Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times
It were painful to watch him through the progress of that night. Sleep
was banished from his eyelids--sleep, that will visit the couch of
utter despair, came not near the troubled brain of doubt, and
apprehension, and anxiety. He walked to and fro in his chamber--he laid
not down his head upon his bed--he sat gloomily gazing on the pale
untrimmed lamp--he rested his eyes upon his folded arms, while dizzy
images of sorrow and distress, and dying men, and shame, and agony, and
scorn, and anguish here, and punishment hereafter, whirled before his
mental vision, from which no effort could shut them out.
Thus passed he the hours, till a faint blue light began to mingle with
the glare of the expiring lamp; and then, starting up, he hastily threw
on a hood and cloak, and, leaving his servants sleeping in the house,
proceeded towards the north gate of the town.
It had been an angry and a stormy night, and the rain, which was
running off the rocky streets of Nottingham, still hung upon the green
blades of grass and the boughs of the trees, which in that day came
almost up to the walls of the city. The clouds were clearing off,
however, and blue patches were seen mingling with the mottled white and
grey overhead, while to the right of the town a yellow gleam appeared
in the sky, showing the rapid coming of the sun.
Such was the scene as Richard de Ashby looked through the gate of
Nottingham, which was thronged with peasantry, bringing in their wares
to the market even at that early hour. It was a sight refreshing and
bright to the eye, and might have soothed any other mind than his; but
the fire that burnt internally, that throbbed in his heart and thrilled
through his veins, made the cool air of the autumnal morning feel like
the chill of fever where shivering cold spreads over the outer frame,
while the intense heat remains unquelled within.
One of the first objects that his eye lighted upon was the form of the
old woman, standing without the gate, and looking back towards it; and
hurrying on, he was at her side in a minute.
"Ha, ha!" she said, in her usual broken and tremulous voice, "you are a
lie-a-bed--I thought you were not coming. Well, let us speed on." And
forward she walked, certainly not at the most rapid pace, while Richard
de Ashby asked her many a question about old Gaffer Sweeting and his
good dame--what was his age? whether he had any sons, and whether there
were many cottages thereabout?
The old woman answered querulously, but none the less satisfactorily.
He was an old man of seventy-three, she said, and he had had two sons;
but one had died in consequence of a fall from a tree, and another had
been killed at Lewes.
"Houses!" she exclaimed. "Few houses, I trow. Why; that's the very
reason that good Father Mark sent the girl there. Wherever there are
houses or young men, there is temptation for us, poor women. But this
place is quite a desert, like that where the Eremites lived that he
talks of. If you don't tempt her, I don't know who will, there."
Thus talking, she tottered on, leading the way through sundry lanes and
hamlets; and explaining to her companion, at each new house they came
to, that this was such a place which she had mentioned the night
before, and that was another. Very soon, however, the cottages grew
less and less in number, for towns had not at that time such extensive
undefended suburbs as they have acquired in more peaceful days and at
length they came to the chapel which she had named, the bell of which
was going as they approached. The good dame would needs turn in to say
a prayer or two, and it was in vain that Richard de. Ashby urged her to
go forward, for she seemed one of those who harden themselves in their
own determinations, as soon as they see themselves in the slightest
degree opposed.
"No, no," she said, "you would not have me pass the chapel, and the
bell going, would you? It's very well for you men, who have no religion
at all--so, go on, go on, if you will, I will not be a minute. I have
five aves, and a pater-nosier, and a credo to repeat, and that wont
take me a minute. You can't miss the way. Go on, I will soon overtake
you."
Richard de Ashby did not think that the usual rate of the old lady's
progression would produce that result; but, as the idea of prayer, and
all connected with it, was unpleasant to his mind, he strode gloomily
on, for some hundred yards, from the chapel, revolving still the same
painful images which had tormented him during the livelong night.
In a shorter time than he had expected, however, the old woman came out
of the chapel; and he again proceeded on the path, walking on before
her, and losing all sight of human habitation, but following a small
bye-way, along the sandy ground of which might be traced sundry
footsteps, and the marks of a horse's hoofs. Though his step was slow,
the old woman did not overtake him for near three quarters of a mile,
still keeping in sight and talking to herself as she came after.
The trees soon grew thicker on the left hand, the country more wild and
broken on the right; and, at length, about a hundred and fifty yards in
front, appeared a small, low cottage, or rather hut, resting on the
edge of the wood. The path now spread out into an open green space, a
sort of rugged lane some forty yards broad, extending from the spot
where Richard de Ashby first saw the cottage, to the low and shattered
door; and the place looked so poor and miserable that he said to
himself, "If this be the abode the priest has assigned to her, 'twill
not be difficult to persuade her to come back to softer things. I will
tell her I am going to take her with me to London, and to the gay
things of the capital.--Is this the cottage, good dame?" he continued,
turning his head over his shoulder, and speaking aloud to the old
woman, who was now not more than a couple of yards behind.
