at the very time when caxton wrote, was giving licences to his subjects to progress into foreign countries, and perform feats of arms; and foreign princes, barons, and knights, came into england, under royal protection, to grace our tilts and tournaments.[ ] every marriage, and other interesting circumstances in the lives of the nobility, was celebrated by knightly shows in honour of arms and of the ladies. [sidenote: character of henry viii. with reference to chivalry.] the forms of chivalry appeared more splendid than before, as chivalry approached its downfall. henry vii., the least warlike of our sovereigns, created knights with remarkable brilliancy of ceremony; and the jousts and tournaments in the days of his son and successor would have graced the best ages of chivalry. but henry viii. had none of the virtues of a true knight, and his conduct to his wives was any thing but chivalric.[ ] he displayed his great strength and activity of person in the tournament, because that amusement was one of english custom, but he would as readily have engaged in any other exercise more strictly gymnastic. he affected, however, to joust from true feelings of knighthood; for he used on these occasions to wear on his head a lady's sleeve full of diamonds. he was as famous for his tournaments as edward iii. had been for his battles. in many of the early years of his reign he was perpetually breaking spears, or fighting at barriers with a two-handed sword, and to his rank, if not to his skill, the prize was generally adjudged. but his skill was sometimes undoubted; for, like the knights of old, he occasionally fought in disguise[ ], and yet conquered; and he encountered, with similar success, men of other countries who, for various reasons of affairs or pleasure, travelled to england. the jousts and tournaments in the days of henry viii. are extremely interesting, as reflecting a state of manners different from those of earlier times. tournaments were no longer simple representations of chivalry, but splendid pageants were united to them. [sidenote: tournaments in his reign.] in june, a solemn tournament was kept at greenwich, the king and sir charles brandon undertaking to abide all comers. to this goodly show the ladies were the first that approached, dressed in white and red silk, and seated upon horses, the colours of whose trappings corresponded with those of the ladies' dresses. a fountain curiously made of russet satin, having eight mouths spouting water, then followed. within this piece of splendour and ingenuity sat a knight armed at all points. the next person in the procession was a lady covered with black silk dropped with fine silver, riding on a courser barded in a similar manner. a knight in a horse-litter then followed. when the fountain arrived at the tilting ground, the ladies rode round the lists, and so did the fountain, and the knight within the litter. two goodly coursers caparisoned for the jousts then were introduced. the two knights left the fountain and the litter and mounted them, the surprised spectators beholding the king and sir charles brandon. the challenge to all comers was then proclaimed by the heralds; and while the trumpets were sounding all the inspiring notes of chivalry, at one end of the lists entered sir thomas knevet in a castle of coal black, and over the castle was written 'the dolorous castle.' the earl of essex, the lord howard, and other knights splendidly attired, then pricked into the lists, and with sir thomas encountered the king and sir charles brandon. the details of the tournament have not been recorded; the chronicler contenting himself with observing, that the king broke most spears, and that the prize fell to his lot.[ ] henry displayed his joy at the birth of his son, prince arthur, by a solemn tournament. the court removed from richmond to westminster. the king himself determined to tourney, and he selected four knights to aid him. he styled himself "cure loial," the lord william earl of devonshire was called "bon voloire," sir thomas knevet, "bon espoir," and sir edward nevill chose for his tourneying name "valiant desire." these four noble spirits were called "les quatre chevaliers de la forrest salvigne." their names were written upon a goodly table, which was suspended from a tree, curiously wrought, the knights engaging to run at the tilt against all comers. accordingly, by the prescribed time, a court in the palace was prepared for the games, and the queen and her ladies were conducted to a gallery richly hung inside with cloth of gold, and on the outside with cloth of arras. a pageant preceded the sports of chivalry. it is described as representing a forest, with rocks, hills, and vales, with trees, herbs, and flowers, made of green velvet, damask and silk. six men clad as foresters stood at different parts; and in the midst of the forest was a castle apparently made of gold, and before the gate sat a gentleman splendidly apparelled, weaving a garland of roses for the prize. the spectators imagined that the pageant was drawn into the court by a lion and an antelope, who were led by men in the guise of savages. when the pageant rested before the queen, the foresters blew their horns, and from different parts of the forest the four knights issued armed at all points and mounted on their war-steeds. each knight carried his lance, a plume of feathers surmounted his crest, and his name was embroidered on the bases of gold which covered his horse. at the moment of these knights starting from the forest, and the court resounding with the noise of drums and trumpets, the earl of essex, the lord thomas howard, and many other nobles, entered the court, and then the jousts commenced. but who deserved best that day the historian has not mentioned. the next afternoon the queen repaired to her gallery; and instead of the king and his aids being introduced in a pageant, they entered the court under splendid pavilions of cloths of gold and velvet. on the other side of the lists sir charles brandon entered in the guise of a recluse or religious person, his horse being also caparisoned in the simplest form. no drum or other sound of minstrelsy ushered his approach; but he slowly and silently advanced to the queen, and presented to her a writing, whose effect was, that if she pleased he would tourney in her presence, but if it suited her not, he would depart as he came. the queen smiled and bowed assent; and sir charles, retiring to one end of the lists, threw aside the disguise of his splendid armour. the young henry guilford, enclosed in a device or a pageant made like a castle or turret, then approached the queen, and obtained her leave to engage in the tilt. next appeared the marquis dorset and sir thomas bullen, like two pilgrims from saint james, in tabards of black velvet, with palmers' hats on their helmets, with long jacobs' staves in their hands, their horse-trappings of black velvet, the harness of men and steeds being set with scallop shells of fine gold and strips of black velvet, every strip being also adorned with golden scallop shells. next came the lord henry of buckingham, sir giles capell, and many other knights. the sports then commenced, and as on the preceding day the king won the prize. in the evening the ambassadors and the nobility supped with the royal family, and after the banquet the king with the queen and lords and ladies entered the white-hall of the palace. songs, dancing, and minstrels, succeeded, and in the midst of the merriment the king retired unseen. soon afterwards the trumpets at the end of the hall began to sound, and a pageant upon wheels was brought in. a gentleman richly attired descended from it, and approaching the queen in a supplicatory attitude, told her that in a garden of pleasure there was an arbour of gold wherein were lords and ladies much desirous to show pastime to the queen and court, if they might be permitted so to do. the queen replied, that she was very desirous to see them and their pastime. a cloth of arras was therefore drawn from the front of the pageant, and rich representations of nature saluted the eye. six ladies, dressed with more bravery than the dull chronicler can describe, were seen in the arbour, supported by the king and five gallant knights. the whole scene appeared one blaze of gold. after the applause which this splendour elicited had subsided, the lords and ladies descended from the pageant, the minstrels sounded their music of gaiety, and the whole court mixed in the dance. and the people, too, had their amusement; for some portion of the simplicity of ancient times remained, and royalty was not thought to lose any thing of its dignity by being presented to the public eye. the pageant was conveyed to the end of the palace, there to tarry till the dances were finished, and so to have received the lords and ladies again; but suddenly the rude and joyous people ran to it, and tore and rent and spoilt it; and the lord steward and his officers, seeing that they could not drive them away without a conflict and disturbance, suffered the pageant to be destroyed.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: field of the cloth of gold.] the field of the cloth of gold has been so often described in works of ready access, that i should not be warranted in attempting to picture again its gay and sparkling scene. but some of its circumstances have not been sufficiently noticed; and they are so expressive of the chivalric feelings of the time that a history of chivalry would be imperfect without a description of them. the whole ceremonial of the meeting between henry viii. and francis i. was regulated by cardinal wolsey, "one certes, that promised no element in such a business." and the principle which guided this right reverend cardinal of york was political subtlety, and not knightly liberality. the english sojourned at guisnes, the french at ardres. on the morning of the first royal interview, the two kings and their numerous followers left their respective pavilions at the signal of a gun fired at guisnes, and returned from ardres. they slowly measured the way to the intermediate plain in the silence of apprehension; for the cardinal's ungenerous suspicions had spread through either host. once each party halted, expecting an attack; and when the noise which occasioned the alarm died away, the procession recommenced its course, confident that the fears of the other side were greater than their own. the kings met, and so anxious were they to display their feelings of friendship that they embraced on horseback. they then dismounted, and having renewed their caresses, they went into a pavilion of golden cloth; nor did they separate till dinner and familiar conversation had frozen the etiquette imposed on their manners by the cardinal. the next morning the two queens interchanged visits, and spent some hours in dancing and other amusements. these interchanges of courtesies warmed the minds of the two sovereigns to chivalric generousness. one morning francis rode to guisnes with scarcely any attendance. he walked through the english guard, who drew back in astonishment, and he did not stop till he reached the chamber where his brother-monarch lay asleep. francis soon awoke him; and henry, immediately comprehending his motives, declared, in the spirit and language of chivalry, that he yielded himself his prisoner, and plighted his faith. he then threw round francis's neck a collar of great value, and francis gave him a bracelet of superior worth, each king entreating the other to wear the gift for his sake. the two monarchs then became brothers in arms; and with twelve companions undertook to deliver all persons at jousts, tourney, and barriers. the chivalric exercises continued for five days, in the presence of the two queens and the nobility of england and france. french and english knights were the only part of the chivalry of europe who answered the challenge: for chivalry could not then, as in former days, smooth down personal heats and feuds; and therefore no subject of the wide extended empire of charles v. appeared on the field of the cloth of gold. the only weapons used were spears; but they were impelled with such vigour, as to be so often broken, that the spectators' eyes were scared with splinters. each day the challengers varied their harness and devices, and each day the two kings ran together so valiantly that the beholders had great joy.[ ] "each following day became the last day's master, till the next made former wonders it's. * * * * * * * * * * the two kings, equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, as presence did present them; him in eye, still him in praise: and, being present both, 'twas said, they saw but one; and no discerner durst wag his tongue in censure. when these suns (for so they phrase 'em) by their heralds challenged the noble spirits to arms, they did perform beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous story, being now seen possible enough, got credit, that bevis was believed."[ ] [sidenote: introduction of italian literature favoured romance.] there was a considerable portion of chivalry among the nobility of henry viii. in some respects, however, it partook more of the romance of the troubadour than the genuine character of knighthood: for the tale that lord surrey travelled from court to court proclaiming the peerless beauty of his lady-love, and challenging all gainsayers to a joust _à l'outrance_ is totally void of truth[ ]; and it only appears that his lordship fostered for the fair geraldine a sentimental affection without distinct views. it was altogether a poet's dream; and the italian muse, who was at that time worshipped in england, favoured such fond imaginings. [sidenote: popularity of chivalric literature.] much of the literature of the time was chivalric. every noble spirit loved the knight's tale of chaucer. the french and spanish stories of warriors and dames were transfused into english; as was the fine chronicle of froissart by lord berners at the command of the king; and the vigorous, rich, and picturesque style of our language in those days was admirably adapted for a history of the most brilliant age of knighthood. that the spirit of chivalry was not extinct in the reign of henry viii. is evident from this work of lord berners, for the ordinary diction of the day was used; and it was to the full as expressive of the gallantry and grace of the olden time as the original work itself. [sidenote: chivalric education of nobility.] the education of our english gentry was nearly as chivalric then as at any previous period of our history. boys were sent to school to learn to read at four years of age. at six they were taught languages and the first principles of manners: from ten to twelve dancing and music were added to their accomplishments, and politeness was particularly encouraged. at fourteen they were initiated into the sports of the field which prepared them for the ruder exercise of arms. at sixteen they were taught to joust, to fight at the barriers, to manage the war-horse, to assail castles, to support the weight of armour, and to contend in feats of arms with their companions. and there their education terminated.[ ] when they went to battle they demeaned themselves worthy of their education. [sidenote: english knights continued to break lances for ladies' love.] in all the military expeditions of the english on the continent, the soldiers of either army were continually challenging each other to break a lance for their ladies' sake. sir john wallop, in his march with a british army to landrecy, in the year , went to the town of terouenne, and, recollecting that the commandant was an old acquaintance, he addressed him in the true spirit of chivalry, that if there were any gentlemen under his charge willing to break a lance for their ladies' sake, six gentlemen should be sent from the english army to meet them. the challenge was accepted, the jousts were held, and, after this fine old chivalric mode of displaying his friendship, sir john wallop held on his course to landrecy.[ ] [sidenote: state of scottish chivalry at this period.] [sidenote: james iv.] the early part of the sixteenth century forms a very interesting æra of british chivalry; for it introduces to our notice james iv. of scotland, a hero both of knighthood and romance. he was as expert and graceful in tournaments and jousts as any cavalier who was the theme of history or poetry. on occasion of his marriage with margaret of england, his chivalric shows were splendid beyond example. he was wont to personate king arthur, or to take the title and appearance of an imaginary creature, called the savage knight. his tilt-yards reflected the glories of the last king of the britons, and the knights of the round table, or represented a wild and romantic country, with highlanders clad in savage dresses guarding the barriers. like a knight of the bye-gone time, he was a pilgrim as well as a soldier, and we will hope, for the purity of earlier days of chivalry, that his heroic predecessors did not often, like himself, turn aside from their pious peregrinations to wander amidst the bowers of castles, with ladies fair. the romantic gallantry of his disposition was so well known, that cooler politicians used it to the purposes of their ambition. the french king, louis xii., was abandoned by most of his allies, and was anxious to renew the ancient alliance of france with scotland: yet england and scotland were at that time at peace, and the two countries appeared to be united in friendship by the marriage of james with margaret, the king of england's sister. but louis knew the character of the man whose aid he required, and he played upon it with admirable dexterity. in , he sent, as his ambassador to the scottish court, bernard stuart, lord of aubigny, one of the most distinguished cavaliers of france. this envoy admirably supported the objects of his master: he soon won the affections of james, and his discourses on wars and tournaments disposed the king to love the chivalric french. a few years afterwards louis, still continuing to play on his chivalric feelings, made his wife, anne of britanny, choose james for her knight and champion, to protect her from all her enemies. the idea of winning by this scheme the scottish king to the purposes of france originated with andrew forman, bishop of moray, the scottish ambassador at paris, who, to promote his own aggrandisement, would have sacrificed king and country.[ ] the agent of the scheme was la motte, the french ambassador at edinburgh, who was as skilful as his martial predecessor, the lord of aubigny, in flattering james to his ruin. he presented him letters from the french queen, wherein, taking the style of a high-born damsel in distress, she termed him her knight, and, assuring him she had suffered much blame in defence of his honor, she beseeched him to advance but three steps into the english territory with his army, for the sake of his mistress. these letters were accompanied by a present of , crowns, and a ring from her own finger.[ ] the chivalry and vanity of james were rouzed by these appeals, and he became the willing tool of french ambition. the circumstances which succeeded his allying himself with france fall not within my province to detail. the battle of flodden field was their crown and conclusion; and although there was nothing chivalric in the battle itself, yet a few matters which preceded it come within my subject. indeed, in the times regarding which i am writing, chivalry was no longer a national distinction, and therefore cannot be marked in public affairs; its lights fell only upon a few individuals. [sidenote: chivalric circumstances at flodden.] on the fifth of september, the earl of surrey[ ], who commanded the english forces, dispatched a herald from alnwick to the scottish camp, offering james battle on a particular day, (friday, the th of september, ,) and james, like a gallant knight, accepted the challenge. he then removed his camp from ford[ ], and took a strong position on the ridge of flodden hill, "one of the last and lowest eminences detached from the ridge of cheviot." on the sixth the english reached wooller-haugh, a place within three miles of the scottish camp, and, observing the admirable position of the foe, the earl of surrey formed a scheme which, he hoped, would make them relinquish their advantage. knowing the king's undaunted courage, and high sense of honour, he wrote a letter, subscribed by himself and all the great men in his army, reproaching him for having changed his ground, after he had accepted the offer of battle, and challenging him to descend, like a brave and honourable prince, into the spacious vale of millfield, that lay between the two armies, and there decide the quarrel on fair and equal terms.[ ] this scheme failed; for james was not at that moment so ridiculously romantic as to forego an advantage which his skill had obtained; and he only replied that he should expect the english on the day appointed for battle. surrey would have been mad to have attacked him in his present position; and he, therefore, on the morning of the th of september, formed his army into marching order, crossed the till near wooller, progressed towards berwick, and rested at barmore wood. the scottish nobles apprehended that it was the intention of the english to plunder the fertile country of the merse; and they therefore importuned james to march to the defence of his own dominions: but the king declined, alleging that his honour was engaged to remain in his present station until the morrow, which was the appointed time for battle. on that morrow surrey directed his course to the tweed; but, suddenly changing his line of march, he repassed the till at the bridge of twissel. before the army had entirely passed, robert borthwick, the commander of james's artillery, entreated the permission of his sovereign to destroy the bridge, and thus break the enemy's force; but the king gave a stern denial, declaring that he wished to have all his enemies before him, and to fight them fairly.[ ] by this fatal folly james lost all the advantages of his position; for the english formed behind him, and flodden was open and accessible to them. if personal bravery, independent of sageness, had been the character of a knight, james deserved all chivalric honours; for, disdaining the counsel to behold the battle afar off, he mingled boldly in the thickest of the press. the field was won by the english archers; but james did not live to repent the enthusiasm of his chivalry, which had cost his country so much blood, for he was killed within a lance's length of lord surrey. the romantic chivalry of james was deeply injurious to scotland. she had, in his reign, attained a considerable eminence of national prosperity, but the defeat at flodden hurled her from her station. the country was "left a prey to foreign influence and intrigue, which continued till it ceased to form a separate kingdom: her finances were exhausted, her leaders corrupted, her dignity degraded, her commerce and her agriculture neglected."[ ] chap. iii. the last years of chivalry in england. _the chivalric feelings of the nation supported by spenser ... and by sir philip sidney ... allusions to sidney's life ... particularly his kindly consideration ... chivalric politeness of the age of elizabeth ... the earl of oxford ... tilts in greenwich park ... sir henry lee ... chivalry reflected in the popular amusements ... change of manners ... reign of james the first ... tournaments ceased, on prince henry's death ... life of lord herbert of cherbury ... chivalric fame of his family ... his character ... his inferiority to the knights of yore ... decline of chivalric education ... important change in knighthood by the parliament of charles the first ... application of chivalric honors to men of civil station ... knights made in the field ... carpet knights ... knights of the bath ... full account of the ancient ceremonies of creating knights of the bath._ [sidenote: the chivalric feelings of the nation supported by spenser,] the reigns of edward vi. and mary present nothing to our purpose; but the elizabethan age is fraught with interest. our continued intercourse with italy promoted anew the love for romance and allegory which religious controversy had for some years been gradually stifling. though classical literature had revived in italy, the muse of chivalry was most fondly worshipped, and the mind delighted to wander amidst the enchanted garden of armida. our well-travelled ancestors brought home with them the love for romantic poetry and allegory; and spenser's genius, influenced by the prevailing taste of his day, chose ariosto for his model, and painted the wild adventures of heroes and ladies. chivalry was the supposed perfection of man's moral nature; and the english poet, therefore, described the chief private virtues exemplified in the conduct of knights: it being his wish, as he expressed his mind to sir walter raleigh, to fashion a gentleman or noble person in valorous and gentle discipline. his principal hero, he in whom the image of a brave knight was perfected in the twelve moral virtues, was king arthur; and the poet freely used the circumstances and sentiments in the romances relating to that british hero, and also the other popular tales of chivalry. [sidenote: and sir philip sidney.] if poetry nourished the love of valorous knighthood, learning was equally its friend; and when spenser addressed sidney as the noble and virtuous gentleman, and most worthy of all titles of learning and chivalry, he spoke the feeling of his age, that the accomplishments of the mind were best displayed in martial demeanour. at the birth of sidney, as ben jonson says, all the muses met. in reading the arcadia, it is impossible to separate the author from the work, or to think that he has not poured forth all those imaginings of his fancy which his heart had marked for its own. he has pourtrayed knights and damsels valiant and gentle, placing all their fond aspirations of happiness in a rural life, and despising the pageantry of courts for the deep harmonies of nature. but sidney's mind was chivalric as well as romantic; and he was so fond of reverting to the fabled ages of his country, that it was his intention to turn all the stories of the arcadia into the admired legends of arthur and his knights.[ ] to modern taste the arcadia of sir philip sidney presents no charms: yet, by a singular contradiction, the author, who was the personification of his book, is regarded as the model of perfection. "the plume of war! with early laurels crown'd, the lover's myrtle, and the poet's bay."[ ] the popularity, however, of the arcadia, in the elizabethan age[ ], and the high reputation of the author, showed the sympathy of the world in those days for the romance of chivalry. [sidenote: allusions to his life.] the few circumstances in the brief life of sidney are too well known for me to be justified in detailing them: but i may remind my readers that he was born at penshurst in kent, in the year ; that he was accomplished in literature and chivalry by study and travel; that he was a courtier of elizabeth, and yet could oppose her dearest fancies, if they were hostile to the interests of his country; that his opposition to her projected union with anjou was spirited and well reasoned; that his love for his sister and his wife was the softening grace of that desire for chivalric valour which carried him with his uncle the earl of leicester to the plains of flanders, in the year ; and when he received his mortal wound before the town of zutphen, that he resigned a cup of water to the poor soldier whose lot he thought was more distressing than his own. his courage, his gallantry, and grace were his best known qualities, and those for which england and, indeed, europe, lamented his death. his funeral in st. paul's was a national one, the first instance in our history of honours of that description; and for many months afterwards not an individual in the court or city appeared in public, except in a garment of black:--in such high account were chivalric virtues held in the days of elizabeth. [sidenote: particularly his kindly consideration.] one feature of his character but little noticed by modern writers was very remarkable in those days, and will be better valued now than it was then. all who enjoyed the hospitality of penshurst were equal in the consideration of the host: there were no odious distinctions of rank or fortune; "the dishes did not grow coarser as they receded from the head of the table," and no huge salt-cellar divided the noble from the ignoble guests.[ ] [sidenote: chivalric politeness of the age of elizabeth.] [sidenote: the earl of oxford.] the polite gracefulness of sidney was not rare in his time; and there was not a courtier, who, if placed in similar circumstances to those of sir walter raleigh, that would not have cast his handsome plush cloak in the mire to serve for the queen, as a foot-cloth. tournaments as well masks were the amusements of the age. the prize was always delivered by elizabeth who never thought that age could deprive her of the privileges of beauty. edward vere earl of oxford was more skilful in these manly exercises of chivalry than all the other courtiers, even than sidney, who, like a magnanimous knight, was eloquent in his praise. "having this day my horse, my hand, my lance, guided so well that i obtained the prize, both by the judgment of the english eyes, and of some sent from that sweet en'my france: horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance, townsfolks my strength; a daintier judge applies his praise to sleight, which from good use doth rise: some lucky wits impute it but to chance, others, because of both sides i do take my blood from them who did excel in this, think nature me a man of arms did make. how far they shoot awry! the true cause is, stella look'd on, and from her heavenly face sent forth the beams which made so fair my race." astrophel and stella, st. . the friendship of sidney for him for awhile was the only circumstance which we know to his honour, and it implies the possession of virtuous qualities in the earl. a considerable portion of coxcombry belonged to most of elizabeth's courtiers; and the noble lord in question was distinguished according to stow, for introducing into this country embroidered and perfumed gloves. [sidenote: tilts in greenwich park.] the queen's band of gentlemen-pensioners formed a perfect illustration of the chivalric principle of the dignity of obedience, for it was the highest ambition of the nobility to be enrolled among them. their tilts in greenwich park would have done honour to the brightest days of chivalry. but still more select were the knights-tilters, a fraternity founded on the gallant resolve of sir henry lee to appear in the royal tilt-yard on the anniversary of the queen's birth in honour of her majesty. some of these knights were preux chevaliers indeed. the queen's glove accidentally dropped from her hand during a tournament, and the earl of cumberland had the good fortune to recover it. fancying herself some dame of chivalry, she desired the earl to retain it; and he with a gallant spirit, regarding it as the favour of a lady, had it set in diamonds, and always wore it on festival occasions in the high crowned hats which had superseded the helmet. for so polite was the court of elizabeth, that 'ne any there doth brave or valiant seem, unless that same gay mistress' badge he wear.'[ ] [sidenote: sir henry lee.] from to sir henry lee was the queen's champion; and being then worn down with age and infirmity, he resigned his office to the earl of cumberland. the ceremony is admirably expressive of the romantic feeling of the time and the vanity of elizabeth. it was partly a mask and partly a chivalric show. on the th of november, , sir henry lee and the earl, having performed their services in arms, presented themselves to the queen at the foot of the stairs under her gallery-window in the tilt-yard, westminster, where her majesty was seated, surrounded by the french ambassador, her ladies, and the chief nobility. soft music then saluted the ears of the queen, and one of the royal singers chaunted these lines: "my golden locks time hath to silver turn'd, (oh time too swift, and swiftness never ceasing!) my youth 'gainst age, and age at youth hath spurn'd; but spurn'd in vain, youth waneth by increasing: beauty, strength, and youth, flowers fading been, duty, faith, and love, are roots, and evergreen. "my helmet now shall make a hive for bees; and lovers' songs shall turn to holy psalms: a man at arms must now sit on his knees, and feed on prayers that are old age's alms. and so from court to cottage i depart: my saint is sure of mine unspotted heart. "and when i sadly sit in homely cell, i'll teach my swains this carol for a song: 'blest be the hearts that think my sovereign well: curs'd be the souls that think to do her wrong.' goddess! vouchsafe this aged man his right, to be your beadsman now that was your knight." a pageant of a temple of the vestal virgins rose out of the earth. certain rich gifts were taken from the altar by the attending virgins, and with a votive tablet, inscribed "to eliza," was presented to the queen. sir henry lee offered his armour before a crowned pillar at the temple-gate, and then presented the earl of cumberland to the queen, humbly beseeching her to accept him as her knight to continue the yearly exercises. her majesty having accepted this offer, the aged knight armed the earl and mounted him on his horse. he threw over his own person a gown of black velvet, and covered his head in lieu of a helmet with a bonnet of the country fashion.[ ] [sidenote: chivalry reflected in the popular amusements.] the popular amusements of england corresponded with those of the court. "i remember at mile-end-green, when i lay at clement's inn, i was sir dagonet in arthur's show," is the avowal of master shallow; and thus while tournaments were held by the court and nobility, other classes of society diverted themselves with scenic representations of the ancient chivalry. the recreations of the common people at christmas and bridals, an author of the time assures us, consisted in hearing minstrels sing or recite stories of old times, as the tale of sir topas, the reportes of bevis of southampton, guy of warwick, adam bell, and clymme of the clough, and other old romances or historical rhymes. and in another place the same author speaks of companies that were desirous to hear of old adventures, and valiances of noble knights in times past.[ ] the domestic amusements of the age are thus enumerated by burton: "the ordinary recreations which we have in winter are cards, tables and dice, shovel-board, chess-play, the philosopher's game, small trunks, balliards, music, masks, singing, dancing, ule games, catches, purposes, questions; _merry tales of errant knights_, kings, queens, lovers, lords, ladies, giants, dwarfs, thieves, fairies, goblins, friars, witches, and the rest."[ ] [sidenote: change of manners.] in one respect, however, manners underwent a great and distinct change. in a former chapter, it was mentioned that the italians invented the long and pointed sword; and it seems from many scattered allusions to customs in works of continental history, that it gradually superseded the use of the broader weapons of knighthood. in elizabeth's reign the foreign or italian rapier was a very favorite weapon. "sword-and-buckler fight begins to grow out of use," is the lament of a character in an old comedy. "i am sorry for it. i shall never see good manhood again. if it be once gone, this poking fight of rapier and dagger will come up, then a tall man, and a good sword-and-buckler man will be spitted like a cat or rabbit."[ ] the allusions to this state of manners are more marked and numerous in ben jonson's "every man in his humour," but with that comedy my readers are of course familiar. [sidenote: reign of james i.] [sidenote: tournaments ceased on prince henry's death.] for some of the early years of james i, tournaments divided with masks the favour of the court. as soon as prince henry reached his sixteenth year, he put himself forth in a more heroic manner than was usual with princes of his time, by tiltings, barriers, and other exercises on horseback, the martial discipline of gentle peace.[ ] after his death chivalric sports fell quite out of fashion. "shields and swords cobwebb'd and rusty; not a helm affords a spark of lustre, which were wont to give light to the world, and make the nation live."[ ] this was the lamentation of ben jonson; and another poet thus describes, in the person of britannia, the feelings of the nation: "alas! who now shall grace my tournaments, or honour me with deeds of chivalry? what shall become of all my merriments, my ceremonies, shows of heraldry, and other rites?"[ ] military exercises being entirely disused, the mask, with its enchantments of music, poetry, painting, and dancing, was the only amusement of the court and nobility. [sidenote: life of lord cherbury.] and now in these last days of chivalry in england a very singular character appeared upon the scene. this was edward herbert, afterwards lord herbert of cherbury, who was born at eaton, in shropshire, in the year . his family were of the class of gentry, and had for many years executed various royal offices of military trust. his grandfather was a staunch royalist in the days of edward vi., and queen mary; and he gained fortune, as well as fame: for it appears that his share of plunder in the wars in the north, and of the forfeited estates of rebels, was the foundation of the family wealth. [sidenote: chivalric fame of his family.] the valour of the herberts rivalled that of the romantic heroes of chivalry. edward has proudly reverted to his great-great grandfather, sir richard herbert of colebrook, as an incomparable hero, who twice passed through a great army of northern men alone, with his pole-axe in his hand, and returned without any mortal hurt. the courage which had been formerly displayed in the battle-field was, as times degenerated, reserved for private wrongs, and the patriot sank into the duellist. at the close of his life, edward recollected, with pleasure, that one of his brothers had carried with him to the grave the scars of twenty-four wounds, many of them the results of private brawls. another brother was gentleman of the king's chamber, and the famous master of the revels; and he, too, had given several proofs of his courage in duels. the infancy of edward was so sickly that his friends did not think fit to teach him his alphabet till he was seven years old. he would have us believe, however, that he was wise though not early schooled; for when an infant he understood what was said by others, yet he forebore to speak, lest he should utter something that was imperfect or impertinent. when he began to talk, one of the first enquiries he made was how he had come into the world. he told his nurse, keeper, and others, that he found himself here indeed, but from what cause or beginning, or by what means, he could not imagine. the nurse stared, and other people wondered at this precocious wisdom; and when he reflected upon the matter in after life he was happy in the thought, that as he found himself in possession of this life, without knowing any thing of the pangs and throes his mother suffered, when doubtless they no less afflicted him than her, so he hoped that his soul would pass to a better life than this, without being sensible of the anguish his body would feel in death.[ ] he won the acquaintance of the learned languages, and other branches of juvenile literature, with great ease; and when at the age of twelve he was sent to oxford, he tells us that he disputed at his first coming in logic, and made in greek the exercises required in his college oftener than in latin. he married at the age of fifteen, and then applied himself more vigorously than ever to study, particularly the continental languages: but to fence and to ride the great horse were his principal ambition, for such were the exercises in which the chivalry of his time were educated,--and he aspired to fame in every pursuit. from the same feeling of vanity that urged him to publish his deistical dogmas, he complacently says of himself that no man understood the use of his weapon better than himself, or had more dexterously availed himself thereof on all occasions.[ ] in the year , he removed with his wife and mother from montgomery-castle (the seat of his ancestors) to london, and, prompted by curiosity rather than ambition, he went to court; and as it was the manner of those times for all men to kneel down before the queen, he was likewise upon his knees in the presence chamber, when she passed by to the chapel at whitehall. as soon as she saw him, she stopped, and, swearing her usual oath, demanded, "who is this?" upon being made acquainted with his name and circumstances, the queen looked attentively upon him, and again giving emphasis to her feelings by an oath, she said that it was a pity he was married so young, and thereupon gave him her hand twice to kiss, both times patting him on the cheek. he was made knight of the bath by james i.; and with his usual vanity declares that his person was amazingly commended by the lords and ladies who attended the ceremony. the most handsome lady of the court pledged her honour for his, and then the strings of silk and gold were taken from his arm. these strings, as i have already mentioned, were worn by all the knights till they had achieved some high deed of arms, or till some lady of honour took them off, and fastened them on her sleeve, saying that she would answer her friend would prove a good knight. like all other knights of the bath he swore to do justice to the uttermost of his power, particularly to ladies and gentlewomen wronged in their honour, if they demanded assistance. soon after this circumstance, he was wearied both of literary and domestic pursuits, and he resolved to travel in foreign countries. his skill in fencing was now to be brought into play; for he tells us that in france, in his time, there was scarcely any man thought worthy regard who had not killed another in a duel.[ ] he went to paris, and was hospitably entertained at the neighbouring castle of merlon, by henry de montmorenci, second son of the great constable anne de montmorenci. an occasion for exercising his fantastic chivalry soon presented itself. a french cavalier snatched a riband from the bonnet of a young lady, and fastened it to his own hat-band. he refused to return it, and the injured damsel asked the english knight to get it restored to her. he accordingly advanced to the frenchman, courteously, with his hat in his hand, and desired him to restore the riband. meeting only with a rude denial, he replied he would make him restore it by force. the frenchman ran away; but finding himself closely pursued, he turned round to the young lady, and was about to restore her the top-knot, when sir edward seized his arm, and said to her, "it was i that gave it."--"pardon me," quoth she, "it is he that gives it me." sir edward observed, "i will not contradict you; but if he presumes to say that i did not constrain him to give it, i will fight with him." no reply was made, and the french gentleman conducted the lady back to the castle. sir edward was very anxious for a duel, but none took place; and he was obliged to please his conscience with the reflection, that he had acted agreeably to the oath which he took when inaugurated a knight of the bath.[ ] on three other occasions, he sported his chivalry in the cause of the ladies; but the stories of these affairs are poor and uninteresting after his most delectable behaviour in the montmorenci garden. for many years sir edward lived in the court or the camp, in france or england, seldom visiting his wife in montgomeryshire, and more frequently busied in private brawls (but his challenges never ripened into duels) than engaged in philosophical meditation. in the year , while he was in the service of the prince of orange, a trumpeter came from the hostile (the spanish) army to his with a challenge,--that if any cavalier would fight a single combat for the sake of his mistress, a spanish knight would meet him. the prince allowed sir edward to accept the challenge. accordingly a trumpeter was sent to the spanish army with the answer, that if the challenger were a knight without reproach, sir edward herbert would answer him with such weapons as they should agree upon. but before this herald could deliver his charge, another spanish trumpeter reached the camp of the prince of orange, declaring that the challenge had been given without the consent of the marquis of spinola (the commander), who would not permit it. this appeared strange to the prince and sir edward; and on their thinking that the spaniards might object to the duel taking place in the camp of the challenged, as it was originally proposed, sir edward resolved to go to the enemy, and give him his choice of place. he accordingly went; but spinola would not suffer the duel to be fought. a noble entertainment greeted the englishman, the marquis condescending to present to his guest the best of the meat which his carver offered to himself. he expressed no anger that the challenges had been given; for he politely asked his guest of what disease sir francis vere had died. sir edward told him, because he had nothing to do. spinola replied, in allusion to the idleness of the campaign, "and it is enough to kill a general;" and thus impliedly excused any impatient sallies of his young soldiers. sir henry wotton, the ambassador of the king of england, having mediated a peace between the prince of orange and the spaniards, our knight proceeded on his travels through germany and italy. he complimented a nun upon her singing, while all the other englishmen present were delighted into silence: but he was always ready to speak as well as to fight for the honour of the knighthood of the bath. "die whensoever you will," said he to the young lady, "you need change neither voice nor face to be an angel!" these words, he assures us, were fatal, for she died shortly afterwards. he went to florence, and was more pleased with a nail, which was at one end iron and the other gold, than by all the glories of painting and sculpture with which the etrurian athens was then fresh and redolent. he sojourned for some time at rome, but hastily left the city when the pope was about to bless him. this refusal of an old man's benediction proceeded from the vanity of his character. though perfectly indifferent to christianity, when he entered rome he ostentatiously said to the master of the english college, that he came not to the city to study controversies, but to view its antiquities; and if, without scandal to the religion in which he had been born and educated, he might take this liberty, he would gladly spend some time there. a decorous submission to the usages of rome would not have gained him the world's talk; and, therefore, he hastily quitted the consistory when the blessing was about to be given, knowing that such a bold act of contempt on the religion of the place would be bruited every where. the remainder of his adventures on the continent is not worthy of record. he returned to england; and, in , he was sent to france as the english ambassador. previously to his setting off, he engaged to fight a duel, though the day fixed for the circumstance was sunday; but when he arrived at paris on a saturday night, he refused to accept an invitation of the spanish ambassador for an interview the next morning, because sunday was a day, which, as he alleged, he wholly gave to devotion. the spirit of duelling was far more powerful in his mind than the love of conformity to religious decencies; but it cost him nothing; indeed, it only aggrandised his importance to decline the visit of the spanish ambassador on a sunday. he remained some time in france, maintaining the honour of his country on all occasions; particularly with reference to the mighty question, whether his coachman, or that of the spanish ambassador, should take precedence. sir edward was instructed by his court to mediate between louis xiii. and his protestant subjects; but, instead of conducting the affair with coolness and political sagacity, he quarrelled with luines, the minister of the french king. complaints of his conduct were sent to england, and he was recalled. the death of the offended statesman happened soon afterwards, and herbert was again dispatched to france. the next remarkable event in his life was the publication of his book "_de veritate_," whose object it was to show the all-sufficiency of natural religion. but he, who denied the necessity of a revelation to the human race, of matters concerning their eternal salvation, fancied that heaven expressly revealed to him its will that his book should be published. such are the inconsistencies of infidelity! "a godless regent trembling at a star!" his amusing auto-biography ends with an account of a noise from heaven, when he prayed for a sign of the divine will, whether or not he should print his book. not many other circumstances of his life are on record. he was raised to the irish peerage in , and, afterwards, was created an english baron, by the title of lord herbert of cherbury, in shropshire. he published another latin work, in support of the cause of infidelity, and then gave to the world his history of the reign of henry viii.; a book which has been always characterised, by writers who have never read a line of it, as a master-piece of historic biography; and if gross partiality for his hero, profound ignorance of human nature, imperfect acquaintance with his subject, and a pedantic style, constitute the excellence of memoir-writing, lord herbert is an author of the first class. though he had been raised to the peerage by the stuarts, yet in the days of charles i. we find him on the side of the parliament. montgomery-castle was demolished by the king's troops, and the parliament made him a pecuniary compensation. he removed to london, died in , and was buried in st. giles's. [sidenote: his character.] [sidenote: his inferiority to the knights of yore.] such was lord herbert of cherbury. his life may be placed in opposition to, rather than in harmony with, the heroes of early chivalric times. he had their courage, it is true, but he had none of their dignity and nobleness, none of their manly grace; and there was a fantastic trifling in his conduct, which their elevated natures would have scorned. he was no christian knight: the superstition of the chandos's and mannys, gross as it was, is not so offensive to the moral sense as the craft and subtlety of lord cherbury's intellect, which refined christianity into deism. we can admire the heroes of the days of edward iii., placing their swords' points on the gospels, and vowing to defend the truth to the utterance; but how absurd was the fanaticism, and contemptible the vanity, of him who expected that heaven would declare its will that he should deliver to the world the vain chimeras of his imagination! [sidenote: decline of chivalric education.] the history of english chivalry is now fast drawing to a close. we may mark the state of the system of chivalric education in the castles of the nobility. every great lord, as his ancestors had been, was still attended by several of the inferior nobility and gentry, and such service was not accounted dishonourable. the boys were, as of old, called pages, though perhaps the age for this title somewhat stepped beyond the ancient limit. but this was not the only change in that class of the chivalry of england. in former days pages had been the attendants of the great in the amusements of the chace and the baronial hall; and had sometimes shared, with the squire, the more perilous duties of the battle-plain. in the course of time, as the frame of society became more settled, the arts of peace smoothed the stern fierceness of chivalry, and the page was the honorary servant of the lord or his lady, in the proud ceremonial of nobility, and never mixed in war. he continued to be a person of gentle birth, and his dress was splendid; circumstances extremely favourable to that singular state of manners which permitted a woman, without any loss of her good name, to follow him she admired in the disguise of a gentle page, and gradually to win his affections by the deep devotion of her love. poetry may have adorned such instances of passion, for the subject is full of interest and pathos; but the poets in the best days of english verse so frequently copied from the world around them, that we cannot but believe they drew also in this instance from nature. this form of manners was romantic; but it certainly was not chivalric: for in pure days of chivalry the knights, and not the damsels, were the wooers.--but every thing was changed or degraded. the general state of the page in the last days of chivalry may be collected from one of the dramas of ben jonson, where lovel, a complete gentleman, a soldier, and a scholar, is desirous to take as his page the son of lord frampul, who was disguised as the host of the light heart inn at barnet: "_lov._ a fine child! you will not part with him, mine host? "_host._ who told you i would not. "_lov._ i but ask you. "_host._ and i answer, to whom? for what? "_lov._ to me, to be my page. "_host._ i know no mischief yet the child hath done, to deserve such a destiny. "_lov._ why? "_host._ * * * * * * trust me i had rather take a fair halter, wash my hands, and hang him myself, make a clean riddance of him, than---- "_lov._ what? "_host._ than damn him to that desperate course of life. "_lov._ call you that desperate, which by a line of institution, from our ancestors, hath been derived down to us, and received in a succession, for the noblest way of breeding up our youth, in letters, arms, fair mien, discourses, civil exercise, and all the blazon of a gentleman? where can he learn to vault, to ride, to fence, to move his body gracefuller, to speak his language purer, or to tune his mind or manners, more to the harmony of nature, than in these nurseries of nobility? "_host._ ay that was when the nursery's self was noble. and only virtue made it, not the market, that titles were not vented at the drum, or common outcry, goodness gave the greatness, and greatness worship: every house became an academy of honour, and those parts we see departed, in the practice now, quite from the institution."[ ] something must be abated from this censure, for the speaker was a disappointed man, and therefore querulous. but whatever might have been the education of the page, the character itself was lost in the political convulsions in the time of charles i. so many of the old institutions of england were then destroyed, that we need not be surprised that the one should not escape, which had long survived its purpose and occasion. at the restoration of the monarchy the ancient court-ceremonial was revived, and therefore the page was a royal officer: but he is scarcely ever mentioned in the subsequent private history of the country; and his duties at the court were altogether personal though gentilitial, and had no reference at all to military affairs. the military features of chivalry had been rudely marred in the wars between the houses of york and lancaster, and by the days of james i. not a lineament remained. the graceful sports of chivalry had been sustained by the bold and vigorous henry viii., and romance could not but be pleasing to a maiden queen. with prince henry the tournament died. mightier questions than those which knighthood could resolve were before the world; and there was nothing in the bearing of the friends of charles i., misnamed cavaliers, to which the character of chivalric can be applied. [sidenote: important change in knighthood by parliament of charles i.] the reign of charles i. is, however, in one respect a memorable epoch in the history of english knighthood. by the ancient constitution, as we saw in the last chapter, the king had the power of compelling his vassals to be knighted. in all ages, however, whether of the high power, or the decline of chivalry, many persons, considering the duties and charges of the honour, had been wont to commute it by a fine; and this custom had often whetted the avarice of monarchs. elizabeth was the last of our sovereigns who enriched her exchequer by receiving these commutations. charles i. endeavoured to augment his revenue by similar means; but the spirit of the age was hostile to his claim; and, certainly, as the military system had changed, it was absurd and unjust that the burden should survive the benefit of the ancient system. the people triumphed, and charles conceded a prerogative which was only known as a means of public oppression. by a statute passed in the sixteenth year of his reign (cap. .) the right of compelling men to receive knighthood was abolished. [sidenote: application of chivalric honours to men of civil station.] one branch of english chivalry, namely, knighthood as connected with property, knighthood as the external symbol of feudalism, was thus put an end to. but knighthood still continued as an honourable distinction. in this, the most interesting part of the subject, a great change had taken place: but it is impossible to mark the exact time of its occurring. we only know that even in the time of the lancastrian princes knights could not, of their own free will, add new members to the order of chivalry, and that link of honourable equality, which used to bind all men of gentle birth in one state, was broken. the whole power of creating knights was usurped by the crown. the first step, which apparently led to this usurpation, was made even in the purest age of chivalry, the reign of our edward iii.: for at that time civil merit was rewarded by chivalric distinctions. the judges of the courts of law were dignified with knighthood.[ ] in the subsequent reigns of the lancastrian princes, it seems to have been regarded as a well established custom, that men who deserved highly of the commonwealth should be honoured with some title above the state of a simple gentleman. chivalry, as the great fountain of honour, was again resorted to, and the title of esquire was drawn forth. it was then applied to sheriffs of counties, serjeants-at-law, and other men of station; and afterwards courtesy added it to the names of the eldest sons of peers, of knights, and many others. the honour, like the rest of the chivalric honours, was personal, not hereditary, and in strictness could be enjoyed only by virtue of creation, or as a dignity appurtenant to an office. the mode of creation was copied from the investiture of a knight. the person who was to be admitted into the squirehood of the country knelt before his sovereign, who, placing a silver collar of scollop shells mixed with esses round his neck, cried, "arise, sir esquire, and may god make thee a good man."[ ] [sidenote: knights made in the field.] this right of conferring chivalric honours upon persons of civil station was exercised by the sovereigns only, and it furnished the pretence of their assuming the right of judging upon what occasions it should be conferred on men whose profession was war. the custom of creating knights in the field of battle by the general in command prevailed in england so late as the reign of queen elizabeth. robert, the second son of sir henry sidney, and brother of the famous sir philip, was knighted by leicester, for his chivalric deportment at the battle of zutphen. essex, while commanding in spain and ireland, distributed chivalric honours with such profusion, that the queen, who was always jealous of her power, made his conduct, on this subject, the matter of one of the articles of accusation against him. [sidenote: carpet knights.] knighthood, when conferred in the field, was ever held as a very honourable distinction. when men, who were undistinguished by valour[ ], were raised to chivalric rank, they were called carpet knights, as we are taught by the old ceremonials; and society always used the expression contemptuously, as we learn from our dramatists, who are as good witnesses for the customs of their times as romancers had been for those of earlier days. "he is knight, dubbed with unhacked rapier, and on carpet consideration," is the character which sir toby belch gives of his friend sir andrew aguecheek. in a passage of surpassing beauty fletcher has described the characters of the chivalric and the carpet knight. "oh the brave dames of warlike genoa! they had eyes to see the inward man, and only from his worth, courage, and conquests, the blind archer knew to head his shafts, or light his quenched torch; they were proof against him else! no carpet knight that spent his youth in groves or pleasant bowers, or stretching on a couch his lazy limbs, sung to his lute such soft and pleasing notes as ovid nor anacreon ever knew, could work on them, nor once bewitch'd their sense; though he came so perfum'd, as he had robb'd sabea or arabia of their wealth, and stor'd it in one suit."[ ] the order of knighthood was indeed wretchedly degraded in the days of james i., if we can allow any truth to the remarks of osborne. "at this time the honour of knighthood, which antiquity reserved sacred, as the cheapest and readiest jewel to present virtue with, was promiscuously laid on any head belonging to the yeomanry (made addle through pride, and a contempt of their ancestors' pedigree,) that had but a court friend, or money to purchase the favour of the meanest, able to bring him into an outward room when the king, the fountain of honour, came down, and was uninterrupted by other business; in which case, it was then usual for him to grant a commission for the chamberlain, or some other lord to do it." [sidenote: knights of the bath.] the carpet, or ordinary knights, must not be confounded with knights of the bath, though both classes were knights of peace. knights of the bath had always precedence of knights-bachelors, without any regard to dates of creation. the knights of the bath were men of rank and station, or distinguished for military qualities. they were created by our sovereign at their coronations, or on other great occasions, from the time of henry v., when i last adverted to the subject, to so late a period as the reign of charles ii., who before he was crowned created sixty-eight knights of the bath. when queens were sovereigns a commission was granted to a nobleman to create knights; and the commission of queen elizabeth to the earl of arundel is so rich in thought, and dignified in style, that i cannot resist the pleasure of transcribing it. after the usual salutations, "to all men," the queen declares as follows: "whereas, we, minding to proceed to the solemnity of our coronation in such and like honourable sort as in the coronation of our progenitors hath been accustomed, and as to our estate and dignity appertaineth, have, both for the more adornment of the feast of our said coronation, and for the nobility of blood, good service, and other good qualities, of many our servants and other subjects, resolved to call certain of them to the order of knighthood. we let you wete, that for the special trust and confidence which we have reposed in our right trusty and right well-beloved cousin and counsellor, henry earl of arundel, lord steward of our household, we have appointed, and by these presents do appoint and authorise him for us, and in our name, and by our authority, not only to do and exercise every thing and things to be done and exercised in our behalf, for the full making of those knights of the bath, whom we have caused to be specially called for that purpose, but also to make and ordain such and so many other persons knights, within the time of two days next ensuing the date hereof, as by us shall be named, or by himself shall be thought meet, so that he exceed not in the whole the number of thirty," &c.[ ] [sidenote: full account of the ancient ceremonies of creating them.] the ceremonies of creating those knights furnishes us with such an accurate picture of the manners of our ancestors, that, though i have touched upon the subject before, i shall, without apology, describe its minutest features. when an esquire came to court to receive the order of knighthood, in time of peace, after the custom of england, he was worshipfully received by the officers of the court, the steward, or chamberlain, if they were at the palace, or else by the marshals and ushers. two esquires, sage, and well nourished in courtesy, and expert in deeds of knighthood, were assigned as his teachers and governors. if he arrived in the morning, he was to serve the king with water at dinner, or else to place a dish of the first course upon the table; and this was his farewell to his personal duties of esquire. his governors then led him to his chamber, where he remained alone till the evening, when they sent a barber to him, who prepared his bath. water was not yet put into it, but the esquire was, who sat, wrapped in white cloths and mantles, while his beard was shaved, and his head rounded. all this being done, the governors went to the king, and said to him, "most mighty prince, our sovereign lord, it waxeth nigh unto the even, and our master is ready in the bath." the king then commanded his chamberlain to take into the chamber of him who was to be made knight the prowest and wisest knights about the court, in order that they might instruct and counsel the esquire, touching the order of knighthood. the chamberlain, preceded by minstrels singing and dancing, and accompanied by the chosen cavaliers, went to the door of the esquire's room. when the governors heard the sound of minstrelsy, they stripped their master, and left him naked in the bath. the music ceased, and the chamberlain and his knights entered the room. after paying much worship and courtesy to each other, he to whom precedence was allowed advanced to the bath, and, kneeling down, whispered these words in the ear of the esquire: "right dear brother, may this order bring great honour and worship unto you; and i pray that almighty god may give you the praise of all knighthood. lo! this is the order: be ye strong in the faith of holy church, relieve widows and oppressed maidens, give every one his own, and, above all things, love and dread god. superior to all other earthly objects, love the king, thy sovereign lord; him and his right defend unto thy power, and put him in worship." when the esquire was thus advised, the knight-counsellor took in his hand water from the bath, and threw it gently on the shoulder of his young friend. the other knights counselled and bathed him in a similar manner, and then, with the first knight, left the chamber. the governors took the esquire out of the bath, and laid him on a bed "to dry." when the process of drying was finished, he was taken out of bed, and clothed warmly; and there was thrown over him a cope of black russet, with long sleeves, and the hood, like that of a hermit, sewn on the cope. the barber had the bath for his fee, and the operation of shaving was paid for separately, agreeably to the estate of the esquire; and if there was any dispute about the sum, the king's majesty's judgment was looked to. a joyous company of knights, with squires dancing, and minstrels singing, entered the room, and with light pace and gay deportment led their friend into the chapel. there they were refreshed with wines, spices, and sweatmeats; and the knights-counsellors, being thanked by the esquire for their great labour and worship, departed. the governors, the officers of arms, and the waits, remained in the chapel with the esquire. it was his duty to pass the night in prayer to almighty god that he might worthily receive the honour, and discharge all the offices of knighthood. a taper of wax was always burning before him. when the morning dawned a priest entered the chapel, and the more solemn duties of religion were proceeded with. shriving, matins, the mass, and the communion, were performed, the esquire, during the principal ceremonies of the sacrament, holding the taper in his hand, with a penny stuck in the wax, near the light; and, finally, he offered them to the priest, the taper to the honour of god, and the penny to the honour of him that should make him a knight. his governors then took him from the chapel, and laid him in his bed, divesting him of his hermit's weeds. after some time for refreshment had been allowed him, the governors went to the king, and said, "most victorious prince, our master shall awake when it so pleaseth your majesty." the king accordingly commanded the party of knights, esquires, and minstrels, to go into the chamber of the esquire, and awake him. they went, and said to him, "sir, good day: it is time to arise." the governors raised him in his bed: the most worthy and the most sage knight presented him his shirt, the next cavalier in consideration gave him his breeches, the third his doublet, the fourth his robe of red taffata, lined with white sarcenet; and, when he was thus partially clothed, two others lifted him out of bed. two donned his hose, which were of black silk, or of black cloth, with soles of leather, two others buttoned his sleeves, another bound round him a girdle of plain white leather, an inch broad. the combing of the head, and putting on the coif, were each performed by a knight. another gentle cavalier also gave him his mantle of red tartayn, crossed with white on the breast, and fastened with a lace of white silk, from which depended a pair of white gloves. how his white-feathered white hat got upon his head i know not; for the grave ceremonial is altogether silent about the matter. the dressing being concluded, the esquire was placed on horseback, and led by the knights into the hall of the king, preceded by a young gentle esquire, also on horseback, and carrying by its point a sword, in a white scabbard, with gilt spurs hanging upon the cross hilt. the marshal of england assisted the candidate for knighthood to alight, and led him into the hall, where he sat at the head of the second table, surrounded by his counselling knights, his sword-bearer, and governors. the king, on entering the hall, demanded the sword and the spurs, and they were given to him by the chamberlain. the king gave the right spur to one of the noblest peers about him, commanding that lord to place it on the right heel of the esquire. the lord knelt on one knee, and, taking the esquire by the right leg, put the foot upon his knee, and not only affixed the spur to the heel, but made a cross upon the knee of the esquire, and kissed it. another lord attached the left spur to the left foot with similar ceremonies. the king then, out of the meekness of his high might, girt the sword round the esquire. the esquire raised his arms, and the king, throwing his arms round the neck of the esquire, smote the esquire on the shoulder with his right hand, kissing him at the same time, and saying, "be ye a good knight." the new-made knight was then conducted by his counselling knights into the chapel, upon whose high altar he laid his sword, offering it to god and holy church, most devoutly beseeching heaven, that he might always worthily demean himself in the order. he then took a sup of wine and left the chapel, at whose door his spurs were taken off by the master-cook, who received them for his fee; and in the fine style of old english bluntness reminded him, that "if he ever acted unworthily of his knighthood, it would be his duty, with the knife with which he dressed the meats, to strike away his spurs, and that thus by the customs of chivalry he would lose his worship." the new-made knight went into the hall, and sat at table with his compeers; but it did not deport with his modesty to eat in their presence, and his abashment kept him from turning his eyes hither and thither. he left the table after the king arose, and went to his chamber with a great multitude of knights, squires, and minstrels, rejoicing, singing, and dancing. alone in his chamber, and the door closed, the knight, wearied by this time with ceremony and fasting, ate and drank merrily. he then doffed much of his array, which was distributed among the officers of the household, and put on a robe of blue with the white lace of silk hanging on the shoulder, similar to that which was worn in the days of henry v.; for however degenerated the world might have become, they could not for shame's sake despise all the forms of chivalry. the ceremony, of inauguration concluded by expressions of thanks and courtesy. the knight went to the king, and kneeling before him, said, "most dread and most mighty prince, i gratefully salute you for the worship which you have so courteously given to me." the governors thus addressed the knight: "worshipful sir, by the king's command we have served you, and that command fulfilled to our power; and what we have done in our service against your reverence we pray you of your grace to pardon us. furthermore, by the custom of the king's court, we require of you robes and fees becoming the rank of king's squires, who are fellows to the knights of other lands."[ ] chap. iv. progress of chivalry in france. _chivalry in baronial castles ... chivalry injured by religious wars ... beneficial influence of poetry and romance ... chivalric brilliancy of the fourteenth century ... brittany ... du guesclin ... romantic character of his early years ... his knightly conduct at rennes ... gallantry at cochetel ... political consequences of his chivalry ... he leads an army into spain ... and changes the fortunes of that kingdom ... battle of navaret ... du guesclin prisoner ... treatment of him by the black prince ... ransomed ... is made constable of france ... recovers the power of the french monarchy ... companionship in arms between du guesclin and olivier de clisson ... du guesclin's death before randon ... his character ... decline of chivalry ... proof of it ... little chivalry in the second series of french and english wars ... combats of pages ... further decay of chivalry ... abuses in conferring knighthood ... burgundy ... its chivalry ... the romantic nature of the burgundian tournaments ... last gleams of chivalry in france ... life of bayard ... francis i. ... extinction of chivalry._ [sidenote: chivalry in baronial castles.] the high rank of france among the civilised states of europe in the middle ages decides the country to which our attention should be next directed in tracing the history of chivalry. every french baron graced his nobility by the honour of knighthood, and was surrounded by a band of cavaliers. kings, and even queens, had a certain number of knights who composed their court and accepted their pay; and the conferring of royal honours upon other men than possessors of mere wealth or rank had a powerful effect in promoting the virtues, whatever they might be, of the times. merit was not considered, as a landed estate, to be altogether hereditary, and the personal nature of chivalry became a check upon the exclusiveness of aristocratical pride.[ ] the moral influence of the chivalric code in supporting justice and diffusing gentleness of manners is not very perceptible in the early ages of france; for the chroniclers of those times chiefly mark the general political circumstances of the decline of the house of charlemagne, the establishing of a feudal aristocracy, and the rise of a new monarchy by the spirit and ambition of hugh capet. [sidenote: chivalry injured by religious wars.] in the eleventh century chivalry became a distinguishing feature in the national character of france, for the crusades began at that time; and france, above all other countries of the west, was influenced by their spirit. as every knight vowed to support the church, he readily enough became a soldier in those wars which the clergy declared were essential to the well-being of religion. the holy land presented a noble field for the display of his virtue: his love of adventures might be gratified by his long and toilsome journey thither; and if the shores of palestine drank his blood, he gained a crown of martyrdom instead of a victor's laurel. [sidenote: beneficial influence of poetry and romance.] the sword of the cavalier was too often drawn by the church; and in the persecution of the albigenses the knighthood of france forgot all the generous liberality and mercy of their order. but although the crusades against ferocious turks and erring christians took from chivalry much of its gracefulness and beauty, yet a restoring power was found in that love for poetry and romance which for some ages had been spreading itself over the world. human nature, in europe, appears to have been sunk to the lowest possible degree of depression at the time when the roman empire was in its last days of decay. we corrupt our admiration of classical ages into a superstitious idolatry, when we affirm that the revival of the energies of the human intellect took place in consequence of the discovery of a few greek and latin manuscripts. the storm from the north in earlier times was the greatest moral blessing which mankind had ever known. it swept away those institutions which were no longer sustained by virtue and genius; and the settlement of the gothic kingdoms was the commencement of the new glories of the world. the successors of the romans were not entirely occupied in the fierce struggles of ambition. a new intellect was impressed upon europe, wild as nature before it is tamed into artificial society, but rich, vigorous, and beautiful. as the new states of the west took a firm and enduring shape, as the tendency of human nature to improvement gradually became visible, intellectual talent was more and more esteemed. if in the twelfth century the plains of europe were covered with armed knights, the castles were filled with poets who sang the joys both of war and love; and although the brave gestes of charlemagne and his paladins against the saracens were the theme of many a minstrel's lay, and tended to promote religious wars, yet the same romantic rhymers described the other duties of the chivalric character, and set knightly gentleness and gallantry at the highest pitch of chivalric virtue. that from their own viciousness, or in base compliance with their lords' passions, they were often gross in their descriptions and depraved in their morality, are circumstances sufficiently true; but still the general tendency of the poetry and romance of the chivalric ages was to improve the manners of the time. to right the oppressed, to succour woman in distress, formed the burden of many an ancient song; and when chaunted to the minstrel's harp in a baronial hall, it won the mind of the feudal noble from those deeds of blood which the superstitious declared were the only duties of a knight. [sidenote: chivalric brilliancy of the fourteenth century.] the amusements of chivalry aided romance in sleeking o'er the rugged looks of war; for tournaments became more and more the national amusement as the world escaped from the darkness of barbarism. the crusades closed with the thirteenth century; and in the succeeding age that fine spirit of chivalry, which the expeditions to palestine had checked, shone with unclouded brilliancy. when the plains of france were one vast tilting ground for the french and english knights, stern fanaticism did not draw the sword. in the crusades, romantic aspirations after woman's smiles seldom inspired the hero's chivalry, but in the wars of edward iii. in france, every cavalier fought for the honour of his lady-mistress as well as for the ambition of his king. in those days that great principle of chivalry, the companionship of knights, was fully felt as an influential motive to action. therefore the cavalier was courteous to his foe: he waited the leisure, and saluted the other, before he placed his spear in its rest: he did not demand of his captive a ransom more heavy than his estate could well furnish; and in no case did he inflict cruelties beyond the necessary pains of war. the display of chivalry was as brilliant as its spirit was noble; and it was a great beauty to behold banners and standards waving in the wind, horses barded, and knights and squires richly armed. but as i collected in a former chapter the most striking circumstances regarding the chivalry of those times, i shall pass on to the next interesting page in knightly story. [sidenote: brittany.] it contains the life of a hero, whose chivalric courage materially influenced the fortunes of the french monarchy. he sprung, too, from a country that was full of romantic associations. when the saxons had achieved the conquest of england, many of the subjugated people crossed the sea to france, and settled in britanny: so numerous, indeed, was the colony, that the historians of that province people it entirely from england.[ ] the ancient language of this island was certainly spoken in armorica; and all our history and romance were known and cherished there as well and as fondly as in wales and cornwall, the other receptacles of oppressed britons. in after ages both the french and english chevaliers turned their eyes to brittany with respect and veneration, as the preserver of the fame of arthur, and of the knights of the round table, whose history was a chief source of romantic fiction. [sidenote: du guesclin.] and now, in the fourteenth century, a cavalier appeared who was worthy to have broken a lance with "uther's son, begirt with british and armorick knights!" [sidenote: romantic character of his early years.] bertrand du guesclin, a breton, of gentle rather than noble family, was a knight in whom the love of military glory burnt with a pure and bright flame. he was born at the chateau of de la motte de broen, near rennes, in brittany, in the year . nature had so little graced his personal exterior, that even to the partial eye of a mother he seemed rather a clown than a gentleman. some tinge of melancholy in his nature was mistaken for ill-tempered gloom, and his disposition to taciturnity was fostered by neglect and contempt. he grew rude, violent, and morose; and his parents would not entertain the notion of educating him for knighthood, the wonted distinction of the eldest son of a gentleman. but the disposition of bertrand's mind was invincible; and he encouraged it by practising with energy and perseverance all the boyish exercises which were the faithful mirrors of war; he practised them, too, in opposition to the will of his father, who never failed to chastise him when he witnessed any display of his nature's bent. he appeared as an unknown knight at a tournament at rennes, and won the palm of victory from a regularly educated cavalier. the path of military glory now lay before him. soon afterwards he entered the service of charles of blois, who knighted him; and he speedily distinguished himself by several chivalric circumstances. [sidenote: his knightly conduct at rennes.] the town of rennes was blockaded by the duke of lancaster with such ability, that a surrender at discretion was looked for by the english. in full confidence of success, lancaster vowed that he would not quit the place until he was its master. in this embarrassing conjuncture, one of the citizens offered to pass through the camp of the enemy, to deceive the duke by false intelligence, and, finally, to apprize charles of blois of the danger which hung over the place. with great skill and firmness he performed his promise. he repaired to the camp of the duke, and painted with affected _naïveté_ the distress of the besieged, who founded, he said, their only hope of safety on the succour of a french troop that was expected in two days. the tale was credited; and while the duke, hastily collecting his choicest knights, rode at speed to meet the rescue, the townsman of rennes, from his simple unwarlike appearance, was allowed at his free will to pass through the camp. at some distance from the english station he encountered bertrand du guesclin, and described the position of affairs. in a moment, the valiant breton knight formed and executed his resolve: he waved his pennon, and many hardy soldiers pressed around him. they dashed into the english camp; and, after displaying the power of their chivalry, they seized large stores of provisions, and proudly marched with them into the famished town of rennes. soon afterwards, the wearied and mortified english returned to their camp. surprised at the destruction which had been committed in his absence, the duke enquired the cause; and was told that the name of the knight who had executed so bold a measure was du guesclin. lancaster, like a gallant cavalier, could admire boldness even in a foeman, and he sent a herald into the town requesting that he might behold the man who had so singularly distinguished himself. accordingly, on the next morning, du guesclin went to the enemy's camp, his personal safety being secure under the word of english chivalry. he was conducted into the tent of the duke, who received him with perfect courtesy, which the knight answered, by assuring him, that he was at his command in all things that did not militate against the service of his own chief. the duke then demanded the name of his lord, and du guesclin replied, charles of blois, to whom by right appertained the duchy of brittany. an english knight observed, "_messire bertrand, avant que ce vous dites se termine arrive, il en couterâ cent mille têtes_." "_eh bien_," answered du guesclin, "_qu'on en tue tant qu'on voudra, ceux qui demeureront auront la robe des autres_." this repartee amused the duke, who, pleased at the martial frankness of du guesclin, wished to engage him in his service. but he declined all his offers; and after jousting with a knight who thought little of his valiancy, he returned to rennes. the winter approached; a season more terrible to those without than to those within the walls. du guesclin repulsed every assault; and lancaster would have retired, if his honour had not been pledged to take the town. du guesclin's ingenuity assisted him in this exigency. it was agreed that lancaster should enter rennes armed, his standards should be planted on the walls, and after this satisfaction of his conscience he should raise the siege. the treaty was faithfully executed. the duke entered rennes, remained there some hours, and then quitted it; hardly, however, had he left the gate when the citizens contemptuously cast his standards into the ditch. this indignity wounded him deeply; but being an honourable observer of his word, he would not betray his resentment, or permit his army to avenge this insult to their leader and their nation.[ ] [sidenote: gallantry at cochetel.] du guesclin soon afterwards entered the service of john, king of france, with a considerable band of breton knights and squires, whom the fame of his chivalry had drawn to his standard. he remained a royal knight till the death of the king in , and then became a soldier of his successor, charles v. before the coronation of that monarch, du guesclin proved himself worthy of being his cavalier, by a circumstance which entitled him also to national gratitude. the authority of the french, in normandy, was disputed by some lords of that duchy, who were aided by the english and the navarrese. the troops of navarre encountered the french near cochetel; but instead of maintaining their position on a hill, they descended into the plain, deceived by a feigned retreat of du guesclin. then it was that the breton ranged his men-at-arms; and their inequality in number to the foe was more than supplied by the reflection with which du guesclin animated them, that it behoved the chivalry of france to ornament with laurel the crown of their new sovereign. only one circumstance of the battle merits description; and, indeed, it is the only intelligible one in the mêlée of the knights. thirty gascon gentlemen had united themselves in strict fraternity of enterprise and peril to take prisoner john de grailly, the commander of the navarrese. accordingly, when the fight began they advanced with serried shields into the thickest of the press. they were beaten back; but they soon renewed the charge, and their prowess at length prevailed: for the navarrese knights had not formed themselves into a band for the defence of their commander, and his person was therefore imperfectly protected. his capture decided the fate of the day. the battle of cochetel is remarkable, not only as gracing a new king but as animating the courage of the french, which had been dispirited by repeated defeats during the two preceding reigns.[ ] in the same year du guesclin, by permission of his sovereign, aided his former friend, charles de blois, in establishing his rights over brittany. the opponent of charles was john de mountfort, and a destructive war had been seemingly closed by the peace of landes. but the countess of penthievre, the wife of charles, disdained any compromise of her rights, and her tears and reproaches induced him to cancel the treaty. the war was renewed; the english siding with de mountfort, and the french with charles. the battle of auray decided the cause. charles of blois was slain; and in his last moments he lamented that his ambition had been fatal to so many brave men. du guesclin was made prisoner by a squire of sir john chandos, the commander of de mountfort's troops[ ]: but he scarcely felt the pain of imprisonment, so courteously did the english knight deport himself. [sidenote: political consequences of his chivalry.] such was the state of du guesclin when europe once again became a scene of chivalry; and its fortunes were as much influenced by his gallant spirit, as, a few years before, they had been swayed by those knights who had assailed and defended the french crown. the peace of bretigny had terminated the contest between france and england, and the interesting point of political consideration was spain. a long course of oppression and tyranny had alienated from peter, king of castile, the affections of his people, and stigmatised his name with the epithet, cruel. his murdering his nobility and his brothers would have passed unnoticed out of spain; but he imbrued his hands in the blood of his wife, blanche of bourbon, and she was sister of the french queen. the indignation of charles v. of france was roused at this last crime; and the chivalric gallantry of his court loudly echoed his feelings. an army and a leader both were wanting; for most of the knighthood of france had been slain in the late wars. at that moment du guesclin was regarded by the court of france as the great stay of knighthood; and his love of military adventures, and his aspirations for high emprises, seconded the wish of the king, that he would revenge the death of his sister. these military qualities of chivalry formed the character of du guesclin; for he who had been rudely stamped by nature, who little regarded lovers' lays and ladies' bowers, could scarcely sympathise with the gallantry of the court of france. but for the heroism of du guesclin the enterprise would have perished in its bud. france was covered with soldiers, the disbanded mercenaries of the late wars. charles v. regarded them with suspicious eyes; his power was not adequate to annihilate them, or even to punish them for their violation of his subjects' peace; and, skilful prince as he was, he made no attempt to remove them peaceably from his states. it was only to a real genius in war that they would submit; and du guesclin, above all other men of his age, was capable of guiding their martial energies. the king ransomed him from chandos for one hundred thousand franks[ ], and invested him with the command of the enterprise. du guesclin met the mercenaries at the table of carousal, and the occasion of festivity was a favourable one for communicating his scheme. i cannot believe, with some writers, that the unchivalric conduct of peter stimulated the heroism of these adventures. among them, indeed, were many soldiers of fortune, generous and noble minded; and such men would sympathise with virtue: but most of them were mere military ruffians, who defied, and were the disgrace of, the law. the promise of two hundred thousand livres from the king of france was the lure for their enterprising themselves, and i need not dwell upon their hope of common military plunder. it is amusing to observe how fondly superstition clings about the heart of man; for these daring marauders declared that they could not cross the alps till they had received absolution from the pope for their former sins. du guesclin promised to procure it; and then the joyousness of the soldier resumed its ascendancy, and they cried, that they had more confidence in him than in all the bishops of france or at avignon. [sidenote: he leads an army into spain,] [sidenote: and changes the fortunes of that kingdom.] towards that city of italian prelates they repaired, after having been admitted into the presence of the french king. they astonished the legate of the terrified pope by declaring that they wanted absolution, and two hundred thousand livres. with these opposite demands his holiness prudently complied; and du guesclin crossed the pyrenees, his soldiers being now called the white companions, from their wearing on their shoulders a white cross, to testify that they had taken up arms only to abolish judaism, and put down peter, who was the supposed supporter of it.[ ] du guesclin was accompanied into spain by many noble spaniards, whom the cruelties of peter had, some while before, banished from their own country. among them was henry of trastamarra, the son of leonora de guzman, the mistress of peter's father. the hopes of castile were now directed to henry; for any defect in the legitimacy of his title was amply supplied by his talents and virtues. du guesclin supported the general feeling of the time: he drove the king from the throne, and seated henry upon it. the deposed monarch fled to corunna, embarked, with his three daughters, on board the first ship which the shadow of his former power enabled him to command, and sailed to bayonne. he knew that the black prince was in bourdeaux, and he hastened to lay before him his wrongs. edward, hearing of his purpose, and resolving to do him honour, issued out of the city, accompanied by divers knights and squires, and went and met the king, and did him great reverence, both in word and deed. after the prince had well feasted him, they rode together to bourdeaux, edward, like a courteous knight, giving his friend the right, or side of honour. when they reached the city, the king was conducted to a fair chamber, ready apparelled for him; and, after changing his soiled dress for a robe of splendour, he went to the princess and the ladies, who received him right courteously.[ ] but few entreaties were necessary, before edward promised the best exertions of his chivalry to restore him to his throne. the rights of legitimacy were his pretext; for he said that "it was not fit a bastard should hold a realm in heritage, and put his brother, the rightful inheritor of the land, out of his own realm; the which things all kings and kings' sons should in nowise suffer, nor consent to, for it was a great prejudice against the state royal." the prince, as froissart says, was then in the lusty flower of his youth; and he was never weary nor well satisfied with war, since the first beginning that he bore arms, but ever intended to achieve high deeds of chivalry.[ ] "the people of spain," observes froissart in another place, "had great marvel of the prince's intention, and there was much communing thereof. some said the prince took on him the enterprise for pride and presumption, and was, in a manner, angry of the honour that sir bertrand of du guesclin had gotten, in conquering of the realm of castile, in the name of king henry, who was by him made king."[ ] and if the principles of human nature and chivalry should still leave any doubt on our minds regarding edward's motives, his treatment of du guesclin, when the noble breton became his prisoner, would remove any obscurity. his council in vain endeavoured to dissuade him from his purpose, though these good and sage imaginative lords pleaded well the cause of justice. "sir," they said, "ye have heard it observed, divers times, he that embraceth too much holdeth the weaklier. it is for a truth that ye are one of the princes of the world most praised, honoured, and redoubted, and hold on this side of the sea great lands and seigniories, thanked be god, in good rest and peace. there is no king, near nor far, who at this time dares to displease you; so renowned are you of good chivalry, grace, and good fortune. you ought, therefore, by reason, to be content with what you have, and seek not to get any enemies. sir, we say not this for evil. we know well that the king, don peter of castile, who is now driven out of his realm, is a man of high mind, right cruel, and full of evil conditions; for by him have been done many evil deeds in the realm of castile; and he hath caused many a valiant man to lose his head, and brought cruelly to an end, without any manner of reason; and so by his villain deeds he is now put out of his realm: and also, besides all this, he is enemy to the church, and cursed by our holy father, the pope. he is reputed, and hath been a great season, a tyrant; and, without tittle of reason, hath always grieved and made war with his neighbours, the king of arragon and the king of navarre, and would have disinherited them by puissance; and also, as the bruit runneth throughout his realm, how he causeth to die his wife, your cousin, daughter to the duke of bourbon. wherefore, sir, you ought to think and consider that all this that he now suffers are rods and strokes of god sent to chastise him, and to give example to all other christian kings and princes, to beware that they do not as he hath done." such were the counsels of the gascon and english knights who attended edward; but his resolution was formed, and he prepared for war. he drew from the white companies those of his valiant liegemen, who, for want of other chevisance, had joined du guesclin; and, in england, when his purpose was bruited, all the youthful chivalry was on fire to join the hero of cressy and poictiers. [sidenote: battle of navaret, april . .] [sidenote: du guesclin prisoner.] he commenced his march with thirty thousand soldiers. it was winter when they passed through the valley of roncesvalles; and, while the snow drove in their faces, they cheered their spirits by singing the songs in which the minstrel-muse had celebrated the deeds of charlemagne's paladins. at pampeluna their distressful march was relieved by the king of navarre, whose aid they had purchased; and the prince of wales proceeded to castile. the battle of navaret decided the contest. the common people of spain, who composed the first ranks of henry, fought so bravely with their slings, that the englishmen were sorely troubled; but edward's archers drew their bows right yeomanly, and soon checked their fury. henry had on his side more than a hundred thousand men in harness, from castile, portugal, and other states; and well and chivalrously did they sustain his cause. the better-appointed force of edward gradually prevailed, though king henry's troops fought to the bravest point; for, as they had placed him on the throne, they felt their honour engaged to fight for him to the utterance. the battle, in all its press and din, was fought between the troops of du guesclin and those of sir john chandos. the noble breton was taken prisoner, and the english remained masters of the field. don pedro was restored to his throne, and edward somewhat redeemed his previous conduct, by inducing the king to grant a general pardon and amnesty. the ingratitude of pedro was the consequence of the black prince's exertions in his favour; and i need not dwell upon such a natural circumstance.[ ] to furnish his troops with those arrears of pay which peter should have satisfied, edward was obliged to tax the possessions of the english in france. between the people of england and the french there had been long-enduring jealousies: there was no community of ideas and manners between them; and the principle of obedience more naturally rested on a french than on an english sovereign. the demeanour of the black prince was not that of a courteous and gentle knight: his haughtiness lost him many friends; and his impolicy of giving all the offices of state in gascony and acquitain to englishmen was bitterly complained of, and resented by the lords of those countries, who had perilled themselves, to the loss of their estates, in his cause. on the other hand, the english were not backward in reproaching the gascons. certain knights of england once told the black prince, that he little knew the mind of these people, nor how proud they were. "they do not love us, and never did," continued these counsellors. "sir, remember ye not how highly and greatly they bore themselves against you in the city of bourdeaux, when king john of france was first carried thither? they said then, and maintained plainly, that by them only ye attained to achieve the taking of the king; and that right well appeared, for you were in great treaty with them for the space of four months, ere they would consent that the french king; should be carried into england. first, it behoved you to satisfy their minds, to keep them in love."[ ] edward's attempt at taxation exasperated the angry feelings of his subjects, and was the great and immediate cause of their revolt to the french king. [sidenote: treatment of him by the black prince.] edward detained du guesclin in prison longer than was consistent with the feelings of generosity, which were wont to warm the breast of a gentle knight. yet edward could state the reciprocal duties of conqueror and captive with accuracy; that the former ought not to exact too high a sum, and that the latter should not attempt to escape without paying his ransom. a cavalier, using the freedom of a festive hour, commented on this observation, by saying, that the world was blaming him for his severity towards one of his prisoners. edward's sense of honour was touched by this remark, and he summoned du guesclin to his presence. the hero appeared before him, dressed in his coarse prison garment; and in reply to some unknightly merriment of the prince on the rudeness of his appearance, he said, that it remained with the pleasure of the conqueror when he should be better clothed; that for some time he had had only rats and mice for his companions, and, as he added with affecting simplicity, "even to the songs of the birds i have been a stranger." [sidenote: ransomed.] edward offered him freedom on condition of his swearing not to war in favour of france or of henry of trastamarra, the candidate for the spanish throne. du guesclin could not consistently with honour comply with these conditions; and edward, stung by the recollection that the world had impeached his bravery and generousness, declared that, to show he dreaded no man, du guesclin should be restored to his liberty on paying a proper ransom. the noble breton then required to be released on his parole, in order that he might fetch the necessary sum. edward, touched by his spirited demeanour, resumed all his generous and chivalric feelings, and declared that du guesclin should name his own ransom; and instead of fixing it at ten thousand or twenty thousand livres, the captive hero proudly mentioned sixty thousand florins. the prince was astonished at his apparent presumption, and asked him by what means he could pay so large a sum. "the kings of france and castile," he replied, "are my friends, and will never fail me in a case of necessity. i know a hundred knights of brittany who would sell their possessions for my liberation; and there is not a woman sitting at her distaff in france who would not labour with her own hands to redeem me from yours." du guesclin was then liberated on his parole of honour, and people gazed with curiosity and respect upon a man who had so noble a sense of his own dignity.[ ] [sidenote: is made constable of france.] this liberation took place in the year , and the breton immediately entered into the service of henry of trastamarra. peter had renewed his cruelties when the black prince seated him on the throne, and his tyranny again provoked the castilians to rebellion. the power of henry slowly rose, and as soon as du guesclin and his gascons took the field, he once more became king. soon afterwards our knight was recalled by charles v. to france, and placed at the head of his chivalry by the title of constable. he entered paris amidst general acclamations, the people saluting him with cries which hitherto had been appropriated to kings. he went to court, where the king, in the presence of his nobles, declared, that he chose him to command his armies, and therefore gave him the sword of constable. du guesclin then, with the modesty of a true knight, implored his sovereign to honour with this dignity some one who was more worthy of it than himself. but charles declared that there was not a knight in france who did not acknowledge the superior worship of du guesclin, and therefore he commanded him to accept the office. du guesclin yielded; but fearing the courtiers of paris more than his country's enemies, he entreated the king not to credit any tales which might be circulated to his prejudice, without first hearing his defence.[ ] [sidenote: recovers the power of the french monarchy.] [sidenote: companionship in arms between du guesclin and olivier de clisson.] du guesclin now began to achieve the high emprise of re-annexing to the crown of france those provinces which the gallantry of the black prince had wrested from it. charles could not give him many troops; but the noble knight sold his estates in order to raise men-at-arms, and his wife parted with the ornaments becoming her station, in order to purchase lances and harness. he was soon surrounded by four thousand soldiers. they were chiefly levied in normandy, and their rendezvous was caen. du guesclin threw an air of chivalry over his emprise, for he introduced the usage of fraternity of arms. he chose for his own brother, olivier de clisson, or du guesclin, a knight whose name is mentioned with honour in all the great battles of the time. these two breton cavaliers signed at pontoison the act of their fraternity, whereby they engaged to defend the estate, life, and honour of each other.[ ] du guesclin then fell upon the english at pontvelain with the force of thunder: most of them were taken prisoners; and sir robert knowles, their leader, fled to brittany, and concealed his head for shame, during the rest of his life in the castle of derval.[ ] the black prince was then at bourdeaux, enfeebled by sickness: he had wasted his constitution in the peninsular war; for the climate of spain was not so favourable to the health of englishmen in those days as it has been found in later times. instead of being able to gird on his armour and display his chivalry, edward had scarcely strength to follow the counsel of his leeches to return to england. he left the duke of lancaster to preserve the english dominion in france from total ruin. the year was a blank in the chivalric history of du guesclin, but the following spring he continued his attempt to subjugate poictou. many cities were sacked; and the abhorrence with which the cruelties of olivier de clisson were regarded by his own army may warrant the conjecture that inhumanity was not general. at the close of , poictou was entirely subdued. in the next year, du guesclin continued his conquests, and guienne became the subject of his victories. the duke of lancaster was the successor of the power, but not of the chivalry, of the black prince; and de mountfort, whom edward sent to france as the opponent of du guesclin, not only recovered nothing, but lost much of brittany; and thus, by the genius and fortune of one chivalric hero, all the bright visions of glory created in the fervid imaginations of our edwards were blighted, and france recovered her station among the high powers of europe. [sidenote: du gueslin's death before randan.] [sidenote: his character.] du guesclin continued in the service of charles. the last years of his life it is impossible to describe, so contradictory are his biographers. some declare that the calumnies of parisian courtiers deprived him of the favour of charles, and that he lost his office of constable. however this may have been, it is certain that in the year he commanded the french troops in auvergne, and went to lay siege to randan, a little fortress some leagues from mendes, in the govandau, between the sources of the lot and the alleir. the place, until then so little known, immediately became famous, in french history, for the loss which france sustained before its walls of one of her prowest knights. du guesclin, who, according to the wont of chivalry, had vowed not to sheath his sword while an enemy's lance was raised, pressed the siege with vigour, when he was attacked by a malady which was soon found to be mortal. he beheld the approach of death with christian intrepidity, and he died while exhorting the knights around his bed to the duties of devotion to god, loyalty to the king, and mercy to those who were the objects of war. it was his wish to be buried at dinan, in brittany, but the king commanded the abbey of st. denys to be the place[ ]; and in kindness and gratitude, he was anxious that a lamp should always hang over the tomb, in order that posterity might never lose remembrance of his great deeds.[ ] the epitaph, on account of its simplicity, deserves mention. "ici gist noble homme messire bertrand du guesclin, comte de longueville, et connétable de france, qui trepassa au chastel neuf de randan en gisaudan, en la sénéchaussée de beauncaire, le jour de juillet, . priez dieu pour lui."[ ] such was the life of a simple breton gentleman, who with no advantage of birth, no powerful patronage, but with only his good sword to speed him, raised himself to the highest rank in the french nation, and his was one of the numerous instances in the middle ages where the personal merit of chivalry was of more avail than the hereditary right of aristocracy. in many of the essentials of knighthood, in lofty daring, sageness, and generosity, he was as preux a cavalier as the english chandos' and mannys; but there was none of that gallant grace over this darling of french chivalry, which distinguished the heroes of edward iii. he was so sensible of his own personal plainness, that he never cultivated the pleasing amenities of chivalry; but his modesty did not pass unrewarded[ ]: for the ladies of brittany were so deeply read in the romances of their country, that they loved only men who were famous for martial deeds. du guesclin was twice married: of the first of his wives nothing is on record; the other is said to have been a woman of beauty, fortune and wit. she was an heiress in brittany, and charles of blois promoted the union, hoping to attach him to his court. her reputation as a prophetess was extensive, and her prediction of his success in a particular battle being verified, her vanity became interested in his fate. she had her days of good and of evil fortune, and if historians have written his annals faithfully, bertrand often repented, both as a soldier and a husband, when he did not regard her councils.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: decline of chivalry.] [sidenote: proof of it.] the history of france after these circumstances was the struggle between the ruling powers and the people regarding the right of taxation. the civil wars that devastated france and flanders, in consequence of this dispute, bore none of the character of chivalry; for monarchical and aristocratical haughtiness disdained to consider as their companions in arms those whom they called the raskal-rout, the base-born rabble. it was only wars of ambition that were graced and softened by chivalric generosity; and therefore all was blood, and horror, and confusion, when the houses of orleans and burgundy distracted france with their feuds. the pages of monstrelet, the chronicler of the events to which i have alluded, form a gloomy contrast to the splendid scenes of froissart. the field, indeed, continues to gleam with lances, and banners and pennons wave in the wind, but the spirit of honour and courtesy no longer hung over them,--and the prostrate soldier sued for mercy in vain. knights were created before and after battles: tournaments, jousts, and other splendid shows were held; and as the essence of chivalry decayed its splendour seemed to brighten. an affair in liege, in the year , will show the manner of warfare when chivalry was on the wane. john duke of burgundy, john of bavaria, the lords of hainault and orange, and other princes, appeared in arms to succour the bishop of liege, brother-in-law of the duke of bavaria, whom the liegeois had expelled from the city. instead of following the counsel of the new bishop and his father the lord de pier-vves, of remaining within the walls, and wearing out the enemy by a defensive war, the liegeois, when the bells of the city announced break of day, left their fortifications, resolved to give battle to the well-appointed lines of burgundy. their numbers were fifty thousand; but except some pieces of artillery, five or six hundred men armed like cavalry, and a few score of stipendiary english archers, they were the disorderly population of the city. their confidence of success was exalted to madness; and when the hour of battle arrived, they would not suffer their nominal leader, the lord pier-vves, to take any means of prudence. it is curious to mark the difference of character in the two parties. there was a wild frantic kind of courage in the liegeois, inspired by the consideration, that they were fighting for their lives and liberties. their foemen had no such deep-seated enthusiasm: they moved to battle as sportively as to a joust; while their commanders were gaily exhorting their men-at-arms to behave themselves gallantly against the enemy, a rude and ignorant people who had rebelled against their lord, and who confidently trusted in their superior numbers for success. "if the warriors of burgundy," (concluded the martial orators) "will dash into career with knight-like courage victory will be theirs, and they will gain everlasting honour." the cannon of the liegeois did not check the advance of the chivalry; and though the burghers endured well and courageously the close encounter, yet the prudence of their general was verified, that they could oppose no effectual resistance to the nobles and gentlemen trained to war, and armed in proof. after an hour's struggle, the line of the liegeois being charged in rear by a detachment of horse, six thousand of them quitted the ranks, and fled towards a village distant half a league from the field of battle. the cavalry charged them several times, beating down and slaying them without mercy. the main body of the liegeois was yet unsubdued; and for half an hour the noise of the war-cries was dreadful; the burgundians and hainaulters shouting, under their banners, "our lady for burgundy!" "our lady for hainault!" and the liegeois ringing the air with the cry, "st. lambert for pier-vves!" the detachment of horse returned, and fell upon the rear of the liegeois, and pierced it through: a great slaughter was made, for none were admitted to ransom. near the banner of the duke of burgundy, where the conflict raged with most fierceness, the lord of pierre-vves and his two sons (one was the new bishop) fell, and no consideration for their chivalry or religious profession saved them from death. the coolness of the duke of burgundy excites the praise of the historian; and no apology is thought necessary for his conduct, when on being asked, after the defeat, if they should cease from slaying the liegeois he replied, "let them all die together; let no prisoners be made; let none be admitted to ransom."[ ] such was the spirit in which war was conducted where the humanising influence of chivalry was unfelt; and i shall not attempt to detail the more horrid crimes of the sacking of towns. [sidenote: little chivalry in the second great series of french and english wars.] in the short war between france and england in the reign of our henry v., nothing peculiarly chivalric can be marked in the conduct of the french. the great second series of our wars with france, though not characterised by knightly splendour, is not without knightly interest. france could seldom boast of braver cavaliers than dunois, lahire, and the chevalier poton de saintrailles. during the memorable siege of orleans at the request of the english the festivities of christmas suspended the horrors of war, and the nativity of the saviour was commemorated by the sound of martial music. talbot, suffolk, and other ornaments of english chivalry, made presents of fruits to the accomplished dunois, who vied with their courtesy by presenting to suffolk some black plush he wished for as a lining for his dress in the then winter season. the high-spirited knights of one side challenged the prowest knights of the other, as their predecessors in chivalry had done. it is observable, however, that these jousts were not held in honour of the ladies, but the challenge always declared, that if there were in the other host a knight so generous and loving of his country as to be willing to combat in her defence, he was invited to present himself. [sidenote: combats of pages.] history has preserved to us one circumstance, which is interesting, because it marks the change of manners in the attendants on the cavaliers. we have seen that in early times each knight had his squire, who gave arms to his lord, and frequently mingled in the battle himself. the knight, now, had only his page, who buckled on his armour, and rendered similar acts of personal service; and, instead of generous emulation of the enterprises of cavaliers, a mock combat was held between the striplings of the two armies. each party had its leader, and its standard. their shields were made of osier twigs, and their javelins were blunted. on the first day the advantage was with the french, but on the second, the english youths bore away the standard of their antagonists, and the reputation of victory was theirs.[ ] [sidenote: further decay of chivalry.] after this national contest chivalry continued to decline in france. the civil wars had left that country one universal scene of vice and misrule, and the people looked to the king for some measure of protection. so exhausted were the nobility by their wars with england, that they declared their want of power to lead into the field the customary number of knights; and they therefore prayed a remission of military duty. charles willingly granted this petition; and no opposition was made to his establishing a force which he might either use against the barons themselves or the nation's enemies. the importance of mercenaries had been extending itself ever since the reign of philip augustus, when they were first introduced; for the old levies of feudatories and vassals had in france as in england been found insufficient for the great purposes of war. but the new bands of stipendiary adventurers were never a very important branch of the french military force, for the kings could not pay for many; and these hired soldiers were commonly infantry or lightly armed horse, who could not contend in the battle-field with mail-clad knights and squires. national feelings favoured the constitutional levy; and the kings endeavoured to render the country's chivalry of sufficient service by enlarging the time of their attendance. st. louis increased the period of military duty from forty days to two months, and philip the fair doubled the time determined by st. louis. [sidenote: abuses in conferring knighthood.] such was the state of affairs in france, when, in the year , charles established fifteen companies of cavalry. each company consisted of one hundred lances, and each of these men-at-arms had his archers, a coutiller or soldier, whose weapon of offence resembled a knife rather than a sword, and his personal attendant the page. every one of these followers served on horseback, and the whole force amounted to nine thousand cavalry. this was intended to be a permanent establishment; and it was understood that the soldiers should be paid out of the state finances, and should not like the mercenaries of former times subsist by plunder. these companies of ordonnance have ever been regarded as the foundation of the french standing army. here, then, closes the public military history of chivalry in france. the new soldiers were stipendiaries, not cavaliers: they were not educated for chivalry: they had not passed through the ranks of page and squire; and not being necessarily gentlemen by name or arms, their deeds could not be similar to those which sprang from the oath of the cavalier. this new military force caused the feudatories of the crown no longer to bring their vassals with them to war, except in certain extreme cases, where the arriere ban was summoned, and then the appearance was but a faint picture of the ancient chivalry. thus the usage of banners and pennons ceased, and with them the great distinctions of bannerets and knights, because those titles no longer conferred honour and command.[ ] the title of knight lost its military character; and, instead of being bestowed with religious solemnities, after a long and painful education, it was often given to very young men without any martial training whatever, when they first stepped from their father's castles into the busy scenes of life. there was another circumstance which sullied the glory of knighthood;--i mean the bestowing of its title upon persons who were not of the military class. the exact time when this innovation upon chivalry took place it is impossible to ascertain, and i wish not to weary my readers with profitless antiquarian researches. knights of the law, as distinguished from those of arms, were known in the thirteenth century; and when once the clergy, who exercised the judicial functions, began to assume military titles, (which they did from their spirit of engrossing every thing that was honourable,) the matter soon grew into a custom: the lawyers claimed the privilege of wearing gold, and in every point asserted the equality of the law, with the chivalry of a country.[ ] by degrees the title of knighthood began to be applied to men distinguished for their learning or talents, or who for less honourable causes were favoured by the king. this application of chivalric honours to persons who were not within the order of chivalry was viewed with a jealous and malignant eye by the military knights, who were not satisfied with the consideration in which they were held when other classes of society copied their titles, and shone by the reflection of martial glory. their fierce minds felt no respectful sympathy for the literary and intellectual awarders of justice, and they wished that the lance of the knight-errant should continue to be the only refuge of the injured. in effect the title of knight became of little estimation, and in the history of france, through the fifteenth century, we seldom read of the conferring of the order of chivalry upon soldiers in the field of battle. chivalry thus decayed in france, before gunpowder became the chief instrument of death. though artillery had been known so early as the battle of cressy, it did not immediately come into general use. during the last half of the fourteenth century, the french used it in sieges, and sometimes in the field. but still, when charles vii. established the companies of ordonnance already mentioned, the strength of the army was cavalry. soon afterwards the french armies began to consist of infantry; for the soldiers of france were mercenaries, and they were drawn from switzerland, a country which from its poverty and mountain-form could not boast of many knights and plumed steeds. while chivalry was losing its martial vigour in the french monarchy, some of the nobility of france preserved it in their castles in all its stateliness and grace. but the records of those times are so faint and imperfect, that any thing beyond the mere circumstance of their general chivalry cannot be learned. [sidenote: burgundy.] [sidenote: its chivalry.] the annals of burgundy are somewhat more satisfactory. the dukes of burgundy became sovereigns of flanders, and impressed on that country a character of chivalry and romance. tournaments, jousts, and other knightly shows, graced the wealth of the flemish cities, at the time when the commercial cities of italy were distinguished for classic elegance and taste. the court of the dukes of burgundy was so high in fame for the lofty daring and gallant grace of chivalric emprise, that when constantinople fell under the moslem yoke, the hearts of the noble burgundian knights glowed with the bold and pious desire of recovering the metropolis of eastern christendom. the desire perished, for it was not supported by the other powers of europe; and burgundy, deprived of its hope of leading the lances of the west, in a cause so well worthy of them, is only interesting in the history of chivalry for its gracefulness and splendour. to present the reader with detailed statements of all its martial games would be tedious and unprofitable; but one of them possesses considerable interest, as displaying a very singular state of manners, and proving that the romances, and tales of chivalry, were often realised. [sidenote: the romance of burgundian tournaments.] in the year , the sister of edward iv. of england married charles duke of burgundy. the banquets and balls which testified the general joy were varied by a martial exercise, called the passage of the tree of gold. it was held in the market-place at bruges, which, on that occasion, exchanged its wonted appearance for one of chivalric gaiety. the ground was unpaved, and sanded like a royal tilt-yard; and galleries were erected around for the reception of the nobles and dames of burgundy and the wealthy merchants of flanders. a door, at one end of the lists, painted with a tree of gold, was defended by the bastard of burgundy, who jousted with such cavaliers as, by the permission of the ladies, were allowed to deliver the knight of the tree of gold of his emprise. according to the humour of the times, many knights appeared in fantastic disguises. one knight, though, lusty and young, approached the lists in a litter, and presented every mark of feebleness and age. he requested leave to joust for that once only, and declared that he would then retire to some peaceful cell, and forget, in devotion and penitence, the vain delights of war. at another time, the dames and damsels were informed that a noble knight, who wished to joust, was without the lists; but that he would not present himself to the ladies of burgundy until they perfectly knew his tale. all his life he had loved a lady of sclavonia; and although she had not altogether accepted him as her servant, yet she had encouraged him to hope. his mental sufferings for her love deserved compassion; but she, forgetting that feminine virtue, and continuing her pride, had not treated his devotion as it merited; and he, therefore, for the nine months which preceded his appearance at bruges, had lived among rocks and mountains, a prey to melancholy. when, however, the lady heard of this unquestionable proof of his passion, she repented of her ingratitude, and had sent to him a damsel-errant, who was now his guide. she had beguiled the tedious way to bruges by telling him that the pleasures of love could only be reached by labours, desires, and sufferings; that pain gave a zest to enjoyment, and that the greatest offence against love was despair. the lady had bade him hope; the damsel-errant had counselled him to go upon some chivalric quest, in order to dissipate his melancholy; and she had promised to accompany him, in order to deliver the tale of his adventures to his lady-mistress. the dames and maidens of burgundy accorded permission to this zealous servant of love to attempt the emprise of the passage of the tree of gold. he was preceded into the lists by three men, dressed like moors, and a lady followed, mounted on a white palfrey, and dressed, as the people thought, like a damsel-errant. she led the knight, who bestrode a cheval de lance, and afterwards came four nobles, clad in the habits of sclavonia, with the words "le chevalier esclave" worked on their robes. he jousted with a knight who supplied the place of the bastard of burgundy, but with what degree of gallantry history is silent.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: last gleams of chivalry in france.] [sidenote: life of bayard.] i now return to france, whose chivalry, even in the last days of its existence, is interesting; for if ever the bright glory of one man could have changed the manners of his age, the knight without fear and without reproach would have revived the chivalric fame of his country. pierre terrail, or du terrail, known under the name of bayard, was born in the year , at the chateau of bayard, in dauphiny. his family was of ancient and noble race, and boasted that their ancestors had fought at the battles of cressy and poictiers. his own father had been so severely wounded in the service of his country, that he quitted the army before the usual time for retiring. he passed the evening of his life in dauphiny, occupied in the education of his children, of whom peter was the only one that aspired to military glory. his wishes were grateful to his father; and his uncle, the bishop of grenoble, promised to introduce him to the duke of savoy. in his paternal home peter bayard had learned some of the duties of the page of early chivalric times: like him he ministered to his father and his guests at table; and he had acquired admirable skill in horsemanship. the bishop took the youth to chambery, the then residence of the duke, and by the grace of manner with which he attended his uncle at the dinner-table, and by a fine display of horsemanship, the duke regarded him with kindness, and placed him in his service. bayard was then about thirteen years old. not many months afterwards he became an attendant of the king of france; for the duke of savoy, preferring bayard's interests to his own, wished to advance his fortunes. charles viii. put him into the household of the signeur de ligny, where he remained till he was seventeen years old, when he was called into the class of the gentlemen of the royal court. besides acquiring the military exercises of his time, he graced his imagination with fairy and romantic tales: he was a knight in spirit and purpose, and he now aspired to gain the favour of the ladies by the prowess of his chivalry. a very few days after he had quitted his office of page, he broke a lance in a joust with one of the most distinguished cavaliers of the day, and his fame was bruited over all france. he remained all his life, in the service of the french kings. the theatre of his exertions was italy; but, as a very able pen has lately traced the revolutions of that interesting country[ ], i need not follow him through all his chevisance. such matters as display the points of his personal character, and show the remaining chivalric features of the time, come, however, within my province. in , he alone sustained on a narrow bridge the efforts of two hundred cavaliers, who attacked him. it was then that he obtained from the king a device having for its emblem a porcupine, with the words "_vires agminis unus habet_." at the taking of brescia, he received a dangerous wound, and he remained awhile in a private house. when he was about to depart, his hostess wished to present him with two thousand pistoles for the gratitude she felt at his having preserved her honour and her fortune; and he accepted the money only for the purpose of giving it to her daughters, as their marriage-portions. so highly was he esteemed, that chabannes, a marshal of france, and humbercourt, and d'aubigny, general officers, all of higher rank and older service than bayard, fought under his orders. yet he never rose to high commands. his greatest dignity was that of lieutenant-general of dauphiny. but the most amusingly characteristic story of bayard regards his gallantry. when he was page to the duke of savoy, he loved one of the attendants of the duchess; but the passion either was not mutual, or was not graced with any character of romance, for a few years afterwards the damsel married the seigneur de fleuxas. bayard met her at the house of the widow of his first master, the duke of savoy. during supper, the lady of fleuxas praised the chivalry in tournaments of her early admirer in such high terms, that he blushed for very modesty; and she added, that as he was now residing with a family who had been the first to cherish him, it would be great blame in him, if he did not prove himself as gallant a knight as he had done before. the answer of bayard was that of a polite cavalier; for he requested her to tell him what he could do that would please the good and honourable assembly, his lady of savoy, and, above all the rest, her fair self. she advised him to hold a tournament. "truly," replied bayard, "it shall be done as you wish. you are the first lady whose beauty and grace attracted my heart. i know that my salutations of you can only be those of courtesy, for i should lose my labour were i to solicit your love, and i would rather die than accomplish your dishonour." he then prayed her to give him one of her sleeves, for he said that he should have need of it in the approaching tournament. the lady accordingly took it from her dress, and he attached it to his.[ ] the martial pastime was held, and after the supper which succeeded, it was enquired to whom should the prizes (the sleeve and a ruby) be given. the knights, the ladies, and even those who had tourneyed with him, accorded it to bayard. but he declared that the honour was not his; but that if he had done any thing well, madame de fleuxas was the cause, for she had given him her sleeve. he, therefore, prayed that she might be permitted to act according to her judgment and prudence. the seigneur de fleuxas knew too well the noble character of bayard to feel any jealousy at this compliment to his wife, but with the other judges of the tournament he immediately went to her and related the matter. she was delighted at bayard's gallantry, and declared that as he had done her the honour to avow that her sleeve had made him gain the prize, she would preserve it all her life for the sake of his love. the ruby she gave to the cavalier, who had next distinguished himself to bayard. and thus lived the knight without fear and without reproach, till the retreat of the french out of italy in , when he was fatally wounded by a stone discharged from an harquebouze. he fell from his horse, crying, "jesus, my saviour, i am dead." he kissed the cross-handle of his sword; and there being no chaplain present, he confessed himself to his esquire, who then, by the knight's command, placed him against a tree, with his face turned towards the enemy; "because," said bayard, "as i have never yet turned my back to the foe, i will not begin to do so in my last moments." he charged his esquire to tell the king that the only regret he felt at quitting life was the being deprived of the power of serving him any further. the constable of bourbon, as he was pursuing the french, found him in this state, and assured him that he pitied his lot. but bayard replied, "it is not i who stand in need of pity, but you who are carrying arms against your king, your country, and your oath." the news that he was mortally wounded quickly spread, and excited the deepest grief in the minds of both armies, for he was a valiant soldier and a generous foe. after a while he was removed to a tent and placed on a bed. he was shriven by a priest, and soon afterwards died, as, with true christian piety, he was imploring his god and his saviour to pardon his sins, and to show him mercy rather than justice.[ ] he was buried at a convent of minims, half a league from grenoble, the principal town of his native country. [sidenote: francis i.] during some of the last years of his life, his fine and chivalric spirit found a kindred soul in francis i., who, it is remarkable, was the only french sovereign graced with any share of the character of chivalry. for, while the plantagenets of england had shone as brilliantly by chivalric as by regal splendour, the capetian princes of france could not present a king that displayed any powers beyond the ordinary qualities of royalty. the valiancy, the liberality, the fine, open, and manly countenance, and the lofty form of the king, were altogether those of one of charlemagne's paladins. his imagination was coloured with the gay and lively tints of romance, and so fondly did he dwell upon the fabulous glories of old, that in many a sportive moment he arrayed himself in the guise of the antique cavalier. but here our panegyric must cease; for no preux knight would, like francis, have pledged his solemn word to observe a treaty, and immediately afterwards have violated it. however unkingly and unknightly charles v. might have deported himself in treating francis in prison with severity, and although the terms of the treaty of madrid were such as no noble victor would have imposed, still the obligation of the pledge of francis's word should have been felt as sacred. a noble cavalier, a chandos or du guesclin, would have disdained to obtain his liberty by signing a treaty which he intended to break as soon as he should leave his prison. "all is lost, madam, except our honour," as the french king wrote to his mother after the battle of pavia: a generous, chivalric expression; and scarcely could it have been expected that he was the man who would have thrown away that honour. the last faint gleam, however, of the sun of military chivalry in france fell upon bayard and his sovereign, francis; for after the battle of marignan, in , when they fought together against the swiss, the king was, at his own request, knighted by the cavalier without fear and without reproach. after giving the accolade, bayard addressed his sword, "certainly, my good sword, you shall hereafter be honoured as a most precious relic, and never shall be drawn except against turks, moors, and saracens." he then twice leaped up for joy, and plunged his trusty weapon into its sheath.[ ] soon after the days of francis i. the title of knighthood became an empty name: it was preserved as the decoration of nobility and lawyers; and, from respect to the ancient glories of their nation, kings received it at their baptism.[ ] montluc, that man of blood, was the last french soldier who received it in the field of battle. the accolade was given to him by the duke d'anguien, after the engagement of cérisolles, in . [sidenote: abolition of tournaments.] [sidenote: extinction of chivalry.] the amusements of chivalry were soon abolished. the accidental death of henry ii. in a tournament[ ], in the year , did much to indispose the minds of the people from chivalric sports; and when in the following year prince henry de bourbon montpensier was killed, in consequence of his horse falling under him, while careering round the lists, tournaments ceased for ever; and with their abolition, as voltaire says, the ancient spirit of chivalry expired in france; for that country, after the death of henry ii., was plunged in fanaticism, and desolated by the wars of religion. the spirit did not survive the forms of chivalry; for the intercourse with italy introduced into france new opinions and feelings. machiavelian politics banished the open, manly demeanour of chivalry; and the most disgusting profligacy equally distinguished the ladies. it is amusing to observe that, long after the extinction of chivalry in france, the apparent homage and devotion of chivalric love still continued, although it was no longer sustained by virtue. love, sublimed into idolatry, breathes in every page of the heroic romances which succeeded the romances of chivalry, and reflect the feelings of the nation; and so late as the reign of louis xiv. a ruffled and well-powdered french general, whose soul was not illumined by a single gleam of the character of a preux chevalier, would fancy himself the very pink of sentiment, and sigh at the feet of his mistress, "pour meriter ton coeur, pour plaire a vos beaux yeux, j'ai fait la guerre aux rois, je l'aurois fait aux dieux." chap. v. progress of chivalry in spain. _general nature of spanish chivalry ... religion and heroism ... gallantry ... blending of spanish and oriental manners ... its beneficial tendencies ... peculiarities of spanish chivalry ... forms of knighthood ... various ranks of knights ... spanish poetry ... heroes of chivalry ... pelayo ... bernardo del carpio ... and incidentally of charlemagne's expedition into spain ... the life of the cid ... his early ferocious heroism ... his singular marriage ... enters the service of king ferdinand ... the cid's chivalric gallantry ... he is knighted ... death of king ferdinand ... the cid becomes the knight of sancho, king of castile ... mixture of evil and good in the cid's character ... supports the king in his injustice. ... the cid's romantic heroism ... sancho's further injustice opposed by him ... death of sancho ... instance of the cid's virtuous boldness ... character of alfonso, successor of sancho ... story of his chivalric bearing ... the cid's second marriage ... is banished from alfonso's court ... becomes the ally of the moors. ... but recalled ... is banished again ... singular story of the cid's unknightly meanness ... fortunes of the cid during his exile ... the cid's chivalric nobleness and generosity ... is recalled by alfonso ... the cid captures toledo ... and valentia ... story of spanish manners ... the cid's unjust conduct to the moors ... the unchivalric character of the cid's wife and daughters ... the cid recalled by alfonso ... the marriages of his daughters ... basely treated by their husbands ... cortez at toledo to decide the cause ... picture of ancient manners ... death of the cid ... his character ... fate of his good horse ... spanish chivalry after his death ... gallantry of a knight ... the merits of missals decided by battle ... passage of arms at orbigo ... knights travel and joust for ladies' love ... extinction of spanish chivalry._ [sidenote: general nature of spanish chivalry.] spanish chivalry awakens the most splendid and romantic associations of the mind. europe, with her active courage,--her jealousy of honour,--her superior religion;--asia, with her proud and lofty deportment,--her fervid and sublimated imagination, and the magnificent ceremonial of her pomp,--formed the knight of spain; and, in consequence of this influence of orientalism on his character, he represents the stateliness of chivalry as perfectly as the english cavalier its adventurousness, and the french its gaiety. [sidenote: religion and heroism.] there was an interesting blending of religious enthusiasm and romantic heroism in the spaniard. his warm and creative imagination transformed the patron-saint of his country into a knight. he always saw st. james at his side, mounted on a stately white horse, and fighting the battles of christianity and spain; and, as if these chivalric exploits were not sufficient, he represented him as the professed and powerful champion of distressed damsels; for he supposed that this celestial ally had freed the nation from paying the annual tribute of a hundred christian virgins to their infidel enemies.[ ] [sidenote: gallantry.] spain, too, appears to our fancy as the very land of chivalric love,--of love which was bred amidst difficulties and dangers, where the undistinguishable throng of "hopes and fears that kindle hope" gave a more imaginative cast to the feelings than can be known in the more settled frame of modern society. there was not only the feudal baron violating the laws of courtesy, as in other countries, but bands of moors were careering over the plains, who did not think that woman was an object utterly unworthy of a perilous quest. here, then, all the beautiful romance of knight-errantry might be realised; and in the breast of the rescued damsel love would spring from gratitude. [sidenote: blending of spanish and oriental manners.] the germs of chivalry existed in the minds of the visigoths, who overthrew the dominion of the romans in spain. military investiture, respect for women, and the sports of hawking and hunting, were the new circumstances in spanish character and manners: but in the times of those wretched barbarians, the visigoths, it is in vain to search for the perfect developement of the chivalric character. chivalry appears only in few and fitful gleams in those dark times; and her golden light did not shine in full and bright display till the days of the arabians; and, throughout their long reign of seven centuries, it had a very remarkable effect on circumstances and characters. as its glory was personal, chivalry abated much of the fierceness of a religious or a national war; for the cavalier could admire, even in an enemy, qualities which it was his own pride and ambition to possess. the nations met in the graceful encounter of the tournament, as well as in the more perilous battle-field; and the interchange of chivalric courtesies, when the image of war was exhibited, could not but mitigate the ferocity of real hostilities. at the moorish or christian festivals, a gallant soldier of the opposite religion would appear, and challenge the bravest of his adversaries to maintain the superiority of his nation and faith; and in maintaining that cause the cavaleresque deportment of the combatants was admired, when the avowed object of their encounter was forgotten; for the object of the assembly was amusement; and the eye and fancy were addressed in these gentle exercises and proofs of arms.[ ] [sidenote: its beneficial tendencies.] the people of the two religions insensibly mingled, and each adopted something of the thoughts and manners of the other. if the christian taught the moors to use the lance of courtesy, the christian learnt from the moors to throw the cane, which was afterwards such a favourite spanish amusement. from them, too, the knights of spain adopted the javelin, and used it instead of the lance. they were wont to hurl it as forcibly as any asiatic or grecian heroes could have done; for a greater defence than what was afforded by mail and a quilted jacket was required to resist the stroke.[ ] the poets who lived in the chivalric days of spain invariably gave the moral and personal costume of chivalry to the arabian as often as to the european. thus calaynos, the moor[ ], is as much celebrated in the romances of spain as the cid himself; and it was the general confession that the knights of granada were gentlemen although moors.[ ] this amalgamation of character formed the basis of those unions between the arabians and the spaniards which are so frequently recorded in the history of the peninsula, and which strike the reader as incredible. it has been thought for the glory of the nation to represent the struggle as of ceaseless duration for seven long centuries, and too fierce to allow of the sheathing of the sword: but these alliances were so common, that spain often presented the appearance of a number of petty states, each attempting to draw the others into its vortex, rather than the general cause of the cross warring with the crescent. independently of these alliances there was scarcely a christian cavalier of fame who did not in the course of his military career wield his good sword in the ranks of the musulmans. among the blessings which sprang from this free intercourse, religious toleration was not the least valuable one. spain, which in later times has been so remarkable for the cruelties of its bigotry, was in early days the only country of europe where religious liberty could breathe. since the moors and christians often treated each other as separate powers, mutual toleration ensued, and this liberal feeling in the minds of the christians extended itself beyond the pale of their moorish subjects and allies. the fathers of the reformation were the albigenses, many of whom were sheltered by the kings of arragon, while their brethren were persecuted to death in france. no church, save that of england, was in such continued opposition to the papacy as the spanish; and in every great dispute it espoused the cause of the heretics, as the assertors of the liberty of the human will were always called. the humanities of chivalry were not limited to toleration or mercy, to the mosque or the field of battle, but moors and christians often lived in the same town, and commingled social charities. friendships were formed, and, maugre the declamation of bigots, dearer affections attached the two nations. the knight was in consequence of the obligations of his chivalry the friend of the distressed; and when beauty pleaded, his heart forbad him from enquiring in what religion the damsel had been educated. the passion of love in the breast of the spanish cavalier was not more fervid or intense than in the breast of the cavalier of any other country. if the spaniard be considered as a goth by birth, and an arab by education, still his natural and artificial circumstances formed but the same character of passion; for both the goth and the arab adored as well as loved their mistress, and regarded her as a divinity as well as an object of affection. [sidenote: peculiarities of spanish chivalry.] there was a gravity, perhaps a jealousy, both qualities of oriental origin, about the conduct of the spanish knight, which were foreign to the nature of the chivalry of other countries. the expression of his feelings was unlike theirs. bold metaphors, rich and varied imagery and glowing sentiments, are mixed with the simple developement of passion; and these orientalisms of his verse are not the elaborate and artificial ornaments with which fiction dresses up her image of passion: but as the mind of the spaniard had been trained by the arab, it became natural to him to nourish his affection in the splendid dreamings of the east. if he borrowed ideas and fancies from the moor, it must be remembered that he likewise freely communicated the character of his own system. in no mohammedan country was woman so high in moral rank as in spain. the musulman woman was not passion's object, but, like the lady in chivalry, she was the origin of honour; for she sat in the tournament as the judge of valour, and the moorish knight received the guerdon of triumph from her hands. asiatic jealousy abated something of its nature and its forms in spain; for there woman mingled with man in social intercourse, and her beauties were not always shrouded by a veil.[ ] [sidenote: forms of knighthood.] the forms of chivalric initiation in spain were similar to those in other countries. the bath--confession--vigil in a church--mass--the spurs--the girding with the sword--the accolade,--these were the chief ceremonies. the knight by his oath expressed willingness to die either for the defence of his law, or of his king or country.[ ] the sword was then ungirt from him by some person of honour, who by so doing was supposed to become his padrino, or godfather in chivalry, and to confirm the knighthood thus bestowed. no circumstances could ever justify the cavalier in bearing arms against his padrino. he was, on the contrary, to defend him by his sword and his counsel to the utmost of his ability, and to be every thing to him, as a _man_ was to his lord in feudal relation. these were the ancient ceremonies; but they were simplified in subsequent times. the mere dubbing was then held sufficient; and, by a law of ferdinand and isabella, in , it was ordained that it should be at the pleasure of the king to use the old forms or not, and that the dignity of knighthood should be equally illustrious if they were omitted. [sidenote: various ranks of knights.] the highest class of knights in spain was formed of the knights of the spur, the cavalleros de espuela d'orada. they were always hidalgos, or gentlemen of birth of three descents. kings' sons were of this class of knighthood; and no one was crowned till he had been invested with the order.[ ] among the privileges of a knight of the golden spur, it is curious to notice that no person could sit at table with him except one of his own rank; no one of an inferior order was permitted to deny the infallibility of his opinion, and to contradict him: and for offences against the state, a knight of this class was to be beheaded, and not put to death in the vulgar mode. the circumstances in his conduct which were punishable with degradation are interesting, as descriptive of spanish manners. it was thought necessary to forbid him from stealing the arms of another knight, from selling his own, or losing them at play, or giving them to courtezans. the punishment of degradation, as consequent on the admission of improper persons into the order, is intelligible and just: his girdle and spur-leathers were also to be cut, if he exercised any trade; except, indeed, in captivity, when he was kindly permitted to support his life by the best means of his ingenuity.[ ] the other class of knights was formed of cavalleros armados, who enjoyed most of the privileges of nobility. a knight of this rank was free from the payment of taxes and tribute; and so were the knights of the golden spur, not, however, as knights, but as hidalgos. the cavalleros d'armados were always made by the king's own hand; but the right of creating cavalleros d'espuela d'orada existed in the will of every cavalier of the order, though it was usually exercised only by the king. these were the two bodies in which the chivalry of spain was arranged. the title of cavallero was also given to every man who was a soldier, in consequence of holding his lands by a military and feudal tenure; but he was not, from that circumstance, necessarily a knight. regarding chivalry as an order of merit, the cavalleros d'espuela d'orada and the cavalleros d'armados were the only true chivalric knights in spain. there were some interesting circumstances in spanish chivalry. thus, in catalonia, besides the squire who bore his shield and lance, each knight was attended by an armed man, whose title was, companion of the knight, and who was considered as a gentleman that followed the art of chivalry. he was also attached to the knight by feudal relations; for the knight was compelled to grant him land, or rent, in fealty. a knight who was entitled to be attended by this companion was a knight by creation, a miles vero; and he who had not received the order of chivalry, although an hidalgo, was considered as a knight minor, whom, indeed, chivalry would have disowned, but that his birth, rank, and fortune, made him a part of the military state.[ ] it is curious to notice that, by the general laws of spanish chivalry, it was usual for every knight to embrace a newly-made knight the first time he met him, in honour of faith and love; and it was contrary to those laws for one knight to affront another, unless he should first send his defiance or publication of that breach of the bond of companionship. [sidenote: spanish poetry.] the pillars of spanish chivalry were of the same quality and character as those of other countries. spain had her military orders, her institutions of calatrava, saint james, and alcantara; while the militia of the temple and the friars of the hospital were richer in possessions in spain than in any country of the west. she had, also, her ballads and romances, in prose and verse, descriptive of the wars and loves of chivalry: but i cannot discover, with some writers, that the chivalric muse sung either a sweeter or a higher strain in spain than in france or england. her minstrelsy, indeed, was peculiar, and so was her national character. on one side, longings for patriotic independence, and consequent hatred of the moors; on the other, the loves and friendships of humanity, unaffected by difference of religion or country. the troubadour chaunted his lays of love and war in spain; and his appeals found a ready way to the heart in arragon; for of that part of the peninsula the provençal was the vernacular dialect. [sidenote: heroes of chivalry.] [sidenote: pelayo.] spain is rich in her heroes, both of romance and chivalry. the spaniard will not acknowledge that the moor was, for a moment, left in tranquil possession of his conquest; and he points to a hero, named pelayo, as collecting the remnants of the christians in the mountains of asturias, immediately after the general triumph of the moorish arms. he resisted the moors till his three hundred followers dwindled to thirty. his enemies then left him to perish, for hitherto his food had only been honey, found in the crevices of the rocks. but, in after times, the folly of this disdain was seen; for these thirty men were the nucleus round which the scattered spaniards collected.[ ] [sidenote: bernardo del carpio.] truth does not cast many gleams on bernardo del carpio, the next in time and rank of spanish knights. if we may credit the historians of his country, it was he who nourished, in the asturias, the plant of national liberty; for when alfonso the chaste would have made the land over which he ruled part of the dominions of charlemagne, the nobility, headed by bernardo, repelled the invader, and annihilated the french peerage at fontarabbia. much of this, perhaps the whole, is the mere dreaming of national pride, not deserving regard: but when i find mingled with the story the assertion that bernardo gained the alliance of some of the moors, and that, in after parts of his life, he fought also under moorish banners, i accept these circumstances as valuable, and consider them as indications of general principles and manners, whoever may be the hero of the tale. [sidenote: charlemagne's expedition into spain.] of the far-famed expedition of charlemagne into spain, little or nothing is known, though some french writers have defined the extent of his dominion in that country with the precision with which the political changes of modern times can be traced. tradition, song, and history, unite in proving that he went into catalonia and arragon; but it does not seem that he established any government in those countries; and his march was rather the wild adventure of a knight than the grave purpose of kingly ambition. the spaniards, as we have seen, claim the honour of defeating him in the valley of ronscesvalles; but the arabs also assert their title to the same feat of chivalry: and, still further to embarrass the matter, it has been contended, with equal plausibility, that the french under charlemagne were worsted by the navarrese and people of acquitain; and thus that the french of the adour and the garonne defeated the french of the seine. the land between the ebro and the pyrenees, and called the spanish march, was governed, some centuries before the twelfth, by the counts of barcelona, who owned the feudal sovereignty of the kings of france. this territorial acquisition has been generally referred to the sword of charlemagne, not, however, on sound historical proof, but rather from the practice of monkish chroniclers, of honouring that emperor with all the deeds of arms which could not accurately be ascribed to any other warrior. [sidenote: the life of the cid.] in the life of count fernan gonsalez fiction and fact are blended beyond all power of extrication; and we must descend to the eleventh century for a genuine picture of the spanish cavalier. no one is dearer to the proud recollections of a spaniard than the cid rodrigo diaz de bivar: for it was by the valour of his arms that the momentous question of superiority between the two great powers in the peninsula was decided as every christian and spanish heart could have wished. the honour of his chivalry is bright and pure; for to swear by his knighthood, affé de rodrigo, is still the most solemn form of a spaniard's asseveration. the marriage of don diego laynez, a castilian gentleman, and donna teresa rodriguez, daughter of a count and governor of asturias, was followed in the year by the birth of a son at burgos, who was called rodrigo diaz, and of bivar, from the conquest made by his father of a town two leagues north of burgos; but he was more generally designated as the cid, from the asiatic title, es sayd, (my lord,) which five moorish emirs whom he conquered gave him, and which his king confirmed.[ ] indeed, from the number of his victories over the moors, he emphatically merited this title. [sidenote: his early ferocious heroism.] while yet a youth he gave an earnest of his martial and ferocious disposition. his father had been insulted by a blow from count don gomez, lord of gormaz, but he was unable, from old age and infirmities, to take vengeance, and he mourned in solitude and dishonour. rodrigo, in order to restore peace to his father's mind, defied and fought the mighty man of arms: he slew him, and returned to his home with the head of the vanquished hanging at his saddle-bow. his father was seated at table with dinner, untasted, before him. rodrigo presented to him the head, which he called the herb that would restore his father's appetite. the old man embraced his son, and, placing him at the head of his table, declared that he alone was worthy of being at the head of the house of layn calvo. his father soon afterwards died. rodrigo next distinguished himself by beating back an invasion of five moorish emirs who had fearfully ravaged the country; and instead of treating them with severity, he gave them liberty, receiving their submission and tribute.[ ] [sidenote: his singular marriage.] the cid's affair with gomez was productive of an interesting circumstance, and illustrative of the manners of that remote and singular period. ximena, the daughter of the count, required of don ferdinand, king of castile, the strange boon of rodrigo of bivar in marriage, alleging as her reason that his possessions would one day be greater than those of any man in the castilian dominions. she declared that the power of pardon rested in her breast; and, like other amatory enthusiasts, she gave a colouring of religion to her wishes, by urging that the marriage would be for the service of god. the king consented, and summoned the cid to his court; who, on receiving the message, incontinently dighted himself full gallantly, and, accompanied by many knights and other armed peers in festival guise, he repaired to the king at valentia. ferdinand received him with so much honour as to excite the envy of the courtiers. the purpose of the summons was communicated, and rodrigo had no difficulty in consenting to marry the lady whose father he had killed. the marriage was celebrated; and the satisfaction of the king is peculiarly marked, for he made him large grants of land, being aware of his military prowess, and thinking that by this marriage he had secured his allegiance.[ ] the cid took his bride home, and, commending her to the kindest care of his mother, he went towards the moorish frontier; for, in order to give a zest to his marital pleasures, he had vowed not to solace himself with ximena's love till he had won five battles in the field. [sidenote: enters the service of king ferdinand.] he was soon called to be the champion of his king; for a quarrel between don ferdinand and his brother don ramirio, king of arragon, regarding the city of caldhorra, was to be decided by arms. the cid and the other champion, don martin gonzales, entered the lists, and the judges placed them in such situations that the sun and wind favoured neither. they careered so fiercely against each other that their lances broke, but in the closer encounter of swords the cid prevailed: he slew his adversary; and the judges declared that the city of caldhorra belonged to don ferdinand. [sidenote: the cid's chivalric gallantry.] this victory was rewarded by the gratitude of the king, and the envy of the courtiers; and the latter, in the bitterness of their rage, endeavoured to plot with the moorish emirs, the subjects of the cid, for his destruction. but the moors not only disdained the alliance, but revealed the meditated treason to their lord. many of the conspirators were banished; but regarding one person the chivalric gallantry of the conqueror prevailed over his just resentment. the wife of the count don garcia prayed for the pardon of her lord: she fell at the knees of the cid, but he would not listen to her until she rose. she requested him to command the moorish emir, into whose country she and her husband were sentenced to be banished, to treat them with mildness and benevolence. the cid spoke according to her will; and the king of cordova, for the love he bore that hero, treated them kindly, and gave cabra to garcia as a habitation. as far as garcia was concerned this kindness was misplaced; for he made war upon his benefactor, the king of cordova, till the cid went and punished him. the circumstances attending this punishment will be told in a subsequent and very interesting part of our hero's life. the cid then assisted his sovereign in wresting viseu, lamego, and other cities from the moors. there were no circumstances of his valour so remarkable as the cruel vengeance of ferdinand on a man taken at viseu, who had slain king don alfonso, his wife's father. he cut off the foot which had prest down the armatost, or instrument by means of which the cross-bow wag charged, he lopt off the hands which had held the bow and fitted the quarrel, and plucked out the eyes which had taken the mark. the archers then made a butt of the living trunk.[ ] thus, whatever might have been the influence of chivalry on the mind of the cid, it certainly had not tempered the ferocity of his gothic sovereign. [sidenote: he is knighted.] coimbra was one of the new conquests, and in that city rodrigo was knighted. the ceremony was performed in the church of saint mary, which had once been the great mosque of coimbra. the king girded on the sword and gave him the kiss, but not the blow, for the cid needed no remembrancer of his duties. the ladies were his honourable attendants on this august occasion. the queen gave him his horse, and the infanta, donna urraca, fastened on his spurs. his names, rodrigo diaz, were now compressed into ruydiez, agreeably to a frequent custom at investiture, which in so many respects was similar to baptism. by permission of the king he then exercised the privileges of his new rank by knighting nine noble squires. by this time the vow of the cid was performed, and he retired awhile from the court to the society of his wife. [sidenote: death of king ferdinand.] [sidenote: the cid becomes the knight of sancho, king of castile.] ferdinand soon afterwards died, having, contrary to the principles of the nation's constitution, divided his kingdom among his children. this breaking up the interests of the gothic monarchy was most unwise; for the goths were a fierce race, and in the cause of ambition brother had shed brother's blood.[ ] the cid went into the service of don sancho, king of castile, the eldest son of the late sovereign; and in all his wars, whether with christians or musulmans, he deported himself after his wonted manner: and his great feats of arms won so entirely the heart of the king that he made him his campeador, or officer whose duty it was to mark the place for the encampment of the host. [sidenote: mixture of evil and good in the cid's character.] [sidenote: supports the king in his injustice.] sancho expressed his purpose of possessing himself of what he chose to consider his inheritance,--the whole kingdom of his late father. his iniquitous design was manfully opposed by one of his counsellors, who nobly declared that there was not a man in the world who would advise him to break the command of his father, and the vow which he had made to him. sancho then turned to the cid, stating to him, singularly enough, that he solicited his advice, for his father had charged him upon pain of his curse not to act without his judgment. the cid replied, that it would ill behove him to counsel his sovereign to contradict the will of the late king. sancho rejoined, with admirable casuistry, that he did not think he was breaking his oath to his father, for he had always denied the justice of the partition, and the oath alluded to had been forcibly extorted. the cid found the king was resolute in his purpose; and in the conflict of duties which the circumstances gave rise to, his martial spirit overcame his virtue, and he determined to continue his soldier. [sidenote: the cid's romantic heroism.] he prevailed upon sancho, however, not to pass into the territory of don garcia, his brother, king of gallicia, unless he obtained the love and licence of his brother, don alfonso, king of leon. numerous battles were fought, without, however, wearing any chivalric feature, and therefore not within my purpose to describe. in all of them the green pennon of the cid floated conspicuously and triumphantly; and his achievements were so far beyond mortal comparison, that he was called the fortunate cid--he of good fortune--he that was born in a happy hour. on one occasion sancho was taken prisoner, but he was rescued by the cid; and the circumstances are illustrative of the romantic character of the age. thirteen knights were bearing the king away, when the cid alone and lanceless, for he had shivered his weapon in the battle, galloped after them. he cried to them, "knights, give me my lord, and i will restore yours to you." they scornfully bade him avoid contending with them, or they would make him prisoner too. "give me but a lance, and, single as i am, i will rescue my lord from all of ye," was the heroic rejoinder of the cid; adding, with increased energy and confidence, "by god's help, i will do it." the chivalric request could not be denied by cavaliers, and they gave him a lance. but such was the spirit and force with which he attacked them, that he slew eleven of the thirteen: on the two survivors he had mercy; and thus he rescued his king.[ ] [sidenote: sancho's further injustice opposed by the cid.] don sancho became king both of gallicia and leon, confining his brother garcia in irons as if he had been a traitor, and compelling alfonso to seek for brotherly affection among the moors. he robbed also his sister, donna elvira. still his ambition was not satisfied; the little town of zamora, belonging to his sister, donna urraca, was wanting to fill the measure of his desires. he dispatched the cid to her on the painful office of requiring zamora for a price or in exchange, and of communicating the king's purpose of seizing it by force in case she did not accede to his wishes. the great men of zamora dissuaded the infanta from surrendering the place: their courageous spirits declared that they would rather eat their mules and their horses, yea, their very wives and children; and the danger of yielding was shadowed out to her in that dark proverbial manner in which the spaniards often conveyed their wisdom. "he who besieges you on the rock," they said, "will soon drive you from the plain." the cid returned to the king with the answer which this counsel dictated. sancho, in his anger at the failure of the embassy, reproached his campeador with unskilful management of his task; for his conscience told him that he who, like the cid, had been bred up in the same house with urraca, must have felt some compunctions at requiring her to give up the right of her inheritance. the campeador did not defend himself by stating that he had discharged his duty as an advocate for the king's purposes; he only declared that he had discharged faithfully his bidding as a true vassal; but he added, that he would not bear arms against the infanta, nor against zamora, because of the days that were past.[ ] [sidenote: death of sancho.] [sidenote: instance of the cid's virtuous boldness.] incensed at this opposition to his authority, sancho banished his faithful campeador, who joined king alfonso in the moorish territories, with twelve hundred horse and foot, knights and squires, all men of approved worship. alarmed at this defection of his bravest cavaliers, the counsellors of sancho advised him to revoke his edict: it was revoked: the campeador returned, but he would not bear arms against the infanta nor zamora, because of the days that were past. the king attacked the town, and lost his life in the attempt. there were circumstances about his death that impeached both his brother alfonso and his sister urraca. the castilians murmured their suspicions; but when alfonso came to be crowned, the cid was the only man of sufficient virtue and spirit to decline doing homage. much astonishment was expressed in the countenances of the courtiers and prelates, who had already kissed the hands of alfonso; and when he was called on by the sovereign-elect to perform his acknowledgment, he boldly declared, that all who were then present suspected that by his counsel the king, don sancho, had come by his death, "and therefore i say," he continued, "unless you clear yourself of this, as by right you should do, i will never kiss your hand, nor receive you for my lord." the king expressed his pleasure at these sentiments, and swore to god and to st. mary that he never slew his brother nor took counsel for his death; neither did his death please him, though sancho had taken his kingdom from him. alfonso then desired his courtiers to describe the means by which he might clear himself. they replied, that he and twelve of his knights, as his compurgators, must take that oath in the church of st. gadra, at burgos. accordingly, the king and his knights repaired to burgos, in whose church of st. gadra mass was celebrated before the royal family, the nobility, and the people. the king then took a conspicuous station near the altar. the cid left his place, and, opening the gospels, he laid the book upon the altar. the king placed his hand upon the volume; and the cid said to him, with a seriousness of manner approaching to sternness, while the people attended with the intensest curiosity, "king don alfonso, you appear in this place to swear on the subject of your brother's death. you swear that you neither slew him, nor took counsel for his death: say now, you and these hidalgos, your friends and compurgators, if ye swear this?" and the king and his knights answered, "yea, we swear it." the cid continued, "if you knew of this matter, or commanded that it should be performed, may your fate be similar to that of your brother. may you die by the hand of a villain, in whom you trust; one who is not a hidalgo; one who is not a castilian, but a foreigner." the king and his knights cried, "amen." but alfonso's colour faded; and the cid, marking this sign of guilt, repeated the oath to him. the king assented, but again his countenance paled. a third time did the cid press him, for the laws of castile allowed this reiteration; and once more did the king's language and countenance contradict each other. but the compurgation was now completed, and the cid was compelled to do homage.[ ] [sidenote: character of alfonso, successor of sancho.] [sidenote: story of his chivalric bearing.] alfonso is a very interesting character among the kings and knights of spain. whatever participation he might have had in his brother's death, such foul conduct did not sully his general dealings. justice was so admirably administered in castile, that the people expressed their joy in the beautiful sentence,--that if a woman were to travel alone through his dominions, bearing gold and silver in her hand, no one would interrupt her path, whether in the desert or the peopled country. he was the friend of the distressed, the supporter of the weak, the strength of the nation. in his conduct to alimayon, the moorish king of toledo, we may find displayed in a very interesting manner the frank dealing, the ingenuousness, the noble confidence, the honour of a cavalier, beautifully coloured with romantic thought. alfonso was allied with alimayon, that mighty sovereign of the moors; but the treaty, instead of being the free union of two equal and independent authorities, had been extorted from alfonso, when the chance of war had thrown him into alimayon's power. it was, of course, obligatory on the honour and faith of alfonso; and though he respected his ally, his chivalric pride whispered the wish that his friendship had been obtained by some other mode. in the second year of his reign, alfonso marched towards toledo, hearing that the territories of alimayon had been invaded by the king of cordova. he made no proclamation of his purpose, and alimayon, not assured of his motives, sent messengers to him, reminding him of their alliance. the king detained the messengers. he then pursued his course to olias; and the king of cordova, divining his purpose, broke up his encampment before toledo, and fled. alfonso left his army at olias, and, accompanied only by five knights and alimayon's messengers, he rode to toledo. he was met and greeted by his brother-sovereign, who kissed his shoulder, and thanked him for his truth in coming to his deliverance, and for remembering their mutual oath. the moorish people expressed by their songs and atabals the love which the christians bore their lord; but the castilians severely blamed alfonso for his implicit faith in the honour of a moor. alimayon returned with alfonso next day to the christian camp. an entertainment, worthy of the splendour of chivalry, was furnished forth: but while the kings were at table alimayon was astonished at seeing some armed knights gradually surrounding the tent. his brother-sovereign bade him suspend his curiosity till the conclusion of the feast: the moor did so; and alfonso then reminded him that their alliance had been formed when he was in his power at toledo, but now, as alimayon was in his power, he required an exoneration of that oath and covenant. alimayon could not but comply; and agreeably to the form, both moorish and christian, acquitted him of his promise, in expressions thrice repeated. alfonso then called for the book of the gospels, and said to him, "now that you are in my power, i swear and promise to you, never to fight against you nor against your son, but to aid you against all the world. the oath which i formerly made was forced from me, and therefore not obligatory on my conscience and conduct: but i cannot violate the present oath, for i make it now that you are in my hands, and i can treat you as i please." the alliance was then settled on a firmer basis than ever; and alfonso, after making the king of cordova feel the might of his power, took his course to castile.[ ] [sidenote: the cid's second marriage.] [sidenote: is banished from alfonso's court.] [sidenote: becomes the ally of the moors;] return we now to our cid. his wife ximena was dead; and alfonso, in order to attach him to his person, married him to his own niece, also a ximena. the marriage was celebrated on the th of july, in the year . for some years the achievements of the cid were confined to the duties which were imposed on him as king's champion. questions of territory between alfonso and the moors were generally decided by single combat, and the cid was always victorious. these circumstances should have cemented the friendship of the king and his campeador: but the courtiers, by their well-weaved plots, succeeded in driving into banishment their most formidable rival in the affections of the sovereign. the cid took refuge with the moorish king of saragossa, and continued in that part of spain for some years the subject and soldier of the moors, fighting their battles against the christians; but always showing mercy to the vanquished. mercy, indeed, to those whom he conquered in the field was a prevailing feature of his character, which he displayed without regard to religious peculiarities: for in his previous battles in the cause of alfonso he had often released his prisoners unransomed. [sidenote: but recalled.] [sidenote: is banished again.] the moors from africa invaded spain. in the extremity of his distress, alfonso recalled the cid, who soon drove back the enemy. for a considerable time that leader enjoyed the gratitude of his sovereign, and was the soul of the christian army; and then circumstances arose which his enemies ingeniously perverted to his injury. alfonso was gone into andalusia against the moors, unaccompanied by the cid, whom sickness detained at home. he recovered, however, in time to meet and repel a moorish invasion on the other side; and he retaliated on them as far as toledo, whose king complained to alfonso of the campeador's violation of the oath and covenant between them. alfonso was astonished and displeased; and suffering his mind to be influenced by the suggestions of the ricos-omes, all his hatred of the cid returned in its pristine force. he saw nothing in him now but the avenger of don sancho's death. he summoned him to burgos; but the cid replied he would meet him between that town and bivar. they accordingly met, and the campeador would have kissed his hand in homage; but the king repulsed him, angrily saying, "ruydiez, quit my land." the cid instantly pricked his mule to another piece of ground, and replied, "i am now, sir, upon my own land, and not upon yours." the king then commanded him to depart from his states forthwith, not even allowing him thirty days' time, the usual licence of the hidalgos. the moment of his banishment was not an unhappy one, for it was then that he discovered his strength; many knights and other valiant men-of-arms resolving, with his cousin-german, alvar fañez, to accompany him through desert and peopled country, and spend their wealth, and garments, and horses in his service. but the joyous exultation of this consciousness of power was soon checked by the grief of quitting his own home;--the deserted hall, the perches without hawks upon them, the porch without its seats, no cloaks hanging down the walls:--all these signs of desolation brought tears into his eyes, and he exclaimed, "my enemies have done this:" but soon recovering his christian resignation, he cried, "god be praised for all things." he passed through burgos, where the people could not receive him, for the king had prohibited them to do so; and he whose sword had been girt on in a happy hour, was condemned to pitch his tents upon the sands. [sidenote: singular story of the cid's unknightly meanness.] the chivalric history of the cid is now varied by a circumstance which has not its parallel in the life of any other cavalier on record. he was deeply distressed for present money, and he obtained some by means not recommended in any code of knighthood. he filled two chests with sand, and persuaded two jews, who had confidence in his honour, that their contents were gold. he had been accustomed to sell to these men his moorish spoils, and he demanded on the present security the sum of six hundred marks. the money was delivered. the negociation was conducted on the part of the cid by his friend, martin antolinez, who received a handsome present from the jews; but the cid, the noble-minded lofty cavalier, was the author of this unknightly piece of craft; and he consoled his conscience by the reflection that he acted more from necessity than inclination, and that in time he would redeem all. in order to avoid detection, he made the jews promise not to open the chests for a year, but to retain them only as a security. one little trait of the cid's coolness and cunning must be noticed. the jews, in their joy at the excellence of the bargain, were disposed to generosity, and offered the cid a red skin, moorish and honourable. the cid accepted it, telling his friends he would consider it as a gift, if they had bought it; otherwise, they should add its value to the loan.[ ] [sidenote: fortunes of the cid during his exile.] the cid then went to cardina; and, after bidding farewell to his wife and children, he quitted gentle castile, and went into the moorish territory. he battled with the moors and vanquished them, sparing, however, those who were the allies of alfonso. in particular, he won a great victory over them in a sally which he made from the castle of alcocer, wherein he was besieged by them. the cid of bivar was known by his green pennon and gilt saddle. he charged his standard-bearer, pero bermuez, not to venture forward before he commanded. the circumstances of the battle are described in the translation of the old poem of the cid with astonishing spirit:-- "the gates were then thrown open, and forth at once they rush'd, the out-posts of the moorish host back to the camp were push'd: the camp was all in tumult; and there was such a thunder, of cymbals and of drums, as if earth would cleave, in sunder. there you might see the moors arming themselves in haste, and the two main battles how they were forming fast, horsemen and footmen mixt, a countless troop, and vast. the moors are moving forward, the battle soon must join. 'my men stand here in order, rang'd upon a line! let not a man move from his rank before i give the sign.' pero bermuez heard the word, but he could not refrain: he held the banner in his hand, he gave his horse the rein; 'you see yon foremost squadron there, the thickest of the foes, noble cid, god be your aid, for there your banner goes! let him that serves and honours it show the duty that he owes.' earnestly the cid called out, 'for heaven's sake be still!' bermuez cried, 'i cannot hold;' so eager was his will. he spurr'd his horse, and drove him on amidst the moorish rout; they strove to win the banner, and compast him about. had not his armour been so true, he had lost either life or limb: the cid called out again, 'for heaven's sake succour him!' their shields before their breasts, forth at once they go; their lances in the rest, levell'd fair and low; their banners and their crests waving in a row; their heads all stooping down towards the saddle-bow. the cid was in the midst, his shout was heard afar, 'i am rui diaz, the champion of bivar: strike among them, gentlemen, for sweet mercy's sake.' there where bermuez fought amidst the foe, they brake three hundred banner'd knights: it was a gallant show. three hundred moors they kill'd--a man with every blow: when they wheel'd and turn'd, as many more lay slain, you might see them raise their lances and level them again. there you might see the breast-plates, how they were cleft in twain, and many a moorish shield lie shatter'd on the plain; the pennons that were white, mark'd with a crimson stain; the horses running wild whose riders had been slain. the christians call upon saint james, the moors upon mahound. there were thirteen hundred of them slain on a little spot of ground."[ ] his victory over the moors presented the cid with a fair occasion of propitiating alfonso. he accordingly dispatched alvar fañez into castile with a gift to the king of thirty moorish horses, which was accepted. alfonso did not show present honour to the cid, but he expressed his joy at the victory; and relieved from all penalties those who had joined him, and those who should be induced to follow his fortunes.[ ] these were joyful news to the cid and his host; and the faithful messenger brought also such tidings of their families, that, as men as well as castilians, they were right joyful. [sidenote: the cid's chivalric nobleness and generosity.] on every occasion the cid showed a generous indifference to his own share of the spoil; and whatever country he left, both men and women wept, and the prayers of the people went before him, so high was his reputation for acts of individual clemency. once he invaded a moorish territory with which raymond berenger, count of barcelona, was in alliance. the count and his frenchmen harnessed themselves in their gay attire, resolved to recover the spoil of the cid. but he who was born in a happy hour smiled at the vain splendour of the french cavaliers; and while his men were placing their plain gallician saddles on their horses, he assured them, that for one of their enemy whom they should slay, three would leap from their horses in terror. berenger's force was defeated: he himself was taken prisoner; and of the spoil the most precious part was his good sword, colada. the subsequent circumstances will recall to the reader's mind the chivalric bearing of the black prince and henry v. berenger was conducted to the tent of his vanquisher, and a repast was set before them; but he refused all refreshment, though my cid courteously invited him. the next day a very splendid entertainment was set forth; but the count preserved his pride and sullenness, or only broke forth into expressions of contempt and self-reproach that he had been beaten by a set of ragged fellows. my cid did not reply to this uncourtesy, but continued to urge him to partake of the repast, and not lament the chance of war. but berenger abandoned himself to unmanly despondency, and desired to be left alone to die. for three days he continued in this abject state; and he was only roused from it by the noble offer of the cid to give liberty to him and any two of his knights. the cid, however, was good humouredly resolved not to part from him, unless he partook of his hospitality. "if you do not eat heartily, count, you and i shall not part yet." they then cemented their kindness and gratitude by good cheer, and the count was permitted to take his leave: but as he rode away he frequently reverted his eyes to know if the cid were pursuing him, for his own ignoble soul could not credit the generosity of his vanquisher.[ ] [sidenote: is recalled by alfonso.] increased admiration of the cid's military talents, and the death by treachery of one of his bravest officers, induced alfonso to wish for a reconciliation with his faithful campeador. it was effected; but not till the cid had induced the king to stipulate that no hidalgo should be banished in future without a lawful hearing of his cause, and the old licence of thirty days. on another great matter he was also the friend of the public good; for he induced the king to consent to preserve the privileges of towns, and not to impose taxes on them contrary to their customs. alfonso even conceded the liberty of armed resistance to his acts, if ever they should contradict his solemn engagements. [sidenote: the cid captures toledo,] the cid's happiness was soon alloyed by the death of his son rodrigo; a young man whose military spirit was so fine and gallant, that the christians regarded him as the hope of spain. the cid was speedily called from private cares and sorrows to a more important undertaking than any he had been ever engaged in. he headed the christian troops against toledo; and those troops embraced not only the flower of spanish chivalry, but many knights from france, italy, and germany; so important to the general fate of religion and arms was the capture of toledo considered. we may lament, with many an admirer of spanish chivalry, that the memory of their gallant deeds has not been handed down to us, and censure the ancient chroniclers for wronging such worthy knights. we only know that toledo was captured by the cid on the th of may, in the year . among many subsequent military achievements of the campeador i shall select only his engagement with his old foe, raymond berenger, count of barcelona, who had hastily taken up arms to assist a moorish prince, also an enemy of the cid. if the cid had dreaded numbers he would have yielded: if he had regarded the established reputation of knights, he would have partaken of the general terror, for the french were esteemed the best knights in the world, and the best appointed; and fame proceeded to ascribe to berenger's the chivalric virtues of courage and skill in no ordinary degree. but the exhortations of the cid and his very presence animated the troops to heroism; and when the moment of battle, fixed by his own admirable skill, arrived, the event, as usual, proved that he had been born in a happy hour. berenger and his chief officers fell into his hands: he showed them great courtesy; and released them on their ransom, and their promise on their knighthood never to appear in arms against him again.[ ] [sidenote: and valentia.] the capture of valentia was the next and most important circumstance in the cid's career. the fame of his exploits had drawn to his standard a thousand knights of lineage, five hundred and fifty other horsemen, and of foot-soldiers a thousand. i shall not detail the events of the nine months' siege of valentia; for the picture does not vary in any of its colours and shades from the scenes of blood, and horror, and desolation, in other wars. [sidenote: story of spanish manners.] there is one circumstance, however, of a different character, and pleasingly illustrative of ancient manners. among the hosts of the cid was an asturian hidalgo, named martin paleaz, who was better known for his personal strength than his chivalric courage. the cid resolved to shame him into bravery; and he seized as a fitting occasion a day when martin had concealed himself while his brother-knights were tourneying with the moors. when the dinner-hour arrived, martin paleaz, not suspecting that the cid had discovered his baseness, washed his hands with the other knights, and would have taken his place at the common table; but the cid grasped his hand, and telling him that neither of them was worthy to sit with such valorous knights as those who were now before them, he led him to his own high table where it was his general custom to sit, and dine alone; alvar fañez, pero bermuez, and knights of equal renown, sitting at other high tables, while the rest of the knights reclined upon estrados with tables before them. there was no equality of knighthood, therefore, among the cavaliers of spain as in the celtic nations. there was no round table, generously dispensing with the inequalities of rank. it was a subject of honourable ambition with the knights of the cid to be pronounced worthy of sitting at the table with alvar fañez and his companions; and the simple martin paleaz plumed himself on his superior honours. the next day the christian knights held a joust to the utterance with the moors; and the cid was pleased by observing that martin paleaz was so much elated that he did not, as usual, quit the field when the lances met in rude shock. the cid, on returning to his lodging, not only placed his gallant friend by his side, but invited him to eat out of his own dish; adding, that he had deserved better that day than yesterday. this expression revealed the whole matter to paleaz: he now saw that the cid had discovered all the artifices of his cowardice, and that he had placed him by his side at table to disgrace, and not to honour him; thinking that such a recreant was not fit to sit with other knights. these reflections of shame kindled in him a spark of courage; and he now resolved to deport himself like a gallant cavalier. in several subsequent battles with the moors he fought so bravely that they marvelled, and enquired whence that devil had come. the cid rewarded him with his friendship, and also the distinction of sitting at the table with alvar fañez and other true knights.[ ] [sidenote: the cid's unjust conduct to the moors.] the cid became lord of valencia, reserving, however, the feudal and absolute sovereignty to king alfonso. he made many arrangements with the moors, to the credit of his ingenuity, rather than of his honour; for he violated them all as soon as his purposes were accomplished. finally, he permitted the conquered to live in the adjoining town and suburb of alcudia; to have their own law administered by their own cadis and alguazils; to enjoy two mosques, one in the city, and the other in the suburb, the moors paying to the cid a tenth part of their produce, as the price of his concessions. the campeador was a banished man from gentle castile, when he took valencia, the malignity of his enemies having again wrought upon the jealous temper of alfonso: but his victories once more reconciled him to the king, who accepted from him a noble present of horses, saddled and bridled, each with a bright sword hanging from the saddle-bow. his wife and daughters now joined him at valencia; and it is curious to notice, as a point in his character, that his first expression of joy was to run a career on his good horse bavieca, who performed his exercises so beautifully, that the people marvelled, and he became famous over all spain. [sidenote: the unchivalric character of the cid's wife and daughters.] the cid mistook the character of his wife and daughters; for he thought that the martial spirit of chivalry animated them as well as himself: howbeit, in truth, they were attached to the gentler duties of life. a moorish host came from africa to contest with him his right to valencia; and, in order to entertain ximena and her damsels, he placed them in a lofty tower, whence they might view, without danger, the bloody strife. but, unlike the women in other chivalric countries, they turned pale, and trembled at the scene; and the cid removed them, though their presence was important; for the courage of his troops was animated to fury when they thought that ladies were witnessing their feats of arms.[ ] [sidenote: the cid recalled by alfonso.] new presents were made to alfonso of the spoils taken on this occasion; and the king and his campeador were formally and publicly reconciled. the cid humbled himself with oriental prostrations; for many parts of moorish manners were copied by the spaniards. they had not met for some years; and time had laid his wrinkling hand on the brow of the cid. but alfonso was more particularly struck with the appearance of his beard, which had grown to a marvellous length.[ ] [sidenote: the marriages of his daughters.] [sidenote: basely treated by their husbands.] the cid was now at a height of power never reached by any subject; and his wealth attracted the admiration of men of nobler birth. the infantes of carrion solicited the hands of his daughters: the alliance was favoured by the king; and the cid and ximena, though they liked not the character of the young nobles, yielded to his importunities, and the marriages were solemnized. these marriages were an abundant source of infelicity; and he whose good fortune had generally warranted his popular title,--he that was born in a happy hour,--repented of having yielded to the king's suggestions. the infantes were men of base and cowardly minds, and totally unable to maintain a noble port in the house of the cid, where courage and martial exercises gave the tone to manners. mortified personal pride took refuge in the pride of birth; and the infantes chose to imagine that they had sullied their nobility by allying themselves with the family of the cid: but they did not consider that they had violated the chivalry of their rank when they insulted, and even beat their wives, leaving them in a wood, apparently dead. the ladies were found by a relation, and the cid became acquainted with the story. he appealed to the king, who appointed a cortez at toledo, to judge the matter; and weighty indeed must it have been thought, for the present was but the third cortez which had been held during the reign of alfonso. [sidenote: cortez at toledo to decide the cause.] to toledo, accordingly, all parties repaired. the cid had with him the best and bravest knights, a gallant array, whose tents on the hills round the city were so numerous that the cid's attendants seemed like a host, rather than a common guard of honour. the hall of the palace of galiana, the place of assemblage of the cortez, had its walls hung with cloths of gold, and estrados, with carpets, were placed on the ground. at the upper end was the king's chair, the ancient seat of the kings of toledo; and round it were rich and noble estrados for the chief lords of the cortez. near the chair of the king the cid caused, the day before the meeting, an ivory seat to be placed, which he had won in valencia, it having belonged to the kings of that city. a number of his esquires, with their swords hanging from their necks, guarded the seat, till their lord should come and take possession of it. [sidenote: picture of ancient manners.] the next morning the king, after hearing mass, repaired to the palace of galiana, with the infantes of carrion, and the counts and ricos-omes of the cortez. the ivory seat excited the envy of count garcia, the ancient rival of the cid; and the chief esquire was ready by arms to repel his sneers and sarcasms, till the king prevented the progress of the contest, by declaring that his campeador had won the seat right honourably; that never had any vassal sent to his lord such gifts as he had done; and that if any one were envious, let him achieve equal feats of honour, and the king would seat him next the throne. the cid now entered the hall, accompanied by a hundred of his choicest knights. they were apparelled both for courtesy and war. to the eye of the court their garments were only fine skins of ermine, and the usual cloak of the nation; but underneath they wore hauberks of well-tempered mail, and swords sweet and sharp in the edge. the dress of the campeador himself would have surprised raymond berenger, count of barcelona, and his mocking frenchmen. his hose was of fine cloth, his shoes were richly worked: his body was clad in the finest linen, and a red skin, all curiously worked with gold and silver. his coif was of scarlet and gold; but the beard, of which he was so conscious, was bound by a cord, in sign of mourning and woe. most of the assembly rose to greet him; and the king offered him a share of his own seat. but the cid replied, that it would better become him to be at his feet, for he owed his fame and fortune to the goodness of the king and his brother and father; and it was not fit for him that received bounty to sit with him who dispensed it. the king then commanded him to place himself on the ivory seat, for that he had won it like a good man. this he did, and the hundred knights surrounded their lord. the purpose of the cortez was declared by the king, and two noble counts were sworn alcaldes, to judge rightly and truly between the campeador and the infantes of carrion, according to the law of castile and leon. the cid then demanded that his two good swords, colada and tizona, should be restored to him. he had given them into the keeping of the infantes of carrion, that they might honour his daughters with them, and serve their king. but when they left his daughters in the oak-forest of corpes, they renounced his love, and as they were no longer his sons-in-law, they ought to render him back the swords. the alcaldes deliberated upon this demand, and decreed that the swords should be restored. the infantes delivered them to the king, pleased with the moderation of the cid's demand. alfonso drew the swords, and the whole court shone with their brightness. their hilts were made of solid gold, and all the knights present marvelled. the cid received them from the king; and, smiling, even from the strongest of his heart's affections, he laid them upon his knees, and called them the best swords in spain, and grieved that the infantes of carrion had kept them hungry, and had not fed them with flesh as they had been wont to be fed with. he delivered them to the care of alvar fañez, and pero bermuez, who solicited the honourable charge. the cid then demanded a restoration of the treasure which he had given to the infantes on occasion of his daughters' marriages. this demand was faintly resisted by the argument, that it had been spent in the king's service. the cid judiciously took advantage of the admission, that the treasure had been received, and then fairly enough contended that it touched not him, if the infantes had expended money for the king; and so alfonso himself judged the matter; and the alcaldes decreed the restitution of the treasure. to carry this ordinance into effect the court was adjourned; and when it re-assembled the cid rose from his ivory seat, and recapitulating the circumstances of the marriages, and not sparing the king for his share in them, he demanded of the infantes the reasons of their conduct: he declared he would not let them depart without mortal defiance. he added, laying his hand upon his beard, (his usual sign of wrath,) that if the king and the cortez would not right him he would do justice to himself; he would follow them to carrion; he would take them by the throat, and carry them prisoners to his daughters at valencia, where they should do penance for their offences, and be fed with the food which they deserved. the king mildly remarked, that in promoting the marriages he had acted according to the request of the infantes themselves, and he saw that much of the dishonour touched himself. to the storm of passion with which the cid had concluded his address, the king firmly replied that the cause was before the cortez, and that the alcaldes would pass a righteous sentence. the cid recovered his serenity, and kissing the king's hand, returned to his ivory seat. after a brief pause he rose, and thanking the king for his compassion for his and his daughters' dishonour, he defied the infantes to mortal combat. the king called upon them to reply; and they boldly excused their leaving their wives: for the daughters of ruy diaz of bivar were not worthy of alliance with men who were the best hidalgos in all castile. regarding the acts of personal cruelty and unchivalric deportment, they said nothing. they denied the necessity of doing battle upon such a matter with any one. count don garcia then began to lead the infantes from the court, and exclaimed, as he passed the cid, "let us leave him, sitting like a bridegroom in his ivory chair, and thinking that his beard will frighten us." the campeador stroked his chin, and sternly demanded what the count had to do with his beard. "thanks be to god," he added, "never son of woman hath taken me by it; never son of moor or of christian hath plucked it as i did yours in your castle of cabra, count, when i took your castle of cabra, and took you by the beard: there was not a boy of the host who did not pull it."--"the hair which i plucked has not, methinks, grown again," he added with a look of bitterest scorn. to this cruel sarcasm garcia could only answer by the low scurrility of desiring the cid to go back to his own country, and take toll for his mills as he used to do. this insult was scarcely to be tolerated. the knights of the cid grasped their swords, and looked at each other with fierce countenances; but their respect for the command of their lord, not to act till he bade them, kept them silent. the cid himself forgot his own injunctions, and reproached his former standard-bearer, pero bermuez, for not taking up his cause. that valiant knight, dashing aside some personal insults with which the cid had mingled his censure, folded his cloak round his arm, and fiercely striding to the count garcia, felled him to the ground. immediately the court was a scene of wild uproar; swords were drawn, and no respect for the presence of the king could quell the fray. at length the passions exhausted themselves, and the court resumed its sittings. alfonso declared that he would defend the rights of all parties, and advised garcia and his friends to support their cause by courtesy and reason, and not to revile the cid. the cause was proceeded with; and the king with the alcaldes finally decreed that the infantes, and their uncle count suero gonzales, who had abetted them in their dishonour to the ladies, should do battle with three of the cid's people, and acquit themselves if it were in their power. the battle accordingly was fought, and the champions of the cid were victors, agreeably to the decision of the twelve true men appointed as judges, and the consenting voice of the king and people. the infantes of carrion and their uncle were declared traitors. the family itself sunk into disgrace; a worthy punishment, as the spanish writers declare, of them who dishonour and desert fair lady.[ ] these circumstances were considered of equal force with a canonical dissolution of marriage; and the daughters of the cid were shortly afterwards united to the infantes of navarre and arragon, men of far more power and rank than their former lords. valencia witnessed the present, as it had the former nuptials. bull-fights, throwing at the target, and throwing the cane, were some of the amusements of the christians, and the joculars were right nobly rewarded. the moors, also, were animated and sincere in their rejoicings; and the spectators were pleasingly distracted between the christian and the moorish games. for eight days the rejoicings lasted: each day the people were feasted, and each day they all ate out of silver. [sidenote: death of the cid.] these were the last circumstances of importance in the life of the cid. five years afterwards, on the th of may, , he died at valencia. romance writers have endeavoured to adorn his closing scene; but i cannot select from their works any thing that is either beautiful or probable. [sidenote: his character.] in one of those historical works which have done honour to the literature of our age, much praise is bestowed upon the cid, ruy diaz, for his frankness, honour, and magnanimity.[ ] but, in truth, to very little of this commendation is our hero's fame entitled. his conduct to the poor jews of burgos will not be urged as a proof of his free and noble dealing, of that frank sincerity which interests us in contemplating the worthies of chivalric times; and as for his honour, that sacred possession of a knight, he pledged it often to the moors of valencia, and violated it to gratify his objects as a conqueror. look at him in the cortez: observe his coolness, his deliberation, his gradual statement of his demands. here was the calculating man of vengeance, not the gay, the wild cavalier throwing down his gauntlet, and displaying his whole soul in one burst of generous passion. there is a sternness about the cid which repels our gaze. his mind was not enriched by arabic learning, and grateful to his teachers; nor was it softened by recollections of arabian loves: and when i see him pitying his sword that it had not received the food it deserved, i can scarcely allow him a station among the heroes of chivalry, those brilliant spirits; for i recognise nothing but the barbarism of the goth, infuriated by the vengeful spirit of the moor. let the cid, however, have his due praise. several instances of his generosity to prisoners have been given. his treatment of the moors of valencia, after he had once settled the government, was noble. he suffered no difference of religion to affect his paternal regards to his people; and thence it happened that moors and christians dwelt together under his mild sway with such accord that the union seemed the long result of ages. one of those moors gave him the following praise, with which i shall conclude my remarks on his character: "the cid, ruy diaz," said he, "was the man in the world who had the bravest heart, and he was the best knight at arms, and the man who best maintained his law; and in the word which he hath promised he never fails; and he is the man in the world who is the best friend to his friend, and to his enemy he is the mortalest foe among all christians; and to the vanquished he is full of mercy and compassion; and full thoughtful and wise in whatever thing he doeth; and his countenance is such that no man seeth him for the first time without conceiving great fear." [sidenote: fate of his good horse.] as a horse was part and parcel of a knight, i cannot take leave of the cid without saying a few words regarding his steed bavieca. after the death of his master no one was permitted to bestride that good horse. gil diaz, a valiant knight, and companion of the cid, took him in charge, feeding him and leading him to water with his own hand. bavieca lived two years and a half after the death of his master the cid; and when he died gil diaz buried him before the gate of the monastery at valencia, in the public place, and planted two elms upon the grave, the one at his head, and the other at his feet. * * * * * [sidenote: spanish chivalry after his death.] [sidenote: the merits of missals decided by battle.] i have already alluded to the mighty influence of the cid on the political history of spain,--his decision of the great question of christian or mohammedan superiority. after his death the impulse which he had given to the spanish power was kept alive; the moors never recovered themselves from the prowess of his knighthood, and, finally, they were driven from the peninsula. it was only when the general christian cause was the weakest, that the spanish government, and people, who were occasionally conquerors, extended the humanities of chivalry to the moors. but when the crescent waned, this mild aspect was changed; for revenge and all the baleful passions of victory swept away the gentle graces of the cavalier, and intolerance and cruelty rose with the increasing power of the christians. concessions of liberty of conscience were made to the moors, but the treaties were broken, apparently that mockery might embitter pain. the moors and christians did not deport themselves to each other with chivalric courtesy; and history gives no warrant to the romantic stories of any magnanimity or grandeur of soul illuminating the last years of the arabs in spain.[ ] among the christians themselves, indeed, the chivalric character was sustained in all its vigour and gracefulness. ecclesiastical history furnishes us with a very amusing instance of its influence. when alphonso ix., about the year , had expelled the moors from toledo, he endeavoured to establish the roman missal in the place of st. isidore's. but the people clung to their old ideas, and resisted the innovation. those were not the days of theological argument; but the sword was the only means of deciding disputes and of determining truth. each party chose a doughty knight, and commended to his chivalry the cause of a missal. the two champions met in the lists; the two parties ranged themselves in the surrounding galleries, and to the joy of the spaniards the champion of st. isidore was victorious.[ ] [sidenote: gallantry of a knight.] but the gallantry of the spaniards is the most interesting subject of regard. james ii., king of arragon, decreed that every man, whether a knight or another, who should be in company with a noble lady, might pass safe and unmolested, unless he were guilty of murder.[ ] in the minds of spanish knights, religion and love were ever blended; and he who, thinking of his mistress, took for his motto the words, "sin vos, y sin dios y mi," (without thee, i am without god, and without myself,) was not thought guilty of impiety. in romantic gallantry the spaniard was a very perfect knight. garcia perez de vargas, who lived in the thirteenth century, was a splendid exemplar of spanish chivalry. his valour excited the envy of men of nobler birth, who displayed the meanness of their spirit in questioning his title to bear arms. he once withstood the moors, while those of more ancient heraldry quailed. when he had discomfited the foe, he returned to his host, and striking his battered shield, remarked to his envious rival, in a tone of justifiable sarcasm, "you are right in wishing to deprive me of my coat of arms, for i expose it to too great dangers. it would be far safer in your hands; for so prudent a knight as yourself would take very excellent care of it."[ ] garcia was such a doughty knight, that his very presence terrified the moors. he and a companion were once suddenly met by a party of seven of their turbaned foes. his friend took flight, but perez closed his vizor, and couched his lance. the moors declined a battle. perez reached the camp: his conduct met with its guerdon; but he had too much chivalric kindness warming his heart to answer the demand, who it was that had forsaken him in so perilous a moment. there was another circumstance in this affair which marks the gallantry of our knight. while his martial demeanour was keeping the moors at bay he found that his scarf had fallen from his shoulder. he calmly turned his horse's head, recovered his mistress's favour, and then pursued his course to the camp, the moors being still afraid to attack him.[ ] [sidenote: passage of arms at orbigo.] on the first day of the year , while the spanish court was holding its festivities at medina del campo, a noble knight, named sueno de quinones, presented himself before the king (john ii.) with a train of nine cavaliers gallantly arrayed, whose lofty demeanour and armorial ensigns showed that they prided themselves on the perfect purity of their christian descent. the king smiled graciously on the strangers; and learning from his attendants that they had come to court in order to address his power, he waved his hand in sign of permission for them to speak. a herald, whom they had brought with them, stepped in front, and in the name of sueno de quinones spoke thus: "it is just and reasonable that any one who has been so long in imprisonment as i have been should desire his liberty; and, as your vassal and subject, i appear before you to state, that i have been long bound in service to a noble lady; and, as is well known, through heralds, not only in this country but through foreign lands, every thursday i am obliged to wear a chain of iron round my neck. but, with the aid of the apostle james, i have discovered a means of liberation. i and my nine noble friends propose, during the fifteen days that precede and the fifteen days that follow the festival of that saint, to break three hundred lances, with milan points[ ], in the following manner: three lances with every knight who shall pass this way on his road to the shrine of the saint. armour and weapons will be provided in ample store for such cavaliers as shall travel only in palmer's weeds. all noble ladies who shall be on their pilgrimage unattended by a chivalric escort must be contented to lose their right-hand glove till a knight shall recover it by the valour of his arm." when the herald concluded, the king and his council conferred together, and they soon agreed that the laws of chivalry obliged them to consent to the accomplishing of this emprise of arms. when the royal permission was proclaimed by the heralds, sueno got a noble knight to take off his helmet, and thus, bareheaded, approached the throne, and humbly thanked the king. he afterwards retired with his nine friends; and having exchanged their heavy armour for silken dresses of festivity, they returned to the hall and joined the dance. six months were to elapse before the valiant and amorous sueno de quinones could be delivered from his shackle; and all that time was spent by him and his friends in exercising themselves to the use of the lance, and in providing stores of harness and lances for such knights as would joust with them. the place that was arranged for the contest was the bridge orbigo, six hours' ride from leon, and three from astorga. the marble effigies of a herald was set-up in the road; and by the label in its right hand travellers were acquainted that they had reached the passage of arms. the lists were erected in a beautiful plain formed by nature in a neighbouring wood. tents for banqueting and repose were raised, and amply furnished by the liberality of sueno. one tent was admirable for the beauty of its decorations, and more so for its purpose. it contained seven noble ladies, who, at the request of the mother of sueno, devoted themselves to attend upon such of the knights as should be wounded in the joust. at the time appointed, sueno de quinones appeared in the lists with his nine companions, all arrayed in the most splendid tourneying harness, the enamoured knight himself bearing round his neck the chain of his mistress, with the motto, which his friends also wore on some part of their armour, "il faut délibérer." many stranger knights jousted with him, and his success was generally distinguished. the fair penitents to the shrine of the saint were stopped; and such as were of noble birth were asked by the king's herald to deliver their gloves. the pride and prerogatives of the sex were offended at this demand: the ladies resisted, as much as words and looks of high disdain could resist, the representative of the king; but they yielded with grace and pleasure, when they were asked to surrender their gloves in the name of the laws of chivalry, of those laws which had been made under their auspices, and for their benefit. there was no lack of knights to peril themselves for the recovery of these gloves in the listed plain; and if the champions of the dames were ever worsted by the hardier sons of chivalry, the gallantry of the judges of the tournament would not permit the ladies to suffer from any want of skill or good fortune in their chosen knights. when the thirty days had expired, it appeared that sixty-eight knights had entered the lists against sueno de quinones; and in seven hundred and twenty-seven encounters only sixty-six lances had been broken;--a chivalric phrase, expressive either of the actual shivering of lances, or of men being thrown out of their saddles. the judges of the tournament, however, declared, that although the number of lances broken was not equal to the undertaking, yet as such a partial performance of the conditions of the passage at arms had not been the fault of sueno de quinones, they commanded the king at arms to take the chain from his neck, and to declare that the emprise had been achieved: accordingly the chain was removed, and the delivered knight entered leon in triumph.[ ] [sidenote: knights travel and joust for ladies' love.] the knights of spain were, indeed, on every occasion gallant as well as brave. when the heralds of france and england crossed the pyrenees to proclaim the tournaments, which were to be held in honour of woman's beauty, there was no lack of spanish cavaliers to obey the sound, and assert the charms of the dark-eyed maidens of their land. this was their wont during all the ages of chivalry; and so late as the fifteenth century one of them travelled so far as england by command of his mistress, and for her sake wished to run a course with sharp spears. his dress confirmed his challenge; for he wore round his arm a kerchief of pleasance, with which his lady-love had graced him before he set out on his perilous quest of honour.[ ] this historical fact is very important, as proving that the writers of spanish tales, in describing the deep devotion of spanish love, the fidelity which no time nor absence could shake, drew their pictures from no imaginary originals. the romancers shadowed forth the manners of their nation, like the good-humoured satirist, cervantes, who, while ridiculing the absurdities of knight-errantry, as displayed in works of fiction, never forgot the seriousness approaching to solemnity, the perfect courtesy, the loftiness, and the generosity of the castilian gentleman. while the knights of england were admiring the gallantry of the spanish cavalier, who appeared among them to render himself worthy the smiles of his lady-love, another knight of spain, named sir john de merlo, or melo, left his native land to add new honours to his shield. he repaired to the court of philip, duke of burgundy, which was then held at arras, and proclaiming that he wished to joust, in order to win that high fame which was the guerdon of chivalry, he sounded his challenge for any noble knight to break three lances with him. it was not long before that proved and renowned cavalier, peter de bauffremont, lord of chargny, answered the challenge, prevailing, in return, on the spaniard to consent to tourney with him on foot with battle-axes, swords, and daggers. the two noble knights then appeared in the lists of the market-place at arras, which had been fashioned into a tilting ground. the duke of burgundy sat as judge of the lists; and he was surrounded by the dukes of bourbon and of gueldres, the counts of rochemont, of vendome, d'estampes, and, indeed, the chiefest nobility of his states. the spanish knight entered then the lists, followed by four noble cavaliers of burgundy, whom the duke had appointed to do him honourable service. one of them bore on the end of a lance a small banner emblazoned with his arms. the other knights carried his lances, and thus, without more pomp, he courteously made his obeisance to the duke of burgundy, and retired from his presence by the way he had entered on the left hand of his grace. after a pause extended beyond the wonted time, in order to raise the expectations of the spectators into anxiety, the lord of chargny pressed his bounding steed into the lists. he was grandly accompanied by three burgundian lords, and the english earl of suffolk, all bearing his lances. behind him were four coursers, richly caparisoned with his arms and devices, with pages covered with robes of wrought silver; and the procession was closed by the greater part of the knights and squires of the duke of burgundy's household. the lord of chargny gracefully bent his body while his proud steed was performing its caracoles, and he then retired through a gate opposite to that of the spanish knight. at the signal of the duke the trumpets sounded to horse, the knights pricked forth, the herald's cry resounded, "faites vos devoirs, preux chevaliers;" and the career of the gallant warriors deserved the noblest meed; for they tilted with their lances with such admirable skill, that though their weapons shivered, neither cavalier was hurt. the second and the third courses were ran with similar chivalric bearing, and the morning's amusement closed. on the next day the duke of burgundy, followed by all his chivalry, repaired to the market-place of arras, in order to witness the second series of these martial games. the lord of chargny, as the challenger, appeared first; and it was full an hour before sir john de merlo entered the lists: for the spaniard resolved to retort the delay which the lord of chargny had made on the preceding morning. the king-at-arms, called golden fleece, proclaimed, in three different parts of the lists, that all who had not been otherwise ordered should retire to the galleries, or without the rails; and that no one should give any hinderance to the two champions, under pain of being punished, by the duke of burgundy, with death. the knights then advanced from their respective pavilions, wielding their battle-axes. they were armed in proof; but the spanish knight, with more than the wonted boldness of chivalry, wore his vizor raised. they rushed upon each other with impetuous daring, and exchanged many mighty blows; but the lord of chargny was sore displeased that his adversary did not close his vizor. after they had well proved their valour, the duke of burgundy threw down his warder, and the jousting ceased. but the noble knights themselves exclaimed against so early a termination of their chivalric sports; particularly the spaniard, who declared, as the reason for his anger, that he had travelled at a great expence, and with much fatigue by sea and land, from a far country, to acquire honour and renown. but the duke remained firm, only soothing his denial by complimenting him on the honourable mode in which he had accomplished his challenge; and, afterwards, the burgundian nobles vied with each other in praising a cavalier who had shown the unprecedented daring of fighting with his vizor raised. the duke also entertained him in his palace; and, in admiration of his bravery, made him so many rich presents, that the expences of his journey were amply reimbursed. he soon afterwards mounted his good steed, and left arras on his return to his own country; and beguiled the long and lonely way by recollections of the past, and dreams of future glory.