CHAPTER II.
We must now change the scene for a time; for, in so brief a history as this the reader's imagination must aid the writer, and supply all those links in the chain which would occupy much time to detail.
On the top of a high wooded hill in the county of Buckingham, which was in those days covered with great forests of beech-trees, rose heavily from amid the green boughs the square, heavy keep of an old Norman castle. This was all that could be seen of the dwelling of the Lords of St. Clair from the lower country which it commanded; but, upon approaching through the chase, vast ranges of walls, and battlements, and outbuildings were seen; moats and ditches covering a great extent of ground, with the turreted gate and barbican thrown forward in front. Though no artillery, in those days, looked down from the battlements, with mouths ready to pour forth fire and destruction upon those who advanced to attack them, yet the aspect of those walls was no less imposing; and bold would have been the man who, without an overwhelming force, would have marched to the assault of the Castle of St. Clair.
Such was not likely to be the case on the day of which we speak. But, nevertheless, there was an imposing display of strength upon the walls--archers, and slingers, and men-at-arms; and, though the gates were thrown open and the drawbridge was down, yet the archway was lined with soldiers, and the great court was half filled with men in complete arms. Often did it happen in those days, that the appearance of reverence covered preparations for defence or resistance; and while Hubert of St. Clair stood a few steps beyond the gateway of his own castle, clad in the long and flowing robes which were then much affected in times of peace by the Norman nobles, he looked round upon the iron-clad forms and bristling spears of his men-at-arms with pride and pleasure, while he watched the advance of a small train of horsemen who came slowly up the long road cut down the edge of the wooded hill.
The person who approached at the head of that party was Stephen, king of England; and ever and anon, as he rode up the ascent, he rolled his eyes over the well-manned walls of the castle he was approaching, and murmured some words to himself in a tone of displeasure, perhaps of scorn. When he came near to St. Clair, indeed, his face assumed a softer aspect, and he tried hard to smooth his tone and manner when he returned the salutation of the baron. The effort was very unsuccessful, however; and a heavy frown still sat upon his brow as he dismounted from his horse and entered the hall, where everything had been prepared as far to receive him as the shortness of the notice he had given would permit.
"Well, my good lord, well," he said, as he advanced into the hall, still glancing his eye, as he spoke, over every object that the place contained, "I have come all this way from my army to see if I cannot persuade you to give your fair daughter to the son of my noble friend De Lacy."
The baron heard him with a calm, cold countenance, but replied nothing directly, merely saying, "Let me beseech you, my liege, to taste some refreshment, such as my place can afford. Had I known of your coming sooner, I would have been better provided."
"But give me an answer, give me an answer, my good lord," replied the king, "and a fair answer, too, I beseech you."
"I seek not to marry my daughter, sire," replied the baron, in the same cold tone; "perhaps, before I do, she may be a ward of the crown."
Stephen bit his lip, but smothered every inclination to make a sharp reply, saying, in a jesting tone, "But where is the fair lady? where is your daughter, my good lord! Let us have her to council; her voice, surely, will have some weight in the matter."
"Not knowing of your coming, my liege," replied the baron, "she is gone forth, I understand, either to visit the good nuns of Grace Dieu, or to see her old foster-mother Maude, who lives near the small town on the other side of the chase. But where is your noble son, my liege? Your messengers informed me he came with you."
"He follows hard after," answered the king; "perhaps he may have gone to strike a hart in your forest, my good lord. You will not grudge the king's son a head of venison?"
"Heaven forbid!" replied the baron. "But there seems some disturbance without there, as if they were bringing in some one who is hurt. Heaven forbid that your son, my liege, should have met any one of my rough foresters."
Stephen looked instantly towards the court; but, seeing his son, Prince Eustace, on horseback, and apparently safe, he turned again towards the baron, whose attention had been called in another direction.
During the brief time the king's eyes had been turned towards the court, some other persons had been added to the group in the hall; but, ere we proceed to say what brought them thither, we must once more take the wings of imagination, and fly back to the glades of the forest, and to the scenes which had just taken place under their green canopy.
Eva, as we have said, had hastened rapidly homeward; and, though the horns sounded hither and thither at no great distance from her, the path she pursued was for some way quite solitary; till at length, secure from being found in the midst of the wild chase with Richard de Lacy, she slackened her pace and walked more slowly, stopping at last entirely, to take breath and gaze around her, at a spot where the road, rounding an angle at the hill, exposed a deep wooded valley below, with a wide, sloping upland on the other side, rising gradually towards her father's castle, the tall keep of which was discernible above the woody scene before her eyes.
Along the side of the opposite hill the hunt was sweeping merrily; horsemen and hounds were seen from time to time bursting forth for an instant, and then plunging again among the bushes; and still the cheerful echo of the horns and eager cry of the dogs told which way the chase went, as the quarry led them through a long, mazy course amid its native woods. Eva gazed, and saw them take their way in a direction opposite to that in which her own steps were bent; but, the moment after, she started with surprise, and uttered a faint cry, as two gayly-dressed horsemen dashed forth from the wood close beside her, and one of them, springing from his horse, caught the edge of her mantle with rude familiarity.
