CHAPTER III.
These were busy and eager movements seen through the lands of Hubert St. Clair. Horsemen galloping hither and thither, the German catching up his bow, the men-at-arms buckling on sword and helmet, and troops flocking to the castle from every part of the domain. These signs and symptoms of some sudden change in the views and the prospects of the Lord of St. Clair were followed by the marching of forces towards Oxford; and in the midst of one of the strongest bands was a fair lady, with a train of matrons and damsels attending upon her, and several old squires and grooms, who had seen her grow up among them from infancy to womanhood.
In the good town of Oxford there stood at that time a large palace and a strong castle, both of which have been long swept away, if not entirely, yet so far as to leave scarcely a trace of the original forms behind. At the gates of the palace Eva St. Clair dismounted from her horse, and was led on by some attendants who met her, into a chamber where sat a lady of tall and commanding person and imposing aspect. Eva advanced somewhat agitated, but still gracefully, and knelt at the feet of the Empress Matilda; for such was the person to whom she now came. The empress suffered her to kneel, gazing on her as she did so with a look of some surprise and admiration; but at length, seeming suddenly to recollect her, she exclaimed, "Oh! the daughter of St. Clair! He has, indeed, kept his word with me, and sooner than he promised;" and, bending down her head, she kissed the fair brow that was raised towards her, and asked what news the lady had brought.
"I bring you, madam," said Eva, "a small band of three hundred chosen men, with tidings from my father, that with the same number he has gone to join your majesty's brother, the noble Earl of Gloucester. Besides this, he holds three castles strongly garrisoned for your majesty's service, and he hopes, ere long, to join you with the earl, with such a force as will make your enemies tremble."
Such tidings were very consolatory to the empress queen, and the aid she so suddenly received was indeed most needful, for her party had been reduced to little better than a name. Stephen's power was every day increasing; her brother, the Earl of Gloucester, had gone to seek aid in Normandy and Anjou, and she was left with a very scanty force to keep alive the struggle till his return. That return, however, was delayed much longer than any one expected, by the hesitation and uncertainty of her own husband, who left her to fight for the crown, which was hers by hereditary right, with scarcely an effort to assist or support her. Taking advantage of the great Earl of Gloucester's absence, Stephen exerted every energy to crush the cause of his rival while the hand of adversity was upon her. The last troops which found their way into Oxford were those which accompanied Eva St. Clair; and although, for two days more, the army of Stephen did not appear beneath the walls of the city, the supply of provisions which had been eagerly demanded from the country round, in order to enable the place to support a long siege, became more and more scanty every day. At length appeared the armies of the enemy. One body led by Stephen in person, one by the murderous and bloody William of Ipres, and one by Prince Eustace, in whose camp was the young Earl of Northampton, slowly recovering from the severe blow which he had received.
At first nothing was seen but the tents and pavilions of the enemy crowning every distant eminence, while dark bodies of horse and foot, the numbers of which could scarcely be distinguished, were seen moving about over the low hills, and through the meadows around. Day by day, however, the besieging force drew closer and closer round the city. The numbers could be counted, the arms could be distinguished, the groups of leaders could be told, the shouts and commands could be heard, and at length many a face could be recognised, and every piece of armour plainly seen from the beleaguered walls.
Eva's heart sunk when she gazed forth and saw nothing but the iron ranks of the enemy surrounding her on every side; it seemed as if deliverance could never come, and hope were at an end.
Still, however, the gallant defenders of the place knew no fear and relaxed no effort. By many a sally and feat of arms, they proved their prowess upon the assailants, and not one tower or outwork was lost. Still the garrison thought the good Earl of Gloucester must soon be here. Still they gazed from the highest turret, to see if they could discover the lances of their deliverers coming through the distant woods.
No aid, however, appeared: the provisions in the place became scanty, autumn gave way to winter, and intense cold was added to their other evils. Regulations were made in regard to the quantity of food and firing to be allowed to each person; and the table of the empress and her attendants was, by her own order, reduced to no more than would supply the demands of nature. In the town the scarcity was, of course, felt more than in the castle; for there were many poor, and many improvident there, who had not been able, or had not thought fit, to lay in sufficient stores against the hour of need; and, after the siege had lasted about two months, one could not walk through the streets without seeing pale and haggard faces, and sunken eyes turned eagerly towards the countenance of every one they met, as if asking, "Is there any hope of relief?"
No relief appeared; and the eyes that watched the distant country saw the low winter sun slowly rise and early set without one sign of coming deliverance. At length a heavy fog fell over the whole land, and lasted nearly a week: so dense that nothing could be seen the distance of twenty yards. During the first and second day, under the cover of the mist, the besieging force attempted at various points to force its way into the town; but it was in vain that they did so; and, repelled at every point, again reduced their efforts to a strict blockade.