[ ] [sidenote: extinction of spanish chivalry.] the remainder of the history of spanish chivalry, namely, its decline, may be shortly told. all its martial forms were destroyed by the iron yoke of the house of austria; and so perfectly, that, in the state of things which succeeded the warfare of the shield and the lance, the spanish infantry took the lead, and was the most skilful in europe. at the battle of ravenna, in the year , they defeated the chivalry of france, and proved the excellence of the new system of warfare. something, however, of that excellence must be attributed to the spirit of ancient knighthood; for it borrowed the principles of its discipline from ancient times. in one respect the chivalry of spain resembled the general chivalry of europe in its decline; for, at the introduction of the art of printing into the peninsula, the old romances were the first subjects of the press, as works most agreeable to national taste. although spanish poetry was now but a faint copy of the italian muse, yet the spirit of the antique song occasionally breathed, in wild and fitful notes, the heroism and loves of other times. the point of honour was long preserved as the gem of the spanish character; and chivalric gallantry continued intense and imaginative, for arabian literature left impressions on the spanish mind which the inquisition could not efface; and thus, while in other countries of europe woman was gradually despoiled of those divine perfections with which the fine and gallant spirit of chivalry had invested her, and moved among mortals as formed of mortal nature, yet, in the imagination of the grave, the musing spaniard, she was preserved in her proud pre-eminence, and was still the object of his heart's idolatry. chap. vi. progress of chivalry in germany and italy. _chivalry did not affect the public history of germany ... its influence on imperial manners ... intolerance and cruelty of german knights ... their harshness to their squires ... avarice of the germans ... little influence of german chivalry ... a remarkable exception to this ... a female tournament ... maximilian, the only chivalric emperor of germany ... joust between him and a french knight ... edict of frederic iii. destroyed chivalry ..._ chivalry in italy:--_lombards carried chivalry thither ... stories of chivalric gallantry ... but little martial chivalry in italy ... condottieri ... chivalry in the north ... italians excellent armourers but bad knights ... chivalry in the south ... curious circumstances attending knighthood at naples ... mode of creating knights in italy generally ... political use of knighthood ... chivalric literature ... chivalric sports._ [sidenote: chivalry did not affect the public history of germany.] chivalry may be considered either in a political or a military aspect, either as influencing the destinies of nations, or affecting the mode and circumstances of war. in germany it offers to us no circumstances of the former class. germany was connected with italy more than with any other country of europe during the middle ages. the wars of the emperors for the kingdom of italy did not proceed from any principles or feelings that can be termed chivalric; nor can any ingenuity torture the fierce contests between the popes and the emperors into knightly encounters. the chivalry of germany seldom appeared in generous rivalry with that of any other country; and in circumstances which leave no doubt of the issue, if the chivalry of england or france had been engaged, the imperial knights quailed before partially-disciplined militia. in italy the power of milan was more dreaded than that of the emperor frederic barbarossa; and he subdued the northern states rather by drawing their cities to his side, which were jealous of the milanese authority, than by the force of his chivalry. a few years afterwards the cities of lombardy formed a league against him; and when the question of italian independence was debated in arms, the militia of the cities triumphed over the flower of german chivalry in the battle of legnano. nor could germany ever afterwards thoroughly re-establish her power. many political circumstances and moral reasons prevented it; but the weakness of her military arm was the chief and prevailing cause. the germans invented nothing in chivalry, and borrowed nothing from the superior institutions of other countries. at the commencement of the fifteenth century the inferiority of their chivalry was plainly displayed. the german cuirassiers, with whom the emperor robert descended into italy, could not cope with the condottieri of jacopo verme, who protected the states of gian galeazzo visconti. it was found that the horses of the germans were not so well trained as those of the italians, and the armour of the knights was heavy and unwieldy; and thus the bigoted attachment of the germans to ancient customs saved italy from subjugation.[ ] the cuirassiers of germany were equally impotent against the hardy peasantry of switzerland. [sidenote: its influence on imperial manners.] though not in the public history, yet in what may be called the manners, of the empire, there was one great chivalric feature. the dignity of service was strikingly displayed. the proudest nobles were the servants of the emperor, his butler, his falconer, his marshal, his chamberlain; and, insensibly, as every student of german history knows, the principal officers of state usurped from the other nobles the right of electing the emperor. [sidenote: intolerance and cruelty of german knights.] chivalry was chiefly known in germany as the embodying of a ferocious spirit of religious persecution. the nation, therefore, embarked in the crusades to the holy land with fierceness, unchecked by chivalric gallantry, and recklessly poured out its best blood in the chace of a phantom. prussia, and other countries at the north of germany, were tardy in embracing christianity; and the sword became the instrument of conversion. the teutonic knights were particularly active in this pious work, when the mamlouk tartars had driven them from palestine. in other countries, the defence of the church, and hostilities against infidels, though considered as knightly duties, were not protruded beyond other obligations: but in germany, so prominently were they placed, that a cavalier used to hold himself bound, by his general oath of chivalry, to prepare for battle the moment of a war being declared, either against infidels or heretics.[ ] the german knight differed in character from the knight of other countries, though his education was similar. the course of that education is detailed in one of the most interesting german poems, the das heldenbuch, or book of heroes. "the princes young, were taught to protect all ladies fair, priests they bad them honour, and to the mass repair; all holy christian lore were they taught, i plight: hughdietrick and his noble queen caused priests to guide them right. bechtung taught them knightly games; on the warhorse firm to sit; to leap, and to defend them; rightly the mark to hit; cunningly to give the blow, and to throw the lance afar: thence the victory they gain'd, in many a bloody war. right before their breasts to bear the weighty shield, in battle and in tournament quaintly the sword to wield; strongly to lace the helmets on, when call'd to wage the fight, all to the royal brothers, bechtung taught aright. he taught them o'er the plain far to hurl the weighty rock; mighty was their strength, and fearful was the shock: when o'er the plain resounded the heavy stone aloud, six furlongs threw beyond the rest wolfdieterick the proud."[ ] [sidenote: cruelty of knights to their squires.] though the education of the squire in germany resembled the education of the squire in other countries, yet his state was not equally happy. the duties of the german youth were painful; and, though menial, as, indeed, were many of the duties of all squires, yet they were ungraced by those softening circumstances of manners which distinguished chivalric nurture in france and england.[ ] the squires, too, were more frequently persons of humble birth than of gentle condition; and knighthood, therefore, was not always the reward of their toils. the knights were cruel and severe to their young attendants. it happened once, and the circumstance illustrates the general state of manners, that when a knight was in the midst of a baronial revelling, three of his squires rushed into the hall, with the wild action of fear, and stood trembling before him. he coldly demanded where were the rest. as soon as their fear allowed them to speak, they said that their whole band had been fighting with his enemies, and that eight of them had fallen. totally unmoved by the fate of his brave and devoted young friends, and thinking only of the rigidness of discipline, he answered, "you are rightly served: who bade you ride without my orders?"[ ] well, indeed, then, may we say, with the old german authority for this story, that the man who hath held the office of squire has learnt what it is to feel the depths of pain and ignominy. no country was more desolated by private war in the middle ages than germany; and chivalry, instead of ameliorating the mode of warfare, acquired a character of wildness from the perpetual scene of horror.[ ] [sidenote: avarice of the germans.] there was no bertrand du guesclin, no black prince, no manny, no chandos, in germany: there was a rudeness about the knighthood of the teutonic cavaliers different from its state in other nations. the humanities, which it was the principle of christian chivalry to throw over the rugged front of war, were but little felt in germany, though germany was the very cradle of chivalry. i need not repeat the cruelties which were inflicted upon richard coeur de lion, during his return from the holy land. two centuries afterwards, when chivalry was in its high and palmy state in other countries, the germans continued uncourteous knights. they were a high and proud people, never admitting foreign cavaliers to companionship and brotherhood. but avarice was their most detestable quality, and effectually extinguished all sentiments of honour. "when a german hath taken a prisoner," says froissart, "he putteth him into irons, and into hard prison, without any pity, to make him pay the greater finance and ransom."[ ] on the probability arising of a war between germany and france, the french counsellors dissuaded their king, charles v., from thinking of engaging in it in person, on account of the character of the enemy. it was said, if the king went into germany, there would be but little chance of his returning. "when they (the germans) shall know that the king and all the great nobles of france are entered into their country, they will then assemble all together; and, by their better knowledge of the land, they may do us great damage; for they are a covetous people, above all other. they have no pity if they have the upper hand; and they demean themselves with cruelty to their prisoners: they put them to sundry pains, to compel them to make their ransoms the greater; and if they have a lord, or a great man, for their captive, they make great joy thereof, and will convey him into bohemia, austria, or saxony, and keep him in some uninhabitable castle. they are people worse than saracens or paynims; for their excessive covetousness quencheth the knowledge of honour."[ ] [sidenote: little influence of german chivalry.] as the corrective of the violences of feudal licentiousness, no where was chivalry more required, and no where was it less known than in germany. it is not possible to exaggerate the enormities of the nobility, and, i fear, of the clergy, during all that long tract of time which is called the age of chivalry. each castle was a den of thieves; and an archbishop thought he had a fair revenue before him, when he built his fortress on the junction of four roads.[ ] to preserve the people from the rapaciousness and cruelty of these noble and clerical robbers, knights-errant sometimes scoured the plain; but this mode of corrective was very imperfectly applied. it was in the cities and towns, which were protected by the emperors, that the oppressed and injured people found refuge. while the german historians seldom mention the protecting influence of knight-errantry, they constantly represent the benefit of towns, and press the fact upon the readers, that it was the tyranny of the nobles which occasioned their growth. in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries there were confederacies among towns, and confederacies among the nobility: the former associations were formed in order to repel the aggressions of the latter. this is a feature in german history totally unknown to other countries of the great republic of europe, and distinct from all chivalric origin or chivalric effects. [sidenote: a remarkable exception to this.] except in the occasional adventurousness of knights-errant, chivalry was but once concerned in repressing the evils of the time, and interwoven with the interesting circumstances of that occasion is one of the most amusing stories in all the long annals of knighthood. the citizens, in conveying their merchandizes from one place to another, suffered dreadfully from the rapine of the barons; and finding the weapons used by common people were an insufficient protection, they wisely and boldly armed themselves in the manner of their enemies. they wielded the lance and sword, rode the heavy war-horse, practised tournaments and other martial games, and even attended tournaments in castles and courts; assuming for the occasion the armorial distinctions of noble families who were distant from the scene. so much did this state of citizenship resemble that of knighthood, that all the castles on the rhine were not inhabited by barons and knights only. [sidenote: a female tournament.] in the fourteenth century, a band of bold and wealthy burghers established themselves with their wives and children in one of the largest of these fortresses, as a barrier against the maraudings of the nobility. they became so powerful, and their deportment was so chivalric, that some of the neighbouring knights formed alliances with them. a potent baron harassed them in various ways; and after various battles, each party was willing that words, and not the sword, should terminate the war. they accordingly met on a spot of border-land, and, after arranging the immediate subject of dispute, they embraced as brothers in chivalry. while these citizen-knights were absent, the women, who remained behind, joyfully assembled on a sunny plain, which spread itself before the castle. they walked up and down, each lady praising the martial qualities of her lord. as the discourse proceeded, they became inspired with that heroic courage which they were commending, till at length they ordered the war-horses to be brought out with armour and weapons, resolving to hold a tournament. they were soon mounted and armed, and they took the names of their husbands. there was a maiden among them, and as modesty forbad her to take the name of any man of her own station in life, she chose the title of a neighbouring duke. she performed the martial exercises with such strength and adroitness, that most of the married women were cast by her from their saddles, and paid dearly, by their wounds, for their temerity and adventurousness. they then left the plain, and such of them as were injured retired to their chambers, strictly charging the servants and pages to make no disclosure of what had passed. when the knights returned, and found the horses covered with foam and dust, and few ladies to greet them, they enquired the cause of this unwonted appearance. for a while no answer could be gained; but at length they terrified a boy into a detail of the story. they laughed right merrily at the folly of their wives; and when, soon afterwards, they met some of the rhenish knights at a festival, they made the hall echo with the tale, and it was soon bruited over all germany. the duke, under whose name the honours of the tournament had been won, was surprised and pleased with the heroism of the maiden. he sought her out, gave her rich presents, not only in money, but a war-steed and a gentle palfrey, and united her in honourable marriage to a wealthy burgher.[ ] [sidenote: maximilian the only chivalric emperor of germany.] in the character of the emperors of germany, as seen in their public lives, little of the chivalric nature can be marked. the fredericks and the othos more nearly resemble our norman williams, than our plantagenet edwards. it is singular that the only chivalric emperor in germany was the prince in whose reign german chivalry expired. maximilian i. was educated in the strictest discipline of chivalry. all his youthful studies and occupations had relation to his chivalric deportment; and german writers have been fond of remarking, that while he was a mere child, he and another boy were wont to ride on men's backs, and fight with wooden swords in imitation of a joust.[ ] [sidenote: joust between him and a french knight.] he was afterwards a very gallant cavalier. when in the year , he was holding his states at worms, a french knight, named claude de batre, arrived at the city, and proclaimed by his herald that he was ready to meet in combat any german knight who was willing to stake life, limb, or liberty, or contend for any knightly distinction in a personal encounter. among the nobles and knights that were present, no one seemed willing to accept the challenge; for, besides the report of the frenchman's gigantic strength, fame had armed him with supernatural and satanic powers. the courageous maximilian could not endure to see the german chivalry braved and bearded by a stranger, and he sent a herald with his own shield, ornamented with the arms of austria and burgundy, to lay it alongside that of the frenchman. the emperor and the knight then agreed that on the morning of the tenth day from that time they would appear in public, armed, and fight to the utterance. the person of the conquered was to remain at the victor's disposal. the joust was regarded as a matter of more interest and importance than the public affairs which the diet was assembled to arrange. on the appointed morning all the brave, and all the fair of germany, met round the splendid lists which the emperor had erected for the purpose. the herald's trumpet centered the attention of the spectators,--its second flourish hushed every murmur,--and when its third and loudest blast sounded, maximilian and claude de batre pricked forwards at speed through opposite gates into the lists, and opposed lance to lance. their weapons splintered, and they drew their swords. the fight was long and obstinate; but the skill of the french knight only served to exalt the heroism of the emperor: for, finally, maximilian disarmed his antagonist, and proved the excellence of the german chivalry.[ ] [sidenote: edicts of frederick iii. destroyed chivalry.] it was frederic iii., the father of maximilian, who gave the first blow to the ancient chivalry of germany. he passed an edict allowing citizens to receive knighthood; a permission which tarnished the splendour of the order, and disgusted the old cavaliers.[ ] this measure was a fatal one; for germany above all other countries had been jealous of the pure nobility of its knighthood. knighthood was more the adjunct of rank than the reward of merit; and the germans were more solicitous to examine the quarters of a shield than the martial deserts of the bearer, more desirous to mark his ancestors' deeds than his own. the edict of frederic destroyed the pride of chivalry. knighthood was then conferred on boys who were scarcely able to perform the duties of squires, and on children at the baptismal font. but, in truth, the destruction of knighthood in germany was no real evil. chivalry had not been a perfect defence of the empire, as the austrians and swabians had found in their contests with the hungarians. on one occasion, in particular, during the thirteenth century, the knights and squires of germany were sorely galled on the plains of hungary by the arrows of the enemy, and vainly wished for a close and personal encounter. an austrian archer advised the chivalry with whom he served to retreat, and draw the hungarians far from their homes. this counsel the knights and squires, from pride and suspicion of the man's fidelity, rejected; but the danger pressed, the showers of arrows became thicker and more frequent, and the austrian and swabian horses being but partially barded, were either slain or rendered unmanageable. each knight watched the countenance of his companion, to read in it hope or advice, till at length one of them exclaimed, "let us send a messenger to these dastardly foes inviting them to peace, or to a manly and chivalric contest, for honour and love of ladies." a squire was dispatched, but was shot by an hungarian arrow. the austrian leader then called to his side a well-experienced knight, and bade him ride to the hungarian general, and invoke him by his chivalry to terminate this unknightly conflict. the old warrior replied, that if he were to carry such a message, the hungarian would infallibly answer, that he was not such a fool as to place his unharnessed men in a level and equal line against the mail-clad chivalry of austria; and that if the austrians would doff their armour, the hungarians would fight them hand to hand. the danger became more and more imminent, and the germans had no hope of escape; for they could not expect, as if they had been fighting with the chivalry of france, that a surrender of their horses and arms, and an honourable treaty for their own persons' ransom, would satisfy the foe. finally, they were compelled to yield at discretion; and it is interesting to observe, that the austrian archer, whose counsel had been despised, and who it appears might have saved himself if he would, remained at his station, and nobly shared the fate of his lords. instead of meeting with any knightly courtesy, the whole were led away into hungary, and pined out their days in prison.[ ] many other instances of the inefficacy of the german chivalry might be adduced, but the truth is so apparent on every page of the history of germany, that no particular instances are necessary. other circumstances contributed to its fall. the privileges of knighthood had been found inconvenient by the emperors. in the field of battle the cavaliers often claimed an independence which was detrimental to imperial authority. maximilian i., therefore, introduced mercenaries into his army. such of them as were natives of other countries brought with them every well-practised species of war, and raised the german military power to a level with that of the other nations of europe. the inadequacy of the german chivalry, to the present times was therefore so apparent, that no person wished to see the spirit of knighthood revived. chivalry ceased to be a national characteristic, and its badges and honours passed into the court to become the signs of imperial favour.[ ] * * * * * we will now cross the alps into italy. [sidenote: lombards carried chivalry into italy.] we shall ascend sufficiently high into the antiquities of nations, if we observe that the system of manners from which chivalry sprang was brought by the lombards from germany into the north of italy. with them in their new, as it had been in their original, seats, the title to bear arms was a distinction conferred by the state, and not a subject of private will and choice. a son did not presume to sit at the same table with his father. for the instruction of youth in military affairs there were public spectacles on sundays, and on festivals, in imitation of a knightly mêlée. a town or city was divided into two parts, each having its defenders. the mock battles were either general or between small parties, the weapons were made of wood, the helmets were safely padded, and the young warriors displayed splendid banners adorned with fanciful cognisances.[ ] the amusement of hawking, which distinguished the gothic from the latin and most southern tribes, was common with the lombards[ ]: but more than all the rest, a tone of chivalric gallantry was given to the italians, even by these long-bearded barbarians. [sidenote: stories of chivalric gallantry.] antharis, one of the lombard kings, sought in marriage theudelinda, a daughter of the king of bavaria; and not wishing to judge through another's eyes, he disguised himself as a private man, and accompanied his ambassadors to the bavarian court. after the conditions of the marriage had been discussed and the ceremonies arranged, the disguised prince stepped before the crowd, and, saluting the king, declared that he was the personal friend of antharis, who wished to receive from him a description of the lady's charms. theudelinda accordingly appeared, and the first glance assured antharis of her being worthy of his love. he did not betray his rank to the assembly; but not altogether able to conceal his joy, he touched the hand of the royal damsel as she presented him a cup of wine; and the matrons about the court, excellent judges of signs of passion, whispered their assurance that such an act of bold familiarity could never have been committed by a mere public or personal representative of antharis.[ ] * * * * * for several centuries chivalry shed but few and transient gleams of light over the gloomy waste of italian history, and i can only select one event which paints in beautiful colours the spirit of romantic gallantry. the wife of lothaire, king of italy from the year to , was adelais, a princess of the house of burgundy. lothaire was deposed, perhaps murdered by his minister, berenger; and the usurper persecuted, with the cruelty of fear, adelais, who has been described by monkish chroniclers, and chivalry will not contradict the character, as being young and beautiful. he confined her in a subterraneous dungeon; and, as if personal insult was his best security, he deprived her of her jewels and her royal apparel. a female servant was her only companion during four months of confinement, wherein she was made to endure every mortification which a noble mind can be exposed to. her wretched condition was at length discovered by a priest, named martin, who had not in the retirement of a cloister lost the sympathies of humanity. he immediately employed himself to effect her rescue, and, unseen by her jealous keepers, he worked an aperture through the earth and walls sufficient to admit a slender female form to pass. he conveyed male habiliments into the dungeon, to deceive the eyes of her jailors, and, apparelled in them, adelais and her attendant made their escape. they were met at the entrance of the aperture by their faithful monk, who fled with them to the most probable place of safety, a wood near the lake benacus. the wants of nature were furnished to them by a poor man who gained a precarious livelihood by fishing in the lake. recovered from their fatigue and alarm, martin left the wood to provide for his fair friend some surer place of safety. he went to the bishop of reggio, who, though a humane and well-purposed man, was unable to oppose the might of berenger. still the matter was not hopeless, for he remembered that there was dwelling in the impregnable fortress of canossa a virtuous and adventurous knight. to him, therefore, martin addressed himself, and azzo listened to his complaint. he and a chosen band of cavaliers donned their harness, and, repairing to the lake benacus, conducted thence the persecuted adelais to the fortress of canossa. and this was well and chivalrously achieved, for virtue was protected; and in affording this protection, azzo defied the power of the king of italy. the subsequent fate of adelais it falls not within my province to detail. the student of italian history knows that she married otho the great, emperor of germany, and that this marriage was a main cause of uniting the sovereignties of germany and italy.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: but little martial chivalry in italy.] [sidenote: condottieri.] the growth and developement of chivalry in subsequent times were checked by political circumstances. of them the chief was the formation of the republics in the north of italy during the twelfth century. the power of the feudal nobility was far less than in any other country, and the nobles were the humble allies of the towns.[ ] the citizens trusted rather to the security of their fortifications than their own strength in the field, for their infantry could not resist the charges of italian cavalry; and, except such nobles as were in alliance with them, their force consisted of infantry. the superiority of the chivalric array of the various lords and feudal princes of italy to the militia of the cities[ ] was one great cause of that great political revolution,--the change of the republics into tyrannies. the power of knights over armed burghers having been experienced, and the towns not possessing in sufficient numbers a force of cavalry, the practice arose of hiring the service of bodies of lancers, who were commonly gentlemen of small fortune but of great pretensions, and who found war the readiest way of gratifying their proud and luxurious desires. in the fourteenth century another great change occurred in the military affairs of italy. i shall lay it before my readers in the lucid diction of the english historian of that country. "the successive expeditions of henry vii., of louis of bavaria, and of john of bohemia, had filled italy with numerous bands of german cavalry, who, on the retirement of their sovereigns, were easily tempted to remain in a rich and beautiful country, where their services were eagerly demanded, and extravagantly paid. the revolution in the military art, which in the preceding century established the resistless superiority of a mounted gens-d'armerie over the burgher infantry, had habituated every state to confide its security to bodies of mercenary cavalry; and the lombard tyrants in particular, who founded their power upon these forces, were quick in discovering the advantage of employing foreign adventurers, who were connected with their disaffected subjects by no ties of country or community of language. their example was soon universally followed, native cavalry fell into strange disrepute; and the italians, without having been conquered in the field, unaccountably surrendered the decision of their quarrels and the superiority in courage and military skill, to mercenaries of other countries. when this custom of employing foreign troops was once introduced, new swarms of adventurers were continually attracted from beyond the alps to reap the rich harvest of pay and booty which were spread before them. in a country so perpetually agitated by wars among its numerous states, they found constant occupation, and, what they loved more, unbridled licence. ranging themselves under the standards of chosen leaders--the condottieri, or captains of mercenary bands,--they passed in bodies of various strength from one service to another, as their terms of engagement expired, or the temptation of higher pay invited; their chieftains and themselves alike indifferent to the cause which they supported; alike faithless, rapacious, and insolent. upon every trifling disgust they were ready to go over to the enemy: their avarice and treachery were rarely proof against seduction; and, though their regular pay was five or six times greater in the money of the age than that of modern armies, they exacted a large gratuity for every success. as they were usually opposed by troops of the same description, whom they regarded rather as comrades than enemies, they fought with little earnestness, and designedly protracted their languid operations to ensure the continuance of their emoluments. but while they occasioned each other little loss, they afflicted the country which was the theatre of contest with every horror of warfare: they pillaged, they burnt, they violated, and massacred with devilish ferocity."[ ] gradually these foreign condottieri, when not engaged in the service of any particular power, levied war like independent sovereigns; and italy had fresh reason to repent the jealousy which had made her distrust her own sons. they fought with tenfold more fury now that the contest was no longer carried on by one troop of condottieri against another, but against the italians themselves, to whom no tie of nature bound them; and so far was any cavaleresque generosity from mitigating the horrors of their wars, that one adventurer, werner was his name, and germany his country, declared, by an inscription which was blazoned on his corslet, that he was "the enemy of god, of pity, and of mercy." but the power of these foreign condottieri was not perpetual. nature rose to vindicate her rights; and there were many daring spirits among the italians, who, if not emulous of the fame, were jealous of the dominion of strangers. the company of saint george, founded by alberico de barbiano, a marauding chief of romagna, was the school of italian generals. in the fifteenth century, the force of every state was led by an italian, if not a native citizen; and when the emperor robert crossed the alps with the gens-d'armerie of germany, the milanese, headed by jacopo del verme, encountered him near brescia, and overthrew all his chivalry. [sidenote: chivalry in the north of italy.] in northern italy no knightlike humanities softened the vindictiveness of the italian mind. warriors never admitted prisoners to ransom. the annals of their contests are destitute of those graceful courtesies which shed such a beautiful lustre over the contests of england and france. no cavalier ever thought of combating for his lady's sake, and a lady's favour was never blended with his heraldic insignia. there were no regular defiances to war as in other countries: honour, that animating principle of chivalry, was not known; the object of the conquest was regarded to the exclusion of fame and military distinction. stratagems were as common as open and glorious battle; and private injuries were revenged by assassination and not by the fair and manly joust à l'outrance: and yet when a man pledged his word for the performance of any act, and wished his sincerity to be believed, he always swore by the parola di cavaliere, e non di cortigiano; so general and forcible was the acknowledgment of chivalry's moral superiority. i know nothing in the history of the middle ages more dark with crime than the wars of the italians,--nothing that displays by contrast more beautifully the graces of chivalry; and yet the italian condottieri were brave to the very height of valour. before them the german chivalry quailed, as it had formerly done before the militia of the towns. [sidenote: italians excellent armourers, but bad knights.] in the deep feelings and ardent and susceptible imaginations of the italians, chivalry, it might seem, could have raised her fairest triumph; but chivalry had no fellowship with a mercenary spirit, and sordid gain was the only motive of the italian soldiers. their acute and intelligent minds preceded most other people in military inventions. to them, in particular, is to be attributed the introduction of the long and pointed sword, against which the hauberk, or coat of mail, was no protection. they took the lead in giving the tone to military costume: they were the most ingenious people of europe during the middle ages; and their superior skill in the mechanical arts was every where acknowledged. the reader of english history may remember, that in the reign of richard ii. the earl of derby, afterwards henry iv., sent to milan for his armour, on account of his approaching combat with thomas, duke of norfolk. sir galeas, duke of milan, not only gave the messenger the best in his collection, but allowed four milanese armourers to accompany him to england, in order that the earl might be properly and completely accomplished. the milanese armour preserved its reputation even in times when other countries had acquired some skill in the mechanical arts. in the duke of brittany purchased various cuirasses at milan; and in the accounts of jousts and tournaments frequent mention is made of the superior temper and beauty of italian harness.[ ] * * * * * [sidenote: chivalry in the south of italy.] in the south of italy chivalry had a longer and brighter reign. some of its customs were introduced by the lombards when they established their kingdom at beneventum; and others were planted by the normans, that people of chivalric adventurousness. knighthood was an order of the state of high consideration, and much coveted; but its glories were sometimes tarnished by the admission of unworthy members; and, in the year , the emperor frederic ii. was obliged to issue a decree, at naples, forbidding any one to receive it who was not of gentle birth. the most complete impression, however, of the chivalric character, on the minds of the italians, was made by the house of anjou, when charles and his frenchmen conquered naples in . the south of italy seems to have been far less advanced in civilisation than the commercial towns of the north; but the angevine monarchs made naples one blaze of splendid luxury. nothing had been seen in italy so brilliant as the cavalcade of charles. the golden collars of the french lords,--the surcoats and pennons, and plumed steeds of the knights,--the carriage of the queen, covered with blue velvet, and ornamented with golden lilies,--surpassed in magnificence all former shows.[ ] the entry of charles was a festival; and on that occasion the honour of knighthood was conferred on all persons who solicited it. the kings of the house of anjou pretended to revive the regulations of frederic ii.; but they soon relaxed them, and gave the military girdle to the commonalty who could not prove that their forefathers had been knights. [sidenote: curious circumstances attending knighthood at naples.] when a person was invested at naples, the bishop, or other ecclesiastic who assisted at the inauguration, not only commanded the recipient to defend the church, and regard the usual obligations of chivalry, but he exhorted him not to rise in arms against the king from any motive, or under any circumstances. this curious clause was added to the exhortation: "if you should be disloyal to your sovereign, to him who is going to make you a knight, you ought first to return him the girdle with which you are immediately to be honoured; and then you may make war against him, and none will reproach you with treachery; otherwise, you will be reputed infamous, and worthy of death." an instance of the fear of this imputation of treachery occurred when the princes of besignano and melfi, the duke of atri, and the count of maddolini, returned to louis xii., king of france, the collar of st. michael, (with which he had honoured them,) when ferdinand the catholic took possession of the kingdom.[ ] knighthood was much solicited, on account of its privileges, as well as of its titular distinction. it exempted the fortunate wearer from the payment of taxes, and gave him the power of enjoying the royal and noble amusement of the chase. but the angevine monarchs were so prodigal in granting the honour of knighthood, that it ceased to be a distinction; and in the reign of the last princes of that house the order had degenerated into a vain and empty title. [sidenote: mode of creating knights in italy generally.] such was the general state of chivalry in northern and southern italy; but there were some circumstances common to every part of the peninsula. the nobility invested each other with festive and religious ceremonies, with the bath[ ], the watching of arms, and the sacred and military shows, or with a simple stroke of a sword, and the exhortation, "sii un valoroso cavaliere," two ancient knights buckling on his golden spurs. in the year , azzo, marquis of este, was knighted by gerard, lord of camino, at a public solemnity held at ferrara. cane, lord of verona, in , gave the honour of knighthood to thirty-eight young nobles, and presented them with golden belts, and beautiful war-horses.[ ] in italy there was the usual array of knights and squires, of cavalieri and scudieri; but i can find no mention of pages distinct from the squires, and attending their lords; except, indeed, they were the domicelli, or donzelli, who, however, are supposed by muratori to have been the squires of noble rank. all the armour-bearers of the knights were not noble or of gentle birth, or we should not very often meet, in the italian annalists of the middle ages, the expression "honourable squires." in the fourteenth century knights had four titles, agreeably to the various modes of their creation:--cavalieri bagnati, or knights of the bath, who were made with the grandest ceremonies, and supposed, from their immersion, to be freed from all vice and impurity; the cavalieri di corredo, or those who were invested with a deep-green dress, and a golden garland; the cavalieri di scudo, or those who were created either by people or nobility; and the cavalieri d'arme were those who were made either before or during battle.[ ] many orders of knighthood were known in italy: some (but their history is not interesting) were peculiar to it; and others, such as the order of the knights of saint john and of the temple, had their preceptories and commanderies in that country. and, to enlarge upon a circumstance alluded to in another place, it is curious to notice the dexterity with which chivalry accommodated itself to the manners and usages of any particular society. the commercial cities in the north of italy vied in power with, and were superior in wealth to, the feudal nobility. chivalry was esteemed as a graceful decoration by every class of men, and by none with more ardour than by new families, whom opulence had raised into civic consideration. the strictness of the principles of knighthood opposed their investiture; but those principles, were made to give way; and commercial pride was satisfied with the concession of aristocratical haughtiness, that the _sons_ of men in trade might become brothers of the orders of chivalry. [sidenote: political use of knighthood.] the decoration of simple knighthood, however, was given indiscriminately without regard to birth or station. every city assumed the power of bestowing it; and after a great battle it was showered with indiscriminate profusion upon those who had displayed their courage, whether they were armed burghers or condottieri. and this was a wise measure of the italian cities: for there was always an obligation expressed or implied on the part of knights of fidelity to the person from whom they received the honour.[ ] it is amusing to observe, that, in the year , a florentine mob paused in its work of murder and rapine to play with the graceful ensigns of chivalry; and, in imitation of the power of the city, they insisted on investing their favourites with knighthood. [sidenote: chivalric literature.] chivalry had, perhaps, greater influence on the literature and manners of the italians than on their military usages. wandering minstrels from france and spain chaunted in the streets of italy tales of warriors' deeds and lady-love, particularly the stories of roland and oliver, the paladins of charlemagne, who were also the subject of song and recitation, even by the stage-players on the earliest theatre at milan.[ ] much of the popular literature of italy consisted of romances; and the chief topics of them were the exploits both in arms and amours of charlemagne and his paladins: though on one occasion buovo d'antina, a hero of chivalry, who fought and loved prior to the time of those heroes, was the theme of tuscan verse. the wars of charlemagne and his paladins with the saracens were afterwards sung by the nobler muse of pulci and boiardo, and then by ariosto, who, not confining himself to the common stores of romantic fiction, has borrowed as freely from the tales regarding arthur and the british and armoric knights as from those relating to charlemagne and the peers of france, and has thrown over the whole the graceful mantle of oriental sorcery. the chivalric duties of converting the heathens, of adoring the ladies, of fighting in the cause of heaven and woman, were thus presented to the minds of the italians; and the homer of ferrara roused the courage, or softened into love or pity, the hearts of knights and ladies, by singing the wars and loves of days which his poetry rendered bright and golden. [sidenote: chivalric sports.] these were the literary amusements of italy; the subjects of recitation in the baronial hall, and of solitary perusal in the lady's bower: with these works the italians nourished their imaginations; and a chivalric taste was diffused over the manners of public and private life. the amusement of hawking, which, as we have seen, the fathers of chivalric italy had introduced, was indulged in at every court; and the ferrarese princes were generally attended in the field by a hundred falconers, so proud and magnificent was their display. every great event was celebrated by a tournament or a triumphal show. dante speaks of the tournament as the familiar amusement of the fourteenth century. ----"e vidi gir gualdane, ferir torniamenti, e correr giostra." inferno, c. . so early as the year , on occasion of the interview between frederic barbarossa and pope alexander at venice, chivalric and civic pomp celebrated their friendship. two centuries afterwards, the recovery of cyprus presented a fair opportunity for military display. knights flocked to venice from england, france, and every country of the west, and manifested their prowess in the elegant, yet perilous, encounter of the tournament. there was a pageant, or grand triumphal show, of a splendid procession of knights cased in steel, and adorned with the favours of the ladies. the scene-painter and the mechanist combined their talents to give an allegorical representation of the christian's victory over islamism: the knights moved amidst the scenic decorations, and by their gallant bearing swelled with noble pride the hearts of the spectators. the sports of chivalry were so elegant and graceful that we might have supposed the refined italians would have embraced them in all their circumstances. but the arena of the coliseum, so admirably adapted for a tournament, was used for moorish games. the matrons and virgins of rome, arrayed in all their bravery, were seated in its ample galleries, and beheld, not a gallant and hurtless encounter between two parties of knights with lances of courtesy, but a succession of sanguinary conflicts between cavaliers and bulls. only one solitary circumstance gave an air of chivalry to the scene, and prevents us from mingling the bull-feast of the coliseum, on the st of september, , with the horrid spectacles of classic times. each knight wore a device, and fancied himself informed by the spirit of chivalry, and the presence of the ladies. "i burn under the ashes," was the motto of him who had never told his passion. "i adore lavinia, or lucretia," was written on the shield of the knight who wished to be thought the servant of love, and yet dared not avow the real name of his mistress.[ ] chap. vii. on the merits and effects of chivalry. we are now arrived at that part of our subject where we may say with the poet, "the knights are dust, and their good swords are rust: their souls are with the saints, we trust." with italy the historical tracing ceases of that system of principles which for so many centuries formed or influenced the character of europe. its rude beginnings may be marked in the patriarchal manners which preceded every known frame of artificial life, and have been shaped and modified by the legislator and the moralist. the ties of fraternity or companionship in arms, respect to elders, devotion to women, military education and military investiture, were the few and simple elements of chivalry, and in other times would have formed the foundation of other systems of manners. but a new and mighty spirit was now influencing the world, and bending to its purposes every principle and affection. christianity, with its sanctities and humanities, gave a form and character to chivalry. he who was invested with the military belt was no longer the mere soldier of ambition and rapine, but he was taught to couch his lance for objects of defence and protection, rather than for those of hostility. he was the friend of the distressed, of widows and orphans, and of all who suffered from tyranny and oppression. the doctrine of christian benevolence, that all who name the name of christ are brothers, gave beauty and grace to the principles of fraternity, which were the gothic inheritance of knights, and therefore the wars of the middle ages were distinguished for their humanities. a cavalier was kind and courteous to his prisoner, because he saw in him a brother; and while the system of ancient manners would have limited this feeling to people of one nation, a knight did not bound his humanity by country or soil, for christian chivalry was spread over most parts of europe, and formed mankind into one band, one order of men. from the same principle all the courtesies of private life were communicated to strangers; and gentleness of manners, and readiness of service, expanded from a private distinction into an universal character. since, by the christian religion, woman was restored to the rank in the moral world which nature had originally assigned her, the feelings of respect for the sex, which were entertained in the early and unsophisticated state of europe, were heightened by the new sanctions of piety. it was a principle, as well as a feeling and a love, to guard and cherish woman; and many of the amenities of chivalry proceeded from her mild influence and example. the patriarchal system of manners, shaped and sanctioned by christianity, formed the fabric of chivalry; and romance, with its many-coloured hues, gave it light and beauty. the early ages of europe gaily moved in all the wildness and vigour of youth; imagination freshened and heightened every pleasure; the world was a vision, and life a dream. the common and palpable value of an object was never looked at, but every thing was viewed in its connection with fancy and sentiment. prudence and calculation were not suffered to check noble aspirations: army after army traversed countries, and crossed the sea to the holy land, reckless of pain or danger: duties were not cautiously regarded with a view to limit the performance of them; for every principle was not only practised with zeal, but the same fervid wish to do well lent it new obligations. from these feelings proceeded all the graceful refinements, all the romance of chivalry: knighthood itself became a pledge for virtue; and as into the proud and lofty imagination of a true cavalier nothing base could enter, he did not hesitate to confide in the word of his brother of chivalry, on his pledging his honour to the performance of any particular action. there was no legal or other positive punishment consequent on the violation of his word; and, therefore, the matter being left to imagination and feeling, the contempt of his fellow-knights could be the only result of recreancy. the knight looked to fame as one of the guerdons of his toils: this value of the opinions of others taught him to dread shame and disgrace; and thus that fine sense of morality, that voluntary submission to its maxims which we call honour, became a part of knighthood. the genius of chivalry was personal, inasmuch as each knight, when not following the banner of his sovereign, was in himself an independent being, acting from his own sense of virtue, and not deriving counsel from, or sharing opprobrium with, others. this independence of action exalted his character; and, nourished by that pride and energy of soul which belong to man in an early state of society, all the higher and sterner qualities of the mind,--dignity, uncompromising fidelity to obligations, self-denial, and generousness, both of sentiment and conduct,--became the virtues of chivalry. all the religious devotion of a cavalier to woman existed in his mind, independently of, or superadded to, his oath of knighthood. she was not merely the object of his protection, but of his respect and idolatry. his love was the noble homage of strength to beauty. something supernaturally powerful had been ascribed to her by the fathers of modern europe; and this appeal to the imagination was not lost. in some ages and countries it reigned in all its religious force; in others it was refined into gentleness and courtesy: but every where, and at every time, the firmest confidence in woman's truth accompanied it, or supplied its stead; and the opinion of her virtue, which this feeling implied, had a corresponding influence on his own manners. the triumph of chivalry over all preceding systems of opinions was complete, when imagination refined the fierceness of passion into generous and gentle affection,--a refinement so perfect and beautiful, that subsequent times, with all their vaunted improvements in letters and civilisation, are obliged to revert their eyes to the by-gone days of the shield and the lance for the most pleasing and graceful pictures of lady-love. from these elements, and by means of these principles, sprang the fair and goodly system of chivalry, which extended itself, as we have seen, over most of the states of europe, blending with the strongest passions and dearest affections of the heart, influencing the manners of private life, and often determining the character of political events. in england and france its power was most marked and decided; in spain it was curiously blended with oriental feelings; germany was not much softened by its impressions; and in italy the bitterness of private war admitted but few of its graces. it is difficult to define the precise period of its duration, for it rose in the mists and gloom of barbarism; and the moment of its setting was not regarded, for other lights were then playing on the moral horizon, and fixing the attention of the world. in the part, entirely historical, of the present work, the reader must have remarked, that sometimes the decay of chivalry was gradual, and not apparently occasioned by external means; while in other countries its extinction was manifestly hastened by causes which sprang not from any seeds of weakness in itself. but, viewing the subject in its great and leading bearings, it may be observed, that chivalry was coeval with the middle ages of europe, and that its power ceased when new systems of warfare were matured, when the revival of letters was complete and general, and the reformation of religion gave a new subject for the passions and imagination. this attempt to describe a history of chivalry has proved, at least, that chivalry was no dream of poets and romancers, and that the feudal system was not the only form of real life during the middle ages. sismondi, in his work on the literature of the south, contends that chivalry was an ideal world. he then admits, that sometimes the virtues of chivalry were not entirely poetical fictions, but that they existed in the minds of the people, without, however, producing any effect on their lives. his reasons for his opinions are, that it is impossible to distinguish the countries where chivalry prevailed; that it is represented to us as remote both in time and place; and while one class of authors give accounts of the general corruption of their age, writers of after times refer to those very days, and adorn them with every virtue and grace. now, much of this reasoning is erroneous. that past ages should be praised at the expence of the present is no uncommon a circumstance, whether in morals or poetry. we have proved that the countries where chivalry prevailed are clearly distinguishable, and the degree of its influence can likewise be marked. m. sismondi does not argue as if he had been aware that there ever had existed such a writer as froissart; who does not refer to old times for his pictures of arms and amours, but describes the chivalric character of his own age. notwithstanding the light and beauty which chivalry cast over the world, the system has been more frequently condemned than praised. the objectors have rested their opinion on a sentence, said to be witty, of an old english author, that errant knights were arrant knaves, or on a few passages of reprehension which are scattered through the works of middle-age literature. sainte palaye has founded his condemnation of chivalry upon the remark of pierre de blois, a writer of the twelfth century, that the horses of knights groan under the burden, not of weapons, but of wine; not with lances, but cheeses; not with swords, but with bottles; not with spears, but with spits.[ ] not many years afterwards, john of salisbury also says, that some knights appear to think that martial glory consists in shining in elegant dress, and attaching their silken garments so tightly to their body, that they may seem part of their flesh. when they ride on their ambling palfreys they think themselves so many apollos. if they should unite for a martial chevisance, their camp will resemble that of thais, rather than that of hannibal. every one is most courageous in the banqueting hall, but in the battle he desires to be last. they would rather shoot their arrows at an enemy than meet him hand to hand. if they return home unwounded, they sing triumphantly of their battles, and declare that a thousand deaths hovered over them. the first places at supper are awarded to them. their feasts are splendid, and engrossed by self-indulgence: they avoid labour and exercise like a dog or a snake. all the dangers and difficulties of chivalry they resign to those who serve them, and in the mean time they so richly gild their shields, and adorn their camps, that every one of them looks not a scholar but a chieftain of war.[ ] all this splenetic declamation involves charges of coxcombry, luxury, and cowardice. that knights were often guilty of the first offence is probable enough, for all their minute attention to the form and fashion of armour could not but attach their minds too strongly to the effect of their personal appearance. graced also with the scarf of his sovereign-mistress, the knight well might caracole his gallant steed with an air of self-complacency: but a censure on such matters comes with little propriety from monks, who, according to chaucer, were wont to tie their beads under their chin with a true lover's knot. the personal indulgence of the knights was not the luxury of the cloister,--idle, gross, and selfish,--but it was the high and rich joviality of gay and ardent souls. they were boon or good companions in the hall, as well as in the battle-field. if their potations were deep, they surely were not dull; for the wine-cup was crowned and quaffed to the honour of beauty; and minstrelsy, with its sweetest melodies, threw an air of sentiment over the scene. how long their repasts lasted history has not related: but we have seen, in the life of that great and mighty english knight, sir walter manny, that when the trumpet sounded to horse, cavaliers overthrew, in gay disorder, every festival-appliance, in their impatience to don their harness, and mount their war-steeds; and we also saw that a cup of rich gascon wine softened the pride and anger of sir john chandos, and, awakening in him the feelings of chivalric generosity, impelled him to succour the earl of pembroke. in sooth, at the festivals of cavaliers all the noble feelings of chivalry were displayed. in those hours of dilatation of the heart, no appeal was made in vain to the principles of knighthood. even so late as the year , when the sun of chivalry was nearly set, at a high festival which the duke of burgundy gave, at brussels, to the lords and ladies of the country, two heralds entered the hall, introducing a stranger, who declared that he brought with him letters of credence from the noble lady his mistress. the letters were then delivered by him to the officer of the duke, who read them aloud. their purport was, that the lady complained of a certain powerful neighbour, who had threatened to dispossess her of her lands, unless she could find some knight that, within a year, would successfully defend her against him in single combat. the stranger then demanded a boon of the duke; and his grace, like a true son of chivalry, accorded it, without previously requiring its nature. the request was, that he should procure for the lady three knights, to be immediately trained to arms; that out of these three the lady should be permitted to choose her champion. then, and not before, she would disclose her name. as soon as the stranger concluded, a burst of joyful approval rang through the hall. three knights (and the famous bastard of burgundy was of the number) immediately declared themselves candidates for the honour of defending the unknown fair. their prowess was acknowledged by all the cavaliers present, and they affixed their seals to the articles.[ ] except the knights were actually engaged in foreign countries, on martial chevisance, all the festivals, particularly those which succeeded the graceful pastime of the tournament, were frequented by dames and damsels, whose presence calling on the knights to discharge the offices of high courtesy, chased away the god of wine. the games of chess and tables, or the dance, succeeded; while the worthy monks, pierre of blois, and john of salisbury, having no such rich delights in their refectory, were compelled to continue their carousals. how gay and imaginative were the scenes of life when chivalry threw over them her magic robe! at a ball in naples, signor galeazzo of mantua was honoured with the hand of the queen joanna. the dance being concluded, and the queen reseated on her throne, the gallant knight knelt before her, and, confessing his inability with language adequately to thank her for the honour she had done him, he vowed that he would wander through the world, and perform chivalric duties, till he had conquered two cavaliers, whom he would conduct into her presence, and leave at her disposal. the queen was pleased and flattered by this mark of homage, and assured him that she wished him joy in accomplishing a vow which was so agreeable to the customs of knighthood. the knight travelled, the knight conquered; and, at the end of a year, he presented to the queen two cavaliers. the queen received them; but, instead of exercising the power of a conqueror, she graciously gave them their liberty, recommending them, before their departure, to view the curiosities of the rich city of naples. they did so; and when they appeared before the queen to thank her for her kindness, she made them many noble presents, and they then departed, seeking adventures, and publishing the munificence and courtesy of joanna.[ ] but the charge of cowardice which the monks brought against the knights is the most vain and foolish of all their accusations, and throws a strong shade of contempt and suspicion on the rest. if they had said that chivalric daring often ran wild into rashness, we could readily enough credit the possibility of the fact; but nothing could be more absurd than to charge with cowardice men who, from the dauntlessness of their minds, and the hardy firmness of their bodies, had been invested with the military belt. the reason of all this vituperative declamation against chivalry may be gathered from a very curious passage in a writer during the reign of stephen. "the bishops, the bishops themselves, i blush to affirm it, yet not all, but many, (and he particularises the bishops of winchester, lincoln, and chester,) bound in iron, and completely furnished with arms, were accustomed to mount war-horses with the perverters of their country, to participate in their prey; to expose to bonds and torture the knights whom they took in the chance of war, or whom they met full of money; and while they themselves were the head and cause of so much wickedness and enormity, they ascribed it to their knights."[ ] hence, then, it appears that many of the bishops were robbers, and that they charged their own offences on the heads of the chivalry. the remark of the writer on the cruelty of the bishops to their prisoners is extremely curious, considering it in opposition to the general demeanour of knights to those whom the fortune of war threw into their hands. but these wars and jealousies between the knighthood and the priesthood, while they account for all the accusations which one class were perpetually making against the other, compel us to despise their mutual criminations. nothing more, perhaps, need be said to deface the pictures of the knightly character as drawn by pierre de blois and john of salisbury; and they should not have met with so much attention from me if they had not always formed the van of every attack upon chivalry. but there is one passage in dr. henry's history of england so closely applicable to the present part of my subject, that i cannot forbear from inserting it. "it would not be safe," observes that judicious historian, "to form our notions of the national character of the people of england from the pictures which are drawn of it by some of the monkish historians. the monk of malmsbury, in particular, who wrote the life of edward ii., paints his countrymen and contemporaries in the blackest colours. 'what advantage,' says he, 'do we reap from all our modern pride and insolence? in our days the lowest, poorest wretch, who is not worth a halfpenny, despises his superiors, and is not afraid to return them curse for curse. but this, you say, is owing to their rusticity. let us see, then, the behaviour of those who think themselves polite and learned. where do you meet with more abuse and insolence than at court? there, every one swelling with pride and rancour, scorns to cast a look on his inferiors, disdains his equals, and proudly rivals his superiors. the squire endeavours to outshine the knight, the knight the baron, the baron the earl, the earl the king, in dress and magnificence. their estates being insufficient to support this extravagance, they have recourse to the most oppressive acts, plundering their neighbours and stripping their dependents almost naked, without sparing even the priests of god. i may be censured for my too great boldness, if i give an ill character of my own countrymen and kindred; but if i may be permitted to speak the truth, the english exceed all other nations in the three vices of pride, perjury, and dishonesty. you will find great numbers of this nation in all the countries washed by the greek sea; and it is commonly reported that they are infamous over all these countries for their deceitful callings.' but, we must remember, (as dr. henry comments on this passage,) that this picture was drawn by a _peevish monk_, in very unhappy times, when faction raged with the greatest fury, both in the court and country." it would not alter the nature of chivalry, or detract any thing from its merits, if many instances were to be adduced of the recreancy of knights, of their want of liberality, courtesy, or any other chivalric qualities; for nothing is more unjust than to condemn any system for actions which are hostile to its very spirit and principles. one fair way of judging it, is to examine its natural tendencies. a character of mildness must have been formed wherever the principles of chivalry were acknowledged. a great object of the order was protection; and therefore a kind and gentle regard to the afflictions and misfortunes of others tempered the fierceness of the warrior. in many points chivalry was only a copy of the christian religion; and as that religion is divine, and admirably adapted to improve and perfect our moral nature, so the same merit cannot in fairness be denied to any of its forms and modifications. chivalry embraced much of the beautiful morality of christianity,--its spirit of kindness and gentleness; and men were called upon to practise the laws of mercy and humanity by all the ties which can bind the heart and conscience; by the sanctions of religion, the love of fame, by a powerful and lofty sense of honour. on the other hand, the christianity of the time was not the pure light of the gospel, for it breathed war and homicide; and hence the page of history, faithful to its trust, has sometimes painted the knights amidst the gloomy horrors of the crusades ruthlessly trampling on the enemies of the cross, and at other times generously sparing their prostrate christian foes, and gaily caracoling about the lists of the tournament. but these are not the only means of showing the general beneficial nature of the institutions of chivalry. the character of modern europe is the result of the slow and silent growth of ages informed with various and opposite elements. the impress of the romans is not entirely effaced; and two thousand years have not destroyed all the superstitions of our pagan ancestors. we must refer to past ages for the origin of many of those features of modern society which distinguish the character of europe from that of the ancient world, and of the most polished states of asia. we boast our generousness in battle, the bold display of our animosity, and our hatred of treachery and the secret meditations of revenge. to what cause can these qualities be assigned? not to any opinions which for the last few hundred years have been infused into our character, for there is no resemblance between those qualities and any such opinions; but they can be traced back to those days of ancient europe when the knight was quick to strike, and generous to forgive; and when he would present harness and arms to his foe rather than that the battle should be unfairly and unequally fought. this spirit, though not the form, of the chivalric times has survived to ours, and forms one of our graces and distinctions. the middle ages, as we have shown, were not entirely ages of feudal power; for the consequence of the personal nobility of chivalry was felt and acknowledged. the qualities of knighthood tempered and softened all classes of society, and worth was the passport to distinction. thus chivalry effected more than letters could accomplish in the ancient world; for it gave rise to the personal merit which in the knight, and in his successor, the gentleman of the present day, checks the pride of birth and the presumption of wealth. but it is in the polish of modern society that the graces of chivalry are most pleasingly displayed. the knight was charmed into courtesy by the gentle influence of woman, and the air of mildness which she diffused has never died away. while such things exist, can we altogether assent to the opinion of a celebrated author, that "the age of chivalry is gone?" many of its forms and modes have disappeared; fixed governments and wise laws have removed the necessity for, and quenched the spirit of, knight-errantry and romance; and, happily for the world, the torch of religious persecution has long since sunk into the ashes. but chivalric imagination still waves its magic wand over us. we love to link our names with the heroic times of europe; and our armorial shields and crests confess the pleasing illusions of chivalry. the modern orders of military merit (palpable copies of some of the forms of middle-age distinctions) constitute the cheap defence of nations, and keep alive the personal nobility of knighthood. we wage our wars not with the cruelty of romans, but with the gallantry of cavaliers; for the same principle is in influence now which of old inspired courage while it mitigated ferocity. courtesy of manners, that elegant drapery of chivalry, still robes our social life; and liberality of sentiment distinguishes the gentleman, as in days of yore it was wont to distinguish the knight. index. _accolade_, meaning of the, i. . note. _adelais_, tale of her imprisonment, rescue by an adventurous knight, and subsequent marriage, ii. . _albigenses_, romance of, i. . note. _alcantara_, order of, its principles, and its comparative rank with other spanish orders, i. . _alfonso_, story of his chivalric bearing, ii. . _allegories_, fantastic, made on knights and their armour, i. . . _amys and amylion_, romance of, i. . _anglo-saxons_, state of chivalry among, i. . . . . _antharis_, a lombard king, story of his romantic gallantry, ii. . _arabian horses_, their repute in chivalric times, i. . _arabic_, spanish historians, account of, ii. . note. _archers_, excellence of english, ii. . fine passage from halidon hill expressive of, ii. . note. an english archer in the days of edward iii., . importance of at battles of cressy and poictiers, . _argonautes_, order of, purpose of its institution, i. . _aristotle_, lay of, i. . _armorial bearings_, historical and philosophical sketch of the principles of, i. , . . _armour_, beauty of ancient, i. . value of enquiries into the minutiæ of, i. . uncertainty of the subject, i. . its general features, i. , &c. golden armour, . _array_, general nature of chivalric, i. . _arthur_, his knightly honour, i. . note. discovery of his remains at glastonbury, account of, i. . his court the school of chivalric virtue, . his generosity to his knights, . note. see _round table_. _athenæus_, his singular testimony to a state of chivalry, i. . _auberoch_, beleagured by the french, and chivalrously relieved by the english, ii. . _audley_, sir james, interesting story of his heroic achievements and of his generosity, ii. . _axe_, the battle, i. . description of king richard's, . note. b. _bachelor_, various meanings of the word, i. . . _bacinet_, i. . _baked meats_, fondness of people for them in the olden time, i. . and note. _ball_, the, after a tournament, i. . _band_, spanish order of the, objects of the order, i. . interesting, as descriptive of the state of spanish manners, ib. its fine chivalry to woman, i. . _banneret_, qualification of a knight, i. . his privileges, . see _chandos_. _bannockburn_, battle of, i. . _barriers_, description of, i. . note. singular battles at the, i. . . _bath_, order of, ceremonies used at the ancient creation of knights of, ii. . , &c. modern ceremonies, i. . absurdity of our heralds' dogmatic positiveness regarding the æra of the order's foundation, ii. . note. _batre_, claude de, a french knight. his joust with maximilian i. of germany, ii. . _bauldrick_, description of the, i. . _bayard_, the chivalric, his early years, ii. . enters the service of the kings of france, . his valiancy, ib. his humanity, . his gallantry, ib. holds a tournament in honour of the ladies, . his death, . _beauty_, knights fought to assert the superiority of their mistress's beauty, i. . the practice apparently absurd, but reason why it should not be too severely censured, ii. . _black prince_, his conduct at limoges, i. . his courtesy, ii. . . his liberality, ii. . his deportment to peter the cruel, ii. . not a favorite with the nobility in the english possessions in france, ii. . his cruelty to du guesclin, ib. _blois_, charles of, his contention with jane de mountfort for the duchy of brittany, i. . _blue_, the colour of constancy in days of chivalry, i. . note. see _stocking_. _bonaparte_, his generousness to a descendant of du guesclin, ii. . _bonnelance_, sir john, his remarkable courtesy to the ladies, i. . _boucmell_, john, his joust with an english squire, i. . _bourbon_, singular mode by which a duke of, gained a fortress, i. . ----, order of, account of, i. . _boucicant_, marshal, his outrageous reverence for women, i. . note. his joust at st. ingelbertes, near calais, , &c. _bovines_, importance of squires at the battle of, i. . _break-across_, to, meaning of the phrase, i. , . note. _britomart_, the perfection of chivalric heroines, i. . _brittany_, revered for its chivalric fame, ii. . _bruce_, robert, his chivalric humanity, ii. . _burgundy_, bastard of, his joust with lord scales, i. . his skill in other jousts, ii. . ----, court of, splendour of its tournaments, ii. . the most chivalric country in europe during middle of fifteenth century, ib. chivalric circumstance at the court of, ii. . c. _calais_, stories regarding, ii. - . _calatrava_, order of, its origin and history, i. . _calaynos_, the moor, praised by the spaniards, ii. . _carlisle_, sir anthony harclay, earl of, ceremonies of his degradation from knighthood, i. - . _carpet-knights_, meaning of the term, ii. . _carpio_, bernardo del, account of, ii. . _cavalry_, the principal arm of military power during the middle ages, i. . _caxton_, his lamentation over the decline of chivalry, ii. . his exaggeration of the evil, . _celts_, humility of celtic youths, i. . _cervantes_, curious error made by, i. . censures the chivalric custom of making vows, . note. satirises chivalric contempt of bodily pain, . note. ridicules the vigil of arms, i. . note. and the pride of knights, i. . note. accuracy of his pictures, ii. . _cesena_, noble defence of, by marzia degl' ubaldini, i. . _chandos_, sir john, story with the earl of oxenford, i. . history of his heroism, ii. . gallantry, . tenacious of his armorial bearings, ib. exploits at auray, . tries to dissuade the black prince from the spanish war, . ceremonies on his becoming a knight-banneret, ib. his remarkable generousness, . his death before the bridge of lusac, , &c. general grief thereat, . _character_, bluntness of the old english, shown at the creation of knights of the bath, ii. . _charity_, a great chivalric virtue, instance of, i. . _charter-house_, the, founded by sir walter manny, ii. . and note. _charlemagne_, state of chivalry in his time, i. . his expedition into spain, ii. . _chargny_, lord of, a famous jouster, ii. . his passage of arms near dijon, i. . _cherbury_, edward herbert, lord of, memoir of him, ii. . chivalric fame of his family, ib. his vanity, - . made a knight of the bath, . his curious adventures in france, . the disgusting vanity of his infidelity, . his general character, . his inferiority to the heroes of the reign of edward iii., . _chess_, the high favour of this game in days of chivalry, i. . a story of a knight's love of chess, . _chivalry_, general oath of, i. . form used in scotland, ii. . exhortations to perform chivalric obligations, i. , . beauty of chivalric costume, i. . first ages of, interesting to the reason, but not pleasing to the fancy, i. . difference between feudal and moral chivalry, i. . origin of, ib. nature of, . modified by christianity, , . early ceremonies of inauguration, . , . personal nobility of, not to be confounded with feudal territorial nobility, . morals of chivalric times unjustly censured, . real state of them, ib. &c. peculiar fineness of chivalric feeling, . note. declined in france before the common use of gunpowder, ii. . recapitulation of the circumstances which gave birth to, . its general nature, . exact time of its influence difficult to mark, . its merits, . its effects, . application of chivalric honours to men in civil stations, . connected with feudalism, i. . a compulsory honour in england, . _christianity_, its improvements on gothic chivalry, i. . _cid_, the, his birth, ii. . his early ferocious heroism, ib. his singular marriage, . enters the service of king ferdinand, . his chivalric gallantry, ib. ceremony of his being knighted, . death of the king ib. becomes the knight of sancho, king of castile, and his campeador, . mixture of evil and good in his character, ib. supports the king in his injustice, . his romantic heroism, ib. his virtuous boldness, . his second marriage, . is banished from the court of alfonso, the brother of sancho, .; but recalled ib. is banished again, . story of his unchivalric meanness, ib. his history in exile, . his nobleness and generosity, . is recalled, . captures toledo, .; and valentia, . unjust conduct to the moors, . marriage of his daughters, . his death, .; and character, . _claremont_, the lord of, his dispute with sir john chandos regarding armorial cognisances, ii. . _clary_, the lord of, singular story of the censure on him by the court of france for want of courtesy to sir peter courtenay, i. - . _clergy_, the weapons they used in battle, i. . a gallant fighting priest promoted to an archdeaconry, ii. . often turned knights, i. . _clermont_, council of, sanctions chivalry, i. . _clifford_, nicholas, his joust with john boucmell, i. , &c. _cloth of gold_, chivalric circumstances at the field of, ii. . _cochetel_, battle of, ii. . _cognisances_, i. . _coliseum_, moorish and chivalric sports in, ii. . inferiority of the old roman games in, to those of chivalry, i. . _colombe_, ernalton of sainte, bravery of him and his esquire, i. . _companions_ in arms, nature of such an union, i. - . _conde_, d. josé antonio, value of his searches into arabic spanish historians, ii. . note. _constancy_, a greater virtue in chivalric times than in the present day, i. . spenser's exhortation to, . _constantine_, fabulous order of, i. . _conversation_ of knights, its subjects, i. . _courage_ of the knight, i. - . _courtenay_, sir peter, his adventures in france, i. , &c. _courtesy_, a knightly virtue, i. . courtesy of a dragon, . note. at tournaments, . _cousines_, dame des belle, her reproof of a young page for his not being in love, i. . _crawford_, sir david de lindsay, earl of, his joust with lord wells, i. . _cross_, every military order had its, i. . wretched taste in concealing the cross of the order of the bath by a star, ib. _cyclas_, i. . _cyneheard_, his story, i. . d. _dagger_ of mercy, description of it, i. . story of its use, . _dambreticourt_, lord eustace, his chivalry inspired by the lady isabella, i. . his valour at the battle of poictiers, ii. . _dames_ and _damsels_. see _lady_. _degradation_, ceremonies of, i. . _derby_, earl of, the sort of death he desired, i. . _devices_, what they were, i. . worn in tournaments, - . _discipline_, chivalric array not inconsistent with feudal discipline, i. . _douglas_, story of the perilous castle of, i. . generousness of the good lord james of, i. , . his character, ib. note. the douglas of the sixteenth century, ii. . wins the pennon of hotspur, . his heroism and noble death, . archibald, at shrewsbury, ib. _dress_ of ladies in chivalric times, i. . importance of modesty of, . _dub_, meaning of the word, i. . note. _dynadan_, sir, a merry knight of the round table, his pretended dislike of women, i. . note. e. _edward i._, his chivalric character, i. . a chivalric anecdote of, i. . _edward ii._, state of chivalry in his reign, i. . . _edward iii._, state of armour in his time, i. . . chivalry in his reign, ii. , &c. _eloisa_, the lady, a heroine of chivalry, i. . _england_, antiquity of the sarcasm of its not being the country of original invention, ii. . note. the melancholy of its mirth curiously noticed, ib. _errantry_, facts relating to the knight-errantry of the middle ages, i. . . english knights-errant, . general facts and usages, , &c. f. _falconry._ see _hawking_. _falcons_, placed on perches above knights at chivalric entertainments, i. . _father in chivalry_, the respect which a knight bore to the cavalier that knighted him, i. . _festivals_, description of chivalric, i. . . at tournaments, . _fidelity_ to obligations, a great virtue in knights, i. . _flodden_, chivalric circumstances at battle of, ii. . _flowers_, romance of, remarks on, i. . note. _forget-me-not_, romantic story of this flower: joust concerning it, i. . _france_, state of, after the death of du guesclin, ii. . chivalry in baronial castles, ii. . knighthood given to improper persons, . extinction of chivalry in, . ridiculous imitation of chivalry by the profligate soldiers of a profligate king, . _francis i._, his chivalric qualities, ii. . circumstances which disgraced his chivalry, . knighted by bayard, . _fraternity_, origin and history of the spirit of, i. . encouraged by the institutions of arthur, . _froissart_, character of his history, _preface_. _frojaz_, don rodrigo, a spanish knight, chivalric mode of his death, i. . _furs_, fondness of people in the middle ages for them, i. . . note. g. _gallantry_, its origin, i. - . absurdity of antiquarians respecting, . note. _garter_, order of the, objects of, i. . its resemblance to a religious order, . reasons of its being established, .; ii. . commonly ascribed origin a vulgar fable, . meaning of the motto, . the collar, . _gawain_, sir, a knight of arthur's round table, character of, i. . _generousness_ of knights, high estimation of this quality, i. . instances, - . _gennet_, order of the, i. . _george_, saint, the person that was understood by this name, ii. . _germans_, superior virtue of german women owned by tacitus, i. . instances of this virtue, , . political chivalry had no influence in germany, ii. . german knights quailed before undisciplined troops, . when and where tournaments were held, i. . heraldic pride of the, . note. singular matter regarding the, . note. inferiority of to italian condottieri, . intolerance and cruelty of german knights, . their education, . cruelty to their squires, . their avarice, . little influence of german chivalry, . singular exception, . destruction of chivalry, . _gonfanon_, what it was, i. . _gonsalez_, count fernan de, a fabulous hero of spanish chivalry, ii. . _gordon_, adam, his chivalry, i. . _graville_, sir william, loses a fortress out of his love for chess-playing, i. . _green-field_, knights of the fair lady in the, story of their chevisance, i. . _gueldres_, duke of, story of his regard for knightly honour, i. . _guesclin_, bertrand du, his birth, ii. . became a cavalier in opposition to paternal wishes, . his knightly conduct at rennes, ib. amusing interview with the duke of lancaster, . his gallant bearing at cochetel, and the consequent recovery of the fame of the french arms, . taken prisoner at aurai, . redeemed, . his chivalry in spain, , &c. taken prisoner again, . treated with cruelty by the black prince, . ransomed, . made constable of france, . recovers the power of the french monarchy, ib. his companionship in arms with olivier de clisson, . his death before randan, . character, . h. _harald_, the valiant, account of, i. . _hawking_, a knowledge of, a necessary part of a knight's education, i. . a great chivalric amusement, . _hawkwood_, sir john, story of his origin, and allusions to his battles, i. . _helmets_, i. . various sorts of, i. . _hennebon_, noble defence of, by the countess of mountfort, i. - . _henry i._ and _ii._, state of chivalry in their respective reigns, . . . _henry ii._, of france, killed in a tournament, account of the circumstances, ii. . and note. _henry_, prince, son of james i., his love of chivalric exercises, ii. . _henry iv._, chivalric parley between him and the duke of orleans, ii. . his unchivalric deportment at shrewsbury, . _henry v._, his love of chivalry, ii. . . his chivalric modesty, . _henry viii._, account of his tournaments, ii. , &c. _heroines_, nature of female heroism in days of chivalry, and stories of, i. , &c. _hita_, genez perez de, nature of his volume on the fall of grenada, ii. . note. _homildon hill_, interesting knightly story regarding battle at, i. . _honour_, curious story of knightly, i. . the knights' pursuit of, i. . see, too, . note. _horn_, king, romance of, i. . _horse_ of the knight, i. . what horses were preferred, . the famous horse of the cid, ib. ii. . armour of the horse, i. . always very splendidly adorned, . _horsemanship_, care with which knights were trained to, i. . _hotspur_ fights with the douglas, ii. . his gallant deportment at otterbourn, . and at shrewsbury, . _humanities_ of chivalric war, i. . . _humility_, a knightly virtue, i. . _hunting_, young squires instructed in the art of, i. . a part of the amusements of chivalry, . _huntingdon_, sir john holland, earl of, his skill in jousting, i. . i. _inauguration_, ceremony of, into knighthood, when and where performed, i. . its circumstances, - . _ingelbertes_, saint, joust at, i. - . _ipomydon_, romance of, i. . _isabella_, the lady, a heroine of chivalry, i. . _italian_ armour, excellence of, i. .; ii. . note, . _italy_, but little martial chivalry in, ii. . chivalric education, . changes of the military art in, . chivalry in the north of, . esteem in which the word of knighthood was held, ib. chivalry in the south of, . mode of creating knights in, . religious and military orders in, . political use of knighthood, . folly of an italian mob regarding knighthood, ib. school of italian generals, . chivalric sports in, . _ivanhoe_, errors of the author of, regarding anglo-saxon and norman chivalry, i. . note; and concerning the knights templars, . note; and also concerning the nature and names of chivalric sports, . j. _james_, saint, his popularity in spain, i. . note; ii. . order of, i. . _james ii._, of arragon, gallantry of one of his decrees, ii. . _james iv._, of scotland, chivalric and romantic circumstances of his life, ii. - . _jealousy_, no part of chivalric love, i. . _joanna_ of naples, a chivalric anecdote regarding, ii. . _joust_, nature of the, to the utterance, i. . for love of ladies, . various, à l'outrance, - . a plaisance, , &c. romance of, .; ii. . use of jousts, i. . k. _knights_, their privileges, i. . expensive equipment of, necessary to the dignity, . preparations for knighthood, . his war-cry and escutcheon, . qualifications, . gentle birth not regarded when valour conspicuous, . by whom created, ib. (_for his education, see squire and page._) often turned priests, i. . associations of, in defence of the ladies, - . stipendiary knights in england, . no resemblance between and the equites of rome, . made in the battle-field, and in mines, - . knight of honour, description of, . english wore golden collars, ii. . anxiety to receive the order from great characters, . and note. no knights made on compulsion, after the days of charles i., . degradation of, in the reign of james i., . _knot_, order of the, i. . _knowles_, sir robert, remarkable story of the heroism of one of his knights, i. . l. _lady_ in chivalry, character of, i. . . her courtesy, ib. education, . amusements, . deportment, . what ladies could create knights, . singular blending of the heroic and the tender feelings in her character, . not made prisoner in war, . judge in the tournament, . . her favours worn by her knights, . . and note. _lahire_, the singular prayer of this knight, i. . _lance_, the chief weapon of the knight, i. . the staff made from the ash-tree, ib. _langurant_, lord of, bravery of, and of his squire, i. . and note. another story, . _largess_, distributed at ceremonial of inauguration, i. . at tournaments, . _launcelot_, generous modesty of this knight, i. . singular proof of his high reputation, . note. beautiful lamentation over his dead body, . _lee_, sir henry, his gallantry, ii. . _legnano_, battle of, ii. . _liberality_, a great virtue in chivalry, i. . _liegois_, their battle with the french chivalry, ii. . _lists_, description of the, i. . _london_, citizens of, their taste for chivalric amusements, ii. . _lords_, house of, errors of its committees, i. . note. _lorrys_, sir launcelet de, a gallant knight, killed in a joust for love of his lady, i. . _love_, peculiarities of chivalric, i. . - . , &c. perfection and purity of chivalric, ii. . quick-sightedness of courtly matrons regarding signs of, ii. . _louis_, saint, his barbarous intolerance, i. . _loyes_, sir, of spain, his cruelty, i. . m. _mail-armour_, various descriptions of, i. - . mail and plate, . mail worn in all ages of chivalry, . _manny_, sir walter, succours the countess of mountfort, i. . his bravery at calais, ii. . an amorous knight, . his kindness to two brother-knights, . his joyous adventurousness, . other feats, , &c. his filial piety, . gentleness of his disposition, . his high rank in england, . his sageness, . his liberality, . founds the charter-house, . _march_, countess of, story of her chivalric heroism in defending the castle of dunbar, i. . _marche_, thomas de la, his duel with john de visconti, ii. _martel_, nature of that weapon, i. . _marzia_, degl' ubaldini, story of her heroic deportment at cesena, i. . _maule_, its qualities, i. . not a perfectly chivalric weapon, . _maximilian_ the only emperor of germany of a chivalric character, ii. . his joust with a french knight, ib. _medicine_, knowlege of, possessed by dames and damsels, i. . faith of knights in medicines administered by women, . _medici_, lorenzo de, won a prize at a tournament, i. . _men-at-arms_, manner of their fighting, and description of their armour, i. . _mercenaries_, their use in the french army, ii. . _mercy_, order of our lady of, reason of the establishing of the, i. . _merlo_, sir john, a spanish knight, account of his jousting in burgundy, ii. - . _meyrick_, dr., character of his critical inquiry into ancient armour, i. . note, . note, . note. _michael_ of the wing, purposes of the establishing of this order, i. . _milan_, sir galeas, duke of, his courtesy to the earl of derby, ii. . _milanese_ armour, excellence of. see _italian_ armour. _missals_, the merits of, decided by battle, ii. . _minstrels_, description of them and their art in connection with chivalry, i. , &c. their chivalric importance in italy, ii. . _molai_, jacques de, appoints a successor to his authority over the templars, i. . _montferrand_, regnaud de, the romantic excess of his love for chivalric honours, i. . _montglaive_, guerin de, i. . _montpensier_, henry de bourbon, his death in a tournament, ii. . _mountfort_, jane de, tale of her heroism, i. . _music_, ladies in chivalry were taught, i. , . n. _naples_, chivalry at, ii. . ceremonies of chivalric inauguration in, . _navaret_, battle of, ii. . _nobility_, education of english, in the sixteenth century, ii. . _normans_, nature of their chivalry, i. . plant chivalry in italy, ii. . o. _oak_, in navarre, order of, i. . _obedience_, dignity of, i. . _olympic_ games, their inferiority to the games of chivalry, i. . _orbigo_, account of a singular passage of arms at, ii. - . _orders_, the religious, their general principles, i. . qualifications for them, . use of the religious, . military orders, ib. dormant orders, . singular titles of, . _ordonnance_, companies of, established by charles vii., their unchivalric nature, ii. . _orleans_, duke of, his satire on the heaviness of english armour, i. . _orris_, michael de, the romantic and chivalric nature of his love, i. . _ostrich_ feathers, whether originally a crest or a device of the black prince, i. , &c. _otterbourn_, description of that chivalric battle, ii. , &c. _oxenford_, earl of, amusing story of his absurd pride, i. . _oxford_, edward vere, earl of, his coxcombry and romantic gallantry, ii. . p. _page_, the first gradation in chivalry, i. . at what age a boy became one, ib. his duties, . personal service, ib. taught love, religion, and war, . his martial exercises, . (see _saintré_.) combats of pages, ii. . state of english pages during the sixteenth century, . _palaye_, sainte, character of his memoirs of ancient chivalry, preface. _paleaz_, martin, a spanish knight, his story, ii. . _passage_ of arms, what it was, i. . error of the author of ivanhoe concerning, ib. note. description of one in burgundy, .; and at orbigo, in spain, ii. . _patriotism_, not necessarily a knightly virtue, i. . but encouraged by the religious and military orders, , . _peacock_, festival and vow of the, i. . mode of dressing the, . note. _pelayo_, his history, ii. . _pembroke_, earl, stories of, ii. . - . _penitents_ of love, a singular set of fanatics in france, i. . _pennon_, the streamer at end of a lance, i. . _perceval_, mr. george, excellence of his history of italy, _preface_. cited, i. . note. ii. . . note. - . _percy._ see _hotspur_. _perfumes_, fondness of people in the middle ages for, i. . note. _philippa_, queen, her heroism, i. . _plate-armour_, description of, i. . its inconveniences i. . . note. _peter_ the cruel, his history, ii. , &c. _politeness_ of knights in battle, i. . _pride_ of knights ridiculed by cervantes, i. . _prisoners_, when made by knights, delivered to the squires, i. . curious pride of knights concerning, . ladies were never made prisoners, . _pursuivant_ of love, the favourite title of a knight, i. . _pye_, lord saint, his skill in jousting, i. , &c. q. _quinones_, sueno de, account of his holding a passage of arms at orbigo, in spain, ii. . _quintain_, nature of that amusement, i. . r. _ramsey_, william de, the chivalric nature of his death, i. . _ransoming_, the general principles of, in chivalric times, i. . _rapier_, an italian weapon, ii. . fighting with it supersedes the sword and buckler, ib. _religion_, nature of the knight's, i. . . brevity of his devotions, ib. curious instance of it, . the chivalric glory of a man being shriven in his helmet, ib. intolerance of the knight, . his ferocity against pagans and saracens, ib. his idle impiety at a tournament, . maintained opinions by the sword, . _rienzi_, cola di, instance of his coxcombry, ii. . note. _richard_ i., description of his battle-axe, i. . his chivalric character, . _rivers_, mystery of, meaning of the phrase, i. . _romance_ of chivalry displayed in the tournament, i. . great estimation of romances in chivalric times, i. . beneficial effects of, on chivalry, ii. . their popularity in england during the sixteenth century, . effects on italy, . _roncesvalles_, chivalric march through the valley of, by the soldiers of the black prince, ii. . question regarding battles in, at the time of charlemagne, . _round table_, when and where held in england, ii. . number of knights attached to the fabulous, i. . note. _roy_, raynolde du, a good jouster, chivalric reason for it, i. . _rybamount_, courtesy of edward iii. to lord eustace of, ii. . s. _sageness_, meaning of this old word, i. . _saintré_, jean de, curious account of the education in love of this knight, i. . _scales_, anthony woodville, lord, his joust with the bastard of burgundy, i. . _scarf_, ladies', on the knight, i. . . . _scotland_, form of chivalric oath in, ii. . chivalric circumstances, . frenchmen's opinions of scotsmen's chivalry, . reasons for englishmen's dislike of wars in, . courtesies between english and scottish knights, . see _james_ iv. _shield_, sentiments of honour connected with the, i. . its various shapes, . _sidney_, sir philip, his chivalric character, ii. . his arcadia, . circumstances of his life, . remarkable grief at his death, . uncommon kindness of the sidney family, ib., and note. his description of the nature of chivalric courage, i. . note. his apology for ladies studying surgery, i. . _sir_, its title in chivalry, i. . _skottowe_, mr., excellence of his work on shakspeare, i. . note. _smithfield_, anciently the principal tilting ground in london, i. . used for other purposes, note, ib. its state in the sixteenth century evidence of the degeneracy of chivalry, ii. . note. _spain_, religious orders in, account of, i. . general nature of spanish chivalry, ii. . religion and heroism, ib. gallantry, . . curious blending of spanish and oriental manners, . beneficial effects from the union of moors and spaniards, . religious toleration in spain, . loves and friendships of moors and christians, ib. peculiarities of spanish chivalry, . forms of knighthood, . various classes of knights, . spanish knights travel to distant countries, asserting the beauty of spanish maidens, . extinction of spanish chivalry, . the knight's idolatry of women outlives this extinction, . spanish poetry, . story of spanish manners . . state of spanish chivalry after the death of the cid, ii. . _spenser_, his fairy queen supports chivalry, ii. . object of the poem, ib. poem cited, passim. _spices_, fondness of knights for them, i. . note. . _spurs_, buckling them on, a part of chivalric inauguration ceremonies, i. . suspended in churches as memorials of victory and honour, ii. . note. _squire_, his personal and chivalric duties, i. , . . never sat at the same table with knights, . story of a high-spirited squire, . his dress, . various sorts of squires, . spenser's picture of one, ib. his duties in battle, . carried the pennon of a knight, ib. his gallantry, . . his martial exercises, . undertook military expeditions, . his services in the battle-field, . . nature of his armour, . story of the boldness of a, i. . english squires wore silver collars, ii. . see _bovines_. _squirehood_, the third class of the general order of chivalry, i. . of whom it was formed, . _stephen_, his courtesy to matilda, i. . important effects of chivalry in his reign, i. . _stocking_, order of the, i. . origin of the phrase blue stocking, . this contemptuous expression no longer applicable to englishwomen, . _stothard_, mrs. charles, her tour in normandy cited, i. . note. _surcoats_, their materials and purposes, i. . of the military orders, . _surgery_, knowledge of, possessed by ladies in chivalric times, i. . _surry_, earl of, incorrectness of the common tale regarding, ii. . _swinton_, sir john, his fine heroism, i. . another story of the heroism of a, . _sword_, girding of it on the knight a part of the chivalric inauguration ceremonies, i. . . the favourite weapon of the knight, i. . swords had names and mottoes; the cross hilt; the handle contained the knight's seal; spanish swords, - . story of the cid's favourite swords, ii. . t. _tabard_, description of, i. . _templars_, knights, extravagance of their ascetism, i. . note. errors of the author of waverley regarding, . note. the valiancy of the, . succession of grand masters from the persecution to the present time, , &c. present state of, . their importance in spain, . _thistle_, order of the, i. . its absurd pretensions to antiquity, ib. _thomson_, anthony todd, value of his botanical lectures, i. . note. _tournaments_, superiority of, to grecian games, i. . origin of, . objects, ., and notes. qualifications for tourneying, . . . who tourneyed, . ceremonies of the, ib. procession to the, . nature of tourneying weapons, . the preparation, . the encounter, . english regulations concerning, . note. opposed by the popes, . note. their frequency in the reign of edward iii., ii. . time of their death in england, . female tournament in germany, . _tristrem_, romance of, i. . v. _valet_, the common title of the page, i. . _vargas_, garcia perez de, a splendid exemplar of spanish chivalry. story of his romantic gallantry, ii. . _vigil_ of arms a necessary preliminary to knighthood, i. . _vilain_, sir john, anecdote of his remarkable prowess, i. . _virtue_, degree of, expected in a knight, i. . _visconti_, john de, his duel with thomas de la marche, ii. . _vows_, knightly, courage incited by, i. . fantastic, ib., &c. . w. _wallop_, sir john, his men break lances for ladies' love, ii. . _warwick_, an earl of, a famous jouster, i. . _wells_, lord, his joust with sir david de lindsay, first earl of crawford, i. . _werner_, fiendlike ferocity and impiety of, ii. . _william rufus_, authors wrong, in calling him a chivalric king, i. . but he promoted the growth of chivalry in england, i. . _wines_, dislike entertained by the englishmen of old for the wines of spain, i. . wines drank in chivalric times, . and note. wines and spices, . note. _woods_, mystery of, i. . _worcester_, john, earl of, constable. his regulations regarding tournaments in england, i. . note. _wordsworth_, his beautiful description of the occupations and life of a minstrel, i. . x. _ximena_, a spanish maiden, story of her voluntary marriage with her father's murderer, ii. . z. _zamora_, story of that town and the cid of spain, ii. . the end. london: printed by a. & r. spottiswoode, new-street-square. footnotes: [ ] warton (history of english poetry, vol. i. p. . note, vo.) notices a passage in piers plowman, which shows how the reigning passion for chivalry infected the ideas and expressions of the writers of this period. the poet is describing the crucifixion, and speaking of the person who pierced our saviour's side with a spear. this person our author calls _a knight_, and says, that he came forth _with his spear in hand and justed with jesus_. afterwards, for doing so base an act as that of wounding a dead body, he is pronounced a disgrace to _knighthood_, and our _champion chevaler chyese knight_ is ordered to yield himself recreant. fol. . b. so, too, in the morte d'arthur, joseph of arimathea is called the gentle knight that took down jesus from the cross. [ ] warton, vol. ii. p. . [ ] barnes's edward iii., p. . [ ] leland, collect. vol. ii. p. . [ ] arthur went to his mete with many other kings. and there were all the knights of the round table except those that were prisoners, or slain at a recounter, thenne at the high feast evermore they should be fulfilled the hole nombre of an hundred and fifty, for then was the round table fully accomplished. morte d'arthur. the tale of sir gauth of orkeney, c. . and see vol. i. of this work, page . [ ] walsingham, sub anno . ashmole on the order of the garter, cap. v. s. . [ ] preface to the black book of the order of the garter. [ ] walsingham, p. . froissart, c. . [ ] supplement to the encyclopædia britannica, vol. iii. part . p. . as the story of lady salisbury's garter is fabulous, we must resort to some other conjectures for an explanation of the famous motto of the order, and the one cited in the text is extremely ingenious and plausible. with much less appearance of truth, ashmole fancies that edward by this motto retorted shame and defiance upon him that should dare to think ill of so just an enterprise as he had undertaken for the recovery of his lawful right to the french crown (whose arms he had lately assumed); and that the magnanimity of those knights whom he had chosen into this order was such as would enable him to maintain that quarrel against all who durst think ill of it. ashmole's order of the garter, p. . there never was a knight more fond of impresses, mottoes, and devices, than king edward iii. he not only stamped them upon his own armour and that of his horse, but on his apparel, beds, and household furniture. "it is as it is," was one of these mottoes. another was:-- "ha! ha! the white swan, by god's soul i am thy man." [ ] gibbon is the chief supporter of the last hypothesis, in his text (vol. iv. c. .) he states positively, that "the infamous george of cappadocia has been transformed into the renowned st. george of england, the patron of arms, of chivalry, and the garter." in a note, however, he observes that this transformation is not given as absolutely certain, but as extremely probable. few people read this note, and, perhaps, gibbon did not intend they should. he wished to strike their attention by the sentence in his text, and he satisfied his conscience for literary honesty by writing the modification at the bottom of the page. [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] barnes, p. . [ ] knyghton. chron. col. . [ ] stow's chronicle. [ ] ----"these gallant yeomen, england's peculiar and appropriate sons, known in no other land. each boasts his hearth and field as free as the best lord his barony, owing subjection to no human vassalage, save to their king and law. hence are they resolute, leading the van on every day of battle, as men who know the blessings they defend. hence are they frank and generous in peace, as men who have their portion in its plenty. no other kingdom shows such worth and happiness veil'd in such low estate."-- halidon hill, act ii. sc. . [ ] this national characteristic is alluded to in latimer's sermons, folio :--a work not of very good promise for such matters. [ ] hair cut short. [ ] chaucer, prologue to the canterbury tales, line , &c. &c. [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] ibid. cc. . . [ ] froissart, cc. . . "messire eustace vous estes le chevalier au monde, que veisse oncques plus vaillamment assailer ses ennemis, ne son corps deffendre: ny ne me trouvay oncques en bataille ou je veisse, qui taint me donnast affaire, corps à corps, que vous avez huy fait. si vous en donne le pris, et aussi sur tous les chevaliers de ma cour, par droit sentence. adonc print le roy son chappelet, qu'il portoit sur son chef (qui estoit bon et riche) et le meit sur le chef de monseigneur eustace; et dit monseigneur eustace, je vous donne ce chappelet pour le mieux combattant de la jouence, de ceux de dedans et de dehors: et vous pui que vous le portez ceste année pour l'amour de moi. je say bien que vous estes gai et amoureux, et que volontiers vous vous trouvez entre dames et damoiselles. si dites, par tout la ou vous irez, que je le vous ay donné. si vous quitte vostre prison, et vous en pouvez partir demain, s'il vous plaist." [ ] froissart, cc. . . [ ] barnes's history of edward iii. p. , &c. [ ] there was a lord of manny, as well as sir walter, at edward's court. the lord was a distinguished person, for he was among the bishops, earls, and barons, who accompanied edward to france, upon his doing homage for the duchy of guienne. st. palaye has confounded the lord and the knight, and made but one of them. he overlooked the hundred and second chapter of froissart, wherein the baron and the knight are separately and distinctly mentioned. there was also another manny, called the courageous manny. he was knighted by sir eustace dambreticourt before a battle, and after fighting most valiantly he was left for dead in the field. froissart shall tell the remainder of the story. "after this discomfiture, and that all the frenchmen were departed, the courageous manny being sore hurt and near dead, lift up his head a little, and saw nothing about him but dead men lying on the ground round about him. then he rose as well as he might, and sat down, and saw well how he was not far from the fortress of nogent, which was english; then he did so much, sometimes creeping, sometimes resting, that he came to the foot of the tower of nogent; then he made tokens to them within, showing how he was one of their companions; then certain came down the tower to him, and bare him into the fortress, and dressed his wounds, and there he governed himself so well that he was healed." froissart, c. . [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] froissart, cc. . . [ ] appendix, no. xxiv., to anstis's history of the knighthood of the bath. [ ] "mais il dit à aucuns de ses plus privés, qu'il avoit promis en angleterre devant les dames et seigneurs, qu'il seroit le premier qui entreroit en france, et prendroit chastle ou forte ville, et y feroit aucunes appertises d'armes," c. . [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] quand messire gautier veit ce, il dit, j'amais ne soye salué de madame et chere amie, se je réntre en chastel n'en forteresse, jusques à tant que j'aye l'un de ces venans verse. froissart, c. . [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] see vol. i. p. . [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] vol. i. p. . ante. [ ] froissart, c. . le comte d'erby dit, qui merci prie merci doit avoir. this sentence, i suppose has escaped the notice of writers who have represented the sole amusement of knights to have consisted in cutting the throats of common people. [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] this is lord berners' rendering of the passage. the phrase "par un sien clerc" had crept into some editions of froissart; and mr. johnes's translation is, "sir walter caused the inscription to be read to him by a clerk." this, perhaps, was necessary, as the inscription was in latin, for heroes have not been famous for their clerkship. but the inference which some writers have drawn, that he could not read at all, is perfectly unwarrantable. [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] froissart, c. [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] she was the lady margaret, daughter and heiress of thomas plantagenet, surnamed of brotherton, earl of norfolk, and uncle to edward iii. [ ] dugdale. [ ] the reader may, reasonably enough, enquire who could have been the vendor? i cannot tell him: i can only copy stow in these matters. [ ] stow's london, book . c. . maitland's history of london, p. . this was the state of the charter house till the suppression of the monasteries, in the reign of henry viii. its annual value was _l._ it was given to sir thomas audley, speaker of the house of commons, with whose only daughter it went, by marriage, to thomas, duke of norfolk, and from him, by descent, to thomas, earl of suffolk. in the time of james i. it was purchased by that "right phoenix of charity," thomas sutton, citizen and girdler, for the large sum of , _l._; and he converted the buildings and gardens into an hospital for the relief of aged men, education of youth, and maintaining the service of god. [ ] froissart, . [ ] see vol. i. p. . [ ] ashmole's history of the garter, c. . s. . froissart, cc. . . [ ] dugdale, baronage, i. . [ ] authorities in ashmole, p. . [ ] froissart, c. . see the first volume of this work, page . [ ] froissart, c. . monseigneur jehan de clermont dit, chandos, ce sont bien les parolles de vos anglois, qui ne savent adviser riens de nouvel; mais quant, qu'ils voyent, leur est bel. this is a very curious proof of the antiquity of the common remark that englishmen are a borrowing and improving people, and not famous for originality of invention. it might be contended, but not in this place, that we are both. and here i will transcribe another sentence of froissart, more characteristic and true. "les anglois, selon leur coutume se divertirent moult tristement." [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] froissart, cc. , . [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] froissart, liv. ii. c. . [ ] plac. parl. iii. . [ ] thomas of elmham, p. . his general expression, tapestries representing the ancient victories of england, i presume chiefly meant those of edward iii. [ ] the tales of chivalry had for their prologue some lines expressive of war and love; but in a grander strain the poetical biographer of the bruce sings:-- "ah! freedome is a noble thing; freedome makes men to have liking; freedome all solace to men gives; he lives at ease, that freely lives. a noble heart may have none ease, nor ellys[a] nought that may him please, if freedome fail: for free liking is _yearned_[b] o'er all other thing. na he that aye has lived free may not know well the property, the anger, _na_ the wretched doom that is coupled to foul thraldom. but, if he had essayed it, then all _perquer_[c] he should it wit, and should think freedom more to prize than all the gold in world that is. thus contrary things ever more discoverings of the tother are." the bruce, line , &c. [a] nor else. [b] eagerly desired. [c] perfectly. [ ] haste. [ ] laundress. [ ] child-bed. [ ] stop. [ ] pity. [ ] pitched. [ ] moved. [ ] laundress. [ ] selden's titles of honour, and pinkerton's history of scotland, on the authority of a book which i have not been able to meet with, called "certain matters composed together." edinb. . to. [ ] henry's history of england, vol. iii. p. . to. [ ] border history of england and scotland, p. . [ ] border history, p. . [ ] nisbet's heraldry, i. . [ ] knyghton, col. . [ ] this amusing opinion of the french knights should be given in the original language. "adonc eurent plusieurs chevaliers et escuyers de france passage: et retournerent en flandres, ou là ou ils pouvoyent arriver, tous affamés, sans monture, et sans armeures: et escoce maudissoyent, et le heure qu'ils y avoyent entré: et disoyent qu'oncques si duc voyage ne fut: et qu'ils voudroyent que le roi de france s'accordast aux anglois, un an ou deux, et puis allast en escoce, pour tout destruire, car oncques si mauvaises gens ne verint: n'y ne trouverent si faux et se traistres, ne de si petite congnuissance." vol. ii. c. . [ ] the scotch knights procured horse-shoes and harness ready made from flanders. froissart, vol. ii. c. . lord berners' translation. [ ] froissart, vol. ii. c. . [ ] "henry percy," says holingshed, "was surnamed, for his often pricking, henry hotspur, as one that seldom times rested, if there were any service to be done abroad." history of scotland, p. . [ ] the gallantry of this fighting priest was afterwards rewarded by the gift of the archdeaconry of aberdeen. [ ] he was afterwards ransomed; and, according to camden, pounouny castle, in scotland, was built out of the ransom money. [ ] walsingham, (p. .) says, that the earl of dunbar came in and turned the scale in favor of the scots. nothing of this is mentioned by froissart, who had his account of the battle from the douglas family, at whose castle he resided some time. if it be said that their account was probably a prejudiced one, the same objection may be raised against that of walsingham. the douglas' always spoke of their victory with true chivalric modesty; for they declared that it was the consequence of the exhausted state of the english after the march from newcastle. [ ] froissart, vol. ii. c. . buchanan, lib. . p. , &c. [ ] monstrelet, vol. i. c. , &c. rymer, foedera, vol. viii. p. , . [ ] this archibald douglas, earl of galloway, called the grim, was an illegitimate son of a good sir james douglas, and the successor in the earldom of douglas to the earl james who fell at otterbourn. archibald had been taken prisoner by hotspur at the battle of holmedon hill; and percy agreed, that if he would fight with him as valiantly against henry iv. as he had fought during that battle, he would give him his liberty free of ransom-money. douglas, as a soldier and an enemy of the english king, had no objection to these terms, and therefore he fought at the battle of shrewsbury. buchanan, book . [ ] well, indeed, might the scottish knight say, "another king! they grow like hydras' heads: i am the douglas, fatal to all those that wear these colours on them." shakspeare, henry iv, part i. act v. scene . [ ] otterbourne, p. . . walsingham, p. , &c. hall, folio . i mean not to say, however, that his conduct was without precedent, for at the great battle of poictiers nineteen french knights were arrayed like king john. [ ] camden has marked the commencement of this custom in the reign of henry iv., and he has been followed by all our writers on heraldry and titles of honor, except anstis, who endeavours to trace it to the reign of edward i. anstis mistook the matter entirely. undoubtedly many instances may be met with in earlier times when knights were created with the full ceremonies of oblation of the sword at the altar, of bathing, &c.; and in strictness all knights should have been created in that manner. whenever anstis met with a knight inaugurated in that way, he called him a knight of the bath. now the question is, at what time was the first royal marriage, royal christening, or other festivity, when knights were made?--made, not exactly for military objects, not in consequence of feudal tenure, but in honour of the event which they were celebrating. knights of the bath were knights of peace, knights of compliment and courtesy. camden's opinion was founded on the following passage in froissart: "the vigil before the coronation (of henry iv.) was on the evening of saturday; on that occasion, and at that time, there watched all the esquires who were the next morning to be created knights, to the number of forty-six. each of them had his esquire attending him, a separate chamber, and a separate bath, where the rites of bathing were that night performed. on the day following, the duke of lancaster (henry iv.), at the time of celebrating mass, created them knights, giving them long green coats, the sleeves whereof were cut straight, and furred with minever, and with great hoods or chaperons furred in the same manner, and after the fashion used by prelates. and every one of these knights, on his left shoulder, had a double cordon or string of white silk, to which white tassels were pendent." now there is nothing in this passage which can lead the mind to think that the coronation of henry iv. was the first occasion when knights of the bath were created; and, therefore, our writers on heraldry and titles of honor are not justified in the positiveness with which they always head their dissertations on knighthood of the bath with the year . [ ] that the shoulder-knot of the knights of the bath was worn only for a time, and on the principle of chivalry which induced men to place chains round their legs until they had performed some deeds of arms, i learn from upton, a writer of great reputation in heraldic matters, who lived in the days of henry vi. see his treatise de re militari, p. ., quoted in the appendix to anstis's history of the knighthood of the bath. [ ] thus chaucer: "a custom is unto these nobles all, a bride shall not eaten in the hall, till days four, other three at the least ypassed be, then let her go to feast." [ ] ms. norfolc. in off. arm. n. . see anstis's appendix to his history of the knighthood of the bath, p. . [ ] "for to obeie without variaunce my lordes byddyng fully and plesaunce whiche hath desire, sothly for to seyn of verray knyghthood, to remember agayn the worthyness, gif i shall not lye, and the prowesse of olde chivalries." lydgate, war of troy. [ ] henry v. act ii. chorus. [ ] he was kind and courteous to them immediately after the battle, and indeed as long as their deportment merited his friendship. the duke of orleans and four other princes of the blood royal were taken prisoners at the battle of agincourt, and for a while lived on their parole. but when they forfeited the titles of knights and gentlemen, by endeavouring to deceive and betray henry while he was negotiating with the parties that distracted france, he then removed them to close confinement in pontefract castle; nor did they obtain their liberty for many years. a great outcry has been raised against henry for his conduct in this instance,--for his not showing a chivalric deportment to men who had forfeited their honour. [ ] thus the chorus in shakspeare's henry v. addresses the audience: "so let him land, and solemnly, see him set on to london. so swift a pace hath thought, that even now you may imagine him upon blackheath. when that his lords desire him, to have borne his bruised helmet and his bended sword, before him through the city: he forbids it, being free from vainness and self-glorious pride; giving full trophy, signal, and ostent, quite from himself, to god." [ ] caxton, of the order of chivalry or knyghthood. [ ] ibid. [ ] comines, vol. i. p. . [ ] sir tristrem, scott's edition, fytte first. st. . [ ] rymer's foedera. [ ] warton pleasantly observes, that had henry never murdered his wives, his politeness to the fair sex would remain unimpeached. [ ] holingshed, p. , , &c. henry's passion for disguising himself was singular, and carried him beyond the bounds of chivalric decorum. "once on a time the king in person, accompanied by the earls of essex, wiltshire, and other noblemen, to the number of twelve, came suddenly in the morning into the queen's chamber, all apparelled in short coats of kentish kendall, with hoods on their heads, and hose of the same, every one of them carrying his bow and arrow, and a sword and a buckler, like outlaws, or robin hood's men. whereat the queen, the ladies, and all other there were abashed, as well for the strange sight, as also for their sudden coming,--and after certain dances and pastimes made, they departed." holingshed p. . [ ] holingshed, p. . [ ] holingshed, p. , . [ ] holingshed, p. , &c. [ ] shakspeare, henry viii. act i. scene . [ ] dr. nott, in his life of lord surrey, prefixed to the works of his lordship and sir thomas wyatt, has by the evidence of facts completely overthrown this pleasing tale. [ ] these curious particulars are to be gathered, as dr. nott remarks, from the following passage in hardynge's chronicle. "and as lords' sons been set, at four year age, at school to learn the doctrine of letture; and after six to have them in language and sit at meet, seemly in all nurture: at ten and twelve to revel is their cure, to dance and sing, and speak of gentleness: at fourteen year they shall to field i sure, at hunt the deer, and catch at hardiness. "for deer to hunt and slay, and see them bleed an hardiment giveth to his courage. and also in his wit he giveth heed, imagining to take them at advantage. at sixteen year to warry and to wage, to joust and ride and castles to assail, to skirmish als, and make sicker scurage, and set his watch for peril nocturnal. "and every day his armour to essay, in feats of arms with some of his meynie; his might to prove, and what that he do may if that he were in such a jeopardy of war befall, that by necessity he might algates with weapons him defend. thus should he learn in his priority his weapons all, in armes to dispend." see to the same effect, the paston letters, vol. iii. , , &c. [ ] this curious circumstance is mentioned in a journal of sir john wallop's expedition, which dr. nott dug out of the state-paper office. the whole passage is amusing. "july . wallop advances to bettune. passing by terouenne, he attempts to draw out the garrison of that place, but fails. the french defeated in a skirmish. wallop says, that he sent a letter to the commandant of terouenne, an old acquaintance, that if he had any gentlemen under his charge, who would break a staff for their ladies' sake, he would appoint six gentlemen to meet them. the challenge is accepted, and the conditions are fixed. mr. howard, peter carew, markham, shelly of calais, with his own two men, cawverly and hall, are the english appellants. they all acquit themselves gallantly at the jousts. hall, at his first course, did break his staff galliardly, in the midst of the frenchman's cuirass. markham stroke another on his head-piece, and had like to have overthrown him. peter carew stroke his very well, and had one broken on him. cawverly was reported to have made the fairest course; but by the evil running of the frenchman's horse, which fled out of the course, he was struck under the arm, and run through the body into the back, and taken into the town where he was well treated. i wish to god, said wallop, the next kinsman i had, not being my brother, had excused him." [ ] pinkerton's history of scotland, vol. ii. p. , &c. [ ] drummond, , &c. buchanan, xiii. . "for the fair queen of france sent him a turquois ring and glove, and charged him, as her knight and love, for her to break a lance; and strike three strokes with scottish brand, and march three miles on southron land, and bid the banners of his band in english breezes dance. and thus, for france's queen he drest his manly limbs in mailed vest." marmion, canto v. [ ] he was afterwards duke of norfolk, and great grandfather of the earl of surrey, who was mentioned by me in p. . ante. [ ] it has been generally thought that james, forgetting both his own wife and the queen of france, lost much time at ford, in making love to a lady heron, while his natural son, the archbishop of st. andrew's, was the paramour of miss heron the daughter. dr. lingard (history of england, vol. vi. p. . n.) seems inclined to doubt this tale, because james had only six days to take three castles and a fair lady's heart. what time was absolutely necessary for these sieges and assaults, the learned doctor has not stated. however, to speak seriously, the story has no foundation in truth; and it only arose from the beauty of lady heron, and the reputed gallantry of the scottish king. [ ] henry's history of great britain, book vi. ch. . part ii. s. . [ ] pitscottie, p. , &c. [ ] pinkerton, book xii. [ ] so reported in the conversation of ben jonson and drummond of hawthornden. [ ] thomson's seasons. summer, l. . [ ] the arcadia was popular so late as the days of charles i., as may be learned from a passage in the work of a snarling satirist, who wanted to make women mere square-elbowed family drudges. "let them learn plain works of all kind, so they take heed of too open seaming. instead of songs and musick, let them learn cookerie and laundrie; and instead of reading sir philip sydney's arcadia, let them read the grounds of good huswifery. i like not a female poetess at any hand." powell's tom of all trades, p. . [ ] this was the honourable distinction of the sidney family in general, as we learn from ben jonson's lines on penshurst. "whose liberal board doth flow with all that hospitality doth know! where comes no guest but is allow'd to eat, without his fear, and of thy lord's own meat. where the same beer and bread, and self-same wine, that is his lordship's, shall be also mine." gifford's ben jonson, vol. viii. p. . the practice of making a distinction at the table by means of a salt-cellar was very proper in early times, when the servants as well as the master of a family with his wife and children dined at one long table. it became odious, however, when a baron made this mark of servility separate his gentle from his noble friends. this was feudal pride, whereas chivalric courtesy would rather have placed the guests in generous equality about a round table. [ ] spenser, _colin clout's come home again_. [ ] nicholls's progresses of queen elizabeth, vol. iii. p. , &c. [ ] puttenham, arte of english poesie, book ii. c. . & . [ ] burton, anatomy of melancholy, p. . this passage brings to mind a corresponding one in wilson's arte of rhetoricke, printed in . "if there be any old tale or strange history, well and wittily applied to some man living, all men love to hear it. as if one were called arthur, some good fellow that were well acquainted with king arthur's book, and the knights of his round table, would want no matter to make good sport, and for a need would dub him knight of the round table, or else prove him to be one of his kin, or else (which were much) prove him to be arthur himself." [ ] "the two angry women of abingdon." the sword and buckler fighting was the degeneracy of the ancient chivalry; and smithfield, which had shone as the chief tilting ground of london, was in the sixteenth century, according to stow, "called ruffians' hall," by reason it was the usual place of frays and common fighting, during the time that sword and bucklers were in use. "when every _serving-man_, from the base to the best, carried a _buckler_ at his back, which hung by the hilt or pommel of his sword." alas, for the honor of chivalry! [ ] wilson's life of james, p. . [ ] ben jonson, masque of prince henry's barriers. [ ] g. wither. prince henry's obsequies. el. . [ ] life of edward lord herbert, written by himself, p. . [ ] life, p. . [ ] life, &c. p. . sir edward was very much annoyed at paris by a monsieur balagny, who enjoyed more attention of the ladies than he did. they used one after another to invite him to sit near them, and when one lady had his company awhile, another would say, "you have enjoyed him long enough, i must have him now." the reason of all this favour was, that he had killed eight or nine men in single fight, p. . this was the degeneracy of chivalry with a vengeance. [ ] life, p. . [ ] act i. scene . of the play whose title i shall transcribe: "the new inn: or, the light heart; a comedy. as it was never acted, but most negligently played by some, the king's servants; and more squeamishly beheld and censured by others, the king's subjects, . now at last set at liberty to the readers, his majesty's servants and subjects, to be judg'd of, ." [ ] dugdale, origines juridiciales. c. . serjeants at law were not knighted till the reign of henry viii. c. . [ ] ferne's blazon of gentry, p. . see too camden's britannia "on the degrees in england," p. . [ ] thus lord bacon says, "there be now for martial encouragement some degrees and orders of chivalry, which nevertheless are conferred promiscuously on soldiers, and no soldiers," &c. essays on the true greatness of kingdoms. [ ] fletcher, fair maid of the inn, act i. scene . [ ] rymer's foedera, vol. xv. p. . [ ] british museum, cottonian mss. nero. c. ix. folio . the assumption of dignity by the squire-governors, in order to get greater largesses, is amusing enough: but no knights of other lands were present to chastise them for their insolence. [ ] du cange, gloss. ad script. med. oevi. in verb. milites regis. [ ] du chesne. hist. franc. script. vol. ii. p. . the assertion, however, is not strictly correct; for so early as the fourth century armorica had been colonised from wales. argentré, hist. de la bretagne, p. . a connection ever since subsisted between armorica and this island; and when the britons were oppressed, they repaired to the continent for refuge. [ ] velly, hist. de la france, vol. v. p. - . [ ] velly, hist. de la france, vol. v. p. , &c. [ ] d'argentré, histoire de bretagne, livre vii. c. . paris, . [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] mémoires de du guesclin, vol. iv. c. . the mode by which the queen came by her death was never certainly known. one common story was, that she had been murdered by a party of jews employed by the king, and hence he was considered a patron of judaism itself. [ ] this is froissart's story, c. ., and far more natural than the account in the mémoires de du guesclin (which mr. turner has placed in the text of his history of england). the memoir-writer gives a long melo-dramatic story of peter's application to the prince--of his tears and sobs, and other expressions of grief. the tale goes on to relate, that when the prince was won to espouse his cause, his princess, who was at her toilette, was much displeased, that he should have been imposed upon by a man so criminal as the spanish king. edward, fancying his martial prerogative infringed, exclaimed, "i see that she wants me to be always at her side. but a prince who wishes to immortalize his name must _seek_ occasions to signalise himself in war, and must by his victories obtain reward among posterity. by st. george, i _will_ restore spain to its right inheritor." mr. turner says, "that although this account is given by an enemy, yet as the circumstances correspond with the known character of edward, they seem entitled to our belief." history of england, vol. ii. p. . now, for my part, i do not believe one word of the pretty stories of the tears and the toilette. the mémoires of du guesclin are a good authority for the life of their hero; but froissart is the historian of the other side of the question, and the hero of his tale (if sometimes he loses historic dignity in the partiality of biography) is edward. froissart was acquainted with every circumstance that happened in the english army, and his account of the matter is far more rational than that of du guesclin's historian. it is expressive of the character of edward and his times. here we see the gentle knight yielding the place of honour to his friend, and the lady of the knight treating the guests sweetly and graciously. the toilette-scene is altogether omitted; and even if it had been inserted in the chronicle i should, reject it as false, for it was not characteristic of edward's noble mindedness to speak to his princess with petulance and ill humour. [ ] froissart, liv. i. c. , . [ ] froissart, c. . [ ] the memoirs of du guesclin and froissart, and a few passages in mariana, have furnished this account of the spanish war. in the general outline i have been anticipated by the popular historians of england; but i have introduced a great many circumstances essential to my subject, and, which did not come within the scope of their design. [ ] froissart, book i. c. . [ ] memoires de du guesclin, p. , &c. [ ] d'argentré, histoire de bretagne, liv. vii. c. . [ ] labineau, hist. de bretagne, vol. ii. p. . the treaty itself is so curious, that a life of du guesclin would be imperfect without it. "a tous ceux que ces lettres verront, bertrand du guesclin, duc de mouline, connestable de france, et olivier, seigneur de clisson, salut. sçavoir faisons que pour nourrir bonne paix et amour perpetuellement entre nous et nos hoirs, nous avons promises, jurées et accordées entre nous les choses qui s'ensuivint. c'est à savoir que nous bertrand du guesclin voulons estre alliez, et nous allions à toujours à vous messire olivier, seigneur de clisson contre tous ceulx qui pevent vivre et mourir, exceptez le roy de france, ses freres, le vicomte de rohan, et nos autres seigneurs de qui nous tenons terre: et vous promettons aidier et conforter de tout nostre pouvoir toutesfois que mestier en aurez, et vous nous en requerrez. item, que ou cas que nul autre seigneur de quelque estat ou condition qu'il soit, à qui vous seriez tenu de foy et hommage, excepte le roy de france, vous voudroit desheriter par puissance, et vous faire guerre en corps, en honneur, et en biens, nous vous promettons aidier, defendre, et secourir de tout nostre pooir, se vous nous en requerrez. item, voulons et consentons que de tous et quelconques proufitz et droitz, qui nous pourront venir, et echoir dorenavant, tant de prisonniers pris de guerre par nous ou nos gens, dont le proufitz nous pourroit appartenir, comme de pais raençonné vous aiez la moitié entierement. item, au cas que nous sçaurions aucune chose qui vous peust porter aucune dommage ou blasme, nous vous le ferons sçavoir et vous en accointerons le plutost que nous pourrons. item, garderons vostre corps à nostre pooir, comme nostre frere. et nous olivier, seigneur de clisson, voulons estre alliez, et nous allions à toujours à vous messire bertrand du guesclin dessus nommé, contre tous ceulx qui pevent vivre et mourir exceptez le roy de france, ses freres, le vicomte de rohan, et nos autres seigneurs de qui nous tenons terre, et vous promettons aidier et conforter de tout nostre pooir toutefois que mestier en aurez et vous nous en requerrez. item, que au cas que nul autre seigneur de quel que estat ou condition qu'il soit, à qui vous seriez tenu de foi, ou hommage, excepté le roy de france, vous voudroit desheriter par puissance, et vous faire guerre en corps, en honneur ou en biens, nous vous promettons aidier, defendre, et secourir de tout nostre pooir, si vous nous en requerrez. item, voulons et consentons que de tous ou quelconques proufitz et droitz qui nous pourront venir et echoir dorenavant, tant de prisonniers pris de guerre par nous, ou nos gens, dont le proufit nous pourroit appartenir, comme de pais raençonne, vous aiez la moitié entierement. item, au cas que nous sçaurions aucune chose qui vous peust porter dommage aucun ou blasme, nous vous la ferons sçavoir, et vous en accointerons le plutost que nous pourrons. item, garderons vostre corps à nostre pooir comme nostre frere. toutes lesquelles choses dessusdites, et chacune d'icelles, nous bertrand et olivier dessus nommée avons promises, accordées et jurées, promettons accordons et jurons sur les saintz evangiles de dieu corporellement touchiez par nous, et chascun de nous, et par les foys et sermens de nos corps bailliez l'un à l'autre tenir, garder, enteriner et accomplir l'un à l'autre, sans faire, ne venir en contre par nous, ne les nostres, ou de l'un de nous, et les tenir fermes et agreables à tous jours. en temoing desquelles choses nous avons fait mettre nos seaulz à ces presentes lettres, lesquelles nous avons fait doubler. donné à pontoison, le jour d'octobre l'an de grace mille trois cens soixante et dix." [ ] argentré, viii. , . [ ] voltaire says, that bertrand du guesclin was the first person over whom a funeral oration was delivered, and who was interred in the church destined for the tombs of the kings of france. he adds, "son corps fut porté avec les mêmes cérémonies que ceux des souverains; quatre princes du sang le suivaient; ses chevaux selon la coutume du temps, furent présentées dans l'église à l'évèque que officiait, et qui les bénit en leur imposant les mains. les détails sont peu importants; ils font connoitre l'esprit de chevalerie. l'attention que s'attiraient les grands chevaliers célèbres par leurs faits d'armes s'étendait sur les chevaux qui avoient combattre sans eux." essai sur les moeurs, c. . [ ] anselme in his palais de l'honneur, gives an amusing account of the chivalric rules for sepulchral monuments. they were better observed in france than in any other country, and even there they were not very scrupulously attended to. "they are," however, as gough remarks, (sepulchral antiquities, vol. i. p. cxvii.) "a curious specimen of monumental punctilio. knights and gentlemen might not be represented by their coats of arms, unless they had lost their lives in some battle, single combat, or rencontre with the prince himself, or in his service, unless they died and were buried within their own manors or lordships; and then to show that they died a natural death in their beds, they were represented with their coat of armour ungirded, without a helmet, bareheaded, their eyes closed, their feet resting against the back of a greyhound, and without any sword. those who died on the day of battle, or in any mortal rencontre, on the victorious side, were to be represented with a drawn sword in their right hand, and a shield in their left, their helmet on, which some think ought to be closed, and the visor let down, in token that they fell fighting against their enemies, having their coat of arms girded over their arms, and at their feet a lion. those who died in prison, or before they had paid their ransom, were represented on their tombs without spurs or helmet, without coat of arms or swords, only the scabbard girded to, and hanging at their sides. those who fell in battle or rencontre on the side of the conquered were to be represented without coats of arms, the sword at the side and in the scabbard, the visor raised and open, their hands joined on their breasts, and their feet resting against the back of a dead and overthrown lion. the child of a governor, or commander in chief, if born in a besieged city, or in the army, however young he died, was represented on his tomb, armed at all points, his head on his helmet, and clad in a coat of mail of his size at the time of his death. the military man, who at the close of his life took on him a religious habit and died in it, was represented completely armed, his sword by his side on the lower part; and on the upper the habit of the order he had assumed, and under his feet the shield of his arms. the gentleman who has been conquered and slain in the lists, in a combat of honour, ought to be placed on his tomb, armed at all points, his battle-axe lying by him, his left arm crossed over the right. the gentleman victorious in the lists was exhibited on his tomb, armed at all points, his battle-axe in his arms, his right arm crossed over the left." [ ] argentré, hist. de bretagne, liv. viii. velly in an. and memoires de du guesclin, ad fin. [ ] "jamais, _disoit il_, je ne serai aimé ne conveis (bienvenu) ainçois serai des dames très toujours éconduits, car biensçais que je suis bien laid et malfettis, mais puis que je suis laid, être veux bien hardis." vie du connetable du guesclin. [ ] chastelet, hist. de du guesclin, p. . there were no children of either of these marriages. du guesclin, however, left a son, _par amours_. the last male heir of this family died in the year , an officer in the french army. in the time of napoleon, a madame de gîvres asserted and proved her descent from the constable, and bonaparte granted her a pension of franks a year. [ ] monstrelet, vol. ii. c. . the battle between the burgundians and dauphinois, in august, , was fought with similar cruelty. vol. v. c. . [ ] all these curious particulars of ancient manners are contained in the histoire de jeanne d'arc, of m. le brun des charmettes. [ ] daniel, histoire de la milice francaise, liv. iv. c. . monstrelet, vol. viii. c. . velly, tome v. p. . [ ] boutillier, la somme rurale, compillée par lui, p. . abbeville, . [ ] memoires d'olivier de la marche, vol. ix. c. . of the collection des memoires relatifs à l'histoire de la france. [ ] perceval's history of italy, vol. ii. c. . [ ] the old french, in which this dialogue was held, is exceedingly interesting and expressive. "monseigneur de bayard, mon amy, voicy la premiere maison ou avez esté nourry, ce vous seroit grand honte si ne vous y faisiez congnoistre, aussi bien qu'avez fait ailleurs. _le bon chevalier respondit_, madame, vous savez, bien que des ma jeunesse vous ay aymée, prisée et honorée, et si vous tiens à si saige et bien enseigné, que ne voulez mal à personne, et encores a moy moings que à un autre. dites moy, s'il vous plaist que voulez vous que je face pour donner plaiser à madame ma bonne maistresse, à vous sur toutes, et au reste de la bonne et belle compaignée qui est ceans. _la dame de fleuxas lui dit alors._ il me semble, monseigneur de bayard, mais que je ne vous ennuye point, que ferez foit bien de faire quelque tournoy en ceste ville, pour l'honneur de madame qui vous en scaura très bon gré. vous avez ici alentour force de vos compaignons gentils-hommes françois et autres gentils-hommes de ces pays, lesquels s'y trouveront de bon coeur, et j'en suis asseurée. vrayment, _dit le bon chevalier_, puis que le voulez il sera faist. vous estes la dame en ce monde qui a premierement acquis mon coeur à son service, par le moyen de vostre bonne grace. je suis asseuré que je n'en auray jamais que la bouche et les mains, car de vous requirir d'autre chose je perdrois ma peine, aussi sur mon ame j'aymerois mieulx mourir que vous presser de deshonneur. bien vous prie que me veuillez donner un de vos manchons. car j'en ay à besongner. la dame qui ne savoit qu'il en vouloit faire le lui bailla, et il le meit en la manche de son pourpoint, sans faire autre bruit." memoires, vol. xiv. p. . [ ] the memoires of bayard, by one of his secretaries, have furnished me with the chief facts in this account of bayard. a very excellent english translation of them has been lately published in two vols. post vo. the memoires du bellay (paris, ,) have supplied some deficiencies in the narration of the loyal serviteur. [ ] memoires de bayard, in the great collection of french memoires, vol. xv. p. . "et puis après par maniere de jeu, cria haultement l'espée en la main dextre: tu es bien heureuse d'avoir aujourdhui à un si vertueux et puissant roy donné l'ordre de chevalerie. certes ma bonne espée, vous serez moult bien reliques gardée et sur toutes autres honorée. et ne vous porteray jamais, si ce n'est contre turcs, sarrasins, ou maures, et puis feit deux faults, et après remeit au fourreau son espée." this sword has been lost. [ ] this mode of receiving knighthood had, however, been stealing into a custom for some time. the earliest instance i have ever met with was in the case of an infant son of charles vi. (a. d. ,) who was knighted by du guesclin, a cavalier who, one would think, was sufficiently jealous of the honour of chivalry. after the ceremonies of baptism, du guesclin drew his sword, and putting it naked into the hand of the naked child, (nudo tradidit ensem nudum,) said to him, "sire, i give you this sword, and put it into your hand; and pray god that he will give you such a noble heart that you may prove as true a knight as any of your illustrious ancestors." so, too, monstrelet, in his account of the events in the year , says, that the duchess of burgundy was delivered of a son at dijon, who was knighted at the font. vol. vii. p. . [ ] part of segar's account of this tournament is too interesting to be omitted. "at the fourth course, by marvellous misadventure, the king became hurt with a splinter of the adversary's lance, which pierced his eye so deep, as thereby his brain was much bruised. thus was the nuptial feast disturbed, and joy converted to sorrow. such is the state of worldly things: gladness is ever followed by sadness, and pleasure accompanied by pain. the rest of the troop who were ready to run were with that accident marvellously amazed, and not knowing what to do, every man let fall his lance, and cursed such triumphs. some pressed to carry his person home, and others (as touched to the heart) shut their eyes from seeing a spectacle so miserable. the ladies likewise and gentlewomen of the court turned their faces from beholding, and closed their eyes with tears. to conclude, the whole number of courtiers were stricken with sorrow not explicable. the citizens, also, and, generally, all the subjects of that kingdom, were perplexed to see the tragical event of that disastrous triumph, which was intended to congratulate a new peace and an honourable alliance. the form and face of the city were thus converted from exceeding joy to unspeakable sorrow: some held up their hands to heaven, others made haste to the churches, and every one, with abundance of sighs and sobs, cried out, beseeching god to grant the king recovery; as if every man's well doing had thereon depended. then the physicians and surgeons, not only of france but of the low countries, came thither to show their skill, using all art and endeavour that might be; but the splinters of the lance had pierced the king's eye so deeply, as the tenderness of the place could not suffer it to be taken out nor seen (the brain also being pierced), no means there were to cure the wound. the king, therefore, tormented with extreme pain, fell into a burning fever, whereof at the end of eleven days he died. in all which time he did never weep, nor speak any word that might be imputed to pusillanimity; but most magnanimously took leave of life. only this he said, that seeing he was destined to die in arms, he would have been much better contented to have lost his life in the field than in those domestic pastimes." segar, of honour, lib. iii. c. . [ ] warton justly observes that this apotheosis of chivalry, in the person of their own apostle, must have ever afterwards contributed to exaggerate the characteristical romantic heroism of the spaniards, by which it was occasioned, and to propagate through succeeding ages a stronger veneration for that species of military enthusiasm to which they were naturally devoted. warton, diss. on the gesta romanorum. [ ] painters are as good witnesses for manners as romance writers; and in murphy's arabian antiquities of spain there is an engraving from a picture in the alhamra, representing a martial game, wherein both moors and christians contended. [ ] froissart, vol. ii. c. . [ ] calaynos, however, went out of fashion, not for want of merit in the hero, but by reason of the form of the verse in which he was celebrated. thus the phrase, _este no vale las coplas de calainos_, passed into a proverb. sarmiento, memorias para la historias de la poesia, y poetas espanoles, p. . [ ] caballeros granadinos aunque moros, hijos d'algo. [ ] for proofs of this circumstance, i must again refer the reader to the engravings in murphy's arabian antiquities of spain. [ ] pur su ley, pur su sennor natural, pur su terra. partidas, cited by selden, titles of honour, part ii. cap. . [ ] partidas, l. ii. tit. . lib. . tit. , &c. [ ] selden, titles of honour, part ii. c. . [ ] tomich, conquestas de los reyes de aragon e los comtes de barcelona, , folio . [ ] our english translators of ancient spanish poetry need not think, as they are inclined to do, that they are worshiping a shade in pelayo. the arabian history of spain by ahmadu-bn muhammadi-bn musa abu bakr arrazy, a writer of the fourth century of the hegira, attests his existence in the manner stated in the text. this author, whose name i will not again attempt to transcribe, is one of the authorities of mr. shakspeare, whose able dissertation on the history of the arabs in spain accompanies murphy's splendid work on the architecture of that country. great expectations have always been entertained of the illustrations of arabic-spanish history which the escurial manuscripts could furnish. the work of casiri encouraged the most ardent hopes of a successful result of more patient enquiry; and nothing could promise better than the circumstance that his very learned and intelligent successor in the librarianship, d. josé antonio conde, was engaged in the work. the results of his labours were published at madrid in and . i have not been able to meet with a copy of his work in the original spanish, but i have found it mixed up with other matter in a french book, entitled "histoire de la domination des arabes et des maures en espagne, et en portugal, depuis l'invasion de ces peuples jusqu'a leur expulsion définitive; redigée sur l'histoire traduite de l'arabe en espagnol de m. j. conde. par m. de marlés." vols. vo. paris. . from the preface of m. de marlés it appears that d. conde's book is entirely the tale of the arabic historians, and not the judicious result of a critical comparison between these writers and the spanish chroniclers. m. de marlés has endeavoured to supply the deficiency, and to write a history of spain from mariana and others on the one hand, and d. conde's arabians on the other. he has entirely failed; for a more feeble work was never written. much of the fault rests with his authorities; for his history is only another proof, of what we possessed a thousand instances before, that sufficient materials do not exist for the compilation of a good and complete spanish history. the insufficiency of d. conde's book to all real historical purposes appears in every page. something, indeed, has been gained on the subject of the moorish civil wars and dissentions, but such details are without interest. little or nothing has been added to our stores on the subject of pelayo, charlemagne's invasion, the cid, or the conclusion of the moorish history; all points whereon information is so much wanted. these remarks apply only to conde's researches into the political and civil history of spain while under the dominion of the moors, and not to his enquiries into the literary history of the arabs. [ ] chronicle, i. . [ ] chronicle, i. . [ ] the circumstances about this marriage are so contradictory to modern usages, that the whole story has been regarded as a fable. abundant evidence, however, of the marriage exists; and as that competent judge of spanish manners, mr. southey, observes, "the circumstances of the marriage are not to be disbelieved for their singularity: had such circumstances appeared incredible or repugnant to common feeling, they would not have been invented;--whether they be true or false, they are equally characteristic of the state of manners." [ ] chronicle, i. . [ ] chronicle, ii. . [ ] chronicle, ii. . [ ] these last few words are judiciously placed in the chronicle of the cid by mr. southey. they are not contained in the ancient chronicles and ballads, but they are referred to by some, and implied in all. [ ] chronicle, iii. , . [ ] chronicle, iii. - . [ ] chronicle, iii. - . müller, in his dissertation on the cid, speaks as positively that the money was repaid, as if the receipt in full for all demands, authenticated by the city of burgos, were lying on his table. there is no evidence of the repayment in the ancient writers; and when we consider that the jews were always treated in spain far worse than the musulmans, we cannot conclude that the cid would consider men whom he had cheated as entitled to justice. [ ] i borrow from mr. frere's translation of part of the cid. [ ] chronicle, iv. - . [ ] chronicle, iv. - . [ ] chronicle, v. - . [ ] chronicle, vi. . the old spanish writers observe that the cid knew how to make a good knight, as a good groom knows how to make a good horse. [ ] chronicle, vii. . ximena was like the famous oriana in amadis of gaul, who was always affrayed at military preparations. [ ] he had let it grow out of respect to alfonso; and he intended it should be a matter of admiration both with moors and christians. poema del cid, v. , &c. [ ] chronicle, books and . every reader of spanish history knows how fiercely the story of the infantes has been discussed. i shall not burden my pages with a statement of the arguments, but i think that the balance is very much in favour of the truth of the story. mr. southey's remark is judicious. "the conduct of the infantes of carrion is certainly improbable. there are instances enough of such cruelty, but none of such folly. yet nothing can be so improbable as that such a story should be invented and related so soon after their death; of persons who had really existed, and were of such rank: and that it should be accredited and repeated by all the historians who lived nearest the time." [ ] hallam's middle ages, iii. . d edit. [ ] the world has generally been acquainted with the fall of grenada by the work of genez perez de hita, which was translated into french, and acquired popularity when florian made it the foundation of his gonsalvo de cordova. there is very little historical truth in the volume, and the value of the pictures of manners it contains has been much overrated: those pictures, moreover, are moorish rather than chivalric, and therefore not of service to the present work. [ ] warton on the gesta romanorum, in the first volume of his history of english poetry. [ ] de marca, marca hispanica, p. . [ ] con razon (dize) nos quitais las armas del linage, pues las ponemos à tan graves peligros, y traucos: vos las mereceis mejor, que como mas recatado, les teneis mejor guardados. mariana, hist. de espana, xiii. . [ ] mariana, xiii. . this last story of garcia perez de vargas is the subject of a beautiful ballad, which mr. lockhart has translated. the stanzas regarding the scarf are particularly pleasing. "he look'd around, and saw the scarf, for still the moors were near, and they had pick'd it from the sward, and loop'd it on a spear. 'these moors,' quoth garci perez, 'uncourteous moors they be-- now, by my soul, the scarf they stole, yet durst not question me! "'now reach once more my helmet.' the esquire said him nay, 'for a silken string why should you fling, perchance, your life away?' --'i had it from my lady,' quoth garci, 'long ago, and never moor that scarf, be sure, in proud seville shall show.'-- "but when the moslems saw him, they stood in firm array: --he rode among their armed throng, he rode right furiously. --'stand, stand, ye thieves and robbers, lay down my lady's pledge,' he cried, and ever as he cried, they felt his faulchion's edge. "that day when the lord of vargas came to the camp alone, the scarf, his lady's largess, around his breast was thrown: bare was his head, his sword was red, and from his pommel strung seven turbans green, sore hack'd i ween, before garci perez hung." lockhart's ancient spanish ballads, p. . [ ] this is another and singular proof of the generally acknowledged excellence of italian armour. [ ] libro del paso honroso, defendido por el excelente caballero sueno de quinones, copilado de un libro antiquo de mano, por juan de pineda. . reprinted, madrid, . [ ] paston, letters, vol. i. p. . [ ] monstrelet, vol. vii. c. . [ ] sismondi. hist. des rep. ital. vii. . the germans were more observant of the forms than of the spirit of chivalry. the reader remembers that the spur, the golden spur, was the great mark of knighthood; and every ancient church in this country, or a copy of its antique monumental effigies, will inform him of the custom of placing a spur over or upon a knight's tomb. this was also a custom among the germans, who, besides, reposited spurs in churches, when age, infirmity, or other causes, unnerved the arm of the knight: moreover, they reposited spurs in churches as memorials of victory. in the fourteenth century five hundred pair of them, which had been taken in a victory over the french, were hung round the walls of the church at gröningen. ritterzeit und ritterwesen, p. . [ ] olaus. hist. septent. lib. xiv. c. . [ ] illustrations of northern antiquities, from the teutonic and scandinavian romances, p. . [ ] ritterzeit und ritterwesen, vol. i. p. . [ ] ritterzeit und ritterwesen, vol. i. p. . [ ] ibid. p. . [ ] froissart, vol. i. c. . [ ] froissart, liv. ii. c. . [ ] schmidt, iv. . [ ] ritterzeit und ritterwesen, p. . [ ] ibid. vol. i. p. . [ ] ritterzeit und ritterwesen, vol. ii. p. . [ ] ibid. vol. ii. p. . [ ] ottokar v. hornek, c. , &c. in his annals of austria. [ ] ritterzeit und ritterwesen, vol. ii. last chapter. [ ] muratori, dissert. . [ ] ibid. . [ ] giannone, lib. i. [ ] muratori, annali d'italia, vol. v. part . p. , &c. even the modenese librarian throws aside his dust and parchments, and warms himself into a humanised being at this story; while sismondi passes it over with frigid indifference. [ ] muratori, dissert. . [ ] see in the twenty-seventh dissertation of muratori (della milizia de secoli rozzi in italia) for a minute account of the armour of these different classes. i observe that mr. perceval, in his history of italy, vol. i. p. ., holds a different opinion from that which i have expressed in the text. instead of thinking that the change in the military art formed one of the causes which hastened the overthrow of the lombard liberties, he contends that, perhaps, it might be more correctly numbered among the circumstances which, after that overthrow had been accomplished, perpetuated the work of slavery. [ ] perceval's history of italy, vol. i. chap. . part . [ ] monstrelet, vol. xi. p. . [ ] muratori, dissert. . muratori describes from a contemporary chronicle the entrance of charles. the carriage of the queen seems to have excited great astonishment, as carriages were in those days seldom used by ladies, and seldomer by men. [ ] giannone, istoria civile di napoli, lib. xx. c. . s. . [ ] when that political coxcomb, cola de rienzi, thought fit to be knighted, he would not bathe in the ordinary way, but made use of the vase wherein, according to tradition, constantine had been baptised. vita di cola rienzi, c. . [ ] muratori, dissert. . . [ ] sacchetti, novelle, c. . [ ] muratori, dissert. . thus, when hildebrand guatasca, in , was made a knight at the expence of the city of arezzo, he swore fidelity to his lord, or, as grammarians would have it, his lady, the good city that had knighted him. [ ] muratori, dissert. vol. ii. c. . p. . [ ] muratori, scriptores rerum italicarum, vol. xii. p. . [ ] non ferro sed vino; non lanceis sed caseis; non ensibus sed utribus; non hastibus sed verubus onerantur. [ ] polycraticus, p. . [ ] lansdowne manuscripts, british museum, no. . article . the manuscript breaks off here; but the result of the joust is of no importance to my argument. [ ] brantome, oeuvres, les vies des dames illustres, vol. i. p. , &c. brantome relates this story on the authority of an old-italian book on duels, written by one paris de puteo. [ ] gesta stephan. p. ., cited in turner's england, vol. i. p. . vo. [illustration: three times they broke spears] tales from tennyson by molly k. bellew editor of "tales from longfellow" "dickens' christmas stories for children" etc., etc. illustrated by h. s. campbell new york and boston h. m. caldwell co. publishers copyright, by jamieson-higgins co. contents. the coming of king arthur gareth and lynette the marriage of geraint geraint's quest of honor merlin and vivien balin and balan lancelot and elaine the holy grail pelleas and ettarre the last tournament the passing of arthur to my young readers. alfred lord tennyson was the typically english poet, and none, perhaps not even shakespeare, has appealed so keenly to the human heart. no other man's poems have caused as many readers to shed tears of sympathy nor have awakened higher sentiments in the human heart. the critics agree in pronouncing him the ideal poet laureate. in his "idylls from the king" are found the loftiest and proudest deeds of english history and even in the retelling of these in prose the high spirit that is an inspiration to the noblest deeds cannot fail to be preserved. molly k. bellew. the coming of king arthur. over a thousand years ago everybody was talking about the wonderful king arthur and his brilliant knights of the round table, who everywhere were pursuing bold quests, putting to rout the band of outlaws and robbers which in those days infested every highway and by-way of the country, going to war with tyrannical nobles, establishing law and order among the rich, redressing the wrongs of women, the poor and the oppressed, and winning glorious renown for their valor and their successes. that was in england which at that time was not england as it is today, all one kingdom under a single ruler, but was divided into many bits of kingdoms each with its own king and all warring against each other. arthur's kingdom was the most unpeaceful of all. this was because for twenty years or more, ever since the death of old king uther, the country had been without a ruler. old king uther had died about a score of years before without leaving an heir to the throne, and all the nobles of the realm had immediately gone to war with one another each trying to get the most land and each trying to get the throne for himself. [illustration: old merlin appears.] suddenly, however, old merlin, the wizard who had been king uther's magician, appeared one day in the royal council hall with a handsome young man, arthur, and declared him to be the king of the realm. arthur was crowned and for a time the nobles were quiet, for he ruled with a strong hand of iron, put down all the evils in his kingdom and everywhere gave it peace and order. people in every part of the island sent for him and his knights, begging him to come to help them out of their difficulties. but presently the nobles became troublesome again; they said that arthur was not the true king, that he was not the son of uther and that, therefore, he had no right to reign over them. so there was fighting and unrest again, and in the midst of it leodogran, the king of the land of cameliard, asked arthur to come with his knights and drive away the enemies besetting him on every side. the country of cameliard had gone to waste and ruin, because of the continual warfare that was waged with the kings that lived in the little neighboring countries and a mass of wild-eyed foreign heathen peoples who invaded the land. and so it happened that cameliard was ravaged with battles, its strong men were cut down with the sword and wild dogs, wolves, and bears from the tangled weeds came rooting up the green fields and wallowing into the palace gardens. sometimes the wolves stole little children from the villages and nursed them like their own cubs, until finally these children grew up into a race of wolf-men who molested the land worse than the wolves themselves. then another king fought leodogran, and at last the heathen hordes came swarming from over the seas and made all the earth red with his soldiers' blood, and they made the sun red with the smoke of the burning homes of his people. leodogran simply did not know which way to turn for help until at last he thought of young arthur of the round table who recently had been crowned king. so leodogran sent for arthur beseeching him to come and help him, for between the men and the beasts his country was dying. [illustration: princess guinevere.] king arthur and his men welcomed the chance and went at once into the land of cameliard to drive away the heathen marauders. as he marched with his men past the castle walls, pretty princess guinevere stood outside to watch the glittering soldiers go by. among so many richly dressed knights she did not particularly notice arthur, for he wore nothing to show that he was king, although his kingly bearing and brave forehead might suggest leadership. but no royal arms were engraved upon his helmet or his shield, and he carried simple weapons not nearly so gorgeously emblazoned as those of some of the others. [illustration: he led his warriors boldly.] although guinevere did not see the fair young king, arthur spied her beside the castle wall; he felt the light of her beautiful eyes glimmering out into his heart and setting it all aflame with a fire of love for her. he led his warriors boldly to the forests where they pitched their tents, then fought all the heathen until they scampered away to their own territories, he slew the frightful wild beasts that had plundered the fields, cut down the forest trees so as to open out roads for the people of cameliard to pass over from one part of their land to the other, then he traveled quietly away with his men, back to fight his own battles in his own country. for there was fighting everywhere in those days. but all the time in arthur's heart, while he was doing those wonderful things for leodogran, he was thinking still, not of leodogran, but of the lovely guinevere, and yearning for her. if only she could be his queen he thought they two together could rule on his throne as one strong, sweet, delicious life, and could exert a mighty power over all his people to make them good and wise and happy. each day increased his love until he could not bear even to think for a moment of living without her. so from the very field of battle, while the swords were flashing and clashing about him, as he fought the barons and great lords who had risen up against him, arthur dispatched three messengers to leodogran, the king of cameliard. these three messengers were ulfius, brastias and bedivere, the very first knight arthur had knighted upon his throne. they went to leodogran and said that if arthur had been of any service to him in his recent troubles with the heathen and the wild beasts, he should give the princess guinevere to be arthur's wife as a mark of his good will. [illustration: arthur dispatched three messengers to leodogran.] well, when they had said this, leodogran did not know what to do any better than when the heathen and the beasts had come upon him. for while he thought arthur a very bold soldier and a very fine man, and, although he felt very grateful indeed to him for all the great things he had done, still he was not certain that guinevere ought to marry him. for, as guinevere was the daughter of a king she should become the wife of none but the son of a king. and leodogran did not know precisely who this king arthur was; but he did know that the barons of arthur's court had burst out into this uproar against him because they said he was not their true king and not the son of king uther who had reigned before him. some of them declared him to be the child of gerlois, and others avowed that sir anton was his father. as poor, puzzled leodogran knew nothing about the matter himself, he sent for his gray-headed trusty old chamberlain, who always had good counsel to give him in any dilemma; and he asked the chamberlain whether he had heard anything certainly as to arthur's birth. the chamberlain told him that there were just two men in all the world who knew the truth with respect to arthur and where he had come from, and that both these men were twice as old as himself. one of them was merlin the wizard, the other was bleys, merlin's teacher in magic, who had written a book of his renowned pupil's wonders, which probably related everything regarding the secret of arthur's birth. "if king arthur had done no more for me in my wars than you have just now in my present trouble," the king answered the chamberlain, "i would have died long ago from the wild beasts and the heathen. send me in ulfius and brastias and bedivere again." so the chamberlain went out and arthur's three men came into leodogran who spoke to them this way: "i have often seen a big cuckoo chased by little birds and understood why such tiny birds plagued him so, but why are the nobles in your country rebelling against their king and saying that he is not the son of a king. tell me whether you yourselves think he is the child of king uther." [illustration: sir king, there are all sorts of stories about that.] ulfius and brastias answered immediately "yes," but bedivere, the first of all arthur's knights, became very bold when anyone slandered his sovereign and he replied: "_sir king, there are all sorts of stories about that_; some of the nobles hate him just because he is good and they are wicked; they cry out that he is no man because his ways are gentler than their rough manners, while others again think he must be an angel dropped from heaven. but i will tell you the facts as i know them, king uther and gerlois were rivals long ago; they both loved ygerne. and she was the wife of gerlois and had no sons, but three daughters, one of them the queen of orkney who has clung to arthur like a sister. the two rivals, gerlois and uther went to war with each other and gerlois was killed in battle; then uther quickly married the winsome ygerne, the widow of gerlois, for he loved her dearly and impatiently. in a few months uther died, and on that very night of his death arthur was born. and as soon as he was born they carried him out by a secret back gateway to merlin the magician, to be brought up far away from the court so that no one would hear about him until he was grown up ready to sit upon uther's, his father, throne. "for those were wild lords in those years just like these of today, always struggling for the rule, and they would have shattered the helpless little prince to pieces had they known about him. so merlin took the baby and gave him over to old sir anton, a friend of uther's, and sir anton's wife tended arthur with her own little ones so that nobody knew who he was or where he had come from. but while the prince was growing up the kingdom went to weed; the great lords and barons were fighting all the time among themselves and nobody ruled. but during this present year arthur's time for ascending the throne had come, so merlin brought him from out of his hiding place, set him in the palace hall and cried out to all the lords and ladies, 'this is uther's heir, your king!' of course, none of them would have that. a hundred voices cried back immediately: 'away with him! he is no king of ours, that's the son of gerlois, or else the child of anton, and no king.' "in spite of this opposition merlin was so crafty and clever he won the day for the people, who were clamoring for a king and were glad to see arthur crowned. but after it all was over the lords banded together and broke out in open war against arthur. that is the whole story of this war." although pleased with bedivere's good account of arthur, yet when it was ended leodogran scarcely felt satisfied. was bedivere right, he thought to himself, or were the barons right? as he sat pondering over everything in his palace, _three great visitors came to the castle_; these were the queen of orkney, the daughter of gerlois and ygerne, with her two sons, gawain and modred. leodogran made a great feast for them and while entertaining them at table remembered what bedivere had said about arthur and this queen. so he turned to the queen and remarked: [illustration: three visitors to the castle.] "an insecure throne is no better than a mass of ice in a summer's sea; it all melts away. you are from arthur's court; tell me, do you think this king with his few loyal knights of the round table can triumph over the rebellious lords, and keep his throne?" "o king, they are few indeed," the queen of orkney cried, "but so bold and true, and all of one mind with him. i was there at the coronation when the savage yells of the nobles died away, and arthur sat crowned upon the dais with all his knights gathered round him to do his service for him forever. arthur in low, deep tones, with simple words of great authority bound them to him with such wonderfully rigid vows that when they rose from their knees one after the other, some of them looked as pale as if a ghost had passed by them, others were flushed in their faces, and yet others seemed dazed and blind with their awe as if not fully awake. then he spoke to them, cheering them with divine words that are far more than my tongue can ever tell you, and while he spoke every face flashed, for just a moment with his likeness, and from the crucifix above, three rays in green, blue, scarlet, streamed across upon the bright, sweet faces of the three tall fair queens, his friends who stood silently beside his throne, and who will always be ready to help him if he is in need. "merlin, the magician, came there too, with his hundred years of art like so many hands of vassals to wait upon the young king. near merlin stood the mystical, marvelous lady of the lake, who knows a deeper magic than merlin's own, dressed in white. a mist of incense curled all about her and her face was fairly hidden in the dim gloom. but when the holy hymns were sung a voice like flowing waters sounded through the music. it was the voice of the lady of the lake who lives in the lowest waters of the lake where it is always calm, no matter what storms may blow over the earth and who when the waves tumble and roll above her can walk out upon their crests just as our lord did. "_it was she who gave arthur his remarkable sword_ excalibur, with its hilt like a cross wherewith he drove away the heathen for you. that strange sword rose up from out the bosom of the lake, and arthur rowed over in a little boat and took it. the sword is incrusted with rich jewels on the hilt, with a blade so bright that men are blinded by it. on one side the words 'take me' are graven upon it in the oldest language of the world, while on the other side the words 'cast me away' are carved in the tongue that you speak. [illustration: she gave arthur his remarkable sword] "arthur became very sad when he saw the second inscription, but merlin advised him to take the beautiful blade and use it; he told him that now was the time to strike and that the time to cast away was very, very far off. so arthur took the tremendous sword and with it he will beat down his enemies, king leodogran." leodogran was pleased with the queen's words, but he wished to test the story bedivere had told him, so he looked into her eyes narrowly as he observed, with a question in his tones, "the swallow and the swift are very near kin, but you are still closer to this noble prince as you are his own dear sister." "i am the daughter of gerlois and ygerne," she answered. "yes, that is why you are arthur's sister," the king returned still questioningly. "these are secret things," the queen of orkney replied, and she motioned with her hand for her two sons to leave her alone in the room with the king. gawain immediately skipped away singing, his hair flying after and frolicked outside like a frisky pony, _but cunning modred laid his ear close beside the door to listen_, so that he half heard all the strange story his mother told the king. this is what the queen said in the beginning to the king. [illustration: cunning modred beside the door to listen] "what should i know about it? for my mother's hair and eyes were dark, and so were the eyes and hair of gerlois, and uther was dark too, almost black, but the king arthur is fairer than anyone else in britain. however, i remember how my mother used often to weep and say, 'o that you had some brother, pretty little one, to guard you from the rough ways of the world." "yes? she said that?" leodogran rejoined, "but when did you see arthur first?" "o king, i will tell you all about it," cried the queen of orkney. "once when i was a little bit of a girl and had been beaten for some childish fault that i had not committed, i ran outside and flung myself on a grassy bank and hated all the world and everything in it, and wished i were dead. but all of a sudden little arthur stood by my side. i don't know how he came or anything about it. perhaps merlin brought him, for merlin, they say, can walk about and nobody see him, if he will, but any rate, arthur was there by my side, comforting me and drying my tears. after that arthur came very often without anybody knowing it and we were children together, and in those golden days i felt sure he would be king. "but now i must tell you about bleys, the old wizard who taught the magician merlin. you know they both served king uther, and just a little while ago when bleys died he sent for me. he said he had something to tell me that i must know before he left the world. he said that they two, merlin and he, sat beside the bed of king uther on the night when the king passed away, moaning and wailing because he left no heir to his throne. after the king's death as merlin and bleys walked out from the castle walls into the dismal misty night, they saw a wonderful fairy-ship shaped like a winged dragon sailing the heavens, with shining people collected on its decks; but in the twinkling of an eye the ship was gone. "then merlin and bleys passed down into the cove by the seashore to watch the billows, one after the other, as they lapped up against the beach. and as they looked at last a great wave gathered up one-half of the ocean and came full of voices, slowly rising and plunging, roaring all the while. then all the wave was in a flame; and down in the wave and in the flame they saw lying a naked babe that was carried by the water to merlin's very feet. "'the king!' cried merlin. 'here's an heir for uther.' "then as old merlin spoke the fringe of that terrible great flaming breaker lashed at him as he held up the baby; it rose up round him in a mantle of fire so that he and the child were clothed in fire. then suddenly there was a calm, the stars looked out and the sky was open. "'and this same child,' bleys whispered to me, 'is the young king who reigns. and i could not die in peace unless the story had been told.' then bleys passed away into the land where nobody can question him. "so i came to merlin to ask him whether that was all true about the shining dragon-ship and the tiny bare baby floating down from heaven over on the glory of the seas; but merlin just laughed, as he always does, and answered me in the riddles of the old song, this way: "'rain, rain and sun! a rainbow in the sky! a young man will be wiser by and by; an old man's wit may wander ere he die. rain, rain and sun! a rainbow on the lea! and truth is this to me and that to thee; and truth or clothed or naked let it be. rain, sun and rain! and the free blossom blows; sun, rain and sun! and where is he who knows. from the great deep to the great deep he goes!' "it vexed me dreadfully to have merlin be so tantalizing; but you must not be afraid, king, to give your only child guinevere to this king arthur. for great poets will sing of his brave deeds in long years after this; and merlin has said, and not joking, either, that even although arthur's enemies may wound him in battle he will never, never die, but will only pass away for a time, for a little while, and then will come to us again. and merlin says too, that sometime arthur is going to trample all the heathen kings under his feet until all the nations and all the men will call him their king." it pleased leodogran tremendously to hear what the queen of orkney told him of arthur, and when she had ended he lay thinking over it all, still puzzled as to whether he should say "yes" or "no" to the ambassadors whom arthur had sent. as he lay buried in his thoughts he grew very, very drowsy and dreamy, and at last, he fell asleep. and while he slept he saw a wonderful vision in a dream. there was a strange, sloping land, rising before his eyes, that ascended higher and higher, field after field, to a very great height and at the top there was a lofty peak hidden in the heavy, hazy clouds; and on the peak a phantom king stood. one moment the king was there, and the next moment he was gone, while everything below him was in a frightful confusion, a battle with swords, and the flocks of sheep and cattle falling back, and all the villages burning and their smoke rolling up in streams to the clouded pinnacle of the peak where the king stood in the fog, hiding him the more. now and then the king spoke out through the haze, and some one here or there beneath would point upward toward him, but the rest all went on fighting. they cried out, "he is no king of ours, no son of uther's, no king of ours." then in a twinkling the dream all changed; the mists had quite blown away, the solid earth below the peak had vanished like a bubble and only the wonderful king remained, crowned with his diadems, standing in the heavens. then leodogran while still looking at him woke from his sleep. he called for ulfius and brastias and bedevere, and when they had come into this presence he told them that arthur should marry the fair princess guinevere, and he sent them galloping back to arthur's court. that was a joyful day for king arthur when the three knights delivered king leodogran's message. he made ready at once for his sweet queen. he picked out lancelot, his favorite knight of the round table, whom he loved better than any other man in all the world, to ride over into the land of cameliard and bring back guinevere for his bride. and as lancelot mounted his dancing steed and rode away _arthur watched him from the palace gates_, thinking of the lovely lady who would ride by his side when he returned. [illustration: lancelot mounted his dancing steed.] lancelot's horse trampled away among the flowers; for it was april when he left the court of arthur, and just one month later he came riding back among the flowers of the may-time. guinevere was with him on her graceful palfrey. then dubric, the head of the whole church in britain, went out to meet her. happy arthur was there too. they were married in the greatest and noblest church in the land before the stately altar, with all the knights of the round table dressed in stainless white clothes, gathered about them. and all the knights were as delighted as they could be because their king was so glad. holy dubric spread out his hands above the king and the lovely queen to call down the blessings of heaven, and he said: [illustration: king arthur and the lovely queen.] "reign, king, and live and love, and make the world better, and may your queen be one with you, and may all the knights of the order of the round table fulfill the boundless purposes of their king." there was spread a glorious marriage feast. great lords came thither from far away rome, which once was the mistress of all the world, but now was slowly fading away. these roman lords called for the tribute from arthur that they had always received from britain ever since cæsar with his roman legions had conquered it long years before. but arthur, the king and bridegroom, pointed to his snowy knights and said: "these knights of mine have sworn to fight for me in all my wars and to worship me as their king. the old order of things has passed away and a new order will take its place. we are fighting for our fair father christ, while you have been growing so feeble and so weak and so old that you cannot even drive away the heathen from your roman walls any more. so we will not pay tribute to you nor be your slaves. this is to be our own free country which we will defend and maintain." _the great lords from rome drew back very angrily_ and went home and told their king all about what arthur had said. so arthur had to battle with rome, but he won in the end. arthur trained his knights of the round table so that they all felt like one great, vast strong man, all of one will. thus he became mightier than any of the other kings in any part of britain. and when he fought with them he always conquered them. in that way he drew in all the little kingdoms under him, so that he was the one king of the land, and they all fought together for him. there were twelve great battles against the heathen hordes that had molested them from across the terrible seas, and each of these battles he won. so he made one great realm and he reigned over it, the king. [illustration: the great lords from rome drew back.] gareth and lynette. old king lot and good queen bellicent had three sons. gawain and modred were knights of the round table at arthur's court, and young gareth, who was his mother's pet, sighed to think he had to stay home and be cuddled and fondled like a baby boy instead of riding off like a venturesome soldier fighting gloriously for the king and winning a great name. "there!" he cried impatiently, one chilly spring day as he stood by the brink of a rivulet and saw a bit of a pine tree caught from the bank by the dashing, swollen waters of the stream and whirled madly away. "that's the way the king's enemies would fall before my spear, if i had a spear to use! that stream can do no more than i can, even although it is merely icy water all cold with the snows while i'm tingling with hot blood and have strong arms. when gawain came home last summer and asked me to tilt with him and modred was the judge, didn't i shake him so in his saddle that he said i had half overcome him? humph! and mother thinks i'm still a child!" _gareth went in to the queen_ and said: "mother, if you love me listen to a story i will tell. once there was an egg which a great royal eagle laid high above on the rocks somewhere almost out of sight and there was a lad which saw the splendor sparkling from it, and the lightnings playing around it and the little birds crying and clashing in the nest. the boy thought if he could only reach that egg he would be richer than a houseful of kings, and he was nearly driven from his sense with his desire for it. but whenever he reached to clamber up for it some one who loved him restrained him saying, 'if you love me do not climb, lest you break your neck.' so the boy did not climb, mother, and he did not break his neck, but he broke his heart pining for the glorious egg. how can you keep me tethered here, mother? let me go!" [illustration: mother, if you love me listen to a story i will tell.] "have you no pity for me?" queen bellicent asked. "stay here by your poor old father and me; chase the deer in our fir trees and marry some lovely bride i will get for you. you're my best son and so young." "mother, a king once showed his son two brides and told him that he must either win the beautiful one, or, if he failed, wed the other. the pretty one was fame and the other was shame. why should i follow the deer when i can follow the king? why was i born a man if i cannot do a man's work?" "but some of the barons say he isn't the true king." "hasn't he conquered the romans and driven off the heathen and made all the people free? who has a right to be king if not the man who has done that? he is the true king." when bellicent found that she could not turn gareth from his purpose, she said that if he was determined he must do one thing before he asked the king to make him a knight. "anything," cried gareth. "give me a hundred proofs. only be quick." the queen looked at him very slowly and said: "you are a prince, gareth, but before you are fit to serve the king you must go into arthur's court disguised and hire yourself to serve his meats and drink among the scullions and kitchen knaves. and you must not tell your name to anyone and you must serve that way for a year and a day." the queen made this condition, thinking that gareth would be too proud to play the slave. but he thought a moment, then answered: "a slave may be free in his soul, and i can see the jousts there. you are my mother so i must obey you and i will be a scullion in king arthur's kitchen and keep my name a secret from everyone, even the king." so bellicent grieved and watched gareth every moment wherever he went, dreading the time when he should leave. and he waited until one windy night when she slept, then called two servants and slipped away with them, all three dressed like poor peasants of the field. they walked away towards the south and as they came to the plain stretching to the mountain of camelot, they saw the royal city upon its brow. sometimes its spires and towers flashed in the sunlight; sometimes only the great gate shone out before their eyes, or again the whole fair town vanished away. then the servants said: "let us go no further, lord. it's an enchanted city, and all a vision. the people say anyway, that arthur isn't the true king, but only a changeling from fairyland, and that merlin won his battles for him with magic." gareth laughed and replied that he had magic enough in his blood and hopes to plunge old merlin into the arabian sea. and he pushed them on to the gate. there was no other gate like it under heaven. the lady of the lake stood barefooted on the keystone and held up the cornice. drops of water fell from either hand and above were the three queens who were arthur's friends, and on each side arthur's wars were pictured in weird devices with dragons and elves so intertwined that they made men dizzy to look at them. the servants cried out, "lord, the gateway is alive!" then a blast of music pealed out of the city, and the three queens stepped aside while an old man with a long beard came out and asked: "who are you, my sons?" "we are peasants," answered gareth, "who have come to see the glories of your king, but the city looked so strange through the morning mist that my men are wondering whether it is not a fairy city or perhaps no city at all. so tell us the truth about it." "oh, it's a fairy city," the old man answered, "and a fairy king and queen came out of the mountain cleft at sunrise with harps in their hands and built it to music, which means it never was built at all, and therefore built forever." "why do you mock me so?" gareth cried angrily. "i am not mocking you so much as you are mocking me and every one who looks at you, for you are not what you seem, still i know what you truly are." then the old man turned away and gareth said to his men: "our poor little white lie stands like a ghost at the very beginning of our enterprise. blame my mother's love for it and not her nor me." so they all laughed and came into the city of camelot with its shadowy and stately palaces. here and there a knight passed in or out, his arms clashing and the sound was good to gareth's ears. or out of a casement window glanced the pure eyes of lovely women. but gareth made at once for the hall of the king where his heart fairly hammered into his ears as he wondered whether arthur would turn him aside because of the half shadow of a lie he had told the old man by the gate about being a peasant. there were many supplicants coming before the king to tell him of some hurt done them by marauders or the wild beasts, and each one was given a knight by the king to help them. when gareth's turn came, he rested his arms, one on each servant, and stepped forward saying: "a boon, sir king! do you see how weak i seem, leaning on these men? pray let me go into your kitchen and serve there for a year and a day, and do not ask me my name. after that i will fight for you." "you are a handsome youth," said the king, "and worth something better from the king, but if that is what you wish, go and serve under the seneschal, sir kay, master of the meats and drinks." sir kay thought the boy had probably run away from the farm belonging to some abbey where he had not had enough to eat, and he promised that if gareth would work well he would feed him until he was as plump as a pigeon. but lancelot, the king's favorite, said to kay: "you don't understand boys as well as dogs and cattle. can't you see by this lad's broad fair forehead and fine hands that he is nobly born? treat him well or he may shame you." "fair and fine, forsooth," cried kay. "if he had been a gentleman he would have asked for a horse and armor." so he hustled and harried garreth, _set him to draw water_, _hew wood_ and labor harder than any of the grimy and smudgy kitchen knaves. gareth did all with a noble sort of ease and graced the lowliest act, and when the knaves all gathered together of an evening to tell stories about arthur on the battlefields or of lancelot in the tournament, gareth listened delightedly or made them all, with gaping mouths, listen charmed, to some prodigious tale of his own about wonderful knights cutting their scarlet way through twenty folds of twisted dragons. when there was a joust and sir kay let him attend it, he went half beside himself in an ecstasy watching the warriors clash their springing spears, and the sniffing chargers reel. at the end of the first month, lonely queen bellicent felt sorry for her poor, dear son, toiling and moiling among pots and pans, so she sent a servant to camelot with the beaming armor of a knight and freed him from his vow. gareth colored redder than any young girl and went alone in to the king and told him all. [illustration: set him to draw water, hew wood.] "make me your knight in secret," he begged arthur, "and give me the very next quest from your court!" "son," answered the king, "my knights are sworn to vows of utter hardihood, of utter gentleness, of utter faithfulness in love and of utter obedience to the king." gareth sprang lightly from his knees: "my king, i can promise you for my hardihood; respecting my obedience, ask sir kay, and as for love i have not loved yet, but god willing some day i will, and faithfully." the reply so pleased the great king, he laid his hand on gareth's arm and smiled and knighted him. a few days later _a noble maiden_ with a brow like a may-blossom and a saucy nose _passed into the king's hall with her page_ and told arthur that her name was lynette, and that her beautiful sister, the lady lyonors lived in the castle perilous which was beset with bandit knights. [illustration: a noble maiden with her page.] "a river courses about the castle in three loops," said she, "each loop has a bridge and every bridge is guarded by a wicked outlaw warrior, sir morning-star, sir noon-sun and sir evening-star, while a fourth called death, a huge man-beast of boundless savageries, is besieging my sister in her own castle so as to break her will and make her wed with him. they are four fools," cried the maiden disdainfully, "but they are mighty men so i have come to ask for lancelot to ride away with me to help us." gareth was up in a twinkling with kindled eyes. "a boon, sir king, this quest," he cried. "i am only a knave from your kitchen, but i can topple over a hundred such fellows. your promise, king." "you are rough and sudden and worthy to be a knight. therefore go," said arthur to the great amazement of the court. "fie on you, king!" exclaimed lynette in a fury. "i asked you for your best knight, lancelot, and you give me a slave from your kitchen," and she scampered down the aisle, leaped to her horse and flitted out of the weird white gate. "a kitchen slave!" she sputtered as she flew. "why didn't the king send me a knight that fights for love and glory?" gareth in the meantime had strode to the side doorway of the royal hall where he saw a war-horse awaiting him, the gift of arthur and worth half the price of a town. his two servants stood by with his shield and helmet and spear. dropping his coarse kitchen cloak to the floor, he instantly harnessed himself in his armor, leaped to the back of his beautiful steed and flashed out of the gateway while all his kitchen mates threw up their caps and cried, "god bless the king and all his fellowship!" "maiden, the quest is mine," he said to lynette as he overtook her, "lead and i follow." "away with you!" she cried, nipping her slender nose. "you smell of kitchen grease. see there, your master is coming!" indeed she told the truth, for sir kay, infuriated with gareth's boldness in the king's hall was hounding after them. "don't you know me?" he shouted. "yes, too well," returned gareth. "i know you to be the most ungentle knight in arthur's court." "have at me, then," cried kay, whereupon gareth pounced upon him with his gleaming lance and struck him instantly to the earth, then turned for lynette and said again, "lead and i follow." but lynette had hurried her galloping palfrey away and would not stop the beast until his heart had nearly burst with its violent throbbing. then she turned and eyed gareth as scornfully as ever. as he pranced to her side she observed: "do you suppose scullion, that i think any more of you now that by some good luck you have overthrown your master. you dishwasher and water-carrier, you smell of the kitchen quite as much as before." "maiden," gareth rejoined gently, "say what you will, but whatever you say, i will not leave this quest until it is ended or i have died for it." "o, my, how the knave talks! but you'll soon meet with another knave whom in spite of all the kitchen concoctions ever brewed, you'll not dare look in the face." "i'll try him," answered gareth with a smile that maddened lynette. and away she darted again far into the strange avenues of the limitless woods. gareth plunged on through the pine trees after her and a serving-man came breaking through the black forest crying out, "they've bound my master and are throwing him into the lake!" "lead and i follow," cried gareth to lynette, and she led, plunging into the pine trees until they came upon a hollow sinking away into a lake, where six tall men up to their thighs in reeds and bulrushes were dragging a seventh man with a stone about his neck toward the water to drown him. gareth sprang upon three and stilled them with his doughty blows, but three scurried away through the trees; then gareth loosened the stone from the gentleman and set him on his feet. he proved to be a baron and a friend of arthur and asked gareth what he could do to show his gratitude for the saving of his life. gareth said he would like a night's shelter for the lady who was with him. so they rode over toward the graceful manor house where the baron lived, and as they rode he said to gareth. "i believe you are of the table," meaning that gareth was a knight of the round table. "yes, he is of the table after his own fashion," lynette laughed, "for he serves in arthur's kitchen." and turning toward gareth she added, "do not imagine that i admire you the more for having routed these miserable cowardly foresters; any thresher with his flail could have done that." and when they were seated at the baron's table, gareth by lynette's side, she cried out to their host, "it seems dreadfully rude in you, lord baron, to place this knave beside me. listen to me: i went to king arthur's court to ask for sir lancelot to come to help my sister, and as i ended my plea, up bawls this kitchen boy: 'mine's the quest.' and arthur goes mad and sends me this fellow who was made to kill pigs and not redress the wrongs of women." so gareth was seated at another table and the baron came to him and asked him whether it might not be better for him to relinquish his quest, but the lad replied that the king had given it to him and he would carry it through. the next morning he said again to proud lynette, "lead and i follow." but the maiden responded, "we are almost at the place where one of the knaves is stationed. don't you want to go home? he will slay you and then i'll go back to arthur and shame him for giving me a knight from his kitchen cinders." "just let me fight," cried gareth, "and i'll have as good luck as little cinderella who married the prince." so they came to the first coil of the river and on the other side saw a rich white pavilion with a purple dome and a slender crimson flag fluttering above. the lawless sir morning-star paced up and down outside. "damsel, is this the knight you've brought me?" he shouted. "not a knight, but a knave. the king scorned you so he sent some one from his kitchen." "come daughters of the dawn and arm me!" cried sir morning-star, and three bare-footed, bare-headed maidens in pink and gold dresses brought him a blue coat of mail and a blue shield. "a kitchen knave in scorn of me!" roared the blue knight. "i won't fight him. go home, knave! it isn't proper for you to be riding abroad with a lady." "dog, you lie! i'm sprung from nobler lineage than you," and saying this, gareth sprang fiercely at his adversary who met him in the middle of the bridge. the two spears were hurled so harshly that both knights were thrown from their horses like two stones but up they leaped instantly. gareth drew forth his sword and drove his enemy back down the bridge and laid him at his feet. "i yield," sir morning-star cried, "don't kill me." "your life is in the hands of this lady," gareth replied. "if she asks me to spare you i will." "scullion!" lynette cried, reddening with shame. "do you suppose i will ask a favor of you?" "then he dies," and gareth was about to slay the wounded knight when lynette screamed and told him he ought not to think of killing a man of nobler birth than himself. so gareth said, "knight, your life is spared at this lady's command. go to king arthur's court and tell him that his kitchen knave sent you, and crave his pardon for breaking his laws." "i thought the smells of the odors of the kitchen grew fainter while you were fighting on the bridge," lynette remarked to gareth as he took his place behind her and told her to lead, "but now they are as strong as ever." so they rode on until they arrived at the second loop of the river where the knight of the noonday-sun flared with his burning shield that blazed so violently that gareth saw scarlet blots before his eyes as he turned away from it. "here's a kitchen knave from arthur's hall who has overthrown your brother," lynette called across the river to him. "ugh!" returned sir noonday-sun, raising his visor to reveal his round foolish face like a cipher, and with that he pushed his horse into the foaming stream. gareth met him midway and struck him four blows of his sword. as he was about to deal the fifth stroke the horse of the noonday-sun slipped and the stream washed his dazzling master away. gareth plucked him out of the water and sent him back to king arthur. "lead and i follow," he said to lynette. "do not fancy," she rejoined, as she guided him toward the third passing of the river, "that i thought you bold or brave when you overcame sir noonday-sun; he just slipped on the river-bed. here we are at the third fool in the allegory, sir evening-star. you see he looks naked but he is only wrapped in hardened skins that fit him like his own. they will turn the blade of your sword." "never mind," gareth said, "the wind may turn again and the kitchen odors grow faint." then lynette called to the evening-star: "both of your brothers have gone down before this youth and so will you. aren't you old?" "old with the strength of twenty boys," said sir evening-star. "old in boasting," gareth cried, "but the same strength that slew your brothers can slay you." then the evening-star blew a deadly note upon his horn and a storm-beaten, russet, grizzly old woman came out and armed him in a quantity of dingy weapons. the two knights clashed together on the bridge and gareth brought the evening-star groveling in a minute to his feet on his knees. but the other vaulted up again so quickly that gareth panted and half despaired of winning the victory. then lynette cried: "well done, knave; you are as noble as any knight. now do not shame me; i said you would win. strike! strike! and the wind will change again." gareth struck harder, he hewed great pieces of armor from the old knight, but clashed in vain with his sword against the hard skin, until at last he lashed the evening-star's sword and broke it at the hilt. "i have you now!" he shouted, but the cowardly knight of the evening-star writhed his arms about the lad till gareth was almost strangled. yet straining himself to the uttermost he finally _tossed his foe headlong over the side of the bridge_ to sink or to swim as the waves allowed. "lead and i follow," gareth said to lynette. "no, it is lead no longer," the maiden replied. "ride beside me the knightliest of all kitchen knaves. sir i am ashamed that i have treated you so. pardon me. i do wonder who you are, you knave." "you are not to blame for anything," gareth said, "except for your mistrusting of the king when he sent you some one to defend you. you said what you thought and i answered by my actions." at that moment he heard the hoofs of a horse clattering in the road behind him. "stay!" cried a knight with a veiled shield, "i have come to avenge my friend, sir kay." gareth turned, and in a thrice had closed in upon the stranger, but when he felt the touch of the stranger knight's magical spear, which was the wonder of the world he fell to the earth. as he felt the grass in his hands he burst into laughter. [illustration: tossed his foe over the side of the bridge.] "why do you laugh?" asked lynette. "because here am i, the son of old king lot and good queen bellicent, the victor of the three bridges, and a knight of arthur's thrown by no one knows whom." "i have come to help you and not harm you," said the strange knight, revealing himself. it was lancelot, whom king arthur had sent to keep a guardian eye upon young gareth in this his first quest, to prevent him from being killed or taken away. "and why did you refuse to come when i wanted you, and now come just in time to shame my poor defender just when i was beginning to feel proud of him?" asked lynette. "but he isn't shamed," lancelot answered. "what knight is not overthrown sometimes? by being defeated we learn to overcome, so hail prince and knight of our round table!" "you did well gareth, only you and your horse were a little weary." [illustration: she tended him as gently as a mother.] lynette led them into a glen and a cave where they found pleasant drinks and meat, and where gareth fell asleep. "you have good reason to feel sleepy," cried lynette. "sleep soundly and wake strong." _and she tended him as gently as a mother_, and watched over him carefully as he slept. when gareth woke lancelot gave him his own horse and shield to use in fighting the last awful outlaw, but as they drew near lynette clutched at the shield and pleaded with him: "give it back to lancelot," said she. "o curse my tongue that was reviling you so today. he must do the fighting now. you have done wonders, but you cannot do miracles. you have thrown three men today and that is glory enough. you will get all maimed and mangled if you go on now when you are tired. there, i vow you must not try the fourth." but gareth told her that her sharp words during the day had just spurred him on to do his best and he said he must not now leave his quest until he had finished. so lancelot advised him how best to manage his horse and his lance, his sword and his shield when meeting a foe that was stouter than himself, winning with fineness and skill where he lacked in strength. but gareth replied that he knew but one rule in fighting and that was to dash against his foe and overcome him. "heaven help you," cried lynette, and she made her palfrey halt. "there!" they were facing the camp of the knight of death. there was a huge black pavilion, a black banner and a black horn. gareth blew the horn and heard hollow tramplings to and fro and muffled voices. then on a night-black horse, in night-black arms rode forth the dread warrior. a white breast-bone showed in front. he spoke not a word which made him the more fearful. "fool!" shouted gareth sturdily. "people say that you have the strength of ten men; can't you trust to it without depending on these toggeries and tricks?" but the knight of death said nothing. lady lyonors at her castle window wept, and one of her maids fainted away, and gareth felt his head prickling beneath his helmet and lancelot felt his blood turning cold. every one stood aghast. then the chargers bounded forward and gareth struck death to the ground. drawing out his sword he split apart the vast skull; one half of it fell to the right and one half to the left. then he was about to strike at the helmet when out of it peeped the face of a blooming young boy, as fresh as a flower. "o knight!" cried the laddie. "do not kill me. my three brothers made me do it to make a horror all about the castle. they never dreamed that anyone could pass the bridges." then lady lyonors with all her house had a great party of dancing and revelry and song and making merry because the hideous knight of death that had terrified them so was only a pretty little boy. and there was mirth over gareth's victorious quest. and some people say that gareth married lynette, but others who tell the story later say he wedded with lyonors. the marriage of geraint. king arthur had come to the old city of caerleon on the river usk to hold his court, and was sitting high in his royal hall when a woodman, all bedraggled with the mists of the forests came tripping up in haste before his throne. "o noble king," he cried, "today i saw a wonderful deer, a hart all milky white running through among the trees, and, nothing like it has ever been seen here before." the king, who loved the chase, was very pleased and immediately gave orders that the royal horns should be blown for all the court to go a hunting after the beautiful white deer the following morning. queen guinevere wished to go with them to watch the hounds and huntsmen and dancing horses in the chase. she slept late, however, the next day with her pleasant dreams, and arthur with his knights of the round table had sped gloriously away on their snorting chargers when she arose, called one of her maids to come with her, mounted her palfrey and forded the river usk to pass over by the forest. [illustration: a woodman all bedraggled came in haste before his throne.] there they climbed up on a little knoll and stood listening for the hounds, but instead of the barking of the king's dogs they heard the sound of a horse's hoofs trampling behind them. it was prince geraint's charger as he flashed over the shallow ford of the river, then galloped up the banks of the knoll to her side. he carried not a single weapon except his golden-hilted sword and wore, not his hunting-dress, but gay holiday silks with a purple scarf about him swinging an apple of gold at either end and glancing like a dragon-fly. he bowed low to the sweet, stately queen. "you're late, very late, sir prince," said she, "later even than we." "yes, noble queen," replied geraint, "i'm so late that i'm not going to the hunt; i've come like you just to watch it." "then stay with me," the queen said, "for here on this little knoll, if anywhere, you will have a good chance to see the hounds, often they dash by at its very feet." so geraint stood by the queen, thinking he would catch particularly the baying of cavall, arthur's loudest dog, which would tell him that the hunters were coming. as they waited however, along the base of the knoll, came a knight, a lady and a dwarf riding slowly by on their horses. the knight wore his visor up showing his imperious and very haughty young face. the dwarf lagged behind. "that knight doesn't belong to the round table, does he?" asked the queen. "i don't know him." "no, nor i," replied geraint. so the queen sent her maid over to the dwarf to find out the name of his master. but the dwarf was old and crotchety and would not tell her. "then i'll ask your master himself," cried the maid. "no, indeed, you shall not!" cried the dwarf, "you are not fit even to speak of him," and as the girl turned her horse to approach the proud young knight, the misshapen little dwarf of a servant struck at her with his whip, and she came scampering back indignantly to the queen. [illustration: he struck out his whip and cut the prince's cheek.] "i'll learn his name for you," geraint exclaimed, and he rode off sharply. but the impudent dwarf answered just as before and when prince geraint moved on toward his master he struck out his whip and cut the prince's cheek so that the blood streamed upon the purple scarf dyeing it red. instantly geraint reached for the hilt of his sword to strike down the vicious little midget but then remembering that he was a prince and disdaining to fight with a dwarf, he did not even say a word, but cantered back to queen guinevere's side. "noble queen," he cried fiercely. "i am going to avenge this insult that has been done you. i'll track these vermin to the earth. for even although i am riding unarmed just now, as we go along i will come to some place where i can borrow weapons or hire them. and then when i have my man i'll fight him, and on the third day from today i'll be back again unless i die in the fight. so good-bye, farewell." "farewell, handsome prince," the queen answered. "good fortune in your quest and may you live to marry your first love whoever that may be. but whether she will be a princess or a beggar from the hedgerows, before you wed with her bring her back to me and i will robe her for her wedding day." prince geraint bowed and with that he was off. one minute he thought he heard the noble milk-white deer brought to bay by the dogs, the next he thought he heard the hunter's horn far away and felt a little vexed to think he must be following this stupid dwarf while all the others were at the chase. but he had determined to avenge the queen and up and down the grassy glades and valleys pursued the three enemies until at last at sundown they emerged from the forest, climbed up on the ridge of a hill where they looked like shadows against the dark sky, then sank again on the other side. below on the other side of the ridge ran the long street of a clamoring little town in a long valley, on one side a new white fortress and on the other, across a ravine and a bridge, a fallen old castle in decay. the knight, the lady and the dwarf rode on to the white fortress, then vanished within its walls. "there!" cried geraint, "now i have him! i have tracked him to his hole, and tomorrow when i'm rested i'll fight him." then he turned wearily down the long street of the noisy village to look for his night's lodging, but he found every inn and tavern crowded, and everywhere horses in the stables were being shod and young fellows were busy burnishing their master's armor. "what does all this hubbub mean?" asked geraint of one of these youths. the lad did not stop his work one instant, but went on scouring and replied, "it's the sparrow-hawk." as prince geraint did not know what was meant by the sparrow-hawk he trotted a little farther along the street until he came to a quiet old man trudging by with a sack of corn on his back. "why is your town so noisy and busy to-night, good old fellow?" he cried. "ugh! the sparrow-hawk!" the old fellow said gruffly. so the prince rode his horse yet a little farther until he saw an armor-maker's shop. the armor-maker sat inside with his back turned, all doubled over a helmet which he was riveting together upon his knee. "armorer," cried geraint, "what is going on? why is there such a din?" the man did not pause in his riveting even to turn about and face the stranger, but said quickly as if to finish speaking as rapidly as he could, "friend, the people who are working for the sparrow-hawk have no time for idle questions." at this geraint flashed up angrily. "a fig for your sparrow-hawk! i wish all the bits of birds of the air would peck him dead. you imagine that this little cackle in your baby town is all the noise and murmur of the great world. what do i care about it? it is nothing to me. listen to me, now, if you are not gone hawk-mad like the rest, where can i get a lodging for the night, and more than that, where can i get some arms, arms, arms, to fight my enemy? tell me." the hurrying armor-maker looked about in amazement to see this gorgeous cavalier in purple silks standing before his bit of a shop. "o pardon me, stranger knight," said he very politely. "we are holding a great tournament here tomorrow morning and there is hardly any time to do one-half the work that has to be finished before then. arms, did you say? indeed i cannot tell you where to get any; all that there are in this town are needed for to-morrow in the lists. and as for lodging, i don't know unless perhaps at earl yniol's in the old castle across the bridge." then he again picked up his helmet and turned his back to the prince. so geraint, still a wee mite vexed, rode over the bridge that spanned the ravine, to go to the ruined castle. there upon the farther side sat the hoary-headed earl yniol, dressed in some magnificent shabby old clothes which had been fit for a king's parties when they were new. "where are you going, son?" he queried of geraint, waking from his reveries and dreaminess. "o friend, i'm looking for some shelter for the night," geraint replied. "come in then," yniol said, "and accept of my hospitality. our house was rich once and now it is poor, but it always keeps its door open to the stranger." "oh, anything will do for me," cried geraint. "if only you won't serve me sparrow-hawks for my supper i'll eat with all the passion of a whole day's fast." the old earl smiled and sighed as he rejoined, "i have more serious reason than you to curse this sparrow-hawk. but go in and we will not have a word about him even jokingly unless you wish it." whereupon geraint passed into the desolate castle court, where the stones of the pavement were all broken and overgrown with wild plants, and the turrets and walls were shattered. as he stood awaiting the earl yniol, the voice of a young girl singing like a nightingale rang out from one of the open castle windows. it was the voice of enid, earl yniol's daughter as she sang the song of fortune and her wheel: "turn, fortune, thy wheel with smile or frown, with that wild wheel we go not up or down; our hoard is little, but our hearts are great." "the song of that little bird describes the nest she lives in," cried earl yniol approaching. "enter." geraint alighted from his charger and stepped within the large dusky cobwebbed hall, where an aged lady sat, with enid moving about her, like a little flower in a wilted sheath of a faded silk gown. "enid, the good knight's horse is standing in the court," cried the earl. "take him to the stall and give him some corn, then go to town and buy us some meat and wine." [illustration: geraint stepped within the dusky cobwebbed hall.] geraint wished that he might do this servant's work instead of this pretty young lady, but as he started to follow her the old gray earl stopped him. "we're old and poor," he said, "but not so poor and old as to let our guests wait upon themselves." so enid fetched the wine and the meat and the cakes and the bread; and she served at the table while her mother, father and geraint sat around. geraint wished that he might stoop to kiss her tender little thumb as it held the platter when she laid it down. [illustration: enid fetched the wine and the meat and the cakes.] "fair host and earl," he said after his refreshing supper, "who is this sparrow-hawk that everybody in the town is talking about? and yet i do not wish you to give me his name, for perhaps he is the knight i saw riding into the new fortress the other side of the bridge at the other end of the town. his name i am going to have from his own lips, for i am geraint of devon. this morning when the queen sent her maid to find out his name he struck at the girl with his whip, and i've sworn vengeance for such a great insult done our queen, and have followed him to his hold, and as soon as i can get arms i will fight him." "and are you the renowned geraint?" cried earl yniol beaming. "well, as soon as i saw you coming toward me on the bridge i knew that you were no ordinary man. by the state and presence of your bearing i might have guessed you to be one of arthur's knights of the round table at camelot. pray do not suppose that i am flattering you foolishly. this dear child of mine has often heard me telling glorious stories of all the famous things you have done for the king and the people. and she has asked me to repeat them again and again. "poor thing, there never has lived a woman with such miserable lovers as she has had. the first was limours, who did nothing but drink and brawl, even when he was making love to her. and the second was the 'sparrow-hawk,' my nephew, my curse. i will not let his name slip from me if i can help it. when i told him that he could not marry my daughter he spread a false rumour all round here among the people that his father had left him a great sum of money in my keeping and that i had never passed it over to him but had retained it for myself. he bribed all my servants with large promises and stirred up this whole little old town of mine against me, my own town. that was the night of enid's birthday nearly three years ago. they sacked my house, ousted me from my earldom, threw us into this dilapidated, dingy old place and built up that grand new white fort. he would kill me if he did not despise me too much to do so; and sometimes i believe i despise myself for letting him have his way. i scarcely know whether i am very wise or very silly, very manly or very base to suffer it all so patiently." "well said," cried geraint eagerly. "but the arms, the arms, where can i get arms for myself? then if the sparrow-hawk will fight tomorrow in the tourney i may be able to bring down his terrible pride a little." "i have arms," said yniol, "although they are old and rusty, prince geraint, and you would be welcome to have them for the asking. but in this tournament of tomorrow no knight is allowed to tilt unless the lady he loves best come there too. the forks are fastened into the meadow ground and over them is placed a silver wand, above that a golden sparrow-hawk, the prize of beauty for the fairest woman there. and whoever wins in the tourney presents this to the lady-love whom he has brought with him. since my nephew is a man of very large bone and is clever with his lance he has always won it for his lady. that is how he has earned his title of sparrow-hawk. but you have no lady so you will not be able to fight." then geraint leaned forward toward the earl. "with your leave, noble earl yniol," he replied, "i will do battle for your daughter. for although i have seen all the beauties of the day never have i come upon anything so wonderfully lovely as she. if it should happen that i prove victor, as true as heaven, i will make her my wife!" yniol's heart danced in his bosom for joy, and he turned about for enid, but she had fluttered away as soon as her name had been mentioned, so he tenderly grasped the hands of her mother in his own and said: "mother, young girls are shy little things and best understood by their own mothers. before you go to rest to night, find out what enid will think about this." so the earl's wife passed out to speak with enid, and enid became so glad and excited that she could not sleep the entire happy night long. but very early the next morning, as soon as the pale sky began to redden with the sun she arose, then called her mother, and hand in hand, tripped over with her to the place of the tournament. there they awaited for yniol and geraint. geraint came wearing the earl's rusty, worn old arms, yet in spite of them looked stately and princely. many other knights in blazing armor gathered there for the jousts, with many fine ladies, and by and by the whole town full of people flooded in, settling in a circle around the lists. then the two forks were fixed into the earth, above them a wand of silver was laid, and over it the golden sparrow-hawk. the trumpet was blown and yniol's nephew rose and spoke: "come forward, my lady," he cried to the maiden who had come with him. "fairest of the fair, take the prize of beauty which i have won for you during the past two years." "stay!" prince geraint cried loudly. "there is a worthier beauty here." the earl's nephew looked round with surprise and disdain to see his uncle's family and the prince. "do battle for it then," he shouted angrily. geraint sprang forward and the tourney was begun. three times the two warriors clashed together. _three times they broke their spears._ then both were thrown from their horses. they now drew their swords; and with them lashed at one another so frequently and with such dreadfully hard strokes that all the crowd wondered. now and again from the distant walls came the sounds of applause, like the clapping of phantom hands. the perspiration and the blood flowed together down the strong bodies of