Volume I Part 63 (1/2)
Thus ended the last of his race; and the inheritance had pa.s.sed to a stranger.
The surrounding wors.h.i.+ppers were mostly domestics and retainers of the family, save Robert de Whalley, the dean of that ancient church, supposed to have been founded by Augustine or Paulinus in the seventh century, and then called ”The White Church under the Leigh.” No tidings had been heard from the Fitz-Eustace at Halton, and in two days the body was to be carried forth on its last pilgrimage to Kirkstall Abbey, founded by Henry de Lacy, father of the deceased, about forty years prior to this event.
The beginning of February, in the year 1193, when our story commences, was an epoch memorable for the base and treacherous captivity of Richard Coeur de Lion by the Duke of Austria; and for the equally base and treacherous, but short-lived, usurpation of John, the brother of our ill.u.s.trious crusader. The nation was involved in great trouble and dismay. The best blood of England and the flower of her n.o.bility had perished on the deserts of Palestine, or were pining there in hopeless captivity. The house of Fitz-Eustace, into whose possession the estates of the Lacies were now merged, had themselves been shorn of a goodly scion or two from the family tree during these ”holy wars.”
Richard Fitz-Eustace, the husband of Awbrey, died about the 24 Hen. II.
(1178), leaving one son, John, who founded the Cistercian Abbey of Stanlaw in Ches.h.i.+re, the present establishment of Whalley. He was slain at Tyre in the crusade, A.D. 1190, the second of the reign of Richard I., leaving issue, Richard a leper, and Roger, who followed his father to the Holy Land, but of whose fate no tidings had been heard since his departure thence on his return to Europe. Besides these were two sons, Eustace and Peter, and a daughter named Alice.
Roger Fitz-Eustace and his friend William de Bellamonte--from whom are descended the Beaumonts of Whitley-Beaumont, in Yorks.h.i.+re--had fought side by side at the memorable siege of Acre; but whether alive or dead the certainty was not yet known, though there might be good grounds for the apprehension generally entertained, that they were held in captivity by infidels or by princes miscalled Christian, the bitterest enemies to the faith they professed.
c.l.i.theroe Castle was built by Roger de Poictou, or, as he is otherwise called, Roger Pictavensis, of a n.o.ble family in Normandy, and related to the Conqueror. He led the centre of William's army at the battle of Hastings. King William having given him all the lands between the Mersey and the Ribble, he built several castles and fortresses therein, providing largely for his followers, from whom are descended many families who are still in possession of manors and estates originally granted by this unfortunate relative of the Conqueror. He was twice deprived of his honours, many of them being escheated to the crown, while c.l.i.theroe Castle, together with the great fee of Pontefract, was bestowed on Ilbert de Lacy, a Norman follower of William.
In a country not abounding with strong positions, an insulated conical rock of limestone rising out of the fertile plain between Penhull (Pendle) and the Ribble would naturally attract the attention of the invaders. Here, therefore, we find a fortress erected even earlier than the castle at Lancaster. The summit of this rock was not sufficiently extensive to admit of a s.p.a.cious building, and probably nothing more was at first intended than a temporary retreat and defence from the predatory incursions of the Scots. The structure was, however, gradually enlarged, and became one of the chief residences of the Lacies. A lofty flanking wall ran along the brink of the rock, enclosing the keep and adjoining buildings, likewise the chapel of St Michael, coeval with the foundation of the castle, and forming part of it, being amply endowed by the founder, and license procured from the Dean of Whalley for the purpose of having divine service performed and the sacraments administered therein, to the household servants, foresters, and shepherds, who occupied these extensive and thinly-inhabited domains.
In this little sanctuary now lay the remains of its lord. The cold February sleet pattered fitfully against the narrow panes; and the s.h.i.+vering mourners m.u.f.fled themselves in their dark hoods, while they knelt devoutly on the hard bare pavement of the chapel. Oliver de Worsthorn, the old seneschal, knelt at the foot of the bier; his white locks covered his thin features like a veil, hiding their intense and heart-withering expression. He felt without a stay or helper in his last hours--a sapless, worthless stem in this wilderness of sorrow.
