The Little Duke: Richard the Fearless Read online

  CHAPTER II

  One evening Fru Astrida sat in her tall chair in the chimney corner, herdistaff, with its load of flax in her hand, while she twisted and drewout the thread, and her spindle danced on the floor. Opposite to hersat, sleeping in his chair, Sir Eric de Centeville; Osmond was on a lowbench within the chimney corner, trimming and shaping with his knife somefeathers of the wild goose, which were to fly in a different fashion fromtheir former one, and serve, not to wing the flight of a harmless goose,but of a sharp arrow.

  The men of the household sat ranged on benches on one side of the hall,the women on the other; a great red fire, together with an immenseflickering lamp which hung from the ceiling, supplied the light; thewindows were closed with wooden shutters, and the whole apartment had acheerful appearance. Two or three large hounds were reposing in front ofthe hearth, and among them sat little Richard of Normandy, now smoothingdown their broad silken ears; now tickling the large cushions of theirfeet with the end of one of Osmond's feathers; now fairly pulling openthe eyes of one of the good-natured sleepy creatures, which onlystretched its legs, and remonstrated with a sort of low groan, ratherthan a growl. The boy's eyes were, all the time, intently fixed on DameAstrida, as if he would not lose one word of the story she was tellinghim; how Earl Rollo, his grandfather, had sailed into the mouth of theSeine, and how Archbishop Franco, of Rouen, had come to meet him andbrought him the keys of the town, and how not one Neustrian of Rouen hadmet with harm from the brave Northmen. Then she told him of hisgrandfather's baptism, and how during the seven days that he wore hiswhite baptismal robes, he had made large gifts to all the chief churchesin his dukedom of Normandy.

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

  "Nay, nay, Lord Richard," said the old lady, "I love not that tale. Thatwas ere the Norman learnt courtesy, and rudeness ought rather to beforgotten than remembered, save for the sake of amending it. No, I willrather tell you of our coming to Centeville, and how dreary I thoughtthese smooth meads, and broad soft gliding streams, compared with mineown father's fiord in Norway, shut in with the tall black rocks, and darkpines above them, and far away the snowy mountains rising into the sky.Ah! how blue the waters were in the long summer days when I sat in myfather's boat in the little fiord, and--"

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

  "Peace, dogs!" said Sir Eric, slowly rising, as the blast of the horn wasrepeated. "Go, Osmond, with the porter, and see whether he who comes atsuch an hour be friend or foe. Stay you here, my Lord," he added, asRichard was running after Osmond; and the little boy obeyed, and stoodstill, 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 would comeagain. Hark, there are horses' feet in the court! I am sure that is hisblack charger's tread! And I shall not be there to hold his 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 about tospring forward, when Osmond returned, his face showing, at a glance, thatsomething was amiss; but all that he said was, "Count Bernard ofHarcourt, and Sir Rainulf de Ferrieres," and he stood aside to let thempass.

  Richard stood still in the midst of the hall, disappointed. Withoutgreeting to Sir Eric, or to any within the hall, the Count of Harcourtcame forward to Richard, bent his knee before him, took his hand, andsaid with a broken voice and heaving breast, "Richard, Duke of Normandy,I am thy liegeman and true vassal;" then rising from his knees whileRainulf de Ferrieres went through the same form, the old man covered hisface with his hands and wept aloud.

  "Is it even so?" said the Baron de Centeville; and being answered by amournful look and sigh from Ferrieres, he too bent before the boy, andrepeated the words, "I am thy liegeman and true vassal, and swear fealtyto thee for my castle and barony of Centeville."

  "Oh, no, no!" cried Richard, drawing back his hand in a sort of agony,feeling as if he was in a frightful dream from which he could not awake."What means it? Oh! Fru Astrida, tell me what means it? Where is myfather?"

  [Picture: The oath of the vassals]

  "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, and deepoppressed breathing, to what was passing between the four nobles, whospoke earnestly among themselves, without much heed of him.