the combatants. each was as sturdy as the other. [illustration] "remember the great insult done our queen!" earl yniol cried at last. this so inflamed geraint that he heaved his vast sword-blade aloft, cracked through his enemy's helmet, bit into the bone of his head, felled the haughty knight, and set his feet upon his breast. "your name!" demanded geraint. "edryn, the son of nudd," groaned the fallen warrior. "very well, then edryn, the son of nudd," returned geraint, "you must do these two things or else you will have to die. first, you with your lady and your dwarf must ride to arthur's court at caerleon and crave their pardon for the insult you did the queen yesterday morning, and you must bide her decree in the punishment she awards you. secondly, you must give back the earldom to your uncle the earl of yniol. you will do these two things or you die." "i will do them," cried edryn. "for never before was i ever overcome. but now all of my pride is broken down, for enid has seen me fall." with that edryn rose from the ground like a man, took his lady and the dwarf on their horses to arthur's court. there receiving the sweet forgiveness of the queen, he became a true knight of the round table, and at the last died in battle while he fought for his king. but geraint when the tourney was over and he had come back to the castle, drew enid aside to tell her that early the next morning he would have to start for caerleon and that she should be ready to ride away with him to be married at the court with tremendous pomp. for that would be three days after the king's chase, when the prince had promised queen guinevere he would be back. but of that he did not speak to enid, who wondered why he was so bent on returning immediately, and why she could not have time at home to prepare herself some pretty robes to wear. imagine, she thought, such a grand and frightful thing as a court, the queen's court, with all the graceful ladies staring at her in that faded old silk dress! and although she promised geraint that she would go as he wished, when she woke to the dread day for making her appearance at court, she still yearned that he would only stay yet a little while so that she could sew herself some clothes, that she had the flowered silk which her mother had given her three years ago for her birthday and which edryn's men had robbed from her when they sacked the house and scattered everything she ever owned to all the winds. how she wished that handsome geraint had known her then, those three years ago when she wore so many pretty dresses and jewels! but while she lay dreamily thinking, softly in trod her mother bearing on her arm a gorgeous, delicate robe. "do you recognize it, child?" she cried. it was that self-same birthday dress, three years old, but as beautiful as new and never worn. "yesterday after the jousts your father went through all the town from house to house and ordered that all sack and plunder which the men had taken from us should be brought back, for he was again to be in his earldom. so last evening while you were talking with the prince some one came up from the town and placed this in my hands. i did not tell you about it then for i wished to keep it as a sweet surprise for you this morning. and it is a sweet surprise, isn't it? for although the prince yesterday did say that you were the fairest of the fair there is no handsome girl in the world but looks handsomer in new clothes than in old. and it would have been a shame for you to go to the court in your poor old faded silk which you have worn so long and so patiently. the great ladies there might say that prince geraint had plucked up some ragged robin from the hedges." [illustration: bearing a gorgeous robe.] so enid was put into the fine flowered robe. her mother said that after she had gone to the queen's court, she, the poor old mother at home, who was too feeble to journey so far with her daughter, would think over and over again of her pretty princess at camelot. and the old gray earl yniol went in to tell geraint of enid's fanciful apparel. but geraint was not delighted with the magnificence. "say to her," he answered the earl, "that by all my love for her, although i give her no other reason, i entreat enid to wear that faded old silk dress of hers and no other." this amazing and hard message from geraint made poor little enid's face fall like a meadowful of corn blasted by a rainstorm. still she willingly laid aside her gold finery for his sake, slipped into the faded silk, and pattered down the steps to meet geraint. he scanned her so eagerly from her tip to her toe that both her rosy cheeks burned like flames. then as he noted her mother's clouded face he said very kindly: "my new mother don't be very angry, or grieved with your new son because of what i have just asked enid to do. i had a very good reason for it and i will explain it all to you. the other day when i left the queen at caerleon to avenge the insult done her by edryn, the son of nudd, she made me two wishes. the one was that i should be successful with my quest and the other was that i should wed with my first love. then she promised that whoever my bride should be she herself with her own royal hands would dress her for her wedding day, splendidly, like the very sun in the skies. so when i found this lovely enid of yours in her shabby clothes i vowed that the queen's hands only should array her in handsome new robes that befitted her grace and beauty. but never mind, dear mother, some day you will come to see enid and then she will wear the golden, flowered birthday dress which you gave her three years ago." then the earl's wife smiled through her tears, wrapped enid in a mantle, kissed her gentle farewells, and in a moment saw her riding far, far away beside geraint. the queen guinevere that day had three times climbed the royal tower at caerleon to look far into the valley for some sign of geraint, who had promised to be back that day, if he did not fall in battle, and who would certainly come now, since edryn had been vanquished and had come to the court. at last when evening had fallen she spied the prince's charger pacing nobly along the road, and enid's palfrey at his side. instantly queen guinevere sped down from the small window in the high turret, tripped out to the gate to greet him and embrace the lovely enid as a long-loved friend. the old city of caerleon was gay for one whole week, over the wedding week of geraint and enid. the queen herself dressed enid for her marriage like the very sunlight, dubric, the highest saint of the church, married them, and they lived for nearly a year at the court with arthur and sweet guinevere. and so the insult done the queen was avenged, and her two wishes were fulfilled. for geraint overcame his enemy and wedded with his first-love, dressed for her marriage by the queen. geraint's quest of honor. one morning prince geraint went into arthur's hall and said: "o king, my princedom is in danger. it lies close to the territory which is infested with bandits, earls and caitiff knights, assassins and all sorts of outlaws. give me your kind good leave and i will go there to defend my lands." the king said the prince might go, and sent fifty armed knights to protect him and pretty enid as they traveled away on their horses across the severn river into their own country, the land of devon. after geraint had come into devon he forgot what he had said to the king of ridding his princedom of outlawry, he forgot the chase where he had always been so clever in tracking his game, forgot the tournament where he had won victory after victory, forgot all his former glory and his name, forgot his lands and their cares, forgot everything he ever did, and did nothing at all but lie about at home and talk with enid. at last all his people began to gossip about their fine prince who once had been illustrious everywhere and now had become an idle stay-at-home who spent his time in making love to his wife. [illustration: enid heard of geraint from her hair-dresser.] enid heard of the tattling about geraint from her hair-dresser, and one morning as he lay abed, she went over it all to herself, talking aloud. she wished, that he would not abandon all his knightly pursuits but would hunt and fight again and add to his lustre. she felt very bashful about mentioning the matter to him as she was very shy by nature and lived in a time when wives were altogether over-ruled by their husbands, yet to say nothing she thought would not be showing herself a true wife to geraint. all this and more enid went over to herself. the drowsy prince, half awake, just half heard her and quite misunderstood her meaning. when she said that in keeping quiet about the gossip she was not a true wife to him he supposed she meant that she no longer cared for him, that he was not a handsome and strong enough man to suit her. this grieved him deeply and made him very angry with her, for geraint had really given up all the glory of the king's court just to be alone with enid, although no one knew it. and the thought that now she looked down upon him infuriated all his heart. a word would have made everything right but he didn't say it. springing up quickly from his bed he roused his squire and said, "get ready our horses, my charger and the princess' palfrey. and you," turning a frowning face to the princess, "put on the worst looking, meanest, poorest dress you have and come away with me. we are going on a quest of honor and then you will see what sort of soldier i am." enid wondered why her lord was so vexed with her and replied, "if i have displeased you surely you will tell me why." but geraint would not say; he could not bear to speak of it. so enid hurried after her poor old faded silk gown with the summer flowers among its folds, which she had worn to ride from her old home to caerleon, and hastily dressed. "do not ride at my side," geraint said as they both mounted their horses to start away. "ride ahead of me, a good way ahead of me, and no matter what may happen, do not speak a word to me, no not a word." enid listened, wondering what had come over her lord. "there!" he cried as they were off, "we will make our way along with our iron weapons, not with gold money." so saying, he loosed the great purse which dangled from his belt and tossed it back to his squire who stood on the marble threshold of the doorway where the golden coins flashed and clattered as they scattered every which-way over the floor. "now then, enid, to the wild woods!" at that they made for the swampy, desolated forest lands that were famous for their perilous paths and their bandits, enid with a white face going before, geraint coming gloomily nearly a quarter of a mile after. the morning was only half begun when the white princess became aware that behind a rock hiding in the shadow stood three tall knights on horseback, armed from tip to toe, bandit outlaws lying in wait to fall upon whoever should pass. she heard one saying to his comrades as he pointed toward geraint: "look here comes some lazy-bones who seems just about as bold as a dog who has had the worst of it in a fight. come, we will kill him, and then we will take his horse and armor and his lady." enid thought, "i'll go back a little way to geraint and tell him about these ruffians, for even if it will madden him i should rather have him kill me than to have him fall into their hands." she guided her palfrey backward and bravely met the frowning face which greeted her, saying timidly: "my lord, there are three bandit knights behind a rock a little way beyond us who are boasting that they will slay you and steal your horse and armor and make me their captive." "did i tell you," cried geraint angrily, "that you should warn me of any danger. there was only one thing which i told you to do and that was to keep quiet; and this is the way you have heeded me! a pretty way! but win or lose, you shall see by these fellows that my vigor is not lost." then enid stood back as the three outlaws flashed out of their ambush and bore down upon the prince. geraint aimed first for the middle one, driving his long spear into the bandit's breast and out on the other side. the two others in the meanwhile had dashed upon him with their lances, but they had broken on his magnificent armor like so many icicles. he now turned upon them with his broadsword, swinging it first to the right and then to the left, first stunning them with his blows, then slaying them outright. and when all three had fallen he dismounted, and like a hunter skinning the wild beasts he has shot, he stripped the three robber knights of their gay suits of armor, and leaving the bodies lie, bound each man's sword, spear and coat of arms to his horse, tied the three bridle reins of the three empty horses together and cried to enid. "drive these on before you." enid drove them on across the wastelands, geraint following after. as she passed into the first shallow shade of the forest she described three more horsemen partly hidden in the gloom of three sturdy oak-trees. all were armed and one was a veritable giant, so tall and bulky, towering above his companions. [illustration: the three outlaws bore down upon the prince.] "see there, a prize!" bellowed the giant and set enid's pulses in a quiver. "three horses and three suits of armor, and all in charge of--whom? a girl! isn't that simple? lay on, my men!" "no," cried the second, "behind is coming a knight. a coward and a fool, for see how he hangs his head." the giant thundered back gaily. "yes? only one? wait here and as he goes by make for him." "i will go no farther until geraint comes," enid said to herself stopping her horse. "and then i will tell him about these villains. he must be so weary with his other fight and they will fall upon him unawares. i shall have to disobey him again for his own sake. how could i dare to obey him and let him be harmed? i must speak; if he kills me for it i shall only have lost my own life to save a life that is dearer to me than my own." so she waited until the prince approached when she said with a timid firmness, "have i your leave to speak?" "you take it without asking when you speak," he replied, and she continued: "there are three men lurking in the woods behind some oaks and one of them is larger than you, a perfect giant. he told them to attack you as you passed by them." "if there were a hundred men in the wood and each of them a giant and if they all made for me together i vow it would not anger me so as to have you disobey me. stand aside while we do battle and when we are done stand by the victor." at this, while enid fell back breathing short fits of prayer but not daring to watch, geraint proceeded to meet his assailants. the giant was the first to dash out for him aiming his lance at geraint's helmet, but the lance missed and went to one side. geraint's spear had been a little strained with his first encounter, but it struck through the bulky giant's corselet and pierced his breast, then broke, one-half of it still fast in the flesh as the giant knight fell to the earth. the other two bandits now felt that their support and hero was gone, and when geraint darted rapidly on them, uttering his terrible warcry as if there were a thousand men behind him to come to his aid, they flew into the woods. but they were soon overtaken and pitilessly put to death. then geraint, selecting the best lance, the brightest and strongest among their spears to replace the one he had broken on the giant, he plucked off the gaudy armor from each brigand's body, laid it on the backs of the three horses, tied the bridle reins together and handed them to enid with the words, "drive them on before you." so enid now followed the wild paths of the gloomy forest with two sets of three horses, each horse laden with his master's jingling weapons and coat of mail. geraint came after. as they passed out of the wood into the open sky they came to a little town with towers upon a rocky hill, and beneath it a wide meadowland with mowers in it, mowing the hay. down a stony pathway from the town skipped a fair-haired lad carrying a basket of lunch for the laborers in the field. "friend!" cried geraint, as the lad trotted past him, for he saw that enid looked very white, "let my lady have something to eat. she is so faint." "willingly," the youth answered, "and you too, my lord, even although this feed is very coarse and only fit for the mowers." he set down his basket and enid and geraint alighted and put all the horses to graze, while they sat down on the green sward to have some bread and barley. enid felt too faint at heart, thinking of the prince's strange conduct, to care a great deal for food, but geraint was hungry enough and had all the mowers' basket emptied almost before he knew it. "boy," he cried half-ashamed, "everything is gone, which is a disgrace. but take one of my horses and his arms by way of payment, choose the very best." the poor lad, who might as well have had a kingdom given him, reddened with his extreme surprise and delight. "my lord, you are over-paying me fifty times," he cried. "you will be all the wealthier then," returned the prince, gaily. "i'll take it as free gift, then," the lad answered. "the food is not worth much. while your lady is resting here i can easily go back and fetch more, some more for the earl's mowers. for all these mowers belong to our great earl, and all these fields are his, and i am his, too. i'll tell him what a fine man you are, and he will have you to his palace and serve you with costly dinners." "i wish no better fare than i have had," geraint said, "i never ate better in my life than just now when i left your poor mowers dinnerless. and i will go into no earl's palace. if he desires to see me, let him come to me. now you go hire us some pleasant room in the town, stall our horses and when you return with the food for these men tell us about it." "yes, my kind lord," the glad youth cried, and he held his head high and thought he was a gorgeous knight off to the wars as he disappeared up the rocky path leading his handsome horse. the prince turned himself sleepily to watch the lusty mowers laboring under the sun as it blazed on their scythes, while enid plucked the long grass by the meadows' edge to weave it round and round her wedding ring, until the boy returned and showed them the room he had got in the town. "if you wish anything, call the woman of the house," prince geraint said to enid as the door closed behind them. "do not speak to me." "yes, my lord," returned enid, still marvelling at his cold ways. silently they sat down, she at one end, he at the other, as quiet as pictures. but suddenly a mass of voices sounded up the street, and heel after heel echoing upon the pavement. in a twinkling the door to their room was pushed back to the wall while a mob of boisterous young gentlemen tumbled in led by the earl of limours, the wild lord of the town, and enid's old suitor whom her father had rejected long ago, a man as beautiful as a woman and very graceful. he seized the prince's hand warmly, welcomed him to the town and stealthily, out of the corner of his eye, caught a glimpse of unhappy enid nestled all alone at the farther end of the room. the prince immediately sent for every sort of delicious things to eat and drink from the town, told the earl, to bid all his friends for a feast and soon was gaily making merry with the men, drinking, laughing, joking. "may i have your leave, my lord," cried earl limours, "to cross the room and speak a word with your lady who seems so lonely?" "my free leave," cried the merry prince geraint, who did not know the earl, "get her to speak with you; she has nothing to say to me." as limours stepped to enid's side he lifted his eyes adoringly, bowed at her side and said in a whisper: "enid, you pilot star of my life, i see that geraint is very unkind to you and loves you no longer. what a laughing stock he is making of you with that wretched old dress you have on! but i, i love you still as always. just say the word and i will have him put into the keep and you will come with me. i will be kind to you forever." the tears fluttered into the earl's eyes as he spoke. "earl," replied enid, "if you love me as you used to do in the years long ago, and are not joking now, come in the morning and take me by force from the prince. but leave me tonight. i am wearied to death." so the earl made a low bow, brandishing his plumes until they brushed his very insteps, while the stout prince bade him a loud good night, and he moved away talking to his men. [illustration: the earl made a low bow.] but as soon as he was gone enid began to plan how she could escape with geraint before earl limours should come after her in the morning. she was too afraid of geraint to speak with him about it, but when he had fallen asleep she stepped lightly about the room and gathered the pieces of his armor together in one place ready for an early departure on the morrow. then she dropped off into slumber. but suddenly she heard a loud sound, the earl with his wild following blowing his trumpet to call her to come out, she thought. but it was only the great red cock in the yard below crowing at the daylight which had begun to glimmer now across the heap of geraint's armor. she rose immediately in her fright to see that all was well, went over to examine the weapons and unwittingly let the casque fall jangling to the floor. this woke geraint, who started up and stared at her. "my lord," began enid, and then she told him all that earl limours had said to her and how she had put him off by telling him to come this morning. "call the woman of the house and tell her to bring the charger and the palfrey," geraint cried angrily. "your sweet face makes fools of good fellows." geraint loved enid still and he was in as great perplexity as she, for after misunderstanding what she had said he no more knew whether she cared for him truly than she knew what was troubling him and making him act in this unaccountable manner. enid slipped through the sleeping household like a ghost to deliver the prince's message to the landlord, hurried back to help geraint with his armor and came down with him to spring upon her palfrey. "what do i owe you, friends?" the prince asked his host, but before the man could reply he added "take those five horses and their burdens of arms." "my lord, i have scarcely spent the price of one of them on you!" cried the landlord astonished. "you'll have all the more riches then," the prince laughed, then turning to enid, "today i charge you more particularly than ever before that whatever you may see, hear, fancy or imagine, do not speak to me, but obey." "yes, my lord," answered enid, "i know your wish and should like to obey, but when i go riding ahead, i hear all the violent threats you do not hear and see the danger you cannot see, and then not to give you warning seems hard, almost beyond me. yet, i wish to obey you." "do so, then," said he. "do not be too wise, seeing that you are married, not to a clown but a strong man with arms to guard his own head and yours, too." the broad beaten path which they now took passed through toward the wasted lands bordering on the castle of earl doorm, the bull, as his people called him, because of his ferocity. it was still early morning when enid caught the sound of quantities of hoofs galloping up the road. turning round she saw cloudsful of dust and the points of lances sparkling in it. then, not to disobey the prince, yet to give him warning, she held up her finger and pointed toward the dust. geraint was pleased at her cunning, and immediately stopped his horse. the moment after, the earl of limours dashed in upon him on a charger as black and as stormy as a thunder-cloud. geraint closed with the earl, bore down on him with his spear, and in a minute brought him stunned or dead to the ground. then he turned to the next-comer after limours, overthrew him and blindly rushed back upon all the men behind. but they were so startled at the flash and movement of the prince that they scrambled away in a panic, leaving their leader lying on the public highway. the horses also of the fallen warriors whisked off from their wounded masters and wildly flew away to mix with the vanishing mob. "horse and man, all of one mind," remarked geraint, smiling, "not a hoof of them left. what do you say, enid, shall we strip the earl and pay for a dinner or shall we fast? fast? then go on and let us pray heaven to send us some earl of doorm's men so that we can earn ourselves something to eat." enid sadly eyed her bridle-reins and led the way, geraint coming after, scarcely knowing that he had been pricked by limours in his side, and that he was bleeding secretly beneath his armor. but at last his head and helmet began to wag unsteadily, and at a sudden swerving of the road he was tossed from his horse upon a bank of grass. enid heard the clashing of the fall, and too terrified to cry out, came back all pale. then she dismounted, loosed the fastenings of his armor and bound up his wounds with her veil. then she sat down desolately and began to cry, wondering what ever she should do. [illustration: enid sat down desolately and began to cry.] many men passed by but no one took any notice of her. for in that lawless, turbulent earldom no one minded a woman weeping for a murdered lover than they now mind a summer shower. one man scurrying as fast as ever he could travel toward the bandit earl's castle, drove the sand sweeping into her poor eyes, and another coming in the opposite direction from out the earl's castle park in seeming hot haste, turned all the long dusty road into a column of smoke behind him, and frightened her little palfrey so that it scoured off into the coppices and was lost. but the prince's charger stood beside them and grieved over the mishap like a man. at noon a huge warrior with a big face and russet beard and eyes rolling about in search of prey, came riding hard by with a hundred spearmen at his back all bound for some foray. it was the frightful earl doorm. "what, is he dead?" cried the earl loudly to enid, as he spied her on the wayside. "no, no, not dead," she quickly answered. "would some of your kind people take him up and bear him off somewhere out of this cruel sun? i am very sure, quite sure that he is not dead." "well, if he isn't dead, why should you cry for him so? dead or not dead, you just spoil your pretty face with idiotic tears. they will not help him. but since it is a pretty face, come fellows, some of you, and take him to our hall. if he lives he will be one of our band, and if not, why there is earth enough to bury him in. see that you take his charger, too, a noble one." and so saying, the rude earl passed on, while two brawny horsemen came forward growling to think they might lose their chance of booty from the morning's raid all for this dead man. they raised the prince upon a litter, laying him in the hollow of his shield, and brought him into the barren hall of doorm, while enid and the gentle charger followed after. they tossed him and his litter down on an oaken settle in the hall, and then shot away for the woods. enid sat through long hours all alone with geraint besides the oaken settle, propping his head and chafing his hands, but in the late afternoon she saw the huge earl doorm returning with his lusty spearmen and their plunder. each hurled down a heap of spoils on the floor, threw aside his lance and doffed his helmet, while a tribe of brightly gowned gentle-women fluttered into the hall and began to talk with them. earl doorm struck his knife against the table and bellowed for meat, and wine. in a moment the place fairly steamed and smoked with whole roast hogs and oxen, and everybody sat down in a hodge-podge and ate like cattle feeding in their stalls, while enid shrank far back startled, into her nook. but suddenly, when earl doorm had eaten all he would, and all he could for the moment, he revolved his eyes about the bare hall and caught a glimpse of the fair little lady drooping in her niche. then he recollected how she had crouched weeping by the roadside for her fallen lord that morning. a wild pity filled his gruff heart. "eat, eat!" he shouted. "i never before saw any thing so pale. be yourself. isn't your lord lucky, for were i dead who is there in all the world who would mourn for me? sweet lady, never have i ever seen a lily like you. if there were a bit of color living in your cheeks there is not one among my gentle-women here who would be fit to wear your slippers for gloves. but listen to me and you will share my earldom with me, girl, and we will live like two birds in a nest and i will bring you all sorts of finery from every part of the world to make you happy." as the earl spoke his two cheeks bulged with the two tremendous morsels of meat which he had tucked into his mouth. enid was more alarmed than ever. "how can i be happy over anything," replied she, "until my lord is well again?" the earl laughed, then plucked her up out of the corner, carried her over to the table, thrust a dish of food before her and held a horn of wine to her lips. "by all heaven," cried enid, "i will not drink until my lord gets up and drinks and eats with me. and if he will not rise again i will not drink any wine until i die." at this the earl turned perfectly red and paced up and down the hall, gnawing first his upper and then his lower lip. "girl," shouted he, "why wail over a man who shames your beauty so, by dressing it in that rag? put off those beggar-woman's weeds and robe yourself in this which my gentle-woman has brought you." it was a gorgeous, wonderful dress, colored in the tints of a shallow sea with the blue playing into the green, and gemmed with precious stones all down the front of it as thick as dewdrops on the grass. but enid was harder to move than any cold tyrant on his throne, and said: "earl, in this poor gown my dear lord found me first and loved me while i was living with my father; in this poor gown i rode with him to court and was presented to the queen; in this poor gown he bade me ride as we came out on this fatal quest of honor, and in this poor gown i am going to stay until he gets up again, a live, strong man, and tells me to put it away. i have griefs enough, pray be gentle with me, let me be. o god! i beg of your gentleness, since he is as he is, to let me be." then the brutal earl strode up and down the hall and cried out: "it is of no more use to be gentle with you than to be rough. so take my salute," and with that he slapped her lightly on her white cheek. enid shrieked. instantly the fallen geraint was up on his feet with the sword that had laid beside him in the hollow of the shield, making a single bound for the earl, and with one sweep of it sheared through the swarthy neck. the rolling eyes turned glassy, the russet-bearded head tumbled over the floor like a ball, and all the bandit knights and the gentle-women in the hall flitted, scampering pell-mell away, yelling as if they had seen a ghoul. enid and geraint were left alone. [illustration: the russet-bearded head tumbled over the floor like a ball.] now geraint had come out of his swoon before the earl had returned, and he had lain perfectly silent and immovable because he wished to test enid and see what she would do when she thought he was sleeping or fainted away, or perhaps dead. so he had listened to all that had taken place and had heard everything that earl doorm had said to her and all that enid had replied, so now he knew that she loved him as ever and that she stood steadfast by him. all his heart filled with pity and remorse that he had brought her away on this hard, hard quest, and had made her suffer so much and had been so rough and cold. "enid," said the prince tenderly, very tenderly. "i have used you worse than that big dead brute of a man used you. i have done you more wrong than he. i misunderstood you. now, now you are three times mine." geraint's kindness burst upon enid so abruptly and was so unforeseen that she could not speak a word only this: "fly, geraint, they will kill you, they will come back. fly. your horse is outside, my poor little thing is lost." "you shall ride behind me, then, enid." so they slipped quickly outside, found the stately charger and mounted him, first geraint, then enid, climbing up the prince's feet, and throwing her arms about him to hold herself firm as they bounded off. but as the horse dashed outside of the earl's gateway there before them in the highroad stood a knight of arthur's court holding his lance as if ready to spring upon geraint. "stranger!" shrieked enid, thinking of the prince's wound and loss of blood, "do not kill a dead man!" "the voice of enid!" cried the stranger knight. then enid saw that he was edryn, the son of nudd, and feeling the more terrified as she remembered the jousts, cried out: "o, cousin, this is the man who spared your life!" [illustration: before them in the highroad stood a knight of arthur's court.] edryn stepped forward. "my lord geraint," he said, "i took you for some bandit knight of doorm's. do not fear, enid, that i will attack the prince. i love him. when he overthrew me at the lists he threw me higher. for now i have been made a knight of the round table and am altogether changed. but since i used to know earl doorm in the old days when i was lawless and half a bandit myself, i have come as the mouthpiece of our king to tell doorm to disband all his men and become subject to arthur, who is now on his way hither." "doorm is now before the king of kings," geraint replied, "and his men are already scattered," and the prince pointed to groups in the thickets or still running off in their panic. then back to the people all aghast whom they could see huddling, he related fully to edryn how he had slain the huge earl in his own hall. [illustration: to the royal camp where arthur came out to greet them.] "come with me to the king," astonished edryn said. so they all traveled off to the royal camp where arthur himself came out to greet them, lifted enid from her saddle, kissed her and showed her a tent where his own physician came in to attend to geraint's wound. when that was healed he rode away with them to caerleon for a visit with queen guinevere, who dressed enid again in magnificent clothes. then fifty armed knights escorted enid and the prince as far as the banks of the severn river, where they crossed over into the land of devon. and all their people welcomed them back. geraint after that never forgot his princedom or the tournament, but was known through all the country round as the cleverest and bravest warrior, while his princess was called enid the good. merlin and vivien. vivien was a very clever, wily and wicked woman, who wanted to become a greater magician than even the great merlin, who was the most famous man of all his times, who understood all the arts, who had built the king's harbors, ships and halls, who was a fine poet and who could read the future in the stars in the skies. he had once told vivien of a charm that he could work to make people invisible. whenever he worked it upon anyone that person would seem to be imprisoned within the four walls of a tower and could not get out. the person would seem dead, lost to every one, and could be seen only by the person who worked the charm. vivien yearned to know what the charm was, for she wanted to cast its spell on merlin so that no one would know where he was and she could become a great enchantress in the realm, as she foolishly thought. and she planned very cleverly so as to find out the wise old man's secret. she wanted him to think that she loved him dearly. at first she played about him with lively, pretty talk, vivid smiles, and he watched and laughed at her as if she were a playful kitten. then as she saw that he half disdained her she began to put on very grave and serious fits, turned red and pale when he came near her, or sighed or gazed at him, so silently and with such sweet devotion that he half believed that she really loved him truly. [illustration: he laughed at her.] but after a while a great melancholy fell over merlin, he felt so terribly sad that he passed away out of the kings' court and went down to the beach. there he found a little boat and stepped into it. vivien had followed him without his knowing it. she sat down in the boat and while he took the sail she seized the helm of the boat. they were driven across the sea with a strong wind and came to the shores of brittany. here merlin got out and vivien followed him all the way into the wild woods of broceliande. every step of the way merlin was perfectly quiet. they sat down together, she lay beside him and kissed his feet as if in the deepest reverence and love. a twist of gold was wound round her hair, a priceless robe of satiny samite clung about her beautiful limbs. as she kissed his feet she cried: "trample me down, dear feet which i have followed all through the world and i will worship you. tread me down and i will kiss you for it." but merlin still said not a word. [illustration: merlin felt so terribly sad.] "merlin do you love me?" at last cried vivien, with her face sadly appealing to him. and again, "o, merlin, do you love me?" "great master, do you love me?" she cried for the third time. and then when he was as quiet as ever she writhed up toward him, slid upon his knee, twined her feet about his ankles, curved her arms about his neck and used one of her hands as a white comb to run through his long ashy beard which she drew all across her neck down to her knees. "see! i'm clothing myself with wisdom," she cried. "i'm a golden summer butterfly that's been caught in a great old tyrant spider's web that's going to eat me up in this big wild wood without a word to me." "what do you mean, vivien, with these pretty tricks of yours?" cried merlin at last. "what do you want me to give you?" "what!" said vivien, smiling saucily, "have you found your tongue at last? now yesterday you didn't open your lips once except to drink. and then i, with my own lady hands, made a pretty cup and offered you your water kneeling before you and you drank it, but gave me not a word of thanks. and when we stopped at the other spring when you lay with your feet all golden with blossoms from the meadows we passed through you know that i bathed your feet before i bathed my own. but yet no thanks from you. and all through this wild wood, all through this morning when i fondled you, still not a word of thanks." then merlin locked her hand in his and said, "vivien, have you never seen a wave as it was coming up the beach ready to break? well, i've been seeing a wave that was ready to break on me. it seemed to me that some dark, tremendous wave was going to come and sweep me away from my hold on the world, away from my fame and my usefulness and my great name. that's why i came away from arthur's court to make me forget it and feel better. and when i saw you coming after me it seemed to me that you were that wave that was going to roll all over me. but pardon me, now, child, your pretty ways have brightened everything again, and now tell me what you would like to have from me. for i owe you something three times over, once for neglecting you, twice for the thanks for your goodness to me, and lastly for those dainty gambols of yours. so tell me now, what will you have?" vivien smiled mournfully as she answered: "i've always been afraid that you were not really mine, that you didn't love me truly, that you didn't quite trust me, and now you yourself have owned it. don't you see, dear love, how this strange mood of yours must make me feel it more than ever? must make me yearn still more to prove that you are mine, must make me wish still more to know that great charm of waving hands and woven footsteps that you told me about, just as a proof that you trust me? if you told that to me i should know that you are mine, and i should have the great proof of your love, because i think that however wise you may be you do not know me yet." "i never was less wise, you inquisitive vivien," said merlin, "than when i told you about that charm. why won't you ask me for another boon?" then vivien, as if she were the tenderest hearted little maid that ever lived, burst into tears and said: "no, master, don't be angry at your little girl. caress me, let me feel myself forgiven, for i have not the heart to ask for another boon. i don't suppose that you know the old rhyme, 'trust not at all or all in all?'" then merlin looked at her and half believed what she said. her voice was so tender, her face was so fair, her eyes were so sweetly gleaming behind her tears. he locked her hand in his again and said, "if you should know this charm you might sometimes in a wild moment of anger or a mood of overstrained affection when you wanted me all to yourself or when you were jealous in a sudden fit, you might work it on me." "good!" cried vivien, as if she were angry, "i am not trusted. well, hide it away, hide it, and i shall find it out, and when i've found it beware, look out for vivien! when you use me so it's a wonder that i can love you at all, and as for jealousy, it seems to me this wonderful charm was invented just to make me jealous. i suppose you have a lot of pretty girls whom you have caged here and there all over the world with it." then the great master laughed merrily. "long, long years ago," he said, "there lived a king in the farthest east of the east. a tawny pirate who had plundered twenty islands or more anchored his boat in the king's port, and in the boat was a woman. for, as he had passed one of the islands the pirates had seen two cities full of men in boats fighting for a woman on the sea; he had pushed up his black boat in among the rest, lightly scattered every one of them and brought her off with half his people killed with arrows. she was a maiden so smooth, so white, so wonderful that a light seemed to come from her as she walked. when the pirate came upon the shore of the eastern king's island the king asked him for the woman, but he would not give her up. so the king imprisoned the pirate and made the woman his queen. "all the people adored her, the king's councilmen and all his soldiers, the beasts themselves. the camels knelt down before her unbidden, and the black slaves of the mountains rang her golden ankle bells just to see her smile. so little wonder that the king grew very jealous. he had his horns blown through all the hundred under-kingdoms which he ruled, telling the people that he wanted a wizard who would teach him some charm to work upon the queen and make her all his own. to the wizard who could do this he promised a league of mountain land full of golden mines, a province with a hundred miles of coast, a palace and a princess. but all the wizards who failed should be killed and their heads would be hung on the city gates until they mouldered away. "so there were many, many wizards all through the hundred kingdoms who tried to work the charm, but failed; many wizard heads bleached on the walls, and for weeks a troupe of carrion crows hung like a cloud above the towers of the city gateways. but at last the king's men found a little glassy headed, hairless man who lived alone in a great wilderness and ate nothing but grass. he read only one book, and by always reading had got grated down, filed away and lean, with monstrous eyes and his skin clinging to his bones. but since he never tasted wine or flesh--the wall that separates people from spirits became crystal to him. he could see through it, perceive the spirits as they walked and hear them talking; so he learned their secrets. often he drew a cloud of rain across a sunny sky, or when there was a wild storm and the pine woods roared he made everything calm again. "he was the man that was wanted. they dragged him to the king's court by force, he didn't want to go. there he taught the king how to charm the queen so that no one could see her again, and she could see no one except the king as he passed about the palace. she lay as if quite dead and lost to life. but when the king offered the magician his league of golden mines, the province with a hundred miles of sea coast, the palace and the princess, the old man turned away, went back to his wilderness and lived on grass and vanished away. but his book came down to me." "you have the book!" cried vivian smiling saucily. "the charm is written in it. good, take my advice and let me know the secret at once, for if you should hide it away like a puzzle in a chest, if you should put chest upon chest, and lock and padlock each chest thirty times and bury them all away under some vast mound like the heaps of soldiers on the battle-field, still i should hit upon some way of digging it out, of picking it, of opening it and reading the charm. and _then_ if i tried it on you who would blame me?" "you read the book, my pretty vivien?" cried merlin. "well, it's only twenty pages long, but such pages! every page has a square of text that looks like a blot, the letters no longer than fleas' legs written in a language that has long gone by, and all the borders and margins scribbled, crossed and crammed with notes. you read that book! no one, not even i can read the text, and no one besides me can make out the notes on the margins. i found the charm in the margin. oh, it is simple enough. any child might work it and then not be able to undo it. don't ask me again for it, because even although you would love me too much to try it on me, still you might try it on some of the knights of the round table." "o, you are crueller than any man ever told of in a story, or sung about in song!" cried vivien. she clapped her hands together and wailed out a shriek. "i'm stabbed to the heart! i only wished that prove to you that were wholly mine, that you loved me and now i'm killed with a word. there's nothing left for me to do except crawl into some hole or cave, and if the wolves won't tear me to pieces, just to weep my life away, killed with unutterable unkindness!" she paused, turned away, hung her head while the hair uncoiled itself. then she wept afresh. the dark wood grew darker with a storm coming over the sky. merlin sat thinking quietly and half believed that she was true. "come out of the storm," he called over to her, "come here into the hollow old oak tree." then since she didn't answer, he tried three times to calm her but quite in vain. at last, however, she let herself be conquered, came back to her old perch, and nestled there, half falling from his knees. gentle merlin saw the slow tears still standing in her eyes and threw his arms kindly about her. but vivien unlinked herself at once, rose with her arms crossed upon her bosom and fled away. "no more love between us two," she cried, "for you do not trust me. oh, it would have been better if i had died three times over than to have asked you once! farewell, think gently of me and i will go. but before i leave you let me swear once more that if i've been planning against you in all this, may the dark heavens send one great flash from out the sky to burn me to a cinder!" just as she ended a bolt of lightning darted across the sky, and sliced the giant oak tree into a thousand splinters and spikes. "oh, merlin, save me! save me!" cried vivien, terrified lest the heavens had heard her oath and were going to kill her. and she flew back to his arms. she called him her dear protector, her lord and liege, her seer, her bard, her silver star of evening, her god, her merlin, the one passionate love of her life, and hugged him close. all the time overhead the tempest bellowed, the branches snapped above them in the rushing rain. her glittering eyes and neck seemed to come and go before merlin's eyes with the lightning. at last the storm had spent its passion, the woodland was all in peace again, and merlin, overtalked and overworn had told all of the charm and had fallen asleep. [illustration: in the hollow of the old oak tree left him lying dead.] then in a moment vivien worked the charm with woven footsteps and waving arms, and in the hollow of the old oak tree left him lying dead to all life, use and fame and name. "i have made his glory mine! o fool!" she shrieked, and she sprang down through the great forest, the thicket closed about her behind her and all the woods echoed, "fool!" balin and balan. king pellam owed arthur some tribute money so arthur told three of his knights to go see about it and collect it for him. "very well," said one of the knights, "but listen, on the way to king pellam's country, near camelot, there are two strange knights sitting beside a fountain. they challenge and overthrow every knight that passes. shall i stop to fight them as we go by and send them back to you?" arthur laughed, "no, don't stop for anything; let them wait until they can find some one stronger themselves." with that the three men left. but after they had gone arthur, who loved a good fight himself, started away early one morning for the fountain side of camelot. on its right hand he saw the knight balin sitting under an alder tree, with his horse beside him, and on the left hand under a poplar tree with his horse at his side sat the knight balan. "fair sirs," cried arthur, "why are you sitting here?" "for the sake of glory," they answered. "we're stronger than all arthur's court. we've proved that because we easily overthrow every knight that comes by here." "well, i'm of arthur's court, too," replied the king, "although i've never done so much in jousts as in real wars. but see whether you can overthrow me so easily too." so the two brothers came out boldly and fought with arthur, but he struck them both lightly down, then softly came away and nobody knew anything about it. but that evening while balin and balan sat very meekly by the bubbling water a spangled messenger came riding by and cried out to them: "sirs, you are sent for by the king." so they followed the man back to the court. "tell me your names," demanded arthur, "and why do you sit there by the fountain?" [illustration: two strange knights.] "my name is balin," answered one of the men, "and my brother's name is balan. three years ago i struck down one of your slaves whom i heard had spoken ill of me, and you sent me away for a three years' exile. then i thought that if we would sit by the well and would overcome every knight who passed by you would be a more willing to take me back. but today some man of yours came along and conquered us both. what do you wish with me?" "be wiser for falling," arthur said. "your chair is in the hall vacant. take it again and be my knight once more." so balin went back into the old hall of the knights of the round table, and they all clashed their cups together drinking his welcome, and sang until all of arthur's banners of war hanging overhead began to stir as they always did on the battlefield. meanwhile the men who had gone to collect the taxes from king pellam returned. "sir king," they cried to arthur, "we scarcely could see pellam for the gloom in his hall. that man who used to be one of your roughest and most riotous enemies is now living like a monk in his castle and has all sorts of holy things about him, and says he has given up all matters of the world. he wouldn't even talk about the tribute money and told us that his heir sir garlon, attended to his business for him, so we went to garlon and after a struggle we got it. then we came away, but as we passed through the deep woods we found one of your knights lying dead, killed by a spear. after we had buried him, we talked with an old woodman who told us that there's a demon of the woods who had probably slain the knight. this demon, he said, was once a man who lived all alone and learned black magic. he hated people so much that when he died he became a fiend. the woodman showed us the cave where he has seen the demon go in and out and where he lives. we saw the print of a horse's hoof, but no more." "foully and villainously slain!" cried arthur thinking of his poor killed knight in the woods. "who will go hunt this demon of the woods for me?" "i!" exclaimed balan, ready to dart instantly away, but first he embraced balin, saying, "good brother, hear; don't let your angry passions conquer you, fight them away. remember how these knights of the round table welcomed you back. be a loving brother with them and don't imagine that there is hatred among them here any more than there is in heaven itself." when bad balan left, balin set himself to learn how to curb his wildness and become a courteous and manly knight. he always hovered about lancelot, the pattern knight of all the court, to see how he did, and when he noticed lancelot's sweet smiles and his little pleasant words that gladdened every knight or churl or child that he passed, balin sighed like some lame boy who longed to scale a mountain top and could scarcely limp up one hundred feet from the base. "it's lancelot's worship of the queen that helps to make him gentle," said he to himself. "if i want to be gentle i must serve and worship lovely queen guinevere too. suppose i ask the king to let me have some token of hers on my shield instead of these pictures of wild beasts with big teeth and grins. then whenever i see it i'll forget my wild heats and violences." "what would you like to bear on your shield?" asked the king when balin spoke to him about his wish. "the queen's own crown-royal," replied balin. then the queen smiled and turned to arthur. "the crown is only the shadow of the king," she said, "and this crown is the shadow of that shadow. but let him have it if it will help him out of his violences." "it's no shadow to me, my queen," cried balan, "no shadow to me, king. it's a light for me." so balin was given the crown to bear on his shield and whenever he looked at it, it seemed to make him feel gentle and patient. but one morning as he heard lancelot and the queen talking together on the white walk of lilies that led to queen guinevere's bower, all his old passions seemed to come back and filled him and he darted madly away on his horse, not stopping until he had passed the fount where he had sat with his brother balan and had dived into the skyless woods beyond. there the gray-headed woodman was hewing away wearily at a branch of a tree. [illustration: balin was given the crown to wear on his shield.] "give me your axe, churl," cried balin, and with one sharp cut he struck it down. "lord!" cried the woodman, "you could kill the devil of this woods if any one can. just yesterday i saw a flash of him. some people say that our sir garlon has learned black magic too and can ride armed unseen. just look into the demon's cave." but balin said the woodman was foolish, and rode off through the glades with a drooping head. he did not notice that on his right a great cavern chasm yawned out of the darkness. once he heard the mosses beneath him thud and tremble and then the shadow of a spear shot from behind him and ran along the ground. the light of somebody's armor flashed by him and vanished into the woods. balin dashed after this but he was so blinded by his rage that he stumbled against a tree, breaking his lance and falling from his horse. he sprang to his feet and darted off again not knowing where he was going until the massy battlements of king pellam's castle appeared. "why do you wear the crown royal on your shield?" pellam's men asked him as soon as they saw him. "the fairest and best of ladies living gave it to me," balin replied, as he stalled his horse and strode across the court to the banquet hall. "why do you wear the royal crown?" sir garlon asked him as they sat at table. "the queen whom lancelot and we all worship as the fairest, best and purest gave it to me to wear," said balin. but sir garlon only hissed at him and made fun of what he said, and balin reached for a wonderful goblet embossed with a sacred picture to hurl it at garlon, but the thought of the gentle queen about whom he was talking soothed his temper. the next morning, however, in the court sir garlon mocked him again and balin's face grew black with anger. he tore out his sword from its shield and crying out fiercely, "ha! i'll make a ghost of you!" struck garlon hard on the helmet. the blade flew and splintered into six parts which clinked upon the stones below while garlon reeled slowly backward and fell. balin dragged him by the banneret of his helmet and struck again, but in a minute twenty warriors with pointed lances were making for him from the castle. balin dashed his fist against the foremost face then dipped through a low doorway out along a glimmering gallery until he saw the open portals of king pellam's chapel. he slipped inside this and crept behind the door while the others howled past outside. before the golden altar he noticed lying the brightest lance he had ever seen with its point painted red with blood. seizing it he pushed it out through an open casement, leaned on it and leaped in a half-circle to the ground outside. running along a path he found his horse, mounted him and scudded away. an arrow whizzed to his right, another to his left and a third over his head while he heard pellam crying out feebly, "catch him, catch him! he mustn't pollute holy things!" but balin quickly dove beneath the tree boughs and raced through miles of thick groves and open meadowland until his good horse, at last wearied and uncertain in his footsteps, stumbled over a fallen oak and threw balin headlong. as balin rose to his feet he looked at the queen's crown on his shield and then drew the shield from off his neck. "i have shamed you," he cried. "i won't carry you any more," and he hung it up on a branch and threw himself on the ground in a passionate sleep. while he slept there the beautiful wicked vivien came riding by through the woodland alleys with her squire, warbling a song. "what is this?" she cried as she noticed the shield on the tree, "a shield with a crown upon it. and there's a horse. where's the rider? oh! there he is sleeping. hail royal knight, i'm flying away from a bad king and the knight i was riding with was hurt, and my poor squire isn't of much use in helping me. but you, sir prince, will surely guide me to the warrior king arthur, the blameless, to get me some shelter." "oh, no, i'll never go to arthur's court again," cried balin. "i'm not a prince any more, or a knight. i have brought the queen's crown to shame." then vivien laughed shrilly, and told balin a wicked story about the queen which she just imagined in her wicked mind. but she told it so cunningly and smiled so sunnily as she talked that balin believed her and he flew into the more passionate rage because he thought he had been deceived in the queen whom he had worshipped. he ground his teeth together, sprang up with a yell, tore the shield from the branch and cast it on the ground, drove his heel _into the royal crown_, stamped and trampled upon it until it was all spoiled, then hurled the shield from him out among the forest weeds and cursed the story, the queen and vivien. his weird yell had thrilled through the woods where balan was lurking for his foe. "there! that's the scream of the wood-devil i'm looking for," he thought. "he has killed some knight and trampled on his shield to show his loathing of our order and the queen. devil or man, whichever you are, take care of your head!" [illustration: he drove his heel into the royal crown.] with that he made swiftly for his poor brother whom he did not recognize. sir balin spoke not a word but snatched the buckler from vivien's squire, vaulted on his horse and in a moment had clashed with his brother's armor. king pellam's holy spear reddened with blood as it pricked through balan's shield to his flesh. then balin's horse, wearied to death, rolled back over his rider and crushed him inward and both men fell and swooned away. "the fools!" cried vivien to her young squire. "come, you sir chick, loosen their casques and see who they are. they must be rivals for the same woman to fight so hard." "they are happy," her gentle squire answered, "if they died for love. and vivien, though you beat me like your dog i would die for you." "don't die, sir boy," cried vivien, "i'd rather have a live dog than a dead lion. come away, i don't like to look at them," and she made her palfrey leap off over the fallen oak tree. balin was the first to wake from his swoon. as soon as he saw his brother's face he crawled over to his side moaning. then balan faintly opened his eyes and seeing who was with him kissed balin's forehead. "o balin," he cried, "why didn't you carry your own shield which i knew, and why did you trample all over this one which bears the queen's own crown which i know?" so balin slowly gasped out the whole story of his shield. then they each said good-night to the other and closed their eyes, locked in each other's arms. lancelot and elaine. long before arthur was crowned king while he was roving one night over the trackless realms of lyonesse he came upon a glen with a gray boulder and a lake. as he rode up the highway in the misty moonshine he suddenly stepped upon a white skeleton of a man with a crown of diamonds upon its skull. the skull broke off from the body and rolled away into the lake. arthur alighted, reached down and picked up the crown and set it on his head murmuring to himself, "_you too shall be king some day_," for the skeleton was the bones of a king who had fought with his brother there and been killed. [illustration: you too shall be king some day.] when arthur was crowned he plucked the nine gems out of the crown he had found on the skeleton and showed them to his knights with the words: "these jewels belong to the whole kingdom for everybody's use and not to the king. hereafter there is to be joust for one of them every year and in that way in nine years time we will learn who is the mightiest in the kingdom and we will race with each other to become skilful in the use of arms until at last we shall be able to drive away the heathen horde from the land." eight years had now passed and there had been eight jousts. lancelot had won the diamond every year and intended when he had been victorious in all the jousts, to give the nine gems to the queen. when the ninth year came arthur proclaimed the tournament for the central and largest diamond to be held at camelot, where he was holding his court. but the queen became ill as the time for the tour jousts drew near and he asked her whether she was too feeble to go to see lancelot in the lists. "yes, my lord," replied guinevere, "and you know it," and she looked up languidly to lancelot who stood near. lancelot thinking that she would rather have him near while she was ill than to receive all the diamonds of the crown, said: "sir king, that old wound of mine is not quite healed so i can hardly ride in my saddle." so the king went, excused lancelot, and rode away alone to the lists while lancelot remained, but as soon as arthur was gone the _queen told lancelot that he ought by all means go too and fight_. "but how can i go now," replied lancelot, "after what i have said to the king." "i will tell you what to do," said guinevere. "everybody says that men go down before your spear just because of your great name. they are afraid as soon as you appear and of course, they are conquered. go in today entirely unknown and win for yourself, then after all is over the king will be pleased with you for being so clever." [illustration: the queen told lancelot that he ought by all means fight.] lancelot quickly got his horse and leaving the beaten thoroughfare, chose a green path among the downs to take him to the lists. it was a new road to him however and he lost his way and did not know where to go until at last he came upon a faintly traced pathway that led to the castle of astolat far away on a hill. he went thither, blew the horn at the gate where a _dumb, wrinkled old man came to let him in_. in the castle court he met the lord of astolat with his two young sons, sir torre and sir lavaine and behind them the lily maiden elaine, astolat's daughter. they were jesting and laughing as they came. [illustration: a wrinkled old man came and let him in.] "where do you come from, my guest, and what is your name?" asked astolat. "by your state and presence i would guess you to be the chief of arthur's court, for i have seen him although the other knights of the round table are strangers to me." lancelot, arthur's chief knight replied, "i am of arthur's court and i am known, and my shield which i have happened to bring with me, is known too. but as i am going to joust for the diamond at camelot as a stranger do not ask me my name. after it is over you shall know me and my shield. if you have some blank shield around, or one with a strange device, pray lend it to me." "here is torre's," the lord of astolat replied. "he was hurt in his first tilt and so his shield is blank enough, god knows. you can have his." "yes," added sir torre simply, "since i can't use it you may have it." his father laughed. "fie, churl, is that an answer for a noble knight? you must pardon him, but lavaine, my younger boy, is so full of life he will ride in the lists, joust for the diamond, win and bring it in one hour to set upon his sister's golden hair and make her three times as wilful as before." "oh, no, good father! don't shame me before this noble knight. it was all a joke. elaine dreamed that some one had put the diamond into her hand and it was so slippery it dropped into a pool of water. then i told her that if i fought and won it for her she must keep it safer than that. but it was all in fun. however, if you'll give me your leave, i'll ride to camelot with this noble knight. i shall not win but i'll do my best to win." lancelot smiled a moment. "if you'll give me the pleasure of your company over the downs where i lost myself i'll be glad to have you as a friend and guide. you shall win the diamond if you can and then give it to your sister if you wish." "such diamonds are for queens and not for simple little girls," said sir torre. elaine flushed at this and lancelot said, "if beautiful things are for beautiful people this maiden may wear as fine jewels as there are in the world." then the lily maid lifted her eyes and thought that lancelot was the greatest man that had ever lived. she loved his bruised and bronzed face seamed across with an old sword-cut. they took the pet knight of arthur's court into the rude hall of astolat where they entertained him with their best meats, wines and minstrel melodies. they told him about the dumb old man at the gate, how ten years ago he had warned astolat of the heathen fighters coming, and how they had all escaped to the woods and lived in a boatman's hut by the river while the old man had been caught and had his tongue cut off. "those were dull days," said the lord of astolat, "until arthur came and drove the heathen away." "o, great lord!" cried lavaine to lancelot, "you fought in those glorious wars with arthur. tell us about them!" so lancelot told him all about the fight all day long at the white mouth of the river glenn, the four loud battles on the shore of duglas where the glorious king wore on his cuirass an emerald carved into our lady's head. "on the mount of badon," he said, "i saw him charge at the head of all of his round table and break the heathen hosts. afterward he stood on a heap of the killed, all red, from his spurs to the plumes of his helmet, with their blood, and he cried to me: 'they are broken! they are broken!' in this heathen war the fire of god filled him, i never saw anyone like him, there is no greater leader." "except yourself," thought the lily maid elaine. all through the night she saw his dark, splendid face living before her eyes and early in the morning she arose as if to bid goodbye to lavaine, stole step after step down the long tower stairs and passed out to the court where lancelot was smoothing the glossy shoulders of his horse. she drew nearer and stood in the dewy light, studying his face as though it was a god. he had never dreamed she was so beautiful. [illustration: "fair lord," said elaine.] "fair lord," said elaine, "i don't know your name but i believe it is the noblest himself of them all. will you wear a token of me at the tournament today?" "no, pretty lady," said he, "for i've never worn a token of any woman in the lists; as every one who knows me knows." "then by wearing mine you'll be less likely to be found out this time." "that's true, my child, well, i'll wear it. fetch it out to me. what is it?" "a red sleeve bordered with pearls," replied elaine, and she went in and brought it out to him. then he wound it round his helmet and said he had never before done so much for any girl in the world. the blood sprang to elaine's face as he said that, and filled her with delight, although she grew all the paler as lavaine came out and handed sir torre's shield to lancelot. lancelot gave his own shield to elaine saying, "do me this favor, child, keep my shield for me until i come back." "it's a favor to me," she replied smiling, "i'll be your squire." "come, lily maid," cried lavaine, "you'll be a lily maid in earnest if you don't get to bed and have some sleep," and he kissed her good-bye. lancelot kissed her hand as they moved away. she watched them at the gateway until their sparkling arms dipped below the downs, then climbed up to her tower with the shield and there she studied it and mused over it every day. meanwhile lancelot and lavaine passed far over the long downs until they reached an old hermit who lived in a white rock. here they spent the night. the next morning as they rode away lancelot said, "listen to me, but keep what i say a secret, you're riding with lancelot of the lake." "the great lancelot?" stammered lavaine, catching his breath with surprise. "there is only one other great man to see, and that is britain's king of kings, arthur. and he's going to be at the tournament, too." as soon as they reached the lists in the meadows by camelot, lancelot pointed out the king who, as he sat in the peopled gallery was very easy to recognize because of his five dragons. a golden dragon clung to his crown, another writhed down his robe while two others in gilded carved wood-work formed the arms of his chair. the canopy above him blazed with the last big diamond. "you call me great," cried lancelot, "i'm not great, there's the man." lavaine gaped at arthur as if he were something miraculous. then the trumpets blew. the two sides, those who held the lists and those who attacked them, set their lances in rest, then struck their spurs, moved out suddenly and shocked in the center of the field. the ground shook and there was a low thunder of arms. lancelot waited a little until he saw which was the weaker side, then sprang into the fight with them. in those days of his glory, whomever he struck he overthrew, whether they were kings, dukes, earls, counts or barons. but that day in the field some of his relatives were holding the lists who did not know him and who could not bear the idea that any stranger knight should out do the feats of their own lancelot. "who is this?" one of them asked, "isn't it lancelot?" "when has lancelot ever worn a lady's token?" the others replied. "who is it then?" they cried, furious to guard the name of lancelot. they pricked their steeds and moving all together bore down upon him like a wild wave that upsets a ship. one spear lamed lancelot's charger and another pierced through lancelot's side, snapped there and stuck. lavaine now did splendidly for he brought a famous old knight down by lancelot's side. lancelot in the meantime rose to his feet in all his agony and by a sort of miracle as it seemed to those who were on his side, drove all his opponents back to the barrier. then the trumpet blew and proclaimed that the knight who wore the scarlet sleeve with pearls was victor. "go up and get your diamond," his men said to him. "don't give me any diamonds," said lancelot. "my prize is death, i'll leave and don't follow." then he vanished into the poplar grove where he told lavaine to draw out the lance head. "i'm afraid you'll die, if i do," cried lavaine. "i'm dying now with it," said lancelot, so lavaine drew it out and lancelot gave a wonderful shriek and swooned away. then the old hermit came out, carried him into the white rock and stanched his wound. immediately after he had left the field the men of his side went to the king and said that the knight who had won the day had left without receiving his prize. "such a knight as that must not go uncared for," said the king. "gawain, ride out and find him and since he didn't come for his diamond we will send it to him. don't leave your quest until you have him." gawain the courteous was a good young knight but he didn't like it that he had to leave the banquet and the king's side to look for a stranger knight, so he mounted his horse rather crossly. he rode all round the country to every place except the right one, poplar grove, and at last very late reached the castle of astolat. "what news from camelot?" cried elaine as soon as she saw him, "what about the knight with the red sleeve?" "he won." "i knew it," she said. "but he left the jousts wounded in his side." then elaine almost swooned away. when the lord of astolat came out and heard about gawain's quest, "stay with us, noble prince," said he. "for the knight was here and left his shield with us, so he will certainly come back or send for it. besides my son is with him." gawain thought he would have a pleasant time with elaine so he stayed. but elaine rebelled against his pretty love-making and asked him why he neglected the king's quest and why he didn't ask to see the knight's shield. "i've lost my quest in the light of your blue eyes," said gawain, "but let me see the shield. ah! the king was right!" he cried out when elaine showed it to him. "it was our lancelot." "i was right too," elaine said merrily, "for i dreamed that my knight was the greatest of them all." "and suppose that i dreamed that you love this greatest knight?" returned gawain. "what do i know?" elaine answered simply. "i don't know whether i know what love is, but i do know that if i do not love him there isn't another man whom i can love." "yes, you love him well," said gawain. "and i suppose you know just where your greatest knight is hidden, so let me leave my quest with you. if you love him it will be sweet to you to give him the diamond and if he loves you it will be sweet to him to receive it from you, while even if he doesn't love you, a diamond is always a diamond. farewell a thousand times. if he loves you i may see you at court after while." then gawain lightly kissed her hand as he laid the diamond in it, and, wearied of his quest, leaped on his horse and carrolling a love-ballad airily rode away to the court where it was soon buzzed abroad that a maid of astolat loved lancelot and that lancelot loved a maid of astolat. the maid meanwhile crept up to her father one day and received his leave to take the diamond to sir lancelot. sir torre went with her to the gates of camelot where they saw lavaine capering about on a horse. "lavaine!" she cried, "how is it with my lord sir lancelot?" and she told him about the diamond. then sir torre went on into the city while lavaine guided elaine to the hermit's cave. as she saw her handsome knight on the floor, a sort of skeleton of himself, she gave a little tender dolorous cry. "your prize, the diamond, sent you by the king," said she, as she put it into his hand and explained how she had received it from gawain. then he kissed her as a father would kiss a dear little daughter and she went back to the dim, rich city of camelot for the night. but the next morning she was back in the cave, and day after day she came, caring for him more mildly, tenderly and kindly than any mother could with a child, until at last the old hermit said she had nursed him back to life, then all three rode back together one morning to astolat where lancelot asked elaine to tell him the dearest wish of her heart so that he could grant it to her. elaine turned as pale as a ghost when he first spoke but at last one day she told him. she said she wanted him to love her, she wanted to be his wife. "if i had chosen to wed," lancelot replied, slowly, "i would have been married long before this. but now i shall never marry, sweet elaine." "no, no," cried elaine, "it won't matter if i can't be your wife, if i can only go with you always and go round the world with you and serve you." but lancelot said that would be a poor way for him to requite the love and kindness her father and brothers had shown him. "noble maid," he went on, "this is only the first flash of love with you. after awhile you will smile at yourself about it when you find a knight who is fitter for you to marry and not three times older than you as i am, and then i will give you broad lands and territories even to a half of my kingdom across the seas and i'll always be ready to fight for you in your troubles. i'll do this, dear girl, but more i cannot." "of all this i care for nothing," elaine said growing deathly pale and falling in a swoon. that evening lancelot sent for his shield from the tower where elaine sat with it, and as his horse's hoofs clattered off upon the stone of the highway she looked down from her tower, but he did not glance back. after that elaine dreamed her time sadly away in the tower and only wished that she could die. she begged her father to send for the priest to confess her and asked lavaine to write a letter for her to lancelot. then she arranged it that when she died the dumb old man at the gate was to take her in the barge down the river to the king's palace. eleven days later this was done. elaine was dressed like a little sleeping queen and floated along the stream with her letter in one hand and a lily in the other. that day lancelot was with the queen and as he looked out of the casement upon the river he saw the barge hung with rich black samite, the dumb old man and the lily maid of astolat gliding up to the palace door. "what is it?" cried everybody streaming round. "a pale fairy queen come to take arthur to fairy land?" then the king bade meek sir percival and pure sir galahad carry her reverently into the hall where the fine gawain came and wondered at her and lancelot came and mused over her, and the queen came and pitied her. but king arthur spied a letter, opened it and read it aloud to all the lords and ladies. it was elaine's goodbye to lancelot. [illustration: a pale fairy queen came to take arthur to fairy land.] then sir lancelot told them everything about elaine and how he had promised to give her his lands and riches when she should be ready to marry some knight of her own age. the king said that he should see that she was buried very grandly. so they had a procession with all the pomp of a queen, with gorgeous ceremonies, mass and rolling music while all the order of the round table followed her to the tomb. then they laid the shield of lancelot at her feet and put a lily in her hand. the holy grail. one day a new monk came into the abbey beyond camelot. there was something about him different from all the other monks there. he was so polished and clever that old ambrosious who had lived in the old monastery for fifty years and had never seen a bit of the world guessed in a minute that the new brother had come from king arthur's court. and one windy april morning as ambrosious stood under the yew tree with this gentle monk he asked him why he left the knights of the round table. then sir percival answered: "it was the sweet vision of the holy grail." [illustration: "the holy grail," cried ambrosious.] "the holy grail," cried ambrosious. "heaven knows i don't know much, but what is that, the phantom of a cup that comes and goes?" "no, no," said percival, "what phantom do you mean? it's the cup that our lord drank from at his sad last supper, and after he died joseph of aramathea brought it to glastonbury at christmas time, and there it stayed a while and every one who looked at it or touched it was healed of their sicknesses. but the times grew so wicked that the cup was caught up into heaven where nobody could see it." "yes, i remember reading in our old books," said ambrosious, "how joseph built a lonely little church at glastonbury on the marsh, but that was long ago. who first saw the vision of the holy grail to-day?" "a woman," said sir percival, "a nun, my sister who was a holy maid if ever there was one. the old man to whom she used to tell her sins (or what she called her sins), often spoke to her about the legend of the holy grail which had been handed down through six people, each of them a hundred years old, from the lord's time. and when arthur made the order of the round table and all hearts became clean and pure for a time this old man thought surely the holy grail would come back again. 'o christ!' he used to say to my sister, 'if only it would come back and help all the world of its wickedness!' and then my sister asked him whether it might come to her by prayer and fasting. "'perhaps,' said the father, 'for your heart is as pure as snow.' "so she prayed and fasted until the sun shone and the wind blew through her and one day she sent for me. her eyes were so beautiful with the light of holiness that i did not know them. "'sweet brother,' she said, 'i have seen the holy grail. i heard a sound like a silver horn but sweeter than any music we can make, and then a cold silver beam of light streamed in through my cell, and down the beam stole the holy grail, rose red and throbbing as if it were alive. all the walls of my cell grew rosy red with quivering rosy colors. then the music faded away, the holy grail vanished and the colors died out in the darkness. so now we know the holy thing is here again, brother fast, too, and pray, and tell your brother-knights about it, then perhaps the vision may be seen by you all, and the whole world will be healed.' [illustration: my knight of heaven, go forth.] "so i told all the knights and we fasted and prayed for many weeks. then my sister cut off all her long streaming silken hair which used to fall to her feet and out of it braided a strong sword belt and with silver and crimson thread she wove into it a crimson grail in a silver beam. then she bound it on our beautiful boy knight, sir galahad, and said: "'my knight of heaven, go forth, for you shall see what i have seen and far in the spiritual city you will be crowned king.' then she sent the deathless passion of her eyes through him and he believed what she said. "then came a year of miracles. in our great hall there stood a chair which merlin had fashioned carved with strange figures like a serpent and in and out among the strange figures ran a scroll of strange letters in a language nobody knew like a serpent. merlin called it the seat perilous, because he said if any one sat in it he would get lost. and galahad said that if he got lost in it he would save himself. so one summer night sir galahad sat down in the chair and all at once there was a cracking of the roofs above us, and a blast and thunder, and in the thunder there was a cry and in the blast there was a beam of light seven times clearer than the daylight. down the beam stole the holy grail all covered over with a luminous cloud. then it passed away but every knight saw his brother knight's faces in a glory and we all rose and stared at each other until at last i found my voice and swore a vow. "i swore that because i had not seen the holy grail behind the cloud i would ride away a year and a day in quest of it until i could see it as my sister saw it. galahad swore too, and good sir bors, and lancelot and many others, knights, and gawain louder than all the rest. "the king was not in the hall that day for he had gone out to help some poor maiden, but as he came back over the plains beyond camelot he saw the roofs rolling in smoke and thought that his wonderfully dear, beautiful hall which merlin had built for him so wonderfully was afire. so he rode fast and rushed into the tumult of knights and asked me what it all meant. "'woe is me!' cried the king when i told him. 'had i been here you would not have sworn the vows.' "'my king,' i answered boldly, had you been here you would have sworn the vows yourself.' "'yes, yes,' said he, 'are you so bold when you didn't see the grail? you didn't see farther than the cloud, and what can you expect to see now if you go out into the wilderness?' "'no, no, lord, i didn't see the grail, i heard the sound, i saw the light and since i didn't see the holy thing i swore the vow that i would follow it until i did see.' "'then he asked us, knight by knight, whether we had seen it and each one said, 'no, no, lord, that was why we swore our vows,' but suddenly galahad called out, 'but i saw the holy grail, sir arthur, and heard the cry, "o galahad, follow me."' "ah, galahad, galahad,' said the king, 'the vision is for such as you and for your holy nun but not for these. are you all galahads or all percivals? no, no, you are just men with the strength to right the wrongs and violences of the land. but now since one has seen, all the blind want to see. however, since you have made the vow, go. but oh, how often the distressed people of the kingdom will come into the hall for you to help them and all your chairs will be vacant while you are out chasing a fire in the quagmire! many of you, yes, most of you will never come back again! but come to-morrow before you go, let us have one more day of field sports so that before you go i can rejoice in the unbroken strength of the order i have made.' "so the next day there was the greatest tournament that camelot had ever seen, and galahad and i, with a strength which we had received from the vision, overthrew so many knights that all the people cheered hotly for sir galahad and sir percival. the next morning all the rich balconies along the streets of camelot were laden with ladies and showers of flowers fell over us as we passed out and men and boys astride lions and dragons, griffins and swans at the street corners, called us all by name and cried, 'god speed!' while many lords and ladies wept. then we came down to the gate of the three queens and there each one went on his own way. "i was feeling glad over my victories in the lists and thought the sky never looked so blue nor the earth so green. all my blood danced within me for i knew that i would see the holy grail. but after a while i thought of the dark warning of the king. i looked about and saw that i was quite alone in a sandy thorny place, and i thought i would die of thirst. then i came to a deep lawn with a flowing brook and apple trees overhanging it. but while i was drinking of the water and eating of the apples they all turned to dust, and i was alone and thirsty again in among the sands and thorns. next i saw a woman spinning beside a beautiful house. she rose to greet me and stretched out her arms to welcome me into her house to rest, but as soon as i touched her she fell to dust, and the house turned into a shed with a dead baby inside, and then it fell to dust too. "then i rode on and found a big hill and on the top was a walled city, the spires with incredible pinnacles reaching up to the sky, and at the gateway there was a crowd of people who cried out to me: "welcome, percival, you mightiest and purest of men!" "but when i reached the top there was no one there. i passed through to the ruined old city and found only one person a very, very old man. 'where is the crowd who called out to me?' i asked him. "he could scarcely speak, but he gasped out, 'where are you from and who are you?' and then fell to dust. [illustration: next i saw a woman spinning.] "then i was so unhappy i cried. i felt as though even if i should see the holy grail itself and touched it it would crumble into dust. from there i passed down into a deep valley, as low down as the city was high up, where i found a chapel with a hermit in a hermitage near by. i told him about all these phantoms. "'you haven't true humility,' he said, 'which is the mother of all virtue. you haven't lost yourself to find yourself as galahad did.' "just as he ended suddenly sir galahad shone before us in silver armor. he laid his lance beside the chapel door and we all went in and knelt in prayer. then my thirst was quenched. but when the mass was burned i saw only the holy elements while galahad saw the holy grail come down upon the shrine. "'the holy grail,' he said, 'has always been at my side ever since we came away, fainter in the daytime, but blood-red at night. in its strength i have overcome evil customs wherever i have gone, and have passed through pagan lands and clashed with pagan hordes and broken them down everywhere. but the time is very near now when i shall go into the spiritual city far away where some one will crown me king. come with me for you will see the holy grail in a vision when i go.' "at the close of the day i started away with him. we came to a hill which only a man could climb, scarred all over with a hundred frozen streams, and when we reached the top there was a wild storm. galahad's armor flashed and darkened again every instant with quick, thick lightnings which struck the dead old tree trunks on every side until at last they blazed into a fire. at the base was a great black swamp partly whitened with bones of dead men. a chain of bridges lead across it to the great sea, and galahad crossed them, one after the other, but each one burned away as soon as he had passed over so that i had to stay behind. when he reached the great sea the holy grail hung over his head in a brilliant cloud. then a boat came swiftly by and when the sky brightened again with the lightning i could see him floating away, either in a boat with full sails or a winged creature which was flying, i couldn't tell which. above him hung the holy grail rosy red without the cloud. i had seen the holy thing at last. when i saw sir galahad again he looked like a silver star in the sky, and beyond the star was the spiritual city with all her spires and gateways in a glory like one pearl, no larger than a pearl. from the star a rosy red sparkle from the grail shot across to the city. but while i looked a flood of rain came down in torrents, and how i ever came away i don't know, but anyway at the dawn of the next day i had reached the little chapel again. there i got my horse from the hermit and rode back to the gates of camelot. "just once i met one of the other knights. that was one night when the full moon was rising and the pelican of sir bors' casque made a shadow on it. i spurred on my horse, hailed him and we were both very glad to see each other. "'where is sir lancelot,' he asked. 'have you seen him? once he dashed across me very madly, maddening his horse. when i asked him why he rode so hotly on a holy quest he shouted, 'don't keep me, i was a sluggard, and now i'm going fast for there's a lion in the way.' then he vanished. when i saw how mad he was i felt very sad for i love him, and i cared no more whether i saw the holy grail, or not; but i rode on until i came to the loneliest parts of the country where some magicians told me i followed a mocking fire. this vexed me and when the people saw that i quarrelled with their priests they bound me and put me into a cell of stones. i lay there for hours until one night a miracle happened. one of the stones slipped away without any one touching it or any wind blowing. through the gap it made i saw the seven clear stars which we have always called the stars of the round table and across the seven stars the sweet grail glided past. close after a clap of thunder pealed. then a maiden came to me in secret and loosed me and let me go.' [illustration: across the seven stars the sweet grail glided past.] "sir bors and i rode along together and when we reached the city our horses stumbled over heaps of ruined bits of houses that fell as they trod along the streets. at last brought us to arthur's hall. "as we came in we saw arthur sitting on his throne with just a tenth of the knights who had gone out on the quest of the holy grail standing before him, wasted and worn, also the knights who had stayed at home. when he saw me he rose and said he was glad to see me back, that he had been worrying about me because of the fierce gale that had made havoc through the town and shaken even the new strong hall and half wrenched the statue merlin made for him. "'but the quest,' the king went on, 'have you seen the cup that joseph brought long ago to glastonbury?' "then when i told him all that you have been hearing just now and how i was going to give up the tournament and tilt and pass into the quiet of the life of the monk, he answered not a word, but turning quickly to gawain asked, "'gawain, was this quest for you?' "'no, lord,' replied gawain, 'not for such as i. i talked with a saintly old man about that and he made me very sure that it wasn't for me. i was very tired of it. but i found a silk pavilion in the field with a lot of merry girls in it, then this gale tore it off from the tenting pin and blew my merry maidens all about with a great deal of discomfort. if it hadn't been for that storm my twelve months and a day would have passed very pleasantly for me.' "then arthur turned to sir bors, who had pushed across the throng at once to lancelot's side, caught him by the hand and held it there half hidden beside him until the king spied them. "'hail, bors, if ever a true and loyal man could see the grail you have seen it,' cried arthur. "'don't ask me about it,' replied sir bors with tears in his eyes 'i may not speak about it; i saw it.' "the others spoke only about the perils of their storm, and then it was lancelot's turn. perhaps arthur kept his best for the last. "'my lancelot,' said the king, 'our strongest, has the quest availed for you?' "'our strongest, o king!' groaned lancelot and as he paused i thought i saw a dying fire of madness in his eyes. 'o king, my friend, a sin lived in me that was so strange that everything pure, noble and knightly in me twined and clung around it until the good and the poisonous in me grew together, and when your knights swore to make the quest i swore only in the hope that could i see or touch the holy grail they might be pulled apart. then i spoke to a holy saint who said that if they could not be plucked apart my quest would be all in vain. so i vowed to him that i would do just as he told me, and while i was out trying to tear them away from each other my old madness came back to me and whipped me off into waste fields far away. "there i was beaten down by little knights whom at one time i would have frightened away just by the shadow of my spear. from there i rode over to the sea-shore where such a blast of wind began to blow that you could not hear the waves even although they were heaped up in mountains and drove the sea like a cataract, while the sand on the beach swept by like a river. a boat, half-swallowed by the seafoam, was moored to the shore by a chain. i said to myself that i would embark in the boat and lose myself and wash away my sin in the great sea. "for seven days i rode around over the dreary water and on the seventh night i felt the boat striking ground. in front of me rose the enchanted towers of carbonek, a castle like a rock upon a rock, with portals open to the sea and steps that met the waves. a lion sat on each side of them. i went up the steps and drew my sword. suddenly flaring their manes the lions stood up like men and gripped me on my shoulders. when i was about to strike them a voice said to me, 'don't be afraid, or the beasts will tear you to pieces; go on.' then my sword was dashed violently from my hand and fell. up into the sounding hall i passed but saw not a bench, table, picture, shield or anything else except the moon over the sea through the oriel window, but i heard a sweet voice as clear as a lark singing in the topmost tower to the east. i climbed up a thousand steps with great pain. it seemed as though i was climbing forever but at last i reached a door with light shining through the crannies and i heard voices singing 'glory and joy and honor to our lord and the holy vessel, the grail.' "'then i madly tried the door, it gave way and through a stormy glare of heat that burned me and made me swoon away i thought i saw the grail, all veiled with crimson samite and around it great angels, awful shapes and wings and eyes!' "the long hall was silent after lancelot was done, until airy gawain began with a sudden. "'o king, my liege, my good friend percival and your holy nun have driven men mad. by my eyes and ears i swear i'll be deeper than a blue-eyed cat and three times as blind as any owl at noon-time hereafter to any holy virgins in their ecstasies.' "'gawain,' replied the king, 'don't try to become blinder; you're too blind now to want to see. if a sign really came from heaven bors, lancelot and percival are blessed for they have each seen according to their sight.'" pelleas and ettarre. when his knights went after the holy grail arthur made many new knights to fill the gaps made by their absence. as he sat in his hall one day at old caerleon the high doors were softly parted and through these in came a youth, and with him the outer sunshine and the sweet scent of meadows. "make me your knight, sir king!" he cried, "because i know all about everything that belongs to a knight and because i love a maiden." this youth was sir pelleas-of-the-isles who had heard that the king had proclaimed a great tournament at caerleon with a sword for the victor and a golden crown for the victor's sweetheart as the prize. he longed to win them, the circlet for his lady love, the sword for himself. just a few days before, while riding across the forest of dean to find the king's palace hall at caerleon, pelleas had felt the sun beating on his helmet so sharply that he reeled and almost fell from his horse. then, seeing a hillock near-by overgrown with stately beech trees and flowers here and there beneath, he tied his horse to a tree, threw himself down and was very soon lost in sweet dreams about a maiden, not any particular maiden for he had no sweetheart at that time. but suddenly he was wakened with a sound of chatter and laughing at the outskirts of the grove, and glancing through fern he saw a party of young girls in many colors like the clouds at sunset, all of them riding on richly dressed horses. they were all talking together in a hodgepodge, some pointing this way, some that, for they had lost their way. [illustration: was very soon lost in sweet dreams about a maiden.] pelleas sprang up, loosed his horse and led him into the light. "just in time!" cried the lady who seemed to be the leader of the party. "see, our pilot-star! youth, we are wandering damsels riding armed, as you see, ready to tilt against the knights at caerleon, but we've lost our way. to the right? to the left? straight on? forward? backward? which is it? tell us quickly." pelleas gazed at her and wondered to himself whether the famous queen guinevere herself was as beautiful as this maiden. for her violet eyes, scornful eyes, were large and the bloom on her cheeks was like the rosy dawn. her beauty made pelleas timid and when she spoke to him he could not answer but only stammered, for he had come from far away waste islands where besides his sisters, he had scarcely known any women but the tough wives of the islands who made fish nets. with a slow smile the lady turned round to her companions the smile spreading to them all. for she was ettarre, a very great lady in her land. "o, wild man of the woods," she cried, "don't you understand our language, or has heaven given you a beautiful face and no tongue?" "lady," he answered, "i just woke from my dreams, and coming out of the gloomy woods i was dazzled by the sudden light, and beg your pardon. but are you going to caerleon? i'm going too. shall i lead you to the king?" "lead," said she. so through the woods they went together but his tender manner, his awe of her and his bashfulness bothered her. "i've lighted on a fool," she muttered to herself, "so raw and yet so stale!" but since she wished to be crowned the queen of beauty in the king's tournament, and since pelleas looked strong she thought perhaps he would fight for her, so she flattered him and was very pleasant and kind. her three knights and maidens were kind to him too, for she was a very great lady and they had to do as she did. when they reached caerleon before she passed on to her lodgings she took pelleas by the hand and said: [illustration: she took pelleas by the hand.] "o, how strong your hand is! see; look at my poor little weak one! will you fight for me and win me the crown, pelleas, so that i may love you?" pelleas' heart danced. "yes! yes!" he cried, "and will you love me if i win?" "yes, that i will," answered ettarre laughing and flinging away his hand as she peeped round to her knights and ladies until they all laughed with her. "o what a happy world!" thought glad pelleas, "everybody seems happy and i am the happiest of all." he couldn't sleep that night for joy and on the next day when he was knighted he swore to love one maiden only. as he came away from the king's hall the men who met him all turned around to look at his face, for it flamed with happiness, and at the great banquets which arthur gave to knights from all parts of the country pelleas looked the noblest of the noble. for he dreamed that his lady loved him and he knew that he was loved by the king. on the morning when the jousts began the first that was called was the tournament of youth. arthur wanted to keep the older, stronger men out of it so that young pelleas might win his lady's love as she had promised, and be lord of the tourney. down by the field along the river usk where it was held the gilded parapets were crowned with faces and the great tower filled with eyes up to its top. then the trumpets blew for the tournament to begin. all day long sir pelleas held the field. at the close a shout rang round the galleries as ettarre caught the gold crown from his lance and crowned herself before all the people. her eyes sparkled as she looked at him, but that was the last time she was kind to her knight. she lingered a few days at caerleon, sunny to all the other people but always frowning at him. still when she left for home with her knights and maidens sir pelleas followed. "damsels," cried she as she saw him coming, "i ought to be ashamed to say it and yet i can't bear that sir baby. keep him back with yourselves. i'd rather have some rough old knight who knows the ways of the world to chatter and joke with; so don't let him come near me. tell him all sorts of baby fables that good mothers tell their little boys, and if he runs off for us--it doesn't matter." [illustration: ettarre crowned herself before all the people.] so the young women didn't let him go near ettarre but made him stay with them, and as soon as they had all passed into ettarre's castle gate up sprang the drawbridge, down rang the iron grating, and sir pelleas was left outside all alone. "these are only the ways of ladies with their lovers when the ladies want to find out whether the lovers are true or not. well, she can try me with anything, i'll be true through all." so he stayed there until dark, then went to a priory not far off and the next morning came back. every day he did the same whether it rained or shone, armed on his charger, and stayed all the day beneath the walls, although nobody opened the gate for him. this made ettarre's scorn turn to anger. she told her three knights to go out and drive him away. but when they came out pelleas overthrew them all as they dashed upon him one after the other. so they went back inside and he kept his watch as before. this turned ettarre's anger into hate. as she walked on top of the walls with her three knights about a week later she pointed down to pelleas and said: "he haunts me, look, he besieges me! i can't breathe. strike him down, put my hate into your blows and drive him away from my walls." so down they went but pelleas overthrew them all again so ettarre called down from the tower above, "bind him and bring him in." pelleas heard her say this so he did not resist, but let the men bind him and take him into his lady love. "see me, lady," he said cheerily, "your prisoner, and if you keep me in your dungeon here i'll be quite content if you'll just let me see your face every day. for i've sworn my vows and you've given me your promise and i know that when you've done proving me you will give me your love and have me for your knight." but she made fun of his vows and told her knights to put him outside again and "if he isn't a fool to the middle of his bones," said she, "he'll never come back." then the three knights laughed and thrust him out of the gates. but a week later ettarre called them again, "he's watching there yet. he comes just like a dog that's been kicked out of his master's door. don't you hate him? go after him, all of you at once, and if you don't kill him bind him as you did before and bring him in." so the three knights couched their spears all together, three against one, ready to dash upon pelleas, low down beneath the shadow of the towers. gawain passing by on a lonely adventure saw them. "the villains!" he shouted to pelleas, "i'll strike for you!" "no," cried pelleas, "when one's doing a lady's will one doesn't need any help." gawain stood by quivering to fight while the three knights sprang down upon pelleas, but pelleas all alone beat the three of them together. then they rose to their feet, and he stood still while they bound him and took him into their lady. "you're scarcely fit to touch your victor, you dogs!" she cried to her men, "far less bind him; but take him out as he is and let whoever wants to untie him. then if he comes again--" she paused just a minute and pelleas broke in at once with, "lady, i loved you and thought you very beautiful, but if you don't love me don't trouble yourself about it; you won't see me again." as soon as pelleas was put outside the gate gawain sprang forward, loosed his bonds, flung them over the walls and cried out: "my faith, and why did you let those wretches tie you up so when you were victor of all the jousts?" "o," said pelleas, "they were just obeying the wishes of my lady, and her wishes are mine." gawain laughed. "lend me your horse and armor," he said, "and i'll tell her i've killed you. then she'll let me in just to hear all about it and when i've made her listen i'll tell her all about you, what a great and good fellow you are. give me three days to melt her and on the third evening i'll bring you golden news." "don't betray me," cried pelleas, as he handed over his horse and all his weapons except his sword. "aren't you the knight they call 'light-of-love?'" "that is just because women are so light," gawain rejoined, laughing. then he rode up to the castle gate, and blew the bugle so musically that all the hidden echoes in the walls rang out. "away with you!" cried ettarre's maidens, running up to the tower window. "our lady doesn't love you." "i'm gawain from arthur's court," cried gawain, lifting his vizor so that they could see his face. "i've killed pelleas whom you hate so. open the gates and i'll make you merry with my story." the ladies ran down crying out to ettarre, "pelleas is dead! sir gawain of arthur's court has killed him and is blowing the bugle to come in to tell us." "let him in," said ettarre. then they opened the gates and gawain rode inside. for three days pelleas wandered all about, doing nothing but thinking of gawain and ettarre, and on the third night, when gawain did not come, he wondered why gawain lingered with his golden news. at last he rode up to ettarre's castle, tied his horse outside and walked in through the wide open gates. the court he found all dark and empty, not a light glimmering from anywhere, so he passed out by the back gate, into the large gardens beyond of red and white roses, where he saw three pavilions. in one he found the three knights with their squires, all red with revelling, and all asleep, in the second he saw the girls with their scornful smiles frozen stiff in slumber, and in the third lay gawain with ettarre, the golden crown he had won for her at the joust on her forehead, both sleeping. pelleas drew back as if he had touched a snake. "i'll kill them just as they lie," he cried in a passion. "o! to think that any knight could be so false!" but he was too manly to kill anyone in sleep, so he just laid his sword across their throats and passed out to his horse, crushed his saddle with his thighs, clenched his hands together and groaned. "i loathe her now just as much as i loved her!" he cried, and dashing his spurs into his horse he bounded out into the darkness and never came back. meanwhile ettarre, feeling the cold sword on her neck, awoke. "liar!" she cried to gawain, as she saw that it was the sword of pelleas, "you haven't killed pelleas, for he's been here and could have killed us both just now." and ever after that, as those who tell the story say, the proud and scornful ettarre sighed for pelleas, the one true knight in the world, her only faithful lover, and at last pined away because he never came back. the last tournament. one day while king arthur and sir lancelot were riding far, far beneath a winding wall of rock they heard the wail of a child. a half-dead oak tree climbed up the sides of the rock and up in mid-air it held an eagle's nest. through its branches rushed a rainy wind and through the wind came the voice of a little child. lancelot sprang up the crag and from the nest at the tree-top he brought down a baby girl. round her neck was twined a necklace of rubies, wound round and round three times. arthur took the baby and gave it to queen guinevere, who soon loved it very tenderly and named her "nestling." but nestling had caught a terrible cold in her strange little home in the wild eagle's nest and died. and after that whenever the queen looked at the ruby necklace it made her very sad so she gave it to arthur and said: "take these jewels of our dead innocence and make them a prize at a tournament." "just as you wish," cried the king, "but why don't you wear the diamonds that i found for you in the tarn, which lancelot won for you at the jousts?" "don't you know that they slipped out of my hands the very day that he gave them to me, while i was leaning out of the window to see elaine in the barge on the river? but these rubies will bring better luck than that to the lady who gets them, for they didn't come from a dead king's skeleton, but from the body of a sweet baby girl. perhaps, who knows, the purest of your knights will win them at the jousts for the purest of my ladies." so the great jousts were proclaimed with trumpets that blew all along the streets of camelot and out across the faded fields to the farthest towers, and everywhere the knights armed themselves for a day of glory before the king. but just the day before they were to be held, as king arthur sat in his great hall, a churl staggered in through the door; his face was all striped with the lashes of a dog whip, his nose was broken, one eye was out, a hand was off and the other hand dangled at his side with shattered fingers. "my poor churl," cried the king, full of indignant pity, "what beast or fiend has been after you? or was it a man who hurt you so?" "he took them all away," sputtered the churl, "a hundred good ones. it was the red knight. he--lord, i was tending sheep, my pigs, a hundred good ones, and he drove them all off to his tower. and when i said that you were always kind to poor churls like me as well as gentle lords and ladies, he made for me and would have killed me outright if he didn't want me to bring you message and made me swear that i would tell you. "he said, 'tell the king that i have made a round table of my own in the north, and that whatever his knights swear not to do mine swear that they will do; and tell him his hour has come, and that the heathen are after him, and that his long lance is broken, and that his sword excalibur is a straw.'" then arthur turned to sir kay the seneschal and said: "take this churl of mine and tend him very carefully as if he were the son of a king until all his hurts are healed," and as sir kay left the hall with the churl the king went on to lancelot: "the heathen have been quiet for a long, long time, but now they are rising again in the north, and i will go with my younger knights to put them down, so as to make the whole island safe from one shore to the other. and while i go away, you, sir lancelot, will sit in my chair to-morrow at the tournament and be the judge there of the field. for why should you anyway care to go in again yourself, when you've already won the nine diamonds for the queen?" "very well," replied lancelot, "if you wish, although it would be better if you would let me go off with the younger knights and you stay here with the others and watch the tournament. but, if not, all is well?" "is all really well?" cried the king, "or have i just dreamed that our knights are not quite so true and manly as they used to be and that my noble realm which has been built up by noble deeds and noble vows is going to fall back into beastly roughness and violence again?" he gathered all the younger knights of the round table together and started away with them down the hilly streets of camelot, and at the gateway turned sharply north. the next morning, the day of the tournament, the tournament of the dead innocence they called it, a wet wind blew. but the streets were hung with white samite, the fountains were filled with wine, and round each fountain twelve little girls, all dressed in purest white sat with the cups of gold and gave drinks to all that passed. the stately galleries were filled with white-robed ladies. lancelot mounted the steps to the king's dragon-carved chair, the trumpets blew and the jousts began. [illustration: twelve little girls gave drink to all who passed.] but lancelot did not think of the sport before him, he was dreaming over and over again the words of the king about the kingdom, and many rules of the tournament were broken, and he didn't say a word. once one of the knights, who was overthrown cursed the little baby girl, the dead innocence, and the king, and once one of the knight's helmets became unlaced and the wicked face of modred peeped through like a vermin, but lancelot didn't see. after a while a roar of welcome shouted all round the galleries and lists as a new knight came in dressed from his head to his feet in green armor all trimmed with tiny silver deer, with holly berries on his helmet crest. it was sir tristram of the woods who had just crossed over the seas from brittany. lancelot had fought with him long ago and conquered him, and now he saw him and longed to fight him again. as many, many knights of the round table fell down before the new knight lancelot gripped the golden dragons on each side of his throne to keep himself in his seat, and groaned with passion. "craven crests! oh, shame!" he muttered, "the glory of the round table is gone." so tristram won the jousts and sir lancelot gave him the jewels. "the hands with which you take these rubies are red," he said as he put the necklace in tristram's hands. then the thick rain began to fall, the plumes on the helmets of the knights drooped and the dresses of the ladies were mussed. when they went inside to feast the ladies took off their pure white gowns and robed themselves in all the colors of the rainbow and field flowers, like poppies, blue-bells, kingcups, and one said she was glad the time to wear the pure innocent simple white was over. they grew so loud in their frolics that at last the queen, who was angry that sir tristram had won the prize and angry with the lawless youths, broke up the banquet. the next morning as sir tristram stood before the hall little dagonet, the fool, came dancing along and sir tristram threw his rubies round the little fool's neck as he skipped about like a withered leaf, asking him why he danced. "it's stupid to dance without music," tristram said, and picked up his harp and began to twangle a tune on it; but as soon as sir tristram began to play dagonet stopped his dance. "and why don't you go on skipping, sir fool?" asked tristram. "because i'd rather skip twenty years to the music of my little brain than skip a minute to the broken music you make." "and what music have i broken?" cried sir tristram. "arthur the king's music," cried little dagonet, skipping again and again as sir tristram ceased. then down the city he danced all the way, while sir tristram passed out into the lonely avenues of the forests. he rode on toward lyonesse and the west, thinking of isolt, the white, whom he loved, and how he would put the rubies round her neck. [illustration: little dagonet skipping again and again.] arthur, meanwhile, with his hundred spearmen had gone far, far away, until at last over the countless reeds of marshes and islands he saw a huge tower glaring in the wide-winged sunset of the west. as he drew near he saw that the tower doors stood open and heard roars of rioting and wicked songs of ruffian men and women. "look," cried one of his knights, for there high on a grim dead tree before the tower, a brother of the round table was swinging by his neck, his shield flowing with a shower of blood on a branch near by. all the knights wanted to dash forward and blow the great horn that hung beside the gate, but arthur waved them back and went himself. he blew so hard that the horn roared until all the grasses of the marshes flared up, and out of the castle gate sallied a knight dressed from tip to toe in blood-red arms, the red knight. "aren't you the king?" he bellowed, "the king that keeps us all with such strict vows that we can't have any pleasures, a milky-hearted king? look to your life now!" arthur scorned to speak to so vile a man or to fight him with his sword. he simply let the drunkard, stretching out from his horse to strike, fall head-heavy, over from the castle causeway to the swamp below. then all the round table knights roared and shouted, leaped down on the fallen man, trampled out his face in the mire, sank his head so that it could not be seen, and, still shouting, sprang through the open doors among the people within. they hurled their swords right and left on men and women, hurled over the tables and the wines and slew and slew until all the rafters rang with yells and all the pavements streamed with blood. then they set the tower all afire and half the night through it flushed the long low meadows and marshlands and lazily plunging sea with its flames. that was how arthur made the ways of the island safe from one shore to the other. sir tristram, not many nights after, reached tintagil, where isolt, the white, lived in a crown of towers, where she now sat with the low sea-sunset glorying her hair and glossy throat, thinking of him and of mark, her cornish lord. when tristram's footsteps came grinding up the tower steps she flushed, started out to meet him and threw her white arms about him. "not mark, not mark!" she cried. "at first your footsteps fluttered me, for mark steals into his own castle like a cat." "no, it's i," said sir tristram, "and don't think about your mark any more, for he isn't yours any longer." "but listen," she cried, "to-day he went away for a three days' hunt, he said, and that means that he may be back in an hour for that's his way. my god, my hate for him is as strong as my love for you. let me tell you how i sat here one evening thinking of you, one black midsummer night, all alone, dreaming of you, and sometimes speaking your name aloud, when suddenly there mark stood behind me, for that's his way to steal behind one in the dark. "'tristram has married her!' he hissed out and then this tower shook with such a roar that i swooned away." "come," cried sir tristram, laughing, "never mind, i'm hungry, give me some meat and wine." so they ate and drank, talked and laughed about mark with his long crane-like legs, and sir tristram took a harp and sang a song. then while the last light of the day glimmered away he swung the ruby necklace before isolt. "it's the fruit of a magical oak-tree that grew mid air," he cried, "and was won by sir tristram as a tourney prize to bring to you." flinging the rubies round her neck he had just touched her jeweled throat with his lips when behind him rose a shadow and a shriek. "mark's way!" cried mark, the cornish king, and he clove tristram through the brain. * * * * * that very night arthur came back from the north, and as he climbed up the tower steps to go to the queen, in the dark of the tower something pulled at him. it was little dagonet. "who are you?" said the king. "i'm little dagonet, your fool," sobbed the little jester, "and i cry because i can never make you laugh again." the passing of arthur. one night king arthur saw sir gawain in a dream, and gawain, who had been killed, shrilly called out to him through the wind: "hail king! to-morrow you are going to pass away, and there's a land of rest for you. farewell!" but when arthur told his dream to sir bedivere, good old sir bedivere replied, "don't mind what dreams tell you, but get your knights together and go out to the west to meet sir modred, who has stirred up against you so many of the knights you love. they all know in their hearts that you are king. go and conquer them as of old." so the king took his army by night and pushed upon modred league after league, until they reached the western part of lyonesse where the long mountains ended in the moaning sea. there modred's men could flee no farther, so on the waste lands by the barren sea they began that last dim weird battle of the west. a white chill mist slept over all the land and water so that even arthur became confused since he could not see which were his friends and which were his foes. friends killed friends, some saw the faces of old ghosts looking in upon the battle. spears were splintered, shields were broken, swords clashed, helmets were shattered, men shrieked and looked up to heaven for help but saw only the white, white mists. there were cries for light and moans. at last toward the close of the day a hush fell over the whole shore; a bitter wind from the north blew the mist aside and the pale king looked across the battlefield. but no one was there only the waves breaking in among the dead faces. but bold bedivere said: "my king! the man who hates you stands there, modred, the traitor of your house!" "don't call this traitor a person of my house," the king replied. "the men of my house are not those who have lived under one roof with me, but those who always call me their king." with that, arthur dashed after modred. modred struck at the king's helmet, which had grown thin with all his heathen wars. arthur with his sword excalibur struck modred dead, then fell down himself almost killed with the wound through his helmet. sir bedivere lifted him up and carried him to a chapel near by. "take my sword, excalibur," said the king, "and fling it out into the middle of the sea, watch what happens to it and then come back at once and tell me." "it doesn't seem right to leave you all alone here," said sir bedivere, "when you are wounded and ill, but since you wish me to go, i will, and will do all that you have told me." he slipped away by zigzag paths, points and jutting rock to the shining level of the sea. there he drew out the sword excalibur. the winter moon sparkled against its hilt and made it twinkle with its diamond sparks, with myriads of topaz lights and fine jewelry work. bedivere gazed so long at it that both his eyes were dazzled as he stood, and he wondered whether he ought to throw away so beautiful a thing. at last he decided to hide it away among the water-flags that grew along shore. "did you do as i said?" asked the king, when he saw him. "what did you see?" "i heard the ripple washing in the reeds," said sir bedivere, "and the wild water lapping on the rock." "you are not giving me a true answer," said the king, faint and pale. "it's shameful for men to lie. quickly go again and as you are true and dear, do just as i bade you. watch and bring me word." then sir bedivere went the second time and paced up and down beside the pebbly water, counting the dewey pebbles, but when he saw the wonderful sword he clapped his hands together and cried: "if i threw that sword away, a precious thing will be lost forever. the king is ill; he does not know what he is doing. his great sword ought to be kept, then in long years hereafter people will look at it at the tournament and they will say: 'this was the great arthur's sword excalibur which was made by the lonely lady of the lake, working in the deep sea for nine years.'" so the second time he hid excalibur and strode very slowly back to the king. "what did you see or what did you hear?" asked arthur breathing very heavily. "i heard the water lapping on the rock and the long ripples washing in the reeds." "unkind! miserable! untrue! unknightly!" cried arthur, filled with anger. "i see what you are, for you are the only one left me of all the knights, yet you would betray me for my sword, either to sell it or like a girl, because you love its beauty. go out now the third time and if you do not throw out my sword excalibur i'll get up and kill you with my hands." at this sir bedivere sprang up like a flash and ran down leaping lightly over the ridges, plunged into the beds of bulrushes, clutched the sword, wheeled it round strongly and threw it as far as he could. excalibur made lightning in the moonlight as it flashed round and round and whirled in an arch, shooting far out to the water. but before it quite dipped into the sea an arm robed in white samite, mystic and wonderful, rose out of the waves, caught it by the hilt, brandished it three times and drew it under. "now i can see by your eyes that you have done it!" cried the king. "speak out; what have you seen or heard?" "sir king," cried sir bedivere, "i closed my eyes when i picked it up so that i would not be turned from my purpose of throwing it into the water, for i could live three lives, sir king, and i wouldn't again see such a wonderful thing as your sword. sir, i threw it out with both hands, wheeling it round and when i looked an arm robed in white samite reached up out of the water and caught it by the hilt, brandished it three times and drew it under." "carry me to the shore," said the king. [illustration: an arm robed in white samite.] so bedivere lifted him up and walked as swiftly as he could from the ridge, heavily, heavily down to the beach. as they reached the shore they saw a black barge beside the water filled with stately people all dressed in black. among the people were three queens wearing crowns of gold. "put me into the barge," cried arthur. so they came to the barge and the three queens held out their hands and took the king. the tallest and fairest of them held his head upon her lap loosed his shattered helmet and chafed his hands, and moaned tenderly over him. "ah, my lord arthur," cried sir bedivere, "where shall i go now? for the old times are past now and the whole round table is broken." "go and pray," cried the king. "farewell, for i am going a very long way to the lovely island-valley of avilion where it will never hail nor rain nor snow, and where the loud winds never blow. it lies in deep meadows, beautiful with lawns and fruit trees and flowery glens." then the barge set sail and oar, and moved away from the shore. "the king is gone!" groaned bedivere. he walked away from the shore and climbed up to the highest peaks and ridges about him and looked far, far away. and from far away out beyond the world he thought he heard sounds from a beautiful city as if every one in it all together were welcoming a great king who had just come back from his wars. end. transcriber's note: minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. there are inconsistencies with italicising text that refers to illustrations. i have left these as in the original text. corrections made include the following: p . ecstacy => ecstasy p . meaintime => meantime p . magnificientn => magnificent p . springly => springing p . geriant => geraint p . jealously => jealousy p . though => through p . passed => past p . musn't => mustn't p . heathern => heathen p . gunievere => guinevere p . to => that p . mordred => modred transcriber's note: in this text [gh] represents the middle english letter "yogh", similar to the numeral . * * * * * the buke of the order of knighthood, translated from the french, by sir gilbert hay, knight. from the manuscript in the library at abbotsford. [decoration] edinburgh: m.dccc.xlvii. to the president and members of the abbotsford club, this specimen of the early literature of scotland, now first printed, is dedicated and presented by their obedient servant, beriah botfield. norton hall, january , . * * * * * the abbotsford club. january, m.dccc.xlvii. president, right hon. john hope, lord justice-clerk. right hon. the earl of aberdeen. adam anderson, esq. david balfour, esq. charles baxter, esq. robert bell, esq. robert blackwood, esq. bindon blood, esq. beriah botfield, esq. james burn, esq. hon. henry cockburn, lord cockburn. john payne collier, esq. thomas constable, esq. james crossley, esq. james dennistoun, esq. john dunn, esq. joseph walter king eyton, esq. hon. john hay forbes, lord medwyn. john black gracie, esq. hon. james ivory, lord ivory. hon. francis jeffrey, lord jeffrey. james kinnear, esq. george ritchie kinloch, esq. david laing, esq. henry liddell, esq. james lucas, esq. john whitefoord mackenzie, esq. alexander maconochie, esq. james macknight, esq., _treasurer_. james maidment, esq. william henry miller, esq. theodore martin, esq., _secretary_. rev. james morton, b.d. robert nasmyth, esq. robert pitcairn, esq. right hon. the earl of powis. john robertson, esq. right hon. andrew rutherfurd, lord advocate. erskine douglas sandford, esq. john smith, esq. l.l.d. william b. d. d. turnbull, esq. edward vernon utterson, esq. patrick warner, esq. right hon. sir george warrender, bart. [decoration] preface. the literature of scotland, during the fifteenth century, is entitled to a much greater share of attention than it has hitherto received; more especially, as it is a period in which the contemporary literature of england is comparatively so devoid of interest. among the persons who then flourished, and to whom but a scanty share of justice has been awarded, we may reckon sir gilbert hay, knight. dunbar the scotish poet,[ ] who adorned the reign of james the fourth, in his "lament for the death of the makars" or poets, includes the name of hay; so likewise does sir david lyndesay, in the reign of james the fifth; but no other writer seems to have been aware that such an author had ever existed, until we reach the year , when there appeared the third volume of "the lives and characters of the most eminent writers of the scots nation, &c. by george mackenzie, m. d."[ ] this volume, the last which the author lived to publish,[ ] commences with "the life of sir gilbert hay, chamberlain to charles vi. king of france." it extends to eight folio pages, and furnishes a suitable specimen of mackenzie's mode of constructing biography. it commences with the following paragraphs:-- "the hayes are said to have their first rise from a very noble and heroick action, about the year of our lord , in the reign of kenneth iii., as we have shown in the life of that prince, in the second volume of this work, pag. . but whatever truth be in this, it is certain that this is one of the most noble and ancient families in scotland, and that ever since the reign of king robert bruce, they have been lord high constables of scotland: that prince, for the faithful service and loyalty of robert lord hay, declar'd them heritable constables of scotland, about the year . "from this noble and ancient family our author was descended, of whom i have no other account to give, but that he was born in the north of scotland, brought up at the university of aberdeen, where, after he had finished the course of his studies in philosophy, he commenced master of arts, went over to france, where he studied the laws, and was batchelor of the canon law, and for his great merit, obtained the honour of knighthood, and was made chamberlain to charles vi. king of france; upon whose death he returned to scotland, and was in great favour and esteem with william earl of orkney, and lord high chancellor of scotland, at whose desire he translated, from the french into scots, dr bonnet's book of battles in the year of our lord . "as for our author, 'tis probable that he died towards the latter end of the th century; and from his performance it appears that he was well seen in the civil, canon, and military laws; and had he not been a person of singular merit and worth, he had not raised himself to the dignities that he attain'd to." these paragraphs contain the whole biographical portion of the "life," contained in his eight folio pages,--the author's practice being that of introducing some extraneous matter suggested by, but not connected with the subject of the biography. but in the passages quoted the author's usual carelessness or ignorance is very apparent. his statements of matters of fact, indeed, are never to be relied upon, being seldom confirmed, and often contradicted by better authorities, and instead of a work of national importance, deserving the liberal patronage it received, it is altogether worthless. thus mackenzie might have known, that if hay was "brought up," and "commenced master of arts," at a university in scotland, it could not have been at aberdeen, which was not founded until the year ; and that if hay was chamberlain to a king of france, it could not have been charles the sixth, whose reign extended from the year to . the concluding notice of the supposed time of hay's death, "towards the latter end of the th century," is obviously a clerical error for the th century. instead, however, of favouring the reader with an abridged history of the kings of france, or some other discursive topic, dr mackenzie has in this instance deviated from his ordinary practice, and given a careful and detailed analysis of a manuscript volume in his own possession, containing three works translated from the french by sir gilbert hay; and this may be instanced as one of the few actual contributions to the literary history of scotland, contained in his three folio volumes. it may here be quoted, omitting a somewhat confused and inaccurate account of the original author honorè bonnor or bonnet, prior of sallon. "the first book (he says,) contains chapters, wherein the author gives the definition of war, according to the doctors of civil and canon law, and shows that it had its first rise in heaven betwixt god and his rebellious angels; then he treats of the bypast persecutions of the church by way of commentary upon s. john's vision of the five angels in the revelation, and speaking of the fourth angel, he acknowledges, that there was a woman that was chosen pope and that she was an english woman: and after leon, says our translator, "was chosen a woman pape, not wittand that she was a woman, the quhilk was of england born." "the second book contains chapters, wherein he treats of the destruction of the four great empires of the world: the babylonian begun in the east, in the time of abraham; the carthaginian begun in the time of the judges; the macedonian begun in the time of the maccabees; and that of the roman begun in the time of achan king of judea: but he more particularly insists upon the roman empire, and shews when the city of rome was first founded, when they begun their government by kings, senators, consuls, and emperors, and of their most memorable or remarkable actions, of the actions of alexander the great, and the destruction of the carthaginian empire; and concludes with an account of the first rise of government or jurisdiction amongst men, and who were the first governors or judges. "the third book contains chapters, wherein he treats of the lawfulness of making of war, and if it be possible for mankind to live without it; how men know when they are justly compell'd to make war; what the marks of true valour and cowardice are; what punishment is due to those that leave the army, without asking permission of their commanders, or fight the enemy, without the orders of their commanders. "the fourth book contains chapters, wherein he treats of the lawful grounds of war, especially amongst christians against the turks, and all infidels; whether the emperor can lawfully declare war against the pope and the church, and whether the pope may make war against him; concerning the duties of knights, and for what reasons they ought to be punished; concerning the duties of generals, and if, when they are taken in battle, they ought to lose their lives or not; whether strength or force be a moral, cardinal, or natural virtue; whether prisoners that are taken in war belong to those that take them, or to the princes to whom the armies in which they are taken belongs; whether vassals should serve in the army upon their own or their prince's expences; if a baron be obliged to serve his king but only in his own wars; whether two barons having war against one another, their men are obliged to assist either of them till they receive orders from their king and respective lords; whether we are bound to defend our neighbours with arms and men when invaded by others, and what the persons are that are obliged to defend one another, and particularly how the vassal is obliged to defend his lord, the son his father, by the law of justice; whether he is more bound to defend his father or natural prince; whether a clergyman is bound most to assist his father or his bishop, when a war is declared betwixt them; whether men may make a defensive war for their temporal goods lawfully conquish'd; whether priests and clerks may defend their goods by force of arms; whether arms lent and lost in the field of battle ought to be restored; whether arms and horses hired and lost in battle ought to be restored; whether a knight being robbed in his king's service, he or his king ought to pursue the robbers; whether a man that goes to the wars uncharg'd ought to take wages; whether a knight serving a king uncharg'd, may lawfully ask wages of him; whether, when the king of spain sends assistance to the king of france, he ought to ask wages of him; whether a man that goes to the wars out of vain glory, ought to ask wages by the law of arms; whether a captain that is robbed obeying his lord's commands, his lord ought to restore him his goods or not; whether a man going to the wars for covetousness and robbery, ought to demand wages; whether a priest or clergyman may lawfully go to the war or not, concerning the time that men ought to be paid their wages that go to the wars; whether a warriour that obtains leave to divert and recreat himself for some time, should receive wages for that time; whether a knight that has taken wages of a king for a year's service, and after three months goes to the service of another prince, ought to receive wages for the time that he has served; whether a soldier that has been paid by a prince for a year's service, may substitute another in his place; whether a captain may send any of his men away, after he has mustered them in the fields before his prince; whether a soldier falling sick in the wars may lawfully ask his wages for all the time that he had been sick; how the goods or spoil that is gained by the army ought to be parted amongst the soldiers; whether a man may lawfully keep what he takes from a robber that was designed to rob him on the highway; of the lawfulness of the war that is made betwixt two cities that hold of no sovereign; whether a man may kill a prisoner that delivers himself voluntarly; whether by the law of arms, a man may take a ransom of gold or money from his prisoner; whether in a war betwixt england and france, the french may lawfully seize upon the goods of the english husbandmen, and detain their persons prisoners; whether one king may overcome another king lawfully by craft and subtilty; whether it be lawful to fight upon a holyday; whether, when one man wrongs another, he may lawfully recover his own by war or force, before he pursues him legally; whether a knight that dies in battle, in his prince's service, is sure of his salvation; whether the righteous or sinners are the most powerful in battle; why there are so many wars in the world; whether one that is taken prisoner, and sworn to keep prison, may lawfully break it, and make his escape, if he finds occasion; whether one that is taken prisoner, and put in a close dark room, and makes his escape, may be said to break prison? whether a man that's promised safe conduct from one place to another, but has neglected to capitulate for his safe return, may be lawfully detained prisoner? whether a man that has safe conduct promised to him and his attendants, can bring alongst with him a greater man than he himself is? if a man be taken prisoner upon another's safe conduct, whether he that had the safe conduct be obliged to relieve him upon his own charges? if a man having liberty to go out of prison, on condition that he should return upon such a day, re-enters again into the prison, fails in the day, how he should be punished? whether it be lawful for one prince to refuse another, with whom he is at peace, passage thorow his country? whether churchmen should pay taxes, tributes, and impositions to secular kings and princes? if the church should make war against the jews? if a man may defend his wife by force of arms? if a brother may defend his brother by force of arms? when a baron is a vassal to two lords of different countries, that have both of them war, whom of them he ought to serve? when a baron is a vassal to two lords that make war upon one another, whom of them he ought to obey? when a man is a burgess in two cities that make war against one another, which of them he ought to obey? whether a man that is in bondage or in slavery be obliged to go to the wars with his lord and master? whether a man may be compelled to go to the wars? if one man fairly wounds another, and he wounds him again, whether he ought to be punished for the same? if a bondman or slave kills another by his master's command, whether he ought to be punished for the same? whether a bondman or slave may defend himself against his lord and master that designs to kill him? whether a monk may defend himself against his abbot who designs to kill him? whether the son may lawfully defend himself against the father who designs to kill him? whether a man may lawfully defend himself against his judge? whether a man, being banished the realm, and returning again without permission, when people set upon him to take him, if he ought to defend himself? whether a priest that is assaulted carrying the lord's body (or the sacrament) alongst with him, ought to lay it down and defend himself? if a man that is innocent ought to be punished by way of reprisal for the guilty? and how princes ought to behave themselves in the cases of reprisals? how reprisals should be made against a city that owes allegiance to no sovereign? if all lords or masters may make reprisals? how and for what reason it may be said that the king of france is no ways subject to the emperor? whether the king of england be in any manner of way subject to the empire? whether reprisals can be granted to a burgess that's living at paris, and robbed in his return to paris, for recovering the money or goods that he has been deprived of in another prince's dominions? whether an english student at the university of paris may be detained prisoner when a war is declared betwixt the two nations? whether a servant should enjoy the privileges that his master has? whether an englishman coming to paris to visit his son, student at that university, in time of war, may be detain'd prisoner? whether an englishman coming to visit his brother at the university may be detained prisoner? whether a student may be imprisoned by way of reprisal? whether a mad man may be detained and ransomed in the wars? whether a mad man returning to his senses may be detained prisoner? whether by the law of arms an old man may be detained prisoner? whether by the law of arms a child may be taken and detained prisoner? whether by the law of arms a blind man may be detained prisoner? whether an ambassador coming to visit a king may lead any of his enemies thorow his country? whether a bishop may be taken and detained prisoner? whether any churchman may be taken by way of reprisal? whether pilgrims may be made prisoners by the law of arms? what things in time of war have safe conduct, without liberty asked at the prince? whether, in time of war, the ass and the ox is free? whether the husbandman's servant enjoys, by the law of arms, the same privilege with himself? whether, in time of war, it be lawful to build castles and walled towns? how they ought to be punished that breaks the safe conduct or assurance of a prince? whether a great lord, or any in a meaner dignity, ought to trust in a safe conduct? whether a christian king may lawfully give a safe conduct to a saracen king or any other infidel prince? whether, if two lords make peace, and the one breaks it, the other ought to break it likewise? whether it be better to fight fasting, or before meat or after meat? whether battle ought to be set before ladies? and if queen jonat of naples had right in her war against lewis king of sicily? "then he proves that duelling is against all manner of laws; yet he gives seventeen different cases, wherein by the laws of lombardy 'tis lawful. then he treats of those who fight for their principles in duels, and how far that is lawful: then of the form and oath that is taken by those that fight in lists or combats; whether a man that is superannuate may substitute another to fight for him in battle? if any of the company breaks his sword, if another should be given unto him? if the lord or judge cannot discern on the first day who has the advantage in the field; if he be obliged to return on the second day, and enter the lists as before, which of the parties ought to begin the fight? if he that is overcome ought to pay the other the damages, tho' the king should pardon them? if a man is overcome in duelling, if he may be afterwards accused in law? whether, if the company pleases, they may fight in plain field, without barriers? how they should be punished that owns their crime, and is openly overcome? whether, when one knight chalenges another, he may be allowed to repent and recall his chalenge? "then our author treats of arms and banners in general and particularly, and proceeds to the answering of the following questions: if a man at his own pleasure may make choice of another man's coat of arms? if a german finds a frenchman in the field bearing the same coat of arms with him, if he ought to appeal him to a combat? how they ought to be punished that assume the arms of others? "then he treats of all the different colours us'd in herauldry, and of all the different rules and conditions that are to be observed in fighting of duels: and concludes with the duties incumbent upon emperors, kings, and princes; which he ends with these words: "explicit liber bellorum, sed potius dolorum, ut recitat doctor in pluribus. "next to this follows our author's translation of dr bonet's book of chevalry or knighthood, which contains eight chapters: in the first chapter he tells us, how that a batchelor, squire of honour, travelling to the coronation of a great prince, with an intention to take upon him the order of knighthood, he went astray in a wilderness, where he happened to light upon a hermitage, in which lived an old and venerable knight, that had forsaken the world for the love of god; and how this old knight taught the squire all the points of honour, and all that belonged to the duty of a knight, which is the subject matter of all the following chapters; where in the second chapter, he, the old knight shows, how he ought to receive that high order, and how he ought first to be instructed in every thing that belongs to it. the third contains all the duties of a knight. the fourth contains their form of examination, and how he ought to be examined before he receives the order. the fifth contains directions for him at the receiving of the order, and the form of giving it. in the sixth is explained the signification of the arms of knighthood. in the seventh he shows the many advantages that knights have above others by this honourable order; and the last shows the great respect that ought to be shown to all that order,--ending with these words, "explicit l'ordre de chevalrie. "after this follows our author's translation of dr bonet's book of government of princes, which is a translation of aristotle's politics, and contains chapters, with a prologue, shewing into how many languages it had been translated, and how it was first found in the temple of the sun, built by esculapius. then follows a translation of king alexander the great's letter to aristotle, after his conquest of persia, with aristotle's answer, and two other letters of king alexander's and aristotle's." the manuscript, of which the preceding was an analysis, is not mentioned in any more recent work, and as it could not be traced in any public repository, it was considered to be irrecoverably lost. but in the "catalogue of the library at abbotsford," printed in , at page , there occurs the following title:-- "_here begynnys the buke call't the buke of the law of armys, the quhilk was compilit be a notable man, doctour in decrees, callit bennet, prioure of sallan, &c._ ms. _fol._" this title attracted the notice of mr laing, secretary of the bannatyne club, who conjectured it might prove to be a copy of the work described by mackenzie. to ascertain this point, he made an application for the use of the volume, through isaac bayley, esq.; which being courteously granted, it was no difficult matter to perceive that this was the identical manuscript which dr george mackenzie had possessed. as the volume itself furnishes no indication on this head, we can only conjecture that it may have fallen into sir walter scott's hands, either by purchase at a sale, or as a present from some of his friends. but we may conclude, that had sir walter been aware of the peculiar interest and curiosity of the volume, he would have pointed it out, and some use of it have been made during the latter period of his life. the manuscript in question is a large folio of leaves,[ ] on lombard paper, written in a very distinct hand, about the end of the th century. it is in the original wooden boards, in perfect preservation, and contains, repeated in different parts of the volume, autograph signatures of "w. sanclair of roislin," "oliver sinclar of rosling, knycht," and "w. sanclair of roislin, knecht." it consists of three distinct works:-- i. the buke of batailles. ii. the buke of the order of knyghthede. iii. the buke of the governance of princes. to have published the entire volume was considered to be altogether inexpedient, on account of its great extent. yet not wishing it to remain in comparative obscurity, i readily acceded to mr laing's suggestion, in selecting the second of these works, which forms a distinct treatise by itself, as my contribution to the objects of the abbotsford club; at the same time subjoining in the appendix such specimens of the two other works as should satisfy all reasonable curiosity. in this way, i hope that whatever is really valuable or interesting in the ms. has been put into an accessible shape, in order to exhibit and preserve from casual destruction one of the earliest existing specimens of scotish prose composition. a brief account of the originals may here be given, before endeavouring to throw some light on the life and character of the translator. i. the buke of batailles. this well known and popular work forms the first and largest portion of the abbotsford manuscript. no english version of it is known. in the appendix will be found the prologue, the table of the chapters in the different books, and some other extracts, which may be compared with the corresponding passages, here copied from one of the later editions of the original work, which bears the following title:-- "larbre de batailles. "sensuyt larbre des batailles qui traicte de plusieurs choses comme de leglise. et aussi des faictz de la guerre. et aussi comment on si doyt gouuerner. imprime nouuellement a lyon. (design cut in wood.) ¶ on les vend a lyon au pres de nostre dame de confort cheulz oliuier arnoullet." to. black letter, sign. a. to m. six, in eights. ¶ cy commence le prologue du liure intitule larbre des batailles faict et compose par vng venerable et religieuse personne maistre honnore bonhor, prieur de salon, et docteur en decret. a la saincte couronne de france en laquelle auiourdhuy par lordonnance de dieu regne charles cinquesme de ce nom tres bien ayme et par tout le monde redoubte soit donne loz, gloire, et victoire sur toutes seigneuries terriennes. tres hault prince, ie suis nomme par mon droict nom honnore bonhor prieur de salon, indigne docteur en decret, souuenteffoys ay eu en voulente de faire et compiller, selon mon debile entendement, ce petit liure a lhonneur de dieu premierement de sa benoiste mere, et de vostre haulte seigneurie sire. et les raisons qui mont esmeu et incite a ce faire sont assez bonnes, selon mon aduis. premierement, lestat de saincte eglise est en telle tribulation et perplexite que si dieu ny mect remede et vostre seigneurie, laquelle est acoustumee de acheuer et mettre affin les chieres aduantures de la foy crestienne, ie ny voy voye ne chemin comme y puisse estre mise bonne ne briefue accordance. la deuziesme raison si est, que voyez toute chrestiente si greuee de guerres, haynes, larrecins et discentions, que a grant peine peut on nommer vng petit pays soit une conte ou duche qui bien soyt en paix. la tierce raison si est, que la terre de prouuence dont ie suis ne et nourry est de present tellement atournee par le changement de noble seigneurie et pour les diversitez doppinions qui sont entre les nobles et le communes que a grant paine pourroit homme tant fust saige racompter les maulx que les gens du pays pour ce debat seuffrent. la quarte raison est, que ie considere plusieurs choses dictes de grans clerez modernees que bien pensent entendre les prophecies anciennes parlans des maulx presens et dient que vng de la haulte lignee de france doit estre celluy par qui les remdes seront donnez au siecle trauailant, et mis en grande pestitance pour lesquelles raisons me suis efforce de faire aulcune chose nouuelle affin que vostre ieunesse soit informee de plusieurs entendemens de la saincte escripture et aussi affin que vostre personne soit plus adonnee de faire secours a la saincte foy de iesu crist et faire que les prophecies qui sentendent de vostre digne personne et escriptures soyent verifiez par voz bonne oeuures si vous supplie mon tres hault seigneur que rien que ie die en ce liure ne vueillez mespriser car ce que iay mis en luy prent son fondement sus le droit canon et civil et sus naturelle philosophie, qui nest aultre chose que raison de nature et aura nom cestuy liure larbre des batailles pour fournir lequel liure me fault trouuer matiere condecente a ce faire, si mest venu en ymaginacion faire vng arbre de dueill, au dessus duquel pourrez veoir les regnes de saincte eglise en grandes et merueilleuses tribulations. apres pourrez veoir la grande discention qui est auiourdhuy entre les roys et princes crestiens. pareillement pourrez veoir le grande discencion et murmure qui est entre les nobles et les communes. et deuiseray mon liure en quatre parties principalles ainsi comme a plain est cy apres declaire dont en la premiere partie sera faicte mention des tribulations de l'eglise jadis passees devant l'advenement de jesu christ nostre sauveur. en la seconde partie sera traicte de la destruction des quatre grans royaulmes jadis. en la tierce partie sera traicte des batailles en general. en la quarte partie sera dit du battailles en special. ¶ quelles choses appartiennent estre faictes a tous bons roys et princes. chapitre clxxvi. on disons aulcune chose des roys pource que apres lempereux ilz sont les plus honnorez sur tous les aultres princes. et encores ce nom cy de roy selon la saincte escripture sembleroit estre de plus grande excellence que le nom de lempereur, car nostre seigneur se nomme et appelle en plusieurs lieux et endroitz de la saincte escripture roy des roys et seigneur de seigneurs. item, le benoist filz de dieu en aulcuns lieux de la saincte escripture est appele filz du roy dauid par humanite. et ainsi par excellence de ce nom de roy appellons nous de lignage royal. et en oultre selon la doctrine et enseignement de monseigneur, sainct paul apostre qui preschoit au peuple en leur admonestant que pour lhonneur et reuerence de dieu ilz fussent soubmys a toute creature humaine et en especial au roy comme au plus noble et excellent de tous les aultres mesmement en approuuant la dignite de ce nom de roy. et pour dire aulcun bon notable auquel ieunes roys puissent prendre plaisir. roy qui veult estre bon guerroyer sur saige fier et couraigeux, et de se gens il soit seigneur, comme de quaille espreuier, et soit misericors et rigoureux quant est besoing, et que au besoing soit le premier se darmes veult estre eureux. pour retourner a nostre propos, &c. moult daultres belles et notables choses appartenans a tous bons roys et princes pourroye encores dire et assez trouuer. mais pour le present ie ne pense plus riens a escripre en ce liure, car ien suis tout lasse. toutesfoys le temps viendra se dieu me donne espace de viure que ie escripray aulcunes choses sur les contenances de toutes personnes soyent ecclesiasticques ou seculiers, hommes ou femmes ce qui leur est necessaire dauoir au plus pres que ie pourray de la saincte escripture et du droict escript selon les dignites de leur offices. et ie prie humblement et deuotement a nostre seigneur, que par sa saincte grace vous doint en telle maniere gouuerner vostre royaulme et la saincte couronne quil vous a commise que apres la fin il vous maine et conduyse a la saincte gloire de paradis qui iamais ne fauldra. amen. ¶ cy fine le liure intitule larbre des batailles. in the preface to the edition printed by anthony verard, at paris, on the th of june , there are several variations; and the sentence in which the name of the author occurs runs thus--"mon tres hault et redoubte seigneur souvent j'ay eu voulente de faire ce present livre," omitting the name altogether. the last chapter of the work is numbered cxxxxii in verard's edition, and ends in the same manner as the other. of the original work there are numerous manuscript copies, and also several early printed editions; but these, as an eminent french antiquary remarks, are "toutes rares, toutes fautives et defecteuses." in verard's edition, for instance, the name of charles vi., to whom the author dedicated the work, is changed to charles viii., in order to pay a compliment to the reigning sovereign; and in these editions the author's name is given as honoré bonner, instead of bonnet. the terms of the author's dedication, (says m. paulin paris,) carry us naturally to the first years of the arrival of louis ii. of anjou to the sovereignty of provence, that is to say, from to . charles vi., the conqueror of rosbec, was still young, and the schism of the church had reached its point of the greatest violence. m. paris's analysis of the work is very concise, and may be quoted in his own words:--"l'arbre d'honoré bonnet présente quatre branches principales, ^o. l'eglise en schisme. ^o. les rois en guerre. ^o. les grandes en dissension. ^o. les peuples en révolte. mais l'auteur paroît fort peu soucieux de suivre un ordre quelconque dans son travail. après avoir dans les premiers chapitres appliqué la prophétie des cinq anges de l'apocalypse à l'histoire ecclésiastique du xiv^e siècle, il résume les fastes de l'antiquité, puis enfin expose la théorie du comportement des armes, des droits et des devoirs de tous les vassaux, chevaliers et gens de guerre."[ ] the author honorÉ bonnet, was a monk in the abbey of ile-barbe of lyons, and prior of salon in provence. his name, which is often given as bonnor, or bonhor, or bonnoz, has been ascertained, from an examination of nearly twenty ancient manuscripts in the royal library at paris, to have been bonnet. a provençal translation, made in the year by order of mossen ramon de culdes, is preserved in the same collection, no. ; and also a translation in the catalan dialect, ms. no. . there is some indication of caxton having translated in part the work in the year , but no copy is known to exist.[ ] the original work was first printed at lyons, by barthelemy buyer, , folio; and another edition at lyons in . it was again printed at paris, by anthoine verard, , folio, of which there is, in the royal library at paris, a magnificent copy printed upon vellum, with illustrations,--the first representing charles viii. receiving the work from verard the printer, who, as already noticed, had substituted the name of the reigning monarch instead of charles vi. of france, at whose request the work was originally written. van praet[ ] describes this copy, and mentions two other copies on vellum, but neither of them perfect. the discrepancies existing between the early manuscript and printed copies will readily explain the variations, which will be obvious upon comparing sir gilbert hay's translation with the preceding extracts. it must also be confessed, that to a modern reader bonnet's book of battles is sufficiently tedious and uninteresting; and it need excite no surprize that the author, as he admits in his concluding chapter, having wearied himself with his task, broke off abruptly--"mais pour le present je ne pense plus riens a escripre en ce livre, _car j'en suis tout lasse_;" or, as sir gilbert hay in his translation expresses it--"but in gude faith the doctour sais, that he was _sa irkit of wryting_, that he mycht nocht as now, na mare tak on hand as to put in this buke of bataillis," &c. ii. the buke of the order of knyghthood. although subjoined to "the buke of batailles," there is no evidence to show that it was written by the same author. the original work, entitled "le livre de l'ordre de chevalerie," is anonymous. a copy of it is contained in a magnificent volume, written upon vellum, and illuminated for henry vii. of england, which forms part of the royal collection of manuscripts in the british museum (mss. bibl. reg. e. ii. art. ). the work also exists in a printed form, although now of great rarity. "l'ordre de chevalerie, auquel est contenue la maniere comment en doit, faire les chevaliers, et de l'honneur qui à eux appartient, et de la dignité d'iceulx; compose par ung chevalier, lequel en sa veillesse fut hermite." lyon, vincent de portunaris de trine, , in folio, black letter. it is, however, a proof of the great popularity of the work, that a copy of it having fallen into the hands of our venerable typographer, william caxton, (who probably never heard of sir gilbert hay's previous version,) he added this to his other translations from the french, and having printed his own translation, he addressed the volume to king richard the third. it has no date, but must have been printed about the year ; and his edition is acknowledged to be one of the rarest specimens of his press. lewis in his life of caxton, ; oldys in his british librarian, ; ames and herbert in their typographical antiquities, and ; and dibdin, in his enlarged edition of that work, , and also in his bibliotheca spenceriana, , have each given a more or less detailed account of caxton's translation. in the advocates' library, edinburgh, among the collection of mss. which belonged to sir james balfour of denmyln, lord lyon in the reign of charles the first, there is a volume, to which he has prefixed this title, "collectanea domini davidis lyndesay de monthe militis leonis armorum regis." this volume is described by dr leyden[ ] in the preface to his republication of "the complaynt of scotland," but he has confounded two persons of the same name, and who held the same office, at an interval of half a century. the volume, which contains nothing to identify it with sir david lyndesay the poet, is here noticed, from containing a copy of "the order of knighthood," without the name of the translator. this is evidently a transcript from caxton's printed volume, omitting the concluding address to richard the third, in which caxton introduces his own name as the translator; while the transcriber has used his own discretion in adapting the language to the scotish orthography and dialect. dr leyden passes over this portion of the ms. in a very summary manner, and strangely says, that it, along with "the buke of cote-armouris," which immediately follows, in lyndesay's ms., was transcribed from dame juliana berners's treatise on hunting, hawking, &c., which is usually known as the "booke of st albans." the following extracts from the copy of caxton's volume, in the british museum, will be sufficient to convey to the reader some idea of the work itself; and to form a comparison of the english and scotish versions. the first leaf is here given in black letter, line for line, in imitation of the original:-- ¶ here begynneth the table of this present booke intytled the book of the ordre of chyualry or knyghthode. unto the praysynge and dyuyne glorye of god/ whiche is lord and souerayne kynge aboue and ouer alle thynges celestyal/ and wordly/ we begynne this book of the ordre of chyualry for to shewe that to the sygnefyaunce of god/ the prynce almyghty whiche seygno= ryeth aboue the seuen planettes/ that ma= ke the cours celestyal/ and haue power & seygnorye in gouernynge & ordeynynge the bodyes terrestre and erthely/ that in lyke wyse owen the kynges prynces and grete lordes to haue puyssaunce and seyg= nory upon the knyghtes/ and the kny= tes by symylytude oughten to haue po= wer and dominacion ouer the moyen peple and this booke conteyneth viij chapitres ¶ the fyrst chapytre sayth/ how a knyght beyng an heremyte deuysed to the squyer the rule and ordre of chyualrye ¶ the second is of the begynnynge of chyualry ¶ the thyrd is of thoffyce of chyualry ¶ the fourthe of thexamynacion/ that ought to be made to the esquyer whan he wylle entre in to the ordre of chyualry ¶ the fyfthe is in what maner the squyer ought to receyue chyualry ¶ the syxthe is of the sygnefyaunce of the armes longynge to a knyght al by ordre ¶ the seuenth of the custommes that apperteyne to a knyght ¶ the eyght is of the honour that oughte to be done to a knyght ¶ thus endeth the table of the book of chyualry ¶ here after foloweth the mater and tenour of this said booke. and the fyrst chapyter saith hou the good heremyte deuysed to the esquyer the rule and ordre of chyualrye. a contrey ther was in which it happed that a wyse knyght whiche longe had mayntened the ordre of chyualrye/ and that by the force & noblesse of his hyghe courage and wysedom and in auenturyng his body had mayntened warres justes & tornayes & in many batailles had had many noble victoryes & gloryous & by cause he sawe & thought in his corage y^t he my[gh]t not long lyue as he which by long tyme had ben by cours of nature nyghe unto his ende/ chaas to hym an heremytage/ for nature faylled in hym by age/ and hadde no power ne vertu to vse armes as he was woned to do/ soo that thenne his herytages/ & all his rychesses he lefte to his children/ and made his habytacion or dwellynge place in a greete wode habondaunt of watres and of grete trees/ and hygh berying fruytes of dyuerse manyers/ and fledde the world/ by cause that the feblenesse of his body in the whiche he was by old age fallen/ and that he dishonoured not that/ whiche that in honourable thynges and aventurous hadde ben longe tyme honoured/ the same knyght thynkynge on the dethe/ remembryth the departynge fro this world in to that other/ and also thought of the ryght redoubtable sentence of oure lord in the whiche hym behoued to come to the day of jugement/ in one of the partyes of the same wode was a fayr medowe/ in whiche was a tree wel laden and charged of fruyte in his tyme/ of which the knyght lyued in the forest/ and vnder the same tree was a fontayne moche fayre and clere/ that arowsed and moysted all the medowe/ and in the same place was the knyght acustomed to come euery daye for to preye and adoure god almyghty/ to whome he rendryd thankynge of the honoure that he had done to him in this world alle the dayes of his lyf/ in that time it happed at the entryng of a strong wynter/ that a kynge moche noble/ wyse and ful of good custommes/ sente for many nobles/ by cause that he wold hold a grete courte/ and by the grete renommee that was of thys courte/ it happed that a squyer moeued hym for to goo thyder/ in entencion that there he shold be made knyght/ ¶ thus as he wente all allone rydynge vppon his palfroy/ it happed/ that for the trauaylle that he had susteyned of rydynge/ he slepte vpon his horse/ ¶ in the meane whyle that he rode soo slepynge/ his palfroye yssued oute of the ryght waye/ and entryd in to the forest/ where as was the knygte heremyte/ and soo longe he wente/ that he came to the fontayne at the same tyme that the knyght whiche dwellyd in the wode to doo his penaunce was there comen for to praye vnto god/ and for to despyse the vanytees of this worlde/ lyke as he was acustomed euery day/ whan he sawe the squyer come/ he lefte his oroyson/ and satte in the medowe in the shadow of a tree/ and beganne to rede in a lytyl book that he had in his lappe/ and whan the palfroy was come to the fontayne/ he beganne to drynke/ and the squyer that slept anone felte that his hors meued not/ and lyghtly awoke/ and thenne to hym came the knyght whiche was moche old/ and had a grete berde/ longe heer/ and a feble gowne worne and broken for ouer longe werynge/ and by the penaunce that he dayly made was moche discolourd and lene/ and by the teres that he had wepte/ were his eyen moche wasted/ and hadde a regard or countenaunce of moche hooly lyf/ eche of them merueylled of other/ for the knyghte whiche hadde ben moche longe in his heremytege/ had sene no man sythe that he had lefte the worlde/ and the sqyuer merueylled hym strongly/ how he was comen in to that place/ thenne descended the squyer fro his palfroy/ and salewed the knyght/ and the knyght receyued hym most wysely/ and after sette them vpon the grasse that one by that other/ and er ony of them spak/ eche of them byheld eche others chere/ the knyght that knewe that the squyer wold not speke fyrst/ by cause that he wold doo to hym reuerence spak fyrst and said/ fayr frend what is your corage or entent/ and whyther goo ye/ wherfor be ye comen hyther/ syre sayde he/ the renommee is sprad by ferre contreyes/ that a kynge moche wyse and noble/ hath commaunded a courte general/ and wylle be maade hym selfe newe knyght/ and after adoube and make other newe knyghtes/ estraunge barons and pryue/ and therfore i goo to this courte for to be adoubed knyght/ but whanne i was a slepe for the trauaylle that i haue had of the grete journeyes that i haue made/ my palfroy wente oute of the ryghte way/ and hath brought me vnto this place/ whanne the knyght herd speke of the knyghthode & chyualrye/ and remembryd hym of thordre of the same/ and of that whiche apperteyneth to a knyght/ he caste out a grete syghe/ and entryd in a grete thou[gh]t remembrynge of the honoure/ in which chyualrye hadde ben so longe mayntened/ ¶ in the meane whyle that the knyghte thus thought/ the esquyer demaunded of hym/ wherof he was so pensyf/ ¶ and the knyght answerd to hym/ ¶ fayre sone my thoughte is of the ordre of knyghthode or chyualrye/ and of the gretenesse in which a knyght is holden/ in mayntenynge the gretenesse of the honour of chyualry/ thenne the esquyer prayed to the knyght/ that he wold saye to hym thordre and the manere/ wherfore me ought the better to honoure and kepe in highe worshippe hit/ as it ought to be after the ordenaunce of god/ ¶ how sone sayd the knyght knowest thou not what is the rule and ordre of knyghthode/ and i meruaylle how thow darest demaunde chyualrye or knyghthode/ vnto the tyme that thou knowe the ordre/ ¶ for noo knyght can loue the ordre/ ne that whiche apperteyneth to his ordre/ but yf he can knowe the defaultes that he dothe ageynst the ordre of chyualry/ ne no knyght ought to make ony knyghtes/ but yf he hym self knowe thordre. for a disordynate knyghte is he/ that maketh a knyghte/ and can not shewe the ordre to hym/ ne the customme of chyualry. ¶ in the meane whyle that the knyght sayd these wordes to the esquyer/ that demaunded chyualrye/ withoute that he knewe/ what thynge was chyualrye/ the esquyer answered and sayde to the knyght/ syre yf hit be your playsyre/ i byseche yow/ that ye wylle saye and telle to me the ordre of chyualrye/ for wel me semeth and thynketh that i should lerne hit for the grete desyre/ that i haue therto/ and after my power i shalle ensiewe hit/ yf hit please yow to enseynge shewe and teche hit me/ ¶ frend sayde the knyght/ the rule and ordre of chyualrye is wreton in this lytyl booke that i hold here in myn handes in which i rede and am besy somtyme/ to the ende/ that hit make me remembre or thynke on the grace and bounte/ that god hath gyven and done to me in this world/ by cause that i honoured and mayntened with al my power thordre of chiualrye/ for alle in lyke wyse as chyualrye gyueth to a knyghte all that to hym apperteyneth/ in lyke wyse a kny[gh]t ought to gyve alle his forces to honoure chyualrye/ ¶ thenne the knyght delyuered to the esquyer the lytyl booke. ¶ and whanne he hadde redde therin/ he vnderstode that the knyght only amonge a thousand persones is chosen worthy to haue more noble offyce than alle the thousand/ and he had also vnderstanden by that lytyl booke/ the rule and ordre of chyualry/ and thenne he remembryd hym a lytyl/ and after sayd/ a syre blessyd be ye/ that haue brought me in place and in time/ that i haue knowlege of chyualrye/ the whiche i haue longe tyme desyred/ withoute that i knewe the noblesse of the ordre/ ne the honoure in whiche oure lord god hath sette alle them that ben in thordre of chyualrye/ ¶ the knight sayd/ fayre sone i am an old man & feble/ and may not forthon moche longe lyue/ and therfor this lytyl booke that is made for the deuocion/ loyalte/ and the ordinance that a knyght ought to haue in holdynge his ordre/ ye shall bere with yow to the courte where as ye go vnto/ and to shewe to alle them that will be made knyghts/ and whan ye shalle be newe doubed knyght/ and ye shall retorne in to your countrey/ come ageyne to this place/ and lette me haue knowlege who they be that haue ben maade newe knyghtes/ and shalle haue ben obeyssant to the doctryne of chyualry/ thenne the knyght gaf to thesquire his blessynge/ and he took leve of hym/ and tooke the booke moche deuoutely/ and after mounted vpon his palfroy/ and went forth hastely to the courte/ and whan he was comen/ he presented the booke moche wysely and ordynatly to the noble kyng/ & furthermore he offryd that euery noble man that wold be in thordre of chyualry myght haue a copye of the sayd book/ to thend that he myght see & lerne thordre of knyghthode and chyualrye/ ¶ here endeth the book of thordre of chyualry/ whiche book is translated out of frensshe into englysshe at a requeste of a gentyl and noble esquire by me/ william caxton dwellynge in westmynstre besyde london in the most best wyse that god hath suffred me/ and accordynge to the copye that the sayd squyer delyuerd to me/ whiche book is not requisyte to euery comyn man to haue/ but to noble gentylmen that by their virtu entende to come & entre in to the noble ordre of chyualry/ the whiche in these late dayes hath ben vsed accordyng to this booke here to fore wreton but forgeten/ and thexcersitees of chyualry/ not used/ honoured/ ne exercysed/ as hit hath ben in auncyent tyme/ at whiche tyme the noble actes of the knyghtes of englond that vsed chyualry were renomed thurgh the vnyuersal world/ as for to speke to fore thyncarnacion of jesu chryste/ where were there euer ony lyke to brenius and belynus that from the grete brytagne now called englond vnto rome & ferre beyonde conquered many royaumes and londes/ whos noble actes remayn in thold hystoryes of the romayns/ and syth the incarnacion of oure lord/ byhold that noble king of brytayne king arthur/ with all the noble kny[gh]tes of the ro[=u]d table/ whos noble actes and noble chyualry of his knyghtes occupye soo many large volumes/ that is a world/ or as thing incredyble to byleue/ o ye knyghtes of englond where is the custome and vsage of noble chyualry that was vsed in tho dayes/ what do ye now/ but go to the baynes & playe atte dyse/ and some not wel aduysed/ vse not honest and good rule ageyn alle ordre of knyghthode/ leue this/ leue it and redde the noble volumes of saynt graal of lancelot/ of galaad/ of trystram/ of perse forest/ of percyual/ of gawayn/ & many mo/ ther shalle ye see manhode/ curtosy/ & gentylnesse/ and loke in latter dayes of the noble actes syth the c[=o]quest/ as in kyng rychard dayes cuer du lyon/ edward the fyrste/ and the thyrd/ and his noble sones/ syre robert knolles/ syr johan cha[=u]dos/ and syre gualtier manuy/ rede froissart/ and also behold that vyctoryous and noble kynge harry the fyfthe/ and the captayns vnder hym his noble bretheren/ therle of salysbury montagu/ and many other whoos names shyne gloryously by their vertuous noblesse & actes that they did in thonour of thordre of chyualry/ allas what do ye/ but sleep & take ease/ and are al dysordred fro chyualry/ i wold demaunde a question yf i shold not displease/ how many knyghtes ben there now in englond/ that haue thuse and thexcercyse of a knyght/ that is to wete/ that he knoweth his hors/ & his hors hym/ that is to saye/ he beyng eredy at a poynt to haue al thyng that longeth to a knight/ an hors that is accordyng and broken after his hand/ his armures and harnoys mete and syttyng/ & so forth/ _et cetera_/ i suppose and a due serche shold be made/ there shold he many founden that lacke/ the more pyte is/ i wold it pleasyd our souerayn lord that twyes or threys in a year/ or at the least ones he wold do crye justes of pees/ to thend that euery knyght shold haue hors and harneys/ and also the vse and craft of a knyght/ and also to tornoye one ageynst one/ or ij against ij/ and the best to haue a prys/ a dyamond or jewel/ suche as shold please the prynce/ this shold cause gentylmen to resorte to thauncyent customes of chyualry to grete fame and ren[=o]mee/ and also to be alwey redy to serue theyr prynce whan he shalle calle them/ or haue nede/ thenne late euery man that is come of noble blood/ and entendeth to come to the noble ordre of chyualry/ read this lytyl book/ and doo therafter/ in kepyng the lore and commaundements therin comprysed/ and thenne i doubte not he shall atteyne to thordre of chyualry/ _et cetera_. and thus this lytyl book i presente to my redoubted naturel and most dradde souerayne lord kyng rychard kyng of englond and of fraunce/ to thend/ that he commaunde this book to be had and redde vnto other yong lordes knyghtes and gentylmen within this royame/ that the noble ordre of chyualry be herafter better vsed & honoured than hit hath ben in late dayes passed/ and herin he shalle do a noble & vertuous dede/ and i shalle pray almy[gh]ty god for his long lyf & prosperous welfare/ & that he may haue vyctory of all his enemyes/ & after this short & transitory lyf to haue euerlastyng lyf in heuen/ where as is joye and blysse/ world without ende/ amen/ iii. the buke of the gouernance of princes. this very popular work is a translation of the "secretum secretorum," falsely attributed to aristotle. its popularity was so great that not less than nine english translations and six french translations are known. it is probable that sir gilbert hay made his version from one of the french translations current in the fifteenth century. * * * * * in now adverting to sir gilbert hay, the translator of the "ordere of knighthood," and of other works, from the french, it is matter of regret that we possess no very certain information respecting him. some of the uncertainty which prevails in regard to his lineage arises from the circumstance that the name of gilbert, in the family of errol, with whom we may presume he was nearly related, was of very common occurrence. the hays of errol, the chief of the name in scotland, appear in the public records as hereditary constables of scotland before the end of the twelfth century. without further entering upon their genealogy, as exhibited in douglas and wood's peerage of scotland, vol. i. page , &c., and in similar works, it may briefly be noticed that, in the course of the fifteenth century-- i. sir thomas hay of errol, constable of scotland, died in the year . he married in , elizabeth third daughter of king robert ii., by his first wife elizabeth mure; and had two sons, sir william, who succeeded, and gilbert hay, who is designed of dronlaw; also three daughters, the youngest of whom, alicia, married sir william hay of locharret.[ ] ii. sir william hay of errol, who succeeded in , died in . by his wife margaret, daughter of sir patrick gray of broxmouth, he had two sons, gilbert, and william hay of urry, in the county of kincardine. iii. gilbert hay, eldest son of sir william, was one of the hostages sent to england in , and again in , for the ransom of king james the first, who had been held in captivity for eighteen years. on the last occasion he is styled "gilbertus primogenitus et hæres willielmi constabularii scotiæ," his annual revenue being estimated equal to marks; and at that time "gilbert of the haye, askyth conduct for servants." (rymer's foedera, vol. x. p. ). in he had a safe conduct. he died in england soon after , leaving, by his wife alicia, daughter of sir william hay of yester, two sons, william and gilbert. iv. sir william hay succeeded his grandfather in , and was created earl of errol in the year - . he married beatrix douglas, daughter of james third lord dalkeith. his brother gilbert, who succeeded his uncle william hay of urry, had a charter of the lands of urry, in the county of kincardine, th august ; and died before september . the earl of errol, who died about , was succeeded by his eldest son, v. nicholas, second earl of errol. he died without issue in , and was succeeded by his brother, vi. william, third earl of errol, who survived till . this brief view of the hays of errol, during the fifteenth century, may serve to guide our conjectures in regard to sir gilbert hay. that he was born about the commencement of that century, we are warranted to assume. there is no evidence of any of the younger sons in the errol family, at this period, having had the honour of knighthood; and therefore it may be conjectured that he was the son of sir william hay of locharret, one of whose daughters, jane, was married to sir alexander home of dunglas, who accompanied the scotish forces under the earl of douglas to france, and who lost his life with the earl at the battle of verneuil, th august . it is certain, at least, that gilbert hay received a liberal education, and he appears to have prosecuted his studies at the university of st andrews, which was founded in the year . this we ascertain from the "acta facult. art. univers. s. andreæ," where the name "gylbertus hay," occurs among the _determinants_, or bachelors of arts, in the year . in the following year, "gilbertus de haya, magister," is included in the higher degree among the _licentiates_, or masters of arts. one of his fellow students was william turnbull, who afterwards became successively doctor of laws, archdean of st andrews, keeper of the privy seal, and bishop of glasgow; and who, about three years before his death, so honourably distinguished himself by founding the college of glasgow, in the year - . after taking his master's degree at st andrews, gilbert hay proceeded to france, but whether it may have been to complete his education, or that he was sent on any special mission, must be left to conjecture.[ ] it might have been, that like so many of the younger sons in scotish families of rank, at an early as well as in more recent times, he had gone abroad to push his fortunes; and thus, like quentin durward, when first addressing louis xi., he might have said,--"i am ignorant whom i may have the honour to address, but i am indifferent who knows that i am a cadet of scotland; and that i come to seek my fortune in france, or elsewhere, after the custom of my countrymen." it will be seen that he styles himself "gilbert of the haye, knycht, master in arts, and bachelor in decreis,"--titles expressive of academical distinctions; and also "chamberlain umquhile to the maist worthy king charles of france." dr mackenzie, overlooking the obvious meaning of these words in the position of _umquhile_, instead of "late chamberlain to the king," made him "chamberlain to charles vi., king of france." but that monarch began his reign in , and died in , probably before hay had set his foot in france. his son, charles vii., ascended the throne in , and survived till . sir walter scott, in "quentin durward," chapter v., has given a very graphic account of the scotish archer guard, which was instituted by charles vi., and consisted of a select number of the scotish nation, supplied from the superabundant population of their native country. it is no improbable conjecture, therefore, that gilbert hay may have been one of their number, and like the imaginary character in the work of fiction referred to, have thus been brought under the special notice of the french king, and in this manner obtained the patronage of charles vii. another event that may have contributed to his holding an official appointment in the royal household, was the alliance between margaret, eldest daughter of james i. of scotland, and the dauphin of france. this took place in july , when she was only twelve years of age; and she was attended by a number of persons of rank, some of whom remained in her service. be this as it may, and without attempting to conjecture on what occasion hay received the honour of knighthood, we know, from a passage to be afterwards mentioned, that he resided in france during a period of twenty-four years; and he may have returned to his native country soon after the death of the youthful princess. she died of a broken heart in august , or sixteen years before her husband, whose character is so ably depicted by scott, had succeeded to the throne under the title of louis xi. after sir gilbert hay's return to scotland, we find him residing at roslin castle with sir william saintclair, third earl of orkney, (a title which he resigned, in , for the earldom of caithness)--a nobleman of great influence and wealth, who had accompanied the princess margaret to france in . he was twice married, his first wife being lady margaret douglas, daughter of archibald fourth earl of douglas; and he lived in such a kingly state, that we are told, his lady "had serving her gentlewomen, whereof were daughters to noblemen, all cloathed in velvets and silks, with their chains of gold, and other pertinents; together with rideing gentlemen, who accompanied her in all her journeys. she had carried before her when she went to edinburgh, if it was darke, lighted torches. her lodging was att the foot of the blackfryer wynde: so that, in a word, none matched her in all the country, save the queen's majesty."[ ] we are further told of this "prince," william earl of orkney, that--"in his house he was royally served in gold and silver vessels, in most princely manner; for the lord dirletone was his master household, the lord borthwick was his cup-bearer, and the lord fleming his carver, under whom, in time of their absence, was the laird of drumlanrig, surnamed stewart, the laird of drumelzier, surnamed tweedie, and the laird of calder, surnamed sandilands. he had his halls and chambers richly hung with embroidered hangings," &c. in , he founded the collegiate church of roslin, that beautiful specimen of architecture, the ruins of which still excite so much admiration under the popular designation of roslin chapel. it was at the request of this nobleman that he undertook the translations which are contained in the present volume, and which bear the date of . sir gilbert hay, like some of the persons here named, was probably connected with this nobleman, as in the genealogy of that family, the fifth of the nine daughters of henry second earl of orkney, is said to have married a hay earl of errol. there is still preserved a curious document entitled "the inventar of the goods of alexander de sutherland of dumbethe," whose daughter marjory was the countess of caithness and orkney.[ ] it includes his testament, and bears to have been made at roslin, the castle of his son-in-law, on the th november , "in the presence of ane hie and mighti lord william earl of caithnes and orkney, lord saintclair, &c., sir gilbert the haye, sir henry atkinson, mr thomas thurberndson (or thornebrande), public notar, &c., with dyvers uthirs." at the end of his numerous legacies and bequests, there is added, "item, i gif and leive my sylar [silver] colar to _sir gilbert the haye_, and he to say for my soul ten psalters."[ ] the long residence of sir gilbert hay in france rendered him familiar not only with the language, but with the current literature of the country. this may have suggested to him, upon his return to scotland, the propriety of employing himself in translating some of the more remarkable productions of french literature, for the benefit or amusement of his friends. a fortunate discovery of an old manuscript volume at taymouth castle, and the liberality of the noble proprietor in communicating it, brought to light another and a more important undertaking which sir gilbert hay had accomplished, by rendering the metrical romance of alexander the great into scotish verse, at the request of thomas first lord erskine, (properly second earl of mar, of the name of erskine,) who succeeded his father in , and died in . the work extends to upwards of , lines; but the imperfect state of the manuscript, which exhibits an evidently inaccurate copy of the translation, added to its great extent, may possibly keep it from ever being printed entire. but some obscure lines, introduced by one of the transcribers, at the close of the volume, contains the information already alluded to, of its having been translated at the request "of the lord erskine, by sir gilbert the hay," and of his having spent twenty-four years in the service of the king of france.[ ] how long sir gilbert hay may have survived can only be conjectured. the taymouth ms. is transcribed from another copy which had apparently been written in the year ; and the mode in which the translator is alluded to, indicates that he had been dead for several years. this serves to corroborate the mention of his name among the deceased scotish poets who are celebrated by dunbar in his "lament for the death of the makaris."[ ] norton hall, _january _. * * * * * the buke of the order of knyghthood, translated by gilbert of the haye knycht. [decoration] prologus. at the honour and the reuerence of god almichty his glore and louyng of his prouidence, the quhilk is souerane lord and syre de toutes choses, of all thingis in heuyn and in erde, we begyn here the buke of the ordre of knychthede: ffor to schaw, how be the semblaunce of the hye almychty prince of hevin, quhilk has dominacioun and seignoury apon the vij planetis of the hevyn,--the quhilkis seuin planetis makis all the courss of the hevyn, and gouernis the influences celestiales, and has powere apon the ordinancis of all erdely corporale thingis; and to schaw, that as kingis and princis has dominacioun and seignoury here apon all knychtis, sa suld knychtis haue dominacioun and seignourye subordinate of the princis and lordis behalue, be semblaunce of syk like figure, apon the small peple, to gouerne, reugle, and defend thame in all thair necessiteis: the quhilk buke is deuidit in sere parties, as sall efterwart appere be the declaracioun of the chapitres efter folowand. here folowis the declaracioun of the rubrikis eftir the parties of the buke. the fyrst chapitre is, how a bachelere squyere of honoure passit till a grete semblee of lordis, at a kingis crounyng, in entencioun to tak the ordere of knychthede, and how he forvayit, and willit in a wilderness quhare thare was ane alde knycht duelland in ane hermytage, that had tane him fra the warld, to lyue in contemplacioun of almychty god, to mend his lyf, and mak gude end, etc.; and how the worthy anciene knycht techit the squyere the poyntis of honour and propereteis pertenand to the said ordre, etc. quhat the secund chapitre contenis, sequitur.-- the secound chapitre is, how the bachelere quhilk suld ressaue that hye ordre, how he suld first lere the pointis and the propereteis of the ordre, before that he tak it, in the begynnyng. quhat the thrid chapitre contenis.-- the thrid chapitre contenis, all the said properteis of the noble ordre and office of knychthede, as the knycht deuisis. quhat the ferde chapitre contenis.-- the ferde chapitre contenis, the forme of the examinacioun how the bachelere squyere suld be examynit, be the faderis of the ordre, before or he ressauit the said ordre. quhat the fyft chapitre contenis.-- the fyft chapitre contenis, how the bacheler squyer suld ressaue the noble ordre, and the forme and manere tharof, and of the process of the making of knychtis be ordre. quhat the sext chapitre contenis.-- the sext chapitre contenis, the poyntis of the takenyngis of the blasoun of the signis and seremons custumable to be maid in geving of the said ordre, and all be ordre. quhat the sevynt chapitre contenis.-- the sevynt chapitre contenis, the gude thewis, vertues, and custumes that pertenis to the knychtis that honourably wald manetene the foresaid ordre of knychthede. quhat the auchtand chapitre contenis.