The Rival Heirs; being the Third and Last Chronicle of Aescendune by A. D. Crake (leveled readers TXT) 📗

merit, could he but forgive. You will keep my secret, father?"

"I will: let me see him."

Father Kenelm went behind the curtain and watched the sufferer. Etienne glared at him with lacklustre eyes, but knew him not, and continued his inarticulate ravings. His forgiving nurse moistened his lips from time to time with water, and by him was a decoction of cooling herbs, with which she assuaged his parching thirst.

"Thou art a true follower of Him who prayed for His murderers," said Father Kenelm. "The Man of Sorrows comfort thee."

CHAPTER XIV. THE GUIDE.

Rarely had a spring occurred so dry as that of 1069. With the beginning of March dry winds set in from the east, no rain fell, and the watercourses shrank to summer proportions.

All that winter Hugo de Malville had mourned in hopeless grief the loss of his boy--his only child; but at length grief deepened into one bitter thirst--a thirst for revenge.

That the Dismal Swamp protected the objects of his hatred from his sword he felt well assured; and had the frost been keen enough to render the marshes penetrable, he would have risked all in a desperate attempt to root out the vermin, as he called the poor natives, from the woods.

But frost alternated with thaw, and snow with rain, and no attempt was likely to be attended with success; so he waited and added compound interest to his thirst for vengeance.

At length set in the dry and fierce winds of which we have spoken, and he felt secure of his prey at last; so preparations were at once made for a grand battle in the marshes.

The keen winds continued, and the scouts reported that the swamp was drier than they had ever seen it before. At length April arrived, and with its earliest days--days of bright sunshine--it was decided to delay no longer, but to explore the marshes with the whole force of the barony, strengthened by recruits from the castles of the neighbouring Norman nobles who willingly lent their aid, and hastened to share the sport dearest of all to the Norman mind.

But one thing was necessary to secure success--a guide, and how to procure one was the riddle which puzzled Hugo, both by day and night.

No Norman could help them; but might not some Englishmen serve, not as willing tools, but under the compulsion of force and the dread of torture?

There were no English in the domains of the baron; all had fled into the forest who were yet alive. There were, it is true, native woodmen in other parts of the wilderness; but they were not vassals of Hugo, and one and all had repeatedly disclaimed knowledge of that part of the forest which was to be explored.

In his perplexity Hugo offered great rewards to anyone who would discover any of the former people of Aescendune and bring them before him.

Leaving Hugo and his friends to concert their murderous plans, we must invite the reader to accompany us once more to freedom's home, the Dismal Swamp.

A council was being held at this selfsame time, which materially assisted the schemes of the baron, although not greatly to his ultimate gratification.

It was held around the fire in the same farmhouse in which poor Eadwin had met his death, and which had now become the headquarters of the outlaws whom Norman tyranny had made.

Wilfred, young although he was, presided--for was he not the representative of the ancient lords of Aescendune, and those gathered around him the descendants of the men whom his fathers had often led to victory?

On his right sat Haga, the oldest retainer of his house, a man who at the beginning of the century had actually fought with Alfgar against the Danes; on his left, Boom, the ancient forester of the Aescendune woods--as moderns would say, "the head keeper."

And there were Sexwulf and Ulf, Tosti and Elfwold, Ernulph and Ordgar, Oslac and Osgood, Wulfsy and Ringulph, Frithgist and Wulfgar--men whose names sounded rough and uncouth in Norman ears, but were familiar enough to the natives.

The whole party having assembled, Wilfred, as a consequence of his rank, spoke first and opened the debate.

"We have all come together tonight, Englishmen and friends, to consider what we shall do in a very grave crisis--the gravest which has yet occurred since we fled to this refuge from the Norman tyrant Hugo--whom may the saints confound. The thrall, Oslac, imperilling his life for our sake, has been to Aescendune, and brings us back certain information that there is a great gathering of men and horse to explore the swamp, for they guess shrewdly that we are hidden here, and they know now who burnt their farms and slew their men in the woods--thus making them afraid, the cowards, to venture therein save in large parties.

"But since the old bear has lost his cub, his thirst for vengeance incites him to stake all upon one grand attempt to penetrate our fastnesses, and the dryness of the season seems to him to make it possible."

"Our pools and sloughs are never quite dry--they are bottomless," said Beorn, "and you might stow away the castle of Aescendune in some of them, and 'twould sink out of sight."

"But it is our object to foil his good intentions towards us: sooner or later we must fight him, and why not now? Haga, my father, thou art the oldest and wisest here present; speak, and we will be guided by thy counsel."

"Let the Norman come," said the sage solemnly; "he shall perish in his pride."

"In what manner shall he die?"

"By the death meet for the sacrilegious destroyer of the priory--by fire--it is God's will, revealed to me in visions of the night."

"Fire? how?" cried several; then one common idea seemed to strike them all.

"The reeds. Once entangled in the marshes, we might fire them all round."

"But how shall we get him to enter the marshes where the dry rushes are thickest?"

"There is a bed of rushes and weeds half a mile across, around the heron's pool, and it is now so dry just there, that it would bear the accursed foe, horses, and armour, could they be enticed to follow the path which traverses it."

"Who shall entice them and prevail?" said Beorn.

"Will any of our men risk their own lives and volunteer as guides to the Normans? They are seeking guides everywhere."

There was a dead silence. At length a man arose--Ordgar, son of Haga.

"I will take my life in my hand to deliver my people from the tyranny of this Norman wolf."

"God bless thee, my son," said his aged sire; "thou art the light of mine eyes, but I can risk thee in thy country's cause and the cause of the House of Aescendune."