  "The Duke dead!" repeated Sir Eric de Centeville, like one stunned andstupefied.

  "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 was nonote of battle when you went forth. Oh, why was not I at his side?"

  "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. He fellin the Isle of Pecquigny, by the hand of the false Fleming!"

  "Lives the traitor yet?" cried the Baron de Centeville, grasping his goodsword.

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

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

  "I would I were stark and stiff by my Lord's side!" said Count Bernard,"but for the sake of Normandy, and of that poor child, who is like toneed all that ever were friends to his house. I would that mine eyes hadbeen blinded for ever, ere they had seen that sight! And not a swordlifted in his defence! Tell you how it passed, Rainulf! My tongue willnot speak it!"

  He threw himself on a bench and covered his face with his mantle, whileRainulf de Ferrieres proceeded: "You know how in an evil hour our goodDuke appointed to meet this caitiff, Count of Flanders, in the Isle ofPecquigny, the Duke and Count each bringing twelve men with them, allunarmed. Duke Alan of Brittany was one on our side, Count Bernard hereanother, old Count Bothon and myself; we bore no weapon--would that wehad--but not so the false Flemings. Ah me! I shall never forget DukeWilliam's lordly presence when he stepped ashore, and doffed his bonnetto the knave Arnulf."

  "Yes," interposed Bernard. "And marked you not the words of the traitor,as they met? 'My Lord,' quoth he, 'you are my shield and defence.' {6}Would that I could cleave his treason-hatching skull with 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 foul wrongto both King Louis of France, and Kaiser Otho of Germany, to take fromthem their vassal. They took leave of each other in all courtesy, and weembarked again. It was Duke William's pleasure to go alone in a smallboat, while we twelve were together in another. Just as we had nearlyreached our own bank, there was a shout from the Flemings that theirCount had somewhat further to say to the Duke, and forbidding us tofollow him, the Duke turned his boat and went back again. No sooner hadhe set foot on the isle," proceeded the Norman, clenching his hands, andspeaking between his teeth, "than we saw one Fleming strike him on thehead with an oar; he fell senseless, the rest threw themselves upon him,and the next moment held up their bloody daggers in scorn at us! You maywell think how we shouted and yelled at them, and plied our oars like mendistracted, but all in vain, they were already
in their boats, and ere wecould even reach the isle, they were on the other side of the river,mounted their horses, fled with coward speed, and were out of reach of aNorman's vengeance."

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

  He broke off short, for he remembered how his father had forbidden hisdenunciations of vengeance, but his words were eagerly caught up by theBarons, who, as Duke William had said, were far from possessing anytemper of forgiveness, thought revenge a duty, and were only glad to seea 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 Eric madeanswer, "Ay, truly, that will he! You might search Normandy through,yea, and Norway likewise, ere you would find a temper more bold and free.Trust my word, Count Bernard, our young Duke will be famed as widely asever were his forefathers!"

  "I believe it well!" said Bernard. "He hath the port of his grandfather,Duke Rollo, and much, too, of his noble father! How say you, LordRichard, will you be a valiant leader of the Norman race against ourfoes?"

  "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 if youwill but go to chastise the false Flemings."

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

  Richard drooped his head without replying, for this seemed to bring tohim the perception that his father was really gone, and that he shouldnever see him again. He thought of all his projects for the day of hisreturn, how he had almost counted the hours, and had looked forward totelling him that Father Lucas was well pleased with him! And now heshould never nestle into his breast again, never hear his voice, neversee those kind eyes beam upon him. Large tears gathered in his eyes, andashamed that they should be seen, he sat down on a footstool at FruAstrida's feet, leant his forehead on his hands, and thought over allthat his father had done and said the last time they were together. Hefancied the return that had been promised, going over the meeting and thegreeting, till he had almost persuaded himself that this dreadful storywas but a dream. But when he looked up, there were the Barons, withtheir grave mournful faces, speaking of the corpse, which Duke Alan ofBrittany was escorting to Rouen, there to be buried beside the old DukeRollo, and the Duchess Emma, Richard's mother. Then he lost himself inwonder how that stiff bleeding body could be the same as the father whosearm was so lately around him, and whether his father's spirit knew how hewas thinking 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 it wasbut too real, and all was prepared for him to go to Rouen with thevassals; indeed, it was for no other purpose than to fetch him that theCount of Harcourt had come to Bayeux. Fru Astrida was quite unhappy that"the child," as she called him, should go alone with the warriors; butSir Eric laughed at her, and said that it would never do for the Duke ofNormandy to bring his nurse with him in his first entry into Rouen, andshe must be content to follow at some space behind under the escort ofWalter the huntsman.

