"True, good Wilkin," said Eveline; "and do you therefore take some
rest, and trust to my watchfulness, at least till the guards are
relieved. I cannot sleep if I would, and I would not if I could."

"Thanks, lady," said Flammock; "and in truth, as this is a
centrical place, and the rounds must pass in an hour at farthest,
I will e'en close my eyes for such a space, for the lids feel as
heavy as flood-gates."

"Oh, father, father!" exclaimed Rose, alive to her sire's
unceremonious neglect of decorum--"think where you are, and in
whose presence!"

"Ay, ay, good Flammock," said the monk, "remember the presence of
a noble Norman maiden is no place for folding of cloaks and
donning of night-caps."

"Let him alone, father," said Eveline, who in another moment might
have smiled at the readiness with which Wilkin Flammock folded
himself in his huge cloak, extended his substantial form on the
stone bench, and gave the most decided tokens of profound repose,
long ere the monk had done speaking.--"Forms and fashions of
respect," she continued, "are for times of ease and nicety;--when
in danger, the soldier's bedchamber is wherever he can find
leisure for an hour's sleep--his eating-hall, wherever he can
obtain food. Sit thou down by Rose and me, good father, and tell
us of some holy lesson which may pass away these hours of
weariness and calamity."

The father obeyed; but however willing to afford consolation, his
ingenuity and theological skill suggested nothing better than a
recitation of the penitentiary psalms, in which task he continued
until fatigue became too powerful for him also, when he committed
the same breach of decorum for which he had upbraided Wilkin
Flammock, and fell fast asleep in the midst of his devotions.




CHAPTER THE NINTH


  "Oh, night of wo," she said, and wept,
  "Oh, night foreboding sorrow!
  "Oh, night of wo," she said and wept,
  "But more I dread the morrow!"
     SIR GILBERT ELLIOT.


The fatigue which had exhausted Flammock and the monk, was unfelt
by the two anxious maidens, who remained with their eyes bent, now
upon the dim landscape, now on the stars by which it was lighted,
as if they could have read there the events which the morrow was
to bring forth. It was a placid and melancholy scene. Tree and
field, and hill and plain, lay before them in doubtful light,
while at greater distance, their eye could with difficulty trace
one or two places where the river, hidden in general by banks and
trees, spread its more expanded bosom to the stars, and the pale
crescent. All was still, excepting the solemn rush of the waters,
and now and then the shrill tinkle of a harp, which, heard from
more than a mile's distance through the midnight silence,
announced that some of the Welshmen still protracted their most
beloved amusement. The wild notes, partially heard, seemed like
the voice of some passing spirit; and, connected as they were with
ideas of fierce and unrelenting hostility, thrilled on Eveline's
ear, as if prophetic of war and wo, captivity and death. The only
other sounds which disturbed the extreme stillness of the night,
were the occasional step of a sentinel upon his post, or the
hooting of the owls, which seemed to wail the approaching downfall
of the moonlight turrets, in which they had established their
ancient habitations.

The calmness of all around seemed to press like a weight on the
bosom of the unhappy Eveline, and brought to her mind a deeper
sense of present grief, and keener apprehension of future horrors,
than had reigned there during the bustle, blood, and confusion of
the preceding day. She rose up--she sat down--she moved to and fro
on the platform--she remained fixed like a statue to a single
spot, as if she were trying by variety of posture to divert her
internal sense of fear and sorrow.

At length, looking at the monk and the Fleming as they slept
soundly under the shade of the battlement, she could no longer
forbear breaking silence. "Men are happy," she said, "my beloved
Rose; their anxious thoughts are either diverted by toilsome
exertion, or drowned in the insensibility which follows it. They
may encounter wounds and death, but it is we who feel in the
spirit a more keen anguish than the body knows, and in the gnawing
sense of present ill and fear of future misery, suffer a living
death, more cruel than that which ends our woes at once."

"Do not be thus downcast, my noble lady," said Rose; "be rather
what you were yesterday, caring for the wounded, for the aged, for
every one but yourself--exposing even your dear life among the
showers of the Welsh arrows, when doing so could give courage to
others; while I--shame on me--could but tremble, sob, and weep,
and needed all the little wit I have to prevent my shouting with
the wild cries of the Welsh, or screaming and groaning with those
of our friends who fell around me."