-- the auchtand chapitre contenis, how the said ordre suld be haldyn at honour, and quhat honoure suld be done to thame that beris the said ordre, and has optenyt it with honoure. [decoration] here begynnys the first chapitre of the buke. the autoure of this buke rehersis, how it befell in a contree quhare a worthy, wyse, anciene knycht, that lang tyme had bene in the exercisioun of honourable weris, the quhilk, be the noblesse and the force of his noble and hie curage, throu grete wisedome and hye gouernaunce, had auenturit his persone to pursue and manetene justis, tournaymentis, and weris, and throu his gude fortune and prowess, had optenyt grete honour and glore, and victorius loving: and efter all this, as course of nature gevis till all mankynde, and othir creaturis that in this erde lyf beris, he, considerand that this lyf mycht nocht langsumly endure, bot it behovit nedely tak ane end; for to make gude end, and conclusioun to godwart, and to lyve out of the sicht of tribulacioun and vexacioun of the warld, and to be at his deuocioun in contemplacioun of his creatour: for he sawe that god had gevin him largely of his grace, sufficiandly of warldly honoure and glore; and that nature in him was sa faillid throu febilness, that he had nouthir force, na vertu, na powere to welde armes as he was wount; and had deuisit and departit his landis, gudis, and heritagis till his barnis, and ordanyt for all his thingis fynablye, and chesit to mak his habitacioun in a thik wod of a wilderness, in a faire haulch, inclosit within wateris, and grete treis bath of fruytis and of diuers naturis, and of herbes, sa that he was content to flee the sycht and the repaire of the warld: sa that nane that had sene him sa worthily, honestly, and honourably, had euir hidertillis manetenyt sa worthy and hye ordere in all worschip, but lak or dishonestee of his cors, suld se him in his failit elde, for fault of powere of naturall strenth, in syk febilness that he mycht nocht oure him self to gouerne his persone in syk worschip of honestee as he was wount, that filth of elde schamyt him nocht, quhill he had [gh]eldit to god and nature his naturale dewiteis: and als, that the vexacioun of the warld gert him nocht abstrak his inclinacioun of contemplacioun and deuocioun fra the contynuale remembraunce that he was determynit in his hert to have of the glorious passioun of crist, the quhilk he traistit, suld be a targe betuix him and the inymy of mankynde, in the day of the dredefull jugement, to sauf him fra the terrible paynis of hell. and as he was walkand a day in ane herbare allane, in his deuocioun, in a thik busk of the wod, quhare there was a grete tree in the myddis, chargit full of fair fruytis in the sesoun, the quhilkis he gaderit and held to refresch him with be tymes: and in that herbare, vnder the saide fruyte tree, thare was a faire well of water of noble nature, quhilk in diuers stryndis past throu the herber till othir gardynnis and preaux, till watere thame in somere for more gudely growth; in the quhilk herbare the noble knycht was custumyt to mak his dayly repaire; and thare in his contemplacioun, he maid his secrete orisoun, zeldand gracis and lovingis to almychty god, the makare of the mekle honour and worschip that he had grantit him in this warld, euermare day of his lyf, to contynew in sik deuocioun and contemplacioun perpetualy. and sa befell that in the samyn tyme, befell a grete stormy wyntere, in the quhilk a worthy king had sett and ordanyt a grete assemblee of lordis and knychtis and worthy men, for hie, grete, and honourable actis to be done, in the quhilkis mony [gh]ong bachelere squieris proposit thame to be maid knychtis of that worthy kingis hand: and sa befell that ane of the lordis sonis of that contree, quhilk had sett his entent and purpose to tak the ordre of knychthede at the said assemblee; and as it hapnyt him to pas throu that contree quhare the noble anciene knycht had maid his habitacioun; and forthy that the said squier quhilk was ferre trauailit, for irknes of trauale and waking to cum to the semblee, he slepit apon his palfray, and wauerit fra his folk out of the hye way, sa that he become properly in the samyn forest and wilderness quhare the knycht was induelland; and to the samyn fontayn, in the herbere thare, quhare the knycht was at his contemplacioun, in the samyn tyme come [the palfray] thare to drink at the well. and als sone as that the knycht sawe in syk a kynde, sik ane honourable man, he left his contemplacioun, and tuke out a buke of his bosum and began to rede. and sone quhen the pallefray put doun his hede in the well for to drynk, the squiere began to wakyn of his slepe, and wist nocht quhare he was becummyn, and than rais vp the worthy anciene knycht, and comit till him to spere of his effere; the quhilk quhen the [gh]ong squiere saw sa hare and alde, with a lang berde, and langar syde hyngand hare, quhite as the snawe, with a syde goun, alde and bare of wolle, and euill farand, with mony holis ryvin and rent, for grete age of wering, and for the grete waking and deuocioun and penitence that he had tane till him in that desert, and the greting that he maid for his trespass of [gh]outhede, he was worthin rycht lene, pale and wan, with hevy chere, and holl eyne, sa that be semblance his behalding was lyke to be as of a haly man and of godly lyf. sa that grete maruaill had thai ilkane of othir, ffor sen the knycht hed left the warld, to duell thare in that desert, he had nocht sene na man in all that tyme. and the [gh]ong squyere had mare grete maruaill, how he was hapnyt thare, and of the grete maruailouss maner of the worthy man; quhilk be his feris and port semyt till have bene a man of grete valoure: and with that he lichtit doun of his pallefray, and salust the noble knycht, quhilk [gh]eldit him agayne his reuerence and ressauit him graciously, and gert him sytt doun in the herbere, and reyne his horse, and rest him; and lang tyme beheld him in the visage, to se gif he wold aucht say. bot the squyere, quhylk maruailit mekle of the efferis of the knycht, for the grete worthynes that him thocht apperit in his visage, and maneris, he deferrit till him to moue first speche, as to do him reuerence for honour and age. and thus the worthy knycht spak first, sayand, faire frende, quhat is the cause of [gh]oure cummyng here in this wildernes? and fra quhyn ar [gh]e cummyn, and quhare wald [gh]e be? and than ansuerd the [gh]ong bachelere, sayand, certes sir, thare is a grete renoun gangand in ferre contreis of a grete assemblee, and rycht honourable, that suld be maid in this land be ane of the maist worthy kingis that is in the warld: quhare grete multitude of honourable and worthy men suld assemble, for honourable actis to be done, and thare suld the said king mak mony new knychtis, be cause that he him self has entencioun to be maid knycht thare, in the samyn tyme; and thus for honour of the worthy prince and of his new knychthede, i and otheris drawis togedir to se thai honourable actis, and, god willand, to be maid knycht of his hand thare. and be caus that i tuke grete journeis be the way cummand, my pallefray, throu his soft passing, gave me curage to slepe, as man fordouerit, and sa bade behynd my company, and wanderit sa in this wilderness, vnwittand quhare, quhill my hors, in this haulch, heldit to drynk. than ar [gh]e, said the worthy knycht rycht welcum here. bot quhen the noble worthy man herd him speke of the hye and noble ordere of knychthede, and of the propereteis that till it appertenis, he gave a sare sob, with a grete siche, that vness mycht he speke lang tyme eftir; rememberand of the grete honoure that he had bene in, manetenand the saide ordre of sa lang tyme. and quhen the squyere saw him fall in syk a thocht, be manere of ane extasy, he sperit at him, quhat movit him to muse sa mekle on his wordis? and than the worthy anciene knycht ansuerd him, sayand, that his thocht was on the hye and worthy ordre of knychthede that he had spoken of, and on the grete charge that a knycht vndergais quhen he vndertakis that noble and worschipfull ordre of knychthede. and than said the said squiere, that gif he coud oucht teche him of the poyntis that mycht pertene to the said ordere, for the honour and reuerence of god, that he wald teche him. and with that the said knycht blenkit vp, sayand, o faire sone, how art thou sa bald to sett thee to tak that forenamyt ordere bot first thou knew the poyntis belangand the gouernaunce and manetenaunce of it, and the maner how it suld be kepit, gouernyt, and manetenyt in honoure and worschip, as efferis, eftir the ordinaunce of god: ffor thare suld nane be sa hardy to tak that hye honourable ordre bot he war first worthy be the sicht of a prince thare till. and syne that coud the poyntis and the articlis that to the said ordre appertenis, and to knaw bath the meritis and the prowess of the ordre; and rycht sa the defaultis that a knycht may mak till his ordre; nathare suld na knycht mak ane othir bot first he himself coud thai poyntis, techingis, and documentis, to teche thame to the vassall or bachelere, that he thocht to mak a knycht of: ffor he is misordanyt and vnworthy knycht that makis knychtis nocht knawand the propereteis of the said ordre, to teche to thame that he gevis the ordre till the custumys and documentis that till it appertenis. and then said the sqyuare, faire fader, sen it is sa that as i traist [gh]e knaw the propereteis and custumes of the said ordre, that [gh]e wald, of [gh]our gudelynes, teche me and informe of the documentis and propereteis belangand to the said ordre of knichthede; ffor i haue gude hope in god, that for the traist that i haue thairto, i sulde lere besily and wele all the perfectioun of the said ordre. and than ansuerd the knycht, sayand, faire sone, sen it is sa that thou has sa gude will to lere the reuglis and the documentis belangand the said ordre, i sall len thé a lytill buke quharein all the reuglis and the ordynaunce of all the poyntis and documentis that pertenis to the said ordre ar writin; in the quhilk buke, i rede wele oft, and takis consolatioun, of the mekle honoure, worschippis, and worthynes that to the said ordre appertenis, and of the grete grace that god hes gevin me in this erde to be sa happy till haue gouernyt sa, but lak, the said ordre, that all my grace and gude auenture throw it i hadand rycht sa i honourit it, and did all my powere to manetene it, and kepe it in worschip, but repruf; for rycht as knycht, be his ordre, takis bath of god and man honoure, worschip, and warldly prouffit, rycht sa he is behaldyn till gouerne, kepe, and manetene his ordre in all honoure, worschip, and reuerence vndefoulit. and than delyuerit the knycht the buke to the bachelere; in the quhilk quhen he had red a lytill space, he hevit vp his handis to the hevyn, and lovit almychti god that had gevin him the grace to cum that way, in the tyme that he was sa wele fortunyt to haue knaulage of the poyntis, techingis, and properteis of the said ordre, and reuglis that till it appertenit, the quhilk i have lang tyme mekle desyrit to knawe. and than said the knycht, faire sone, thou sall tak this buke with thé to the court, for sen i am bath alde and wayke, and may nocht trauaill to schaw the reuglis, and documentis, and propereteis of the said ordre to thame that desyris thame, that ar with the king, thou sall geve the copy of this said buke till all men that desyris it; and thou sall hecht me, quhen thou art doubbit knycht, thou sall cum this way agayne this, and tell me quhat knychtis salbe maid thare, and all the manere of thair making, and how the king and the new knychtis takis in thank this buke of the reuglis and documentis of the said ordre; and quha askis the copy of it. and thus tuke the bachelere his leve at the knycht, and the knycht his benedictioun, and sa lap on his horse, and passit on, quhill he met with his men[gh]é; and sa to the kingis palace; and did his devoyr in gouernement of his persone rycht worthily, and gave the copy till all maner of noble man that wald desyre till have it: the quhilk buke the king lovit mekle, and prisit, and all the lordis, and held it rycht dere. [decoration] secundum capitulum. here folowis the secund chapitre, that spekis of the poyntis of the ordre that a bachelere squiere suld lere, or he tak the forenamyt ordre. in the tyme that cheritee, leautee, justice, and veritee was failit in the warld, than began crueltee, vnlautee, injure and falsetee: and than was errour and distrublaunce in the warld; in the quhilk warld god had maid man to duelle to trowe in him, serue him, honoure him, loue him, and dout him: bot first quhen despising of justice come in the warld, and than was syk mysreugle and misgouernaunce in the warld amang the peple for fault of justice, that for to gere the reugle of gude gouernaunce cum agayn with force and drede of awe, the peple gert chess a man amang a thousand, the quhilk was maist wise, maist stark and sturdy, and best of gouernaunce, maist godlyke, and full of grete leautee, and of maist nobless, maist curageus, and best techit in vertues; and ay of ilke thowsand of the peple thare was syk a man chosyn to be chiftane of the laue, and to gouerne thame, and be thaire ledare: and syne thai inquerit and soucht quhat beste was maist worthy, maist stark and sturdy, and maist swift rynnand, and maist hable to mannis service, and behove, and thareto was chosyn the horse; for the maist worthy and convenable and best rynnand, and maist hable for mannis service; and that hors was ordanyt to that chose man to ryde upon; and eftir the hors the knycht, ane of his namys, that in franche is callit cheualier, that is to say, hors man, and be the tothir significacioun, that is callit miles; that cummys of this foresaid caus, that he was in thai tymes a man chosyn be the prince and the peple of ilke thousand men, the worthiest to be thair chiftane and gouernoure in were, and thaire protectour in tyme of pes. and thus quhen he was in thai tymes chosyn amang a thousand, ane of maist vertu, and worthiest to be a gouernour of the laue; and syne the maist worthy and noble beste of the warld chosin to bere him, that he suld nocht ga on fut: syne eftir ordaynyt thai that the maist noble and worthy armoure suld be deuisit and maid to thai knychtis to kepe thair persouns in hele fra strakis of thair inymyeis, and fra the dede; and thare was he enarmyt and sett upon the hors and maid chiftane and gouernour of a thowsand persouns vnder him; and thus was knychthede first ordanyt and maid. and thar fore all knychtis suld think apon thair worthy and noble begynnyng, and the propereteis and causis thar of; and sett him sa that he haue als noble a curage in him self as suld effere to the noble ordre, that he ressauis in virtueis, and in gude thewis, and worthynes of condiciouns, sa that his worthy condiciouns and vertewis accorde to the begynnyng that is sa noble; ffor and he do the contrair, he is inymy till his ordre, and syk men suld nocht be ressauit to the ordre that ar inymyes tharetill. na suld nane be maid knychtis that had contrarius condiciouns to that worthy and noble ordre: he suld haue lufe and drede in him till god, and till his prince, agains haterent and despising; and rycht as he suld lufe and drede god, and his lord and prince, sa suld he ger him self be dred and lufit of his folk, bathe be nobless of curage, and gude thewis, and gude custumes, thinkand apon the hye honoure and worschip that is gevin till him, that is sa hye and sa noble ane office, and of sik worschip, that the condiciouns, and the nobless of the ordre, suld be accordand togeder: sa that throu the grete honour of his electioun, first, that be the prince and the people, is chosin amang a thousand for the maist worthy, and syne the maist noble and worthy armouris put on him, and syne the maist noble and worthy beste that was in the world gevin and ordanyt him to ryde on, and otheris to gang on sut besyde him; than aucht he wele to lufe and drede god, and his prince that sendis him that hye honour and worschip; and syne he aw wele to mak syk cause throu nobless of curage and gude custumes, that he be lufit and dred of the peple; sa that be lufe he conquest charitee, and be drede he conquest lautee and justice: and thus all knycht suld haue in him thir foure thingis, that is to say, charitee and gude thewis, lautee and justice, and suld excede otheris in nobless of vertues as he does in nobless of honouris. and alssua, in samekle as man is mare worthy, mare curageus, and vertuous, and mare wit and vnderstanding has na womman, and of mair stark nature, in samekle is he better na womman, or ellis nature war contrary till it self; that bountee and beautee of curage suld folowe bountee, and beautee, and nobless of cors; and thus sen a man is mare hable till haue mare noble curage, and to be better na womman, in samekle is he mare enclynit to be tempit to vice na is the womman, ffor he is mare hardy vndertakare, bathe in gude and euill, opynly; and in samekle has he mare meryt till abstene him fra vicis na has the womman, that is of wayke nature: and tharfore ilke man suld be war that wald enter in the foresaid ordre; and wit wele first quhat he dois, ffor he takis thare a grete honoure, maryte with a grete seruitute; that is to say, a grete thrillage that he mon ressaue with the ordre, to be thrall to the condiciouns, propereteis, and custumes that appertenis to the said ordre, and to the frendis of the said ordre: ffor quhy, that in samekle that a man has mare noble creacioun and begynning, and mare has of honour, in samekle is he mare thrall, and bounde to be gude and agreable to god, and till him that dois him that honoure. and gif he be of wikkit and euill lyf of tyranny and crimynous lyfing, he is contrarius and inymy of the ordre, and rebellour to the commandementis of honour. for the ordre of knychthede, be the caus that it is maid and ordanyt for, is sa noble of it self, that the princis war nocht anerly content, and the peple to ches the maist noble man of ligny, and to geue him the maist noble armouris, and syne sett him on the maist noble and curageus beste for mannis vse. bot sen thai ordanyt him to be a lorde: bot quhat vnderstandis thou redare be a lorde? a man is nocht a lord supposs he haue neuer sa mekle of warldly gudis: bot he is a lord that has seignoury and jurisdictioun vpon other men, to gouerne thame, and hald law and justice apon thame quhen thai trespass. in the quhilk lordschip thare is sa mekle nobless, and in seruitude thare is sa mekle subjectioun, bondage, and thrillage, that grete difference is betuene, and than suld thare be alsmekle difference in the personis, as thare is difference betuix the twa estatis: for and a man tak the ordere of knychthede, and he be villaine of his condiciouns, and wykkit of lyf, he dois grete injure to all his subjectes that he has vnder him in gouernaunce, that ar gude folk and symple, and mekle seruis punycioun for cruell and wickit lyf that tyrane lordis ar of, to the peple, makis tham mare worthy to be bondis bound, na to be lordis of the peple of god, off the quhilkis thai mon [gh]elde a strayte compt a day, quhilk efferis to the prince to punys, be the counsale of thame that gude and worthy knychtis ar, ffor vnworthy war, that thai war callit knychtis, and here the name and the honoure of that hye ordre that wyrkis in the contrair, destroyand and vndoand the peple of god, that thai ar chosin be electioun, and oblist to defend, and for that caus has thair lordschippis to gouerne the peple of god: ffor nocht anerly the chesing and electioun to the ordre, na the noble hors, na armouris, na gouernaunce, na lordschip, thame thocht nocht anerly, was sufficiand to the worthynes of that noble and worschipfull ordre till hald it at honour; bot thai ordanyt him a squier, and a varlet page to be euer contynualy at his bidding and seruice in all placis thare he war, to tak kepe till him,--the squiar to gang with him at his bidding, the page to kepe his hors. and ordanyt the peple to labour the ground, to graith lyfing for the knychtis and nobles that war thair gouernouris and protectouris, and to thair hors and seruandis; the quhilkis was excusit to nocht laboure, bot to rest thame euer betuix dedis of armes and actis honourable, at hunting and hauking, and othir disportis, and to gouerne and kepe passibles the labouraris, and sauf thame fra fors and wrang, sa that clerkis mycht pesably study in sciencis, men of kirk vake in goddis seruice, merchandis in thair marchandice, and othir craftis wirkand at lordis deuiss. and thus quhen clerkis studyis in sciencis, how men suld be techit to knawe, lufe, and serue god, and doubt, and to geue gude ensample of doctrine to the lawit peple to rycht sa do, for the honour and reuerence of almychtie god in deuocioun and gude lyf. rycht sa apon the tothir part, quhen knychtis ar maid be princis, thai suld sett thame with gude virtues and gude ensamplis and nobless of curage, and othir wayis gif nede war be force of armes to manetene, gouerne and defend the small peple in all justice and equitee, in lufe and drede both of god and of the prince as is before recomptit, be the quhilkis thai suld throu lufe haue contynuale charitee amang tham, and be the drede thai suld stand awe to do oucht ilkane till othir wrang, or wikkitness; and here atour as the clerkis techis thair scoleris to the sculis of sciencis of clergy, sa suld a gude knycht teche his barnis the nobless of the poyntis and propereteis of chyualrie; and that suld be done in thair [gh]outhede: and first and formast a knycht suld lere his sone to be doctryned in vertues, and syne suld he be doctrinyt and techit to ryding in his [gh]outhede, or ellis he sall neuer be gude rydare; and ay as he cummys till elde, that he lere to gouerne hors and armouris; and that he be seruand to sum lord, and vse him in armes lang or he tak the ordre, ffor vnworthy war he suld be a lord or a maister that knew neuer quhat it is to be a seruand, ffor he may neuer wele tak na knawe the suetenes that it is to be the lord, bot gif he had sum knaulage of the sourness that it is, and payne to a gude hert, to be ane vnderlout or a seruand. and tharfore war he neuer sa grete a lordis sone appertenand to be lord, he war the better that in [gh]outhede sum lord that he seruit to kerue before him, to serue in chaumer, till arme a lord, till ouresee his hors, that thai war wele gouernyt and grathit, to haunt armouris, to ryn a spere, to excercise wapnis, and othir habiliteis of honour quhilk appertenis to nobless, and namely, thai suld be techit and doctrinyt be a knycht thay [gh]ong lordis sonis that thocht to be knychtis, ffor rycht as it war nocht semand till a [gh]ong man that wald lere to be a man of craft, suld lere at ane othir that war nocht of the craft, sa is it vnsemand that lordis sonis that wald be in the maist noble ordre of knychthede suld sett thame to lere the documents and propereteis of the ordre of knychthede, bot at thame that war expert in the knaulage of virtues and gude thewis honourable that to the said ordre apperteins; the quhilkis ar vnknawable till ignoraunt and vnworthy personis; ffor the grete nobless of the said ordre may nocht ferd at keping of hors na justis na tournaymentis, na [gh]it to haunt na duell with lordis, na knychtis in company, to pas in weris na in bataillis. bot it war rycht expedient that thare war deuisit, and ordanyt be the prince, scolis of doctrinyng and teching of the noble poyntis and properteis that efferis to that hye and worthy ordre till [gh]ong lordis barnis that war lykly to cum to perfectioun. and that the knawlage thar of ware writtin in bukis be wys men of knaulage, that knewe and had experience tharof, sa that ignorant [gh]ong lordis barnis mycht first lere the science be study and speculacioun, and syne efter thai mycht, quhen thai come eldar, lere the practik of the ordre, be conuersacioun, as to pas to diuers justis and tournaymentis, to diuers realmes, in diuers voyagis and battaillis, sa mycht thai haue the pratyk with the science; ffor vile thing is, to bere office or ordre, and nocht to knawe the gouernaunce tharof throu wilfull ignorance; ffor war nocht the sculis of clergy, mony errouris and ignorauncis war in the warld mare na thare is. bot sen thare is na sculis of cheualrye, quhat maruaill is thouch thare be mony knychtis vnwytty; ffor war all knychtis and clerkis but errour, than wald thai be till all the laue of the warld a gude myroure, and than suld ilkane drede to do wrangis and injuris till othir: and sen thir tua thingis gouernis and manetenis all this warld--the tane the spiritualitee, the tother the temporalitee; and thare is sa mony sculis in sere contreis of sciencis of clergy, and nocht ane that men wate of the nobil ordre of cheualrye, than ar the gouernouris and manetenouris of the said ordre, to blame in thair awin proffit and honour, quhare sa grete nede is, to be sa negligent. quharfor the autour of this buke prayis and requeris, and mekely makis supplicacioun to the magestee ryall, and till all the company of the nobless and chyualrye of the realme, that thai assemble thame togidder, and mak reformacioun of this grete fault that is maid to the noble ordre, and the grete wrang that is done till it, in the fault of doctrine and teching of the poyntis and propereteis of noblesse, etc. [decoration] tertium capitulum. how sen the doctoure has declarit in sum part the poyntis of the ordre with the propereteis and condiciouns,--now lykis it him to speke of the office that followis the said ordre:-- that is to say, to quhat purpos it was ordanyt--to quhat fyne--and quhat entencioun: and how gif knychtis vss nocht thair office, thai ar contrarius to thair ordre, and to the begynning of thair awin making: ffor the quhilk caus he is nocht veray knycht in dede, supposs he bere the name; ffor sik knychtis ar mare villayns na is outhir smyth, wrycht, or masoun, that dois thair craft, as thai ar techit, and tharefor to schaw the poyntis of the ordre is grete meryt to thame that wate it nocht: the quhilkis he declaris here efterwart; and first and formast, knychthede was ordanyit to manetene and defend haly kirk, and the faith, for the quhilk god, the fader of hevyn, send his sone in this warld, to tak in him oure humanitee, fleschly inumbrit, and incarnate in the glorious virgyne mary, his suete moder, be the joyfull message brocht till hir be the angel gabriel; and fyne for our sakis, and to synde vs of the origynale syn, and to geve vs eternale lyf, tuke dede and passioun here, with grete dispising vilaynous, to geue vs ensample and informacioun how we suld reule oure lyfing here: quhilk ordanyt all writtis for oure teching and doctrine; and all his werkis and dedis here, he did for oure ensample and enformyng, to multiply his faith. and thus, rycht as he has chosin to growe and manetene his fayth, the worthi and wys clerkis to hald scolis, and ilkane to teche othir be the haly wryttis of prophecies and of lawis aganis the inymyes of the faith: rycht sa the hye glorious god chesit knychtis to be his campiouns, sa that the unworthy mystrowaris and rebellouris agaynis his faith mycht be throu thame chastisit, be force of armes to vencuss and ourecum his inymyes, the quhilkis every day forss thame at thair powar to put doun the fayth of haly kirk, and thir knychtis that thus occupyis thame in the defense of his rychtis ar callit his knychtis of honour in this warld, and in the tothir, that defendis the haly kirk and the cristyn faith, quhilk is oure saule hele and salvacioun. and tharefore knychtis that has faith and baptesme in him, and usis nocht the vertues and properteis of the faith, ar contrarius till otheris that kepis the faith, evyn as a man that god hes gevin till resoun, and discrecioun, and he dois evyn the contrary. thus he that has faith, and kepis it nocht, is contrarius till himself, for he wald be sauf, and gais nocht the hye gate till his salvacioun: ffor quhy, his will discordis with his witt, and ledis it the way of mystreuth, that is agayne his salvacioun, and ledis him to the way of eternale dampnacioun; and syk men takis the office and ordre, mare to be prisit and honourit in this warld, na for any prouffit that thai think to do to god, na to thair prince that gave thame the office. bot the maist noble officeris and ordres in this erd ar office and ordre of clerkis and of knychtis, and the best lufe in this erde is ay betuix thame; and tharfore rycht as clergy was nocht ordanyt to be agayn the ordre of knychthede, bot to honoure it, and thame that worthily beris it, sa suld knychtis nocht be aganis the haly ordre and office of clergy, to manetene worschip and defend it, aganis the rebellouris and euill willaris of the kirk, that are callit sonis of iniquitee, as thai ar oblist in taking of the said ordre of knychthede: ffor a man is nocht anerly oblist to lufe his ordre, bot he is oblist with that to lufe thame that be othir ordres vnder his awin lord; for to lufe his ordre, and nocht to lufe the caus that his ordre is ordanyt for; ffor syk lufe is nocht ordere lyke, ffor god has ordanyt nane ordre vnder him to be contrair till ane othir; and as to that thare is ordres of religious that few of thame lufis ane othir, and [gh]it lufis well thair awin ordre; bot that is nocht the rycht ordre of lufe and charitee, that suld be in religious: and rycht sa a knycht suld nocht samekle lufe his awin ordre, that he myslufe othere ordres, ffor that war aganis god, and gude faith; ffor the ordre of knychthede is sa hye, that quhen a king makis a knycht, he sulde mak him lord and governour of grete landis and contreis, efter his worthines, and all knychtis suld think that there is a lord and syre aboue all knychtis, ffor the honour of quham thai ar all made knychtis for to do his will, and serue him fyrst, and syne thair temporale lordis. item, the emperour aw to be knycht, in significance that he is lord and syre of all knychtis in temporalities: and becaus that the emperour may nocht mak na gouerne all knychtis, thare was ordanyt kingis, to be subordinate persons, next efter emperouris, to gouerne realmes and contreis the quhilkis suld alssua be knychtis, sa that thai may mak knychtis, ffor na man may mak knychtis bot he be knycht before, sauffand the pape: alssua all kingis suld have vnder thame dukkis and princis, erllis and vicountes, and vauvassouris and barouns; and vnder the barouns knychtis of a schelde, the quhilkis suld gouerne thame be the ordynance of the barouns that ar in the hyare degree of knychthede, before namyt: and that gerris he [him] multiply knychtis in takenyng that na king, bot he may na can gouerne all the generalitee of knychtis in erd, ffor thare is nouthir emperoure, na king, that can, na may in his regne gouerne all his subditis but help of his knychtis: bot the king of glore can wele allane but othir power, na of his awin vertu and majestie, can and may gouerne and reugle all this erde, and all the hevin, at his awin plesaunce, the quhilk is ane anerly god allane in trinitee and vnitee; and tharfor wald he nocht that ony knycht allane mycht mak a knycht that suld gouerne all the knychtis of this warld bot he allane; and tharfore ordanyt he in this warld mony of knychtis to be, that his magestee may the better be knawin, and that kingis and princis suld mak officeris vnder thame of knychtis. and forthy dois a king or a prince grete wrang to the ordre of knychthede quhen he makis othir sereffis, baillies, or prouostis of othir lawlyar men na knychtis; ffor than ar kingis and princis caus of the abusioun of the ordre of knychthede, quhilk was ordanyt for sik caus: ffor that ordre was ordanyt to be substitute till princis and kingis, apon the gouernement of the peple, as maist worthy and maist honourable for sik gouernaunce of small peple; and aboue thame dukis, erllis, and barouns; and aboue thai kingis and princis; and aboue princis and kingis allenerlye emperouris and papis. and thus suld the warld be gouvernyt be commoun reugle of gouernance, sauffand kingis that ar priuilegit or prescribit in thaire power imperiale: and thus knychthede is the hyest temporale ordre that is in the warld; but nocht the hiest office: ffor kingis and emperouris is nocht ordre, bot it is office; be the quhilk office thai precell aboue all othir officis of temporalitee, as dukis, countes, marquis, vauvasour, baroun, and knychtis; and supposs, of all officis of honourabilitee, the knychtis office be the lawast office of dignitee vnder imperiale or ryale magestee, neuertheles the ordre is hyest and maist honourable; ffor quhy, that all emperouris and kingis aw to bere that ordre, or ellis thair dignitee is nocht perfyte, ffor ellis may thai mak na knychtis. and be honourabilitee of the ordre of knychthede grete honour is ordanyt be the lawis to do to knychtis, and be nobless of honour that is put till him, he suld haue nobless of vertues, and worthyness in his curage; be the quhilk nobless of curage he suld be less inclynit till all wikkitness, and all vicis of barat, and trechery, and othir villain condiciouns, na ony othir persone. the office alssua of knychthede aw to defend his naturale lord, and manetene him; ffor a king is bot a man allane but his men; and but tham thare may na king gouerne, na deffend his peple, na [gh]it nane othir lord, ffor thai ar bot synglere persons; and thus, gif ony man be aganis the magestee or othir lordis of the temporalitee, the knychtis suld help him to defend and manetene his rychtis. bot commonly ane euill wikkit knycht takis party contrair with a kingis subditis agayne himself, ffor he wald haue his lord put doun, that he mycht haue sum part of the lordschip; bot than wirkis he agayne his awin ordre, and office that he is ordaynit for; that is ane, the faith of jhesu crist; ane othir, his natural lord; the third, the peple in thair richtis: ffor the knychtis ar adettit to manetene and defend justice; ffor rycht as a juge has powar be his office to juge and geue a sentence, rycht sa has he poware to kepe his jugementis fra fors and fra wrang and violence, in excercisioun and in execucioun of his jugement and sentence. and becaus that till jugement of caus pertenis wele wisdome and discrecioun of clergy to knaw the lawis, it is a noble thing quhen knychthede and clergy is assemblit togedir, sa that knychtis war clerkis and wele letterit men, sa that thai war the mare sufficiand to be jugis be the knaulage of science of lawis, ffor than war thare na man mare worthy na hable till to be a juge, na a knycht clerk: ffor bot science of clergy to knaw the lawis, thare is na man worthy to bere office of justice. knychtis suld be wele ryddin, and in [gh]outhede lere to be wele ryddin, on destrellis and courseris, till haunte justis and tournaymentis, to hald table round, to hunt and hauk at hert and hynde, daa and raa, bere and baare, loup and lyoun, and all sik honourable plesauncis, and sa mayntenand the office and the ordre of knychthede worthily: and as all thir propereteis before said pertenis till a knycht, as to the habilnes of his corps, rycht sa is thare othir propereteis pertenand to the saule; as justice, force, prudence, and temperaunce, charitee and veritee, lautee and humilitee, faith, esperaunce, subtilitee, agilitee, and with all othir vertues touchand to wisdome, appertenis till him, as to the saule; and forthy, when a knycht has all strenthis and habiliteis that appertenis to the corps, and has nocht thame that appertenis to the saule, he is nocht verray knicht, bot is contrarius to the ordre, and inymy of knichthede: ffor than it war lyke that knychthede war contrarius to the saule behufe; the quhilk is fals, ffor the principale caus of the ordre is to the manetenaunce of the cristyn faith, and of all vertues, and inymy to vicis. item, office of knychtis is to manetene and gouerne landis and policy, and to defend thame; ffor the raddour and the drede that the peple has of the knychtis, thai byde apon thair craftis and labouragis, and grathis lyfing for the lordis, for dout to be vndone, destroyit, and desertit; and thus ar the kingis dred for the knychtis. and thare, sais the doctour, that a fals knycht, that will nocht help to defend his king and his lord naturale, is lyke faith bot gude charitable workis, or knychthede tume and idill bot office, or heretike aganis the faith. and thus a fals knycht that is vntrewe, that dois nocht the bidding of his prince, and is contrarius till his biddingis and opyniouns, dois grete wrang to the knychtis that fechtis to the dede for justice, and for the faith, and for his prince, and his naturale lord, and is worthy to be punyst vtterly: ffor thare is na ordre na office that is maid bot it may be vnmaid, or ellis goddis mycht war bot small; and than, sen the ordre of knychthede was ordanyt be god almychty, and gouernyt and manetenyt be thame that beris the said ordre, gif thai that suld gouerne the said ordre, and manetene it, misgouernys it, and dois the contraire, the ordre is lytill behaldyn to thame, ffor thai vndo the ordre. and thus the wikkit king vndois nocht anerly the ordere of knychthede in himself, bot alssua he vndois it in his knychtis quhen he gerris thame do aganis the ordre, outhir be euill ensample that he gevis thame, doand thingis that ar aganis the said ordre, or be flatery that thai mak to thair wikkit maister, and fals suggestioun to ger thame be lufit of him, knawand that he is euill sett and will redily trow euill talis. and all thus gif it be euill done, to gerr a knycht be misgouernyt, and mysfarne throu euill gouernaunce. it is mekle were done to misgouerne mony knychtis, as thir wikkit princis dois, that all the charge of the misgouernaunce of all the knychtis of his realme is be his default and negligence, or that thai be sa wikkit in thame self, that thai geve him vnworthy counsale, to do apon his subjectis extorsiouns, be wikkitness of tyrannye, or of barate or trechery, tresone to thair naturale lordis, or vnleautee till his subditis, be force of thair wikkit curage; and than is syk a prince mekle to prise and to love, that knawis syk trychouris, and trompouris and vnworthy traytouris, that beris waste name of knychthede, that wald counsale him, and tyce him to forffet and vndo the worthy and noble ordre of knychthede, that he has sa honourably tane, and worthily hydertillis has manetenyt; mekle honour and worschip is in his curage of the prince that sa dois, and mekle suld be lufit with thame that beris the ordre worthily, quhen he takis sik vengeaunce of the inymyes of the ordre, that throu thair wikkit counsale wald corrumpe his noble curage. item, the order of knychthede standis in the corage, and nocht in the corssage, ffor ellis war the ordre litill worth; ffor quhy? a lytill persone may quhilum throu habilitee of corps oure cum a mekle, and tak him, and enprisone him. bot a thousand men, suppos thai be neuer sa stark, may nocht oure cum na vencus a gude knychtis curage. and thus is the ordre of knychthede mare worthily in the curage na in the corssage, ffor ellis war nocht that the knychthede accordit better to the body na to the saule. and be that, the vnworthy cowartis knychtis that fleis in bataillis fra thair lordis ar nocht worthy to be callit knychtis, na to bere the honour that to worthy knychtis efferis, ffor thai drede mare the distroublaunce and maless of thair corssage, na the honoure and worschip of thair curage that appertenis to the ordre of knychthede of rycht. and thus nobless of curage is better pertenand to knychtis na is force of corssage, or ellis suerenes and cowardise in mannis persone suld be of the propereteis of the ordre. and hardynes and largess suld be contrarius till it, and that war mekle vnresone; bot be all gude way of ordere, quhen a gude knycht is oure sett with oure grete powar, and lesse has of help and of falouschip to supple him, in sa mekle suld he haue mare hye curage and mare force of spirit, to oure cum all his aduersaris; and gif he be oure thrawin, till manetene the poyntis and propercteis of the worthy ordre of knychthede, than has he optenyt the honour and the loss of the worschipfull reward and meryt of justice, that deis for the defenss of the rycht, and manetenaunce of the worschipfull and meritable poyntis of the ordre, as he that deis for lufe and leautee, and honoure of the noble ordre that he was ordanyt to. for the wise man sais, that knychthede and hardynesse may neuer langsumly dwell togider bot wisedome and wise discrecion; ffor quhare na wisdome na discrecione restis, how suld thare be knaulage of honoure. na, how suld that persone discerne betuix honorable and dishonorable act or vndertaking of worschip, quhare wisdome is away, ffor wisdome will never mare mak fault till his honoure. and forthy, is it signifyit till all knychtis of honour, that a knycht may neuer be hardy, na haue the vertues that to knychthede suld pertene, bot he haue wisedome in him; na thare is na man that may sa mekle honour do till his ordre of knychthede, as to stand to the vtterest with stark curage for the rycht fermely, and neuer consent to leve his lord; na his rychtwise actioun to dee tharfore; and treuly that mon be reuglit with witt and resoun, and nocht be foly na ignoraunce; ffor quhen foly and ignoraunce is with the ordere of knychthede, wit and resone, knaulage and discrecioun, ar flemyt thairfra; ffor wisedome, resoun, and discrecioun ar the ledaris and gouernouris of cheualrye bathe in knycht, king, and emperoure, and but wisedome the order is peruertit; ffor inpossible thing it is, that foly and ignoraunce gouerne that worthy ordre. and than mon it on nede force be gouernyt be wisedome, and thus is it, that sen the ordre is reuglit be witt and wisedome, than suld all gude knychtis pres them to be wyse, and sett tharon all thair hert and mynde; the quhilk makis knycht sa curageus, that he doubtis nocht the dede, in regarde of honoure and his rychtwise cause, that he may lufe and honour his ordre, to sauf bathe saule and honour, in the contrair of foly and ignoraunce. item, office of knychthede is to mantene and defend wedowis, maidenis, faderles and moderles barnis, and pore miserable persouns and piteable, and to help the wayke agayne the stark, and the pure agayne the riche; ffor ofttymes sik folk ar be mare stark na thai pelit and derobbit, and thaire gudis tane, and put to destructioun and pouertie, for fault of powere and defence. and becaus all sik dedis is wikkitnes, crueltee, and tyranny, tharfore is the ordre of knychthede ordanyt, as in that poynt amang the lave, to gaynstand. and gif a knycht himself be the manetenar or doare of thir thingis, he is vnworthy to bere the ordre for his wikkitnes. and rycht as god has gevin to the knycht pithe, hardynes, and hye curage, rycht sa has he gevin him pitee in hert, to haue merci of the pure that gretis on him; askand help and consort for traist that thai haue in thame of help. and thus suld a knycht haue gude sicht to the miserable persouns, gude eris to here thame, and gude mynde to think on thame, that pitously cryis apon him for help and confourt. and he that has nocht thir vertues, is nocht verray knicht, na suld nocht be comptit as ane of the ordere of knychthede. alsua, and the office of knichthede, that sa mekle is lufit and presit and honourit, war till derub and destroy the pore folk and all sik peaceable persouns, and till desaue wedowis, that has na defence bot god and the office of knychthede, and till mysgouerne in thair gudis and heritagis, and dissaue the faderles and moderles barnis, and all thing that war falsate, barate, wikkitnes and trechery, war poyntis of the said office, and the office war alsmekle honourit for euill dedis, and wickit lyfing, as it is now for gude dedis, thare suld ma press to tak the said ordre and office na thare dois now; ffor be cause that the ordre is founded apon lautee, curtaisy, liberalitee, lufe, and pitee, many of thame that beris the said ordre irkis tharof in the warld that now is. for the office of knychthede suld have stark place in gouernaunce, and he suld be wele horsit, and haue power of men to kepe the contree and the kingis wayis, all pilgrymes, trauailouris, merchandis, labouraris, and suld haue the jurisdictioun of justice in citeis and townis; and quhen nede war, to assemble the folk for the prouffit of the commountee; and quhen perilis war apperand in the landis, to byrn mysal housis, and destroye perilous passagis, ger hag woddis, and byg and mak reparacioun of euill biggit placis, castellis, and wallit townis and fortressis, and kepe and defend all gudely persouns; chastyse and punyse all misdoaris and wikkit cruell persouns; ffor and the contrary of thir gude poyntis war approprit to the ordre, than all gude gouernance wald faile, and na man wald be seur; ffor the office is foundit ay on gude and prouffitable werkis that ar spede full to the commoun prouffit, and to gaynstand all thame that settis thame for the distrublaunce of the pore peple, and hyndering of the commoun prouffit, and to put down euill and wikkit men, and to fauour, nurise, and manetene gude peple: ffor rycht as the hewing ax is ordanyt to cutt doun treis that hynderis labouragis of landis, and cartis and chariotis and merchandices to passe through the forestis, sa is the suerd of knychthede ordanyt to kutt away and destroye the wickkit vnworthy wedis and ronnis of thornis of euill men that lettis labouraris, merchandis, and traualouris to trauale throu the warld, quhilk is as a forest and wildernes quhen it is not wele redde; off the quhilk euill men suld be wedit out be knychtis, keparis of the lawe, that gude men mycht lyve in lee; and he that is a knycht, and dois nocht this, bot dois evyn the contrary, suld be tane be the prince, or be othir worthy, faithfull, and honourable knychtis, and put till dede; ffor quhen a knycht is a revare, or a thef, or a traytour or a murtherar, or a lollard, scismatike or heretike, or in syk termys opinly knawin and approuit, than is he vnworthy for to lyve, bot to be punyst in example of otheris that defoulis that maist noble and worthy ordre, and abusit it aganis the poyntis and the propereteis of the ordre; ffor it war better to syk a knycht to [gh]elde him selfe to justice to be punyst, with mortall punycion, na to lyve in sik misordinate lyf for to vndo himself, and otheris mony, quhilk lesse euill war that he war vndone allane, and lesse charge till his saule: ffor gif a knycht or a lord haue all thir forenamyt vicis in him or any part of thame, and wald punyse otheris, and will nocht punyse himself, that is nocht the rycht way of justice; ffor gude justice begynnis at it selfe, and syne at othir men, ffor grete lak is to reproue and correct otheris in that, that he is foulare smyttit him self; quhilk gif he will nocht do, othir knychtis suld do for honoure of thair ordre, till hald it euir in honoure and worschip, as wele efferis it to be. and all knychtis that fauouris syk cruell dedis, and gerris nocht punyse thame, thai ar foule in the dede as the doaris of thame; ffor syk men ar nocht verray knychtis, bot feigned beris the ordre, and dois nocht the office; ffor rycht as a knycht had a hurt in ane of his handis, that hurt is mare nere and dere, to the laue of his othir membris, na it is to me or ane othir man, and erar efferis till him to sett remede tharein. and rycht sa, gif a knycht mysgouernis him in syk kynde that he be othir thef, or traytour, revar, or murderar, it appertenis mare till othir knychtis to sett thare in remede, na it dois till otheris that ar na knychtis; ffor all knychtis ar, and suld be as a cors. and thare ffore, knychtis has mare wite of the mysgouernaunce of othir knychtis na ony othir man has, and mare dishonoure alssua na men that ar na knychtis; ffor it is thair default, sen the correctioun efferis to the order and to the office; ffor quhy, he is inymy to the ordre that sa gouernys: and than suld it wele effere to the order to punyse thair inymyes. quharefore, thou that art a knycht, and will correk otheris defaultis, correk thine awin faultis fyrst: ffor a traytour, thef, or revare knycht, he is alssua thef, traytour, and revare till his order that revis at the worschip and the honoure that appertenis till it, mare na to reve othir mennis gudis; ffor he that stelis or revis honour fra ony persone, bringis him hame schame and dishonoure and euill renoune; quhilkis honoure passis all richess. quhat difference is thare, to gude vnderstanding, till a traytour that betraisis his awin lord naturale, or his castell, or his wyf, or his douchter, or his eldest sone, or slais his counsale and murderis thame, or sik dedis dois, in regard of him that euer was lele and trewe in all thir thingis, and deis for his lord in bataill place. and alssua quhen a knycht defendis ane othir that is false and traytoure till his prince or his naturale lord, and will nocht thole him cum to justice, nor na punycione to be done apon him, he is were na he that did the dede: and the ordre of knychthede is dishonourit in his persone, that manetenis, and will nocht bring to justice a false traytour; and vnworthy war that he had justice in keping. ane othir poynt of the office of the knychthede is, to accuse traytouris aganis his prince, or otheris that it efferis, and till appelle thame of bataill, and feicht wyth thame: and office of traytour is, to deny his tresone, and hyde it, and cover it, quhill he may, and eschewe all prufis tharof; and thus ar the twa curagis wele contrarius togidder, that neuer curage of traytour mycht ourcum ane noble curage of a trew knycht; bot gif it be throw pride or surquidy, that is callit oure presumptuouse in himself: the quhilk god tholes quhilom be punyst in bataill place. bot the curage of a lele knycht, that for a lele cause debatis, may nocht be oure cummyn, bot gif it be for sum syn agaynis the ordre of knychthede: ffor gif a knycht wald reve fra the small peple the gude that god has gevin thame, and geve it till otheris that he aw nocht to, that war agayne the office of knychthede, to tak fra laware na himself outhir moble gudis or possessiouns, and hald it as heretage till him, nocht gevand, na restorand agayn; he may be lyknyt to the wolf that the lord gave the schepe to kepe to, as till a familyar faa; or he may be lyknyt till a fule lorde that left his faire wyf in keping till a [gh]ong traytour knycht; or he that left his stark castell and his gudis till a bitter cuvatous knycht, vntrew knycht; and thus is he mekle to wyte that gevis his castell, or his wyf, or his schepe, in syk gouernaunce; or how ane othir suld traist his gouernaunce in him that gouernis nocht wele himself? ffor thir ar thingis that men suld nocht put in misgouernaunce of fule men, his faire wyf, his castell, and his moble gudis; ffor commonly syk men that begylis thair lordis may neuer be reformyt na redressit till lautee, na till honour of knychthede. item, ane othir poynt of the office of knychthede is, to hald his armouris cleine and faire, and wele at poynt, and to se wele to the gouernaunce of his horse, and nocht to play thame at playes of dice, and of tabilles, and othir licht playis, quhilkis ar nocht contenyt in the poyntis of the ordre: ffor it is forbedyn in the lawis to mak ony ath contrary to the ordre of knychthede, na to the office; and he that puttis doune the principale thingis quhare with the ordre and office is haldyn at honoure and worschip, throw lycht playes or uthir wayis, he honouris nocht wele his ordre; ffor knycht in weris, but horse and harnais, is lytill presit; and sen it is sa, that god and man acordit in the poyntis of the ordre of knychthede that na false aythis suld be tharein, na in thame that gouernis the said ordre, suld than nane be. item, lordis na knychtis suld nocht brek the ath of mariage throw misordynate lechery, ffor that is a poynt that discordis with the poyntis of the ordre; ffor thare is thre gree of chastitee, the quhilkis all honourable persouns ar behaldin till, that is, ane in mariage, ane in wedowhede, and ane in maidynhede that is callit virginitee; of quhilk the haly writt biddis thame that may nocht lyve chaste, mary thame, and syne kepe thair maryage; ffor gif thai do nocht, and thai brek mariage, that brekis thair aithe to godwart, the quhilk is agayn the ordre and office of knychthede; ffor chastitee is vertu, and misordanyt lechery is vice: and thus sen all vertu folowis the ordre, and all vice discordis with it, it syttis wele that princis, lordis, and knychtis kepe honour in that poynt, and namely, nocht to forffet to thair mariage. item, justice and knychthede acordis togeder, and justice and mariage, bresing and othir disordinate lechery discordis with justice; and thus knychthede and disordanyt lechery discordis, as apperis be the lawis of haly kirk, quhilkis efferis prelatis to correct: and thus gif a prince, or a lord, or a knycht brekis mariage, he is mare to blame na ony of lawer degree; ffor the hyar degree the gretter fault, and mare to be punyst in all excessis of vertu. item, ane othir poynt of knychthede is, that a knycht suld be meke and full of clemence, and nocht prydy, na presumptuouse, na orguillouse; ffor oft tymes of pryde and orguille and presumpcione cummys injure and discensione; ffor orguille is contrary to justice, and inymy to concord; and tharfore, thare suld na knycht be hautayn, na feir, na prydefull, na presumptuouse, bot euer with mekenes, and clemence, and humilitee, be symple as a may amang peple, and in his inymyes presence be as lyone rampand; ffor quhat ever he be, that be full of pryde and presumptuousnes, amang vertuous men is repute nocht, for thai ar contrarius to pes and concorde, and pes and concorde ar contrarius to justice. and sa is pride aganis the poyntis of the ordre. and humilitee is the rute of the stedefastnes of knychthede; ffor schortly to say, knychthede acordis till all vertu and justice, and all thingis that ar contrariouse to virtu and justice ar contrariouse to the ordere and office of knychthede: ffor knychthede suld defend all injuris and wrangis, all pilleries, wrang, weris, and tribulaciouns, and suld hald the peple in all justice, equitee, veritee, and lautee, pes and debonairetee, and outsched the wikkit fra the gude peple pesable; quhilkis, gif thai do nocht, bot dois the contrarye in thair governaunce, thai ar contrarius to thair ordere, and worthy to be punyst. bot thare is nane that all knawis, na all may punyse, bot the emperoure, the quhilk ordanyt knychthede spirituale, to kepe justice, ordinare, be reugle vertuouse, in pes and concorde, and justice rigorouse, that is, the ordre of knychthede, quhilk suld on force compell euill men, and of wikkit lyf, to desist and cesse fra thair wikkitnesse, and punyse thame tharfore: and thus is thare knychtis of pes and concorde amorouse, and be reugle of justice, to mak gud reugle and gracious concorde and gouernaunce in the peple; and alssua knychtis of the justice rigorouse, ordanyt to compelle be fors of armes all tyrannis, traytouris, and all othir mysdoaris, and cruell tormentouris of the haly labouraris, kirk men, merchandis, and traualouris, to cesse and desist fra thair wikkitnesse. the quhilkis knychtis suld be full of vertues, and gude lyf, to geue otheris ensample. [decoration] quartum capitulum. here spekis the doctoure of the examinacioun of the squyer, whilk suld enter in the order newly of knychthede. sayand, that he suld be first examynyt be ane alde knycht that knewe and lufit wele the said order atoure all thing, next to god: ffor thare is mony princis that rekkis nocht quhat maner of condicioune na of lyf his knichtis be, sa that he haue grete nomber of knychtis in his company. bot it suld nocht be sa: ffor knychthede takis na hede to multitude bot to noblesse of cheualrye, and of curage, and of gude thewis, that we haue before spokyn of; and tharefore, gif he that is examynour lufys better multitude, na noblesse of curage and of vertu, he is nocht worthy to be examynoure of squyeris, bot suld be reprovit and punyst be the prince of knychthede, of his defoulyng of the order of knychthede: and first and foremast it suld be sperit, gif he trowis, lufis, and doubtis god? but quhilk poynt is na man worthy till nane order of noblesse. item, gif he dredis the defaultis to do, that dishonouris the order? and thus squier, but lufe and but drede to do mys, is unworthy to the ordre. and gif he takis it agayne thir propereteis and condiciouns, he wenis he takis honour till him, bot he takis dishonour; ffor a squyer but noblesse is nocht worthy to sa hye honour, as to the worthy honour of knychthede; na [gh]it in the weris of his prince or otheris, but horse, armouris, and sik men, ar nocht habil to wyn honour in armes, ffor men may nocht mare cruelly destroye the noble order of knychthede, na till haue ane vnworthy examynoure of the squier that suld enter in the said ordre; ffor gif he admytt to the ordre a man of vnworthy curage, that is destructione of the ordre; and suld a squier examyne himself first, and think on the mony noble propereteis and condiciouns of the ordre, to think in him self gif he war worthy, or he put him to the examnacioune. rycht as scholaris examynit to be prestis or greid in scholis, suld nocht sett thame thar fore, bot thai fand thame worthy tharfore, ffor dout thai war repellit, or ellis defoulit thair greis; rycht sa suld bachelere squieris in the examinacioune of the order of knychthede, ffor he suld nocht alssua ask the ordre that he wald eftir deffoule be his euill thewis. and alssua lordis that ar sa informyt, that thai will mak sik men knychtis, thai do aganis the poyntis of the ordre, and chargis thair consciences; ffor men knawis nocht noblesse of curage in fair wordis, bot in worthy werkis: na nocht in faire clething, ffor oft tymes vnder a faire habyte may be a full false hert, full of barate, trechery, and traysoune; na he takis him nocht be his faire harnais, na his faire horse, na othir faire habilliamentis; ffor oft tymes vnder syk faire habilliament ar nocht the best men of armes, and worthiast in vertues. quharfore, gif thou will wale worthyast and maist noble man of curage, thou seke him be thir takenis, that is, for to say, justice, and temperance, force and prudence, ffayth, esperaunce that is gude hope, and cheritee, and leautee; and be thir takenis, thou sall knawe the nobless of curage; be the quhilkis vertues, the noble hert defendis it fra the inymyes of knychthede; quhilkis ar falsehede, trechery, traysone, thift and murder, and syk lyke thingis. item, our [gh]ong men suld nocht be maid knychtis, bot gif thai had gude tutouris and curatouris, for dout of misgouernaunce of the ordre for fault of knaulage; ffor quhen a childe is made knycht, he thinkis nocht on the poyntis of the ordre that he sueris to kepe. and gif the squiere that is ressauit be the examynouris to be knycht and admyttit, be a rekles man and a wikkit, and of vile condiciouns, he dois grete wrang to the ordre that he beris, and till himself too; ffor and he be vencust in barrier, or he be cowart or full of wikkit vicis, as fleand fra battaillis, revand or steland, he sall neuer haue honour na prouffit of his ordre: ffor rycht as it honouris the honourable, it dishonouris the dishonourable. bot of all thing, a knycht suld kepe him in all vertu to hald the mydwart, for ay the mydwart is vertu, sa is the extremitee vice; and thus a knycht suld be of resonable gude age, that he knaw the propereteis and poyntis that he aw till haue, that he nouthir excede, na be our lache in his dede. item, it suld be sperit at him, quhat is the cause that he takis the ordre for? quhethir for fairnes of corssage; or for hardinesse of curage; or for richesse, that he may be proudly cled; or for pryde, that he may take mare state na his falowis that now is; or for that he is wele horsit and enarmyt; or for to be a myrour in his lignie, that nane is sa worthy as he to be knycht. item, men may mak knychtis of pure mennis sonis, and thai haue gude, evin in frendschip of lordschip; and with that, that thai haue the vertues foresaid. bot and a knycht or a lord mak ane vnworthy creature knycht, he puttis his honour in dangere, that disprisis and dishonouris the noble ordre of knychthede, and makis his awin honour mare law na it was; for the fylth and the wrechit vnhonestee, that he has lychtlyit the said ordre. for be rycht resone of worthynesse and noblesse of the ordre, thare may nocht, na suld nocht na villaine curage cum be gude, evin to the said ordre; ffor that war be gude resone vndoyng of the said noble ordre, that is ordanyt bot for noblesse and gentillesse of curage and gude vertues, as foresaid is, and gude thewis: for hye parage and ancien honour ar the first poyntis of the rute of knychthede, that is cummyn fra alde ancestry, and syne worthy persouns with worschipfull condiciouns and propereteis, personale of the knycht him self, makis mariage betuix worschipfull vertues in hye parage and knychthede, quhilk aw nocht to lycht bot in noblesse; and tharfore, and a lord marry nocht hye parage and knychthede togeder, he is contrarius to noblesse and to knychthede, and to knychthede bathe. bot a lord may put of his powere forssably agayn the noble lordis and knychtis willis, a man in the ordre that is nocht worthy: bot he may nocht vndo that he has done, ffor suppose that he haue power to mak a knycht, he has na power to vnmak him, sa mekle is the vertue of knychthede; ffor na man but grete cause, and juge with princis powar, may tak honour away quhare it is anys gevin. than be resone, it aucht nocht to be that prince nor knycht mak na knycht of ane unworthy persone, na of villaine lignage. ffor wald men understand that alsmekle is nature honourit, as for corporale nature, in tree and beste as in man; bot as for nature spirituale, man is mare honourde. bot be the noblesse of the spiritualitee of the saule resounable, that accordis with angelis of hevin, thare is grete difference; and sen noblesse of curage suld be in all knycht, it may stand that a man of a new sprongyn lygnye, that be honourable and worthy in all gentrise, mycht be convenable and worthy to the ordre, sa that the vertues condiciouns and propereteis of noblesse of curage acord ther till. bot this opynione is vntrewe and vnworthy, ffor and that mycht be, it war mare lyke that the ordour of knychthede suld better or alswele accorde to the propereteis corporalis, and personalis, as spiritualis: the quhilk is false, ffor knycht gaynis nocht bot for hye parage and noblesse, with the seven vertues before namyt be the doctour, as force, prudence, justice, and temperance, with faith, gude hope, and charitee, with leautee that efferis to knychthede. item, the examynour suld spere of the squieris condiciounis, and maneris, and gude vertues, and thewis, amang the peple; and quhat documentis and techingis thai ar of; ffor the fault of gude documentis and techingis gerris vnworthy men be reboytit and repellit fra the examinacione of the inquisitouris, that thai cum nocht to that noble ordre: ffor worthy examynouris will admytt nane, bot worthy: ffor grete foly war to put in the ordre thame that efterwart suld be repellit for their misgouernaunce; and forthy suld the knycht, that is the inquissitour, seke wele the poyntis of noblesse and of valour, and of the vertuouse propereteis and gude thewis of the squyer that suld be knycht; and quhy, and for quhat cause, he will tak the ordre; and quhethir it be for meritable cause till implye him for the haly kirk, the cristyn faith, and for the commone prouffit, for the peace, and for all peceable persouns; or he takis the ordre for pryde or couatise, or for to be honourit, or for vane glore, or to wyn richesse thareby, quhilk, gif he may persaue that his entencione cummys of ane vnworthy cause, admytt him neuer: ffor rycht as homycide, symony, usure, and scismatyke condicioune, repellis clerkis fra benefice and honoure, and all dignitee; in lyke cas suld thir faultis before namyt repelle a squyere fra the noble ordre of knychthede, that suld haue nane affinitee bot till noblesse of corage, as said is; ffor and men wald wele knaw and consider the grete chargis and dewiteis that folowis the said ordre, with saule perile, and worschip oft in were, thay sald stand grete aw to tak that noble ordre, mare na to be outhir monk, or frere, or othir religiouse of the hardest ordre that is; ffor traistis wele, that grete honour beris ay grete charge, and gretter disese it is, to fall fra grete honoure agayne that anys a man has bene at, na euir it was joy, to be thareat: _quia non est tanti gaudii excelsa tenere, quanti est meroris de excelso cadere_. and tharfore knycht suld mare dout honour na dede, and schamefulnes suld mare chastise a worthy knycht, and geve him a hardar passione; and it suld happin him, na suld outhir hunger or thrist, or hete or calde, or ony disese that he mycht haue; and namely, grete princis and lordis sonis suld think grete schame to wyn ane euill name for lak of thair condiciouns in thair [gh]outhede, gif thai thocht euer to cum to the worthy and worschipful ordre of noblesse that knychthede is callit; ffor thai may wele traist that the name that thai wyn in thair [gh]ong age remaynis with thame for euermare: and than is it grete auenture, and euer thai be worthy to ressaue that ordre, quhen the examynouris knawis thair condiciounis; and tharfore, all syk perilis suld be schawin to the squier or he sett him to cum to the examynyng. cheualry may nocht be vp haldyn but grete costis, and als expensis on horse, harnais, mete, and men, and othir necessair thingis that till it appertenis; and tharfore, thare suld na man, supposs he war worthy, desyre to tak the ordre bot he war a lorde, or that he had lord to mynister him all his necessiteis, and hald his honour abufe in tyme of weris; ffor ellis, in default of horse, harnais, and othir necessiteis, euill sett knychtis, quhen thai wantt, assemblis syk euill men as thame selff, and gerris mony ruggaris and revaris, and othir wikkit men, destroy the commouns, and distrouble the realme, and makis mekle wrang to be done in thaire default. item, men countrefait in thair persone, na oure grete growin men, na men oure fat, or that has euill disposicione, or euill sekenes in thair body; ffor it war lak to the makare to mak men knychtis that war nocht hable till armes, and to do vailliaunce in tyme of weris; ffor the nobilnesse of the ordre is sa worschipfull, that it sufferis na man that has mahaigne, na demembrit, na othir wayis manket in corssage, visage, na membris--be he neuer sa riche--to be admyttit to the said maist noble ordre, the quhilk excludis vttraly all ignobilitee and vilitee. item, the inquisitoure examynour suld mak inquest at the squyar gif euer he did ony grete excessiue syn, as tresoune, or scisme, sorcery, or wichecraft, or grete murderis, or syk lyke thingis; the quhilk, suppose he prise thame lytill, may lett him to ressaue the noble ordre, in company to be falowe to the worthy cheualrye: na [gh]it na vane glorius squyare suld be na knycht, ffor vane glore tynis the meritis of all gude vertues. na he suld nocht be a gabusoure, na a flaitour squyare, that suld enter in the said ordre; na [gh]it hautane, na fiere in pride, na orguillouse squyere suld nocht enter in knychthede; and namely outrageus in word, and sclanderouse bakbytare, suld nocht enter in the ordre; na commone leare, na commone viciouse hurdomare hasartour, commoune tauernouris full of sleuthe, barganouris, commouns glotouns, kid and knawin for syk, dronkynsum, manesuorne, and all outrageus commoun vicius men, ar nocht to be ressauit to the ordre of knychthede, bot suld be repellit be the examynouris of the ordre: and thus sald nane be ressauit to the ordre bot nobles of parage, vertuouse, honest, and of worthy curage; and in all this suld squyer be inquerit, or he be knycht. [decoration] quintum capitulum. here declaris the doctour in quhat fassone and maner suld a squyer that wald be knycht, ressaue the ordre of knychthede. and as to that, the squyer quhen he is examynyt and admyttit, he suld schriue him clene of all synnys and defautis that he may think on, that euer he maid aganis god, and his magestee; and tak his sacrament, sayand "in the name of thee, and in entencione to serue thee, and honour thee, my souerane lord god, and thy dere moder mary, and all thy haly sanctis of paradise, i tak this day this worthy ordre." and this suld be done be prince or lord in a grete feste, as zule, pasche, or witsonday, or all halowmesse, ffor the mare honourable assemble is maid thay dayes na in otheris: and than suld the squyere fast the fest evin, and wake all that nycht in prayeris of grace asking, and otheris als suld pray for him, to geve him grace, worthily to ressaue and kepe, and worthily gouerne the said ordre, at the plesaunce of god, and the haly court of hevin: and on the day before, he suld pas to the kirk, in his best array as efferis and custum of the countree is, thair to be in prayeris, and to here a preching, or a proposicione langand the said mater; na he suld nouthir here na speke viciouse speche, na trompouris, na janglouris, for that is lak to the ordre: and on the morne eftir, quhen he is arayed in habyte of knychtis wede, thare mon be grathit a solempne messe with note, and in the tyme of the offeratore, he sal cum before the altare and offer: and syne sall he mak ane athe to the ordre till honoure it eftir his powere, in the honour of almychtj god, prince of all chevalrye; and thare in present place, suld thare be maid a faire sermone, declarand the poyntis of the christyn faith, acordand thame togeder with the poyntis of the ordre of knychthede. to the quhilkis poyntis of acordans the squyre suld take gude tent, and knaw thame all, and hald thame prentit in his hert percure, with all the vij. sacramentis, the x. commandmentis, the xij. articles of the treuth, and to kepe him fra the vij. dedely [synnis]. to all the quhilkis poyntis of the faith, to kepe and honoure and fulfill at his powere, incontynent that he haue tane the said ordre at the honoure and reuerence of god, and thareto suld mak his speciale prayeris for all, the tyme of the messe: and fra thyne furth for all his lyf dais. and quhen the preching is done, than sall cum furth the prince or lord that suld mak him knycht; the quhilk aw of dett to be knycht or he mak ony knychtis: rycht as nane may mak preste bot he be preste, sa may nane mak knycht bot first he be maid knycht, saiffand the pape: ffor how may he geve that he has nocht? ffor herbes and bestis may geve thair nature ilkane till othir, to mak thair nature perpetuall; bot sa may nocht knychtis be maid, bot first the makare be possessit of his gift, and of his ordre: ffor gif ony lord wald geve the ordre and nocht haue it, or vnworthily geve it othir wayis na the ordre requeiris, he dois grete dishonour to the ordre. and thai that takis the said ordre of thame that has na powere vnworthily, thai haue na grace in the ordre to do wele, na prouffit to thame na otheris; and thus is the squyere begylit, and dissauit of his ordre, and all cheualrye sclanderit. and than suld the squier hald vp his handis to the hevyn, and his eyne to the hicht, and his hert to god, syttand on his kneis, and thare suld the prince haue the suerd redy of honour, gylt with gold, and belt it about his sydis, in takenyng of chastitee, justice, and cheritee, and thare the knycht suld outhir geve him a strake with his hand, or with a drawin suerd, in the nek, to think on the poyntis and defend his dewiteis. and syne suld he outhir kys him in the mouth, or ellis kys the croce of the suerd, and geve it him, and ger him kis it agayne, and sa put it in the scalbourd, and bid him think on his athe, ande charge that he has vndertane, and the honour that he suld manetene. and efter that all the seruice of god be done, the new maid knycht suld ryde on ane coursere out throw the citee, or toune, and schaw him to the peple, sa that thai may knaw him for a knycht, defendour of haly kirk and commone prouffit, and halder of lawe and justice, and mayntenour of the peple, that quhasa has ado thai suld draw till him for help; and that he suld haue mare raddour and drede to do mys, or oucht that suld be agayne the lawe euer mare in tyme to cum, and to saif the honour and the worschip of his noble ordre; ffor raddour, drede, and schamefulnes is hye grace till all persouns that has honour to kepe. and in that day suld thare be grete festyng, justyng, and tournaymentis, with other actis, as lissis and behurdis, geue grete giftis, and mak grete solempnitee in the honoure of god and the grete feste, and that herauldis and kingis of armes and menstralis war rewardit. and than suld the prince rewarde the new knycht with landis, lordschippis, or othir worthy giftis and gouernementis, till eke his estate and help to manetene the honoure of the ordre. and thus suld giftis be gevin bathe till him, and be him till otheris; ffor the ordre requeris giftis to be gevin in daly placis; for honoure and worschip of lordis of estate may nocht be kepit, bot quhare giftis ar gevin, and noble actis of honour excersit: ffor quhare honoure is nocht kepit, ordere gais bakwart. [decoration] sextum capitulum. here spekis the doctoure of the significatioune of the armes of the order of knychthede. now declaris the doctour, that as the preste quhilk in the mess sayand has syndry habitis and habilliamentis, quhilkis ilkane has a syndry significacione, as is acordand to thair office and order, and that office of preste and office of knycht has sa grete affinitee and alliaunce togeder; ffor quhy? that rycht as office of preste has certane thingis that pertenis to the ordre; and ilkane has a certane significacione, sa has the ordre of knychthede: ffor ilk thing pertenand till his order has a certane significacioune, be the quhilkis is signifyit the noblesse of the order of knychthede. and first and formast, thare is to the knycht gevin a suerd with a crossit hilt, that signifyis that rycht as our lord jhesu crist vencust in the croce the inymy of mannis lygnage, to the quhilk he was dempt throu the syn of adam, oure first fader, that rycht sa suld a knycht vencuse the fais of the croce throu the suerd; ffor the suerd is ordanyt to do justice with; and tharefore is it maid with twa egeis, in takenyng that he suld manetene and defend bathe temporalitee and spiritualitee with the double scherand suerd. item, to the knycht is gevin a spere quhilk is evin, and betakenis rychtwisenesse and veritee; ffor as the spere is evin, and rycht sa suld he be bathe evynlyk and rychtwise, and manetene and defend lautee and equitee, in contrary of falshede and trecherye; and the scharp hard stelin poynt of the spere hede betakenis, that suppose falsehede be neuer sa wele armyt, [gh]it will lautee pas throu him, and vencuse him. and be the pennone on the spere end, it schawis that veritee hydis him nocht, bot schawis him to falsehede, sayand ay, quhen it movis, lo me here veritee, that has na drede of falsehede, na trecherye; and veritee is the foundement of esperaunce that is gude hope, and of all othir thingis that ar signifyit be the spere. item, chapellat of stele alssua is gevin to the knycht, in takenyng of drede of schame and repruf; ffor a knycht suld be schamefull as a maydin dredand repruf: ffor knycht or woman, but drede of schame, may nocht kepe honour langsumly, na be obedient to thair ordre: ffor rycht, as drede and schamefulnes, gerris a persone cast doune the hede, and luke to the erde, sa dois the stelin hat the knycht cast doune his eyne; and rycht as the stelyn hat kepis the knychtis hede, quhilk is the hyast membre, and maist principale of his persone, sa kepis drede of schame the knychtis honour, that is the hyast poynt of his ordre, and maist principale poynt of all. the quhilk drede of schame suld haue in it fyve wittis to kepe, that throu nane of thai suld dishonour cum, and that the noblesse of his curage suld defend thai fyve wittis, that neuer throu thame euill na wikkitnesse cum. item, haubergeone is gevin to the knycht, in takenyng of castell, to kepe him fra his inymyes, that is, euill vicis; ffor rycht as a castell is wallit all about with stanis togedir junyt, to kepe knycht fra his fais, rycht sa is the haubert to kepe him rycht sa fra his fais that ar vicis and defaultis, till his maist noble ordre of knychthede, the quhilk is maid of mony syndry pecis as of maillis. item, leg-harnais is gevin the knycht, that his leggis and fete were seker to passe in the wayes and stretis, and kepe thame, that na robbouris, na thevis, na murderaris, vmbesett the wayes to reve na strouble lele merchandis, na labouraris, men of kirk, na pilgrimys, that passis in the contree for the commone prouffit of the realme: and in sik keping he suld be garnyst in his armouris and his wapnis, that he mycht do scathe and tak nane. item, thare is gevin him maisse, that is to say pollax, in takenyng that he is officere ryale; and that gif ony man disobeyis till his wand, that he lay that maisse on thame to hald the kingis rychtis on fut. alssua, spuris ar gevin him, in signifiaunce that rycht as spuris spedis the horse to ryn fast, and besy in tyme of nede, quhen his inymyes cummys nere, rycht sa suld knycht in tyme of nede be besy quhen the king or his contree is ouresett with lourdanis and revaris or traytouris or other wikkit misdoaris, sa that he slepe nocht his time, bot be besy and diligent in the commone prouffit. of the suerd we haue spoken of before, in quhat takenyng and significacioune it is gevin. item, the quhip is gevyn to the knycht in his hand, quhen he is on horse, to that significacione, that he suld stand aw and be obedient till his lord; ffor disobeisaunce vndois the knycht and brekis his ordre, that all his ofspring will forthink: as for the inobedience of adam, all his ofspring was punyst. item, gorgelin is gevin him, in takenyng that thare suld nouthir enter na isse throu his gorge thing that suld be villanie, na lak thing to the honour of the ordre; as to be at bidding of his lord, but disobeysaunce, and but murmur do his lordis commandementis; and nouther do, na consent, to tresone or guille, barate, na trechery, vnleautee, na othir vice, that may cum throu word na thocht be the gorge outwart; na excesse of glutony, drunkynnesse, na othir mystemperaunce throu the gorge inwart. and thus the gorgelyn suld kepe the knychtis gorge. item, masse is gevin him, that betakenis strenth and force of curage, the quhilk masse is lyknyt till a false sterap, quhilk strykis on all sydis, apon all kynde of harnais; sa dois force of curage, it strykis on all sydis, and defendis the honour of knichthede agayne all vicis, and enforcis vertues. item, thare is gevin to the knycht his lytill schort suerd, that sum callis misericorde, in signifyand that quhen he has implyde his spere, his lang suerde, his polax, his false sterap, and his falow be sa nere him that he may nocht help himself with nane of thay, than it is gude at schort strakis; and it is callit outher schort suerd or misericord; ffor cause that a knycht suld nocht all traist in his armoure na wapnis, bot in his awin vertu, and in him that maid him, and in his mercj; and traist that throu his help, quhen all wapnis are faillit, that he sall saue his honour and bring him fra the perile of dede and dishonour. item, schelde or targe is gevin to the knycht in signifiaunce that as office of schelde is to be the targe betuix the knycht and the strakis, sa suld the knycht be betuix the prince or his lorde and the strakis; as the schelde ressauis the strakis before the knycht, sa suld the knycht before his lorde, kepe strakis fra him. and as schelde is couplit to the knychtis brest, thare his hert is, sa suld the knycht be till his lord bound in lautee as till his awin hert, and is a myd moyen betuix him and his peple. gloues of plate ar gevyn to the knycht in takenyng, that as thai kepe his handis fra strakis and woundis and manglyng, throu the quhilkis the body mycht be tynt, sa suld he kepe his handis, that he give na faith, na athe, na mak nane condicioune na obligacioune agayn his lord, ffor than war he vndone; and as knycht liftis his wapnis mare seurely and traistly, that his handis ar enarmyt, sa suld he list mare seurely to god almichtj, that he be enarmyt, that his handis wirk na misgouernaunce in taking of wrangwise gudis; na strykyng of vnlefull personis; na making of vnlefull condiciouns, and vnlefull touchingis; na put his handis in vnlefull placis. the sadill that he rydis in, betakenis sekernes, that he be nocht lychtly put by his purpose, sa kepis the sadill him, that he be nocht lichtly put fra his hors; ffor quhen he war doune strykyn than war his honour lawe. and rycht as he is ferme and seker in his sete, sa suld he be ferme and seker in his curage, in justice, lautee, noblesse, veritee, and charitee; ffor throw seuretee of a gude hardy knycht mony gude dedis ar done, throu gude hardy men of armes, and mony cowartis ar declarit, quhen hardy men ar approuit, vantouris and vayn glorious men, that dar nocht be sene quhare the hardy and worthy knychtis apperis in worthynes in bataill place, and thare fortune enforsis hardynesse. and as the sadill, with the grathe that langis it, haldis him ferme, that he movis nocht for na strake of spere of inymy, sa suld forse of curage kepe him, that he move neuer again gude faith na resone, and bow nocht with vice agayn vertu. and as the hors beris grete charge of the armyt knycht, and sadill and harnais, sa beris the knycht, be vertu of his ordre, grete charge, the quhilk he suld nocht lychtly be movit fra. and as he is sett apon a hie sadill, aboue a hye coursour, sa suld his curage be hye to defend the rycht, and manetene the poyntis of his maist hye and noble temporale ordre. and tharfore is courser gevin him or destrere, to betakyn noblesse and hicht of curage, that knycht suld haue aboue all othir peple, sen he has bathe maist hye and noble order, and syne maist noble habilliament of armoure, and syne maist hye and noble hors; sa sulde he haue maist hye and noble curage, with force to passe all otheris in vailliaunce of armes and honoure, and to be sene aboue all his men, and mare fere of, sa that men that had nede of his help suld se him of fere, to draw till him for help. item, his coursere or destryere has bridill gevin till him, with irne bytt in the mouth, and reynis in the knychtis hand, sa that the knycht may refreyne the hors, that he pas nocht away with him. and that iryn bitt in mouth betakenis, that he suld refren[gh]e his mouth fra bathe euill viciouse speche and euill thouchtis. and be the reynis is betakenit, that he suld hald his handis undefoulit, or fylit with oure vilaynouse dedis, or that he be oure large to geve till othir that he haue nede him self, and that he be nocht sa lycht of striking with his handis that thare be na discrecione in his dedis, and that be thai reynis he suld be led with pure folk that war nede bestad of help, quhare thane nedis war to trauaile to help thame; and that he war nocht oure narow na nedy that he had lak tharethrou, nocht to spare his gude and spend his honour; and that he be of handis hardy to defend him fra his fa; and doubte na thing, ffor oure grete doubte makkis knychtis to haue lathe curage. item, the horse-hede is bundyn with ane hede-stell of the bridill, in that kynde that he suld do na thing, but be ordynaunce of the knycht, that efferis till course of armes: and bot be resone; and the hede of the horse gais before, and is bundyn to do resoune, sa suld the resone ga before all dede of armes, and other actis honourable that he dois. and as his hede-stele byndis his hede to resone, sa dois resone the knycht, and kepis his worschip. alsua, the knychtis hors is enournyt with harnais before and behynd, on his body, sa efferis it to knychtis to be honourably enournyt with honourable clething, and alsa with vertues honourable. and because that sum horse ar enarmyt with sik harneis as efferis to defend thair corps fra harmes, sa suld knycht be enarmyt with richessis of temporale gudis, or ellis he may nocht gudely do his worschip, nouthir in pes na in were, and oft tymes gerris mony reueryes and wrang wynnyngis be: for clerkis sais, _quod propter inopiam multi deliquerunt, etc._ item, jakkis war ordanit to knychtis, thai tymes of [gh]eris that war of grete solempnitee, of sylk aboue all thair harnais, that signifyit grete trauailis that effeiris till him to do; ffor rycht as the jakkis ar aboue the hauberkis, and ordanyt nerest bathe wynd and rayn, and othir stormys, sa suld a knycht for the peple susteyne all stormes and trauailis for thame, sa that all mysterfull and peceable persones that had myster, suld, throu him, haue reconfourt and refuge at nede, for the honoure of noble that ordanyt that noble order, for that cause to be a protectour and ane aduocate of all poore, miserable, and peceable persones: the quhilkis be the noblesse and the creacione of the ordre, he is ordanyt to defend, manetene, and hald in thair richtis, quhen thai haue mister, and thai be requerit: quhilkis knychtis suld erar expone thame outhir to be dede, or presonare, or woundit sare, or he left thame but help that ar vnder thaire cure and saufgarde: be the quhilkis poyntis of the ordre, men may se that knychtis, be vertu of thair ordre, has a grete charge, quhat of justice halding, quhat of thair landis gouernyng, and of thair peple maynteyning, and of thai peceable persones defending, as ar kyrk men, and maidnis fra forse and ravisyng, wedowis, and faderles and moderles barnis fra supprising, labouraris, merchandis, and traualouris fra distroubling, and all peceable persones fra fors and wrangwise vexacione. eftir this, takyn of armes to bere is gevin the knycht in his schelde, or in his cote of armes, or othir wayis, sa that he be knawin and kend in bataill be otheris; sa that gif he dois wele he suld have honoure and worschip, and gif he dois evill he suld haue dishonoure and disworchip, and sik as efferis till ane inymy of the ordre of knychthede: for gif he be vailliaunt and hardy in bataill; or he be feigned, slak, and cowart, and flee fra his lorde in bataill. item, baneris ar gevyn, bot that is bot to kingis, and princis, erllis, dukkis, marquis, vavassouris, barones, and knychtis banneroll; and thus quhen a baroun banneroll has mony knychtis vnder him, thai aw to diffend thaire lordis landis, and his lyf, and his honoure: ffor the honoure of knychthede standis in that, that he be lufit, lovit, prisit, honourit, and doubtit, with the prince, lordis, and peple of the realme; ffor the honoure of lordis and princis standis in the pluralitee of mony worschipfull and honourable knychtis: and as knychtis of honoure ar honourde with princis, lordis, and peple, for hardynesse, noble curage, vertu, and worthynesse, that thai haue wonyn with thair princis, lordis, and maisteris honoure in thair [gh]outhede; rycht sa ar vnworthi cowartis, full of tresone and falsehede, barate and trechery, and othir viciouse lyf, suld be haldyn as dishonourit, and vnworthy to be amang thame that ar honourable in the said order, and mare to be blamyt na othir lawlyar folk, suppose thai had done mys. [decoration] septimum capitulum. here speris the doctoure of gude custumes that efferis to knychthede. and, first, he sais that noblesse of curage has chosyn knychtis of honour to be aboue the small peple, and the small peple to be at thair seruice and gouernement. than suld noblesse and gude custumes be intill all noble knychtis, be vertu of thair ordre; ffor noblesse of knychthede cummys neuer to man of gude evin rychtwisely na honourably, bot it be throu noblesse of curage; ffor but noblesse of curage it may neuer cum to that hie degree of honoure, and but electioun of vertu, and gude custumes and thewis; and thus on nede force it behufis the knycht, or he cum to that hye worschip and estate, worthily but vsurpacione, that he be knawin full of gude vertues, gude custumes, and gude thewis in gouernance. and fyrst and formast, all knycht or he tak ordre suld knaw all the seven vertues, and thair branchis; that is to say, the four vertues cardinale, and the thre vertues theological. the thre theological is faith, gude hope, and cheretee, as we have before touchit. the four cardinale vertues ar justice, temperance, fors, and prudence. and first and formast, a knycht bot he be of gude faith, all is for nocht that he dois; ffor he may neuer haue othir vertewe na gude custumes; ffor but faith all is bot syn that euer man dois: ffor be faith men has all gude knawlage and vnderstanding of god and his haly sanctis; and but faith man is wer na nocht; ffor be oure faith we haue sight spirituale of hevin and hell, and all goddis workis, visibilis and invisibilis. and be faith men has esperaunce, cheritee, and leautee, and ar servitouris to veritee, and fault of faith myssaris all thir thingis. knychtis be gude ancien custumes was wont to ga in the haly land, to defend and manetene the cristyn faith, fechtand agains the inymyes of the croce, and was marterit: but full few now dois that. alsua, be vertu of fayth and gude custumes, knychtis defendis the clerkis and kirkmen fra wikkit tyrane men, the quhilk aganis the faith, and for default of faith schapis thame to derob and ourethraw bathe clerkis and kirkmen, for thair tyranny and wikkitnes. item, esperaunce is a noble vertu, be the quhilk knychtis traistis to haue the victory in battail and in feicht. clerkis be esperaunce traistis to haue the joy of hevyn, and be thair teching gerris vs trow rycht sa: but the quhilk esperaunce, that is gude hope, we war all forlorne. thairfore esperaunce sittis well as in a knycht, ffor be esperaunce he has mare traist in god, na in his horse, harnais, and menze; throu esperaunce the curage of knychtis is reinforssit, and the curage of cowartis ouresett. gude hope gerris the knycht oursett grete trauailis, and hard fortunes, in hope of better ay. alssua esperaunce gevis knychtis curage to kepe and defend citeis, castellis, and wallit townis on small evyn, and thole bathe hungir, thrist and waking, and mony grete strakis, oft tyme. and war nocht esperaunce of gude hope knychtis had neuer honour, ffor it is the principale instrument that gouernis knychthede in honoure. item, knycht but cheritee may neuer be but crueltee and euill will, quhilkis concordis neuer with the honour of knychthede; and thus mon cheritee be chief in a knycht; ffor throu cheritee man lufis his god atoure all thing, and, as himself his nychtbour: but the quhilk poynt is na man may be perfyte cristyn man. item, a knycht suld haue in him grete pitee of all pure folk maleesy persones, and of pure prysonaris quhen he has the maistry of thame, and till haue mercy of thame for resonable finaunce; and throu cheritee men has pitee, but the quhilk charitee na knycht mycht sustene the grete charge of knychthede; ffor as horse but fete may nocht bere grete chargis, sa may nocht knychthede, but cheritee: the quhilk cheritee makis hevy birding lycht to bere, and grete charge soft, bathe for the vphald of honour of knychthede, and meryt of the saule behufe. item, justice is till all knychtis nedefull, ffor knycht but justice is but honoure; for justice and knychthede is sa wele acordaunt that knycht but justice is a body but saule, for but justice may na knychthede be; ffor knycht injurius is inymy of justice, and castis him self out of the ordre, the quhilk reuys him and dispisis him in that cas. item, prudence is a vertue als, that knychthede may nocht be but; ffor prudence is a knawlage that man has of all thing, bathe gude and euill, throu the quhilk he is maid inymy to euill, and frende till all gudenes; and alsa be prudence man has knawlage of the thing that is for to cum, and that be the notice of the present tyme, as he seis the warld gais: item, prudence can with cautelis and subtiliteis, a man can, as be the apperaunce of the thingis that he seis, eschewe perilis that ar to cum, and mend ane euill fortune apperand be vertynasse, bathe corporalis and spiritualis. and thus knaw thai all tymes that is, and wes, and sal be, and puttis gouernaunce till all as efferis. the commone proufit, and the prince, ar mekle behaldin to the worthy knychtis, for the mony perilis that thai expose thaim in for it: and thus is prudence ane of the maist nedefull poyntis that may be for knychtis; worschipfull custume is in knycht in tyme of necessitee to request of party to arme him, and defend the commone prouffit. bot mekle mare is it honourable custume to knychtis till vse resoun in all his dedis, and gude will and wele sett, that is the glore of knychthede; ffor oft tymes bataillis ar mare wonnyn be grace, na be force, and be wit and subtilitee na be multitude of armyt company, as sais macabeus to the peple of israel, quhen he sawe his inymyes cum on him sex tymes ma na he; "ha! ha! dere brethir, reconfort [gh]ow, and makis gude chere, and traistis wele that god sall help vs in this houre, ffor traist nocht that grete multitude makis grete victory, bot mekle erare, grete confusione; ffor sa grete multitude mycht nocht be gouernyt togeder, ffor thay may nocht wit in the tane end, quhat the tothir dois; and a lytill misreugle or affray makis all to flee, etc.:" and gert his peple put thame in gude estate, and prayde to god to help thame. and thus was the bataill wonnyn throu his wit and counsaile, and confourt quhilk come of grete prudence and grace. and thus suld all gude princis and lordis that wald haue thaire barnis worthy and wyse men, and hable to the ordre foresaid: thai suld ger doctryne thame, instruct thame, and teche thame first in thir virtues before namyt, and specially till vse resone and justice, and gude vnderstanding of wit, and that prudence teche thame to be a frende till all gudelynes, and inymy till all wikkitnes, ffor be thai vertues, the vertew of prudence junys him with knychthede, and dois it mekle honoure. item, force is a grete vertu in all noble actis, and specialy agayn the seven dedely synnis, quhilkis, quhen thai haue the maistry, ledis man to the paynis of hell; off the quhilk sevin synnis, glutony is ane of the werst; fforthy, that quhen a glutoun has chargit him our mekle with metis and drinkis than bringis it in suerenesse, that he mon slepe or rest; and in his rest than desyris he luxure; and quhen he seis that all this charge may nocht be uphaldyn but grete gudis and richess, than cummys couatise, that settis nocht by how that gude be wonnyn bot he haue it; off the quhilk conquest cummys ire, and inuye, and redy murther and slauchter, quhilkis cummys seldyn, bot that pryde be in thair falouschip. and thus throu glutony is gaderit and assemblyt all the foule company of the seven dedely synnis: and thus knychtis that haldis thir wayis, gais nocht in the hall of noblesse; glutony makis the corps feble, and schortis the lyf, agaynis the quhilk vicis, and namely of glutonye, the worthy curage of a noble knycht stryvis full stoutly, and wynnis the victory on him that is inymy to the noble ordre of knychthede. and thus be force he feichtis agayn his inymyes throu hye noblelesse of curage with help of abstynence and of temperance: and agayne luxure feichtis chastitie forsably, and beautee of corps, mekle etyng and drinking, quynte clething, and joly polist corps; falsate, tresoune, injure and misprising of god, and of his sanctis and of his mekle gloire, and no doubt the paynis of hell, na sik like thingis is agayne the ordre of knychthede, and all gude thewis. perfyte chastitee forsably feichtis aganis lechery throu the remembraunce of god and his commandementis. and to wele vnderstand the the hye graces and gudelynes and glore of the hyast god, quhilkis he has ordanyt for thame that lufis and honouris him, and seruis him treuly; and alssua to think on the sorow and disese that ordanyt is for thame that dois the contrair, that mysprisis his commandementis, and mystrowis him; for to lufe him, serue him, and honour him, that is sa worthie to be lufit, man has forss and grace, with chastite forsable, with stark curage vnvencusable, werrays and ourecummys the vice of mysordinate lecherye, be force of curage and noblesse, quhilk will nocht put him in subjectione of evill thouchtis; na be oure cummyn with sik wrechitness; na his hye honour lawit na defoulit, that sa mekle charge has sustenyt in grete honourable actis in weris that he suld thole his worthi curage of knychthede be ourecummyn with vicis. for suppose he be curageous and hardy, and of corps strenthy to ourecum his corporale inymyes; and nocht noblesse in him of forss of curage to vencuse and ourethrawe his inymyes spirituale, that is vicis; he has nocht all the verray noble poyntis, propereteis, na condiciouns of knychthede that he suld ficht with; ffor noble curage of knycht suld alswele feicht again the deuill that is inymy of the saule as agayne man inymy to the corps. item, auarice is a vice that gerris oft tymes the curage of mony noble knycht descend full lawe; ffor quhy, the gredynesse of gude blyndis thair hye curage for glytwisnesse of gold and of richesse, that it ourecummys the force that suld vencuss his inymy with, and makis him subject till sa lawly wretchitnesse and vnhonest thing, that is bot for defaut of forss; that suld be his pillare of worschip till hald him ferme; the quhilk pillare faillis him at nede quhen noblesse of hye corage is slokit throu cuvatise, nocht defendand thame aganis it, as the worthynesse of the ordre requeris: bot tholis him to be ourecummyn and vencust throu cowardise spirituale, and lachesse of curage souplit throu auarice; and changit thair curage again the noblesse of the ordre: and tharefore it is a grete maugre in a realme quhare lordis and knychtis ar gredy to gudis, and couatouse; ffor it is rute of all wikkitnesse; ffor of it cummys wrangwise extorsiouns, and euill wonnyn gudis, wrangwise conquestis of landis, and syne ar thay fast haldand, that na gude will part with, bot the nede peny; and be this way thai becum bondis and subjectis to thair gudis, and varyis fra the rycht way of liberalitee that manetenis noblesse of cheualrye, and is inymy to the noble ordre, to be wrechit of the gudis that god has send thame to preue thame, and assay thair vertu with; and nocht to be hid, na hurdit. and as for remede of this, thare is a vertew callit fortitude, that is stifnes in hert aganis vice, that will nocht falde no mare na rank stele, quhilk is sa ferme in itself, that it will nouthir bow to frende na faa, to help thame at nede, bot he be requerit and askit, and that is for the hie stifnes that is in him, of the vertu of fortitude of curage; that sa grete honour it is worthi to have for his worthynes, that he is euer redy to be at bidding of worthy dedis and honourable, quhen he is requerit. and the hyenes of his noble corage he thrawis him fra all appetite mysordinate of all vicis; as quhen a knycht is tempt with couatise or auarice, that his hert is sett and enclynit to that wrechit gredynesse that is moder of all wikkitnesse, and of traysounis, falsate, barate, trechery, manesuering; than suld he sauf his honour to have recourse to fortitude, and thare sall he fynd na fault of help, counsale, and confourt, to supplee him at nede; for he is nouthir lache na [gh]it cowart, na false hertit na negligent; bot with him sall be foundyn strenth and fors, hye curage in gudelynes, quhilk efferis wele to be fere to the noble ordre of knychthede; ffor throu that, a knycht may be lorde of his curage, and be maister of himself, and ourecum all vicis. and thus suld ilke noble knycht think on the noble king alexander of macedoyne, and of his liberalitee, the quhilk had sa noble a curage, that he dispisit auarice and couatise; in largesses of giftis, he had euer the hand opyn till all men, alswele frende as fa; throu the quhilk renoune of fredome the souldiouris of his inymyes that war auariciouse and couatouse, come fra thame till hym, and gert his company grow, and euermare and mare he conquest, and euermare and mare delt till his men; and thus, throu his renoune of liberalitee and dispising of the vice of auarice, with othir vertues of noblesse of fortitude, he come to the honour of conqueroure of all the warld. quhairfore, all nobil knychtis suld euer think on vertues of noblesse and of largesse, and despise auarice and couatise; that he be nocht subject till vnworthy persounis, na wyrk nane vnworthy dedis; na think to mak nane vnworthy conquestis throu auarice, the quhilk efferis nocht to noble and worthy ordre of knychthede--_accydo est male_. suerenes is a vice quhilk makis a man to hate all gudelynes and to lufe all viciousnes. be the quhilk vice, thare is ma folk condampnyt na be ony othir vice in this warlde be takenis and signis may be persauit; and be the contrair, that is wilfulnes in gudelynes to do gude werkis, men may knawe the takenis of a man that sal be savit fra dampnacioune better, and mare clerely, na be ony vertuouse condicione that man may haue; and thus, quha will ourecum and vencuse suerenesse, he mon nedely begyn at gude, and fortitude of curage, throu the quhilk he ourecummis the inclinacioune of suerenes that mannis flesch is inclynit to, be the syn of adam, our held fader, quhilk of the erde takis inclinacioune mare to sleuth na to diligence, and mare till euill na to gude; ffor sleuth and leithfulnesse drawis efter it dule and displesaunce of othir mennis gude auentures, and is blythe of thar mysfortunys: and quhare thai haue euill, thai wald it war wer, and thus has he ay disese; ffor he has disese and dule of thair gude, and syne he has disese and dule of that, that thai haue nocht sa mekle euill as he wald; the quhilk puttis thame in ire and in passione dolorouse contynualy, bathe in body and saule; and tharefore, thou knycht that wald vencuse that vice of sleuth, pray to god to graunt thé force in curage of diligence aganis that vice of sleuth, that thou may ourethrawe him, and halde him at vnder; and think how that our lord god, quhen he gevis till othir men ony grace or gudelynes for thair gude meritis, he takis nocht fra thé to give thame, na he gevis thame nocht all the gudis that he has to geve; bot that he has yneuch bathe to geve thé and otheris, that makis him gude cause; of the quhilk he gevis vs ane example in the ewangel, sayand, _amice, non facio tibi injuriam_, that is to say, quhen the vignerones labouraris had wroucht all the day, fra the morne early till nycht, and otheris began at the evyn-sang tyme, and wroucht rycht sa to the nycht; and the lord of the wynis gave thame y-lyke feis for thair day werk; and thai that had wrocht fra the morne airly murmurit the lord, sayand, he was vnrychtwise, that gave thame alsmekle that began at evyn-sang tyme as to thame that began at morne airly: and he ansuered, that he did thame na wrang, quhen he departit his awin gude at his awin will, and payde tham all that he hecht thame; quharefore thai had na cause to murmur him, na to haue nane envy at thair nychtbouris, as said is. orgueille, that is callit pryde, thinkis na man pere till him, and is a grete vice; ffor he wald na man war sa gude na sa worthy as he, and had leuer be him allane, na in ony company that him thocht na pere till him. and humilitee and fortitude are twa vertues that lufis evynlynes, and sa ar thai aganis pride; and, tharefore, gif a proud, hichty, hautane knycht may nocht stanche his awin pride, call till mekenes and fortitude; ffor mekenesse withoutyn stedefastnes may nocht gaynstand pryde; ffor quhen thai twa ar togidder, than may thai wele gaynstand pryde; na pryde may neuer be vencust, but mekenesse and stedefastnes of fortitude; ffor kyndely thing is, that quhen a [gh]ong king is sett on his hye horse, he is proud and hautane, but syne cummys fortitude of humilitee, with grete stedefast mynde, thinkand how he suld haue pryde in his hert, quhen he rememberis of all the poyntis of his ordre, and quhy he is maid knycht. bot quhat is the pryde of a proud haultane man worth, quhen he can nocht remembre of the poyntis that god may sone lawe him with? ffor thare is na man sa proud and full of orgueill, bot and he had bene disconfyte and ourecumyn in bataill place and vencust, bot he suld be full meke; and that fallis ofttymes amang knychtis of honoure: for quhy? the fors of ane othir mannis corps has strykyn doune the pryde of his curage: and thus sen fors corporale in a strange persone has lawit his pryde, it war lyke that fors of humilitee spirituale, that is fer mare vertuouse, suld in his awin persone ourecum pryde; sen the tane is spirituale noblesse, and the tothir corporale. item, envy is a vice that is not agreable to god, na justice, na charitee, na to largesse, the quhilk pertenis to the ordre of knychthede, and thus quhen ony knycht has his hert failit, and his curage lawlyit, that he may no mare folow the actis of noblesse, na dedis of were, for faulte of strenth of curage that is failit in him, na has nocht in him, justice, charitee, na largesse, syk men dois injure to thair ordre of knychthede, that gerris mony knychtis be envius of othir mennis gude fortune, and thai ar suere and lythir to trauaile thame to wyn honoure in armes, the quhilk bringis the richessis; for euer efter honour thare cummys rychesse, and thai that ar thus enviouse takis fra othir men the gude that is nocht, na may nocht be thairis, ffor thai wald pres thame to reve thame thair honoure, quhilk, quhen thai had gert thame tyne, throu murmuracioune and enviouse langage of bakbyting, that honour that thai tak fra thame, may nocht cum to thameself; and be syk enuy he dois mony thingis that ar discordant till his ordre. item, ire is a stroublance of curage, and of gude mynde, and gude will, and disturnis a mannis curage to vengeaunce; and thus, quha sa lykis to sett remede in this vice of ire, he mon haue recourse to forse of corage; that is, the lord and maister of mannis mynde and his passions, and syne seke to pacience and to charitee, the quhilkis ar cheif of counsale to knychthede, and with temperaunce, mese his mynd and bryng his hert to sobirnes; and thir vertues ay bringis allegeaunce of the grete paynis and trauailis that ire has movit in mannis hert: and in samekle as the ire is the mare, in samekle suld force of curage of noblesse of knychthede be the starkare to ourecum the vnresonable passions of ire, the quhilkis cummis ay of euill, and dois bot euill, ffor the ire of man makis nocht man to haue mare rycht anent godwart; bot man suld be armyt with gude will, sobernesse, humilitee, and pacience, charitee and abstinence, and syne cummys justice, and bringis wisedome with him, and annoblis the ordre of knychthede fere mare na it was before, and thus we haue that aganis all vicis of the seven dedely synnis: the vertu of force, with help of thir othir counsalouris that we haue here before namyt, is souerane remede aganis thame. and now is it spedefull that we se quhat is the vertu of temperaunce, and quhat it is nedefull and behovefull till: and as to that, the doctour sais, that temperaunce is a vertu quhilk haldis him euer in the mydwarde betuene twa vicis, that is to say, betuene oure lytill and oure mekle, and thus techis temperance a man to kepe the mydwarde, ffor vertu is ay in the mydwarde: ffor man that has na mesure in himself, quhen he dois outhir till the hye or to the law, thare wantis discrecione of temperaunce and mesure, (the quhilk is nedefull to be in knychthede), ffor quhen knycht knawis nocht his quantiteis of his mesure in all his dedis, his honoure is in were: ffor he suld be temperit in largesse, that he be nouthir fule large na oure wrechit; in hardinesse, that he be nocht fule hardy na oure cowart; in etyng and drinking that he be nocht glutone, na gormand, na slut, na slutheroune, na zit dronkynsum; na that he hunger nocht himself for wrechitnes; in his speche that he haue nocht our mony wordis, na that he be nocht oure bestely, na our blate, that he haue na langage, na collacione in tyme quhen it efferis; alsua in his clething that he excede nocht, na that he be nocht oure wrechit: and thus in all thing to hald mesure is temperaunce: and schortly to say, it is the reugle of all wisedome, and but it na knycht may well gouerne his ordre, na neuer sall men fynd temperance bot with wisdome and with vertu. item, gude custume and vsage is till knychtis to here every day the messe, quhare euer he be, gif it may gudely be gottyn, and gif ony preching or teching of clerkis, or wyse men be proponyt, he suld be redy euer to here the word of god, and euer be redy till honoure, anourne, and pray to god, and to lufe him, serue him, honoure him, and obeye him in all place, atour all thing; and in all his dedis, haue euer his hert on him, and euer think on the passioun of crist, and on his awin dede, that he mon anyss dee, and think on the schortnes and the wrechitnes of this warld, and of the paynis of hell, and of the grete joyis and glore celestiall of hevyn; and euer ask him of his grace that hye glore of paradise, and traistis wele that he that takis mare plesaunce in haukis and houndis, deliciouss metis, joly clethingis, fair women, gude wynis and spicis, lycht wordis with negligence of goddis seruice, and lycht lying and despising of goddis pure peple, and of the lawis of god and man, syk knychtis ar nocht worthy knychtis, bot erar dispisaris of the ordre, and inymyes to knychthede; ffor sum trowis in wichecraftis, as in meting of bestis, or in fleyng of foulis with thame or agayne thaim, or on rycht hand, or on left hand, sayand, the rycht syde gais aganis him, and the left syde gais with him: and sayand, that all sik folyis efferis nocht to wisedome, resone, na discrecioune, na to gude faith. bot it as foly of fulis that grevis god, and castis men of goddis grace, and gerris thair inymyes oft tymes be maisteris of thame, quhen thai will nocht tak documentis of gude teching, na gude thewis to reugle thair dedis, and mare has traist in thair fretis and folyis, na in the faith of god almychty. and tharfor, thai that vsis thir folyis, and levis the vertues before said of fayth, gude hope, and charitee, humilitee, largesse and lawtee, and nobilnesse of forse of curage, to gaynstand all thir vnworthy fantasyes, he is nocht worthy to bere that hye, worthy, and noble ordre of knychthede that dois thus; ffor sum knycht has syk custumes to trow, quhen euer he seis a nakit womman in the mornyng, he sall nocht do his prouffit na honoure that day, na quhen he seis a womman kemmand hir hede nakit in the mornyng, he sall nocht have honour in armes that day; and this is a false vnworthy treuth, ffor a juge that kepis the lawis that he is ordanyt to kepe, dois wele his office. sa dois a knycht quhen he vsis resone and discrecione, and kepis fayth and lawtee with all the laue of vertues of noblesse, than is he worthy knycht, and kepis wele his ordre: bot a knycht that wyrkis eftir [gh]one fretis, that we have here sum part namyt, and otheris, and levis the ordre of gude vertues and gude thewis, he is dois evin as a juge that leuis gude and suthfast witnessis led in a cause before him, and jugis agayn gude fayth, be the chirmyng of foulis, or be the berking of doggis, and syk lyke thing; and thus knycht suld be ferme in the faithe, nocht variand, na suld nocht traist in sik fretis, na wichcraft; and leue the verray faith of god, ffor all syk thingis are bot janglyng of fendis, that fleis in the ayre, that temptis cristyn folk, to ger them vary fra the rycht faith to drawe thame to thair condampnacione. item, till knychthede efferis; principaly to be amorouse of the commone prouffit, and of the commouns; ffor quhy? be the commouns, and for the commone prouffit knychthede was foundyn, stablyst, and ordanyt, than suld knychtis be curius of thair prouffit, be resone; ffor gude resone gevis, that all princis, lordis, and knychtis specialy, sulde be mare curius of the commoun prouffit, na of thair awin propre gudis; ffor quhy? it is mare nedefull and mare spedefull, and grettar and mare necessair, ffor the commoun prouffit riches bathe prince and peple, and gude propre gudis, bot a persone proprely, and mare gude, is to be bathe riche, prince and peple, na he allane, and nocht his peple. item, to knycht efferis to speke sobirly and wisely, and curtasly; and to be alssua nobly cled in diuerss clethingis, and honourable, fair horse, fair harnais, in the hanting of weris, and gouernaunce that he has: till hald alsua gude house, eftir his power and estate, till haue honest housing; and treuly curtasy and knychthede suld neuer part company; ffor foule and vilaynouse speche fylis the mouth of a noble knycht, and sa dois it of all persone of estate; hamelynes and gude specialitee of acquyntance with gude folk, worthy and honest, is wele accordant to knychthede. item, lautee, veritee, justice, humilitee, charitee, largesse, hardynesse, prowesse, with forse in curage and noblesse, pitee, honestee, drede, schame, with othir syk like vertues, and otheris that we haue before namyt, appertenis wele to be in company with the noble ordre; and rycht as we say, that in god is all vertu, all noblesse, and all gudelyness, sa suld all knychtis, lordis, and princis, folow at all thair gudely powere the futsteppis of thair ledare, lord, and techour, jhesu crist, quhilk all his werkis that he wrocht was all to geve us gude instructioun to gouerne vs in syklike maner. and all the writtis that euer was writtin for our documentis and teching, for the teching of the keping of horse and harnais and wapinis, is nocht anerly the instructione of knychthede till his barnis and otheris that he suld teche vnder him: bot the gude custumes, gude instructiones in vertues, and gude ensamples of gude godlyke gouernaunce, efter all the form and maner before said, suld be the gouernaunce of knychtis, first in thameself, and syne teche till otheris; ffor he that better techis his horse na his barnis, he gais nocht the rycht gate to teche the ordre. [decoration] octauum capitulum. here declaris the doctour the honouris that suld be done to the noble ordre of knychthede. god himself ordanyt knychthede, and honourit it, and honouris it, and alssua all the peple honouris knychthede; and as is recountit be the lawis, knychthede is honourit abufe all ordre that euer was next presthede, as maist honourable ordre and office that is or wes, and aboue all statis, sauffand the haly ordre and office that sacrifyis the body of god, the haly sacrament of the altare, with the otheris sacramentis of the haly kirk. and the said ordre of knychthede is rycht necessair to the gouernaunce of the warld, as is before said, in syndry placis; and tharefore, before all temporale ordre, knychthede suld be honourit be mony resouns, with all maner of peple; ffor and emperouris kingis and princis had nocht annext to thame the ordre of knychthede, with the vertues and propereteis, and nobiliteis, langand to the said ordre, thaj war nocht worthy to be emperouris, kingis, na princis: ffor suppose the office be gretare, the ordre is y-lyke ane in kingis and in knychtis, as presthede is y-lyke of degree, bathe in pape, cardynale, and patriarche, alsmekle is it in a symple preste: and sa is it in kingis and princis knychthede, in regarde of symple knychtis, suppose the office be mare grete; tharefore aucht thai till honoure the office and ordre of knychthede, bathe emperouris, kingis, princis, and barouns; ffor quhan thai do nocht honoure to the said ordre, thai do dishonour to thameself; ffor the knychtis gerris the grete lordis, princis, and barouns be honourit aboue the small peple, and than suld thai again do honour to the said ordre, and honour thame abufe the peple. item, all knychtis ar free be thair ordre, ffor knychthede and fredome acordis togeder rycht wele to the ryale magestee and lordschip; and, tharefore, sen knychthede is ordanyt for the manetenyng, defending, and vp halding of emperouris and kingis, princis, barouns, and all commouns and small peple, than is it grete resone that thai all suld defend, manetene, and vphalde the honour of knychthede, and all knychtis. and to the honour of knychthede it appertenis, that he be in honoure haldyn, and that he be lufit for his gudelynes; and that he be doubtit for his prowesse and hardynesse; and that he be lovit for his noble dedis of worthynes; and that he be hamely for his lawlynes, and hichty in tyme: and because he is of the self ordre that kingis ar of, he suld be haldin of counsale to kingis and of grete princis; and because that he is of the natur of all mankynde, and enclynit to vicis, he is the mare worthy and honourable that he has force of noble curage to abstene him tharefra: and, tharefore, suld a knycht dispise all vicis, and lufe all vertues; ffor the quhilkis, all knychtis ar honourit, and nocht for othir cause; and all prince, king, lord, or barone, that honouris knychthede, outhir in court or in counsale, in house or in semblee, he honouris himself: and alsua, quha honouris thame in gouernement of bataill, honouris himself; and alssua, all lord, that of a wise knycht makis him a seruand, delyueris his honour in the handis of noblesse of gude curage; and quhat lord or prince that encreseis the honoure of a wise knycht in his seruice, or multiplyis it, encressis and multiplyis his awin honour; and quhat euer lord that manetenys knycht that is in office, ordanyt till him, and enforsis him in his office, he enforsis him self and his lordschip; and lord, that is bathe prince and knycht, has grete affinitee, and lufe and frendschip to knychthede, and grete company suld haue thar with: and gif he requeris of foly and euill maner of trety, ony knychtis wyf till enclyne hir to wikkitnes, he excedis the honoure of knychthede; na [gh]it alsa a knychtis wyf that has barnis vnlaufull of villaine generacione, dois lytill honour to the ordre of knychthede, that scho is honourit throu; bot scho destroyis ande puttis to nocht the noble lignie and confraternitee of knychthede. and quhat knycht that has his barnis in matrymonye with ony villaine womman, he dois lytill honour to the noble ordre of knychthede, na to the band of gentrise: and sen it is sa that noblese and gentillesse ar of tendernesse and frendschip to knychthede, and to the honour of knychthede, and of his lady be the honourit band of mariage; and the contrair is destructione of knychthede. thus gif noblis and gentill men that ar na knychtis, and has bot honour and worschip of thair awin birth and natiuitee, ar oblist naturaly to honour of noblesse and knychthede be the vertu of gentrise that thai ar natyf till, than mekle mare ar knychtis behaldyn to the honoure and worschip of knychthede, quhilkis be thair ordre thai ar bundyn to; ffor in that that thai do honoure to thair ordre, thai do honoure to thame self: for all knycht is oblist at all powere to honour his persone; first to be wele cled in his persone, syne to be wele horssit, and syne wele enarmyt and harnest in his habilliament, and alsua aw nobily to be seruit of noble persons: that is to say, persouns vertuouse, sen all noblenesse presupponis vertu. but [gh]it mekle mare but comparisone is he behaldyn till honoure him self with noblesse of curage; ffor the quhilk noblesse of curage he beris that hye and noble ordre of knychthede, the quhilk alssua is defoulit and dishonourit quhen a knycht levis vertu of curage, and takis him false cogitaciouns of traysouns, ref and rape, murder and thift, and puttis out of his curage, and slokis all the said vertues of noblesse, as justice, temperance, fors, and prudence with faith, gude hope, and charitee, liberalitee and lautee, with otheris before namyt, appertenand to the maist noble ordre: and thus, knycht that dishonouris ane knycht his fader in knychthede, is nocht worthy to be honourit, ffor gif he war honourit sen he dishonouris his awin ordre, mekle wrang war than done to the noble ordre, to do honour till him that dishonouris him self and his ordre; ffor quha may better honoure or dishonoure the ordre na thai that are of the ordre, and berand the ordre: and thus sen knycht has in his hert a noble duelling place for the vertues and noblesse of curage, that suld gouerne and manetene knychthede, kepe well that castell place and duelling, that it be nocht oure sett na segit with vicis, than mekle honour and reuerence is worthi to be done till him for his mekle worschip and noblesse; and the mare that knychthede be assemblyt with hie princehede or hye lordschip, the mare is the knycht behaldyn till honoure his nobile ordre, and mare oblist to manetene his knychthede with worschip: at the reuerence, honour, lufe, loving, seruice, and doubting of almychty god, oure gloriouse saluioure, and of his dere and gloriouse moder and virgyne oure suete lady marye, and all the haly court of hevin. in nomine patris, et filij, et spiritus sancti, amen. explicit lordre de chevalrie. here endis the buke of the ordre of knychthede. appendix. [decoration] no. i. extracts from the buke of the law of armys. [fol. .] _gracia domini nostri jhesu christi, et caritas dei, et communicacio sancti spiritus sit semper cum omnibus nobis in christo jhesu domino nostro. amen._ here begynnys the buke callit the buke of the law of armys, the quhilk was compilit be a notable man, doctour in decreis, callit bonnet, prioure of sallon; the quhilk, quhen it was maid, callit it the fleur of bataillis, or the tree; into the quhilk buke thare salbe foure partis efter as the rubryis schawis. the first part salbe, of the tribulacioun of the kirk before the natiuitee of christe. the secund party salbe, of the tribulaciouns and destructioun of the four principale realmes grettest of the warld, &c. the thrid salbe, of bataillis in generale. the ferde, of bataillis in specialitee. here begynnys the rubryis of the first party, etc., be the quhilkis men may better knaw the processe of the said buke, and of euery chaptere specialy. in the first chapiter he speris, quhat thing is bataill? i the second chapiter is, quhare was first foundyn bataill? ii the third is, of the tribulacions of the kirk by passit, iij the ferde is, of the first angel, iiij the fyft is, of the tother angel, v the exposicioun apon the tothir party of the visioun of sanct johne, vj the thrid angel, vij the ferde angel, viij the fyft angel, ix and [gh]it spekis he mare furtherly of the visioun, x _expliciunt rubrice prime partis, etc._ _sequitur prologus in breuibus._ here folowis the proloug of the said buke, in termis, as the forenamyt doctoure bonnet, prioure of sallon, maid his first intitulacioun and prohemium: and syne efter sall folowe the principale parties of the buke forenamyt, translatit be me gilbert of the haye knycht, maister in arte, and bachilere in decreis, chaumerlayn vmquhile to the maist worthy king charles of fraunce, at the request of ane hye and mychty prince and worthy lord, williame erle of orknay and of cathnes, lord synclere, and chancelare of scotland, in his castell of rosselyn, the [gh]ere of our lord a thowsand four hundreth fyfty and sex. [fol. .] prologus. to the haly croune of fraunce, in the quhilk this day regnys charles the sext of that name, the quhilk is lufit and redoubtit oure all the warld be the ordynaunce of god; till him be gevin honoure, lose, and glore, abune all erdely lordschippis: maist hye prince i am callit, be my richt name, bonnet priour of sallon, doctoure in decreis. the quhilk i haue had mony smale thouchtis and gude will to mak sum buke; first, in the honoure of god, and of his suete moder, and of [gh]our hye lordschip. and the resouns quhy i haue vndertane to mak this buke ar gude yneuch, as semys me. and first and formast, for quhy? that the state of haly kirk is in sik tribulacioun that bot gif god oure lorde set sum gude remede, the quhilk was wont till mak gude cheuisaunce and gude end, in that mater be the brether of the faith, auentureris of the christin faith, i can se be na way that it may wele be, bot gif thare be sum gudely way of acordaunce fundyn and sone. the secund cause is and resoun, for i se all cristyndome sa grevit, and stroublit of weris, discensiouns, thiftis, and reueryis, haterentis, and envyes, that men kennys almaist na realme in cristyndome bot it is in were. thrid resone is, for quhy? that the land of provence, of quhilk i am borne and vp brocht, is sa turnyt now for the renewing of new lordschip, and for diuerse opyniouns that ar amang lordis and the communiteis, that with grete payne may ony wyse man here it be rehersit, the mekle sorowe that the commouns sustenis for sik debatis. the ferde resoun, for quhy? that mony notable clerkis, the quhilkis wenys thai vnderstand wele the glosyng of ancien prophecies, sais, that it sulde be ane of the hie lignie of fraunce, the quhilk suld sett remede in all this thingis, and put this trauailland warld in pes and rest, that now is put in grete pestilence. and for this cause my curage has gevin me to mak sum newing of thing till enfourme [gh]our [gh]outhede of mony syndry knaulagis of haly wrytt, sa that [gh]our curage suld be movit the mare to help to sett remede in the haly cristyn faith, the quhilk is in poynt of perising, and geve it socour; and to geve [gh]ow corage for to do in sik manere, that the prophecyes, the quhilkis are presumyt to be vnderstandin in [gh]our persone maist worthy, be verifyit in [gh]our maist noble and worthy princehede, throu [gh]our notable and haly werkis: and forthy, i mak [gh]our hienes hertly request and supplicacioune, that nathing that i sall put in this buke, [gh]e disprise, na lichtly, ffor all that i here say takis foundement of haly writt, and of the decreis and lawis cannon and ciuile, and philosophy naturale, that is natural resoun. the quhilk buke sal be callit the floure of bataillis, or the tree: and syne mon i pas to my werk; and tharefore is thare cummyn to me sik ane ymaginacioun, that i will ger mak a tree, the quhilk sall bere bot fruyte of sorowe; as men may se, that all the persecuciouns of the kirk and contreis beris bot fruyte of dule and diseise; departit in four partis, as is before said, on the quhilkis four partis the diuisioun of oure buke sal be foundit, etc. explicit prohemium. primum capitulum. [fol. , b.] sen it is sa that apon this mater, the quhilk may be lyknyt till a tree, that may bere na fruyte but fruyte of doloure and diseiss, we see twa partis principale, amang the quhilkis is grete discorde, discensioun, and were; first, apon the haly kirk and the fredome of it, as apon the pape, and the sege of rome, with the fredomys: and apon the tothir part, we see, how amang kingis and princis, and temporale lordis, thare is rysin sa grete discensiouns, discordis, and weris, that the brethir of the fayth, as nobles, men that wont was to be werreyouris to defend the kirk rycht, ar now rysyn agayne the commouns and comiteis agayn thame, that grete dule is to se: quharefore this buke may wele be comparit till a tree quhilk beris na fruyte, but fruyte of dule, etc. * * * * * here eftere folowes the declaracioun of the rubryis of the secund buke, etc. [fol. .] in the first, of the persecucioun and destructioun of the foure grete realmes. [ ] item, how and in quhat tyme the citie of rome was first foundit. item, in quhat tyme gouernyt the senatouris. item, of the gouernement of the king tules. item, of the king fernicle archy. item, efter of the king tarquyn. item, of the dede of king alexander. item, here he spekis of grete archile, consul of rome. item, here spekis he of grete sir sempny, consul of rome. item, of the grete worthynes of schir sypre, consul of rome. item, how grete cartage was destroyit. item, how the almaynis wan a bataill apon the romayns. item, of scilla, the grete inymy of the romayns. item, how the provincis maid julius cesar thaire lord, for his worthynes. item, how that fortune is rycht variable. item, here he spekis of sir arthoma, consul of rome. item, spekis he of a questioun, be the quhilk thar come first jurisdictioun amang men. item, here he tellis quha was first juge amang men. * * * * * [fol. , b.] here folowis the chapteris of the thrid party of this present buke, as folowis here be declaracioun. in the first, quhethir it be lefull and lawufull thing till entre in cloisit feldis to defend richtwise cause. item, of the samyn mater [gh]it spekis he mare furtherly. quhethir it be thing possible that this warld be in pes. how that force is ane of the principale foundementis of bataill. how it may be kend in a man gif he be forsy or nocht. quhethir is mare vertu till a man to assail[gh]e, or to byde in felde. be how mony thingis may men knaw the prowess of a knycht. a man suld erar chese to dee in felde, na flee fra the bataill. quhat punycioun suld he haue that passis fra the ost but leue. quhat punycioun suld he haue that fechtis wyth his lordis inymy but leve, or of the constable. * * * * * [fol. .] here begynnis the table of the ferde part of this buke. in primis off quhat rycht, or quhat evin cummys bataill. [ ] be quhat rycht or resoun may men moue were agaynis the sarra[gh]enis or othir mistrowaris. gif the emperoure suld moue were agayne thame, quha suld obey till his mandement. quhethir othir princis na the emperoure may moue were apon the sarra[gh]enis. quhethir the emperoure may ordane were agayne the pape, or agayne the haly kirk. quhethir the pape may mak were on him. quhat thingis may ger moue bataill necesse. quhat thingis pertenis till a gude knycht to do. quhat thingis pertenis to the duke of the battaill. how, and for quhat caus, a knycht suld be punyst. quhethir strenth be a vertu morale. quhethir, gif the duke of the bataill be tane, men suld haue merci of him, and saue his lyf. gif forse be a vertu cardinale or nocht. quhethir presonaris that are tane in bataill be the takaris or the lordis that payis the wagis. quhethir the vassaillis suld pas in were on thair awin cost, or on the princis costis. gif a barouns men suld [help] thair lord agayne their king, [and] serue in his weris or nocht. gif twa barouns has were ilk ane agayne othir, quhethir suld thair men help ilkane his awin lorde, or thair king, and he charge thame. quhethir i aw to defend my nychtbour in armys, and men wald sett to sla him. quhat personis ar behaldin to defend othir. how the bonde is behaldin to defend his lorde. how the sone is behaldin to defend the fader, but the leue of the justice. quhethir erar is the sone behaldin defend his fader, or his natural lord maister. quhethir a clerk suld erar help his fader or his bischop, and he haue were. quhethir to conquest gudis rychtwisely men may lefully mak defensable were. quhethir for vnrychtwise conquest men may mak were diffensable. quhethir prestis and clerkis may defend thair gudis be armes. gif armoure lent and tynt in felde suld be restorit. gif armoure or horse hyrit and tynt suld be restorit. gif a knycht be [ar]rest douand his princis charge, quhethir has the knycht or the prince actioun to the party. gif a man gais to the weris vnchargit, sall he tak wagis. gif a knycht seruis a king vnchargit in his weris, quhether may he laufully ask him his wagis. gif the king of span[gh]e sendis secours to the king of france in his weris, as he has done othir tymes till him in sik lyke cas, quhethir suld the spannollis ask wagis at the king of france. gif a man gais to were for vayn glore, quhethir he may, be law of armes, ask wagis or nocht. gif a capitane doand his lordis bidding tyne his gudis, gif his lord aw to restore him agayne. gif a man gais to the were for couatise to pele and rub gudis, quhethir he may ask wage or noucht. gif a clerk may leuefully pas to the weris or nocht. in quhat termes the wage aw to be payit to men. gif a wageour gais to play and disport him, with leue, for a tyme, gif he suld be payit of that tyme. gif a knycht has tane wagis of a king for a [gh]ere, and he wald within thre monthis pas his way till ane othir prince, quhethir gif he suld be payit for the tyme that he had seruit. gif a sowdioure be payit of a prince for a [gh]ere, gif he may put ane othir in his stede or nocht. quhethir gif a capitane may send of his folk away, that he has anys moustrit in felde. gif a man of armes hapnis seke in the weris, quhethir he may ask his wagis for all the tyme that he is seke or nocht. how gudis suld be departit in the weris, that ar wonnyn in tyme of the weris. gif a man may rychtwisely hald that he has tane fra a revare, that set to reue him be the way. gif twa citeis makis were ilkane on othir, quhethir thai may lefully mak were thai clamand to hald of na souerayne. quhethir a man may sla his prisonare efter that he be tane and [gh]eldit, at his awin will. gif a man may ask ransoun of gold and siluer at his prisonare be law or armes. quhethir for the weris that is betuix the kingis of ingland and of france, the franchmen may leuefully tak the pure mennis gudis, and mak achet of, and mak presonaris thair persouns. quhethir a king may lefully, be cautele and subtiltee, ourset or disconfyte ane othir king. quhethir bataill may lefully be on haly day. quhethir gif a man wrangis ane othir, he may lefully recouer apon him be were his thing, gif he may reclame him in jugement. gif a knycht deis in bataill in his princis querele, quhethir his saule be sauf, or nocht. quhethir rychtwise men or sinnaris ar starkar in bataill. quhy is there sa mekle were in this warld. gif a prisouner be suorne to hald prisoun, and his takar put him atour his ath in stark prisoun or festnyng, gif it be lefull to him to escape, and brek presoun. gif a man be presonare till ane othir, and he put him in a stark close toure, in sekir festeynyg, quhethir he be haldin to brek prison, and eschape. gif a man has sauf condyt to com seurely, nocht spekand of his way-passing, quhethir he may be haldyn prisonar in his passing. gyf a man that has sauf conduct may bring on his sauf conduct gretare man na himself is. gif a man be tane prisoner apon ane otheris sauf condyt, quhethir he that aw the sauf condyt suld outred him of prisoun on his awin cost. gif a man suld enter agayn in prisoun, and he war rycht dredand for to be put to dede. gif a prince may lefully refuse ane othir prince to pas his voyage throu his contre but scath. quhethir kirkmen suld pay tailles, tributis, and inposiciouns to seclere kingis or princis. gif the kirk may mak were agayne the jowis. gif a man may ficht for his wyf in armes. how the ta brothir may defend the tothir in armys. gif a baron be vassall to twa lordis that makis weris in syndry contreis, to quhilk of tham sall he mak seruice till. and gif a baron be vassall to twa lordis the quhilkis makis were ilkane apon othir, quham to sall he mak seruice. quhethir bondis suld be constreynit to the weris. quhilk folk may nocht be stren[gh]eit to mak weris, supposs thai be chargit. gif a man be hurt sarely be ane othir, and he hurt him agayne, gif he sal be punyst. gif a man bonde makis slauchter be the bidding of his lord, suld he be punyst. quhethir a bonde may defend him again his lord, and he war sett to sla him. gif a monk may defend him fra his abbot, and he wald sett to sla him. gif the sone may lefully defend him agayn his fader, and he wald sla him. gif a man may lefully defend him agayn his awin juge, or nocht. gyf a man be banyst a realm, and happin to cum in agayne be ony cas, gif men wald set on him, to tak him, quhethir he aucht to defend him. gif a preste be assailit wyth his inymyes berand goddis sacrit body on him, quhethir he aw to lay doun goddis body, and defend him, or nocht. gif a man may for mark be prisoner that maid neuer caus bot for otheris. how, and in quhat maner, mark suld be tholit or gevin be the prince. how suld mark be gevin aganis a citee that allegis to na soverayne. gif all lordis may graunt markis. how, or be quhat resoun, may it be steynd that the king of france be nocht subject to the empire. quhethir gif the king of ingland be subject ony way to the empire. gif a burgess haldand change and house at parise be tane and robbit be the way cummand to parise-wart, quhethir he is to be gevin power of merk to for the gude recouering. quhethir a scolare at the study in parise of ingland borne, aw to be prisonare. quhethir a seruand suld joyse the priuilege that his maister has lang joisit. gyf ane inglissman cummys to parise to visyte his sone at the scule, beand seke, quhethir he aw to be prisoner, or nocht. gyf ane inglissman cummys to parise to visyte his brother seke at the scule, quhethir he aw to be prisonare, or nocht. quhethir a studyand may lefully be haldin in prisoun for ony mark. quhethir a wode man may be haldyn presoner and ransound in the weris. quhethir a wode man, efter that he be cummyn again to his wit, may be haldyn presoner. quhethir a passand alde ancien man, be law of armes, may be haldin prisonere. quhethir a childe may lefully be tane and haldin presonere be the law of armes. quhethir a blynd man, be law of armes, may be tane and haldin presonere. quhethir ambassadouris or legatis cummand to the king may lede his inymyes throu his realme with thame, or nocht. quhethir a bischop may be tane presonere be a franch man, the bischop beand of ingland. quhethir a kirk man may be tane for mark. quhethir gif pilleryns may be maid presoneris be ony maner of weris of armes. quhat thingis in tyme of were has sauf condyt be priuilege unaskit at the princis. quhethir, in tyme of were, the ass and the ox suld bathe joise a maner of priuilege. quhethir gif the varlet aw to joyce the priuilege of the husbandman. quhethir, in tyme of weris, folk may ledder castellis and wallit townis lefully. how suld be punyst folk that brekis the princis sauf condyt, or his assurancis. quhethir a grete lord suld traist in a sauf condyt, or ony othir lawar person. quhethir gif a cristin king, prince, or emperour, may gif a sauf condyt till ane othir king, prince, or emperoure sarra[gh]ene. gif twa lordis has made trewis togidder suorne, quhethir gif the tane brek trewis gif the tothir suld rycht sa brek. quhether better be to fecht fastand before mete, or efter mete quhen men has dronkin. quhethir bataill may be set before ladyes. quhethir the quene jonat of naplis mycht lefully assail[gh]ie the king lowis de cicile. here previs the autour playnly how gage of bataill is reprovit be all maner of lawis. here he puttis the case, in the quhilk it is lefull to geve gage of bataill. and [gh]it he puttis ane othir case in the quhilk law of armes will thole gage of bataill. and [gh]it ane othir case efter the lawis of lumbardy. and [gh]it ane othir case efter the law of lumbardy. and [gh]it ane othir ease efter the law of lumbardy. and [gh]it ane othir case efter the law of lumbardy. and [gh]it ane othir efter the law of lumbardy. and [gh]it ane othir efter the lawis of lumbardy. and [gh]it ane othir case efter the lawis of lumbardy. and [gh]it ane othir case efter the law of lumbardy. and [gh]it ane othir case efter the law of lumbardy. and [gh]it ane othir case efter the law of lumbardy. and [gh]it ane othir case efter the law of lumbardy. and [gh]it ane othir case efter the said lawis. and [gh]it ane othir case efter the law of lumbardy. and [gh]it ane othir case efter the law of lumbardy. and [gh]it ane othir case efter the said lawis. how oft tymes the bataill in listis is nocht done be the principale persouns bot be otheris. the form and maner of thair aithis that suld fecht in barrieris of close listis in felde. gif a man passit age, may put quham him list to campioun to ficht in barreris for him. gif ane of the campiouns brekis his suerd, quhether ane othir suld be gevin him agayne. gif the lord may nocht knaw the first day quha has the lyklyar, gif thai suld cum again on the morn, and enter in felde as before: quhilk of the twa campiouns suld first stryke. gif the vencust man suld pay the costis, thouch the kyng remytt his actioun. gif a man has bene vencust of ony crime in barreris, gif he may be accusit in jugement tharof. quhethir gif the campiouns may fecht in playne felde, but barreris, gif thai lykis. how he suld be punyst that has grantit his crime, and vencust in barreris opinly. gif a knycht appelis ane othir, quhether gif thai may leue of, and forthink the appele. here, he spekis of armes and baneris in generale. here he spekis of armes and baneris in specialitee. gif a man may [tak] otheris armes at his lyking. gif ane allemain fyndis a frenchman berand the samyn armes that he beris in felde, quhethir gif he may appele him of battaill. how suld be punyst folk that beris othir mennis armes but leue, to do tham ony lak. here spekis he of colouris in armes, quhilkis are the maist noble; and of thair diuisiouns. and first, he spekis of the colour that is rede. and syne he spekis of asure that is the blewe coloure. and syne he spekis of the quhite colouris. and syne he spekis of the colour that is blak. and syne he spekis of the condicioun and nature of the ordinance of the closing of the barreris. and [gh]it spekis he of the condicioun of the close felde, ordanyt for fechting in barreris, as said is. and [gh]it ane othir thrid reule of the condicioun and nature of close barreris. and [gh]it spekis he of the ferde condicioun and nature of the close felde, that is callit barreris. and [gh]it the fyft doctryne gevis he of the form and maner and condicioun of the close felde. and [gh]it the sext doctrine spekis he of the form, maner, and condicioun of the close barreris. here he speris quhat condicioun suld be in a gude emperoure be the nature of his hie office. quhat thingis appertenis to be in a gude prince, king, or othir. * * * * * capitulum cxxxviii, &c. here spekis the doctoure of armes that ar in blasons, and of baneris and penouns.[ ] [fol. . b.] now efter that he has determynit of bataillis bathe in generale and in speciale, than will he declare the armes that all princis and nobles and othir gentillis aw to were, and of thair colouris, and discripciouns: and fyrst, quhethir a man that is nocht of thair lygnie may bere leuefully thair armes at his plesaunce? the quhilk mater is nocht lycht to declare, bot of grete difficultee for mony caussis. and first, men suld vnderstand that sum armes was gevin of power of autoritee of emperouris, kingis, and princis, to lordis, and otheris barouns, or to thair predecessouris, the quhilkis ar of alde tyme, and of alde ancestrye, that nane suld bere, bot thai war cummyn of that lignie, that is to say, in the realme of the emperoure, king, or prince that gafe the said armes; ffor and the king of france had gevyn a lyon of gold to bere till a lord of his contree, quhat wrang dois that lord till ane othir lord of spaigne or of almane, that the emperoure or the king of spayne had gevin it till. bot thare is othir maner of armes, the quhilkis ilke man that beris thame, tuke at thair awin plesance to mak difference and knaulage amang lordis, gentilis, and noble men of armes, to knaw ilk ane be othir. and all namys and surnamys of men was foundyn ffor the samyn cause. or ellis all suld haue bene in confusioun that nane suld haue had knaulage of ane othir. and this name may ilke man tak, and geue his barne at his awin plesance, or the godfader, or godmoder, or frendes may geue namys to thair frendis; and rycht sa in the samyn wyse is it of armes, that in the begynnyng quhen the weris began, till haue sum defference amang nobles, sik armes was, sum assignit be princis and lordis; sum was tane at the plesance of partye; sum be thair frendis consent and consale, sa that men of honour and of estate suld be knawin be thair armes, the quhilkis ar callit thair takenys in armoury. and thus in were tyme, new men of armes that has nane armes of propertee, may in this wise tak armes at thair lyking syk as thame lest. bot nocht to tak nane otheris armes. here speris the doctour gif a man may tak ane otheris armes at his lyking. as thus a man has tane to bere in his armes a low of gules in a champ of siluer, ane othir of that ilke toune has tane the samyn efter that he has it wynteris and [gh]eris. than speris the questioun, quhethir the first may gaynstand this armes and plen[gh]e to the prince, and ger this be reformyt and forborne. and first he sais, nay; ffor quhy ony man may tak lefully, as before said is, ane othir mannis name, and call his barne in the samyn toun, ffor it befallis oft tymes that syndry men ar callit be a name in the samyn toun; and may do it but lak. and quhy then may thai nocht alswele tak twa ane armes, or thre, or alsmony as lykis. bot the countre party sais agayne, that it is a commoun vse and custume in mannis lawe, and approuit be othir lawis, that quha sa euer may first tak wilde foule, or fysch, or wylde beste in the wilderness, it is his be the lawe. and than, sen this noble man has first tane sik a beste, or sik a foule, or sik a fisch, to bere in his schelde and on his cote of armes, and on his banere, pannoun of armes, or in blasone apon his heraulde or perseuandis brest, or othir wayis to paynt in hall or chaumer at his lyking; quhy suld ony othir tak it efterwart to bere that war in toune or in the samyn contree, quhare it war borne? and als it war mare thair scathe na thir prouffit, ffor it wald quhilom mere men that had grete dedis ado, quhen thai wend to cum to thair awin maister in werefare, thai mycht fail[gh]e, and othir wayis in syndry wyse mycht erre in thair dedis that mycht hynder bathe the partis that nedit nocht, na is na poynt of gude gouernaunce, na gude policy in dedis of armes: and as langand this questioun the doctour makis sic a conclusioun, that gif a gentill man or lord had tane ane armes at his plesance, and borne it lang tyme opynly kend in dede of armes, and in weris, or othir wayis in tyme of pes, that it war kyd and knawin till him and his lignage; thare aw nane othir in that contree to tak the samyn to bere, na the prince na the lord of that contree, suld nocht lat tham bere it on na wise, ffor than war the principale cause of armes-taking all forletyn; ffor the principale cause of armes-taking is for to knawe the personagis of noble men in bataill, or in armes, or in tournamentis, or to knawe a lord in felde be ane othir, with his men, and his frendis and wele willaris suld draw till him and knawe him be his takin, and sa suld the diuersitee of armes mak the knaulage of the diuersitee of personnagis; and gif it be hapnyt ony lorde or othir man to be slayn in felde, and sa manglit that his visage mycht nocht be knawin, be his cote of armes he suld be knawin and brocht to cristin beriss: and alssua, that be the defference of armes euer furth quhill the warld lestis, men suld knaw be the takynnyng of thair armes, thair sepulturis quhare thai ar beryit; and quha was in thai tymes maist honourable and worthy men, as oft tyme men seis apon thair sepulturis be thair frendis maid efter thaire decesse, and sum be thame self or thai be dede; be the quhilkis, quhen all the lygnie is failit, and the surname, [gh]it will the valliance of thame be knawin be thair armes, the quhilkis in armes are callit takenis: ffor and syndry lordis or gentilis tuke all ane armes, or takenis, it was bot a confussioun. and a mare grete resoun ffor be all gude custumes of noblesse, lordis, and gentilis, makis thair selis efter thair armes, and gif ane suld bere ane otheris armes in his sele, men suld nocht wit quhais it war. item, all kingis suld kepe that na man do till othir dishonour, schame, na villany, na injure, na new novelliteis. and it is to presume, gif ony man wald newly tak ane alde armes of ane otheris that it war for dispyte or injure to despise him to prouoke noise and debatis for alde fede or enuy, the quhilk the prince suld stanch. and as to the argument, it is na thing lyke till a man to be callit lyke till ane othir or syndry in a town; for quhy? for sik cause men has gert geve ilke man his surname that makis the difference. bot and mony men bare ane armes, how suld ony man, haralde, or othir, knaw men, na geve the honoure of gude dede till him that had honourabily deseruit it, or to geve lak and dishonour till cowardis or flearis fra bataillis: and tharefore, in all sik debatis, the prince suld ger sett remede. and gif ony complaynt war, se, be harraldis and men of knawlage, quha had rycht, quha wrang, and do justice. here speris the doctoure gif a franch knycht saw a ducheman of almane berand his armes but difference, and he appellit him of were to fecht with him, or forbere the armes; quhethir aw he to be admyttit, be prince, or nocht to feicht in barrieris with him. as gif a knycht of almane wald cum to see noblesse in france, as tournamentis or othir wasselage, and that he fand a knycht in france at the tournayment, that bare the samyn armes that he beris: and thus he maid questioun bustously, sayand, he traistit he wrangit him and his lignie to bere thai armes, sperand, be quhat title of rycht he bare thame? the knycht of france ansuerd, sayand, that he traistit that he mycht bere lefully the takyn of armes that his fader, and forefader, and all his ancestris had of sa lang tyme borne, that thare was na memorye in the contrarye. the duche knycht replyis agayn, sayand, gude sir, suppose your fader and ancestris haue borne thame sik a tyme, my kyn and ancestris ar of eldare begynnyng na [gh]ouris, and als ar mare noble of lignie; quharefore, sen [gh]e and [gh]ouris has tane thame efter us, and [gh]e ar nocht of sa grete noblesse of alde ancestry, me think [gh]e suld deferr till us, and nocht we to [gh]ow: quharefore, i say [gh]e bere thame euill and wrangwisly, and that i sall preue with my persone. and with that the franchman sais, that he dois him na wrang that beris the armes that his ancestres has of sa lang tyme borne, and that he denyis his wrang, and that sall he defende. than is this the question, quhethir the king aw to geve leve to thir twa knychtis to feicht, or nocht? and as to the first visage, it semys thai suld be tholit, be the resouns that the duche knycht allegis. bot the doctouris accordis nocht to that opynion, ffor as we have before said, thai ar nocht of a realme, na of a prince haldand, quharfor the naciouns makis the defference sufficiand, sa that it war nocht done for despyte, na othir barate; ffor gif a trauailand knycht of france had tane sik armes, and he war a wikkit man, of lyf a tyran, and unhonourable, that mycht defame the armes in ferre contreis, the duche knycht mycht haue sum coloure and resoun tharefor, gif the franch knycht past in burgone, or barry, or lorane, and brynt and slewe, and reft and forsit women, and had renoun to be a wikkit man of lyf, and men wist nocht his surname, na of quhat contree he war, and the tothir knychtis armes war kend our all thai countreis, and sum men mycht traist that it war he; and in this cas, the duche knycht had resoun to ask him to be depriuit of his armes at the king of france, and the king to grant it him, gif the said duche knycht and his lignie war approuit men of honour, and thareapon grant him leue of bataill in listis, as said is, gif him lykis for the cause, efter the custumes may be tholit. here speris the doctoure how thai suld be punyst that beris otheris armes wrangwisely, in entencioun to do mys vnder scoug of thame couertly. as gif a souldiour of symple state tuke the armes of a knycht noble of france that war of gude renoune, bathe in honour of armes, and othir wayes of alde ancienetee, and that knycht of ducheland had tane thai armes newly, in entent to be mare presit and honourit, and to be hyar auansit, and tak mare wagis, in faith i traist that the king, at the persuyt and request of partye, the king aw to punyse him be law of armes. as in the lyke maner, gif a maister armoureur of parise, that had renoun to be the best of that craft, that war in france, and in his werkis had a takyn that his werkis were knawin by, and ane othir of troyes in champaigne tuke that ilke takyn, sa that for the renoun of the parisien, his werkis suld be the better sauld; and rycht sa of coultellin, or ony othir craft, or of notairis, gif ane dois falset vnder the sailign of ane othir, i say, all sik men suld be well and cruelly punyst be justice; and gif the contrary war tholit, it war grete damage to the realme. here speris the doctour quhat armes ar maist noble be the colouris, and quhat colouris ar maist noble in armes. bot be cause the princis and lordis beris armes of mare noblesse na otheris; and that the doctouris has spokyn in othir tymes, and othir placis, of princis armes, and of thair baneris, quharefore i will nocht here mak questioun, na dout the quhilk armes are the maist noblez and the maist rychez; ffor quhy, that alwayis comparisoun is odious.[ ] bot it plesis me to speke sum thing of colouris of armes, and of thair descripciouns. and as the doctour sais, that sum of thame is mare noble na otheris, for the representatioun that thai mak be thair propre nature, and be this cause, we say, that colour of gold is the maist noble colour that is in this warld here; and the resoun quhy is, ffor be the nature of gold, it is clere and schynand, rich, vertuouse, and confortand; ffor oure maisteris, doctouris, and medicinaris, and philosophouris, gevis the gold in syndry wise in medicyne to folk that ar debilitez in thair nature, that thai can get nane othir remede for souerane remede; and is lyknyt be his condicioun and nature to the sonne, the quhilk is the maist noble planet that euer god maid, and beris lycht till all the warld, and encrescement and confourt till all naturale creaturis. and the lawis sais, that of all things that god maid, the claritee and licht is the maist noble; and, tharefore, the haly wrytt sais, that the sanctis in hevyn schynis as the sonne; and alssua oure souerane lord, quhen he transfigurit him before his apostlis, his visage apperit to thame as the sonne in someris day brycht: and because the gold is comperit to the sonne, as the propre effect of the sonne, the quhilk is king and lord of all planetis, and alssua is figurit be haly wrytt be the visage of our lord; and be that cause the ancien princis, in ald lawis of armes, ordanyt that na noble man suld bere gold in his armes, bot princis, kingis, and emperouris, for the nobless of him: and thus conclude we, that the maist noble coloure is gold. and suppose sum ignorant men wald say, gold is metalle, and na coloure, that makis nocht; ffor largely to tak colouris, be all oure maisteris and philosophouris, all metallis, all low and lychtnes, that lemys and gevis sycht to the eyne, is of the nature of colouris. the secound coloure that is in armoury, is callit be thir maisteris purpre; the quhilk he callis here rede colour; the quhilk representis the lowe of fyre, the quhilk is the maist clere, and lycht efter the sonne, and the maist noble of all the elementis; the quhilk colour suld nane in armes were, bot anerly kingis or princis, be the alde custumes of princis and faderis of armes, of alde tymes. the thrid colour is asure; the quhilk, be his figure and coloure, representis the ayer, the quhilk is next the fyre, the maist noble element; ffor it is in itself lignie and sutile, and penetratys, ressauand the lycht throu it, and hable till rassaue all influences of the planetis and of the hevynly constellaciouns of nature, throw the quhilkis all this erde is gouernyt, and all nature: and sum callis the coloure a[gh]ure, hafand the colour of the firmament, sayand, that asure is a hevynly colour, it makis not: ffor thare is bot lytill betuene, nocht than the lift is nocht colourit. ane othir coloure is the quhyte coloure, the quhilk next the asure is the maist noble coloure that was countit in armoury in ancien cronikis, because that it is maist nere the nature of lycht and claritee; and for the clereness of it, it is signyfyit to the vertu of puritee, of clenesse, and innocence, and sympilness: and as to that the haly scripture sais, that the clethingis of jhesu crist apperit ay to thame of quhite colour as snaw; and this coloure of quhite representis the water, the quhilk efter the aire is the maist noble element. ane othir colour is in armoury that callit is blak; the quhilk representis the erde, and be it is signyfyit dolour, ffor it is ferrest fra lichtness and claritee that betakenis blythnes, and cummys nerest to myrknesse; and tharefore, quhen ony peple or folk will mak dule for ony of thair frendis dede, or in ony bataill tynt, or othir grete misauenture, men makis thair dule in that clething; ffor it is the lawest of degree of all the four elementis, and is signifyit be it humilitee. and for that cause, in takenyng of humilitee, the religiouse men ar cled in blak wede, commonly to schawe mekenes in hert, and put away all lust of vanitee, and vane glore warldly. prima regula belli claustralis. here schawis the doctour certane thingis and documentis touchand close bataill, that we call bataill in listis. and first, be cause that close bataill is rycht perilouse and mysty to be jugit be ignorant men, that ar nocht instruct in the lawis, myn advys is, that thare suld na prince, na lord, hald felde of bataille in listis, bot gif he had gude wise counsale of wele vnderstandand men of lawe; that is for to say, of doctouris in canoun and ciuile, to geve him gude counsale: ffor commounly the casis ar sa subtile to juge, that seclere men for couatise and auarice of warldis wyn, gevis oft tyme counsale to princis that soundis mare to the desyre of wynnyng of warldis gude, na it dois to resone or to rychtwise querele; and als thai wate quhat casis ar in the lawis condampnyt vtterly, and reprouit, and quhat casis ar tholit and permysit at the plesance of princis; and wate alssua, quhat casis ar priuilegit in the law quhilk nocht; and the lawis sais, that aduocatis ar procuratouris of mannis lignage. and ane othir resoun quhy i haue sett this reugle is, ffor commonly the clerkis ar mare sad of counsale, and mare caulde of complexion, and mare temperit in thair curage, and ferrar can se in the ground of a mater na secleris; ffor seclaris ar hate of blude, and in ire, and oft tymes thai geve thair counsale and jugement again resoun, with the wrang outhir for fede or frendschip, luferent, or haterent, or for mede, or for ire, or breth, or othir singulare appetite, for honour or richess, or lordschip or reddoure or otheris. and erar ar inclynyt to mak were, na trety and concorde; and to ger bataill in barrieris be, na to sloke it, and appese it; ffor ire lettis the mannis mynde to juge and determe veritee. secunda regula belli claustralis. here declaris the doctour ane othir reugle and doctryne apon the gouernaunce of close bataill. that nocht gaynstandand that be malice or hete, woodnes, ramage, or pride orguillouse, or be inclinacioun, auaricius appellacioun of bataill be maid, and the party ressauis the gage of bataill, the prince suld be wise in his audience geving, and of gude tholemudenes, to suetely here the cause that the appelloure chalangis the appelland of; and wele copy and vnderstand all the mater before, or he geve his consent, and gif the cause movis of dett or of fede, or of ony othir singular cause he suld call counsale, and inquere how and quhare, and in quhat place, and for quhat cause, and of quhat tyme, and all the circumstancis, and gif the prince may be ony way get knawlage of other pruf or witnes, or othir pruf be instrument or obligacioun, or to draw out of the party be inquisicioun or confessioun, and othir maner of prufis. and gif the prince may persaue be ony way that ony knaulage may be gottyn be ony way of the warld, the prince suld nocht thole passe bataill. or suppose na witnes war, bot anerly that the party allegit witnes, [gh]it suld he assigne day till produce thai prufis before the justice ordinare; ffor quhen pruf is offerit, or allegit, all wage of bataill is slokit, be all lawis of canon and of ciuile. to the thrid reugle and doctrine of battaill in listis is this: that the prince in na case suld juge bataill to be, bot quhare thare is na prufis allegit na producit, and that is law commoun and reasonnable custum; bot he sall suere, be his faith, that his cause can nocht be prufit in na way bot be his persoun. he ferde doctrine teching and reugle of bataill in barrieris is: that a prince suld haue gude counsale to ger propone before him the maner of the appellacioun, and the cause and occasiouns that the appellour allegis in his appellacioun, and gif him thinkis resonnable the cause of the appellacioun, he suld admytt thame to the bataill; and gif thai war nocht resonnable, sloke it out, and geue na consent tharetill, na tholaunce; ffor gif fulis, throu thair foly, be sa daft that thai wage bataill for lytill, evyn as to say, quhethir growis better wynnis in burgoyne or in gascoyne? or, quhethir is thare fairar ladyes in florence or in barsalongne? or, in quhat countree is thare best men of armes, in france or in lombardy? and the ta-part cast gage of bataill on the tothir, apon thir grete weris of lawe; or to say, his hors runnys fastar na his; or, that his hors is better na his, or syk lyke thing; or, that he lusis his lady better na he dois; or, that he dancis or syngis better na he dois, or for syk maner of tromperys; a prince suld nocht juge na thole bataill to be, bot he suld, before the peple, in presence of his counsall, punyse syk trompouris, that otheris tuke ensample thareby in tyme to cum, to gage bataill for sik fule causis. the fyft doctrine is: that for na wordis of hete, and sudane ire of chaude cole or of chaude mellencoly, na injuriouse langage, thare suld na prince thole na consent gage of bataill in listis to pas; for wordis may be said for hete, or for brethe, or for gude wyne, or othir wayis in lichtnes, that sone efter he may repent: bot and the wordis be injurious and dishonourable, crimynouss or defamatouris, and he perseuere in his outrageous langage, and lykis nocht till amend; bot stand in his purpos efter that the ire salbe past, ellis the prince suld nocht juge bataill to be: ffor gif he dois, he jugis again the lawis writtin opynly. the sext doctrine is: that because thare is sum men sa hichty hautayn and orguillous and full of surquedry, that thai haue na traist, na fyaunce in god na his sanctis, bot in thair awin propre pyth and vertu of corps and strenth of membris; na has na will; na thocht on god to mend thair mysdedis; na to tak counsale at gude men of lyf and deuocion; na to mak gude ordynaunce for thame self, suppose the prince suld the bataill to be tholit to be done to the vtterest: and tharfore the king suld assigne certane day of bataill and houre to the appelloure, and he suld ger schaw him the grete perile in the quhilk he puttis him in baith of body and of saule, and monyse him, and exhort him on goddis behalf, that all before that euer he schape him for horse, harnais, na othir prouision for the bataill, that first he schape him to se for a gude confessour, that be a gude wise clerke, wele letterit and wele instruct in the faith, and of gude counsale and conscience, that he may discharge his conscience to, and schrive him wele, and put his saule first in gude estate, and his gudein ordinance, as he wald mak his testament to ga to dede, and as wyse man aw to do: quhilk gif he dois nocht, the king suld say him, "that sen he traistit nocht in goddis help, he suld nocht traist that he war a gude cristyn man, and that he suld haue the lesse fauour of him;" and than suld he ordane him a term within quhilk he suld put him in gude estate of the saule to godwart, and syne spere, how thai had done at thair confessoure, and sa suld he do to the tothir: and this is a takyn that a prince is wyse, and lufis wele god, that begynnis at him to dispone all his gouernance and dedis. * * * * * [fol. . b.] here speris the doctoure quhat thingis efferis till all gude prince to do as now sen he hes sum part declarit quhat properteis suld be in ane emperoure, now will he declare quhat properteis a gude king suld haue in him: that is the maist hye dignitie efter the emperoure. and [gh]it will oure maisteris saye that the name of king is mare na the name of emperoure be excellence; ffor oure lord jhesu crist in this erde here callit him nocht emperoure, bot tholit to be callit king of kingis and lord of lordis, as our haly writt beris witness. and alssua he was callit a kingis sone: ffor he is callit in haly writt the sone of david king; and that sais clerkis that he is of kingis be the grettar excellence of lynage. and [gh]it alssua sanct peter menyt to his teching, that the name of king was mare excellent na the name of emperoure, quhen he said till his disciples, that thai suld be subgettis till all creature humayne for the honoure of god [gh]our king, and specially till all kingis for the honoure of him, as to the hiest degree and maist excellent. and this approues the pape gelasius, &c. * * * * * [fol. . b.] and trewly i say, and he kepe wele thir termes, he is a worthy prince, and worthy to be a king, and till haue superioritee and soueranitee, and victory of his fais. and tharefor the doctour settis here certane poyntis of doctrine touchand a [gh]ong prince, in ryme, quhilkis spekis thus: a king that will be ane worthy werryoure, he sulde be wiss, faire, and curageous: and that he be lord of his subjectis, asto the quaile the sperehauk; and that he be misericorde and rigorouss in justice, as case requeris; and that gif he will be wele fortunyt in armes, be ay first. * * * * * [fol. . b.] item, a prince or a king suld nocht oure lichtly trow all talis na sudayn tydingis; ffor mony learis oft tymes flechis lordis with false talis, and settis thame in wrang and euill purpose. and that is oure grete perile in princis and grete lordis, to geue sudane credence till ony mannis tale, quhill he war wele informyt of the suthfastnes: and he suld be wele and ryply avisit, or that he write to the pape ony materis, or till ony strange princis, for ony lycht mennis counsailis, or ony small wrechit mannis. and quhen he wrytis, his writtis suld be wele and statelyke deuisit, and dytit be wise clerkis, and men of counsale, and expert in the lawis and purpose lyke, and syne be notable gude wrytaris as efferis; bathe to the ryaltee of him that sendis the writtis, and of him that thai wryttis ar send to; and suld wele auise for quham he wrytis, that thai be worthy persouns, and alssua for quhat thing he wrytis; that it be nocht a wrechit thing that he wrytis for; and als that his peticioun be bathe rychtwise and honourable; ffor quhen princis prayis for vnworthy persouns, god is offendit and displesit thareat. and syne the pape or princis that he wryttis till, will hald him for ane vnwise prince that the lettres send for sik a persone, and will nocht sa gladly grant him his asking in tyme to cum. and thus sall the renoun of a prince pas oure all the cristyndome, and geue him lofe and honour that excedis all warldis richess, throu the quhilk he sal be prisit and redoubtit bathe with fais and frendis, and haldin for wise prince; and syne sall he be lufit of god, and wyn throu that the joy of paradise. and [gh]it mare, suld a king be temperit and messurit in his conuersacioun, and repair amang folk, in placis public, our oft tymes; ffor ony thing that commouns seis oure oft thai prise all the lesse. and quhen it is seldyn sene it gevis folk in mare grete desyre to se it agayne ay mare and mare; and for this cause the grete souldane of babilone cummys bot thrise in the [gh]ere in publik audience furthwart, and than quhen he cummys furthwart, on thre festuale dayes, he cummys rydand with sik a state and solempnitee that all the peple desyris and presses the mare to se him, na he rade euery day, or euery wolk or moneth; bot gif it be quhen that he rydis in werefare, and than all his peple and cheualrye may se him. and suppose i mycht [gh]it compile and gader togedir mony vertues and properteis that suld be in a prince, and als mony thingis of mysgouernaunce that he suld eschew: bot in gude faith the doctour sais, that he was sa irkit of wryting, that he mycht nocht as now na mare tak on hand as to put in this buke of bataillis; bot and god geve him lyve dayes, he sais, in his conclusioun of his buke, he sall compile a trety of propereteis of gude condiciouns bathe of temparale men and of men of kirk, that sall be gude and prouffitable for all men, that on lukis bathe langand the gouernaunce of thair office and digniteis, as may be compylit be the foundement of haly writt, and efter the lawis writtyn. bot here he prayis to god mekely that he send grace and gude gouernaunce to the prince that he has compilit this wrytt for, and maid this buke till, that is to say king philip[ ] of fraunce, and geue him grace sa to reule his realme, and his ryall magestee and estate, that god be payit of him, and bring him till his euerlestand joye of paradise at his ending, and all his frendis and wele willaris. in nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti. amen. _explicit liber bellorum, sed potius dolorum, ut rescitat doctor in pluribus, etc._ [decoration] no. ii. here before endis the buke of batailles, and here efter begynnys the buke of the ordere of knychthede. [this portion of the manuscript, from fol. , to fol. , is contained in the present volume.] [decoration] no. iii. [fol. . b.] here endis the buke of the ordre of knychthede; and begynnis the buke callit the buke of the gouernaunce of princis, etc. here begynnys the table of the buke of the gouernaunce of princis. and first of the prolog of the first fyndyng, and interpretacioun of the said buke out of diuerse langagis, etc. item, of the first pistle fend fra alexander till arestotil to ask him counsale of the gouernaunce of perse new conquest; and of the form of the epistle, and of his ansuere. item, of ane othir of thé ansueris of aristotle till alexander; and the forme of the epistle send fra aristotle of his opynion. the first chapiter is, how thare is four maneris of kingis. how auarice and fule largess suld be eschewit in a king. how princis and kingis suld sett them for gude renoun here. how thai suld eschew all outrageous carnall lustis and appetitis. quhat kynde of sapience efferis to kingis, princis, and grete lordis. quhatkyn habyt anournement and clething thai suld haue. how kingis and princis suld punyse mysdoaris, and honour gude men. how thai suld haue in thame justice and equitee with merci. quhatkyn plesance, deduytis, and recreaciouns princis suld tak. how punycioun suld be maid efter the case and state of persons. how princis may be lyknyt to the dew of the hevyn. how kingis and princis are of the samyn nature with symple men. how thai suld delyte thame in bukis of stories of vertues and vicis, and of othir honourable dedis of alde ancestry, and of wisedome. how thai sulde kepe gude faith and lautee till all mankynde euer. how princis suld found scolis and studyes of sciences in thair contreis. how thai suld nocht gouerne thame be women, na trow thair counsale. how thai suld nocht traist anerly in a medicine, but ma. how princes suld gouerne thame be a wyse clerk, expert in astronomy. off the science of astronomy, and of the divisioun of it. how princis suld atoure all thing tak kepe to thair hele. how and in quhat maner thai suld gouerne thair hele keping. here declaris the philosophour certane documentis of medicyne. here declaris the philosophour certane secrete documentis of medicyne. here declaris he the four rathis of the [gh]ere, and first of ver. and first of the kynde of the sesoun of somer. and syne of the third sesoun that is callit hervist. and syne of the nature of the wynter. quhat thingis fattis or lenys men maist. here declaris the philosophour ane othir poynt of medicyne. quhat kyndis of metis ar best for man. off syndry kyndis of wateris, and thair naturis. off syndry kyndis of wynis, and thair naturis. off bathis and stuphis [stoves], and thair gouernaunce and proffittis. quhat justice efferis till a prince or a king. how a prince or a king suld ken himself. how kingis and princis suld gouerne be grete counsale. how the man is maid of the four elementis. how princis suld haue discrete secretaris. how thai suld have discrete and traist messageris. how the prince and the peple are comperit till a gardyn. explicit tabula de regimine principum. here begynnis the buke callit the buke of the gouernance of princis, that is callit the secrete of secretis, maid be aristotyll till alexander the grand: and first the proloug as it is contenyt in the franch buke. prologus. here declaris the autour of this buke that a clerk, callit fair patrix, wyse in all langagis fand in grece, kepit within a temple, callit the temple of the sonne, (the quhilk the noble philosophour esculapius had gert mak,) this buke of the secretis of aristotle in language of grew; the quhilk he translatit out of grew in the langage of caldee, the quhilk was quhilom the langage of grete babyloyne, and now is the langage of grete inde; and syne, at request of the king of araby, he translatit it off the langage of caldee in his langage of arrabyk. and syne, efter that mony a [gh]ere, ane othir grete clerk, callit philippus, translatit it out of arabyk in lang latyne, and send it till ane reuerend fader in crist, and wyse prelate, noble and honourable sir guy de valance, bischop of tryploun: and as beris witness be thair alde ancien stories, the worthy and noble philosophouris in thay tymes, that als lang as alexander le grant had with him aristotil the wyse clerk, he passit throuch and vencust all realmes, and all his inymyes, throu the mekle prudence and wisedome of that noble philosophour and throu his counsale. and quhen he mycht no mare trauaile with him, he send him ay betuene lettres and epistlis, how he suld gouerne him in all his dedis and grete materis. and at the last, quhen he saw he mycht nocht for elde langsumely be nature left, he compilit this buke to be a reugle of gouernaunce till him euer mare quhill he lyvit, and send it till him with grete regrate and lamentacioun, that he mycht no mare be with him, sa mekle he lufit him, for cause he was his maister and his techour euer fra his begynnyng of barnehede till that tyme, and with him in his conquestis. and syne was this ilke buke translatit out of latine in the langage of romaine, nocht all hallely bot alsmekle as thame thocht nedefull and spedefull to the gouernance of princis. and tharfore the noble philosophour said in his counsale geving till alexander, that it was nocht spedefull that this buke war till all men publist, bot anerly to the secrete counsale of princis, and of grete lordis, and nocht to commouns; and to rede it oft tymes before thame, to tak, as myrour schawis the faultis and the suthfastnes, ensample, and doctrine of gude lyfing, and formable as efferis to thair honour and prouffit, and of thair subjectis. for it is nocht spedefull that popularis wit the secrete of princis, na lordis gouernance, na the reuglis of thair ordre; and thairfor is the buke callit the secrete of secretis of aristotil, ordanyt for document and teching of gouernance of princis. here declaris he how aristotle ressauit a pistle sent fra alexander till him in his grete age, to ask counsale, quhen he had conquest perse, quhethir he suld destroy and sla all the folk of that land, and peple it with others? because that thay war perilouse to gouerne, and subtile, and full of mychti maliciouse engyne of conquest, for the quhilk he dred thair subtile malice. forma epistole alexandri regis magni ad aristotilem. till ane maist noble and worthy lord of justice, i signify to thy prudence, that i haue foundyn in the land of perse a kynde of folk rycht haboundand in richess, and of lytill vnderstanding, settand thair study to mak conquestis of realmes, and desyrand till haue lordschip atour othir men; ffor the quhilk cause, that we can nocht fynd to be seker of thame, we haue tane to purpose to put thame all to dede; bot bydand to haue thy counsale thareto, be wrytt in lettres; the quhilk counsale we will kepe and fulfill at the vtterast. here followis the ansuere of aristotil till alexander in epistil. alexander, gif thou may change the nature of the erde, the water, and the aire of that regioun, and the disposicioun of the citeis of the landis of perse, than counsale i that thou do thy will hardily; and gif thou may nocht do as foresaid is, sla thame nocht, bot gouerne thame in all gudelynes, with clemence, benignitee, and sueteness, put honour to thaim, and graciously demayne thame in graciouse justice and equitee; the quhilk gif thou dois, i traist, that with the grace of god, that thai sal be gude subjectis to thé, and sall gouerne thame at thy plesaunce and commandement: ffor than for the lufe that thai sall haue to thé for thy nobless, thou sall haue the dominacioun apon thame with peis and tranquilitie. the quhilkis lettres the prince ressauit with benignitee, and fulfillit his counsale vtterly; throu the quhilkis thingis the peple of perse gafe sik a luferent till alexander, that thai lufit him better, and was mare obeysand till him, na ony othir pepele of ony of his othir conquestis. here followis a pistle send fra aristotil till alexander excusand him for sore elde and waykenes he mycht na mare byde with him na hald the court; and tharfore he send him a regement in wrytt, how and in quhat maner he suld gouerne him ay furth; the quhilk begynnis in this maner as efter folowis:-- alexander, faire sone, gloriouss emperour, the souerane preciouss god almychty mot confirme thé, and send thé knaulege to fauour the wayis of vertu, and of veritee, and that he wald refreyne in thé all bestiale appetitis, and that he wald illumyn thyne engyne, and conferme thy spirit of thy gouernaunce till his honour and service, honourably to be ressauit as efferis. and i have vnderstandin, how thou desyris that i war with thé; and that thou sais thou art amaruailit that i may abstene fra thy presence; thinkand that i am not sa besy and diligent of thy gouernaunce as i was wont to be: and be this cause i haue vndertane to make litil reugles callit cannonet, that is to say, a lytil buke, the quhilk salbe as a balaunce in the quhilk thou sall payss all thy werkis in; and to be a supplee to thé in my absence, rycht as i war present: &c. * * * * * xl.--capitulum. [fol. .] here declaris the noble philosophour how that the subjectis of princis that ar the vphald of the warlde, ar comperit till a faire gardyn, or till a lordis tresoure, and that thai suld be kepit as tresoure. alexander, faire sone, [gh]it will i that thow witt, that thy subjectis suld be kepit as thy tresouris, ffor thai ar thy tresoure. for thai may be comperit till a lord that has a faire and gude gardyn quhare thare is grete quantitee of fruyte treis, herbis, and othir gresis, richess, and nedefull till mannis behufe, the quhilkis [gh]erely and contynualy beris grete plentee of fruytis for mannis sustenaunce quhen thai ar well grathit, scroubbit, and demaynit, and wele gudit, kepit, sustenit, and gouernyt at rycht, and suld be wele sene to, and socourit at thair nedis. and kepit wele in gude reugle of justice and saufit fra injuris and oppressins, and that thare be bot thou allane gardener upon thame, and nocht mony maister gardenaris; ffor quhare mony maister gardeneris ar the gardyn is nocht commounly all prouffitably gouernyt, the quhilk suld be of gude gouernaunce that stent him nocht to spill thy treis, na gader thy fruytis, that is to say, thy subjectis gudis wrangwisely; and sa may thy realme left, and be wele defendit and conseruit, sa that thou kepe thé nocht to haue mony dispensaris in thy gardyn, that is thy realme. ffor quhy, for couatise and gredynes of thy fruytis, thar may enter corrupcioun in thy gardyn, and syne apon thyself, quhen ilk ane pressis oure otheris to be masteris of thi gudis, and of thy counsaile, and thi gouernaunce. bot thare is mony that will hecht and say thai sall do wele, and quhen thai mount in gouernaunce thai do all othir wayis. and sum corrumpis be giftis and hechtis princis counsailouris, and peruertis all gude gouernaunce throu thair gredyness of gudis, gevand giftis to lordis of the counsale for to maneteine thame lang in thaire officis and in thaire malicis. and traist wele, alexander, that thy peple and thy barouns, thy bacheleris and thy commons ar the stuf and the multiplicacioun and furnyssing of thy realme, and be thame mon thou be crownyt, and thy croun vphaldyn and mayntenyt, and be thai nocht throu thé manetenyt and sustenyt in thair rychtis and richess, thai will nocht lufe thé, na honoure thé, na tho court, na help to sustene thyne estate; ffor bot gyf thou mak thaim cause to be fyablez and traist to thé, and thy worschip and prouffit, and to hald lufe and lautee betuix thé and thy peple, thou fall neuer be seker na seure a day in thy realme. and will thou vmbethink thé wele of all that i haue said, and gouerne thé efter my deuise and counsale beforesaid, thou sal be haldyn as wyse and worthy king, and doubtit and lufit of thy peple, and of all otheris: and thou sall cum aboue of all thyne vndertakingis and desyris: quhilkis gif thou faillis to do, thou sall se that thare sall cum greuouse mischeif and mysfortune, bathe upon thé and thy realme, and thy gouernaunce, and it sall nocht be in thy powar to sett remede, na thou can nocht, na may nocht estymy the paynis that suld be injunct to thé tharfore. bot here i pray hertfully to the hye and mychty god, makare of hevyn and erde, to geue thé grace, as he is gudely gouernoure of hevin and erde, and of all the warlde to gouerne thé sa in vertu and in veritee, in justice and leautee, that god and man be payit of the end: and rycht sa mote it be of oure worthy king, and graciouse prince, and all his welewillaris, i pray to god almichti, in nomine patris et filii, et spiritus sancti. amen. explicit le gouernement des princes. [decoration] * * * * * notes. [ ] dunbar's poems, by laing, vol. i. pp. , , edin. , vols. post vo. [ ] this work extends to volumes in folio. vol. i. was published at edinburgh in ; vol. ii. in ; vol. iii. in . this volume contains a list of nearly subscribers. on the title of a ms. which belonged to robert myln, the genealogist, he makes a reference to a life of dr thomas reid, among "the schedules of dr mackenzie's th volume of lives." whether such "schedules" still exist, is uncertain. [ ] dr george mackenzie, was born on the th december . he was the son of the hon. colin mackenzie, second son of george, second earl of seaforth, and of jean, daughter of dr robert laurie, bishop of brechin. he died at fortrose, on the th november .--(caledonian mercury, dec. , .) [ ] the last three leaves contain a transcript of two articles unconnected with the rest of the volume, viz.--"the ordour of the processioun and bering of the sacrament in antuarpe the first day of junij the [gh]eir of god i^m v^c lxij." and a letter or testimonial from thomas bishop of orknoy in , addressed to the king of norwege, respecting the genealogy of william of sanctclare, erle of orchadie, &c. (the ancestor of the st clairs of roslin,) "translatit out of latin into scottis, be me, deine thomas gwld, monk of newbothill," in the year . [ ] les manuscrits françois de la bibliothéque du roi: par a. paulin paris, vol. v. p. . [ ] see lewis's life of caxton, p. . [ ] catalogue des livres imprimés sur vélin, de la bibliothéque du roi, tome iii. p. . [ ] edinburgh, , p. . [ ] in maidment's analecta scotica, vol. ii. p. , is a curious indenture betwixt sir william the hay, knight, lorde of the nauchtane, and alan of kynnarde lord of that ilke, and dame mary of murray his wife, for the marriage of their children, dated th december . [ ] at a latter period, among the determinants at st andrews, in , we find "gilbertus hay, cujus bursa, viij^s. vj^d;" and again "m. gilbertus hay," as having taken his degree as a licentiate in . but this obviously could not have been sir gilbert hay. in the "compot. magist. roberti pantre receptoris facultatis arcium anni [m.cccc.]lii. datum iiii^o die decembris," at the end of a long list of contributions is this entry--"item, per magistrum gilbertum hay, xxv^s. debitor thomas hay licentiatus, frater ejusdem gilberti." the name of thomas hay stands first in the list of licentiates in - . [ ] genealogie of the sainteclaires of rosslyn, by father richard augustin hay, p. . edin. , to. [ ] lord hailes's additional case of the countess of sutherland, pp. , . [ ] genealogie of the sainteclaires of rosslyn, p. - . [ ] "extracts from the buike of king alexander the conquerour, a manuscript in the library at taymouth castle." ( ). to. privately printed by the secretary of the bannatyne club. [ ] see _supra_, page . [ ] the number of the chapters, in both the second and third parts or books, are omitted in the original manuscript. [ ] in the ms. the numbers of the chapters in this fourth part, are marked, primum capitulum, ii. ca^m., iii. ca^m. &c. [ ] although each chapter at the beginning is marked with a rubric, the number of the chapter is not given in the original manuscript. the following selection will be found to differ somewhat in the divisions, but it represents the whole portion of the manuscript which corresponds with the titles of chapters to , in the preceding table; along with the conclusion of the work. [ ] in the original, "car toutes comparaisons sont haynneuses." [ ] [it will be observed, that in the prologue or dedication, at page , this "buke" was addressed by the author to charles the sixth, king of france.] [illustration: life in the middle ages] life on a mediaeval barony a picture of a typical feudal community in the thirteenth century by william stearns davis, ph.d. _professor of history in the university of minnesota_ illustrated [illustration] harper & brothers publishers new york and london mcmxxiii life on a mediÆval barony copyright, by harper & brothers printed in the u. s. a. _first edition_ g- to ephraim emerton master interpreter of mediæval history this book is dedicated by an ever-grateful pupil. table of contents chapter page i. the fief of st. aliquis; its history and denizens ii. the castle of st. aliquis iii. how the castle wakes. baronial hospitality iv. games and diversions. falconry and hunting. the baroness's garden v. the family of the baron. life of the women vi. the matter of clothes. a feudal wedding vii. cookery and mealtimes viii. the jongleurs and secular literature and poetry ix. the feudal relationship. doing homage x. justice and punishments xi. the education of a feudal nobleman xii. feudal weapons and horses. dubbing a knight xiii. the tourney xiv. a baronial feud. the siege of a castle xv. a great feudal battle--bouvines xvi. the life of the peasants xvii. charity. care of the sick. funerals xviii. popular religion. pilgrimages. superstitions. relic worship xix. the monastery of st. aliquis: buildings, organization. an ill-ruled abbey xx. the monastery of st. aliquis: the activities of its inmates. monastic learning xxi. the "good town" of pontdebois: aspect and organization xxii. industry and trade in pontdebois. the great fair xxiii. the lord bishop. the canons. the parish clergy xxiv. the cathedral and its builders illustrations life in the middle ages frontispiece the castle of st. aliquis page xiv typical castle of the middle ages " view of the court and the donjon " upper hall of the donjon " interior of a thirteenth-century apartment facing p. a thirteenth-century bed page a game of chess " a game of ball " lady with a falcon on her wrist " the falcon hunt " noble holding a falcon in each hand " a hunter " the stag hunt " coiffure of a noblewoman " cradle " a king in the twelfth century wearing pellison " wreath made of metal flowers sewed on braid " felt shoe " winter costume in the twelfth century " headdress of a man " costume of a nobleman " coiffure of a woman " a royal marriage in the thirteenth century " cooks " pork butchers (bourges) " servants bringing the food to the table " young girls of the nobility serving at the table " a feast of ceremony in the twelfth century facing p. small portable organ of the thirteenth century page acrobats page dancer of the twelfth century " thirteenth-century harp " listening to a trouvère in a château of the thirteenth century facing p. banner of the thirteenth century page the coat of arms of the dukes of bretagne (thirteenth century) " seal of the duke jean of bretagne (thirteenth and fourteenth centuries) " homage in the twelfth century facing p. costume of a nobleman (thirteenth century) page gothic writing " a teacher holding a ferule in his hand " maneuvering with a lance in the thirteenth century " a knight at the end of the thirteenth century " german helmets of the thirteenth century " a thirteenth-century shield " thirteenth-century swords " horse trappings " a knight of the thirteenth century " a thirteenth-century knight " a thirteenth-century knight " a beggar " a tournament in the twelfth century facing p. knightly combat on foot page a combat in the twelfth century " a catapult " an attack with the aid of a tower " a mantelet in wood " attack on a wall with the aid of the sap " group of peasants and of shepherds " peasants at work " a laborer (thirteenth century) " peasant shoes " a reaper " a marriage in the thirteenth century " a plow " a leper " a thirteenth-century doctor " a thirteenth-century burial scene page a group of priests (thirteenth century) " a shrine in the form of an altar (thirteenth century) in the cathedral at rheims " richard coeur de lion facing p. view of an abbey of the thirteenth century page the galleries of the cloister of the abbey of mont-saint-michel (thirteenth century) " the refectory at the abbey of mont-saint-michel (thirteenth century) " a benedictine monk (thirteenth century) " a piece of furniture serving as a seat and a reading desk " cloth merchants " a commoner (thirteenth century) " money-changers (chartres) " a fair in champagne in the thirteenth century facing p. the sale of peltries (bourges) page episcopal throne of the thirteenth century " a bishop of the twelfth century " a bishop of the thirteenth century " a deacon (thirteenth century) " notre dame and the bishop's palace at the beginning of the thirteenth century " thirteenth-century window in the cathedral of chartres, representing saint christopher carrying christ " preface this book describes the life of the feudal ages in terms of the concrete. the discussions center around a certain seigneury of st. aliquis. if no such barony is easily identifiable, at least there were several hundred second-grade fiefs scattered over western christendom which were in essential particulars extremely like it, and its baron conon and his associates were typical of many similar individuals, a little worse or a little better, who abounded in the days of philip augustus. no custom is described which does not seem fairly characteristic of the general period. to focus the picture a specific region, northern france, and a specific year, a.d. , have been selected. not many matters have been mentioned, however, which were not more or less common to contemporaneous england and germany; nor have many usages been explained which would not frequently have been found as early as a.d. or as late as . northern france was _par excellence_ the homeland of feudalism and hardly less so of chivalry, while by general consent the years around mark one of the great turning epochs of the middle ages. we are at the time of the development of french kingship under philip augustus, of the climax and the beginning of the waning of the crusading spirit, of the highest development of gothic architecture, of the full blossoming of the popular romance literature, and of the beginning of the entirely dissimilar, but even more important, friar movement. to make the life of the middle ages live again in its pageantry and its squalor, its superstition and its triumph of christian art and love, is the object of this study. many times has the author been reminded of the _intense contrasts_ between sublime good and extreme evil everywhere apparent in the feudal epoch. with every effort at impartiality, whether praising or condemning, it is dangerously easy to write in superlatives. although the preparation of this book was not undertaken without that knowledge and investigation of those mediæval authors, ecclesiastics, and laymen upon which every significant study of this kind must rest, every scholar will recognize the author's debt to many modern specialists. to th. wright, lacroix, luchaire, justin h. smith, viollet-le-duc, and chéruel the acknowledgments are very specific. to leon gautier they must be more specific still. it is a great misfortune that his masterpiece, _le chivalrie_, is no longer current in a good english translation. the words in quotation, sprinkled through the text, are usually from pertinent mediæval writers, except where they purport to be direct snatches of conversation. to my colleague in this university, prof. august c. krey, who has read and criticized the manuscript with friendly fidelity and professional alertness and acumen, there are due many hearty thanks. w. s. d. the university of minnesota. minneapolis, minn. life on a mediaeval barony [illustration] chapter i: the fief of st. aliquis: its history and denizens. in the duchy of quelqueparte there lay, in the later days of the great king philip augustus, the barony of st. aliquis. perhaps you may have trouble in finding any such places upon the maps of mediæval france. in that case, i must tell you that they did not lie so far from burgundy, champagne, and blois that the duke and his vassal, the baron, could not have many brave feuds with the seigneurs of those principalities, nor so far from paris that peddlers and pilgrims could not come hence or go thither pretty often, nor the baron of st. aliquis sometimes journey to the king's court, to do his loyal devoir to his high suzerain, or to divert himself with many lordly pleasures. about a.d. , when king philip augustus was near his end, there was exceptional peace in northern france, and conditions around st. aliquis were entirely normal. we purpose, therefore (with the help of our lady, of holy st. aliquis himself, and perhaps also of that very discreet _fée_ queen morgue, "the wife of julius cæsar and the mother of king oberon"), to visit the aforesaid barony as it existed at that time. we shall look around us unseen by the inhabitants, but able to ask many questions and to get pertinent answers. thereby shall we gather much knowledge, and that, too, not about st. aliquis only; for this little world by itself is a cross-section, as it were, of a great part of france; nay, of all feudal europe. it is fortunate that we are suffered, when we make this return journey to the middle ages, to arrive not long after the year . a century or two earlier one might have found conditions decidedly more crude, semi-barbarous, disgusting; one would have indeed been tempted to doubt whether from so lawless and uncultivated a world any progressive civilization could really develop. on the other hand, had we postponed the excursion until, say, a.d. , we would have found a society already becoming sophisticated and to no slight extent modernized. the true mediæval flavor would have been partially lost. but a.d. represents the epoch when the spirit of the middle ages had reached its full development. the world was still full of ignorance, squalor, and violence, yet there were now plenty of signs of a nobler day. france was still scattered with feudal castles and tales of baronial ruthlessness abounded, but the rise of the royal power and the growth of the chartered communal towns were promising a new political era. the bulk of the people were still illiterate peasants, and many of the nobility even felt very awkward when fumbling over books; but the monasteries had never been so full of worthy activities and of very genuine learning. thousands of scholars were trudging to the university of paris; and meantime, even in the more starving towns were rising gothic churches and cathedrals, combining in their soaring fabrics not merely the results of supreme architectural genius, but a wealth of masterpieces of sculpture and of colored glass which were to draw visitors of later days from the very ends of the earth. the crusading fervor had somewhat waned, but around the castles there were still elderly knights who had once followed richard the lion hearted or philip augustus upon the great third crusade to palestine, likewise a good many younger cavaliers who had shared the military glory and moral disgrace of the fourth crusade, which had ended not with the recovery of jerusalem, but the sack and seizure of christian constantinople. at rome the great and magnanimous pope innocent iii had hardly ceased to reign ( ); while the founders of the remarkable friar movement--that new style of monasticism which was to carry the message of the church closer to the people--st. francis, the apostle of love, and st. dominic, the apostle of learning, were still alive and active. the world, therefore, was looking forward. the middle ages were close to apogee. [sidenote: the fief of st. aliquis] we purpose to tell what may be found on the barony of st. aliquis, first at the castle itself and in the household of messire the seigneur, then in the villages of peasants round about; next in the abbey slightly removed; and lastly in the chartered town and cathedral seat of the bishop a few miles further off. but first one must ask about the origin of the principality and how there came to be any such barony at all, for st. aliquis would have been an exceptional seigneury if it had not had considerable history behind it, and had not represented the growth of several different elements. the castle of st. aliquis lies at the junction of two rivers. the smaller of these, the rapide, tumbles down from some hills, cutting a gorge through the dense beech forest until it runs under a precipitous slope, then dashes into the greater, more placid current of the claire. the claire is an affluent, perhaps of the seine, perhaps of the loire. it is navigable for flat barges a good many miles above its junction with the rapide, and the tolls upon this commerce swell the baron's revenue. at the triangle formed by the converging streams rises an abrupt rocky plateau practically inaccessible from the banks of either river and which can be approached only from the third side, where the land slopes gently away from the apex of the triangle. here rise some jagged crags marking out the place as a natural fortress. most castles which dot feudal europe are thus located in the most advantageous spot in their respective regions. possibly human habitations have existed upon this promontory ever since god drove adam and eve out of eden. if we consult brother boniface, the librarian at the local monastery, the best-read person in the district, the good old man will tell us that long before the romans came, the ancient druids ("now in hell") had their pagan altars here, and sacrificed human victims under a great oak. some chiseled masonry found on the spot also indicates an extensive settlement in roman days, when gaul was a province of the cæsars. of course, all the pious people know that under the persecuting emperor diocletian, the holy aliquis himself, a centurion in the legions, was shot to death with burning arrows because he preferred christ to jupiter, and that the place of his martyrdom is at the new abbey church about a league from the castle. [sidenote: founding of the castle] nevertheless, secular history is not precise until after the time of the mighty charlemagne. under his feeble successor, charles the bald, tradition affirms that the vikings, scandinavian barbarians, came up the greater river, ascended the claire in their long dragon ships; then on the site of the present castle they established a stockaded camp, whence they issued to ravage the country. this was about a.d. , but after a year they departed, leaving desolation behind them. about a.d. another band of vikings came with similar foul intent, but they met a different reception. the saints had raised up a brave protector for the christian folk of those lands. very uncertain is the ancestry of the redoubtable warrior heribert, who about a.d. seized the rocky triangle at the mouth of the rapide, and built the first castle of st. aliquis. perhaps he was descended from one of charlemagne's famous frankish "counts." he did, indeed, only what was then being done everywhere to check the scandinavian hordes: he built a castle and organized the levies of the region, hitherto footmen, into an effective cavalry force. this castle was anything save the later majestic fortress. it was merely a great square tower of rough masonry, perched on the crag above the streams. around it was a palisade of heavy timbers, strengthened on the landward side by a ditch. inside this compound were huts for refugees, storehouses for fodder, and rude stalls for the cattle. to stop passage up the claire a heavy chain of iron was stretched across the river and stone piers were sunk at shallow places, thus forcing boats to pass close under the fortress in range of descending missiles. where the chain was landed there was built another smaller stone tower. all the crossing then had to be by skiffs, although somewhat later an unsteady bridge was thrown over the stream. the second expedition of vikings found that these precautions had ruined their adventure. they lost many men and a dragon ship when they tried to force the iron chain. heribert's new cavalry cut off their raiding parties. finally they departed with thinned numbers and scant spoils. heribert was hailed as savior of the region, just as other champions, notably the great count odo at the siege of paris, won similar successes elsewhere on a larger scale. the vikings had departed, but heribert's tower remained. so began the castle of st. aliquis. heribert had taken possession ostensibly as the king's "man," claiming some royal commission, but as the power of charlemagne's feeble rulers dwindled, heribert's heirs presently forgot almost all their allegiance to their distant royal "master." this was merely as seemed the case about a.d. all through the region then coming to be called "france." castles were rising everywhere, sometimes to repel the vikings, sometimes merely to strengthen the power of some local chief. once erected, the lords of those castles were really little princes, able to defy the very weak central authority. to capture a considerably less formidable fortalice than st. aliquis implied a tedious siege, such as few kings would undertake save in an emergency. the result was that ere a.d. heribert's great-grandsons had almost ceased to trouble about the king. the person they genuinely feared was the local duke of quelqueparte, another feudal seigneur with more followers and more castles than they. partly from prudence, partly from necessity, they had "done homage" to him, become "his men," and as his vassals rode to his wars. the dukes, in turn, full of their own problems, and realizing the strength of st. aliquis, seldom interfered in the fief, save on very serious occasions. the barons of st. aliquis therefore acted very nearly like sovereign princes. they, of course, had their own gallows with power of life and death, waged their own personal wars, made treaties of peace, and even coined a little ill-shapen money with their own superscription.[ ] "barons by the grace of god," they boasted themselves, which meant that they obeyed the duke and _his_ suzerain, the king, very little, and, we fear, god not a great deal. [sidenote: turbulent barons] in the recent centuries, however, the barony had changed hands several times. about the lord had the folly to refuse his ordinary feudal duty to the duke of quelqueparte. the latter roused himself, enlisted outside aid, and blockaded and starved out the castle of st. aliquis. the unfortunate baron--duly adjudged "traitor and felon" by his "peers," his fellow vassals--was beheaded. the duke then bestowed the fief, with the hand of the late owner's niece, upon sire rainulf, a younger son of a south-country viscount, who had visited the duke's court, bringing with him an effective battle-ax and fifty sturdy followers. sire rainulf, however, died while in the first crusade. the reigning duke next tried to give the barony to another favorite warrior, but the son of the late baron proved himself of sturdy stuff. he fought off his suzerain and enlisted allies from burgundy. the duke was forced, therefore, to leave him in peace. presently, about , another baron died, survived only by a daughter. her uncles and cousins did their best to expel this poor lady and induced the suzerain duke to close his eyes to their deeds, but, fortunately, the new baroness had been very pious. the influence of the great st. bernard of clairvaux was exerted, thereby persuading king louis vii to warn the duke that if he could not protect his vassals "the king would do justice." so the lady bertrada was given in marriage to a respectable flemish cavalier gui, who ruled the barony with only the usual wars. he left two sons, garnier and henri. sire henri, the younger, lived at the inferior castle of petitmur, went on the fourth crusade ( - ), and perished in the fighting around constantinople ere the french and venetians sacked the city. garnier, the elder, received, of course, the great castle. he was the uncle of the baron conon iii, the son of henri, and the present lord of st. aliquis. it is well said by the monks that the blessed feel joys in paradise all the keener because a little earlier they have escaped from the pangs and fires of purgatory. certes, for all laymen and clerics on the st. aliquis fiefs, there was purgatory enough in baron garnier's day to make the present "sage" rule of baron conon seem tenfold happy. the late seigneur ruled about twenty years, filled up with one round of local wars, oppression of the small, and contentions with the great. baron garnier was assuredly a mighty warrior. never was he unhorsed in jousting or in mêlée. his face was one mass of scars and he had lost an ear. plenty of landless knights and wolfish men at arms rioted around his donjon. his provosts and foresters knew how to squeeze the poor of the seigneury, and by this income and by the ransoms from numerous captives he was able to rebuild the castle of st. aliquis according to the first military art of the day. [sidenote: crimes of baron garnier] but his sins were more than the hairs of his grizzled head. having taken dislike to his wife, and the bishop refusing an annulment, he kept the poor lady ada mewed up in one chamber for years, and, according to many stories, loaded her with chains and spared not tortures, until in mercy she died. however, he had plenty of less regular consorts. the castle courts had swarmed with loud women, the favorites of himself and his familiars, and with their coarse, unacknowledged brats. no pretty peasant girl's honor was safe in those parts. as for the prisoners--after messire conon came into power it was a marvel the quantity of human bones, gnawed by the rats, which they took out of the lower dungeons, as well as how they released four wretches who had been incarcerated in the dark so long that they were blinded. needless to say, the compartments of the gallows never lacked their swinging skeletons. women still hush their squalling children with, "be silent--or baron garnier will get you!" yet with all these deeds this baron affected great hospitality. he kept a roaring hall, with ready welcome for any cavalier who enjoyed deep drinking and talking of horses, women, falcons, and forays; and a good many seigneurs found his alliance useful. so he continued his evil ways until (praised be our lady of mercies) he came to a fit end. thrice he had been excommunicated by the bishop. thrice he had been readmitted to ghostly favor, thanks to large gifts toward the new cathedral at pontdebois. then he let his men murder a priest who was traveling with a precious chalice. so he was excommunicated a fourth time. while in this perilous state (though boasting that he would soon make his new terms with the church) his companion in sin, suger of the iron arm, quarreled with him over their cups and ran him through with a boar spear. the baron lived just long enough to see suger hewn in pieces by his comrades. then he died (priestless, of course, and unabsolved) cursing god and crying piteously for help from the devil. christians cross themselves when they think of his fate hereafter. garnier left no legitimate children. he was on very cold terms with his brother's widow, the lady odelina, who was rearing her two sons and daughter at petitmur; but odelina had faced her brother-in-law down and clung tightly to her own little fief. she had given her children a "courteous" and pious education, and induced a neighboring seigneur to take her eldest son, conon, to "nourish" as his squire, and rear to be a knight. at length came her reward. the youth was knighted by the count of champagne three weeks before his evil uncle perished. then the suzerain duke was glad to have st. aliquis pass to so competent a vassal as young sire conon. this is a bare suggestion of the contentions, feuds, and downright wars of which the barony has been the scene, and yet st. aliquis has probably been freer from such troubles than most of its neighbors. [sidenote: baronial fiefs and vassals] although this castle is the center of baron conon's power, it is by no means his only strong place. he has three other smaller castles (besides petitmur, which will go to his brother) that he sometimes inhabits, but which he ordinarily rules through castellans. in the twenty-odd villages upon the fief there are some ten thousand peasants whom he governs through his provosts.[ ] also, there depend on him his own "noble" vassals--about twelve "sires," petty nobles each with his own small castle or tower, hamlet of peasants, and right to "low justice." these vassals follow the st. aliquis banner and otherwise contribute to the baron's glory. that seigneur himself is likewise "advocate" (secular guardian) of the neighboring abbey of st. aliquis--an honorable post involving delicate dealings with the lord abbot. also, a few leagues away lies the "good town" of pontdebois. the baron, as will be explained, has very important relations with that city. in addition he "holds" of the bishop there resident some farms with hunting and fishing rights. for this inferior fief he does homage, of course, not to the duke of quelqueparte, but to the bishop of pontdebois. some years previous, when the duke and bishop were at war, the baron was obligated to send twenty knights to fight for the duke, but also six to fight for the bishop. the scriptures warn us against trying "to serve two masters"; but the baron happily made shift to keep the two contingents of his little array from engaging with one another until his two overlords had made peace! in addition to all the above, conon holds still another small castle at quite a distance, for which he does homage to the duke of burgundy--a fact promising more complications when quelqueparte and burgundy (as is most likely) go to war. finally, he holds a large farm from his otherwise equal, the baron of harcourt. here he is sure to cut his feudal devoir to a minimum, and leave the lord of harcourt to consider whether to pocket his pride, risk a "private war," or attempt a lawsuit before their mutual suzerain, the duke of quelqueparte.[ ] the baron conon would gladly be the direct vassal of the king. the higher your suzerain the higher, on the whole, your own glory in the feudal firmament; but the duke would resent bitterly any attempt to get his vassals away and all the other first-class nobles would support him. baron conon must wait, therefore, perhaps until the present elderly duke is dead and the duchy falls under feeble heirs. then he will find the astute king, if philip augustus is still reigning, only too willing and able to meet him halfway. at present, however, conon is on good terms with the duke, although he is just as jealous himself to prevent his own sires from "holding" directly from the duke as the latter is to check the baron's going over to the king. everywhere there is this friction over "subinfeudation." "the vassal of my vassal is _not_ my vassal": that is the angry comment daily. all in all, the seigneury of st. aliquis thus covers three hundred square miles, whereof about one-third is controlled by the baron as his personal domain and the remainder by his vassals. perhaps there are two hundred similar baronies and countships dotting france, some larger, some smaller, but in their histories, feudal relationships, and general problems much alike. this fief, however, is especially fortunate in that the baron possesses an old charter, wrung from some tottering carolingian king, giving him the right to collect a sack of grain, a large truss of hay, or a similar quota in kind from every loaded barge traversing down the navigable claire; also to levy a copper obol for every christian foot passenger, and three obols for every mounted traveler or jew (mounted or walking) crossing the very important bridge by the castle. these tolls give messire many fine suits of armor, buy silk gowns for the baroness, and make all the local seigneurs anxious to marry their daughters to the baron's sons as soon as the boys can be knighted. [sidenote: a superior type of baron] st. aliquis, we have said, is happy in its present seigneur. monks, villeins, and petty nobles agree in praising baron conon. when a seigneur is practically a sovereign, everything depends upon his character. if the saints desire to punish certain christians for their sins, let them merely send them an evil, or only an inefficient, quarrelsome baron! like the unlamented garnier, he can soon make their lives into a perfect gehenna. conon iii has now ruled for more than ten years. he has kept out of all private wars but one, a feat almost exceptional; but in that one war he struck so hard and so skillfully that his opponent, the viscount of foretvert, swore on the relics to a peace which cost him a village of peasants and the transfer of two petty sires to the st. aliquis fealty. conon fought also in the great battle of beauvais so as to win the personal praise of the king himself. he compounded with the abbey over the division of the income of a farm in a manner which left him and the abbot firm friends--a singular piece of diplomacy. better still, he held to his point about some hunting rights with the bishop of pontdebois, and finally won most of his claims without being even temporarily subjected to excommunication. his peasants pay their imposts loyally, for the baron not merely protects them from the raids of brigands and rival feudatories; he also represses worse pillagers still, his own seigneurial officers, who were ravaging harpies in all the little thatched villages through baron garnier's day. therefore, conon is called "a very gentle seigneur," which means that he is every inch a lord and which term does not prevent him from swinging a heavy sword, and from knocking down a villein with his own fist when there is need of teaching a lesson. [sidenote: a baronial family] as for conon's family, his good mother, lady odelina, is now resting under the stones of the abbey church; but she lived to see her first-born wedded to adela, the daughter of a rich picard sire, a dame of many virtues. the marriage has been blessed with two healthy sons, françois and anseau--the pampered tyrants of all the castle folk. the baron's household also includes his younger brother aimery, who has just reached the age for knighthood, and his marriageable sister alienor. so far the family had been marvelously harmonious. there has been none of those passages at arms between elder and younger brothers which often make a castle the antechamber to hell. adela is "the very _gentle_ dame"--beloved of husband and revered by vassals and villeins, but whose "gentleness," like her husband's, by no means keeps her from flogging her maids when their sins deserve it. alienor is already going to tourneys and has presented at least three young knights with her stockings to tie to their lances; but she knows that it is a brother's duty to find a husband for one's sister, and conon has promised that whoever he selects will be young, brave, and kindly. therefore alienor is not borrowing trouble. as for aimery, he is proud of being almost as good a hawker and jouster as his brother. he will soon be knighted and rule over petitmur, but his head is full of a visit to the king's court, of winning vast favor, and finally of being given the only daughter and heiress of a great count--in short, of possessing a fief bigger than st. aliquis. there, then, is the little world, ruled by persons perhaps a little more honorable and kindly than the run of north french barons, but by no means of impossible virtue. it is june, a.d. . the sun is just rising. let us enter st. aliquis as the warders unbar the gates; for the castle is the heart of the feudal civilization. footnotes: [ ] long before the assigned date of this narrative, some king or other potentate had assuredly given the lords of st. aliquis _immunity_--_i.e._, exemption from ordinary jurisdiction, taxation, etc., by outside powers, with corresponding privileges for the local seigneurs themselves. [ ] on some fiefs, as on the royal domain at this time, there would be a higher seigneurial officer, the _bailli_, set over the provosts. [ ] the baron of st. aliquis was fortunate if his feudal relationships, conflicting overlords, etc., were not even more complicated than here indicated. there was nothing "simple" about the composition of a feudal barony! chapter ii: the castle of st. aliquis. the castle makes the feudal ages possible. it is because western europe is covered with thousands of strongholds, each of which can stand off a considerable army, that we have the secular institutions of the thirteenth century. to be the owner and lord of at least one castle is the dream of every nobleman, and in fact until he can hoist his own banner from his own donjon he hardly has a defined place in the feudal hierarchy. [sidenote: the castle of st. aliquis] as we have seen, the castle of st. aliquis is now nearly three hundred and fifty years old. since it has been continuously inhabited by enterprising owners, its structure has been as continuously changing. however, if we had come to the barony only fifty years ago, we would have found a decidedly primitive structure. the general plan of heribert's original stronghold was then still retained: first, on the landward side of the triangle above the two converging rivers there was a rather deep moat, next a parapet whereof the lower part was made of earth taken from this same moat, and upon the mound rose a strong palisade of tree trunks. within the palisade were barns, outbuildings, and barracks for such of the baron's men as did not live in the inner stronghold. then last of all was the donjon, the castle proper--a huge square tower built with little art, but which defied attack by mere solidity. the entrance to this grim tower was by a steep inclined plane leading to a small door in the second story. in case of danger, if the palisade were forced, the seigneur and his men retreated into the tower, knocked down the wooden gangway, and shouted defiance to the enemy. the mass and height of the donjon baffled any ordinary methods of attack save that of blockade and starvation--and there would be six months' supply of wheat, salt beef, and ale in the tower vaults. [illustration: typical castle of the middle ages (without large barbican court)] nevertheless, this seemingly impenetrable fortress did not suffice. in the first place, superior methods of siege warfare were developing: the stoutest fortifications could be cracked.[ ] in the next place, if the donjon were hard to enter, it was almost equally hard to sally forth from it. no rapid sortie could be made from the door in the second story; the defense must be wholly passive. finally, this stark masonry tower was a most uncomfortable place, with its cavernous "halls" barely lighted by tiny loopholes, frigid in winter, stifling in summer, unsanitary--in short, almost intolerable for habitation by a large body of men. after the first crusade ( - ) numerous cavaliers came home with great tales of the fortresses of the byzantines and the saracens. during the twelfth century, consequently, castle architecture underwent a remarkable transformation. richard the lion hearted built château gaillard in normandy. his mighty rival, philip augustus, built the famous louvre to dominate paris, and erected other new-style castles with cylindrical towers at montargis, poissy, dourges, and elsewhere. already by the plans are being drawn for a great castle at coucy (built between and ) which is to be almost a model for all subsequent fortress builders, until the advent of gunpowder. [sidenote: castle rebuilt scientifically] baron garnier, whatever his crimes, had certainly understood the art of war. he rebuilt st. aliquis in a thoroughly scientific manner, employing a learned masterbuilder and "sage," an elderly fleming who had seen the best fortifications of the infidels and had lived long in those famous syrian-christian fortresses like krak des chevaliers, which by the mere excellence of construction had enabled small garrisons of western "franks" to defy the full power of saladin. instead of a mere ditch, palisade, and then a single vast tower, st. aliquis has consequently become a huge complex of defenses within defenses, each line of resistance a little harder to penetrate and with every outwork commanded by an inner fortification. if at last you come to the central donjon, it still looms up above you--defiant and formidable, and you can have your fill of desperate fighting, only perhaps to be bloodily repulsed in the end. of course, the donjon can indeed be starved out, but it is not very often that any enemy of st. aliquis will have resources and persistence enough to keep his troops together until the castle supplies are exhausted. he must either get possession pretty quickly or not at all--and garnier's fleming certainly took pains he should not get in quickly! in examining st. aliquis or its rivals, one must remember that they are the creations of men who have devoted most of their thought to the problems of war. every possible contingency has been anticipated. the architect and his employer have practically spent their lives studying "how can a castle be made to hold out as long as possible?" being, despite their sins, highly intelligent men, it is not surprising that they produce remarkable results. we are approaching the castle as the morning mists are lifting from the claire and the rapide. ahead of us, out of the dispersing fog, is rising what seems a bewildering mass of towers, walls, battlements gray and brown, with here and there a bit of green, where a little earth has been allowed to lodge and a few weeds shoot forth. high above all soars the mass of the great central tower, the donjon, from the summit of which baron conon's banner is now idly trailing. we come down a road that takes us over the toll bridge across the rapide and find ourselves in a kind of parade ground where there are only a few cattle sheds and possibly a rude cabin or two for such of the baron's herdsmen as must sleep outside overnight. this open ground is the scene for martial exercises, rallyings of the vassals, and even for tournaments. many people are headed toward the castle, mostly from the village of peasants just westward across the river; but there is also the subprior on a mule, riding over from the abbey, and also a messenger who has spurred down very early from pontdebois with a communication from the bishop. as we near the castle its tower and inner and outer wards become more distinct. we readily believe that it took garnier's architect three years to carry through the work; that all the peasants of the barony had been put to grievous _corvées_ (forced labor) digging, hewing and dragging stone, or working the great derricks; and that ten expert stonecutters and fully eighty less skilled masons had been hired in from paris, rheims, and orléans, besides a master mason who demanded rewards that seemed outrageous for a mere villein and not for a belted knight. [sidenote: the barbican and lists] these speculations end as we come, not to the castle, but to a semicircular palisade inclosing the regular gate on the landward side. this palisade is too high to scramble over; the piles are too sharply pointed and stout enough to stand considerable battering. this outwork is the barbican--the first of the long series of obstacles awaiting the foe. of course, it could not be defended in a regular siege, but its purpose is to stop any surprise attack long enough to enable the garrison to rally, close the great gate, and man the walls. the whole crowd of folk now entering make for the heavy wooden barrier which is just being thrown open by a rather sleepy porter. since it is a time of profound peace, he lets them all stream inside, merely requiring everyone to leave his weapons in his custody. we pass unchallenged, thanks to the kind _fée_ aforementioned, who has rendered us as invisible as the owner of gyges's ring. if, however, we had been guests of noble rank, we would have proceeded onward to the inner gate and rung loudly on a heavy metal gong hanging there. one of the baron's squires would then have greeted us. if we had been the baron's equal or superior in the social scale, conon himself would next have come down to lead us in; if somewhat inferior, we would have been conducted by the squire to the great hall, where we would have removed hood and gloves before the magnate presented himself. but we have much to examine ere we penetrate the seigneurial hall. once inside the barbican, one discovers that between this extreme barrier and the fortress proper there is another open space with a road, and another place for equestrian exercises extending from the claire straight over to the abrupt slopes of the rapide. the palisades run all the way from river to river. this space within the barbican forms the lists, where two young sergeants are breaking in a balky stallion. the lists are a great convenience in peace time, but the real utility is in war, and they are even more important in the castles that have land on every side. they supply a good road by which men can be hurried round the castle circuit in reasonable safety. on the other hand, if the enemy suddenly forces the barriers, he finds himself most awkwardly in a limited space between the palisade and the castle moat, with all the arbalists (crossbows) playing on him from the walls above. inside the lists and next to the masonry walls runs the moat. it is some twenty feet wide, partly filled now with scum-covered rain water. in the spring the varlets have great joy here hunting frogs, but as the year advances it assuredly breeds mosquitoes. it constitutes, however, another formidable barrier to an enemy, and that is its sole object. after crossing these lists, the path leads straight to the drawbridge. this has just been lowered by means of heavy counterpoises swung on a kind of trestle overhead, for even in peace times no seigneur will sleep soundly before the drawbridge is up. the portcullis, the frame of iron bars which is lowered whenever the bridge is raised, has also been hoisted in its groove by the gateway. the heavy oaken gates, faced with metal, have not been unbarred, however. a smaller door, just big enough for a horse, has been opened in one of them, admitting to the castle proper. despite the earlier scrutiny at the barbican, one now catches a watchful eye at the small window in the turret close beside the portcullis. the chief porter has a very responsible position. many a fortress has been lost because he has been careless or unfaithful. he would, in any case, be chargeable if he admitted unwelcome guests or idle rascals. porters are often accused of being gruff, insolent, fat, and lazy, but part of their bad name comes because they have to repel bad characters. [sidenote: the bailey, gates and towers] and now we are about to enter the outer ward, or bailey, of the castle of st. aliquis. the walls and towers of these outer defenses are less formidable than those of the inner ward; yet they seem of massive thickness and imposing altitude. there is a solid round tower covering either side of the gate; to about fifteen feet these twain rise above the moat naked and sheer, then are pierced with narrow slits intended, not to let in light, but to permit archers to cover every inch of the way from the barbican to the drawbridge. even if the foe should cross the moat, shatter the portcullis, and split open the heavy doors, he would be merely at the beginning of terrible hours of ax- and sword-play. he would be in a narrow and low vaulted passage, with many loopholes on either side for archers, and also with slits in the ceiling for pouring down boiling oil, seething pitch, molten lead, and other pleasantries; and if he rushed past all these forms of death into the courts, there, behind him, capable still of very stout defense, would rise the two strong gate towers, rendering every attempt to re-enforce the original attacking party a dice-throwing with death, and making retreat equally dangerous. few leaders, therefore, will be foolish enough to try to storm st. aliquis simply by a desperate rush against the gate. from the two gate towers, right and left, there extends a considerable stretch of sheer wall terminating at either extremity with two more towers which mark the corners on the landward side of the fortress. these four towers, of course, by projecting far beyond this curtain wall, are posted so as to permit a steady fire of missiles on any enemy who may somehow ensconce himself close under the wall. the two sections of curtain wall themselves are some dozen feet thick, with a firm walk along their summit, protected by a stone parapet. to enable the defenders, however, to drop stones and other forms of destruction upon attackers who may be under the very base of the wall and defying the bolts from the towers, a structure of heavy timbers can be built out all along the wall overhanging the moat. these wooden hordings are strong enough to withstand many stones from the casting engines, but they can sometimes be set on fire. in a siege, therefore, they will be covered with raw hides. the same will also be put over the conical wooden roofs which cap the towers. since this is a time of peace, however, the hordings stand weather-stained and bare. to cover the entire woodwork with hides will be one of the first tasks of the garrison in case of a serious alarm. as we survey the outer walls of the castle, it is clear that no enemy will try to batter down the towers. even if he could penetrate their shells, he would merely find himself in a dark, cavernous, vaulted chamber, with the defenders flinging down death from above. he would then have to bore through the inner wall, nearest the court, under every disadvantage. the towers are built so completely of masonry that it is impossible to burn them. winding stairs, leading up through the stonework, conduct from one stage to another; and these staircases are so narrow and tortuous that a single warrior with an ordinarily lively ax can stop a hundred men ascending.[ ] the attack, therefore, must be on the curtain walls. but even here, supposing one has scaled the battlements, more troubles are awaiting. the only way downward from the curtain walls is through the towers at the end of the parapets. to leap into the court inside means broken bones. the gangways along the parapet are intercepted at several points by wooden bridges. these can be easily knocked away, leaving yawning gaps defying any leaper. if you reach the towers they are all barred, and the arbalists are shooting down on the captured gangways from a dozen loopholes. finally, be it said, each tower is a little fortress by itself. it has its own cistern, fireplace for cooking, and storeroom. even if isolated, its garrison can hold out stoutly. so much for the task of attacking merely the outer ward of st. aliquis. [illustration: view of the court and the donjon] [sidenote: inner court and donjon] the problems of the towers and the curtain wall detain one long, for they sum up the fundamental principles of thirteenth-century fortifications. but now before us opens the broad court of the bailey itself, the scene of much of the homely life of the castle; in fact, the place now swarms with people busy with all kinds of activities. the pavement is none too clean. there are large muck piles, and one sees hens and a few pigs and dogs foraging everywhere. a genuine village really exists inside the bailey. to the right of the gate is a rambling, thatched-roof stable where in a long row of stalls the fifty-odd horses of the seigneur are champing their morning fodder. near the stables stand tall ricks of hay. behind these are a second line of inelegant wooden structures: they are the barracks for the less favored castle servitors, and for a part of the heavy-handed men at arms whom baron conon keeps for instant duty. [sidenote: buildings and life in the bailey] on the left side of the gate are several more buildings. to be noted are a commodious carpenter shop where saw and hammer are already plying; a well-appointed smithy where at one ringing forge the baroness's white palfrey is being reshod, and at another the master armorer is putting a new link into a mail shirt. the castle smith's position is no sinecure. he has to keep a great quantity of weapons and armor in constant order; he has to do all the recurring small jobs around the great establishment; and in emergency to manufacture quantities of lance heads and arbalist bolts, as well as perhaps to provide the metal work for siege engines on which may rest the fate of the castle. conon's first armorer is accordingly one of the most important and best rewarded of all the servitors. besides these workshops there is a long storehouse, a repository for not merely the food, but all other kinds of supplies needful in a siege. near by stands a smaller, shedlike structure, puzzling at first to strangers, but which explains itself by the shrill screams and cries issuing thence. it is the baron's hawk house, the mews, where the chief falconer is now feeding the raw meat to the great hawks and falcons in which his noble masters take delight. close to these secular buildings, however, there rises somewhat incongruously an elegant gothic chapel, with soaring pinnacles, a rose window at the end of the small nave, sculptured saints flanking the portal, and within one finds glorious stained glass, more saints' images and carvings, and a rich altar. this is the little castle church to which very many dwellers of st. aliquis, including messire and madame, had repaired piously at gray dawn, and where now good father grégoire has just finished a rather hasty mass. the bailey, in short, is overrunning with activities. horses are neighing, cows are being milked, an overladen donkey is braying. yonder in one corner is a small building with a tall chimney. here is the seigneur's great oven, whither not merely the castle folk, but a great number of the peasants, resort to bake their bread. in front of the chapel bubbles a little fountain, and chattering women, scantily attired, are filling their water pots. children in various degrees of nakedness and dirtiness play everywhere. noises of every kind blend in a hubbub. lastly we notice, close to the inner drawbridge, another building again with a tall chimney. this is the castle cookhouse, where the dinners are prepared for the great hall within. a glance through the door shows the vast fireplace where one can roast a whole sheep or a small beef entire. the cookhouse is located here because of the danger of fire in the inner castle, and because the position is convenient for the great number of the servitors who must eat in their barracks. when it is mealtime, however, this arrangement compels a prodigious running to and fro all through the dinner hour between kitchen and hall on the part of the twenty-odd sergeants and squires who serve baron conon's guests and family. it bothers not the appetites of pious christians that their food is cooked amid contending odors and that many of the doings near the cookhouse make its condition extraordinarily unsanitary. we have now crossed the bailey and its teeming life. before us rises the inner ward of the castle. here are the gate and the walls of the bailey over again, but far more pretentious and formidable. there is another moat filled with muddy water; another drawbridge larger than the outer one. the two gate towers are higher; their structures are thicker, more solid. the curtain walls are so lofty that arbalistiers thereon can pick off the enemy who may have gained the parapet of the outer defenses. finally, between the gate towers and the towers at the end of the curtains, both to right and left, there is interposed an extra tower, making the flanking fire much more close and deadly. consequently, the foe who could force his way into the bailey would thus probably find it merely a bloody cockpit. the retreating garrison would set fire to all the rude wooden buildings, and rake the outer court with their bows and engines. if it would cost dearly to win the bailey, what would it not cost to storm the castle proper? [sidenote: inner court, donjon and palais] the gate to the inner ward is flung wide, but the portcullis still slides in its grooves, being dropped every night to make sure that low fellows from the barracks do not prowl around the seigneurial residence in the darkness. just at present swarms of people are going to and fro between the two great sections of the castle, and jostling and laughing in the narrow passages. as we pass through to the inner ward we realize a certain touch of refinement. the pavement is cleaner. most of the servitors are better dressed and better mannered. before us opens the great court of the castle, set with stone flags and reasonably well swept. here the baron and his brother will practice their martial exercises when the weather is bad and they must avoid the tilting grounds. here the horses will be mounted when conon, adela, and all their noble friends assemble to ride out for hunting or hawking. on either side the stately towers set into the walls frown downward, but our gaze is ahead. straight before one rises first a rather elegant stone building with large pointed windows and a high sloping roof, and then looming before that an enormous round citadel--one that dwarfs all the other towers. it stands at the apex of the triangle; on one side is the castle court, but to right and left the crags at its base are falling precipitously away to the rapide and the claire. the stone building is the _palais_, the actual residence of the baron. the giant tower is the donjon, the great keep of the castle, built on the site of heribert's old stronghold, but twenty times as formidable. the _palais_ is nearest to us, but since the apartments of the seigneur are there, and we wish to examine these later, it is best to pass around one end thereof and visit the donjon first. baron garnier had built his donjon about one hundred and ten feet high and some fifty-five feet in diameter, with walls a dozen feet thick. this size is large, but not extraordinary. at coucy they are planning a tower two hundred and twenty-five feet high and ninety-five feet in diameter. if garnier had built a little earlier he would have made it square, like that pitiless tower at loches, which is only one hundred feet high, but is seventy-six feet on its longest side. to enter the donjon we go over still another drawbridge, although the ditch below is dry, and on penetrating a small door in the masonry we wind up a passageway through the thick wall. passing from the bright morning light of the court, one seems plunged into pitchy darkness. strangers stumble up steep stairways, with here and there a twinkle of light from loopholes a couple of feet high, although barely wide enough at their openings to allow the free flight of an arrow. far below may be caught glimpses of the twinkling, rushing rapide, and of the bright green country stretching away in the distance. [sidenote: the donjon] when st. aliquis was rebuilt by baron garnier's architect, although the donjon was greatly improved, much of the old masonry of the original tower was retained, as well as the general arrangement of the staircases, loopholes, and succession of _halls_, chambers, and lofts. we see what the castle resembled in heribert's day. by a turn or two in the gaunt entrance we come to the original great hall of the castle. it is offensively dark; the windows are mere loopholes at the end of deep, cone-shaped passages let into the walls. even on this balmy june morning the atmosphere is clammy. as our eyes adjust themselves, however, we see that we are in a huge vaulted chamber with a great fireplace, and with a kind of wooden gallery about eight feet above the floor, around the entire circuit. in this great chamber can be assembled a good fraction of the entire garrison. the seigneur or his spokesmen standing in the center or near the fireplace can give orders which every man present can understand. directions can thus be given for any move needful for the defense of the castle. [illustration: upper hall of the donjon] as we shall see, there is now a newer and better hall in the more modern and airy _palais_, but the older hall is still used at great feasts for the overflow of guests. even now are standing long oaken tables, duly hacked by the trencher knives of many boisterous diners; and on the walls--blackened by the smoke from the great fireplace--are hanging venerable trophies of the chase, antlers, the head of a bear, great boar tusks, as well as an array of all kinds of hunting weapons used by departed generations. if we were to follow the staircase down from the hall we would come to an even darker vaulted apartment used sometimes as a supplementary dormitory for the humbler guests, but also (to the astonishment of later-day medical usage) with small rooms set off to be used as a kind of sick ward; because every physician, whether schooled at salerno, cordova, or montpellier, will tell you that darkness is the friend of health and that few invalids can hope to get better unless they are kept as shaded and sequestered as possible. [sidenote: the prison and the watch tower] if we wished to pursue still lower, descending a black staircase with lanterns, the rocks would begin to drip dampness. we could hear the rushing of the rapide against the base of the castle. the journey would end at a barred iron door. within would be a fetid, reeking chamber lit only by two or three tiny chinks in the masonry, and with the bare rock for the floor. here is baron conon's prison. he is counted a merciful seigneur, yet he thinks nothing of thrusting genuine offenders therein and keeping them for weeks, if not months, before releasing or hanging. lucky if maître denis, the turnkey, remembers to bring down a coarse loaf each day, and if the rats do not devour the prisoners' toes; but we shall consider all such nice matters later[ ]. it is alleged that from these lower vaults there is an underground passage leading from the castle to a secret sallyport at the foot of the precipice by the rapide. if a passage exists, however, it is known only to conon and a very few trusted retainers. but not all such stories are false; many castles have such secret passages; and at coucy they are quietly planning to introduce a rather elaborate system of the same. quite possibly st. aliquis possesses something of this nature. far pleasanter is it now to ascend from the main hall through a couple of stages of upper and airier chambers (now used as apartments by part of the castle folk) until by a dizzy ladder we reach the summit of the donjon itself. here on one edge of the broad platform is a little round turret carrying us still higher. from the turret flutters the orange banner of st. aliquis, with some kind of a black dragon (in memory, possibly, of the viking raid) broidered upon it, and the arrogant legend of the noble family, "rather break than bend." to lower this banner were a horrid disgrace. never is it to be struck unless the castle surrenders, when it will be sadly flung into the moat. under the flagstaff is a stout projecting beam rigged with a pulley. here is a gibbet in case the baron wishes to hang offenders as a warning for the countryside. fortunately, however, adela has a dislike to seeing the corpses dangling, and has persuaded conon to order his recent hangings at the ordinary gallows across the claire by the village. on the flag turret is always a watchman; day or night some peasant must take his turn, and even in peace he has no sinecure. he must blow on his great horn at sunrise, at "cover fire" at night, when the baron's hunt rides out and returns, and again when a strange retinue approaches the gate. the whole wide countryside spreads in a delightful panorama below him at present, but on winter nights, when every blast is howling around the donjon, the task is less grateful. no wonder that peasants impressed for this service complain that "watchmen have the lot of the damned." so back through the donjon and again to the castle court. the donjon is purely military. in times of peace it is a mere storehouse, prison, and supplementary barrack for the seigneur's people. in war it is the last position where the garrison can stand desperately at bay. a hundred years earlier adela and her sister-in-law, alienor, would have lived out most of their days in the cheerless dark chambers directly above the main hall. now they are more fortunate. they dwell in the elegant gothic arched _palais_. [sidenote: great hall of the palais] the _palais_ consists of a long, somewhat narrow building thrusting out into the inner court, and of other structures resting against the western curtain wall on one side, but with their larger inner windows looking also into the court. the rooms are high, with enormous fireplaces where great logs can warm the apartments in winter. the ceilings are ribbed and vaulted like a church, and some of the masonry is beautifully carved. where the bare walls are exposed they are often covered with a stucco on which are sketched fresco scenes somewhat after the style of stiff byzantine paintings, or the famous tapestry of queen mathilde at bayeux. all the tints are flat red, yellow, or brown, without perspective or fine lines, and in a kind of demi-silhouette. little touches of green, violet, and blue relieve the bareness, and despite many awkward outlines and other limitations many of the scenes are spirited as well as highly decorative. some of the pictures are religious. we notice "christ on the cross" between the "synagogue" and the "new law," a "last judgment," an episode in the life of st. aliquis himself; also many secular pictures based often on the jongleur's epics. thus from the "song of roland" there is the tearing by wild horses of the traitor ganelon. the windows in this _palais_ betray the luxury of the owner. they are not closed by wooden shutters, as are most other apertures in the castle. they are of glass, with very small panes set in lead. the panes in the smaller rooms are uncolored, although hardly of transparent whiteness, but in the huge dining hall they are richly colored as in a church, giving a jewel-set galaxy of patron saints (_e.g._, st. martin, the warrior saint of france) and of knights and paladins from charlemagne and king artus down, gazing benignantly upon the feasters below. this new hall is, of course, the finest apartment in the castle. here amid wood- and stone-work deeply carved the baron's household sits down to dinner. it is, however, more than a mere dining room. great feudal ceremonies, such as the receiving of homage, here take place. hither also in bad weather or on winter evenings nearly all the castle folk will resort. messire will sit on the dais upon his canopied chair; everybody else will wedge in as closely as possible, and after infinite chatter, jesting, dice playing, and uproar the ever-popular jongleurs will take station near the fireplace, do their tricks, sing songs, or recite romances. the hall is, in short, the focus of the peaceful life of the castle. there are other rooms in the _palais_, but, considering the number of people who have to live therein, they seem rather few. there is little real privacy in st. aliquis. the baron has a special closet indeed, where he can retire and hope that he is not overheard, but the great chamber for himself and the baroness is ordinarily full of servitors. next to the chamber is a second room where the baron's sons sleep while they are little, and where honored guests can be lodged. conon's brother and sister have each a large apartment, but there seems a singular lack of anterooms, boudoirs, and other retiring rooms. it is perfectly good manners to ask noble guests to share the same rooms with the family; and a couple of the baroness's maids will sleep on pallets within her chamber, with the baron's favorite squire just outside the door. as for the lesser folk at night, they often stretch unceremoniously on the tables or even on the floor in the main hall. the possession of a strictly private room is indeed a decided luxury; even a great noble is often able to go without it. [illustration: interior of a thirteenth-century apartment from the restoration by viollet-le-duc. at the left the chair where sits the seigneur, the bed separated by a screen from the rest of the hall; at the back, between the two windows, a cupboard; opposite the fireplace, a large table. tapestries ornament the walls.] [sidenote: tables, rushes and tapestries in hall] the furniture of these apartments seems scanty, but it is at least very solid. in the hall there are lines of tables set upon trestles, faced by long backless seats. here it is often needful to remove these tables to arrange for a feudal ceremony or for a dance; but at one end of the apartment is a raised dais, and at right angles to the others runs the ponderous oaken table of the master. conon faces the hall from a high carved chair under a wooden canopy. the other seats on the dais have the luxury of backs and arms. the fireplace is an enormous construction, thrusting far into the room, where long logs on high andirons can heat the stonework so it will glow furiously for hours. to keep off the heat in winter there are fire screens of osier, but of course in summer these disappear. every festival day the paved floors of the rooms in the _palais_ are strewn, if possible, with new rushes and flowers--roses and lilies, flags and mint, making a soft crackling mass under one's feet. they are fragrant and pleasant while fresh, and even through the winter are allowed to remain to protect against the chill of the floor. by springtime they are dried and are very filthy, for the diners throw their bones and bits of bread and meat into them, and the dogs and cats roaming about cannot devour all of such refuse. certain seigneurs, indeed are introducing the use of "saracen carpets," gorgeous rugs either imported from the east or made up in france after imported patterns; but these are an expensive innovation, and conon as yet keeps to his river rushes. of another luxury, however, he is rightly proud. stowed away in carefully guarded cupboards is a quantity of admirable wall tapestries, some of the precious sendal (taffeta) silk, some of hardly less valuable sicilian woolen stuff. their designs are of blazing magnificence. there is one of great elaboration showing "the seven virtues and the seven vices," another giving a whole sequence of scenes concerning charlemagne. but such precious ornaments must be kept for great occasions. the order, "hang the tapestries," is a sign to the servitors that conon contemplates a tourney or a great feast or a visit from the duke. for to-day the _palais_ contents itself with its simple fresco decoration. the bedroom furniture is equally simple. the chamber of the baron and his wife is lit by three windows with arched tops pierced into the masonry, overlooking the castle court. there is a little table by the fireplace holding a board of chessmen and there are a few backless stools and long narrow benches. in the window places are comfortably upholstered "she and i" seats facing one another. opposite the fireplace is a chair of state for the baron, with high carved back and arms, a wooden canopy of equally heavy carving, and a footstool covered with red silk. there are several ponderous wardrobes, and especially a number of very massive iron-bound chests containing valuable garments, jewels, and the like. bureaus and chests of drawers hardly exist in this age, and ordinary chests take their place. indeed, no bedroom is fitted properly unless it has a solid chest at the foot of the bed for the prompt reception of any guest's belongings. when a castle is taken the cry, "break open the chests!" is equivalent to calling to the victors, "scatter and pillage!" near one of the windows in the wall there is also a large crucifix carved of dark wood, and beneath it on a shelf is a small silver box richly chased with figures of saints and angels. this is a reliquary containing a trophy brought from the holy land by a crusader--a cluster of hair of st. philip the apostle, likewise some ravelings of the robe of st. anna, mother of the virgin. before these sacred objects the baron and baroness kneel on red-silk cushions and say their prayers morning and night. [illustration: a thirteenth century bed reconstructed by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale.] [sidenote: furniture and beds] but the central object of the chamber is the bed. to have a fine bed for the master and mistress is the ambition of every feudal household. it stands under a great canopy, with heavy curtains of blue taffeta. the bed itself, a great mass of feather mattresses and gorgeously embroidered coverlets, projects its intricately carved footboard far into the room. the whole structure is set upon a platform. when the baron and baroness have retired, their attendants will pull the thick curtains and practically inclose them in their own secluded bedroom. the curtains cut off air, but that is no disadvantage, because every physician tells you that night air is most unhealthful. this nearly completes the furnishings of the chamber, save for various perches, wooden hooks, and racks set here and there for clothes and sometimes for the baroness's hunting hawks, and two bronze lamps swinging on chains, which give a very imperfect illumination. if more brilliance is needed (and if the great fireplace is not throwing out a glare) one can do as they do in the great hall for extra lighting--set resinous torches in metal holders along the walls. however, for ordinary purposes the baron and baroness prefer the less odorous wax candles. in fact, a very tall wax candle stands near to the bed and is allowed to burn all night. this keeps away pixies and the devil, and makes things generally more cheerful for christians. the other apartments of the castle are similarly furnished, although with less magnificence. of course, in the barracks for the lower servitors and the men at arms each man is lucky if he has a large bag crammed with straw for a bed, a solid blanket, and a three-legged stool whereon to sit by day. thus have been inspected exterior, the stone, and the wooden aspects of st. aliquis. the task is next to see the doings of the people who give to the unyielding fortress its significance and life. footnotes: [ ] see chap. xiv. [ ] often at dark turns in these towers the floor would be made of wooden scaffolding, easy to destroy; and the attacker would (if not wary) suddenly tumble to the cellar of the tower. [ ] see ch. x. chapter iii: how the castle wakes. baronial hospitality. whatever the sins of the men of the thirteenth century, they are not late risers. the lamps and candles are so poor that only rarely, when there is a great festival or imperative work to be performed, do persons remain about many hours after sunset. in winter the castle folks possibly spend nearly half of their entire time in bed; in summer, thanks to the long evenings, they would hardly get sufficient sleep save for a noon siesta. some seigneurs will actually rise considerably before sunup, hear mass, mount their high turret, survey the landscape, then descend to order the washing horn to be blown. we hear, too, of ladies who rise at dusk, have chaplains chant matins while they are throwing on some clothes, then go to the regular chapel mass, next complete their toilet and take a walk in their garden, all before breakfast. there are, indeed, stories of noble folk sleeping even in summer right up to a.m., but these backslidings follow only a deplorable carouse. conon and adela are neither indefatigable risers, nor among the slothful. they are seldom found in bed at cock-crow, and the baron is already warning his young sons that "he who sleeps too long in the morning becomes thin and lazy." so at gray dawn william, conon's first body squire, has yawned on his pallet by the chamber door, tugged on his own clothes, then hastened to the great bed to assist his master to dress. this is one of a good squire's prime duties, but he need not divest his lord of any nightgown. nightdresses are no more used in the thirteenth century than are table forks. conon has been sleeping between the sheets, with only the clothing of a newborn babe, although, curiously enough, he wraps around his head a kind of napkin, precursor of the later nightcap. when the baron has donned a part of his clothes gervais, the second squire, brings in a metal basin of water and a white towel. the age is one of great contradictions in matters of cleanliness. baron conon washes his face and hands carefully and frequently. he also takes complete baths pretty often, using large wooden tubs filled with hot perfumed water. personally he seems an extraordinarily neat man, and so are all the higher-rank people. but the age has never heard of polluted wells and other breeding spots for malignant fevers. flies are harmless annoyances. numerous evil smells can hardly be prevented, any more than cold weather--the saints give us grace to bear them! in short, cleanliness stops with care of the person. preventive sanitation is as unknown as are the lands which may lie across the storm-tossed atlantic--"the sea of darkness." there is an old rhyme which is supposed to give the right times for the routine of the day: "rise at five, dine at nine, sup at five, to bed at nine, is the way to live to be ninety and nine." sometimes dinner came later than nine, but never, if possible, much after ten. people have sometimes become distressed because the meal had to be postponed until noon. this was natural, for everybody is stirring at daybreak and for breakfast probably has had only a few morsels of bread washed down with thin wine--a poor substitute even for the coffee and rolls of the later continental breakfast. [sidenote: a baron's routine business and diversions] having dressed and washed, the baron goes down to mass at the chapel. attending daily mass is a duty for every really pious seigneur. one of garnier's infamies had been his gross irregularity in this matter. if there had been no chapel in the bailey, the service could have been held in a vestibule to the hall of the _palais_. after mass is over, conon is ready for business or pleasures. it is a time of peace; and, truth to tell, the baron would really be not a little glad of the excitement, bustle, and strenuous preparation which come with the outbreak of war. the list of things he can do to divert himself in times of public quiet seems limited: he can hunt, fish, fence, joust, play chess, eat and drink, listen to the songs of the jongleurs, hold his court, walk in the meadows, talk with the ladies, warm himself, have himself cupped and bled, and watch the snow fall. this last amusement is hardly practicable in june. being bled is not commonly reckoned a regular sport in other ages! neither can he hold court--receive his vassals and dispense justice--save at intervals. the jongleurs ordinarily reserve themselves for the evenings. conon's secret hankering for a war is, therefore, somewhat explicable. if this is a fortunate day, however, the horn on the turret will blow, and then the gong at the bailey gate will reverberate. a visitor of noble rank has arrived. nothing can ordinarily be more welcome in castle communities. little isolated fractions of humanity as they are, with the remainder of the world seemingly at an extreme distance, the coming of a stranger means a chance to hear news of the king's court, of the doings of the emperor frederick ii, of the chances of another crusade, of the latest fashions in armor, of the newest methods of training hawks, nay, possibly of rumors of another brave war like that which culminated in the glorious battle of bouvines. unknightly, indeed, is the seigneur who does not offer profuse hospitality to a noble visitor; and any priest, monk, or law-abiding merchant will be given a decent, though less ceremonious, welcome. no wonder the inns everywhere are so bad, when the lords of so many castles grow actually angry if a traveler will not tarry perhaps for days. [sidenote: hospitality to guests] there are stories of knights who have deliberately caused the roads to be diverted to compel travelers to come close to their castles, where they can be politely waylaid and compelled to linger. conon is not so absurd, but if to-day a guest of noble rank approaches the castle, all the ordinary routine ceases. at the outer gate the strangers are met by william, the first squire. if he reports that their chief is a baron, the visitors have the gates unbarred before them; they ride straight over both drawbridges to the inner court. conon himself leads in the horse of his chief guest, and when the visiting nobleman dismounts he usually kisses him upon mouth and chin, although, if the strange knight is an elderly man, or of very exalted rank, he shows his respect by kissing only his shoulders. adela and her maidens at once conduct the visitors to a chamber, where the best feather beds are piled high in their honor, and next skillfully take off their armor, bathe their feet,[ ] and even assist them to don loose clean clothes--a kind of wrapper very pleasant for indoor wear. meantime their horses are being stabled and given every attention. only after the visitors are dressed, refreshed, bathed, and perhaps fed, will conon courteously inquire for how long he is to enjoy their company and whether they are making st. aliquis merely a stopping point or have come to him on business. non-noble guests do not receive such ceremony, unless they are high churchmen--bishops, abbots, and their direct subordinates--but even a poor villein, if he appears on a fit errand, is welcome to a solid meal and a bed on the rushes in one of the halls.