"It is a holy cause," said Father Kenelm, who was present: "God's arm is bared for vengeance--the blood of my martyred brethren cries aloud from beneath the altar."

"And thou wilt say a mass for us?"

"It is my duty, since I may not fight with carnal weapons."

"But, Ordgar, how dost thou propose to act?"

"They are scouring the woods daily, in search of some of us poor English, whom they may force by torture to be their guides. I will throw myself in their way."

"They will not harm thee, my son; they are too eager for a guide who knows the paths through the swamp."

"But thou must not appear too willing," said Beorn.

"Trust me for that; I will not promise to serve them till I have at least seen their torture chamber."

"Ordgar, thou dost indeed show a spirit worthy of an Englishman; and while such live, I shall never despair of my country," said the youthful chieftain. "Should God restore me to the halls of my fathers, none shall be more honoured of his lord than thou; and shouldest thou fall, fear not but that English bards will be found to sing thy praises."

A few days later Hugo was scouring the forest like a wolf in search of his prey. His men-at-arms were scattered through the woods, seeking for tracks of men. Huge dogs attended them, who were encouraged to explore every thicket.

They were near the Dismal Swamp.

All at once a dog gave the peculiar whine which indicated that he had found scent, and immediately afterwards started forward, his nose to the ground, followed by two or three others.

The men-at-arms followed, and Hugo amongst his retainers.

Suddenly they broke into open view of the chase--a man was seen running before them for his life.

The dogs gave tongue and followed him so swiftly that it was with difficulty he could escape their fangs by climbing a tree.

It was a poor refuge--dogs and Normans were speedily at the foot.

"Come down, fellow," said Hugo, sternly, "unless thou desirest to be brought down by an arrow."

"Mercy, mercy," cried the fugitive.

"What dost thou fear? If thou art a true man no harm shall befall thee. We are not robbers."

The Englishman, for such he was, descended, and was at once secured and bound to prevent his escape.

"Now, fellow," said Hugo, "who art thou? Whose vassal art thou?"

"My name is Ordgar, son of Haga."

"Haga, formerly a thrall of my estate?"

"The same."

"Where is thy accursed sire?"

"I cannot betray my father."

"This is the very man we want!" said Hugo; "bring him along. The torture will soon help him to find a tongue. Surely the saints have heard our prayers and given him to us."

A quaint idea of sanctity, that of Hugo.

They dragged the intended victim forward through the woods. Once or twice he appeared to make desperate efforts to escape, but we need not say made them in vain.

We must shift the scene to the torture chamber.

Imagine a long dark room, below the level of the ground, underneath the keep; stone flags below, a vaulted ceiling above; dimly lighted by torches fixed in sconces in the wall; a curtain covering a recess; in front, a chair for Hugo and a table for a scribe, with ink horn and parchment.

Around the table were gathered Hugo himself, his guests Raoul de Broc, Tustain de Wylmcote, Ralph de Bearleigh, his seneschal, chamberlain, and other confidential officers of his household, and four strong brawny men-at-arms--sufficient to manage the prisoner with ease.

Ordgar, son of Haga, stood alone at the foot of the table, before all this hostile array.

"Villain," said Hugo (the name only imported serf), "thy name?"

"I have told thee, Ordgar, son of Haga."

"Thou art a vassal of Aescendune?"

"I was."

"And art: my rights over thee cease not."

"I do not acknowledge thee as my lord."

"Thou mayst think better of it anon. Now thou wilt please answer my questions.

"Scribe, take down his replies."

"He will not fill much parchment."

"We shall see.

"Where hast thou been hiding from thy lawful master?"

"I have not been hiding from my lawful lord."

"Fool, dost thou bandy words with me? Answer."

"In the woods, then."

"What woods?"

"The forests around thee."

"Dost thou know the Dismal Swamp?"

"Well."

"Hast thou been hiding there?"

"Yes."

"How many of thy comrades are in hiding at that place?"

"I may not tell thee."

"Behold. Tormentor, remove the curtain."

The curtain was drawn back, and revealed a strange assortment of those implements by which man, worse than the beast of the field, has sinned against his fellow. There were the rack, the brazier with its red-hot pincers, the thumbscrew, and, in short, instruments--happily unknown now--in the greatest variety; all intended to wring the truth from crime, or worse, the self-condemning falsehood from the lips of helpless innocence {xiv}.

"Wilt thou answer?"

"I will not betray the innocent."

"Seize him, tormentors."

'Twas said and done, and after a short and furious struggle, the victim was laid on the rack.

"Turn."

The tormentors, clad in leathern jerkins, hideous with masks to hide their brutal faces, turned the handles which worked pulleys and drew the victim's limbs out of joint.

"Hold--enough--I will confess."

"Release him."

"What dost thou ask me?"

"How many are there in the Dismal Swamp?"

"Maybe a hundred."

"Thou art trifling with me; I see we must put thee on the rack again."

"Nay, thou wouldst force me to deceive thee; there cannot be many more."

"Who is their leader?"

"Haga, son of Ernulph."

"Thy father?"

The victim seemed resolved to say no more.

"Place him on the rack again."

But the fortitude of the captive did not seem equal to the last supreme trial.

"Hold!" he cried, "I will confess all."

He owned that his father Haga was the leader of the outlaws, and being interrogated eagerly by the baron about Etienne, stated that the latter was detained as a prisoner in the Swamp, in case they should need a hostage.

"God be thanked!" said Hugo.

He could yet take that holy name on his murderous lips, and sooth to say he did feel gratitude.

The next step was to persuade Ordgar to guide the Normans through the Dismal Swamp to the English settlement. A fresh application of the torture seemed needed to secure this desirable end, but the victim yielded when the pain was about to be renewed--yielded to the weakness of his own flesh,