"Alas! Rose," answered her mistress, "you may at pleasure indulge
your fears to the verge of distraction itself--you have a father
to fight and watch for you. Mine--my kind, noble, and honoured
parent, lies dead on yonder field, and all which remains for me is
to act as may best become his memory. But this moment is at least
mine, to think upon and to mourn for him."

So saying, and overpowered by the long-repressed burst of filial
sorrow, she sunk down on the banquette which ran along the inside
of the embattled parapet of the platform, and murmuring to
herself, "He is gone for ever!" abandoned herself to the extremity
of grief. One hand grasped unconsciously the weapon which she
held, and served, at the same time, to prop her forehead, while
the tears, by which she was now for the first time relieved,
flowed in torrents from her eyes, and her sobs seemed so
convulsive, that Rose almost feared her heart was bursting. Her
affection and sympathy dictated at once the kindest course which
Eveline's condition permitted. Without attempting to control the
torrent of grief in its full current, she gently sat her down
beside the mourner, and possessing herself of the hand which had
sunk motionless by her side, she alternately pressed it to her
lips, her bosom, and her brow--now covered it with kisses, now
bedewed it with tears, and amid these tokens of the most devoted
and humble sympathy, waited a more composed moment to offer her
little stock of consolation in such deep silence and stillness,
that, as the pale light fell upon the two beautiful young women,
it seemed rather to show a group of statuary, the work of some
eminent sculptor, than beings whose eyes still wept, and whose
hearts still throbbed. At a little distance, the gleaming corslet
of the Fleming, and the dark garments of Father Aldrovand, as they
lay prostrate on the stone steps, might represent the bodies of
those for whom the principal figures were mourning.

After a deep agony of many minutes, it seemed that the sorrows of
Eveline were assuming a more composed character; her convulsive
sobs were changed for long, low, profound sighs, and the course of
her tears, though they still flowed, was milder and less violent.
Her kind attendant, availing herself of these gentler symptoms,
tried softly to win the spear from her lady's grasp. "Let me be
sentinel for a while." she said, "my sweet lady--I will at least
scream louder than you, if any danger should approach." She
ventured to kiss her cheek, and throw her arms around Eveline's
neck while she spoke; but a mute caress, which expressed her sense
of the faithful girl's kind intentions to minister if possible to
her repose, was the only answer returned. They remained for many
minutes silent in the same posture,--Eveline, like an upright and
tender poplar,--Rose, who encircled her lady in her arms, like the
woodbine which twines around it.

At length Rose suddenly felt her young mistress shiver in her
embrace, and then Eveline's hand grasped her arm rigidly as she
whispered, "Do you hear nothing?"

"No--nothing but the hooting of the owl," answered Rose,
timorously.

"I heard a distant sound," said Eveline,--"I thought I heard it--
hark, it comes again!--Look from the battlements, Rose, while I
awaken the priest and thy father."

"Dearest lady," said Rose, "I dare not--what can this sound be
that is heard by one only?--You are deceived by the rush of the
river."

"I would not alarm the castle unnecessarily," said Eveline,
pausing, "or even break your father's needful slumbers, by a fancy
of mine--But hark--I hear it again--distinct amidst the
intermitting sounds of the rushing water--a low tremulous sound,
mingled with a tinkling like smiths or armourers at work upon
their anvils."

Rose had by this time sprung up on the banquette, and flinging
back her rich tresses of fair hair, had applied her hand behind
her ear to collect the distant sound. "I hear it," she cried, "and
it increases--Awake them, for Heaven's sake, and without a
moment's delay!"

Eveline accordingly stirred the sleepers with the reversed end of
the lance, and as they started to their feet in haste, she
whispered in a hasty but cautious voice, "To arms--the Welsh are
upon us!" "What--where?" said Wilkin Flammock,--"where be they?"

"Listen, and you will hear them arming," she replied.

"The noise is but in thine own fancy, lady," said the Fleming,
whose organs were of the same heavy character with his form and
his disposition. "I would I had not gone to sleep at all, since I
was to be awakened so soon."

"Nay, but listen, good Flammock-the sound of armour comes from the
north-east."

"The Welsh lie not in that quarter, lady," said Wilkin; "and
besides, they wear no armour."

