THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN CONFRONTS DE MONTFORT.
"Then crouch no more on suppliant knee,
But scorn with scorn outbrave;
A Briton even in love should be
A subject, not a slave."
Wordsworth.
Count de Montfort and his daughter Alice were seated together one evening in what was known as the crimson parlour, a comfortable and somewhat elegant room for the period. It was wainscoted in dark oak, with carpets and hangings of richly-figured crimson cloth from the looms of Avignon. They were enjoying a temporary respite from the incessant bustle and turmoil which had been their daily accompaniment since the day they first occupied the Saxon chieftain's patrimony. Even here, their quiet was unpleasantly disturbed by the roystering merriment of their followers in the distant kitchen, who stoutly maintained their freedom to carouse and drink pretty much as they listed. I take the liberty here to introduce the reader to a more intimate acquaintance with the Count and his beautiful and accomplished daughter. The Count was considerably past middle life, probably not less than fifty-five. His sunburnt countenance, and the stern lines about his mouth and forehead, told eloquently the tale of a soldier's life. For the habits of a rough and unscrupulous life had lent a grim and unfeeling hardness to a visage which had strong evidence of force and character depicted in it. There was also palpable evidence of a spirit ill at ease and clouded with doubt, which made him irritable sometimes to a degree positively cruel to friend or foe. His once jet-black locks were silvering rapidly; but his tall form had lost none of its erectness, and his haughty and imperious demeanour proclaimed him a man used to ruling arbitrarily, and little accustomed to brooking opposition, or the frustrating of his purposes. His daughter, Lady Alice de Montfort, was extremely like him in general appearance. Tall and elegant in carriage, her profuse raven tresses were gathered in silken bands, and from thence fell over her shoulders well-nigh to her girdle. Her face was pale; her features regular, as though chiselled. A pair of lustrous dark eyes glowed from between darker lashes, proclaiming her southern extraction. She was indeed a model of queenly beauty. Like many of her countrywomen of exalted station, her youth had been spent in the seclusion of the convent, where alone an education worthy of the name could be obtained. This secluded life—despite her fiery extraction—had toned down her disposition; whilst the culture and refinement had made her a typical example of the romance and troubadour spirit of song, which we Saxons knew to be developed in the maidens of sunny France. For her, the rough life of the Norman occupation, with its scenes of blood and cruelty, was a daily horror.
"Alice," began the Count, "I told you some time ago that I had affianced you to Baron Vigneau. He has followed my fortunes, and lent the prowess of himself and his mercenaries in furthering my interests, in return for which he was to receive your hand in marriage; and I gave him my solemn promise to that effect. His recent conduct has not pleased me, and his addiction to the wine-cup has become inordinate. But I lay the fault of this to the rough times we have had, and I doubt not when peaceful times come again he will become a sober and a virtuous Norman Baron. Anyway, I gave him my promise, and he has fulfilled the obligation. He now presses for the fulfilment of this promise. Much time has already been allowed you to prepare, so I would have you bethink yourself when it can be redeemed. As you know, it rests solely with yourself as to when this event shall be, and my pledges made good. I pray you despise him not, for though he is a landless mercenary, he is brave, and has powerful friends."
"Father, this marriage is most distasteful—I may say, most abhorrent to me. The Baron is a man I cannot possibly love; and if my fortune is what he would have, let him take it and welcome—I care not if I am penniless, if I have my liberty. Nay, I would much rather take the veil if I have no other choice than to marry him."
"Alice, this cannot be; I cannot break my promise. Once for all let me tell you I dare not. This man has obtained a fatal advantage over me, and it is a question of life and death for me. Listen!" said he, rising and pacing the room with quick nervous tread. "Fool that I was, when this last insurrection of the Saxons broke out I was deeply smarting under the rebuffs I had received at the hands of my mortal enemies Odo and Fitz-Osborne, and the base ingratitude of William. I counted the forces of the rebels, and noted their wonderful successes; and foolishly imagining the Danes and Scots would stand firm, I thought that William's time had come at last. Madman that I was! to think ought could thwart the iron will and marvellous resource. But I had many things to be revenged upon, and I was blinded by it. I thought, now is the time. But worst of all, in sheer madness and infatuation I entrusted letters—deadly compromising letters—to this Vigneau for the leaders of the insurrection. These letters Vigneau never delivered, and he now holds them over my head, the villain! and threatens to divulge the whole thing to William. If he does this, I know well, with the enemies I have at court, that nothing will appease the self-willed tyrant but my head. These letters contain such ample proof of my treasonous intentions that my life literally hangs in the balance if I cannot gratify Vigneau. Fool and dolt that I was to place myself in the power of so unscrupulous a villain!
"I have told you this much that you may think less hardly of me. But the thing is absolute and irrevocable. I can no longer put him off by my excuses on your behalf, for he becomes clamorous and threatening. There is nothing further to gain, I perceive, by remonstrances and promises, so the sooner this marriage takes place the better; for I am hopelessly involved in the toils of this snake."
A dead silence of some minutes followed this, and a sickening sensation almost to fainting crept over Alice. How long the death-like stillness would have lasted I know not, but just at that juncture, in silence profound, the massive oaken door swung back unbidden, and a snatch of a Bacchanalian chorus pealed along the corridors and burst unbidden on the ears of father and daughter. But the rising temper of the Count at this ill-timed jollity and carousing gave way on the instant to profound astonishment and alarm, as Oswald the Saxon, armed with shield and buckler, with his drawn sword in his hand, strode into the room; whilst the dim form of an armed accomplice was visible for a moment in the darkness ere the door swung back to its place, shutting out the sounds of revelry and riot, and the three were alone together. The Count sprang to his feet, whipped out his sword, and savagely stood at bay, awaiting the onslaught of the sturdy Saxon. Alice also sprang to her feet with a startled cry, and a strange panic seized her. Had this Saxon, who owed his life to her, sought this interview with murderous intent? His appearance betokened it most surely, and she began to upbraid herself most keenly.