[ ] a jongleur is always received heartily and entertained with the best; the payment will be in songs and tricks after supper. on most feast days, furthermore, the gates of st. aliquis will open wide. conon's servitors will say to everyone, "if you are hungry, eat what you please!" there will be simply enormous gorging and guzzling at the baron's expense. yet if there are no outside guests the baron is far from being an idle man. since he has been stirring at a.m. he is able to accomplish a great deal during the morning. all the stables must be inspected; directions are given about a brood mare; the noisy falcon house is surveyed; various stewards, bailiffs, and provosts come in with reports about the peasants, the baron's farms, and especially the contention with a neighboring seigneur's woodcutters about the right to take timber in a disputed forest land--a case calling for major diplomacy to avoid a brisk private war. then, too, although this is not a court day, the baron as the dispenser of justice has to order two brawling peasants to be clapped in the stocks until sundown, and to direct that an ill-favored lad who had been caught in an honest villein's corn bin shall have his ears cropped off. the castle is, in fact, an economic unit all by itself. if the baron is idle or preoccupied he leaves its management to deputies; but a good seigneur knows about everything. the estate has its own corn lands and pasture, its stacks of hay, its granaries and storehouses, its mills, cattle byres, slaughter houses, and salting sheds. practically every scrap of food actually needed in the castle is grown locally. the innumerable women and varlets wear coarse woolen cloth made from wool raised, sheared, carded, spun and woven on the seigneury. the ordinary weapons and tools required in war are made at the smithy in the bailey. the result is that the castle people do very little buying and selling. conon has a certain income in silver deniers, but, except for the important sums he is laying by for a tournament, his sister's marriage, perhaps a private war, and other like occasions, he spends it almost entirely on the finer articles of clothing, for superior weapons, for cookery spices, and for a few such luxuries as foreign wines. these can be bought from visiting packmen or by a visit to pontdebois during the fair seasons.[ ] st. aliquis therefore presents what is to us a curious spectacle--a sizable community wherein many of its members seldom handle that thing called "money" from one month to another.[ ] [sidenote: comradery and organization of castle folk] conon, on many mornings, is thus kept busy adjusting petty matters concerning the estate. the seigneur is the center, the disposing power for the whole seigneury, but he is not the despot. the castle is one huge family, and shares its joys and troubles together. the upper servitors hold their position by a kind of hereditary right. guilbert, who presides over the smithy, is son of the smith before him. in similar case are the chief cook, the master huntsman, and many others. even the dubious post of baronial executioner is transmitted by a kind of hereditary prerogative. for conon to dismiss any of these subordinates save for very obvious reasons would be resented by all their fellows and produce a passive rebellion unwelcome to the most arbitrary seigneur. even tyrannous baron garnier had to wait a suitable opportunity ere changing an unwelcome servitor. every person has his own little sphere of influence and privilege. the successful baron respects all these "rights" and handles each inferior tactfully. the result is that there is a great deal of comradery and plain speaking. the baron and baroness must listen to flat contradictions every day. "you are absolutely wrong, messire," says herbert, the cowherd, to-day, when conon directs him to wean certain calves. "i shall execute no such order." and the baron (who would have fought a mortal duel with a fellow noble ere accepting such language) wisely acquiesces, with a laugh. herbert is "his man" and as such has his own sphere of action, and, besides, herbert and all his fellows will fight for their seigneur to the last drop of their blood, and obey all strictly military orders with touching fidelity. indeed, the st. aliquis people are somewhat like grown-up children. they are often angry, turbulent, obstinate, contentious, even exchanging cuffs and blows. the women are almost as passionate as the men. but tempers cool with equal rapidity. two varlets who almost drew knives this morning will be communing like twin brothers this afternoon. furthermore, despite much apparent friction, the three-hundred-odd people who sleep behind the walls of st. aliquis are fairly well organized. first of all the baron has his three squires, youths of friendly baronial families who are being "nourished" by conon preparatory to knighthood and whose education will be described later.[ ] they are, of course, "noble," and are looking forward to ruling their own castles. noble, too, is sire eustace, the seneschal, the baron's old companion in arms, who carries the great gonfalon of st. aliquis into battle, and who, in peace times, is chief factotum and superintendent of almost everything about the fief. the marshal who has charge of the stables is also "the son of a good house," and the chamberlain, who has oversight over all that interior economy which does not pertain to food, drink, and mealtimes, is an elderly, childless knight who became lamed in the service of the baron's father, and who really holds an honorable sinecure. there are, besides these, four other petty nobles, whose estates are so small that they find it pleasantest to live at st. aliquis, ride in the baron's hunts, and command his men at arms. the remainder of the castle servants are indeed non-noble; but there is nothing dishonorable in personal service, provided you serve a lord higher than yourself. conon would feel complimented if, on a visit to paris, he were asked to carry a great pasty and set it before the queen. the importance of a baron is somewhat gauged by the number of his squires and noble servitors. many a poor sire has to put up with only one squire, and perhaps a seneschal. as for conon and adela, they have a cherished ambition that in their sons' day, at least, the st. aliquis butler, cellarer, dispenser, and even the master falconer should be of gentle blood also; but that would be putting their household practically on an equality with the duke's. [sidenote: dinner, supper and nightfall] when dinnertime comes there will be a great rush for the hall, but the ceremonies of the table will be told later.[ ] of course, on common days one will not expect a banquet--only one or two plates of meat, some fish, a few vegetables, bread, and common wine, but all in abundance. hunger seldom troubles st. aliquis. if the weather is fine, very likely dinner and supper will be served in the garden, outside the barbican, under pleasant shade trees, close to the purling rapide. there will be long tables covered with linen dyed with montpellier scarlet. the honored guests will have cushioned benches; the remainder will sit on almost anything.[ ] supper may be either in the hall or in the garden, according to circumstances. it is a long time between dinner and supper, and appetites are again keen. after supper, if by the presence of jongleurs there are excuses for torches and music, the castle folk join in diversions or even in dancing, until a large silver cup is solemnly handed to the baron. he drinks deeply. all his guests are similarly served. then he rises and the company goes to bed. if there are honored visitors, conon will escort them to their chambers himself, and take another sup of wine with them ere parting for the night. the seneschal meantime makes a careful round of the walls, to satisfy himself that the outer drawbridge is raised, the sentries posted, and that everything is safe. then he will transmit the ponderous keys to be taken to the baron's room till dawn. the seigneur is undressed by his squires and reposes under an avalanche of feather beds thick enough to provide a vapor bath. soon all the lights are extinguished throughout the whole black mass of the castle, save only the tall taper in the master's apartment. so the castle sleeps through the darkness, unbroken save for the occasional "all is well!" from the yawning sentry on the turret, until the thrushes and blackbirds begin their noise in the garden and in the trees by the rivers. then again st. aliquis resumes its daytime business. footnotes: [ ] hospitality sometimes went to such a point that we are told the ladies of the castle assisted a visiting knight to take a complete bath--a service quite innocently rendered and accepted. similar customs, of course, obtained among the greeks of the _iliad_ and _odyssey_. [ ] see ch. xvii. [ ] see ch. xxii. [ ] even when sums of money are mentioned in connection with peasants' dues, etc., one may guess that often payments in kind are really in question. [ ] see ch. xi. [ ] see ch. vii. [ ] mediæval men did not use the floor to the extent of the chinese and japanese, but they were certainly often willing to dispense with seats even indoors, and to sit on their haunches upon the pavement or rushes, "turk fashion." chapter iv: games and diversions. falconry and hunting. the baroness' garden. if baron conon has been fortunate enough to receive a noble guest, almost the first question is how to divert the stranger. the inevitable program will be to constrain the visitor to tarry at least long enough to cast hawks or to chase down a deer. if that is not possible, at least he will be courteously urged to attempt some game, and it will be most "ungentle" of him to refuse. indoor games are in great demand where bad weather often makes open sports impossible and where bookish diversions are limited. the baron frequently plays with his own family when there are no outside guests, and all the household are more or less expert. to understand them is part of a gentle education for both sexes. indeed, there is no better way for a noble dame and a cavalier to begin a romance than to sit through a long afternoon studying one another's faces no less than the gaming table. some of these diversions are decidedly like those of a later age. for example, if all present are reasonably literate they can play "ragman's roll"! burlesque verses--some suitable for men, some for women, and all often deplorably coarse--are written on slips of parchment wound in a roll. on each slip is a string with some sign showing for which sex it is intended. everybody has to draw a roll, then open and read it aloud to the mirthful company. the verses are supposed to show the character of the person drawing the same. also, even grown-up folk are not above "run around" games which are later reserved for children. high barons play blind-man's buff; seigneurs and dames sometimes join in the undignified "hot cockles." a blindfolded player kneels with his face on the knee of another and with his hands held out behind him. other players in turn strike him on the hand, and he tries to guess who has hit him. if he is correct, the person last striking takes his place. of course, a large part of the sport is to deliver very shrewd blows. the fact that such a game can be in vogue shows again that even the high and mighty are often like hot-blooded children abounding in animal spirits. these games conon will not press upon his guests. he will urge on them backgammon, checkers, chess or, if they seem young and secular, perhaps dice. backgammon is called "tables." it is a combination of dice playing plus the motion of pieces on a board which goes back to roman times. the boards and methods of play are so like those of a later age that one need not comment thereon. backgammon is a popular diversion, but hardly more so than checkers (anglice "draughts") known in france as "dames." here also is a game that hardly changes essentially from age to age. the checkermen at st. aliquis are square, not round. otherwise, no explanation is needed. [sidenote: backgammon, checkers and dice] what men like conon really enjoy, however, are games of dice. nevertheless, since the church has often censured these cubes of ivory, he and his baroness do not dare to use them too often; besides, they realize the havoc often wrought among the young by dice throwing, and wish to keep their own sons from temptation. in parts of france there are laws reading: "dice shall not be made in this dominion, and those using them shall be looked upon as suspicious characters."[ ] all such enactments are usually dead letters, and a high justiciar can ordinarily punish merely the manufacture and use of loaded dice. although church prelates rail vigorously, their complaints are not merely that games of chance are, _ipso facto_, sinful, but that the blasphemies constantly uttered by losing dice players form a means of populating hell. dice playing assuredly is extremely common. it is even impiously called "the game of god," because the regulation of chance belongs to providence. did not the holy apostles cast lots between justus and matthias to select a successor to the wicked judas; and can good christians question means acceptable to st. john and st. peter? so gamesters will quiet their consciences. vainly does king philip augustus command that any person swearing over dice in his royal presence, no matter how high his rank, shall be cast into the river. dice are everywhere--in the travelers' and pilgrims' wallets and in almost every castle, hut, or town dwelling. let any three or four men come together for an idle hour and fortunate it is if a set of dice does not appear to while away the time. the thirteenth century is innocent of cards; dice form the substitute. the swearing is evil, but the gambling is worse. there are at least ten gambling games, some with three dice, some needing six. adela has been warning françois, her eldest son, concerning a recent instance of reckless playing. a young squire, whose father held lands of conon, set forth to seek his fortune at the king's court. he halted at pontdebois, where he met an older soldier of fortune at the tavern. the poor young man was induced "to try a few casts." soon he had lost his travel money; next his horse; next his armor. in desperation he began pledging his ordinary vesture to the tavern keeper (who acted as a kind of pawnbroker). ill luck still pursued, and he was reduced to his bare shirt[ ] before a friend of his father's, chancing about the inn, recovered his necessary clothes between them and sent him home, utterly humiliated. such calamities are constant. dice are daily the ruin of countless nobles and villeins--but the accursed gaming continues. it is even rumored that in certain disorderly monasteries these tools of the devil often intrude further to demoralize the brethren. [illustration: the game of chess an ivory plaque of the fourteenth century (musée du louvre).] [sidenote: chess in great esteem] no such ill odor, however, attends that game in which conon delights most. to play at chess is part of an aristocratic education. in a jongleur's romance we hear of a young prince who was brought up "first to know his letters," and then "to play at tables (backgammon), and at chess; and soon he learned these games so well that no man in this world could 'mate' him." françois and anseau, the baron's sons, make no such boasts, but both know the moves, and françois takes great pride in having lately forced a visiting knight to a stalemate. great seigneurs and kings carry chessboards around with them on campaigns and are said to amuse themselves with chess problems immediately before or after desperate battles. plenty of other anecdotes tell of short-tempered nobles who lost self-control when checkmated, broke the chessboards over their opponents' heads, and ended the contest in a regular brawl. this royal game has doubtless come from the orient. caliphs of the infidels have long since boasted their skill in taking rooks and pawns, but in western lands about the first record comes from the time of pope alexander ii ( - ), to whom complaint was made that a bishop of florence was "spending his evenings in the vanity of chess playing." the bishop's enemies alleged that this was forbidden by the canons prohibiting dice. but the bishop retorted that "dice and chess were entirely different things: the first sinful; the second a most honorable exercise for christians." the pope tactfully refrained from pressing the matter. nevertheless, austere churchmen regarded the game as worldly, and impetuous religious reformers insisted on confounding it with games of chance. it was only in that a council of paris forbade french clerics to play chess, just as it (for about the thousandth time) forbade dice--despite which fact the bishop of pontdebois spent a whole afternoon over the chessboard the last time he visited the castle and could test his skill on the baron. as for the nobility, no one thinks of refusing to play, although naturally it is the older knights who have the patience for long contests. according to the _song of roland_, after charlemagne's host had taken cordova the emperor and all his knights rested themselves in a shady garden. the more sedate leaders immediately played chess, although the younger champions selected the more exciting backgammon. the chessmen are often made of whalebone and imported from scandinavia. they are models of warriors. the kings have their swords drawn; the knights are on horseback; in place of castles we have "warders," a kind of infantrymen; the bishops hold their croziers; and the queens upbear drinking horns like the great ladies in a northern house. conon, however, has a fine ivory set made in the east; and oriental models differ from the norse. the infidels, of course, have no bishops; instead there is a _phil_--a carved elephant; and since moslems despise women, instead of a queen there is a _phrez_, or counselor. chessboards are usually made of inlaid woods, or even metals, and conon has an elegant one with squares of silver and gilt, the gift of a count whose life he once saved in battle. needless to say, chess is a game in which the women can excel. alienor is well able to defeat her brother, despite his boasting; and among the duties of the ladies of a castle is to teach the young squires who are being "nourished" by its lord how to say "check." chess is supposed to be a game of such worth and intricacy as not to need the stimulus of wagering. but, alas! such is the old adam in mankind that scandalous gambling often goes on around a chessboard. at festivals when nobles assemble, if two distinguished players match their skill, there is soon an excited, if decently silent, crowd around their table. soon one spectator after another in whispers places wagers to support a contestant; the players themselves begin to bet on their own skill. the final result may leave them almost as poverty-stricken as the dicers in the tavern, as well as compromising salvation by awful oaths. [illustration: a game of ball (strutt)] young nobles also kill much time with out-of-door games resembling tennis and billiards. the tennis is played without rackets, by merely striking the ball with the open hand. the billiards require no tables, but are played on level ground with wooden balls struck with hooked sticks or mallets, somewhat resembling the hockey of another age. here again reckless youths often wager and lose great sums. lads and young maidens are fond, too, of guilles--a game resembling ninepins, although the pins are knocked down, not with balls, but with a stick thrown somewhat like a boomerang. of course, they also enjoy tossing balls, and young ladies no less than their brothers practice often with the arbalist, shooting arrows with large heads for bringing down birds which take refuge in bushes when pursued by the hawks. [sidenote: hawking] but chess, dice and every other game indoors or outdoors pales before the pleasure of hawking or hunting. there is no peace-time sensation like the joy of feeling a fast horse whisk you over the verdant country, leaping fences, and crashing through thickets with some desperate quarry ahead. it is even a kind of substitute for the delights of war. if a visiting knight shows the least willingness, the baron will certainly urge him to tarry for a hunting party. it will then depend on the season, the desire of the guests, and reports from the kennels and mews and the forest whether the chase will be with hawks or with hounds. master huntsmen and falconers are always at swords' points. their noble employers also lose their tempers in the arguments as to venery and falconry, but the truth is that both sports are carried on simultaneously at every castle. if fresh meat is needed, if most of the riders are men, if time is abundant, probably the order is "bring out the dogs." if only the sport is wanted, and the ladies can ride out merely for an afternoon, the call is for the hawks. [illustration: lady with a falcon on her wrist from a thirteenth-century seal (archives nationales).] hunting hawks are everywhere. last sunday adela and alienor rode over to mass at the abbey church. the good brethren chanting the service were nowise disturbed when each of their high-born worshipers kept a great hooded hawk strapped to her wrist during the whole service.[ ] it is well to take your hawks everywhere with you, especially when there are crowds of people, to accustom them to bustle and shouting; but we suspect another reason for always taking hawks about is that the carrying of a hunting bird on your wrist is a recognized method of saying, "i am of gentle blood and need not do any disagreeable work with my hands." [sidenote: complicated art of falconry] falcons are counted "noble birds"; they rank higher in the social hierarchy of beasts than even eagles. if one cannot afford large hawks and falcons one can at least keep sparrow hawks; and "sparrow hawk" is the nickname for poor sires who only maintain birds large enough to kill partridges and quails. in short, the possession of a hawk of _some_ kind is almost as necessary for a nobleman as wearing a sword, even with knights who can seldom go out hunting. however, it takes a rich noble like conon to possess a regular falconry with special birds, each trained for attacking a certain kind of game--hares, kites, herons--with the expert attendants to care for them. [illustration: the falcon hunt thirteenth century; from a german manuscript in the bibliothèque de bruxelles.] falconry has become a complicated art. very possibly the good folk in st. aliquis will have their bodies physicked or bled by physicians much less skillful in treating human ills than conon's falconers are in treating birds. to climb high trees or crags and steal the young hawk out of the nest is itself no trifling undertaking.[ ] then the prizes must be raised to maturity, taught to obey whistles and calls, and to learn instantly to do the bidding of the master. in the baron's mews are more than a score of birds; gerfalcons, saker hawks, lanners, merlins, and little sparrow hawks squawk, peck, and squabble along with huge goshawks. the male birds are generally smaller than the female, and the latter are reserved for striking the swiftest game, such as herons. some birds will return of their own accord to the hand of the master after taking game, but many, including all sparrow hawks, have to be enticed back by means of a lure of red cloth shaped like a bird. the falconer swings his lure by a string, and whistles, and, since the falcon is accustomed to find a bit of meat attached to the lure, he will fly down promptly and thus be secured. conon's head falconer is only a villein, but he is such an expert that recently the count of champagne offered a hundred paris livres for him. this important personage is himself the son of a falconer, for the science runs in families. he is a man of shrewd knowledge and a real wizard at breaking in young birds, teaching them to strike dummies and decoys, to remain contented in their cages or hooded on their perches, and yet not lose their hunting spirit. he has precise methods of feeding--so much meat, preferably poultry, and so much of vegetables, preferably fresh fruit. he takes long counsel with conon how a recalcitrant goshawk can be induced to sit quietly on the baron's fist. he also teaches young françois to carry his little sparrow hawk so it will not be incommoded by any horse motion or be beaten upon unpleasantly by the wind, and how to adjust its hood. [sidenote: professional jargon of falconry] there are few more acceptable presents to a nobleman or, better still, to a lady, than a really fine bird. abbots send five or six superior hawks to the king when craving protection for their monasteries. foreign ambassadors present his royal grace with a pair of birds as the opening wedge to negotiations. the "reception of hawks" is indeed a regular ceremony at the paris court. most of conon's hawks have come from fellow cavaliers who craved his favor. the st. aliquis gentry pride themselves on understanding all the professional jargon of falconry. only peasant clowns would confess themselves ignorant thereof; yet even among nobles few speak it really well. the other day a pretentious knight dined at the castle. he put his gerfalcon on the perch provided in the hall for such use by the guests. but, thunder of heaven! how great seemed his foolishness when conon courteously led the subject around to falconry! "he said: 'the _hand_ of the bird' instead of 'the talon'; 'the _talon_' instead of 'the claw'; 'the _claw_' instead of 'the nail.' it was most distressing to find such a man with a claim to courteous treatment!" [illustration: noble holding a falcon in each hand thirteenth century; restored by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript in the bibliothèque de bruxelles.] of course, at some excesses in falconry conon draws the line. he considers impious his neighbor the viscount of foretvert, who sprinkles his hawks with holy water prior to every hunt, and says a prayer over them adjuring, "you, o eagles, by the true god, the holy virgin, and the holy prophets, to leave the field clear for our birds and not to molest them in their flight." the church has never authorized this, though the viscount's worldly chaplain certainly condones the practice. everything about falcons must be compatible with their nobility. the glove on which they are carried is embroidered with gold. the hood which keeps them blindfolded is likewise adorned with gold thread, pearls, and bright feathers. every bird has attached to his legs two little bells engraved with his owner's name. high in the air they can be heard tinkling. if the bird is lost the peasants discovering it can return it to the owner--and woe to the villein who retains a falcon found in the forest! the local law provides that either he must pay a ruinous fine or let the falcon eat six ounces of flesh from his breast. as for stealing a hunting bird outright, there is hardly a speedier road to the gallows; it is what horse stealing some day will become in communities very far from france. assuredly it is an exhilarating sight to see the castle folk go hawking on a fine morning. the baron, baroness, and all their older relatives and guests, each with bird on gauntlet, are on tall horses; the squires and younger people have sparrow hawks to send against the smaller prey, but the leaders of the sport will wait until they can strike a swift duck or heron. dogs will race along to flush the game. horns are blowing, young voices laughing, all the horses prancing. conon gives the word. away they go--racing over fences, field and fallow, thicket and brook, until fate sends to view a heron. then all the hawks are unhooded together; there are shouts, encouragement, merry wagers, and helloing as the birds soar in the chase. the heron may meet his fate far in the blue above. then follow more racing and scurrying to recover the hawks. so onward, covering many miles of country, until, with blood tingling, all canter back to st. aliquis in a determined mood for supper. [sidenote: hunting serious business] hunting is more serious business than falconry. the castle folk do not care much for beef and mutton; they prefer venison and boar's meat, and the great woods to the east of the castle supply food no less than diversion. hunting is a pursuit quite allowable to pious laymen, and in moderation is even commended by the church. by hunting one benefits one's soul, for thus we "avoid the sin of indolence, and, according to our faith, he who avoids the seven mortal sins will be saved; therefore, the good sportsmen will be saved." the huntsmen's saints--st. germain, st. martin, and above all st. hubert of liège, a renowned hunter of the eighth century[ ]--are invoked in countless castles oftener, one fears, than such greater saints as st. peter and st. paul. [illustration: a hunter from a seal of the thirteenth century (archives nationales).] there are many dangerous beasts in the great forests spread over france. charlemagne (the tale runs) was once nearly hugged to death by a hard-pressed bear. every nobleman has met with very ugly boars and also powerful stags who fought desperately. as for the ladies (who, after all, are of one blood with their brothers) the hunt is almost the closest they can come to martial pleasures. adela and her sister-in-law can wind horns, follow stags, control dogs almost as well as conon and aimery. of course, they could ride from early girlhood. on occasion of ceremony they ride sidesaddle, but when hunting and hawking they go astride in wholly masculine manner. françois has been riding now for years, and even little anseau, barely seven, can cling to the back of a high steed and keep beside his mother, unless the hunt becomes extremely furious. the equipments for hunting are simple. the only real luxury is in the hunting horns, the great olifants whose piercing notes can ring a mile through the still forests. these horns are made of ivory, chased with gold, and swung from each important rider's neck by a cord of silk or fine leather. the hunters wear leather gauntlets and use a bow and arrows, a "danish ax" (a kind of tomahawk), a boar spear (the favorite hunting weapon), and also a large knife for emergencies. as the party mounts in the castle court, around them are leaping and yelping the great pack of dogs--white in teeth, red tongues, straining the leashes and barely controlled by their keepers. dogs are loved almost as much as falcons, and conon has a large collection of greyhounds, staghounds, boarhounds, and even of terrible bloodhounds. the kennels are replenished constantly, for stags and old boars can kill many dogs ere they are finally run down and speared. the gift of a litter of fine puppies is, therefore, often as welcome as a cast of hawks. [sidenote: chasing down a great boar] it is a happy day if a beater comes in with tidings of "a wild boar, the strongest of which anyone has ever heard tell, in the forest of pevele and vicogne near the free holdings of st. bertin." the baron will call out all the castle folk, and, if time admits, will send to some favorite vassals a few miles away to join the sport. with ten pairs of hounds and at least fifteen huntsmen and beaters he will thus organize the pursuit. the hunt will start at dawn, and it will take much of the forenoon to reach the forest where the boar has been discovered. then (recites a jongleur) will begin "the baying and the yelping of dogs. they are unleashed. they bound through the thicket and find the tracks where the boar has dug and rooted for worms." one of the keepers then unleashes blanchart, the baron's best bloodhound. conon pats his head and they put him on the track. the hound soon discovers the boar's lair. "it is a narrow place between the trunks of two uprooted oaks, near a spring. when the boar hears the baying of the hound he stands erect, spreads his enormous feet, and, disdaining flight, wheels around, until, judging himself within reaching distance of the good hound, he seizes it and fells it dead by his side. the baron would not have given blanchart for one hundred deniers. not hearing his barking he runs up, sword in hand; but he is too late; the boar is gone." after that there is nothing for it except to keep up the chase relentlessly until evening, with the whole company gradually scattering through the forest until conon at last overtakes the chase. but the baron is now alone save for a few dogs. "the boar has finally come to bay in front of a thicket. he begins by refreshing himself in a pool; then, raising his brows, rolling his eyes, and snorting, he bares his tusks and dashes upon the dogs, and rips them open or tears them to pieces, one after another, all except three of the best greyhounds. then conon arrives, and first of all he sees his dogs stretched out dead. 'oh, son of a sow,' cries he, 'it is you that have disemboweled my dogs, have separated me from my friends, and have brought me i know not where! you shall die!' he leaps from his steed. at his shout the boar, despite bushes and ditches, leaps upon him swift as an arrow. conon lets him come straight on, and, holding the boar spear straight before him, strikes at his breast. the point pierces the heart and goes out at the shoulder blade. mortally wounded, the boar swerves to one side, totters, and falls."[ ] so the chase ends and the dogs are avenged. the baron has to blow his horn many times ere his party finds him. luckily the boar has run back somewhat toward st. aliquis. they are therefore able to get home in noisy triumph that night, and all the castle women are under the red torches outside the gate to "oh!" and "ah!" at the boar and to praise the prowess of their seigneur. [illustration: the stag hunt twelfth century; from a window in the cathedral of chartres.] conon is fortunate in being able to return home without more adventures. his high suzerain, king philip augustus, while a young prince, once followed a boar until he was lost in the forest, and became justly anxious; but just as he was commending himself to god, the virgin, and "st. denis, the protector of the king of france," to his great relief he met "a charcoal burner, grim to behold, with a face black with charcoal, carrying a great ax on his shoulder." this honest peasant guided the prince to safety. [sidenote: hunting across peasants' lands] one important part of the st. aliquis population, however, regards all hunting parties with far less satisfaction. the chase often goes straight across the peasants' fields, with twenty horses beating down the newly seeded ground or even the standing crops. this is the baron's absolute privilege and any protest is treasonable. the villeins have not simply to submit to this, but if deer nibble or boars root upon their fields, they can merely try to scare the ravagers off. their lord and his friends alone may use arrow, blade, or spear against the game. the st. aliquis peasants bless the saints that this time the boar kept conveniently in the forest and did not sell his life dearly in a half-ripe cornfield. hawking and hunting are two great out-of-door sports, always excepting martial exercises and downright war; although sometimes aimery and other young men, for a tame diversion, take crossbows and try to shoot birds in the meadows. if conon is naturally the master of the hunt, adela is as invariably mistress of a very important place--the garden. castles are disagreeable residences. even with the newer _palais_ rising beside the grim donjon, they are usually dampish, illy lighted, and subject to uncanny odors. in northern france there is enough confining weather in any case. therefore, the more reason there is, the moment the sun shines, for hastening where there are sweet air, bright flowers, and delightful greenness. the castle garden is outside the barbican, shut off by a dense hedge from the exercise ground. in it are not merely many beds of flowers, but fruit trees and a group of venerable elms much older than the first crusade. also, there is a broad, fine stretch of closely cropped grass, shaded by the trees for most of the day. here all kinds of things can occur. at long tables the whole castle will dine and sup in fine weather. here conon will assemble his vassals for ceremonious council. here will be played innumerable games of chess. and here especially, if a few jongleurs can be found to saw their viols on fête days, all the castle folk, noble and villein, will rapturously join in dances, not in stuffy hall under midnight lamps, but in bright daylight with the merry feet twinkling on god's soft green grass. [sidenote: the castle garden] adela has taken great pains with her garden, which fell into a bad condition during baron garnier's day. she often councils with brother sebastian at the abbey, a real botanist with a true love of plants and flowers. one side of the beds is adorned with roses, lilies, and marigolds. on the other grow useful herbs such as lettuce, cresses, mint, parsley, hyssop, sage, coriander, and fennel. with these, too, are also poppies, daffodils, and acanthus plants, while a vegetable garden supplies the castle with cucumbers, beets, mustard, and wormwood. the fruit trees yield a sizable crop of apples, quinces, peaches, and pears. there is a kind of hot-house in which the baroness has tried to raise figs, but with no great success; but, of course, there is no difficulty in maturing grapes and cherries; indeed, cherry festivals are among the most familiar and delightful holidays in all this part of france. "life," say monkish writers, warning the thoughtless, "though perhaps pleasant, is transitory, 'even as is a cherry fair.'" "crooked" heman (the hunchbacked gardener) has considerable skill even without the teachings of brother sebastian. he practices grafting successfully, although his theories on the subject are absurd. he is trying to develop a new kind of plum and is tenderly raising some of the new "agony" pears--a bitter variety for pickling. true, he believes that cherries can grow without stones if you have the right recipe, and that peach trees will bear pomegranates if only you can sprinkle them with enough goats' milk. this does not prevent large practical results. his tools are simple--an ax, a spade, a grafting knife, and a pruning hook; but, thanks to the unlimited number of peasant clowns which the baroness can put at his disposal, he keeps the garden and orchard in admirable order. heman's office is the more important because the garden does not exist solely as a pleasure spot or for its fruits and vegetables. flowers are in constant demand, whenever obtainable, for garlands and chaplets. even as with the greeks, no feast is complete without them. wild flowers are in favor, and many a time adela's maids are sent out to gather and wreathe woodbine or hawthorn; but, of course, such a supply is irregular. on every social occasion from early spring to the edge of winter the castle garden must, therefore, supply its garlands. it is, accordingly, one of the essential working units of st. aliquis, along with the stables, the mews, and the armory. footnotes: [ ] such a law was actually enacted for the entire kingdom of france in . [ ] a mediæval manuscript contains a vivid picture of two gamesters, one of whom had only a shirt left; the other had been reduced to sheer nakedness. their companions had evidently stripped them almost completely, leaving them to compete for one garment! [ ] we hear scandalous stories of bishops and abbots who did not think it unfit to take their hawks to church. it is alleged that they would strap their precious charges to the altar rail while they were performing the holy offices. [ ] by the thirteenth century a material fraction of the better falcons seem, however, to have been hatched and bred in captivity, thus avoiding this perilous exercise. [ ] the story had it that he was converted to a religious life after meeting in the woods a stag bearing between his horns an image of the saviour. st. hubert's feast day was always faithfully celebrated by kings and nobles. [ ] the quotations are from the story of the boar hunt in the romance _garin le lorrain_, with baron conon substituted for duke begoy in the original. chapter v: the family of the baron. life of the women. conon, we have said, has lived in great harmony with his baroness. well he might. a short time ago a visiting cavalier, who had learned to string words after the south country troubadour fashion, saw fit to praise adela after this manner: "she has fair blond locks and a forehead whiter than the lilies. her laughing eyes change color with her mood. her nose is straight and firm. her fresh face outvies the white and vermilion of the flowers. her mouth is small and her teeth are white like snow on the wild rose. white are her fair hands, and the fingers are both smooth and slender." also the baron is very proud of his sister, for whom he is planning a worthy marriage. a breton jongleur, who found st. aliquis's hospitality grateful, sang thus of alienor: "passing slim is the lady, sweet of bodice and slender of girdle. her throat is whiter than snow on branch, and her eyes are like flowers set in the healthful pallor of her face. she has a witching mouth, a dainty nose, and an open brow. her eyebrows are brown, and her golden hair is parted in two soft waves upon her forehead."[ ] [sidenote: types of beautiful women] both of these laudators exaggerate. neither adela nor alienor has a monopoly of good looks; yet a life of eager exercise in the open has given them both a complexion which many a town-pent rival might envy. their positions in the castle, as at once the gracious hostesses to equals and the unquestioned mistresses over hundreds of dependents, bestow on them dignity and "noble" assurance. each lady rejoices in the good fortune of being blond, a first prerequisite to beauty--for in all the romances there is hardly one brunette maiden who comes in for praise. their hair falls down the length of their arms, to the owners' great satisfaction, and is worn in two long braids, entwined with ribbons, or on gala days with gold thread, resting in front over their shoulders. adela, at least, has long since become complaisant to all kinds of flatteries, though alienor is still thrilled when a jongleur or sentimental knight assures her that she has "lips small as an infant's," "cheeks the color of peach bloom," "teeth of perfect regularity," "breath sweet as the censer swung above a church altar," and that "her beauty suddenly illuminates the whole castle." both of the ladies are tall and slender, again the ideal type of femininity; and they have unconcealed pity for the poor viscountess of foretvert, who is short, plump, and afflicted with dark hair. [illustration: coiffure of a noblewoman twelfth century (cathedral of chartres).] alienor's mother is dead, but her sister-in-law is enough older to take her place somewhat and give much well-meant advice, which the younger damsel must take meekly. adela often admonishes thus: "my fair sister, be courteous and meek, for nothing else so secures the favor of god and of mortals. be friendly to small and great. i have seen a great duchess bow ceremoniously to an ironmonger. one of her followers was astonished. 'i prefer' replied she, 'to have been guilty of too great courtesy toward that man, than guilty of the least incivility toward a knight.' also one must shun foreign fashions at festivals and tourneys, lest one become foolishly conspicuous; and above all beware of lofty headgear, lest you resemble stags who must lower their heads on entering a wood, and in order that you may not by your loud fashions make everyone stare at you as if you were a wild beast." recently, too, adela has been giving sisterly advice on how to walk becomingly: "look straight before you, with your eyelids low and fixed, gazing forward at the ground six fathoms ahead, not changing your look from one place to another, nor laughing, nor stopping to chatter with anybody upon the highway." conon, too, has beset poor alienor, with all the superiority of an elder brother. he has commended the instructions of a certain _trouvère_ (north french minstrel) to a young noblewoman. she must not talk too much; especially she must not boast of the attentions paid by young knights. when going to church she must not "trot or run," but salute "debonairely" all persons she meets. she must not let men caress her with their hands or kiss her upon the mouth. they might misconstrue such familiarities. she must not go around with part of her body uncovered, undress in the presence of men, nor accept presents from any man not a kinsman nor her accepted lover. [sidenote: good manners for noblewomen] the _trouvère_ instructor also goes on to warn his fair pupils against scolding in public, against overeating, and against getting drunk, "whence much mischief might arise." unless she is ugly or deformed, she should not cover her face coquettishly. "a lady who is pale faced or has not a good smell ought to breakfast early in the morning! for good wine gives a very good color, and she who eats and drinks well can heighten her complexion." to avoid bad breath eat aniseed and fennel for breakfast. keep your hands clean and cut your nails so as not to retain dirt. when you are sharing the same dish at table with some one else (as is the custom) do not pick out all the best bits for yourself; and beware of swallowing too large or too hot a morsel of food. also, wipe your mouth frequently, but on your napkin, and particularly not upon the tablecloth. also, do not spill from your mouth or grease your hands too much. young ladies also should keep from telling lies.--alienor wishes the impertinent _trouvère_ in purgatory. but following conon and adela, father grégoire, the chaplain, and then even holy brother matthew, the prior of the abbey, takes her in hand. she must avoid sin by never letting her mantle trail disgracefully, lest she seem like a fox whose glory is in his tail. her maids must avoid repeating gossip. she must never travel without proper retinue, lest she be caught in compromising situations. she must attend mass regularly and not be satisfied "merely with hearing low mass and hurrying two or three times through the lord's prayer and then going off to indulge herself with sweetmeats." alienor should also avoid all games of chance, including backgammon (advice, indeed, at which conon laughs) and not to waste too much time even at chess, nor to take indecent pleasure in the low songs and antics of the jongleurs. no wonder the poor girl vows she will perversely do these very things at first opportunity![ ] alienor tells herself, however, that she is fortunate she is not troubled by worse things than hortatory friends. champions of "equality of sexes" from a later age can become horrified over the legal status of women in the feudal centuries. females can never bear arms; they must remain perpetually as minors before the law. even a great heiress will be under severe pressure to take a husband who will perform the military duties of her fief as soon as possible. if a baron dies, leaving only a young daughter, the suzerain can complain that he has been injured in one of his most important rights--his claim to armed service from the fief holder. where now is the vassal to follow his banner? perhaps a decent suzerain will wait until the heiress is twelve. then he will "give" her to some battleworthy follower. she will not have any real choice, even if the bridegroom is old, ugly, and brutal. on the other hand, many a fatherless girl becomes terribly anxious to be married. only married women have a fixed status in feudal society. only a husband can keep an heiress's lands from shameless plunder. there is the familiar story of a young noblewoman who went straight before the king and said: "my father has been dead two months. i demand of you a husband." she never dreamed of suggesting any particular husband. _that_ was the suzerain's business; but to leave her in unprotected celibacy was an outrage which no lord had a right to inflict upon an orphan. [sidenote: position of women in castles] legally and morally, husbands have the right to treat their wives harshly if the latter provoke them. every girl around st. aliquis knows the story of the silly wife who often contradicted her husband in public, and how, after he had vainly remonstrated, "one day raised his fist, knocked her down, and kicked her in the face while she was prostrate, and so broke her nose." the story conveys the plain lesson that she was directly to blame, "for it is only right that words of authority should belong to her lord, and the wife's duty requires that she should listen in peace and obedience." it is, indeed, repeated as something rather exceptional that adela has recently boasted to certain relatives: "my husband since our marriage has never once laid hands on me." not that all castellans are brutal--but after all, men will be men, lose their tempers, and treat their wives accordingly. everybody knows the scene from an epic poem where a certain king is angered at a tactless remark by his queen, and therefore "shows his anger in his face, and strikes her in the nose so hard that he draws four drops of blood, at which the lady meekly says 'many thanks. when it pleases you, you may do it again!'" such submissiveness is the best way to disarm a husband's anger. conon has been mildly ridiculed among his fellow knights because he takes counsel with his wife. minstrels like to make fun of such cavaliers and to commend the baron who told his officious spouse: "woman, go within and eat and drink with your maids. busy yourself dyeing silks. such is _your_ business. _mine_ it is to strike with the sword of steel!"[ ] of course, many knights do worse things than to tell their wives not to meddle, and, if not obeyed, occasionally knock them down. it has been told how baron garnier imprisoned his unhappy consort. this was harsh, but not exceptional. philip augustus, the reigning king, kept his unlucky bride, ingebord of denmark, long years in captivity, notwithstanding the menaces of the church; holding her tight in the gloomy tower of Éstampes, where she complained she had not enough either to eat or to wear. many nobles sometimes imitate their lord. thus over in burgundy, gautier of salins recently threw his wife into prison, whence, however, she contrived to escape to her parents. in any case, when, for the sake of her fiefs, a girl of twelve to eighteen is wedded to a husband of forty or fifty, all kinds of unhappy things can happen. the devil can fill the poor damsel's mind with love for a handsome squire. her lord may neglect her scandalously until suddenly he finds himself required to avenge "his honor" by some deed of startling cruelty. such things make the kind saints weep. not without reason does conon make discreet inquiries concerning a certain widower knight who has sought alienor's hand: "does he horsewhip his servants save for good cause? did he leave his last wife to mope about the hall while he spent his months riotously at the king's court?" nevertheless the chatelaines and baronesses of these parts are not always meek doves at the mercy of their husbands. are they not sprung themselves from a domineering stock? are they not reared around a castle, which is a great barrack, and where the talk is ever of feuds and forays, horses, lances, and armor? many a noble lady can answer her husband's fist with a rousing box on the ear, and, if he is not a courageous man, make him quail and surrender before her passions. her habits are likely to seem very masculine. if she can quarrel like a virago, she can also prove a she-wolf in times of danger. a knight will ride away to the wars, leaving his castle under the command of his wife and feel certain that it will be defended to the inner donjon. the rough men at arms will obey her orders as implicitly as her husband's. in short, the feudal noblewoman is, as might be expected, a compound of mortal weaknesses and excellencies, but all of these qualities are somewhat naïve and elemental. in any case the castle women cannot complain of being shut up in a harem. they have perfect freedom to meet strange men. if we accept the epic poems, when noble maidens believe a visiting knight to be very handsome they do not hesitate to tell him so to his face. in many love stories the first advances come from the lady, and not infrequently these advances are rather coldly received by the knight. your average mail-clad cavalier is a man of strong passions, but he is often more interested in war and the chase than in fair maidens. he is seldom a philanderer. [sidenote: grossness of castle life] if we visited the castles around st. aliquis and listened to typical jongleurs' tales, we should gather abundant material for monkish preachments. noble ladies are said to make few difficulties about inviting male visitors to their chambers to sit on their beds while they are still within the same--or entering the room of a male guest and sitting on _his_ bed while conversing very familiarly. women often meet strangers in scandalously insufficient garments. ladies also talk with the uttermost freedom to men, quite as openly as young men will talk on ticklish matters among themselves. many a story, jesting question, or "gab" which is utterly coarse, not to say worse, will be exchanged in mixed company. young women are seldom well chaperoned. in place of the duenna there is the "waiting woman," herself apt to have her own lover and ready to help her mistress push matters with hers. if there is a sensual intrigue, all criticism ceases if there is, at the end, a formal marriage; but many romances (according to the current stories) in no wise end in marriages. a wedding is by no means the standard climax even to a happy love affair. the monks, of course, are scandalized at less harmful things than these. they assert that the fair sex, besides being sinful coquettes, are spendthrifts, ruining their husbands by their own extravagance. women as a sex are inordinately fond of false hair, rouging, and other forms of giving a lie to the faces which god has vouchsafed. as for controlling them, brother guyot, of provins, wrote in despair thus: "the wisest are astray when they wish to judge or correct a woman. she has never found her master, and who can flatter himself that he knows her? when her eyes weep her heart laughs. there are men who teach astronomy, necromancy, geometry, law, medicine, and music; but i have never known a person who was not a fool to take _woman_ for a subject of study." all the above seems true. yet when due allowances are made, the number of noblewomen who lead happy, honorable lives is great; and if many barons are unkind to their wives, many others reckon them as their greatest treasures. if reasonable care has been taken not to force the mating of obviously uncongenial couples, a decent respect is likely to result, even after a marriage arranged wholly by outsiders. if, in many of the epics, sundry fair ladies seem unprudish, very many others are superlatively faithful, devoted to their husbands, foes to all evil thoughts and seducers, and know how to draw the line very sharply between those familiar attentions which courtesy demands and those where real sinfulness begins. even a baron who will curse his wife roundly and switch her shoulders treats her also as his _juré_, the holder of his pledge, to whom he can trust his honor and leave the command of his castle when he rides to war. [sidenote: accomplishments of castle women] "a great deal depends upon the woman herself," adela assures alienor. husbands and wives are shut up together in a castle often for weary months, and a clever wife can easily make herself indispensable to her husband, and then rule the whole barony. in short, in treatment of women, as in all things else, the feudal age is a jumble of contradictions. you can find the worst and the best. "a good woman suffices to illuminate a kingdom," a poet declares; while even a crusty monk writes that "we ought to love, serve, and honor woman, for out of her we all come." and what, in one sense, is the intense worship of the virgin but a sign that woman is extraordinarily venerated and very powerful? "god, thou son of st. mary"--is that not a standing invocation among the knights? as for the pursuits of the women, there is little about the castle to which they cannot devote themselves. sometimes they have even to replace the men on armed expeditions. adela is grateful that she has not had to imitate the great countess blanche of champagne, who (while guardian of her young son) has recently, in , conducted an invading army into lorraine and burned nancy, and then again, near château-villein, has led her knights in person and won a real pitched battle. adela, however, understands all the technic of defending the castle in a siege, she can help her husband about the entire peace-time economy of the seigneury, check up the provosts's accounts, sift out the complaints of the peasants, arrange the alms to the poor, and, best of all, knows how to manage the local bishop and abbot, with a mingling of piety, harmless coquetry, and firmness--a great asset for the weal of the barony. her greatest task, however, is to direct the perpetual weaving, knitting, embroidering, and sewing of the castle women. even if some of the finer cloth is imported, nearly all the garments must be made up in st. aliquis; and the ladies must set their maids as good an example with their needles as the baron must furnish to his men with his sword. the chambers of the _palais_, and even the garden in summer, seem given over to incessant cutting and sewing; and many a time can you watch the fair alienor, like the girl in the romance, "seated in her brother's chambers, working a stole and 'amise' in silk and gold, right skillfully; and she made it with care, and many a little cross and many a little star she sets therein, singing all the while the 'song of the cloth'"--a gentle, lilting air suitable for the movements of her white hands and her needle. it was when so engaged that her brother, coming in early from the hounds, vowed he would not spare the dowry to get her a gallant husband; and that night he cast five deniers to the jongleur who praised her to her face before the applauding hall: she is the rose, the lily, too, the sweetest violet, and through her noble beauty, stately mien, i think her now the finest queen which mortal eyes have ever seen. simple, yet coy, her eyes flash joy: god give her life without annoy and every bliss whereof i ween! [sidenote: customs at births and baptisms] of course, the prime centers of adela's life are the rearing of her children and the management of her servants. when little françois and anseau were being born, the castle bell, and that, too, of the village church, were all the time rung furiously to induce the saints to ease their mother's labor. sensible father grégoire had to interpose his ghostly authority to check the midwife from at once plunging the feet of the newly born into icy water to toughen them to the cold, or rubbing their cheeks with a gold piece to make them rich. of course, conon was delighted each time they told him, "a sturdy son!" on françois' advent he called all his vassals to a feast. "be joyous!" he proclaimed. "there is born the seigneur from whom you will hold your lands. he will give you rich furs, white and gray, beautiful arms, and horses of price. yes, in twenty years my son will be dubbed a knight!" [illustration: cradle thirteenth-century manuscript in the cambridge library (green).] the young st. aliquis barons were rocked in beautifully carved cradles. they were bathed before a great fire and wrapped, not merely in the usual long baby clothes, but in little robes of silk and furs, even of precious ermine, to proclaim their noble rank. they were, of course, baptized at first opportunity, because unbaptized children had very dubious chances in the next world. adela had been unable to go to the ceremony for either, but there had been a great gathering of relatives and vassals; for a christening is the formal acknowledgment of the child's legitimacy and settles many claims to inheritance. a child must have three godparents, two of its own sex and one of the other. at the font, one of these holds the babe round the body, and each of the others grasps a leg. then the priest dips the child completely in the water. "bare as a babe at baptism," runs the saying. of course, the higher the rank of the godparents, the luckier the infant. françois is proud already because the duke of quelqueparte calls him "godson," and anseau because he is styled the same by the high countess of blois. up to seven the young boys were left to the care of their mother. adela nursed her own sons, although wet nurses were the rule in many noble families; but at least three maids were constantly in attendance on each young sprig of st. aliquis. neither françois nor anseau is spared the wholesome diet of many blows. monkish preachers are always warning against sparing the rod and spoiling the child, and every father and mother heeds this particular admonition. truth to tell, conditions round a castle often tend to make boys little demons of rascality. all the hall has laughed at the epic "daurel and beton," in which a child at four was clever enough to steal his guardian's gloves, and at five to play chess and dice and to ride a tall horse. but françois and anseau are growing up reasonably honest, thanks to frequent dermal pain. they have enjoyed a great variety of toys, most of them of types as old as the pyramids and which will be a delight in succeeding centuries. there are dolls with hempen wigs, carved wooden soldiers with helms and hauberks, windmills, all kinds of animals made of baked clay, wooden horses, and, of course, an armory of wooden weapons. the scores of children swarming the bailey are at their disposal as playfellows, with the sons of the higher officers preferred. there are innumerable games of the tag variety, but already françois is learning to marshal his playmates in military companies. what greater delight than to defend some tower against their father's old foe, foretvert? it will be lucky if they do not filch real arbalists and shoot deadly bolts at one another. [sidenote: education of young noblewomen] françois is now being taken in hand by his father and taught many things needful for a baron's son to know before he is sent away to be "nourished" by some friendly seigneur. he has no sisters, but his aunt alienor is just emerging from the usual education of a girl of family. if there had been a local nunnery she might have been sent to the convent school. as it was, conon took in the daughter of a petty noble, a kind of sister under minor vows, who was half teacher, half attendant. this good soul has given alienor rather more of bookish learning than françois will probably obtain. the young lady has learned to read and write romain (north french) and at least to read latin. the result is that she devours every romance manuscript which she can borrow or can persuade her brother to buy. she has been taught arithmetic fairly well; she has learned the names of the chief stars and constellations and the legend about the "way of st. jacques" (the milky way). she has picked up a knowledge of healing herbs and is not afraid of the sight of blood, nor does she flinch when binding up a wound. warfare and tourneys require that young girls should become expert nurses and even make shift to set shattered bones. of course, she can ride, and at hawking or hunting upon her dear roan marchegai can keep up with the best; and, like every fortunate maiden in france, her lips are perpetually light with songs--pious or secular, from quaint little chants in honor of the virgin to the merry easter time in april sings each small bird gentle, "_zo fricandés, zo, zo!_-- _zo fricandés, zo!_" assuredly, father grégoire and the monks have not neglected her religious education. she has learned many prayers, besides the credo, ave, and paternoster, which every christian child must memorize as soon as possible. her brother one easter gave her a finely illustrated psalter, and she has most of the chants by heart. by constant attendance at mass she knows practically the entire service and understands its symbolism. she has plenty of quaint little superstitions, but no degrading ones. at bedtime she repeats a prayer which is popular with all the girls of france: "i implore thee again, virgin mary, mayest thou, with all the saints and the elect of god, keep close to me and council me, and further all my prayers and desires: and be with me in all my sorrows and necessities, in all that i am called upon to do, to say, or to think; on all days, at all hours, through all the moments of my life." her dolls, of course, have been much finer, and have been retained much longer, than those of françois. in her chamber her pet falcon is seldom lacking from his perch--a fact which does not add to cleanliness. she has also a caged magpie which she is laboriously teaching to talk. at the last fair she longed vainly for a rare eastern parrot, but has consoled herself with a very small lap dog presented by a friendly vassal. cats abound in the bailey, but they are not pets for noblewomen. there is something plebeian about them. ill-famed old crones always possess black cats, which possibly partake of the devil. the church, however, does not support this last belief, because in most nunneries the sisters are forbidden to keep any animals except cats, which evidently belong less to this world than dogs, the companions of secular warriors. there is one thing which alienor really loves even better than riding and hawking--_a long, hard dance_. the mania young people have for dancing is sinful. the church vainly tries to restrain it. preferably, alienor would dance with a handsome knight or squire, yet if these lack, the most indifferent music and company will suffice. the truth is that her robust, vigorous body demands a violent outlet. it is vain for the graver adela to tell her of the count who allowed so much dancing in his castle that finally at a _bal_ on christmas day so many joined the revel and all danced so violently that the floor of his great hall suddenly collapsed. the whole company were flung to the cellar, and the foolish count's own daughter was the first body to be taken out. at the time of the great church festivals, of course, comes the delight of the mystery plays, and alienor herself has participated therein, once as an angel and once also as queen esther at the easter play arranged at pontdebois by the cathedral clergy. she has hopes now that next easter she can be herodias's daughter--which is surely the best part open to women, except that of the holy virgin herself. [sidenote: castle servants] while adela is, on her part, graciously assisting her family, she is also more explicitly directing her servants. she need not reckon the lack of domestic help among her troubles; hundreds of young men and women from the peasants are only too glad to enter service in return for a straw pallet, a suit of clothes yearly, and a seat in the great hall after the regular diners have risen. money wages need hardly be considered, although everybody expects a few obols at christmas and easter. the importance of a baron is partly indicated by the number of his dependents wearing his insignia, "eating his bread," and attending him and his lady everywhere. conon is hardly less vain than his peers. the result is that st. aliquis has twice as many servitors as are really required. the courtyards swarm with busy idlers, although there is a certain organization and hierarchy of service, and all but the least responsible lads and damsels enjoy the honor of having at least _one_ inferior whom they can afflict with cuffings and snappish orders. adela commands some twenty young women. one or two of these are _pucelles_, daughters of petty nobles and entitled to a certain consideration, even as are the baron's squires. they dress their mistress and alienor, accompany them, and discreetly share their pleasures. the others, strong-limbed aiglentine, jeanette, martine, and their sisters, by their loose, sleeveless aprons betray peasant origin. they have been carefully selected by the baroness from thrice as many candidates. she has taken pains to learn whether they come of honest parents, are greedy or inclined to drink, are respectful, and whether they are accustomed merely to answer on receiving an order, "it shall be done pretty soon."[ ] [sidenote: duties of servants] these maids are trained to clean the apartments; next to wipe down all the stools and benches; next to feed the "chamber animals"--dogs and cage birds. after that the mistress must assign to them their task of weaving, cutting, sewing, etc. they are fed plentifully, "but only on one meat, and have only one kind of drink, nourishing but not heady, whether wine or otherwise." they must also eat promptly, "not reposing on their meal, or halting or leaning on their elbows," and "they must rise as soon as they begin to talk and lounge about." after supper they must go immediately to bed, unless with the remainder of the castle they sit up for a jongleur. so passes the routine of many days until at last the prospect dawns of an event which will tax the full administrative capacities of the baroness, and which sets adela and aimery each in a different kind of a flutter. conon is about to give his sister in marriage and immediately after that to knight his brother. there will be a festival which will carry the name of st. aliquis all over northern france. footnotes: [ ] these quotations are from arnaut de maruelh and marie de france, respectively. [ ] all the above advice to noblewomen is from contemporary etiquette books or clerical writers. the trouvère quoted is robert of blois, a writer of the thirteenth century. [ ] students of the _odyssey_ will recall a similar command which telemachus addressed to his mother, penelope. homeric society and feudal society had many viewpoints in common. [ ] the directions about engaging servants given in mediæval handbooks on domestic economy contain much practical common sense for any age. chapter vi: the matter of clothes. a feudal wedding. inasmuch as from time immemorial a wedding has seemed primarily a matter of clothes, what better place than this wherein to consider the costumes of the good folk of st. aliquis? assuredly, the scripture warns us, "take no thought saying ... 'wherewithal shall we be clothed?'" but that admonition (so adela tells the abbot) was doubtless intended only for the holy apostles, not for a christian woman who must make a fair showing for her husband in the face of heaven knows how many critical baronesses and countesses. already western folk have made that great change in their general style of costume which is to last for many generations later. the greeks and romans _wrapped on_ their garments; all of them were forms of slightly elaborated shawls, fastened with fibulæ or buckles, but devoid of buttons. even as late as frankish times the garments of charlemagne's contemporaries seemed fairly loose, after the antique model. but with the feudal age has come elaborately made clothing which must be _put on_ and securely fastened. we have reached the epoch of the shirt, the stocking, and even of objects later to be styled "trousers." perhaps the life constantly spent in the saddle requires this; also, the demand for garments easily worn under the hauberks, the great coats of mail.[ ] the great transition has been made. the men of st. aliquis wear garments strange enough to another epoch, but without those sartorial differences which will separate the twentieth century from the age of nero. [sidenote: materials for clothing] another thing to observe is that nearly all garments are still made of wool, save, indeed, the leathern leggings and gauntlets of the hunters, and crude garments of skins for the peasants. cotton and silk, if not quite unknown, have been rare, with linen not very common. the woolen fabrics have usually been coarse, home spun literally, made up in the castles or farmhouses. such garments are warm and durable, but they are prone to collect dirt, hard to wash, and very irritating to the skin. probably it is the general use of woolen clothing, along with the fact that much of the population possesses no other raiment than what it is wearing incessantly every day, which accounts for the number of skin diseases, from leprosy downward, which are direfully prevalent. matters are improving, however. more flax is being spun up into fine linen. people of quality change their clothes pretty often. cotton and silk are coming from the levant at prices that permit the ordinarily rich to command them. wash day is even developing into a fixed institution around most castles. all this makes for health and comfort. still, the great majority of all garments are woolen; and, holy saints! how the fleas jump out of a villein's doublets whenever you beat their wearer! conon normally dons the following peace-time garments. first, his squire helps him into underdrawers of fine white linen; next come long hose which can be of various fabrics or colors. upon a gala day he will proclaim himself to be a rich baron by wearing silk hose; otherwise they are of fine wool. good taste forbids stockings of brilliant color, they should be black, brown, or, at most, black with red stripes. after that comes the chemise, a shirt of white linen, but _sans_ cuffs or collar. [illustration: a king in the twelfth century wearing pelisson restored by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript of the bibliothèque nationale.] the baron is now ready for his regular outer garments. he will put on his pelisson. this is a long fur-edged garment, very warm and pleasant in winter when the castle is a barnlike place. in summer it is often hot, and as substitute one wears the _cotte_ without fur and made of very thin stuff. over the pelisson is thrown the bliaut, a tunic, fairly loose, which is pulled on over the head like a shirt. the best bliauts are of silk, but for common use one wears fustian or, perhaps, even cotton. finally, if the baron is going abroad, he will swing his mantle over his shoulders. it is a semicircular cape, with a fur lining even in summer, and very likely ornamented by many silk tassels. the shoemakers are already masters of their art. anybody can buy well-cobbled leather shoes or high boots, but if a nobleman wishes to dress in state he will wear cloth shoes, and display his wealth by having them plated with gold and embroidered with jewels; for good taste here permits elaborate ornaments. [sidenote: women's garments] conon's most variable garment is his headdress. in the house, or on state occasions, he wears a chaplet of flowers, or even a thin gold wreath of floreated design; outdoors he is likely to appear as do meaner men, in a cloth bonnet--a kind of phrygian cap of bright color. if, however, the weather is bad, he will probably pull on a _chaperon_. this is a combination cap and cape which is drawn on over the head, and which sticks up or is pulled back in a kind of peak, at the same time covering cheeks and shoulders, while the face shows through a long slit cut in the upper part. [illustration: wreath made of metal flowers sewed on braid thirteenth century (church of st. thibaut; côte-d'or).] these are the orthodox male garments, while the female dress is much the same, albeit with certain simplifications here and elaborations elsewhere. adela's maids ordinarily put upon her a long linen chemise, preferably white, which descends to her knees. over that comes the pelisson, again with the fur edging. it can be made of some very fine wool or silk, and falls over the chemise clear to her feet. above this again is the bliaut, sometimes worn rather loosely, but more often close fitting and showing off the figure. the baroness's maids lace it tightly and take pains adjusting the long trailing sleeves. it is held in place by a girdle of woven cords, preferably of silk. the bliaut, of course, can be of very fine material, and ornamented with gold embroideries and pearl beadwork. finally there is the mantle, a loose trailing cloak, often cut as a long semicircular cape and made, on gala occasions, of the richest stuffs available. plenty of elegant fabrics can be had by the wealthy. you can bring back from the champagne fairs figured silk, woven with silver and gold thread; also very heavy silks woven with large threads of white, green or red. this is the fair _samite_ whereof the poets delight to sing. but perhaps more useful is the thin, airy, shimmery sendal silks, useful both for delightful summer garments and for making those brilliant banners which noble ladies give to the knights of their choice. naturally, too, there are plenty of oriental silks, with strange egyptian and persian figures. for humbler wear (if homespun is not desired) you can buy all kinds of of honest woolens; flemish and picard, champagne products, or those from languedoc. they come in serges and rough goods, as excellent as anyone could ask. linen is available bleached to a dazzling whiteness for those who have the price; but cotton cloth is still costly, although the mercers often spread out to the ladies "silk at a marvelously low price" which is really naught but cotton, woven up, perhaps, in sicily. however, the finest samite and sendal cannot take the place of suitable furs. _wearing furs is practically a sign of nobility_, like wearing a sword or carrying a hawk. many a petty noble will cling to his frayed tippet of black lambskin, even in the hottest weather, merely to proclaim that he is not a villein. fox- and wolf-skins and civet are, of course, common, but your high noble seeks something better. he will line his pelisson and other garments with red or white marten, black sable, with the gray of the beautiful northern squirrel, and especially (if his purse can compass it) with ermine, the precious fur of the white weasel. the choicest furs probably come from those dim countries called "russia." you cannot make a noble friend a much more acceptable present than a fine ermine skin; and many a baron has pledged lands to the jews merely to satisfy his wife's taste for miniver, a superior form of marten. in fact, there is more extravagance over furs than over jewelry, or even over falcons! [sidenote: luxurious fashions] fashions in dress do not change around st. aliquis so rapidly as in other ages, yet there are constant innovations. for example, the surcoat is coming in. originally it was a longish woman's garment, but recently a fine knight riding down from rheims wore one cleverly adapted to masculine necessities. it was a close, sleeveless jacket cut short at the hips and made with big armholes for easy movement. conon must have one very soon. inevitably too, at the king's court all kinds of new fashions, luxuries and ornamentations are to be observed. women cover themselves with gold embroidery, wear gold buttons, and gold girdles set alternately with agates and sapphires. they protect their hands with chamois-skin gloves, and swing a silken alms purse from silver chains at their belts. fine cavaliers load themselves with a dozen buckles set with sardonyx, and pieces of enamel, and even wear small emeralds in the embroidery on their mantles. pointed shoes are coming much into style, with the use of colored thongs to bind them to the feet. [illustration: felt shoe thirteenth century (various monuments).] yet the st. aliquis simplicity is hardly undermined. except on fête days the seigneur is not much better clad than the upper servitors, and adela never ceases to warn her sister-in-law against extravagance of dress. "consider always your husband's rank and fortune, but never disgrace them by seeming to devote too much study to your costume or by constantly plunging into new fashions. before leaving your room be sure your appearance is neat, and see especially to it that the collar of your gown is well adjusted and is not put on crooked."[ ] the dress of the humbler folk is of the above nature, of course simplified, and of more sober hue. blue is the color of the baronial house and nearly all its lord's followers wear bliauts of that color. this is their livery, because twice per year there is a distribution (a _livraison_) of garments to all whom conon undertakes to clothe and feed. [illustration: winter costume in the twelfth century from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale (viollet-le-duc).] noble folk thus display their rank by wearing furs. they also show it by their headdresses. when the baron wishes to put on dignity he assumes a velvet bonnet in place of the ordinary cloth one. on formal occasions, however, this bonnet will be embroidered with gold thread and become his "cap of presence." sometimes these caps are elaborated and made with a flattened square top. these are the _mortiers_, and in generations later great lawyers and doctors will wear the mortar-board as a professional badge long after the high barons have absolutely discarded the fashion. as for the head covering of women, the thirteenth century is as yet rather innocent of those towering constructions of peaks and veils common in the succeeding age. even noblewomen are usually content (as we have seen) with the long braids of their hair intertwined often with ribbons. if the sun is hot or the weather bad they will wear thin veils or solid woolen hoods, according to the seasons; and on gala days they will don either floral chaplets or genuine crowns of gold and pearls, according to the wealth of their fathers or husbands. [illustration: headdress of a man popular in the thirteenth century (tomb of saint-denis).] [sidenote: hair dressing and beards] conon's appearance differs from that of his grandsire's in one important particular. until rather recently gentlemen had their hair cut short in front, although rather long behind, and wore beards, often divided into a great many little tufts which they might even wind with gold thread. by , however, noblemen were usually smooth shaven, although the hair was allowed to grow to some length and sometimes was arranged in little curls. thus ended a long struggle, for the church has for generations disapproved of lengthy beards; many a bishop has warned that "they are the sign of the children of belial," and the great pope gregory vii uttered a regular anathema against them. the reign of the barber is renewed, and the st. aliquis tonsor twice or thrice per week scrapes over the chins of all the knightly males in the castle. for the servitors and villeins, however, there is no such luxury. all the humbler folk wear beards of great bushiness, as well as unsanitariness; and their hair is cut so seldom that often it can be almost braided like the women's. every person of consequence wears a ring. its signet device is often equivalent to a personal signature. all a man's friends know his ring and will give credence to messengers who produce the same. women give rings to their lovers, as well, of course, as receiving rings in return. it is believed that many rings have charmed virtues. conon's signet has been in the family at least since the first crusade. it has a green egyptian turquoise cut with a serpent, and is called "the luck of st. aliquis." the servitors profess confidence that so long as the baron keeps this ring the castle cannot be taken; and françois has already had his head filled with such stories as that of the father who on his deathbed gave his son a ring, "the virtue of which was that whosoever should wear it should have the love of all men"; or the tale of princess rigmel, who gave to her lover a ring so potent that "whoever bore it upon him could not perish; he need not fear to die in fire or water, nor on the battlefield nor in the mêlées of the tournament." [illustration: costume of a noblewoman thirteenth century; restored by viollet-le-duc, from various monuments.] such are the ordinary articles of costume and adornment. one need not dwell on the buckles and brooches, the golden pins and the jewel-set necklets which adela treasures in her coffers. they come from oriental, byzantine, or venetian workshops. some are very beautiful, but fine jewelry, generally speaking, has changed comparatively little from age to age. [sidenote: cosmetics and false hair] the baroness is not above certain frivolities of toilet herself, but alienor's approaching marriage has given her fair opportunity to admonish the younger lady on the sins of false adornments. indeed, these iniquities are thundered against nearly every sunday at the churches, because the shrewd preachers know that all the men in the congregation will grin approval the fiercer the invectives become. women are regularly accused "of turning their bodies out of their natural form" by means of laces and stays, of dyeing their hair, of painting their faces. it is affirmed that david was first impelled to desire bathsheba because she combed her long hair at a window too openly, and all her sore troubles came justly upon her "for the overgreat attention which she sinfully gave to the ornamenting of her head." then, in another sermon, there is approvingly repeated the sarcastic story by the monk guyot of provins, that the saints have brought suit at the assize of god against the race of women because the latter have used so much color for their faces there is none left wherewith to paint the holy images in the churches! the noble ladies are told that when they smear on vermilion, saffron, or quicksilver, or apply poultices of mashed beans and mare's milk to improve their complexions, they are adding centuries to their durance in purgatory, if not taking chances of eternal damnation. [illustration: coiffure of a woman thirteenth century (cathedral of rheims).] lastly, there is the iniquity of false hair--as if the good god did not know the proper amount of herbage to grow from each female head! once there was a holy man who could heal the sick. a young noblewoman suffered from grievous headaches. the miracle worker took one glance at her towering headpiece. "first," said he, "remove that scaffolding which surmounts your head. then will i pray for you with great confidence." the sacrifice was too great, and she refused; yet erelong her anguish became unendurable and the holy man was recalled. he compelled her to cast away all her false hair and colored bands and swear never to resume them. immediately then he began to pray--and, behold! her headache departed. these sermons and adela's sisterly warnings produce as much result as such admonitions can. alienor will go through life, now dreading for her comeliness and now for her soul, but never quite imperiling either. yet she is surely less frivolous than the family rivals, the foretvert dames--who (tasteless creatures!) could adorn a whole cathedral of saints' images with their paint pots. there are sometimes seen around st. aliquis certain obnoxious people who are compelled to wear conspicuous garments in order that others may be warned and thus avoid physical or moral contamination. if you meet a man with a gray coat and a scarlet hat, pass at a distance--he is a leper. if he has a big circle of saffron cloth sewed on his breast, look to your money--he is a jew. if he has a cross sewed on each side of his breast, say a prayer--he is a released heretic. finally, if you go to pontdebois and come upon sundry unveiled females in scarlet dresses, accost them not if you are a decent man--they are women of the town. at last we have seen the general nature of the garments which are to make gay alienor's wedding. it is time for the wedding itself. marriage, in noble families often does not mean the union of two souls, but of two fiefs. the average baron marries to extend his seigneury and to rear up sons to defend it. a wife represents an estate and a castle. not many young men marry before they have been knighted. after that they are glad to enter into holy wedlock, for the normal way an aspiring young cavalier whose father is living can gain independence is through his wife's dowry, unless his father allows him a share of the barony. [sidenote: ages for marriage] since young men are not often knighted until late in their teens or even beyond twenty, weddings on their side seldom take place early. girls, however, become marriageable sooner. south country troubadours assert that love can begin to claim a girl when she is thirteen; she is then eligible for marriage. if she has not "given her heart" by the time she is twenty-one there is no hope for her, save in a nunnery; and old maids find no recognized place in society whether in castle, city, or peasant hut.[ ] [illustration: a royal marriage in the thirteenth century from a manuscript preserved in the british museum (green).] of course, couples can marry younger than that. not many years earlier count baldwin vi of hainault was wedded to countess marie of champagne. the bride was only twelve, the bridegroom only fourteen. boys and girls are thus sometimes merely "so many pieces on a chessboard," to suit the ambitions of guardians. if a noblewoman's husband dies she need not expect to be a widow very long, for a man is required to manage her fief. it was one of the greatest proofs of conon's mother's strong character and ability that when his father died she prevented baron garnier from forcing her into nuptials with one of his boon companions--a roistering daredevil who, as guardian of her children, would have ruined them, body and soul. also, if an heiress's husband does not prove suitable to the prevailing powers, strange things can happen. in , when the crown of jerusalem became vacant, isabella (the new queen) was forcibly separated from her husband, the seigneur onfroy, by the barons of the crusaders' realm, and was given to a more powerful noble, conrad of montferrat. twice the poor queen's husbands died, and twice her barons forced new spouses upon her. the wishes of isabella herself, who sincerely cared for onfroy, were in nowise consulted. in all the romances you can find stories of marriages consummated with amazing haste. there is, _e.g._, the tale of the old baron aimeri, who wished to find his son an heiress. the lad, unaware of what was to happen, was summoned into the presence of a duke, his father's friend. "young sir," said the duke, "you are of high lineage. i am going to give you my pretty daughter." the boy stood silent while the pucelle was brought in. "belle," said her father, "i have given you a husband." "blessed be god!" she replied promptly. the next to come in was a bishop. the ceremony was immediately over; the young people were mated for life, seemingly before either could get his or her breath. here, at least, the lad was as much the helpless tool of his elders as was the maid. a story in the "lorraine" romance makes the proceedings hardly less precipitate. the count of flanders is resolved to give his bereaved sister to his valiant friend, fromont. she had never seen this hero, but has heard much about him. suddenly her brother takes her by the hand, saying, "my beautiful and dear sister, let us converse a little apart." then he announces "to-morrow, you shall have a husband." the lady protests that she has been a widow only a month and has an infant son. "you will do this, however, my sister," insists the count. "he whom i give you is far richer than your first husband." then he says much in praise of fromont, whereupon the lady responds, "sire brother, i will do according to your desires." thereupon, runs the story, "they did not wait a day, they did not wait an hour. on the spot they proceeded to the church. clerics and priests were notified. there they were blessed and married." [sidenote: church control of marriages] this is a strange state of things, but, fortunately, the church comes partly to the rescue. it demands first that the maiden shall be at least fifteen years old (a point sometimes waived), that she shall not be too closely related to the man, and that she shall give her "free consent" (another matter not always investigated). the question of the "forbidden degrees" is, however, a bar to many projected alliances. the church endeavored formerly to forbid the marriage of cousins up to the seventh degree, but that rule had proved unworkable, since god-parents were reckoned the same as relatives. the lateran council of has therefore ordained invalid marriages between cousins through the _fourth_ degree; and the saints know that this rule makes complications enough, considering how the great families are interrelated! of course, the regulations are wise, otherwise heiresses would always be given in an outrageous manner to near kinsmen. on the other hand, the forbidden degrees are sometimes a little trenched upon to give the contracting parties an excuse for repudiating each other in case they get tired of their bargain--although here again is a practice which the church treats with just anger.[ ] the church does not formally permit divorce, but it cannot thwart many of the currents of the age. nobles frequently repudiate their wives for trivial reasons--mere ill health, for instance; and often the women take the initiative. there are worldly bishops who will give their help toward an annulment on grounds of "lack of inward consent." again, if a very desirable marriage with a cousin comes in question, often a "dispensation" can be obtained from the same complaisant authorities. it is easy to become cynical if you study how easily the "holy bonds of matrimony" can be put on and off by the powerful, although sometimes a great pope like innocent iii will teach even a mighty king a lesson, as philip augustus learned when he tried to repudiate poor ingeborg of denmark. if a maiden has a father, a competent brother, or an uncle she is lucky. otherwise, the bestowal of her hand belongs to her suzerain. this right to bestow heiresses or the widows of vassals on faithful retainers is one of the most precious privileges of a great seigneur. many a knight is kept loyal by the hope that presently his lord will say: "one of my barons is dead without sons. i will give you his fiefs and his daughter"; or, "take the widow of the late sire x.... you may have the land along with the lady." under feudal usage it is well-nigh impossible to deprive an heiress of her estates directly, but her marriage practically gives her husband the ownership of the property. no wonder the duke of quelqueparte is anxious to see whether the sickly count of greve is about to die and leave only a daughter, so that he can secure the desirable allegiance of the baron of st. saturnin, who has been a widower now these six months, yet has remained still "uncomforted" just in hope of this particular happening. [sidenote: scandalous relationships] what wonder if under these conditions strange romances occur; if the lady gives "her love and kiss" to some young knight, not her husband; if south country troubadours assert that "married couples cannot truly love;" and if barons sometimes bring irregular consorts straight into their castles, while perhaps winking at their wives' uncanny doings? all this is true. yet, as stated before, not everything is bad. girls are taught not to expect too much of their spouses. they usually accept the situation as they accept stormy or sunny weather. besides, if some fathers or guardians are scandalously careless in disposing of their charges, many fathers and brothers are full of honest affection and accept the duty of marrying off their daughters or sisters as a solemn responsibility; and if they are wise custodians the results are usually happy. there is no need of pitying alienor too much because she has not the right to elope. conon has negotiated a most satisfactory marriage. he will give his sister to sire olivier, the eldest son of the count of perseigne. the perseignes are a great burgundian family with many castles, and counts think themselves a little higher in the social scale than do barons, but st. aliquis is also a powerful fief, and its alliance will be useful to perseigne when he has his expected war with the vidame of dijon. conon will give the young couple his outlying burgundian castle (not of great value to himself) and the alliance will enable him to talk roundly to his uncivil neighbors. a most excellent match; another sign that st. aliquis has an extremely sage seigneur! alienor is now nearly seventeen and has been thinking about a wedding since before she was fifteen. her nurses have long since reviewed all the eligible cavaliers for her. her great dread has been lest she have to wed some old and very stupid man--as befell her cousin mabila, who had been sent away tearful and pouting to picardy, the bride of a three-times widower. who can measure her relief when conon declared he would not give her to old st. saturnin? it was all very well for the jongleurs to sing, "an old man who loves a young maiden is not merely old, but a fool!" the thing has happened so often! her ideal is to have a "damoiseau (squire or young knight) just with his first beard"--one who is brave, valiant, and is, of course, courteous and handsome. she had once hoped that conon would give a great tourney and award her to the conqueror; but this desire faded when she learned that the victor in the last tourney was ugly and brutal. she has been on very brotherly terms with william, conon's first squire, but william is still too young, and it is not always honorable for a squire to push intrigues in the house of his lord. thus she is in a very open state of mind when her brother says to her one day: "fair sister, i have arranged your marriage with olivier of perseigne. he is a gallant cavalier. any maiden might rejoice to have him. consider well what i say because (here he adds a phrase which he hopes will not be taken too literally) i would not have you wed him against your wish." if alienor has anything against olivier, if her antipathy were violent and based on reason, conon, as a genuinely affectionate brother, might give it weight; but in fact, though she has met olivier only a few times at a tourney, at the christmas fête at the duke of quelqueparte's court, and once when he stopped at the castle, she has not the least objection. he has certainly large blue eyes, blond hair, a large nose, and a merry laugh. he is reported to be kind to his servants, generous to a fault, and not overgiven to drinking or brawling. at the tourney he broke three lances fairly against a more experienced knight. his family is excellent and her brother's desires are obvious. she will not have to live too far from st. aliquis. what more could be said? after a few hours of decent reflection she informs adela that she will comply with conon's wishes. after that the castle takes on a joyous activity. [sidenote: betrothal ceremonies] before the wedding had come the betrothal. it was a solemn ceremony, blessed by the church. sire olivier visited the castle with a great following of relatives and met the shy and blushing alienor. in the chapel, after suitable prayers by father grégoire, the pair had awkwardly enough exchanged their promises! "i will take you for my wife." "and i for my husband." after this there would have been great scandal had either side turned back. the church affirms energetically, however, that betrothal is _not_ marriage. otherwise the affianced pair might have considered themselves somewhat wedded on trial, only to repudiate their obligations later. also, not merely the young couple, but their parents or guardians, had to be present and add their consent; and, of course, all the pledges were sworn to over the holiest relics available. olivier, during all this happy time, has lodged at the castle of a friendly vassal of st. aliquis, and he rides over frequently to visit his betrothed. he is excellently bred and knows everything expected of a prospective bridegroom of good family. the alliance has been largely negotiated by his parents, but he has been consulted, understands that alienor is witty and beautiful, and he is wholly aware of the worldly advantages of being conon's brother-in-law. at meals he and his beloved are allowed to sit together and above all to eat out of the same porringer, when he delicately leaves to his intended all the best morsels. he consults a competent jongleur, and with his aid produces suitable verses praising his fiancée's beauty. he gives her a gold ring with both his own name and hers engraved thereon. in return, besides a sleeve and a stocking to hang on his lances (gifts which she has already sent in mere friendship to other cavaliers), she bestows a lock of her hair set around a gold ring; likewise a larger lock which he may twine around his helmet. the happy pair are permitted to take long walks together, and to promenade up and down the garden, with olivier holding his lady in the politest manner by one finger--the accepted method of showing intimacy.[ ] we have said that conon is resolved to knight his brother at the same time he gives his sister in marriage. this involves holding a tourney and many other proceedings really unnecessary for a wedding; but, of course, it will attract a much greater number of guests and advertise the prosperity of the baron of st. aliquis to all northwestern france. the knighting and tourney will come after the bridal, however, and it is easier to explain the two things separately. we omit the gathering of the wedding guests--the coming of distant counts, barons, and sires; the erection around st. aliquis of a real village of brilliant tents and pavilions; the ceremonious greetings; the frenzied efforts of the castle folk to make all ready; the inevitable despair, not once, but many times, of adela, who directs everything. at last it is the morning of _the_ day, in midsummer. no rain and, blessed be st. martin, not too much heat. alienor is surrounded by a dozen women, old and young, arraying her for her wedding. [sidenote: dressing the bride] there is no regular bridal costume. alienor does not dress much differently from what she does on easter or at some other major festival. her two great braids of hair are weighted down over her breasts with an extra intertwining with gold thread. her chemise is of very fine saffron-tinted linen. her pelisson is completely fringed with magnificent ermine, the gift of the countess of perseigne, and the garment itself is made of two cloths sewed together, the inner of fine wool, the outer of beautiful bendal of reddish violet. the whole is laced tightly until alienor can hardly breathe. above this garment floats the elegant bliaut, of green silk with long sleeves, many folds, and a long train. there is more silk embroidery and elaborate flouncing. fairest of all is the girdle, made of many pieces of gold and each set with a good-luck stone--agate to guard against fever, sardonyx to protect against malaria, and many similar. in the clasp are great sapphires which baron garnier originally "acquired" from a town merchant shortly before he hanged him. finally, there is the mantle--again of silk intricately embroidered and dyed with a royal purple. alienor's pointed shoes are of vermilion leather from cordova, with still more of gold-thread embroidery. while one female minister is clasping these, her chief pucelle is putting on a small saffron-colored veil, circular, and held down by a golden circlet--a genuine crown; beautifully engraved and set with emeralds. inevitably the whole process of dressing is prolonged. alienor is too excited to feel hot or pinched, but her attendants find her very exacting. they bless the virgin, however, that she is not as some noble brides, who fly into a passion if every hair in their eyebrows is not separately adjusted. meantime, in a secluded part of the castle, the groom has been wrestling with a similar problem, assisted by his two squires, although requiring less of time and agony. his legs are covered with fine brown silk stockings from bruges; but it is effeminate to wear a silk shirt--one of fine white linen will answer. his pelisson is like his bride's, although less tightly laced--of cloth and silk, trimmed with rich fur; and the outer color is pale red, inevitably with much gold embroidery around the neck and sleeves. his bliaut does not come below his knees, but it is of blue sendal silk; his mantle is also edged with fur and of the same color as his pelisson. simple as it is, it must hang exactly right. everybody will ask, "did the groom wear his mantle like a great baron?" the squires take a long time adjusting it. olivier's shoes are of very fine leather. on his crisply curled hair they set a golden chaplet set with flashing gems--very much like that worn by his bride. hardly are the happy twain ready before the wedding procession forms in the bailey. so large a company could never crowd into the castle chapel. it will go across the bridge over the claire to the parish church by the village--a gothic structure sufficiently pretentious to suit the occasion. the perseignes reckon a bishop among their cousins, and he is on hand to officiate. [sidenote: marriage procession and ceremony] so the procession forms. ahead go a whole platoon of jongleurs puffing their cheeks for their flutes, twanging their harps, or rasping their viols. the feudal age delights in music, and does not mind if sometimes melody is exchanged merely for a joyous noise. alienor comes next. she is on a black mule with extra long ears and a finely curried shining coat. his harness is of gold and his trappings of scarlet samite. she has been swung into the saddle by her eldest brother ("alas! that her father, who should do this, is dead!" murmur all the women), and he as her guardian leads the mule. olivier rides a tall white palfrey with a saddle of blue leather. his mother, adela, and all the st. aliquis and perseignes female relatives follow on other mules, led by gayly dressed squires. then come all the noble guests, the duke of quelqueparte at their head. no wonder there is no work being done in all the villages for miles around, and that all the villeins are lining the road, doffing caps, and cheering as the dazzling cortége sweeps past. the details at the church we pass over. among other features to be noted is the fact that the bride is swung down from her mule upon a great truss of straw, that the bishop meets them at the sacred portal, and that outside the actual building olivier and alienor exchange those vows which form the essential part of the marriage ceremony. after that conon's chief provost recites in loud voice all the estates, horses, fine garments, and servitors which the bride brings as her dowry. this customary publication may avert bitter disputes later. next the happy pair scatter newly coined silver deniers among the swarm of ill-favored mendicants permitted to elbow and scramble among the more pretentious guests. finally, the church is thrown open. the great nave opens mysterious and dark, but galaxies of candles are burning and the lofty stained-glass windows gleam like jewels. olivier and alienor occupy seats of honor in the choir, while the bishop says the very solemn mass of the trinity and pronounces a special blessing over them. "let this woman," intones the prelate, "be amiable as rachel, wise as rebecca, faithful as sarah. let her be sober through truth, venerable through modesty, and wise through the teaching of heaven." so at last the mass ends. the "agnus dei" is chanted. the bridegroom advances to the altar and receives from the bishop the kiss of peace. then he turns, and right at the foot of the great crucifix embraces his wife and transmits the kiss to her. this act completes the ceremony. away the whole company go from the church. they have been condemned to silence for nearly two hours, and are glad now to chatter like magpies. when back at st. aliquis they find the great hall has been swept, garnished, and decorated as never before. the walls of the hall are hung with the pictured tapestries or beautiful pieces of red and green silk. your feet crush fresh roses and lilies scattered on the floor. alienor almost bursts with delight at the number of high-born cavaliers and dames who press up to kiss and congratulate. all the remainder of her life she will match weddings with her friends: "i had so many counts and barons at my marriage." "but i had so many!" all these guests, however, expect to receive presents--bliauts, mantles, goblets, and other things, each suitable to the recipient. it is well that conon has saved many livres in his strong box. the presenting of the gifts by the host is quite a ceremony; each article has to be accompanied by a well-turned speech. by the time this reception to the bride and groom is over the trumpets sound furiously. they tell that the feast is ready in the fragrant garden under the trees. there is a fine tent of blue silk for the bridal party and the more exalted guests. all the others must sit on long tables open to the glad sunshine. [sidenote: the marriage feast] what messire conon's guests have to eat and drink is so serious a topic that we must tell thereof separately. we speak here merely concerning the festivities of the wedding. olivier and alienor are served by two barons as squires of state. the groom drinks from a great goblet, then sends it to his wife, who ceremoniously finishes the draught. in the bridal tent there is a reasonable amount of decorum, but elsewhere (blessed martyrs!) what noise and tumult! all the villeins appear to be there, and burghers have even wandered up from pontdebois. it will never do to have men say, "the bride was charming, but her brother stinted his hospitality." enough food and drink is gorged and guzzled to stave off a famine next winter. the jongleurs keep quiet during the first part of the feast; later they earn their dinner by singing of the loves of jourdain and orabel or of berte, who was the faithful wife of girard of roussillon through all of her lord's adversity. at many of the tables the jesting and horseplay become unspeakably ribald. after the wine circulates two petty nobles quarrel; one strikes the other with a drinking cup, but the sergeants pull them apart before they can whip out swords. after three hours of this some guests are sleeping stertorously under the trees; but those nobles who have kept their wits go to another large tent, and, despite their heavy meal, dance with vigor. the bride and groom are expected to dance together, and everybody is prepared to admire the beauty of one and the grace and strength of the other. as evening advances a priest appears. he solemnly blesses the nuptial couch strewn with roses, while the new couple piously kneel. the couch is then "censed" like an altar, and the women guests join in the bizarre usages of "putting the bride to bed." the morning after the marriage the newly wedded pair attend mass in the castle chapel. here they are expected to make privately all kinds of vows of good conduct, and alienor especially promises always to obey her husband, and call him dutifully "mon sire" and "mon baron." the festivities will last two weeks longer, and conclude with the dubbing of knights and the tournament, whereof more presently. after that olivier and his wife will depart for their burgundian castle without anything like a honeymoon to strange parts.... so they celebrate the wedding at st. aliquis. very far is it from being a love match of a later day; yet there is a decent hope of happiness for the two most deeply interested. a new spirit in the relations of men and women has been creeping into the world since greek and roman days, and if this spirit too often manifests itself in illicit romances it is something if romantic love can exist at all, and if, also, in many an instance (as the jongleurs already like to tell us), their story can run that "thus the twain were wedded, and forevermore lived together happily." it was as early as about that the south country troubador, bernart de ventadoun, sang about the great motive which was coming to add beauty to the world: "for indeed i know of no more subtle passion under heaven than is the maiden passion for a maid; not only to keep down the base within a man, but teach high thought and amiable words, and courtliness and the desire of fame and love of truth, and all that makes a man!" footnotes: [ ] of course, the northern climate and the fact that the germanic tribes wore many garments of skins and leather were contributing factors. [ ] from a mediæval _treatise of instructions to a young lady_. [ ] troubadour and romance love stories were thus likely to revolve around very young and flighty people. if they survived this critical period of youth they were likely to be staid and sober enough the rest of their lives. [ ] how serious the problem of the "forbidden degrees" could be is shown by the case of the pious louis vii of france, who put away his wife, the great heiress eleanor of aquitaine, because he was the fifth in descent from hugh capet, who had married a sister of the great-great-grandfather of eleanor. of course, the marriage had actually proved uncongenial before this point was raised. [ ] friends would seldom walk arm in arm. two persons of the same sex or of different sexes would walk familiarly hand in hand, or, if especially friendly, one leading the other by a single finger. chapter vii: cookery and mealtimes. now it is as certain as that god reigns in heaven, that if one desires a wedding and a tournament, although the first thought must be of raiment, the second must be of food and drink. when conon bids adela make ready for the festivities, straightway that prudent dame sends for the butler and the cellarer and takes account of everything stowed away in the great vaults under the castle. then she orders the chief huntsman muster all his beaters and course the forests, not for sport, but for victuals. at the same time nets are set out in the claire; purveyors with their carts are ordered up from pontdebois, and a messenger is even sent to troyes to bring back a tun of rare grecian wine. all available maids from the village are requisitioned to make great pasties, and a master cook is imported from paris to prepare special cakes and pastries. in short, it is no light thing even for the huge st. aliquis household to prepare to feed several thousands without aid of those miracles which caused five loaves and two fishes to suffice in the days of our blessed lord. for the baron's feast the great fireplace in the bailey cookhouse is insufficient. they build fires in the open out in the tilt yard or garden and all day perspiring varlets stand feeding on great logs over which roast long spits of chickens and geese, or boil caldrons of meat. in the cookhouse, where the finer dishes must be prepared, the master cook has a true arsenal of utensils--pots, trivets, mortar and pestle, a table for mincing herbs, pothooks, caldrons, frying pans and gridirons, saucepans, platters, a pepper mill, dressing board, scummer, ladle, and many things else. there is no lack of help in the kitchen. half a dozen loutish boys gladly work there all day long (receiving, incidentally, many of the cook's hard knocks) in return for being allowed to lick the pans and gnaw the scraps, so cheap is human labor. [illustration: cooks from a manuscript in the bodleian library at oxford (wright).] [sidenote: cookery and mealtimes] on ordinary days we would marvel at the quantity of boiled meat served at st. aliquis. about the only way to preserve meat is to salt it (the vats of the castle are full of salted meat kept against winter or a siege), and this flesh must ordinarily be boiled. the result is that a great copper meat pot seems always in action, with a boy pumping the bellows to make the caldron bubble. but fowls and fresh meat are often boiled as well. butcher's meat, however, is less welcome at feasts than is game. an ideal dish is a stag, roasted whole in the great fireplace, crisped and larded, then cut up into quarters and served on very large plates. upon such dishes is poured a hot, steaming pepper sauce. therefore a stag will be served at the wedding banquet besides many other kinds of choice game. [illustration: pork butchers (bourges)] since there are no iceboxes, unsalted meat must be eaten soon after being killed, although your feudal epicure is not squeamish. beef and mutton are often killed, cut up, and cooked almost on the spot. there is a story of a butcher who, coming late to a town, got a lodging at the priest's house, and to pay for his quarters killed the sheep which they ate for supper. but pork is probably the commonest meat. conon has great droves of hogs fattening out in his oak forests, which supply abundant crops of acorns. pigs seem to penetrate almost everywhere save into messire's and madame's chamber. they are the general scavengers and apparently replace plumbing and sewerage systems. they infest castle courts and the streets of towns. in the crown prince of france was killed in paris by a pig which ran between the legs of his horse as he rode from the hotel de ville to the church of st. gervais. people will tell you that pork promotes leprosy, but, nevertheless, they devour it. pork, too, is the main substance of those great sausages and black puddings in which everybody delights, especially on easter, when you break your lenten fast with as much heavy food as possible. veal, too, is desirable, as is the flesh of kids; but lamb is by no means so much in favor. almost all kinds of birds are counted edible. herons, cranes, storks, cormorants, and such fowl as can be taken by hawks are in preference, but crows are considered very fair eating. the flock of stately swans by the mouth of the rapide has just been depleted, for these elegant birds are kept for the kitchen rather than for ornament. as for small fowl--thrushes, starlings, blackbirds, quail, partridges, and cuckoos--the varlets can bring in as many as possible with their crossbows and snares. young rabbits, likewise, are welcome, but older rabbits are too tough save for the diet of the least-considered villeins. everybody knows the saying, "an old hare and an old goose are food for the devil!" there is plenty of poultry around st. aliquis. most christians hold that birds are of aquatic origin, hence, like fish, can be eaten on fast days, although the church opposes this opinion, and is slowly overcoming it. chickens have been fattened for the feast by shutting them up in dark coops and gorging them. droves of geese have been coming in from the fields, great honking armies, crowding the narrow way, hissing and biting, but all propelled steadily ahead by the cracking whips of the small goosegirls. ducks are more commonly preferred in their wild stage; but out in the exercise ground several peacocks have been preening themselves, and at least two of these are now sacrificed to make a gala dish to serve the highest seigneurs, for peacocks are counted especial "food for the brave." indeed, there is the old proverb that "thieves have as much taste for falsehood as a hungry man for a cooked peacock."[ ] fish is hardly in great request. one is likely to have too much of it on the numerous fast days. still, out of the claire they draw excellent barbel and eels; there are carp in a near-by pond, and splendid trout in the brooks that feed the rapide. the lads bring in many. if you go to paris you can eat salt herring taken in the north sea. all through the spring, furthermore, the st. aliquis folk have had their fill of frogs' legs from the castle moat and the numerous bogs, and conon has a "snail bed" to provide snails for garnishings and salads during lent and on fridays. [sidenote: game birds and poultry] one cannot stay at the castle long and not discover the vast importance of soup. one partakes thereof at least twice per day: "dried peas and bacon water," watercress soup, cabbage soup, cheese soup, and "poor man's soup" (made up of odds and ends collected on short warning), and fish soups for lent. all the better soups are spiced with marjoram, sage, and sweet basil, if not with the favorite condiment, pepper. but what are soups compared with meat pies? whenever the castle cook is in doubt how to please their lordships he decides upon a noble pasty. much thought has been concentrated upon this subject. there are little poems to be memorized by illiterate cooks explaining this triumph of their mystery--_e.g._, that they should use "three young partridges large and fat, not forgetting six quail put on their side"; add to these thrushes, some bacon, some sour grapes, and a little salt. then if all is made aright, the crust nicely rolled of pure flour, and the "oven of proper heat with the bottom quite free from ashes," when all is baked enough "you will have a dish to feast on"! other pasties can be made of chickens, venison, salmon, eels, pigeons, geese, and other kinds of meat. probably, in fact, more energy goes into making the pasties than into any other one form of culinary effort. the st. aliquis folk are not at all vegetarians, but they cannot eat meat forever, and the poorer peasants seldom touch flesh save on important feast days. the cooks have at their disposal onions and garlic, cabbages and beets, carrots and artichokes, lentils and both long and broad beans, peas, turnips, lettuce, parsley, water cress--in short, nearly all the vegetables of a different age save the all-important potato. turnips are in favor, and figure in far more dietaries than they will do later. cabbages, too, are in request: there are roman white cabbages, huge easter cabbages, and especially the senlis cabbages, renowned for their excellent odor. cucumbers are supposed to cause fever, but herman raises some in the garden for the salads. as always, bread is the staff of life. naturally, the villeins have to use flour that is very coarse and made of barley, rye, or oats--producing black bread, before which noble folk shudder. it is one of the signs of messire's prosperity that all his household are ordinarily fed on white bread. in the castle ovens they make a great variety of loaves--huge "pope's" or "knight's" loaves, smaller "squire's" loaves, and little "varlet's" loaves, or rolls. there is a soft bread made of milk and butter, a dog bread, and two-color bread of alternate layers of wheat and rye. then there are the table loaves, sizable pieces of bread to be spread around the tables, from which courteous cavaliers will cut all the crust with their knives and pass the remainder to the ladies, their companions, to soak up in their soup. the servants have less select common bread, although it is still wheaten. finally, there are twice-baked breads, or crackers. these are often used in monasteries, also in the provisioning of castles against a siege. [sidenote: breads, pastries and cheese] fancy jellies, pastries, and sweet dishes are coming into vogue, although they have not reached the perfection to be attained by later french cookery; but for the st. aliquis feast they are able to prepare great molded structures of lions and suns, made of white chicken and pink jelly. the quantity of spices used is simply enormous. to enjoy food thus charged, especially with pepper, is an acquired taste, which developed following the first crusade. the cooks, too, use a liberal supply of mustard, and a favorite sauce is made from strong garlic. fresh and pickled olives are sent up from provence, likewise a good deal of olive oil; but the oil used in common cooking is often extracted from walnuts or even from poppies. another favorite flavoring is with rose water. all through june you can see great basins of water filled with rose petals steeping in the sun. the liquor thus obtained will add zest to sauces for the next twelve months. there is also a certain whitish substance known as "sugar." it comes from the levant, in small irregular lumps. its flavoring qualities are delightful, but it is too expensive to use in cookery. a small quantity is passed about among conon's higher guests, to be eaten as a confection. the ordinary sweetening is still that of the greeks and romans, honey, supplied from the well-kept hives of the bees belonging to the monastery. cheeses hardly figure in feasts, but for everyday diet they are important. on feast days they often replace meat. their varieties are legion--white, green, large, small, etc. some places produce famous cheeses exported all over france, and in paris one can hear the street venders shrilly chanting: "buy my cheese from champagne, or my cheese from brie!" as for eggs and butter, they are gifts of the kindly saints, to carry men through lent and fast days. theologians have said that hens were aquatic creatures, like other birds; that hence good christians could eat their eggs freely. but butter (by some unaccountable notion) if eaten during times of abstinence, must be freshly churned. it must not be salted, nor used for cooking purposes. passing next to beverages, be it said that the st. aliquis denizens are fairly abstemious folk. all of them sometimes get tipsy, even adela and alienor, but only seldom. conon's servants help him to bed once or twice per year. down in the villages there are disgraceful guzzlings among the peasants, especially on saints' days. but the beverages are not very alcoholic--one must absorb a great deal to be really upset. the region grows its own wine for ordinary consumption, and a little thereof is shipped to paris and even to flanders and england, along with the more famous vintages of gascony, saintonge, macon, rheims, the marne, and the orleanais. the most desirable french wine is that of st. pourcain, in auvergne, and the baron has a carefully cherished tun of the same in his cellars. poems, indeed, exist in praise of this st. pourcain wine, "which you drink for the good of your health." on occasions of great state, however, imported wines will be produced, mainly because they are unusual and expensive. the st. aliquis feasters are consequently offered heady cyprian and lesbian from the levant, also aquilian from spain, and not a little rhenish from the german lands, less distant. [sidenote: wine, beer and other drinks] in the autumn when the apples and pears are falling, the peasants will make cider and perry, and get outrageously drunk when these beverages grow hard; but outside of normandy such drink seldom appeals to castle folk. there are also in common use many substitute wines, really infusions of wormwood, hyssop, and rosemary, and taken mostly to clear the system; although "nectar" made of spices, asiatic aromatics, and honey is really in request. the great competitor of wine is beer. in northern france we are in the dividing zone between the land of the winepress and the land of the brewhouse. everybody drinks beer and makes beer. the castle has a great brewhouse; likewise the monastery. beer is made of barley, and only late in the middle ages will hops be added to add to the zest. really fine beer is _god-ale_ (from the german "good" and "ale") or "double beer." common beer is "small beer." since the crusaders have returned from the east, spiced beer has been growing in favor--charged with juniper, resin, gentian, cinnamon, and the like, until the original taste has been wholly destroyed. the st. aliquis folk do not, however disdain buttermilk. this they like to ferment, boil up with onions and garlic, then cool in a closed vessel. the product is _serat_, the enjoyment of which is surely difficult for a stranger. another form of beverage is not quite unknown. some physicians prescribe water of gold and allege it "prolongs health, dissipates superfluous matters, revives the spirits, and promotes youth." also it "greatly assists the cure of colic, dropsy, paralysis, and ague." of a surety, it aids the patient temporarily to forget his troubles. yet this is hardly more than a costly medicine. many years later it will become more common; but its name will be changed to "brandy." the usages even of a great dinner depend largely on the customs of everyday life. one cannot understand the splendors of the marriage feast of sire olivier and alienor without knowing what goes on regularly in the hall of st. aliquis. when the day is started we have seen how everybody arises to a very light breakfast of bread and wine, although sometimes, as in the epic of doon of mayence, when the work promises to be arduous, the baron's squire may bring him a favorite pasty because "eating early in the morning brings health and gives one greater courage and spirit." dinner also, we have discovered, can begin as early as nine in the morning, and a good part of the day's business comes after this heavy meal. sometimes when dinner is late you do not serve your guests any regular supper, but when they go to bed have the attendants bring cakes and fruits and wine. if you entertain guests, however, always it is proper to try to make them eat and drink as much as possible. there is a story of an overhospitable count of guines who not merely constrained any knight passing through his dominions to a feast, but kept quantities of white wine always on hand, so that if his visitors asked to have their red wine diluted with water, they might be hoodwinked by seeing a white liquid mixed in their goblets. in this way he once rendered the whole suite of a bishop gloriously intoxicated! the ingenious bartolomes of granvilla has laid down the following requisites for an ideal banquet: ( ) a suitable hour, not too early nor too late; ( ) a pleasant place; ( ) a gracious and liberal host; ( ) plenty to eat, so one may choose one's dishes; ( ) the same as to things to drink; ( ) willing servants; ( ) agreeable company; ( ) pleasant music; ( ) plenty of light; ( ) good cooking; ( ) a seasonable conclusion; ( ) quiet and repose afterward. a marriage feast and a tourney can hardly provide this twelfth desideratum, but they ought, with proper management, to supply everything else. [illustration: servants bringing the food to the table from a manuscript of the thirteenth century in the library of munich (schultz).] [sidenote: service at table] the tables for the notables are laid and served by two classes of attendants; first by conon's three squires, aided on this grand occasion by several young nobles who have actually received knighthood; second, by the older professional servitors of villein stock. the first class of attendants are resplendent in bliauts of colored silk with fur trimmings. most of the dishes will be passed to them by the soberly clad villeins, then to be presented on bended knee by noble hands to noble guests. the whole process is under sire eustace, the old seneschal, who orders about his platoons of attendants with as much precision as he might command the men at arms for defense of the castle. it is part of a squire's education to learn to wait on table. one may have to do this for some superior all one's life, unless one be king or emperor! conon's squires have been taught to stand at perfect ease; not to roll their eyes or stare blankly; not to laugh save when guests are laughing; to keep their finger nails clean and hands well washed. if they sit at table themselves they are models of propriety. they do not gobble down their food, but put a little from every plate into the basket of collected leavings for the poor; they do not chatter, nor fill their mouths too full, nor chew on both sides of the mouth at once, nor laugh or talk with a mouthful, nor make a noise by overeating, nor handle cats or dogs during mealtime, nor wipe their knives on the tablecloth, nor pick their teeth publicly, nor wipe their noses with their fingers, nor (last but not least) spit across the table or beyond it.[ ] the tables are nearly always long and narrow. in the great hall they are fixed and of heavy oak planks, but there are plenty of light tables of boards to be set on horses, if the seneschal suddenly says, "the weather is fine; messire will dine in the garden." the favored guests are provided with cushions, and, of course, in the hall the baron and his immediate friends and family sit on the long master-seat on the dais, facing the company, and with the baron's own chair under a canopy. this canopy is the sign of high seigneurial privilege. one will be set for conon even when he sits in the garden; and he will never surrender his place save when he entertains a superior, like his suzerain the duke, or when, as at present, all other claims fade before those of a bridal couple. indoors or outdoors, it is no mean art to lay the tables. enormous tablecloths have to be spread out smoothly, and set with napkins neatly doubled; also at each place a suitable drinking vessel, and a knife and spoon. these articles, gold or silver, are carefully handed out by the seneschal. they represent a good fraction of the portable wealth of the castle and must be laboriously counted before and after use. the knives are sharp steel for serious business. the drinking cups are often of bizarre forms--lions, birds, and dragons, while for the humbler folk there are huge cups of wood and also large "jacks" of leather. at every place, too, there must be a good-sized cake of fine white flour, and between every two places there is a large porringer (pewter or silver) to be shared by each pair of guests. [sidenote: entering the dining hall] feast day or fast day, it is the loud blast on trumpets which sends the mighty and the humble bustling toward the garden or the hall. of course, at a wedding feast there is some little formality, but ordinarily in the st. aliquis household the good-natured jostling and scampering is prodigious. men and women live close to nature and are always conscious of rousing appetites. on ordinary days when you entered the baron's hall, you would take your turn at the lavatory close to the entrance. here would be several little washstands with pitchers and basins, and everybody would fall in line in order of precedence: first, any visiting clergy; then visiting knights; then the seigneur's family, etc. the hand washing presents a great chance for flirtation among the young: olivier and alienor had great delight "passing the towel" to each other during their betrothal. but now at a great festival, when you enter the special banqueting tent you are met by two handsome varlets. the first holds a water jug and a small basin. water is dexterously poured over your fingers, and as promptly wiped off by the second varlet, and each guest patiently waits until the persons ahead have enjoyed this courtesy. so they enter the tent, and the magnates make for the seats of honor. the placing of the company has been a matter of serious deliberation between messire conon and the sage sire eustace. of course, to-day the bride and groom take the canopy. at olivier's right must be the officiating bishop. at the bishop's right must be the suzerain duke of quelqueparte, and at olivier's left must be the bride and the count and countess of perseigne. all that is standardized. but how locate the dozen other counts and barons who, with their dames, have honored the bridal? will the old rival foretvert stomach it now if he is seated farther from the canopy than the count of maric, who is richer and of a more ancient house? bloody feuds have started from failure to seat guests properly. it is a matter for supreme diplomacy. so far as possible, a lady is placed beside each cavalier. the two will use the same dish and the same goblet during the entire feast--obviously another case where one is compelled to test one's brains while selecting partners. [illustration: young girls of the nobility serving at the table from a thirteenth-century manuscript of the library of munich (schultz).] [sidenote: serving the banquet] so the feast begins after grace by the bishop. an endless procession commences between the cookhouse and the banqueting place--boys running with great dishes which they commit to the more official servitors to pass to the guests. it is a solemn moment, followed by cheering, when into the bridal tent, with clash of cymbals and bray of trumpet, sire eustace in a bright scarlet bliaut enters, waving his white wand and followed by all the squires and upper servants, each carrying shoulder high a huge dish of some viand. a great haunch of the stag is set on the table. the baron's carver cuts ample slices, while two jongleurs blow at their flutes. he holds the meat "by two fingers and a thumb" (no fork), plying a great knife as a surgeon might his scalpel. equal skill is demanded of the cup-bearers when they fill the flagons, not spilling a drop. even the bride and groom are now hungry and ready for the venison. the banqueters have little need of plates. they take the loaves lying ready, hack them into thick slices, place the pieces of meat upon the same, then cut up the meat while it is resting on the bread. these "trenchers" (_tranchoirs_) will not ordinarily be eaten at the feast; they go into the great alms basket for the poor, along with the meat scraps. however, the higher guests to-day enjoy a luxury. silver plates are placed under their bread trenchers. for most guests, however, the bare tablecloth is bottom enough for these substitutes for the porcelain of another day. whatever does not go into the alms basket will be devoured by the baron's dogs, who attend every meal by prescriptive right. indeed, early in the feast the duke of quelqueparte benevolently tosses a slice of venison to a fine boarhound. time fails to repeat all the good things which conon and adela set before their guests. the idea is to tempt the appetite to utter satiety by forcing first one dish upon the feasters, and then another. there is not really a good sequence of courses. most of the dishes are heavy; and inasmuch as vegetables are in great demand on common occasions, the average banquet seems one succession of varieties of meat. the noble folk in the bridal pavilion have at least a chance to eat their fill of these comestibles: [sidenote: typical bills-of-fare] first course: slices of stag, boar's head larded with herb sauce, beef, mutton, legs of pork, swan, roasted rabbit, pastry tarts. second course: pottage of "drope and rose" mallard, pheasant and roast capon, pasties of small birds. third course: rabbits in gravy heavily spiced with onion and saffron; roasted teal, woodcock and snipe; patties filled with yolk of eggs, cheese, and cinnamon, and pork pies. no salads, no ices, no confectionery; nevertheless, some of the dishes are superb--notably the swan, which is brought once more on with music, prinked out as if he were alive and swimming, his beak gilt, his body silvered, resting on a mass of green pastry to represent a grass field, and with little banners around the dish, which is placed on a carpet of silk when they lay it on the table. the cooks might also serve a peacock with outspread plumage. instead, toward the close of the repast, two squires tug in an enormous pasty. amid an expectant hush conon rises and slashes the pasty open with a dagger. instantly out flutter a score of little birds which begin to dash about the tent; but immediately the baron's falconers stand grinning at the entrance. they unhood a second score of hawks which in a twinkling pounce after the wretched birds and kill them, to the shouts and delight of the feasters, right above the tables. inevitably there is confusion, rustling by the ladies and merry scrambling, before the squawking hawks can be caught, hooded, and taken away. in fact, from the beginning the feast is extremely noisy. everybody talks at once. the appearance of the stag has started innumerable hunting stories. the duke has to tell his loyal lieges how he slew a bear. two of the baron's dogs get to fighting and almost upset the chair of a countess. everything is very merry. [illustration: a feast of ceremony in the twelfth century it was the custom during the repast to bring in enormous pâtés which held little live birds: these flew about the hall when the crust of the pâté was broken; immediately the servants loosened falcons which gave chase. this part of the feast is represented here.] if an elaborate dinner had been required on a so-called fast day, the cooks could still have met the occasion and yet have kept within the commands of the church; although not merely would there have been much fish, but also more vegetables. the guests could have been served with roast apples garnished with sorrel and rosemary; then might have come a rich soup made of trout, herring, eels salted twenty-four hours, and salt whiting soaked twelve hours, almonds, ginger, saffron, and cinnamon powder. if possible to bring them up from the ocean, there would have been soles, congers, turbots, and salmon--and in any case these can be had salted--the rivers in turn supply pike (preferably with roe), carp, and bream. for side dishes there can be lampreys, porpoise, mackerel, and shad served with juice of crab apples, rice, and fried almonds. finally might come stewed or ripe fruits--figs, dates, grapes, and filberts; the whole washed down with spiced wine (hippocras). to the minds of men of a later age this fast-day dinner might seem only a little less gorging than the orthodox feast upon meats. but elaborate as is this wedding banquet, at last everybody has had his fill. the concluding baked pears, the peeled walnuts, dates, and figs have been passed. the noble dames have chewed their unfamiliar sugar plums. a last cup of spiced wine is handed around, but nobody has drunk too much to become worse than merrily talkative. before rising the guests have all very properly "thought of the poor," called in the servitors and piled all the loose food upon great platters to be kept for the needy. to-day, in fact, all the indigent in the region are eating voraciously at the outer tables, but on the morrow of a festival day you will see a great collection of halt, sickly, and shiftless hanging around the barbican in just expectation that conon and adela will order a distribution.[ ] at last the bishop returns thanks; basins, pitchers, and towels are again carried around. then the guests rise, some to mingle with the less exalted visitors outside, some to repose under the shade trees, some to listen to the jongleurs who are now tuning their instruments, and many (especially the younger) to get ready for the thing we have seen they liked almost the best--extremely vigorous dancing. outside of the state pavilion the service has naturally been less ceremonious and the fare less sumptuous, but all of the countryside has been welcome to wander into the castle gardens and to partake. greasy, unkempt villeins have been elbowing up to the long tables, snatching joints of meat, bawling to the servitors to refill their leather flagons, and throwing bits of cheese and bread around in an outrageously wasteful manner. thousands of persons, apparently many of whom will be happy if they can have black bread all through the winter, are trying to-day to avenge past hunger by devouring and drinking just as much as possible. sire eustace is continually calling; "another tun of wine! another vat of beer! another quarter of beer!" these viands for the multitude are not select, but there are bread, flesh, and drink without stinting. fortunate it is that conon has not _two_ marriageable sisters, or there would be naught left to eat on the seigneury! [sidenote: wholesale hospitality] as the shadows lengthen everybody seems satisfied. the villeins and petty nobles lay down their flagons. groups of friends, if sufficiently sober, begin to sing songs in a round, each member improvising a doggerel verse, and the group thundering out the chorus. but many of the guests do not retain wits enough for recreations. while their noble hosts are dancing, the others throw themselves on the grass in companies to watch or listen to the jongleurs: then as the wedding dances finish, olivier and alienor come out of the great tent to take their seats on flower-wreathed chairs before the principal minstrels, and by their presence give some decorum to what threatens to become a disgracefully confused and coarse form of reveling. for a great feast the jongleurs seem, in fact, almost as indispensable as the cooks. we have now to ask the nature of north french minstrelsy.[ ] footnotes: [ ] peacocks, as especially desirable poultry, practically took the place of the turkey of later days. [ ] the existence of many of these prohibitions in the etiquette manuals shows that they were not unneeded. [ ] see p. . [ ] what actually was involved in the way of mere victuals for a public feast in the middle ages is shown by the following record of the hospitality dispensed by an archbishop of york, england, in . there is no reason for believing such lavish "feeding of the multitude" was not fairly common also in france a little earlier. this festival required, by formal record, " quarters of wheat, tuns of ale, tuns of wine, oxen, sheep, calves, swine, swans, , geese, , capons, , pigs, dozen quails, , mallards and teal, cranes, kids, , ordinary chickens, , pigeons, and over stags, bucks, and roes." in addition there were made up " , cold venison pasties, , dishes of jelly, , baked tarts, , hot venison pasties, , hot custards" and proportionate quantities of spices, sweetened delicacies, and wafer cakes. evidently the archbishop was deliberately planning to feast the entire population of a considerable area of england. conon's hospitality herein depicted was, of course, nothing like this. chapter viii: the jongleurs and secular literature and poetry. the st. aliquis folk delight in music. it is very desirable for a cavalier to have a rich voice and know how to twang a harp. aimery, soon to be sire aimery, can sing and play as well as many minstrels. adela spent many hours at her viol and at a little portable organ before family cares took up her time. five or six of the servitors hold their places mainly because they can play so excellently at those impromptu dances which conon gives on every possible occasion.[ ] you cannot linger long around the castle without hearing the lutes, the flutes, and the castanets, and in confining weather in winter the music keeps up almost the whole day long. [illustration: small portable organ of the thirteenth century from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale.] however, variety is the spice of life. it is a red-letter day when a new jongleur or, better still, a troupe of jongleurs arrive. they will teach new music, new songs, new tricks to the regular denizens, and break up that desperate monotony which sometimes causes the barons to fret with a pent-up energy and to precipitate new wars merely to get relief. as for a great fête like the present, obviously a large corps of entertainers must be mobilized. the mere news through the region that messire proposed a marriage feast and a tourney has been enough to start many such itinerant gentry toward st. aliquis. sire eustace was overwhelmed with offers of assistance and has had to chase away some of the would-be entertainers almost by force. [sidenote: varieties of dances] jongleurs are versatile people, and each of them has his specialty. their name, "jongleur," like "charity," covers a multitude of sins. some of them are merely expert players upon the viol, and supply music for dancers. the dances of noble folk are simple: often enough fair dames and cavaliers merely take hold of one another's hands and whirl themselves furiously in a circle, while the music goes faster and faster until the revelers cease and almost sink of exhaustion. then there are variations when the cavaliers decorously drop from the ring and bow to their ladies; or the "dance of the chaplet," at the end of which each cavalier ceremoniously kisses his lady on the cheek--kissing between equals being quite proper if it is not on the lips. it takes rather more skill, as at present, when young aimery dances an intricate galliard with the daughter of the baron of bovri. the two performers stand opposite to each other, advancing, bowing, and retiring, every step made to music; then at last the cavalier makes his bow to the lady, takes her by the hand, thanks her, and leads her to her seat. after that another noble couple dances the _tourdion_, a similar performance, but faster and with more violent action. for all this competent musicians are indispensable. but a good jongleur is far more than a musician. he can dance himself, with intricate acrobatic figures impossible for the unprofessional; he can sing love songs, chant or recite romances; and, if he has companions, even present short farces and comedies. he is probably possessed also of series of tricks and sleight-of-hand accomplishments, which appeal more to the groundlings than do high-flown poetic recitals. if he can reach the summit of his profession he will be received at castles almost as the equal of the seigneur, and be able to retire rich, after having been showered with such gifts as palfreys, furs, jewels, mantles of red cloth, and, of course, with much money. jongleurs recall with pride their fellow-minstrel tallefer, who gallantly led the charge of the normans at hastings, trolling the song of roland as he tossed up his sword and caught it again in the very face of the english, and who fell in the battle only after making as much havoc among the foe as would a paladin. [illustration: acrobats reproductions by the english archæologist strutt, from various fourteenth-century manuscripts in england.] [sidenote: depraved mountebanks] there is a great distance, however, between such pretentious folk and the run of minstrels. a little while since a mountebank pair called at st. aliquis. they called themselves by grotesque names, "brise-tête" and "tue-boeuf." when they had disposed of a pork pasty, the seneschal made it plain they had better pay for their dinner. thereupon tue-boeuf produced a harp, and brise-tête leaped on the table, flung his arms and legs about, and showed himself a regular acrobat. after that his companions set the lads and girls to "ah-ing!" by swallowing knives and by apparently eating red brands right out of the fireplace. next the twain joined in a witty dialogue presenting a clutching priest wheedling money out of a miserly burgher; and finally tue-boeuf began telling stories so outrageous that adela (not more squeamish than most dames) bade her sister-in-law to retire. so the two kept the whole hall laughing through a rainy afternoon, and conon contented his entertainers each with a denier.[ ] they slept on the straw under the tables and were off early the next morning. their repertory was probably exceedingly limited, and they must have spent their lives wandering from castle to castle, seldom tarrying anywhere more than a single night. other jongleurs have appeared with trick dogs and monkeys, and who could themselves dance through hoops, perform such feats as tossing up two small apples and catching each simultaneously on the point of a knife held in each hand, or prove themselves genuine contortionists, as is declared in the old latin poem: he folds himself, he unfolds himself, and in unfolding himself, he folds himself! it is often a question, indeed, to tell when a jongleur is really anything more than a roving scoundrel. certes, they frequently seem full of thievishness, licentiousness, and lies. with them are frequently low jongleuresses, women capable of corrupting a whole monastery. the church denounces this entire breed, male and female, as "ministers of the devil." all the vices which other ages impute to actors are charged against them, and there is an old jesting question, "which would you rather be, a jongleur or a robber?" answer: "a robber." nevertheless, god knows that people must be amused, and jongleurs are almost indispensable. besides, as we have seen, not all are of this sinful class. the higher grade of jongleurs sometimes travel in considerable companies. they bring an orchestra of music--viols,[ ] guitars, and gigues--long, slim, stringed instruments shaped like a figure eight--and, of course, including flutes, harps, and even little portable organs on which you work the bellows with one hand and press the keys with the other, something like an accordion. horns are not lacking, nor dulcimers, nor cymbals. the feudal ages miss the piano, but otherwise have plenty of sweet-toned instruments. [sidenote: superior type of jongleur] each member of such a troupe has his specialty, and some of the feats are wonderful. there is usually a slim girl who can perform a "herodias's daughter's dance" so magnificently that everybody can understand how the palestinian princess took in the gullible king by her acrobatic feats. she can even dance on her hands and kick her feet in the air, to the great delight of all but the more sanctimonious guests. vainly did the holy st. bernard inveigh against the seigneurs who receive such troupes in their castles: "a man fond of jongleurs will soon possess a wife named poverty. the tricks of jongleurs can never please god." certain it is that at the wedding the bishop and his priests, after a few _pro forma_ coughings, seem laughing as loudly as do the barons at all the tricks of conon's entertainers. [illustration: dancer of the twelfth century restored by viollet-le-duc (musée de toulouse).] a great feast demands enough jongleurs to entertain many different circles. while one bold fellow is keeping the villeins roaring by the antics of his tame bear, while three others (including a woman) are dancing grossly upon a platform before other gaping hundreds, a superior member of their mystery is attracting again many noble guests to the banqueting tent. he is no common performer. messire sent all the way to chalons for him, promising ample reward. maître edmond boasts that he is a christian--meaning he takes his profession as a kind of lay priesthood. he is on friendly terms with great prelates. he never recites the scurrilous little _fabliaux_ assailing the clergy. he knows by heart, however, nearly all the great epics and romances. his rich bliaut of green silk sets forth his impressive figure. his gestures are eloquent. he can work upon the imaginations of his audience and move it to tears, acclamations, or wild excitement. in a later age he would, in short, be a great actor or an equally great "reader"--causing all the parts of a drama to speak through one person. maître edmond has consulted conon as to what romance or epic would please the best. there is a great collection of stories of heroes, usually in a kind of sing-song verse, and claiming very largely to have a breton origin. one whole category revolves around the doings of charlemagne and his peers; another deals with king artus (arthur) of brittany (really britain) and his knights of the round table; still another cycle tells of the trojan war, and sire hector, sire achilles, and sire ulysses, making the ancient ilium into a north french castle besieged by decidedly feudal methods; while others rehearse the mighty deeds of alexander. in all there are at least forty well-recognized epic _chansons de geste_ (songs of mighty deeds), most of them six thousand to eight thousand lines in length, besides many shorter romances. maître edmond knows a surprising number of them all. these bald figures give some idea of the richness of this type of feudal literature. of course, the famous "chanson de roland" constitutes the most splendid narrative. everybody knows the story of how roland and olivier, the favorite peers of charlemagne, were betrayed to the paynim in spain by the foul traitor ganelon; how they sold their lives right dearly after innumerable doughty deeds; how their souls ascended to heaven; and how later charlemagne took terrific vengeance both on the infidels and on ganelon. it is an epic which in later days will be rated equal, if not superior, to its german rival, the "nibelungenlied." but the "song of roland" is now nearly two centuries old and is very familiar. besides, it is too long for one afternoon, and it is hard to pick out episodes. maître edmond proposes some scenes from the stories of troy, but the baron thinks they are not sufficiently sentimental for the occasion. so they agree on the "story of tristan and ysolt." this is fairly well known by the company, but is not threadbare; it gives plenty of opportunity for the women to weep, and the jongleur says that he has a new version not overlengthy. maître edmond, therefore, strides out into the bridal tent, accompanied by a handsome youth in a saffron mantle, who thrums a harp with silver frets. the high jongleur begins his story in an easy recitative which occasionally breaks into melodious arias. it is really a mingling of verse and prose, although the language never loses a certain meter and rhythm. [illustration: thirteenth-century harp from sculpture in the cathedral of chartres.] [sidenote: story of tristan and ysolt] the narrative runs along the conventional lines:--king mark of cornwall was a good man and wise prince. the beautiful ysolt was his wife; the valiant and poetic tristan his nephew. these last two, in all innocency, take a magic potion which compels them to fall in love, and any sinful deeds which follow are excused by the enchantment. king mark suffers for long, trying to forgive, but at last, catching tristan playing the lute in the queen's bower, smites him with a poisoned dart. the unhappy youth, mortally wounded, takes refuge in the house of his friend dinas. while he is still alive, king mark magnanimously says he is sorry for his act, while poor ysolt announces that she will not survive her lover. so tristan sends for his uncle and tells mark that he bears him no ill will; while the king (realizing his nephew is not morally guilty) laments: "alas, alas! woe to me for having stabbed my nephew, the best cavalier in the whole world!" after that mark and ysolt visit tristan and make lamentation over his dying state. he presently causes his sword to be drawn that he may see it for the last time. "alas! good sword, what will become of you henceforth, without your trusty lord. i now take leave of knighthood, which i have honored. alas! my friends, to-day tristan is vanquished!" then, with tears, he bequeathes his sword to his comrade in arms. next he turns to the queen. "very dear lady," he gasps, "what will you do when i die? will you not die with me?" "gentle friend," says ysolt, "i call god to witness that nothing would afford me so much joy as to bear you company this day. assuredly, if ever a woman could die of anguish or sorrow, i should have died already." "and would you like, then, to die with me?" asks tristan. "god knows," replied the queen, "that never did i desire anything more sincerely." "approach me, then," whispers the knight, "for i feel death coming upon me and i should like to breathe my last in your arms." ysolt leans over tristan, who embraces her and presses her so tightly that her heart bursts, and he expires with her, thus mingling their last sighs. needless to say, by the time maître edmond (after much skillful prolongation and stirring of the feelings) has finished, all the noble dames are indulging in sobs, and, indeed, many of the barons blink hard. it is a delightfully tragic story! although the minstrel is of too high a quality to cry "largesse!" when he concludes, like all the humbler jongleurs, there are many deniers thrown his way (which the harpist duly gathers), the duke tells him, "come to my court at christmas and recite the love of launcelot and guinevere--it shall be worth your while," and conon orders that a good aragonese mule be added to the money payment originally promised. [sidenote: a literary baron] maître edmond, has, however, another line of business. his opportunity opens this way. among conon's guests is a baron of harvengt. this rich seigneur has spent much time in the south country. he has learned the gay science of the troubadours. superior minstrels are always welcome at his castle; in fact, he is something of a minstrel himself. indeed, it is claimed he is too much interested in matters which are primarily only for villeins or at best for the women, and neglects his hawks, tourneys, and even his proper feuds with his neighbors. nevertheless, orri de harvengt is an extremely "gentle" man. he possesses a considerable number of books in latin--virgil, ovid, lucan, and others--although a visiting monk has grumbled that nearly all the volumes are by questionable pagans, and that this baron has almost no parchments of saints' lives and church fathers. however, orri spends little time over the latin. he holds that the classical language is best for religious matters, but that for telling of brave deeds and affairs of the heart nothing surpasses romance--the tongue of north france. a friend of orri's was geoffroi de villehardouin, who has written in french an excellent history of the fourth crusade, in which he participated; and although the churchmen complain that "his abandonment of latin means the ruin of all learning," the use of the vulgar tongue for all kinds of books is undoubtedly increasing. for the less formal kind of writings there is already a considerable french literature. conon himself has a book of philosophers' proverbs, a collection of wise saws and maxims that are often attributed to such ancient worthies as homer, Æsop, moses, and solomon, but which have a flavor extremely french. here you can find many a saying that will long survive the thirteenth century, although it is doubtless much more ancient. "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush"; "all is not gold that glitters"; "god helps those who help themselves"; "a friend in need is a friend indeed"; "still waters run deep"--all are threadbare wisdom around st. aliquis, as well as such maxims as do not transmit so well, such as, "among the blind, the one-eyed man is king"; and, "famine drives the wolf out of the woods." but the bulk of this "vulgar" literature is in poetry. the epics (_chansons_) have been growing ever since a certain turould is said to have composed the "song of roland" not very long after a.d. . we have just seen what a wealth of romances maître edmond has at his disposal. the earlier of these tales are mere recitals of war and adventure; but in the later, though they continue in the north french dialect, the south french (troubadour) influence appears. we have stories turning about lawful or illicit love rather than about lance thrusts. the troubadours of the langeudoc language find now compeers in the _trouvères_ of the northern languedoil. baron orri is a _trouvère_ himself. he has tried his hand at making a _chanson_ on the adventures of the hero renaud of montauban; while composers of less exalted rank prepare the shorter _fabliaux_, _contes_, and _dits_ which abound with comedy and sarcasm, striking at all the vices and follies of society. [sidenote: north french epics and romances] baron orri, however (who is not an original genius), is perhaps to be classed really as an _assembleur_--that is, he adapts old romances and puts them in a new setting. he changes over stories from the languedoc or from the breton to his north french dialect. to-day, at a quiet interval, maître edmond takes him aside. "fair baron, you know that we master jongleurs seldom wish to set written copies of the poems we chant before strangers, but how can i deny anything to so liberal a seigneur as you? i have with me transcripts of a new song concerning charlemagne's paladin, william of orange, and another prepared by the great _trouvère_, robert of borron, concerning the finding of the holy grail by king artus's knight, sire perceval. would you have sight of them?" baron orri is only too pleased. before he quits st. aliquis he will have possessed himself of the precious parchments, and maître edmond becomes the richer by several paris livres. a fine copy of a great _chanson_ is worth its weight in silver. the monks complain that the capital letters are as carefully elaborated in gold, and the miniature illustrations are as delicately executed, as those in a copy of the gospel; and that the bindings of embossed leather make the books so heavy that they require reading stands, before which the ladies, nevertheless (neglecting holier things), seem willing to stand all day long. however, before the wedding guests end their happy day, another entertainer than maître edmond is asked to perform. it is baron orri himself. he has lived so long in the south country that he has caught the troubadour gallantries. stories run that he has left three lady loves in three different castles; that he has had a most romantic duel with a jealous husband, which ended however, in a reconciliation on proof that the friendship had been only platonic; and that he is a past master in all the thirty-four different methods of rhyming and the seventy-four different kinds of stanzas with which the expert bards of southern france serve up their sentimental ditties. at a suitable moment just before the noble guests are gathering for the supper adela addresses him: "we know, kind sire orri, that you are a practitioner of all the 'gay science' of the south. you can sing _chansons_, songs of love; _vers_, the poems of slower movement; _sirventes_, poems of praise or satire; and also are master of the _tenso_, the debate on some tender subject, carried on in courtly verse. honor us with your skill; for our northern poetry is rude and uncourtly beside that of the languedoc." barron orri makes an elegant bow: "ah, gracious lady," he says, "i wish i could convince you that a good refusal were worth more than a poor gift, but doubtless you would think me rude; therefore, i will obey. though many of you, i fear, do not speak the beautiful languedoc tongue, yet in so noble a company i am sure most of you will at least understand me. what shall it be, a _tenso_ by bernart de ventadorn discussing most wittily, 'how does a lady show the greater affection--by enjoining her friend to win renown, or by urging him simply to love her?' or shall i attempt a short _chanson_ by that other high troubadour, arnaut de maruelh?" "the _chanson_--the love song!" cry the company. "ah! very well, my gentle mistresses and lords," answers the minstrel--"you have chosen. and now i pray queen venus to inspire me. here, boy, my harp!" he takes a small lute and touches the strings. his blue mantle floats back in statuesque folds as with clear, deep voice he sings: [sidenote: south french troubadour songs] "fair to me is april bearing winds that o'er me softly blow; nightingales their music airing while the stars serenely glow. all the birds as they have power while the dews of morning wait, sing of joy in sky and bower, each consorting with his mate. and as all the world is wearing new delights while new leaves grow, 'twould be vain to try forswearing _love_ which makes my joys o'erflow.... helen were not worth comparing, gardens no such beauty show, teeth of pearl, the truth declaring, blooming cheeks, a neck of snow, tresses like a golden shower, courtly charms, for baseness hate. god, who bade her thus o'ertower all the rest, her way made straight!"[ ] and so through many similar stanzas. the baron orri's eyes are fixed mischievously on a certain countess with whom he had talked intimately all the afternoon. her husband looks somewhat awkward, but at the end he joins in the warm applause. so the entertainment at the wedding feast ends; and the great secular literature, which is to be the priceless heritage of later civilization, is (despite much crudeness and false sentimentality) being born. hitherto we have seen the life of st. aliquis at peace; now we must gradually turn toward its grimmer aspects and the direct preparations for war. footnotes: [ ] if st. aliquis had been a slightly larger fief, its lord would probably have allowed himself the luxury of a professional minstrel in residence--half musician and half jester. [ ] it was not unknown for jongleurs of this inferior grade to stop at an exciting part of the story they were narrating and say (as in the poem "gui of burgundy"): "whoever wants to hear more of this recital must haste to open his purse; for now it is high time to give me something." the company would thus be straightway held up. or the entertainer would announce, "it was too near vespers," or "he was too weary to finish that day," the result being that he could claim hospitality at the castle of his hosts another twenty-four hours until he could satisfy the general curiosity. [ ] the viol was practically like a violin, although more round and more clumsy. it was played with a bow. [ ] translated by justin h. smith. reprinted by kind permission of g. p. putnam's sons. chapter ix: the feudal relationship. doing homage. some days intervene between the wedding festivities of the sister of messire conon and the adubbement as knight of his brother with the tourney which follows this second ceremony. no baron can be rich enough to make presents to all the knights who frequent the tourney, if they were also guests at the wedding; on the other hand, numerous cavaliers who have no interest in the affairs of olivier and alienor are glad to come and break lances in the jousts and to shatter helmets in the mêlée. most of the original guests at the wedding, however, stay on for the adubbement, and are joined by many others. meantime there are hunts, hawkings, dances, garden feasts, and jongleur recitals. it is all one round of merry excitement. yet gradually there creeps in a more martial note. maître edmond's chants have less to do with parted lovers and more to do with valiant deeds. the bride and groom recede from central gaze. young squire aimery is thrust forward. while the lists are being prepared for the jousting, one can examine the public economy of the seigneury; discover how it is a military as well as a political unit; and learn the process of education which has enabled aimery to claim the proud status of a knight--a _miles_--a first-class fighting man. [illustration: banner of the thirteenth century from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale (viollet-le-duc).] [sidenote: types and privileges of fief holders] the status of st. aliquis is typical of that of many baronies. fiefs are not necessarily composed of real estate: for example, one of conon's vassals does homage to him merely for the right to fish for a mile along the claire, and another for the privilege of maintaining the baronial mill, with corresponding perquisites, in an outlying section of the seigneury.[ ] nevertheless, as a rule a "fief" means a section of land held by a person of noble family. he does not own this land by complete right, but pays a kind of rent to his suzerain in the form of military service, of sums of money in various emergencies determined upon, and of various other kinds of moral and material assistance. ordinarily every feudal lordship will center round a castle; or, failing that, a fortalice, a strong tower capable of considerable defense, or a manor house not vulnerable to mere raiders. every noble fief holder claims the right to have his own banner; to a seal to validate his documents; and of late there have been appearing insignia soon to be known as heraldic coats of arms, which will be used or displayed by everybody of "gentle condition." many fief holders also claim the right to coin money, even when their lands are on a very modest scale; but suzerains are gradually curtailing this privilege, base-born merchants churlishly complain that the mints of the lesser seigneurs strike money too full of alloy and of vexatiously variable standards; and, indeed, there is even talk that this privilege of coining is likely to be monopolized by the king. [illustration: the coat of arms of the dukes of bretagne (thirteenth century)] feudalism, if systematized, would seem an admirably articulated system, extending upward from the petty nobles to the king or even the emperor.[ ] the little castellans would do homage to the barons, they to the viscounts, they to the counts, they to the dukes, and they to the supreme suzerain, his grace philip augustus, at paris. actually, of course, nothing of the kind occurs. not merely do many fief holders have several suzerains (as does conon) and serve some of them very poorly, but there is no real gradation of feudal titles. conon, a baron, feels himself equal to many counts and superior to most viscounts. the mighty count of champagne holds his head arrogantly as the equal of the duke of burgundy. of late years, especially since philip augustus began to reign ( ), the kings of france have made it clear that they are the mightiest of the mighty, and deserve genuine obedience. yet even now many seigneurs grumble, "these lords of paris are only the capetian dukes who began to call themselves kings some two hundred years ago. let them wax not too proud or we will send them about their business as our forefathers sent the old carolingians." in short, the whole feudal arrangement is utterly confused. "organized anarchy," despairing scholars of a later age will call it. [illustration: seal of the duke jean of bretagne (thirteenth and fourteenth centuries)] [sidenote: duties of fief holders] yet there are some pretty definite rules about fief holding. generally speaking a fief includes enough land to maintain at least one knight and his war horse. this warrior is obligated usually to lead out a number of armed villeins, proportionate to the number of knights. the conditions on which the estate can be held vary infinitely. the great obligation is military service. the average vassal is bound to follow his suzerain for forty days per year on summons to an offensive war. he is required to give much greater assistance in a strictly defensive war, and especially to aid in the defense of his lord's castle. he has to wait on the suzerain at times, when the latter may desire a great retinue to give prestige to his court. at such gatherings he must likewise assist his lord in dispensing justice--a matter sometimes involving considerable responsibility for the judges. when his seigneur marries off his eldest daughter, bestows knighthood on his eldest son, or needs ransom money, if held a prisoner, the vassals must contribute, and the st. aliquis fief holders are blessing their patron saints that alienor and aimery are not their overlord's children--otherwise they would pay for most of the high festivities themselves. they must also, when their lord visits them, give him proper hospitality in their castles. of course, they must never betray his secrets, adhere to his enemies, or repudiate the pledges made to him. to do so were "treason," the worst of all feudal crimes. we have seen that holding a fief usually implies military service, and that if the estate falls to a woman the suzerain can administer the property until the maid is of marriageable age, and then give her to some competent liegeman. it is about the same if the heir is a boy. the overlord can exercise guardianship over the fief until the lad is old enough to lead out his war band and otherwise to prove a desirable vassal. even when the vassals are of satisfactory sex and age, the suzerain is entitled to a _relief_, a money payment, whenever an old knight dies and his battle-worthy son takes over the barony.[ ] this is always a fairly heavy lump sum; and is still heavier if the fief goes not to the son, but to a collateral heir. also, when the vassal wants to sell his fief to some stranger, not merely must the suzerain approve the change, but he is entitled to an extra large fee, often as much as three years' revenue from the entire holding. nevertheless, when all is said, many fief holders act as if they were anything but humble vassals. happy is many a suzerain when he is so exempt from squabbles with his feudal equals and his own overlord that he can compel his loyal lieges to execute all their promises, and when he can indulge in the luxury of dictating to them the manner whereby they must rule their lands. some of the mottoes of the great baronial houses testify how little the feudal hierarchy counts with the lord of a few strong castles. boast the mighty rohans: "dukes we disdain: kings we can't be: _rohans_ are we!" and still more arrogant is that of a seigneur whose magnificent fortress-château is in the process of erection; "no king am i, no prince, no duke: i'm just the sire of coucy." and to be "sire of coucy" means to dispose of such power that when the canons of rheims complain to king philip against his deeds of violence, the king can merely reply, "i can do no more for you than _pray_ the sire of coucy to leave you unmolested." sometimes, in addition to money payments or personal or military service, a vassal is required to make symbolic gifts in token of loyal intentions. thus annually conon sends to the duke of quelqueparte three black horses; while for his holdings of the local abbey, every june he presents the abbot with a basket of roses and a bunch of lilies, and many other estates are burdened with some such peculiar duties.[ ] [sidenote: barons largely independent] so long as he discharges his feudal obligations a seigneur can run his barony practically to suit himself. if he treats his own vassals and his peasants too outrageously they may cry out to the suzerain for justice, and sometimes the overlord will delight in an excuse to humble an arrogant feudatory. but the limits of interference are well marked. no seigneur should undermine a faithful vassal's hold on his own subjects. every noble will feel his own rights threatened if a suzerain begins to meddle with a dependent, even if the reason for doing so is manifest. many a baron can therefore play the outrageous tyrant if so the devil inspires him. he has (as we have seen) to observe the vested rights of his subordinates on the fief; otherwise he may provoke a dangerous mutiny within his own castle.[ ] baron garnier of st. aliquis, however, has been typical of many of his class. prisoners, travelers, peasants are subject to unspeakably brutal treatment. as has been written concerning one such seigneur: "he was a very pluto, megæra, cerberus, or anything you can conceive still more horrible. he preferred the slaughter of his captives to their ransom. he tore out the eyes of his own children, when in sport they hid their faces under his cloak. he impaled persons of both sexes on stakes. to butcher men in the most horrible manner was to him an agreeable feast." of another such baron, the trembling monks record: "when anyone by force or fraud fell into his hands, the captive might truly say, 'the pains of hell have compassed me about.' homicide was his passion and glory. he treated his wife in an unspeakably brutal manner. men feared him, bowed down to him and worshiped him!"[ ] [sidenote: types of evil and good barons] evidently, such outrageous seigneurs hold their lieges in a kind of fascinated obedience, just as do the emirs and atabegs among the infidels. of course, they treat merchants as merely so many objects for plunder. if they do not watch the roads themselves, they make bargains with professional robbers, allowing the latter to infest their seigneuries in return for an agreed share of their booty. even noble folk are liable to be seized, imprisoned, and perhaps tortured to get a ransom. if you cannot find the deniers, you may leave your bones in a foul dungeon. nevertheless, st. michael and all angels be praised! this evil is abating. in the direct royal dominions such "men of sin" have been rooted out since old louis vi's time. the church is using its great influence against evil sires. the communal towns are waxing strong and sending civic armies to besiege their towers and protect the roads. the better class of seigneurs also unite against these disgraces to nobility. as for baron garnier, he died betimes, for his suzerain the duke (weary of complaints) was about to call out the levy of the duchy and attack st. aliquis. in other words, law and order are gradually asserting themselves after the heyday of petty tyrannies, yet there are still queersome happenings on every seigneury, and the amount of arbitrary power possessed by the average baron is not good even for a conscientious and high-minded man. it is not the theoretical powers of a seigneur, but his actual mental and ofttimes physical ability, which determines the real extent of his power. fiefs are anything but static. they are always growing or diminishing. a capable seigneur is always attracting new lands to himself. he ejects unfaithful vassals and adds their estates to his own personal domain land. he induces his vassal's vassals to transfer their allegiance directly to him. he wins land from his neighbors by direct conquest. he induces his neighbor's vassals to desert to the better protection of his suzerainty. he negotiates advantageous marriage treaties for his relatives which bring new baronies into his dynasty. when his own suzerain needs his military aid beyond the orthodox "forty days," he sells his assistance for cash, lands, or valuable privileges. then, often when such an aggressive seigneur dies, his whole pretentious fief crumbles rapidly. his eldest son is entitled to the central castle, and the lion's share of the barony, but not to the whole. the younger lads each detach something, and the daughters cannot be denied a portion.[ ] the suzerain presses all kinds of demands upon the weakened heir. so do neighboring seigneurs who are the new baron's feudal equals. one little quarrel after another has to be compounded after ruinous concessions. worst of all, the direct vassals of the incoming baron refuse him homage, hunt up more congenial suzerains, or, if swearing fealty, nevertheless commit perjury by the treacherous way they execute their oaths. in a few years what has appeared a powerful fief, under a young or incapable baron seems on the very edge of ruin--its lord reduced to a single castle, with perhaps some question whether he can defend even that. [sidenote: accession to a barony] through such a peril conon passed inevitably when, as a very youthful knight, he took over the estates of his unblessed uncle. only the saints' favor, his mother's wise counsels, and his own high looks and strong arm kept the fief together. but after the vassal petty nobles had been duly impressed with the fact that, even if the new baron were less of a bloody tyrant than his predecessor, he could storm a defiant fortalice and behead its rebellious master, the barony settled down to relative peace. there was a meeting at st. aliquis of all the vassals. conon, clothed in full armor, then presented himself in the great hall. "will you have sire conon, the nephew of your late lord, as your present undoubted baron and suzerain?" demanded sire eustace, the seneschal. "_fiat! fiat!_--so be it!" shouted all the knights. whereat each in turn did homage; and conon was now their liege lord by every christian and feudal law. next conon himself visited the duke of quelqueparte, paid his relief, in turn did his own homage; and henceforth had his position completely recognized. from that time conon had been obeyed by his vassals with reasonable fidelity. they had never refused military service; they had fought round his standard very faithfully at the great battle of bouvines; they had given him no reason to doubt that if he were hard bestead they would discharge the other feudal duties of defending his person at the hazard of their lives, of resigning a horse to him that he might save himself in a battle, or even of going prisoner for him to secure his release, if he were captive. on the other hand, conon had earned their love by proving himself a very honorable seigneur. when his vassal, sire leonard, had died, leaving only a minor son, he administered the lad's fief very wisely and gave it back a little richer, if anything, when the heir came of age. when another vassal had fallen into a feud with a neighboring sire, conon had afforded military help, although it was not his direct quarrel. he had respected the wives and daughters of his petty nobles as though they had been his sisters. in short, on st. aliquis had been almost realized that happy relation mentioned in the law books, "the seigneur owes faith and loyalty to his 'man' as much as the man to his seigneur." nevertheless, conon ("wise as a serpent, but _not_ harmless as a dove," as father grégoire says, pithily) takes nothing for granted. twice he has somewhat formally made the circuit of his seigneury, stopping at each castle, allowing each little sire to show hospitality, and then receiving again his pledges. homage can be done many times. the more often it is repeated the more likely it will be effective.[ ] your vassal who swore fealty last christmas is much more likely to obey the _ban_ (the call to arms) than he who took his oath ten years ago. the st. aliquis vassals have all performed this devoir quite recently, save one, sire andré of the sizable castle of le chenevert, whose father died last lent, and who has waited for the present fêtes to take his vows and receive due investiture. this ceremony, therefore, takes place some day after the wedding feast. there is nothing humiliating therein for sire andré; on the contrary, he is glad to have many of the noble guests be witnesses--they will serve to confirm his title to his father's fief. [sidenote: ceremony of homage] the great hall has been cleared. messire conon sits in his high chair under the canopy. he wears his ermine and his velvet cap of presence. adela sits at his side, with many cavaliers on either hand. the other st. aliquis vassals and the noble leaders of the castle men at arms, all in best armor, stand before the dais in a semicircle. sire eustace holds a lance with a small red pennon. sire andré, in silvered mail and helmet and his sword girded, comes forward, steps up to the dais, and kneels. conon rises, extends both hands, and andré takes one in each of his, then repeats clearly the formula dictated by father grégoire, now, as so often, acting as baronial chancellor: "sire baron, _i enter into your homage and faith and become your man_, by mouth and hands, and i swear and promise to keep faith and loyalty to you against all others, saving only the just rights of the baron of braisne, from whom i hold two farms and certain hunting rights, and i swear to guard your rights with all my strength." [illustration: homage in the twelfth century the future vassal has put his hands in those of his lord and pays him homage; a soldier holds the lance which the lord will give to his subject as a mark of investiture in the domain.] whereupon conon makes reply, "we do promise to you, vassal andré, that we and our heirs will guarantee to you the lands held of us, to you and your heirs against every creature with all our power, to hold these lands in peace and quiet." conon then bends, kisses andré upon the mouth, and the latter rises to his feet. father grégoire holds out a small golden box flashing with jewels, a saint's reliquary. the vassal puts his right hand upon it and declares: "in the name of the holy trinity, and in reverence of these sacred relics, i, andré, swear that i will truly keep the promise which i have taken, and will always remain faithful to sire conon, my seigneur." the first formula has technically been the "homage." the second is the "oath of fealty"; now comes the "investiture." sire eustace steps forward and gives to the vassal the lance, the symbolic token of the lawful transfer to him of the fief. in other places, local custom would make the article a glove, a baton, or even a bit of straw, but some symbol is always required. this act completes the ceremony. sire andré is now in possession of le chenevert and its lands, and cannot be ousted thence so long as he performs his feudal duties. of course, if the fief had been granted out for the first time, or had been transferred to some one not a direct heir, there would be a deed of conveyance drafted in detail, and sealed by many ponderous lumps of wax attached to the parchment with strips of leather. in many cases however, no new document is needful, and, indeed, all through the feudal ages even important bargains are likely often to be determined merely by word of mouth--a reason for requiring many witnesses. there is little danger, however, of a quarrel between such congenial spirits as baron conon and sire andré. at its best, vassalship is not a state of unworthy dependence; it is a state of junior comradeship which, "without effacing distances, created a close relation of mutual devotion"; and if vassals are often rebellious, vassals again and again in history and in story have proved willing to lay down their lives for their lord. there are few sentiments the jongleurs can repeat in the average castle with surer hope of applause than when they recite once more from the "epic of garin," concerning the duke of belin, who declared that there was something more precious than all his riches and power; for "wealth consists neither in rich clothes, nor in money, nor in buildings, nor in horses, but is made from kinsmen and _friends_; the heart of one man is worth all the gold in a country!" footnotes: [ ] the right to profit from certain beehives could constitute a fief, or to a fraction, say, of the tolls collected at a certain bridge. [ ] the emperor of the holy roman empire (germany and italy) was usually acknowledged as the social and titular superior of the king of france, but he was never conceded any practical power over frenchmen. [ ] sometimes the relief was also payable when a new suzerain came in, not merely when the fief changed vassals. [ ] in a south country castle a certain seigneur was obligated, if his suzerain, the duke of aquitaine, visited him, to wait on the duke's table, wearing himself scarlet leggings with spurs of gold. he had to serve the duke and ten knights with a meal of pork, beef, cabbage, roast chickens, and mustard. many other obligations for payments or rendering of hospitality which were equally curious could be recorded. [ ] one might describe the situation by saying that many a baron who would order a stranger or captive to be executed in cold blood without form of trial, would hesitate to have him hanged or beheaded save by the hereditary executioner of the seigneury, who had a vested right to perform such nice matters. [ ] what could go on in feudal families earlier, in the eleventh century, is illustrated by the tale of three brothers, noblemen of angouleme, who quarreled. two of them treacherously invited the third to their joint easter festivities. they seized him in bed, put out his eyes, and cut out his tongue that he might not denounce them. the facts, however, leaked out. their suzerain, the duke of aquitaine, ravaged their lands with fire and sword (thus ruining their innocent peasants), took the two criminals and cut out their own tongues and put out their eyes in retaliation. [ ] the absence of a strict rule of primogeniture in france and other continental countries added much to the complexities of the whole feudal regime. [ ] homage may be likened somewhat to _vaccination_ in a later day--the more recently performed the greater its effectiveness. chapter x: justice and punishments. one of the great duties of a high seigneur is to render justice. it is for that (say learned men) that god grants to him power over thousands of villeins and the right to obedience from nobles of the lower class. indeed, it can be written most properly that a good baron "is bound to hear and determine the cause and pleas of his subjects, to ordain to every man his own, to put forth his shield of righteousness to defend the innocent against evildoers, and deliver small children and such as be orphans and widows from those that do overset them. he pursues robbers, raiders, thieves, and other evildoers. for this name 'lord' is a name of peace and surety. for a good lord ceaseth war, battle, and fighting, and reconciles men that are at strife. and so under a good, strong, and peaceable lord, men of the country are safe." the best of barons only measurably live up to this high standard. yet conon is not wholly exceptional in telling himself that a reputation for enforcing justice is in the end a surer glory than all the fêtes around st. aliquis. justice, of course, does not mean equality before the law. there is one legal measure for country villeins, another for citizens of the commune, another for petty nobles, another for greater nobles of conon's own rank. the monks and priests can always "plead their clergy" and get their cases transferred to a special church tribunal.[ ] the question really is: has a man been given everything due to others of his own class? if not, there is denial of justice. the laws enforced in the st. aliquis region are the old customary laws in use ever since the frankish barbarians' invasions. many of these laws have never been reduced to writing--at least for local purposes--but sage men know them. there are no professional jurists in the barony. sire eustace, the seneschal, understands the regional law better than any other layman around the castle, though he in turn is surpassed by father grégoire. the latter has, indeed, a certain knowledge of the canon law of the church, far more elaborate than any local territorial system, and he has even turned over voluminous parchments of the old roman law codified by the mighty emperor justinian. up at paris, round the king there are now trained lawyers, splitters of fine hairs, who say that this roman law is far more desirable than any local "customary law," and they are even endeavoring (as the king extends his power) to make the code of justinian the basis for the entire law of france. but conditions on most baronies are still pretty simple, the questions to be settled call merely for common sense and a real love of fair play on the part of the judges. one can live prosperously and die piously under rough-and-ready laws administered with great informality. [sidenote: high and low justice] conon has "high justice" over his vassals and peasants. this means absolute power of life and death over any non-noble on the seigneury, unless, indeed, the baron should outrage merchants bound to a privileged free city, or some other wayfarers under the specific protection of the king or the duke of quelqueparte. if strange noblemen get into trouble, it will depend on circumstances whether conon undertakes to handle their cases himself, or refers them to his suzerain, the duke. the right of seigneurs to powers of justice on their own lands even over high nobles is, however, tenaciously affirmed, and it is only with difficulty the duke and, above him, the king can get some cases remitted to their tribunals.[ ] if, however, the alleged offender is a monk, he will be handed over to the local abbot or, if a priest, to the bishop of pontdebois to be dealt with according to the law of the church. even the lesser sires have "low justice," with the privilege of clapping villeins in the stocks, flogging, and imprisoning for a considerable time for minor offenses; and robbers caught on their lands in the act of crime can be executed summarily. but serious cases have to go to the court of the baron as high justiciar, as well as all the petty cases which have arisen on that lord's personal dominions. if the litigants are peasants, the wheels of justice move very rapidly. there is a decided absence of formalities. a great many disputes go before the provost's court, presided over by sire macaire, a knight of the least exalted class, who is conon's "first provost." we shall see later how the baron's provosts practically control the life of the peasants.[ ] one of sire macaire's main duties is to chase down offenders, acting as a kind of sheriff, and after that to try them. among the brawling, brutal peasantry there is always a deplorable amount of crime. the seigneury has been blessed with a comparative absence of bandits, but ever and anon a pontdebois merchant gets stripped, a girl is carried off into the woods, or even the body of a traveler is found by the roadside. all this renders sire macaire's office no sinecure. small penalties are handed down every day, but more serious matters must wait for those intervals when messire conon calls his noble vassals to his "plaids" or "assizes." every fief holder is expected to come and to give his lord good counsel as to what ought to be done, especially if any of the litigants are noble, and also to give him material aid, if needs be, in executing the decision reached.[ ] this last is very important, for if a fief holder is dissatisfied with a verdict, he has a technical right to declare the decision "unjust" and demand that it be settled by "ordeal of battle"--the duel not being between the defeated suitor and his adversary, but between this suitor and his judge! all men know of what happened (according to the "song of roland") in the case of the traitor ganelon. this scoundrel, who had betrayed his suzerain charlemagne and had caused the brave roland's death, was seized by the emperor, but he demanded "judgment by his peers." charlemagne could not deny this claim. he convoked the high barons, whereupon lord pinabel, ganelon's kinsman, announced that "he would give the lie with the sword" to any seigneur who voted for punishment. all the barons were afraid. pinabel was a mighty warrior. they reported an acquittal to charlemagne. the mighty emperor raged, but felt helpless until he discovered the brave knight thierry of anjou, who boldly asserted that "ganelon deserves death." [sidenote: ordeal by battle] instantly pinabel strode forward and cried to the assize of nobles: "i say that thierry has lied. i will fight!" and at once charlemagne took pledges from both champions that they would stand the "ordeal." each warrior then promptly went to mass, partook of the sacrament, and bestowed great gifts on the monasteries. next they met in mortal combat. after a desperate duel thierry smote his foe "through the nasal of the helmet ... and therewith the brain of pinabel went gushing from his head." there was no appeal from that verdict! well content, charlemagne immediately caused ganelon to be pulled asunder by four fierce stallions. however, these noble usages are falling into decadence. certes, it is an unknightly thing when both litigants are young cavaliers, evenly matched, and when the issue concerns honor rather than legal technicalities, for them to insist that the matter be settled merely by a peaceful verdict, as if they had been wrangling merchants. but the church, the men of books, and the higher suzerains discourage this practice, especially when the cases are intricate, and one of the litigants cannot fight efficiently or provide a champion. as for challenging a judge after a disagreeable verdict, the thing is becoming dangerous, for all the other judges will feel bound to support him.[ ] the most likely happening is for the defeated litigant to retire to his castle, summon his followers, and defy the court to enforce its verdict. this happened with a sire of the court of trabey, a neighbor of conon's. said sire, having been ordered by his peers to give up a manor he had been withholding from his young nephew, sent a pursuivant before their tribunal formally declaring war. the entire seigneury had to arm and actually storm his castle before he would submit. however, most st. aliquis cases concern not the nobles, but only villeins, and with these (thanks be to heaven!) short shrifts are permitted. the provost can handle the run of crimes when the baron is busy; but a good seigneur acts as his own judge if possible. even during the festival period it is needful for conon to put aside his pleasures one morning to mount the seat of justice. in wintertime the tribunal is, of course, in the great hall, but in such glorious weather a big shade tree in the garden is far preferable.[ ] here the baron occupies a high chair. sire eustace sits on a stool at his right, sire andré and another vassal at his left as "assessors," for no wise lord acts without council. father grégoire stands near by, ready to administer oaths on the box of relics; sire macaire, the provost, brings up the litigants and acts as a kind of state attorney. [sidenote: trial of villeins] for the most part it is a sordid, commonplace business. two villeins dispute the ownership of a yoke of oxen. a peddler from pontdebois demands payment from a well-to-do farmer for some linen. an old man is resisting the demands of his eldest son that he be put under guardianship: the younger children say that their brother really covets the farm. if the court's decisions are not so wise as solomon's, they are speedy and probably represent substantial justice. but there is more serious business in hand. the news of the fêtes at st. aliquis has been bruited abroad. all the evil spirits of the region have discovered their chance. certain discharged mercenary soldiers have actually invaded a village, stolen the peasants' corn, pigs, and chickens, insulted their women, and crowned their deeds by firing many cottages and setting upon three jongleurs bound for the tourney. they were in the very act of robbing them to their skin when a party of the provost's men, coming up, managed to seize two of these sturdy rascals. sire macaire has also arrested a young peasant who stabbed an older farmer painfully while they wrangled over a calf. this second case is settled summarily. the defendant is of bad reputation. he must stand all day in the pillory, and then to be branded on his forehead with a red-hot iron, that all men may beware of him. as for the alleged bandits, the case is not so simple. they keep a sullen silence and refuse to betray the lair of their comrades who have escaped. the provost intimates that they may be _halegrins_, and outlaws of the foulest type, said to violate tombs and devour human flesh. very possibly they may have belonged to that notorious gang of brigands many of which king philip lured inside the walls of bourges, then closed the gates and slew them, thus capturing all their plunder. such fellows are, of course, food for the crows, but they must not be allowed to get out of life too easily. "let the baron command preparatory torture?" suggests sire macaire, with a sinister smile. conon nods. the two beastlike wretches groan and strain at their fetters. preparatory torture, they know well, is inflicted both to get a confession of guilt and also to extort details about accomplices. it is no pleasure to follow the provost, his guards, and his prisoners to a certain tower, where in a lower vaulted room there are various iron and wooden instruments. we are given to understand that torture is a pretty usual part of criminal proceedings, unless the defendant is a noble whose alleged crime does not touch the safety of the state. it is true that wise men have discouraged the practice. what seems clearer than that which pope nicholas i wrote a.d. ? "a confession must be voluntary and not forced. by means of torture an innocent man may suffer to the uttermost without making any avowal--in such a case what a crime for the judge! or a person may be subdued by pain, and acknowledge himself guilty, though he be innocent--which throws an equally great sin upon the tribunal." nevertheless, the church is said now to be allowing torture in her own ecclesiastical courts, and sire macaire would tell us cynically that "torture is a sovereign means wherewith to work miracles--to make the dumb speak." torture at st. aliquis is administered by a sober-faced man in a curious yellow dress. he is known as maître denis,[ ] the baron's "sworn executioner." he acts as torturer, chief jailer, and also attends to beheadings and hangings. to be a professional hangman implies considerable ostracism. hangmen's families have to marry among themselves, between fief and fief; hangmen's sons follow their fathers' calling. on the other hand, the position is an assured one, with good perquisites and not too much labor. maître denis is a quiet and pious man, who can exhort condemned criminals quite as sanctimoniously as a priest; but his piety never compels him to false mercy. [sidenote: varieties of tortures] there are assuredly many ways of helping transgressors to make a complete confession. forms of torture vary from region to region. in brittany the culprit is often tied in an iron chair and gradually brought near to a blazing fire; but in normandy the effect seems best when one thumb is squeezed by a kind of screw in the ordinary, and both thumbs in the extraordinary (doubly severe) torture. at autun they have an ingenious method. after high boots of spongy leather have been put on the culprit's feet, he is tied near a large fire and boiling water is poured on the boots, which penetrates the leather, eats away the flesh, and vouchsafes a foretaste of the pangs of hell. at orléans they have another method. the accused's hands are tied behind his back, and a ring fastened to them. by this ring the unhappy fellow is lifted from the floor and hung up in midair. if they then desire the "extraordinary" torture, weights of some two hundred and fifty pounds are attached to his feet. he is hoisted to the ceiling by a pulley, and presently allowed to fall with a jerk, dislocating his limbs.[ ] there are, indeed, many simpler, more convenient methods of torture. you can inject boiling water, vinegar, or oil into the accused, apply hot pitch, place hot eggs under the armpits, thrust sharp-cornered dice between the skin and flesh, tie lighted candles to the hands so that they can be consumed simultaneously with the wax, or allow water to drip from a great height upon the stomach. this, curiously enough, is said to break down the most stubborn criminals, as will watering the soles of the feet with salted water, and allowing goats to lick the same. however, the ordinary method is the rack. then the offender is laid on a wooden trestle, cords are bound to his limbs and then steadily tightened with winches. baron garnier in his day took great interest in obtaining a well-made rack. it now is put to proper use in "stretching" the two brigands. happily, these culprits break down after the first of them has undergone a few turns before his limbs are dislocated; and to the provost's satisfaction they howl out sundry details as to how their comrades can be taken. the prisoners are therefore remanded to custody until their statements can be investigated. woe to them if they have lied! in that event there are promised them much keener tortures to make them weary of life. while sire macaire is therefore leading his band after the remaining brigands, maître denis conducts the two captives back to prison. really it is only a few feet from the great hall of state in the _palais_, to the cells under the old donjon. in their confinement the prisoners can hear the revelry of the baron's guests. through their airholes drifts the jongleur's music. they can almost, at times, catch the swish and rustle of the rich dresses of the noblewomen. conon is accounted a merciful custodian compared with his uncle, but he does not let offenders forget their sins because of kindness. [sidenote: prisoners and dungeons] noble prisoners are entitled to relatively comfortable quarters, to double rations of decent food, to give bail if their alleged offense is not a very heavy one, and to be released on reasonable ransom if they are captives of war. villeins have no such privileges. they are fortunate if first they are not stripped naked as a pair of tongs before the lock rattles behind them. they are usually cast into filthy holes, sometimes with water running across the floor, and with reptiles breeding in the mire. in paris, where the king is considered more tender-hearted than the average seigneur, we hear of a cell of only eleven by seven feet in which ten people have been thrust to spend the night. of course, these were not great criminals. the latter might enjoy the _chausse d' hypocras_, where a man had his feet continually in water, or the _fosse_, a jug-shaped round chamber let into the bowels of the rock, into which prisoners must be lowered by a pulley from the ceiling;[ ] or a little-ease chamber, where one could neither sit nor stand. if, however, you have money you can sometimes bribe the turnkeys into letting you have a cell more private and less noisome, with the luxury of bedding and a chair;[ ] but in any case he who enters a feudal prison had better invoke his patron saint. maître denis has not treated the two brigands quite so badly as lay in his power. he has left them their clothes--since they are sure to be executed and he can get the raiment later. he has not put them in the _fosse_ (where baron garnier had sometimes dropped his victims) because of the trouble later of hoisting them out. he gives them coarse bread and some meat not unfit for dogs, at the same time advising them "on his word as a christian" to confer with father grégoire. the miserable pair are not long uncertain about their fate. they have told the truth about the lair of their comrades. the provost's band surprises the spot. six hardened rogues, in the very act of counting their plunder, are overpowered. but why weary messire the baron with the empty form of trying these robbers when there is no mortal doubt of their guilt and no new information is to be extracted from them? their throats are therefore cut as unceremoniously as the cook's boy attends to pigeons. the next day, wholly casually, sire macaire reports his good success to his lord, and remarks, "i presume, fair sire, that denis can hang the two he has in the dungeon." conon (just arranging a hawking party) rejoins: "as soon as the chaplain can shrive them." why, again, should the prisoners complain? they are certainly allowed to prepare decently for the next world, a favor entirely denied their comrades. if there had been any real doubt as to the guilt of the two bandits, they might in desperation have tried to clear themselves by _ordeal_. if they could have picked a stone out of a caldron of boiling water, lifted and carried a red-hot iron, or even partaken of the holy sacrament (first calling on god to strike them dead if they were guilty), and after such a test seemed none the worse, they might have had some claim to go free. _ordeals_ are an old germanic usage. they seem to refer the decision to all-seeing god. but ever since charlemagne's day they have been falling into disfavor. great churchmen are ordinarily too intelligent to encourage them. men learned in the law say that often they wrest justice. brave knights declare the only ordeal worth having is a duel between two champions. [sidenote: ordeals, the pillory and flogging] sometimes, instead of wrangling, clerics have undertaken to prove themselves right by "passing through fire"--walking down a narrow lane between two great piles of blazing fagots, and trusting that heaven will guard them even as it did the three hebrew children in nebuchadnezzar's furnace. such tests seldom are satisfactory. men still dispute about the ordeal of the monk peter barthelmey during the first crusade. he was accused of a pretended miracle and tried to vindicate himself by "passing through fire alive." all agreed that he emerged from the flames alive; yet in a few days he died. his foes said because he was sorely burned; his friends because, although unscathed by the fire, he was merely trampled upon by the crowd that rushed up to discover his fate! the only time one can ordinarily rely upon ordeals is in tests for witchcraft. if an old woman is so accused, she must be tied hand and foot and cast into the river. if she floats, the devil is aiding; draw her out, therefore, and burn her at the stake. if she sinks (as in a case recently at pontdebois) she is innocent. unfortunately, in this instance the poor wretch went to the bottom before they could determine that she was guiltless; but the saints know their own, and doubtless they have given recompense and rest to her soul. naturally many petty offenses do not deserve death. the criminals are usually too poor to pay fines, and it is a waste of honest folk's bread to let them spend set terms in prison. for small misdemeanants it is often enough to drive the rascals around the neighboring villages in a cart, calling out their names amid hootings and showers of offal. but in the village beyond the claire is located the pillory for a large class of rogues. it is a kind of high scaffold with several sets of chains and wooden collars, through which the offenders' arms and heads are thrust, while they stand for hours, in hot sun or winter cold, exposed to the jeerings and pebbles of the assembled idlers gathered beneath. the next stage of penalty is sometimes a public flogging. the prisoner is stripped to the waist and driven around the seigneury. at each crossroads his guards give so many blows over the shoulders with a knotted rope. we have seen how branding was ordered for one young miscreant to put on him an ineffaceable stigma; and not infrequently one can meet both men and women with a hand lopped off, or even an eye gouged out, as a merciful substitute for their true deserts upon the gallows. old baron garnier once, when peculiarly incensed, ordered the "hot bowl"--namely, that a red-hot brazier should be passed before the eyes of his victim until sight was destroyed. but if a villein has committed a great crime he were best dismissed from an overtroubled world. dead men never bother the provost twice. all over france you will find a gallows almost as common a sight in the landscape as a castle, an abbey, or a village. many a fine spreading tree by the roadway has a skeleton be-dangling from one of its limbs. it is a lucky family of peasants which has not had some member thereof hanged, and even then plenty of rogues will die in their beds. considering the general wickedness abroad, it seems as if there were a perpetual race between the criminals and the hangmen, with the criminals well to the fore.[ ] [sidenote: the public gallows] there are almost as many forms of execution as there are of torture. fearful criminals, gross blasphemers, and the like might be killed by quartering: first their flesh might be nipped off by red-hot pinchers and hot lead poured into their wounds; then death comes as a release by attaching a strong horse to each arm and leg and tearing the victim into four parts. witches, wizards, and heretics are, of course, burned, because they thus share the element of their patron, the devil. most malefactors, however, find beheading or hanging the ordinary ending. beheading is "honorable." it is the nobleman's expiation for misdeeds. the victim is not degraded and leaves no stigma upon his children. in england the headsman uses the ax, but in france he ordinarily swings a great two-handed sword. a skillful executioner does his business at one blow--a most merciful form of mortal exit. hanging, however, is "dishonorable." nobles who have especially exasperated their judges are sometimes subjected to it. henceforth people will cry, "their father was a felon," to their disgraced children. when a villein is ordered to die, he is ordinarily hanged, unless some other method is specified. in the village near st. aliquis the gallows is near the pillory. it is not so large as that huge gallows at montfaucon, near paris, which sees the end of so many of the city offenders, and where there is a great series of stone piers with wooden crosspieces, arranged in two stories, making twenty-four compartments in all. there are permanent ladders fixed for dragging up the criminals. when all the compartments are full and additional room is needed for more executions, some of the skeletons are thrown into a deep, hideous pit in the center of the structure. the less pretentious st. aliquis gallows has only four compartments. the structure stands close to the road, that all may learn how energetic are the baron's provosts. two compartments are now empty, however, and sire macaire is glad of a chance to fill them. because the two bandits made prompt confession they are not subjected now to a "previous" torture--that is, to a new racking as an extra punishment before execution. they are compelled, however, to perform the _amende honorable_. this involves being haled to the parish church in the village. a long candle is thrust in the hands of each victim. they are dragged forward by a noose, and at the door of the church cast themselves down and cry; "we have grievously sinned against heaven. our punishment is just. we beg pardon of god and man. may heaven have mercy upon our souls!" then they are forced back to the cart whereon they are being trundled to execution. "riding the cart" is a familiar phrase for going to the gallows. for a noble prisoner to be compelled to take his last journey upon a cart, instead of cavalier-wise upon a horse, is the last touch of degradation. the two bandits, securely pinioned, are placed in a two-wheeled vehicle, attended by maître denis and an assistant, and with father grégoire repeating prayers. they seem followed by all the lewd fellows of the baser sort in the entire region, and even certain knights and dames, come for the tournament, are not above craning their necks and gazing after the noisy procession. a hanging is just infrequent enough in st. aliquis to afford a little excitement. at the gallows maître denis acts with a fearful dexterity. first one, next the other, criminal is dragged up the ladder with the noose about his neck, then swung off into eternity with a merciful speed. a good hangman does not let his victims suffer long. soon a great flock of crows will be flapping around the gallows, giving the last rites to the lawbreakers, and the ogling crowd will slink away. [sidenote: ceremonies at an execution] the poor wretches are fortunate in that their anguish is not prolonged by such customs as obtain at paris. there many death carts stop at the convent of the filles-dieu, where the nuns are obligated to give every condemned criminal a glass of wine and three pieces of bread. this pathetic meal is seldom refused, and a great throng will stand gaping about until it is consumed. father grégoire, too, had mercifully refrained from a long public exhortation at the gallows as to how, literally, "the wages of sin is death," another custom ere offenders are turned off. but after the deed is over, confessor, executioner, and provost do not decline their perquisite after every such ceremony--a liberal banquet at the castle. these proceedings have been unpleasant but not unusual interludes between such happenings as the wedding and the adubbement. it is time to return to young squire aimery, and see how he has been educated and "nourished" preparatory to the greatest event in his life. footnotes: [ ] see pp. , . [ ] of course, a seigneur who grossly molested a peaceable traveling knight, or, for that matter, a villein in lawful errand going through the barony, could be cited before his suzerain's own tribunal for "denial of justice," and might (in clear-cut cases) have his whole position put in jeopardy. [ ] see p. . [ ] on account of the expense and trouble involved in attending the suzerain's court, and because of the risks of acting as judge, this feudal obligation was often poorly discharged. [ ] it was clearly recognized, also, that the "right of duel" was subject to abuses, and successful efforts were made to limit it to ( ) very serious offenses; ( ) cases where there was no direct evidence, but only circumstantial evidence, against the accused. [ ] the case of louis ix holding court under a great tree in the royal forest at vincennes will be recalled as typical of this custom. [ ] outside the barony he would probably be known by the name of the seigneury he served--_e.g._, "maître st. aliquis." down to the verge of the revolution the chief hangman of the capital of france was "monsieur paris." [ ] this method of torture by "squasations" seems to have been the one ordinarily used in the inquisition, which began its unhappy history in the thirteenth century. [ ] this was one of the famous _oubliettes_ ("chambers of forgetfulness") or _vade-in-pace_ (depart-in-peace) cells where the prisoners could be left to starve in pitch darkness, or perhaps be fed by a few scraps flung down from the hole in the vaulting. [ ] it was a great concession in the paris prisons when the government ordered that the jailers in the more public wards should "keep large basins on the pavement, so that the prisoners might get water whenever they wished." [ ] of course, the terrible severity of the penalties made many persons who were guilty of relatively small offenses feel that they had sinned beyond pardon. they would, therefore, plunge into a career of great crimes, to "have their fling" ere the inevitable gallows. chapter xi: the education of a feudal nobleman. to the noble troubadour bertran de born, a congenial comrade of richard the lion hearted, is attributed a little song which seems re-echoed in many a castle. peace delights me not! war--be thou my lot! law--i do not know save a right good blow! [sidenote: nobles delight in war] even a seigneur who nods pious assent to all that the monks and priests affirm in praise of peace wishes in his heart that it were not sinful to pray for brisk fighting. to be a good warrior, to be able to take and give hard blows, to enjoy the delights of victory over doughty adversaries, and finally to die a warrior's death on "the field of honor," not a "cow's death" in one's bed--that is the ambition of nearly every noble worthy of his gentility. bertran de born has again expressed this brutal joy in still greater detail: i prize no meat or drink beside the cry, "on! on!" from throats that crack: the neighs when frightened steeds run wide, a riderless and frantic pack, and set the forest ringing:-- the calls, "help! help!"--the warriors laid beside the moat with brows that fade to grass and stubble clinging:-- and then the bodies past all aid still pierced with broken spear or blade.... come barons, haste ye, bringing your vassals for the daring raid;-- _risk all--and let the game be played!_ clearly other and supposedly more peaceful ages will find in the feudal epoch a very bloody world. there is at least this extenuation. even in france the winters are cold, the days short, the nights long. castles at best are chilly, musty barracks. many people are living in a small space and are constantly jostling one another. thanks to sheer ennui, many a baron becomes capricious and tyrannical. even in summertime, hunts, hawking, jongleurs' lays, and tournaments grow stale. often the average cavalier is in a receptive mood for war just because he is grievously bored. [illustration: costume of a nobleman (thirteenth century)] the countenances of the older warriors around st. aliquis; the great scars on cheek, chin, and forehead; the mutilated noses and ears--tell how strenuous have been most of their lives. the scars are badges of honor. aimery is nigh regretful that there are no slashes on his youthful countenance, although sire eustace, his mentor, grimly assures him "this trouble will pass with time." aimery is now nineteen. his brother gave him a careful training, as becoming the cadet of a great house, and then arranged that he be "nourished"--that is, taken into the family and educated as squire--by a powerful count. unfortunately, just as aimery was about to demand knighthood of his lord, the latter suddenly died. he therefore returned to st. aliquis and waited some months impatiently, until conon could give him an adubbement worthy of the st. aliquis name. from earliest youth aimery has had success in arms held before him as the one thing worth living for. true, he has been taught to be pious. he understands it is well that god has created priests and monks, who may by their ceremonies and prayers enable the good warriors to enter into paradise. but the squire has never had the slightest desire to become a cleric himself. he thanks his divine patroness, st. génevieve, that conon has not treated him as so many younger brothers are treated, and forced him into the church. what is it to become a lazy rich canon, or even a splendid lord bishop, beside experiencing even the modest joys of a common sire with a small castle, a fast horse, good hawks, and a few stout retainers? aimery has learned to attend mass devoutly and to accept implicitly the teachings of the priests, but his moral training is almost entirely based on "courtesy," a very secular code indeed. hence he acts on the advice given him while very young: "honor all churchmen, but look well to your money." another well-remembered warning is never to put trust in villeins. he cannot, indeed, refuse to deal with them. he must treat them ordinarily with decency, but never trust them as real friends. the ignoble are habitually deceitful. they cannot understand a cavalier's "honor." they are capable of all kinds of base villainies. a sage man will have comradeship only with his nobly born peers, and pride is no fault in a baron when dealing with inferiors. [illustration: gothic writing from a thirteenth-century chart.] [sidenote: literary education of young nobles] although he is to be a warrior, aimery has been given a certain training in the science of letters. it is true that many seigneurs cannot read a word on the parchments which their scriveners interpret, draw up, or seal for them,[ ] but this is really very inconvenient. conon is genuinely thankful he is not thus at the mercy of father grégoire. another reason for literacy is that delightful books of romantic adventure are multiplying. the younger brother has, therefore, been sent over to the school at the neighboring monastery, where (along with a few other sons of noblemen) he has had enough of the clerk's art switched into him to be able to read french with facility, to pick out certain latin phrases, and to form letters clumsily on wax tablets--writing with a stylus something after the manner of the ancients.