"I hear it--I hear it!" said Father Aldrovand, who had been
listening for some time. "All praise to St. Benedict!--Our Lady of
the Garde Doloureuse has been gracious to her servants as ever!--
It is the tramp of horses--it is the clash of armour--the chivalry
of the Marches are coming to our relief-Kyrie Eleison!"

"I hear something too," said Flammock,--"something like the hollow
sound of the great sea, when it burst into my neighbour
Klinkerman's warehouse, and rolled his pots and pans against each
other. But it were an evil mistake, father, to take foes for
friends--we were best rouse the people."

"Tush!" said the priest, "talk to me of pots and kettles?--Was I,
squire of the body to Count Stephen Mauleverer for twenty years,
and do I not know the tramp of a war-horse, or the clash of a
mail-coat?--But call the men to the walls at any rate, and have me
the best drawn up at the base-court--we may help them by a sally."

"That will not be rashly undertaken with my consent," murmured the
Fleming; "but to the wall if you will, and 111 good time. But keep
your Normans and English silent, Sir Priest, else their unruly and
noisy joy will awaken the Welsh camp, and prepare them for their
unwelcome visitors."

The monk laid his finger on his lip in sign of obedience, and they
parted in opposite directions, each to rouse the defenders of the
castle, who were soon heard drawing from all quarters to their
posts upon the walls, with hearts in a very different mood from
that in which they had descended from them. The utmost caution
being used to prevent noise, the manning of the walls was
accomplished in silence, and the garrison awaited in, breathless
expectation the success of the forces who were rapidly advancing
to their relief.

The character of the sounds which now loudly awakened the silence
of this eventful night, could no longer be mistaken. They were
distinguishable from the rushing of a mighty river, or from the
muttering sound of distant thunder, by the sharp and angry notes
which the clashing of the rider's arms mingled with the deep bass
of the horses' rapid tread. From the long continuance of the
sounds, their loudness, and the extent of horizon from which they
seemed to come, all in the castle were satisfied that the
approaching relief consisted of several very strong bodies of
horse. [Footnote: Even the sharp and angry clang made by the iron
scabbards of modern cavalry ringing against the steel-tipp'd
saddles and stirrup, betrays their approach from a distance. The
clash of the armour of knights, armed _cap-a-pie_, must have
been much more easily discernible.] At once this mighty sound
ceased, as if the earth on which they trod had either devoured the
armed squadrons or had become incapable of resounding to their
tramp. The defenders of the Garde Doloureuse concluded that their
friends had made a sudden halt, to give their horses breath,
examine the leaguer of the enemy, and settle the order of attack
upon them. The pause, however was but momentary.

The British, so alert at surprising their enemies, were
themselves, on many occasions, liable to surprise. Their men were
undisciplined, and sometimes negligent of the patient duties of
the sentinel; and, besides, their foragers and flying parties, who
scoured the country during the preceding day, had brought back
tidings which had lulled them into fatal security. Their camp had
been therefore carelessly guarded, and confident in the smallness
of the garrison, they had altogether neglected the important
military duty of establishing patrols and outposts at a proper
distance from their main body. Thus the cavalry of the Lords
Marchers, notwithstanding the noise which accompanied their
advance, had approached very near the British camp without
exciting the least alarm. But while they were arranging their
forces into separate columns, in order to commence the assault, a
loud and increasing clamour among the Welsh announced that they
were at length aware of their danger. The shrill and discordant
cries by which they endeavoured to assemble their men, each under
the banner of his chief, resounded from their leaguer. But these
rallying shouts were soon converted into screams, and clamours of
horror and dismay, when the thundering charge of the barbed horses
and heavily armed cavalry of the Anglo-Normans surprised their
undefended camp.

Yet not even under circumstances so adverse did the descendants of
the ancient Britons renounce their defence, or forfeit their old
hereditary privilege, to be called the bravest of mankind. Their
cries of defiance and resistance were heard resounding above the
groans of the wounded, the shouts of the triumphant assailants,
and the universal tumult of the night-battle. It was not until the
morning light began to peep forth, that the slaughter or
dispersion of Gwenwyn's forces was complete, and that the
"earthquake voice of victory" arose in uncontrolled and unmingled
energy of exultation.

