Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times
send for any one I must break my promise, and I will not do so for no
purpose. Wilt thou do what the priest tells thee, even if it be to make
public confession of who did that deed?"
"No," cried the man, "I will not betray him! Get thee gone, if thou
wilt!--Curses upon you all!"
Kate moved towards the door, but turned ere she went, and said, "I am
in the chamber beneath! Think well what it is to go into the presence
of God unrepenting and unabsolved--to meet all that thou hast injured,
and all that thou hast slain, accusing thee at the high throne above,
without the voice of a Saviour to plead for thee! Think of all this, I
say; and if thy heart turn, and thou wilt resolve to do an act of
atonement and repentance, strike on the ground with thy sword, it
stands at thy bedhead; and I will come to thee with the best physician
that thou cant now have. One that can cure the wounds of the spirit."
The man glared at her without reply, and Kate Greenly passed out,
closing and locking the door. She paused at the stairhead, and clasped
her hands, murmuring, "What shall I do?--He must not die without
confession.--He must have consolation--Perhaps Father Mark might
persuade him. But he will last till morning. 'Tis now near eight; I
will wait awhile--solitude is a great convincer of man's heart." And,
descending the stairs, she entered the room below.
Half an hour passed without the least sound, and Kate sat gazing into
the fire, unable to occupy herself with any indifferent thing. The time
seemed long; she began to fear that the murderer would remain obdurate,
and she had risen, thinking it would be better to send for Father Mark
at once. She had scarcely taken three steps towards the door, however,
when there was a stroke or two upon the floor above, and then the
clanging fall of some piece of metal, as if the heavy sword had dropped
from the weak hands of the wounded man.
Kate ran up with a quick foot, descended again in a few minutes, and,
ere half an hour was over, a venerable man, with silver hair, was
sitting by the bed of death; and Kate Greenly kneeling with paper
before her, writing down the tale of Dighton's guilt from his own lips.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
The King and Prince Edward stood in the great hall of Nottingham
Castle, about to go forth on horseback. But few attendants,
comparatively, were around them; and a good deal of unmeaning merriment
was upon the King's countenance, as he jested with a horribly contorted
humpback, who, tricked forth in outrageous finery, displayed upon his
own deformed person more ribands, feathers, and lace, than all the rest
of the Court put together. Full of malice, wit, and impudence, every
tale of scandal, every scurvy jest and ribald story of the Court, were
familiar to him, and with these he entertained the leisure hours of the
King, when the monarch was not seeking amusement in the society of his
foreign favourites.
The brow of Edward, on the contrary, was somewhat stern and sad. Many
things had gone contrary to his wishes; his father seemed resolved not
to perform any of the promises which he had made to the more patriotic
noblemen who had supported the royal cause; and though Edward carried
filial respect and deference to an extent which his commanding mind,
high purposes, and great achievements, might perhaps have justified him
in stopping short of, yet he could not but suffer his countenance to
show his disappointment and disapprobation.
The King had descended from his apartments before his horses had been
brought into the court; and when the door at the farther end of the
hall opened, he took a few steps towards it, followed by the gentlemen
who were with him, supposing that some of the attendants were coming to
announce that all was ready.
Two or three of the royal officers did certainly appear, but in the
midst was seen the tall and powerful form of Hugh de Monthermer, with
an old knight, Sir John Hardy, on one side, and a page on the other. He
advanced with a quick step up the hall, and, bowing reverently to the
King and to the Prince, he said--
"I have come, your grace, according to the tenour of the safe-conduct I
have received, with one well known in feats of arms to be my god-father
in chivalry, and with twenty-five attendants and no more, to meet my
accuser face to face, to declare that his charge is false before God
and man, and to do battle with him in this behalf--my body against his,
according to the law of arms. I do beseech you, my lord, let me know my
accuser."
"'Tis I," answered a voice from behind the King, and Alured de Ashby
stepped forward to Henry's side--"'tis I, Alured de Ashby, who do
accuse you, Hugh of Monthermer, of feloniously and maliciously doing to
death William de Ashby, my noble father. I put myself on the decision
of Heaven, and God defend the right!"
Hugh of Monthermer had turned very pale. His lip quivered, his eye grew
anxious and haggard, and for a moment or two he remained in deep
silence. At length, however, he replied--
"You do me bitter wrong, Alured de Ashby--you should know better."
"How so?" demanded his opponent; "there is strong and dark suspicion
against you."
"Which I can disperse in a moment," said Hugh de Monthermer, "like
clouds scattered by a searching wind. But even were there suspicions
ten times as strong, I say that you, of all men, should not receive
them."
"How pale he turns!" observed one of the noblemen near, loud enough for
Hugh to hear.
"Ay, sir, I do turn pale," replied the young nobleman, looking sternly
at him "I turn pale to find that one against whom I would less
willingly draw the sword than any man living, is he, who, by a false
and baseless suspicion, forces me to do so. Alured de Ashby, you knew
right well when you concealed the name of my accuser that no
provocation would induce me to dip my hand in the blood of your
sister's brother."
