“If I may risk prophecy,” muttered the Saxon, “thou wilt never see the third Henry wearing his father’s crown. We have worn the yoke of your tyrants long enough; and it is time that the throne of Alfred should be again filled by one of his descendants. Despised and oppressed as we are, there are still true Saxons enow to drive ye headlong from the land ye have spoiled.”
The two young men continued to ride as far apart as courtesy and their roads would permit, and the line of conversation into which they had fallen did not seem likely[Pg 118] to promote kinder feelings between them. Reginald’s national prejudices began to rise high within him, and to overpower the want of energy which was his failing. “Sir Lothaire,” he replied doggedly, “methinks thou hast forgotten Hastings.”
“Sir Knight,” said his companion, in a melancholy voice, “it is not possible for thee or for me to forget Hastings. Thine ancestor did obtain there power, and title, and riches; mine did win nothing but honour and his grave. The chance may be ours in another field. If valour and desert in arms had had their meed the bastard of Normandy had never set foot upon the corpse of Harold.”
“Thou errest, thou errest, good brother,” said Reginald unthinkingly; “the single arm of King William was sufficient to beat down Harold and his brothers to boot. Thine ancestor himself, Sir Lothaire, was light in the balance when weighed with the least of our Norman chivalry!”
“Norman liar!” exclaimed Lothaire, and immediately giving his horse the spur, and causing him to make a demivolte, which brought him close to his companion’s side, he raised his ponderous arm, and dealt with his mailed hand so terrible a blow between the corselet and headpiece of his future brother-in-law, that Launcelot reeled upon his haunches, and his rider fell to the ground without sense or motion. Lothaire gazed for a moment upon the fallen Knight; and then, after beckoning to Robin to come up, put his horse into a hand gallop, and continued his route.
Robin, when the formidable Saxon was out of sight, ventured to approach the scene of the fracas. Piteous was the sight which presented itself. Launcelot was standing beneath a neighbouring tree, still trembling with the shock he had received. Reginald lay motionless in the dust: his bright armour was soiled with earth and blood, which gushed out plentifully from his mouth and nostrils. Robin took off his helmet, and endeavoured, by throwing water over his features, to restore animation. After having spent a long time in the vain endeavour, he looked upon his fallen patron with an expression of utter despair, and muttered to himself, “My master is certainly dead; and there will be no wedding, nor revel, nor wassailing.” He continued for[Pg 119] some minutes in deep contemplation, and then exclaimed, “An my project hold good, I will be revenged on the Saxon churl.” And with these words he began to disarm his master.
While these incidents were taking place among those personages to whom our attention has been hitherto confined, the state of the inhabitants of Kennet Hold was such as calls for our notice. The MS., indeed, from which I draw this narrative, goes through all the minute particulars of Reginald’s journey, until it sets him down at the gate of his father-in-law; but, to avoid greater prolixity than is necessary, I will reserve this explanation for my dénouement, and for the present leaving my hero on his bed of earth, I will introduce my reader, without further delay, to the hall at Kennet Hold.
Everything seemed to be in a state of unusual confusion at the residence of the Saxon. This was, no doubt, partly to be attributed to the extraordinary preparations made by the cooks, and to the wish of the domestics to appear in the sprucest attire before the eyes of the Norman guest. But there was something more than this in the bustle which pervaded Kennet Hold. There seemed to be in every countenance, from the swineherd to the thane, the consciousness of some concealment, some unspeakable secret lingering on the lips, and awaiting a fit opportunity for disclosure. Many of the menials were staring at each other in silence, although they had abundant occupation before them; and many were looking inordinately busy, although it was their chance to have nothing to do. The expression of their faces was various. In some you could perceive little more than a repressed desire to laugh; but on the features of the higher sort of vassals you might read pride, contempt, resentment, together with a visible exultation, which plainly told that all these vindictive feelings were on the eve of gratification.
Leofwyn himself was seated on the chair of his hall, beneath a scarlet canopy, in all the rude state which his Saxon prejudices permitted. He was of short stature, with a round good-humoured face, which spoke, as plainly as face could speak, that its owner was willing to be upon friendly terms with the rest of the world, if the rest of the[Pg 120] world would give him leave. In fact, Leofwyn was of a disposition to prefer the beginning of a banquet to the conclusion of a broil; and if he had been at liberty to consult his own inclination, there would have been much wine, and but very little blood, poured out annually by the retainers of Kennet Hold. Many causes, however, conspired to make these pacific qualities of no effect. In the first place, the chief had an hereditary feud to support against the invaders of the land; and, although he himself saw nothing in these foreigners which should deserve his malediction, he deemed it his duty to hate them most religiously, because his father had done so before him; secondly, his son Lothaire was of a terribly violent temper, and was always seeking an opportunity for embroiling his father with some Norman landholder; and thirdly, this opportunity was frequently afforded by the predatory attacks of the surrounding nobles.
In the retaliation which Leofwyn exercised for these outrages he frequently put in practice some cunning and jocose device, which accorded ill with the professions of hate and enmity which he was perpetually making. For instance, it appears that when the vassals of Sir Robert de Vallice had made considerable depredations upon the Saxon’s swine, he carried off the only son of the offender, and, after confining him in company with the porkers for a night and a day, sent him back to Sir Robert, with a message that “he had sent him his swineherd also.” Such freaks as these had among his dependents secured to him the reputation of having a right sharp wit: among his powerful neighbours he was considered little better than a madman, in consequence of which, amidst the oppressions to which his race was daily subject, he had been allowed to pass his days in despised security.