"Ha! my pretty maiden," he cried, "We have been hunting the hart and caught the hind, ha? Back with your hood! back with your hood! We three foresters let no deer escape us. On my soul, Eustace, this is no pitiful prize! Thank my lucky stars, that gave you the first choice and the miller's maiden, and threw this pretty creature as the prize of the second chance."
The person who spoke was a young man of some nineteen or twenty years of age, rather effeminate than otherwise in his appearance, and with a great quantity of long black hair,[[1]] beautifully curled and parted in front. As he spoke he pulled back violently the hood from Eva's face, and al the same moment cast his arm round her slender waist. She struggled to free herself, entreated, threatened her father's wrath; but he heard not or heeded not; those were days of unbridled license, when even churches and monasteries did not give security; and the walls of the castle were woman place of safety against insult and brutal violence. Terror took possession of the daughter of St. Clair, and she screamed loudly again and again.
Ere the second cry had issued from her lips, however, some one darted from the wood, and in a moment another followed him. Both were dressed as woodmen, and again Eva screamed loudly, holding forth her arms towards the one who first appeared.
"Get thee back, churl," cried the man who held her, still detaining her with his left arm while he drew his sword with his right; "get thee back, or, by Heaven, I will send thy soul to the place appointed for the serfs in the other world;" and he laughed aloud at his own jest.
His laughter was soon over, however, for the stranger was upon him in a moment with a broad axe drawn from his belt and glittering in his hand. The proud noble struck at him with his sword; but, to his surprise, the axe met the blow and parried it, as a weapon in the hand of a skilful swordsman. With a bitter curse he let go his hold of Eva, and rushed forward upon his adversary; but he had scarcely time to strike another blow, when his opponent, turning the back of the axe, struck him first on the shoulder a blow that brought him on his knee, and then another on the forehead, which, though lighter than the first, laid him stunned and bleeding on the earth.
"Lie there, Earl of Northampton," said his adversary: and then, giving one glance to Eva, who had fled to some distance, he turned towards the other horseman, who had likewise drawn his sword, and, with furious and blasphemous invectives, was pressing fiercely upon the second person who had come to Eva's rescue. That other horseman was even younger than the first; but pride, and violence were stamped on every feature, and vice had written early marks of its blighting effects upon his countenance.
"Walter, Walter," cried the voice of him who had so soon terminated the contest with the Earl of Northampton, "leave him, Walter; it is the king's son! The lady is safe. Leave him, I say."
"He shall not leave me till I have cleft his scull," cried the prince. "Richard de Lacy, I know you; and, if you dare to interfere, I will treat you as I would a hound;" and, as he spoke, he spurred his horse upon the woodman Walter, aiming a furious blow at his head; but Richard de Lacy thrust himself between, turned aside the stroke, and, catching the bridle of the horse, reined it sharply back upon its haunches, so that it slipped and wellnigh rolled down the hill.
"Fy, prince, for shame," said De Lacy; "some day such acts will cost you a crown. You can do no more mischief here, however; get some of your attendants to carry away the carrion of yonder vile perverter of your youth."
"Hark ye, De Lacy, hark ye," cried the prince, bending over his saddle-bow, and dropping the point of his sword; and, as the young baron approached nearer to hear, the prince struck him a blow with his clinched fist in the face, saying, "Take that, hound, and learn your duty."
De Lacy suddenly raised the axe in his hand, but instantly suffered it to fall again without doing the deed he had meditated. "The time for answering this will come," he said; "it shall not be said of me that I killed the king's son in a wood, with no one by, or broke the neck of a stripling who deserves the rod of a pedagogue."
Thus saying, he cast free the rein, and, making the woodman go before him, he followed Eva on her way. He overtook her soon; for, though fright carried her fast, her strength soon failed; and, taking a small path which all of them well knew through the depth of the wood, he led her to one of the postern gates of the castle, and there left her in safety. When he had done so he went back to the woodman's cottage, cast off the dress under which he had concealed his rank, and mounted the horse which was waiting there for his return.
At the neighbouring town a large and splendid train had been ordered to remain till he came back; but Richard de Lacy waited only for those who were ready to spring into the saddle, and, spurring onward without the loss of an hour, he reached his father's castle on the following morning just as high mass was over. His father was still in the chapel, speaking with old friends and affectionate retainers ere he returned to the hall; but Richard advanced at once up the aisle, and, to the astonishment of his father, he strode without a pause to the high altar, on which, after kissing the cross upon its hilt, he laid down his sheathed sword, saying, "That sword shall never be drawn again in the service of an usurper, or for the race of one who has dared to strike the son of Reginald de Lacy."
The old man frowned upon him, but made no reply.