"To be sure," replied she; "did I not tell you it was here?"
Richard de Ashby took two or three steps more in advance, straining his
eyes upon the hut; but then, he thought he saw first one figure and
after that another dart from the wood, and disappear behind the
cottage, with a rapidity of movement not like that of old age. A sudden
fear came over him, and stopping short, he exclaimed, "What is this,
old hag?--There are men there?"
Dropping the basket from her hand in an instant, with a bound like that
of a wild beast, and a loud scream, unlike any tone of a human voice,
the old woman sprang upon the shoulders of Richard de Ashby, and
writhed her long thin arms through his, with tightening folds, like
those of a large serpent.
"Ha, ha, ha!" she shouted. "Come forth, my merry men!--come forth!
Tangel has got him!--Tangel has got him! We'll eat his heart!--we'll
eat his heart!--and roast him over a slow fire!"
In vain Richard de Ashby writhed--in vain he struggled to cast off the
grasp of the strange being who held him. With a suppleness and strength
almost superhuman, Tangel clung to him like the fatal garment of
Alcides, not to be torn away. His fingers seemed made of iron--his arms
were as ropes; and Richard de Ashby, casting himself down, rolled over
him upon the ground, struggled, and turned, and strove to break loose,
without unclasping in the slightest degree the folds in which he held
him.
At the same time, the steps of men running fast reached his ear; his
eye caught the figures of several persons hurrying from the cottage;
and, when Tangel at length relaxed his grasp, Richard de Ashby found
himself a prisoner, bound hand and foot.
CHAPTER XLIV.
In a wide, open field, by the side of the Trent, were erected the lists
for a battle at _outrance_. All the usual preparations had been
made--there was a pavilion for the king to keep his state; there were
galleries for the ladies; there were tents for the challenger and the
challenged; and there were numerous other booths, for the shelter and
refreshment of any who might come from far to witness one of the most
solemn acts of chivalry.
Before the hour of eleven, a great multitude had assembled, and every
moment the crowd was increasing; for rumours of strange kinds had not
only spread through Nottingham, during the early morning, but had found
their way to all the country around about, and every one was eager to
see with his own eyes how the whole would end. In all parts of the
field men might be seen, each inquiring what the other knew, and, for
the most part, each acknowledging his own ignorance of the exact state
of the case; although here, as everywhere else, persons were to be
found, who pretended to know a great deal of subjects with which they
were utterly unacquainted. All that seemed certain was, that the gates
of the castle had been shut since the morning, and nobody had been
suffered to issue forth, but one or two servants of the King and the
Prince, who, after delivering some brief message in the city, had
returned immediately, answering no questions, and affording, even
accidentally, no information.
Two or three people reported, indeed, that a body of some ten or twelve
men had entered the castle, coming from the side of Pontefract. They
wore no armour, and did not seem soldiers, and, by the appearance of
their dress and horses, it was judged that they had travelled all
night. Numerous other rumours, indeed, circulated round the lists, and
the opinion was generally gaining ground that there would be no combat
at all, when this supposition was at once done away by the appearance
of heralds and pursuivants on the ground, examining it scrupulously, to
ascertain that all was clear and fair, without pitfall, trap for the
horse's foot, molehill, or inequality, which could give an undue
advantage to one or other of the combatants.
Shortly after, these officers were followed by several of the King's
pages and attendants, who first busied themselves in putting the
pavilion prepared for him into neat and proper order, and then stood
talking in the front, making great men of themselves, and fancying that
they might be mistaken for some of the royal family.
The blast of a trumpet was then heard at a short distance, and, coming
at a quick pace, a body of men-at-arms appeared, and took up their
station, in military array, at either end of the lists, keeping
on the outside of the barriers. A pause of some five minutes
ensued, and the people, watching and commenting upon all the
arrangements, congratulated themselves on the certainty of seeing two
fellow-creatures engage in mortal conflict, and began to speculate upon
which would be the victor. Many there present, merely guided by fancy
or report, decided upon the chances of the field without ever having
seen either of the two competitors. But there were many of the tenantry
of Lindwell, and peasantry from the neighbourhood of the Earl of
Ashby's castle, who, of course, maintained the honour of their lord,
and asserted that he would win the field from any knight in Europe. It
was remarked, however, that even their boldest statements regarding
their young lord's prowess were coupled with an expression of their
conviction that, "howsoever that might be, they were sure enough the
young Lord of Monthermer had never killed the old Earl. Why should he?"
Hugh de Monthermer, indeed, was not without his partisans amongst the
people, for he was well known in that part of the country; and a very
general feeling that he was both innocent and injured raised up in his
favour that generous spirit which is almost always found, though
strangely mingled with prejudices and passions, in the bosom of an
Englishman.
About half-past eleven, a number of yeomen, dressed in their holiday
clothes, mingled with the crowd. They were without bows, but each had