Chapter II

by Charlotte M. Yonge

　　One evening Fru Astrida sat in her tall chair in the chimney corner,her distaff, with its load of flax in her hand, while she twisted anddrew out the thread, and her spindle danced on the floor. Oppositeto her sat, sleeping in his chair, Sir Eric de Centeville; Osmond wason a low bench within the chimney corner, trimming and shaping withhis knife some feathers of the wild goose, which were to fly in adifferent fashion from their former one, and serve, not to wing theflight of a harmless goose, but of a sharp arrow.

　　The men of the household sat ranged on benches on one side of thehall, the women on the other; a great red fire, together with animmense flickering lamp which hung from the ceiling, supplied thelight; the windows were closed with wooden shutters, and the wholeapartment had a cheerful appearance. Two or three large hounds werereposing in front of the hearth, and among them sat little Richard ofNormandy, now smoothing down their broad silken ears; now ticklingthe large cushions of their feet with the end of one of Osmond'sfeathers; now fairly pulling open the eyes of one of the good-naturedsleepy creatures, which only stretched its legs, and remonstratedwith a sort of low groan, rather than a growl. The boy's eyes were,all the time, intently fixed on Dame Astrida, as if he would not loseone word of the story she was telling him; how Earl Rollo, hisgrandfather, had sailed into the mouth of the Seine, and howArchbishop Franco, of Rouen, had come to meet him and brought him thekeys of the town, and how not one Neustrian of Rouen had met withharm from the brave Northmen. Then she told him of his grandfather'sbaptism, and how during the seven days that he wore his whitebaptismal robes, he had made large gifts to all the chief churches inhis dukedom of Normandy.

　　"Oh, but tell of the paying homage!" said Richard; "and how SigurdBloodaxe threw down simple King Charles! Ah! how would I havelaughed to see it!"

　　"Nay, nay, Lord Richard," said the old lady, "I love not that tale.That was ere the Norman learnt courtesy, and rudeness ought rather tobe forgotten than remembered, save for the sake of amending it. No,I will rather tell you of our coming to Centeville, and how dreary Ithought these smooth meads, and broad soft gliding streams, comparedwith mine own father's fiord in Norway, shut in with the tall blackrocks, and dark pines above them, and far away the snowy mountainsrising into the sky. Ah! how blue the waters were in the long summerdays when I sat in my father's boat in the little fiord, and--"

　　Dame Astrida was interrupted. A bugle note rang out at the castlegate; the dogs started to their feet, and uttered a sudden deafeningbark; Osmond sprung up, exclaiming, "Hark!" and trying to silence thehounds; and Richard running to Sir Eric, cried, "Wake, wake, SirEric, my father is come! Oh, haste to open the gate, and admit him."

　　"Peace, dogs!" said Sir Eric, slowly rising, as the blast of the hornwas repeated. "Go, Osmond, with the porter, and see whether he whocomes at such an hour be friend or foe. Stay you here, my Lord," headded, as Richard was running after Osmond; and the little boyobeyed, and stood still, though quivering all over with impatience.

　　"Tidings from the Duke, I should guess," said Fru Astrida. "It canscarce be himself at such an hour."

　　"Oh, it must be, dear Fru Astrida!" said Richard. "He said he wouldcome again. Hark, there are horses' feet in the court! I am surethat is his black charger's tread! And I shall not be there to holdhis stirrup! Oh! Sir Eric, let me go."

　　Sir Eric, always a man of few words, only shook his head, and at thatmoment steps were heard on the stone stairs. Again Richard was aboutto spring forward, when Osmond returned, his face showing, at aglance, that something was amiss; but all that he said was, "CountBernard of Harcourt, and Sir Rainulf de Ferrieres," and he stoodaside to let them pass.

　　Richard stood still in the midst of the hall, disappointed. Withoutgreeting to Sir Eric, or to any within the hall, the Count ofHarcourt came forward to Richard, bent his knee before him, took hishand, and said with a broken voice and heaving breast, "Richard, Dukeof Normandy, I am thy liegeman and true vassal;" then rising from hisknees while Rainulf de Ferrieres went through the same form, the oldman covered his face with his hands and wept aloud.

