Part 2 (1/2)

Mallet's hand was on his dagger; and his eye dilated like that of the panther before he springs; but fortunately, at that moment, the deep sonorous voice of William, accustomed to send its sounds down the ranks of an army, rolled clear through the a.s.semblage, though pitched little above its ordinary key:-- ”Fair is your feast, and bright your wine, Sir King and brother mine! But I miss here what king and knight hold as the salt of the feast and the perfume to the wine: the lay of the minstrel. Beshrew me, but both Saxon and Norman are of kindred stock, and love to hear in hall and bower the deeds of their northern fathers. Crave I therefore from your gleemen, or harpers, some song of the olden time!”

A murmur of applause went through the Norman part of the a.s.sembly; the Saxons looked up; and some of the more practised courtiers sighed wearily, for they knew well what ditties alone were in favour with the saintly Edward.

The low voice of the King in reply was not heard, but those habituated to read his countenance in its very faint varieties of expression, might have seen that it conveyed reproof; and its purport soon became practically known, when a lugubrious prelude was heard from a quarter of the hall, in which sate certain ghost-like musicians in white robes--white as winding-sheets; and forthwith a dolorous and dirgelike voice chaunted a long and most tedious recital of the miracles and martyrdom of some early saint. So monotonous was the chaunt, that its effect soon became visible in a general drowsiness. And when Edward, who alone listened with attentive delight, turned towards the close to gather sympathising admiration from his distinguished guests, he saw his nephew yawning as if his jaw were dislocated--the Bishop of Bayeux, with his well-ringed fingers interlaced and resting on his stomach, fast asleep--Fitzosborne's half-shaven head balancing to and fro with many an uneasy start--and, William, wide awake indeed, but with eyes fixed on vacant s.p.a.ce, and his soul far away from the gridiron to which (all other saints be praised!) the saint of the ballad had at last happily arrived.

”A comforting and salutary recital, Count William,” said the King.

The Duke started from his reverie, and bowed his head: then said, rather abruptly, ”Is not yon blazon that of King Alfred?”

”Yea. Wherefore?”

”Hem! Matilda of Flanders is in direct descent from Alfred: it is a name and a line the Saxons yet honour!”

”Surely, yes; Alfred was a great man, and reformed the Psalmster,” replied Edward.

The dirge ceased, but so benumbing had been its effect, that the torpor it created did not subside with the cause. There was a dead and funereal silence throughout the s.p.a.cious hall, when suddenly, loudly, mightily, as the blast of the trumpet upon the hush of the grave, rose a single voice. All started--all turned--all looked to one direction; and they saw that the great voice pealed from the farthest end of the hall. From under his gown the gigantic stranger had drawn a small three-stringed instrument--somewhat resembling the modern lute--and thus he sang,-- THE BALLAD OF ROU. [60]

I.

From Blois to Senlis, wave by wave, roll'd on the Norman flood, And Frank on Frank went drifting down the weltering tide of blood; There was not left in all the land a castle wall to fire, And not a wife but wailed a lord, a child but mourned a sire. To Charles the king, the mitred monks, the mailed barons flew, While, shaking earth, behind them strode the thunder march of Rou.

II.

”O King,” then cried those barons bold, ”in vain are mace and mail, We fall before the Norman axe, as corn before the hail.” ”And vainly,” cried the pious monks, ”by Mary's shrine we kneel, For prayers, like arrows, glance aside, against the Norman teel.” The barons groaned, the shavelings wept, while near and nearer drew, As death-birds round their scented feast, the raven flags of Rou.

III.

Then said King Charles, ”Where thousands fail, what king can stand alone, The strength of kings is in the men that gather round the throne. When war dismays my barons bold, 'tis time for war to cease; When Heaven forsakes my pious monks, the will of Heaven is peace. Go forth, my monks, with ma.s.s and rood the Norman camp unto, And to the fold, with shepherd crook, entice this grisly Rou.”

IV.

