THE SAXON'S REVENGE.
"E'en these, when of their ill-got spoils possess'd,
Find sure tormentors in the guilty breast."
Homer.
The same night, following the tragic ending of the tournament, and about two hours after Curfew had rung out its warning to churls, housecarles, and Saxons, all and sundry, who should be caught abroad after the bell had voiced the hour, there were seated in the Abbot's room two individuals engaged in a most earnest conversation. The look of deadly malignity on their countenances, and the low, fierce oaths with which they frequently emphasised their speech, was palpable evidence that they plotted mischief. Though one of them had partially divested himself of his attire, there was that about his dress which betokened that it was strangely out of keeping with the language he was using, and the business he was engaged in. The other was dressed in soldier's attire, and in the sturdy figure we easily recognise Pierre, confidante and willing tool of Baron Vigneau, and the sharer in most of his villainous exploits. The Abbot's room was spacious and lofty, and he had had it hung with costly silken hangings, and rich Turkish carpets covered the floor. The furniture also was of carved oak, delicate in workmanship, and of priceless value; for many handicraftsmen of great skill and experience came over with the Normans, or followed in the wake of the soldiery. On an exquisitely carved cabinet had been hastily thrust the remains of a substantial repast of boiled capon and venison cutlets; whilst on the table between them were two silver tankards containing good Rhenish wine, and from which libations, copious and frequent, were poured down two throats which it seemed impossible to effectually slake. Several letters on parchment, with the massive seal of De Montfort impressed upon them, were lying on the table betwixt them, the contents of which had been duly read over to Pierre by the Abbot; and the following conversation was proceeding:—
"No doubt," said the Abbot, "the whole thing was arranged by the cunning old fox De Montfort and his daughter. The make-believe of a foreign cousin was a ruse to prevent the exposure of the Saxon villain. His advent, also, was so timed that not the slightest opportunity was given to any one to see through his disguise; and he spoke the Norman language well."
"Well, I have often wondered at De Montfort's leniency to those Saxon wolves on the hills. He professed to send for help to William when he was at York last; but there has been no help forthcoming," said Pierre.
"I don't believe he ever sent such message; but the devil himself is not more cunning than De Montfort, and, unless we act promptly, he'll circumvent us."
"Well, what's the business? Are you going to make use of those letters, and have him brought to book promptly?"
"That is it. What I wish, is that you, Pierre, should take this matter in hand; for it must be done by some one with sufficient courage and determination. I should like you to proceed forthwith to the court of his Majesty William, and lay before him these damning proofs of De Montfort's treachery. If you will undertake this, I confidently anticipate that within three months the traitor's head will be suspended over the gates of his castle. That done, I shall urge my suit for the possession of his forfeited lands, with well-assured success. Then, trust me, I will humble the pride of his haughty and scornful daughter. She shall know promptly, for I will teach her, that though Vigneau is dead, Vigneau still lives. I love her, and I hate her, and when she is in my power I will have my fill of both love and hate, mark me! I will have quits for all I owe her, for she has not only compassed the death of my brother, but she has thwarted me here constantly, by taking under her protection that old hypocrite Adhelm (meaning myself). I'll be revenged on both of them at a blow, mark me, Pierre!"
"Humph! This sounds well and good, your Reverence, no doubt, from your standpoint; but, if you will excuse me, I didn't see very clearly at what point Pierre came in when these good things were to be distributed. Now, it appears that I shall figure very prominently in the work of scotching this snake. So, so! well and good, revenge may be very sweet to you, and maybe it will be sweet to me; I'll not deny I like the flavour of it, but, after that, what additional? I shall want either the skin or the carcase, certainly, if I shoot the deer; if not, why, marry, I'll never bruise my shins in the chase. So, will you please point out where this thing is to be profitable to me? Devil's work, you know, should be well paid, for we must scorch for it by-and-bye, must we not, eh?"
"Thou shalt have everything I am able to bestow, Pierre; and thou shalt find that in my exalted position my powers of promotion will be equal to thy deserts. How sayest thou? wilt thou try the monk's calling? Nothing easier! I was a soldier ere I donned the hair shirt, eh! and took to mortifying the flesh, as thou well knowest I have done most rigidly at all times."