  So she took leave of Richard, charging both Sir Eric and Osmond to havethe utmost care of him, and shedding tears as if the parting was to befor a much longer space; then he bade farewell to the servants of thecastle, received the blessing of Father Lucas, and mounting his pony,rode off between Sir Eric and Count Bernard. Richard was but a littleboy, and he did not think so much of his loss, as he rode along in thefree morning air, feeling himself a Prince at the head of his vassals,his banner displayed before him, and the people coming out wherever hepassed to gaze on him, and call for blessings on his name. Rainulf deFerrieres carried a large heavy purse filled with silver and gold, andwhenever they came to these gazing crowds, Richard was well pleased tothrust his hands deep into it, and scatter handfuls of coins among thegazers, especially where he saw little children.

  They stopped to dine and rest in the middle of the day, at the castle ofa Baron, who, as soon as the meal was over, mounted his horse, and joinedthem in their ride to Rouen. So far it had not been very different fromRichard's last journey, when he went to keep Christmas there with hisfather; but now they were beginning to come nearer the town, he knew thebroad river Seine again, and saw the square tower of the Cathedral, andhe remembered how at that very place his father had met him, and how hehad ridden by his side into the town, and had been led by his hand up tothe hall.

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

  They entered the town just as it was growing dark. Count Bernard lookedback and arrayed the procession; Eric de Centeville bade Richard situpright and not look weary, and then all the Knights held back while thelittle Duke rode alone a little in advance of them through the gateway.There was a loud shout of "Long live the little Duke!" and crowds ofpeople were standing round to gaze upon his entry, so many that the bagof coins was soon emptied by his largesses. The whole city was like onegreat castle, shut in by a wall and moat, and with Rollo's Tower risingat one end like the keep of a castle, and it was thither that Richard wasturning his horse, when the Count of Harcourt said, "Nay, my Lord, to theChurch of our Lady." {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 pay thistoken of respect. He trembled a little, and yet it did not seem quite sodreary, since he should once more look on his father's face, and heaccordingly rode towards the Cathedral. It was then very unlike what itis now; the walls were very thick, the windows small and almost buried inheavy carved arches, the columns within were low, clumsy, and circular,and it was usually so dark that the vaulting of the roof could scarcelybe seen.

  Now, however, a whole flood of light poured forth from every window, andwhen Richard came to the door, he saw not only the two tall thick candlesthat always burnt on each side of the Altar, but in the Chancel stood adouble row ranged in a square, shedding a pure, quiet brilliancythroughout the building, and chiefly on the silver and gold ornaments ofthe Altar. Outside these lights knelt a row of priests in dark garments,their heads bowed over their clasped hands, and their chanted psalmssounding sweet, and full of soothing music. Within that guarded spacewas a bier, and a form lay on it.

  Richard trembled still more with awe, and would have paused, but he wasobliged to proceed. He dipped his hand in the water of the font, crossedhis brow, and came slowly on, sprinkled the remaining drops on thelifeless figure, and then stood still. There was an oppression on hisbreast 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, his shieldon his arm, and a cross between his hands, clasped upon his breast. Hisducal mantle of crimson velvet, lined with ermine, was round hisshoulders, and, instead of a helmet, his coronet was on his head; but, incontrast with this rich array, over the collar of
the hauberk, was foldedthe edge of a rough hair shirt, which the Duke had worn beneath hisrobes, unknown to all, until his corpse was disrobed of his blood-stainedgarments. His face looked full of calm, solemn peace, as if he hadgently fallen asleep, and was only awaiting the great call to awaken.There was not a single token of violence visible about him, save that oneside of his forehead bore a deep purple mark, where he had first beenstruck by the blow of the oar which had deprived him of sense.