Then the besieged, if they could be still so termed, looking from
their towers over the expanded country beneath, witnessed nothing
but one widespread scene of desultory flight and unrelaxed
pursuit. That the Welsh had been permitted to encamp in fancied
security upon the hither side of the river, now rendered their
discomfiture more dreadfully fatal. The single pass by which they
could cross to the other side was soon completely choked by
fugitives, on whose rear raged the swords of the victorious
Normans. Many threw themselves into the river, upon the precarious
chance of gaining the farther side, and, except a few, who were
uncommonly strong, skilful, and active, perished among the rocks
and in the currents; others, more fortunate, escaped by fords,
with which they had accidentally been made acquainted; many
dispersed, or, in small bands, fled in reckless despair towards
the castle, as if the fortress, which had beat them off when
victorious, could be a place of refuge to them in their present
forlorn condition; while others roamed wildly over the plain,
seeking only escape from immediate and instant danger, without
knowing whither they ran.

The Normans, meanwhile, divided into small parties, followed and
slaughtered them at pleasure; while, as a rallying point for the
victors, the banner of Hugo de Lacy streamed from a small mount,
on which Gwenwyn had lately pitched his own, and surrounded by a
competent force, both of infantry and horsemen, which the
experienced Baron permitted on no account to wander far from it.

The rest, as we have already said, followed the chase with shouts
of exultation and of vengeance, ringing around the battlements,
which resounded with the cries, "Ha, Saint Edward!--Ha, Saint
Dennis!--Strike--slay--no quarter to the Welsh wolves--think on
Raymond Berenger!"

The soldiers on the walls joined in these vengeful and victorious
clamours, and discharged several sheaves of arrows upon such
fugitives, as, in their extremity, approached too near the castle.
They would fain have sallied to give more active assistance in the
work of destruction; but the communication being now open with the
Constable of Chester's forces, Wilkin Flammock considered himself
and the garrison to be under the orders of that renowned chief,
and refused to listen to the eager admonitions of Father
Aldrovand, who would, notwithstanding his sacerdotal character,
have willingly himself taken charge of the sally which he
proposed.

At length, the scene of slaughter seemed at an end. The retreat
was blown on many a bugle, and knights halted on the plain to
collect their personal followers, muster them under their proper
pennon, and then march them slowly back to the great standard of
their leader, around which the main body were again to be
assembled, like the clouds which gather around the evening sun--a
fanciful simile, which might yet be drawn farther, in respect of
the level rays of strong lurid light which shot from those dark
battalions, as the beams were flung back from their polished
armour.

The plain was in this manner soon cleared of the horsemen, and
remained occupied only by the dead bodies of the slaughtered
Welshmen. The bands who had followed the pursuit to a greater
distance were also now seen returning, driving before them, or
dragging after them, dejected and unhappy captives, to whom they
had given quarter when their thirst of blood was satiated.

It was then that, desirous to attract the attention of his
liberators, Wilkin Flammock commanded all the banners of the
castle to be displayed, under a general shout of acclamation from
those who had fought under them. It was answered by a universal
cry of joy from De Lacy's army, which rung so wide, as might even
yet have startled such of the Welsh fugitives, as, far distant
from this disastrous field of flight, might have ventured to halt
for a moment's repose.

Presently after this greeting had been exchanged, a single rider
advanced from the Constable's army towards the castle, showing,
even at a distance, an unusual dexterity of horsemanship and grace
of deportment. He arrived at the drawbridge, which was instantly
lowered to receive him, whilst Flammock and the monk (for the
latter, as far as he could, associated himself with the former in
all acts of authority) hastened to receive the envoy of their
liberator. They found him just alighted from the raven-coloured
horse, which was slightly flecked with blood as well as foam, and
still panted with the exertions of the evening; though, answering
to the caressing hand of its youthful rider, he arched his neck,
shook his steel caparison, and snorted to announce his unabated
mettle and unwearied love of combat. The young man's eagle look
bore the same token of unabated vigour, mingled with the signs of
recent exertion. His helmet hanging at his saddle-bow, showed a
gallant countenance, coloured highly, but not inflamed, which
looked out from a rich profusion of short chestnut-curls; and
although his armour was of a massive and simple form, he moved
under it with such elasticity and ease, that it seemed a graceful
attire, not a burden or encumbrance. A furred mantle had not sat
on him with more easy grace than the heavy hauberk, which complied
with every gesture of his noble form. Yet his countenance was so
juvenile, that only the down on the upper lip announced decisively
the approach to manhood. The females, who thronged into the court
to see the first envoy of their deliverers, could not forbear
mixing praises of his beauty with blessings on his valour; and one
comely middle-aged dame, in particular, distinguished by the
tightness with which her scarlet hose sat on a well-shaped leg and
ankle, and by the cleanness of her coif, pressed close up to the
young squire, and, more forward than, the rest, doubled the
crimson hue of his cheek, by crying aloud, that Our Lady of the
Garde Doloureuse had sent them news of their redemption by an
angel from the sanctuary;--a speech which, although Father
Aldrovand shook his head, was received by her companions with such
general acclamation, as greatly embarrassed the young man's
modesty.