[ ] once possessed of this wonderful art of reading that aimery had while yet a lad, he could delve into the wonderful parchments of romances which told him of the brave deeds done of old. especially, he learned all about the trojan war, which was one long baronial feud between north french cavaliers fighting for the fair helen, imprisoned in a strong castle. his sympathy was excited for hector as the under dog. he read of many exploits which had escaped the knowledge of homer, but which were well known to romance trouvères. he reveled in scenes of slaughter whereof the figures are very precise, it being clearly stated that , greeks and , trojans perished in the siege of that remarkable trojan fortress. [illustration: a teacher holding a ferule in his hand restored by viollet-le-duc from a thirteenth-century manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale.] almost equally interesting was the history of alexander, based on the version of the pseudo-callisthenes. this was very unlike the accounts which other ages consider authentic. the names of the battles with darius were altered, strange adventures with the sirens crept into the narrative, and finally alexander (the tale ran) died sorely lamenting that he could not conquer france and make paris his capital. the story of cæsar is also available, but it seems less romantic, although full of episodes of fairies and dwarfs. for the history of france, aimery has learned that the country was originally settled by exiled trojans; later the romans came, and some time later one meets the great emperor charlemagne, whose exploits entwine themselves with charles martel's defeat of the saracens. charlemagne, we gather, conducted a crusade to the holy land and took jerusalem, although later the infidels regained it. recent french history remains very mixed in the young noble's mind until the great council of clermont ( ), which launched the first crusade. in the century after that great episode, however, the events stand out clearly, and of course he knows all the history of the local baronial houses down to the story of the petty feud forty years ago between two burgundian counts. but what is monk's or jongleur's lore compared with the true business of a born cavalier? when he was only seven or eight, aimery was fencing with a blunted sword. from ten onward he took more regular fencing lessons, first from sire eustace; then from a professional master, a keen gascon, hired by conon. equally early he had his horse, his hawks, and his dogs; he was taught how to care for them entirely himself, and was soon allowed to go on long rides alone into the dense forest in order to develop his resourcefulness, sense of direction, and woodcraft. then, as he grew taller, his brother began to deliver long lectures for his betterment, even as adela had admonished alienor. [sidenote: maxims for youthful cavaliers] one day conon exhorted him in the style of the old count guy advising his son doon in the epic, "doon of mayence." "ask questions of good men whom you know, but never put trust in a stranger. every day, fair brother, hear the holy mass; and whenever you have money give to the poor--for god will repay you double. be liberal in gifts to all, for a cavalier who is sparing will lose all in the end and die in wretchedness; but wherever you can, give without promising to give again. when you come to a strange house, cough very loudly, for there may be something going on there which you ought not to see. when you are in noble company, play backgammon; you will be the more prized on that account. never make a noise or jest in church; it is done only by unbelievers. if you would shun trouble, avoid meddling and pretend to no knowledge you do not possess. do not treat your body servant as your equal--that is, let him sit by you at table or take him to bed with you; for the more honor you do a villein the more he will despise you. after you are married by no means tell a secret to your wife; for if you let her know it you will repent your act the first time you vex her." and with this shrewd thrust at adela the flow of wisdom temporarily ceases. before he was fifteen aimery had thus learned to read and write, to ride and hawk, to play chess, checkers, and backgammon, to thrum a harp and sing with clear voice, to shoot with the arbalist, and to fence with considerable skill. he was also learning to handle a light lance and a shield while on horseback. then came his first great adventure--his brother sent him to the gentle count of bernon to be "nourished." the higher the baron the greater his desire to have nobly born lads placed in his castle as _nourris_, to serve as his squires and be trained as cavaliers. bernon had kept three squires simultaneously, as did conon himself. it is a friendly courtesy to send word to an old comrade in arms (as these two seigneurs had been), saying: "you have a fine son (or brother); send him to be 'nourished' in my castle. when he is of ripe age i will give him furs and a charger and dub him knight." of course, it was a high honor to be reared by a very great lord like the duke of quelqueparte; but younger sons or brothers did not often enjoy such good fortune. petty nobles had to send their sons to the manors of poor sires of their own rank, who could keep only one squire. [sidenote: training of a squire] once enrolled as squire to a count, aimery soon learned that his master was a kind of second father to him--rebuking and correcting him with great bluntness, but assuming an equal responsibility for his training. hereafter, whatever happened, no ex-squire could fight against his former master without sheer impiety. the emperor charlemagne once, in a passion, smote the hero roland in the face. roland turned red. his fist clenched--then he remembered how charlemagne had "nourished" him. he accepted an insult which to him no other mortal might proffer. it is held that no father or brother can enforce sufficient discipline over a growing lad, and that "it is proper he shall learn to obey before he governs, otherwise he will not appreciate the nobility of his rank when he becomes a knight." aimery in the de bernon castle surely received his full share of discipline, not merely from the count, but from the two older squires, who took pains at first to tyrannize over him unmercifully, until they became knighted, and he gained two new companions younger than himself, with whom he played the despot in turn. in his master's service aimery became expert in the use of arms. first he was allowed to carry the count's great sword, lance, and shield, and to learn how the older nobles could handle them. next he was given weapons and mail of his own, and began the tedious training of the tilt yard, discovering that a large part of his happiness in life would consist in being able to hold his lance steady while his horse was charging, to strike the point fairly on a hostile shield until either the tough lance snapped or his foe was flung from the saddle, and at the same time to pinch his own saddle tightly with his knees while with his own shield covering breast and head against a mortal blow. couch, charge, recover--couch, charge, recover--he must practice it a thousand times. meantime he was attending the count as a constant companion. he rose at gray dawn, went to the stables, and curried down his master's best horse; then back to the castle to assist his superior to dress. he waited on his lord and lady at table. he was responsible for receiving noble guests, preparing their chambers and generally attending to their comfort. on expeditions he led the count's great war charger when the seigneur rode his less fiery palfrey; and he would pass his lord his weapons as needed. at tournaments he stood at the edge of the lists, ready to rush in and rescue the count from under the stamping horses if he were dismounted. he was expected to fight only in emergencies, when his master was in great danger; but bernon was a gallant knight, and repeatedly in hot forays aimery had gained the chance to use his weapons. at the same time he was learning courtesy. he was intrusted with the escort of the countess and her daughters. he entertained with games, jests and songs noble dames visiting the castle. he learned all the details of his master's affairs. the count was supposed to treat him as a kind of younger self--intrust him with secrets, send him as confidential messenger on delicate business, allow him to carry his purse when he journeyed, and keep the keys to his coffers when at home. after aimery became first squire he was expected also to assist the seneschal in a last round of the castle at night, to make sure everything was locked and guarded; then he would sleep at the door of the count's chamber. beyond a doubt, since the count was an honorable and capable man, aimery received thereby a training of enormous value. while still a lad he had large responsibilities thrust upon him, and learned how to transmit commands and to handle difficult situations. he was versed in all the ordinary occasions of a nobleman. when he became a knight himself, he would be no tyro in all the stern problems of feudal life. [illustration: maneuvering with a lance in the thirteenth century restored by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale.] thus conon's brother came within four years to be an admirable _damoiseau_ (little lord), an epithet decidedly more commendatory than its partial equivalent "squire" (_ecuyer_, shield bearer).[ ] [sidenote: martial exercises, the quintain] of course, his military training had proceeded apace. soon he was allowed to tilt with his horse and lance at the _quintain_. this is a manikin covered with a coat of mail and a shield, and set on a post. the horseman dashes up against it at full gallop, and tries to drive his lance through shield and armor. there are many variations for making the sport harder. after aimery could strike the _quintain_ with precision he took his first tilt against an older squire. never will he forget the grinding shock of the hostile lance splintering upon his shield; the almost irresistible force that seemed smiting him out of the saddle; the dismay when he found his own lance glancing harmlessly off the shield of his opponent, slanted at a cunning angle. but practice makes perfect. when he finally returned to st. aliquis his own brother was almost unhorsed when they tried a friendly course by the barbican. so aimery completed his education. if he has failed to learn humility, humanity to villeins, and that high respect for women which treats them not merely as creatures to be praised and courted, but as one's moral and intellectual equals, he at least has learned a high standard of honor in dealing with his fellow nobles. the confidences his master has reposed in him have made it a fundamental conviction that it were better to perish a dozen times than to betray a trust. he believes that the word of a cavalier should be better than the oath of the ignoble. as for courage, it were better to die like ganelon, torn by wild horses, than to show fear in the face of physical danger. he has been trained also to cultivate the virtue of generosity to an almost ruinous extent. free giving is one of the marks of a true nobleman. largess is praised by the minstrels almost as much as bravery. "he is not a true knight who is too covetous." therefore money is likely to flow like water through aimery's fingers all his life. the one redeeming fact will be that, though he will be constantly _giving_, he will always be as constantly _receiving_. among the nobles there is an incessant exchanging of gifts--horses, armor, furs, hawks, and even money. all wealth really comes from the peasants, yet their lords dispose carelessly of it even though they do not create it. even the villeins, however, will complain if their masters do not make the crowds scramble often for coppers--never realizing that these same coppers represent their own sweat and blood. [sidenote: demanding knighthood] as already stated, aimery's master had died (to his squire's sincere grief) shortly before the latter could have said to him according to the formula, "fair sire, i demand of you knighthood." the young man has accordingly returned to st. aliquis, and waited for some action by his brother. knighthood means for a noble youth the attainment of his majority. it involves recognition as a complete member of that aristocracy which was separated by a great gulf from the villeins. very rarely can the base-born hope for that ceremonial buffet which admits them to the company of the gentle. if a peasant has exhibited remarkable courage and intelligence, and above all has rendered some extraordinary service to a duke or king, sometimes his villein blood may be forgotten officially. but even if he is knighted, all his life he can be treated as a social upstart, his dame despised and snubbed by noblewomen, and his very grandchildren reminded of the taint of their ancestor. true, indeed, not all men of nobility can become knights. knighthood ordinarily implies having a minimum of landed property, and ability to live in aristocratic idleness. many poor nobles, and especially the younger sons of poor nobles, remain bachelors, fretting upon their starving properties, or serving some seigneur as mercenaries, and hoping for a stroke of fortune so that they can demand knighthood. but they are likely to die in their poverty, jealous of the rich sires, yet utterly scornful of the peasants and thanking the saints they are above touching a plow, mattock, or other vulgar means of livelihood. on the other hand, there are many seigneurs who, although rich and dubbed as knights, nevertheless give the lie to their honors by their effeminacy and luxury. they are worse than the baron whom we saw as a _trouvère_ and collector of minstrels' romances, and who even read latin books. the monkish preachers scold such weaklings and pretended gallants. "to-day our warriors are reared in luxury. see them leave for the campaign! are their packs filled with iron, with lances, with swords? not so, but with leathern bottles filled with wine, with cheeses, and spits for roasting. one would imagine that they were going to a feast in the gardens and not to a battle. they carry splendidly plated shields; but greatly they hope to bring them back undented."[ ] such unworthy knights unquestionably can be found, but they have not tainted the whole nobility. your average cavalier has spent his entire life training for combat; he dreams of lance thrusts and forays; and the least of his sins is that he will shun deadly blows. at last the great day for which aimery has waited is at hand. to-morrow conon will dub him a knight. footnotes: [ ] as late as about there was a "grand chamberlain of france" who seems to have been absolutely illiterate. [ ] it is risky to generalize as to the extent of learning among the average nobles. some modern students would probably represent them as being sometimes better lettered than were conon and aimery. [ ] the sharp distinction between the young attendants known as "pages," and the older "squires," had hardly been worked out by a.d. . such young persons could also be called "varlets," but that name might be given as well to non-noble servitors. when chivalry was at its height the theory developed that a nobleman's son should spend his first to his seventh year at home with his mother, his eighth to his fifteenth in suitable training as a "page," and from that time till he was one-and-twenty serving as a squire. this precise demarcation of time was probably seldom adhered to. many ambitious young nobles would serve much less than seven years as a squire. on the other hand, many petty nobles might remain squires all their lives, for lack of means to maintain themselves as self-respecting knights. [ ] the words quoted are those of the archdeacon peter of blois, haranguing about a.d. . chapter xii: feudal weapons and horses. dubbing a knight. the thing which really separates a noble from a villein is the former's superiority in arms. true, god has made the average cavalier more honorable, courteous, and sage than the peasant; but, after all, his great advantage is material. the villeins, poor churls, spend their days with shovel, mattock, or in mechanic toil. doubtless, they can grow wheat, raise pigs, weave cloth, or build houses better than their masters, but in the use of arms how utterly are they inferior. how can a plowman, though you give him weapons, hold his own against a man of gentility who has been trained in arms from early boyhood. as for the peasants with their ordinary weapons--flails, boar spears, great knives, scythes set on poles, bows and arrows--suppose ten of them meet one experienced cavalier in full panoply upon a reliable charger. his armor will turn their puny blows. he will, perhaps, have brained or pinked through four of them before the other six can run into the woods. no wonder nobles give the law to villeins! the noble is almost always a horseman. it is the great war steed that gives him much of his advantage, and a large part of the remainder comes from his magnificent armor, which enables him often to go through desperate contests unscathed, and which is so expensive that most non-nobles can never afford it. a good cavalier despises missile weapons, he loves to come to grips. bowmen are despised as being always villeins. says a poet, "coward was he who was the first archer; he was a weakling and dared not come close to his foe." and many armies are reckoned by cavalry alone, even as sang another minstrel of a legendary host, "there were in it sixty thousand knights, not counting foot soldiers of whom no account is taken." [illustration: a knight at the end of the thirteenth century restored by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale. he wears on his shoulders small metal plaques called "ailettes."] old warriors dislike arbalists, those terrible crossbows, wound up with a winch, which enable base-born infantrymen to send heavy bolts clear through shirts of mail. they are most unknightly things. in a lateran council actually forbade their use against christians. arbalists certainly are useful in sieges for clearing ramparts or repelling attack; but they take so long to wind up after every shot that their value in open battles is limited. crossbowmen, unless carefully protected, can be ridden down by cavalry. so for another hundred years the mailed knight will hold his own. then may come the english long-bow (far more rapid in its fire than the arbalist), and the day of the infantry will return. [sidenote: training to fight in armor] knights are continually fighting, or at least are exercising most violently in tourneys; yet the proportion of contestants slain is not very great. this is because their armor makes them almost invulnerable. after a battle, if you count the dead, you find they are usually all from the poor villein infantry or the luckless camp followers. yet this harness has inconveniences. it is so heavy that the knight is the prisoner of his own armor. he can hardly mount his horse unassisted. once flung from the saddle, he can scarcely rise without help. the lightest suit of armor in common use weighs at least fifty-five pounds. powerful knights often wear much heavier. yet to be able to move about with reasonable freedom, to swing one's shield, to control one's horse, and finally to handle lance or sword with great strength and precision, doing it all in this ponderous clothing of metal, are what squires like aimery must learn to a nicety ere claiming knighthood. wearing such armor, it is not remarkable that noblemen always prefer horseback, and fight on foot only in emergencies. the prime unit in a suit of armor is the hauberk. he who has a fine hauberk, light (considering the material), pliable, and of such finely tempered steel as to be all but impenetrable, has something worth a small manor land. on this hauberk will often depend his life. in the olden days, before about a.d. , the hauberk was a shirt of leather or quilted cloth, covered by overlapping metal plates like fishscales. now, thanks to ideas probably gathered from the saracens, it is a shirt of ring mails, a beautiful network of fine chains and links, in the manufacturing of which the armorers ("the worthiest folk among all villeins," declares conon) can put forth remarkable skill. the double or triple links are all annealed. the metal is kept bright and "white" by constant polishing (a regular task for the squires), and conon has one gala shirt of mail which has been silvered. these garments form an almost complete protection, thanks to long sleeves, a long skirt below the knees, and a hood coming right over the head and partly covering the cheeks. a few brightly colored threads are sometimes worked into the links for ornament, but the flashing sheen of a good hauberk is its sufficient glory. the widowed countess of bernon has sent to aimery, as token of good will, a ring shirt belonging to her husband. the knight-to-be swears that he will never dishonor its former owner while he wears it. [illustration: german helmets of the thirteenth century] [sidenote: hauberks, helmets and shields] the next great unit in the armor is the helmet. helmets have been steadily becoming more complicated, but most warriors still prefer a plain conical steel cap encircled with a band of metal which may be adorned with gilt enamel. it has also a "nasal," a metal bar to protect the nose. helmets are usually laced to the hood of the hauberk by small leathern straps. since even a light and well-tempered helmet is an uncomfortable thing, you seldom wear it until just before going into action. "lace helmets!" is the order to get ready for a charge; and after a knight is wounded the first friendly act is to unlace his headpiece. by the early thirteenth century helmets are beginning to have closed visors to keep out missiles. but these visors are immovable without taking off the whole helm; and if they get displaced and the small eyeholes are shifted, the wearer is practically blind. the old-style open helm will therefore continue in vogue until the coming of the elaborate plate armor and the more manageable jointed helms of the fourteenth century. [illustration: a thirteenth-century shield] the third great protection is the shield. these have been getting smaller as hauberks and helmets have been improving; but one cannot trust solely to the body armor. besides, a shield is a kind of offensive weapon. a sharp thrust with its edge or a push with its broad surface may often knock your opponent over. aimery's new shield is semioval and slightly pointed at the bottom. it covers its possessor from shoulder to knees while sitting on his horse. the stoutest kind of hide is used in making it, with a backing of light, tough wood, and a strong rim of metal. it curves inward slightly for the better protection of the body. in the center is a metal knob, usually of brilliant brass, and the name "buckler" comes from this strong "boss" (_boucle_). there is a big leather strap by which the shield is ordinarily carried about the neck; but when you go into action you run your left arm through two strong handles. a shield seems a simple object, but almost as much skill goes into compacting the wood, leather, and metal into one strong mass, not easily split or pierced, as into making the hauberk. the front, of course, is highly colored, and, although the heraldic "coat armor" has yet hardly developed, every cavalier will flaunt some design of a lion, eagle, dragon, cross, or floral scroll. as for the handling of the shield, it is nearly as great a science as the handling of the sword; indeed, the trained warrior knows how to make shield and sword, or shield and lance, strike or fend together almost as one weapon. [illustration: thirteenth-century swords] nevertheless, it is the strictly offensive weapons on which the noble warrior sets greatest store, and the weapon _par excellence_ is the sword. barons often love their swords perhaps more than they love their wives. they treat them almost as if they are persons. they try to keep them through their entire lives. according to the epics, the hero roland liked to talk to his sword "durendal," and ogier to his "brans." conon swears one of his fiercest oaths, "by my good sword 'hautemise,'" and aimery has named his new sword "joyeuse," after the great blade of charlemagne. [sidenote: swords and lances] there are many fashions in swords. you can always revive a flagging conversation by asking whether your companion likes a tapering blade or one of uniform thickness and weight. but the average weapon is about three inches wide at the hilt, and some thirty-two inches long in blade, slightly tapering. the hilt should be adorned with gilt, preferably set with pearls, and at the end have a knob containing some small saints' relics placed behind a bit of crystal to reveal the holy objects. conon's hautemise thus contains some dried blood of st. basil, several hairs of st. maurice, and lint from the robe which st. mary magdalene wore after she repented. these relics are convenient, for whenever a promise must be authenticated, the oath taker merely claps his hand on his hilt, and his vow is instantly registered in heaven. the lance is the other great weapon of the cavalier. normally you use it in the first combats, and resort to your sword only after the lance is broken. the average lance is not more than ten feet long.[ ] it has a lozenge-shape head of fine poitou or castile steel. care must be taken in selecting straight, tough, supple wood for the shaft and in drying it properly, for the life of the warrior may depend on the reliability of his lance shaft, and the amount of sudden strain which it can stand in a horse-to-horse encounter. ashwood is ordinarily counted the best. as a rule there is no handle on the butt. the art of grasping the round wood firmly, of holding the long weapon level with the hip, and finally of making the sharp tip strike squarely on the foeman's shield (however he may slant the latter) is a matter of training for wrist and eye which possibly exceeds all skill in fencing. the whole body works together in lance play. the horse must be guided by the knees; the shield must be shifted with the left hand, the lance with the right; the eye and nerves must be under perfect control--and then, with man and horse fused into one flying weapon, away you go--what keener sport can there be in the world?[ ] [illustration: horse trappings restored by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale.] yet there is something more important to the warrior than his panoply. what is a cavalier without his horse? few, indeed, are the humans whom the best of barons will set above his favorite destrer. your horses are comrades in hunt, tourney, and battle. by their speed and intelligence they save your life when squire or vassal avail not. when they fail, commend your soul to the saints--you will soon be in purgatory. from boyhood a cavalier has almost lived in the saddle. when in danger he knows all the capacities of his charger, and trusts him accordingly. such a companion is to be treated with care. he is fed daintily; he is combed and tricked out like a delicate woman, and when ill he is physicked with more wisdom possibly than will be vouchsafed to most christian denizens of a castle. stories abound of how horses have succored their masters and stood watch over them while sleeping; and even one tale of how, when a knight returned after seven years, he was not recognized by his betrothed, but was by his faithful destrer. another anecdote is how a knight answered, on being asked, "what will be your chief joy in paradise?" "to see blanchart, my old horse." such being the case, the greatest pains are taken with horse breeding. rich seigneurs rejoice in valuable stallions, and even monasteries keep breeding stables. a fine horse is an even more acceptable gift to a potentate than a notable hawk. many horses are called "arabian," but probably these come from north africa. in france are raised horses equal to the best, especially those powerful steeds not quite so swift as the oriental, but better able to bear a knight in ponderous armor. gascon horses are in particular demand, and conon takes peculiar satisfaction in a brood mare from bordeaux. to ride a mare, however, is regarded as unknightly--"the women to the women"--probably an old teutonic prejudice. aimery, while squire, found the care of the count's horses a prime duty. this was no trifle, for de bernon, like every magnate, always kept several palfreys, handsome steeds of comfortable pace for peace-time riding, besides his special destrer--the great fierce war horse for battle. "to mount the high horse"--the destrer--is to show one's pride, not by vain boasting, but by displaying oneself in terrible weapons.[ ] of course, however, the haughty young squire did not have to bother about his lord's _roncins_, the ordinary steeds for the servants, or the _sommiers_ for the baggage, humbler creatures still. the favorite color for horses is white; after that dappled gray; after that bay or chestnut. poets exhaust their skill in describing beautiful steeds, as if they were beautiful women. wrote one bard about a gascon horse: "his hair outshone the plumage of a peacock; his head was lean; his eye gray like a falcon; his breast large and square; his crupper broad; his thigh round; and rump tight. all beholding him exclaimed 'they had never seen a handsomer creature!'" [illustration: a knight of the thirteenth century from a bas-relief in the church of saint-nazaire at carcassonne (viollet-le-duc).] [sidenote: the great war horses] such precious beings have names of honor. charlemagne's destrer was the great tencendur. roland charged on veilantif. carbonel, palantamur, grisart are familiar names; and conon's dearly loved companion is regibet, whom, with all his fierceness, the baron could ride safely without bit, bridle, or spurs. the harness of the war horse is still very simple. the elaborate trappings and armor belong to a later age, but the stirrups and high saddle can be gilded and even set with pearls. more noticeable still are the dozens of little bells on different parts of the harness, which jingle merrily like sleigh bells of another age, as the great steeds pound along. aimery has lived where hauberks, helms, shields, swords, and lances have been the small coin of conversation since he has been able to talk. he has come to know horseflesh far better than he knows that other important mortal thing called "woman." he has now reached the age when he is extremely confident in his own abilities and equally confident that a fame like roland's or godfrey of bouillon's is waiting him, provided the saints will assist. if he could have followed daydreaming, he would have been dubbed knight by the king himself after mighty deeds on the field of battle, while still covered with blood and grime; but such fair fortune comes only in the romances. at least, he is glad that he has a brother who is a brother indeed, and does not keep him in the background nor withhold from him his inheritance, as is the luck of so many younger sons. [illustration: a thirteenth-century knight from sculpture in the cathedral of rheims.] [sidenote: candidates for knighthood] it is a great grief that aimery's father is not living to see his sons "come to knighthood." a good father always looks forward to that happy day; although in some disordered fiefs the seigneur will have to watch jealously lest the moment his offspring become full-fledged warriors they are not worked upon by disloyal vassals who will tell them, "your father is old, and cannot rule the barony; seize it for yourselves." even kings have to guard against this danger. philip augustus has knighted his heir, prince louis, only after the latter has taken a solemn oath not to enroll armed followers or perform other sovereign acts, save with his father's specific consent. theoretically, any knight can grant adubbement to any person he thinks worthy; but actually a knight who dubs a villein, save in very exceptional circumstances, will jeopardize his own claim to nobility; and if he thrusts the honor on young, untried petty nobles, he will be laughed at, and their claims to the rank be promptly questioned. fathers have often dubbed their sons, but better still, a young noble will seek the honor from his suzerain. aimery learns with satisfaction that the duke of quelqueparte has consented to give the buffet of honor, for the higher the rank of the adubbing cavalier, the greater the glory of the ex-squire. [illustration: a thirteenth-century knight from a bas-relief at the cathedral of rheims (viollet-le-duc).] the adubbement of knights is still a decidedly secular ceremony. doubtless, the custom can be somewhat traced back to the crude rites whereby germanic youths were initiated into the ranks of first-class warriors. beyond the vigil in the church and the hearing of mass, there is not much that is religious about it. clerical customs are indeed intruding. young nobles like to visit rome and be dubbed by the pope. others now are beginning to kneel before bishops and crave knighthood as a kind of lay consecration. opinion, however, still frowns on this. adubbement is a military business and churchmen had better keep their place. it will be more than a hundred years before religion and sentimentality can intrude much into what has long been a distinctly martial affair. [sidenote: ceremonies before adubbement] easter, ascension day, pentecost and st. john's day are acceptable times for adubbements; but there are plenty of precedents for combining the ceremony with an important wedding, as it might be with the baptism of the heir to a barony. in the present case, moreover, as happens very often, aimery, although the chief candidate for knighthood, is not alone. the duke will give the qualifying blow to five other young men, sons of the st. aliquis vassals; and, indeed, twenty or more candidates are often knighted together at the king's court. [illustration: a beggar end of the twelfth century (from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale).] the night before the ceremony the whole castle is in as great a stir as before the wedding. more guests, more feasting, more jongleurs, perpetual singing, music, noise. upon the table in the great hall adela and alienor (as substitutes for aimery's mother) have laid out for public admiration the costume which he will assume the next day. the articles are selected as carefully as for the bridal--especially the spotless white shirt, the costly robe of ermine, and the spurs of gold. a host of beggars swarm in the bailey, for this occasion calls for an unusual recklessness of almsgiving. even the invited guests are throwing around coppers, thereby proving their nobility. as for aimery, when the evening falls he and his five companions take a complete bath, not without considerable solemnity. this act has genuine significance. "it is to efface all villainies of the past life, that the bather may come out pure."[ ] there are no boisterous splashing and merrymaking as the youths sit in the long wooden bathtubs. while they dress themselves, smiling sergeants appear with presents. relatives, the suzerain, noble friends, have sent them articles of costly apparel, usually silken and fur-lined, to wear during their "vigil at arms." these are very much like the gifts that are showered upon a bride. it is about half a mile from st. aliquis castle to the parish church. after their bath the six candidates go hither, attended by the youths who are to become their squires. the company is joyous, but not noisy; violent mirth were unbecoming. at the church the squires-to-be leave the others. the candidates enter the great dark building. on the high altar a lamp burns, and on the side altar of st. martin, the warrior saint, is a blaze of candles before a picture showing the holy man in the costume of a knight giving half of his military cloak to a beggar. the new weapons and armor of the candidates have been laid upon this altar. then the vigil begins. the six knights-elect must not converse. they can only stand, or kneel at preference, for the whole ten hours--a serious physical ordeal. during the solemn silence they are expected to pray to all their patron saints and make solemn vows to govern their whole life. it is a time for serious meditation, and aimery beseeches, "give to me honor," loyally adding, "and to my brother long life!" he does not ask "honor" for conon also, for that would imply the mighty baron still needed it. then at last dawn creeps through the storied windows. an old priest enters and says mass, which the candidates follow gravely. at six in the morning, with the summer air bright and beautiful around them, they are all going again to the castle, merry and talkative in reaction from the long constraint. [sidenote: dressing the candidates] back in the castle aimery is glad of an unusually hearty breakfast. not merely has the long vigil of standing wearied him, but he will need all his strength for the ordeal of the day. next he goes to his chamber, where the stripling who is to be his squire, the son of a friendly baron, puts on his new master's gala dress. white is the predominant color--"whiter than the snow of the april flowers." friends of his brother come in to witness the process, and compliment the candidate very openly upon his broad shoulders, healthy complexion, and hardened sinews. these congratulations become more pronounced when a bustling servitor announces that "all is ready." aimery strides into the courtyard. the place seems crammed with knights and dames, old and young, all in their best. everybody (partly from politeness, partly from genuine enthusiasm) begins to call out: "how fine he is! a true st. aliquis! right worthy of his brother!" immediately two loud trumpets announce the ceremony. a great orchestra of jongleurs raises a clamor. the sight is magnificent. the castle court seems alive with color. the women are in striking costumes, with their long hair hanging braided on their shoulders. the knights wear either bliauts, green, blue, or red, or hauberks of dazzling brightness. the numerous priests present have on their finest robes. even the monks seem less somber in their habits. all is noise, music, and animation. the six candidates, followed by the whole rejoicing company, cross the bailey and the lists and go forth to the exercise ground by the garden. here there is a platform covered with fine saracen carpets. the duke of quelqueparte stands thereon, a majestic elderly warrior in gilded armor. the six candidates form a semicircle at the foot of the platform; then aimery, as the brother of the giver of the fête, is the first to mount. immediately his "first sponsor" presents himself, a white-headed knight, a maternal uncle. deliberately he kisses the candidate; then, kneeling, puts on his two golden spurs. as the uncle steps back, conon and olivier present themselves. they are the second and third sponsors. they pull a dazzling white steel hauberk over aimery's head and adjust its cape. upon this last they set the equally brilliant helmet, adorned with semiprecious stones. then the fourth sponsor, the stately count of perseigne, girds on the candidate's sword, adding a few words of admonition how the younger man "must use it worthily"; to which the other responds by lifting the weapon and piously kissing the relics set in the hilt. [sidenote: the buffet of knighthood] the four sponsors step back. the assembled jongleurs give a mighty crash of music. the duke lifts his clenched hand. "bow the head!" he orders. "i will give you the blow." aimery bows himself meekly to the greater lord, but his meekness is tested by the terrific stroke of his suzerain's fist, which sends him reeling. but the instant he recovers, the duke seizes him in comradely embrace. "be brave, sire aimery. recall that you are of a lineage famous both as seigneurs and as vassals, and do nothing base. honor all knights. give to the poor. love god. go!" the happy cavalier replies: "i thank you, fair lord, and may god hear you. let me always serve and love him." then he descends the platform, and each of the other candidates mounts in turn to be knighted with similar ceremonies, although the sponsors (drawn from relatives or connections) will be different. the crowd standing round follows the proceedings with the uttermost interest, joining in a mighty shout each time the blow of honor is given. then conon, as master of ceremonies, waves to his marshal. "bring in the horses!" immediately the new squires to the new knights appear, leading six steeds, faultlessly groomed and in beautiful harness--the gift of the baron to the candidates. the instant the horses are in front of the platform the new cavaliers break from their statuesque rigidity. clothed as they are now in heavy hauberk and helmet, they run, each man to his horse, and try to leap to the saddle at one bound without touching foot to the stirrups. an anxious moment for them; an equally anxious moment for parents, brothers, or sisters. from the time a young nobleman is in his cradle his mother will discuss with his father, "will he make the 'leap' when he is knighted?" it is one of the great tests of a martial education, and one that must be taken with the uttermost publicity. truth to tell, aimery and his friends have been practicing the feat with desperate energy for the last month. done! all six have mounted fairly! salvos of applause. his friends are congratulating conon: "such a brother!" the kinsfolk of the other young knights are similarly overwhelmed. [sidenote: concluding exercises] meantime the happy new cavaliers hold their horses motionless for an instant while their squires run to them with their lances and triangular shields. the lances have long bright pennons with three tails which float down upon their riders' helmets. this act performed, the riders put their steeds through all manner of gallops and caracoles, and next, "singing high with clear voice," away they go, flying toward a place on the exercise ground where the _quintain_--the wooden manikin warrior--has been set up.[ ] to smash its shield and fling it to the ground with a single lance thrust is another unescapable test. this ordeal also is met by aimery and his peers with tolerable glory for all. after this sport the new knights are expected to _behourder_--that is, to indulge in mock duels with blunted weapons. these were not counted serious contests, but often enough, if blood is high and rivalry keen, they can take on the form of vigorous combats. to-day, however, everybody is in too good humor for violent blows; besides, the real tournament begins to-morrow, and it is best to keep strength and weapons until then. the morning is now spent. seigneurial appetites have been nobly whetted. the pavilions are again ready in the garden, and the cooks have prepared pasties, joints of meat, and great quantities of roast poultry, even as for the wedding feast. there is another round of gorging and guzzling, only this time the six new knights occupy the place of honor, and the master jongleur's story is not concerning sad tristan, but about how brave godfrey of bouillon stormed jerusalem. everybody is commenting upon the admirable grace, modesty, and proficiency in arms of sire aimery. a count has approached conon already before dinner. "fair baron, you have a brother who is a credit to your name. is it true he is to receive petitmur? i have a daughter in her fifteenth year; her dowry will be----" but conon tactfully shrugs his shoulders. "fair count, my brother will indeed receive petitmur; but to-day he is knighted and can speak for himself. make your marriage proposals to him. i have no longer the right to control him." footnotes: [ ] lances grew longer and stouter in the later middle ages. in the fourteenth century they were about fifteen feet long and were a kind of battering rams designed to dash one's opponent out of the saddle, even if his armor were not pierced. [ ] another weapon not infrequently used was the mace, an iron-headed war club with a fairly long handle. in powerful hands such a weapon could fell the sturdiest opponent, however good his armor. the mace was somewhat the favorite of martial bishops, abbots, and other churchmen, who thus evaded the letter of the canon forbidding clerics to "smite with the edge of the sword," or to "shed blood." the mace merely smote your foe senseless or dashed out his brains, without piercing his lungs or breast! another weapon especially common in the early middle ages was the battle ax. [ ] the destrer was so called because it was supposed to be led at the knight's right hand (_dexter_) and ready for instant use, as he traveled on his less powerful palfrey. [ ] as chivalry took on its later and more religious cast, all the acts of an adubbement became clothed with allegorical meaning--_e.g._ besides the bath, the candidate must lie down (at least for a moment) upon a bed, because "it was an emblem of the rest which god grants to his followers, the brave knights." the candidate's snow-white shirt is to show that "he must keep his flesh from every stain if he would hope to reach heaven." his scarlet robe shows that he "must be ready to pour out his blood for holy church." his trunk hose of brown silk "remind him by their somber hue he must die." his white girdle "warns him that his soul should be stainless." [ ] see p. . chapter xiii: the tourney. when conon decided to give a tourney as a climax to the wedding and adubbement festivities, he sent out several servitors of good appearance and loud voices to course the country for some twenty leagues around. these varlets bawled their proclamation at every crossroad, village, inn, and castle gate. "the wednesday after st. ancildus day, good people! in the meadow at st. aliquis by the claire. the wednesday after st. ancildus day! let all come who love to see or to join in deeds of valor!" this is "crying the tourney." as soon as the news spreads abroad, every petty sire takes council with his wife whether he can afford to go. the women begin to hunt up their best bliauts and furs; the men to furbish their armor. soon various cavaliers, arranging with their friends, undertake to form challenge parties. they write on a scroll "at the castle of a---- there are seven knights who will be ready to joust with all comers to st. aliquis." this they post on a tree by the wayside in order that other lordlings may organize similar parties to confront them. tourneys are to be reckoned as "little wars themselves, and the apprenticeship for great ones." they have an inconceivably prominent place in feudal life. vainly the church objects to them. all nobles will tell you that without tourneys you can never train good warriors. [sidenote: early tourneys were battles] tourneys, however, bring profit and pleasure to all manner of people--no cause for unpopularity. the "joy women," who rush to ply their sinful wiles despite every attempt to restrict them; the common villeins, who drop their work to enjoy one grand holiday; and the merchants, who really hold a small fair near the lists, all are delighted. as for men of gentle blood, an english chronicler can state the case alike for france and england: "a knight cannot shine in war if he has not been prepared for it in tourneys. he must have seen his own blood flow, have had his teeth crackle under the blow of his adversary, have been dashed to the earth with such force as to feel the weight of his opponent, and disarmed twenty times; he must twenty times have retrieved his failures, more than ever set on combat." _then_ he will be ready for actual war and can hope to conquer! in early feudal days tourneys differed from battles merely in that the time and the place were fixed in advance, and fair conditions arranged. according to the epics, at "charlemagne's court" the nobles often got tired of ordinary sports and "demanded a tourney." the results were merely pitched battles in which many were slain and many more wounded. there was no luxury, pomp, or patronage by fair ladies at the earliest tourneys.[ ] they were exceedingly violent pastimes in which "iron men" measured their strength and rejoiced in deadly blows. since then tourneys have been getting less brutal. an important spectacular element is intruding. the rules of combat are becoming more elaborate, fewer knights are killed, and there is an appeal to something better than mere fighting instinct. on the other hand, in the thirteenth century jousts and mêlées are far from being mere displays of fine armor and fine manners. the military element is still uppermost. furthermore, since the vanquished cavaliers are the prisoners of the victors and are subject to ransom, or at least their horses and armor are forfeit, certain formidable knights go from tourney to tourney deliberately seeking profit by taking prisoners. in short, so dangerous are tourneys even yet, that as recently as , when prince louis, heir of king philip, was knighted, his father made him swear he would merely watch them as spectator--for the life of a prince royal is too precious to risk in such affairs. the popes have long since denounced tourneys. innocent ii, eugenius iii, alexander iii, and finally the great and wise innocent iii have prohibited christians from participating in the same under peril of their souls. but _cui bono_? great barons who shudder at the thought of eating beef on fridays defy the church absolutely when it comes to a matter of "those creations of the devil" (to quote st. bernard of clairvaux) in which immortal souls are so often sped. when conon decides to add a tourney as a climax to his fête, a score of carpenters are hired down from pontdebois to help out the levy of peasants in preparing the lists and lodges. some of the guests have already come to the wedding and the adubbement, but many more arrive merely for the knightly contests. for these, of course, the baron affords only limited hospitality--a good place to pitch their tents, water and forage, with perhaps an invitation to the castle hall at dinner time to certain leaders. many visitors can get accommodation in the better houses in the village, or at the monastery; but, the weather being fine, the majority prefer to set out their pavilions by the claire, and the night before the sports begin there seem to be tents enough for an army. [sidenote: the lists and the lodges] the visitors come in their best bliauts and armor. certain powerful counts collect as many lesser nobles as possible, even making up bands of twenty knights, twenty squires, a great number of ladies and waiting women, also some hundreds of ignoble servitors. except for the presence of the women and the omission of military precautions, you might think them going to an ordinary muster for war. meantime, in the wide exercise ground where sire aimery had been dubbed, the special lists are made ready. these are simple affairs, something like a race course of other days. two pairs of strong wooden palisades are erected. the outer line is shoulder high; the inner is lower and has many openings. between the two lines is the space for spare horses, squires, attendants, and heralds; also for privileged spectators. the humbler onlookers will peer standing over the outer palisade, but behind and above this rise the series of lodges, shaded with tentlike canopies, floored with carpets, and gay with pennons. in them will be stationed the ladies and the older, less martial knights. the space within the lists is some hundred yards long by fifty wide. that evening conon and sire eustace survey the decorations, the forest of banners waving over the colored pavilions of the visitors, and listen complacently to the glad hum of voices and the jongleur's chants everywhere arising. "ah, fair baron," says the seneschal, "all france will talk of this spear breaking until christmas! it will be a great day for st. aliquis." at gray dawn the heralds from the castle go through the avenues of tents, calling, monotonously: "let the jousters make ready! let the jousters make ready!" soon squires half dressed are seen running to and fro. there is a great saddling and girdling, neighing and stamping. a few pious knights and dames hurry to the castle chapel for a mass very hastily said, but the bulk of the company cross themselves and mutter: "we will be sinners to-day. the blessed saints are merciful!" presently, by the time the sun is well above the trees, everybody is bound for the lists. the ladies, if possible, ride white mules and are dressed as splendidly as for their own weddings. not in many a day will st. aliquis see again such displays of marten, ermine, and vair, of sendal and samite, of gold thread and pearls. the common folk point and applaud loudly when an unusually handsomely clad dame sweeps by. what right have grand folk to claim the obedience of the lesser, if they cannot delight the public gaze by their splendors? as for the jongleurs, their name is legion. the whole affair is characterized by a "music" becoming deafening. while the dames and other noncombatants take seats in the lodges, the six camp marshals--distinguished knights in charge of the contests--appear in the lists. they advance on foot, wearing very brilliant bliauts. conon, as giver of the festivities, is naturally at their head. behind follow the humbler born heralds and pursuivants who will assist them, and encourage the combatants with such cries as: "remember whose son you are!" "be worthy of your ancestry!" there is also a large squad of varlets and sergeants to keep order, bring new lances, clear away broken weapons, and rescue fallen knights. conon's keen eye sweeps the tilt yard. everything is ready. the baron bows politely to his suzerain, the duke and duchess, in the central lodge; then he raises a white baton. "bring in the jousters!" he commands. [sidenote: brilliant procession of jousters] instantly there is a great blare of trumpets from the end of the lists farthest from the castle. four gorgeously arrayed heralds lead the procession on foot. then comes a jongleur on horseback, playing with his sword, tossing it high in the air and catching as it whirls downward. next come the actual contestants, some eighty knights riding two by two. they go down one side of the lists and back the other. some cavaliers turn deliberately to ogle the ladies in the lodges, and the gentle dames (old and young) are not backward in leaning forward and waving in reply. it is a sight to stir the blood--all the pageantry of war, without as yet its slaughter; the presence of gorgeously clad women in graceful attitudes; and the air charged with the excitement of brave deeds and of genuine perils to come. suddenly all the knights begin to sing. the women catch up the chorus of some rousing melody which makes the lists shake. the cavaliers compel their horses to prance and curvet as they go by some lady of especial favor. from many lances are hanging bright streamers--not banners, but sleeves and stockings, the gifts of friendly dames. the younger knights are rejoiced by seeing damsels, whose eye they have taken, rise in the lodges and then and there, before the cheering hundreds, fling them "gages of love." it is so with young sire aimery as he modestly rides near the tail of the procession. the daughter of the approving count stands boldly and casts him a long red ribbon wherewith she had braided her hair. the other new knights receive similar tokens from unabashed admirers. this process will keep up through the games. the shrieking, excited ladies will presently cast into the lists gloves, girdles, and ribbons. many will sit at the end with only their flying hair, and their pelissons and chemises for costume. some combatants are intent on grim business. these are the professional jousters, determined to get as many ransoms as possible and to maintain their own proud reputation. their armor is beautifully burnished; but it is quite plain. they have prepared for a regular battle. other knights have painted their scabbards, lance butts, and shields with brilliant white, red, or black. on the crests of their helmets they have set outlandish figures--monsters, heads of birds, or of women. as in fancy balls of other days, their aim is to attract attention by the peculiarity of their costumes. conon does not desire a bloody tourney and the funeral of several friendly knights as a climax to his gayety. orders have therefore been given that all lance points are to be blunted, also that all sword edges and points be rounded. the tournament lances, too, are lighter than the battle lances and made of brittle wood.[ ] nevertheless, the blows struck will be terrible. the best leach from pontdebois is already in the duke's lodge, and his services will be needed. strictly speaking, a tourney falls into two parts--the jousting always comes first, with the mêlée, which is the real tourney proper, as the grand climax to the entire occasion. what follows might seem to men of other days somewhat monotonous after the novelty has worn away, although the first contests are exciting enough. the competing knights have been told off in pairs, partly by mutual consent, partly by the tactful arrangement of the camp marshals. after the procession around the lists, the contestants take their stations, some in the saddle, some dismounted in the spaces between the barriers. there is an awesome hush along the lodges and in the great standing throng of the vulgar. a herald calls in loud voice, "let him come to joust who wishes to do battle!" instantly two keen trumpets answer each other from opposite ends of the lists, and two pursuivants come forward. these worthies are really only jongleurs on less exciting days. they have now taken the deniers of two young barons who are anxious to make a brave appearance. the pursuivants are grotesquely dressed with bright parti-colored mantles and bliauts. each begins bawling shrilly even while his rival is calling: "here is the good cavalier and baron, ferri of st. potentin. a brave knight of a valorous house. he will teach a lesson to his enemies!" "here is the good cavalier, raoul, eldest son of the most puissant count of maurevay. watch now his deeds, all you who love brave actions!" [illustration: a tournament in the twelfth century at the back are the galleries where the ladies sit; then, near the entrance to the lists, some cavaliers wait their turn to take part in the contest; in the center, some servants and others of the contestants pick up one of the combatants who has been thrown from his horse by his adversary.] then each of the twain reviles the master of the other: "_he!_ your sire raoul is the son of a crow. all his friends will this day be ashamed of him. let him find his ransom money!" "silence all boasts, you pursuivant of a caitiff master. sire ferri, if he outlives the shock, will have his spurs struck from his heels as being unworthy of knighthood!" meantime the two champions, rigid as statues, suffer their squires to lead them upon their tall destrers to opposite ends of the lists. when they are facing and their squires have nodded that their masters are ready, a marshal waves his white baton, calling loudly, "in the name of god and st. michael, do your battle!" [sidenote: lance breaking in the lists] all the dames, nobles, and base-born rise in the lodges and shout together when suddenly the two knights and their mighty horses spring to life. the ground quakes and the sod flies when they rush down the lists as if hurried toward each other by irresistible force. as they gallop, each bends low in the saddle--swings his shield to cover his body, lowers his helmet almost to the top of his shield, swerves his horse so as to pass his opponent on the right, and with sure grip drops his lance point before him. "crash!" the splintering of wood can be heard through the din from the lodges. both horses are thrown upon their haunches and are casting out great clods of earth. each knight is flourishing the broken butt of a lance and across the shield of each there is a long jagged mark. "fairly broken! fairly broken! a noble course!" cries everyone. the two contestants wheel gracefully and canter back to their stations. squires run up with fresh lances. sire raoul takes a new shield, the earlier one showing signs of splitting as well as being battered. another course; another crash--and two more broken lances. but at the third shock sire ferri meets utter humiliation. he indeed meets raoul's lance fairly on his shield and again the tough wood is splintered, but excitement, overconfidence, or the intervention of the devil makes his wrist a little unsteady. at the moment of collision raoul swerves his body a trifle to the left. ferri's lance misses his foe's shield entirely. it flies off in the air, and in the confusion escapes from his hand. there is hooting from the villeins; worse still, there is shrill derision from all the lodges. sire ferri rides back to his post, grinding his teeth and swearing blasphemously. he must now pay a ransom to raoul for his horse and armor, despite the boastings of his pursuivant, and not even have the melancholy consolation of knowing that he was unhorsed in a fair collision. [sidenote: a bloody duel] but the next duel has a more exciting ending. two cavaliers who now engage are exceptionally experienced knights. at the first charge both horses sustain such a shock when the lances shiver that their masters can barely force them to their feet. at the second charge the more skillful rider holds his lance so squarely that, instead of its breaking, the opposing knight is fairly flung out of the saddle--dashed from his horse and sprawled headlong with a great clattering of armor. the heralds and squires run to him and find that, thanks to his hauberk, he has escaped dangerous wounds, though he coughs away several teeth. great is the excitement in the lodges. several duels after this end in honorable draws. the knights have agreed to "break three lances fairly for the love of the ladies," and gallantly do so. there are no victors or vanquished. then it is proclaimed that two seigneurs from champagne, sire emeri and sire lourent, having an especial desire to "debate together" (their original quarrel had been over dice) are resolved to fight until one cries "mercy," and will continue their battle on foot should either be unhorsed. three times they break lances unscathed, but the fourth time lourent's stirrup parts and he is pitched upon the sands. instantly he is free from his snorting, plunging destrer and on his feet, flourishing his great sword. emeri now might lawfully ride against him, but it is no chivalrous thing for a mounted knight to attack an unmounted one. down he leaps also, making his blade dance above his head like a stream of light. then to the infinite joy of the lodges the two cavaliers hack and feud with each other for a good ten minutes, till the blood streams down their faces, the bright paint on their shields is marred, and the crests of their helmets have vanished in dentings. at last emeri flings his strength into a lucky blow. his sword is blunted, but by sheer weight of the stroke the blade smashes lourent's shield asunder, descending like a smith's sledge upon his helmet. lourent topples like a log. a great shout goes through the lodges. "dead!" cry many; but, to the relief of the women, the word presently spreads that he is only soundly stunned, though the leech says that "he will not fight again till christmas." the duels continue all through the morning. there is an interval while cakes and wine are passed through the lodges and loaves are thrown among the plebeians. most duels seem decidedly similar, but each is followed with undiminishing delight. the ladies no less than their brothers and husbands grasp all the niceties of the contests--the methods whereby each champion holds his lance and shield and controls his horse are wisely discussed by a hundred pairs of pretty lips. between each tilt the heralds, besides praising the valor of the next pair of combatants, keep up their cries, "largesse, gallant knights! largesse!" and now one, now another baron rises in the lodges to fling coins among villeins (whose rough scrambling causes much merriment), or even to toss money to the heralds themselves--which they never hesitate to pick up. [sidenote: contest at the barriers] many knights are content with a single passage at arms, but some who have been successful once tempt fortune a second time. these are likely to be the professional champions, and they give remarkable exhibitions of perfect horsemanship and lance play. as the afternoon advances, for variation, there is a fight at the barriers. a stout wooden bar about waist high is set across the middle of the lists, and seven knights from one seigneury and seven from another undertake to cross the same, while preventing the other party from advancing. they fight on foot with sword and mace. it is desperate work; and when at last one party has forced its way across, four of the defeated side have broken bones, despite their hauberks, and all-but-broken heads, despite their helmets. [illustration: knightly combat on foot (from an old print.)] then a very arrogant baron who has already won three ransoms determines to increase his wealth. stationing himself at the head of the lists, he bids his pursuivant challenge all comers. there is a long hush. sire paul has made such a trade of his prowess that assuredly there seems something mercantile about his valor, yet assuredly he is a terrible man. suddenly the lodges begin to cry, "a st. aliquis!" sire aimery himself (who earlier had broken three lances very neatly with a friend) is sending down his pursuivant. all the older knights mutter: "a fearful risk for the lad! let him pray to his saints." conon demands angrily of olivier, "could not you keep back the boy from this folly?" but does not heaven favor the young and brave? perhaps it is because sire paul has let himself become careless; perhaps because his squire has forgotten to tighten his saddle girths; perhaps because st. génevieve cannot allow her votary to undergo disgrace thus early in his knighthood. in any case, results confound the wiseacres. "the pitcher that goes too often to the well is broken," dryly observes father grégoire, when at the first course sire paul is ignominiously flung from the saddle. _hé!_ sire aimery will now have more sleeves, girdles, and stockings than can ever flutter from any one lance, and his kinsfolk are out of their wits for joy! no victory could ever be more praised and popular. so ends the jousting, and that night round st. aliquis blaze the great camp fires of the company, all cooking most hearty suppers (after fasting almost all day), everybody visiting from tent to tent, fighting the day's contests over again, condoling with the defeated and praising the victors. alliances, both military and matrimonial, are negotiated between consequential barons; the jongleurs produce tricks and songs; there is a great deal of dancing by the red firelight; and also, one fears, much hard drinking and most unseemly revelry. [sidenote: the great mêlée] the next day there is the climax to the festival, the mêlée. really, it is nothing less than a pitched battle on a small scale. the details have been arranged at a council of the more prominent seigneurs at the castle. about forty knights on a side are to fight under the leadership of the viscount of gemours and the baron of dompierre. the space in the lists is insufficient. they go to a broad, convenient meadow across the claire, where the noncombatants can watch from a safe distance. the marshals array the two companies "at least a bowshot apart." groups of friendly knights are set together and are placed opposite to groups of rivals with whom they are anxious to collide. the great banners of the houses of gemours and dompierre flutter in the center of each respective array, and all the little banderoles of the various knights wave with them. when all is ready, conon gives the signal, "charge them in god's name!" [illustration: a combat in the twelfth century from the manuscript of herrade of landsperg (schultz).] each baron is expected to charge a particular foe, but all are liable to be swerved in the great rush of men and horses. the two flashing squadrons of cavalry come together like thunderbolts. all the danger of the jousts is present, and another more terrible--that of being trampled to death, if once down, by the raging horses. there is no real leadership. gemours and dompierre merely try to set examples of valor and to push their banners forward as rallying points. at first the fighting is good-humored, but when the lances are broken and everyone is smiting one another with sword or mace, the contest becomes desperate. a fearful cloud of dust rises, almost blinding to the combatants, and rendering their blows more reckless. after the fight has progressed some time, certain of the less adventurous knights begin to drop out. the squires dive into the murk of warriors and horses and drag to safety now this, now another fallen cavalier. at last, just as conon is considering whether he should not proclaim a "draw," the gemours banner is observed to topple. a desperate attempt is made to right it, but it sinks again amid a rending shout from the victors. the uplifted hands fall. the frantic horses are brought under control. "a dompierre! a dompierre!" bawl all the heralds. and so the mêlée ends. no one, thanks to excellent armor, is dead, although one heir to a barony is in a desperate condition and several shoulders and thighs are broken. it is futile to count the shattered collar bones and ribs. "a very _gentle_ passage at arms!" says the duke to conon, congratulating his vassal on the fête and its climax. all the other seigneurs join in similar praises. that night there is another round of festivities and of visiting. the next dawn the whole company scatters. the jongleurs' music has ceased at last. there is no more dancing. after over two weeks of intensifying gayety st. aliquis suddenly returns to sober, normal life. alienor, after tearful farewells, departs with her husband for burgundy. aimery rides over to his little castle at petitmur, which he will hold as his brother's vassal. adela lectures her maids on the need of catching up with their weaving, while conon holds anxious conferences with his chief provost on the costs of the celebration. [sidenote: vast expense of tourneys] doubtless the affair has brought glory to the seigneury. more than a hundred knights and two hundred squires or unknighted nobles have attended, along with thousands of villeins. but how costly have been the furs, drinking cups and fine weapons presented the guests, the destrers given the new knights, above all the vast quantity of provisions devoured! just god! if conon had realized the entire expense he would hardly have embarked on the whole undertaking. the worst is that the peasants of the whole barony are so demoralized that it will be two weeks more ere they return to work. money must be borrowed from jew simon in pontdebois to tide over the crisis. the baron must give up his usual visit to the king's court at paris. he must also dismiss certain cherished schemes of picking a quarrel with the sire of rideau and forcing a private war. thanks be to our lady, however, françois need not be knighted these ten years, when (being an eldest son) an "aide" can be levied on all the vassals to help cover the cost. footnotes: [ ] the earliest recorded tourney is alleged to have been about a.d. . in germany they long continued to be excessively brutal. as late as one was held near cologne at which more than sixty persons perished. [ ] often sharp weapons were used in tournaments, especially between combatants who fought _à outrance_, to clear up some desperate personal grudge. many noblemen were thus slain--_e.g._, in a tourney "in the french fashion" at london, the earl of essex was killed in . chapter xiv: a baronial feud. the siege of a castle. we have visited st. aliquis in days of peace, and at peace the seigneury remains while we tarry. but peace and pageants no more deadly than tourneys are seldom the continuous state of things. "rumors of wars" there are every day; actual wars every few years. let the saints be praised if such contests are largely local, are not bitterly fought out, and are composed before they have caused worse things than the harrying of certain villages of helpless, innocent peasants. in spite of the efforts of clergy and of kings it will be truthfully written of feudal france that "war was practically a permanent scourge almost everywhere. _in the society of that day war was the normal state._" when these wars are waged by mighty kings one can at least take the comfort that perhaps they are settling long-standing questions concerning many people, and, however dreadful, may pave the way for lasting peace. such a war has lately found its climax in the decisive battle of bouvines, whereof more anon. but most of the wars are for miserably petty stakes. time was when every insignificant sire holding a feeble tower considered that he had the right to declare war on any neighbor with whom he argued the rights to a trout stream. yet the case is changing. suzerains are insisting that the lower class of vassals arbitrate their quarrels and not embroil the neighborhood. nevertheless, the superior type of barons still claim war as their "noble right." the amount of local fighting can hardly be computed. [sidenote: varieties of baronial wars] there is something abnormal about a powerful seigneur who (if blessed with a long lifetime) does not have at least _one_ war with each of his several suzerains, a war with the bishops and abbots with whom he has contact, a war with each neighboring noble of equal rank, unless their houses are unwontedly friendly, and a war with at least some of his own vassals. a war can start out of a dispute about a bit of land, an ill-defined boundary, or the exact obligations of a feudal tenure. theoretically, the suzerain can interfere between wrangling vassals. practically, he had better let them fight it out, at least till there seems real danger that their fiefs will be permanently injured. then he can sometimes compel a truce. unfortunately, however, god often permits the bitterest wars to be fought within the fief itself. sons fight with fathers--"the old man" will not let his grown boys rule the seigneury to their liking.[ ] younger brothers battle with elder brothers over the inheritance. nephews attack uncles who seem prolonging their guardianship. sons even attack a widowed mother to seize her dower lands. these are only some of the things which make the devil rub his taloned fingers. nevertheless, certain limitations are intruding, customs that have nearly the force of law.[ ] for example, if a vassal attacks his suzerain, none but his own family (among his noble followers) can aid him. also, in any case, at least a week's notice must be given ere the war is commenced. after the war does begin, forty days' respite must also be granted your foe's relatives ere attacking them. in the interval they are entitled to proclaim their neutrality and so to become safe. again, one is supposed to respect priests and women and minors. finally, if a truce is made the suzerain is bound to punish the violators. such understandings rob warfare of part of its horrors, but do not prevent infinite blood and misery. as for that motive which prevails in other ages for waging wars--_patriotism_--often it does not seem to exist so vitally. certainly frenchmen ought to make a common front against germans, italians, english, etc., but lapses from this obligation are not always condemned as morally outrageous. quite recently the count of boulogne, being at odds with king philip, took money from both the king of england and the emperor of germany to raise up enemies against the king of france; and the count evidently felt that this was a proper measure against an obnoxious suzerain. the great significant tie is that of _personal loyalty_.[ ] it is horrible to betray the prince to whom you have sworn fealty. a suzerain will call out his host by a summons to "my vassals," he will seldom think of appealing to "my fellow countrymen." [sidenote: few battles and little strategy] we have said that wars are incessant; yet there is one strange thing about them--_pitched battles are very rare_. the campaigns abound in petty skirmishes--valorous duels, surprises of small castles, occasional clashes of cavalry, and, above all, in the pitiless ravaging of the lands, farms, and villages of the helpless peasantry. what better way to put pressure on your foe than to reduce his villeins to such misery that they can render him nothing in money or kind and that he thus be brought to poverty? if you have the weaker force you will not think of meeting an invader in battle. you will shut yourself up in your castles when you see the burning villages, stifle your pride, remain passive, and trust that after the "forty days' service" of your enemy's vassals is expired they will weary of the operations and not venture to besiege your strongholds. then when the foe's army is beginning to disperse you can employ some neutral baron or abbot to negotiate peace. even when kings are in the field, with really large armies, somehow the opposing forces seldom risk a decisive encounter. they maneuver, skirmish, and negotiate underhandedly with the uncertain elements in the hostile camp. the upshot often is that the invading army, having devoured all the provisions in the open country and not daring to besiege strong cities with a powerful enemy close at hand, retreats homeward. of course, sometimes there are great battles with great results. such in the eleventh century was senlac, when duke william the norman won all england. such, more recently, was the famous day at bouvines. such marked several of the crusades against the infidels, particularly the great and successful first crusade, and the third crusade, when richard the lion hearted seemed to come nearer than any other feudal general to being a really able tactician, if not a great strategist. these battles are few and far between--and even the mighty richard's ideal style of fighting was rather that of a headlong cavalier followed by only fifteen knights and with his ponderous ax hewing a bloody lane through a host of infidels, than that of a careful commander coolly directing a mighty army. besides, most of the wars between second-class barons involve very small forces. they are only affairs for hundreds. if matters come to grips, the best captain is he who orders "advance, banner bearer! follow me, vassals!" and leads the headlong charge. enormous pains have been taken in training the individual warrior. for personal prowess the french cavalier is as formidable an individual as ever shared the sins of mankind. but he is trained only in simple evolutions when maneuvering in companies. he dislikes taking orders. he wearies of long campaigns. his camps are very unhygienic and subject to pestilence. wars, in short, are to him superb games, exciting, spiced with danger, and played for large stakes--which give the zest; but, save in the crusades and certain other rare cases, the higher objects which supply wars with their sole justification escape him entirely. "warfare," in the true scientific sense of the word, is something whereof your baron is usually in complete ignorance. earlier in this recital it has been seen that baron conon, soon after he obtained the seigneury, engaged in a brisk feud with the viscount of foretvert. this was so like many other feuds in the region that it is well to obtain an authentic history thereof from father grégoire, who knows all the circumstances. [sidenote: beginning of a feud] the origin of the quarrel (he tells us) was commonplace. doubtless the viscount had a contemptuous opinion of his then young and untried neighbor. there was a wood betwixt the two seigneuries which had been haltingly claimed by foretvert; but all through terrible baron garnier's time none but st. aliquis peasants had been suffered to cut fagots there. now suddenly huon, one of the forester's helpers, appeared before conon in a piteous plight. his thumbs had been hewn clean off. he had been chopping timber on the debatable land, had been seized by the viscount's men, haled before their master, and the latter had ordered this treatment, adding, with a grin: "this is the drink penny for touching a twig in my forests. tell your young lord to spread these tidings among his villeins." when conon had heard this taunt, his squires trembled at the workings of his face. then and there he pulled out his sword, placed his hands on the hilt, pressing upon the reliquary, and swore "by god's eyes!"[ ] that he would make the viscount and all the spawn of foretvert swallow enough of their own blood to be drunk to damnation. "certes," says father grégoire, "he could not as a christian baron do less; for the lord who lets another seigneur oppress his villeins is no lord; and if he had failed to resent such an insult none of his vassals would have obeyed him." that same day one of conon's squires rode to foretvert. he bore a "cartel," a bunch of fur plucked from his master's pelisson.[ ] he was only a young squire, but carried his head high. there was some danger in being such a messenger. the squire had to be as insolent as possible without actually provoking foretvert to violate the protection due to a herald. into the great hall of the offending seigneur strode said squire, carrying a bough of pine in his left hand, the bunch of fur in the right. his coming had been anticipated. the greetings, as he was led up to the dais where the viscount presided, were cold and ceremonious. then the squire straightened his slim form and shook out his long mantle. "sire viscount, my master, the baron of st. aliquis, demands of you satisfaction. if you do not make good the wrongs you have done to him and his, i loyally defy you in his name." and down he flung the cartel. "it is fitting," returned the viscount, mockingly, "a mere boy should be a squire for a lad. tell your very youthful master that i will soon teach him a lesson in the art of war." so with a few more such exchanges the squire rode homeward. meantime at st. aliquis things were stirring. the great bell on the donjon was ringing. zealous hands were already affixing the raw hides to the projecting wooden hoardings upon the battlements. all the storehouses for weapons in the bailey were being opened for a distribution of arms. from the armory forge came a mighty clangor of tightening rivets. the destrers must have caught the news, they stamped so furiously in the stables. in the great hall conon sat with adela (a wise head in martial matters), sire eustace, and the other knights in serious debate. [sidenote: mustering the vassals] simultaneously, messengers were pricking away to all the little villages and to the fortalices of the vassals. to the villeins they cried: "the baron proclaims war with foretvert. bring your cattle and movables near to the castle for protection." to the vassals they announced, "come with all the men you are bound in duty to lead, seven days from to-day, to st. aliquis, armed and provisioned for service; and hereof fail not or we burn you." this right to burn the dwellings of vassals who failed to obey the summons to the ban was one of long standing in feudal lands. other messengers proclaimed the ban by blowing the trumpet at every crossroads in the barony. to have disobeyed this call would have been the depth of feudal depravity. none of the vassals ventured to hesitate. on the contrary, most of them, like good liegemen, affected to show joy at this chance to follow their seigneur, crying at once, "my horse! my horse!" and ordering out all their retainers. the abbot of the monastery now, as duty bound, visited both leaders and vainly tried to negotiate peace. he met with courteous thanks and prompt refusals. while he was thus squaring with his conscience, conon was notifying all his outlying relatives. he was also sending to several powerful barons who had received armed assistance from st. aliquis in the past, and who were now tactfully reminded of this fact. he likewise sent an especially acceptable messenger to his suzerain the duke, to convince the latter that foretvert was entirely wrong, and that the duke had better not interfere. thanks to this energy and diplomacy, by the end of the week the whole countryside had been roused, the peasants had driven most of their cattle so close to st. aliquis castle that they could be protected, and many villeins, deserting their hovels, were camping in the open (it being fine summer weather) in the space between the barbican and bailey. as for conon, with pride he mustered his "array"--one hundred knights or battle worthy squires; two hundred sergeants--horsemen of non noble birth; and some seven hundred footmen--villeins with long knives, pikes, arbalists, big axes, etc.--of no great value in open battle, but sure to have their place in other work ahead. from foretvert reports came in of similar preparation. but the viscount had quarreled with some of his relations. he had broken a promise he once made to help a certain sire in a feud. his immediate vassals responded to his call, but they felt that their lord ought to have consulted them ere provoking st. aliquis so grossly. in a word, their zeal was not of the greatest. nevertheless, the viscount, an impetuous and self-confident man, having hastily assembled his forces, the very day the week of intermission ended invaded conon's territory. he expected to find his enemy's peasants still in the fields and the st. aliquis retainers in the process of mustering. to his amazement, he discovered that the villages were almost empty and most of the cattle driven away. nevertheless, he foolishly allowed his men to scatter in order to ravage everything left at their mercy. soon hayricks were burning, standing crops were being trampled down, and the thatch on the forsaken huts was blazing. here and there troopers were driving before their spears oafish peasants who had lingered too long. the hands of these wretches were tied behind their backs. beside them trudged their weeping wives and children. every sheep, pig, and chicken discoverable was, of course, seized.[ ] the ravagers soon had enough booty to load their horses to such a degree that one of foretvert's more experienced knights warned him his men were becoming dangerously encumbered in case of an encounter. [sidenote: a passage at arms] the viscount laughed at these fears, yet was about to sound trumpets to recall the foraging parties; when, lo! down a wood road, through a forest that had been imperfectly scouted, came charging the whole st. aliquis levy, with conon's great banner racing on ahead. half of the viscount's men were dispersed; the other half barely got into a kind of order when their enemies were upon them, thrusting, slashing, and laying about like fiends. such being the case, foretvert had cause to bless the virgin that he got safely from the field. he only did so because his squire most gallantly stabbed the horse of sire eustace just as he was closing with the viscount. the squire himself was brained by the seneschal's mace an instant later. five of the foretvert knights were slain outright, despite their armor. four more were pulled from their horses and dragged off as prisoners for ransom. of the foraging parties, the leaders got home by putting their horses at speed, but the miserable footmen were intercepted by scores. many of these were slain while dropping their sinful booty. about forty were taken prisoners, but, being only villeins (from whom no ransom was to be expected), conon promptly hanged ten as a warning against further ravaging of his lands, and took the other thirty back to his castle to be hanged later in case this first hint should not prove effective.[ ] this unusually decisive engagement ought, in the opinion of many, to have ended the war. conon now invaded the foretvert domains and with proper precautions sent out _his_ ravaging parties, who soon taught their foes a lesson as to how to devastate a countryside. but the viscount, although sorely shaken and deserted now by many, arrogantly refused to make those concessions which conon declared "his honor required ere he could think of peace." the war thus promised not to terminate until, by incessant raids and counter-raids, the peasants of both seigneuries had been brought to the edge of starvation. the viscount, of course, reckoned that at the end of their ordinary "forty days' service" conon's vassals and allies would leave him. most feudal levies were wont thus to melt away, after a very short campaign, and leave their leader bereft of almost all save his immediate retainers. foretvert could then regather his men and resume the contest. but the saints so ordered it that conon had been a thrifty seigneur as well as a popular suzerain and neighbor. he now offered his allies and vassals good deniers if they would serve until the autumn rains. he also hired the services of some fifty horsemen and two hundred footmen, led from lorraine by an iron-handed soldier of fortune, ritter rainulf of the moselle, who would put his german mercenaries at the beck of about any baron offering good silver. mercenaries did not serve for "forty days," but for as many months as they received steady wages--a great advantage. conon likewise hired a base-born fellow, maître jerôme. the knights complained that the baron gave him too great pay and confidence, but maître jerôme had been one of the king's best engineers in the siege of the great castle, château gaillard, on the seine, when philip augustus took that supposedly impregnable fortress from john of england in . now the castle of foretvert itself was almost as strong as st. aliquis, and no siege thereof was worth considering. but the viscount had a smaller fortalice, tourfière, which lay closer to conon's lands and was not so formidable. [sidenote: siege of a castle] tourfière consisted merely of a single curtain of walls around the courtyard of a central keep, with, of course, a palisaded barbican before the gate. there was a moat, but not deep, and flooded only in wet weather, and the foundations of this stronghold did not rest, apparently, on solid rock--a matter upon which maître jerôme laid great stress after a discreet reconnaissance. suddenly, to the amazement of many, conon with all his forces appeared before tourfière and summoned its castellan, sire gauthier, the viscount's nephew, to surrender--a demand refused with derision. sire gauthier commanded some twenty knights, squires or sergeants, also at least ninety armed villeins--a sufficient force, it seemed, for a small castle, especially as the women in the place could drop stones, throw down burning pitch hoops, pour boiling water, and help twist back the casting engines. the defenders thus prepared to resist with energy, confident that conon could not keep his heterogeneous levies together much longer and that the siege would break up ignominiously. but, despite his villein blood, maître jerôme ordered the siege in a marvelously skillful manner. no chess player could have moved his pieces better than did he. first he persuaded the baron to resist his impulse to attempt the walls by a sudden rush with scaling ladders, pointing out that gauthier, besides his arbalists, had four great trenchbuts (stone-hurlers worked by counterweights) and also two catapults, giant bows mounted on standards and able to send a heavy arrow clean through a man in full armor. "we must take tourfière by the crowbar and spade, and not by the sword, fair seigneur," said jerôme, smilingly; whereupon a great levy of conon's serfs began cutting timber and building a palisade all around the besieged castle, to stop sorties or succoring parties. meantime jerôme was directing the making of trenchbuts and catapults for the besiegers. with these they soon smashed the wooden hoardings which had protected the battlements, making it impossible for the garrison to mount the walls, save at a few places or in great emergencies, lest they be picked off by the attackers' arbalists. the trenchbuts also cast small kegs of "greek fire" (a compound of pitch, sulphur, and naphtha) inside the castle court. these terrible fire balls could not be quenched by water, but only by sand. by desperate efforts, indeed, the defenders prevented decisive harm, but some of the buildings in the courtyard were burned and sire gauthier's men became wearied in their efforts to fend off disaster. [illustration: a catapult a sort of sling which one tightened with the aid of a windlass and which threw heavy projectiles.] in bravado the defenders took two prisoners and hanged them on the highest tower. conon retaliated by immediately hanging four prisoners just out of bowshot of the castle, and causing his largest trenchbut to fling a dead horse clear over the battlements and into the court. meantime a remarkable energy of the assailants, just outside their palisades, was observable by sire gauthier. the castellan took counsel with his most experienced men, for the besiegers seemed shaping very many timbers. [sidenote: siege engines and towers] his advisers were divided in opinion. some said that conon was planning to build a _beffroi_. this was a most ambitious undertaking ordinarily used only in great sieges. a _beffroi_ was a movable tower built of heavy timbers and raised to at least the height of the wall attacked. its front was covered by rawhides to repel arrows and fire-balls. it was worked forward on rollers or clumsy wheels until close to the hostile parapet. then, when almost touching, a swinging bridge from the summit was flung across to the wall, a host of assailants swarmed up a ladder in the rear and over the bridge to the battlements. the defenders then needed all their valor to keep their castle from speedy capture. [illustration: an attack with the aid of a tower (from viollet-le-duc); the moat has been filled up, the tower covered with skins to protect it from fire and rolled up to the wall.] others in the garrison, however, derided the idea that a _beffroi_ was projected. it would be winter ere such a complicated structure could be completed. they said that the baron was preparing battering rams and a "cat." the battering ram was simply a heavy timber with a metal head, swung by chains from a kind of wooden trestle. set up close under a wall it was pulled back and forth by ropes, and by repeated blows knocked down the masonry. the "cat" was a long, narrow, tent-shaped structure of heavy timbers covered with hides or iron to turn missiles from the parapets. one end of this was built out until it came into contact with the walls, when skillful miners under its protection quarried their way through the masonry with pickaxes. [illustration: a mantelet in wood] these methods were easier to prepare than the _beffroi_, although not so effective. the defenders felt sure they would be used when the attackers were seen making _mantelets_, large wooden shields mounted on small wheels, to protect the crossbowmen when they crept up to clear the walls--a needful preliminary to advancing either the cat or the ram. their certainty increased when one night, by a sudden rush, conon's men stormed through the weak palisade of the barbican and, forcing their way near to the walls, began filling up the moat with _fascines_--bundles of fagots. by using his trenchbuts and catapults to best advantage, sire gauthier felt confident, however, that he had prevented them from leveling the moat sufficiently to make a firm foundation for siege engines. the tourfière men, therefore, shouted arrogantly: "take your time, st. aliquis hirelings! your 'madame cat' will never gnaw our rats."[ ] presently, after a couple of weeks, the besiegers were seen in great activity, as if arraying themselves for an assault. gauthier was convinced they were about, in desperation, to try to scale his walls with ladders. then of a sudden a panic-stricken sergeant ran up to his watchtower. wafts of smoke were escaping near the foundations of the curtain wall near the gate! [sidenote: undermining the wall] gauthier instantly realized what had happened, but it was too late. under an elaborate feint with other preparations, maître jerôme had taken advantage of the soft ground beneath the castle and had driven a mine, beginning at a safe distance in the rear and cunningly concealing the entrance and the earth excavated until it was fairly under a vital section of the wall. then a large chamber had been cleared and wooden posts soaked with tallow had been put under the masonry to keep it from falling on the miners. as the last of them retreated, a torch was set to the woodwork, the whole chamber having been crammed with inflammables. presently the fire ate away the posts. with a thundering crash a vital section of the wall collapsed. [illustration: attack on a wall with the aid of the sap at the top of the wall the scaffolding can be seen (theoretical figure from viollet-le-duc).] the besieged had not realized the situation in time to drive a countermine or to erect a second wall inside the danger point. the moment the st. aliquis men saw the wall topple they rushed forward. the defenders met them bravely in the breach and there was bloody swordplay, but the thrust of numbers was irresistible. gauthier and part of his men fled, indeed, to the donjon and barred the entrance, but they were utterly demoralized. all the women and children, packed into the tower, were shrilly lamenting the dead and were otherwise frantic. most of the provisions had been in a storehouse outside the donjon. the end, therefore, was certain. at the end of the next day the garrison in the donjon surrendered on promise of life and limb for all, and courteous treatment for the knights. the storming of tourfière ended the war. conon might, indeed, have ruined foretvert utterly, but now the duke intervened. it was not for his interests to have any vassal rendered unfit to meet his feudal obligations. conon, however, was able to exact very high terms. for evacuating tourfière he obtained the cession of a village whose peasants paid very large dues, and two of the viscount's best vassals also transferred their homage to st. aliquis. the contending parties swore to peace upon the most precious relics at the abbey, and exchanged the kiss of amity. henceforth foretvert, a sadder and wiser seigneur, has been outwardly friendly with his powerful neighbor and even came as a sulky guest to alienor's wedding. footnotes: [ ] primogeniture did not exist on the continent as in england. the elder son was entitled to the largest share of the estate, but by no means to the whole. [ ] they became formal law by about , in the days of louis ix. [ ] french opinion, of course, condemned this count, not for being a traitor to his country, but for breach of fealty to his personal lord. [ ] the terrible oath of henry ii of england and other great chieftains. [ ] later custom would probably have sent a fur-trimmed glove. [ ] such plunderings were common enough, though the best knightly sentiment was against participating directly in them. says a bard, geraud de borneil, "o fie on the knight who drives off a flock of bleating sheep--and then appears before a lady!" [ ] these prisoners were lucky if they finally escaped without at least mutilation. to "give your captives (of villein blood) the empty sleeve or the wooden leg" seems to have been direfully common in feudal wars. [ ] similar taunts were delivered at the well-known siege of carcasonne in . chapter xv: a great feudal battle--bouvines. so ended the feud between st. aliquis and foretvert--a less exhausting and more decisive baronial war than were many, and causing correspondingly less misery to the helpless peasants. but it has also been conon's fortune to fight in a really great battle, one that will hereafter be set down among the most famous engagements in the annals of france. it is a sunny afternoon. young françois and anseau have wearied of hunting frogs beside the outer moat. under the garden trees, sire eustace, tough old warrior, is meditating over a pot of hippocras. they demand of him once more the story of "the battle." for them there is only one battle--bouvines. the seneschal, ever the slave of his youthful masters, after suitable urgings, begins. "now you must know, my fair damoisieux, that all this took place six years since, in the year , upon the seven-and-twentieth day of july. for our sins it was extremely hot that season, so that all of us have, i trust, obtained some remission from purgatory. god grant that next time we have a great battle it be in the pleasant spring or autumn, though otherwise the saints showed to us french a great mercy. but now to commence. "that year king john of england, having, by his evil rule and folly lost nearly all his anjou and norman lands to our good king philip, sent large money and skillful ambassadors into flanders and germany to stir up trouble. the great counts of flanders and boulogne nursed grievances against their liege lord our king, and to them joined many other seigneurs of those parts, notably the dukes of brabant and limburg, the count of holland, and chiefest of all the german emperor otto iv himself, who came with a huge levy of saxons. with those rode the english earl of salisbury with a great band of flemish mercenaries who took king john's ill-gained penny. never since duke charles martel smote back the paynym had so terrible a host menaced our gentle france; and when at last, in july, the whole array under emperor otto came together at valenciennes to take the road to paris, even brave knights trembled for the king and kingdom. "never had the call for the royal ban and rear ban gone out more urgently than that summer. the king's messenger came to st. aliquis with the 'brief of summons' bidding messire conon ride with every man and lad that could stride a horse or trudge with a spear; and so went the command through all north france. but in the south country john was making a formidable diversion from his remaining dominions in gascony, and we of the languedoil lands had to meet the northern shock alone. "when messire your father received the summons, there was even greater furbishing than when old foretvert defied us. sire conon had in the abbot and wrote his last wishes, arranged that if he fell he should be buried in the abbey church by the altar where st. bernard had once said mass, and he left to the monks five hundred livres in return for perpetual masses for his soul. the remainder of us made vows according to ability. i say nothing of the parting, or how your mother bravely promised to guard the castle. [sidenote: mobilization of feudal army] "so the ban was answered all through the land, and the king's great host came together. never again shall i see so fine a mustering of knights as gathered at peronne. it far surpassed any tournament. every hour the banners came in, to the sound of tabors, horns, and drums. there was an enormous baggage train, so that i believe there were more mules than horses, for many barons brought their great tents, with many coffers of extra arms and fine clothing. in the rear were gathered a second array of jongleurs, peddlers and very evil women, whom not all the commands of the king, somehow, could disperse. verily in that army there were twice as many mouths to fill as there were men to fight; likewise, short as was the campaign, there was much sickness, thanks to bad food, bad water, and, so certain even averred, to overmuch filth. the comfort was that in otto's camp matters were, if anything, much worse. "in any case those tumultuous days of assemblage were soon at an end. tidings came that the germans and flemings were advancing, and on the twenty-fifth of july we marched into tournai on the edge of flanders. messire conon, who was at the royal council-tent, told me that the king's barons debated as to the purpose of the enemy. would he offer fair battle in the plain near cambrai, as we much desired, or would he strive to slip past our army and go straight toward paris? i have been told of books concerning the ancient roman captains, julius cæsar and his peers, and it would seem as if to them the moving of armies had been a business of deep sagacity, advancing your columns by careful rules, somewhat as you move your men on a gaming board. no one, however, is so sage as that to-day, and i think it was either mere fortune or (speaking as a christian) the kind st. denis, who guards our beautiful france, that brought the hosts together when and where they presently came. "it was at break of day on that seven-and-twentieth of july that we quitted tournai, intending to pass the little river marque, to get to the town of bouvines and thereby to be covered by certain marshes so we might be protected from surprise, and yet be able to strike the foe's rear if he should take the road to paris. but otto and his lords, swollen with their german and fleming pride and confident in their great host of infantry, were determined to attack, and so kept hard after us. it is only nine miles from tournai to bouvines, but our long trains of baggage crawled along like snails. therefore it was almost noon when the sumpter mules and the infantry had crossed the bridge. we of the cavalry were still on the nearer side, covering the march, when our scouts came racing in. 'the germans! the germans!' and there assuredly, over the rolling slopes of the cornfields beyond bouvines, we saw the long lines of horsemen flying in a great dust cloud. "now there was with the king the bishop garin of senlis. he was an old knight hospitaler, one of those holy brethren who, despite churchly vows, rejoice to fight in just causes, and bishop garin at once clapped spurs to his destrer to reconnoiter. soon he dashed back, having discovered quite enough. he found our lord philip sitting under an ash tree close to the bridge eating dinner, with many great nobles, messire conon among them, sitting on the grass. 'tidings, fair sire!' cried garin. 'the germans will fight. their knights are in panoply, and behind them march the infantry!' [sidenote: battle array at bouvines] "it was no pleasant moment for the king. his own infantry were beyond the river, but his cavalry were on this side. he could not get his horsemen across the single bridge without grievous loss; but there was, perchance, still time to bring back the foot. therefore, with what speed we might, every man of us fell into the array, and some brave sergeants of champagne made such charges upon otto's vanguard that, though outnumbered and pressed back, they delayed the foe until our men could take their places and present a gallant front. as for the attackers, when they saw that we were ready to do battle, like prudent men they halted and arrayed their own lines. so for an hour both sides waited, just out of bowshot, many of us very nervous and cursing the delay--the more as the sun beat down pitilessly--although the more pious confessed hastily to the priests, who were always moving up and down the files, or at least we said our _mea culpas_ for our sins. "presently you could see the whole array of the enemy spread out like some fair picture on a long tapestry. on their right, facing our counts of ponthieu and dreux, were the mercenaries under salisbury, and the men of that foul traitor boulogne. on their left were the long lines of flemish horsemen over against our cavaliers of champagne and burgundy. but we from quelqueparte, with so many other companies, were in the center battle where flew king philip's great oriflamme, a mighty scarlet banner of samite, surrounded by chosen cavaliers. we horsemen were in the rear. in front of us spread the french footmen--the burgher levies of the towns who answered the king's summons. 'shame that burghers should stand before knights!' cried some of us; but the king and bishop garin, who seemed to know everything, understood their business, as you will see. "it is told that just before the hosts charged king philip prayed aloud before his bodyguard: 'lord, i am but a man, but i am also a king. thine it is to guard the king. thou wilt lose nothing thereby. wherever thou wouldst go, i will follow thee!' also i heard that close behind the king there stood, as long as he might, the royal chaplain, william the breton, who all through the battle, with another clerk, kept singing psalms such as 'blessed be the lord my strength, who teacheth my hands to war and my fingers to fight.' but bishop garin sang no psalms. up and down the lines of horsemen he rode, thundering: 'extend yourselves, lest the enemy outflank you. one knight should not make another his shield!' so he put all our knights in the first line of the cavalry. in the rear lines he put the mounted sergeants. we had perhaps two thousand knights and five thousand sergeants. our infantry were over five-and-twenty thousand, but the foe had even more footmen than we, though their horse was a little inferior. thus the battle was very fair, two lines of men and horses a mile and a half long, and the fields smooth and open enough for a jousting. there never was better place for an honorable battle. "after we had sat in our saddles a long time, thinking of our sins and admiring in a fearsome way the splendor of the great press of the foe opposite, a party of our sergeants suddenly charged out on our right against the flemings. their attack was too weak, and the flemings drove them back and charged in return, their leaders crying, 'think on your ladies!' as if in a courteous mêlée. whereat, nothing loath, our burgundian and champagnois knights dashed out on them, and long engaged in an uncertain battle, every cavalier selecting a foe and riding against him. here one side prevailed and here another, and some warriors even dropped to the rear to recover breath and tighten harness, then spurred back to the charge. for a little while we of the center watched them thus; then nearer things engrossed us. [sidenote: defeat of the french infantry] "i have told you that king philip and his footmen, as well as many of our knights, held the center battle. facing them was the dense array of flemish and german infantry, with emperor otto himself, accompanied by chosen horsemen, in their rear, and we could see in the middle press the great imperial banner, a silken dragon, white and green, raised upon a pole capped with a golden eagle. it was not borne by a cavalier but flew from a tall car drawn by four horses. as we gazed at this vast hostile array, lo! the whole mass seemed surging forward against our infantry. never was there a sight like it, spear points, hauberks, and helmets all flashing in the sun. the ground shook with the trample of thousands of feet. countless war horns sounded, and we heard the deep '_hoch! hoch!_' of the german infantry coming down on us like thunder. "then the emperor's great masses struck our footmen from the communes. doubtless our poor knaves meant bravely, and always had plenty of courage when defending their walls, but never would france and king philip have been saved by townsmen. soon we saw all those base-born infantry breaking toward the rear, and for a moment our skies looked black. but, 'open the ranks,' called messire conon and our other leaders, 'and let the villeins run through.' so we opened the lines in the cavalry and let these timid friends escape. then came a last tightening of buckles and pushing down of helms. right before us, thousands upon thousands, were surging the emperor's infantry. all together we raised the glad '_montjoie st. denis!_'[ ] the royal battle cry of france. whereupon followed such a coursing as never in all my life i can hope again to see. with our eyes on otto's great banner, straight into that press of germans and flemings we french cavaliers rode like mad, the knights in front and all the squires and good sergeants raging behind us. the horses knew their hour. they flew at speed with no touch of spur. though i am blessed with all the joys of paradise, never, after ten thousand years of bliss, shall i forget the wondrous rapture i felt when we struck that hostile line!" (sire eustace's eyes are gleaming now like sparks of fire. françois and anseau are hardly breathing as he speaks). [sidenote: charge of the french knights] "through that caitiff infantry we went as a hot knife cleaves through cheese. i had the st. aliquis banner, and kept close behind messire conon with all our men hallooing and smiting behind. _hé!_ what chance had those villein footmen against _gentle_ frenchmen, who all had known horses and lance since they ceased from mother's milk? so one and all we charged, and, like castles rising out of the plain, soon you could see here, there, and yonder the banners and squadrons of our cavaliers on their tall horses, looming above the snarling, striking footmen, who closed in all around them, and yet could not keep our knights from charging forward, always forward. "after that, all the battle was broken up. for when emperor otto and his knights saw their infantry being cut down like sheep, they also charged, giving us the honest joy of crossing swords with men of nobility. so for a long time it was horse to horse and man to man. you have heard the jongleurs tell of the great deeds done. but as for us of st. aliquis, just as we were close to hewing our way clear through the whole german line, lo! a great shouting rose on our left--"the king! the king!" and we saw the royal standard being tossed up and down, as in distress, by sire wado de montigny, who bore it. then back we charged, with many cavaliers more--just in time. for king philip, while attacking gallantly like any other knight, had been separated from most of his friends, and a swarm of knavish flemish pikemen had striven to drag him from his horse. his good armor turned their pikes, yet a soldier caught the hook of a halberd in the chain mail round his throat and pulled him to the ground. but the king sprang up as briskly as a young squire, and all the french knights at hand spurred to his aid. then it was that sire peter tristen leaped from his own horse and mounted his lord upon it; and messire conon, being among the very first to ride up and scatter or trample the flemings, later received no small praise and thanks. "therefore, in that part of the field god prospered us; and then came the signal mercy when emperor otto fled the field. for as our knights charged and his cavaliers gave way, our men slew otto's horse, and when he fell they almost seized the emperor. however, his saxons, selling their lives right dearly, got him another horse. but herein was the german emperor different from our good french king. for when philip was remounted again he raised once more his clear '_montjoie st. denis!_' and pressed the charge; but otto (nigh out of his wits, perhaps, and somewhat wounded) fled from the field with only three knights, leaving his great banner and all his brave vassals to their fate; and they say he never drew rein till he reached valenciennes. [sidenote: rout of the germans and flemings] "the german knights, though deserted, still fought bravely, but the netherlanders and flemings soon were fleeing in droves. besides, on the two wings of the conflict we frenchmen were already proving victorious and from right and left our knights were charging in to help the center, cutting their way so far to the rear that when at last the german cavaliers knew that all was lost, and now began to flee, they often found themselves surrounded and were pulled from their horses and so made captive. "thus ended the day's work, save on the right wing of the enemy. here had fought the great rebel reginald of boulogne, who knew there was naught left for him save victory or ruin. he formed some seven hundred brabantine infantry into a circle. with their pikes and axes they beat off for long the charges of our cavaliers. from behind this living wall boulogne, with a few brave knights, time and again charged out, performing high deeds of valor, and then, as it were, retreating into their fortress to get breath. but now that the remainder of the field was cleared, king philip brought up his whole power of cavalry. he formed three thousand of us into three great columns of mounted men and, charging in on every side, by sheer weight we broke the brabantine circle down. so we dragged the count of boulogne from his horse, fighting to the last, and the king holds him close prisoner unto this day. "this was the last mêlée of a battle the like whereof has not been in france these many years. of course, the slaughter of the footmen was great, some thousands of both ours and theirs. the field was a sorry sight that evening and the groans of the dying rang in my ears, for all that we were so happy. but it pleased the saints that, thanks to good armor, we cavaliers got off quite safely. i have heard that 'only three french knights were slain,' although i am sure that number is too few. of the germans and flemings they say one hundred and seventy knights were killed outright; but better still, we took five german counts, twenty-five barons, and some hundred and six lesser knights as prisoners. it was the ransom of that baron of imgerfels whom we unhorsed which presently went far to pay for your aunt's wedding and uncle's knighting. "as for the manner in which we all returned to paris joyous as the angels, and how the church bells rang and all the fat burghers hung the streets with tapestry, and with the clergy and scholars in the university we had seven days of illuminations, feastings, and rejoicings, which is a story repeated every day. but there will never be another bouvines." so spoke the seneschal. if we would comment on his narrative, we would say that philip manifestly conquered because his very unepiscopal chief of staff, bishop garin, drew up his army with greater skill than otto's leaders arranged the german-fleming host, and also because when at last the hosts engaged in a series of innumerable duels, the french knights on the average proved superior. king philip, after the fight was started, showed himself a valiant cavalier personally, but hardly figured as a commander. otto contributed to shake the morale of his men by premature flight, but his great host of footmen were almost worthless, despite their pikes and halberds, against the terrific shock of the french cavalry, charging on perfectly smooth ground, where mailed horsemen could fight at their best. missile weapons played no part. when the english yew bow shall appear, the situation may change. till then the mounted knight, in all his ponderous armor, charging with lance at rest or with his great sword dancing in his hands, will appear as the monarch of the battlefields. bouvines has marked the apogée of the feudal cavalry. [illustration: listening to a trouvÈre in a chÂteau of the thirteenth century when a trouvère stopped in a château, the lord, his family, and his people assembled in the great hall; the trouvère recited some long poem, accompanying himself on a musical instrument, assisted by jugglers who entertained the audience while the poet rested.] footnotes: [ ] this famous battle cry of french royalty probably meant "_follow the banner of st. denis!_" its exact origin, however is obscure. in feudal battles, armies often used merely the names of their leaders, "_burgundy!_" "_coucy!_" "_bourbon!_" etc. but many regions had a special war cry. thus the normans cried "_dex ais!_" the bretons, "_malo! malo!_" the angevins "_valée!_" imperialists were likely to cry "_rome!_" and crusaders "_holy sepulcher!_" to "cry one's ensign" was a great object in all mediæval battles. chapter xvi: the life of the peasants. thus have been seen messire conon and his familiars in their pleasures, feasts, and wars. the gentle folk seem to monopolize all the life of the barony. yet at best they number scarce one in a hundred of all the christians who dwell therein. assuredly the poor and humble seem much less interesting and command less attention. they have no splendors, no picturesque fêtes or feuds. a life of monotonous poverty seldom detains the chronicler; nevertheless, it is time to visit the village of huts so often seen spreading beyond the bridge to the west of the castle. the st. aliquis peasants are told that they have naught whereof to complain. they have a kindly seigneur who "renders justice." since the foretvert feud, no war has ravaged them. the saints of late have sent neither short crops nor pestilence. to repine against their lot is ingratitude toward god. there is abundant class consciousness in the feudal ages. clerks, knights, peasants--every man knows to which of the three great categories of humanity he belongs, and acts accordingly. a monkish preacher[ ] pictures the world as a vast body whereof the clerics are the eyes, for they show to all men the way to safety; the noble knights the hands and arms, for god orders them to protect the church and the weak and to promote peace and justice; finally the common people (_minores_) form the lower parts of the body--it is their business to nourish the eyes and limbs. more bluntly still, as long ago as about a.d. , bishop adelberon of laon had divided mankind into two great divisions--first, the clergy who prayed and the seigneurs who fought; second, the toilers; adding that "to furnish all with gold, food, and raiment--such is the obligation of the servile class." since these classes are clearly ordained of heaven, to rebel against one's status is manifestly questioning the justice of providence--a damnable impiety. few of the st. aliquis peasants ever dream of being anything but villeins. they regard gentlefolk somewhat as good christians regard angels--as beings of another sphere. all they hope for is kindly treatment and modest prosperity within the limits providentially assigned them. therefore, they are not too unhappy. if we go up and down france we shall find the rural population decidedly dense.[ ] one little village usually follows another closely and every collection of huts swarms with human bipeds. there are, indeed, vast forests and marshes which might with better management be put under the plow, but the extent of arable land is great. heaven surely loves the peasants, it has made so many of them. seemingly their number is limited merely by the question of food supply. [sidenote: danger of great famines] if the condition of the peasantry often seems bad, it is comforting to know that for the last two centuries it has been improving. not for many years have matters in the st. aliquis region been as they were in some parts of france during the terrible famine of - . at that time we are told that the poor devoured grass, roots and even white clay. their faces were pale, their bodies lean, their stomachs bloated, "their voices thin and piping like the voice of birds." wolves came out of forests and fed on children. strangers and travelers were liable to be waylaid in solitary spots and killed simply that they might be eaten. near macon a "hermit" at last was seized who had lured wayfarers to share the hospitality of his cell. the skulls of forty-eight victims were there discovered, after which they burned the wretch alive. [illustration: group of peasants and of shepherds (twelfth century), from a window in the cathedral of chartres.] you can go on multiplying stories about famines--how human flesh at times was sold in markets; how starving children were lured by the offers of a bit of food to places where ghouls could kill and feast on them; how a measure of corn rose to sixty sous in gold; and how even the very rich "lost their color." these days, thanks be to the saints, seem disappearing; yet the danger of pinching hard times is still a real one, even in fortunate st. aliquis.[ ] the peasants of messire conon are free. the serfs of the barony had been manumitted about a hundred years earlier, by a baron who (after an extremely iniquitous life) was admonished on his deathbed by his confessor that he must do something extraordinary for the salvation of his soul.[ ] as a result the st. aliquis peasants were no longer bound to the soil and could quit the seigneury--as serfs assuredly could not do. they could also marry any women they wished without asking their lord's consent or paying him a fee. they could bequeath their goods without having him sequester an outrageous part. all this, of course, improved their status, yet they were still subject to numerous imposts in money and kind, and to various forms of forced labor. although they had now the legal right to quit the barony, only with the greatest difficulty could they sell their little farms and chattels thereon, so they could take a decent share of their possessions elsewhere; and if they wandered to distant parts, the local authorities were likely to call them "masterless men" and assume that if they had forsaken their old lord they must somehow be criminals. [sidenote: exploitation of villeins] nevertheless, it is much better to be a free peasant than a serf. the majority of the french lower classes are now becoming free, although in other christian lands, notably germany, serfage will prevail for a weary day hereafter. but even though one becomes free, he is a villein still. the taint of ignoble blood clings like a shirt of pitch, even after achieving prosperity and wealth. knightly opinion is expressed by that great troubadour, bertran de born: "i love to see the rich churl in distress if he dares to strive with nobles. i love to see him beg his bread in nakedness." even a well-disposed lord looks on a peasant largely as a source of income. in time of peace the taxes and forced labor squeezed out of him yield that which presently turns into destrers, silvered hauberks, furs, hawks, fair dames' luxuries, dowries, adubbements, tourneys. in time of war he exists to be pillaged and massacred, in order to impoverish his master by ruining the latter's revenues. the burghers of the towns are a little more respected. their industrial products are needful. they can better protect themselves. but the richest syndic of a commune cannot really hold up his head socially with the unknighted bachelor who drags out life in a tumble-down manor house. at every turn the peasant finds himself exploited. he must pay a direct tax supposedly proportioned to the size and yield of his farm. that is only the beginning. when his wife has bread to bake, it must be taken to the lord's oven. one loaf in so many goes as the fee. the flour must be ground up in the lord's mill--again for a fee. the grapes must be pressed out in the lord's winepress. the sheep must be driven into the lord's sheepfold every night, that he may get the manure. every dispute must be arbitrated before the lord's provost or the great man himself--more fees. in short, the whole régime aims to compel the peasant to go to his seigneur for everything he needs, so that he will have extremely little business to transact away from the seigneury. doubtless it is a convenience often to find things commonly needful always at hand. there is a certain return for many of the exactions. but the seigneur does not act out of benevolence. if the peasants wish, for example, to set up their own ovens, they must pay the seigneur the equivalent of the baker's fees of which he is deprived. if they then wish to bake their own bread, he is now quite indifferent. besides the imposts and numerous fees (_banalités_) the peasants owe the _corvées_, payments by labor. a large part of every seigneury is "domain land"--for the lord's own personal use. the peasants are obliged to give a certain number of days to keep this plowed and tilled, mow the meadows, bring in the hay, dress the vines. they must also see that the castle has its firewood and fodder; clean out the moat; help keep the fortifications in repair; and assist on many extraordinary occasions.[ ] for this they get no pay, although they may be given their rations during the days of labor. in time of war they do almost everything from helping to defend the castle to marching on offensive campaigns as part of the ban--serving, as we have seen, as grooms, baggage attendants, diggers, and engineers, and also as the despised, but sometimes useful, infantry pikemen. [sidenote: oppressive seigneurial officers] such are the burdens of the st. aliquis peasants. they burn holy candles of thankfulness, however, that baron conon does not multiply their troubles by intrusting the collection of his imposts and the administration of his forced labor to outrageous officers. sire macaire, the provost, is harsh toward real offenders and strict in exacting the last _sol_ or sheaf in just debts, but he is no blackmailer, as is foretvert's general factotum. in old baron garnier's day, of course, there had been a provost who not merely levied abominable imposts, diverting a share thereof toward his own pocket, but who would accuse poor men falsely of theft and then take bribes for condoning their alleged offenses, all the time that he was dividing the profits of real bandits whom he protected. even more obnoxious can be the forester who controls the hunting preserves and grazing grounds. he decides how the peasants' pigs may be turned out in the oak forests, how and when firewood may be cut, and he battles incessantly with the multitudinous poachers. a few years ago even conon was deceived by a fellow in his employ, one maître crispin. he was "a very handsome man with fine carriage and well armed with bow and sword." no one could _congé_ more gracefully to madame adela, or do more to help messire to discover a great boar, but all the while he was filling his own chest. for example, he seized lame georges' oxen on the pretext that he had cut three oaks and a birch in the seigneur's forest--yet he would forget the crime if georges could find him one hundred sous! fortunately sire macaire discovered the evil ways of his lieutenant, and conon, exceedingly incensed, had the smooth crispin turned over to maître denis and his halter after abrupt formalities. the present forester, taught by example, is more honest, although of course, all the real poachers curse him. [illustration: peasants at work from a manuscript of the thirteenth century (bibliothèque nationale).] a great part of the peasant's time is spent neither in working nor in resting, but in walking. few are so lucky as to have all their land in a single compact plot. even a rather poor peasant has his farm scattered in several tiny holdings, possibly at the four quarters of the neighborhood. when a peasant dies, his children all divide the paternal estate, and if a separate piece of ground cannot be provided for each heir, some lots must be subdivided smaller still. the st. aliquis lands thus present a curious sight--innumerable little parcels scattered everywhere, each carefully fenced off and each growing its own separate crops. meantime their owners begin in the morning toiling with their heavy mattocks, on one of their holdings, then on to the next, and so on until sundown. thus they trudge several miles, and yet are seldom far from their village, whither they must all return at dusk. [sidenote: primitive agricultural methods] men of more fortunate days will be astonished when they survey the agricultural methods of even the least stupid peasants. everything is according to traditions--"so it was with our fathers." in the abbey library there are some latin books about agriculture. they deal with conditions in ancient italy, however, not feudal france. the most benevolent monk hardly dreamed of examining his cato or columella to learn how to better the lot of the peasantry, though in fairness it should be said that the abbey farms enjoy on the whole a much superior cultivation. not all peasants can own plows; they borrow or hire from their neighbors, or break the ground with the clumsy mattocks. what plows exist have only wooden plowshares. the wheat in st. aliquis is beaten out by flails, although a little farther south it is trodden out by cattle. the soil is often impoverished, and it is usual to leave one-third fallow all the time to recuperate. such a thing as "rotation of crops" is still a matter of vague talk save on some of the monastery lands. under these circumstances, even in the best of years, there is not much surplus of food. a short crop means misery. men pessimistically expect a famine on the average of one in every four years. if there has not been one of late in st. aliquis, it is because the saints are rich in mercy. "in a countless throng died of hunger," significantly wrote a chronicler in rheims. naturally, the villeins seldom get enough ahead to be able to learn the practices of thrift. if the year has been good, with an extra supply of corn in the barns, and plenty of pigs and chickens fattening, the winter will be spent in gorging and idleness. by spring the old crop is exhausted almost to the seed corn; then perhaps the new crop will be a failure. the next winter these same peasants may be glad to make a pottage of dead leaves. lame georges, who had his oxen sequestered, is, despite his misfortunes, one of the most prosperous peasants in the village. he limps because in his youth a retainer of baron garnier's twisted one of his feet while trying to extort money. georges is really only forty-five years old, but to see his gray head, gnarled face, and bent back you would think him sixty. his wife jeanne is four years younger than he, but looks as aged as her husband. "old jeanne," the children call her. the pair have been blessed with at least fifteen children, but four of these died in childbirth, and five more before they could grow up. the other six are, all but the youngest, married already and jeanne has been a grandmother for several years. georges' house stands near the center of the village. to reach it you pick your way down a lane usually deep in mud. in front of each fenced-in cottage there is an enormous dungheap, beloved by the hens and pigs, which roam about freely. georges' one-story dwelling is an irregularly built, rambling structure of wood, wattles, and thatch, all of dirty brown. this "manse" stretches away in four parts. the rearmost contains the corn cribs, the next mows for hay and straw, then the cattle sheds; and nearest, and smallest, the house for the family. [sidenote: a peasant's house] pushing back the heavy door, after lifting the wooden latch, one enters a single large room; the timbers and walls thereof are completely blackened by soot. there is really only one apartment. here everything in the household life seems to go on. the floor is of earth pounded hard. upon it are playing several very dirty, half-naked children, come over to visit "grandmother," and just now they are chasing two squealing little pigs under the great oak table near the center. one makes no account of a duck leading her goslings in at the door in hopes of scraps from the dinner. a hen is setting on eggs in a box near the great fireplace. jeanne has just kindled a lively fire of vine branches and dry billets. she is proud that her house contains many convenient articles not found with all the neighbors. by the fireplace is an iron pot hanger, a shovel, large fire tongs, a copper kettle, and a meat hook. next to the fireplace is an oven, in case she does not wish to use that at the castle and yet will pay the baron's fee. on the other side of the fireplace is an enormous bed, piled with a real mountain of feather mattresses--we do not discuss their immunity from vermin. in this one bed a goodly fraction of georges' entire family, male and female, old and young, have been able to sleep; of course, with their heads usually pointing in opposite directions. if a stranger chances to spend the night, it will be hospitable to ask him to make "one more" in that selfsame bed! if the goodman takes us about his establishment we shall find that, in addition to various stools and benches, he owns a ladder, a mortar and pestle for braying corn, a mallet, some crudely shaped nails, a gimlet, a very imperfect saw, fishing lines, hooks, and a basket. he is fortunate enough also to own a plow, and, in addition, a scythe, an iron spade, a mattock, a pair of large shears, a handy knife, and a sharpening stone. he has replaced the stolen oxen with another pair and owns a two-wheeled wagon with a harness of thongs and ropes. besides the oxen, there are three milch cows in his barn, and he has a hennery and pigpen. the place seems also to abound with long, lean cats, very wild, who gain a living by hunting the numerous rats and mice which lurk in the dense thatch of the roofs. georges himself wears a blouse of dirt-colored cloth, or sometimes of sheepskin, fastened by a leathern belt. in cold weather he has a mantle of thick woolen homespun, now also dirt color, to his knees. he has a pair of very heavy leathern boots, although not seldom he goes on short walks barefoot. the lower part of his body is covered by a pair of loose woolen trousers which once were blue. very seldom, save in storms, does he wear any headdress; then he produces a kind of cap of the same dirty woolen as his coat. as for gloves, he never wears them except when hedging. jeanne's costume is much the same, with a few changes to make it suitable for women. in her chest she has, however, a green bliaut of flanders wool made somewhat in imitation of those she has seen at the castle, and it even is beautified with red and purple embroidery. this bliaut she wears with pride on great festival days, and in it, despite the envious hopes of her daughters and daughters-in-law, she expects at last to be buried. [illustration: a laborer, thirteenth century restored by viollet-le-duc, from the manuscript of herrade of landsberg.] [sidenote: very poor peasants] georges' house is considerably better than many others. some of his neighbors live in mere cabins that are barely weather tight. they are made of crossed laths stuffed with straw or grass, and have no chimney. the smoke from the hearth escapes through a small hole in the roof (where the thatch is very liable to take fire) or merely through the door. none of these houses has glass windows. georges fastens his few openings with wooden shutters, but poor alard near by has to close his apertures by stuffing them up with straw, if it is too cold to leave them open. alard, too, is without a bed. his family sleep on thin pallets of straw laid on the ground, with a few ragged blankets. there are plenty of peasants who have not even the straw. [illustration: peasant shoes twelfth century (abbey church of vézelay)] [illustration: a reaper from the doorway of the cathedral of amiens.] alard inevitably has no cows, no oxen or cart, no plow, and only a few rude tools. he and his are barely able to satisfy the provost's men by grinding field labor, and have still enough grain laid up to carry them till the next harvest. if it is a little too dry, a little too wet, if, in short, any one of a number of untoward things happen, by next spring he, with his bent and bony wife and his five lean children, will all be standing at the castle or abbey gate with so many other mendicants to cry their "bread! for the love of christ, a little bread!" the peasants marry as early as do the nobility. of the moral condition of many of them it is best to say little. good father Étienne, the parish priest, spends much of his time first in baptizing infants of unacknowledged paternity, and then in running down their presumptive fathers and forcing the latter to provide for their children's upkeep. but a girl can often indulge in amazing indiscretions and later find some self-respecting peasant willing to marry her. every girl looks forward to her marriage as the climax of life. if she hopes to find a husband in the coming year, she will dance around a bonfire, then cast some pins into a bubbling fountain. if these are thrown to the surface it is a sign the right swain will come along. when drawing water from a well, if she can throw into it an egg cracked upon the head of some companion, she can see in the water the image of her future husband. as for the young men, when one of them decides he wishes to marry a certain girl, he often comes to her parents, presenting a leathern bottle of wine. if they drink of the same his suit is accepted. however, if he is uncertain of his reception by the maiden herself, he invites himself to dinner at her home. if at the end she serves him with a dish of walnuts, it is a clear token that he is rejected. he had better slink away. [illustration: a marriage in the thirteenth century from a manuscript of the bibliothèque nationale (bordier et charton).] on the wedding day, if the bride has always been sage and modest, the neighbors present her with a white hen, but her mother gives her a piece of fine cloth, to make a gala dress which will serve ultimately for a shroud. at the ceremony itself the great question is, "how will the wedding ring slip on?" if easily the bride will be docile. if it goes on tightly she will rule her husband! [illustration: a plow restored by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript of the thirteenth century at the seminary of soissons.] [sidenote: hard toil and ignorance] the peasants need every kind of public and private holiday. on ordinary days toil begins at gray dawn and usually continues until dusk. there are no eight-hour laws; even the "nooning" is short, although sometimes there is time taken out in hot weather for a siesta during the afternoon. the women labor in the fields as hard as do the men. children begin weeding, digging, and carrying when very little. their help is so important that many peasants look on large families as assets of so much unpaid field labor, rather than as liabilities which they must clothe and feed until the children reach maturity. education is almost unknown. one or two very bright boys from the village somehow have been caught by the churchmen and trained for the priesthood. there is even a story of a lad born in a neighboring seigneury who thus rose to be a bishop! but such cases are very exceptional. in the whole village by st. aliquis, father Étienne is the only person who understands the mysteries of reading and writing, except two assistants of the provost, who have to keep accounts for the baron. it is very hard for great folk to understand such teachings of the church as that "all men are brethren." "doubtless it is true," adela and alienor have often told each other, that "god created man in his own image," but how is it possible that god should have the image of most of the villeins on the seigneury? are not so many of them like the peasant described in the epic "garin"? "he had enormous hands and massive limbs. his eyes were separated from each other by a hand's breadth. his shoulders were large, his chest deep, his hair bristling, and his face black as a coal. he went six months without bathing. nothing but rain water had ever touched his face." the manners of these people are equally repulsive. countless ballads as well as monks' sermons and treatises represent your typical villein as incessantly discontented, scolding about the weather, which is always too wet or too dry, treating his wife like an animal, hauling her about by the hair. lately at the castle a jongleur told this anecdote: "a certain peasant showered his wife with blows on principle. 'she must have some occupation,' said he, 'while i work in the field. if she is idle she will think of evil things. if i beat her she will weep the whole day through, and so will pass the time. then when i return in the evening she will be more tender.'" according to other stories, however, many peasants are clever, aggressive, and insolent--well able to care for themselves. [sidenote: filthy habits of peasants] the castle folk and the burghers are none too careful in sanitary matters, but even to them the peasants are disgustingly filthy. they relate in pontdebois this story: "once a villein, leading some donkeys, went down the lane of the perfumer's shops. instantly he fainted at the unaccustomed odor. they brought him to, however, by holding a shovel full of manure under his nose." another story (told at the monastery) has it that the devil has refused to receive more villeins into hell because they smell so vilely! in the village you soon find many typical peasant characters, and nearly all of them are bad. there is the surly fellow who will not even tell a traveler the way. there is the malcontent villein who mutters enviously whenever he sees a knight riding out hawking; there is the mad fool who reviles god, saints, church, and nobility; there is the talkative villein who is always arguing bad causes before the provost's court and inciting his neighbors to senseless litigation, there is the honest simpleton who wandered up to pontdebois and got his pockets picked while gaping at the sculptures on the portal of the cathedral; finally, there are the misers, the petty speculators in grain (who pray for a famine), and all the tribe of poachers. certainly there are also a great number of hard-working, honest folk who bow respectfully when messire conon rides by and who pay their taxes without grumbling. such give prosperity to the seigneury; but it is the rascals who ever thrust themselves into prominence. the st. aliquis villeins seem doltish and dirty enough, but they are nothing to those existing in flanders. some monks have recently returned thence after doing business for their order. they tell with horror that in summertime flemish peasants are seen around their villages, taking their ease, with no more clothes on than when they were born. when the monks remonstrated, the rough answer was: "how is this your business? you make no laws for us." it is pitiful (say the monks) that any seigneur should tolerate such things on his fief, for the peasants are such sodden creatures they cannot of themselves be expected to know better. if the knights exploit the peasants, the clergy do so hardly less. it is notoriously hard for the bishop's tithe collector to secure the quota of pigs, hens, eggs, wheat, vegetables, etc., which everybody knows that the villein owes to the church after or upon the same time he satisfies the collectors for the baron. indeed, certain impious villeins complain, "the tithe is worse than the imposts and the _corvées_." the monkish preachers have to be constantly threatening these sinners who pay their tithes slowly. the church tithe is the property of god. "it is the tax you owe to god, a sign of his universal dominion." those who withhold it not merely imperil their souls, but god will send them "drought and famine," punishing them alike in this world and the next. villeins too often wickedly insist on working on sundays and holy days. the peasants complain there are so many saints' days that it is hard to keep track of them, but if only they would go to church on sundays when the priest announces the next holy days they could avoid this sin. worse still are the peasants who, when they see their fellows going dutifully to mass, hide under the hedges, then slip away to rob the unguarded orchards. [sidenote: gross oppression by knights] it seems certain, therefore, that god has no such love for villeins as he has for gentle knights and their dames. the knights display their superiority by always reminding their peasants of their condition. with some barons, to flog their villein for most trifling offenses is about as common as for them to eat their dinners. even conon has plenty of use for his riding whip. unless the blows are very brutal the average peasant takes this as all in the day's work. he merely trades out his own blows upon his wife and children. indeed, it is commonly said that most villeins are so numb mentally they never can comprehend the simplest orders unless they are driven home with stripes. in time of war the fate of the peasants is, as we have seen, far worse than this. whatever a feud means to the contending parties, to their villeins it means houses and crops burned, fruit trees girdled, young girls dragged off to a life of infamy, and probably the massacre of many peasants in cold blood. one of the reasons the nobles delight so in war is because it is seldom that they have to endure its real anguish and horror; but in the churches the non-nobles pray, "_grant us to peace_" quite as fervently as they beseech, "save us from famine"--and with equal justice. the monkish preachers who make a business of scolding sometimes denounce high-born oppressors of the villeins. one monk thus cries out, "all that the peasant amasses in one year of stubborn toil, the noble devours in an hour. not content with his lawful revenues, he despoils them by illicit exactions. as wolves devour carrion while the crows croak overhead, awaiting their share of the feast, so when knights pillage their subjects the provosts (their agents) and others of the hellish crew rejoice at the prospect of devouring the remainder." or again: "ye nobles are ravening wolves; therefore shall ye howl in hell," for you "despoil your subjects and live on the blood and sweat of the poor." (jacques of vitry.) nevertheless, the selfsame preachers accuse the peasants of the cardinal sins of avarice and of shunning labor. only rarely are the villeins comforted by being told that if they work faithfully and bring up a proper family they are morally on equality "with a cleric who chants all day in a church." on the st. aliquis fiefs, and, indeed, on many others, these grosser abuses do not obtain, but nowhere are the villeins exempt from one evil which they must meet with dumb resignation--the seigneurial hunts.[ ] conon and his guests never hesitate at going with horses and hawks or hounds straight across plowed and seeded fields or even over standing grain. this is the lord's absolute right, and protest is impossible. the hunters, too, are entitled, if far from home, to stop at the peasants' huts and demand food and fodder, perhaps for a large party. if payment is made, it is merely out of charity. greater evils still may come from the depredations of the wild game, if the fields are close to the hunting preserves. villeins cannot harm any deer nibbling the young sprouts. they can only scare them away--and the cunning creatures soon grow daring. a wild boar can root up a dozen little farm plots before the baron can find leisure to chase him down. upon some fiefs the peasants can arrange to pay an extra fee to their lord, in return for which he keeps only rabbits near their fields; but the hunt of a single rabbit, if the flying wretch doubles in among the corn, may ruin a family. on the other hand, the penalties for poaching, for "killing messire's game," are terrible. it is probably safer on st. aliquis'--as on any other fief--to risk killing a traveler than killing a fawn or even a hare. the law is pitilessly enforced by the foresters. maître denis will tell you he has hanged more stout fellows for poaching than for any other two crimes put together. [sidenote: futile peasant revolts] do the villeins ever revolt? sometimes, when they are driven to desperation by extreme misery; when they find a clever leader; when circumstances are peculiarly favorable. then may come the sudden burning of manor houses and small fortalices; the massacre of their inmates; and other brutish deeds of tardy retaliation. the rebels are likely to boast, as did some insurgent peasants in normandy in the eleventh century: "we have been weak and insane to bend our necks for so long. for we are strong-handed men, and solider and stouter limbed than the nobles will ever be. for everyone of them there are a hundred of us!" such revolts always have a single end. the ignorant peasants submit to no discipline. they cannot use the knight's weapons if they capture them. they cannot organize. if they seize a castle, the liquor in the cellars lays them out helpless through a week of orgy. the seigneurs instantly rally and with their great horses hunt down the rebels as creatures worse than wolves. the vengeance then taken on the insurgents is such that every ear that hears thereof must tingle. perhaps along a league of roadway a corpse will be swinging from every tree. such measures effectively discourage rebellion save under most exceptional circumstances. even with atrocious seigneurs it is usually best to bow to the will of god and merely to pray for deliverance. georges' and alard's mental horizons can be imagined. they have on rare occasions been as far as pontdebois, although some of their neighbors have passed a lifetime without even that privilege. they have only the most limited, one might say only the most animal, hopes and fears. their ideas of such things as the king's court, paris, and the various christian and infidel lands are a jumble of absurd notions. "religion" means a few prayers, a few saints' stories, as told in the church, the miracle plays at christmas, and a fear lest by failing in proper respect to monks and priests they will be eternally tormented in worse torture chambers than old baron garnier's. the villeins, of course, have their own rustic holidays, full of rough sports--wrestling, throwing weights, archery, and also cockfighting and bull baiting. the best of entertainment is when two blindfolded men, each carrying a cudgel, try to kill a goose or pig let loose in an inclosure. the whole village roars to see them belabor each other. during the wedding festivities, to show their dutiful esteem for alienor and olivier, the peasants had arranged a special ceremony in their honor. four blindfolded men were led about the neighborhood, preceded by two men, one playing an oboe, the other carrying a red banner whereon a pig was painted. after this noisy merrymaking a real pig was produced, and before an august company of most of the castle folk the four champions "attacked the pig." they hit one another so hard, that one was picked up almost dead. the pig became the property of the villein who had managed to pound the life out of the creature just as in mercy alienor was about to beg that the contest end. despite grievances and grumblings, the average peasants are loyal, somewhat after the manner of dumb dogs, to their seigneurs. conon and adela command the real affection of their villeins because of acts of charity, but even baron garnier had been treated with an astonishing faithfulness. many a knight has owed his life or honor to humble dependents whom he has not treated so well as his horses or hounds. it is the toiling thousands in the little thatched huts that make possible the wedding feasts, the adubbements, the tourneys, and the spectacular battles. some day the exploitation will cease--but not in the thirteenth century. footnotes: [ ] this cleric, jacques of vitry, may have written a few years later than the presumable date of this narrative, but it represents entirely the orthodox viewpoint of a.d. . [ ] it has been estimated that the rural population of france in the thirteenth century was almost as great as in the twentieth. there was probably a decided falling off, in the fourteenth century, thanks to the black death ( ) and the ravages of the hundred years' war. [ ] by these wholesale famines were really becoming matters of tradition, thanks to better transportation and better methods of agriculture. very lean years, almost ruinous to the peasantry, remained, however, as extremely grim possibilities. [ ] in brittany, and, somewhat less generally in normandy, most of the peasants at this time were free. in champagne and central france there were still so many serfs that very possibly the peasants of st. aliquis were more fortunate than the majority of the villeins on neighboring baronies. the advantages of the free peasants over the serfs have, however, been somewhat exaggerated. [ ] the list of curious _corvées_ required of peasants on various seigneuries is a long one. on one fief they were expected to beat the water of the castle moat to stop the noise of the frogs whenever the mistress was sick. or on certain specified occasions they had to perform some absurd service: to hop on one leg, to kiss the latch of the castle gate, go through some drunken horseplay in the lord's presence, or sing a broad song in the presence of his lady. [ ] see page . chapter xvii: charity. care of the sick. funerals. even upon a well-ordered seigneury the number of the poor, disabled, and generally miserable is great. despite the contempt displayed by the great for the lowly, the feudal age is not lacking in pretty abundant charity or rather in almsgiving. the haughtiest cavalier feels it his duty to scatter copper obols when he goes among the poor, though doubtless he tells his squire to fling the coins merely to "satisfy this hungry rabble." among the virtues of conon and adela is the fact that they throw the money with their own gentle hands. this somehow adds to the donative's value. the present season is prosperous at st. aliquis. furthermore, there has just been such an open house at the castle that one would expect even the most luckless to be satiated for a while. nevertheless, the very day after the guests have departed adela is informed that there are more than thirty people before the drawbridge, chanting their "alms! for the sake of christ, alms!" the baroness, suppressing a sigh, quits her maids, to whom she is just assigning their weaving, and goes to the bailey. with her attends lay-brother gensenius, an assistant to father grégoire, who acts as castle almoner. the crowd contains many familiar faces. yonder old man on one leg, the blind woman led by a little girl, the lad with a withered arm, the woman disfigured by goiter, the widow whose husband was slain in a brawl, leaving her with eight children, the harmless idiot--all these adela immediately recognizes. but the excitement of the fêtes has attracted others whom she and brother gensenius scan closely. this melancholy fellow on crutches possibly can run very fast if he sees that the provost's men are after him. his companion, who seems covered with sores and who claims to be on a pilgrimage to a healing shrine, is clearly a scamp and malingerer. right before the baroness a strange woman falls down foaming at the mouth, as if she had epilepsy. gensenius shakes his crafty head. "she is the same impostor," he whispers, "who tried her trick with a bit of soap yesterday in the village." so the sheep gradually are separated from the goats. some of the charlatans are chased away. some of those who receive loaves of bread and broken meat are perhaps no more deserving than the rejected. but dare one really be too critical? after all, the reason why great folk give to beggars is to cancel sins. if the beggars are undeserving, that hardly diminishes the credit with the saints for conon and adela. it would be calamitous if there were suddenly to be no poor, worthy or unworthy, for how then, by parting with some of their abundance, could the rich buy peace for their souls? fortunately, however, there is no such danger. our lord has directly said, "the poor ye have always with you," a most comforting word of scripture. poverty, then, is a blessed institution even for the fortunate in this world; it enables them to procure entrance to heaven by acts of charity. as for persons who are needy, of course, if they bear their lot with christian resignation they accumulate a blessed stock of indulgence which will cut short their durance in purgatory. [sidenote: physical severity of mediaeval life] the morning dole is a regular feature at st. aliquis, as at every other castle and monastery. the amount of food given away is really very great. but there is next to no attempt on the part of the average seigneury really to remedy this mendicancy--to devise honest work within the capacities of the blind or the lame; to give systematic relief to the widow; to put the idiot lad in some decent institution. every premium is placed upon the idlers, the impostors, and the low-browed rogues who prefer anything to honest toil. in the times of real famine, even, the temptation to cease prematurely struggling against hard times and to lapse into beggardom is very dangerous. despite, therefore, much genuine kindness on the part of many donors, charity in the feudal age is allowed more than ordinarily to cover a multitude of sins--alike those of the givers and the receivers. upon the st. aliquis barony there is an astonishing number of unabashed drones and parasites. these miserable folk, however, have some excuse. conditions of life in the feudal age, even for the cavaliers, are very severe. men and women begin the duties of life young, mature young, grow old young. henry ii of anjou and england was only forty-seven when they began to call him "old." philip augustus was only fifteen when he was capable of assuming the actual duties of a responsible monarch. many a baron is gray headed at forty. when he is fifty his sons may often be intriguing to supplant their superannuated father. if this is true of the nobility, what of the toiling peasantry? we have seen how georges and jeanne are aged before their time. grinding toil by weakening the body, of course, leaves it exposed to many ordinary diseases. but certainly conditions in castle and village open the doors to extraordinary plagues as well. the age is happily ignorant of sanitary precautions which more sophisticated mortals will consider a matter of course. the peasants "almost live on the manure heap." the clergy (though not themselves so uncleanly) seldom preach the virtues of bathing; indeed, their discourses on "despising the body" apparently discourage the practice. it is hard to keep meat any length of time unless it is salted, and the vast amounts of salt meat consumed everywhere are direct promoters of scurvy and gangrene. we have seen that nearly all the clothing worn close to the body is woolen. this retains filth, is hard to wash, and irritates the skin, another cause for frequent dermal diseases--scrofula, the itch, and things even worse. [illustration: a leper holding in his hand the bones with which these unfortunates were compelled to signal their approach from a distance. from a window in the cathedral of bourges (thirteenth century).] [sidenote: fearful plagues and mortality] leprosy is a terrible scourge. its nature is misunderstood. often severe but curable cases of eczema are confounded therewith, and harmless victims are condemned to a death in life--perpetual banishment to filthy cabins in the woods. cholera and smallpox every now and then break out in a neighborhood, and they are almost always fatal. nothing really can be done to check them except to pray to the saints. such diseases are (say the best informed) communicated "in the air"; consequently any ordinary isolation is useless. on the whole, they ravage the villages more than they do the castles, though hardly because the castle folk are able to take more effective physic. yet often enough a baron and his entire family may be swept away. very seldom is it suggested that pure water, cleanliness, and rational schemes of isolation can accomplish much to defeat the apparent desire of heaven to devastate an entire duchy. other diseases are fearfully common. the sufferers from nervous complaints make up small armies. the general terrors and wars of the times, the brooding fears of the devil, hell, and the eternal torment, the spectacle of the fearful punishments, and, on the other hand, the sheer ennui of life in many castles and in certain ill-ruled convents, drive men and women out of their wits. such sufferers are lucky if they are treated with kindness and are not, as being "possessed of devils," clapped in a dungeon. finally, it should be said that lucky is the mother who does not have one-third to one-half of all her offspring die in the act of birth. every entrance of a babe into the world is a dice throwing with death, even if the mid-wife is clever. once born, the children are likely to be so injured in the initiatory process that they will be physically imperfect or dangerously weakened. this is true even in the royal families; how much more true in the peasant huts! it is not surprising that the average man of the feudal ages can give and sustain hard blows. only the strongest have been able to survive the ordeals of birth and childhood. to fight these dangers, one must invoke both human and divine aid. good christians usually feel that the healing saints avail more than do physicians or wise women. if you have indigestion, invoke st. christopher; if dropsy, st. eutropius; if fever, st. petronila; for the pest, st. roch; for insanity, st. mathurin; for kidney complaint, st. rené; for cramps, st. crampan--and so with many other ills. nevertheless, one need not trust solely to prayers. only great people, however, employ regular physicians (_mires_). villeins commonly have in a "good woman," much better than a sorcerer. the breath of an ass drives poison from a body. the touch of a dead man's tooth cures toothache. if you have a nosebleed, seize the nose with two straws shaped like a cross. if the itch troubles you, roll yourself naked in a field of oats. georges, the peasant, will tell you that such remedies seldom fail. a local professor of the healing art is maître denis, the executioner. since he knows so well how to mutilate bodies, he ought to be able to understand the converse process of curing them. he has wide reputation as a healer of broken bones, and he often sells his patients a panacea for multifarious ills--"the fat of a man just hung." there is at least this to be said for the peasants: the science of _their_ healers will agree almost as much with that of later physicians as does that of the contemporary "physicians" themselves. the church has not given any too great encouragement to medicine. the mighty st. ambrose has said that the proper healing is by prayers and vigils. only clerics of the inferior orders are allowed to study medical science, and the dissection of dead bodies is decidedly discountenanced.[ ] at the castle the ordinary functionary to abate bodily ills is maître louis, the baron's barber. when not scraping chins, he was very likely giving the castle folk their monthly bleedings, without which it is very hard to keep one's health. the bleedings take place, if possible, in the great hall near the fire, and are undergone regularly by both sexes. when the st. aliquis forces are called to war, maître louis goes with them as barber-surgeon, and he really has considerable skill in setting fractures and cauterizing and salving wounds, as well as with a few powerful drugs--mostly purgatives--which probably help those of his patients who have the strongest constitutions to recover. [sidenote: professional physicians] when one of the baron's own family is seriously sick, it is usual to send to pontdebois for a professional physician. about two years ago conon himself fell into a fever. they brought to him maître payen, who claimed to have learned his art as _mire_ by travel among the schools of medicine--at salerno in sicily, at montpellier in the languedoc country, and even at cordova among the infidels, although the baron swore angrily (after he was gone) that he had never been nearer any of these places than paris. [illustration: a thirteenth-century doctor restored by viollet-le-duc, from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale.] maître payen was sprucely dressed half as a priest, half as a rich burgher. he wore elegant furs. he talked very learnedly of "febrifuges" and "humors," and kept repeating, "thus says avincenna, the prince of spanish physicians," or, "thus says albucasis, the infallible follower of avincenna." if conon had suffered from some easily discoverable malady, probably maître payen could have suggested a fairly efficient means of cure. he was not without shrewdness, and in his chest was a whole arsenal of herbs and drugs. he had also efficient salves, although he had never heard the word "antiseptic." but the baron had picked up one of those maladies which baffled easy diagnosis. maître payen, therefore, fussed about, clearly betraying his bewilderment, then struck a professional attitude and announced oracularly, "the obstruction to health is in the liver." "nay," groaned the baron, "it is in the head that i feel so wretched." "that is foolish," retorted the _mire_, crushingly: "beware of that word 'obstruction,' because you do not understand what it signifies."[ ] he next muttered certain cabalistic words; said that the baron should be glad that his liver was affected, because that was the seat of honor, and that upon recovery his honor would be enlarged. the spleen was the seat of laughter, while the lungs fanned the heart. payen then talked of remedies. perhaps the urine of a dog would be best, or the blood of a hegoat; but these were only villein remedies. messire, the patient, was a great noble and needed noble remedies, suitable for his rank. he would therefore (since the liver was affected) give him the dried and pulverized liver of a toad. and so he left his medicines, took a gold piece, and departed. that night conon was delirious, but adela, who, like every mistress of a castle, had perforce learned much of nursing, applied cold cloths to his body, while father grégoire prayed to the saints. the next morning, because of the cloths, the saints, or toad's liver, the fever abated. perhaps it had merely run its natural course. after the baron recovered he would curse terribly at mention of maître payen. he would be ready enough to cry "amen!" to the saying of the monk guy of provins, "they (the physicians) kill numbers of the sick, and exhaust themselves to find maladies for everybody. woe to him who falls into their power! i prefer a capon to all their mixtures!" the monk concedes, indeed, that certain physicians are useful, but that it is because of the confidence which they inspire rather than thanks to their medicines that they effect cures. [sidenote: healing relics and processions] when next conon falls sick, he vows that he will trust simply to maître louis or even to maître denis, although he may consent to send for a lazarist monk, a member of the great monastic order which makes a specialty of healing the sick. for although these truly noble monks (who combine worldly wisdom with an equal amount of piety) treat especially leprosy, they are gradually turning their attention to diseases in general. if he cannot get a lazarist, he will be likely to hire in an astrologer to discover a remedy by consulting the stars; or father grégoire may organize a "healing procession" of all the monks, clerks, and pious laymen whom he can muster. with solemnity they will carry the whole stock of saints' relics in the neighborhood to the sick seigneur, and lay them devoutly upon his abdomen. this remedy was tried in paris some time ago to cure prince louis, the king's heir, and he recovered promptly. similar assistance is available for a great seigneur like conon. not always, indeed, will even the saints' relics avail. when the time had come for the good lady odelina, conon's mother, they postponed extreme unction to the final moment, because after that ceremony the sick person has really no right to get well. the hair falls out and the natural heat is diminished. the moment breath quitted the noble dame's body, the servants ran furiously through the castle, emptying every vessel of water lest the departing soul should be drowned therein. the dead body was also watched carefully until burial, lest the devil should replace it in its coffin with a black cat, and likewise lest a dog or cat should run over the coffin and change the corpse into a vampire. conon and adela are not convinced of these notions, but do not dispute them with the servitors. [illustration: a thirteenth-century burial scene from an english manuscript (schultz).] next the body was carefully embalmed. the heart was removed, to be buried at a nunnery whereof lady odelina had been the patroness. a waxen death mask was made of the face, and the body was laid out on a handsome bed with black hangings. a temporary altar was set up in the apartment that masses might be said there, and one or two of conon's vassals or squires remained on guard night and day, fully armed, while round the bed blazed two or three scores of tall candles. [sidenote: funeral customs] the interment took place in the abbey church, in the transept where rested so many of the st. aliquis stock. they laid upon the lady odelina's breast a silver cross engraved with the words of absolution; and in the heavy stone casket also were buried four small earthen pots, each of which had contained some of the incense burned during the funeral ceremony. finally, when the rites were over, conon employed a cunning sculptor to make a life-size marble effigy of his mother, to rest upon the slab covering her tomb--an effigy which, by the dignity and genuine peace of form and face, was long to express how truly noble had been his gracious mother. common folk cannot have marble caskets and effigies, but even poor peasants are graced with decidedly elaborate funerals. when a person of the least consequence in the village dies, a crier goes down all the lanes, ringing a bell and calling out the name of the deceased, adding, "pray god for the dead." peasants of quality are likely to be laid away in plaster coffins, although the poorest class of villeins are wrapped only in rags and tossed into shallow pits. still worse is the fate of those who die excommunicated by the church or of suicides. these unfortunates cannot even be buried in holy ground. their bodies are often exposed, to be torn by the dogs and crows. sometimes, however, a hardened sinner repents sufficiently on his deathbed to be restored to the graces of religion. but in this case his body is frequently burned, all laden with iron or brazen fetters. the idea is thus to mortify the body, even after the breath of life has departed, and so to abate those fires in purgatory assuredly awaiting for all save great saints, who can pass straight to heaven, or the numerous reprobates whose guilt requires not temporary, but eternal torment. footnotes: [ ] as a result of this attitude, such a distinguished and genuinely learned scholar as albert the great is said to have confounded tendons and nerves. [ ] a mediæval medical treatise deliberately advises the use of this argument to silence patients when the physicians cannot make a diagnosis, yet must say something. chapter xviii: popular religion. pilgrimages. superstitions. relic worship. all the folk of st. aliquis are christians. nobody, far and wide, except a few jews in pontdebois, openly dissents from the catholic religion, denies the validity of the creeds, or refuses a certain outward conformity to the church practices. the age is not greatly interested in improving the general moral and social condition of the common people. the common people even are not always interested in this themselves. each peasant prays for "just treatment" and for good luck. otherwise, castle and village alike accept as a kind of natural law the immutability of society. god has established the various orders and gradations. all that one can ask is that each man shall accept the condition assigned to him and live in it efficiently and happily. [sidenote: religious attitude of knights] conon, like every other knight, has no temptation to unbelief. the doctors of the church know all about religion, just as the king's falconers know all about hawking. it is sensible to trust the expert. if you ask idle questions, you merely risk your soul, as do the followers of mahound, the false prophet. the baron frequently denounces the arrogance and covetousness of the clergy and resists their pretentions, but he nevertheless trusts them to supply him with the sacraments and bless his death and burial so that his soul may pass promptly through purgatory into paradise--where existence presumably is one grand admixture of a marriage feast in a fine garden and of a magnificent tournament. plenty of knights are lax and blasphemous, but they hardly are deliberately unbelieving.[ ] good knights ought to hear mass every morning; venerate holy objects and places; hate jews and saracens; worship the virgin and the saints; also keep most of the major fasts and other special occasions of the church. conon does all these things. he is "a good christian." but he is exempted from any serious thinking for himself upon mysterious matters. [illustration: a group of priests, thirteenth century the one who is near the altar is wearing a chasuble and the second and third are clad in the dalmatica, or deacon's gown. the second carries the consecrated wafer and the third a sort of fan. (from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale.)] when conon prays in the morning, if not hurried he lies down with his head turned toward the east, and his arms stretched out like a cross. he recites the favors which god has shown him in the past, beseeches heaven to continue favorable. often he adds a credo and a certain paraphrase of the lord's prayer then very common--"our father, who desirest that we all be saved, grant that we acquire thy love even as have the angels who do thy pleasure on high; and give us our daily bread--for the soul the holy sacrament, and for the body its needful sustenance." yet if his mood is not unusually humble and contrite, he is likely to conclude patronizingly, "and i confide also in the strength of my heart, which thou hast bestowed, in my good sword and my fleet horse, yet especially in thee!" many a cavalier breaks into blasphemies when things go wrong. such men are like william rufus of england, who cried, "god shall never see me a good man--i have suffered too much at his hands!" or henry ii, who, on learning that his son henry had revolted, cried aloud, "since thou, o god, hast taken away from me that which i prized the most, thou shalt not have what thou prizest most in me--my soul." and even conon, once when hard beset, had exclaimed, like a certain crusading lord: "what king, o lord, ever deserted thus his men? who _now_ will trust in or fight for thee?" nevertheless, one should deal mercifully with such sinful words, for, after all, is not the world very evil and the temptation to rail at god extremely great? it is true that things are not as they were in the year a.d. , when even the wisest felt very sure the last day was at hand. eclipses, comets and famines had then seemed foreshadowing this. people crowded the churches in agony, expecting to hear the seven trumpets announce antichrist. repeatedly since then, when the years have been calamitous, monks and old wives have stirred multitudes by vehement predictions that the plagues of the apocalypse and the other preliminaries to the millennium are not to be delayed. as late as a.d. the monk rigord, at the abbey of st. denis, wrote: "the world is ill; it grows so old that it relapses into infancy. common report has it that antichrist has been born at babylon and that the day of judgement is nigh." [sidenote: a fearful excommunication] fears like this restrain even reckless seigneurs and sodden peasants from proceeding to inconceivable crimes. the agonies of the damned will be so dreadful! the preachers understand very well that it is of little use to try to restrain the wicked by talking of "the love and mercy of god." if king philip had only used love and mercy upon his vassals he would be now a king without a kingdom. it is the dread of the eternal burning which apparently keeps a large part of all christendom tolerably obedient to the more essential mandates of morality and of the church. when a great criminal deliberately defies the church there is a ceremony which makes even the righteous inquire as to their own salvation. a few months ago a certain impious baron robbed a parish church of a chalice. instantly at pontdebois the bishop took action. the great bell of the cathedral tolled as for a funeral; and such it was, though of the soul, far more precious than merely the body. the bishop appeared in the chancel with all his clergy. each cleric held a lighted candle. the building was hung with black tapestry. amid a terrible hush the bishop announced the name of the offending knight to the crowded nave, then proclaimed in loud voice: "let him be cursed in the city and cursed in the field; cursed in his granery, his harvest, and his children; as dathan and abiram were swallowed up by the gaping earth, so may hell swallow him; and even as to-day we quench these torches in our hands, so may the light of his life be quenched for all eternity, unless he do repent!" whereat all the priests dashed their torches to the pavement and trampled them out. one could almost see that sacrilegious baron writhing in the flames of gehenna. after a scene like this there is no reinstatement for the sinner save by some great act of penance and mortification. an excommunicated person is next door to an outlaw. he may find sundry companions in crime, but most people will shun him as they would a leper. this particular baron, after vain boasts and defiance, at last was so conscience-torn and forsaken that he made an abject peace with the bishop. first, he gave ruinously costly gifts to the cathedral; then he presented himself barefoot and in the robe of a pilgrim at the chancel. he prostrated himself and for a day and a night remained in prayer before the high altar, eating and drinking nothing. after that he knelt again while some three-score clerics and monks present each smote him with a rod, he crying aloud, "just are thy judgments, o lord!" after every blow. not till all this was accomplished did the bishop raise him, pronounce the absolution, and give him the kiss of peace. it was very dreadful.[ ] for lesser offenses against the church there are lesser but effective penalties. in pontdebois there was once a religious procession in lent. a certain woman marched therein with pretended devoutness, but then went home and in defiance of the fast-time dined upon some mutton and ham. the odor escaped into the street. the woman was seized, and the bishop condemned her to walk through the town with her quarter of mutton on the spit over her shoulder, the ham slung round her neck, and with a ribald crowd, of course, trailing behind. after that penance the fasts were well kept in pontdebois. [sidenote: festive side of popular religion] yet one must not think of the religion of this feudal age as in general sad. on the contrary (by one of those abrupt contrasts now grown familiar) clergy and people get vast joy, not to say amusement, even out of the sacred ordinances. "men go gayly along the road to salvation." for example, the great pilgrimages (pardons) are often festive reunions with merchants chaffering and jongleurs playing or doing their tricks while the whole company proceeds to some shrine. even in the church building solemnity is not always maintained. the choir, indeed, belongs pretty strictly to worship, but in the nave all sorts of secular proceedings can go on, even the meetings of malcontent factions and of rioters. the church bells ring for markets, for musters, or for peaceful gatherings almost as often as they ring for the holy services. as for the sacred festivals, good bishops complain that they are so numerous that the secular element intrudes utterly, and disfigures them with idleness and carousing. the peasants may go to early mass; after that they will drink, chatter, sing, dance (in a very riotous fashion), and join in wrestlings, races, and archery contests until nightfall. besides these ordinary abuses of holy things, every parish seems to have its own special reign of folly, although the name of the celebration varies from place to place. even the younger clergy participate in such mock ceremonies. in pontdebois the subdeacons elect a pope of buffoons, give him a silver tiara, and enthrone him with much dignity, electing at the same time several "cardinals" to help direct his revels. there are noisy processions, cavalcades, and even scandalous parodies of some of the most sacred services of the church. the mock pope issues "bulls" enjoining all kinds of horseplay, and actually strikes a kind of lead money with such legends as "live merrily and rejoice," or, "fools are sometimes wise." it seems next to impossible to confine such proceedings to the streets, the market place and the church porch, although decent bishops fight against intrusions into the holy building. the canons of the cathedral have finally induced the junior clergy and the lay rabble to refrain from the more extreme parodies and from such pranks as stealing the church bells by giving the "pope" and all his noisy rout a grand dinner. pious churchmen groan on such days, but they comfort themselves by saying that these proceedings make religion popular and give an outlet for "the flesh," which if restrained too much, will succumb before even worse temptations of the devil. in st. aliquis village the parish priest actually participates in a ceremony equally calculated to astonish another age. on a certain sunday the folk celebrate the virtues of the ass which bore our lord and the holy virgin when st. joseph fled with them into egypt. the peasants take the best ass in the neighborhood, caparison it gayly, and lead it through the streets to the church, all the children running along, waving flower wands and shouting, with the older folk almost equally demonstrative. at the holy portal the priest meets them and announces in latin "this is a day of mirth. let all sour lookers get themselves hence. away with envy! those who celebrate the festival of the ass desire jollity!" [sidenote: mass of the ass] then the ass is led straight up into the chancel and tethered to the altar rail. a solemn prose, half latin, half french, is chanted, setting forth the virtues of the faithful, stolid beast which enabled our lord to escape the wicked herod. ever and anon the cantor stops and all the crowded church rings with the refrain, "_he! haw! sire ass--he! haw!_" everybody trying to pull down his nose and bray as lustily as possible. finally, when the ass has been led decorously back to his stall, the choristers, with many friends, indulge in a bountiful repast. this festival of the ass is celebrated in very many french cities and villages. one must also comprehend that certain saints are the particular patrons of given regions. st. martin is a potent saint through all france, but st. denis is the especial guardian of the royal domains; st. nicholas of lorraine, st. andre of burgundy, and of course st. george of england. st. michael, too, may assist french knights sooner than he will foreigners. there are also many local saints of incalculable sacredness in their own small regions, yet hardly heard of elsewhere. thus, if you travel very far, you are likely to lose all trace of good st. aliquis, and, indeed, peevish visitors have suggested that he has never been canonized at rome or properly accepted by the catholic church. for all that, he is venerated locally, perhaps with greater fervor than any other holy one, saving always our blessed lady herself. there is no saint with whom it is possible to compare the virgin. she is the "lady of heaven," the "queen of the holy city," the "_dame débonnaire_." god the father and god the son seem perhaps to be inaccessible celestial emperors, but the holy virgin, who understands the needs of toiling men, will transmit their pleas and exert her vast influence in their behalf. therefore, on her statues she is dressed like a feudal queen with rich stuffs, a crown glittering with jewels, and she bears a royal scepter and an orb of the world. all the saints are her vassals and do her liege homage. there is another set of joyous celebrations legitimate and uplifting. at christmas time, on _noël_ eve the good folk will install a heifer, an ox, and an ass in the parish church "to warm the holy babe with their breath." torches are lighted everywhere and fires are lit upon the hills. groups of people march about dressed like shepherds bound for the christchild's manger and led by pipes and viols, while all sing joyously: "good sirs, now hark ye!-- from far lands come we, for it is noël." then in the church are sung long responses, telling the story of christmas in the vernacular and interspersed with comments by the animals in latin, because (as says the hymn) all the beasts in other days spoke french less well than latin. so the cock crows out his satisfaction, the goat bleats, the calf bellows, the ox lows, the ass brays. it is all done simply, reverently, and for the benefit of simple, loving souls. in pontdebois, however, they have a more elaborate performance. twelve clerks, representing six jews and six pagans, present themselves in the cathedral choir, declaring they wish to examine the evidence that the babe newly born is truly the redeemer. whereat appear in stately sequence all the prophets who have forewarned the coming of christ, besides moses with his horn, balaam with his ass, the three hebrew children of the fiery furnace, the pagan sybils, and the twelve apostles. each responds with canticles in sonorous latin, until the twelve doubters declare themselves satisfied and fall down to worship the infant king. [sidenote: mystery plays] at easter there are other mystery plays telling the story of the divine passion and of the resurrection; and still others come at intervals through the year. some of the participants are priests, but many others laymen, both men and women.[ ] all the more important episodes in the bible are acted out with considerable detail and with much comedy interspersed. the crowds howl with glee when ananias, like a shrewd jew, chaffers for the sale of his field, or when hideous devils leap up from hell to seize herodias's daughter the instant she has accomplished her wicked will with john the baptist. there is no attempt to represent ancient times. herod is dressed like a feudal duke, and before him is carried a crucifix. the numerous devils are always black; the angels wear blue, red, and white; "god" appears wearing a papal tiara; and the "souls of the dead" appear covered with veils--white for the saved, red or black for the damned. it is a source of great delight for the people to take part in these plays, and even the great folk are not above joining in them. one need not comment on how completely such proceedings impress the imaginations of the unlearned with the stories of the old and new testaments. the bible can be _read_ only by the few, but an essential part of it is _seen_ and reasonably comprehended by the many. so much for ordinary religious beliefs and occasions. but there are plenty of people who find their sins are so terrible that they must resort to some great penances, often consuming the remainder of their lives, in order to propitiate heaven. besides the monks and the nuns dwelling in convents, there exist a great many hermits and "religious solitaries," who abide in little huts in the woods, perhaps maintaining a tiny chapel for travelers, and being fed on the offerings of forest rangers and peasants. not all these hermits live, however, in genuine solitude. right in st. aliquis village there is something everywhere common--a female recluse. many years ago, a certain peasant woman, elise, murdered her husband. she was promptly condemned to the gallows, but baron garnier, with unusual mercy, pardoned her on condition "that she be shut up within a small house in the cemetery, that she might there do penance and so end her days." a stone hut was accordingly built, and the unhappy woman conducted thither with a regular procession, two priests blessing the hut and giving elise a kind of consecration. she was put inside. every aperture was then built up except a narrow chink to admit air, a little light, and a small dole of food from her relatives. elise has been vegetating in this hut for now twenty years--living in filth and darkness, but talking most piously to visitors standing outside. seemingly, she does little except to mutter almost incessant prayers. already her crime is forgotten. the peasants speak of her as "that holy woman" and even wonder whether, after she dies in her cell--for she will never leave it--she cannot be enrolled among the saints. there are many other much more innocent recluses, male and female, who have been walled up voluntarily--either out of piety or of sheer love of idleness, possibly because of both. [sidenote: recluses and pilgrims] nevertheless, ordinarily the best way to discharge the load of a guilty conscience is by pilgrimage. confessors often impose this means of penance upon penitents, as the best way of winning the divine mercy. since death is about the only judicial penalty for great crimes, a penance of pilgrimage for six, ten, or twelve years--going from shrine to shrine all over christendom--is really a substitute for a term of imprisonment. pilgrims of this pronounced type are required to go barefoot, with head shaved, to quit their families and wives, and to fast continually--that is, never to touch meat more than once a day. even exalted nobles thus spend the remainder of a lifetime expiating their iniquities. everyone has heard of count fulk the black of anjou, who heaped up misdeeds even to the murdering of his wife. then at last he realized the awful peril to his soul. three times he made the long pilgrimage to jerusalem, the third time letting himself be dragged upon a hurdle through the streets of the sacred city, while two varlets smote him with whips. such great criminals often carry passports issued by bishops, certifying that they are expiating by pilgrimage specified evil deeds--and requesting christian folk to give them lodging, food, and assistance. these penitents, if knights, are likely to wear chains upon their wrists and neck, forged of their own armor, as witnesses at once of their social position and their genuine repentance. most pilgrims, however, have no such fearful things weighing down their souls. they are simply ordinary erring men who are moved by a genuine piety, possibly admixed with a willingness to find excuse for "seeing the world." every day they appear at the gate of st. aliquis castle to ask a share in the supper and a bed on the rushes in the hall, and they are respectfully treated, although conon sometimes complains that their trailing robes of brown wool, heavy staffs, and sacks slung at belt are merely the disguises for so many wandering rogues. unwashed and unkempt though many of them are, it never does to repulse them, lest you lose the scriptural blessing for those who received strangers and so "have entertained angels unawares." pilgrims, too, are good newsmongers. they supply you with tidings from italy, germany, spain, or even the holy land. they will carry letters also to foreign parts and transmit verbal messages to kinsmen. they do not always travel alone, but by twos, fives, or even tens. recently at dunkirk, where the peasants revolted, the bishop laid upon twenty-five of their leaders the penance that they should spend a year going about in a body to different holy places and joining in religious processions "in twenty-six churches," wearing no clothing save their trousers, going barefoot, and carrying the rods with which they had been disciplined. innumerable are the shrines where sinners can profit their souls by a visit. every important abbey claims to be a pilgrimage resort, and the monks will tell of remarkable miracles wrought by all the saints whose relics they chance to treasure. probably there are more than a thousand such places whose claims have been somewhat recognized by the church. many of these shrines have some famous image of the madonna, frequently brought from the east by crusaders, but often very old and, to carnal thinking, ugly, perhaps only a "black virgin," a clumsy doll carved of wood. this matters not, provided it is holy and efficacious. "our lady of the fountain" at samour, "our lady of the osier" near grenoble, "our lady of good hope" at valenciennes, our lady of chartres, of liesse, of rocamadour, of auray, of puy--these are merely examples. [sidenote: favorite pilgrim shrines] the greater the distance the pilgrim must go, the greater his merit ordinarily. happy the pilgrim who can venerate the bones of an actual apostle, as at rome. happiest of all is he who can go to jerusalem and pray at the holy sepulcher. nevertheless, god has provided very efficacious shrines nearer home. right at paris there are the seats of st. génevieve and the great st. denis. you can pay your devout homage at tours to the puissant st. martin, the ideal of pious warriors. in normandy, where mont st. michel looks across the sands to the tumbling ocean, one can pray best to the mighty archangel nearest to god. it avails much, also, to visit st. martial of limoges, st. sernin of toulouse, and more still to visit spain and at compostella beseech the intercession of st. james the apostle. [illustration: a shrine in the form of an altar (thirteenth century) in the cathedral at rheims] assuredly, however, rome is best (always barring jerusalem), and on the way thither the pilgrim can lighten his spiritual load by visiting many excellent italian shrines--such as "our guardian lady" at genoa, and, at lucca, "our lady of the rose." in the city of st. peter itself, time fails to enumerate the three hundred churches worthy of a devout visit. besides the majestic cathedral of the prince of the apostles and the tomb of st. paul, even the most hurried pilgrim will not fail to repair to st. maria maggiore, where is the actual manger in which christ was born; and st. john lateran, where are the holy stairs christ ascended while wearing the crown of thorns; st. peter in montorio, where peter himself was crucified, st. lawrence without the walls, where the blessed martyrs st. stephen and st. lawrence are buried; not to mention others. a man must be a master criminal if he cannot deliver his soul by suitable visits to these invaluable shrines in rome. as is well known, the blessed saints both in this life and after death wrought many miracles through their relics. these wonders continue to-day, although the iniquities of mankind render them infrequent. every now and then heaven still permits some holy man to work undoubted miracles. thus only recently it is said that when the venerable abbot of st. germer preached the fourth crusade in england, he need only bless a fountain, lo! its waters made the dumb speak, the blind see, and the sick recover. once (so a pilgrim related in the castle only the other day) when this abbot reached a village which wanted a supply of water, he gathered all the folk in the church. right in the presence of the people he smote a stone with his staff and water flowed forth--not merely potable, but healing for all maladies. god also speaks to us in dreams as he did to pharaoh and nebuchadnezzar. he caused st. thomas à becket to visit the late king louis vii and warn him to make a pilgrimage to st. thomas's new shrine of canterbury to pray for the recovery of his son philip, later "augustus." henry ii of england was louis' foe, but the king made the solemn pilgrimage unimpeded, and the crown prince duly recovered. [sidenote: omens, spirits and monsters] omens of calamity, too, appear often, although it is not always clear whether sent from god or the devil. a few years ago the wolves in the forest near the monastery of st. aliquis howled steadily all through the day of the feast of st. honore. "a clear sign of trouble," announced the prior; and four days later the feud began betwixt conon and foretvert, which convulsed the whole countryside. many a man is warned to prepare for death by seeing a will-o-the-wisp in the marshes, a shooting star, or a vulture hovering above his house. if thirteen people chance to sit at one table, or if one chances to dream of a physician, it is proof positive some one in the house is about to die. the same is true if a man inadvertently puts on a clean white shirt on friday; while if the left eye of a dead man will not close promptly the deceased will soon have company in purgatory. any woman, also, who thoughtlessly washes her clothes in lye during the holy week is not long for this world. it is needless to explain how sinister are eclipses and comets. in july, , there was a great comet visible. sage people wagged their heads with melancholy satisfaction when richard the lion hearted died very soon after. time will fail to list all the strange beings, neither human, angel, nor exactly devil, that providence permits to infest the world. these creatures possess no souls, and when they perish are gone like cattle, although they live long and are very hard to kill. probably they are more numerous in wild and solitary places, yet towns and crowded castles are not free from them. thus there are _fées_ (fairies) good and bad--creatures relatively like human beings; undines in the waters, who by their perfidious beauty lure unwary knights to destruction; ogres who lie in wait to devour small children; ghouls who disinter the dead and gnaw their bones; vampires who rise every night from the tombs and suck the blood; wolf-men (humans turned into beasts) who attack lonely travelers; dracs, who carry off little children to their subterranean realms; will-of-the-wisps in the marshes, who are the souls of unbaptized dead infants; also many rather friendly spirits such as the _soleves_, who sometimes overnight do a weary laborer's work for him. it needs much knowledge to tell the good spirits from the bad--to know, _e.g._, whether you are dealing with a goblin who will only display harmless antics, or an _estrie_, a real imp of darkness, who may hug you like a bear, to suffocation. the church does not forbid the belief in these creatures, nor of such pagan monsters as giants, pygmies, cyclops, satyrs, tritons, sirens, etc., although it plainly teaches us that they are only ministers of the devil. the existence of the devil is as certain as that of the holy trinity. as has been said already, the fear of falling into his clutches has often a more excellent effect upon the sinner than the love of god. countless legends and sculptures in the cathedrals tell all about the master-fiend. the monk in his convent, the peasant in his hut, yes (for all his brave words and his long sword), the baron in his castle, all tremble lest they meet him. the devil produces all kinds of misery, and he can actually take possession of the living bodies of men. it is affirmed that once, not far from st. aliquis, a knight was sitting peaceably at table when suddenly the devil entered into him. the fiend spoke through the poor man's mouth. he raved and uttered blasphemies. the priest brought his book of exorcisms. when he recited them, the devil screamed horribly. yet for some days he resisted the holy formulas, and then departed, leaving his victim utterly exhausted. [illustration: richard coeur de lion from capefigue's _histoire de philippe-auguste_] [sidenote: bargains with the devil] it is much worse when you make a direct pact with the devil. some time ago, it is affirmed, there was a young scholar at paris. he was much troubled because he progressed slowly in his studies. then satan visited him, saying: "do me homage. i will make you excel in wisdom!" he gave the youth a stone, asserting that, "so long as you hold this stone in your hand you will know everything." soon the lad astonished the schools by his erudition, but, on falling sick, confessed his crime, threw away his stone, and at once forgot all his learning. speedily he died. at once the devils began to torture his soul, but god promptly sent an angel ordering them "to let alone this soul which you have tormented." immediately the soul flew back into the body, which sprang to life even as the paris students were celebrating the funeral service. the revived scholar, however, at once entered a convent and took no more chances with carnal studies. very many people, however, have compounded with the devil and been less fortunate. the fiend apparently will not come unless one is in a desperate plight and willing to promise everything. then usually the unhappy mortal must deny the christian faith, repudiate the saints, utter blasphemies, and, it is even asserted, kiss the arch fiend upon the buttocks. next a horrid oath must be taken, standing inside of three magic circles and burning incense. after that the devil will, it is true, give his votary great worldly prosperity and especially riches through a long life, but in the end the fiend never fails to claim his soul for an eternal possession. it is even said that satan made such a bargain with the great ecclesiastic gerbert, who became pope sylvester ii. he was very wise[ ] or very wicked, probably both; and in the opinion of many he rose to be pope by the aid of "a hierarchy of demons and a brass idol which uttered oracles." but on the day of his death (a.d. ) satan demanded his own; and whenever a pope lies near his end the bones of sylvester ii rattle in the tomb. the church discredits this scandalous story, but it is widely believed. since the recent trial of a witch and a wizard before the bishop at pontdebois, the folk near st. aliquis have gained a much more precise knowledge of the black art. magicians usually begin their ceremonies by creating a magic smoke of various inflammables and spices, also by burning such fiend-compelling ingredients as the brain of an eagle, the blood of a black cat, and plenty of hellebore. the smoke thus created is so dense and foul that uninitiated customers are readily convinced there are demons rising in the vapor and talking to the wizard. thanks to such assistance, the magician, and his even more sinful wife, the witch, were able to instruct how to find a pot of gold and how to rob the house of a rich jew, but especially they could prepare philters--some of them intended to inspire love and others hatred. wives could buy fearful compounds made of substances from "the three domains of nature"--the entrails of animals, scales of fishes, parings of nails, human blood, pulverized load-stone, and such powerful drugs as mandragora--which, if duly brewed and beaten up together, then put in an unfaithful husband's goblet, would win back his affection. other such potions, a little changed, however, would make sworn lovers separate. [sidenote: methods of witchcraft] these dealers in the black art at pontdebois could also sell magic rings which had power over demons, thereby protecting the wearer from sudden death, illness, or dangers of travel, and enabling him to drive good bargains. the witch and wizard also possessed, undoubtedly, the "evil eye"--which, if resolutely fixed on an ox or sheep, would cause it to perish and was almost as dangerous to human beings. however, the twain were presently ruined (thus showing how fickle a protector is the devil) because a certain silly nobleman got them to "overcast" a knightly enemy against whom he lacked the courage to press an honorable war. after the wizard had burned much incense, the witch had proceeded to shape a puppet of virgin wax as much like the victim as possible. then, with a shameless parody of the baptismal service, she christened the doll with the name of her patron's enemy. next the wizard placed the livers of swallows under the armpits and upon the place where the heart of the puppet ought to be. finally, he and his wife pierced the wax image with red-hot needles, then cast it into a blazing fire, chanting all the while cabalistic words--probably beseeching the special help of the devil.[ ] inevitably, soon after this the knight thus assailed would have sickened and died had not, by the mercy of god, the whole proceeding been discovered. the knight was saved by the powerful exorcisms of the bishop. the wizard--after proper tortures to get confession--was buried alive. his wife, the witch, was burned. the foolish cavalier who had plotted murder saved his life, for he had powerful relatives, but was condemned to go on a pilgrimage to rome. certain fatuous women who had bought love philters were publicly rebuked in the church and spent an unhappy afternoon in the pillory. good christians hope that it will be a long day before the black art is again practiced so iniquitously in this part of france. nevertheless, there are some forms of divining which the church counts as innocent. any time you desire you can consult the holy books. with proper prayer and circumspection you should open the bible at random and note the tenor of the first passage that meets your eye. is it favorable to your condition, or unfavorable? the pious simon de montfort thus consulted the "sacred lots" ere taking the cross for the albigensian crusade. chapters of canons use this method to see what the omens are concerning a candidate for a bishopric. according to jongleurs' tales, even popes thus seek for an oracle ere taking any important step in the government of the church, although these stories are wisely doubted. a more precise method of augury is the "_sortes apostolorum_." fifty-six sentences (expressing sentiments good or bad) are written on parchment; a string is attached to each and allowed to protrude while the sentences are covered up. you say a prayer, seize a string at random, then follow it down to read its sentiment. in this way the saints and not the devil will reveal the future to you. undoubtedly the peasants carry their belief in bad omens or unlucky actions too far. conon and adela laugh heartily at some of their notions. to avoid bad luck, georges, when weaning a calf, always pulls it away from its mother by the tail backward. he never begins plowing until he has walked thrice around the plow with a lighted candle. jeanne never spins or sews on thursdays or fridays, lest she make the virgin weep. in the springtime a bone from the head of a mare should be set out in the garden to drive off the caterpillars. time fails to list these rustic beliefs; besides, they vary from village to village. but what peasant has not as many thereof as he has hairs in his head? [sidenote: universal adoration of relics] there is one pious matter shared in alike by great and humble and highly approved by the church, although the wiser ecclesiastics deprecate some of its excesses--the worship of holy relics. saints' relics abound. where is the monastery, church, or even castle without them? sometimes they rest in golden caskets in the very place where the holy personages departed this life. sometimes they have been brought from rome or palestine by pious pilgrims; very often they come as gifts. the direct purchase of relics is somewhat sacrilegious, but you can present a king, duke, or great ecclesiastic with a good relic just as you give him some hawks or ermine skins--as a reward for favors past or expected. the pope is always sending desirable relics to bishops and abbots whom he wishes to honor; and, as all know, after the latins sacked constantinople in there was hardly a shrine in all france which did not get the skull, a few ribs, or even the entire body of some eastern saint. the booty in relics in fact, was almost as important as that of gold and jewels. possessing relics is most desirable. prayers said near them have extra efficacy. oaths taken upon their caskets are doubly binding, but sometimes the holy objects are surreptitiously removed when the pledge is being given; it is then no perjury to break the promise. in dealing with slippery individuals one must, therefore, beware. on the other hand, who is ignorant of the manner in which william the norman inveigled harold the anglo-saxon into taking a great oath of fealty? the slow-witted englishman swore to the pact, believing the casket on which he rested his hands contained relics of very inferior worthies, who could never punish him if he perjured himself; but the instant the words were said the priests opened the sacred box, showing it full of the bones of the most powerful saints imaginable. harold turned pale with horror, realizing how he had been trapped. when later he broke his oath, beyond a doubt it was these angered saints who wrought his death at hastings. good relics also imply a source of income, provided that they are properly advertised so as to make the church or abbey possessing them a pilgrimage resort. sometimes, indeed, one fears lest overzealous monks exaggerate the miracles wrought by the relics at their abbey church. the tale runs that when the abbey of st. vanne was deeply in debt, the abbot asserted: "our debts will all be paid with the red tunic of st. vanne (a relic). i never doubt it." the monks at st. aliquis are proud of their collection, although by no means the largest in the region. they have two teeth of the prophet amos; hairs of st. martin and st. leonard; finger-nail parings of the martyrs of the theban legion; bits of the robe of st. bernard; finger bones of saints saturnin, sebastian, and of the patriarch jacob; a fifth rib of st. amond; a skull of one of the holy innocents; a chip of the stone on which christ stood when he ascended to heaven; the jaw bone of st. sixtus; some of the hay from the manger of bethlehem; and, last but not least, a fair-sized splinter of the true cross. the mere adoration of such things cancels many grievous years in purgatory. it is advantageous to the whole region to have such a collection. if there is need of rain, the relics can be carried in procession around the thirsty country and relief is sure to follow. if there is a public assembly, the holy relics can be brought in before the contending knights or burghers--wise counsels will ensue. if you are going on a journey, a visit to a shrine with such relics almost guarantees a safe return. we have already seen how conon (as did other knights) kept certain relics always in his sword hilt, to confirm his oaths and to lend efficacy to his actions. [sidenote: contests over relics] the enormous value of such sacred things often makes them the booty of thieves. thus in a band of robbers stole the remains of st. leocadia from the abbey of vic, and when pursued cast the holy bones into the aisne, whence they were rescued with serious difficulty. we need not multiply records of similar crimes. profligate noblemen will sometimes seize and keep very sacred relics in their castles, as talismans against long-delayed justice. not less miraculous is the manner in which the relics have been preserved when less sacred objects have been lost. this is, indeed, a divine mystery, not lightly to be inquired into. when, however, two identical relics of the same saint are displayed in france, how are worldly questionings to be silenced? for surely the holy men of old had only one head and two arms apiece. not long since, the monks of st. Étienne exhibited a skull of st. denis. but the monks of st. denis claimed _they_ had the skull of their own patron saint already. what lack of charity ensued! the backbiting did not cease till the great pope innocent iii tactfully silenced the controversy without actually deciding which relic was the more authentic. many say that such relics can miraculously duplicate themselves--so that _all_ are equally genuine; and undoubtedly god has worked far greater wonders than this. nevertheless, such is the sinfulness of men that spurious relics are often imposed upon the faithful. good churchmen do zealous work in exposing these sacrilegious frauds. not long since, father grégoire had conon give a terrific flogging to a pretended pilgrim who was trying to sell the credulous peasants "a bit of the sail of st. peter's boat and a feather of the angel gabriel." it is more serious when a spurious shrine is set up. near lyons recently the peasant women insisted in venerating "the tomb of st. guinefort." it was discovered to be only the spot where a lady had buried a favorite greyhound. in another case, many years ago, the great st. martin found near tours a chapel where the people worshiped a supposed martyr. the saint stood on the sepulcher and prayed, "reveal unto me who is really here!" soon a dark form arose and the specter confessed to martin: "i am a robber. my soul is in hell, but my body is in this sepulcher." the saint, therefore, destroyed the chapel, and saved many from wasting their prayers and substance. it is a dangerous business, however, to be over-skeptical concerning popular relics. even great churchmen, such as the late bishop of orléans, are liable to be mobbed if they call an alleged and much-venerated skull of st. génevieve "the head of some old woman"--as once did that astute prelate. nevertheless, the authorities try to do their duty. pope innocent iii has issued a formal warning to the french clergy against accepting spurious relics, and the monks of every monastery never hesitate to dispute the authenticity of almost every kind of a relic provided only it is deposited in a neighboring and rival abbey! [sidenote: "translations" of relics] if, however, relics are genuine, it is impossible to exaggerate their desirability. they are produced on numerous holidays; and often a special holiday is proclaimed when they are "translated." then you may see the relics of some saint being carried through the streets of a village or town, the holy objects themselves borne in their golden boxes under a canopy, accompanied by all the local clergy, with perhaps the barons and the duke of the entire region being allowed to assist the highest prelates in carrying or at least in escorting the sacred casket. thus has been explained certain features of the religion of the laity, humble and exalted. at length we can approach one of those great institutions which have built up the strength of catholic christianity. a league from the castle lies the other great center for the countryside--the monastery of st. aliquis. footnotes: [ ] in the well-known romance of _aucassin and nicolette_, aucassin complains that if he cannot have his beloved he cares not to go to paradise. "for there go those aged priests, and those old cripples and the maimed, who, all day long and all night long, cough before the altars ... who are naked and barefoot and full of sores.... _but to hell will i go!_ for to hell go the fair clerks and the great warriors.... and there go the fair and courteous ladies, who have friends, two or three together with their wedded lords!" this was blasphemous enough, but it was not atheistical. [ ] this was very much like the penance imposed on henry ii after the murder of thomas à becket at canterbury. [ ] these plays might be guild or even civic affairs, with the secular element predominating among the actors. [ ] his real "wisdom" probably lay in a superior knowledge of mathematics. [ ] this wizard and witch evidently used almost exactly the same means to "overcast" their victim as did robert of artois' wizard, when (in ) that great nobleman tried to destroy his aunt mahaut. chapter xix: the monastery of st. aliquis[ ]: buildings. organization. an ill-ruled abbey. the great st. bernard has written thus of the convent: "good is it for us to dwell there--where man lives more purely, falls more rarely, rises more quickly, treads more cautiously, rests more securely, dies more happily, is absolved more easily, and is rewarded more plenteously." every now and then they say in the castle of st. aliquis: "such and such a cavalier has become a monk!" then there are cries of astonishment and probably slurring remarks, but even conon in his heart wonders, "has he not, after all, chosen the better part?" at the very moment when he storms about the "greedy monks" before his sons. the monastery is the great interrogation point thrust before the castle. the castle says: "the hunt, the tourney, the excitement of feudal war are the things for man. who truly knows about the hereafter?" the monastery replies: "there is a kingdom not of this world, where baron and villein must spend the æons. prepare ye for it!" very probably the monastery is right. [illustration: view of an abbey of the thirteenth century at the left of the structure the building for guests and in front of it the church; beyond the two cloisters the buildings reserved for the monks; in the foreground the gardens of the abbey and the outside wall.] the monastery of st. aliquis has existed for centuries. it is a benedictine monastery--that is to say, its rule (system of government and discipline) comes from the famous st. benedict of nursia, who lived in italy in the sixth century. many new orders of monks have been founded since then, but none more holy than the benedictines when they really live up to the ideals of their founder. barons of st. aliquis and other rich people have endowed the monastery from time to time with ample lands. it is a passing wealthy institution. ignorant folk of other ages may think of a monastery as a collection of idlers meditating on heaven and living on charity. such groups once perhaps existed in eastern lands, but never in a benedictine monastery. each is the scene of a very busy life. many industries are carried on. the monks are almost self-supporting. the monastery, in fact, contributes more to the economic life of the region than does the castle; and abbot victor, its head, is hardly less important, even in a worldly sense, than messire conon, with whom, happily, he is now on cordial terms. [sidenote: the abbey buildings] the monastery, however, is an establishment distinctly set off by itself. it is in the world, but not of it. as you travel from the castle, you presently enter fields unusually well cultivated. these are part of the abbey lands. then you come to a small village, comparatively clean and well built, where the lay servitors of the monks live with their families. then straight ahead there rises a strong battlemented wall of wide circuit surrounded by a water-filled moat. beyond this wall appear the spires and pinnacles of pretentious buildings. the wall is needed to stand off attacks of bands of godless men who dream even of plundering convents. there are a drawbridge, portcullis, and strong gate. inside you are within a little world. the center is not the donjon, but the new monastery church, an elegant pointed-arch structure almost equal to a small cathedral. grouped around it are numerous buildings--usually long, high, and narrow. these are the dormitories, the refectory, the cloisters for the monks' walks and study, as well as many less handsome barns, storehouses and workhouses. there is a good-sized garden where rare herbs and flowers are tended with loving care, and an orchard where fruit trees are grafted with unusual skill. one even sees a slaughterhouse in a convenient corner, a tannery (at a safe distance from the garden!) and a building where the monks' garments can be spun and woven out of flax and wool produced on the abbey lands. the monks of st. aliquis are, therefore, anything but droning hermits. some monasteries really comprise small towns. the famous establishment at cluny harbors four hundred monks; that at clairvaux, seven hundred; that at vezelay, eight hundred. st. aliquis is content with one hundred and fifty brethren, but that number (plus the lay servitors) is enough for a busy community. as has been said, the focus for its entire life is the abbey church. without a church building a monastery is almost impossible. the choir is constantly needed for the recitation of the canonical hours; many altars are required so that the monks who are in holy orders may celebrate mass frequently; while the great processions around the nave are part of the routine, especially on sundays. abbot victor, like all his predecessors, is straining every nerve to gather funds to beautify his church. in it are deposited invaluable saints' relics. it is hard, however, to convince the laity that they are extremely sacred unless they are lodged in a splendid edifice. the monks of rival monasteries are always comparing their churches enviously. victor has set his heart upon widening the transepts and putting in a new rose window. if only a certain pious heiress in champagne would be called to heaven! [illustration: the galleries of the cloister of the abbey of mont-saint-michel (thirteenth century)] [sidenote: the abbey cloisters] in the choir is a long array of stalls, one for each monk in order of seniority. the abbot sits in a chair of state on the southern side; the prior, his chief lieutenant, faces him on the north. connected with one transept of the church is the cloister. it is a rectangular court. its four walks are roofed in, the walls nearest the court being pierced with open arcades. the pillars upholding these arcades are beautifully carved with floreated capitals, each separate pillar forming an individual work of art, lovingly executed, and differing slightly from its neighbors. the three walks of the cloister which do not touch the church adjoin very needful buildings--the chapter house, where the brethren congregate, the refectory on the side opposite the church, and the dormitory. the walk nearest the church is where the monks are supposed to spend the time allotted for pious meditation. it faces the south, and the great structure behind cuts off the chilling winds. it is, therefore, a pleasant place in cold weather. on the inner side of this part of the cloister are many little alcoves let into the massive walls; here monks can study or even converse without annoying others. looking down upon the cloister court is a remarkable object. if holy brethren did not possess it, the peasants would declare it was possessed by a devil, although these mechanisms are now becoming more common. it has a dial marking the twelve hours, and by an ingenious system of pulleys and weights indicates when it is noon or midnight without reference to the shifting of shadows or movement of the stars. it even has bells that ring every hour--a great convenience.[ ] the monks are almost as proud of this device as of some of their less important saints' relics. the books which consume so much of the monks' time are kept in cupboards in the cloister alcoves, since this is not a cistercian monastery, which always has a separate library. from the cloister one is naturally led to the chapter house. almost as much care has been taken with this large oblong chamber as with the church. the ceiling is beautifully groined and vaulted. the abbot sits on a raised seat at the east end, with all his officers at right or left. the remainder of the brethren are on stone benches ranged around the walls, while in the center of the floor stands a desk, whence the daily "lection" is read from the lives of the martyrs, or the chapter (hence the name of the room) from st. benedict's holy rule--a document only a little less authoritative with the monks than the actual scriptures. [illustration: the refectory at the abbey of mont-saint-michel (thirteenth century)] then come other rooms. the cloisters are _supposed_ to be extremely quiet for study and meditation. but sinful flesh requires an outlet. go then to the parlor (the place of _parle_), a good-sized room where merchants can bring their wares. the subprior can discuss the sickness of certain pigs on the farms, and the saints know how much personal gossip can be tossed about. next is the dormitory, a large open apartment with the beds of the monks standing against the walls between the numerous windows, so that the feet of the sleepers point in two long rows toward the center line of the room. a quiet place, but at night, with several score of brethren all snoring together, what repose is left for the stranger? in any case, there is very little privacy, for few of the monks have separate bedrooms. [sidenote: refectory, kitchens and infirmary] close by the cloister is the refectory--an aisleless hall with a wooden roof. across the east end is a high table for the officers--the whole place resembling the great hall in a castle. most of the brethren sit at very long tables running up and down the apartment; and near the high table is a still higher pulpit mounted by a winding stair. here a monk will droningly read a latin homily while his associates are expected to eat and hearken in silence. the kitchen with its great fireplaces adjoins the refectory. at the entrance to the dining hall, just as in the castle, there is the lavatory, a great stone basin with many taps, convenient for washing the hands. since some brethren are sure to be sick, there is a separate infirmary, a well-arranged suite with places for sleeping, dining, and even a little chapel for those too feeble to get to the church.