　　"Is it even so?" said the Baron de Centeville; and being answered bya mournful look and sigh from Ferrieres, he too bent before the boy,and repeated the words, "I am thy liegeman and true vassal, and swearfealty to thee for my castle and barony of Centeville."

　　"Oh, no, no!" cried Richard, drawing back his hand in a sort ofagony, feeling as if he was in a frightful dream from which he couldnot awake. "What means it? Oh! Fru Astrida, tell me what means it?Where is my father?"

　　"Alas, my child!" said the old lady, putting her arm round him, anddrawing him close to her, whilst her tears flowed fast, and Richardstood, reassured by her embrace, listening with eyes open wide, anddeep oppressed breathing, to what was passing between the fournobles, who spoke earnestly among themselves, without much heed ofhim.

　　"The Duke dead!" repeated Sir Eric de Centeville, like one stunnedand stupefied.

　　"Even so," said Rainulf, slowly and sadly, and the silence was onlybroken by the long-drawn sobs of old Count Bernard.

　　"But how? when? where?" broke forth Sir Eric, presently. "There wasno note of battle when you went forth. Oh, why was not I at hisside?"

　　"He fell not in battle," gloomily replied Sir Rainulf.

　　"Ha! could sickness cut him down so quickly?"

　　"It was not sickness," answered Ferrieres. "It was treachery. Hefell in the Isle of Pecquigny, by the hand of the false Fleming!"

　　"Lives the traitor yet?" cried the Baron de Centeville, grasping hisgood sword.

　　"He lives and rejoices in his crime," said Ferrieres, "safe in hisown merchant towns."

　　"I can scarce credit you, my Lords!" said Sir Eric. "Our Duke slain,and his enemy safe, and you here to tell the tale!"

　　"I would I were stark and stiff by my Lord's side!" said CountBernard, "but for the sake of Normandy, and of that poor child, whois like to need all that ever were friends to his house. I wouldthat mine eyes had been blinded for ever, ere they had seen thatsight! And not a sword lifted in his defence! Tell you how itpassed, Rainulf! My tongue will not speak it!"

　　He threw himself on a bench and covered his face with his mantle,while Rainulf de Ferrieres proceeded: "You know how in an evil hourour good Duke appointed to meet this caitiff, Count of Flanders, inthe Isle of Pecquigny, the Duke and Count each bringing twelve menwith them, all unarmed. Duke Alan of Brittany was one on our side,Count Bernard here another, old Count Bothon and myself; we bore noweapon--would that we had--but not so the false Flemings. Ah me! Ishall never forget Duke William's lordly presence when he steppedashore, and doffed his bonnet to the knave Arnulf."

　　"Yes," interposed Bernard. "And marked you not the words of thetraitor, as they met? 'My Lord,' quoth he, 'you are my shield anddefence.' {6} Would that I could cleave his treason-hatching skullwith my battle-axe."

　　"So," continued Rainulf, "they conferred together, and as words costnothing to Arnulf, he not only promised all restitution to the paltryMontreuil, but even was for offering to pay homage to our Duke forFlanders itself; but this our William refused, saying it were foulwrong to both King Louis of France, and Kaiser Otho of Germany, totake from them their vassal. They took leave of each other in allcourtesy, and we embarked again. It was Duke William's pleasure togo alone in a small boat, while we twelve were together in another.Just as we had nearly reached our own bank, there was a shout fromthe Flemings that their Count had somewhat further to say to theDuke, and forbidding us to follow him, the Duke turned his boat andwent back again. No sooner had he set foot on the isle," proceededthe Norman, clenching his hands, and speaking between his teeth,"than we saw one Fleming strike him on the head with an oar; he fellsenseless, the rest threw themselves upon him, and the next momentheld up their bloody daggers in scorn at us! You may well think howwe shouted and yelled at them, and plied our oars like mendistracted, but all in vain, they were already in their boats, andere we could even reach the isle, they were on the other side of theriver, mounted their horses, fled with coward speed, and were out ofreach of a Norman's vengeance."

