There is, perhaps, no country or climate more beautiful than England, as seen in one of its rural landscapes, when the sun has just risen upon a cloudless summer's dawn. The very feeling that the delightful freshness of the moment will not be entirely destroyed during the whole day, renders the prospect more agreeable than the anticipated fiery advance of the sun in southern or tropical lands. Exhilaration and gladness are the marked characteristics of an English summer morning. So it ever is, and so it was hundreds of years ago, when occurred the events we are about to narrate. How lovely then, on such a morning as we allude to, looked that rich vale in the centre of Gloucestershire, through which the lordly Severn flows! The singing of the birds, the reflective splendor of the silvery waters, the glittering of the dew as it dazzled and disappeared—all combined to charm sound, sight, and sense, and to produce a strong feeling of joy. But the horseman, who was passing through this graceful scene, scarcely needed the aid of any external object to enhance the pleasurable sensation that already filled his breast. The stately horse on which he sat, seemed, by its light steps, and by ever and anon proudly prancing, to share in the animation of its rider. So, the noble stag-hound that followed, and continually looked up contentedly at its master, appeared, likewise, a participator in the general content. The stranger had indeed cause to rejoice, for he was upon the fairest errand. He bad wooed and won the gentle heiress of a proud, but good-hearted Gloucestershire baron—he had wooed and won her, too, with the full consent of father, kinsmen, and friends, and he was now on his way to the baron's castle to arrange with his betrothed the ceremonial of the nuptials. Ride on, thou gallant knight, ride on, and swifter too; for though the day will be yet early when thou arrivest, thou wilt find thyself expected within the Gothic enciente of the Baron de Botetourt's dwelling. A banner waves from the topmost tower to do thee honor and welcome; there walks, too, by the battlements, one whose night has been sleepless because of thee, whose thoughts and whose whole existence centre in thee, whose look firmly attaches to the road that brings thee to her. Ride on then speedily, Sir Knight, to the happiness thy virtue and thy deeds have so well deserved.
This lover is no ordinary suitor: he is of mingled Saxon and Norman noble blood, the recent companion-in-arms of Richard Coeur de Lion. His name is Ralph de Sudley, and though he has passed his thirtieth year, the effect of long toil and war scarcely appears upon his handsome and still very youthful countenance. Yet the knight has seen and endured much: he has been with Richard at the siege and capture of Acre, and at the battle of Azotus. When Conrad of Montferrat fell by the dagger of the assassins, Sir Ralph took a prominent part in the stormy debates which ensued among the Crusaders. He even proposed with his men-at-arms, and those who would follow him, to invade the territory of the Lord of the Mountain, and to avenge in his blood the death which that king of murderers had caused to be done to Conrad. This event made so deep an impression on his mind, that he still took every opportunity of urging upon his own and other Christian governments the necessity of extirpating these eastern assassins. On his return from the crusades, Sir Ralph found the daughter of his friend, the Baron de Botetourt, just verging into beauteous womanhood. The glory of his reputation, and the graces of his person, gained her heart at once; the Lady Alianore, though much his junior in years, loved the knight fondly and devotedly.
Sir Ralph has reached the portcullis of the castle; the wardour and men-at-arms are there to receive him with full honors, though he comes privately, without his armor or his followers: he wears the civil but costly dress of the period, with no other weapon than a slight sword at his side. But the baron will have each advent of his future son-in-law welcomed as an approach of state.
"Grammercy, Sir Baron," observed the knight, as after passing through a crowd of domestics, he grasped his host's hand upon the threshold, "one would imagine me Richard of England himself, or rather Saladin, that greatest and most gaudy of Oriental Soldans, to see this pompous prelude to my disjune with your lovely daughter and yourself."
"Nay, Ralph de Sudley," replied the baron, "my castle must needs put on its best looks, when it beholds the entry of one who is to be its lord and protector when I shall be no more. But I see you are all impatience to go within; and, in truth, the sooner your first interview be over the better, for the table is prepared, and the pasty awaits us, and the chaplain too, whose inward man, after the morning's Mass, craves some solid refreshment."
"A moment, my worthiest of friends, and I am with you," said the knight, as he hurried by: in another instant the Lady Alianore was in his embrace. Need we repeat the oft-told tale of love? Need we describe the day of delight Sir Ralph passed in the castle, lingering from hour to hour until the dusk? O, there is some one we must depict, the lady herself, who so subdued and softened this knightly soul. There, one hand upon the shoulder of her lover, her other hand locked in his, she sits listening to his words, and luxuriating in his discourse. The Lady Alianore, somewhat tall in stature, but perfect in form, has a face of dazzling beauty, yet the bewitching sweetness of her smile is tempered by a certain dignity of countenance, to which her dark, raven hair, and darker eyes, do not a little contribute; her hands, and the foot that peeps from beneath, her graceful robe, are of exquisite smallness, and bespeak the purest Norman blood. Her extreme fairness, shaded by her sable locks, form a strong contrast to the auburn hair and ruddy visage of the stalwart warrior beside her.
"This will indeed be too much, Ralph," observed the lady; "a monarch, his queen, and his court, to come to this out-of-the-way castle, to honor the wedding of a lone damsel like myself; I can hardly support the idea of so much splendor."
"Fear not, my beloved," replied the knight, "Richard is homely enough, and all good nature. Moreover, it is but a return of civility; for I it was who accompanied him to the altar, where he obtained the hand of Berengaria of Navarre; the office was a dangerous one then, since I incurred by it the wrath of Philip of France. And why, dearest, should not every magnificence attend our nuptials? It is the outward emblem of our great content—a mark, like those gorgeous ceremonies that accompany the festive prayers of the Church, which tell the people of the earth of a joy having something of the gladness and glory of Heaven in it."
"Be it as you wish, my own true knight; yet I almost feel that I am too happy. May God bless and protect us!"
Thus passed this bright day, until the approach of dusk imperatively compelled the enraptured lovers to separate. The knight had urgent business to settle, early on the morrow, at his own castle, before setting out for London, to announce to the king the day fixed for the espousal, and to beg from the monarch the fulfilment of the promise he had made, to be present in person with his court, at the wedding of his gallant and faithful vassal. The knight was therefore forced to depart ere the gloom advanced; for though his journey lay in a friendly and peaceful country, it was not the habit in those days to be abroad much after dusk, without an efficient escort.