River Legends; Or, Father Thames and Father Rhine
extraordinary circumstances, therefore the witch of Salt Hill thought it
best to assume a very grave and solemn air, and mysteriously assured her
friend that all would be right, and that he would know everything that
ought to be known as soon as the proper time for knowing it had arrived.
This assurance was scarcely satisfactory to the young man, who pressed
hard for an answer which should at least give him some indication of the
course which he had better pursue in order to obtain tidings of the lost
one. No such answer, however, could he obtain; and all that the old dame
would tell him was to “keep his heart up,” and to “have patience”--two
pieces of advice which are excellent in themselves, but little
calculated to allay the impatience of a young man who has lost his
sweetheart and wants to find her as soon as possible. Patience the young
Count found it impossible to have, and, finding himself very much better
the next day, he determined to set out and see what he could accomplish
by his own exertions.
It {125}was a lovely morning, and as St. Aunay walked through the
fields, he felt new life rising in his’ veins, and his whole being
seemed reinvigorated by the bright sun and fresh air. He walked for
miles without any very definite idea as to where he was going or what
he should do, in which it will be observed he strongly resembled the
condition of his beloved Mathilde. Still, disguised in the garb of a
peasant, he wandered on, and towards evening reached no other place than
the very farm at which the young Baroness was employed as a pig-keeper.
Nor was this his only piece of good fortune, for, as luck would have it,
he came upon the fair damsel herself, disconsolately sitting by the side
of her pigs, and wishing herself anywhere else. This wish, as may easily
be imagined, was immediately changed when she found that the strange
peasant who approached was no other than her own Horace. She flew into
his arms with the smallest possible delay, and he was forthwith able
satisfactorily to explain to her that he was by no means dead, and
almost entirely recovered from his wound.
The prospects of the two lovers did not, however, seem particularly
bright even after they had thus met; and after a long discussion they
could hardly make up their minds what would be the best course to
pursue. Mathilde had the greatest objection to returning home, where
she should hear nothing but abuse of her Horace and his family, not
improbably coupled with reproaches directed against herself for having
quitted the convent. To return to the latter was out of the question,
and equally so to accompany the Count, who had no home to which he
could take her. The only conclusion, therefore, at which {126}they found
themselves able to arrive was that the lady had better continue
her pig-keeping at least for a time, and that they should both wait
patiently until better days. This arrangement though not exactly
pleasant to either of them, seemed most expedient upon the whole, and
having finally come to the determination that such was the case, they
took an affectionate leave of each other, and again separated.
From that day Mathilde passed several months of weary suspense, being
quite unable to content herself with the unusual pastime of looking
after pigs, although she found some consolation in reading and
writing--two accomplishments in which she had become tolerably perfect
during her stay in the convent. Books, however, were, not in those days
what they now are, and those young ladies who depend for their literary
amusement upon circulating libraries and sensation novels, may thank the
good fortune which decreed that they should come into the world some few
centuries later than the days I speak of. Mathilde had one vast book of
curious manuscript, which she had discovered in the farmhouse, and which
was her constant companion. I am not sure as to the subjects of which
it treated, but as it was probably of monkish compilation, it is most
likely that it dealt either with the lives of saints or the theories of
cookery, which were two subjects much in favour with the Eccelesiastical
fraternities of that day. Whatever it was however, Mathilde made it the
subject of her constant study, and varied her amusement by the use of
the quill pens which she manufactured, from the good farmer’s geese. You
must not ask me questions, Brother Rhine, as to the manner in which she
obtained paper and {127}ink. None of these particulars have ever been
handed down, and I have never cared to inquire. I can only say that in
a certain noble family a huge scroll, covered with curious writing, has
been long preserved, which tradition attributes to the ancestress who
once kept pigs on that. Berkshire hill-side; and if the tradition is
not strictly true, I would merely observe that it is just as provable as
many another, upon the veracity of which the scoffer has never ventured
to cast a doubt.
During this time the Baron de Guerre-à-mort was not sitting idly at
home. He made every inquiry for his daughter, and was exceedingly vexed
at his total want of success in discovering where she was. It is likely
enough that he would have found her if she had been further off or
more carefully concealed. But it may be observed as a rule which obtains
pretty generally, that the things which are immediately under our noses
escape our observation more than those which require a careful search. A
hare sometimes squats-securely in the middle of a ploughed field whilst
the sportsman is seeking her in the thick wood; the nest of the grey
thrush, built in the bare cleft of a laurel-tree, often escapes the eye
of the school-boy more easily than the nest more carefully hidden in
the thick bushes; or, to take another comparison an elderly gentleman
sometimes makes entirely ineffectual search for the spectacles which
he has pushed up from his nose to his forehead, whereas, had they been
hidden among papers, or left in some unusual place, he would quickly
have discovered them. So it was, at any rate, that the Baron sought far
and wide for his daughter without success, whilst she, poor girl,
was keeping pigs on the hill-side all the time, a very {128}few miles
distant from the castle of her respected parent.
