Part 6 (1/2)

Truly there might well be rejoicing and triumph on the estate where the Atheling ruled as a father and had been sorely missed. He was at his early ma.s.s of thanksgiving at present, and Bertram was so much better that Nurse Agnes did not withstand his desire to rise and join the household and villagers, who were all collected in the building, low and ma.s.sive, but on which Edgar Atheling had lavished the rich ornamental work introduced by the Normans. The round arched doorway was set in a succession of elaborate zigzags, birds'

heads, lions' faces, twists and knots; and within, the altar- hangings and the priest's robes were stiff with the exquisite and elaborate embroidery for which the English nunneries were famed.

The whole building, with its low-browed roof, circular chancel arch still more richly adorned, and stout short columns, was filled with kneeling figures in rough homespun or sheepskin garments, and with s.h.a.ggy heads, above which towered the s.h.i.+ning golden locks of the Atheling, which were allowed to grow to a much greater length than was the Norman fas.h.i.+on, and beside him was the still fairer head of his young nephew, David of Scotland. It was a thanksgiving service for their victory and safe return; and Bertram was just in time for the TE DEUM that followed the ma.s.s.

The Atheling, after all was over, came forth, exchanging greetings with one after another of his franklins, cnihts, and thralls, all of whom seemed to be equally delighted to see him back again, and whom he bade to a feast in the hall, which would be prepared in the course of the day. Some, meantime, went to their homes near at hand, others would amuse themselves with games at ball, archery, singlestick, and the like, in an open s.p.a.ce within the moat--where others fished.

Bertram was not neglected. The Atheling inquired after his health, heard his story in more detail, and after musing on it, said that after setting affairs in order at home, he meant to visit his sister and niece in the Abbey at Romsey, and would then make some arrangement for the Lady of Maisonforte; also he would endeavour to see the King on his return to Winchester, and endeavour to plead with him.

”William will at times hearken to an old comrade,” he said; ”but it is an ill time to take him when he is hot upon the chase. Meantime, thou art scarce yet fit to ride, and needest more of good Agnes's leech-craft.”

Bertram was indeed stiff and weary enough to be quite content to lie on a bearskin in the wide hall of the dwelling, or under the eaves without, and watch the doings with some amus.e.m.e.nt.

He had been bred in some contempt of the Saxons. His father's marriage had been viewed as a MESALLIANCE, and though the knight of Maisonforte had been honourable and kindly, and the Lady Elftrud had fared better than many a Saxon bride, still the French and the Breton dames of the neighbourhood had looked down on her, and the retainers had taught her son to look on the English race as swine, boors, and churls, ignorant of all gentle arts, of skill and grace.

But here was young David among youths of his own age, tilting as gracefully and well as any young Norman could--making Bertram long that his arm should cease to be so heavy and burning, so that he might show his prowess.

Here was a contention with bow and arrow that would not have disgraced the best men-at-arms of Maisonforte--here again, later in the day, was minstrelsy of a higher order than his father's ears had cared for, but of which his mother had whispered her traditions.

Here, again, was the chaplain showing his brother-priests with the greatest pride and delight a scroll of Latin, copied from a MS.

Psalter of the holy and Venerable Beda by the hand of his own dear pupil, young David.

Bertram, who could neither read nor write, and knew no more Latin than his Paternoster, Credo, and Ave, absolutely did not believe his eyes and ears till he had asked the question, whether this were indeed the youth's work. How could it be possible to wield pen as well as lance?

But the wonder of all was the Atheling. After an absence of more than a year, there was much to be adjusted, and his authority on his own lands was thoroughly judicial even for life or death, since even under Norman sway he held the power of an earl.

Seated in a high-backed, cross-legged chair--his majestic form commanding honour and respect--he heard one after another causes that came before him, reserved for his judgment, questions of heirs.h.i.+p, disputes about cattle, complaints of thievery, encroachments on land; and Bertram, listening with the interest that judgment never fails to excite, was deeply impressed with the clear- headedness, the ready thought, and the justice of the decision, even when the dispute lay between Saxon and Norman, always with reference to the laws of Alfred and Edward which he seemed to carry in his head.

Indeed, ere long, two Norman knights, hearing of the Atheling's return, came to congratulate him, and lay before him a dispute of boundaries which they declared they would rather entrust to him than to any other. And they treated him far more as a prince than as a Saxon churl.

They willingly accepted his invitation to go in to the feast of welcome, and a n.o.ble one it was, with music and minstrelsy, hospitality to all around, plenty and joy, wa.s.sail bowls going round, and the Atheling presiding over it, and with a strange and quiet influence, breaking up the entertainment in all good will, by the memory of his sweet sister Margaret's grace-cup, ere mirth had become madness, or the English could incur their reproach of coa.r.s.e revelry.

”And,” as the Norman knight who had prevailed said to Bertram, ”Sir Edgar the Atheling had thus shown himself truly an uncrowned King.”

IV. WHO SHALL BE KING?

The n.o.ble cloisters of Romsey, with the grand church rising in their midst, had a lodging-place, strictly cut off from the nunnery, for male visitors.

Into this Edgar Atheling rode with his armed train, and as they entered, some strange expression in the faces of the porters and guards met them.

”Had my lord heard the news?” demanded a priest, who hastened forward, bowing low.

”No, Holy Father. No ill of my sister?” anxiously inquired the Prince.

”The Mother Abbess is well, my Lord Atheling; but the King--William the Red--is gone to his account. He was found two eves ago pierced to the heart with an arrow beneath an oak in Malwood Chace.”

”G.o.d have mercy on his poor soul!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Edgar, crossing himself. ”No moment vouchsafed for penitence! Alas! Who did the deed, Father Dunstan?”

”That is not known,” returned the priest, ”save that Walter Tyrrel is fled like a hunted felon beyond seas, and my Lord Henry to Winchester.”

Young David pressed up to his uncle's side.