Robert, the Dean of Whalley, attended as chief mourner. Being descended from a distant branch of the Lacies, he had long thrown a covetous glance towards the inheritance. A frequent guest at the castle, he had been useful as an auxiliary in the management and control of the secular concerns; the spiritual interests of its head were in the keeping of another and more powerful agent, little suspected by the dean of applying the influence he had acquired to purposes of secular aggrandis.e.m.e.nt.
It may not be deemed irrelevant that we give a brief outline of the const.i.tution or office of dean, as then held by the inc.u.mbents of Whalley. The beautiful abbey, now in ruins, was not as yet built. Some Saxon lord of [Ill.u.s.tration: Dpaellej] had, about the seventh century, founded a parish church, dedicated to All Saints, called The White Church under the Leigh. The first erection was of wood, many years afterwards replaced by a plain building of stone. The rectors or deans were also lords of the town, and married men, who held it not by presentation from the patron, but as their own patrimonial estate, the succession being hereditary. In this manner the deanery of Whalley was continued until the Lateran Council, in the year 1215, which, by finally prohibiting the marriage of ecclesiastics, put an end to this order of hereditary succession, and occasioned a resignation of the patronage to the chief lord of the fee, after which the church of Whalley sunk, by two successive appropriations, into an impoverished vicarage.
Long before the Conquest the advowson had become far more valuable than the manor, and the lords, who were also patrons, saw the advantage and convenience of qualifying themselves by inferior orders for holding so rich a benefice; and thus the manor itself in time ceased to be considered as a lay fee, and became confounded with the glebe of the church.[50]
The office of dean, at the period in which our history commences, had for centuries been considered as a dignity rather secular than ecclesiastical, and the pursuits of the inc.u.mbent had doubtless a.s.similated generally with those of his lay a.s.sociates. Indeed, it is recorded that Dean Liulphus, in the reign of Canute, had the name of Cutwulph, from having cut off a wolf's tail whilst hunting in the forest of Rossendale, at a place called Ledmesgreve, or more properly Deansgreve. Like many other ancient and dignified ecclesiastics, they were mighty hunters, enjoying their privileges unmolested through a vast region of forest land then unenclosed, and were only inferior in jurisdiction to the feudal lords of these domains. ”On the whole, then, it appears,” says Dr Whitaker, ”that the Dean of Whalley was compounded of patron, inc.u.mbent, ordinary, and lord of the manor; an a.s.semblage which may possibly have met in later times, and in some places of exempt jurisdiction, but at that time probably an _unique_ in the history of the English church.”
Robert de Whalley, the inc.u.mbent before named, was not a whit behind his progenitors in that laudable exercise of worldly wisdom and forethought, as it regarded matters of a temporal and transitory nature. His bearing was proud, and his aspect keen; his form was muscular, and more fitted for some hardy and rigorous exercise than for the generally self-denying and peaceful offices of the Catholic Church. In his youth he had the reputation of being much disposed to gallantry; and the same p.r.o.neness to intrigue was yet manifest, though employed in pursuits of a less transitory nature. His disappointment was, in consequence, greatly augmented when these long-coveted possessions were given to another, and his ambitious dreams dissipated. Yet was he not without hope that the succession of the Fitz-Eustace family might be frustrated. The leper would of necessity be pa.s.sed over, and, Roger being either dead or in captivity, the revenues and usurpation of this distant and almost inaccessible territory might still be enjoyed without molestation or inquiry. Such were the meditations of this plotting ecclesiastic, as he knelt before the altar in that solemn hour, in the chapel of ”_St Michael in Castro_.”