The good man, however, found that before long he had other business
to attend to than the agreeable occupation of daughter-hunting. The
fortunes of the two great parties in the state underwent a considerable
change. Instead of being any longer in the ascendant, the Lancastrians
experienced heavy reverses, and those who had espoused the cause of the
House of York gained ground continually on every side. In those times it
was not so easy to change one’s politics or one’s party as has been the
case in some later periods of the history of this country, especially if
one had supported one’s opinions by the carrying of fire and sword into
the territory of one’s opponents. Therefore the old Baron, who, as we
have seen, had adopted this old-fashioned method of proceeding, would
have found it somewhat difficult to change sides even if he had wished
to do so. Nothing, however, could have been further from his intention.
He believed the cause of the House of Lancaster to be just and right,
and even if he had thought otherwise, I do not believe that he would
ever have deserted a cause which he had once thoroughly espoused. So he
remained loyal to the Lancastrian standard, and was as ready to fight
for it in adversity as he had ever been when it seemed likely to
triumph. The consequences, however, were not likely to be agreeable.
The Yorkists were daily gathering strength, and so devoted an adherent
of the rival house could hardly escape their kind attention. Moreover,
those who had seen their own homes despoiled by the Baron’s invasion
were not unmindful of their oppressor when the opportunity {129}for
revenge appeared to present itself. So it came about that the Baron’s
position was somewhat precarious. Some of his outlying farms were
plundered; his retainers, when caught singly or in small numbers, were
insulted and rudely treated, and threats of something worse likely to
happen occasionally reached his ears. As yet, however, no armed body
of Yorkists had appeared in the neighbourhood, and the strength of his
castle, as well as the number and devotion of his followers, rendered
the Baron de Guerre-à-mort tolerably secure against any attack save one
from a powerful and well-organized force. Still he could see the storm
lowering in the distance, and gathering in strength sufficient to give
him cause for uneasiness. At last it seemed ready to burst. Small bands
of Yorkists had been reported as hovering about various places in the
vicinity of the castle, and rumour now had it that these bands were
likely to be united at Reading under the command of some leader of
note, who would forthwith proceed to march through Berkshire and
Buckinghamshire, putting down all those who still dared to uphold the
falling fortunes of the House of Lancaster.
Up to this time the Baron had remained within his castle walls, gloomily
watching the signs of the times, and only taking precautions to preserve
the efficiency of his troops by constant drill, and to protect his
fortress and people against possible attack. But as soon as the
above-mentioned rumours became well authenticated, he bethought himself
that some more active steps should be taken. If the enemy should once
concentrate his forces at Reading, he would probably carry all before
him, and resistance would be doubly difficult, if not impossible.
{130}But if such concentration could be prevented, and the various
bodies of Yorkists, who were said to be scattered over the face of the
country, could be attacked and routed in detail, the tide might even
yet be turned, and the drooping flag of Lancaster be once more raised
as high as ever. Animated by such thoughts as these, and determined,
if possible, to carry out the plan which appeared to him, and which
probably was, the best under the circumstances, the Baron summoned his
men, and leaving a small detachment to guard the castle, sallied forth
with the intention of cutting off the advance of the Yorkists upon
Reading.
It is difficult, however, for one body of men, unless greatly superior
in numbers, position, and generalship, to act with success against four
or five, and so it happened that before he had been many days in the
field the Baron de Guerre-à-mort found that he had before him a task
beyond his powers. A detachment of Yorkists was marching from Oxford,
whilst at the same moment another party moved from Windsor; and from the
direction of Basingstoke in one quarter, and Marlborough in another,
a third and fourth body converged towards the same point. It will be
easily understood that the Baron now ran no inconsiderable risk in his
daring attempt. In the first place, he was by no means certain that his
army was more numerous than any one of the Yorkist parties; and in the
second, if he should engage and defeat one, he might have another on his
flank before he was by any means ready to renew the combat. Prudence,
therefore, would have seemed to dictate a retreat, unless indeed he
could be sure of encountering his various enemies at the place and
moment of his own choosing.
Such {131}was the state of things on one lovely day in June, when
Mathilde was engaged in her usual employment, which day by day grew more
irksome to her as time wore on. She was seated under a tree, shading
herself from the rays of the summer sun, her pen held listlessly in her
hand, her scroll and book by her side, whilst she mused on the past,
made plans for the future, and forgot the present, after the custom of
persons when pretty comfortably seated and rather sleepily inclined. A