[ ] the abbot has lodgings of his own where he can entertain distinguished visitors, although he is expected to mingle freely with his fellow monks and not to assume solitary grandeur. the less exalted guests are put in a special _hospitium_ in the court. the monastery never turns away any decently behaving wayfarer; but the guest master, a canny old religious, naturally provides better quarters and supper for those likely to put a denier in the alms box than for those who may have just fled the provost. this is a bare summary of the important buildings of the establishment. if st. aliquis had been a cistercian convent, following the rule of st. bernard of clairvaux, its structures would have been extremely plain--no mosaics, stained glass, silken hangings, or floral carvings in the church; nor anything else calculated to distract the monks from thinking upon the heavenly mysteries. said he, austerely: "works of art are idols which lead away from god, and are good at best to edify feeble souls and the worldly." bernard was a mighty saint, but all do not follow this hard doctrine. the monks of st. aliquis, for their own part, are sure that the heavenly ones are rejoiced every time they add a new stone leaf to the unfading foliage about the cloister arches, or carve the story of david and jonathan upon the great walnut back to the prior's seat in the chapter house. [illustration: a benedictine monk (thirteenth century) from a manuscript in the bibliothèque nationale. he is clad in a frock, a robe supplied with ample sleeves and a cowl.] the monks of st. aliquis, being benedictines, are "black monks." if they had been cistercians they would have been "white monks"--that is, with white frocks and cowls. the cowl is a cumbersome garment enveloping the whole body, but it is worn only at ceremonies. ordinarily the monks wear black scapularies, covering head and body less completely. they also have short mantle-style capes. new outer garments are issued to them every year, new day shoes every eighteen months, new boots once in five years, and a new pair of woolen shirts once in four years. they are also granted both a thin and a thick tunic, a fur-lined coat for cold weather, also undershirt and drawers--in short, no silly luxuries, but no absurd austerities. [sidenote: the abbot: center of monastic life] the control of the whole community rests with the abbot. under the monastic rule and vows the monks owe him implicit obedience. if he is a practical, efficient man, the whole establishment is happy and prosperous; if the reverse, it is soon in debt, the property is wasted, the monks live evilly or desert; and the whole place often is ruined. abbeys resemble seigneuries--they are either growing or dwindling. many church canons forbid abbots to abuse their office, to live luxuriously, to waste the abbey property, or to take important steps without consulting the older monks, but such decrees are hard to enforce. fortunately, the head of st. aliquis--abbot victor, is a moderate, kindly, yet withal a worldly wise man. he was the younger son of a petty noble and was thrust into the monastery somewhat because his worldly heritage would have been very small. the monastic life, however, agreed with him. he became popular with the brethren of peasant stock, yet never let them forget that his parents had been gentle. as prior he knew how to deal with conon and other seigneurs. when the old leader died, there had been one cry from all the monks assembled in the chapter house. "let victor be our abbot!" since then, despite inevitable grumblings, he has ruled acceptably, avoiding alike cistercian severity and that lax rule which has made certain monasteries the hatching nests of scandal. victor wears on ceremonial occasions a miter with gold fringe, although it cannot be adorned with pearls like a bishop's. he has also handsome gloves (especial emblems of his office), a crozer (a pastoral staff), and a ring. his administration is aided by a whole corps of officers. first of all is the prior, named by the abbot and the abbot's chief lieutenant, who is his superior's deputy and general man of affairs.[ ] next the subprior, the third in command; then the third and fourth priors, known as _circatores_ because they have to make frequent circuits of inspection; while below them come the _precentor_, in charge of the singing and chanting; the _sacristan_, responsible for the bells, lights, and ornaments of the church; and all the heads of the kitchen, storehouses, infirmary, and monastery finances. there is also the garnerer--a sagacious monk who collects the grain due from the abbey lands and either sells it profitably or turns it over to the storekeeper (_celerer_). [sidenote: routine of the monks' day] the activities of the monks are multifarious, but everything is really subordinate to the duty of chanting the holy offices in the church. the brethren go to bed, even in wintertime, at sunset. then by the light of cressets, bowls of oil with floating wicks, they rise at midnight, put on their clothes, sit down on stone seats at either end of the dormitory, and next file in silent procession to the great, dark church. there they chant a long service, with the organ rumbling under the gloomy vaulting--a service made still longer by the prayers for the dead. as solemnly as before they file back to the dormitory and sleep until daybreak in winter, until actual sunrise in summer; whereupon they all rise again, go to the church, and chant prime. tierce follows about a.m.; sext at noon; nones at p.m.; and vespers at about sundown. this continues every day through a long life. no wonder the monks all know by heart their offices for the day and night as given in the breviary. after prime a meeting is held in the chapter house. a section is read from the rule, the abbot or priors call off the work for each monk, individual complaints can be uttered, and corrections and public reproofs are given by the officers. at the tierce service mass is said; then the morning work goes on until the sext, after which the first regular meal is eaten, although some bread soaked with wine is allowed earlier to the weaker brethren. talking during the meal is discouraged, but there is nevertheless much whispering while the reader (allowed to eat earlier) tries to center attention upon the pulpit. the brethren then rise and sing grace, ending up with the "miserere," which is chanted in procession marching through the cloister. everybody thereupon retires to the dormitory and enjoys a siesta until it is time for nones. work is next resumed until vespers just before supper. after supper there is another meeting in the chapter house, with more reading from a pious book. then once more to the church to chant complines; after that (since st. aliquis is a well-ordered monastery) all the monks are compelled to go straight to bed and do not sit up for carnal chatter. all the doors of the establishment are securely locked. the officers make the rounds to see that every monk is safe on his cot--and so the whole brotherhood settles for the night. life in the monastery thus has a strict routine which soon becomes a perfect habit with most of the inmates. of course, monks working in the fields are not required to come in for all the daytime offices--they can drop their tools when the great bell rings and pray in silence reverently standing. in nunneries about the same divisions of time are applied, although chaplains have to come in to say mass. the one thing impressing every visitor to a well-ruled monastery is the intense sense of order as compared with the tumult and coarse informality characteristic of even the better castle. to a certain type of mind this regularity is indescribably fascinating apart from any question of its advantages in religion. to ask how the different brethren of st. aliquis come to enter its portals is to ask as many individual questions. the abbot is typical of many companions, who were placed there because worldly prospects were small and because they were decently urged by their relatives. sometimes the pressure was not mild. there are a few brethren who seem discontented men without vocation, chafing against irrevocable vows taken practically under compulsion, and yearning to be back in the world. there is also one coarse, scar-visaged old man who was a robber knight. "tonsure or the scaffold?" so the duke had put the question. to such a person the monastery is nothing but an honorable prison. there are, however, two or three other elderly ex-cavaliers here for a better reason--they have been overwhelmed with a consciousness of their crimes and are genuinely anxious to redeem their souls. a considerable proportion of the monks are gentle, although the majority are non-nobles. if of the latter class, however, they have been subjected to searching scrutiny before entrance, to make sure they will be useful members of the community. if they are mere clownish peasants, they are often taken only as _conversi_ (lay brethren), who learn a few prayers, but spend most of their time on the abbey farms and who do not sleep in the dormitory. [sidenote: reasons for becoming monks] the greater number of the monks have apparently joined voluntarily in early manhood--because they are repelled by the confusion and grubbing hardships of the world, because they have a hankering for an intellectual life, and because they are genuinely anxious to deliver their souls. after a round of fêtes, tournaments, and forays, many a young knight has suddenly turned from them all, announced to his companions: "what profit? where will i spend eternity?" said farewell to his beloved destrer, and knocked at the convent door. sometimes he has sickened too late of his choice. more often in this new world of chants, solemn offices, books, honest toil, gently spoken words, and quietness he has discovered a satisfaction not possessed by his brother who is still messire the seigneur. in the monastery there are, however, certain very young boys, who it is to be hoped will prove contented with their profession. their parents or guardians have taken them to the abbot, and in their ward's behalf have uttered vows that bind the helpless children forever. "i offer this my son (reads the formula) to the omnipotent god and to the virgin mary for the salvation of my soul and the souls of my parents.... and so shall he remain in this holy life all his days until his final breath." earnestly do the wiser brethren pray that these practically orphaned boys do not become a source of sorrow to themselves and of discord to the community in future years.[ ] st. aliquis is a well-ordered monastery. its monks, however, point with some pharisaical satisfaction at certain neighboring establishments. it is well said that "ten are the abuses in the cloister--costly living, choice food, noise in the cloister, strife in the chapter, disorder in the choir, a neglectful discipline, disobedient youths, lazy old men, headstrong monks, and worldly officers." it is alleged that all these evils and worse ones have existed in the monastery of st. ausonne, five leagues away. this community had an excellent name for sanctity until twenty years ago. then a foolish abbot admitted too many "younger sons" who were being forced in by their relatives. the duke, likewise, imprudently pardoned a whole gang of highwaymen on condition that "they should turn religious." also, several self-seeking cavaliers deliberately entered the order, in sinful expectation that family influence could procure their election as abbots or bishops--posts of great worldly consequence. thus it was that our old enemy, satan, entered into st. ausonne. all accounts are that he still refuses to be ejected. [sidenote: a disorderly monastery] the evil tidings of this convent presently spread to rome; and the holy father, deeply grieved, ordered the bishop of pontdebois to visit the establishment and restore discipline.[ ] it was well that he took a troop of armed sergeants with him, or he would have been stoned by the furious inmates. the monks of st. aliquis lift their hands in horror at the least of the stories told about his discoveries. part of the bishop's report reads like this: "brother regnaud is accused of great uncleanness of life. bartholomée, a cantor's assistant, often gets drunk and then does not get up for the matins service. roger, the third prior, frequents taverns. jean, the fourth prior, is an habitual tippler. morell, another cantor's assistant, is given to striking and evil speaking. firmin, in charge of the abbey lands, does the like, etc." these charges, however, are mere details. the real sorrow is that from the abbot down the whole organization of st. ausonne has fallen utterly away from the monastic ideal of a "school for the lord's service" (to quote st. benedict). the abbot has been not merely very worldly, but very miserly. recently a jongleur sought hospitality at st. ausonne. the monks offered him merely black bread and water, although their own supper was far more sumptuous than the "two cooked dishes and half a pint of wine" allowed by the benedictine rule. on leaving the abbey, the minstrel met the abbot returning from pushing his political fortunes at paris. he profusely thanked the prelate for his monks' noble hospitality, because they had given him choice wine, rich dishes, and finally presented him with good shoes and a belt. the abbot returned home in a rage and caused his guest master to be flogged for squandering the monastery property. the minstrel, of course, spread the tale of his revenge, and so indirectly prompted the visitation of the establishment. in fine, the bishop reported that from st. ausonne many monks ranged the country "with wandering feet"--as mere religious vagabonds, levying alms upon the peasantry, and sometimes bearing letters from their abbot allowing them to quit the cloister at pleasure. the abbot himself, defying the canons, would have elaborate hunting parties with hawks and hounds. the church law merely permitted monks to kill rabbits and crows dangerous to the crops; but the bishop actually found a kennel of great dogs and a sheaf of boar spears within the holy compound. the dietary at st. ausonne was fit for a castle. venison was served on friday, and the amount of wine consumed was astounding. women are never supposed to set foot within the inner precincts of a monastery, but, to spare the church further scandal, one conceals what the bishop discovered to be the practice at this establishment. the st. ausonne monks, too, have cast reproaches upon their more honest brethren elsewhere. one of them, after visiting the st. aliquis convent, is discovered to have complained: "one cannot talk in the refectory; and all night they 'bray' the offices in the church. the meals are very poor; they give us beans and unshelled eggs. the wine is too thin and too mixed with cows' drink (water). no--never will i get drunk on _that_ wine. at st. aliquis it is better to die than to live!"[ ] another brother seems to have drifted round the duchy, visiting the more disorderly seigneurs, becoming their boon companion, cozening their women, and boasting that his ideal of life was "a big salmon at dinner time and sitting by a fountain with a friendly dame." with such monks sheer sacrilege in performing the sacred offices was possible. the story goes that at the morning office they were all very drowsy. soon their heads would fall on the service books at the close of every line. the choir boys were expected to keep up the chant; but the latter, impious young mortals, soon learned how to begin quiet games the moment the last monk had fallen asleep. then when the proper time has expired the boys would all call out loudly "let us bless the lord!" "thanks be to god!" the monks would respond, awakening with a start; and then everybody would go comfortably away. [sidenote: discipline of unruly monks] the report of the bishop will probably produce one of two orders from rome--either the holy father will appoint a new abbot strictly enjoined to rule the convent with a rod of iron and to restore discipline, or the whole establishment will be broken up as hopeless and its inmates distributed around among other and stricter monasteries. cases as bad as st. ausonne's are rare, but they breed infinite scandal and provide outrageous tales for the jongleurs. so long as monasticism exists there will be institutions afflicted with idleness and luxury--"the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the pride of life." doubtless no monastery is exempt from evil thoughts and evil deeds, yet it is pitiful that the saints allow such institutions as st. ausonne to exist to bring into contempt the tens of thousands of monks who are trying to serve god with sincerity. footnotes: [ ] in these chapters the terms "monastery," "abbey" and "convent" are used synonymously. of course, the term "convent" (from "conventus," or "meeting") might also be used for "nunnery." a "priory" was usually a smaller type of institution, ruled by a prior and not an abbot (see p. note) and dependent on some greater "abbey." [ ] clocks run wholly by weights were known as early as charlemagne's time, and the famous "magician" pope sylvester ii (see p. ) studied their mechanism. by the thirteenth century they were slowly coming into general use. of course, at first they had only one hand--showing merely the hours. [ ] by its very nature, a monastery would contain a disproportionately large number of doddering old men, or sick and helpless individuals. "_stagnarii_" or "_stationarii_" they are significantly called. besides, a monk was supposed to be bled for his health four or five times a year. while recovering from this operation he could stay in the infirmary. the church usually rejected candidates for regular priesthood who labored under serious physical disabilities. the monasteries had to be less arbitrary. thus they probably obtained more than their share of blind, semi-invalids, purblind, halt, deaf, etc. in , at an abbey near boulogne, there are said to have been so many lame, one-eyed, or one-armed monks that the abbot refused to admit any more defectives for thirty years. this was probably an extreme case. for similar reasons many women, unmarriageable through physical defects, seem to have been placed in nunneries. [ ] in monasteries affiliated with the great abbey of cluny the highest officer was the prior; the only abbot for the entire group of establishments was at cluny. various other small dependent monasteries had merely a prior, supposedly dependent on the abbot at a superior monastery. [ ] while such children would be sometimes presented out of motives of genuine piety, to save their own souls or to redeem those of their relatives, often they were thrust into the convent merely to dispose of unwelcome heirs or to avoid the cost of rearing them. wise abbots would, of course, sift out such cases carefully. [ ] bishops theoretically had themselves the right of inspection unless a monastery had a direct papal charter; but in any case the monks would probably resist episcopal interference vigorously unless the pope gave the bishop specific orders to intervene. [ ] these complaints are identical with those actually made by a worldly monk who visited the venerable abbey of cluny. chapter xx: the monastery of st. aliquis: the activities of its inmates. monastic learning. after a monk has taken the great vow "renouncing my parents, my brothers, my friends, my possessions, and the vain and empty glory of this world ... and renouncing also my own will for the will of god, and accepting all the hardships of the monastic life," how is he to be employed? for, as st. benedict with great sagacity has written, "_idleness is the enemy of the soul_." the ancient hermits devoted their entire time to contemplation, hoping for visions of angels; but it is recorded too often that they had only visions of the devil. "therefore," continues the holy rule, "at fixed times the brothers ought to be employed with manual labor, and again at fixed times in sacred reading." thus, in general, the monks of st. aliquis are busied with two great things, _work_ in the fields and _study_, with the copying or actual writing of profitable books. [sidenote: bequests to monasteries] the monastery being passing rich, its administration constitutes a great worldly care. ever since the institution came into existence, about the time that heribert rendered the region fairly safe by erecting his fortress, the monks have been adding to their property. church foundations never die. mortmain prevents them from crumbling. income is obtainable from many sources, but probably the best lands have come to the abbey through the reception of new members. few novices are received unless they make a grant of their entire possessions to the institution, and, while most younger sons and peasants have little enough to give, every now and then the abbey receives a person of considerable wealth. besides such acquisitions, there is no better way for laymen to cancel arrears with the recording angel than by gifts of land or money to an abbey. some of these gifts come during lifetime, sometimes on one's deathbed. noblemen complain that the monks thus defraud them of their possessions. "when a man lies down to die," bewails the epic poem "hervis de metz," "he thinks not of his sons. he summons the black monks of st. benedict and gives them his lands, his revenues, his ovens, and his mills. the men of this age are impoverished and the clerics daily grow richer." often, too, a person when on his deathbed will actually "take the habit" and be enrolled as a monk, thus, of course, conveying to the abbey all his possessions. this, we are told, is "the sweetest way for a human conscience to settle its case with god." property thus comes to an abbey from every direction. no gifts are refused as "tainted money." giving to heaven is invariably a pious deed, and ordinarily justifies whatever oblique means were used to get the donation. so the monks of st. aliquis have been accumulating tillage lands, meadows, vineyards, and often the rentals for lands held by others. these rentals are payable in wheat, barley, oats, cattle and also in pasture rights. some donations are given unconditionally, some strictly on condition that the income be used in providing alms for the poor, lodgings and comforts for the sick, or saying special masses for the repose of the soul of the benefactor. abbot victor has therefore to supervise many farms, forests, mills, etc., scattered for many miles about. he also receives the tithe (church tax) for five or six parish churches in the region, on condition that he appoint their priests and support them out of part of this income. for these lands the abbot owes feudal service, and over them he exercises feudal suzerainty, possessing, therefore, an overlord and also vassals, just as did the nobles who held these same fiefs before they passed to the abbey. he is, accordingly, a regular seigneur, receiving and doing homage, bound to do justice to his vassals, and able to call them to arms whenever the secular need arises. by church law he cannot, of course, lead them in person to battle, but has to accept conon as his advocate; and it is as advocate (or, as called elsewhere, _vidame_) of the abbey of st. aliquis, able to lead its numerous retainers into the field and act in military matters as the abbot's very self-sufficient lieutenant and champion, that the baron owes much of his own importance.[ ] for example, he gets one third of all the fees payable to the abbey for enforcing justice among its dependents, and when he is himself in a feud he will sometimes attempt to call out the abbot's vassals to follow his personal banner, even if the quarrel is of not the least concern to the monks. nevertheless, such an overpowerful champion is usually necessary to a monastery. despite the fear of excommunication, unscrupulous lords frequently seize upon abbey lands or even pillage the sacred buildings, trusting to smooth over matters later by a gift or a pilgrimage. the temptation presented by a rich, helpless monastery is sometimes almost irresistible. [sidenote: monastic industries and almsgiving] in nonmilitary matters, however, the monks control everything. they direct the agriculture of hundreds of peasants. they maintain real industries, manufacturing far more in the way of church ornaments, vestments, elegant woolen tapestries, elaborate book covers, musical instruments, enameled reliquaries, as well as carvings in wood, bronze, and silver, than they can possibly use for their own church. all this surplus is sold, and the third prior has just returned from pontdebois to report his success in disposing of a fine bishop's throne, which brother octavian, who has great skill with his chisel, has spent three whole years in making. the monks also maintain a school primarily for lads who expect to become clerics, but which is open also to the sons of nobles, and, indeed, of such peasants as can see any use in letting hulking boys who do not expect to enter the church learn latin and struggle with pothooks and hangers. the monks, too, have another great care and expense--the distribution of alms, even more lavishly than at the castle. the porter is bound always to keep small loaves of bread in his lodge, ready to give to the itinerant poor. every night swarms of travelers, high and low, have to be lodged and fed by the guest master, with none turned away unless he demands quarters a second night--when questions will be asked.[ ] in bad years the monasteries are somehow expected to feed the wretched by thousands. all this means a great drain upon the income, even if the monks themselves live sparely. there is often another heavy demand made on the abbot's revenues. having so many and such varied parcels of land, he is almost always involved in costly lawsuits--with rival church establishments claiming the property, with the heirs of donors who refuse to give up their expected heritages, with creditors or debtors in the abbey's commercial transactions and with self-seeking neighboring seigneurs. "he who has land has trouble" is an old proverb to which victor cheerfully subscribes. he is not so litigious as many abbots; but his time seems consumed with carnal matters which profit not the soul. the activities in a large, well-ordered monastery are ample enough to give scope to the individual genius of about all the brethren, although every abbey is likely to have its own special interests. some south french monasteries make and export rare cordials and healing drugs. others boast of their horticulture, the breeding of cattle, or the manufacture of various kinds of elegant articles, as already noted. however, the mere cultivation of the fields, where the brethren toil side by side with the lay helpers, although also acting as overseers, consumes the energies of much of the convent. the remainder of the time of most monks is devoted to forms of learning. the great establishment of cluny sets the proper example. there every brother, at least while he is young, must practice humility by digging, pulling weeds, shelling beans, and making bread. but this work is largely for discipline.[ ] if he has the least inclination he will soon be encouraged to devote himself to copying manuscripts, studying books, perfecting himself in latin, and finally, in actually writing original latin works himself. [sidenote: manuscript copying and study] all day long, save at the times for chanting the offices, the older brethren and many of the younger are in the little alcoves round the cloister, conning or copying huge volumes of parchment or vellum, or whispering together over some learned problem. all the formal literature is in latin. it was, until recently, something of a disgrace to prove oneself unclerkly by using the vulgar tongue, "romance" being accounted fit only for worldly noblemen and jongleurs.[ ] [illustration: a piece of furniture serving as a seat and a reading desk restored by viollet-le-duc from a thirteenth-century manuscript. at the left of the writing table is placed an inkstand; near the seat is a circular lectern which holds the chandelier and can be turned at the will of the reader.] at st. aliquis, as in every convent, monks still are wont to argue among themselves, "how far is it safe to study pagan rather than christian writers?" undoubtedly horace, ovid, and livy are a delight to any student who can read latin. what wealth of new ideas! what marvelous vigor of language! what vistas of a strange, wonderful world are opened to the imagination! unfortunately, however, all these authors died worshiping demons; their souls are in hell, or at least in limbo, its uppermost and least painful compartment. did not pope gregory i write to a bishop who was fond of classical studies, "it behooves not that a mouth consecrated to the praise of god should open for those of jupiter"? did not odilon, abbot of cluny, renounce his beloved virgil (the most favored of all heathen writers) after a warning dream, beholding therein a wondrous antique vase, which as he reached to grasp it, proved full of writhing serpents? nevertheless, the pagan authors are so seductive that the monks persist in studying them, although always with a guilty feeling that "stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant." in the monastery school advanced instruction is given to the younger monks, as well as to the very few laymen who have been through the primary instruction in the _trivium_--grammar, rhetoric, and dialectics (the art of reasoning) all taught, of course, in latin. apt pupils are then encouraged to continue under one or two monks of superior learning in the _quadrivium_--astronomy, arithmetic, geometry, and music. systematic instruction is hardly ever given in anything else, although odds and ends of certain other sciences can be absorbed around st. aliquis. [sidenote: books of learning] the fundamental textbooks are donatus's grammar for instruction in latin, and then for almost everything savoring of real learning, latin translations of master aristotle. for a long time the monks have had to content themselves with the logical works of the famous grecian, explaining the processes of argumentation, but by they can enjoy the enormous advantage of using latin versions of the physics, the metaphysics, and the ethics--the great works of the master of those who know (to quote dante, writing eighty years later). some of these books have come directly from the greek, but others have been distorted by passing through an arabic version that in turn has been made over into latin. there are also various arabic commentaries of considerable value. curious it doubtless is that heaven, who has denied salvation alike to greek and to moslem, should suffer unbelievers to possess a worldly wisdom surpassing that of good christians, but the bible truly says, "the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light." on all secular matters, indeed, aristotle is a final authority. "thus says aristotle" is the best way to silence every hostile argument. only very rarely can a man hope by his own cogitations to overthrow the dicta of this wonderful sage of athens. a great deal of the monkish student's time is taken up with abstract problems of philology and logic. nevertheless, the abbey contains many parchments widening to one's knowledge of the world. for example, you can read in vincent de beauvais's _mirror of nature_ a minute account of the universe and all things within it. you can learn the astonishing fact that the world is a kind of globe suspended at the center of the cosmos. many other wonderful things are described--as, for example, lead can be transmuted into gold, and all kinds of wonders which defy ordinary experience, but which are not to be doubted, since god can, of course, do anything. or one can turn to hugues de st. victor's treatise _on beasts and other things_ and learn all about the habits of animals--concerning how stags can live nine hundred years and how the dove "with her right eye contemplates herself, and with her left eye god." there are books also on medicine, parts of which contain sober wisdom, worthy of attention by the murderous physicians, but elsewhere giving such directions as that since autumn is "the melancholy season," people should then eat more heartily than in summer and should refrain from love affairs. as for the more abstract sciences, in music the monks know the four principal and the four secondary sounds--the _do_, _re_, _mi_, of the scales, the seven modulations and the five strings of the viol. in geometry they can, with the aid of a stick, "lying on the ground find the height of walls and towers." in arithmetic they can multiply and divide with great facility and keep accounts like a king's treasurer. in astronomy they understand the motion of the planets and their qualities--saturn, which is "proud, wise, and ambitious," and mars, "malevolent and bad, provoking strife and battles," and how the sun is hung in the midst of the planets, three above and three below, and much more similar wisdom; although one must proceed carefully in astronomy, for its connection with astrology is close, and from astrology to the black art is not a long journey. [sidenote: scientific studies and chronicle writing] the good monks have perhaps made their best progress in botany and geology. some of the brethren have gathered collections of curious minerals, of herbs, and also of dried bird and animal skins; although the interest seems to be in the healing qualities of various substances rather than in the nature of the things themselves. thus it is certain that figs are good for wounds and broken bones; aloes stops hair from falling; the root of mandrake will make women love you; and plenty of sage in a garden somehow protects the owner from premature death. as for geology, that consists of the collecting and arranging of curious stones. it is of course settled in genesis that the world was made in a very few days. the infidel avincenna has indeed advanced the theory that mountains are caused by the upheaval of the earth's crust and by action of water. one must hesitate, however, about believing this. it seems hardly compatible with holy writ. on the other hand, the books on animals unhesitatingly tell about remarkable creatures which are mentioned in aristotle or in pliny or by the arabs. unicorns, phoenixes, and dragons are well understood, likewise sea monsters, as, for example, great krakens, which drag down ships with their tentacles, sirens or mermaids, and finally "sea bishops" (probably a kind of seal) which piously "bless" their human victims before devouring them. besides the study of these older books, the monks are writing certain books themselves. the most important is the great chronicle, begun some years ago by the learned brother emeri. it commences with the creation of the world and adam and eve, tells about the greeks and romans and charlemagne and his heirs, and then in much greater detail gives the recent history of the duchy of quelqueparte, the happenings at the abbey, and also much about the barons of st. aliquis. emeri is now dead, but the chronicle is continued from year to year. it is really a compendium of varied learning. from it, for example, you learn all about the wars of julius cæsar, the crusades, the great lawsuit of ten years ago over some of the abbey lands, the feud between conon and foretvert, and how in a two-headed calf was born on a neighboring barony, and in a meteor struck near pontdebois. the latin in this chronicle is, on the whole, very good, sometimes almost equal to livy's, and the story is embellished by constant citations not merely of virgil and horace, but of homer and plato. one would suppose from this that the authors were familiar with greek. such, however, is by no means the case. all the quotations from greek authors and many of their latin ones are taken from commonplace books. nevertheless, the narrative seems the more elegant for this borrowed learning. the monks are proud of their chronicle and never fail to boast how much more complete, accurate, and erudite it is than similar works compiled at the rival institutions. when the monks are not actually studying, they are often copying. st. aliquis has more than two hundred volumes in its library. parchment is very expensive, but very durable. when the abbot sees his way to procure material for another volume, he is likely to send to some friendly convent to borrow a book which his monks do not yet possess. then some of the most skillful brethren are put to work making a copy, if possible more beautiful than the original. in from six months to a year the work will probably be finished, although, if a duplicate is to be made of a work already on hand, there will be less haste and the process may extend over years.[ ] copying is an excellent means of propitiating heaven. st. bernard said emphatically, "every word which you write is a blow which smites the devil," and cassiodorus, much earlier, asserted: "by the exercise of the mind upon the holy scriptures you convey to those who read a kind of moral instruction. you preach with the hand, converting the hand into an organ of speech--thus, as it were, fighting the arch-fiend with pen and ink." parchment, we have said, is a costly article. to provide a single book scores of sheep must die. a new style of writing material, however, is just coming into vogue. paper, a substance made of linen cloth, now is being produced in small quantities in france, although, as usual, it seems to have been an invention of the arab infidels. some day, perhaps, paper will become so plentiful and cheap that books can be multiplied in vast numbers, but as yet practically everything has to be on parchment, which is certainly far less destructible than paper, whatever the cost.[ ] [sidenote: elegant manuscripts and binding] in the cloister alcoves a dozen copyists are pursuing their task with infinite patience. their question is not "how fast?" but "how well?"--for they are performing "a work unto god." as a rule, they write their sheets in two columns, making their characters either in roundish minuscule or in squarer gothic. the initials are in bright colors--some with a background of gold. here and there may be painted in a brilliant miniature illustration. the work of the best copyists is beautifully legible. the scribes put their heart and soul into their productions. they expect the volumes will be memorials to their faithfulness and piety scores of years after they are departed. when the sheets are completed, the book is bound in leather much the same as in other ages, although sometimes the sides are of wood. in any case, there are likely to be metal clasps and bosses of brass upon the covers. a few of the most precious volumes are adorned with plates of silver or carved ivory. so year by year the library grows. it need not be remarked that every copy is _read_ and _reread_ with devoted thoroughness. what the learning of the feudal age, therefore, lacks in breadth is somewhat compensated for by intensity. the older and more studious monks know almost by heart _all_ the facts in their entire collection. the younger brethren revere them as carrying in their own heads practically everything significant in the way of worldly wisdom.[ ] thus we catch some glimpse of the superficial and material side of a typical monastic establishment. into its spiritual and intellectual atmosphere we cannot find time to penetrate. our present duty is to "return to the world" and to examine the oft-mentioned but as yet unvisited good town of pontdebois. footnotes: [ ] abbots and their advocates were continually having friction over their respective prerogatives. if victor and conon got along in fair harmony, they were somewhat exceptional both as prelate and as seigneur. [ ] see also p. . [ ] a great abbey like cluny would have so many lay servitors that it could dispense with manual labor by the monks, save where personal aptitude was lacking for anything else. [ ] the result was that french was able to develop as a very forceful, expressive language, unspoiled by pedantry, before many serious books were written in the vernacular. the same was somewhat true also of english, german, and other modern tongues. [ ] this would be especially true of copies of the bible, of which every abbey would have at least one example; and additional specimens would be prepared very deliberately with the intention of making the new work just as beautiful and permanent as possible. [ ] the introduction of paper was, of course, absolutely necessary, if the invention of printing were to have any real value. [ ] it is perhaps proper to say that dante ( - ), a person, of course, of remarkable intellect, was able to master the _entire fund_ of learned information and science available in his time. this was not true of the next great mediæval scholar, petrarch ( - ). by his period the supply of human knowledge had become too vast for any one brain. petrarch had to become a specialist. chapter xxi: the good town of pontdebois: aspect and organization. as the summer advances, conon, his baroness, and his familiars make their annual visit to the great fair always held at this time at pontdebois. practically nothing except wheat, cattle, and a few like staples are ordinarily bought and sold in or around st. aliquis. of course, a messenger can be sent to the town for articles that are urgently needed, but, as a rule, the baron's family saves up all its important purchases until the fair, when many desirable things not ordinarily to be had in the city are put on sale. this present season the fair seems the more important because on account of the expensive fêtes conon cannot afford to visit paris and must make his purchases nearer home. it is only a few leagues to pontdebois, but messire travels with a considerable retinue--at least twenty men at arms well equipped, besides body servants for himself and his wife, and a long string of sumpter beasts to bring back the desired commodities, for the castle must really stock itself for the year. the baron hardly fears an attack by robbers so near to his own castle and to a friendly town, but he takes no chances. the best of seigneurs disclaim any responsibility for the fate of travelers who proceed by night, and one sire who controls some miles of the way has possibly a quiet understanding with certain outlaws that they may lurk in his forests and watch the roads without too much questioning, provided they refrain from outrages upon important people and make him liberal presents at christmas and easter.[ ] in any case, a number of merchants, packmen, and other humble travelers who had gone safely as far as st. aliquis, are glad to complete the journey in the baron's formidable company. conon in turn gladly protects them; it adds to his prestige to approach pontdebois with a great following. the roads are no worse than elsewhere, yet they are abominable; trails and muddy ruts they seem most of the year, ordinarily passable only for horses and mules, although in the summer rude two-wheeled carts can bump along them. to cross the streams you must, in some places, depend on fords very dangerous in the springtime. one unfordable river, entering the claire, is indeed crossed by a rude wooden bridge. the building of bridges is fostered by the church. a great indulgence was proclaimed by the bishop some years ago when this bridge was constructed as a pious work, especially useful for pilgrims. unfortunately, no one is responsible for its upkeep. it is falling into disrepair, and already is so tottering that as men pass over it they repeat those formulas, "commending their souls to god," which the church provides for use whenever one is attempting unstable bridges. [sidenote: travelers and inns] on the journey you meet many humble travelers obliged to trudge weary miles. there is a poor peasant seeking a farm now on a distant seigneury. he has a donkey to carry some of his household gear and one of the children. his wife is painfully carrying the youngest infant. the poor man himself staggers under a great sack. travelers of more consequence ride horseback, with a large mail or leathern portmanteau tied on their beast's crupper. their burdens are heavy because one often has to spend the night in abominable quarters, and consequently must, if possible, carry flint, steel, and tinder for making a fire, some kind of bedding, and very often a tent. along the road, too, are any quantity of beggars, real or pretended cripples and other deformed persons, wandering about and living on charity; or blind men with staffs and dogs. the beggars' disguise is a favorite one for robbers. the wretches, too, who whine their, "alms, messire! alms!" and hold up a wrist minus the hand, or point to where an eye has been gouged out, probably have suffered just punishments for crimes, although some of them may have mutilated themselves merely in order to work on the sympathies of the gullible. as the party approaches pontdebois the houses become better and closer together, and just outside the gate is a group of taverns, available for those who prefer to carouse or lodge without rather than within the city walls. conon is on terms of hospitality with a rich burgher who has found the baron's favor profitable, and he leads his company promptly inside the gates, but many of the humbler travelers turn off to these taverns. adela gives an aristocratic sniff of disdain as they ride past such places. they are assuredly very dirty, and from them proceeds the smell of stale wine and poor cooking. the owners, smooth, smirking men, stand by the road as travelers come in sight and begin to praise their hostelries. "within," one of them is calling out, "are all manner of comforts, painted chambers, and soft beds packed high with white straw under soft feather mattresses. here is your hostel for love affairs. when you retire you will fall asleep on pillows of violets, after you have washed out your mouth and rinsed your hands with rose water!" his victims, however, will find themselves in a dirty public dining room, where men and women alike are drinking and dicing around the bare oaken tables. at night the guests will sleep in the few chambers, bed wedged by bed, or perhaps two in a bed, upon feathers anything but vermin-proof. in the rear of most inns, too, there is a garden where guests are urged to carouse with the unsavory females who haunt the establishments. the visitors will be lucky if they can get safely away without being made stupidly drunken and then robbed, or having the innkeeper seize their baggage or even their clothes on the pretense that they have not paid their reckoning. leaving these taverns at one side, the st. aliquis company rides straight onward. before it the spires and walls of pontdebois are rising. the circuit of gray curtain walls and turrets reaches down to the claire, on which barges are swinging, and across which stretches the solid wooden bridge which gives the good town its name. above the walls you can see the gabled roofs of the more pretentious houses, the great round donjon, the civic watchtower, and, above all else, the soaring fabric and stately mass of the cathedral with the scaffolding still around its unfinished towers. several smaller parish churches are also visible. the baron's company is obliged to halt at the gate, such is the influx and efflux of rickety carts, sumpter beasts, and persons thrusting across the drawbridge. "way, good people," conon's squires cry. "way for messire of st. aliquis!" and at last, not without a cracking of whips to make these mechanic crowds know their betters, the party forces a path down the narrow streets. [sidenote: entering a city] a visit to pontdebois is no real novelty to the castle folk, yet they always experience a sense of bustle and vastness upon entering. here are eight thousand, indeed, some assert ten thousand, people, all living together in a single community.[ ] how confused even the saints must be when they peer from heaven and try to number this swarm of young and old, rich and poor, masters and apprentices, packed in behind one set of walls! to tell the truth, the circuit of pontdebois is not very great; to render the walls as defensible as possible and to save expense, the fortifications have been made to inclose the smallest circumference that will answer. as a result, the land inside is precious. houses are wedged closely together. streets are extraordinarily narrow. people can hardly stir without colliding with others, and about the only real breathing spaces are the market place and some open ground around the cathedral. behind the bishop's palace, also, there is a small walled-in garden. otherwise, it appears almost as if not one green thing could grow in pontdebois. the contrast with the open country whence the travelers have just come is therefore startling. even the best of the streets are dark, tortuous, and filthy. there is almost no paving.[ ] the waste water of the houses is flung from the windows. horrid offal is thus cast out, as well as the blood and refuse from the numerous slaughterhouses. pigs are privileged as scavengers, even in the market place. the streets are the darker because the second stories of the houses project considerably over the first, the third over the second, and also the fourth and fifth (which often exist) over those lower. consequently, there is almost a roof formed over the lanes, cutting off rain, light and air. in the upper stories, neighbors not merely can gossip, but can actually shake hands with their friends across the street. all the thoroughfares, too, are amazingly crooked, as if everybody had once built his house where it pleased him, and afterward some kind of a bypath around it had been created! at night these twisting avenues are dark as pitch. no one can get about without a lantern, and even with one it were better, if possible, to stay at home. to prevent the easy flight of thieves, it is common to stretch many heavy chains across the streets at night. notwithstanding, footpads often lurk in the covert of black corners. pontdebois has few quiet residence sections. it is a community of almost nothing but little shops and little industries--the two being often combined under one roof. the shops generally open directly into the streets, with their stalls intruding on the public way like oriental bazaars. the streets, in fact, seem to be almost the property of the merchants. foot passengers can barely find a passage. carts cannot traverse the town during business hours, and conon's company on horseback might have found itself absolutely blocked had it not chanced to arrive almost precisely at noon, when the hum and bustle very suddenly cease and the worthy folk of pontdebois forsake their counters and benches to enjoy hearty dinners. [sidenote: a rich burgher's house] as it is, they reach the market place just as the city hangman has finished a necessary ceremony. one lambert, a master woolen weaver, had been caught selling adulterated and dishonestly woven cloth, contrary to the statutes of his guild. the hangman has solemnly burned the offending bolts of cloth before a jeering crowd of apprentices, while lambert's offense has been cried out with loud voice. the man is disgraced and ruined. he will have to become again a mere wage earner, or quit the city outright. his misfortune is the choice news of the hour. the smell of the burning cloth is still in the air when conon's party rides by the pillory and halts at the house of the rich othon bouchaut, who is ready to receive them. maître othon is one of the principal burghers. he has grown rich by importing wares from venice, constantinople, and the lands of the infidels. it is scandalous (say some nobles) how he, villein born, with hands only accustomed to hold a purse or a pen, is able to talk to a great seigneur without groveling as every good peasant ought. he and his wife even wear gold lace, pearls, and costly stuffs on fête days, as if they were nobles; and they are said actually to have broken the law forbidding non-nobles to wear furs. very deplorable, but what can be done? othon is so rich that he can stir up trouble even for the duke. nothing remains but to speak him fair and accept his hospitality. this powerful merchant's house is in the marketplace. it rises five stories high, and is built of beams filled in with laths, mortar, and stucco. on the ground floor are storerooms for costly oriental goods, and desks where the master's clerks seem forever busy with complicated accounts. on the next are the rooms for the family, and, although without the spacious magnificence of the great hall at st. aliquis, adela remarks a little enviously that her host's wife enjoys many comforts and luxuries hardly known in the castle. the upper stories are full of small chambers for othon's family, his clerks, and the younger apprentices who are learning his business. before the front door swings the ensign of the house--a gilded mortar (in token of the powdered spices which the owner sells). the houses of pontdebois have no numbers. the ensigns serve to identify them. one of othon's neighbors lives at the "crouching cat," another at the "tin pot," another at the "silver fish," and so on all through the town. the house of othon also appears to be quite new, as do many others. this, however, is a doubtful sign of good fortune. only a few years ago much of pontdebois was burned down. the narrow streets, the thatched roofs, the absence of any means of checking a blaze save a line of buckets hastily organized, make great fires a standing menace to every city.[ ] othon complains that at any moment he may be reduced almost to beggary by the carelessness of some wretched scullery maid or tavern apprentice. he will also say that somehow in the pent-up city there is greater danger of the plague than in the country castles or even in the villages with their dungheaps. a dozen years ago pontdebois lost a quarter of its population by an outbreak which spared neither rich nor poor, before which physicians and religious processions seemed alike helpless, and which demoralized the community before the saints mercifully halted the devastation. [sidenote: the communal donjon] there are only a few stone houses in pontdebois. even the best houses of the citizens are usually of wood and mortar. not yet have risen those magnificent stone city halls which later will be the glory of north france and flanders. but on one side of the market place rises the communal donjon. the good town is like a seigneur (indeed, somewhat it _is_ a seigneur placed in commission): it has its walls and therefore its strong citadel. the donjon forms a high, solid, square tower dominating the public square. at its summit there is always a watchman ready, at first danger of fire or attack, to boom the alarm bell. the tower itself is large enough to have good-sized rooms in its base. nearest the ground is the council chamber where the worshipful echevins can deliberate. above that is the archive room, where the elaborate town records are kept. directly under the council chamber, however, is the prison, where general offenders are mewed up no more comfortably than in the abysses of st. aliquis. the soul of the communal donjon, however, hovers around its bells. there in the dark tower hang shrill jacqueline, loud carolus, and, deepest and mightiest of all, holy trinity, and several others. a peal of powerful bells pertains to every free town. of course, they ring lustily and merrily on holidays; indeed, strangers to the city think they are rung too often for repose.[ ] but if they all begin leaping and thundering together, that is probably a sign for a mass meeting of the citizens in the open plaza before the donjon. the magistrates may wish to harangue the populace from the balcony, just above the council room, descanting upon some public danger or deliver a peaceful explanation of some new municipal ordinance. in any case, a commune without its donjon and bells is like a ship without its rudder, and if ever pontdebois succumbs to superior power, the first step of the conqueror will probably be to "take away the bells"--that will be the same thing as annulling the city liberties. pontdebois has been a good town with a charter of privileges for about a hundred years. as early as charlemagne's day a village existed upon the site. the location proved good for trade, but the inhabitants, despite success in commerce and industry and increasing numbers, were for a long time mere villeins dependent upon the lord bishop of the town and region, and with no more rights than the peasants of the fields had. however, in dealing with men who were steadily becoming richer, and who were picking up strange ideas by foreign intercourse, it proved much harder to keep them content with their station than it did the run of villeins. besides, the dukes of quelqueparte, although very loath to grant privileges to their own villeins, were not averse to having privileges given to the subjects of such independent and unreliable vassals as the bishops of pontdebois. consequently, when the townspeople about a.d. began raising the cry, "commune! commune!" in the episcopal presence, the bishop could not look to his suzerain for much support. indeed, it was being realized by intelligent seigneurs that granting a charter to a town often meant a great increase of wealth, so that if the lord's fiscal rights were carefully safeguarded, he was actually the gainer by an apparent cession of part of his authority. the upshot was that about a.d. , when a certain bishop needed a large purse to cover his travel to the holy land, for a round sum the townsfolk bought from him a charter--a precious document which practically raised them out of the status of villeins and protected them against those executions and tyrannies which the run of peasants had to accept resignedly, as they did bad winters. [sidenote: charter of a commune] this charter read in part much as follows: "i, henri, by the grace of god bishop of pontdebois, make known to all present and to come, that i have established the undermentioned rules for the inhabitants of my town of pontdebois. every male inhabitant of said town shall pay me every year twelve deniers and a bushel of oats as the price of his dwelling; and if he desires to hold land outside the walls four deniers per year for each acre. the houses, vines, and fields may be sold and alienated at the pleasure of the holder. the dwellers in this town shall go neither to the _ost_ (feudal levy) nor on any other expedition unless i lead the same in person. they are allowed six echevins to administer the ordinary business of the town and to assist my provost in his duties. i especially decree that no seigneur shall withdraw from this town any inhabitants for any reason, unless they are actually 'his men' or owe him arrears in taxes, etc."[ ] after securing this charter, the men of pontdebois began to hold up their heads in a manner grievous to the neighboring nobles, and even more grievous to the wealthy clergy, for prince-bishops were often the original suzerains of the towns, and their authority was the most seriously curtailed.[ ] the books are full of the wrath of the ecclesiastics over the changed situation. "'commune!' a name new and detestable!" pungently wrote abbot guibert of nogent, even when the movement was young; while bishop ives of chartres assured everybody that "compacts (with city folk) are binding on no one: they are contrary to the canon law and the decision of the holy fathers." even as recently as a synod at paris has denounced communes as the creations of "usurers and exactors" who have set up "diabolical usages, tending to overthrow the jurisdiction of the church." however righteous the anger of these holy men, it has proved vain. the communes ever wax stronger, and annually some new seigneur is compelled to sell a charter or even to grant one for nothing. the kings watch complacently a movement which weakens their unruly feudatories. sometimes the townsfolk have grown insolent and tried to defend their privileges by sheer violence. once there was a very tyrannous bishop of laon. he foolishly tried to cancel a charter granted the city, and boasted: "what can you expect these people to do by their commotions? if my negro boy john were to seize the most terrible of them by the nose, the fellow would not even growl. what they yesterday called a 'commune' i have forced them to give up--at least as long as i live!" the next day the yell, "commune! commune!" rang in the streets. a mob sacked the episcopal palace and found the bishop hiding in a cask at the bottom of the cellar. the howling populace dragged him into the street and killed him with a hatchet. then, to add to this sacrilege upon an anointed bishop, they plundered most of the nobles who chanced to be in the town. after such deeds it is no wonder that the king went to laon and re-established order with a strong hand. nevertheless, some years later, a new charter was granted the town, and the succeeding bishops have had to walk warily, despite inward groanings. [sidenote: rule by echevins and rich merchants] fortunately, pontdebois has been spared these convulsions. as a rule the local prelates have been reasonable and conciliatory. the bishop is still called "suzerain." he receives the fixed tax provided in the original agreement. he has jurisdiction over the citizens in spiritual matters, which include heresy, blasphemy, insults, and assaults upon priests and outrages to churches. likewise much of what might be called "probate litigation"--touching the validity of marriages and children, and consequently the wills and property rights affected thereby. however, in most secular particulars the citizens have pretty complete control. they levy numerous imposts, direct taxes, tolls, and market dues; they enroll a militia to defend the walls and to take the field under their own officers and banner when the general levy of the region is called out; they pass many local ordinances; and they name their own magistrates who administer "high justice." they can even wage local wars if they have a grievance against neighboring barons, being themselves a kind of collective seigneur. the one thing they _cannot_ do is to coin money; that is a privilege carefully reserved to the king and to the superior nobility. practically all these powers are exercised by the six echevins, with a higher dignitary, the mayor (_maire_), at their head.[ ] there is little real democracy, however, in pontdebois. the richer merchants, like othon, and the more prosperous masters form practically an oligarchy, excluding the poor artisans and apprentices from any share in municipal affairs save that of paying taxes and listening to edicts by the magistrates. the same officers are re-elected year after year. they use the town money much as they see fit, refusing public reckoning and blandly announcing that "they render their accounts to one another." there are, therefore, certain discontented fellows who even murmur, "we 'free burghers' are worse taxed and oppressed than are baron conon's villeins at st. aliquis." nevertheless, there is often a great desire to become even a passive citizen of pontdebois. if you can live there unmolested for "a year and a day," you escape the jurisdiction of the lord on whose estate you have been a villein. you are protected against those outrages which are possible on even the best seigneuries. most of all, you gain a chance to become something more than a clodhopping plowman. perhaps your grandchildren at least will become wealthy and powerful enough to receive a baron as their guest, even as does the rich othon. so one may wander about the twisting streets of pontdebois until nightfall, when the loud horns blow curfew--"cover fires." after that, the streets are deserted save for the occasional watchman rattling his iron-shod staff and calling through the darkness, "pray for the dead!" footnotes: [ ] another abuse would be to levy a heavy toll on all travelers passing a castle, irrespective of whether there was any legal license to demand the same. [ ] if pontdebois really had as many as eight thousand permanent inhabitants, it was no mean community in feudal times. many a city would have only two or three thousand, or even less. a place of ten thousand or more would rank as the most important center for a wide region. there were few of such size in france. [ ] even in paris at this time the only paving was on the streets leading directly to the city gates. the remainder continued to be a mere slough, a choice breeding place for those contagious diseases against which precautions were assumed to be useless and to which men were bound to submit as to "the will of god." supplications to some healing saint, like st. firman or st. antoine, usually seemed more efficacious than any real sanitary precautions. [ ] rouen had six severe fires between and , and yet was not exceptionally unfortunate. if a city were close to a river, it was liable also to very serious freshets. of course, every place was in fairly constant danger of being stormed, sacked, and burned down in war. [ ] modern travelers are to this day impressed by the amount of bellringing which goes on in such unspoiled mediæval-built flemish towns as bruges. [ ] of course, no two communal charters were ever alike, although many were run in a common mold. many towns received not a full charter, but "rights of burgessy"--_e.g._, guaranties against various common forms of oppression, although the laws were still actually administered by officers named by the seigneur. [ ] bishops often had their cathedral and episcopal seat at the largest place in their dioceses--the very places most likely to demand charters. [ ] the echevins were often known instead as "jurés" and their numbers were frequently much greater than six. the mayors might be called "provosts" or "rewards." chapter xxii: industry and trade in pontdebois. the great fair. the st. aliquis folk have come to pontdebois largely to attend the great fair soon to open, but the more ordinary articles they will purchase can be found on sale on any week day. the city is a beehive of industry. notwithstanding much talk about commerce in the feudal ages, the means of communication and transport are so bad that it is only the luxuries--not the essentials--that can be exported very far. it takes thirty days in good weather to travel from paris to marseilles. it takes sometimes a week to go from pontdebois to paris; and there is no larger industrial city much nearer than paris. the result is that almost everything ordinarily needed in a château, village, or even in a monastery, which cannot be made upon the spot, is manufactured and sold in this good town. industrial life, however, seems to exist on a very small scale. there are no real factories. an establishment employing more than four or five persons, including the proprietor, is rare. much commoner are petty workshops conducted by the owner alone or aided by only one youthful apprentice. this multiplicity of extremely small plants gives pontdebois a show of bustle and activity which its actual population does not warrant. when you do business in a town, simply name your desires and you can be directed to a little winding street containing all the shops of a given industry. there is the glass workers' street, the tanners' row, the butchers' lane, the parchment makers' street (frequented by monkish commissioners from the abbeys), the goldsmiths' lane, etc. [illustration: cloth merchants from a bas-relief in the cathedral of rheims (thirteenth century).] [sidenote: shopkeepers crying their wares] as a rule the goods are made up in the rear of the shop and are sold over a small counter directly upon the street, where the customer stands while he drives his bargain. written signs and price cards are practically unknown. the moment a possible purchaser comes in sight, all the attendants near the front of the shops begin a terrific uproar, each trying to bawl down his neighbor, praising his own wares and almost dragging in the visitor to inspect them. trade etiquette permits shopkeepers to shout out the most derogatory things about their rivals. father grégoire, wishing to buy some shoes, is almost demoralized by the clamor, although this is by no means his first visit to pontdebois. as he enters the shoemakers' lane it seems as if all the ill-favored apprentices are crowding around him. one plucks his cape. "here, good father! exactly what you want!" "hearken not to the thief," shouts another; "try on our shoes and name your own price!" a third tries to push him into yet another stall. "good sirs," cries grégoire, in dismay, "for god's sake treat me gently or i'll buy no shoes at all!" only reluctantly do they let him make his choice, then conclude a bargain unmolested by outsiders. in the fish, bread, and wine markets the scenes can be even more riotous, while the phrases used by the hucksters in crying their wares are peculiar and picturesque. as always in trade, it is well that "the buyer should beware"; fixed prices are really unknown and inferior goods are inordinately praised. nevertheless, the city and guild authorities try hard to protect purchasers from misrepresentation. the officers are always making unannounced rounds of inspection to see how the guild ordinances are being obeyed.[ ] the fate of the rascally woolen maker has been noted. heavy fines have also been imposed lately upon a rope maker who put linen in a hemp cord, and a cutler who put silver ornaments in a bone knife handle. this, however, was not to protect purchasers, but because they had gone outside the line of work permitted to members of their guild and trenched upon another set of craftsmen. indeed, a very short residence in pontdebois makes one aware that within the chartered commune the question is not, as in strictly feudal dominions, "whose 'man' is he?" but "to what guild does he belong?" everything apparently revolves around the trade and craft guilds. some of these guilds, like that of the butchers, are alleged to be much older than the granting of the charter; but it is undeniable that the organizations have multiplied and grown in power since that precious document was obtained.[ ] each special industry goes to the seigneur (in this city to the bishop) for a special grant of privileges and for a fee he will usually satisfy the petitioners, especially as they desire the privileges mainly to protect them against their fellow craftsmen, not against himself. in paris there are more than three hundred and fifty separate professions; in pontdebois they are much fewer, yet the number seems high. many guilds have only a few members apiece, but even the smallest is mortally jealous of its prerogatives. one "mystery" makes men's shoes, another women's, another children's. some time ago the last mentioned sold some alleged "children's shoes" which seemed very large! result--a bitter law suit brought by the women's shoemakers. christian charity among the guildsmen has not been restored yet. in paris they say that the tailors are pushing a case against the old-clothes dealers because the latter "repair their garments so completely as to make them practically new." there will soon be handsome fees for the kings' judges, if for nobody else.[ ] [sidenote: division and regulations of guilds] such friction arises, of course, because each guild is granted a strict monopoly of trade within certain prescribed limits. a saddle maker from a strange city who started a shop without being admitted to the proper guild would soon find his shop closed, his products burned, and his own feet in the stocks by the town donjon. the guilds are supposed to be under strict regulations, however, in return for these privileges. their conditions of labor are laid down, as are the hours and days of working. the precise quality of their products is fixed, and sometimes even the size of the articles and the selling price. night work, as a rule, is forbidden, because one cannot then see to produce perfect goods, although carpenters are allowed to make coffins after sunset. on days before festivals everyone must close by p.m., and on feast days only pastry shops (selling cakes and sweetmeats) are allowed to be open. violaters are subject to a fine, which goes partly to the guild corporation, partly to the town treasury; and these fines form a good part of the municipal revenue. the guilds are not labor unions. the controlling members are all masters--the employers of labor, although usually doing business on a very small scale. a guild is also a religious and benevolent institution. every corporation has its patron saint, with a special chapel in some church where a priest is engaged to say masses for the souls of deceased members.[ ] if a member falls into misfortune his guild is expected to succor him and especially, if he dies, to look after his widow and assist his orphans to learn their father's craft. each organization also has its own banner, very splendid, hung ordinarily beside the guild's altar, but in the civic processions proudly carried by one of the syndics, the craft's officers. to be a syndic in an influential guild is the ordinary ambition of about every young industrialist. it means the acme of power and dignity attainable, short of being elected echevin. the road to full guild membership is a fairly difficult one, yet it can be traversed by lads of good morals and legitimate birth if they have application and intelligence. a master can have from one to three apprentices and also his own son, if he has one who desires to learn the trade. the apprentices serve from three to twelve years. [illustration: a commoner (thirteenth century) from a bas-relief in the cathedral of rheims.] [sidenote: apprentices, hired workers and masters] the more difficult the craft the longer the service; thus it takes a ten-year apprenticeship to become a qualified jeweler. the lads thus "bound out" cannot ordinarily quit their master under any circumstances before the proper time. if they run away they can be haled back and roundly punished. they are usually knocked about plentifully, are none too well clothed, sleep in cold garrets, are fed on the leavings from the master's table, and can seldom call a moment their own except on holidays. their master may give them a little pocket money, but no regular wages. on the other hand, he is bound to teach them his trade and to protect them against evil influences. often enough, of course, matters end by the favorite apprentice marrying his master's daughter and practically taking over the establishment. at the end of the apprenticeship the young industrialist becomes a hired worker, perhaps in his old master's shop, perhaps somewhere else.[ ] he is engaged and paid by the week, and often changes employers many times while in this stage of his career. the guild protects him against gross exploitation, but his hours are long--from a.m. to p.m. during the summer months. finally, if he has led a moral life, proved a good workman, and accumulated a small capital, he may apply to the syndics for admission as a full master himself. a kind of examination takes place. if, for example, he has been a weaver he must produce an extremely good bolt of cloth and show skill in actually making and adjusting the parts of his loom. this ordeal passed, he pays a fee (divisible between the city and the guild) and undergoes an initiation, full of horseplay and absurd allegory. thus a candidate for the position of baker must solemnly present a "new pot full of walnuts and wafers" to the chief syndic; and upon the latter's accepting the contents, the candidate deliberately "breaks the pot against the wall"--a proclamation that he is now a full member of the guild. the last act is of course a grand feast--the whole fraternity guzzling down tankard after tankard at the expense of the new "brother." there is one quarter of the town which the st. aliquis visitors hardly dare to enter. thrust away in miserable hovels wedged against one angle of the walls live the "accursed race"--the jews. here are dark-haired, dark-eyed people with oriental physiognomies. they are exceedingly obsequious to christians, but the latter do not trust them. these bearded men with earrings, these women with bright kerchiefs of eastern stuffs, all seem to be conducting little shops where can be bought the cheapest furniture, household utensils, and particularly old clothes in pontdebois. in this quarter, too, is a small stone building which conon and his followers wonder that the echevins suffer to exist--a very ancient synagogue, for the jewish colony is as old as the town. the few christians who have periled their souls by venturing inside say the windows are very small and that the dark, grimy interior is lighted by dim lamps. here also are strange ancient books written in a character which no gentile can interpret, but by whispered report containing fearful blasphemies against the catholic faith. [sidenote: the jews and money lending] why are such folk permitted in pontdebois? maître othon has to explain that if god has consigned these jews to eternal damnation he has permitted many of them while in this world to possess inordinate riches. some of the most abject-looking of these persons, who are compelled by law to wear a saffron circle on their breasts, can actually find moneys sufficient to pay the costs of a duke's campaign. every great seigneur has "his jew," and the king has "the royal jew" who will loan him money when no christian will do so in order to wage his wars or to push more peaceful undertakings. the jews are indeed hard to do without because the church strictly forbids the loaning of money on usury, yet somehow it seems very difficult to borrow large sums simply upon the prospect of the bare repayment of the same. the jews, with no fear for their souls, do not hesitate to lend on interest, sometimes graspingly demanding forty, fifty and even sixty per cent.[ ] this is outrageous, but ofttimes money must be had, and what if no christian will lend? there are certain worthy men, especially lombards of north italy, who say that it were well if the church allowed lending at reasonable interest, and they are beginning to make loans accordingly. this suggestion, however, savors of heresy. in the meantime the jews continue despised, maltreated, and mobbed every good friday, but nevertheless almost indispensable. [illustration: money-changers (chartres)] the great object which brings so many visitors to pontdebois is the annual fair held every august in the field by the river, just south of the town. then can be purchased many articles so unusual that they are not regularly on sale in the city shops, or even at the more general market which is held in the square before the donjon upon each thursday. the pontdebois fair cannot, indeed, compete in extensiveness with the rouen or dijon fairs, the famous lendit fair (near st. denis and paris), nor, above all, with the great champagne fairs at troyes and elsewhere, for these are the best places for buying and selling in all france. nevertheless one must not despise a fair which attracts nearly all the good folk of quelqueparte who are intent on gains or purchases. in some respects the fair has many features like the tourney at st. aliquis. long files of travelers on beasts or on foot are approaching, innumerable tents are flaunting bright pennons, and the same jongleurs who swarmed to make music or to exhibit tricks at conon's festival are coming hither also. but the travelers are not, as a rule, knights in bright armor, but soberly clad merchants. their attendants lead, not high-stepping destrers, but heavily laden sumpter mules; the tents are not given over to gallant feasting and gentle intrigues, but to vigorous chaffering for that thing which all knights affect to despise--good money. therefore, although the bustle seems the same, the results are very different. there is a special complication at these fairs. in what kind of money shall we pay? the royal coinage is supposed to circulate everywhere and to represent the standard, but the king's power cannot suppress a whole swarm of local coinages. there are deniers of anjou, maine, rouen, touraine, toulouse, poitou, bordeaux, and many other districts besides the good royal coins from paris; also a plentiful circulation of constantinople bezants, venetian zechins, german groats, and english silver shillings, in addition to many outlandish infidel coins of very debatable value. to add to the trouble, there are varying standards for weights and measures. you have to make sure as to which one is used in every purchase.[ ] [illustration: a fair in champagne in the thirteenth century in the center of the picture, a commoner and his wife going to make more purchases; at the right, in front of a shop, cloth merchants and their customers; a shop boy on his knees unpacks the cloth, another carries the bales; at the left, a beggar; another establishment of a draper; a group of people having their money weighed by the money changer; farther back, a lord and his servants going through the crowd; at the left a parade of mountebanks; at the right, other shops; and in the background the walls, houses, church, etc.] [sidenote: heavy tolls on commerce] the "royal foot" is a pretty general measure, but sometimes it is split into ten, sometimes into twelve, inches. still worse is the pound weight. a paris pound divides into sixteen ounces, but that of lyons into fourteen, that of marseilles into only thirteen. clearly one needs time, patience, and a level head to trade happily at this fair! when you consider the number of tolls levied everywhere upon commerce--a fee on about every load that crosses a bridge, traverses a stretch of river or highway, passes a castle, etc.--the wonder grows that it seems worth while to transport goods at all. the fees are small, but how they multiply even on a short journey! along the loire between roanne and nantes are about seventy-four places where something must be paid. things are as bad by land. clergy and knights are usually exempt, but merchants have to travel almost with one hand in their pockets to satisfy the collectors of the local seigneurs. the result is that almost nothing is brought from a distance which is not fairly portable and for which there is a demand not readily met by the local workshops. nevertheless, a good fair is a profitable asset to an intelligent seigneur. the present fair was instituted seventy years ago by an unusually enterprising lord bishop. he induced the barons of the region to agree to treat visitors to the fair reasonably and to give them protection against robbers. he also established strict regulations to secure for every trader fair play when disposing of his wares, commissioned sergeants to patrol the grounds, and set up a competent provost's court right among the tents, so that persons falling into a dispute could get a quick decision without expensive litigation.[ ] in return he laid a small tax on every article sold. the arrangement worked well. succeeding bishops have been wise enough to realize that contented merchants are more profitable than those that have been plundered. "hare! hare!" cry the prelate's sergeants on the first day--announcing the opening--and then for about two weeks the trafficking, bargain driving, amusements, and thimble rigging will continue. [sidenote: numerous commodities at fairs] the time of a fair is carefully calculated. many merchants spend all the warmer months journeying with their wares from one fair to another. many of the traders at pontdebois have spent half of june at lendit, where "everything is for sale, from carts and horses to fine tapestries and silver cups." the wares at this present fair are almost equally extensive, although the selection may be a little less choice. besides all kinds of french products, there are booths displaying wonderful silks from syria, or possibly only from venice; there are blazing saracen carpets woven in persia or even remoter lands, while local dyers and fullers can stock up with eastern dyestuffs--lovely red from damascus, indigo from jerusalem, and many other colors. you can get beautiful glass vessels made in syria or imitated from oriental models in venice. the monks will buy a quantity of the new paper while they purchase their year's supply of parchment; and adela will authorize the st. aliquis cook to obtain many deniers' worth of precious spices--pepper, cinnamon, clove, and the rest essential for seasoning all kinds of dishes, even if their cost is very dear. the spices are sold by a swarthy, hawk-visaged oriental who speaks french in quaint gutturals, is uncouthly dressed, yet is hardly a jew. it is whispered he is a downright miscreant--_i.e._, an outrageous infidel, possibly not even a mohammedan. perhaps he is native to those lands close to the rising place of the sun whence come the spices. ought one to deal with such people? nevertheless, the spices are desirable and he sells them cheaper than anybody else. there are many other unfamiliar characters at the fair, including a negro mountebank, quite a few germans from the rhenish trading cities, and a scattering of so-called italians, mostly money changers and venders of luxuries, who, however, seem to be really jews that are concealing their unpopular religion for the sake of gain. after the fair commences, many articles are on sale daily; but others are exhibited only for a short time. thus, following the custom at troyes, for the first day or two cloths are displayed in special variety; after that leather goods and furs; then various bulk commodities, such as salt, medicinal drugs, herbs, raw wool, flax, etc.; next comes the excitement of a horse and cattle market, when conon will be induced to buy for his oldest son a palfrey and for his farms a blooded bull;[ ] and after that various general articles will hold the right of way. [illustration: the sale of peltries (bourges)] the pontdebois masters are required to close their shops and do all their business at the fair grounds in order that there may be no unjust competition with the visiting traders. indeed, all business outside the fair grounds is strictly forbidden in order to prevent fraudulent transactions which the bishop's officers cannot suppress. thus, besides the costly imported wares, you can get anything you ordinarily want from the curriers, shoemakers, coppersmiths, hardware, linen, and garment venders, and the dealers in fish, grain, and even bread. all this means a chaffering, chattering, and ofttimes a quarreling, which makes one ask, "have the days of the tower of babel returned?" the sergeants are always flying about on foot or horseback among the winding avenues of tents and booths, and frequently drag off some vagabond for the pillory. they even seize a cut-purse red-handed and soon give the idlers the brutal pleasure of watching a hanging. there are a couple of tents where notaries are ready with wax and parchments to draw up and seal contracts and bargains. flemish merchants are negotiating with their bordeaux compeers to send the latter next year a consignment of solid linseys; while a mayence wine dealer is trying to prove to a seigneur how much his cellars would be improved by a few tuns of rheingold, shipped in to mellow after the next vintage. [sidenote: professional entertainers at fairs] along with all this honest traffic proceed the amusements worthy and unworthy. there are several exhibitors of trick dogs and performing bears. in a cage there is a creature called a "lion," though it is certainly a sick, spiritless, and mangy one; there are also male and female rope dancers and acrobats, professional story tellers, professors of white magic, and, of course, jongleurs of varying quality sawing their viols, or reciting romances and merry _fabliaux_--clever tales, though often indescribably coarse. there are, in addition (let the sinful truth be told) perfect swarms of brazen women of an evil kind; and there is enough heady wine being consumed to fill a brook into the claire. the sergeants continually have to separate drunkards who get to fighting, and to roll their "full brothers"--more completely overcome--into safe places where they can sleep off their liquor unkicked by horses and uncrushed by constantly passing carts. this bustle continues two weeks. by that time everybody who has come primarily to buy has spent all his money. if he has come to sell, presumably he is satisfied. the drunkards are at last sad and sober. "hare! hare!" cry the sergeants on the evening of the last day. the fair is over. the next morning the foreign merchants pack their wares, strike their tents, and wander off to another market fifty miles distant, while the pontdebois traders and industrialists resume their normal activity. they have stocked up with necessary raw materials for the year, they have absorbed many new ideas as to how they can make better wares or trade to more advantage; yet probably most of them are grumbling against "those germans and flemings and jews whom the bishop turns loose on us. blessed saints! how much money they have taken out of the neighborhood!" but the bishop, when his provost reports the tax receipts, is extraordinarily well satisfied. footnotes: [ ] these regulations for a long period were of marked value for insuring a high grade of workmanship according to traditional methods, but later they became a most serious impediment to any improvements in industrial processes. originality, new designs, and labor-saving devices were practically prohibited, and some industries were destined to remain almost stagnant down to the french revolution. [ ] among the oldest traceable guilds in paris were the master chandlers and oilmen, who received royal privileges in . the butchers, tanners, shoemakers, drapers, furriers, and purse makers, were other old parisian guilds. [ ] the fullers were always suing the weavers. could the latter, if they wished, dye the cloth which they themselves had woven? bakers were always at law with keepers of small cookshops who baked their own bread, etc. [ ] certain saints would naturally be the patrons of certain particular crafts--_e.g._, st. joseph of the carpenters, st. peter of the fishmongers, etc. [ ] a master could not employ more than one or two paid workers, lest he build up too big a business and ruin his competitors. the guild system seems deliberately contrived to perpetuate the existence of a great number of _very small_ industries. [ ] the extreme difficulty of collecting loans made to powerful seigneurs went far to explain these astonishing rates of interest. the chances of an unfriended jew being unable to collect any part of his loan were extremely great. as a rule his hopes lay in becoming the indispensable man of business and financier of a king or other great lord who would support him in recovering principal and interest from lesser debtors, in return for great favors to himself. thus richard i of england is alleged to have made the jews settled in his realm furnish nearly _one third_ of his entire revenues, as recompense for allowing them to use his courts to collect from their private debtors. [ ] mediæval coinages varied to such an extreme extent that it is almost impossible to make correct general statements about their modern values. in the time of philip augustus, probably the north french money table was something like this: pound (livre)-- marks-- (earlier ) sous-- deniers-- obols. a sou, merely a money of account, was equal to about modern francs ($ . gold), and the denier, a regular coin, to about one franc ( . cents, gold). the copper obols were thus worth about one cent. but money in the feudal age had a purchasing power equal to at least ten times what it is to-day, and attempts at close estimating are decidedly futile. [ ] the courts of champagne took particular pains to assure merchants of honest treatment and protection, and their fairs were unusually successful. champagne, of course, by its central location between the seine and the rhine, the midi and flemish lands, was exceedingly well placed to attract merchants. [ ] frequently, however, the cattle markets might be held at special seasons entirely apart from the general fairs. chapter xxiii: the lord bishop. the canons. the parish clergy. after conon and his baroness have soiled their gentle blood by discreet trafficking at the pontdebois fair, the seigneur must needs pay a ceremonious call upon the lord bishop. he might indeed have accepted lodgings at the episcopal palace, but it is well not to be put under too many obligations even to so conciliatory a prelate as bishop nivelon. between the lay and ecclesiastical lords there are compliments, but little affection. both unite in despising the villein and distrusting the monks, but there the harmony often ends. the lord bishop occupies almost the apex of the ecclesiastical power, barring only the pope and his cardinals; and all the lay world ought to honor the clergy. a familiar story illustrates the recognition due even to the humbler churchmen. once st. martin was asked to sup with the emperor. he was offered the cup before it was passed to the sovereign. this was a great honor. he was supposed merely to touch the vessel to his lips, then hand it on to his majesty. instead, to the surprise yet admiration of all, he gave it to a poor priest standing behind him, thereby teaching the plain lesson that a servant of god, even of the lowest rank, deserves honor above the highest secular potentate. the clergy is divided into two great sections--the religious (the monks) and the secular clergy who are "in the world" and have the "cure of souls." the parish priests belong, of course, to this second class. they celebrate mass and administer the sacraments and consolations of religion. they are possibly reckoned by the laity a little less holy than the monks, but their power is incalculable. at their head in each diocese (ecclesiastical province) is the bishop. since the wealth of the church embraces at least one fifth of all the real estate of france[ ] and the control of this vast property is largely vested in the bishops, it is easy to see what holding such an office implies. there is no seigneur in quelqueparte so rich as bishop nivelon, barring only the duke himself--and the duke would justly hesitate, quite apart from feelings of piety, to force a quarrel with so great a spiritual lord. [illustration: episcopal throne of the thirteenth century restored by viollet-le-duc, from an ivory in the louvre.] [sidenote: activities and privileges of clergy] it will be hard for other ages to realize the part that is played by the church in the feudal centuries. the clergy are far more than spiritual guides. they are directors of education and maintain about all there is of intellectual life, science, and learning. they help the weak secular authorities to preserve law and order. they supply practically all the teachers, lawyers, and professional nonfeudal judges in christendom, and very many of the physicians. as already stated, that multitude of legal cases known as "probate," involving the disposal of wide estates, often go directly to the church courts. if an ordinary man appears interested in literary matters, he is frequently set down as a "clerk," even if he does not openly claim to have received holy orders. it is indeed very desirable legally for a common person (not a privileged noble) to be barely literate. if he can do this and is arrested on any charge, he can often "plead his clergy." the test is not to produce a certificate showing that he is a priest or monk, but to be able to read a few lines from the bible or other sacred book. if he can read these fateful "neck verses," he may sometimes escape a speedy interview with the hangman. he is then ordinarily handed over to the bishop or the bishop's official (judicial officer) and tried according to the merciful and scientific canon law, which, whatever the offense, will seldom or never order the death penalty, save for heresy.[ ] the worst to be feared is a long imprisonment in the uncomfortable dungeon under the bishop's palace. with conditions like this, what wonder if very worldly elements keep intruding into the secular clergy. many a baron's son balances in his mind--which is better, the seigneur's "cap of presence" or the bishop's miter? the bishop, indeed, cannot marry; but the church is not always very stern in dealing with other forms of social enjoyment. sometimes a powerful reforming pope will make the prelates affect a monkish austerity--but the next pope may prove too busy to be insistent concerning "sins of the flesh." a great fraction of all the bishops are the sons of noble houses. merely becoming tonsured has not made them into saints. they are the children of fighting sires, and they bring into the church much of the turbulence of their fathers and brothers in the castles. [illustration: a bishop of the twelfth century from an enameled plaque representing ulger, bishop of angers ( - ). he wears the albe, the dalmatica, the chasuble, the amice, and the miter. he blesses with the right hand, an attitude in which bishops are often represented.] [sidenote: election of bishops] certainly, men of humble birth can become prelates. it is one of the glories of the church that, thanks to her, the children of poor villeins can receive the homage of the great in this world. pope sylvester ii was the son of a mere shepherd of aurillac. suger, the mighty abbot of st. denis and vice gerent for louis vi, was the son of an actual serf. pope hadrian iv, the only englishman who has ever mounted the throne of st. peter, seems to have had an origin hardly more exalted. all this shows what fortune can sometimes await bright and lucky boys who enter betimes the convent schools instead of following the plow.[ ] but heaven seldom reverses the natural order. as a rule, when a noble enters the church, family influence and the social prestige of his caste will get behind him. he is far more likely to be elected bishop and to enjoy the seats of glory than are his fellow clerics, learned and devout, who have no such backing. nivelon of pontdebois is an example of the average bishop of the superior kind. he was the second son of a sire of moderate means. family influence secured him, while fairly young, the appointment as canon at the cathedral. the old bishop conveniently happened to die at a time when both the duke and his suzerain, the king, thought well of the young canon and were anxious to conciliate his relatives. nivelon, too, had displayed sufficient grasp on business affairs, along with real piety, to make men say that he would prove a worthy "prince spiritual." the canons (with whom the choice nominally lay) made haste to elect him after a broad hint from both the duke and the king. confirmation was obtained from rome after negotiations and possibly some money transfers.[ ] since then nivelon has ruled his diocese well. he has been neither a great theologian nor a man of letters, as are certain contemporaneous bishops, nor a self-seeking politician and a mitered warrior like others. there have been no scandalous luxuries at his palace, and he has never neglected his duties--which none can deny are numerous. there is plenty of excuse for nivelon if he allows religious tasks to be swamped by secular ones. he apparently differs largely from a seigneur in that his interests and obligations are more complex. on his direct domains are parish churches, abbeys, farms, peasant villages, and forests which he must rule by his officials and provosts just as conon rules st. aliquis. he has many noble fiefs which owe him homage and regular feudal duties in peace and war. his knightly vassals wait on him, as do regular lieges, and are bound on state occasions to carry him through his cathedral city seated on his episcopal throne. he does not himself do ordinary homage to the king, but he must take to him a solemn oath of fealty, and assist with armed levies on proper summons. there are many clergy around his palace, but also a regular baronial household--seneschal, steward, chamberlain, marshal, and equerry, though not, as with the laxer prelates, a master of the hawks. so much for monseigneur nivelon's temporal side; but, since he is a self-respecting prelate, his ecclesiastical office is no sinecure. he has to ordain and control all the parish priests (curés), and spends much of his time inspecting the rural churches and listening to complaints against offending priests, suspending and punishing the guilty. indeed, his days are consumed by a curious mixture of duties. just before conon ceremoniously calls upon him he has been listening first to a complaint from a castellan about the need of new trenchbuts for the defense of a small castle pertaining to the bishopric, and then to the report of his "official" concerning a disorderly priest accused of blaspheming the trinity while in his cups in a tavern. [sidenote: ecclesiastical duties of bishops] once a year nivelon has to hold a synod in the choir of his cathedral. all the nonmonastic clergy of the diocese are supposed to be present, and he has to preach before them, stating home truths about christian conduct and administering public reprimands and discipline. often his routine is interrupted by the commands of the king that he, as a well-versed man of the world, shall come to paris to give counsel, or even go to england or flanders as the royal ambassador. if the king does not demand his time, the pope is likely to be using him to investigate some disorderly abbey,[ ] or as arbiter between two wrangling fellow ecclesiastics. it would be lucky if a summons did not presently come, ordering the bishop to take the very tedious and expensive journey to rome to assist at some council (such as the lateran council of ) or be party to some long-drawn litigation. [illustration: a bishop of the thirteenth century from the tomb of evrard de frouilloy, bishop of amiens, died in and was buried in the cathedral of that city. he wears beneath the albe, the chasuble.] a conscientious bishop can, indeed, be no idler. if he has any spare time he can always spend it sitting as judge in cases which if he is compelled to be absent he deputes to his official. the canon law is far more scientific than local customs. nivelon, or his deputy, has also a clear understanding of issues which will leave even so well-meaning a seigneur as conon hopelessly befuddled. the church courts refuse to settle cases by duels. as a rule, too, they discourage ordeals, despite the alleged intervention of god therein. trials in the bishop's court betake of inquests based on firm evidence taken before experienced judges. the result is that many honest suitors try to get their cases before the church tribunals--and, as stated, the jurisdiction of the church is very wide. a bishop, therefore, if he wishes, can put in almost his whole time playing the solomon; or, if he prefer, he can almost always find the estates of the diocese enmeshed in financial problems which it will tax his best energies to disentangle. all these things nivelon is supposed to do or must get done. what wonder (considering mortal frailty) that many men who seek the episcopate for temporal advantage often bring their great office into contempt? it is true that sometimes very worldly young clerics, when once elected, are sobered by their responsibilities and become admirable prelates. there is a story of a college of canons which decided to elect to the vacant bishopric a fellow member "who was excellent in mother wit," but who, when they sought him to tell of his honor, was actually dicing in a tavern. forth they dragged him, "weeping and struggling," to the cathedral, and thrust him into the episcopal chair. once enthroned, however, he proved sober and capable, thus proving how, despite his original sins, "the free gift of virtue which had come upon him (by consecration) shaped the possibilities of an excellent nature." [sidenote: evil and luxurious prelates] this is all very well, but the sacred honor does not always work such reformation. the monks never conceal the faults of the rival branch of the clergy. a monkish preacher has lately declaimed: "the bishops surpass as wolves and foxes. they bribe and flatter in order to extort. instead of being protectors of the church, they are its ravishers." or again, "jesus wore hair cloth; they silken vestments. they care not for souls, but for falcons; not for the poor, but for hunting dogs. the churches from being holy places have become market places and haunts for brigands." most of this is mere rhetoric, and such sweeping generalizations are unjust. if the majority of bishops are not ascetics, neither are they rapacious libertines. nevertheless, even as one ill-ruled abbey brings contempt on many austere establishments, so a few faithless bishops bring scandal on the whole episcopate. some years ago pope innocent iii had to denounce a south french bishop as "serving no other god but money, and having a purse in place of a heart." this wretch was charged with selling church offices, or leaving them vacant in order to seize their incomes, while the monks and canons under him (says the pope) "were laying aside the habit, taking wives, living by usury, and becoming lawyers, jongleurs, or doctors."[ ] acts like these have forced the council of paris in to forbid bishops to wear laymen's garments or luxurious furs; to use decorated saddles or golden horse bits, to play games of chance, to go hunting, to swear or let their servants swear, to hear matins while still in bed, or excommunicate innocent people out of mere petulance. bishops, too, are not supposed to bear arms, but we have seen how they sometimes compromise on "bloodless" heavy maces. nivelon occasionally lets a secular advocate or vidame lead his feudal levy, but at times he will ride in person. a bishop, of course, was king philip's chief of staff at bouvines,[ ] although in excuse it should be said he had been the member of a military monastic order; but bishop odo of bayeux fought at hastings ( ) before any such authorized champions of the church existed. one need not multiply examples. that bishops shall genuinely refrain from warfare is really a "pious wish" not easily in this sinful world to be granted. a bishop can, however, justify this assertion of the church militant. he must fight to maintain the rights of the bishopric against the encroaching nobility. around the royal domain conditions are reasonably secure, but here in quelqueparte, as elsewhere in the average feudal principalities, it is useless to ask the suzerain to do very much to defend his local bishop, the two are so likely to be very unfriendly themselves. anathemas cannot check the more reckless seigneurs. in the bishop of verdun was killed in a riot by a lance thrust, and in this very year the bishop of puy (in the south of france) has been slain by noblemen whom he had excommunicated. the murderers have doubtless lost their souls, but this fact does not recall the dead! jongleurs (who echo baronial prejudices) are always making fun of bishops, in their epics alleging that they lead scandalous lives and are extraordinarily avaricious, even when summoned to contribute for a war against the infidels. the truth is, the bishops, being often recruited from the nobility, frequently keep all their old fighting spirit. the bishop opposes a neighboring viscount, just as the viscount will oppose his other neighbor, a baron. frequently enough the war between a bishop and a lay seigneur differs in no respect from a normal feud between two seigneurs who have never been touched by tonsure and chrism. [sidenote: friction with abbots and barons] there are other frictions less bloody, but even more distressing to the church. if there is an exempt abbey in the diocese--independent of the bishop and taking orders from only the pope--the abbot and the bishop are often anything but "brethren." each is continually complaining about the other to the vatican. however, even if the local abbey is not directly under the pope, its head is likely to defy the bishop as much as possible. abbots are always trying to put themselves on equality with bishops and intriguing at rome for the right to wear episcopal sandals, a miter, etc. so the strength of the church is wasted, to the great joy of the devil. it is counted a sign that the bishop of pontdebois and the abbot of st. aliquis are both superior prelates, that their relations are reasonably harmonious. however, it is with the nobles that nivelon has his main troubles. one of the reasons why conon wishes to see the bishop is to complain of how certain st. aliquis peasants are being induced to settle on the church lands. villeins somehow feel that they are better treated by a bishop or abbot than by the most benevolent of seigneurs. "there is good living under the cross," runs the proverb. also, the baron wishes to urge the bishop not to excommunicate a fellow noble who is at issue with the prelate over some hunting rights. it is all very well for the bishop to devote to the evil one and the eternal fire a really sacrilegious criminal. the fact remains that many nobles allege that they are excommunicated, and unless reinstated lose their very hopes of heaven, merely because they have differed from great churchmen as to extremely secular property questions. the fearful ceremony of excommunication is liable to fall into contempt except when used in the most undoubted cases. a resolute baron, sure of his cause, can defy the anathema and, if his followers stand by him, may hold out until he forces a compromise. if the struggle is bitter, however, the bishop has another weapon. he can put the offending seigneur's lands and castles under the interdict. doubtless it is a harsh thing to deny all religious services and sacraments, save the last unction to the dying, to thousands of innocent persons merely because their lord persists in some worldly policy. yet this is done frequently, and is, of course, of great efficacy in getting pious people, and especially the womenfolk, to put pressure upon their seigneur to come to terms with the church. sometimes an "intermittent" interdict is established. thus, for a long time the count and the bishop of auxerre were at enmity. the count, a hardened scoffer, was no wise troubled by excommunication. then the bishop ordained that as soon as the count entered the city of auxerre all the offices of religion, except baptism and last unction, should be suspended. the moment he and his men departed the church bells rang and religious life resumed. the instant he returned there was more bell ringing--whereat the churches were closed. the count did not dare to stay very long in the city, because of popular murmurs; yet he and the bishop kept up this unedifying war for fifteen years until the pope induced the king to induce the count to submit to the church by a humiliating penance. excommunication and interdict are thus weapons which a lord spiritual can use against a lord temporal, to supplement crossbows and lances. unfortunately they have fewer terrors against foes which all bishops, including nivelon, have within their own household--the chapters of canons at the cathedrals. [sidenote: a chapter of canons] to be a canon is almost equal to enjoying the perquisites of some less valuable bishopric without the grievous cares of the episcopal office. the chapter of canons constitutes the privileged body of ecclesiastics who maintain the worship at the cathedral. as you go through pontdebois you see the great gray mass of the new episcopal church rising ahead of you. presently a solid wall is reached, protected by a gate and towers. this is the cathedral "close," a separate compound next to the majestic church and communicating with it by a special entrance. within this close one passes under strictly ecclesiastical jurisdiction. here is a pretentious residence, the bishop's palace, and a pleasant garden, and here is also a group of smaller houses--the habitations of the canons. these last form the chapter of canons who enjoy as a corporate body a quantity of lands, seigneurial rights, officers, and goodly income quite separate from the bishops. supposedly they are controlled by a rule, but it is a rule far less severe than that of most monks. the chapter here, as elsewhere, is largely recruited from the local noble houses. church law nominally forbids it, but the fact remains that many, if not most, canons are practically nominated, whenever there is a vacancy in the chapter, by this or that powerful seigneur. to get a relative a prebend (income from endowment) as canon is often equivalent to providing for life for a kinsman to whom you might otherwise have to cede a castle. it is well understood that since years ago a baron of st. aliquis endowed with large gifts a certain prebend, his successors have the naming of its occupants, as often as it falls vacant. after conon has visited the bishop, he will pay a friendly call on "his canon," not without a certain desire to verify the reports that this elderly cleric is in poor health and not long for the present world. if such rumors are correct, the baron must consider whether a certain remote cousin feels summoned to endure the hardships of a religious life, and what substantial favors this ambitious cousin and his father could give conon for the privilege. a canon who performs _all_ his duties is hardly idle. he is supposed to take part in the incessant and often extraordinarily elaborate services at every cathedral. he should possess a good physical presence, and intone the offices with elegance and precision. every week day he has to chant through five services, and on sunday through nine. on certain great feasts and holidays there are still more. anthems, responses, psalms, prayers, hymns, also public processions should keep him turning leaves of the ponderous ordinaries and manuals until he knows every chant therein by heart. [sidenote: worldliness of canons] it is possible, however, to find substitutes in all the less important services. there are plenty of humbly born poor priests hovering around every cathedral, glad of a pittance to act as the lordly canon's deputies. a worldly minded canon therefore does not feel this duty of chanting to be very arduous. of course, if he is absent too often, or from very important ceremonies, there is comment, scandal, and a reprimand from the bishop; but a wise bishop does not interfere with his canons except on grave provocation. they form an independent corporation with well-intrenched privileges. their head, the dean, is entirely conscious that he is the second cleric in the diocese and that he need not look to the bishop for dignity and glory. the bishop himself has been to a certain extent chosen by these very canons. it will depend considerably upon their attitude toward him whether his dying moments are not embittered by the knowledge that his dearest enemy is not to be elected his successor. finally, a chapter of canons can make a bishop's life a gehenna by filing complaints against him with the archbishop (always glad to interfere), or directly at rome. when men say that nivelon has got along tolerably with his chapter as well as with his neighboring abbot and seigneurs, they prove again that he is an unusually tactful prelate. it is a fine thing, therefore, to be one of the dozen-odd canons, young or old, who inhabit the sacred close at pontdebois. they can be identified by their special costume, the loose surplice of linen with wide sleeves covering the cassock, and by the "amice," a headdress of thick black stuff with a flat top and terminating on each corner in a kind of horn. baron conon points out to his sons these well-fed men of florid complexion, contented and portly, moving with slow dignity about the cathedral close. "how would you enjoy being a canon?" he asks of small anseau, his youngest boy. "there are no better dinners than those in the chapter refectory; and remember that your brother will have to get the castle." anseau shakes his head and scowls: "i might be a monk, yes," he rejoined; "monks save their souls and go to heaven--but a canon--ugh! they must weary god by their idleness. françois may have st. aliquis; but let him give me a good destrer and good armor. i will seek my fortune and win new lands." "the saints bless your words," cries his father, "there spoke a true st. aliquis! and remember this: when cavalier or jongleur rails hardest against worthless churchmen, it is not bishop, priest, or monk whom half the time they have in their pates, but slothful canons. yet i must see the revered father flavien, and learn if his cough _is_ really as bad as they say!" nivelon secures peace by letting his canons largely alone--to their great content. fortunately, the good laymen of quelqueparte do not depend entirely upon their spiritual administrations. the "cure of souls" rests with the parish priests. these are scattered all through the diocese. their management takes up a large part of the bishop's crowded time. [illustration: a deacon (thirteenth century) he wears an albe, the dalmatica, the amice, the stole, and the maniple. from a statue in the cathedral of chartres.] [sidenote: appointment of parish priests] every church requires at least one priest in residence to say mass and afford religious comfort to the laity. if competent bishops could always have appointed this clergy, much sorrow would have been eliminated. unfortunately, the bishop can only name a fraction. practically every noncathedral church has its patron, the heir or beneficiary of the wealthy personage who once endowed the local establishment. this patron may be the bishop himself, but often the honor may be enjoyed by an abbey, or a chapter of canons, or, in a majority of cases, by some very secular seigneur. conon will say. "i hold the patronage of eight churches," just as he will say, "i hold st. aliquis castle." the patron is entitled to a share of the tithe (tax for religious purposes) and other income of the parish, before turning the remainder over to the officiating priest. he can, in addition, "present to the living"--that is, name the new curé for the parish upon every vacancy. the bishop is supposed, indeed, to confirm the candidate, and should not do so without investigation as to the other's fitness, but he will hesitate to offend the patron by refusal to proceed with the ceremony unless the impediment is gross and patent. the candidate is asked to decline a latin noun, to conjugate a simple verb, to chant a few familiar psalms with fair voice--that is probably about all the test for learning. to make matters worse, if the candidate fears his own bishop, he can go to another diocese and probably get a licence from a less exacting prelate. a bishop is obliged to honor the certificate issued by his equal. he can seldom then refuse after that to invest the priest with the parish. the last stage of scandal comes when the patron actually takes money for presenting a candidate. this is, of course, a terrible crime against the church: it is simony--after the fashion of the accursed simon magnus, who was guilty of trying to purchase "the gift of god with money." nivelon has just had to induct into a parish an ill-taught, worldly fellow, the son of a rich peasant, who somehow persuaded the viscount of foretvert that he was fit to have the spiritual conduct of five hundred christians. the bishop has heard ugly rumors about "two hundred deniers," yet for lack of real proof is helpless. it is feared these scandals are frequent, but many times, if candidate and seigneur are willing to imperil their souls, what can be done? as a rule, however, conscientious patrons name well-reputed lads from their barony, the sons of thrifty peasants or of petty nobles, who have been to the school attached to a convent or cathedral, and who have developed an aptitude for saying masses rather than for plowing or fighting. the favor is bestowed rather as a reward for faithful service by the youth's family or to insure the same in the future, than for any direct money consideration. to be a parish priest is not a very high honor. after the patron has taken his share of the tithe, and the bishop another share, the curé is likely to be left with barely enough income to put him among the better class of peasants. yet, after all, he is now caught up into the great body politic of the church. the latter will not let him starve. it will give him a decent old age. it will protect him against those gross cruelties which seigneurs may inflict on any peasant. it will make him the most important individual in the average village--often the only person therein understanding the mysteries of parchments. if he is a worthy man, his influence as counselor, friend, and arbiter will be almost boundless. he will receive a personal respect almost equal to that due to a cavalier. finally, there is always the chance that he may win some magnate's favor, and by good luck or merit rise to greater things. father grégoire, conon's chaplain, although nominally only a poor priest, is probably more influential in st. aliquis than sire eustace, the seneschal--conon sometimes complains good naturedly that he is more powerful than conon himself. so then, apart from any desire for strictly religious leadership, it is no bad thing for a lad of humble origin to be appointed parish priest. [sidenote: evil and faithful priests] if, however, to receive a parish means not a holy trust, but a sordid opportunity, what a chance for making the fiends rejoice! every jongleur, when he runs out of more legitimate stories, chatters about godless priests. charges against the parish clergy are the small coin of filthy gossip--how they violate their vows of celibacy in a shameless manner; how they frequent taverns, take part in low brawls, drink "up to their throats," and lie torpid in the fields; how they fight with their parishioners; how they sell strong drink like tapsters; how they play dice, gamble and often cheat their opponents, etc. another set of charges is that if their means admit, they wear armor like nobles, or dress like foppish laymen, and ride out with hawks or dogs. more familiar still are the accusations of extreme covetousness; of the outrageous exaction of fees for administering the sacraments, even to the dying; of performing shameless marriages for money; of refusing burial services until they have been bribed; and, in short, of converting themselves into financial harpies. all this is undeniable. yet it must be remembered that the number of parish clergy is very great, and the proportion of evildoers is (considering their manner of appointment) no more than might be expected. many of the parish priests are true ministers of god who counsel the simple, persuade the erring, comfort the sorrowing, and leave the world better than they found it. a few, too, spend their leisure in genuine pursuit of learning, like that father lambert of ardes (in flanders) who is deeply read in old latin authors and christian fathers and who has composed an excellent local chronicle--worthy to rank with the best produced in the monasteries. taken, therefore, at large, despite much dross, the men of the church do not cast away their great opportunity. if alms and charity relieve the wretched, if letters and science have a genuine power, if the world retains other ideals than those of the tourney, the feud, and the foray, if villeins are taught that they, too, are men with immortal souls no less than are the barons, the glory belongs surely not to the castle, but to the monastery and to the parish. and when a good churchman dies, especially, of course, if he has been an effective and benignant bishop, all the region knows its loss. when the late bishop of auxerre departed, it was written, "it would be impossible to tell how great was the mourning throughout the entire city, and with what groaning and lamentations sorrow was shown by all who followed his funeral." while of the great and good bishop maurice of paris, builder of notre dame, it was recorded, when he passed in , that "he was a vessel of affluence, a fertile olive tree in the house of the lord. he shone by his knowledge, his preaching, his many alms, and his good deeds." like every other institution, the church of the feudal age is entitled to be judged by its best and not by its worst. footnotes: [ ] _one third_ of the real estate of germany was alleged to have belonged to the church. of course, much of this belonged to monasteries, to the endowments of canons (cathedral clergy), or of the parish priests, etc., but the bishops assuredly enjoyed or at least controlled the lion's share. [ ] in the case of heretics, the church did not execute the offenders by its own officers. it merely "relaxed" them to secular officials, who at once put the old civil laws against misbelievers in force. of course, the church could not secure the immunity of traitors and great criminals, yet even those were usually treated more tenderly if they could claim ecclesiastical jurisdiction. [ ] one could go on multiplying such cases. for example, maurice of sully, who was bishop of paris under philip augustus, was the son of a poor peasant. he managed his diocese admirably and bequeathed not merely considerable wealth to his relatives, but large properties to two abbeys and also funds for poor relief. [ ] the question of the technical relations at this time of both papacy and royalty to the appointment and investiture of french bishops is one that must be left for more detailed and learned volumes. [ ] some abbeys would be directly under the bishop and liable to visitation and discipline by him at any time. others would be supposed to be directly under the authority of the pope (see p. ) but the vatican would often send orders to a competent bishop to investigate and act on charges against them. [ ] manasses (a great cleric, chancellor of the chapter of amiens) caused himself to be represented on his seal not holding a pious book, as was usual, but in hunting costume on horseback, a bird on his wrist and a dog following. he was evidently a worldly noble "who had the tastes of his class and led a noble's life." [ ] see p. . chapter xxiv: the cathedral and its builders. baron conon and adela had still another duty ere they returned to st. aliquis. they were fain to go with their sons, and each burn a tall candle before the altar of our lady in the cathedral. all dwellers near pontdebois are intensely proud of their great church. it has been building now these forty years. at last it is fairly complete, although the left tower has still to be carried up to the belfry, and very many niches lack the sculptured saints presently to occupy them. a worthy cathedral, like a worthy character, is growing continually. probably the feudal age will end before notre dame de pontdebois is completed as its pious designers have intended.[ ] the cathedral is the center for a large group of buildings whereof most are in the noble pointed (gothic) style of architecture. as just explained, in the sacred close there is the bishop's palace and the houses of the canons; there are also a cloister for promenading, a school (much like that at the monastery), a room for a library, and a synodal hall for meetings of the canons and where the bishop can conduct litigation. there is, in addition, a hospital for sick clerics. the whole forms a little world sequestered from the uproar and sordid bustle of the marts and workshops of pontdebois. as you enter the cathedral compound, exterior cares are suddenly left behind you--a great sense of peace is realized. one hears the wind softly whistling through the soaring tracery of the massive right tower. there is a whirring flutter of doves from their homes under the flying buttresses. through a section opened in the floral tracery of a great window comes the rumbling of an organ and the deep gregorian chant of some hymn from the psalter. utter contrast it all is either to the hammering and chaffering of the city, or the equally worldly clatter of the castle court! the vast tower pointing upward speaks even to the thoughtless, "fortress and city, trade and tourney endure only for the instant--the things of the spirit abide forever." the cathedral, by its vast and soaring bulk, completely dwarfs the comparatively small and mean houses of the town. they are of thatch and wood. it is of stone. they lack even a tawdry magnificence. the cathedral could gaze with contempt on royal palaces. this fact teaches even more clearly than words the enormous place occupied by the church in the feudal age. it is not by its literature and learning (though these are not to be despised), but _by its sacred architecture and sculpture_ that the spirit of this era displays its power and originality. in contemplating so magnificent a fabric, it is best to remember that it is the work of men of ardent faith, profoundly convinced that in the church building there dwells continually upon the high altar god himself, invisible but ever present. squalid dwellings may suffice for man, but not for the creator. and since god actually takes his abode in such an edifice, every art must contribute to its splendor. architects, sculptors, painters, jewelers, all perform their best, each rendering his homage to the eternal. the cathedral, therefore, sums up all that is noblest in the art of the time when it is erected. [illustration: notre dame and the bishop's palace at the beginning of the thirteenth century from the restoration of m. hoffbauer. at the left the petit-pont and the buildings of the archbishop's palace, destroyed in ; the cathedral, of which the choir and the south transept were finished only at this date; behind the cathedral, on the ground occupied to-day by a public garden, was the church of saint-denis du pas, built previous to the cathedral and destroyed in .] since the nave of such a church often can be used for secular mass meetings without fear of impiety, and since a whole countryside will claim the right to throng the edifice on great festival days, a cathedral has to be far larger than an ancient pagan temple.[ ] it must possess an interior meet for elaborate processions, stopping often at each of twenty-odd altars lining its walls. to erect a building like this is an undertaking in which a whole countryside can be asked to join. about forty years ago the old cathedral, built in the ancient romanesque (round-arched) style with a wooden roof, was falling into disrepair, and the new pointed, stone-vaulted architecture was developing through all france. people from regions round made remarks about the "impiety" of the clergy and folk near pontdebois in "dishonoring heaven." various prelates taunted the ruling bishop thibaut with his mean cathedral. this thibaut, however, had been an energetic as well as a devout man. by prudent administration of the diocese he had saved considerable money. he next persuaded his canons to curtail their luxuries and to contribute generously. means, too, were taken to lure money from the faithful. the holy relics were exhibited. indulgence from purgatory was promised to donors. conscience-stricken barons were urged to atone for their crimes by liberal gifts to the new enterprise. civic pride and excited piety won the deniers from the pontdebois trade and industrial masters. a rich countess left a notable legacy on condition that the canons should always pray for her soul on the anniversary of her death. so between coaxing and religious feeling a goodly fund was collected--and, as was wisely said, "the new cathedral has saved many souls"--meaning that many sinful people were happily moved to redeeming acts of generosity. there were even gifts, it is said, from brigands and evil women, likewise a good many less debatable presents in kind, as when a baron gave both the necessary oak and the pay of the carvers for making the magnificent choir stalls, besides presenting the great stained-glass rose window. whatever the source, no donation was denied, the bishop counting it fortunate if even the booty of thieves could be turned to the glory of god. [sidenote: building the cathedral] bishop thibaut found a skillful architect, a norman, half cleric, half layman, who had assisted on one of the great churches at rouen. the plans this man drew up were very elaborate, but he did not live to see them more than half executed. even if workmen and money failed not, it was dangerous to rush the erection of the great piers, buttresses, and vaulted ceilings. at auxerre, where they tried to hasten the work, much of the choir suddenly collapsed "like a crash of thunder," though heaven mercifully prevented the loss of life. at noyon they began to build in . their cathedral was nearly finished by . notre dame de paris was begun in , and the choir was fairly completed by ; but the great towers and façade certainly cannot be finished before . rheims was begun in , but undoubtedly even the work on the choir cannot be ended under thirty years from that date. if pontdebois is reasonably complete after forty years of effort it is therefore being built more expeditiously than the average cathedral. indeed, many wiseacres shake their heads. "too much haste," they mutter; "when one builds for god and in order to last till his judgment day, it is very sinful to hurry." first the choir was finished with all energy possible, for here the canons must constantly chant their offices. the nave, which was more for popular gatherings, waited till later. there was great rejoicing when at last the main portal was so far completed that a very fine and tenderly carved statue of christ could be set above the same. "_our beautiful god!_" the people lovingly call the image; and from that time, year by year, the work went forward, every member or ornament that was added seeming to suggest something additional, as if the achieving of perfection were to be a work for eternity. [sidenote: cathedral a natural growth] to erect the main structure of his cathedral, thibaut had called in a traveling fraternity of workmen, the lodging-house keepers of the good god, who obeyed the master of the work--_i.e._, an architect. they would stay for years in one place, recruiting new members as old ones died, then moving elsewhere when no longer needed. this fraternity erected the main structure of the building; then thibaut passed away, money failed, and enthusiasm somewhat lapsed. however, twenty years later, a new fraternity were put to work on the façade and towers. this was more delicate work, involving a great deal of skillful carving. they were obliged to stop again before completion had been attained. probably a score of years hence, still another such fraternity will raise the second tower. meantime, every year, a few skillful craftsmen, sustained by donations, add a statue here and a gargoyle yonder, put richly painted glass into another window, or complete the intricate carving around the railing to the pulpit stairs. now and then there is a special exhibition of relics to attract worshipers and their alms.[ ] one of the results is that the style of the different parts of the cathedral differs subtly according to the respective periods of their construction. there is not a contradiction, but only a pleasing variety. one feels that _the cathedral is something living_. it has come into being, not by arbitrary creation, but by a natural growth; like a mighty, comfort-spreading tree. [illustration: thirteenth-century window in the cathedral of chartres, representing saint christopher carrying christ] as we wander about this glorious fabric, with its hundreds of statues,[ ] its blazing windows, its vaulted roof which hangs its massive weight of stone so safely above our heads, all attempts at detailed description become futile. let them be left for other books and other moods. later generations doubtless will record at great length that about the middle of the twelfth century a great activity in church building, as a surpassing work of christian piety, began to manifest itself especially in northern france. this activity was not to spend itself for more than a hundred years.[ ] it absorbed much of the best thought and energy of the time. in addition, it developed a genuinely new type of architecture, a real innovation upon those models traceable back to the pagan greek. we come to the reign of the pointed arch which adapts itself to endless curves and varieties. we have, too, the grouped columns which uphold the groins of the lofty vaulting, their members radiating outward like the boughs of a stately forest. these columns and piers can be made amazingly light, thanks to the daring use of flying buttresses, an invention not merely of great utility, but of great beauty. thanks also to these grouped pillars, groins, and buttresses, the walls between the bays (intervals between the columns) are in no wise needed to uphold the roof of stone; and as a result these bays can be filled up with thin curtain walls crowned above with enormous windows which are filled with a delicate tracery and a stained glass that throws down upon the pavement of the church all the rainbow tints of heaven. each bay is likely to contain a separate chapel or at least an altar to some particular saint. over the portal, where the main entrance gives access to the long nave, radiates the mighty rose window, the final triumph of the glass and tracery. and so through all the vast structure--huge in proportions, yet, as it were, a harmonious mass of fair carving and jewel work, until (even as says holy writ) "the whole body fitly joined together, and compacted by that which every joint supplyeth, according to the effectual working in every part, maketh increase of the body unto the edifying of itself in love." [sidenote: magnificent dimensions of cathedrals] so the apostle of the making of a christian man, so, too, of the making of the august church. and after saying this, what profit to add that this cathedral has a length of about four hundred feet, that the ceiling of the nave rises at least one hundred feet above the pavement, that the rose window is nearly forty feet in diameter, that the higher tower is much more than two hundred?[ ] numbers are for sordid traffic, they are not for a work wrought out of a passionate love of man toward god. we cannot stay to linger over the symbolism which they tell us is in every part of the church; how the "communion of saints" is proclaimed by the chapels clustering around the choir and nave; how the delicate spire which rises at the center of the transepts teaches that "vanquishing earthly desire we should also ascend in heart and mind"; how the triple breadth of the nave and two aisles, likewise the triple stretch of the choir, transepts and nave, proclaim the holy trinity; and how the serried armies of piers and columns announce the prophets and apostles who uphold the fabric of the church; while font, altar, crucifix, and crosses innumerable attest the earthly pilgrimage and redeeming passion of jesus christ. but the cathedral is more than a great collection of allegories. everywhere in stained glass, and still more in the multitudinous images, is told the bible story. the characters are not clothed in hebraic fashion. "baron abraham" and "sire david" appear in ring mail like doughty cavaliers. the history of the good warrior judas maccabæus perhaps is told in greater detail than that of prophets like isaiah and jeremiah. but very few important stories are omitted, and, above all, the great pageant of the life of jesus is worked out in loving detail. the child, who is brought time and again to visit the cathedral, knows almost every essential bible narrative, albeit he may never learn to read even french, much less to con the latin of the vulgate. likewise, in the cathedral rest the tombs of brave seigneurs and worthy bishops, each covered either with an effigy showing his armor and his beloved hunting dogs couched at his feet, or in his pontificals; and the tombs also of noble women, sculptured as richly clad, who have made life beautiful by their worthy living, and who now rest securely until god's great judgment. so the cathedral is both a temple for the hopes of the present, and an inspiration from the remote and nearer past.[ ] [sidenote: stained glass and sculptures] after he had prayed beside his father and mother, little anseau stole away from the altar and wandered timidly about the church. in a corner of a transept he found a stone craftsman completing a small image of st. elizabeth to adorn some niche. the sculptor was polishing the back of the statue no less carefully than the front. "why such trouble?" asked the boy curiously. "no one can see the back." "ah, my fair damoiseau," replied the other, smiling, "no man, of course; _but god can see_. this is for the cathedral; and is god 'no one'?" the next day, having spent all their money and become wearied of the mechanic bustle of pontdebois, baron conon and his company rode back to st. aliquis. after they had traveled for miles, the great mass of the cathedral was still visible behind them. the feudal age has produced very much that is evil--it has also produced the gothic church and its builders. by which ought the epoch be judged? seven hundred years afterward the donjon of st. aliquis is an ivy-covered ruin. vanished is the monastery; vanished, too, the peasants' huts. in the smoky industrial city on the site of pontdebois not one ancient stone seems left upon another. but, hold! soaring high above ugly roof and factory chimney, with its airy pinnacles denouncing a life of materialism and doubt, visited by admiring pilgrims from beyond the sea of darkness, the great fabric of the gray cathedral remains. footnotes: [ ] few or no cathedrals were _really_ completed at any time, in the sense that all the details of their design were brought to perfection. [ ] for example, notre dame de paris covered four times the floor area of the parthenon at athens (a decidedly large greek temple) with its nave thrice as high as the older building. of course, a greek temple was primarily for housing a holy image; the great sacrifices and the throng of worshippers would be outside the edifice in the open, unlike a christian church. [ ] one device was to take an extra-precious relic and intrust it to monks, who would place it in a cart and drive through a wide region haranguing the faithful and holding out a purse for them to fill. at rouen one of the cathedral towers was known as the "butter tower," because it was largely built with money given for permission to eat butter in lent. [ ] at rheims, prior to the german bombardment of , there were more than two thousand statues. [ ] during this period there were built in france some eighty cathedrals and more than five hundred large and superior churches in this gothic style. [ ] such figures would indicate that pontdebois cathedral was somewhat smaller than notre dame de paris. it could rank up well among the great churches of france, yet not at all in the first class. [ ] st. john of damascus, writing in the orient in the eighth century, gave what amounted to the standard justification of holy images and pictures in churches and for the veneration of the same: "i am too poor to possess books, i have no leisure for reading. i enter the church choked with the cares of the world; the glowing colors attract my sight like a flowery meadow; and the glory of god steals imperceptibly into my soul. i gaze on the fortitude of the martyr and the crown with which he is rewarded, and the fire of holy emulation is kindled within me. i fall down and worship god _through_ the martyr; and i receive salvation." index a abbey, see monastery. abbot, election and powers of, , . sometimes profligate, . adubbement, see knighthood. advocates, of monasteries, . alexander, romances of, . alms, collected at feasts, ; see charity. apprentices, . arbalists, . architecture, military, improved by crusader, . aristotle, authority of, . armor, ff. assembleur, a literary, . b backgammon, . bailey of castle, . buildings and scene inside, . baillis, seigneurial officers, nt. _banalités_, . banner, of baronial castle, . baptism, customs at, . barbican, . baronial family, of superior type, . baron, usual rights of, . cruel and outrageous, , , . typical feuds and neighbors, . superior type of, . baronial feuds, ff. barony, composition and government of, , . bath, before adubbement, . battle cries, . battle, bouvines, typical of feudal warfare, ff. mobilization for, . preliminaries of, . array of the armies, . engagement of the infantry, , . the battle cries, nt. charge of french cavalry, , . flight of otto iv, . rout of germans and flemings, . tactics and strategy employed, , . beards, shaved by noblemen, . beds, great feather, . bedrooms, furniture of, ff. beer, . beffroi, in sieges, . bells, of communal donjon, . bertran de born, war songs by, . betrothals, . beverages, , . bill of fare, at feasts, . on fast days, . billiards, game of, . birth, customs at, . bishop, ff. honors of, . wealth and power of, . desirability of office, . how elected, . vast secular duties, . employed by king or pope, . wrote ecclesiastical duties, . worldly types of, , . forbidden secular luxuries, . participates in warfare, . friction with abbots and barons, . abuse right to excommunicate, , . interdict by, . relations with canons, ff. relations with parish priests, ff. bishops, visit disorderly monasteries, . books, elegant copies of, . brandy, . bread, varieties of, . bride, costume of, . bridegroom, costume of, . bridges, state of, . bridge tolls, baronial, . buffet of knighthood, , . c camps, in feudal warfare, . canons, elect bishops, , . nature of office, . duties of, . worldly and gross, . carpets of rushes, and "saracen," . cartel of defiance, . carver, at feast, . castle, position of between rivers, . built to resist vikings, . famous specimens of, . siege of, ff. castle, of st. aliquis, original plan of, . primitive tower of, ; disadvantages of early type, . rebuilt on improved model, . palisade before, . barbican outer barrier, . lists before bailey, . bailey, gates and porters, . walls and parapet, . great difficulty of attacking, . scene in the bailey, . buildings in the bailey, , . cookhouse in bailey, . inner ward of, . inner gate, . main court yard of, . donjon of, . halls of, ff. prison under donjon, . summit of great tower, . watchman on tower, . palais, main residential building, , . furniture in hall and chambers, ff. castle building, era of, . castle folk, one huge family, . intimate relations between, , . organization of, . "cat," siege engine, . cats, . cathedral, numerous uses of, . express the best spirit of the age, . erection a regional undertaking, . initial stages of building, . fraternity of builders, . building a natural growth, . use of arches, columns and buttresses, . stately dimensions required, . magnificent stained glass, . every part a work of piety, . chambers, of baronial castle, . chansons de geste, ff., . charity, ff. motives for, . alms very customary, . given by monasteries, . charter, communal, , . checkers, game of, . cheese, varieties of, . chess, in great acceptance, . history of game, . chessmen, . children, rearing of, ff. early education of, . christmas celebrations and plays, . church, endeavors to regulate marriages, , . resists divorces, . vast wealth of, nt. see bishop, abbey, monastery, canons, priests, etc. city, entrance to, . crowded streets, . lack of air and sanitation, . population of, nt. great burghers of, . burgher mansion, . danger from fires, . the civic donjons, . communal charger, . see commune. cleanliness, personal, among upper classes, . lack of, in woolen clothing, . clergy, legal privileges of, , . see bishop, canons, priests, monks. clerk, see clergy, church, etc. cloisters, of abbey, . clothing, of peasants, . coinage, confusion in, . commerce, see shops, industries, fairs. commune, charter of, , . privileges of inhabitants, . clergy rail at commune, . communal insurrections, . jurisdiction of bishop, . rule by echevins and rich merchants, , . corvées, . courtesy, training in, . cowls, . clothing, male and female, ff. materials used, . garments of noblemen, . headdress for men, . garments of noblewomen, . use of silks and furs, . rapid changes in fashions, . dress of lower classes, . headdress of women, . conspicuous costumes to indicate evil characters, . cookery and foods, ff. implements in cookhouse, . meat frequently boiled, . game especially desired, , . butcher's meat, . poultry, . fish, . soups, . meat pies, . cookhouse, in a castle, . cosmetics, use of by women, . cross bows, . crusades, on wane in xiii century, . improve military architecture, . d dais, in castle hall, . damoiseau, . dances, varieties of, . dancing, passion for, , . dean, of canons, . devil, belief in, . assists wizards and witches, . dice, games with, . sinfulness of, , . dinners, menu at castle in ordinary days, . divining, . divorces, resisted by church, . dogs, very desirable for hunting, . donjon, of castle, ff. of a commune, . dinner customs, ff. see feast. drawbridges, of castle, , . dress, see clothing. e echevins, in commune, . economic self-sufficiency, of a well-ruled barony, . education, of young nobleman, ff. ideals inculcated, . training in letters, . reading of romances, . training in riding, fencing and hawking, . maxims inculcated, , . placed out as squire, . training as squire, - . taught jousting, . learns "courtesy," . good side of training, . premium on prodigality, , . demanding knighthood, . effeminate knights, . emancipation, of villeins, . ensigns, before city houses, . epics, north french, , . excommunication, of a lawless baron, . a public declaration of, . abuse of, by bishops, , . executions, varieties of, ff, . beheading honorable penalty, . hanging, usual method, , . ceremonies at gallows, , . f fairs, ff. attended by great multitudes, . very profitable to founders, . numerous commodities on sale, . regulation of traffic, . amusements at, . falconry, see hawking. family life in a castle, . famines, among peasantry, . fealty, oath of, . feast, formal, arrangement of guests, . beginning of dinner, . serving the meats, . typical bill of fare, . on a fast day, . closing ceremonies, . vast plenty and carousing, , . feudal civilization, reaches climax in xiii century, . feudalism, ff. nature of, . absence of true gradations in, . duties of fief holders, . military service usually essential, . arrogance of many barons, , . outrageous baronial tyrants, . better types of barons, . how fiefs are expanded, . accession to a barony, , . doing homage, . oath of fealty, . vassalage honorable, . feuds, baronial, ff. frequency of, . waged within families, . limitations upon baronial, . pitched battles infrequent, . absence of strategy, . great valor of warriors, . origins of a typical feud, . delivering the "cartel," . assembling the vassals, . a baronial "array," . ravaging of noncombatants, . a petty battle, . use of mercenaries, . siege of a castle, ff. fiefs, varieties of, . duties of fief holders, . fish, demand for, . use of, . flowers, garden, , . foods, see cookery. foresters, seigneurial, . france, in full mediæval bloom in xiii century, . french, rise of as literary language, . frescoes, in castle, . friendship, tokens of, . fruit trees, , . funeral customs, ff. caskets and interments, . furniture, of castle halls, , . of bedrooms, ff. furs, wearing of, . g gambling, with dice, , . game, wild, cannot be killed by peasants, . greatly desired at feasts, . varieties of game birds, . game laws, oppressive, . games and amusements, ff. garden of a castle, ff. frequent place for gatherings, . herbs and vegetables in, . constant demand for flowers, . generosity, virtues of nobles, . gifts, constantly exchanged among nobles, . girls, noble, education of young, ff. are devoted to hawks and dancing, . glass, used for windows in castle, . guilds, ff. great subdivisions of, . friction between, , . regulations of, . management of, by syndics, . apprentices, . hired workers, . masters in guilds, . h handwashing before meals, . hangmen, ff. burns dishonest cloth, . hair, customs of wearing, . false hair used by women, . halls of castle, ff. very murky in donjon, . more elegant in palais, . hauberks, . hawking, vast delight in, . hawks always exhibited, . varieties of hawks and falcons, . complicated art of "falconry," . training of hawks, . good falconers precious, . professional jargon of, . prayers over hawks, . excellent sport with, . heralds, at tourneys, ff. hermits, . "herodias's daughter," dance of, , . homage, ceremony of, . hospitality, baronial, ff. ceremony of receiving guests, . heiresses, given in marriage by suzerain, . helmets, . horses, indispensable in war, . varieties of, . trappings of, . presentation to new knights, . hot cockles, game of, . houses, of peasants, . huts of the very poor, . dwelling of rich burghers, . seldom of stone, . hunting, serious business, . many wild animals, . equipment of hunters, . dogs essential for, . chasing down a great boar, ff. return from the hunt, , . hunting across peasants' lands, . i "immunity," possessed by barons, nt. imposts, on peasants, . infantry, in battle, , , . inns, , . industries, in towns, ff. trades in special streets, . shopkeepers, . regulation by officials, . see guilds. interest, on money, taken by jews, . interdict, . isabella, queen, forced by her barons to change husbands, . j jews, in cities, , . jongleurs, ff. varieties of, . trick performers, . depraved montebanks, . jongleurs in great demand, . troupes of, , . a superior type of jongleur, . gives a recitation, ff. jousting, training in, . see tourneys. justice, administration of, ff. no equality before the law, , . judicial powers of a baron, . "low justice" pertains to petty nobles, . laws enforced by the provosts, , . formal assizes, . ordeal by battle, . checks upon such ordeals, . summary treatment of villeins, . types of peasant litigation, . fate of condemned bandits, ff. k king, seeks as many vassals as possible, . knighthood, who can demand, . by whom bestowed, . nature of an adubbement, , . vigil at arms, , . dressing the candidates, . ceremony of adubbement, . presentation of horses, . exercises of new knights, . knights, effeminate types of, . l lances, . last day, fear of, . lighting of halls and bedrooms, . lists, before castle, . lovers, presents between, . m manners, for young ladies, ff. marriage ceremony, , . marriage, ff. usual reasons for marriages, . ages for, . heiresses compelled to marry, . very sudden marriages, . attempts of church to regulate, - . young girls wedded to aged barons, . negotiation of a marriage treaty, , . desirable qualities in a bridegroom, . betrothal ceremonies, . intercourse of betrothed couple, , . preparation for wedding, . wedding proceedings, ff. customs of peasants, . marshall, of a castle, . "mass of the ass," . masters, in guilds, . mealtimes and dinner customs, , . meats, abundance and varieties of at feasts, . medical art, ff. conducted by executioners and barkers, , . use of bleedings, . professional physicians, ff. their jargon, . healing relics and processions, . mêlée, climax to tourneys, . mercenaries, use of, . merchants, see shops, fairs, etc. mining, in sieges, . minstrels, see jongleurs. miracles, belief in, . moats of castle, , . mobilization, for battle, , . monastery, ff. benedictine foundations, . land and buildings, , . abbey church, . cloisters, . dormitory, . refectory, . adornments of buildings, . costume of monks, , . discipline and organization, . duties and occupations of monks, , . persons becoming monks, . a disorderly monastery, . specimen abuses, . struggle against idleness in, . bequests to, . secular "advocates" of, . agriculture and industries in, . almsgiving by, . manual labor by monks, . copying of books, . study of pagan authors, . curriculum of study, . authority of aristotle, . scientific works, . study of botany and geology, . writing chronicles, . piety of book copying, . beautiful manuscripts, . monasticism, see monastery and monks. money, hardly necessary on an average barony, . varieties of coinage, . monks, many sick or infirm, nt. costume of, . discipline of, ff. persons becoming monks, . see monastery. montebanks, . _montjoie st. denis_, nt. morality, of castle life, - . music, delight in, . mystery plays, , . n needlework, by castle women, . night, closing castle for, . nightdresses, not used in feudal ages, . nobles, employed around a castle, . o omens, belief in, , . ordeal, by battle, . by fire, , . oriflamme, royal standard, . otto iv, see battle, bouvines. p palisade, before a castle, . passions, hot and childish in feudal ages, , . patrons, of parish churches, , . peasants, forbidden to kill game, . inferior weapons of, . life of, ff. always considered inferior, . population dense, . in danger from famines, . frequently emancipated from serfdom, . status of free "villeins," . constantly exploited, . lands much divided, . primitive agricultural methods, . calamity of short crops, , . a peasant family, . its house and furniture, . clothing of peasants, . very poor peasants, . villein marriage customs, . long hours of toil, . lack of education, , . filthy habits, . sullen and impious characters, . gross oppression by knights, . severe game laws, . futile peasant revolts, . popular village sports, . pellison, , . penance, public, . philip augustus, see battle, bouvines. physicians, see medical art. pilgrimage, as penance, . shrines frequented, . sacredness of rome, . pillory, . pleasures, usual, of a baron, . pork, demand for, . porters of castle, . poultry, . priests, parish, ff. how appointed, , . scandalous appointments, , . status of, in villages, . charges against, . many faithful and learned, , . prior, of abbey, . prison, sometimes under donjon, . treatment of inmates, , . fearful dungeons in, . privacy, absence of in baronial castle, . provosts, , . enforce law on barony, ff, . q _quadrivium_, . _quintain_, . r ragman's roll, . ransoms, sought in tourneys, . recluses, . reign of folly, . relics, holy, used for healing, , . saints, ff. collections of, . great value of, . often spurious, . "translations" of, . religion, popular, ff. attitude of knights, . fear of last day, . excommunications, . public penance, . festive side of religion, . "reign of folly," . mass of the ass, . worship of the virgin, . christmas celebrations, . mystery plays, . hermits and recluses, . pilgrims, ff. belief in spirits, ff. rings, customs with, , . rising, early hour for, . roads, evil state of, . roland, chanson de, . ordeal by battle in, . romances, north french, , . read by young nobles, . roman law, returning to vogue, . rome, resort for pilgrims, . routine of the day, for a baron, . rushes for carpets in castle halls, . s sanitation, lacking in castle cookhouses, . not sufficiently guarded even by nobility, . scientific studies, in monasteries, ff. seigneurial officers, . self-sufficiency of a well-ruled barony, . seneschal, of a castle, . serfdom, . service, personal, honorable for nobles, . servants, abundant in castles, . organization and duties of, . service, at table, . shields, . shopkeepers, , . shoes, . shrines, sought by pilgrims, . sickness, frequent in middle ages, . leprosy and other plagues, . great losses in childbirth, . healing saints, , . mediæval medicine, ff. siege of a castle, ff. varieties of siege engines, , . the beffroi, . mantelets, . undermining a wall, . silks, for apparel, . _sortes apostolorum_, . soups, . spirits, supernatural, belief in, . squires, taught to serve at table, . training and duties of, - . subinfeudation, . superstitions, of peasants, . see witchcraft, devil, etc. surcoat, introduction of, . suzerains, see feudualism. swords, . syndics, of guilds, . syria, famous castles in, . t tables, at dinner, . tapestries, in castles, , . taverns, . tennis, game of, . thirteenth century: height of the middle ages, . tilting, see tourneys. times for meals, . tolls, on commerce, . tortures, ff. vainly discouraged by pope nicholas i, . methods of, ff. tolls, at a baron's bridge, . towers of castle, . trade, in towns, ff. see fairs. travelers, usually welcomed at castles, . travel, - . trenchers, at feast, . tristan and ysolt, story of, . _trivium_, . trojan war, romances of, . troubadour songs, , . tourneys, ff. "crying" the tourney, . people attracted to them, . early tourneys were battles, , . denounced by church, . arrangements for, , . lists and lodges, . opening ceremonies, . procession of jousters, . armor and bizarre costumes worn, . jousting by pairs, . art of lance-breaking, . a bloody duel, . defending a barrier, , . dueling for ransoms, . the mêlée, , . vast expense of tourneys, . trouvéres, ff. tyranny, of outrageous barons, , . v vassals, can have two or more seigneurs, . desire to hold from the king, . summons of, to war, . see feudalism, homage, etc. vegetables, , . vigil before knighthood, . vikings, castles built to resist them, . villeins, subject to summary justice, . see peasants. virgin, the, popular worship of, . w walls of castle, . wars, nobles delight in, . almost incessant, . varieties of, . see feuds. watchman, on castle tower, . weapons, give superiority to nobles, . arms preferred by them, , . missile weapons non-noble, . armor, ff. hauberks and helmets, . shields, . swords, . lances, . wedding proceedings, ff. bridal procession, . ceremony at church, , . presents at wedding, . great feast at wedding, . windows, glass in castle, . stained glass in churches, . wine, . witchcraft, ff. casting a spell, . lawful forms of divining, . witches, - . wizards, - . women, noble, praised for beauty by minstrels, . types of female beauty, . taught good manners, , . married off against their will, . can be harshly treated, , . sometimes grossly neglected, . often extremely coarse, . alleged shortcomings of, . accomplishments of, . manage children and household, ff. woolens, generally used for garments, . _books of art and artcraft_ history of art by elie faure volume i--_ancient art_ _translated from the french by walter pach_ no history of art fills the place of this one. it shows art to be the expression of the race, not an individual expression of the artist. it tells _why_ and _how_ man constructs works of art. _nearly unusual and beautiful illustrations selected by the author._ development of embroidery in america by candace wheeler a history of embroidery from the quill and beadwork of the american indians to the artistic achievement of the present. a book to delight the collector and to serve as a guide for the art student, designer, and practical worker. _ pages of illustrations--some in full color._ how france built her cathedrals by elizabeth boyle o'reilly the boston _herald_ writes: "it is a monumental work, of living interest alike to the erudite devotee of the arts and to the person who simply enjoys, in books or his travels, the wonderful and beautiful things that have come from the hand of man ... the story of the french cathedrals against a human background--of the great men and women of the time." _with illustrations in tint._ practical illustration by john d. whiting for artists who wish to sell their work, for publishers and advertisers who buy it, and for those responsible for mechanical reproduction. it will give the artist a full knowledge of trade requirements. it will teach the art buyer what to look for and provide against in originals. it will help the photo-engraver and photographer to eliminate defects in mechanical reproduction. _the author illustrates his points in page plates, many in full color._ harper & brothers franklin square new york _humor and drama_ by distinguished authors the man from home by booth tarkington and harry leon wilson the scene takes place in italy, and the american humor shows up brilliantly against the foreign background. _illustrated._ monna vanna by maurice maeterlinck one of the belgian poet's most powerful dramas. the scenes are laid at pisa, italy, at the end of the fifteenth century. _portrait._ l'aiglon by edmond rostand this, the only english edition published of the story of the great napoleon's unfortunate son, was translated by louis n. parker. it is illustrated with pictures of miss maude adams in the character of the duke of reichstadt. _illustrated._ parting friends by william dean howells a farcical scene on an outgoing steamer, when two sweethearts can find neither time nor place for tender farewells. readers who like brilliant conversation, unrestrained fun, and amusing character portrayal will find in these farces a rich treat. _illustrated._ the mouse-trap by william dean howells this volume contains in compact form four of howells's most popular farces, which have been both read and acted with complete enjoyment and success. the farces in this volume are: the garroters, five-o'clock tea, the mouse-trap, a likely story. _illustrated._ harper & brothers franklin square new york * * * * * transcriber's notes minor punctuation errors repaired. italic text is denoted by _underscores_ the image "listening to a trouvère in a château of the thirteenth century" is shown in the list of illustrations as "facing p. " it is actually placed between p and p in the original. the position in the original has been retained, but its placement may be a printer's error. p "along with hugh goshawks" replaced with "along with huge goshawks" p "she will peversely do these very things" replace with "she will perversely do these very things" p "simplifications here and elaborations elsewere" replaced with "simplifications here and elaborations elsewhere" "oramented with gold embroideries" replaced with "ornamented with gold embroideries" p "veils common in the succeeding age" replaced with "veils common in the suceeding age" p "the crown of jersualem became vacant" replaced with "the crown of jerusalem became vacant" p "praising his finacée's beauty." replaced with "praising his fiancée's beauty." p "another entertainer than maitre edmond" replaced with "another entertainer than maître edmond" p "as our forefathers sent the old carrolingians." replaced with "as our forefathers sent the old carolingians." p "for his suzerian the duke" replaced with "for his suzerain the duke" p "as father grégorie says, pithily" replaced with "as father grégoire says, pithily" footnote : "feel that they had sinnned beyond pardon." replaced with "feel that they had sinned beyond pardon." p "montionless for an instant" replaced with "motionless for an instant" p "he is knighted and can speak for hmself" replaced with "he is knighted and can speak for himself" p "sendel and samite," replaced with "sendal and samite," p "they do down one side" replaced with "they go down one side" "this process will keep up though the games." replaced with "this process will keep up through the games." p "said jerome, smilingly" replaced with "said jerôme, smilingly" p "father etienne is the only person" replaced with "father Étienne is the only person" p "bishops fight against instrusions" replaced with "bishops fight against intrusions" p "too feeble to to get to the church." replaced with "too feeble to get to the church." p "while the pointdebois traders" replaced with "while the pontdebois traders" p "differs largely from a seigneur n that" replaced with "differs largely from a seigneur in that" p "the church by a humiliating penace" replaced with "the church by a humiliating penance" p "by the church in the fuedal age" replaced with "by the church in the feudal age" footnote "and the throng of worshipers" replaced with "and the throng of worshippers" p "advocates, of monastries" replaced with "advocates, of monasteries" p "suzerains, see feudualism" replaced with "suzerains, see feudalism" available by internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/withblackprince stod with the black prince * * * * * * books by william o. stoddard. uniform edition. each, mo, cloth, $ . . the red patriot. a story of the american revolution. illustrated by b. west clinedinst. mr. stoddard is at his best in this stirring story, which among other themes pictures incidents of washington's campaigning in new jersey. in this vivid account of a boy's part in great historical events there is a leading actor, "the last of the susquehannocks," whose share in the hero's adventures has given the title to the book. the windfall; or, after the flood. illustrated by b. west clinedinst. "full of adventures and incident so well conceived and described as to keep the reader in a continued state of absorbed attention. it is the kind of book that one wants to sit up nights to finish. one can not lay it aside comfortably until the final outcome is known"--_springfield union._ little smoke. a story of the sioux indians. with full-page illustrations by f. s. dellenbaugh, portraits of sitting bull, red cloud, and other chiefs, and head and tail pieces representing the various implements and surroundings of indian life. "it is not only a story of adventure, but the volume abounds in information concerning this most powerful of remaining indian tribes. the work of the author has been well supplemented by the artist."--_boston traveler._ crowded out o' crofield. the story of a country boy who fought his way to success in the great metropolis. with illustrations by c. t. hill. "this excellent story is interesting, thoroughly wholesome, and teaches boys to be men, not prigs or indian hunters."--_detroit free press._ the battle of new york. a narrative of the civil war. with full-page illustrations and colored frontispiece. "the description of these terrible days and more awful nights is very animated."--_new york evening post._ on the old frontier; or, the last raid of the iroquois. with full-page illustrations by h. d. murphy. "mr. stoddard's stories of adventure are always of the thrilling sort which boys like most to read. this tale, which relates to the last raids of the iroquois, is as stirring as the best of those which have come from his pen."--_philadelphia evening bulletin._ chris, the model-maker. a story of new york. with illustrations by b. west clinedinst. the metropolis is always an attractive scene for a story, and doubly so for a story like this, which tells how two boys and a girl made their way by their own pluck and ability. d. appleton and company, new york. * * * * * * [illustration: firm as a rock stood the young warrior. (see page .)] with the black prince by william o. stoddard author of crowded out o' crofield, the red patriot, success against odds, etc. illustrated [illustration] new york d. appleton and company copyright, , by d. appleton and company. contents. chapter page i.--the king's deer ii.--the men of the woods iii.--the earl and the esquire iv.--the king's messenger v.--the ending of the peace vi.--the sea fight vii.--the great plan of the king viii.--the castle of bruyerre ix.--king edward at paris x.--the great day of crÉcy list of illustrations. facing page firm as a rock stood the young warrior _frontispiece_ loudly twanged the bow "yield thee, de renly!" he shouted up went the ladder, and on it the english climbed fast soon the air was full of the roaring "arise, sir richard of wartmont!" with the black prince. chapter i. the king's deer. there came a sudden sound, breaking the shadowy silence of longwood forest. crash followed crash, at short intervals, with the snapping of dry twigs and bush branches, and then came ringing, clear and sweet, three notes of a hunting horn. out into an open glade, where the sunlight fell upon the long, green grass of midsummer, there bounded a splendid stag--a stag royal, a stag of ten--fit to be the antlered monarch of the king's deer in longwood. three leaps, and then the beautiful animal stood still; but as he turned, panting, and lowered his horns, it could be seen that he was wounded. the feather of an arrow in his flank told how deeply the shaft was driven. he was at bay now, and splendid was his courage as he stood to battle with his pursuers. again, and nearer, nearer, sounded the horn; for the hunters were coming. out through the leafy barrier of the bushes at the edge of the glade bounded three eager deerhounds, one after another. large dogs they were, brown-haired, lop-eared. their baying had chimed in with the music of the horn. better for them it were if one of the huntsmen had been there to hold them from their haste; for there is danger for any who rush rashly in upon a stag at bay. loud voices and the thud of galloping hoofs told that the hunters were close at hand; but they were too late in arriving. the foremost hound dashed fiercely on, his white teeth showing, and his eyes flashing with green light; but the ten-tined antlers passed under him and were lifted swiftly. away the hound was hurled, pierced fatally, and then a sudden side stroke disabled the second of the four-footed assailants. the third paused, lifting a forefoot doubtfully as he glanced from one to the other of his unlucky companions. a whizzing shaft passed over his head, and a cloth-yard arrow sped to its mark, inside the shoulder of the deer. the spreading antlers plowed the sod for a moment, and then all was over. a tall, powerful-looking man, who came riding up, sprang from his horse, and stood by the wounded dogs, exclaiming: "these short-legged galloways have cost us two hounds! we had better stalk a deer than run him, unless we have swifter steeds." "stalking must serve our turn, now the dogs are gone," growled a shorter man who had come up and now stood beside him. "i would the legs of our nags had been longer!" they were rough-looking men, and they spoke in the burred saxon-english of warwickshire five hundred years ago. it was another tongue from any now spoken in england. the galloways, of whose legs they had complained, were the undersized and shaggy-maned horses they had ridden in that hunt. such were plentiful then, but none other could be had save by those who could pay large prices. "fools are we," remarked another man. "and mayhap the horn blast has gone to the wrong ears with token of our doings. that was thy blowing, guy the bow." "and what care we?" responded the tall hunter. "'tis long since there hath been a royal keeper in any wood of arden forest. earl warwick himself never hunteth as far to the north as this. there's no harm in a horn, and i like well the sound, and the baying o' the dogs. we'll not again hear either very soon." others had now come up, but they said little. they lifted their game to the back of one of the galloways. the arrows were carefully extracted, cleaned, and restored to the quivers of their owners. the men were all stalwart fellows, and the bows they carried were tremendous weapons. when unstrung, such a bow would rest upon a man's foot and touch his nose, and only a strong and practiced arm could bend one. besides the bows, they carried short, two-edged swords hanging at their belts, in which were also stuck broad-bladed knives or daggers. they wore no armor except light headpieces of steel, and their garments appeared to be made of leather. the body coats were like leather blouses, soiled and worn. they wore leggings of deerskin, but several were barefooted. a brave-looking dozen were these hunters of longwood. their faces were not evil, and their talk was that of kindly men fond of adventure and of sport, but caring little whose deer they were taking. the carcass of the stag had been bound to one of the horses, and the hunters were mounting, when a loud shout came from under the nearest oaks: "ho, there! halt! what do ye, killing the king's deer?" "stand for your lives, men!" exclaimed guy the bow. "i'll not be taken!" "nor i!" roared a burly hunter at his side; "but--it's young neville of wartmont. i could not strike him." only five men came riding out from under the trees, but they were all well mounted, and were better armed than were the hunters. every man of them wore linked mail, with shield and lance and sword, while at every saddlebow hung a mace or battleaxe. their helmets were open in front, and the face of the foremost rider was that of a beardless boy. it was a very resolute face, however, and he raised his hand as he again demanded: "in the king's name, what do ye?" "we be free men," said guy sturdily. "little reason hath thy father's son to question our acts." "why not?" came back. "yonder stag is a death-warrant for every man of you!" "not so," exclaimed the burly hunter. "i am ben o' coventry, and we all stand by guy the bow. will thy mail shirt keep out a cloth-yard shaft, richard neville of wartmont?" an arrow was on every bowstring at that moment; but guy the bow spoke again. "thou art a boy, richard neville," he said. "i will tell thee somewhat thou shouldst know. thou hast only the ruins of thy tower to dwell in; but when earl mortimer claimed thy father's barony, and sent his men to put his seneschal in holding, the yeomen of wartmont and longwood, and more from further on in arden, stood by the neville. the mortimer raided our holdings, burning house and barn. he lost his head years on, and thy uncle is earl of warwick; but the bowmen of these parts had become used to taking earl mortimer's deer." "they are the king's deer now," said richard. "ye know that well." "they bear no mark," grumbled ben, lowering his bow. "we'll call that stag for mortimer, this day, in spite of the neville. take us not. go back to your tower." "my young lord," was spoken in a low voice from among the men in mail behind him, "let them alone. they are thine own men. it's only a deer more or less. there are foes enough. hark to ben once more." "i heard thee, sir," said ben gratefully. "he might do well to heed thy saying; but let him now hear what guy may tell him." "my young lord of wartmont," said gay, "i had verily thought to go and see thee this day. knowest thou not that clod of lee, the club of devon, hath been heard from this side the avon? he was one of mortimer's men, and he hateth thee and thine. he is a wolf's head, by all law. he and his outlaws would find at wartmont much that such as they would seek. go in haste and hold thy tower against them, if thou canst, and bother not thyself with a free hunt and a nag-load of venison." "thou art no king's forester," added ben of coventry. "these are times when a man may let well enough alone." "he speaketh truly," whispered richard's mailed adviser. "ride we to the castle as fast as we may. thy mother----" "not a dozen swordsmen are at the mount!" exclaimed richard. "my mother is unprotected! guy the bow, i thank thee for thy warning. what care i for a few deer? only, watch thou and thy men; for the earl sendeth soon to put this part of the shire under close forest law. none may escape if work like this go on then." "thou art right, my young lord," responded guy; "but the yeomen of longwood have no fellowship with the wolves of devon and cornwall. it is said, too, that there be savage welsh among these outlaws that spare neither woman nor child. ride thou with speed, and god be with thee! well for thee that they are not bowmen, like thy neighbors." "haste, my lord!" cried another of richard's men. "there are many women and there are children at the tower." "on! on!" shouted richard; but his face was white, as he wheeled his horse southward. very terrible was the name which had been won by some of the robber bands of england. they had been more numerous during the reign of edward the second. his son, edward the third, was only fourteen years of age when he was crowned, and it was several years more before he really became king. ever since then he had striven with only moderate success to restore order throughout his realm. several notable bodies of savage marauders were still to be heard from only too frequently, while in many districts the yeomen paid as little attention to the forest laws as if they had been robin hood's merry men of sherwood. this was not the case upon the lands of the great barons, but only where there was no armed force at hand to protect the game. the poachers were all the safer everywhere because of the strong popular feeling in their favor, and because any informer who should give the life of a man for that of a deer might thenceforth be careful how he ventured far into the woods. he was a mark for an arrow from a bush, and not many cared to risk the vengeance of the woodsmen. on rode the young neville and his four men-at-arms; but hardly had they disappeared among the forest glades before ben of coventry turned upon his galloway to ask: "guy the bow, what thinkest thou? the wartmont boy spoke not unkindly. there be kith and kin of the forest men at the tower. what if the club of lee should reach the moat and find the gate open? 'tis a careless time." "hang up the stag and follow!" at once commanded guy, captain of the hunt. "we have taken three the day. there will be venison at every hearth. if only for his father's sake----" "we are not robbers, guy the bow," interrupted another of his followers. "we are true men. 'twill be a wolf hunt instead of a deer hunt. i like it well." they strung up the stag to a bough of a tree, and then wheeled with a shout and galloped away as merrily as if they had started another hart royal. three long miles away, easterly from the glade where the stag had fallen, the forest ended; and beyond the scattered dignities of its mighty oaks lay a wide reach of farm land. the fields were small, except some that seemed set aside for pastures and meadows. there were well-grown but not very well-kept hedges. there were a few farmhouses, with barns and ricks. nearly in the center rose a craggy hill, and at the foot of this clustered a small hamlet. it was a sign of the troubles that edward the third had striven to quell that all along the outer border of the hamlet ran the tattered remnants of what once had been a strong line of palisades and a deep ditch. the hill was the wart mount, and on its crest were massive walls with a high, square tower at one corner. viewed from a distance, they seemed to be a baronial stronghold. on a nearer approach, however, it could be seen that the beauty and strength of wartmont had been marred by fire, and that much of it needed rebuilding. some repairs had been made on the tower itself. its gateway, with moat and bridge, was in fair condition for defense. more than one road led across the open country toward the castle; but the highway was from the east, and travelers thereon were hidden from sight by the hill. there was a great stir in the village, for a man came riding at full speed from one of the farmhouses, shouting loudly as he passed the old palisades: "to the hill! to the castle! the wolves of devon are nigh! they have wasted black tom's place, and have slain every soul!" the warning had already traveled fast and far, and from each of the farmhouses loaded wains, droves of cattle, horses, sheep, were hurrying toward the hill. women, with their children, came first, weeping and praying. far away, on the southerly horizon, arose a black cloud of smoke to tell of the end of black tom's wheatstacks and haystacks. "aye! aye!" mourned an old woman. "it's gone wi' fire! alas! and the good king is in flanders the day, and his people are harried as if they had no king." "it's like the old time," said another, "when all the land was wasted. i mind the telling o' what the scots did for the north counties till the king drave them across the border." well kept were the legends that were told from one generation to another in the days when there were no books or newspapers; and they were now rehearsed rapidly, while the affrighted farm people fled from their threatened homes, as their ancestors had many a time been compelled to do. still they all seemed to have great faith in the castle, and to believe that when once there they would be safe. the rider who brought the news did not pause in the village, but rode on, and dismounted at the bridge over the moat. not stopping to hitch his panting horse, he strode into the open portal, sending his loud message of evil omen through the corridor beyond. voice after voice took up the cry and carried it up through the tower and out into the castle yard, till it seemed to find weird echoes among the half-ruined walls. at no place were these altogether broken down. there was no breach in them. large parts of the old structures were still roofed over, and along the battlements there quickly appeared the forms of old and young, peering out eagerly to see whatever there might be to see upon the lowland. there were very few men, apparently; but in the lower rooms of the tower there were quickly clanking sounds, as shields and weapons and armor were taken down from their places. a large open area was included within the outer walls, and there was room for quadrupeds as well as for human beings. still there was a promise of close crowding, if all the fugitives on the roads were to be provided for. gathered now in the village street was a motley crowd of men. they were by no means badly armed, but they seemed to have no commander, and their hurried councils were of all sorts. most seemed to favor a general retreat to the castle, but against this course was urged the fact that the marauders had not yet arrived, nor had all the people from the farms. "men!" exclaimed a portly woman with a scythe in her strong hands, "could ye not meet them at the palisades? bar the gap with a wain. there are bows and crossbows among ye. fight them there!" "we could never hold them back," came doubtfully from one of the men. "they'd find gaps enough. it's only a stone wall can stop them." "they'll plunder the village," the woman said. "better that than the blood of us all," responded the man. "we are few. would the young lord were here with his men-at-arms!" "he rode to the north the morn," she was told. "only four were with him. the rest are far away with the earl. a summons came, telling that the scots were over the border." "could not the north counties care for themselves, without calling on the midlands?" grumbled the woman. at that moment there came a terrified shriek from the road-gap in the palisades. the last of several wains was passing in, and all the street was thronged with cattle. "they come! they come!" screamed the women by that wain. "oh, that they gat so nigh, and none to see! it's over with us the day! yon is the club, and his men are many!" partly mounted, but some of them on foot, a wild-looking throng of men came pouring across a stubble-field from the southward. it seemed as if they might be over a hundred strong. no marching order was observed. there was no uniformity in their arms. at the head of them strode a huge, black-haired, shaggy-bearded brute who bore a tremendous club of oak, bound at its heavier end with a thick ring of iron. he laughed and shouted as he came, as if with a savage pleasure over the wild deeds he had done and the prospect before him. "short work!" he roared to those behind him. "burn all ye can not take. and then for the hills o' wales! but we'll harry as we go!" other things he said that sounded as if he had an especial grudge against the king and against all who, like the nevilles, had been his strong personal adherents. the castle gateway was thronged, so that getting in was slow, but the yard was already filling fast. so were the rooms of the tower, and such as remained of the ruined buildings. everywhere were distress and terror, except upon one face just inside the portal. tall and stately was maud neville, the widowed lady of wartmont castle. her hair was white, but she was as erect as a pine, and all who looked into her resolute face might well have taken courage. some seemed to do so, and around her gathered a score of stalwart retainers, with shields, axes, and swords. some who had bows were bidden to man the loopholes on the second floor, and bide their time. here, at least, if not in the village, there was a captain, and she was obeyed. "men," she said, "you know well what wolves these are. if they force their way into the keep, not one of us will be left to tell the tale." a chorus of loyal voices answered her, and the men gripped their weapons. so was it on that side of the hill; but on the other, toward the east, the highway presented another picture. whether they were friends or foemen, there was none to tell; but they were a warlike band of horsemen. they were not mounted upon low-built galloways, but upon steeds of size and strength. the horsemen themselves wore mail and carried lances, and several of them had vizored helmets. they were ten in number, riding two abreast, and one of the foremost pair carried a kind of standard--a flag upon a long, slender staff. it was a broad, square piece of blue silk bunting, embroidered with heraldic devices that required a skilled reader to interpret them. strangely enough, according to the ideas and customs of the times, the rabble that followed clod the club had also a banner. it was a somewhat tattered affair; but it must once have been handsome. its field was broad and white, and any eyes could see that its dimmed, worn blazon had been intended for three dragons. perhaps the robber chief had reasons of his own for marching with a flag which must have been found in wales. it may have aided him in keeping at his command some men who retained the old fierce hatred of the welsh for the kings of england. he and his savages had now reached the palisades. the village men retreated slowly up the street, while the remainder of those who could not fight passed across the drawbridge and entered the castle gate. more than one sturdy woman, however, had picked up a pike or an axe or a fork, and stood among her kindred and her neighbors. not all the cattle nor all the wains could be cared for; and a shout from the portal summoned the villagers to make more haste, that the gate might be closed behind them. part of them had been too brave and part too irresolute, and there was no soldiership in their manner of obeying. they were, indeed, almost afraid to turn their backs, for arrows were flying now. well it was for them that there seemed to be so few good archers among the outlaws; for down went man after man, in spite of shields or of such armor as they had. better shooting was done by the men of wartmont themselves, and the archers in the tower were also plying their bows. it was this that made the club of devon shout to his wolves to charge, for the shafts were doing deadly work. with loud yells, on they rushed; and further retreat was impossible. the foremost fighters on each side closed in a desperate strife, and the wartmont farmers showed both skill and strength. half of them carried battle-axes or poleaxes, and they plied them for their lives. had it not been for clod himself, the rush might even have been checked; but nothing could stand before him. he fought like a wild beast, striking down foemen right and left, and making a pathway for his followers. victory for the outlaws would have been shortly gained but for the help that came to the villagers. "onward, my men!" shouted lady maud, as she sprang across the narrow bridge. "follow me! save your kith and kin!" "we will die with you!" cried out her retainers as they pushed forward, while the archers in the tower hurried down to join them. still they were too few; and the white head of the brave woman was quickly the center of a surging mass, her entire force being almost surrounded by the horde of robbers. no shout came up the road. there was no sound but the rapid thud of horses' feet; but suddenly five good lances charged furiously in among the wolves. the foremost horseman went clean through them, but his horse sank, groaning, as a welsh pike stabbed him, and his rider barely gained his feet as the horse went down. sword in hand, then, he turned to face his foes, but he spoke not to them. "mother!" he shouted, "i am here!" "thank god for thee, my son!" responded the brave woman. "thou art but just in time!" dire had been her peril, at that moment, but richard's presence gave courage to the defenders, while his charge had staggered the outlaws. he was more than a match, with three of his dismounted men-at-arms at his side, for the foes immediately in front of them. his fourth follower lay several yards away, with his steel cap beaten in by a blow of the terrible club. "hah! hah! hah!" yelled clod as he turned from that victim to press his way toward young neville. "down with him! out of my path! give the youngster to me!" "face him, my son!" said lady maud, "and heaven's aid be with thee! oh, for some o' the good king's men!" "i have thee!" roared clod, swinging high his club and preparing for a deadly blow. firm as a rock stood the young warrior, raising his shield to parry. down came the club, but forward flashed the sword with an under-thrust. "o my son!" burst from the lips of the lady of wartmont. "my son hath fallen! stand firm, men!" fallen, indeed, but so had clod the club, pierced through by the sword-thrust; and a fierce yell burst from his followers as they sprang forward to avenge him. they had been faring badly, but they were many and they were desperate. they might even yet have broken through the men of the tower who had stepped in front of richard while his mother knelt to lift him, but for another turn in the strange fortunes of the day. there was no warning, and all were too intent on the fray to note the arrival of newcomers; but now there came a sudden dropping of the outer men of the throng of robbers. shaft after shaft, unerring, strongly driven, pierced them from back to breast. "shoot close!" shouted a voice. "miss not. steady, men! o richard neville of wartmont, we are the killers of the king's deer!" "aye!" added ben of coventry. "we are with guy the bow, and 'tis a wolf-hunt!" they were not many, but their archery was terrible. fast twanged the bows, and fast the outlaws fell. "closer, men! spare not any!" commanded guy the bow, and the line of galloways wheeled nearer. it was too much. the remaining robbers would have fled if they could, but they were between two fires. "o richard!" murmured lady maud. "thou art not dead?" his fine dark eyes opened, just then, and a smile came faintly upon his lips as he replied: "only stunned, mother. the caitiff's club banged my shield down upon my head, but my steel cap bore it well, else my neck were broken. did he go down?" "he lieth among the ruck," she said. "but oh, thank god! the archers of longwood have come! the fight is won!" it was won, indeed; for neither the archers nor the wartmont men were showing any mercy to the staggering, bewildered remnants of the outlaw band which had been such a terror to the welsh border, and was to other counties almost as far inland as was warwick itself. never more would any peaceful hamlet or lonely tower be left in ruins to tell of the ruthless barbarity of the wolves of devon. why they were so called, none knew; but it might be because that fair county had at one time suffered most from their marauding, or because fierce clod the club and some of his wild followers came from lee on the devon shore. "bloody work, my young lord of wartmont! bloody work, my lady!" "thank god for thee, guy the bow!" she responded. "alas, my neighbors! but who cometh there? my son, yonder is the flag of cornwall, and none may carry it but the prince himself. all ye stand fast, but those who care for the hurt ones." these, indeed, were many, for the women and children were pouring down from the castle. with weeping and with wailing they were searching for their own among the dead and the wounded. but even the mourners stood almost still for a moment, as a knightly cavalcade came thundering up the street. the foremost horseman drew rein in front of lady maud and her son, and the taller of them demanded: "o lady neville of wartmont, what is this? the prince rideth toward warwick. i am walter de maunay." "his highness is most welcome," she said, with calm dignity. "so art thou, sir walter. around thee are the dead wolves of devon. some of our own people have fallen. would thou wert here an hour the sooner. god save the king!" rapid were the questions and the answers, but the black prince himself, as he was called, left all the talking to sir walter, while he dismounted to study the meaning of the fray. he had singularly keen, dark eyes, and they flashed swiftly hither and thither, as if they were seeking to know exactly how this small battle had been fought and won. "and this is the famous clod the club?" he said. "by whose hand was this thrust?" "'twas young lord richard," answered guy the bow. "both went down, but the neville was little hurt. 'twas bravely done!" "richard neville," exclaimed the prince, "thou hast won honor in this! i would that i had slain him. thou art a good sword. the king hath need of thee." "he shall go with me," added sir walter admiringly, as he gazed down upon the massive form of the slain robber. "madame, give the king thy son." "yea, and amen," she said. "he is the king's man. i would have him go. and i will bide at warwick castle until he cometh again. speak thou, richard!" "i am the king's man," replied richard, his face flushing. "o my mother, bid me go with the prince. i would be a knight, as was my father, and win my spurs before the king; but i fain would ask one favor of his grace." "ask on," said the prince. "'twere hard to refuse thee after this gallant deed of arms." "this work is less mine," said richard, "than of guy the bow and my good forestmen. but i trow that some of them have found unlawful marks for other of their arrows. i ask for them the grace and pardon of the king." "they have sinned against the king's deer," loudly laughed sir walter de maunay. "there needeth no promise. thou hast not heard of his royal proclamation. free pardon hath he proclaimed to all such men as thine, if they will march with him against the king of france. 'tis fair pay to every man, and the fortune of war beyond sea." no voice responded for a moment as the archers studied one another's faces. "richard," said his mother, "speak thou to them. they wait for thee." "o guy the bow," said richard, "wilt thou come with me--thou and thy men?" there was speech from man to man behind guy; but it was ben of coventry who said: "tell thy prince, guy the bow, that two score and more of bows like thine will follow richard neville to fight for our good king." to address the prince directly was more than guy could do; but he spoke out right sturdily: "my master of wartmont, thou hearest the speech of ben. 'tis mine also. we take the pardon, and we will take the pay; and we will go as one band, with thee for our captain." "aye," said another archer, "with the young neville and guy the bow." "ye shall be the neville's own company," responded the prince. "i like it well. so will they do best service." "aye, 'tis the king's way also," added sir walter de maunay; and then the lady of wartmont led the way into the castle. richard went not forthwith, but conferred with his archers. he had care also for the injured and the dead, and to learn the harm done in the village and among the farms. in a few minutes more, however, the banner of the prince was floating gayly from a corner of the tower, to tell to all who saw that the heir of the throne of england was under the wartmont roof. chapter ii. the men of the woods. lacking in many things, but not in stately hospitality or in honest loyalty, was the welcome given that night at wartmont castle to the heir of the english throne and to his company. truth to tell, the fortunes of this branch of the great house of neville were not at their best. the brave sir edward neville had fallen in flanders fighting for the king. his widow and her only son had found themselves possessed of much land, but of little else. too many acres of the domain were either forest or hill, that paid neither tithe nor rental. not even lady maud's near kinship to the earl of warwick was as yet of any avail, for these were troublous times. many a baron of high name was finding it more and more difficult to comply with the exactions of edward the third, and the king himself could hardly name a day when his very crown and jewels had not been in pawn with the money lenders. the less of discomfort, therefore, was felt by lady maud; but she was grateful that the prince and the famous captain, sir walter, so frankly laughed away her apologies at their parting the next morn. "i am but an esquire," said the prince. "my royal father biddeth me to wear plain armor and seek hard fare until i win my spurs. thou hast given me better service than he alloweth me." "most noble lady," added sir walter, "i am proud to have been the guest of the widow of my old companion in arms----" "be thou, then, a friend to his son," she broke in earnestly. "that will i," responded de maunay, "but we may not serve together speedily. i go to confer with the earl of warwick. then i am bidden to join derby's forces in guienne and gascony. hard goeth the war there. as for thy son, he, too, should come to warwick with his first levies. the king hath ordered the power of the realm to gather at portsmouth by the ninth day of next october." "i must be there, mother," said richard. "bring thy archers with thee, if thou canst," replied sir walter. "it is the king's thought that his next great field is to be won with the arrow, rather than the sword or the lance. but he will have only good bows, and them he will train under his own eye. it is time, now, for our going." the young prince, like the knight, gave the respectful ceremony of departure to the lady of wartmont, but much of youthful frankness mingled with his words and manner to richard. "i envy thee, indeed," he said to him, "thy close with the club of devon. i have never yet had such a fortune befall me. i have seen fights by sea and land, but ever some other hand than mine struck the best blow." "thou wilt strike blows enough before thou art done, thou lion's cub of england," said sir walter admiringly, for he loved the boy. that was good reason, too, why he was with him on this journey with so small a company. "few, are they?" had richard responded to a word from his mother concerning peril to the prince. "i have marked them, man by man. i think they have been picked from the best of the king's men-at-arms. a hundred thieves would go down before them like brambles before a scythe. and the prince told me he thought it scorn to need other guards than his own people----" "and his own sword," she said, "and the lances of de maunay and his men. but the roads are not safe." "thou wilt be securely conveyed to warwick, o my mother," he said lovingly. "i will not leave thee until thou art within the earl's own walls." this had been spoken early in the day after the conflict with the outlaws, and now the horsemen were in their saddles, beyond the bridge of the moat, waiting for the prince and the knight. their waiting ended, and it was fair to see how lightly the great captain and his young friend, in spite of their heavy armor, did spring to horseback. gracious and low was their last salute to the bare, white head of lady maud at the portal, and then away they rode right merrily. "o my son!" exclaimed she, turning to richard at her side, "i can wish no better fortune for thee than to be the companion of thy prince. i tell thee, thou hast won much by this thy defense of thy mother and thy people." "aye," said richard, laughing, "but thou wast the captain. i found thee leading thy array, and i did but help at my best. i would sir walter were to be with us, and not with the earl of derby." "there be men-at-arms as good as he," she said. "thou wilt have brave leaders to learn war under. and, above all, thou wilt be with thy king. men say there hath not been one like him to lead men since william the norman conquered this fair land. thou, too, art a neville and a norman, but forget thou not one thing." "and what may that be, my mother?" asked richard, wondering somewhat. "knowest thou not thy hold upon the people, nor why the bowmen of arden forest come to thee rather than to another? neville and beauchamp, thou art a saxon more than a norman. thy father could talk to the men of the woods in their old tongue. it dieth away slowly, but they keep many things in mind from father to son. every man of them is a saxon of unmixed blood, and to that degree that thou art saxon thou art their kinsman. so hated they earl mortimer and would have none of him, and so he harried them, as thou hast heard. they will stand by thee as their own." "so will i bide by them!" exclaimed richard stoutly. "and now there is one yonder that i must have speech with. i pray thee, go in, my mother." "that will i not," she said. "it behooveth me to pass through the hamlet, house by house, till i know how they fare the day. there are hurts among both men and women, and i am a leech. are they not my own?" "and well they love thee," said her son, and they walked on down the slope side by side. that they did so love her was well made manifest when men, women, and children crowded around her. every voice had its tale of things done, or seen, or heard, and there was wailing also, for the few who had escaped from near black tom's place were here, and others from farther on. dark and dire had been the deeds of the robber crew from the welsh border to the heart of warwickshire, and great was the praise that would everywhere be given to the young lord of wartmont manor and his brave men. the club of devon and his outlaws would be heard of or feared no more. 'twas a deed to be remembered and told of, in after time, among the fireside talks of the midland counties. the madame now had household visits to make not a few, and richard listened long to the talk of the farmers and the village men. he seemed to have grown older in a day, but his mother said, in her heart: "i can see that the folk are gladdened to find that he is so like to the brave knight, his father. god keep him, among the spears and the battle-axes of the french men-at-arms! i fear he is over young to ride with such as serve with the prince." she could not think to hold him back, but he was her only son, and she was a widow. patiently, all the while, a little apart from the rest, had waited the burly shape of guy the bow, and with him was no other forester, but beside him stood his shaggy-maned galloway. "thou art come?" said richard. "brave thanks to thee and thine. what errand hast thou, if so be thou hast any for me?" "i bided out of seeing till the prince and lord de maunay rode on," replied guy. "even now i would no other ears than thine were too near us." "this way, then," said richard, turning to walk toward the moat. "i have somewhat to say to thee as we go." none joined them, and as they walked the archer was informed concerning the mandates of the king and the mustering by land and sea at portsmouth. "i have been there," said guy, "in my youth. 'tis not so far to go. 'tis well in behind the isle of wight. i have been told by seafaring men that the french have never taken it, though they tried. a safe haven. but there are others as safe on the land. part of my coming to thee is to ask that thou wilt venture to look in on one." "i may not venture foolishly or without a cause," said richard. "thee i may trust, but all are not as thou art." "all thou wilt see are keepers of good faith when they give troth," laughed guy pleasantly, "or else more in wartmont would know what to this day they know not. my lord of wartmont, plain speech is best. the men who are to go with thee are under the king's ban, as thou knowest. they will not put themselves within the reach of the sheriff of warwickshire till they are sure of safety. they will hear the king's proclamation from thine own lips, for thou hast it from the prince himself. a man's neck is a thing he is prone to guard right well." "go and have speech with them? that will i!" exclaimed richard promptly. "nor is there time to lose. i will bid them bring my horse----" "not as thou now art," responded guy. "don thou thy mail. be thou well armed. but men of thine from the castle may not ride with us. i have that to show thee which they may not see. wilt thou trust me?" "that will i," said richard. "and thine own sword is a good one," added the archer, with soldierly admiration in his face. "i have seen thy father in tourney. thou wilt have good stature and strong thews, as had he in his day. they say 'twas a great battle when he fell among the press, and that many good spears went down." "aye. go!" said richard thoughtfully. "i will explain this thing to my mother. she needeth but to know that i go to meet a muster of the men." "nay," said guy. "fear thou not to tell my lady all. in her girlhood she was kept, a day and a night, where none could do her harm, for the welsh were over the border, under lewellyn the cruel, and the castle of her father was not safe. she was not a neville then, and the beauchamps fled for their lives." "what was the quarrel?" asked richard. "little know i," replied the archer. "what have plain woodsmen to do with the feuds of the great? some trouble, mayhap, between king edward the second and his earls. we aye heard of fights and ravages in those days, but there came none to harry us in arden." so they talked but little more, and richard passed on into the castle followed by guy the bow. their first errand was to the hall of arms in the lower story, and the eyes of the forester glittered with delight as they entered. "thou couldst arm a troop!" he exclaimed. "what goodly weapons are these!" "wartmont hath held a garrison more than once," said richard. "pray god that our good king may keep the land in peace. but it needeth that his hand be strong." "strong is it," said guy, "and the young prince biddeth fair. i like him well. but, my lord of wartmont, the noon draweth nigher and we have far to ride." "aye," said richard; but he was taking down from the wall piece after piece and weapon after weapon, eying them as if he loved them well but was in doubt. "no plate armor, my lord," said guy. "it were too heavy if thou went on foot. let it be good chain mail; but take thee a visored headpiece. with thy visor down strange eyes would not know thee too well. leg mail, not greaves, and a good, light target rather than a horseman's shield. this is a rare good lance." "that will i take," said richard, as he tested a sword blade by springing it on the stone pavement of the hall. "i will hang a mace at my pommel." "thou art a bowman," said guy. "thy bow and quiver also can hang at thy saddle. nay, not that heavy bit of yew. thy arms are too young to bend it well. choose thee a lighter bow." "i will string it, then, and show thee," replied richard, a little haughtily. "yon is a target at the head of the hall. wait, now." the bow was strung with an ease and celerity which seemed to surprise the brawny forester. he took it and tried its toughness and handed it back, for richard had taken an arrow from a sheaf beneath a window. "good arm, thine!" shouted guy, for the shaft was drawn to the head and landed in the very center of the bull's eye of the wooden tablet at the hall end. "thou art a saxon in thy elbows. canst thou swing an axe like this?" he held out a double-headed battle-axe that seemed not large. it was not too long in the handle, but its blades were thick as well as sharp edged. it was no weapon for one at all weak-handed. clogs of wood lay near, with many cuts already upon them, as if there had been chopping done. richard took the axe and went toward a clog of hard oak. click, click, click, in swift succession, rang his blows, and the chips flew merrily. "done!" shouted guy. "take that, then, instead of thy foolish mace. it will but bruise, while thine axe will cleave through mail or buff coat. ofttimes a cut is better than a bruise, if it be well given. i would i had a good axe." "take what thou wilt," said richard. "put thee on a better headpiece, and change thy sword. if thou seest spears to thy liking, they are thine; or daggers, or aught else. we owe thee good arming." "speak i also for ben o' coventry," responded guy. "he needeth a headpiece, for his own is but cracked across the crown, and his sword is not of the best." "choose as thou wilt for ben," said richard, "or for any other as good as he. needeth he mail?" "his buff coat is more to his liking," said guy, "and men say that the king will not have his bowmen overweighted for fast walking. the weary man draweth never a good bow, nor sendeth his arrow home." "right is the king," replied richard. "i am but a youth, but i can see that a foe might get away from heavy armor." guy was busy among the weapons and he made no answer. at that moment, however, there was a footfall behind him, and he sprang to his feet to make a low obeisance. "mother!" exclaimed richard, "i was coming to tell thee." but not to him was her speech, nor in norman french, nor in the english dialect of the warwickshire farmers. she questioned guy in old saxon, such as was not often heard since the edicts of the norman kings had discouraged its use. richard could speak it well, however, and he knew that guy was explaining somewhat the errand before him. "it is well," she said. "i will trust him with thee. the castle is safe. but hold him not too long, for i make myself ready to pass on to warwick, to abide with the earl for a season." "right soon will he return," said guy the bow, "and good bows with him. the king shall be pleased with the company from arden and wartmont." small wonder was it, after all, that while all welshmen retained their ancient tongue, and many cornishmen, and the manxmen all, and the gaels of scotland and the wild erse of ireland, so also many thousands--no one knew how many--in the rural districts of england, still preserved but little changed the language with which their fathers had answered to harold, the last of the saxon kings. hundreds of years later the traces of it lingered in warwickshire, lincolnshire, yorkshire, lancashire, and elsewhere, in a manner to confuse the ears of modernized men from the towns and from the coasts, as well as all outland men who might believe that they understood english. well did guy obey the commands of both richard and his mother; for when, after a hearty breaking of his fast, he stood by the side of his galloway, that good beast had cause to whinny as he did, as if to inquire of his master what need there might be that he should so be packed with weapons and with steel caps for the heads of men. the gallant animal that was to carry richard, on the other hand, was fitted out and laden as if at any moment his rider might be changed from a lance-bearing man-at-arms to a bowman on foot. other baggage there was none, and lady maud, from her crenelated peephole in the wartmont keep, saw her son and his companion ride slowly away through the village. "heaven guard him!" she murmured. "but he can not gain too well the hearts of the old race. they be hard-headed men and slow to choose a leader, but they are strong in a fray. i would the tallest of the forest deerslayers should go shoulder to shoulder with my son into the king's battles." so she gazed until the pair of horsemen disappeared along the road; then she descended a flight of stairs and walked to the end of a corridor. here was a door that opened into a high vaulted chamber, at the far end of which were candles burning before an altar and a crucifix. this was the chapel of the castle, and lady maud's feet bore her on, more and more slowly, until she sank upon her knees at the altar rail and sobbed aloud. well away now, up the valley, northward, rode richard neville and guy the bow, but they were no longer in any road marked by wheels of wains. they had left the highway for a narrow bridle path that was leading them into the forest. "my lord of wartmont," said the archer, "i pray thee mark well the way as thou goest. chance might be that thou shouldst one day travel it alone. put thou thine axe to the bark of a tree, now and then, and let it be a mark of thine own, not like that of another. i think no man of knightly race now liveth who could guide thee, going or coming." in an instant richard's battle-axe was in his hand, and a great oak had received a mark of a double cross. "there hangeth a shield in the gallery of the armory," he said, "that is blazoned in this wise. it is said that a good knight brought it home from spain, in the old wars. well is it dinted, too, in proof that it fended the blows of strong fighters. it is thrust through and it is cloven." "mayhap in frays with the heathen," said guy. "a sailor, once, at portsmouth, one of our own kin, told me rare tales of the moors that he had seen in the spanish seas. he told me of men that were black as a sloe; but it is hard to believe, for what should blacken any man? he had seen a whale, too, and a shark three fathoms long. there be wonders beyond seas." "and beyond them all is the end of the world," said richard, "but the ships do not venture that far to their ruin." so more and more companionlike and brotherly grew the young lord and the forester, as they rode on together, and it seemed to please guy well both to loosen his own tongue and to ask many questions concerning matters of which little telling had ever yet come in among the forests of arden. the day waned and the path wound much, and there was increasing gloom among the trees and thickets, when guy turned suddenly to richard. "put down thy visor," he said sharply, "and draw thy sword. we are beset! sling thy lance behind thee, and get thee down upon thy feet. this is no place to sit upon a horse and be made a mark of." the actions of both were suited to the word on the instant, but hardly was richard's helmet closed before an arrow struck him on the crest. but that he had been forewarned, it had smitten him through the face. "outlaws!" said guy. "robbers--not our own men. how they came here i know not. down, quickly!" even as he spoke, however, his bow twanged loudly, and a cry went up from a dense copse beyond them. "one!" he shouted, and he and richard sprang lightly to the earth. "well my sword was out!" said the latter as he gained his feet, for bounding toward him were half a dozen wild shapes carrying blade and buckler. "down with them!" roared the foremost of the assailants; but guy the bow was in front of him, and in his hand was a poleaxe from wartmont armory. it was a fearful weapon in the hands of such a man as he, to whom its weight was as a splinter. it flashed and fell, and the lifted buckler before it might as well have been an eggshell for all the protection it gave to the bare head of the robber. he should have worn a helmet, but he would never more need cap of any kind. useless, too, was the light blade that glinted next upon the shield of richard, for it made no mark, while its giver went down with a thigh wound, struck below his buckler. on swept the terrible blows of the poleaxe, and guy had no man to meet but was nearly a head shorter than himself. "they are all down!" he shouted. "mount, my lord of wartmont; they in the copse have fled, but there may be more at hand. we will ride hard now. these are thieves from lancashire, and they have not been heard of in these parts for many a day. i think they have been harried out of their own nests. they are but wolves." "what kin are they?" asked richard, as he regained his saddle. "that i know not, nor do i know their speech," replied guy. "but among them are no tall men nor many good bows. ben o' coventry hath been told by a monk from those parts that they are a kind of old welsh that were left when the first king edward smote their tribe to death. they will live in no town, nor will they obey any law, nor keep troth with any. but the monk told ben that they were not heathen, and among them were men who could talk latin like a priest. how that could be i know not." "nor i," said richard; "but i tell thee, guy the bow, i like this war of the king's with france. we shall cross the sea, and we shall look upon strange lands and towns. i would not bide aye at wartmont. i would see the world." "that would not i," laughed guy, "but if the king winneth battles and taketh towns there will be spoils to bring home. i will come back to own land and cattle, and thou canst build again thy castle walls and maintain thy state. i saw a piece of gold once." "there is little enough of gold in england," said richard; but the path was narrowing and they could no longer gallop abreast. not far had they pushed on, however, before guy drew his rein and turned upon his galloway to say, in a hushed voice: "my lord of wartmont, i dare not sound a horn. i pray thee dismount and come after me through the hazels. i know not of peril, but we need to go lightly." "aye," returned richard, as he dropped from the saddle nimbly enough considering his arms. "i am with thee." path there seemed to be none in that dim light, but ere long, as he followed his guide, the hazel bushes on either side opened widely and before him spread a grassy level. only that the grass was too luxuriant and that here and there were rushes, it might have seemed a pleasant glade. "'tis the southerly arm," said guy, "of the great moss of arden. there is little more of it till you get leagues north of this. oh, but it's deep and fateful. he who steppeth into it cometh not up." "what do we, then?" asked richard. "that which few may dare," replied guy with one of his brave laughs. "but a piece onward and i will show thee. here might be barred an army." "that might they," said richard, staring across the treacherous green level, below which, guy told him, there was no bottom. beyond were shadowy lines that told of forest growths, and these were nearer as they led their horses onward. "a bridge!" exclaimed richard, as he caught a glimpse of a mass of logs and planks. "is there crossing?" "none but what the men of the woods can take away before dawn," said guy. "it is a bridge that some have crossed who came not back again. i pray thee, speak not save in old saxon. 