The walls of the chapel, or rather chantry, were smeared with black; and in front of the screen were portrayed uncouth representations of the arms and insignia of the deceased. A pall was thrown over the body, and a plate of salt, as an emblem of incorruptibility, placed on the corpse--a heathenish custom borrowed from the Druids. The candles burnt dimly at the little altar, and the cold and bitter wind threw the shadows in many a grotesque and startling shape on the dark bare walls which enclosed them. It was an hour and a scene that superst.i.tion might have chosen for manifesting her power; and many an anxious glance was thrown towards the dark recesses out of which imagination was ready to conjure some grim spectre, invested with all the horrors that monkish legends had created. The priest who officiated was an unbeneficed clergyman, long known as an inmate of the castle. He was of a quiet and inoffensive disposition, but much attached to his lord; often during the service grief stayed his utterance, and he mingled his loud sobs with those of the surrounding wors.h.i.+ppers.
The _dirage_ was concluded, and vespers for the dead were now commencing with the ”_Placebo Domino_.” The priest with his loud rich voice sang or recited the anthem, and the attendants gave the response in a low and muttering sound. Just as he was beginning the fumigation with a sign of the cross, to drive away demons and unclean spirits from the body, suddenly a loud, deep, and startling blast was heard from the horn at the outer gate. The whole a.s.sembly started up from their devotions, and every eye was turned towards the dean, as though to watch and take the colour of their proceedings from those of his reverence. He lifted his eyes from the corpse, which lay with the face and shoulders uncovered; and, as if startled from some bewildering reverie, cried aloud--
”What untimely visitor art thou, disturbing the sad offices of the dead?”
He paused, as though the sound of his own voice had disturbed him; while wrapping himself in his cloak, he hastily approached Oliver, who stood irresolute, not knowing how to act in this unexpected emergency. De Whalley pointed towards the door, and the seneschal prepared to obey, accompanied by the porter with a light, and one or two attendants.
Immediately outside the chapel the way led down a steep angle of the rock, which Oliver, by dint of much use and experience, descended without any apparent difficulty, save what arose from the slippery state of the path, which rendered the footing more than usually precarious and uncertain.
Again, the blast brayed forth a louder and more impatient summons, startling the echoes from their midnight slumber, while the deep woods answered from a thousand unseen recesses.
”Hang thee for a saucy loon, whoever thou be! I'll warrant thee as much impudence in thy face as wind i' thy muzzle,” said the disturbed seneschal. ”Tarry a while, Hugo; ope not the gate without a parley, despite the knave's untimely summons.”
Oliver, hobbling onward, reached the wicket, just then occupied by Hugo's broad and curious face prying out cautiously into the misty and unintelligible void, without being a whit the wiser for his scrutiny.
”What a plague do ye keep honest men a-waiting for at the gate,” said a gruff voice from the pitchy darkness without, ”in a night that would make a soul wish for a dip into purgatory, just by way of a warming?”
”Hush,” said Oliver, who was a true son of the Church, and moreover, being fresh from the services appointed for the recovery of poor souls from this untoward place, felt the remark of the stranger as peculiarly impious and full of blasphemy--”Hus.h.!.+ thou bold-faced scorner, and learn to furbish thy wit from some other armoury; we like not such unholy jests--firebrands thrown in sport! Thy business, friend?”
”Open the gate, good master priest-poke,” said the other, in a tone of authority.
”Not until thou showest thine errand,” said the equally imperative interrogator within; who, having the unequivocal and somewhat ponderous advantage of a pair of stout-built and well-furnished gates to back, or rather face, him in the controversy, was consequently in a fair way for keeping on the strong side of the argument.
”Now, o' my troth, but ye be a pair of rude curs, barking from a warm kennel at your betters, who are s.h.i.+vering in the cold, without so much as a bone to pick, or a wisp of straw to their tails! Well, well, 'tis soon said; every dog, you know,--and 'twill be my turn soon. I come hither from the castle at Halton, where my Lady Fitz-Eustace would lay your curs' noses to the grinding-stone; but, rest her soul, she will not long be above ground, I trow. Know then, masters, I am her seneschal, whom she sends with a goodly train to the burying. Quick, old goat-face, or we will singe thy beard to light thee to our discovery.”