The Last of the Vikings Part 36

"I am so glad you have come," she said, rousing herself. "I was filled with most dreadful forebodings of disaster to you, to my father, and to all of us. Excuse my silence, but the joy was so great I could do nothing but quietly drink it in. This horrid day has nearly killed me.

Even now I am more afraid of the future. After you fled the Abbot boldly charged my father with disloyalty, and with having planned the day's slaughter of his brother. His rage and his threatenings were dreadful to hear, for he vowed that he would forthwith lay the matter before the king."

"Fear not, dearest, the worst is past. Everything has this day been purged away in blood. I care not to think about it, much less to talk about it. But after all, only the barest justice has been done, and I know of nothing that calls for repentance. Has the Count retired to rest?"

"No. I fear there will be little rest for him to-night. I left him some time ago pacing his room in despair, and revolving in his mind various plans for frustrating the malicious intentions of the Abbot."

"Other hands have already frustrated the evil designs of that most wicked and loathsome representative of the Church. The avenger has met him face to face, and he is no more. Come, let us go down to the Count.

I am the bearer of news which will make him look kindly upon even a Saxon outlaw. Come with me, one telling of the story will suffice."

So together they descended the turret stair and sought De Montfort's room. Alice gave a gentle knock upon the heavy oaken door, but there was no response. Then she gently pushed open the door, and the pair entered together. The Count was sat with his elbows on the oaken table, his face buried in his hands, and totally oblivious of their entrance.

"Father!" said Alice gently.

The Count gave a start and raised his head, and immediately started to his feet at the spectacle which met his sight; for the stalwart Saxon once more stood before him: his astonishment being still more inflamed, as he witnessed his fair daughter lovingly clinging to the outlawed chieftain's arm, and radiant with smiles.

"Alice!"

"Father, give this n.o.ble Saxon a hearty welcome, for he richly merits it. A long time since I unwittingly gave him my heart, or rather he took it, and he has proved himself our bravest and truest friend. He is bearer also to-night, I believe, of most welcome news."

So saying, she led her Saxon lover to the Count, and Oswald, dropping on one knee, said,--

"n.o.ble sir, your lovely daughter some time ago, in pure pity, gave me my life. On the night of the taking of this castle she opened the prison doors, and with her own hands undid my shackles----"

"Alice, I little thought that it was your doing!"

"Wait, father, till you hear this n.o.ble Saxon's story, and you will chide me no more for that act of mercy."

"n.o.ble sir," said Oswald, "we Saxons never permit a debt of honour to go unrequited. I have endeavoured as best I could to discharge the debt of honour so n.o.bly laid upon me; but the fair creditor has taken possession of my heart. I cannot eject her, if I would; and I would not, if I could, eject so lovely and so winsome a tenant."

"Pray be seated, Saxon; I confess I do not understand the language used by either you or my daughter, nor do I know how far it is permissible for me to hold friendly intercourse with one whom my king expects me to be at deadly enmity with. But Saxon or not, you deported yourself to-day as a brave man and a true knight should do. The disguise was well planned and complete, and your advent timely. It was most daring, but what its purpose was I am at a loss to know."

"Its purpose was to rid you and yours of a most deadly viper, and to rid our race of a blood-thirsty tyrant."

"I divine thou knowest more of my concerns than it is meet a stranger should. But, be that as it may, I know not whether I am indebted to thee or not, for one viper laid low has given birth to others, whose venom I dread even more, and whom I have no means of appeasing.

"It is better I should explain, sire. It is true I became possessed of your secret, but the grat.i.tude I owed to your daughter for the life given back to me from the jaws of death, as well as for the love I bore her, also for the fierce retribution I and my people owed to the brothers Vigneau, for numberless cruelties and outrages dealt out to our people, caused me to watch with scrupulous care, that I might serve you and yours and rid my people of a deadly terror. I have news for you, sire. Not only is Baron Vigneau dead, but also the Abbot, his brother, has fallen by the avenging hand of an outraged countryman of mine, and has been carried to his burial in the silent woods. Furthermore, here are the fatal letters," said Oswald, drawing them from his bosom and handing them to the Count.

"No living man, save ourselves, I believe, is aware of the nature of them, so it is easy to end their potency for mischief."

At the sight of the fatal letters which had for so long a time hung over him like the sword of Damocles, the countenance of the Count lighted up as though it were by magic, and, reading them over carefully, one by one, he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "Thank G.o.d!" Then rising from his seat he walked to the huge fireplace, in which were the smouldering remains of a wood fire, and he dropped them into the embers, and watched the quick flame as it sped up the chimney. After this he most carefully raked over the filmy remains a pile of burning charcoal; then he returned to the table, and turned a satisfied and kindly look upon Oswald.

"Did I understand you to say, Saxon, that the Abbot was dead also?"

"Yes, sire, I knew well that the work was but half done and the deliverance half accomplished whilst the Abbot lived. I knew also that the least delay would be fatal, so I and a few followers made bold to force an entrance to the monastery, where we found the Abbot in close consultation with one Pierre, whom doubtless you have met."

"Yes, yes, Pierre--I know him well--a brave man, but an arrant villain withal. I trust he is not acquainted with this foolish act of mine."

"We found the Abbot communicating the whole matter to him, and by bribes and promises inciting him to proceed at once to London, and lay the letters before William. He hoped to bring down upon you the King's vengeance, and then to possess himself of your lands and possessions."

"And what of Pierre? then, is he at large, and in possession of this information?"

"No, sire. The stalwart fellow who acted the part of squire to me in the tournament had cause of quarrel with him personally, as well as a long catalogue of crimes against our people to avenge. He challenged Pierre, and single-handed, and in fair fight slew him; so he also is no more."