　　"But they shall not be so long!" cried Richard, starting forward; forto his childish fancy this dreadful history was more like one of DameAstrida's legends than a reality, and at the moment his thought wasonly of the blackness of the treason. "Oh, that I were a man tochastise them! One day they shall feel--"

　　He broke off short, for he remembered how his father had forbiddenhis denunciations of vengeance, but his words were eagerly caught upby the Barons, who, as Duke William had said, were far frompossessing any temper of forgiveness, thought revenge a duty, andwere only glad to see a warlike spirit in their new Prince.

　　"Ha! say you so, my young Lord?" exclaimed old Count Bernard, rising."Yes, and I see a sparkle in your eye that tells me you will one dayavenge him nobly!"

　　Richard drew up his head, and his heart throbbed high as Sir Ericmade answer, "Ay, truly, that will he! You might search Normandythrough, yea, and Norway likewise, ere you would find a temper morebold and free. Trust my word, Count Bernard, our young Duke will befamed as widely as ever were his forefathers!"

　　"I believe it well!" said Bernard. "He hath the port of hisgrandfather, Duke Rollo, and much, too, of his noble father! How sayyou, Lord Richard, will you be a valiant leader of the Norman raceagainst our foes?"

　　"That I will!" said Richard, carried away by the applause excited bythose few words of his. "I will ride at your head this very night ifyou will but go to chastise the false Flemings."

　　"You shall ride with us to-morrow, my Lord," answered Bernard, "butit must be to Rouen, there to be invested with your ducal sword andmantle, and to receive the homage of your vassals."

　　Richard drooped his head without replying, for this seemed to bringto him the perception that his father was really gone, and that heshould never see him again. He thought of all his projects for theday of his return, how he had almost counted the hours, and hadlooked forward to telling him that Father Lucas was well pleased withhim! And now he should never nestle into his breast again, neverhear his voice, never see those kind eyes beam upon him. Large tearsgathered in his eyes, and ashamed that they should be seen, he satdown on a footstool at Fru Astrida's feet, leant his forehead on hishands, and thought over all that his father had done and said thelast time they were together. He fancied the return that had beenpromised, going over the meeting and the greeting, till he had almostpersuaded himself that this dreadful story was but a dream. But whenhe looked up, there were the Barons, with their grave mournful faces,speaking of the corpse, which Duke Alan of Brittany was escorting toRouen, there to be buried beside the old Duke Rollo, and the DuchessEmma, Richard's mother. Then he lost himself in wonder how thatstiff bleeding body could be the same as the father whose arm was solately around him, and whether his father's spirit knew how he wasthinking of him; and in these dreamy thoughts, the young orphan Dukeof Normandy, forgotten by his vassals in their grave councils, fellasleep, and scarce wakened enough to attend to his prayers, when FruAstrida at length remembered him, and led him away to bed.

　　When Richard awoke the next morning, he could hardly believe that allthat had passed in the evening was true, but soon he found that itwas but too real, and all was prepared for him to go to Rouen withthe vassals; indeed, it was for no other purpose than to fetch himthat the Count of Harcourt had come to Bayeux. Fru Astrida was quiteunhappy that "the child," as she called him, should go alone with thewarriors; but Sir Eric laughed at her, and said that it would neverdo for the Duke of Normandy to bring his nurse with him in his firstentry into Rouen, and she must be content to follow at some spacebehind under the escort of Walter the huntsman.

　　So she took leave of Richard, charging both Sir Eric and Osmond tohave the utmost care of him, and shedding tears as if the parting wasto be for a much longer space; then he bade farewell to the servantsof the castle, received the blessing of Father Lucas, and mountinghis pony, rode off between Sir Eric and Count Bernard. Richard wasbut a little boy, and he did not think so much of his loss, as herode along in the free morning air, feeling himself a Prince at thehead of his vassals, his banner displayed before him, and the peoplecoming out wherever he passed to gaze on him, and call for blessingson his name. Rainulf de Ferrieres carried a large heavy purse filledwith silver and gold, and whenever they came to these gazing crowds,Richard was well pleased to thrust his hands deep into it, andscatter handfuls of coins among the gazers, especially where he sawlittle children.

