(Afterward known as the “Good Queen Maud” of England.) A.D. 1093.
On a broad and deep window-seat in the old Abbey guest-house at Gloucester, sat two young girls of thirteen and ten; before them, brave-looking enough in his old-time costume, stood a manly young fellow of sixteen. The three were in earnest conversation, all unmindful of the noise about them—the romp and riot of a throng of young folk, attendants, or followers of the knights and barons of King William’s court.
For William Rufus, son of the Conqueror and second Norman king of England, held his Whitsuntide gemot, or summer council of his lords and lieges, in the curious old Roman-Saxon-Norman town of Gloucester, in the fair vale through which flows the noble Severn. The city is known to the young folk of to-day as the one in which good Robert Raikes started the first Sunday-school more than a hundred years ago. But the gemot of King William the Red, which was a far different gathering from good Mr. Raikes’ Sunday-school, was held in the great chapter-house of the old Benedictine Abbey, while the court was lodged in the Abbey guest-houses, in the grim and fortress-like Gloucester Castle, and in the houses of the quaint old town itself.
The boy was shaking his head rather doubtfully as he stood, looking down upon the two girls on the broad window-seat.
“Nay, nay, beausire(1); shake not your head like that,” exclaimed the younger of the girls. “We did escape that way, trust me we did; Edith here can tell you I do speak the truth—for sure, ‘t was her device.”
(1) “Fair sir”: an ancient style of address, used especially toward those high in rank in Norman times.
Thirteen-year-old Edith laughed merrily enough at her sister’s perplexity, and said gayly as the lad turned questioningly to her:
“Sure, then, beausire, ‘t is plain to see that you are Southron-born and know not the complexion of a Scottish mist. Yet ‘t is even as Mary said. For, as we have told you, the Maiden’s Castle standeth high-placed on the crag in Edwin’s Burgh, and hath many and devious pathways to the lower gate, So when the Red Donald’s men were swarming up the steep, my uncle, the Atheling, did guide us, by ways we knew well, and by twists and turnings that none knew better, straight through Red Donald’s array, and all unseen and unnoted of them, because of the blessed thickness of the gathering mist.”
“And this was YOUR device?” asked the boy, admiringly.
“Ay, but any one might have devised it too,” replied young Edith, modestly. “Sure, ‘t was no great device to use a Scotch mist for our safety, and ‘t were wiser to chance it than stay and be stupidly murdered by Red Donald’s men. And so it was, good Robert, even as Mary did say, that we came forth unharmed, from amidst them and fled here to King William’s court, where we at last are safe.”