”I'll give him all the ocean coast, from Michael Mount to Eure, And Gille, my child, shall be his bride, to bind him fast and sure: Let him but kiss the Christian cross, and sheathe the heathen sword, And hold the lands I cannot keep, a fief from Charles his lord.” Forth went the pastors of the Church, the Shepherd's work to do, And wrap the golden fleece around the tiger loins of Rou.

V.

Psalm-chanting came the shaven monks, within the camp of dread; Amidst his warriors, Norman Rou stood taller by the head. Out spoke the Frank Archbishop then, a priest devout and sage, ”When peace and plenty wait thy word, what need of war and rage? Why waste a land as fair as aught beneath the arch of blue, Which might be thine to sow and reap?”--Thus saith the King to Rou.

VI.

”'I'll give thee all the ocean coast, from Michael Mount to Eure, And Gille, my fairest child, as bride, to bind thee fast and sure; If then but kneel to Christ our G.o.d, and sheathe thy paynim sword, And hold thy land, the Church's son, a fief from Charles thy lord.” The Norman on his warriors looked--to counsel they withdrew; The saints took pity on the Franks, and moved the soul of Rou.

VII.

So back he strode and thus he spoke, to that Archbishop meek: ”I take the land thy king bestows from Eure to Michael-peak, I take the maid, or foul or fair, a bargain with the toast, And for thy creed, a sea-king's G.o.ds are those that give the most. So hie thee back, and tell thy chief to make his proffer true, And he shall find a docile son, and ye a saint in Rou.”

VIII.

So o'er the border stream of Epte came Rou the Norman, where, Begirt with barons, sat the King, enthroned at green St. Clair; He placed his hand in Charles's hand,--loud shouted all the throng, But tears were in King Charles's eyes--the grip of Rou was strong. ”Now kiss the foot,” the Bishop said, ”that homage still is due;” Then dark the frown and stern the smile of that grim convert, Rou.

IX.

He takes the foot, as if the foot to slavish lips to bring; The Normans scowl; he tilts the throne, and backwards falls the King. Loud laugh the joyous Norman men--pale stare the Franks aghast; And Rou lifts up his head as from the wind springs up the mast; ”I said I would adore a G.o.d, but not a mortal too; The foot that fled before a foe let cowards kiss!” said Rou.

No words can express the excitement which this rough minstrelsy-- marred as it is by our poor translation from the Romance-tongue in which it was chanted--produced amongst the Norman guests; less perhaps, indeed, the song itself, than the recognition of the minstrel; and as he closed, from more than a hundred voices came the loud murmur, only subdued from a shout by the royal presence, ”Taillefer, our Norman Taillefer!”

”By our joint saint, Peter, my cousin the King,” exclaimed William, after a frank cordial laugh; ”Well I wot, no tongue less free than my warrior minstrel's could have so shocked our ears. Excuse his bold theme, for the sake of his bold heart, I pray thee; and since I know well” (here the Duke's face grew grave and anxious) ”that nought save urgent and weighty news from my stormy realm could have brought over this rhyming petrel, permit the officer behind me to lead hither a bird, I fear, of omen as well as of song.”

”Whatever pleases thee, pleases me,” said Edward, drily; and he gave the order to the attendant. In a few moments, up the s.p.a.ce in the hall, between either table, came the large stride of the famous minstrel, preceded by the officer and followed by the ecclesiastic. The hoods of both were now thrown back, and discovered countenances in strange contrast, but each equally worthy of the attention it provoked. The face of the minstrel was open and sunny as the day; and that of the priest, dark and close as night. Thick curls of deep auburn (the most common colour for the locks of the Norman) wreathed in careless disorder round Taillefer's ma.s.sive unwrinkled brow. His eye, of light hazel, was bold and joyous; mirth, though sarcastic and sly, mantled round his lips. His whole presence was at once engaging and heroic.

On the other hand, the priest's cheek was dark and sallow; his features singularly delicate and refined; his forehead high, but somewhat narrow, and crossed with lines of thought; his mien composed, modest, but not without calm self-confidence. Amongst that a.s.sembly of soldiers, noiseless, self-collected, and conscious of his surpa.s.sing power over swords and mail, moved the SCHOLAR.