"I did," replied Alured de Ashby; "that was the reason I concealed it."
"Then should you not have likewise known," demanded Hugh, "that the
same reason which makes me shrink from injuring her brother, would
still more withhold my arm, if raised, to spill the blood of her
father. You know it, Alured de Ashby--in your heart you know it well.
Nothing, so help me God, would have made me do one act to injure him,
even if there had been quarrel or dispute between us, when, I call
Heaven to witness, there was none."
"This is all vain," answered Alured de Ashby, with an unmoved
countenance; "you, Hugh de Monthermer, underlie my challenge; you have
accepted it, and I will make it good. There lies my glove!" and he cast
it down before the King.
Sir John Hardy instantly advanced and took it up, saying, "In the name
of the most noble lord Hugh de Monthermer, Baron of Amesbury, I take
your gage, Alured, Earl of Ashby, and do promise on his behalf that he
will do battle with you in his quarrel when and where the king shall
appoint, on horse or foot, with the usual arms and equipments,
according to the law of arms, and the customs of the court of England."
Hugh de Monthermer folded his arms on his chest, and bent down his eyes
upon the ground; and oh, how bitter were his feelings at that moment!
The deed was done--the irretrievable engagement was made; he must
either dip his hand in the kindred blood of her he loved best on earth,
or he must abandon honour, and name, and station, for ever--ay, and
remain gained with the imputation of a base and horrible act, which
would equally put a barrier between him and the object of his
long-cherished hopes.
Darkness was round him on every side, Between two black alternatives,
both equally menacing and fearful, he could but go on upon the course
before him--upon the course to which he seemed driven by fate. He must
meet his accuser in arms, he must do battle with him at outrance, he
must conquer, he must slay him. He knew well his own powers and his own
skill, and he doubted not that he should obtain the victory; but he
also knew that Alured de Ashby was not one to be overthrown with ease,
that he was not one whom he should be able to wound, disarm, or save.
Once in the field together, it was hand against hand, body against
body, life against life, till one or the other was no more. Death was
the only warder that would part them after the barrier of the lists
fell behind him. Nor could he hesitate, nor could he spare his
adversary, even though he were willing to risk or lose his own life
rather than slay the brother of Lucy de Ashby; for with the accused,
ignominy, and condemnation followed overthrow, and it was not alone
death, but disgrace, that was the mead of the vanquished. No; his fate
was sealed, his doom determined, with his own hand was he destined to
destroy his own happiness, to tear the sweetest ties of the heart
asunder, and to consign himself to grief, and disappointment, and
solitude through life.
As the last words broke from the lip of Sir John Hardy, the scene
around him seemed to disappear from his eyes. He felt like one of
those, who, on some bitter sorrow, forswear the world and the world's
joys for the dark cell of the monastery, the living tomb of the heart.
He felt like one of them, when the vow is pronounced, when their fate
is sealed, and when all earth's things are given up for ever. The whole
hall and all that it contained swam indistinctly before him, and he
bent down his eyes lest their giddy vacancy should betray the intensity
of his feelings to these who watched him.
In the meanwhile Henry and the Prince conferred for a moment apart; and
the King turned first to the accuser, then to the accused, saying, "My
lords, we will name Monday next for the decision of this wager of
battle; the place to be the Butts by the side of Trent, below the
bridge. We will take care that fitting lists be prepared; and, until
the day of combat, we charge you both to keep the peace one towards the
other, to live in tranquil amity, as noble knights and gallant
gentlemen may do, although there be mortal quarrel between them, to be
decided at a future time."
Thus speaking, the King turned to leave the hall, but Edward paused a
moment, and took Hugh de Monthermer's hand. "I grieve, Hugh," he said,
"most deeply that by some sad mistake--ay, and by some reckless
conduct," he continued, aloud, "on the part of some gentlemen of this
court, a false and wrongful charge was brought against you in the first
instance, out of which this second accusation has in some degree
arisen. Of the first charge you have cleared yourself, to the
satisfaction of the King and every honourable man; and of the second, I
know you will clear yourself also as becomes you. In the meantime, you
are my guest; one of the towers on the lower wall is prepared for you
and your people, and as the day fixed is somewhat early for this trial,
my armourer is at your command, to furnish you with such things as may
be needful; for your own dwelling is too far distant to send for
harness; and we know this gallant Earl too well," he added, turning
towards Alured de Ashby, "not to feel sure that his opponent in the
lists must use every caution and defence which the law of arms
permits."
The young Earl smiled proudly, and followed the King, who, together
with his son and the rest of the court, quitted the hall, leaving Hugh
de Monthermer standing in the midst, paying but little attention to
anything but his own sad thoughts.
"My lord, I have charge to show you your apartments," said an
attendant, approaching with a simpering air. "The tower is very
convenient, but the stables are not quite so good, and you must put six
of your horses in the town. This way, my lord, if you so please."
Hugh de Monthermer followed in silence, and the man led him accordingly