"Marry, 'tis quite true, the devil himself would vouch for it; and a merry jest it is. And now, after your Reverence's example, there's no saying, but we may expect the devil himself to turn monk some day; and, in faith, by copying your Reverence closely, he'd make more sinners in't, than he would by his old tricks;" and Pierre laughed most immoderately.
"Thou hadst ever a sharp tongue, Pierre, and little regard for thy betters; but I absolve thee. Nevertheless, I advise thee to the holy calling also. Then what could hinder me bestowing upon thee my Abbot's office? The best of all things would be at thy command—ease, wine, wenches, and a jolly fat trencher at all times. I warrant thee there is no life so merry and so bountiful as the command of a good fat monastery."
"Bravo!" shouted Pierre, who was immensely tickled by the Abbot's suggestion; and, bursting again into a roar of laughter, he cried, "well, this is too rich for anything! Pierre turned Saint; ha, ha, ha! 'Twould be after the most godly example of your Grace, I trow. Ha, ha! good! I'll wash it down, anyhow;" and he raised the tankard to his lips, and cried, "Drink to't, your Reverence. Here's to Saint Pierre of pious memory;" and promptly he drained the tankard to the bottom; then, bringing it down again with a bang upon the table, he fairly roared with laughter.
"Thou art an ass, Pierre! An arrant ass!" said the Abbot, who was considerably nettled at the freedom with which Pierre made a jest of him and his office. "Canst thou not see that after the Baron's death De Montfort will soon be quit of us if we cannot checkmate him? To jest under the gallows, and end it by swinging on them, is fool's work."
"Well, well, I'll turn the matter over carefully, I think," said Pierre a little more soberly. "Your Grace has done it, and I think there is something in it. I don't know how the sneaking method of doing things, after the dare-devil manner familiar to me, will suit my stomach. I have always liked the chase better than the game, and I confess I would rather fight it through, come what may.
"But," said he, bursting into a loud guffaw, as the ludicrousness of his turning monk thrust itself upon him, and relapsing again into the jocularity and bitter sarcastic tone familiar to him,—
"Now that you recommend it so strongly, I think I will retire from active duties, and grow fat and wheezy like yourself. Anyhow, it stands to reason, the bigger the paunch the more good sack wine it will hold, and that is an item. True, too, a lazy life and a lascivious appetite are bound to go together. Less force to labour, and more to lechery; that's the sum of it. I think I come to't, your Reverence. Beshrew me! what would any man have? for if he lust lustily, and be a jolly trencherman to boot, with his fill provided to him, what can he wish for more? My hand on it, your Reverence! I'll undertake the venture. It is a mad hazard, but I like it none the worse for that!"
"Then when wilt thou start on thine errand, Pierre? Time is precious. The Count knows I have possession of those letters, and, mark me, he will circumvent us if he can."
"Line my pocket with gold pieces and I'll start at cock crowing, and De Montfort may catch me if he can, when once I get the start of him."
Slowly at that instant the door opened behind them, and Oswald, Wulfhere and a couple of attendants, armed to the teeth, entered, and closed the door behind them, whilst one stout yeoman set his back against it. The countenance of Vigneau fell on the instant as though a sword had pierced him, and he became livid as death. Hastily clutching at the letters lying on the table, he endeavoured to thrust them into a recess of the cabinet, and he fairly cowered in abject terror before these strange visitants. On the contrary, Pierre whipped out his broadsword, and fiercely stood at bay; his savage valour being in striking contrast to the crouching cowardice of the Abbot.
"Give place, master," said Wulfhere, advancing on Pierre; "this fellow is mine. You have already had your revenge. Now, blood-thirsty villain," said he, addressing Pierre, "I told thee, did I not, that the time would come when thou shouldest answer to me for thy cruelties and murders? the time has come now; and thou canst no longer shirk the fate that has long awaited thee."
"Did I ever shirk meeting thee, or any churlish Saxon in Britain? Give me fair play, and I'll give thee a speedy passage to the devil, sirrah!" said Pierre savagely, striding towards Wulfhere.