　　They stopped to dine and rest in the middle of the day, at the castleof a Baron, who, as soon as the meal was over, mounted his horse, andjoined them in their ride to Rouen. So far it had not been verydifferent from Richard's last journey, when he went to keep Christmasthere with his father; but now they were beginning to come nearer thetown, he knew the broad river Seine again, and saw the square towerof the Cathedral, and he remembered how at that very place his fatherhad met him, and how he had ridden by his side into the town, and hadbeen led by his hand up to the hall.

　　His heart was very heavy, as he recollected there was no one now tomeet and welcome him; scarcely any one to whom he could even tell histhoughts, for those tall grave Barons had nothing to say to such alittle boy, and the very respect and formality with which theytreated him, made him shrink from them still more, especially fromthe grim-faced Bernard; and Osmond, his own friend and playfellow,was obliged to ride far behind, as inferior in rank.

　　They entered the town just as it was growing dark. Count Bernardlooked back and arrayed the procession; Eric de Centeville badeRichard sit upright and not look weary, and then all the Knights heldback while the little Duke rode alone a little in advance of themthrough the gateway. There was a loud shout of "Long live the littleDuke!" and crowds of people were standing round to gaze upon hisentry, so many that the bag of coins was soon emptied by hislargesses. The whole city was like one great castle, shut in by awall and moat, and with Rollo's Tower rising at one end like the keepof a castle, and it was thither that Richard was turning his horse,when the Count of Harcourt said, "Nay, my Lord, to the Church of ourLady." {7}

　　It was then considered a duty to be paid to the deceased, that theirrelatives and friends should visit them as they lay in state, andsprinkle them with drops of holy water, and Richard was now to paythis token of respect. He trembled a little, and yet it did not seemquite so dreary, since he should once more look on his father's face,and he accordingly rode towards the Cathedral. It was then veryunlike what it is now; the walls were very thick, the windows smalland almost buried in heavy carved arches, the columns within werelow, clumsy, and circular, and it was usually so dark that thevaulting of the roof could scarcely be seen.

　　Now, however, a whole flood of light poured forth from every window,and when Richard came to the door, he saw not only the two tall thickcandles that always burnt on each side of the Altar, but in theChancel stood a double row ranged in a square, shedding a pure, quietbrilliancy throughout the building, and chiefly on the silver andgold ornaments of the Altar. Outside these lights knelt a row ofpriests in dark garments, their heads bowed over their clasped hands,and their chanted psalms sounding sweet, and full of soothing music.Within that guarded space was a bier, and a form lay on it.

　　Richard trembled still more with awe, and would have paused, but hewas obliged to proceed. He dipped his hand in the water of the font,crossed his brow, and came slowly on, sprinkled the remaining dropson the lifeless figure, and then stood still. There was anoppression on his breast as if he could neither breathe nor move.

　　There lay William of the Long Sword, like a good and true Christianwarrior, arrayed in his shining armour, his sword by his side, hisshield on his arm, and a cross between his hands, clasped upon hisbreast. His ducal mantle of crimson velvet, lined with ermine, wasround his shoulders, and, instead of a helmet, his coronet was on hishead; but, in contrast with this rich array, over the collar of thehauberk, was folded the edge of a rough hair shirt, which the Dukehad worn beneath his robes, unknown to all, until his corpse wasdisrobed of his blood-stained garments. His face looked full ofcalm, solemn peace, as if he had gently fallen asleep, and was onlyawaiting the great call to awaken. There was not a single token ofviolence visible about him, save that one side of his forehead bore adeep purple mark, where he had first been struck by the blow of theoar which had deprived him of sense.

　　"See you that, my Lord?" said Count Bernard, first breaking thesilence, in a low, deep, stern voice.