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

  Richard had heard little for many hours past save counsels against theFlemings, and plans of bitter enmity against them; and the sight of hismurdered father, with that look and tone of the old Dane, fired hisspirit, and breaking from his trance of silent awe and grief, heexclaimed, "I see it, and dearly shall the traitor Fleming abye it!"Then, encouraged by the applauding looks of the nobles, he proceeded,feeling like one of the young champions of Fru Astrida's songs. Hischeek was coloured, his eye lighted up, and he lifted his head, so thatthe hair fell back from his forehead; he laid his hand on the hilt of hisfather's sword, and spoke on in words, perhaps, suggested by some sage."Yes, Arnulf of Flanders, know that Duke William of Normandy shall notrest unavenged! On this good sword I vow, that, as soon as my arm shallhave strength--"

  The rest was left unspoken, for a hand was laid on his arm. A priest,who had hitherto been kneeling near the head of the corpse, had risen,and stood tall and dark over him, and, looking up, he recognized thepale, grave countenance of Martin, Abbot of Jumieges, his father's chieffriend and councillor.

  "Richard of Normandy, what sayest thou?" said he, sternly. "Yes, hangthy head, and reply not, rather than repeat those words. Dost thou comehere to disturb the peace of the dead with clamours for vengeance? Dostthou vow strife and anger on that sword which was never drawn, save inthe cause of the poor and distressed? Wouldst thou rob Him, to whoseservice thy life has been pledged, and devote thyself to that of His foe?Is this what thou hast learnt from thy blessed father?"

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

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

  "Count of Harcourt," said Abbot Martin, "are these the words of a savagePagan, or of one who has been washed in yonder blessed font? Never,while I have power, shalt thou darken the child's soul with thy foulthirst of revenge, insult the presence of thy master with the crime he soabhorred, nor the temple of Him who came to pardon, with thy hatred.Well do I know, ye Barons of Normandy, that each drop of your blood wouldwillingly be given, could it bring back our departed Duke, or guard hisorphan child; but, if ye have loved the father, do his bidding--lay asidethat accursed spirit of hatred and vengeance; if ye love the child, seeknot to injure his soul more deeply than even his bitterest foe, were itArnulf himself, hath power to hurt him."

  The Barons were silenced, whatever their thoughts might be, and AbbotMartin turned to Richard, whose tears were still dropping fast throughhis fingers, as the thought of those last words of his father returnedmore clearly upon him. The Abbot laid his hand on his head, and spokegently to him. "These are tears of a softened heart, I trust," said he."I well believe that thou didst scarce know what thou wert saying."

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

  "See there," said the priest, pointing to the large Cross over the Altar,"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 thou whogave that pardon? The Son forgave His murderers; the Father them whoslew His Son. And shalt thou call for vengeance?"

  "But oh!" said Richard, looking up, "must that cruel, murderous traitorglory unpunished in his crime, while there lies--" and again his voicewas cut off by tears.

  "Vengeance shall surely overtake the sinner," said Martin, "the vengeanceof the Lord, and in His own good time, but it must not be of thy seeking.Nay, Richard, thou art of all men the most bound to show love and mercyto Arnulf of Flanders. Yes, when the hand of the Lord hath touched him,and bowed him down in punishment for his crime, it is then, that thou,whom he hath most deeply injured, shouldst stretch out thine hand to aidhim, and receive him with pardon and peace. If thou dost vow aught onthe sword of thy blessed father, in the sanctuary of thy Redeemer, let itbe a Christian vow."

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