'tis the only tongue that may be heard inside o' the moss of arden." richard spoke not aloud, but he was saying much in his thoughts. "this, then, is the reason why the sheriff of warwickshire had missed finding many that were traced to the forest. the takers of the king's deer know where to hide their venison. but even on this bridge a few axemen could hold back a troop. yonder bushes could hide archery. he would be a bold captain, or crack-brained, who would lead men upon this narrow way." the woodwork trembled somewhat with the weight of the two horses and the men, but it bore them well enough. "hail, thou!" came hoarsely from among the shadows as they reached the farther bank. "come well. thou hast him with thee." "greet them in saxon," whispered guy, and he also responded loudly: "hail, men, all! is ben o' coventry with ye? this is richard of wartmont, with the king's word in his mouth. i gave him safe conduct, and his mother sendeth ye good greeting." something like a cheer arose from several voices, but the speakers were unseen until guy and richard had passed on many paces into the forest. even then only dark and silent forms walked with them, and there were gleams of bright spearheads before them and behind. "every man hath his bow and his buckler," thought richard, "and most of them are sturdy fellows. the king hath need of such. it is said that the outland men are smaller in the bones." it was the prevailing opinion among the english of that day that one of their own was equivalent to four frenchmen, and they counted as french nearly all of the dwellers beyond the channel, except the hollanders and the danes, or norsemen. the norway folk were also, by the greater part, counted as danes, and were believed to be hard fighters. so, among the country folk, still lingered the traditions of the ancient days, when knut and his vikings had swept the coast and conquered the island. it was a walk of a league, and there was some talking by the way, but the men all seemed in haste and they strode rapidly. then they were greeted by loud shouting, and richard saw a red light grow beyond the trees. "here is cleared land," was his next thought, "and yonder is a balefire. ho! in the king's name, what is this? are there strongholds hidden among the woods?" before him, as he went forward, was an open area which may have contained hundreds of acres. he could see broad reaches of it by the glaring light of a huge heap of burning wood, a few score yards from the edge of the forest. beyond the fire, as much farther, he could discern the outlines of a large building, and, even more distinctly, a long line of palisades in front of it. "my lord," said guy, "yonder is the hidden ward in arden. if any that are great of thy kinsmen ever heard of it, they told thee not. there was thy mother fended, and there thy father lay long days, when earl mortimer's men were seeking his head. thou art welcome, only let thy lips be as our own concerning our hold. it will be kept well should strangers come." richard glanced at the rugged forms around him, and at many more that were walking hither and thither in the firelight. all were armed, and he could well believe that they would make guy's word good for him. they crowded around as he drew near, and there was an increasing heartiness in their manner and words as he continually replied to them in the forgotten tongue. he knew not of gypsies, or the thought might have come to him that these half-outlaws, every man a deerslayer, under the ban of the stern forest laws, had need, as had the romany or "bohemians" as they were called, to possess a speech of their own. it was a protection, inasmuch as it aided them in detecting intruders and in secretly communicating with each other. there seemed to be no chief man, no captain, but all stood on a kind of rude equality, save that much deference was paid to guy the bow. "right on to the house, if it please thee, my lord," he said. "it is late, and there is roast venison waiting. thou mayest well be hungered. is all ready, ben o' coventry?" "all that's to be eaten," responded ben, "but the talking with the men must be done on the morrow. they from the upper woods are not in. it was well to slay the lancashire thieves. some have gone out after what thou and he did leave. they may not tell tales of aught they have seen in arden." a few words more of explanation informed richard that he was there sooner than had been expected, and he was quite willing to let his wild entertainers have their own way. "i would see all," he said, "and talk to all at once." "there might be jealousies," whispered guy. "thou doest wisely. here is the gate." a vast oaken portal heavily strengthened with iron swung open in the line of the bristling palisades while he was speaking. there was a moat, of course, with a bridge of planks to the gate, over which richard and those who were with him went in. the inclosure beyond was large, and in it was blazing more than one log heap, the better to light up the buildings. some would have called it a grange, if there had not been so much of it, for there were more houses than one, all grouped, attached or built on to a central structure. there was no masonry, but the woodwork was exceedingly heavy and strong. if there were more than one story to the grange, it must have been hidden under the high-pitched roofs, for there were no upper windows. such of these as could be seen below were all closed with heavy swing shutters, nor was there any chimney on any roof. this was the manner in which the west saxons of harold's time builded the palaces of their chiefs and earls. chapter iii. the earl and the esquire. when lady maud neville arose from her knees at the altar rail there was a beautiful light upon her noble face. her long, white hair had fallen around her shoulders, but for some reason she seemed to have grown younger. "i will give him to the king!" she loudly exclaimed. "i have prayed that my son may be as was his father, a knight without a stain. but here i may not tarry. it were better i made ready for a journey even ere i sleep, for when richard returneth there will be haste. there is much that i would not leave behind. i will load no wain with goods, but the pack beasts will bear full panniers." she walked out of the chapel and her serving men and maidens met her, eager to do her bidding. after that there were chambers and storerooms to visit and coffers to open and packs to bind, for she was not ill supplied with the garments that were suited to her rank, and above all there were small caskets of dark wood that were not opened. it was said that there were gems and jewels in wartmont, and the saying may have reached the ears of such as clod the club to bring him thither. if so, well was it that he and his would never come again. ever and anon, however, as the good lady passed a window, she would pause and look out toward the forest, as if in that direction there might be some one that she longed to see. day waned and the night came on, and all preparations appeared to be completed, for again she visited the chapel before retiring to her chamber. long since had the great gate been closed, and the portcullis lowered and the bridge over the moat drawn in. now, at last, the curfew bell sounded from the tower and the lights in castle and village went out, save one bronze lamp that still burned in that corner of the keep to which the lady herself had retreated. it was a large room and lofty, with twain of narrow windows that were as if for archers to ply their arrows through them rather than for lighting the space within. the floor was strewn with dry rushes for luxury, and the garnishing was such as became the mistress of wartmont. heavily carved, of oak, were the tables and the high-backed chairs and the settles. the mirror over the chest of drawers must have come from venice itself. there were curtains at the windows and around the high-post bedstead which might have been woven in flanders or normandy, for none such could be made in england. the walls were wainscoted to the height of a man's shoulder, but there were no tapestries to tell of great wealth. it was as if in this place of retirement had been preserved all that remained of the broken prosperity of this branch of the great house of neville. the lady slept not, nor even looked at the bed, but sank into a great cushioned chair and seemed to be lost in thought. no words escaped her lips although much time went by. there was no hand to turn the hourglass on the bureau near her, nor could she have known at what hour she was startled to her feet. loud rang the summoning sound of a clarion at the great gate, and louder was the sudden answer of the alarum bell in the tower. she was at a window ere she knew, and she heard a shouting: "open, o ye of wartmont! in the king's name! it is john beauchamp, earl of warwick. is our lord the prince within?" "open will we right gladly," sent back the warder at the gate. "but the prince and my lord of maunay rode on to warwick in the morn." "saints preserve them!" uttered another voice. "but we must needs come in. bid the lady maud rest. i will trouble her not until day." "my noble kinsman!" she exclaimed, turning quickly from her window. "i will make haste to greet him. well is it that i am robed. i will meet him speedily in the hall." even so she did, and the minutes were few before she stood face to face with a tall man of noble presence, in full armor save the helmet he had doffed on entering. he seemed in full vigor of life, but gray-headed, as became a statesman upon whom the king might lean. questions and answers followed fast, and all the while the wartmont retainers were busily providing for the hundred horsemen who had ridden in the train of the earl. of them were knights and nobles also, and some of these now stood near the lady and the earl. strong was their speech, as was his, concerning the rashness which the prince had shown in riding across england with so small a company. "knoweth he not," said one, "that there is treason in the land?" "silence on that head, geoffrey of harcourt," responded the earl. "but we may trust he is safe in warwick. had we taken another highway we might have met him. but, madame, this is fine news of my young kinsman. well for him that he hath won the favor of the prince and of that rare good lance, de maunay. more than well is it also that he hath sallied forth promptly to gather his archery. it will please the king. better bowmen are not than he will bring from arden. now, lady maud, hie thee to thy rest, and so will we all, for we are weary." the remaining words were few, and once more the castle grew still, save for the stamping of restless horses in the courtyard and the busy chatter of the warders of wartmont with the guard set by the earl. now there was another place in which all was quiet, only that on a heap of rushes and a spread garment lay a youth who slept not, but turned at times uneasily. "i fear no treachery," he muttered, but not in saxon. "i think these be true men. yet i will leave my sword bare and my axe by it lest peril come. who would have looked for a hold like this among these woods?" then his thoughts went back to that which he had seen on coming in. he had passed the moat and the portal with guy the bow, and through a short passage. then he had entered a vast hall, in the middle of which blazed a fire, the smoke whereof escaped at a hole in the peak of the roof. at one end of this hall was a broad dais, two steps higher than the floor of beaten earth, and here had been spread a table for his refection. kindly, indeed, and full of reverence for his rank and name, had been the words and manners of all who served, for none presumed to eat with him. no other man was there of gentle blood, and even guy the bow would have been angered had any trespassed upon his young captain. that was richard, now, by the command of the prince himself, and the forestmen all honored the king, saxons though they were. none were permitted to question, overmuch, although guy himself went out to dispense whatever news was in his own keeping. refreshed, even with a tankard of ale that was brought him, richard arose at last, and followed ben of coventry to the sleeping place allotted him. none better was in the grange. if at any past day there had been more costly furniture, some hand had taken it away, and naught was left now but safe quarters for such men as richard had seen. it was but day dawning when a hunter's horn sounded a clear note at the door of the rude chamber. "hail, my lord of wartmont!" spoke guy the bow. "i pray thee hasten. thy men will be ready for thee within the hour. they all have come, and they are eager to hear thee." "on the moment!" shouted richard. "i am ready. tell them i come." "god speed thee this day," said guy. "full many a good fellow is ready to free himself from peril of the sheriff of warwickshire. aye, and to draw the king's good pay and have chance for pillaging french towns. they like it well." great indeed was the astonishment of richard when, after hurriedly breaking his fast in the great hall, he walked out with guy and others like him to view the gathering in the open space beyond the palisades. women and children, score on score, kept at a little distance, but not beyond hearing. in the middle, however, were clustered fully a hundred brawny men, eager to hear the king's proclamation of free pardon and enlistment for the war in france. they all knew what it was to be from other tongues, but to them the young lord of wartmont was the king's messenger, and there was no certainty in their minds until he had spoken. without too many words, but plainly and well, did he announce his message, and they answered him with loud shouting. to some of them it was as a promise of life from certain death, for the law was in search of them, and the judges of that day were pitiless concerning forestry and the protection of the king's deer and the earl's. short ceremony was needed, for man after man came forward to kneel and put his hands between those of richard, in the old saxon custom of swearing to be his men in camp and field, in fight and foray, in the inland and the outland, until the king's will should give them grace to come home again. born warriors were they all, and they laughed with glee in the hope of fighting the french under so good a leader as was edward of england. good captain, good success, they knew; and as for richard, had they not known the knight, his father, and had not he himself slain the club of devon in single-handed combat? they were proud to serve under a neville, and a man of their saxon blood, who could order them in their own tongue. "one hundred and one!" shouted guy at last. "may i not bid them to horse, lord richard? every man can have his own galloway, or another, that the road to the camp at warwick may be shortened." "mount!" shouted richard. his own gallant steed had been led to his side and in a moment more he was in the saddle. john, earl of warwick, was also early upon his feet, for he was a man whose life had been spent much in camps, and he was wont to be out and using his eyes as a captain before breaking his fast. from the men of wartmont he speedily learned all relating to the raid of the club of devon and the brave fight made in front of the castle. of this also he noted the defects, and he roundly declared that he would soon give command and provide means for its repair. "we may need it again some day," he said to himself. "there may be stormy times to come. may god prevent strife at home, but there be overproud hearts and over-cunning heads in this good land of ours. i will see to it that wartmont shall be made stronger than ever. glad am i that sir edward neville hath left so brave a son to stand for our house." many and bitter were the jealousies of the high-hearted barons of england, and none could tell the days to come. who should prophesy how long the reigning house might keep the throne, or between what claimants of the crown might be the next struggle, if, for example, king edward or his son, or both of them, and their next of kin, should go down in battle or should die suddenly in their beds, as others of royal blood had died? the head of a great baronial house might well bethink himself of every advantage or possible peril. "but for the poverty the war bringeth," he said, "i would have builders here within the week. as it is, i will have a garrison, and the good dame herself must bide at warwick while her son is with the army in france. 'twere shame to leave her here alone." so said he to lady maud when they met in the castle, and she told him then how well prepared she was for a departure. already was she aware of his reason for coming so far to meet the prince; but his anxiety was at an end, and he was willing to linger and make full his soldierly inspection of the castle. "good fort," he said, "and well was it held against earl mortimer. glad am i that thy son hath so good control of the forest men. they are as clannish as are the scotch, and they will come to their own chief when they will bide no other." he understood them, but he was yet taken by surprise before the noon. "horsemen!" he exclaimed, standing in the gateway. "rightly did i say there was imprudence in the small company of the prince. yonder is a troop--yea, twain of them." no lances were visible, but at the head of the foremost troop rode one who carried on a high staff a blue banneret, and the earl knew not as yet what its blazonry might be. truth to tell, it was nothing but an old flag of sir edward neville's which had been stowed away in the crypts of the grange. not all of these had been inspected by richard, but he had seen a good smithy wherein galloways were shod, and spearheads and arrowheads and knife blades were hammered and tempered. not only arrowsmiths were there among the forest men, but good bowyers, that they might not depend for their weapons upon any but themselves. weaving, too, was done among the women and by skilled websters of the men; but shoemakers or cordwainers they had none, and but rough potters and smelters. so dwelt they as best they might, with cattle and sheep and swine, and the black cattle of the woods and the king's deer for their maintenance. they were not at any time in peril of starvation, for excellent also were the fishes in the pools and streams, and there was no end of skilled brewing of ale. four and four abreast rode on the mounted archers who had sworn to come to the king with richard of wartmont, and they came on right orderly. well looked he also, in full armor, at their head. "'tis richard, my lord the earl!" called out to him lady maud as they rode nearer. "'tis my brave son and his men! believest thou now that he can call the men of the woods? my boy! god bless him!" "that say i!" loudly responded the earl, striding across the moat-bridge. "ho, all! get ready for the way. my lady, i pray thee to go in and lade thy pack beasts. we will even march for warwick ere the day is an hour older." loud and hearty was his cousinly greeting to his young kinsman. strong was his approval of the force he had enlisted, but he added: "what shall we do with all these beasts? the king will have his archers on their own feet." "that is provided for," replied richard. "i pray thee trust me that the whole drove can go back to arden, under good driving, as soon as there is no more need for them. i deemed it well to come quickly. such was the word given me by sir walter de maunay." "thou didst well to heed him," said the earl; but then he talked little more with richard. he bade the men dismount and get their noonday meal in the village and in the castle; but he had speech with many of them, for he was well pleased that such a company should come to the royal standard from among his own retaining. lady maud had waited, but not all patiently, for her own greeting to her son. it was a joy to both of them that they were to go on to warwick together, but most of all that a better day seemed to be dawning for them, and that the ruin wrought by the bad earl mortimer might be amended. not many men had been left behind in the hidden hold amid the forest, and such as had not marched with richard had long since dispersed. some had ridden gayly away on their stout ponies; others had gone to the fields. some were in the smithy, the tannery, and the other workshops, and a few had restlessly snatched bows and arrows to hurry out into the woods as hunters. no guards were set, except that a pair of bowmen lingered on the farther side of the causeway over the morass. there was little peril of intrusion now that the lancashire welsh thieves had been sorely smitten. whatever might remain of them would not return to be shot down. as for the secret character of the grange itself, there was small wonder that a few hundred acres, if so much there might be, of patches of farm land should be sheltered among those woods from any but such men as had been sir edward neville. it might all be within the somewhat doubtful borders of his own manorial grant, given to his ancestors by the earlier kings and confirmed by edward the first, to be lost under his son, the second edward, and earl mortimer, and to be regained under edward the third and the house of beauchamp. it was said, indeed, that there were regions tenfold as wide, in some of the remoter baronies, whereof men knew but little, especially among the scottish border counties and among the hills. besides these were the unsearched fen districts on the coasts, the wild mountain parts of wales, and worst of all were the highlands of scotland and the seagirt isles of the scottish coasts. as for ireland, even the greater part of it was almost an unknown land to englishmen, for nothing less than an army might venture inland too far with any hope of ever coming back again. in the several parts of the grange itself, as in the cottages scattered beyond it, the women plied their tasks. some of them spun with distaffs, and two or three looms were busy; more might have been but for the lack of wool. there was much raising of sheep in the more thickly settled parts of england in those days, but there was small room for them in arden. moreover, they, more than cattle or horses or swine, were sorely thinned by the wolves. it was a hundred and fifty years later that these fierce beasts disappeared from england, and the last of them in scotland was slain yet a century later. so was it that so little cloth, even of homespun, was worn by the bowmen who rode behind richard of wartmont, in the gloom of that evening when he followed the earl and his men-at-arms through the gate of warwick town. long had been the journey, hard pushed and weary were beasts and men. there was small ceremony of arrival or reception for the greater part of the cavalcade, but the lady maud was conducted at once to the care of the countess eleanor of warwick, her younger sister, the wife of the earl. as for richard, his men were cared for well, under direction of sir geoffrey de harcourt, while their young captain was bidden to hasten with his great kinsman to meet once more the prince of wales and sir walter de maunay. this greeting, too, was brief, for the hour was late; but the prince said graciously: "o thou of wartmont, i will make thee my comrade in arms! in the morn i would fain see thy men. my father himself bade me gather as many deer stealers as i might, for, quoth he, the hand that can send a gray goose shaft to strike a stag at a hundred yards may fairly bring down a frenchman at half that distance. give me bowmen enough of the right sort, and i will train them to face anything that philip of france can muster." "o my lord the prince," replied richard, "i have a hundred with me, of whom any man can send an arrow through a coat of mail at fifty yards. i like the king's notion right well." "go, now," said the prince; "go with thy kinsman, the earl. on the morrow i will tell thee what to do with _thy_ men." but these, for their part, were all of a merry heart that night. not often had any of them visited warwick, at least in later years, for therein was a jail, and they liked not so much as to look thereon, being in danger of being put within it. they had good quarters and good fare, with much ale, and they knew they were to see brave sights next day, and to have a word from even the black prince himself. was not that enough of cheer for men of the woods who had seldom been out beyond the shadows of the oaks of arden? the stout earl and his nephew walked together from the presence of the prince toward the chamber allotted to richard. "thou shalt be to me as a son!" exclaimed the earl, in the dim corridor through which they were pacing. "thou hast won the prince. now, if thou wilt go and win thy spurs with him, thy fortune is made. thou wilt have broader lands than wartmont, but wert thou even to win much gold, i bid thee bide by thine own keep and hold to thee thy saxon men. if thou wilt do so, i can foresee the day when thou canst bring five hundred bowmen to the standard of thy house." "i can bring but four more men-at-arms now," said richard ruefully. "and thy archers?" laughed the earl. "didst thou not hear geoffrey harcourt say to northampton, that if all the great barons of england would do as well as thou hast done, the array of the king would be gathered right speedily? too many are afraid to leave their own domains lightly guarded, and, truth to tell, not a few are carrying slender purses. the drainings of these long wars have made us poor. i am myself in the hands of the jews and the london lombards for more debts than i can see how to pay. so is the king, and he is troubled in mind as to how he shall feed and pay his armies. go to thy couch and arise right early. beware that thou never keep the prince waiting. he is like his royal father, and he who would fail of meeting the king hath gone near to making him a sworn enemy. his temper is dangerous. see that thou arouse him not at any time. his hand is hard upon men, and so will any troops of his be disciplined as were never english troops since william won the island." if that were to prove true, it might be one of the reasons why the king so firmly believed that he could bring the men so disciplined face to face with greater numbers of the disorderly levies of his rival, the king of france. the stern counsel of the wise earl was hardly needed, so far as richard's early rising was concerned, but he was up not any too soon in the morn. nor was he any too mindful of his duty as a soldier of the king. he arose and put on his armor and walked out of his chamber, and before him stood an archer. "the commands of the earl," he said bluntly. "eat not, but hasten to thy men. they break their fast even now. have thou them in line right speedily. i will be thy guide to their quarters." "i obey the earl," said richard, following. it was not far to go, beyond the castle gate, and richard turned for a moment to gaze back upon towers and battlemented walls which had resisted so many a stout assailing. "they are held for the king now," he thought, "but they once were held against him, and oft against other kings. in yonder dungeon keep hath more than one proud earl been brought to the block, and men say that in it, even now, are prisoners of note that may never again see the day." dark and high and threatening was the aspect of the great keep of warwick castle, and there might be terrible secrets of state in its underground chambers. he turned again to follow the archer, but when he came to the quarters of his troop, he found that the commands of the earl were there before him. the forest men were used to be up with the dawn, and it had been no surprise to them to find their tables ready spread. also, they liked the fare, and they were in good heart when they came out to greet their young captain. they cheered him loudly; but a new thought flashed into his mind. "soldiers? drilled?" he said to himself. "i see what the earl means. they all can shoot well, but they can neither form line nor move together, nor do they know the words of command. the prince--is he here thus early?" here he came, the heir of the crown of england and of the english claim to the crown of france. he was in his plain black armor, with his visor raised, but on his face was no smile of youthful familiarity--rather, something of the hard look that distinguished his father and that made men fear him; and the hardness was in his voice as well, when he shouted swift orders to richard. low had been his obeisance, but he had a bitter feeling in his heart, for he knew not how to form his men. all he could do was to turn to them and shout: "follow!" "by fours! spears in line!" added guy the bow, and more words in saxon bade them hold their shields in front and step together. less shame felt richard when he saw how well they came on, and the lips of the prince relaxed somewhat. "not a rabble," he muttered. "they will train well. i never saw new men move thus. the neville doeth better than i thought. i will speak to the earl." other knights were with him, gallantly mounted all, and behind him they rode out to the broad common of warwick, for there was to be a morning review of the earl's retainers and of levies which had arrived. never before had richard seen together three thousand armed men, horse and foot, and greatly delighted by so rare a show were his woodsmen. in large part these forces had already been well trained by the officers of earl warwick, and the prince himself ordered them through many movements, such as might be needed upon a field of battle. a rare man was guy the bow, for he and ben of coventry had been trained in their time, and they had instructed their comrades at the grange in days gone by, and the rest on the way as they came. so was it that when richard of wartmont led his two fifties hither and thither, he and they were a further surprise to the prince and to his captains and noble knights. they fell not into any confusion at any point, and again it was said of them, "no rabble," and "the wartmont doeth well for a beginner." after that, archery butts were set up and squads from several companies were picked, by lot only, and ordered to show their skill. right good was the shooting, as might have been expected, for there were prizes as well as praises to be won; but at the noon, when all was over, it was found that every best shot, save one, on all the butts had been made by the slayers of the king's deer in arden. "o thou of wartmont," laughed sir walter de maunay, "i think thou wert wise in asking so many pardons! thy merry men are in good practice." so laughed the prince, but there had been counseling that day and he now summoned richard to himself. with him were the earl of warwick and four other earls, and richard felt sorely abashed before he was spoken to. "what sayest thou, john beauchamp of warwick?" he heard the prince demand. "what wouldst thou with the levies?" "my lord the prince," responded the earl, "even as seems to me to have been said by the king. we must hear from scotland. the king crosseth not the channel before winter. neither will he keep too many thousands, at great cost and loss, in the portsmouth camp." "what then?" asked the prince. "as for my nephew's men," said the earl, "they are too few--gathered in a day. instead of one hundred, he will bring twain or more. keep these for a week, and send them to recruit their fellows. thou knowest the power of the neville name among them. send richard to york." "good counsel!" exclaimed the prince. "richard of wartmont, select thee a dozen of thy trustiest men on thy best galloways. be thou with them two hours hence, at the castle gate. thou shalt be the king's post bearer to his grace the archbishop of york, and to the barons of the north counties." richard bowed low, flushing with pride and joy, for the spirit of travel and of adventure swelled high within him. "thanks to thee, o my prince!" was all that he could say, and he went back among his men. chapter iv. the king's messenger. the prince was but a youth, although of good stature and strongly made. from his cradle up he had been trained under the care of the stout king, his father, and of knights who were chosen from the best swords and bravest hearts in england. assured was he that only a hardy soldier and a good general might safely keep the crown. the barons of the realm--half kings in their own domains--had proved the ruin of the second edward, and only by deep cunning and ruthless force had the third of the name broken loose from a like thraldom. much blood had been shed before the scepter was firmly in his grasp; and a fiercely royal self-will had been instilled into the prince of wales as one of the safeguards of his kingship. therefore, when sent to warwick to confer concerning the mustering of the forces, he had come there to command as well as to take counsel. "my lord of harcourt," he said with much dignity to that noble warrior, "i have listened well to all that hath been said. plain is it that the earl is right. there will be no crossing to france with king david of scotland threatening the border counties. we must hear from the archbishop of york. i will send the wartmont. he will go and come right speedily." there was he now in front of the castle gate, with guy the bow and ten more of the archers of arden. to richard himself had been given a fresh horse and good, with two pack beasts well laden, for the king's especial post might make a good show at any castle or town he should come to on his way. so was it with his merry men all, for their buff coats were new and they covered each a doublet of green cloth. all their galloways were saddled and bridled, with fair housings, and one of them carried a lance and a pennon, whereon were blazoned a white star and cross, and over them a gilded crown, in token of their errand. woe to any who should dare to hinder a messenger of the king, or fail to speed him on the king's errand! not that richard himself knew the meaning of the letters that were in his pouch, nor that matters of state were in his head. but a proud band and merry were the bowmen who rode behind him out of the town gate and up the highway to the northward. "o my lord of wartmont!" said guy the bow. "this is better than i had hoped. i had not so much cared to see the outland folk, but i had hungered for a look at more of england." "thou art out of the woods now," replied richard, "and so am i, but there is little more for us than riding from sleep to sleep, and caring well for our beasts. we may not pause under any roof longer than to break our fast and let the galloways rest." "we can see as we go," said ben of coventry. "a man learneth much by what he seeth. but half the archers of arden would come at the king's call, if they knew how well they would be taken in hand." that truly was the wisdom of the prudent earl of warwick, and it suited the humor of the prince, for from all the land the levies had been slow in gathering. as for himself, his stay in warwick was to be of the briefest, for he had learned many things to carry to the ears of his royal sire at london. well went it with the lady maud after she had spoken a short farewell to her son that day, for she was now housed with kindred and with many noble ladies, and was hearing tidings of the world that could not have reached her at wartmont. moreover, there were new fashions of dress and equipage that all women love to learn, and the stately dame herself had brought with her goodly fabrics ready for shaping by the skilled needlewomen of her sister, the countess. it was better than being cooped almost alone in the gloomy old keep at wartmont. a day and a night, and a day and then another night, lingered the prince. his main business seemed to be with the levies, and he said to himself: "i will know them man by man, and so will the king, my father. i will measure with care the force wherewith we are to meet philip of france. the king is most of all wary concerning his bowmen. i like well the wartmont's tall deer stealers. they are worth a pardon. we must have more of them. i, too, must be seen in wales. would that i could drain out of it the most unruly spirits and the fiercest outlaws. so is the king's command concerning ireland. if any rogue there is worse than another, let him be brought in and put in training." deep was the craft of the king, therefore, and of the prince, for if any wild man came at their call, and they liked not the promise of his thews and sinews, him they took not, after testing him, for he might be no better than one of the peasants of the king of france, fitter to dig than to carry sword and buckler. the summer days went by, even as richard had told his men. steadily, even hastily, they pressed their northward way, and tower and town gave them hearty welcome. there were those who unduly asked what their errand might be, but to noble or simple there was but one reply: "ask thou the king, if thou wilt meddle with his business." there were earls and barons, of course, to whom was due great courtesy of speech, and, indeed, to all ears there was much free news to tell. ever, as they went farther on, they heard more rumors of the doubtful state of things upon the scottish border. "there was never peace there," said the earl of arundel, at the gate of a castle where richard met with him and other noble lords. "king david will be in england within a week from the sailing of the english fleet. young sir, tell thou this from me to the good archbishop. bid him send few levies to the king from the north counties, but hold a force in waiting that shall be as good as any the king may convey to france. else we shall see the thistles of scotland halfway to london town before he can meet the lilies of france in any field beyond the sea." richard bowed low, for he was abashed before so grand a company; but he had not ridden far before he heard ben of coventry assuring guy the bow, with his usual freedom: "right wise was yonder earl, thou fat-head. but doth he deem that the king hath forgotten scotland? trust thou him for that. ah me, that we must go and come and never kill a scot!" "or be killed by them," said guy. "keep thy head for the french to hack at. thou wilt get knocks enough." "mayhap," said ben; "but i say one thing: never did twelve men from arden fare so well for no harder work than riding. it payeth me to serve the king. we have been feasted all the way." "wert thou in scotland," laughed guy, "it were otherwise. they eat but oatmeal cakes, and they know not of ale. i wonder much if they have deer in such a land where all is fog and mist, and where the days are short at both ends. but the scotch fight hard, and sorely would they harry england were a chance given them." they seemed to be at peace at that time, but king edward and his advisers had rightly read the state of affairs in the kingdom over which david the bruce was but half a king. no check had as yet been given to the power of the great scottish baronial houses. they were beyond the control of any man, and david had inherited his father's valor without either the generalship or the prudence of the great robert the bruce. it was at last in the morning of a fair, warm day that richard and his archers rode out from under a dense wood to shout together as one man for what they saw. "aye, here we are!" said richard, "and yonder is the spire of york cathedral. one hour more and we are at our journey's end." never before had any man among them journeyed so far, but they showed small signs of wear or weariness. nevertheless, at richard's command they gave goodly attention to their apparel and their weapons, and to the coats of their beasts, before presenting themselves at the gate of the ancient cathedral city. "i have heard tell," said richard to guy, "that here was a town in the old days of the romans. there hath been many a battle and leaguer before these walls." "the romans?" replied guy. "i was told of them by a cornish man. there were giants in cornwall in those days. god grant they are all gone their way; but the cornish men say they at times find the long bones and the big, hollow skulls." "the gates are well guarded," was the next thought of richard. "can there be bad news from the north?" guards there were, and none went out or in without notice to discern well whom they might be, as if, perchance, there were spies in the land. "in the king's name!" shouted richard, at the gate, "richard of wartmont. from earl warwick and the king's duty to his grace the archbishop." "in the king's name, enter!" as loudly responded a crested knight who had advanced before the sentries. "follow thou me to the archbishop. the warders will care for thy men. i am robert johnstone of the hill. art thou not a neville, and my kinsman?" "that am i," said richard. "my father was sir edward neville." "good knight and true," responded sir robert. "i have fought at his side. there must needs be a rare message when thy uncle the earl chose thee for his postboy." "words must be few," said richard, "but now i know who thou art, i will tell----" "tell not!" interrupted the knight. "do i not discern thy pennon? name not any who were with the earl until thou hast emptied thy postbag. thou art but young, and these be treacherous times. a brave band are thy men----" "archers of my own company," said richard, a little proudly. "every man from the forests of arden." "and every man a born retainer of sir edward neville's house," laughed johnstone. "do i not know thee and thine? we will have speech together soon, where there may be no other ears. the johnstones are as thou art, the chiefs of old clans that the new men can do naught with." great then was the surprise of the young messenger when his sudden acquaintance talked to him in saxon, bidding him also not to use that speech except among his own, and telling him that the north counties contained more than did the midlands of such men as had preserved jealously the memories of the days of harold the saxon. "'tis a tough race," said the knight. "it is a good foundation for thy house to rest upon. aye, or for the king's throne. now, if thou wilt dismount, yonder esquire will care for thy horse." sir robert appeared to be acting as captain of warders, and none questioned or hindered him as he and richard walked on, side by side, toward the castlelike palace which served as the residence of the archbishop. the town was the largest, and its buildings were the best that richard yet had seen. he knew, moreover, that the learned prince of the church before whom he was about to stand was also accounted second to none among the statesmen of england, with rare capacity for affairs of war as well as of peace. he was a man, therefore, to whom might be intrusted the safety of a realm in the absence of its king, and in him had edward the third unshaken confidence as being loyal and true. word of their coming had gone on before them swift-footed, and they were ushered with all haste into the great hall where his grace was already present, for the reception of they knew not what or whom. at the upper end of the hall, upon a raised dais of three steps, was a throne chair, carved richly with emblems of the church, and surmounted by a high cross that seemed of silver. in front of this, clad gorgeously in flowing robes, stood the archbishop, and before him knelt a knight in splendid armor, but bareheaded, just on the point of rising. the quick eyes of the prelate flashed keenly, and he turned to an attendant monk. "anselmus," he said in latin, "bring hither yonder messenger. i must read his letters before i have further speech with douglas." "he hath summoned thee," whispered sir robert to richard. "speak not at all to him, lest thou err greatly. yon is the knight of liddesdale, the prowest spear of scotland. his presence bodeth no good to england, i fear." the monk came and touched richard's arm and led him forward. glad was he of his injunction not to speak, for he was greatly awed to be in that presence. he walked onward with bowed head, and on the dais he knelt before the archbishop. "thy letters, my son," said the prelate. not a word spoke richard, but he silently presented three sealed missives. one he knew was from the prince, one from the earl of warwick, and the third was to him a secret. nevertheless he heard the archbishop mutter: "the king's own hand?" then he said aloud: "wait thou here, my son. rise; i will return presently. my lord douglas, come thou with me into my cabinet." richard arose and stood in his place, but it seemed not long before the archbishop strode back again, and with him came the knight of liddesdale. "your grace," said the latter, "i ride within the hour." "peace go with thee," responded the archbishop. "peace be with thee and thine; with thy king and my king; with scotland and with england! amen!" then from all who were present came a responsive amen, as the knight knelt for a parting blessing and rose to depart. "come thou, my son richard," said the archbishop. "i would hear thee." it was strange fortune for a youth so inexperienced to find himself mingling in affairs so tremendous, and richard hardly breathed until he was alone with the great man in a kind of oratory wherein was an altar. "speak!" said the archbishop. "tell all." first, then, richard told of the prince and de maunay at wartmont, and the archbishop answered not save to mutter: "so! thou hast slain that wolf, the club of devon. thou art like thy father." then told richard not of the grange in the woods, but of his going to warwick with his archers, and again he heard the prelate mutter, but in saxon: "saxons, all! how we of the old blood do cling together! he doeth well." all the words of the prince and of those with him were repeated, but no comment was made. after that told richard the saying of the earl of arundel, and he had finished. "well for thee, my son," said the archbishop. "thou hast seen lord douglas. he is for peace. mark me, i will write letters. thou wilt bear them. wait in york till they are given thee. come not to me unless i summon thee. i note that thou rememberest clearly, and canst carry that which may not be written. this, then, say to the king or to the prince, but not to another save john beauchamp the earl, lest thou die. bid the king from me that douglas and his friends will fail in their counsels for peace. david of scotland is for war, and waiteth but opportunity. he must now have one. edward the king will not but seem to drain of force these northern counties, that the scottish lords may deem them unguarded. he will gather an army for his war in france. such another will we prepare to meet the scottish invasion. let the king be sure that when he saileth for france the scottish host will march for the english border. edward will prove too much for so rash a man, with all his cunning, as is philip of france. in like manner we will prove too much for david of scotland, who despiseth the warnings of men like douglas of liddesdale. we will crush the scottish invasion, taking the unwise in a snare. go!" deep was the reverence with which richard turned to depart. more words were given him, however, and much was his wonder at a man who seemed to know the thoughts of the hearts of other men, and to read the forces of the kingdoms as if he were counting pennies. a good monk led the young messenger out of the hall and gave him into the care of sir robert johnstone. "say not too much to me," said the knight. "i talked with liddesdale, and heavy of heart is he. a wise man as well as a good captain; but the scots must learn a lesson. how long tarriest thou in york?" "for letters only," said richard. "then bide with me, and let thy men rest and their beasts. i will show thee the town and the castle and the cathedral. 'tis a grand old town. i like it well." "i shall like well to see," said richard. "but how great is the archbishop! never before have i looked into the face of such a man." "wait, then, until thou hast seen the king," replied sir robert. "try if thou canst read him. thou wilt be with the prince." out they went, and richard's eyes were so busy that he found small use for his tongue. nor was there great need, save for a question here and there, for the knight had taken a liking to him and was willing to instruct him. "some day," he said, "thou mayest lead thy archery hitherward. spare not to learn aught that might serve thee if thou wert a captain, in whatever land thou shalt at any time visit." at the close of the day, when the vespers were ringing sweetly in the cathedral tower, richard was with his men, and they gathered around him gladly, telling how well they had fared. "guy the bow," laughed richard, "tell me truly, now, of those who have been with thee. hast thou broken thy jaws with french or north english, or hast thou chattered in saxon?" the laugh was echoed from man to man, and guy the bow responded: "now, my lord, knowest thou this already? there be more of the old sort here than in warwickshire. they tell that there be many nevilles hereaway, and it seemed right to them that one of thy house should be our captain. but i hear that the bowmen of these parts are to be kept at home." "say not too much of that to any man," said richard, for at once he remembered the words of the archbishop. "the king," he thought, "will deal with the scots as with the french. they must get their teaching from the longbow and the cloth-yard arrow." rest came well that night after so long a journey. the next day, and the next, were but spent in seeing sights and in waiting for orders. on the third day, however, before the sun was a half hour high, came sir robert johnstone to greet his young friend. "up, richard of wartmont!" he gayly shouted. "take thou this pouch and keep it with thy life until thou shalt deliver it to the king's hand. thine uncle the earl, or the prince, shall be to thee as the king, but on thy life and on thy head give it to no other." the parcel was small and it was tightly bound in dressed deerskin. it could be hidden under a coat of mail, and there did richard at once conceal it. "i will but break my fast," he said. "then we will mount and ride." "beware of overhaste," said the knight. "safety is more than speed in such a case as this. a day more or less will not matter. thou wilt know enough not to talk loosely by the way, but it is from his grace himself that thou shalt speak only of peace with scotland. baron or earl or common, all must rest assured that the scots are weary of war. well they might be, were there wisdom in them. i would their king were older. we shall beat them the more easily because he putteth aside such captains as the knight of liddesdale, and listeneth to hot-headed young chiefs that never yet saw a thousand spears in line." "thou wilt be here?" said richard. "that will i," replied the johnstone. "the king will hear a good report of his north country bowmen. if thou speakest of it to the prince, say this from me, that in his own camp there shall be no better discipline nor closer archery." rapid was their talking, but when they summoned richard's men there was a shout. they had seen enough of york already, and they were eager for the road. to them all it was more like a long junketing than aught else. "all arden would list," said ben of coventry, "for this sort of war service. but i had hoped somewhat for a brush with the scots. not an arrow hath sped since we set forth from warwick." "thou wilt have archery enough before thou art done with the king's war," replied richard. "mind thou thy galloway, ben," interrupted guy the bow. "what knowest thou of the scots? they are many a league away." "aye, man," said ben, "and all the yorkshire men know that douglas of liddesdale was here. all scotland may march behind him some day." "then i may say to thee," said richard, "and to every man of this company, speak not upon the way one word of the knight of liddesdale. closed lips, safe head. we are on the king's errand." "even so!" exclaimed ben. "i was right. i deemed the scottish captain a bird of ill omen. thou mayest trust thy men, lord richard of wartmont. we of the greenwood are well used to keeping a silent tongue. else were our necks worth but little." richard said no more; but it was well that he had with him none but trusty companions, for all their journey homeward would be beset by shrewd questioners eager to get the latest tidings from the north. "i will take another road," he thought, "than that by which i came. there are roads plenty. the earl of arundel will be at warwick when i get there, or at london." hearty was the farewell of sir robert johnstone at the city gate, and gay was the setting forth of richard and his men. but it was even according to the saying of wise ben of coventry, that an esquire and eleven archers were riding a holiday with nothing to do but to ride and to be hailed at every gateside to tell what news. even the second day passed in like manner, and it was far on in the third when the first happening came. not in any town or by any castle, but in the broad highway, there rode to meet them a glittering array of men-at-arms. "halt!" shouted richard. "form line at the roadside, till we know what this may mean. yonder is a banner with the arms of surrey. why should such a flag be here? i know not the earl, nor is he a friend of the warwick, beauchamp or neville." so many, in those troubled days, were the feuds and heartburnings among the stout barons of england! on came the lances, fully a score, with mounted esquires and serving men as many, and richard sat alone upon his horse in the roadway, with guy the bow at his side bearing the prince's pennon. sharply the men-at-arms drew rein, and only one knight spurred forward. "richard of wartmont!" he exclaimed. "glad am i thou camest this way. they who wait thee on the other road must not know thy errand. surrey is not here, but the earl of northampton." "my lord of harcourt," responded richard firmly, "i may not answer even thee, nor give my errand save to our liege the king, or to the prince." "thou wouldst deserve to lose thy head if thou didst," replied sir geoffrey of harcourt. "do thou, however, as if the prince bade thee. go not to warwick, but send thy archery there. turn thou with me and ride for thy life until thou art out of reach of the king's enemies." "guy the bow," said richard, turning to him, "hast thou heard?" "if it be also thy command," said guy, "fear not for us. little do we need of highways or of any man's permission. let me have speech with the men." "bid them to reach warwick town as best they may," said richard. to the roadside and to his company went guy, and in a few moments more he raised a hand, and the few words he spoke were in saxon. up again went the hand of richard, with a loud "ha! ride!" now at that place was a great forest, with a deep ditch along the roadside. as richard lowered his hand, over the ditch went the line of galloways, and it was but a twinkling before all had vanished among the trees. "wartmont," exclaimed the knight, "thou hast thy men well in hand! i will tell the prince of this. thou canst call them and thou canst send them." "how is this?" loudly demanded a not unkindly voice, as another rider in splendid armor rode near them. "my lord of northampton," said sir geoffrey, smiling, "richard hath sent home his galloways, and they took their riders with them. he must not pause----" "a few words only," said the earl; "i shall not hinder the king's service. arundel gave thee a message. was it delivered?" "it was, my lord the earl," said richard. "i may say to thee it was timely." "knowing from him what it was," said the earl, "i need ask no more on that head"; but he went on with what seemed to be only general inquiries as to the health of the archbishop and the gatherings of levies at york and elsewhere. "haste!" muttered harcourt. "on, then!" almost shouted the earl. "ride well, thou of wartmont, lest the foes of the neville as well as the traitors to the king shall bar thy way. but i am glad that they lied who said that the good archbishop is failing. on!" silent and motionless upon their horses sat the men-at-arms as harcourt and richard galloped by. miles away, upon another road, a somewhat like band of warlike men were halted as if waiting, and to him who seemed their leader it was said, by a small, gray-headed man at his side: "could we but know the mind of the archbishop we might be able to tell the king why we pay not his contributions, and why thy retainers are not on the march for portsmouth." "we shall have his grace's letters before the sun is down," hoarsely responded the knight addressed. "i would there might be somewhat in wartmont's doublet to imperil the proud head of his uncle warwick." "aye, my lord of surrey," said the gray-headed man, "it were overcunning of john beauchamp to have the young neville so near the prince. that house towereth too high. we will tumble it somewhat." small was the knowledge of richard concerning the plots and perils through which he and his had ridden, but in a small, elegantly furnished room, at many a long mile's distance, there sat at that hour twain who spoke of him. "my son," remarked one of them, "i will not say that thou and warwick were overconfident to send a boy. the time for his return draweth near." "'tis far to ride," replied the younger of the pair, and he was very much the younger. "i sent sir geoffrey harcourt to watch for him, else he might not come. my royal sire, richard neville and his archers might come and go where a knight and a score of men-at-arms would fail." "or turn traitor, as some have done," slowly responded the king. "the land reeks with treason, but half of it would have us go to france and be beaten, while the other half would have us stay at home and lose all to philip of valois." so communed king edward and the black prince, telling of the dangers which may beset a crown. much had they to say concerning the power of the barons, but more of the building up of their strength among the people. "mark thou this, my son," said the king at last, "make thou the commons to be strong, and the crown is safe against the barons. when i can show thee bowmen defeating knights and men-at-arms, thou wilt see a new day for england. after that it shall not be long until a successful merchant shall be greater than an earl. am not i also a merchant? learn thou the art of the trader, for it is part of the wisdom of kings in the time that is coming." all through his reign had commerce grown, and manufactures been encouraged by the king, while more and more with a strong hand he strove to restrain the barons. not till a later day, however, were they to be broken; but, even as he now said, they were to go down partly by their own jealousies and feuds, but more by the power of the commons. it was therefore a lesson in kingcraft that the prince was receiving from his father, but at the end of it the youth walked out along a corridor, murmuring: "the king is sore disturbed. he hath great need to hear from york and of scotland. well for richard neville if he arrive speedily, for my royal father is not always safe in his mood. but he was pleased concerning the neville and his archers." it was sunset when richard and sir geoffrey drew rein before a hostelry in a large hamlet. "dismount!" said the knight sharply. "i will give thee here a fresh horse, and thine shall follow. ten leagues farther on, as i will give thee instruction, thou wilt get thee another. ride till thou drop from thy saddle, but i trust thy toughness will bear thee through. if thou must sleep one night, camp thee in a wood, not in a house, lest thou awake and find thy pouch missing, or lest thou wake not at all." the fresh horse was a good one, but now richard, with full directions for the way, rode on alone, bearing still the banneret of the prince. 'twas a fair night, and the full moon gave light as of the day. mile after mile went by and all was well, but he came to an open level of broad highway whereon much could be seen afar. "a man-at-arms?" said richard. "he faceth this way. i may not let him stop me. i will close my visor and be ready for what may come." he shut his helmet tightly and lowered his lance, loosening also the battle-axe at his saddle bow. he had need, for the strange man-at-arms uttered no warning, but dashed suddenly forward with lance in rest. 'twas but the fortune of tourney, for the foeman rode well and he was large. his lance point glanced from the helmet of the young messenger, while richard smote him full upon the breast. splintered to the hand was the lance, but the stranger reeled in the saddle, and before he could recover himself richard had wheeled, axe in hand. "in the king's name!" he shouted, "what doest thou with the king's messenger?" down came the battle-axe, striking the bridle arm of the stranger, so that while he drew his sword with his right hand he could not manage his horse. "for the king!" shouted richard. "down with thee, thou cub of wartmont!" roared the stranger angrily. "i will take thy messages. ha!" 'twas a good blow, but it stopped upon the shield of the neville, while once more the axe fell heavily with the curvet of richard's horse. sore wounded upon one thigh was now the man-at-arms, and his steed plunged viciously to one side. "i will have thee!" he shouted, but his sword swept vainly through the air, while richard charged again. "thy helm this time!" he muttered as his axe came down. cloven through was the steel headpiece, and the man-at-arms let fall his sword. "neville, i yield me!" he cried out. "smite not again." "who art thou?" demanded richard. "that ask thou not, if thou art wise," responded the stranger. "for thee to know my name were thy death-warrant. thou hast perils enough. ride on, and tell the king that an old man-at-arms who could grind thee to powder hath been beaten by a lad. i have fought in twenty pitched fields, and now i must even ride home to save my broken head." "i will harm thee not," said richard, "but i fear thee not. thy head were worth but little----" "trust me, it is safe," said the stranger. "the king will leave it where it is. i shall see thee again some day. thou wilt be a good lance, but carry thou not too many king's errands. fare thee well!" he had regained control of his horse, and now he suddenly spurred away in the very direction by which richard had come. down sprang the latter to pick up the fallen lance and to fasten upon it the pennon his own had carried before it was broken. then, as he mounted once more, he exclaimed aloud: "ride i now for my life! i shall be followed fast and far. i know not friend from foe, save that the nearer i get to the king the safer i shall be." his good horse neighed cheerily, as if he knew that his rider had conquered, and a proud youth was richard neville. "i have won my first passage at arms," he said. "i shall have somewhat whereof to tell the prince." chapter v. the ending of the peace. "seven leagues from london, if that wagoner gave me the distance aright," said richard to himself, "and this horse is sore wearied. twain have tired under me since my lance was splintered on the shield of that felon knight." much and often had he wondered who might be the stranger man-at-arms, but of one thing he felt assured: only some baron of high name had used such speech and worn such armor. now, at last, even his tough sinews were giving out, for he had ridden hard and slept little. food had been easy to buy at wayside hostelries. he had ridden through towns and villages with no longer pauses than had been needful that he might ask the way or answer courteously the questions of persons of condition. his fresh mounts had been freely furnished him on showing of the royal order, for none might lightly disobey the king. "surely i now am safe," he thought, "but the night is falling. i will even rest at an inn and go onward in the morning. i must sleep, lest i fall from my horse." it was a huge, rambling tavern at the right of the highway, and as he drew rein before it a portly host came forth to welcome him. "in the king's name," said richard. "and whence art thou?" asked the landlord. "on the king's business," said richard. "see thou to it that i have a fresh steed ready to bear me to london town with the dawn, lest harm come." "we are all the king's men here," said the landlord heartily. "canst thou not give us the news of the day? what of the scots? for thou art from the north." richard was slowly, painfully dismounting, but at the same moment another man, not in armor, was springing upon horseback to haste away. "yea," said richard, "i will tell thee the news. i am richard neville of wartmont----" "ha! hold thou thy tongue, then, and come in!" sharply returned the host of the inn, but he spoke in pure saxon. "do i not know that thou art watched for? i am of arden, and i knew thy father. by thy hand fell the club of devon." "aye," said richard, "but what peril is so near the gates of london?" "peril to thee that thou reach them not," replied his new friend. "there be those who would know the king's secret counsel. small would be their care for thy throat. eat well. sleep well. then ride thou on before the light cometh." in walked richard, hardly able to stand, but a room was given him, and here he took off his armor that he might bathe while a repast was preparing. it refreshed him much, but when the landlord came in and found him clad only in his doublet, he loudly exclaimed: "on with thy mail, my lord of wartmont! let thy bare sword lie by thee. i think thy nag may die, but i have thee a better one ready. 'tis my own best mare, and she will stand saddled in the stall until thou comest for her." "i am overworn for fighting," said richard. "i will even trust my bow rather than my sword or axe." "as thou wilt," replied his host, but a serving man placed food upon the table, and richard began to do it full justice. none other was admitted to the room, and richard dealt fairly, telling all news that he might tell. "one thing know i," said the landlord. "the king's levies come in but slowly, and he is sore displeased. not this year will he cross to france. if i hear truly, some of the great lords would rather march against him than against philip, and they look for side help from the scots." so many true tales creep in at a hostel from the lips of those who tarry there, and the young messenger felt not only weary but half dispirited. the landlord had now gone forth, and for a few moments richard was alone. the door was not fastened, however, and it opened without a sound to let in a man whose footsteps were unheard until he had passed to the table side. "my son, peace be with thee! thou art on the message of the king?" richard was startled, but he turned to look, and before him stood a black friar in his long serge robe, with sandals only on his feet. a thought came like a flash: "i have heard that these holy men are with philip of france rather than with edward of england. i must beware of him, for they are cunning men." nevertheless he reverently greeted the friar and bade him be seated. "tell me, my son, what tidings bringest thou from the north, and from the saintly archbishop of york?" with all seeming freedom did richard respond, but he mentioned not the knight of liddesdale, nor the temper of the scottish king. cunning indeed was the questioning, but of the letters, either way, naught was said. rather was there much loose chat of the things by the way, and richard declared: "little know i. i am but a youth." "and well worn?" said the monk. "now i will counsel thee, for thou well mayest trust such as i am. rest thou here in peace, and i will convey to the king any matters from my old and dear friend and father in god, the archbishop. high, indeed, is my reverence for that holy man. deep is my fealty to our good lord the king. even give me thy message and i will depart." "thanks to thee, reverend father," said richard. "but there is no haste. it were not well for thee to travel by night. come thou in the morning, for now i can talk no more. thou mayest ride my own horse, if thou shalt find him rested." so the friar smiled, and gave richard his blessing and departed, not having given any name. that was what came to richard's mind quickly, but he said to himself: "who knoweth what name he would have given--his own, or another? i like him not, but if the host be right, he will not ride far upon that nag. nor will he be overweighted with the king's errand. but i told him no untruth. never before was i cunning, but i must care for my head." so said the landlord, shortly, when he came and heard, but he added: "not in the house shalt thou sleep. come thou with me, my lord. i will show thee a safer resting." the darkness had fallen, and not even a lanthorn did they take with them as they made their way out of the inn to the barns. none met them, and they paused not until they were among hayricks in the rear. "yonder," said the landlord, pointing at a stable, "in the first stall on the right is thy good steed. ride hard, but kill her not, and send her back to me. i would serve the king and beat his enemies. if thou sleepest too long, i will arouse thee." down sank richard upon a heap of hay, but his bow and arrows were with him as well as his pennoned lance. how long he slumbered he knew not, but he was feverish, restive, and his ears were not so dull in sleep that they did not catch a faint clang of steel. he woke, but he stirred not, and he lay listening. "put thou thy dagger deeply in below the lad's ear!" he heard one say. "he must die without speech. curse on that hostel keeper! i fear me he hath betrayed us. we found not the king's messenger in the house. i think he is somewhere here away. search well, but be silent." only dim was the lanthorn they carried, but richard could see three men, and one of them wore mail, without a headpiece. he it was that spoke, and his sword was in his hand. the other twain were in buff coats, and of one of these his long, two-edged, dagger knife was already drawn. they saw not yet the young bowman in the hay, but he was fitting an arrow to the string. "ten yards! i must not miss. i will even smite him through the face," thought richard. loudly twanged the bow, and out of the belt came a second arrow to the string. [illustration: loudly twanged the bow.] "through his buff coat," said richard aloud, and he sent the shaft strongly, but he at the moment turned toward the stable, looking not behind him. he heard a cry and a gasp, however, and hoarse groaning, and a voice that exclaimed: "god 'a' mercy, my lord bellamont is slain! so is the seneschal! woe is me! i will summon the two warders." uncertainly he lingered a brief space to examine well the fallen men, and richard made what haste he could. "i can not run," he thought. "i hardly may climb to the saddle." nevertheless he did so, after leading out the goodly beast he was to ride. nothing was lacking in her appointments, and she knew the way to the road-gate. out spurred richard, as loud shouts began to arise behind him. he gained the highway, and he could discern beyond him only one man on foot, in full armor. "halt, thou!" he shouted. "stand, on thy life! i would have speech with thee!" "in the king's name," shouted back richard, "out of my way!" "that will i not!" roared the knight. "thou cub of wartmont, draw rein!" "take that!" said richard, spurring hard and striking with his lance. 'twas a knight of skill in fence, however, and his target was over his visor to receive the thrust, so that he did but measure his length upon the road. "traitor!" shouted richard. "thou shalt answer for this to the king!" "st. andrew!" gasped the fallen man. "has the boy escaped? john beauchamp knew whom to send. but i will pay him bitterly for this." "my lord duke," exclaimed one who came running to him, "de bellamont is slain by the messenger!" "woe worth the day!" groaned the knight, arising slowly. "back to the castle! i must get me to flanders in haste. all is lost! we will but say that bellamont was murdered by thieves at the inn." on galloped richard, glad to find how buoyant and free was the stride of the landlord's favorite; but his perils were not ended. a full half mile he rode, and he was thinking, "i will race no more lest i tire her needlessly, and the road to london town is yet long," when far beyond he dimly discerned the forms of mounted men and men on foot. "'tis but a lane here to the right," he said. "i care not whither it may lead me, so i fall not in with yonder troop. they are too many." then came to him something of his woodcraft, and he did but go out of the road before he turned to see what they might do. and he did wisely, for with one accord the horsemen and the footmen vanished. "they were at a crossroad," thought richard. "they deem i have taken the lane, and they have gone to cut me off at its ending. now i will ride past them." 'twas a shrewd planning, for when he reached the crossroads only one man could he discern, a man in the serge gown of a black friar, who stood and waited. "halt, thou, my son!" commanded the friar. "greater men than thou art bid thee stand." "in the king's name, i will not," said richard, "but if thou needest a nag, thou wilt find one at the inn, as i promised thee. a good beast, truly, save that he is dead. so are some of the traitors who were there, enemies of the king, as thou art. fare thee not well!" he struck spurs as he finished, and the friar was left to wait for whom he might. the gray dawn was showing in the east, and now it would seem that all danger had been left behind. "little know i," thought richard. "had i not been forewarned, i had trusted any great baron that he would forward the king's business. now i will trust not one, till i reach london gate." the noon sun of that day was shining through high, stained windows into the audience chamber of the king, in the tower of london. it was not a day for him to linger in any palace, and his brows were but black with gloom as he listened to his counselors and to the affairs that were brought before him. these were many and weighty, and few were they who might dare to interrupt him; but he suddenly raised his head, and the dark frown vanished from his face. back among the lords and gentlemen in waiting stood the black prince himself, and a sign had passed from him to his royal sire. still for a few moments longer king edward sat and listened and responded to those around him, nor could they have gathered whether he were ill at ease or not. iron was he to all circumstances, and naught could seem to move him much, save his ire, if that should be stirred. and now he arose, and his dismissal of the assembly was but as if he sent them to their noontide refections, but he himself refused other attendance, and passed out by a private door with his son. "neville of wartmont, from the archbishop?" sternly replied the king to the first words of the prince. "why tarried he on the road?" "that he did not," said the prince. "he hath ridden four horses. one wearied out, twain were ridden to death, and the last bore him to our gate. he hath been sore beset on the way. he hath slain de bellamont and another, and he hath much to tell concerning treason. i bade him wait in the southerly corridor and to have speech with none." "it shall be well with him!" exclaimed the king. "glad am i of the nevilles and the beauchamps in a day when so few may be trusted. bring him to me in my retiring room." unhelmeted, but otherwise clad as he had ridden, richard neville was quietly conducted to the apartment which so few were ever allowed to enter, and he was brought face to face with the king. "nay, richard, sit thee down," commanded edward, for the wornout messenger hardly could rise from his bended knees. "i would hear thee slowly and long. begin with thy going, and see that thou miss no place nor any man, gentle or simple." richard began his tale, and there was no interruption until he came to the message sent by the earl of arundel. "i will remember him for that," he said. "a wise man and true. speak on." there was no other stopping until the story reached the york gate. "sir robert," said the king, "then i may trust the johnstones. it is well. come now to the archbishop. nay, hold thy letters until thy words are done." there were questions concerning his grace and some others, but most careful were the king's inquiries relating to the knight of liddesdale. "now, thy ride hitherward," said the king, and richard told it all. he saw the eyes of the prince flash admiringly at the passage of arms, but the king chafed sorely that he could not guess by whom richard had been assailed. "thou didst well not to slay him," he decided, after a moment's thinking. "if thou ever meetest him again, to know him by his voice or otherwise, tell me." when all the rest was said, to the london gate, the letters were delivered, but the king as yet opened them not. "richard of wartmont," he said, rising, "the earl of warwick waiteth for thee without. go thou to him. god send me alway as good a messenger! thou wilt win thy spurs in good season. when thou returnest from warwick, thou art of the king's household. i promise thee that thou shalt be captain of thine own bowmen when we sail for france." a proud youth was richard, but so lame he walked not easily when the prince led him to the door. "i envy thee, i envy thee!" exclaimed the latter. "a joust of arms by moonlight! a fray i' the night! and thou hast seen the liddesdale! i would give much to meet him." something of romance and of knight errantry, therefore, was in the hot young head of the heir of the throne of england, and they twain parted right friendly, as became such youths, who were to be companions in arms. in one moment more, upon richard's shoulders were the strong hands of the earl of warwick. "thou art as my son!" he exclaimed. "thou art strengthening thy house. these be times when a man should stand by his own." few were the words of their further greeting till they were by themselves in the warwick palace at london. nor then was much converse, until richard had slept long and well. afterward he was talked with by his uncle as if he had been a grown man and a belted knight, but that was on the morrow. "moreover," said the earl, at the end of all, "i have thy freedom from the king. thou mayest pause in warwick to see thy mother. then go thou to wartmont. spend what time thou mayest among thy men, but be sure that thy levy shall be full. so shalt thou keep the favor of the king. then thou wilt return to london town." one day only was required, and beyond that was the homeward road. oh, but it was a bright even, full of happiness, when the young warrior--for such he now was--once more was folded in the arms of the lady maud! her long, white hair fell over his shoulders like a veil, and she sobbed most peacefully. "alas, my son," she said, "that i can not keep thee with me! thou art mine all! but obey thou the mandates of the king and of the earl." "i must speed me to wartmont, mother," said richard. "i will return to thee, but it will please me much to see the old tower again, and my merry men." there were two sunsets after that before he left the castle, and proud was she at the manner of his treatment by the great men who were coming and going. any were ready to speak graciously to a youth who was known to have won royal favor. only the third sun was going down thereafter, when richard, in full armor but alone, save a serving man with a pack beast heavily laden, drew rein before the portal of his own castle. but all behind him the village had risen as he rode through. farmer men were also coming in, while every cottage poured forth old and young. the warders raised the portcullis and swung open the gate, while in the tower the bell swung heels over head. so in the village church the ringers were busy, to show their young lord their gladness at his safe return. for there had been rumors of his going to the north, even unto scotland. he had slain men. he had served the king. he had done wondrous well, and all his own were joyful. hardly could he dismount from his good steed, so close was the press around him, but he bade the castle keepers make ready a goodly feast for all comers. "guy the bow!" he shouted suddenly, "art thou here?" not quite had he arrived, but up the street a galloway was coming at his swiftest, and on his bare back rode the best archer of arden. down sprang richard now, and so did guy, but there was no handshaking, for richard's arms were around the forester. "come thou within!" he shouted. "i have much to tell thee. much to tell the men. how goeth it with them all?" "right well, my lord richard," said guy, greatly delighted. "i tell thee, they came back loyal men. a fortnight's gay drilling with the king's troops. good fare. wages as if in war. a new suit each. then marched they home, avowing they would bring each his man to double the levy." "i trust they may," said richard. "i will have speech with them." "but seest thou not," said guy, "what the earl's masons are doing for thy castle? i wonder at it, for the time hath been but brief. they work fast, and the walls are nobly mended." "i will see to that," said richard eagerly, and they pushed on into the keep, but not till he had spoken many good words to the villagers. truly the workmen had plied their tools with industry, but they had done more than mend. some well-skilled engineer of the earl had planned enlargements and outer walls on the farther side. there were to be bastions and stronger battlements and better storage within for the provenders that might withstand a siege. it was a good fort, had said the engineer, and in some dark day it might be worth the holding. that evening was a feast of welcome and of news-telling, but with the dawn both guy and richard rode away. nor did any at the castle know whither they had gone nor what they did while they were away. all the while the masons and their helpers toiled on, and the stonework grew apace. it was four days before the young lord of wartmont returned to see what they had done. a score of men on galloways came with him to the edge of the forest, but there they drew rein, and it was ben of coventry who spoke for them. "fare thee well, lord richard of wartmont!" he said merrily. "we will come at the king's summons, hear it when we may. only this, that thou do not get thyself slain too soon, for many of us will follow the neville, and not another." if he had won them, so had they won him, and well did he love his bowmen, as one loveth kith and kin. not long might be his further lingering at the castle nor on the road to warwick. there, indeed, he found not only his mother, but a message from the earl, bidding him to london speedily. it was a grief, and yet she was willing to have him go, for in it was his future good fortune, and she kissed him farewell after a long talk about wartmont, and the grange in the forest, and the troop he was to command, although so young. two mounted spearmen went with him on the road to london, but none who met him questioned him for harm. it was as if the roads were as safe and peaceful as was their seeming; but richard knew better than that. even at the london gate he found himself turning quickly in his saddle to gaze after one who passed him. "'twas a scowling face," he thought. "where have i met that knight? he carrieth his bridle arm in a sling, as if he were wounded there. did i not smite a left arm with mine axe on the road? i will watch for that man." so he told the prince when they came together, but there was wisdom of kingcraft in the answer given. "o true and loyal heart, good comrade," spoke the prince, "if thou thinkest thou knowest him, be sure that thou know him not. if he meet thee, greet him well, as if he were thy kinsman. 'tis ever well for a man to know his foemen. 'tis ever ill to let his foemen know that he knoweth them. safety is in secrecy until the sword is out of the sheath." "i will obey," said richard, "but my blade will be out quickly if any seem to threaten thee or my royal master." the prince inquired with care concerning the archery levy, and he seemed well pleased, but he had somewhat more of counsel for his companion in arms. "wert thou ever on shipboard?" he asked. "hast thou been ever at sea?" "never saw i the salt water," responded richard. "i have but looked upon the masts in the thames, but i can row a boat." "a wherry?" said the prince. "there will be no wherry fighting. even now we are sweeping the french pirate craft from the channel. do thou this: at every hour of thy liberties haunt thou the riverside. read thou each craft thou seest, great and small. i will get thee an order to board any in the king's errand. talk with seafaring men, and learn the points of shipping and of the manner of all fights at sea. go not out of the harbor, however, for thou mayest not at any day be beyond recall if thou art needed as a messenger. thou art of the king's pages. the earl will see to thy equipment, for thou mayest often serve at court and at royal banquets." gladly did he hear of that appointment. none of lower rank than his own might carry a dish or hand a napkin at the royal table, or stand behind any of the king's guests in the banquet hall. but hardly less than an earl might deliver the king's own cup or carve or hand for him. much teaching of these matters did richard receive thereafter from the earl of warwick, and likewise one of his near friends and tutors was the good earl of arundel, brave knight and skillful captain, fitted to lead an army. noble ladies also smiled upon him, for he was well favored and of goodly stature, and he knew somewhat of music. even the queen herself spoke graciously to him before long. nevertheless did he walk always cautiously, knowing more and more of the bitter jealousies and heartburnings which ever beset a court, and of the feuds of houses, and of the plots and cunnings, and of the endless rivalries for place and power and the favor of the king. long hours were to be spent each day in the hall of arms of the warwick palace. there were duties of drill and exercise among the soldiery, that he might know how to work maneuverings on a field or placings on a march, or the choosing and the putting in order of a camp. he learned also of forts and of defenses, and of attacks and of artful dealings with foemen by night or day. "i will make thee fitted to command thy men," said earl warwick. "thou shalt not go into battle untrained. we learn that philip of france is taking no such pains with his musterings. he will trust to his counts and barons and to his allies. he will bring against us a multitude, and then he will see what edward of england will do with his motley array." greater and greater grew richard's confidence, like that of other men, in the war wisdom of his king, but he marveled much from time to time at the words and the deep thinking of his friend the prince. he could speak several tongues, and prudently, and he was notable for his feats of skill and strength in the royal hall of arms. it was not at first that richard had leisure to learn much of the sea, save in listening to the talk of knights and captains who had served on shipboard. but he forgot not the counsel of the prince, and in due season he was busy with his new learning. "hard work," he said at the beginning. "even the ropes have names, and every rope hath a place of its own. so have the spars and the sails. 'tis another tongue to win, and the sailors are not like our inland men. they believe, too, that a man who liveth not on the sea is of small account. they have more respect for a good sailor than for a lord, if so be his lordship knoweth not how to win a sea fight. but they believe that our king is an admiral. what pirates they are in their talk! i have met no sailor yet who thinketh it ill to capture and plunder any foreign craft that he may encounter out of sight of land." that was the fashion of those times, for all the open seas were as disputed territory, and the best sailors of those waters adjacent to the coasts of the british isles were but as the grandsons of the vikings. not at all as yet had they abandoned the wild traditions of their roving ancestors. ever and anon came tidings from the north counties, but such as came to the public ear were favorable to a continued peace with scotland; only that all men knew that a scottish peace was only a war asleep, and was to be kept with the english sword halfway out of the scabbard. from the continent of europe came no peace at all, but from every quarter was heard the clash of arms or the sound of military preparation. embassies came and went continually, and richard saw many men whose names were of note in the lands beyond the sea. he studied them well, and he inquired as he might of their deeds in camp and field and council, but none did he see who seemed to him the equals of his own great captains. slowly wore on the winter, and the spring went by. his mother came to court with the countess of warwick, and richard was proud to see her in the throne room, unsurpassed by any dame therein for her stately beauty of form and face, and for the sweet graciousness with which she greeted all. 'twas a fine, fair morn in june when richard at last was summoned in haste by the earl of warwick. "grand news, my young kinsman!" shouted the stout earl. "the die is cast! the war with france hath come! be thou ready!" "ready am i," said richard gladly. "but i must bring my bowmen with me." "go thou not, then," said the earl. "send but thy token by thy own messengers. bid all the archers of arden to speed them to portsmouth in the king's name. the ships are even now gathering rapidly. thousands of men are in perfect training, and the new levies are in hand to learn the way and the will of the king. thither wilt thou go thyself. bid thy mother a long farewell, and haste thee. i trust that when thou seest her again thou wilt wear golden spurs." "please god," said richard, "i will strive to earn the good will of the king. i would not be knighted by any lesser hand than his. canst thou tell me where is my noble friend sir walter de maunay?" "somewhere in guienne," said the earl, "and the king's enemies there may roundly will that he were somewhere else. now up and out, richard neville! thou wilt get thy orders further from geoffrey harcourt, at the port. i go to warwick first, and then i come. the days of this mock peace are ended, and may god give his blessing to the armies of england and to our good lord the king! amen." chapter vi. the sea fight. "thou art no seaman!" laughed the prince. "i think thou wouldst learn to love the sea, as do all true english hearts. go thou on board forthwith. the admiral hath given thee one piers fleming for thy shipmaster." profoundly respectful was the answer of richard neville, for his friend was also his prince and his commander; he said, "'tis but a brief passage, and there will be no fighting." "count not on that," replied the prince. "we are warned of many french rovers, from calais and elsewhere, on the watch for stragglers. word cometh that the king is safely at la hogue, in normandy, and not, as some think, in guienne. there will soon be enough of fighting on land, but watch thou for a chance to gain honor on the sea. we must win our spurs before we return to merry england." the two young men, neither of them yet eighteen, were standing on the height above portsmouth, gazing down upon the harbor and out upon the sea. in all directions there were swarms of vessels of all sizes, sailing or at anchor; for it was said that king edward the third had gathered over a thousand ships to convey his army across the channel for his quarrel with philip of france. it was the largest english fleet yet assembled, and the army going on board was also the best with which any english king had ever put to sea. it consisted of picked men only. of these, four thousand were men-at-arms, six thousand were irish, twelve thousand were welsh; but the most carefully trained and disciplined part of the force consisted of ten thousand bowmen. during a whole year had edward and his son and his generals toiled to select and prepare the men and the weapons with which they were to meet the highly famed chivalry of the continent. an army selected from a nation of perhaps four millions of people was to contend with an army collected from france with her twenty millions, and from such allies of hers as germany and bohemia, re-enforced by large numbers of paid mercenaries. among these latter were the crossbowmen of genoa sold to philip by the masters of that italian oligarchy. edward's adventure had a seeming of great rashness, for already it was reported that the french king had mustered a hundred thousand men. full many a gallant cavalier in armor of proof may well have wondered to hear, moreover, that edward the third, accounted the foremost general of his time, proposed to meet superior numbers of the best lances of europe with lightly armored men on foot. they knew not yet of the new era that was dawning upon the science of war. edward and his bowmen were to teach the world more than one new lesson before that memorable campaign was over. before this, he had shown what deeds might be wrought upon the sea by ships prepared and manned and led by himself. he had so crippled the naval power of his enemies that there was now no hostile fleet strong enough to prevent his present undertaking, although philip had managed to send out some scores of cruisers to do whatever harm they could. the prince was clad in a full suit of the plain black armor from which his popular name had been given him. his visor was up, and his resolute, intelligent face wore a dignity beyond his years. the stature of the young hero of england was nearly that of full-grown manhood; and if richard was not quite so tall, he was both older and stronger than when he had faced the club of devon in the village street of wartmont. a brilliant company of men-at-arms stood around them, many of whom were famous knights and mighty barons. richard was now receiving his final instructions, and in a few minutes more he bowed low and departed. halfway down the hill he was awaited by a party of stalwart-looking men, and to one of these he said: "haste thee now, guy the bow! let us have the sails up and get out of the harbor. almost the entire army is already on board." "aye, my lord," responded the bowman; "i have been all over our ship. the sailors are good men and true; but i like not the captain, and we shall be crowded like sheep in a pen." "'tis but for a day," said richard, "and the weather is good. we are warned of foes by the way." "we shall be ready for them," said guy; then he added, "a page from my lord the earl of warwick brought this." it was a letter, and quickly it came open. "it is from my mother! the saints be with her!" exclaimed richard. "she is well. i will read it fully after we are on board. thanks to the good earl." down the hill they went together, and on to a long pier, at the outer end of which was moored a two-masted vessel apparently of about four hundred tons' burden--a large vessel for those days--very high at bow and stern, but low amidships, as if she were planned to carry a kind of wooden fort at each end. she was ready to cast off as soon as the young commander came on board; and he was greeted by loud cheers from her crowded decks. "she is thronged to the full," said richard. the sailing-master stood before him. he was a square-built man, of middle age, with a red face and small, greenish-gray eyes. his beard and hair were closely cropped and stiff; he wore a steel body-coat and headpiece, but his feet were bare. an unpleasant man to look upon was piers fleming; and behind him stood one not more than half as old, but of the same pattern, so like he needed not to say that he was the master's son, as well as mate of the golden horn. "the wind is fair, sir," said fleming. "we go out with the tide, but a fog is coming up the channel." "cast off," said richard. "yonder on the height is the prince with his lords and gentlemen, watching the going." "aye, aye!" responded fleming. "he shall see the golden horn go out." she cleared the harbor in gallant style, with her sails full spread, while richard busied himself among his men. the crew was thirty strong, mostly englishmen. "i have but twenty men-at-arms," said richard to himself at the end of his inspection, "but there are two hundred and more of bowmen, and over a hundred irish pikemen, besides the welshmen. what bones those irish are made with! i will serve out axes among them without delay. fine chopping should be done by such brawny axemen as they." "richard neville," whispered an eager voice at his elbow, "i pray thee hearken. one of the sailors, a londoner, understandeth flemish. he hath heard the captain and his son have speech with one on the pier. there is treason afoot, my lord. watch thou, and i will pass the word among the men." "tell all," said richard, with a hot flush on his face; but there was little enough to tell. it could be but a warning, a cause for suspicion and for care. "guy the bow," said richard, at the end of their brief talk, "seek among the sailors for a true englishman fit to take the helm if i smite off the head of this piers fleming. let thy man keep near me if a foe appeareth." yet stronger blew the south wind, and, as piers had said, with it came a thick, bluish mist that hid the ships from one another and made it impossible for any landsman on board of them to more than guess in what direction he might be going. it was therefore not thought of by richard as of any importance that the golden horn was speeding full before the wind. she was going northerly, instead of taking a tack toward la hogue. right with her blew the mist, and hour after hour went by. several times hoarse hails were heard and answered, but all were in the hearty voices of loyal englishmen, and richard said to one of his men-at-arms: "we are with the fleet, and all is well." most of them had put aside their armor, as being too heavy to wear needlessly during so sultry a day; for it was the d of july, , and the summer was a warm one; the bowmen and pikemen also had taken off their heavy buff coats and laid aside their arms. but among the groups passed some of richard's longwood archers, talking low; and all the while, without attracting attention, sheaves of arrows, extra spears, with poleaxes and battle-axes and shields, were being handed up from the store of weapons in the hold. piers fleming was at the helm, and near him stood his son. there were grim smiles on their faces while they glanced up at the rigging and out into the mist, and noted the compass and the direction of the wind. "son hans," at last muttered the old man, "it can not be long now. some of the calais craft are sure to be hereabout. we will lay this tubful of english pirates alongside right speedily, if so be it is a large ship of good strength." "they will be caught napping," growled hans. "'twill be a fine prize, for the hold is packed to tightness." "well bloweth the wind," said piers, "and the golden horn hath now no company." at the forward end of the low waist of the ship stood richard among his men. "ye do know well," he said, "and all must know, that they would show no quarter. every man fighteth for his life, for who is taken goeth overboard, dead or alive." "aye," responded ben o' coventry; "'tis a cutthroat business. i think there would be small room for any frenchman on the golden horn, if one should come aboard." "room enough in the sea," said the red-haired o'rourke, who was captain of the irish; and he turned then to talk to his gigantic kerns in their own tongue. so did a man named david griffith talk to a throng of broad-shouldered welshmen who were also on board, armed with short swords, daggers, and spears or darts. of the latter several bundles now lay amidships. back toward the stern strode richard slowly, and after him, as if they were drifting about without special intention, strolled three rugged-looking seamen from the old port of london. the waves ran not too high for a gay summer cruise, and the golden horn rode them steadily. she was a fast sailer, for all her breadth of beam. suddenly her course was changed, and her sails swung in a little; for a command from captain fleming sent men to haul on the sheets. just then a long-drawn vibrating whistle had been heard, and it sounded thrice, from the very direction the ship was taking. richard stood now on the high after-deck, and a wave of his hand could be seen by his men below. there was little apparent stir among them, but buff coats were quickly donned, bows were strung, sheaves of arrows were cut open and distributed, while the men-at-arms made ready, and the irish made sure of their grip upon pikes and axes. "we will speak that ship, my lord neville," said fleming, very respectfully. "i have orders to report all craft we meet at sea." "aye, speak to her," said richard; but he loosened his sword in its sheath, and he knew that guy the bow had an arrow on the string. loudly came a hail from out of the fog; the speaker was a frenchman, and hardly had his utterance ceased before it was followed by a tumult of fierce, triumphant cheering on board the strange vessel. piers fleming sent back a hoarse reply, speaking french; and then he turned to richard. "she cometh, my lord!" he exclaimed, as if much affrighted. "'tis one of king philip's great cruisers. i have bidden them that we surrender." he was steering straight for the huge vessel which now swept toward them, looking larger through the cloud of vapor; but ere he made reply richard's sword was drawn. "thou art a traitor!" he shouted. "jack of london, take thou the helm!" "never!" cried fleming. "resistance were madness! we are almost alongside of her. ho, monsieur de gaines! we surrender!" richard's sword flashed like lightning, but even before it fell had sped the arrow of guy the bow. the strong hands of the ready english mariner caught the tiller as the traitorous sailing-master fell gasping to the deck. his son hans had been standing hard by him, pike in hand. he was taken by surprise for a moment, but he made a quick thrust at richard. there had been deadly peril in that thrust, but that a poleaxe in the hand of an irishman came down and cleft the traitor to the eyes. the great french ship came on majestically, but richard had given careful orders beforehand, and the golden horn did not avoid closing with her. "let them board us," he had said, and ben o' coventry had replied to him: "aye, my lord 'o wartmont, and we will slay as many as we may upon our own decks before we finish upon theirs." so little thought had the english but that they should win, no matter who came. louder and louder now arose the exulting yells and shouts from the swarms of armed men surging to and fro upon the fore and after forts and in the waist of la belle calaise, as her grapnels were thrown out to fasten upon the golden horn. she was much the taller and larger vessel, and even her tops and rigging were full of men. alas for these! had they been so many squirrels in the trees of longwood, they could not have dropped faster as the english archers plied their deadly bows. of the latter, too, some were in the cuplike tops of the golden horn, and their shafts were seeking marks among the french knights and men-at-arms. it was a fearful moment, for the boarders were ready as the two ships crashed against each other. "steady, men! stand fast!" shouted richard. "let them come on, but slay them as they come! take the knights first; aim at the armholes. waste no shaft. st. george for merry england! for the king and for the prince!" "for the king and for richard of wartmont!" shouted ben o' coventry. twang went his bow as he spoke, and a tall knight in full armor pitched heavily forward upon the deck of the golden horn, shouting "st. denis!" as he fell. his sword had been lifted, and the gray goose shaft had taken him in the armpit. he would strike no more. the frenchmen were brave enough, and they did not seem to be dismayed even by the dire carnage which was thinning them out so rapidly. the worst thing against them was that all this was so entirely unexpected. they had counted upon taking the english ship by surprise, aided by the treachery of piers fleming and his son. the golden horn had been steered by them many a long mile out of her proper course, and the same trick may have been played upon others of king edward's transports; for he had been compelled to employ sailors of all the nationalities along the channel and the north sea, excepting a few that favored the frenchmen. the fighting force on la belle calaise was not only double the number of that on the golden horn, but it contained five times as many men-at-arms. there the advantage ended, however; for the rest of it consisted of a motley mob of all sorts, woefully inferior in arms, discipline, and even in bodily strength to the chosen fighters who were commanded by richard of wartmont. for a few minutes he had kept his post on the high deck at the stern, that he might better see how the fight was going. then, however, with his score of men in full armor, he went down in the waist, stepping forward to meet the onset of the french knights who dashed in to avenge their fallen leader. he had not been their only commander, evidently, for now in their front there stood a knight whose splendid arms and jeweled crest marked him as a noble of high rank. "god and st. denis!" he shouted. "down with the dogs of england!" "st. george and king edward! i am richard neville of wartmont. who art thou?" their swords were crossing as the frenchman responded, "antoine, count de renly! down with thee, thou of wartmont! i will give an account of thee to thy boy black prince." "i am another boy, as he is," was the reply from the young lord; for his antagonist was certainly not taller than himself, and they were not badly matched. all around them the fierce _mêlée_ went on. arrows whizzed; the spears of the welshmen flew; there was hard hammering of sword and axe on helm and shield. one fact came out which men of knightly degree might otherwise have doubted. it was seen that a strong irishman, with only his buff coat for armor or for weight, could swing a weapon more freely and with better effect than could a brave knight a head shorter, of lighter bones, weighed down by armor of proof and a steel-faced shield. fierce was the wild irish war-cry with which these brawny men of ulster and connaught rushed forward, and their swinging blows were as the stroke of death. shields were dashed aside, helmets and mail were cloven through. slain they were, a number of them; but they had not fallen uselessly--there were not now so many frenchmen in full armor. richard and de renly were skilled swordsmen, and for a time neither of them seemed able to gain any advantage. the frenchman was a knight of renown, however, and it angered him to be checked by a mere youngster, a boy, a squire only, from the household of the black prince. he lost his temper, and pushed forward rashly, forgetting that he was not now upon firm land. the wind still blew, and the waves were lifting the ships, grinding them one against the other with shocks that were staggering. there was blood upon the deck at the spot where the mailed foot of the count was pressed. he slipped as he struck, and the sword of the english boy smote hard upon his crest. a rush, another slip, another blow, and de renly lay upon the deck, with the point of richard's blade at the bars of his helmet. "yield thee, de renly!" he shouted, "rescue or no rescue. yield, or thou diest!" [illustration: "yield thee, de renly!" he shouted.] "i yield!" came hoarsely back; "but myself only, not my ship." "yield thee!" said richard, taking away his sword. "we will care for thy boat." loudly laughed the o'rourke at neville's triumph; and he smote down a man-at-arms right across the fallen de renly. "hout, my lord of wartmont!" he shouted. "thou art a good sword! on, ulster and connaught! ireland forever! hew them down, ye men of the fens! we have a doughty captain!" even in that boast it was shown that some of richard's men--not those of longwood--had doubted him on account of his youth, in spite of the tale of his victory over clod the club. the rush of the french boarders was checked, but not repelled, so many they were and so desperate; but they met now another force. a cunning man was ben o' coventry, and fit to be a captain; for he had drawn away a number of welsh and irish and some bowmen, for whom there was no room in the waist of the ship. he led them to the prow, which was almost bare of men, save a few archers. it had swung away at first, but now it was hugging closely the high forecastle of la belle calaise. "forward, my men!" he shouted. "it is our turn to board! slay as ye go!" they rushed against a cluster of mere sailor-men, half armed, who had been posted there to keep them out of the way. they were hardly soldiers, although they were fierce enough; and they were mere cattle before the rush of ben o' coventry and his mighty followers. the welshmen spared none of them; and soon the french in the deep waist of la belle calaise, pressing forward to reinforce their half-defeated boarders, were suddenly startled by a deadly shower of darts and arrows that fell upon them from their own forecastle. then, as they turned in dismay, they shouted to their comrades upon the golden horn: "back! back! lest our own ship be lost. the english have boarded us!" there was a moment of hesitation; and so at that critical moment no help came to the remaining frenchmen in the waist of the golden horn. they were even outnumbered, since all the archers in the wooden forts fore and aft, twanging their deadly bows almost in safety, counted against the bewildered boarders. no more knights came down from la belle calaise. the common men were falling like corn before the reaper. "on!" shouted richard. "it is our fight now! short work is good work!" the o'rourke yelled something in the old erse tongue, and his giants followed him as he fought his way to the side of richard neville; but david griffith summoned his remaining welshmen, and was followed also by two score of kentish bowmen, as he hastened forward to join ben o' coventry and his daring fellows on the forecastle of la belle calaise. it was time, for there were good french knights yet left to lead in a desperate attempt to dislodge them. it was, however, as if the deck or roof of that wooden fort, made with bulwarks and barricades to protect it against all enemies of france, had been just as well prepared to be held by an english garrison. moreover, all manner of weapons had been put there, ready for use; and among these were pikes and lances with which the welshmen could thrust at the men who tried to climb the ladders from the waist, while the archers shot for dear life, unerringly. "my lord beaumont," shouted one of the french men-at-arms, "all of our boarders on the english ship are down or taken. not one is left. here come the neville and his tigers. god and st. denis! we are lost!" "courage!" returned beaumont. "fight on; we shall overcome them yet!" but a heavy mace, hurled by a big cornishman on the forecastle, at that moment smote him on the helm. he fell stunned, while his dismayed comrades shrank back from the storm of english arrows and from the mad rush of richard and his men-at-arms and the o'rourke and his irish axemen. the french were actually beaten in detail, their greater numbers at no time doing them any good. in each part of the fight they had had fewer men at the front, and the few that now remained fit to fight seemed to be in a manner surrounded. "quarter, if thou wilt surrender!" cried richard to a knight with closed visor, with whom he was crossing swords. "quarter!" came faintly back, "surrender!" and then he sank upon one knee, for he was wounded by an arrow in the thigh. "all good knights yield themselves to me!" again shouted richard in french. "they who hold out are lost!" more than one of them still fought on in a kind of despair, but others laid down their swords at the feet of richard. as for any other of the defenders of la belle calaise, it was sad to seek them; for the golden horn had no man left on board of her save jack of london at the helm, and the english pikes were everywhere plying mercilessly. "leave not one!" shouted the o'rourke hoarsely to his kerns. "not one of us had they spared if we had been taken. let lord wartmont care for his gentlemen. they will all pay ransom." so quickly all was over; and all that was left of the force which that morning had crowded the deck under the brave monsieur de gaines was less than half of his brave gentlemen, hardly one of them without a wound. the sieur de beaumont had now recovered his senses; but as he arose and looked around him, he exclaimed: "lord richard of wartmont, i would thou wouldst show me the mercy to throw me into the sea. how shall i face my king after such a disgrace as this!" "'twas not thy fault, brave sir," said richard courteously. "it is the fortune of war. say to thy king from me, that thy ship was lost when the comte de gaines tumbled so many of his force into the golden horn. thou mayest say that he knew not how ready were we to meet him." "the traitorous fleming----" began the count, but richard interrupted him. "not traitor to thee," he said. "he is dead indeed; and his trap caught not us, but thee and thy commander. how art thou now, sieur de renly? i thank thee for slipping well, else thy good sword had done thee better service." like a true gentleman, the brave youth spoke kindly to them all, and their hurts were cared for. the several ransoms for each knight were agreed upon; but they had now no further need for armor, and they were soon appareled only in clothing of wool and linen, or silk and leather, as the case might be. as for the ships, they had sustained small injury in the fight. now that it was over, the grapplings were cast off, and each rode the waves on its own account. it was hard to provide skilled crews for both, but a shift was made by dividing the seamen, and by such selections as could be had from among the soldiery. jack of london was made the sailing master of the golden horn, and a seafaring man from hull was in like manner put in charge of la belle calaise. there was now no crowding of men upon either ship; but there was much care to be given to so many scores of wounded. the fog had cleared away, and the golden horn, with her prize, could make a pretty straight course for la hogue, thanks to a change in the wind. "art thou hurt at all?" asked guy the bow, when he next met his young commander. "nay," said richard, "unless bruises and a sore head may count for hurts. but we have lost a third part of our force, killed or wounded." "well that we lost not all, and our own lives," said guy. "'twas close work for a while. glad am i that our lady of wartmont is to hear no bad news." "aye," said richard; "and now i will tell thee, thou true man, when i write to her i will bear thee witness that to thee and ben o' coventry is it due that she hath not lost her son." "i would like her to think well of me," said guy, smiling with pleasure; "but i pray thee speak well to the prince of the o'rourke and his long-legged kerns, and of david griffith. they deserve well of the king." "trust me for that," said richard. "and now, ere the dark hour, i must read my mother's letter. truth to tell, i could not so much as look at it while i was watching that traitor fleming, and preparing for what i thought might come. i have already thanked all the men and visited my prisoners. brave ransom will some of them pay." "and the prize money for us all," added guy, with a chuckle. "we may be rich when we return from france." so he went forward, and richard sat down to his letter, to read the good words his mother sent him, and to dream of wartmont and of longwood, and of the old days before the war. then there was sleeping, save for those who could not sleep for their hurts or their misfortunes. it was well on in the forenoon of the following day before the golden horn and her captive companion sailed gayly in among the forest of masts that had gathered at la hogue. only a short hour later the young lord of wartmont, with some of his chosen followers and those of his prisoners that were highest in rank, stood in an open space among the camps of king edward's army. the king himself was there, and with him were earls and knights and captains not a few. by his side stood the brave black prince; but it was to the king that richard and those who were with him bent the knee, while the young man made his report of the taking of la belle calaise. he was modest enough; but the bright eyes of the prince kindled finely as he heard it, and he said in a low voice to his father: "did i not tell thee i was right to intrust a ship to him?" "the boy did well," said the king dryly, for he was a man hard to please. "thou richard of wartmont, honor to thee and thy merry men all! thou and the prince are to win spurs of knighthood, side by side, ere we sail again for england. sir geoffrey of harcourt will bid thee where to go." richard bent low, and rose to his feet. sir geoffrey stepped forward to speak to the sieur de renly and the other captured knights. the archers and men-at-arms of richard's command stood still where they were, waiting for orders; but the black prince beckoned richard aside to get from him the full particulars of a fray so gallantly fought and won. "i envy thee," he said, "thy hand-to-hand close with de renly. thou hast fine war fortune with thee; and the king is ever better pleased than he will tell." it must have been so, for at that moment king edward was turning to a noble-looking knight who stood near him: "cousin john beauchamp of warwick," he said, "thou mayest be proud of thy young kinsman. those of thy blood are apt to make good captains." "thanks, sire," responded the earl of warwick, flushing with pride. "i trust there may never fail thee plenty of stout beauchamps and nevilles to stand in the front rank of the gallant men of england. but i pray thee, mark how the boy handled his archers and his irishmen----" "and how he watched the traitors and trapped the treason," laughed a gray-bearded warrior at his side. "he hath his wits about him." "yea, norfolk," said the king with a gloom upon his face; "the men who are to defend england and defeat her enemies must watch against treason by night and by day. 'twas a fleming that set the trap for the golden horn; and the men who are to march with us against philip of valois are all from our own islands. not a man below a man-at-arms can even speak french." so the king's wisdom spoke for itself, while sir geoffrey of harcourt and the prince sent richard neville and his brave men to the camp where they were to pass the night; for the whole army was to march away next morning. chapter vii. the great plan of the king. the exact place of the landing of king edward had been at a harbor called st. vast, northerly from cape la hogue, and the king of france believed him still at sea, on his way to gascony or guienne, that there he might strike a blow for the sadly beset forces of the earl of derby. there was no need for camping long on the shore that the english forces might be put into good marching order. even as they landed their proper divisions were assigned them. when the next morning sun arose, it was known to all that the king had named the earl of arundel his constable, to abide with himself; also that he had named the earl of warwick and sir geoffrey of harcourt marshals of the army. the left wing was to be commanded on the march by sir geoffrey, and the right wing by the earl. all who were to be with the earl, however, were moving along the coast, southerly, in the morn. in like manner went the fleet, taking many prizes of armed ships and merchantmen. it was the earl's first errand to take or to disable a place called barfleur, where was a very strong castle, that from it might come forth no harm to any english force to be left at the st. vast landing. side by side rode richard and his uncle, and the earl questioned him much of his doings on the golden horn. "thou hast done well," he said, "but i like it not that thou art with me. it were better thou shouldst ride with harcourt. seest thou not that, as we are ordered now, he will lead the van and i the rear guard? i shall take these towns and many another, but he will be first at caen, and that is the prize of normandy." "i hear 'tis a great place," said richard, "but i like it that to us it is given to strike the first blow in france." even as he spoke a mounted scout came galloping back to report that barfleur was in sight, and that english war ships were sailing into the harbor. the earl drew rein and raised his baton, uttering no word; but a hundred or so of men-at-arms who were behind him shouted loudly and dashed by, spurring toward the front. "thy bowmen next!" shouted the earl to richard. "follow the knights closely. the pikemen are already far ahead. if it be god's will, we will sweep the town in an hour." hotly rushed richard's blood as he pressed on, followed by three hundred of the archers of arden. hardly he knew what time had passed after that until he found himself halted to watch while axemen battered at a town gate and pikemen placed ladders to mount a wall. his archers meantime were making targets of whoever might show himself among the wall battlements. "is this the way a town is taken?" he exclaimed. "i deemed there were more delay. there go the good knights, up the ladders and through the gate! 'twas but badly made, to be broken in so soon. on, men of arden! follow me!" follow they did, and some good archery work befell them after they entered the town, but the english were even too many for the capture and pillage of so small a place. "it was no battle, my lord," richard said to the earl two hours later, as they met in the great square in the center of the town. "but we have taken barfleur." "that have we," said the earl, "and that is all. look yonder!" across long rows of intervening houses gazed the young captain as the earl pointed. there was a rocky height, and upon it arose the towers and the turreted walls of a great castle. "i see," said richard. "it hath a strong look. how shall we take it?" "not at all," replied the earl marshal, laughing. "he who holdeth it for the king of france refused to yield it, and well he may. we could hammer at it in vain all summer. all the need is to hem in the garrison somewhat by the taking of the town. the english army will march on and waste no time. take thou therefore a lesson in good war craft. thy king will make no blunder of throwing away strength upon mere stone work on a hill calling itself a castle." "i will bear it in mind," said richard. "i would have thought it must needs be taken." loud laughed the earl marshal, but already his officers were recalling the troops from the sacking of the town, that all his force might turn again to rejoin the army of the king, that had been marching northward. stretched out along the roads and levels, but moving steadily, were all the divisions of the forces of king edward. the last of them, with much munition of war, was even now disembarking from the shipping at st. vast, for it taketh care and time to transfer horses and matters of weight from a deck to a beach. when the night fell all camps were made with care, as became good generalship, although there was fair certainty that no considerable armed force of foemen could be near at hand. morn came, and in its first hours richard was galloping on to the center with a writing from the earl of warwick to the king, but to the prince was it delivered, and he read. "this to my father," said he heartily; "but i am glad that the earl should please to have thee with me and with harcourt. and thou hast seen a town taken? never the same saw i, and i know not how i am to win spurs tramping these roads without a french man-at-arms in sight!" nevertheless he went to the king and came again, and they twain rode on together talking of the war. "the earl sendeth word," said the prince, "that he will waste no time nor men in vainly besieging the castle of cherbourg. we need it not, but we shall sack carenton before to-morrow night." "knoweth the king," asked richard, "at what place mustereth the host of france?" "our last news," replied the prince, "putteth philip in aquitaine, full far away from paris. were the king so minded he could get there first." "and take the capital city of france?" exclaimed richard. "that were grand! we shall press onward, then?" "that will we," said the prince, "but not to take a city we can not hold. small good were it to be shut up there by half the hosts of europe. but we can draw away the french from derby's front, and we can win calais." "win calais by a march through normandy?" sprang from the lips of richard. "i see not well how that can be. what were calais, compared with paris?" "it is the sorest thorn in the side of england, saith my father," replied the prince. "even the channel and the british seas are but half our own while that harbor is a refuge for the fleets of france and a nesting place for all manner of pirates. we must take and hold it, as we hold dover. it hath but one strong defense." "i have heard that its walls are strong," said richard, "and that it can stand a long siege by sea and land." "long and hard it well may be," laughed the prince, "but sieges have an end, and towns are taken if the besiegers themselves be not routed in their camps. the defense of calais against us is this army of the king of france. until that shall be utterly beaten the town is safe. thou wilt yet see clearly the wisdom of the king." there was another night's camping and the carenton town surrendered, but the castle thereof detained earl warwick and his power during two more days, while the main host marched on. town after town that lay along its broad road of desolation either opened its gates without resistance or was shortly stormed and plundered. long lines of wains were all the while traveling back to st. vast and other seaports, that the ships might convey the captured goods and treasures to safe keeping in england. this was the manner of all warring in those days, and sore was the distress of the people of normandy. they were brave enough, but they had neither great captains nor any central body of an army whereunto they might rally. for their mere numbers they could have eaten up the english army, but what are numbers that are scattered vainly over a great province? daily did the prince and richard draw nearer to each other, as they found occasion for meeting; but the duties of the young heir of wartmont were now with the advance, under sir geoffrey of harcourt. small fighting had he seen, but many a deed of pillage that was sad to look upon, and he was learning how terrible a thing is war. "god keep it from merry england!" he often thought, and yet he knew that all the messengers from home brought rumors that a scottish host was gathering fast to take advantage of king edward's absence. "evil to them!" he said angrily. "if the good archbishop be also training the men of the north counties and the middle, i trust sir robert johnstone will face them with bowmen as good as are those of longwood and arden. we can give him no aid, but to-morrow we shall get to caen." the prince was with the king that night and richard saw him not. nor was there message for him to carry in the morn, but there came to him a summons from marshal de harcourt. "richard of wartmont," said his captain when they met, "sir thomas holland and sir peter legh, with knights and men-at-arms, form the advance on caen. with them go thou and double thy number of the archers of arden. with thee will also be the irish and the welsh, for i learn that the people of this town have gone mad with conceit. they will face us outside of their walls. if we may break their front, we may enter caen in their foolish company." like word went back to the king, praying him to hasten, that he might see his standard lifted over the capital of normandy. good was the planning of de harcourt, for, as the english van emerged early that day, behold a numerous but motley and ill-ordered array of armed citizens and country folk, drawn out to meet them. with them were many knights and men-at-arms, but the marshal spoke truly when he said of them: "an army that is not an army. we will scatter them like chaff!" "seest thou yonder town?" asked sir thomas holland of richard, as they paused on the brow of a low hill to let the bowmen come up. richard looked earnestly, for the walls were wide-reaching, and they seemed to be high and strong. on one side of the great town arose a castle of surpassing splendor, and he had heard that the governor of caen, sir john de blargny, held it with three hundred genoese crossbowmen and other forces. there were church spires also, and of these arose one higher than the rest, at which sir thomas pointed with his lance. "in a crypt of that church," he said, "rest the bones of william the conqueror. from this town did he and his host march to the overthrow of king harold at hastings." richard gazed in silence, but he heard strange words among the bowmen behind him, speaking the ancient tongue. "'tis good hearing," said guy the bow. "as he and his normans did to england, so have the saxons under king edward done to normandy. the conquest is ours this time!" "the tables are turned," said ben of coventry, "and rare hath been the plundering. but we have yet fought no fight like that of hastings. until then we shall not be even with the french. i shall shoot closely that day when it shall come." deep, therefore, was the bitterness that grew from the old time. alas, that it did not cease, and that during centuries more the old feud rankled murderously in the hearts of englishmen, so that even their norman kings made use of it as a power whereby to rally armies to fight the outland men beyond the sea! forward now dashed the english van, all shouting loudly, but no battle did await them. mayhap they were in greater force than the men of caen expected, or that the latter bethought them suddenly how good were stone walls to fight behind. at all events, there were few volleys of arrows sent before the french muster broke and ran back in confusion toward the open gates. "forward!" shouted sir thomas. "the middle gateway! there be good knights there, all tangled in the press. they can neither fight nor flee. brave ransom to be won! press on!" even he and his own knights could make little better speed than might the bowmen on foot, but the french men-at-arms were already jammed one against another in the narrow passage by which they had hoped to retreat into the city. there could be no closing of the gate, but over it was a small fortalice, with a broad stairway leading up to it. down sprang the good knights, for here seemed a refuge, as if it were a place wherein they might defend themselves. much rather was it a trap in which they were to be taken helplessly. in vain they manned the battlements, for up the stairway after them poured richard neville's bowmen and axemen, with sir thomas holland, sir peter legh, and a dozen other knights. "down with them, richard of wartmont!" shouted guy the bow, and the shafts began to fly. but in front of the frenchmen in that tower stepped forth a knight in gorgeous armor, who shouted boldly: "sir thomas holland, dost thou not know thine old-time comrade against the prussian heathen and the saracens of grenada? i am the count of eu and guignes, constable of france, and with me is the count of tancarville. these all be knights of note. but we are betrayed to thine hand by these cowardly townspeople." so they surrendered all, while through the gateway below dashed sir geoffrey of harcourt, his men-at-arms, and a great tide of spearmen and bowmen. at no great distance behind them rode the king and the prince, and it was but little before the earl of northampton raised the royal standard over that very gateway fort in token that caen had fallen. the walls were won, indeed, but not the whole town or the castle. on to the center and to the townhall pressed harcourt, and with him now was richard. every house was a small fort, however, and all doors were closed and barred. not for their goods only, but for their very lives, did the inhabitants of caen believe themselves to be contending. in the upper stories and garrets of the buildings had they prepared munitions of heavy stones, beams, and the like, and these did they now rain down upon the ranks of the english soldiery. many were slain or wounded thereby. brave knights were stricken from their horses to lie helpless upon the pavement. all these things were witnessed by the king himself when he and the prince and those who were with them rode through the gate of the city. an angry man was he to be stoned and to narrowly escape destruction in a street of a place which he had already taken. sir geoffrey and his men were at the townhall now, and one of their first works had been to search for and to seize the official records and archives. it had been better for normandy if all these things had perished, but none had looked for so sudden an entry of the english, so that the writings remained. these were delivered to the king on his arrival. he read from page to page, and his hot wrath burned yet more hotly. among the captured manuscripts was one under the seal royal of france, and it was a covenant between the king and the people of caen and of normandy for their service against the english king. already had there been good proof that the normans had greatly favored an invasion of england like that of william the conqueror. here was fresh proof thereof, with more that was as poison. fierce and hasty was the next speech of the angry king, for he commanded that the city should be given up to sack and pillage, without mercy to man or woman. it had been a terrible deed to do, for the soldiery were greatly enraged already, and some of their deeds had been cruel. well was it then for all that sir geoffrey of harcourt was a wise man and humane as well as a good war captain, for he spoke plainly to king edward. "dear sire," he said, "restrain thy courage a little, i pray thee, and be satisfied with what thou hast done. thou hast a long journey before thou shalt get to calais, where thou intendest to go." much more he said and argued, and all the while the king grew calmer. "sir geoffrey," he replied at last, "thou art our marshal; therefore order as thou shalt please, for this time we wish not to interfere." nevertheless, in the speech of the marshal had been published the secret counsel of the king and the real purpose of the campaign from before the army left england. there were those even in later days who maintained that edward had sailed at a venture, and had marched at random, without set plan or purpose, but they knew him not very well, nor did they hear his chief captain answer him at caen thus early in the campaign. out rode then sir geoffrey from street to street, with banners displayed, declaring full mercy to the townsfolk if they would cease fighting, and commanding, on pain of death, that no english soldier should harm or insult either man or woman. so the massacre was stayed, but for all that there was vast plunder taken. richard was with the prince once more for a little while, and to him he spoke of the purpose of the normans to invade england. "they thought to do as in harold's time," he said. "there had been great mischief, truly, if they could have landed." "not so," replied the prince. "i heard sir geoffrey and the king on that head. no other battle of hastings could have come, for the archbishop of york hath force enough to face the scots. king harold had to fight and beat the welsh first, and then the northmen under hardrada, before he turned, with what army he had left, to meet william of normandy. an invasion now would meet the whole array of england at one field, with welsh and irish many thousands. moreover, in england there were neither forts nor castles in harold's day, while now there are too many for the peace of the realm. so said my royal father, for the castles can be well held even against the power of the king." "the saxons fought well," said richard. "aye, that did they," replied the prince, "and well do we know that thou and thine are of them. wilt thou tell me, richard of wartmont, why thou and thy saxons all are so strong for the crown? are we not of norman blood?" "yea, that ye are," said richard, "but of saxon royalty of descent as well. we all do know that truth. but above all do the people of every kindred look to see the king stand between them and the barons. so are we his lithsmen, nor can any take us out of his hand. he is our king!" "stay where thou art!" exclaimed the prince; "i will bear that word to the king ere it is cold in my thought." away he rode, and he had to dismount and enter the townhall before he could have speech with his father. that which he said was heard by no other ears, but the face of the king grew red with pleasure. "truly," he said low-voiced, "the youth and his people are wiser than i knew! herein is a point of statecraft fit to be an heirloom of the british kings. i will wear it. the king of the people hath no need to fear the power of his barons. i have seen it long. there shall be more and larger parliaments henceforth, and the commons may speak their will freely. i am less at the bidding of my proud earls. i have henceforth no fear of philip of france, but i must win calais, if only for the good of my merchantmen. we will march thither speedily, as soon as i shall have smitten hard this huge mustering of philip the unwise." the prince came not back, nor did he afterward give to richard the words of the king; but the writers who in due season recorded the history of those times had many things to write concerning the kindly relations that grew up between edward and the commons, especially all merchants and artisans and seafaring men. there were days of seeming rest for the army, but these were largely spent in good training, lest discipline should have been injured on the march. on one of these days came a summons from sir geoffrey of harcourt to richard neville, and when he obeyed it he found the two marshals together. earl warwick was the first to speak. "good news for thee, richard," he said. "thy gateway fort was a fine trap for thy fortune. the king hath purchased of sir thomas holland, sir peter legh, and the knights and thee, the ransom of the constable of france and lord tancarville. he payeth twenty thousand rose nobles of gold, and thy share will be made good. all thy other prizes will be sure to thee in my own hand, for i send all to thy mother at warwick. thou wilt be richer than was ever thy father, if thou shalt hold on as thou hast begun." great was the joy of richard, and earnest were his thanks to the kindly earl; but he had now to hear from his commander. "hearken thou well," he said. "take thou thine own companies and such as shall be named to thee by sir peter legh. march out at the northern gate and follow the road he will name to thee. speak not to any concerning thy errand, and thou thyself hast need to know no more. but if any stranger shall attempt to march with thee, slay thou him on the spot." "see that thou obey in silence," added the earl. "i trust in god that i shall see thee again, but do thou thy duty utterly caring not for thy blood or thy life." richard bowed low, for his heart was dancing within him at the prospect of new adventure, and he did but say: "god save the king! and i pray thee, tell my mother i did my duty utterly." "go thou," said the earl. "haste thee also," came from sir geoffrey, "for thine is the vanguard." o what pride for one so young--to be ordered to the front of a secret foray! nevertheless, in the very street, as richard rode to the camp of his bowmen, he was met and halted by the prince. "richard of wartmont," he said, but not loudly, "thou hast thy orders?" richard bowed low. "so have i mine!" exclaimed the prince. "not all the fortune of this campaign is to be thine alone. thou shalt see me with my sword out before thou art older. there are blows to strike, and i am to be in the _mêlée_, as becomes me. haste thee now, and fare thee well until i see thee again." it had been ill to answer in words, but richard bowed again and rode onward. it was at the gate that he met sir peter legh with further instructions. a good knight was sir peter and broad in the shoulders, but he stood a fathom and half a handbreadth in his stature--a sore antagonist for any man to face in field or tourney, and having experience of many a hard-fought field. "thou of wartmont," he said dryly, "since i am to have company of thee and thine, well. it is de harcourt's word to me. he is my commander. thou mayest lead older and better men fairly enough. i will tell thee what to do." "i was ahead of all but thee in the gate of caen," responded richard a little freely, for he was but young in temper. "thou wilt not find me a pace behind thee if so be there is fighting or climbing to be done." "that there will be," growled sir peter. "thou art nimble enough, but other men are bigger in the bones. but it is said of thee that thou hast good fortune, and that is a grand thing in a fray. i will go to thy men with thee and learn what timber i am to build with." so strong in the minds of all men was the belief that even more than lance or sword or counsel was the thing they called fortune. but better for the army and for the taking of calais were the long preparation and the subtle wisdom of edward the third. few were the words of sir peter as they twain rode onward, save to give his youthful comrade full and clear directions as to the road by which he was to march. he knew, however, that the burly knight eyed him keenly from time to time, as if he were trying to read what value he might have as a soldier. then came they to the camp, and sir peter turned his eyes in like manner upon guy the bow and the men of longwood. "i ask the marshal's pardon," he grumbled testily. "if their chief be only a boy, his clansmen are long in the legs. every man a pardoned outlaw, i am told, and half of kin to the neville. look you!" he spoke loudly to guy the bow, "ye all are to march with richard of wartmont." "aye, sir peter," said guy. "he is our captain. we have fought for him ere this, shoulder to shoulder." "thou art malapert!" exclaimed sir peter. "guard thou thy tongue, lest i teach thee a lesson thou needest. the lash is near thee!" hot as fire glowed the brown cheeks of guy the bow, and he strode one pace nearer. "i know thee, sir peter legh," he said. "thou art a good lance enough, but who gave thee the ill wisdom to speak of the lash to the free archers of arden?" right well astonished was sir peter, for at every side, as he looked beyond guy, did the tall foresters spring to their feet, and full a score of them had arrows on the string. he heard rough speaking in a tongue which he did not fully understand, but one voice that was louder than the rest was of ordinary english. "we are not dogs, nor serfs, nor villains," it declared, "that we should be whipped for free speech. we are free men. if yonder man-at-arms layeth but a finger upon guy the bow or upon my lord of wartmont, i will send this shaft through his midriff." "richard neville, what meaneth this?" exclaimed sir peter legh. "whose men are these?" "we belong to the wartmont, under the earl of warwick," spoke out ben of coventry, "and through the earl we are the king's men. look thou well to that." "sir peter," said richard sturdily, "there was no cause of offense to thee." "these, then, are yeomen?" asked sir peter, with a grim smile that meant much. "never was collar of serf upon the neck of an archer of arden," replied richard. "free they were born, and free they will die. and i swear to thee that my father's son will die here with them ere they are harmed." the knight was wiser than he had seemed, for he did but laugh loudly. "i have no quarrel to pick with earl warwick or with thee, or with thy deerstealers," he said. "bring them along. these were with thee when thou didst take la belle calaise? pirates every man. but they are what thou wilt need to have with thee if thou art to follow sir thomas holland and me. the old one-eyed saracen fighter will lead where none but brave hearts may go." all the men heard him, and bows were promptly lowered. said guy the bow: "my speech was not malapert for such as i am, sir knight. thou didst ill to threaten freemen. but it may be, if thou art in a press, thou wilt be pleased to hear at thy side the twanging of the good bows of longwood and wartmont." "that will i, merry men all," said sir peter heartily. "well do i know now why ye were chosen by harcourt. ye are of the old midland breed of wolves that die silent but biting. 'tis your proverb." more did he say as he walked among them; but he inspected their weapons, as became a captain, and there came also pack beasts laden with sheaves of arrows, that every quiver might be full. "richard of wartmont," he said at parting, "there is naught but good will between me and thee. english am i, and greatly do i like thy men. we were but a lost people if our yeomanry were no higher spirited than are the slavish rabble that will swarm behind the nobles of france and their unwise, cunning king. as for him, he will find that the double tongue fitted to cheat by an embassage is of small value in the right handling of an army. he may learn something yet from our edward of england. unless geoffrey of harcourt is a false witness, and unless the king's plan goeth too far astray, calais will ere long be but an english port. meet thou me as i bade thee, for i must go." even so he did, but richard remained to complete the right ordering of his command. anxious indeed was he, and he brought to mind every lesson of war that he had learned in england or on the march. who could tell, he thought darkly, what desperate venture might be at hand? careless captains do but throw away what heedful men might win. above all was it heavy upon his mind that on this occasion he and his had been chosen to guard the prince himself, as being such as the king could rely upon to the very death. "so, if he dieth," said he, "i and mine will not return to face the king. where lieth his body, there will mine be found, and all the men of arden and longwood with me." also in like manner responded the archers themselves when he arrayed them and told them, passing the word from man to man: "we are the black prince's comrades, this day and night. it is the king's trust." "we will keep trust," they said. chapter viii. the castle of bruyerre. splendid to look upon was the advance of king edward's army from caen, with its banners, its mailclad horsemen, its winding rivers of shields, and the flashing of the sunlight on the helmets and on the points of polished steel. the roads were dusty, but their dryness gave good footing, and all wagon wheels rolled well. there was a hindrance in the narrowness of all the normandy highways and byways, for it compelled edward to divide his forces and send them forward by several lines of march. his being there could now be known to philip of france at once, but the great french army was still in gascony, beleaguering the stout earl of derby and his forces. there was therefore no power to block the progress of the english invaders, although each of their divisions had somewhat to contend with. there were walled towns and there were fortresses. in some of these were not only garrisons, but much plunder, and their taking would be required by the military plans of the king. his generalship was greatly exhibited in this, that by landing so unexpectedly in normandy, and by then marching straight across country, as if his aim were to take paris, he compelled philip to loosen his grip upon the army of the earl of derby, and to march his mighty host with all speed to the saving of his own capital. town after town had surrendered to edward, and many castles had opened their gates without a fight, yet not all. the country people had suffered sorely, for the army required much in the way of provisions, but the scourge of war fell most heavily upon the rich, and on such as made resistance. richard neville was now honored with the command of a goodly detachment. with him, as before on the golden horn, were men-at-arms and footmen of every kind, for so had the king ordered for all parts of his advance. the heir of wartmont was this day so far separated from the main body of the king's army that it was almost as if he were invading that part of normandy by himself, in command of a small army of his own. "my lord," said a man-at-arms who rode at his side, "if thou wilt permit the question, art thou sure of thy direction? were we to stray too far, we might meet with reproof, or worse." "this is the road that sir geoffrey harcourt bade me take," replied richard. "but i would we had a guide." they were well in advance of their little column, and they rode out over the brow of a low hill and from under the shadow of overarching trees. "my lord of wartmont," loudly exclaimed the man-at-arms, "look yonder! shall we not push forward?" before them lay a deep, narrow valley, with many cots and vineyards scattered up and down the stream which wandered through it. directly across the hollow, however, there was a sight worth seeing. high and rock-bordered was that northward hillside, but on its crown was a fortress that was half a church, with a walled town beyond the foot of the castle. high and precipitous were the granite cliffs, high were the towers of the castle, but into the sunset light above them all arose the cross-tipped steeple of the church. on this side of the outer wall of the town on the hill was a great gate, and over it floated, as also on the donjon keep of the castle, near the town gate, the golden lilies of the royal standard of france, streaming out against the sky. "we will not go forward," said richard. "we will halt, rather. no force like ours can do aught with a fort like that. nor shall we now surprise them. some captain of high rank is in command, for there is the _fleur-de-lis_ flag." "my lord, there was the blast of a horn!" said ben o' coventry, from the archer ranks. "thou hast keen hearing," richard replied, as again the mellow music came faintly up the road; "that horn calleth us to wait for the force that followeth." at the word of command, the horsemen drew rein and the footmen stood at rest. they had not long to wait. a splendid black horse, and on him a rider in black armor, came spurring along the narrow highway accompanied only by a page. "it is the prince!" exclaimed richard. "what doeth he here alone?" so loudly was it spoken, and so near was the young royal hero of england, that the answer came from his own lips. "not alone am i, richard neville, but i have outridden wakeham to speed on and warn thee not to show thyself beyond the ridge, lest thou warn the warders of bruyerre that we are at hand. halt, thou and thine!" "my lord prince edward, we are halted, with that very thought in mind," respectfully answered richard. "but is yonder place bruyerre?" "it is, indeed," said the prince. "'tis a stronghold since the days of norman rollo. duke robert also was besieged there once." "how, then, shall we take it?" came regretfully from richard's lips. "it were not well to leave it untaken." "that will we not," said the prince, "and glad am i have to thee with me. for that end we sent thee ahead. sir henry and i had few enough of men, and they are mostly men-at-arms. we need thy irish kerns,[a] and thy welsh, and thy bowmen." "here they come, my lord!" guy the bow announced from among the archers. "they all are riding hard as if for a charge." a brave array of knights and gentlemen in full armor came fast through the dust clouds of their own raising. beside the foremost horseman rode one who carried no arms at all. on his head was the plain cap of a tradesman, and from under it long white hair came down to his shoulders. he rode firmly despite his years, however, and there was a kind of eager light upon his deeply wrinkled face. "all is well!" he exclaimed. "my lord of wakeham, the prince reached them in time, and they are halted." "aye, and i would there were more of them," replied sir henry. "our own footmen are long miles behind, and the day is waning." "we need night, not day, for the taking of bruyerre," said the old man gloomily. "even now we were wise to get into some safe hiding. there is a forest glen to the right of where the prince is waiting." in a few minutes more sir henry rode to the side of the prince and held out a hand to richard. "thy men are in good condition," he said; "and that is as it should be, for they have sharp work before them." "ready are we," said richard, but his eyes were upon the face of the white-haired man. he sat in silence, gazing across the valley at the towers and walls of the fortress, and he seemed moved by strong emotions. "what sayest thou, giles monson?" asked the prince. "are there changes?" "in me, my prince," responded giles, "but not in yonder town. a christian man am i this day, and it is not given me to judge, but i am a true englishman. with an honest heart and in good faith did i bring steel wares from sheffield to the wicked lord of bruyerre. false and cruel was he, a robber and a villain. he laughed at me when once i was in his power. fourteen years was i a prisoner in yonder keep, and i grew old before my time. behold the scars of fetters on my wrists. then was i a beggar and a starveling in the town for three years more, watched always and beaten oft. but i learned every inch of yonder hill, and at last i made my escape. by the path along which i left bruyerre can i guide this army in. but there must be ladders stronger than the cord i came down upon." "a dozen are with our own foot soldiers," said sir henry. "but haste now, lest we be discovered from the castle." all riders were dismounting, and richard went into the woods with his forest men to seek the glen spoken of by giles. it was not far to find, and it led on down into the valley. the forest growth was old and dense, and, once the soldiery marched well in, they were completely hidden. only a strong guard waited at the wayside to intercept all passengers, and here at last came richard, just as the sun went down. "the prince's foot soldiers will arrive soon," said the young leader to guy the bow. ben o' coventry was peering over the ridge of the hill, and he came back hastily. "men from the castle, my captain!" he exclaimed. "a knight, i should say by his crest, and four esquires, with, mounted serving men a half dozen. the knight, i noted, rideth with visor up." "thinking not of any foe," richard answered. "we will hide under the trees and let them go by. then will we close behind them." "we could smite them as they come," said guy. "nay," replied richard, "lest even so much as one on horseback escape to warn the town." word was sent to the prince, and soon he was there, having posted his troops in the glen, and with him came sir henry of wakeham. it was no moment for speech, for the french cavalcade came gayly over the hill. silent and motionless, the english in their ambush almost held their breath until the party from bruyerre was a bowshot past them. then out into the road they poured as silently, and the trap was set. "they will meet our foot right soon," said sir henry, "but they will not risk a charge upon five hundred men. they will come back." "sir thomas gifford will render a good account of them, if they do not," replied the prince. not more than half a mile down the road and around a bend of it, at that hour, pressed on the english foot. at their head rode one knight only, with a few men-at-arms, and not far behind him strode a brawny, red-haired man, who shouted back to those behind him, in irish: "forward now, ye men of the fens, of connaught and of ulster! yet a little, and we shall be with our brave boy of the golden horn and of la belle calaise, and with the prince and sir henry." it was the o'rourke himself, promoted to a better command, with full leave to arm his giants with axes, in honor of his feats in the sea fight. in like manner the rear guard was led by david griffith, and the weapons of the welshmen were such as those with which their ancestors had fought the roman legions of cæsar and the saxons of harold the king. "who cometh?" exclaimed sir thomas, for at that moment the party of french from bruyerre had seen his banner and his ranks, and they had promptly turned round to speed back to the castle. "the english!" they shouted. "the pirates of albion! back to the town!" they had no dreams of aught but a swift, unhindered escape; and the greater was their astonishment to find their way blocked below the hill ridge by a dense mass of pikemen and bowmen, in front of whom stood a dozen armored knights. there was no use in either flight or fighting; and their leader reversed his lance and rode forward. "yield thee!" rang out in english. "i am sir henry of wakeham." "needs must!" responded the knight in norman french. "i am guilbert, sieur de cluse. i had visited with raoul de bruyerre, my kinsman, and i was but riding homeward. alas, the day!" he and his party dismounted and were disarmed. they were doubly astonished at meeting the prince himself with what seemed so small a force, and the sieur de cluse remarked with something of bitterness: "little ye know of the nut ye think to crack. de bruyerre hath gathered three thousand men, and he is provisioned for a siege." "not more than that?" exclaimed the prince. "glad am i of thy news. i had feared he had greater force. we have almost half that number of our own. the castle and the town are ours!" the prisoners were led under the trees, and now the night came on, and it was fairly sure that there would be no more wayfarers. little more could be learned, except that all the townspeople were as well armed and ready as the garrison. every plan had been well laid beforehand. only an hour after sunset dense clouds covered the sky, insuring perfect darkness. out, down the glen, swept david griffith and his welshmen, to seize all roads leading to the castle gate. along the highway itself rode the prince and his mounted force--a hundred and thirty steel-clad horsemen. behind them marched the greater part of the english foot; but by another path went sir henry of wakeham, richard neville, and sir thomas gifford. with them were the o'rourke and two hundred irish, and two hundred bowmen of warwick and kent. the scaling ladders were with these. away to the right, across fields and through vineyards, giles monson led the way. he was still unarmed, save for a stout "sheffield whittle," a foot long, sheathed, in his belt. hardly a word he spoke until his companions found themselves at the foot of a perpendicular crag. "there is a break twenty feet up," he said, "and a flat place. from that point our peril beginneth. silence, all!" a ladder was placed, and up he went like a squirrel. a low whistle was heard as he reached the top of the ladder; the signal came from richard, just behind him. next came a clang of steel, for the heir of wartmont had smitten down a half-slumbering sentinel. up poured the english, headed by sir henry; they brought a second ladder with them and others were placing it at the foot of the crag. [illustration: up went the ladder, and on it the english climbed fast.] "a shorter ladder will do for this next mounting," whispered giles monson. "then there is a wall, but sentries are seldom posted there." hardly had he spoken before a voice above them hailed in french: "who cometh there?" a flight of arrows answered him, and no second question came down. up went the ladder and on it the english climbed fast. the wall, when they reached it, was but a dozen feet high, and was hardly an obstacle. beyond it sir henry halted until many men stood beside him. then he spoke in a low tone. "pass the word," he said. "pause not for aught, but follow me to the castle and the town gate. we must win that and let in the prince, though all die who are here." he strode forward then, and ever in front of him went giles monson, his cap in his hand and his white hair flying. few lights were burning in any of the buildings, for it was long after curfew. there were no wayfarers along the narrow, winding streets through which, avoiding the middle of the town, giles monson guided the english. hardly a weapon clanged, and no word was spoken, for every man knew that if an alarm were given too soon so small a force would be overwhelmed and all must die. "yon is the gate," whispered giles at last. "'tis a fort of itself, and it needs must have a strong guard." "they are on the watch for foes from without," said sir henry. "richard neville, show thyself a good man-at-arms! charge in at yonder portal with thy irish, and we will form behind thee and press on to open the town gates and hold them." the o'rourke heard the command and he whistled shrilly to his men; still in front of richard, through the deep gloom, flitted the white-haired guide, for the portal at which sir henry pointed; to the left was the open gate of the great tower, the donjon keep, the citadel of bruyerre. a moat there was, but the bridge was in place, and the guards in armor were lolling lazily. "charge! for the king!" shouted richard, as he sprang swiftly along the bridge; he dashed past the guards and was within the portal before they could draw their swords. down they went under the irish axes, and so the entrance to the keep was won. then the fighting began, for there were many brave men in the citadel of bruyerre and they were awaking. but they came out of their quarters in sudden bewilderment, singly or in squads, and in the dim light they at first hardly knew friend from foe. scores were smitten in utter darkness by unseen hands, and everywhere were panic and confusion among the defenders. "on!" shouted giles monson. "my lord of wartmont, i lead thee to the chamber of de bruyerre!" they were at the head of a flight of stairs, and before them was a long passage lighted by hanging lamps. into the passage had rushed out--from the sleeping rooms on either side--a dozen swordsmen, and some of them had bucklers. well was it for richard then that guy the bow and the longwood foresters had believed it their duty to follow their own young captain, for otherwise he had been almost alone. from the archers whizzed shaft after shaft, and hardly did he cross swords with any knight before the frenchman's blade fell from his hand. one towering form in a long blue robe was behind the others. "who are ye, in heaven's name?" he had shouted. "st. denis, they are fiends!" "my lord raoul de bruyerre," fiercely responded giles monson, "'tis the vengeance of heaven upon thy false heart and thy cruelty. i am thy sheffield man, thou robber!" "yield thee, my lord of bruyerre!" shouted richard; but along the passage darted giles monson, bent on revenge. "thou art the traitor!" cried de bruyerre, and drawing his sword he sprang to strike down the advancing englishman. too eager to heed his own safety, giles monson leaped upon the french knight and struck fiercely with his long dagger. both weapons reached their marks. "thou villain, thou hast slain the knight!" cried richard. "he might have surrendered." but giles monson had fallen beneath the sword of his victim, and would never speak more. "stay not here!" richard commanded. "follow me! the keep is not half taken." it was but the truth, and yet the remaining fight was only to make all sure. one strong party of french soldiers was beaten because they rallied in the great hall and were helplessly penned in as soon as the massive doors were shut and braced on the outside. "rats in a trap!" said ben o' coventry, as he forced down a thick plank to hold a door. "we need not slay one of them." "i would i knew how it fareth with the prince," said richard. "light every lamp and beacon. i will go to the portal." prince edward and they who were with him were men certain to give a good account of themselves, but they had been none too many. the warders at the town-wall gate had been small hindrance. the moment the huge oaken wings swung back upon their hinges, up went the portcullis, out shot the bridge across the deep, black moat, and the blast of sir henry's horn was answered by the rapid thud of hoofs as the prince led on his men-at-arms. "straight for the middle square!" he shouted. "onward to the keep!" "it is ours if richard neville be still living," calmly returned the knight. "hark! the shouts--the uproar!" "sir thomas gifford," commanded the prince, "go to him. take ten men-at-arms. we must win the keep!" on then he led his gallant men along the street, but when they reached the central square the french also were pouring into it from all sides. save for their utter surprise they would have made a better fight, but at the first onset the english lances scattered their hasty array like chaff. horsemen they had almost none, and their knights who fought on foot were but half-armored. now also david griffith and his welshmen had arrived within the walls, and it seemed to the defenders of bruyerre that their foemen were a multitude. a band of mercenaries from alsace, three hundred strong, penned in a side street, surrendered without a blow at the first whizzing of the english arrows. sir thomas gifford was standing at the portal of the castle, and he saw a man in armor come hastily out into a light that shone beyond. "richard neville," he asked, "how is it with thee? art thou beaten?" "the keep is ours," called back richard; "but i have too many prisoners. there were six hundred men." "st. george for england!" cried the astonished knight. "thou hast done a noble deed of arms!" "but raoul de bruyerre is dead, and so is giles monson, he who guided us," continued richard. "how fareth the prince?" "go thou to him with thy good news," replied sir thomas. "i will take command here and finish thy work." "let us not remain with sir thomas," exclaimed the o'rourke, behind richard, "if there is to be more fighting." "nay, thou and thy kerns are garrison of the keep," said sir thomas. so the hot-headed irish chieftain had to bide behind stone walls to his great chagrin, while richard went out gladly, with but a small party, to hunt for the prince through the shadowy, tumultuous streets of the half-mad town of bruyerre. there were faces at window crevices, and there were men and women in half-opened doorways. richard continually announced to them, as had been the general order of the prince: "in! in! quarter to all who keep their houses, and death to all who come out!" brave as might be the burghers of bruyerre, not many of those who heard cared to rush out alone, to be speared or cut down. before this, nevertheless, enough had gathered at one point to feel some courage; and into this band richard was compelled to charge. with him were barely a dozen axemen and bowmen, yet he shouted in norman french, as if to some larger force behind: "onward, men of kent! forward quickly! bid the irish hasten! st. george for england! for the king!" the burghers had no captain, and they hardly knew their own number in the gloom. 'twas a hot rush of desperate men against those who were irresolute. the burghers broke and fled to their houses, and on went richard, having lost only a few of his small force. the garrison had rallied faster and faster, and now almost surrounded in the square were the prince and his knights. little they cared. indeed, sir henry of wakeham had said: "what do you advise, my lord prince? we might even cut our way back to the castle, if we were sure of it. if we have that, we have command of the town." "hold your own here," replied the prince; "i think they give way somewhat." just then a band of bowmen, who had cleared out a side street, came forth as richard went by. "with me!" he called to them. "let us join the prince. beware how ye send your shafts into yonder _mêlée_, lest ye harm a friend!" "hark!" exclaimed sir henry. "it is richard neville! they have beaten him. where can sir thomas be? i fear there is black tidings!" "fight on!" replied the prince. "at all events he bringeth us some help." closely aimed arrows, well-thrown spears, cleaving of sword and axe were help indeed; but better than all was the clear, ringing voice of richard, in english first, and then in norman french: "my lord the prince, we have the keep and castle! sir thomas gifford holdeth it. de bruyerre is killed. his men are dead or taken. bid these fools here surrender. they have naught for which to fight." "god and st. george for england!" roared sir henry of wakeham. "hail to thee, richard neville!" sang out the prince. "victory! the town is ours! bruyerre is taken!" all the frenchmen heard, as well as all the english. what was joy to one party was utter discouragement to the other. "surrender!" commanded the prince. "the fool who fighteth now hath his blood upon his own head!" spears were lowered, swords were sheathed, crossbows were dropped, brave men-at-arms gave their names to sir henry and his knights, and the peril in the great square was over. "well for us," coolly remarked sir henry. "the guards from the ramparts were arriving. my lord of cluse did not rightly number the garrison." nor had the english believed that so many townsmen could turn out so speedily. nevertheless, when arms were given up the frenchmen were no longer soldiers, and their numbers were of no more value. "richard neville, i will well commend thee to my father! i think he will give thee thy spurs." so spake the prince, with his hands on the shoulders of his friend, and looking into his face admiringly. "prince edward," broke out the heir of wartmont warmly, "i have done little. the taking of bruyerre is thine. it was all thy plan." "mine? nay," said the prince. "the best of it was prepared by raoul de bruyerre, when he held giles monson wickedly, that now an englishman might be ready to let us in. so did his evil deed come back to his ruin." "aye," said sir henry; "but the dawn is in the sky, and the troops must be stationed fast. we will not stay to sack the town; but there are stores to gather, and there are knights of high degree to put to ransom. we have work to do." so, quickly and wisely, went out the commands of the english captains, and the prize was made secure before the sun was an hour high. bitter enough was then the shame and wrath of knights and nobles of the garrison, as they learned by how small a force their great stronghold had been surprised and taken. it should have been held for a year, they said, against all the army of king edward. all that bright summer day the business of sending away the garrison and of securing the best plunder of bruyerre went industriously forward; but it was not in the hands of the black prince. hardly had he finished eating a good repast in the castle, after having had courteous speech with madame of bruyerre and her household, before he gave command: "sir robert clifton, i appoint thee to the care of this place until i send thee orders from the king. he is now twelve miles away, and i must give him a report of this affair. sir henry and gifford and neville will go with me." it was to horse and mount, then, while robert clifton cared for bruyerre. the sun was looking down upon the midday halting of king edward's own division of his army, when his son and his companions stood before him to tell him what they had done, and how. close and searching, as became a good general, were the questions of the king; but when all was done sir henry of wakeham spoke boldly: "sire, is it not to be said that thy son and richard neville have in this feat of arms well earned their spurs and chain of knighthood?" "truly!" came low but earnestly from richard's uncle, the earl of warwick. there was no smile upon the firm lips of the king, whatever his proud eyes might seem to say, and he replied: "not so, my good companion in arms. think of thine own battles, many and hard fought. it were not well to forward them too fast. neither my edward nor richard of wartmont shall wear spurs until they have stood the brunt of one great passage of arms. leave but a fair garrison in bruyerre, for none will trouble them. we will march on to seek the field where we may meet the host of philip of valois. word hath arrived that he is coming with all haste." forward, therefore, moved the forces of the king, and with them rode the two young companions in arms as simple squires; but the mighty field whereon they were to win their spurs was only a few days in the future. footnote: [a] the kern was a light-armed foot soldier, who usually carried a spear and knife. chapter ix. king edward at paris. great had been the turmoil, the separation of comrades and of detachments, at the taking of bruyerre. hardly had richard spoken twice to sir thomas holland or sir peter legh. now, however, that the army of the king was once more moving forward, there was chance for them to ride together. not until then, indeed, did it come clearly to richard's mind how highly men thought of him for the taking and holding of the keep. also, sir henry wakeham had praised him much for his conduct in the perilous scaling of the walls by giles monson's secret pathway. "i am well pleased," said sir peter, "that the order of march putteth thee and thy outlaws with sir thomas and me. so they take not us for deer and make targets of us, we are likely to render a good report to the king." "aye," added sir thomas dryly, "i knew not why even thy wild irish kerns and thy welsh savages took thee, more than another, for their chieftain, but i learned that they were like thy bowmen. every man of them hath had a price set upon his head, for his good deeds before he was pardoned into the army." "the king's deer will be safer after this campaign," said sir peter, "if, indeed, he is marching this army to meet the host of france. but that i trust him well, i would deem him safer on the other side of the seine." now any who knew the province of normandy and the parts that they were in, could see that the river seine ran at the left of their march. it was between them and any seeming road to the taking of calais. well up the stream, in the direction they were taking, was the good city of paris, with many strong forts, although it had no encircling wall. it lay open, with castles and fortified posts outside of its streets and palaces. at paris, even now, there was a strong force of french, said to be equal in numbers to the english army. more forces were fast marching thitherward, but still king edward was pushing on, as if he expected to capture the french capital by a swift dash and a surprise. this was therefore the meaning of sir peter legh, and it had been in the thoughts of many other men. "word hath come by many of the king's scouts," replied richard, "that every bridge over the seine hath been broken down by the french themselves, so that our army can by no means reach the other bank." "sir thomas holland," asked sir peter, "knowest thou what saith the king to that?" "nay," said sir thomas bluntly, "but i heard one geoffrey of harcourt, when a spy rode to him to tell that the last seine bridge was down." "what answered he?" asked sir peter. "'now all the saints be praised!' he said," responded sir peter. "'philip of valois doeth our business well. their bridges are gone, and they can throw no force across the river to annoy our flank or rear. we have but a holiday march, unmolested.'" richard listened, that he might gather a lesson of war; but he said to the knights: "i do but bethink me of what was said by one of my own men when he heard concerning the bridges. he is a carpenter from coventry." "what said he?" asked a deep voice behind them, as it were eagerly. then turned they all in their saddles, for there rode sir geoffrey of harcourt, and with him was the prince. "my lord marshal," said richard, "he did but laugh, and he laughed loudly. then he told his mates: 'ye are but fools, and the king is wise. give me our forest men and the two companies of kent and the london pikemen that are from the shipbuilding wards of london town. then, if so be the king wanteth a bridge he can have one. we will even shape it in the woods in the morn, and have it over the stream at sunset.'" "richard neville," said the marshal, "keep thou that saying to thyself, but search out thy man. bid him and his to pick their wood workers, man by man. we shall have tools in plenty. the men do know each other. i was even now troubled in mind concerning handicraftsmen." "no need, my lord marshal," reverently responded richard. "i did hear more, and i can bring thee men that have built bridges over bigger streams than these." "richard of wartmont," now broke in the prince, "ride thou with me a space. i would know more of thy men." then rode they silently until well apart from the others, and the prince said to his friend: "this concerning the bridges will please the king. he hath said to me, of the commons and of thy saxon kin, that now he hath a power that will grow fast, as he will help it grow. it hath not heretofore come to the hand of any king of england, and so some of them have been even too hardly dealt with by the great earls." "i and mine are the king's men," said richard, "and the king's only. but i learn many new things of war. it is more than hard fighting. but the king of france will have a great host." "oh that it were twice as great!" exclaimed the prince. "if my father can but gather it all, and as many more, at paris, he will surely take calais." richard could but laugh, and he replied: "far be it from me to read beforehand the counsel of so great a captain. i think that even when all is done, and he hath won his will, there will be those who will say that he never thought to do so." "it is so ever," said the prince, "and therefore all the more surely doth he win. but i think any man might read beforehand the plan of this campaign. only that none expected so much aid from philip in this matter of the bridges." there is both pleasure and profit to be had in discerning well the doings of the great, whereby battles are won or lost, and whereby thrones are builded or are overturned. richard thought within himself that day and other days: "i do grow older as we march, and men have often said that war is a great school for such as will be taught. there be those who learn not anything. i will not be one of them." on pressed the army, plundering as it went, and great spoil went back to england, but in its division the king cared for the lowly as well as for the great, and there was no murmuring or dissatisfaction among the men in the rants. again and again was the river seine approached by the detachments of the left wing. truly, every bridge had been broken with care, to prevent a crossing of the english. richard had also many talks with ben of coventry and with men who were brought by him. these also were presented, a dozen at a time, to sir geoffrey and the earl of warwick, for the two marshals were of one accord in this matter. no tools were dealt out, however, nor was any work set the workmen, until a day when the vanguard halted at a place called poissy. there was no french army here to meet them, and yet the city of paris itself was but a few miles farther on. it was a gay sight, the lances and the pennons that rode out with the van. next came the royal standard, and under it, in full armor and with his crowned helmet on, full knightly rode the king. "poissy!" he said. "their last bridge, and it shall be for me, although they have broken it down. where is that london shipwright? ha, man, look yonder! what sayest thou?" a short man, sturdy of build, was the shipwright, for he had already been brought. "my lord the king," he responded, "i did go on with the young neville and that man of his from coventry. the bridge is good enough. the french took off the planks and some timbers, but they forgot to burn." "where are the timbers?" asked the king. "little on this side the river, but much on the other," said the shipwright. "all that is lacking we can make from these trees." "time!" exclaimed the king. "i must have the bridge forthwith! to your axes!" "boats first," said the shipwright. "there be many on the far bank." "sire," interposed the earl of warwick, "i pray thee have patience. richard of wartmont hath sent word to me concerning boats. i shall hear again shortly." "see that he fail not," said the king hardly, for ever did his temper grow stern and unmerciful in such an hour as was this. the army had now been led to the very place where all the plan of the king was to be tested, for winning or for losing, and here, mayhap, might his life or his crown be cast away. barely an hour earlier, however, lower down the river side, richard neville and a party of his men had been scouting, by command of sir thomas holland. with him was the o'rourke, and it was the irish chief whose keen eyes were the first to discern an important prize. "richard of wartmont," he shouted, "seest thou? boats on the other shore! they are not even guarded." "i could not swim this water," replied richard. "can any of them?" "aye, were it thrice--ten times as wide," said the o'rourke. "i myself." "off with thy armor and axe!" cried richard. "call thy best swimmers. bring me those boats. guy the bow, send a good runner to sir thomas holland or sir peter legh. bid them, from me, to tell the earl or sir geoffrey i want a force to hold with on the other shore." before he had finished speaking, the irish chief and a dozen of his kerns were in the flood, swimming as if they had been so many water fowl; but each man's long skein dagger knife was in his belt, and in his left hand was a short spear, like those of the welsh. they would not land unarmed. "god speed them!" shouted richard. "at no place heretofore have we seen a boat that we might hope to obtain." 'twas a swiftly running river, and too wide for any but such swimmers as were these; but they made light of it. ere they could cross, their coming was seen by men on the other shore, but none who were armed met them as they came out of the water. surely it had been grave negligence of king philip's officers to leave there so many as four fishing boats, even if these were small. wild and shrill rang out the slogan of the irish, as they seized upon oars and paddles and prepared to launch their prizes. "they are out of arrow shot," said richard to those who were with him; "we could give them no aid." even as he spoke, the glint of spears might be seen above bushes at no great distance down the opposite bank. no doubt there were horsemen coming. the irish had been unwise to shout, but boat after boat was slipping into the stream. "haste! haste!" groaned richard, "they will be lost, and the boats with them!" a score of lances in rest--a score of galloping horses--loud shouts of angry men-at-arms--one moment of deadly peril--but then the brave kerns with the last of the boats were springing into it, and the french riders drew rein at the water's edge under a shower of javelins, only to know that they were too late. it was just then, moreover, that sir thomas holland, having listened eagerly to a longwood archer, was shouting loudly, "to horse, brave knights all! the neville hath found boats!" and orders followed to all foot soldiery within call. "they come," said richard, waiting his gallant kerns, "but yonder boats will hold only eight men each, well crowded. we can gain no landing against men-at-arms. yonder, above, is a steeper bank, where horsemen can not reach the brink--o'rourke, on! up stream!" it was not far to go, and the french lancers could do no more than follow as best they might, over rough ground and through dense undergrowth. they were even out of sight, by reason of the clifflike bank, when richard neville and some of his bowmen made the boats full almost to sinking, and were swiftly ferried over. "haste now, indeed!" he ordered, but not loudly, as he stepped ashore. "a few boat loads more and we can hold our own." whoever commanded the frenchmen believed his enemies to be going on up the river, for he and his appeared on the bank again a full half mile above. again and again had the wherries borne their english passengers, and now they were going back for sir thomas holland and the knights who dismounted with him. "is the neville mad?" he exclaimed. "he is forming his archery on the hill. look! 'tis not ill done. there come king philip's men-at-arms! heaven help him! we are too late!" "but the boy is not mad at all," replied sir peter legh. "the french horses go down. there are not enough of them." on the height, truly, had richard formed his threescore or more of kerns and bowmen, with others fast arriving, but it was behind a thick, low hedge of old thorn bushes, fit to break a rush of cavalry. here, therefore, was shattered the line of the french men-at-arms; and while they strove to force their horses through the thorns, they were good marks for the arrows of arden. their horses were but lost animals, and the good knights who rolled upon the ground surrendered rather than have irish spears driven between the bars of their helmets. so rapid, so deadly was this killing of horses that not one did get away. "i told thee!" said sir peter to sir thomas, in the boat that bore them. "we shall find that he hath done a brave deed this day." more loudly did they both aver that thing when they came to the scene of the skirmish. "knights of ransom!" exclaimed sir thomas. "did any escape?" "i know not," said richard, "but if more boats be at hand, above or below, they are to be sought for. may not these four ply here, while we march up the stream?" "no use to scout below," replied sir thomas. "we are now twenty men-at-arms, on foot, and near a hundred of thy kerns and bowmen. march! we may all die, but we may win the bridge head." on the other bank they could see the columns of earl warwick's men, sent hurriedly to re-enforce them, and shortly the o'rourke shouted, "another boat, and yet another twice larger, at the bank." "that may save us," said sir peter, "but i would we were more in number." so said the king himself, as he sat upon his palfrey and gazed across the seine, not long thereafter. the french had not left the bridge without a guard, even if they had broken it down. men of all arms were there, with many crossbowmen, and at first they had but laughed and derided what they supposed to be the utter disappointment of king edward. "sire," exclaimed sir geoffrey of harcourt, "the earl is right! yonder are richard of wartmont and his men." "too few! too few!" muttered the king. "he is over rash. he hath lost all." all had been lost, indeed, but for the swift plying of the larger boats and the manner of their packing with brave men. sir thomas holland had now been joined by gifford and wakeham and good swords not a few, and the archers had swarmed into all boats like bees; with them were their stings, moreover, and most of all, mayhap, they came upon the french at the bridge as a surprise. loudly were they jeering, and the crossbowmen were even hurling a few useless bolts that fell halfway, as if to show the king what error he had made. there were many unarmed also, that crowded closely, mocking at the english. not upon these, but upon spearmen and crossbowmen, there suddenly fell a flight of cloth-yard shafts, doing deadly work. in a moment the unarmed mob was tangled with the soldiery, and all these were in confusion. how many english were coming they knew not, for sir henry of wakeham had cunningly stretched out his line full widely, and it looked like a strong force. there were a few good french knights who set their spears in rest and charged rashly, to be unhorsed and taken, but the mixed mass behind them surged away from the bridge head. here, too, had been a fort, not strong, but good enough for an occasion, and it was not at all broken. "richard neville," had said sir peter, "follow me. if we can gain yonder tower and those palisades, the bridge is won." who would have deemed that a man in armor of proof could run so well! but sir peter was even shoulder to shoulder with guy the bow and richard when they rushed into the empty fortalice. "won!" shouted sir peter. "let in our own, but the french will rally; they will be back upon us quickly enough." sir henry and the rest had a sharp fight of many minutes ere they could break through, but now the place was garrisoned, and the boats could come in safety to the wharf below, behind the line of palisades. "sire," said sir geoffrey, "i will myself go over and care for the matter." "thou wilt not," replied the king. "i will not risk thy head in that cage until more men-at-arms may be with thee. there! 'tis sir henry of wakeham's own banner! i knew it not. the boy and his outlaws have gained our crossing. go, sir geoffrey, and take with thee the bridge-builders." it was well for him and them, nevertheless, that their headlong rashness had not cost them their lives, as it would have done, but for the promptness and power of their re-enforcements. "wakeham," said sir geoffrey, in the bridgehead fort, "i may hardly trust my eyes. here could philip have given us vast trouble, and now we have none. we will have a camp here quickly, with ten thousand men in it, lest we lose this advantage." there were boats enough now, and the forces on that bank were growing fast. they were pushing out, moreover, and they were skirmishing briskly with sundry parties of the enemy who seemed to be without a general. therein was the secret of this matter. philip of france had been taken unawares by the bold, swift dash of edward's army. its vanguard had reached poissy, mayhap, two days before the french captains had deemed it possible for it to get there. the night came and went, and it was the next midday when richard neville stood on the wharf, watching the london shipwrights ply their tools and swing the timbers into place. "a man who would move an army," he said aloud, "must needs learn how to build a bridge. i can row a boat, but i must swim better. those irish are as nimble as fishes in the water." a deep voice hailed him at the moment, and he quickly turned. "sir geoffrey!" he exclaimed. "this to the king," said the marshal, holding out a very small parcel, like a letter. "come thou not back, save by the king's command, till thou hast carried this also to the earl. take with thee only a boat load of thy men, but go not alone, for thy errand must not miscarry." so happened it, then, that only david griffith and a dozen welshmen went with him, whose tongue he spoke not; but on the other shore his boat was waited for by the earl of warwick and none other, by chance. "glad am i," said richard, giving him sir geoffrey's parcel, and the earl read hastily. "to the king!" he shouted. "i go with thee. the good knight reasons well. we must harry and burn to the paris streets, that we may know what power is there. he hath word that the allies and the levies of philip of france are very near to come." "the bridge buildeth fast," said richard. "ben of coventry saith that by the morrow there will be a footway for twain abreast." "aye," replied the earl, "but not for horses nor for wains. three days more for them." the english army was now holding both sides of the stream, and the quarters of the king were in the old chateau of poissy, not far from the bridge. small was his care for state, however, and plain was his ordering, as of a soldier in the field. none hindered the earl marshal, and the king's officer of the house, that day, was sir john of chandos, good knight and true. a greeting, a courteous reverence from sir john to the earl, a word or so of command, and richard was before the king in the audience hall of the chateau. cold, hard, and stern, like iron and like ice, was the face of his majesty, as he opened and read the letter from sir geoffrey. "neville," said he to richard, "hast thou spoken to any but the earl?" "not so, sire," said richard. "i did meet him at the river bank." "thou art young," said the king; "be prudent also, on thy head. tell no man, high or low, that philip hath already forty thousand men in paris. if thou shalt betray that matter, thou diest." "he useth not his tongue overmuch," said the earl, for the king's word pleased him not. "but he hath somewhat more to say." "let him say on," growled the king, for it was shown that he was sore wroth ere they came. "if it please the king," said richard boldly, "a peasant whom i saw not fled from the city and had speech with some of the welshmen. he was of brittany, and their language was like to their understanding of each other. he saith not forty thousand, but less than half, only that they are mostly men-at-arms, with few horses to ride upon. there be many foot soldiers from brittany. i would go around the city in one night, if david griffith and another might go with me. do not i speak french as do those i am to meet?" "wilt thou let him go, warwick?" said the king. "it were death if he were taken." "richard, go thou!" said the earl. "if any question thee, tell that thou art richard de la saye, for i now give thee that estate of mine in brittany. thou wilt not speak falsely.--sire, hath he not earned la saye?" "verily, if he keep his head and bring back true tidings, he will have earned a manor or so," said the king less hardly. "i were in better mood with better news, but i have word from york. the archbishop is calling out all forces, for the scottish clans are mustering and their host will march for the border forthwith. moreover, our barons are sluggards, and our own re-enforcements do not come. we must even beat the french with what we have. not a man more than we landed with at la hague." "i will retire, then," said the earl. "i will send richard speedily." out they did go, but sir john of chandos shook his head and looked ruefully at richard. "heed him not!" said the earl. "keep thy heart strong. make thou the circuit of paris and come again. it will be the easier because i shall this night attack with a strong force the suburb and castle of st. germain, near the city." many other things he said, but richard sent for david griffith, and they talked long together. two more of griffith's clansmen were called in, and both agreed with no murmuring. on foot, clad in full armor, with his helmet closed, armed with but sword and dagger, attended only by the three welshmen, as if they were armed serving men, did richard at the gloaming walk slowly along the st. germain road. by another way, he knew, the earl marshal was at that hour pushing forward his force, but the sound of the combat had not yet begun. "we shall soon reach an outpost of the foe," he was thinking, when in a shadowed hollow beyond him he heard one speak in french: "who cometh, in the king's name?" "normandy, with a countersign." "advance, normandy, with the sign." "for philip the king, guienne!" "and all is well, guienne," replied the sentry. there was a slight clank of armor, for the french outpost was but changing sentries, and the officer rode away. "now we know sign and countersign," said richard, and he carefully instructed his companions. hardly had he done so before a glare of red light, not far to the right, told of hayricks set on fire by warwick's men. there came sounds of trumpets also, and of shouting, for the attack had begun. "forward, now," said richard; "we are safe, if once within their lines." loud and angry was the summons of the french vidette, startled sorely. "de la saye, normandy, with a countersign," responded richard. "advance, de la saye and normandy, with a sign," replied the sentry. "to philip the king, guienne," said richard, "and i bid thee save thy neck. the english are charging in." "the count d'ivry," began the sentry. "cease thy chatter!" exclaimed richard. "go tell the count, from de la saye, that earl warwick is upon him. bid him, from me, to send word speedily to the king, lest he lose his head." "aye, sieur de la saye," spoke yet another voice from one who sat upon a horse in the road. "thou hast scouted far and well. i am the count de la torre, of provence. i will report well of thee to the king. our other scouts are worthless. what force sawest thou with the earl?" "a thousand men-at-arms, about three thousand foot, in the advance. what more behind them knoweth no man. but there surely is no need to lose st. germain this night." fiercely loud were the sayings of the count concerning the carelessness and bad management of the french captains. they had lost the bridge of poissy. they were keeping but poor guard elsewhere. now, but for this sieur de la saye, of brittany, naught would have been known of warwick's dash upon the city. therefore forward marched richard and his welshmen, and for a distance de la torre rode beside them, questioning right soldierly concerning all that they had seen. but he spoke not, he said, the tongue of the peasants of brittany. "were we all born in paris," said david, after the count left him, "we could hardly be safer than we now are. but our peril will come in getting out." "great will it be," said richard, "if we escape not before they change the countersign. we will walk fast and work while we may." there were many camps to look upon, by their camp fires, and not too nearly. richard himself had speech of even knights and men-at-arms, all of them disturbed in mind by the sudden advance of earl warwick. each in turn, as it were, upbraided the slow arriving of king philip's allies and levies, and especially of certain large bodies of mercenaries from the low countries and from italy. the welshmen found no troops from brittany until near the dawn, and then it was but at an outpost. sleepy and dull were the half score of pikemen who were rudely aroused to hear the sieur de la saye scolding their brigadier for carelessness, and compelling him to repeat the countersign more correctly. griffith and his two men spake, and then they were silent, suddenly. "on, my lord of wartmont!" whispered david hoarsely. "on, for thy head! some of these men came from within two leagues of la saye. one cometh to the brigadier." a few quick paces and they were beyond the camp firelight. it was a place of trees and bushes. sharp voices heard they contending and inquiring. "some one else hath come," said richard. "the officer of the guard, with horsemen. into the forest! haste!" down dropped they behind cover, but men-at-arms went charging down the road, for one of the peasant pikemen had told to the brigadier, and then to a knight: "the château la saye is a heritage of the english earl warwick, and it hath no french owner." "go! a spy!" roared the knight. "we will teach him a lesson!" a youth brought up near longwood and three welshmen from the hills were not men easily to be found in a forest; surely not by heavily armed french cavalry. it was high noon, nevertheless, when richard marched wearily into an encampment over which floated the flag of sir thomas gifford. free was his welcome; but when he stood before his good friend the knight he did but put a finger to his lips, and say: "sir thomas, the king, and him only!" "speak thou no other word!" exclaimed sir thomas. "come with me speedily. the earl told me of thy going. glad am i to see thee again alive." no other was allowed to question them as they went; but sir geoffrey of harcourt, and not earl warwick, was with king edward when his young spy of paris stood before him. "speak thou slowly and with care," he said, and richard told his tale. "three days, and philip's main host will be within striking distance?" murmured the king at last. "chandos, go thou to warwick and bid him smite fast and hard, burning tower and hamlet. harcourt, move every man and horse across the bridge as fast as it will bear them. our five days here will be enough for rest. on the sixth we must be a full day's march in advance of this huge mob of french, germans, bohemians, italians, and what not. now, my lords and gentlemen, for a great battlefield and for the taking of calais. our barons of the north counties must deal with david of scotland and his overtreacherous raid." out went all orders speedily, but the prince, with half the army, was already on the farther bank of the seine. richard's men were there also, and he was sent to join them; but bitter and destructive was the work done by the earl marshal in the outskirts of paris, while the bridge was finishing, and while the army moved on, out of camp after camp. even as the king had commanded, the sixth day found his rear guard half a day's march beyond poissy, seemingly in hot retreat. philip of france had been as busy as had been his english rival, and his vast host was also moving. but it was not well in hand, nevertheless, for after that, from camp to camp, from river to river, day after day, the perfectly trained forces of edward kept just beyond his reach, as if they were enticing him to follow. there was many a sharp skirmish, and the french captains believed that their foe had often but narrowly escaped. 'twas the king's plan, nor did he at any time hasten his march, and at last he said to his two marshals, mockingly: "philip hath me now, indeed, between his host and this river somme and the sea. but i think the men and the beasts are not overwearied, and we have left but a desert behind us. yet three days now, and we may need to retreat no more." chapter x. the great day of crÉcy. "'tis yet an hour before the tide will be out, but i believe that horsemen might cross now." the speaker was a clownish-looking man wearing the wooden shoes and coarse blouse of a french peasant. he stood at the stirrup of a knight in black armor, whose questions he was answering. "sir henry of wakeham," the prince said, "send in thy men-at-arms. post thy archers on the bank, right and left. we shall soon see if godemar du fay can bar the somme against us." "the archers are already posted," replied sir henry; "neville and his warwickshire men hold the right. the men of suffolk and kent are on the left." "forward, in the king's name!" commanded the young general, for his royal father had given him charge of the advance. it was a critical moment, for if the ford of blanche taque should not be forced, the entire english army would be hemmed in between the river somme and the hosts of france. it was but little after sunrise, and edward had sent orders to all his captains to move forward. the river somme was wider here than in its deeper channels above and below. the opposite bank was held by a force that was evidently strong, but its numbers were of less account at the outset. only a few from either side could contend for the passage of blanche taque. therefore these were the chosen knights of all england who now rode into the water, finding it nearly up to their horse girths. forward from the other shore rode in the men-at-arms of godemar du fay to hold the ford for philip of valois. "now is our time!" shouted richard to his archers. "guy the bow, let every archer draw his arrow to the head!" ill fared it then for the french riders when among them, aimed at horses rather than at men, flew the fatal messengers of the marksmen from the forest of arden. lances were fiercely thrust, maces and swords rang heavily upon helm and shield; but soon the french column fell into confusion. its front rank failed of support and was driven steadily back. it was almost as if the english champions went on without pausing; and in a few minutes they were pushing forward and widening their front upon the land. blanche taque was taken, for of godemar du fay's twelve thousand, only a thousand were men-at-arms. when the regular ranks of these were broken, his ill-disciplined infantry took to flight and the battle was over. all the while the tide was running out. "stand fast, o'rourke!" called richard to the impatient irish chieftain, who was striding angrily back and forth in front of his line of axemen. "ay, but, my lord of wartmont," returned the o'rourke, "there is fighting, and we are not in the battle. hark!" "neville, advance! thou and all thine to the front, seeking wakeham. in the king's name, forward!" a knight in bright armor had drawn rein at a little distance, and he pointed toward the ford as he spoke. it was crowded still by sir thomas gifford's men-at-arms, but the battle on the other shore had drifted far away. "forward, o'rourke!" shouted richard. "forward, guy the bow! forward, david griffith! good fortune is with us. we are to be under the prince's own command." loud cheers replied, and with much laughter and full of courage richard's force waded into the shallow somme. it was easy crossing now for all, with none to hinder. then, as the last flags of the english rearguard fluttered upon the left bank of the somme, good eyes might have discovered on the horizon the banners of the foremost horsemen of king philip. he had marched fast and far that morning, and once more the english army seemed barely to have escaped him. "a cunning hunter is our good lord the king," remarked ben o' coventry to his fellows as they pushed on. "thou art ever malapert," said guy the bow. "what knowest thou of the thoughts of thy betters?" "he who runs may read," said ben. "can a frenchman live without eating?" "i trow not," responded guy. "what is thy riddle?" "did we not waste the land as we came?" said ben. "hath not philip these three days marched through the waste? i tell thee that when he is over the somme he must fight or starve. well for us, and thanks to the king, that we are to meet a host that is both footsore and half famished. i can put down a hungry man any day." deep indeed had been the wisdom of the king, and his army encamped that thursday night, without fear of an attack, and the next morning they again went on. edward himself rode forward in the advance, after the noontide of friday, and during the whole march he seemed to be searching the land with his eyes. "sir john of chandos," he exclaimed at last, "see yon windmill on the hill. this is the place i sought. ride thou with me." the hill was not very high, and its sides sloped away gently. the king dismounted at the door of the mill and gazed in all directions. "they will come from the west," he said, "with the sun in their eyes. yon is our battlefield. here we will bide their onset. chandos, knowest thou that i am to fight philip of valois on mine own land?" "the village over there is called crécy," replied sir john. "truly, the crown of france is thine, rather than philip's!" "ay, so," said edward, "whether or no he can keep it from me; but this broad vale and the village and the chateaux are my inheritance from my grandmother. seest thou that ditch to the right, with its fellow on the left? i trust they have good depth. 'tis a field prepared!" after that he rode slowly, with his son and a gallant company, throughout the camps, talking kindly and familiarly with high and low alike, and bidding all to trust god and be sure of victory. brave men were they, and well did they love their king, but it was good for their courage that they should see his face and hear his voice, and assure their hearts that they had a great captain for their commander. in number they were about as many as had sailed at the first from england, small losses by the way, and the absence of those left as garrisons of strongholds captured in normandy, having been made good by later arrivals. this first duty done, the king went to his quarters in the neighboring castle of la broye, and here he gave a grand entertainment to all his captains and gentlemen of note. there was much music at the royal feast, and every man was inspired to do his best on the morrow. all the instruments sounded together loudly, at the close, when the warriors, who were so soon to fight to the death, arose to their feet and stood then in silence, while the king and the prince turned away and walked out of the hall together, no man following. "whither go they?" whispered the earl of hereford to sir john chandos. "as it doth well become our king at this hour," replied sir john. "they go to the chapel of la broye to pray for victory. 'twill do our men no harm to be told that the king and the prince are on their knees." "verily, my men shall know," said richard neville to sir thomas gifford. all of edward's army, save the watchers and sentries, slept soundly that night. it was wonderful how little uncertainty they had about the result of the battle. the morning came, but there were clouds in the sky and the air was sultry. it was saturday, the th of august, . edward the king posted himself at the windmill. on the slope and below it were a third of his men-at-arms and a strong body of footmen. this was the reserve. in front thereof, the remainder of the army was placed in the form of a great harrow, with its point--a blunt one enough--toward the hill, and its beams marked by the ditch lines. the right beam of this english harrow was commanded by the black prince in person, and with him were the earls of warwick and hereford, geoffrey of harcourt, and sir john chandos, with many another famous knight. their force was less than a thousand men-at-arms, with many irish and welsh, but they were especially strong in bowmen, for the king retained few archers with him. but little less was the strength of the left beam of the harrow, commanded by the earls of northampton and arundel. "fortune hath favored us!" exclaimed one of the men-at-arms to his young commander; "we are well placed here at the right. we shall be among the first to face the french!" "here cometh the prince," responded richard, "with his red dragon banner of wales. the royal standard is with the king at the mill." reviewing the lines with care, and giving many orders as he came, the prince rode up, clad in his plain black armor and wearing the helmet of a simple esquire. "richard neville," he said, as he drew near, "see that thou dost thy devoir this day." richard's head bowed low as the prince wheeled away. as he again sat erect upon his war horse a voice near him muttered: "ho! seest thou? the french are coming!" richard looked, and in the distance he could see a glittering and a flag, but after a long gaze he replied: "it is too soon. those are but a band of skirmishers." so it proved; and the long, hot hours went slowly by. at length the king ordered that every man should be supplied with food and drink, that they might not fight fasting. darker grew the clouds until they hung low over all the sky. blue flashes of lightning were followed by deafening thunder peals, and then there fell a deluge of warm rain. the english archers were posted in the front ranks along the harrow beams, but the rain harmed not their bows. every bowstring was as yet in its case, with its hard spun silk securely dry. "hearken well, all," said richard, addressing his men. "the prince ordereth that there shall be no shouting. fight with shut lips, and send forth no shaft without a sure mark." "we are to bite, and not to bark," said ben o' coventry in a low voice. then he added aloud: "yon marshy level is better for the rain. a horse might sink to his pasterns." "the ditch runneth full," said richard. "the king chose his battle ground wisely." "we are put behind the archery now," said david griffith to his welshmen. "so are the irish; but our time to fight will come soon enough." most of the men-at-arms belonging to each beam of the harrow were drawn up at the inner end, ready to mount and ride, but wasting no effort now of horse or man. "the very rain hath fought for england," remarked the prince to his knights, as at the front they wheeled for their return. "there will be hard marching for the host of philip of valois." "they must come through deep mud and tangled country, my lord the prince," replied the earl of warwick. "his huge rabble of horse and foot will be sore crowded and well wearied." moreover, there was much free speech among the knights concerning the difference between the opposing armies as to their training and discipline. king philip willed to begin the fight with an advance of his genoese crossbowmen, fifteen thousand strong. it was bolts against arrows. the genoese might have done better on another day, for their fame was great; but at this hour they were at the end of a forced march of six leagues, each man carrying his cumbrous weapon with its sheaf of bolts. this had weakened their muscles and diminished their ardor; besides, the sudden rain had soaked their bowstrings. the cords stretched when the strain of the winding winch was put upon them, and had lost their spring, so that they would not throw with good force. their captains nevertheless drove them forward, at the french king's command. from his post at the mill foot the royal general of england surveyed the field. "the day waneth," he said to his earls, "but the waiting is over. the sun is low and sendeth the stronger glare into their eyes. mark you how closely packed is that hedge of men-at-arms and lances behind the genoese? philip is mad!" on pushed the crossbowmen, until they were well within the beams of the broad harrow, but there they halted, to do somewhat with their bolts, if they could; and they sent up a great shout. no answer came, for the english archers stood silent, holding each a cloth-yard arrow ready for the string. small harm was done by the feebly shot crossbow bolts, and the genoese were ordered to go nearer. they made a threatening rush indeed; but then of their own accord they halted again and shouted, thinking perhaps to terrify the english army. steady as statues stood the archers until the earl of hereford, at a word from the prince, rode out to where he could be seen by all and waved his truncheon. up came the bows along the serried lines, while each man chose his mark as if he were shooting for a prize upon a holiday in merry england. those of the enemy who escaped to tell the tale said afterward that then it seemed as if it snowed arrows, so swiftly twanged the strings and sped the white shafts. with yells of terror the stricken genoese broke and fled; for by reason of edward's order of battle they were in a cross fire from the two beams of the harrow, and few shots failed of a target among them. some of them even cut the damp strings of their useless crossbows as they went, lest they should be bidden to turn and fight again. they were now, however, only a pell-mell mob, and it was impossible to command them. behind the advance of the genoese had been the splendid array of king philip's men-at-arms--a forest of lances. in a fair field, and handled well, they were numerous enough to ride down the entire force of king edward. against such an attack the english king had cunningly provided. at no great distance in the rear of his knights rode philip himself, with kings and princes for his company; and fierce was his wrath over the unexpected discomfiture of his luckless cross-bowmen. "slay me these cowardly scoundrels!" he shouted to his knights. "charge through them, smiting as ye go!" forward rode the thousands of the chivalry of france and germany and bohemia, every mailed warrior among them being full of contempt for the thin barrier of english foot soldiers. all they now needed, it seemed to them, was to disentangle their panoplied war horses from that crowd of panic-stricken genoese. it would also be well if they could pass the wet ground and avoid plunging against one another in the hurly burly. but now was to be noted another proof of the wise forethought of the english king. he had had prepared, and the prince had placed at short intervals along the battle line, a number of the new machines called "bombards." these were short, hollow tubes, made either of thick oaken staves, bound together with strong straps of iron, or (as was said of some of them) the staves themselves were bars of iron. before this day, none knew exactly when, there had been discovered by the alchemists a curious compound that, packed into the bombards, would explode with force when touched by fire, and hurl an iron ball to a great distance. it would hurt whatever thing it might alight upon; but the king's thought was rather that the loud explosions and the flying missiles might affright the mettled horses of the french men-at-arms. soon the air was full of the roaring of these bombards, and they served somewhat the king's purpose. but so little was then thought of this use of gunpowder at crécy that some who chronicled the battle, not having been there to see and hear, failed even to mention it. [illustration: soon the air was full of the roaring.] the fine array of the gallant knights was now confused indeed. they vainly sought to restore their broken order. not only the manner of the flight of the genoese, and the greater force and longer line of the right beam of the english harrow invited them to urge their steeds in that direction, but there also floated the red dragon banner of the prince of wales. well did each good knight know that there was beating the heart of the great battle. worse than the noisy wrath of bombards came now at the command of the prince. to right and left, plying their bows as they went, wheeled orderly sections of the archery lines, that through those gaps might pass the fierce rush of the wild welshmen. they were ordered forward, not to contend with knights in armor of proof, but to slay the horses with their javelins. terrible was the work they did, darting lightly to and fro; and it was pitiful to see so many gallant knights rolled helplessly upon the ground, encumbered by their armor. nevertheless, many kept their saddles, and broke through the welsh to find themselves forced to draw rein in front of the deep ditches that guarded the archery, who were ever plying their deadly bows. "down lances!" shouted the black prince to his men-at-arms, at the head of the harrow. "for england! for the king! st. george! charge!" more than two thousand mailed horsemen, of england's best, struck their spurs deep as the royal trumpet sounded. riders and horses were fresh and unwearied. there was the thunder of many hoofs, a crash of splintering lances, and they were hand-to-hand with king philip's disordered chivalry. well for him and his if he had then sounded a recall, so that his shattered forces might be rearranged; but instead, he poured forward his reserves, thereby increasing the pressure and the tumult, while the english archers ever plied their bows with deadly effect. it was then that the blind king of bohemia, the ally of philip in this war, was told how the day was going. at his side rode several of his nobles, and he said to them: "i pray and beseech you that you lead me so far into the fight that i may strike one blow with this sword of mine." he had been accounted a knight of worth in his youth, and the spirit of battle was yet strong upon him, neither did there yet seem to be good reason why his request should not be granted. therefore his friends on either hand fastened the bridle bits of their horses on a line with his own, and they rode bravely forward together. right hard was the strife that now went on, especially between the beams of the harrow and toward the right. in the midst of it floated the red dragon flag, and here the prince and his companions in arms were contending against the greater numbers of their assailants. here was the center toward which all were pressing, and here, it was seen, the fate of the battle was to be decided. for this very reason the pressure was less upon the left beam of the harrow, and its captains could the better observe the marvelous passage at arms around the prince. "sir thomas norwich," spoke the earl of northampton, "we must all go forward and do our best. ride thou to the king, and crave of him that he send help with speed. we fear it is full time for the reserves to move, if it be not even now too late." then the earl of arundel and other knights lowered their lances, and setting spurs to their horses charged into the thickest press. away spurred the knight of norwich, and ere many minutes had elapsed he gave the message to the king at the foot of the windmill; for there had the king been standing all the while watching the course of the battle with better perception than could be had by any of those who were in it. he could therefore discern in what manner philip of valois was defeating himself, crushing his own forces. "is my son dead, or unhorsed, or so wounded that he can not help himself?" he calmly inquired of the messenger. "no, sire," responded norwich; "but he is in a hard passage at arms, and sorely needeth your help." "return thou, sir thomas, to those who sent thee," said the king, "and bid them not to send to me so long as my son liveth. let the boy win his spurs; for, if god so order it, i will that the day may be his, and that the honor may be with him and with them to whom i gave it in charge." no more could the good knight say, and back he rode without company. there were those who thought it hard of the king, but better it was that he should hold his reserves for utter need. nevertheless, the aspect seemed to be growing darker to the true english hearts that were fighting in the press. they saw not, as the king did, that, owing to his cunning plan of battle, more in number of the english than of the enemy were at any instant actually smiting, save at the center, around the prince himself. dark as was the seeming, the heart of none was failing. "to the prince! to the prince!" shouted richard neville, as the space in front of him was cleared somewhat of foemen. "follow me!" forward he went, and loudly rang out behind him the battle shouts of his men. they were fewer than at the beginning, but boldly and loyally they had closed up shoulder to shoulder. richard's horse was slain under him by a thrust from a german pike; but the rider was lifted to his feet in time to meet the rush of the king of bohemia and his friends. their horses were sadly hampered by that hitching together of bridles, and were rearing, plunging, unmanageable. more than one blow had the old, blind hero given that day, as he had willed. none knew now by whose arrows his horse and those of his comrades went down, but after they were unhorsed the wild tide of the battle passed over them, for none of them rose again. "to the prince!" shouted richard fiercely. "i saw his crest go down!" the arrows and darts flew fast as the young hero of wartmont fought his way in amid the crash of swords and lances. "now, heaven be praised!" he cried out, "i see the prince! he liveth!" he said no more, for before him stood a tall knight with a golden wing upon his helmet, and wielding a battle-axe. clang, clang, followed blow on blow between those twain. it had been harder for richard but that his foe was wearied with the heat and the long combat. well and valorously did each hold his own, but a blow from another blade fell upon richard's bosom, cleaving his breastplate. then, even as he sank, across him strode what seemed some giant, and a wild cry in the irish tongue went up as the o'rourke poleaxe fell upon the shoulder of the knight of the golden wing. "on!" shouted the furious chief. "on, men of the fens! forward, connaught and ulster! vengeance for our young lord! down with the french!" hundreds of strong irish had followed their leader, and timely indeed was their coming, for the sun was sinking, and need was to win the victory speedily. "alas!" said guy the bow, as he bent over richard. "i pray thee, tell me, art thou deadly hurt, my lord?" "lift me!" gasped richard. "put me upon my feet. i would fight on and fall with the prince." quickly they lifted him, but he staggered faintly and leaned upon guy the bow. "i fear he is sore hurt," muttered guy. but at that moment there arose a great shouting. it began among the reserves who were with the king on the slope of the hill. "they fly! the foe are breaking! the day is ours! the field is won! god and st. george for england, and for the king!" it was true, for the army of the king of france could bear no more. all things were against them. they could neither fight in ranks nor flee from the cloth-yard shafts. the prince came near the group around richard, and, pausing from giving swift orders to his knights, he stepped forward. "'tis richard of wartmont!" he exclaimed. "is he dying?" straight up stood richard, raising his visor. he was ghastly pale, but his voice had partly come back to him. "i think not, prince edward," he faltered. "but i thank heaven that thou art safe!" "courage!" said the prince. "the field is ours, and thou hast won honor this day. bear him with me to the king." here and there brave fragments of what had been the mighty host of france held out and still fought on; but they were not enough. all others sought to save themselves as best they might from the pitiless following of the english. those in the rear who fled at once were safe enough, and the sunset and the evening shadows were good friends to many more of the french. most fortunate were such horsemen as had not been able to get into the harrow, for only about twelve hundred knights were slain. with them, however, fell eleven princes and the king of bohemia, and thirty thousand footmen. the king of france himself was a fugitive that night, seeking where he might hide his head. from his place on the hill king edward of england watched the closing of the great day of crécy, and now before him stood a strange array. shorn plumes, cloven crests or none, battered and bloody armor, broken swords, shivered lances, battle-worn faces, lighted somewhat by pride of victory, were arrayed before him. all were on foot, and each man bowed the knee. few, but weighty and noble with thanks and honor, were the words of the king. more he would say, he told them, when he should better know each man's meed of praise. at length the black prince came forward, and he knelt before his father, to rise a knight, for he had won his spurs. "richard of wartmont!" cheerily spoke the king. "come thou!" "sore wounded, sire," said sir henry of wakeham; "but i will aid." "not so," exclaimed the prince. "i will bring him myself." when richard was brought before king edward, he heard but faintly the words that made him a knight: "arise, sir richard of wartmont!" [illustration: "arise, sir richard of wartmont!"] all strength and life that were yet in richard had helped him to lean upon the prince's arm, to kneel, to rise again, and to hear, almost without hearing, the good words of the king. then he stepped backward, and guy the bow put an arm around him and said lovingly: "sir richard of wartmont, proud will thy lady mother be! i trow the war is over. when thy wounds are well healed we will take thee home to her." long after the sun went down strong detachments of king edward's army were busily at work gathering in the fruits of the victory. not that there was any effort to take prisoners of the common men, but that many knights who could pay good ransom lay upon the field sore wounded or encumbered with their armor. moreover, there was great spoil of arms, and of other matters of war and peace. heavily slumbered richard neville, and a careless watcher might have thought him dead; but those who were with him watched lovingly, listening for every breath, and moving him with care at times. "he waketh!" whispered guy the bow, as the light began to come in through the high window of the room in the château la broye. "the leech will soon be here." even as he spoke there entered a small, slight man in the black dress of the king's physicians. no word he spoke, but he bent low over the sword mark upon richard's ribs, removing its cover. "is this all?" he asked of guy. "save bruises," said guy, "no other hurt have we found." "the youth will do well," replied the leech. "he fell rather from heat and exhaustion of the long fray than from this blow. not a rib is cut through." he gave simple directions only, and he passed out, but he heard from ben of coventry: "that man hath good sense. my lady of wartmont will not lose her son." "but the leech did it not," said guy. "more was done by the thickness of yonder cloven breastplate. he will need long rest." so did the army, but the king gave it no more than was needful. before the close of that day all knew that the king of france himself had been taken, and that the war had no more great battles in it. all news was brought to richard by his friends, for among them came earl warwick and sir geoffrey and the earl of arundel, and many another whose coming was high honor to the young knight of wartmont. only the third day thence, and richard stood almost firmly upon his feet, for sir john chandos entered the room. "the king," he said, "and with him is the prince." in a moment more it was to richard as if he had gained sudden strength, for before him stood the two royal warriors. "nay, man, sit thee down!" commanded the king; but the black prince stepped forward and grasped his hand. "i heard thee, richard neville," he said most graciously--"i heard thee in the fray, when thou didst bid thy men fight on and die with thee and me. i will trust thee!" the king had looked kindly into richard's face, and now he spoke again: "neville of wartmont, whether or not thou goest to the seashore in a litter, thou wilt set out to-morrow. haste is not needed so much as a trusty messenger. thy packet will be ready for thee, and thou wilt also have in thy mind unwritten words for the archbishop of york. rest thou to-night. the prince will come to thee, not i; so will the earl." not long were ever the speeches of the king, but sir john chandos now came in again, for he had left them, and with him he brought a sword with a silver hilt and cross. "this is for thee, richard neville," said the prince, "for thine own was broken. wear it bravely thou wilt. it was found among the baggage of the king of france, and they say it hath been carried by more than one crowned head. it is my token of good will, and the king's." richard knelt low to take the sheathed blade, but as he arose they departed. a little later it was as if all the archers of longwood felt that the royal sword had been given to them, so proud were they of their young knight and captain. full a hundred of them, moreover, were permitted to return by ship with richard. much spoil went with them, and more had gone before them, and each man went with a promise and a command to return with many men like himself to aid the king before the walls of calais. not in a litter would richard travel the next day, after long converse with the prince, but upon an ambling palfrey whose paces pained him not. it was a small seaport to which the prince's order sent him. even three long days were wasted before the arrival of the craft that was to bear richard and his men across the channel. rough, not smooth, was their passage to portsmouth, but the sea was clear of all foemen. it was well on in september, therefore, when a column of bowmen, with richard at their head, rode through the gate of warwick town. the tidings of crécy had reached the whole land much earlier, but the people poured out of all the houses to see the first returning of the men who had won the great day. richard now rode a good horse and wore his armor, with the crested helmet of a knight, with a gold chain and spurs, and he was girded with the king's gift sword. there was great shouting, and the mayor met him, bidding him to a feast at the town hall, where many knights and gentlemen and rich burghers were to welcome him, and to hear whatever he could tell of the war in france. this, too, he well knew, was of the will of the king, to stir the loyalty of his lieges at home and to content them concerning the taxes he yet must levy. but on rode richard to the castle gateway, and therein were many noble women. "i see her!" he thought. "is she not beautiful in her long white robe and with the pearls in her white hair?" down sprang the young knight, as if he had had never a wound, but ere his feet were on the earth his mother's arms were around him. "i have thee again!" she exclaimed. "thou art like thy father, o my son!" she was silent then, and her eyes were closed, but her lips moved a little. if it were a prayer of thanks, its words were heard only by him who is above. the countess of warwick came next, and many that were nevilles or beauchamps, or of kindred houses, and they led him on into the castle. "mother," he said, "it is almost like a dream!" "thou wilt rest thee here," she said, after he told under what duty he was bound. "i can not let thee go at once." "the king bade me make no haste," he replied, "but rather to be his newsman to all who would inquire of the army and of its deeds. so shall there be better content." it was a grand feasting at the town hall. the archers from crécy field were feasted by themselves ere they set out for home, and many a stout bowman who saw how well they were and heard their tales, was eager to march with them whenever the king again might send to bid them muster. of necessity the resting at warwick was but brief, and then sir richard neville and a party of men-at-arms rode northward. not in haste, like his first journey, was this he was making now. hard was it to pass by or to get away from any tower or town to which he came; but everywhere he did the errand upon which the king had sent him, and everywhere were all men readier than before in their loyalty and their service of the crown, whether they were barons or commons. even more than to the king was the praise they were willing to give the prince. once again, as he drew near, did richard wonder at the spire of york cathedral, and once more was he led on into the audience hall, and then into the oratory of the archbishop, that he might deliver privately the letters and the messages of the king. pale somewhat was the face of the good prelate, but very calmly he read and he listened. "my son," he said at last, "all is well. we will give god praise for the good news from france, but thou knowest that the scottish host is in england?" "i have heard much," said richard. "then know also that ere this they are face to face with our own lines. a battle as great as that of crécy----" loud shouts were heard in the street without, and then in the great hall. "my son!" exclaimed the archbishop, listening with lifted hand. open swung the door, and a barefooted friar rushed in. "my lord archbishop! a knight from the battle! the scottish host is defeated----" but close behind him strode a man in armor, covered with dust, unhelmeted, and marked by a fresh sword cut on his face. "i waited not, my lord archbishop," he said. "king david of scotland is a prisoner! his army is routed! he hath lost his crown!--what, richard, art thou here?" "praise be to heaven, sir robert johnstone!" responded the archbishop. "he cometh from the king's victory at crécy----" "knighted!" exclaimed sir robert. "then i will tell thee, sir richard neville of wartmont, this victory of our english bowmen over the clans and the men-at-arms of scotland hath been won at the field of neville's cross. all the king's counsel hath prevailed, and his realm is safe!"