So the two stood upon their guard. The Abbot shrinking in mortal terror in one corner, whilst Oswald and his followers looked on in anxious suspense; for they knew well the strength and brutal valour of Pierre, who was ever foremost in any fray, and equally an adept at either stroke or thrust. Wulfhere also was second to none amongst the Saxon outlaws in skill and strength, or personal bravery. Toe to toe for a moment they stood eyeing each other with lips set, and mortal enmity in their eyes. Then stroke and thrust and parry followed each other in rapid succession. The rapid advancing or retiring, as each one gave or received a stroke, by these powerful gladiators, wrought the spectators to such a pitch of excitement that they held their breath almost to suffocation. But the climax came in a totally unexpected manner. Wulfhere drove at his antagonist a powerful sweep of his sword, but Pierre effectually interposed his sword and parried the blow. Such was the force of the blow, however, that the treacherous weapon flew in two, the point striking the opposite side of the room, and the hilt, with half the broken blade, remaining in Wulfhere's hand. Ere Oswald could interpose between them, Pierre shouted,—
"Aha! Now I have you!" and rushed in with a furious lunge at Wulfhere's body.
The words were true enough, but not in the sense in which Pierre had uttered them; for with lightning-like agility Wulfhere sprang aside, and the glittering weapon slid harmlessly into the empty air beyond him. So confident, however, had Pierre been of the helplessness of his opponent, and so confident of the deadliness of his thrust, that he took no precaution whatever of his own body. The eager rush also of his own onslaught, coupled with the force with which Wulfhere drove the broken blade at him, caused it to pass clean through his body, and, with a groan and a half-uttered oath, he fell forward on his face, dead.
The Abbot, as he witnessed the close of the tragic scene, literally crawled to the feet of Oswald, begging piteously for mercy. One of the men-at-arms who accompanied Oswald, advanced upon him, and said,—
"Leave him to me, master. Now, dastardly fiend!" said he, addressing the Abbot, "there has come a reckoning day even for you. You remember the little cot out yonder befouled by your infamous presence. You know the boy murdered by you in cold blood, and waiting to be avenged until this hour. The time has come at last."
"Have mercy upon me," moaned the Abbot, "and I will recompense you liberally. Take this gold chain," said he, removing a massive gold chain from his neck, "it is very valuable, and I will give thee more."
"If you think a gold chain will recompense me for my dead child, base hound, you are greatly mistaken. His blood cries for vengeance, and I will exact it now."
As he spoke he raised his sword, and at a blow he severed the Abbot's head from his body.
"This is most ghastly work," said Oswald, "and to be done within the sacred precincts of this edifice it is most deplorable. But surely iniquities such as these men have constantly and unblushingly perpetrated call for most drastic remedies. Men, gather up these bodies, and bury them deep in the woods before the dawn."
The two men-at-arms called in some of their fellows who were watching in the corridors outside, and, swathing the bodies in the Abbot's robes, they hurried along the corridors and out of the grounds, bearing their ghastly burden to secret burial in the forest.
Oswald and Wulfhere remained behind engaged in diligent search.
"There are certain documents possessed by this man which are of vast importance to some one I would like to serve," said Oswald. "We must find them, if possible, ere we quit this place. I saw the Abbot hastily remove some papers as we entered, as though he was exceedingly anxious to conceal them. I strongly suspect they are the letters I would fain lay hands upon."
So saying, he advanced to the cabinet, and throwing it open, almost immediately drew forth the letters which had well-nigh had such dire effects upon the life and happiness of Alice De Montfort. Oswald gave an exclamation of pleased surprise as the seal of De Montfort caught his eye, and, hastily unfolding them, he eagerly ran over their contents one by one, and, as he gathered their import, he said to Wulfhere,—
"These are indeed a treasure more precious than gold. They bear evidence of one fatal mistake on the part of one whose astuteness is otherwise marvellous; and they have been an instrument of terror to the author of them for a long time. Now this dread secret will henceforth be sealed for ever. Sealed it is in the death of those who knew and used it so unscrupulously; and it will soon be sealed in the destruction of these documents."
So he hastily thrust them into his bosom, and they continued their search. But nothing further that had any bearing upon the subject could be found.
"Our work in this place is evidently at an end for the present," said Oswald. "So let us be gone, for I would finish this day's work. I wot there are some who at this moment are in terrible suspense, and are awaiting in well-nigh mortal terror for the further development of this tragedy. So let us away, the night is still young, and there is a voice eagerly calling for me."