“THE DEMON KNIGHT OF THE VANDAL CAMP.”
On the borders of the diocese of Ely, stands an old castle, now crumbling into ruins, below which is a place called by the people Wandlesbury; commemorating by this name the camp of the Vandals, which they pitched hard by this castle, after laying waste the country and cruelly slaughtering the inhabitants. The camp was on the summit of a hill, on a round plain; round about it ran a trench which
“The Vandal race
——long since in blood did trace;
The moor around was brown and bare,
The space within was green and fair,
The spot the village children knew,
For there the wild flowers earliest grew;
But wo betide the wandering wight,
That treads its circle in the night!
The breadth across, a bow-shot clear,
Gives ample space for full career:
Opposed to the four points of heaven,
By four deep gaps was entrance given.”
Wo indeed to the adventurous man who dared to go armed into that camp, and call upon an adversary to meet him! Even as he called, another knight rode into the camp, armed at all points, and met the challenger in combat. The encounter was always fatal to one of the combatants.
The knight Albert sat in the hall of the castle of Wandlesbury, and shared the hospitality of the lord. At night, after supper, the household closed round the great fire, and each man in his turn told his tale of arms, love, or sorcery. The demon knight of the Vandal camp figured in many a tale, and Albert hastened to prove the truth of the legend. It was in vain that the lord of the castle endeavored to dissuade his guest from seeking the phantom knight. Armed at all points, the English knight sallied from the castle gate; and his trusty squire, a youth of noble blood, rode by his master’s side.
Some hours passed: the hall was sadly silent during the knight’s absence, for they all feared the worst for him; anon, a horn was heard at the gate, the warder hastened to open the doors, and the knight rode into the castle court; his squire followed him close, and he led by the bridle a horse of perfect form and figure, of enormous size, and coal-black.
The knight hastened to the hall; all clustered round him to hear his tale; but the good lord of the castle bade them first release him of his armor, and bring in refreshment. One by one the pieces of his armor were taken off, and neither wound nor bruise appeared; at last they proceeded to take off one of his cuishes; it was filled with blood, and even then a few drops were seen to ooze from a slight wound in the thigh. His wound dressed, his fatigue refreshed with good wine and meat, the lord of the castle requested the knight’s account of his meeting with the demon champion.
“My lord,” replied the English knight, “you know how, in despite of your earnest remonstrances, I rode from your castle gate. The moon was bright and clear, and I soon reached the entrance of the Vandal camp; without a pause I rode in and blew my bugle.
‘Methought an answer met my ear,—
Yet was the blast so low and drear,
So hollow and so faintly blown,
It might be echo of my own.’
I waited for a moment in doubt.
‘Then sudden in the ring I view,
In form distinct of shape and hue,
A mounted champion rise.’
Without a word the demon prepared for the charge; I raised my shield, couched my lance, and rushed to the attaint; we both staggered with the charge; our lances broke in half, but the points glided harmlessly from our armor. I still pressed on, and my adversary’s horse stumbled and fell; the demon was rolled on the ground. In a moment I was by his side, and seized his horse’s rein; the demon seemed to revive; he saw my action, snatched a portion of his broken lance, and darted it at me as a javelin. It struck me on my thigh, but in my eagerness I felt it not. In a moment
‘He seem’d to vanish from my sight:
The moonbeam droop’d, and deepest night
Sunk down upon the heath.’
Had I not that dark black horse as a witness of the combat, I should begin to doubt whether I had met the demon.”
“Let us see the demon’s steed,” said the old lord, after he had thanked the knight for his relation of the adventure; “even now the dawn is about to break, and we must seek some little rest before day shines out.”
In the court-yard they found the black steed; his eye lustrous, his neck proudly arched, his coat of shining black, and a glittering war saddle on his back. The first streaks of the dawn began to appear as they entered the castle yard; the black steed grew restless, and tried to break from the hands of the groom; he champed his bit, snorted as in pain and anger, and struck the ground with his feet, until the sparks flew. The cock crowed—the black steed had disappeared.
Every year, on the self-same night, at that self-same hour, did the wound of the English knight burst out afresh, and torment him with severe anguish; to his dying day he bore this memorial of his encounter with the demon champion of the Vandal camp.
“You have made good use of Scott’s version of the tale in Marmion,” said Thompson, “to whom I should think your version of the story was hardly known.”
“No; if I remember rightly, he gives the old Durham tale of Ralph Bulmer as its immediate source, and the strange tale of the Bohemian knights as related by Heywood, in his Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels.”
“The introduction to the story recalls the custom so adroitly used by Chaucer to introduce his Canterbury tales,” remarked Herbert; “tale-telling round the fire.”
“When there was neither juggler nor minstrel present,” replied Lathom, “it seems to have been the custom of our ancestors to entertain themselves by relating or hearing a series of adventures.”
“So that Chaucer’s plan, at first sight so ingenious an invention, is in truth an equally ingenious adaptation of an ancient fashion.”
“But to return to our demonology,” said Lathom; “what notion was more common than that spirits could assume the human form, and live on earth, and mingle as mortals in social life? This belief we find illustrated by the author or authors of the Gesta.”
“The stay, however, of these spirits is generally but a lease of life for so many years,” remarked Herbert.
“Generally; but not in the case which my author gravely lays down as true, under the title of