"Saxon, 'tis well done, whilst I have been moping and irresolute how to act, you have planned and executed. It is well done, as I have said, and I am a life-long debtor to you. But what is this betwixt yourself and my daughter? I am bewildered. Alice, are you two lovers?"

"Yes, father."

"And this thing has been going on for some time evidently, and under my very nose, and I as blind as a bat. This is pa.s.sing strange; I confess, almost with shame, my obtuseness."

Alice rose from her seat, threw her arms about her father's neck, and affectionately imprinted a kiss upon his cheek, saying,

"Forgive us, father; we meant you no wrong, and we dared not confess until the circ.u.mstances were favourable; but all the while have we been carefully planning how we might extricate you from the power of your enemy."

"I have nothing to forgive, truly, you silly child. But was it wise to turn your heart adrift like a rudderless boat on a tempestuous sea, and leave the errant winds to drive it into port whenever they listed. A kindly providence, however, has watched over you, and you deserved it.

Blindly, humanly speaking, your love has been placed, but it has been well placed, in the keeping of a brave man and true, though he be not of our race. But whither will all this tend, and how will imperious William receive the tidings--that the daughter of De Montfort has a Saxon lover?"

"Father, let us have patience and faith; all fear of disaster is now removed. This valiant Saxon lover of mine can wait the pleasure of our liege lord; and I--my happiness is so complete, I scarcely know whether I shall be, happiest as a lover or a wife. There remains much to be done, and I doubt not but William will know how to estimate the value of an ally and friend, who is at once wise and brave, even though he be a Saxon."

CHAPTER XLI.

n.o.bILITY IN CONTRAST.

"Shall show us how divine a thing A woman may be made."

Wordsworth.

After the stirring episode which ended in the removal from the scene of the brothers Vigneau, and their henchman Pierre, the relations.h.i.+p between the outlawed Saxons and the Normans,--as it related to the domains owned by De Montfort and those contiguous,--became much more amicable and peaceful. The Saxon colony on the mountains boldly advanced to the valley, and took up without molestation the tilling of the soil.

The st.u.r.dy outlaws whose home had been the greenwood, and their sustenance the chase and plunder, now many of them returned to the peaceful calling they had pursued before the Normans drave them from their homes, and the plots of ground they lived upon. Intercourse between the races became regular and uninterrupted; intermarrying being of frequent occurrence. The Norman lost in great measure his haughty and overbearing manner, and the Saxon hatred of the Norman accordingly abated. The language also began to be a compound of Saxon and Norman, for each nation was driven by the exigencies of combined intercourse to learn a little of the other's language; and before my eyes daily did I witness the interblending of peoples. This was a joy to me, to Oswald, and to Alice; and indeed no one who thoroughly grasped the situation could ever again look for the overthrow of the Normans; and whilst there were wild, untamed, and irreconcilable Saxons, who fomented strife and rebellion, and on the other hand Normans proud, overbearing and cruel, yet there were to me palpable signs that the two races would eventually become one people, to their mutual advantage.

Happy am I also to relate that, through the interposition of Alice, and the kindness and confidence of De Montfort, I was once more restored to the rule of this monastery, and with its privileges and emoluments but little curtailed. Thus was I able to do much towards the reconciling of these two peoples. Thankful also I am to relate that, amid the mult.i.tude of claims upon me, I yet had strength and leisure sufficient to write these chronicles.

The kind reader I hope will pardon me this digression, and the little egotism I have indulged in, and I will proceed once more with this history.

De Montfort made no attempt to ignore the deep obligations that Oswald had laid him under; nor did he attempt to interfere with the plighted troth of these two lovers. Still many misgivings arose in his mind, with regard to the att.i.tude his sovereign would a.s.sume towards this union. He knew well that if William disapproved of it, his will would have to be law. He debated long with himself the question, whether it would be best to first obtain William's consent to the marriage, or boldly solve the difficulty by uniting the pair and then presenting them to the king. The bolder course was finally adopted, and the day of the nuptials fixed. By the unanimous wish of all concerned, it was determined that the marriage should be celebrated without pomp and wholesale merriment, as was so often the case; but that there should be the rustic games and rural sports so dear to the common people.

So accordingly on the eventful morning the bridal party wended their way through the forest to this sanctuary, which we had decorated for the occasion. As the party pa.s.sed through the forest with light hearts and joyous, there were others to whom these nuptials had most tragic results. Secreted in the thicket and watching the party go by was one, to whom every note of the joyous bells rang out a knell. Secreted also in another part was one to whom this nuptial act was infamous, and basest treachery; and like a wild beast he waited for an opportunity to spring upon the pair, and with one more wild deed of revenge to accentuate his undying hatred towards the Norman usurper. Soon after the party pa.s.sed on their way and came near to the Abbey gates, Ethel, m.u.f.fled and disguised as a peasant woman, stepped from the thicket from which she had watched the party go by, and slowly followed them. But she had not proceeded very far, ere some movement in the thicket attracted her attention, and turning more attentively to observe, she espied Sigurd's stealthy figure gliding amongst the trees with his naked sword in his hand, and evidently d.o.g.g.i.ng the footsteps of the bridal party. A few fleet footsteps brought her abreast of him.

"My lord!" she said, addressing him, "what does this mean?"

"Ethel, is that you? I little thought to see you here," said he, ignoring altogether the question addressed to him.

"I am here, and opportunely my lord, too, if your att.i.tude does not deceive me. What means that naked sword when there are no enemies present?"

"Do you not know," he said in low fierce tones, "what deed is to be done to-day? Oswald completes his infamy by wedding this Norman woman, and I will kill him before this day is done, or henceforth ye shall brand me a coward."