After that busy period was over, the garrison had nothing more to occupy them than hope and fear. The stores were often examined, and found to have dwindled down to a mere pittance: but then, again, people thought they heard distant trumpets and shouts from a spot far beyond the lines of the besiegers. Every one augured that the Earl of Gloucester was coming up, and that, as soon as the mist cleared away, he would attack the army of the enemy. At length, however, after one night of more intense frost than ever, the fog did clear away, and the half-famished garrison ran up to the highest towers, alas! but to see their hopes blasted. There was the country beyond all bright and glittering in the frostwork, but neither spear, nor pennon, nor banner, nor hauberk, but those in the camp of the enemy. All hearts fell; and, although they endeavoured not to suffer despair to show itself in their looks, Matilda, wherever she turned her eyes, found nothing but an echo to the apprehensions that were in her own heart. The only one who even tried to console her was Eva of St. Clair, who had become very dear to the empress; and though, when the siege first began, her heart, unaccustomed to such scenes, had entertained none of the proud confidence which had animated others, she now displayed more fortitude than all, and in the midst of sorrow spoke of better days.
She was thus sitting at the feet of the empress, trying to cheer her, when the governor of the castle entered the chamber where they were alone, without other witnesses, and, approaching the empress with a calm but sad countenance, "I have come, madam," he said, "to bring your majesty very sad news. On examining the stores this day, I find that there is but food left of any kind for three days. By killing all the horses that we have left, we may, indeed, make it outlast a fourth day, but that is all; and, moreover, I grieve to say, that a pestilential distemper has broken out in the town for the want of food; a hundred and ten souls took flight last night between midnight and matins."
Matilda clasped her hands and looked up towards Heaven; but, instantly resuming her native courage, she said, "Something must be done, my lord, something must be done; have you anything to propose? Please God, we will never surrender."
"Were your majesty not here," he replied, "we could obtain easy terms enough; but the usurper has sworn that you shall yield to him without conditions. As that cannot be, however, all that I have to propose is this: Wallingford is full of your friends, strong, and well provided with all things; 'tis but a short distance; we are still here six hundred men-at-arms; and, though we have but thirty horses left, that number may well do all that is needful. Let your majesty, and such knights as can find horses, mount a little before daybreak to-morrow morning; let us take one good meal before we set out, and then, throwing open the gates towards Wallingford, all issue forth suddenly together, horse and foot, and cut our way through. The moment you and your guard have passed, I will form those that are on foot across the road, which is between steep banks, you know, and I will wager my head to maintain it for nearly half an hour against all they can bring to fight me. It will take them as long to go round by either of the other roads, so that you can get to Wallingford in safety."
"And you, my good friend, and you," said the empress, "you, and all the brave men who are with you, you will remain but to die in my defence. Well, well, say no more. I will think of it till midnight, and then give you my answer after consulting my fair counsellor here."
The baron shook his head, as if not approving of such counsel; but, before he went, he bent down his head to Eva, saying, "May thee be resolute; there is but one way to save your sovereign." When he was gone, the empress, who had hitherto suffered no emotion to appear, bent down her head upon her hands, and the tears rolled from her eyes. Eva stood by in silence, for she knew that as yet it was in vain to speak; and thus the sun went down, leaving the chamber in the gray shadow of the twilight. At that instant there was the sound of a footstep in the anteroom; and, in a moment after, the door opened, showing the tall, dark form of a monk, in his long gray gown and cowl.
The empress started up, exclaiming, "Who are you! Who is it you seek!"
"Peace be with you, my daughter," replied the monk; "it is you I seek, and I bear you some tidings of moment. See you this letter?"
The empress snatched it from his hand, and darted eagerly to the window to catch the last faint light that was in the sky. As soon as her eyes were fixed upon the letter, she exclaimed, "Robert of Gloucester's hand, as I live." Then, as she tore it, she added, "Six days! he will be here in six days! Alas! he will come too late!"
"So indeed I find, my daughter," said the monk. "Since I made my way in here, I see that your situation would be hopeless if you could not escape."
"Escape!" exclaimed the empress; "Would that I could escape! But how came you hither yourself? How found you your way through the enemy's lines?"
"By a path that is open to you, my daughter," replied the monk, "if you will be contented to trust to my guidance, and to take but few persons with you."
"But who are you that I should trust?" demanded the empress. "What is your name? How shall I know that you are faithful?"
"Did I not bring that letter?" said the Monk. "But if you want farther proof, let me speak a word to this lady in yonder chamber, and she shall be my surety." He took Eva's hand in his and led her towards the anteroom; and, as he did so, that fair hand trembled and her whole frame thrilled. They were absent some minutes; but, when they returned, Eva cast herself at the empress's feet, exclaiming, "Oh, trust him, madam, trust him. I will pledge my life and soul for his faith."