William's keen eye rested on the priest with some surprise, not unmixed with pride and ire; but first addressing Taillefer, who now gained the foot of the dais, he said, with a familiarity almost fond: ”Now, by're Lady, if thou bringest not ill news, thy gay face, man, is pleasanter to mine eyes that thy rough song to my ears. Kneel, Taillefer, kneel to King Edward, and with more address, rogue, than our unlucky countryman to King Charles.”

But Edward, as ill-liking the form of the giant as the subject of his lay, said, pus.h.i.+ng back his seat as far as he could: ”Nay, nay, we excuse thee, we excuse thee, tall man.” Nevertheless, the minstrel still knelt, and so, with a look of profound humility, did the priest. Then both slowly rose, and at a sign from the Duke, pa.s.sed to the other side of the table, standing behind Fitzosborne's chair.

”Clerk,” said William, eying deliberately the sallow face of the ecclesiastic; ”I know thee of old; and if the Church have sent me an envoy, per la resplendar De, it should have sent me at least an abbot.”

”Hein, hein!” said Taillefer, bluntly, ”vex not my bon camarade, Count of the Normans. Gramercy, thou wilt welcome him, peradventure, better than me; for the singer tells but of discord, and the sage may restore the harmony.”

”Ha!” said the Duke, and the frown fell so dark over his eyes that the last seemed only visible by two sparks of fire. ”I guess, my proud Vavasours are mutinous. Retire, thou and thy comrade. Await me in my chamber. The feast shall not flag in London because the wind blows a gale in Rouen.”

The two envoys, since so they seemed, bowed in silence and withdrew.

”Nought of ill-tidings, I trust,” said Edward, who had not listened to the whispered communications that had pa.s.sed between the Duke and his subjects. ”No schism in thy Church? The clerk seemed a peaceful man, and a humble.”

”An there were schism in my Church,” said the fiery Duke, ”my brother of Bayeux would settle it by arguments as close as the gap between cord and throttle.”

”Ah! thou art, doubtless, well read in the canons, holy Odo!” said the King, turning to the bishop with more respect than he had yet evinced towards that gentle prelate.

”Canons, yes, Seigneur, I draw them up myself for my flock conformably with such interpretations of the Roman Church as suit best with the Norman realm: and woe to deacon, monk, or abbot, who chooses to misconstrue them.” [61]

The bishop looked so truculent and menacing, while his fancy thus conjured up the possibility of heretical dissent, that Edward shrank from him as he had done from Taillefer; and in a few minutes after, on exchange of signals between himself and the Duke, who, impatient to escape, was too stately to testify that desire, the retirement of the royal party broke up the banquet; save, indeed, that a few of the elder Saxons, and more incorrigible Danes, still steadily kept their seats, and were finally dislodged from their later settlements on the stone floors, to find themselves, at dawn, carefully propped in a row against the outer walls of the palace, with their patient attendants, holding links, and gazing on their masters with stolid envy, if not of the repose at least of the drugs that had caused it.

CHAPTER II.

”And now,” said William, reclining on a long and narrow couch, with raised carved work all round it like a box (the approved fas.h.i.+on of a bed in those days), ”now, Sire Taillefer--thy news.”

There were then in the Duke's chamber, the Count Fitzosborne, Lord of Breteuil, surnamed ”the Proud Spirit”--who, with great dignity, was holding before the brazier the ample tunic of linen (called dormitorium in the Latin of that time, and night-rail in the Saxon tongue) in which his lord was to robe his formidable limbs for repose [62],--Taillefer, who stood erect before the Duke as a Roman sentry at his post,--and the ecclesiastic, a little apart, with arms gathered under his gown, and his bright dark eyes fixed on the ground.

”High and puissant, my liege,” then said Taillefer, gravely, and with a shade of sympathy on his large face, ”my news is such as is best told briefly: Bunaz, Count d'Eu and descendant of Richard Sanspeur, hath raised the standard of revolt.”

”Go on,” said the Duke, clenching his hand.