　　Richard had heard little for many hours past save counsels againstthe Flemings, and plans of bitter enmity against them; and the sightof his murdered father, with that look and tone of the old Dane,fired his spirit, and breaking from his trance of silent awe andgrief, he exclaimed, "I see it, and dearly shall the traitor Flemingabye it!" Then, encouraged by the applauding looks of the nobles, heproceeded, feeling like one of the young champions of Fru Astrida'ssongs. His cheek was coloured, his eye lighted up, and he lifted hishead, so that the hair fell back from his forehead; he laid his handon the hilt of his father's sword, and spoke on in words, perhaps,suggested by some sage. "Yes, Arnulf of Flanders, know that DukeWilliam of Normandy shall not rest unavenged! On this good sword Ivow, that, as soon as my arm shall have strength--"

　　The rest was left unspoken, for a hand was laid on his arm. Apriest, who had hitherto been kneeling near the head of the corpse,had risen, and stood tall and dark over him, and, looking up, herecognized the pale, grave countenance of Martin, Abbot of Jumieges,his father's chief friend and councillor.

　　"Richard of Normandy, what sayest thou?" said he, sternly. "Yes,hang thy head, and reply not, rather than repeat those words. Dostthou come here to disturb the peace of the dead with clamours forvengeance? Dost thou vow strife and anger on that sword which wasnever drawn, save in the cause of the poor and distressed? Wouldstthou rob Him, to whose service thy life has been pledged, and devotethyself to that of His foe? Is this what thou hast learnt from thyblessed father?"

　　Richard made no answer, but he covered his face with his hands, tohide the tears which were fast streaming.

　　"Lord Abbot, Lord Abbot, this passes!" exclaimed Bernard the Dane."Our young Lord is no monk, and we will not see each spark of nobleand knightly spirit quenched as soon as it shows itself."

　　"Count of Harcourt," said Abbot Martin, "are these the words of asavage Pagan, or of one who has been washed in yonder blessed font?Never, while I have power, shalt thou darken the child's soul withthy foul thirst of revenge, insult the presence of thy master withthe crime he so abhorred, nor the temple of Him who came to pardon,with thy hatred. Well do I know, ye Barons of Normandy, that eachdrop of your blood would willingly be given, could it bring back ourdeparted Duke, or guard his orphan child; but, if ye have loved thefather, do his bidding--lay aside that accursed spirit of hatred andvengeance; if ye love the child, seek not to injure his soul moredeeply than even his bitterest foe, were it Arnulf himself, hathpower to hurt him."

　　The Barons were silenced, whatever their thoughts might be, and AbbotMartin turned to Richard, whose tears were still dropping fastthrough his fingers, as the thought of those last words of his fatherreturned more clearly upon him. The Abbot laid his hand on his head,and spoke gently to him. "These are tears of a softened heart, Itrust," said he. "I well believe that thou didst scarce know whatthou wert saying."

　　"Forgive me!" said Richard, as well as he could speak.

　　"See there," said the priest, pointing to the large Cross over theAltar, "thou knowest the meaning of that sacred sign?"

　　Richard bowed his head in assent and reverence.

　　"It speaks of forgiveness," continued the Abbot. "And knowest thouwho gave that pardon? The Son forgave His murderers; the Father themwho slew His Son. And shalt thou call for vengeance?"

　　"But oh!" said Richard, looking up, "must that cruel, murderoustraitor glory unpunished in his crime, while there lies--" and againhis voice was cut off by tears.

　　"Vengeance shall surely overtake the sinner," said Martin, "thevengeance of the Lord, and in His own good time, but it must not beof thy seeking. Nay, Richard, thou art of all men the most bound toshow love and mercy to Arnulf of Flanders. Yes, when the hand of theLord hath touched him, and bowed him down in punishment for hiscrime, it is then, that thou, whom he hath most deeply injured,shouldst stretch out thine hand to aid him, and receive him withpardon and peace. If thou dost vow aught on the sword of thy blessedfather, in the sanctuary of thy Redeemer, let it be a Christian vow."

　　Richard wept too bitterly to speak, and Bernard de Harcourt, takinghis hand, led him away from the Church.