"Peace, all of ye!" said Wilkin Flammock--"Know you no respects,
you women, or have you never seen a young gentleman before, that
you hang on him like flies on a honeycomb? Stand back, I say, and
let us hear in peace what are the commands of the noble Lord of
Lacy."

"These," said the young man, "I can only deliver in the presence
of the right noble demoiselle, Eveline Berenger, if I may be
thought worthy of such honour."

"That thou art, noble sir," said the same forward dame, who had
before expressed her admiration so energetically; "I will uphold
thee worthy of her presence, and whatever other grace a lady can
do thee."

"Now, hold thy tongue, with a wanion!" said the monk; while in the
same breath the Fleming exclaimed, "Beware the cucking-stool,
Dame Scant-o'-Grace!" while he conducted the noble youth across
the court. "Let my good horse be cared for," said the cavalier,
as he put the bridle into the hand of a menial; and in doing so
got rid of some part of his female retinue, who began to pat and
praise the steed as much as they had done the rider; and some, in
the enthusiasm of their joy, hardly abstained from kissing the
stirrups and horse furniture.

But Dame Gillian was not so easily diverted from her own point as
were some of her companions. She continued to repeat the word
_cucking-stool_, till the Fleming was out of hearing, and
then became more specific in her objurgation.--"And why
_cucking-stool_, I pray, Sir Wilkin Butterfirkin? You are the
man would stop an English mouth with a Flemish damask napkin, I
trow! Marry quep, my cousin the weaver! And why the cucking-stool,
I pray?--because my young lady is comely, and the young squire is
a man of mettle, reverence to his beard that is to come yet! Have
we not eyes to see, and have we not a mouth and a tongue?"

"In troth, Dame Gillian, they do you wrong who doubt it," said
Eveline's nurse, who stood by; "but I prithee, keep it shut now,
were it but for womanhood."

"How now, mannerly Mrs. Margery?" replied the incorrigible
Gillian; "is your heart so high, because you dandled our young
lady on your knee fifteen years since?--Let me tell you, the cat
will find its way to the cream, though it was brought up on an
abbess's lap."

"Home, housewife--home!" exclaimed her husband, the old huntsman,
who was weary of this public exhibition of his domestic termagant
--"home, or I will give you a taste of my dog lash--Here are both
the confessor and Wilkin Flammock wondering at your impudence."

"Indeed!" replied Gillian; "and are not two fools enough for
wonderment, that you must come with your grave pate to make up the
number three?"

There was a general laugh at the huntsman's expense, under cover
of which he prudently withdrew his spouse, without attempting to
continue the war of tongues, in which she had shown such a decided
superiority. This controversy, so light is the change in human
spirits, especially among the lower class, awakened bursts of idle
mirth among beings, who had so lately been in the jaws of danger,
if not of absolute despair.




CHAPTER THE TENTH


  They bore him barefaced on his bier,
    Six proper youths and tall,
  And many a tear bedew'd his grave
    Within yon kirkyard wall.
    THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY.


While these matters took place in the castle-yard, the young
squire, Damian Lacy, obtained the audience which he had requested
of Eveline Berenger, who received him in the great hall of the
castle, seated beneath the dais, or canopy, and waited upon by
Rose and other female attendants; of whom the first alone was
permitted to use a tabouret or small stool in her presence, so
strict were the Norman maidens of quality in maintaining their
claims to high rank and observance.

The youth was introduced by the confessor and Flammock, as the
spiritual character of the one, and the trust reposed by her late
father in the other, authorized them to be present upon the
occasion. Eveline naturally blushed, as she advanced two steps to
receive the handsome youthful envoy; and her bashfulness seemed
infectious, for it was with some confusion that Damian went
through the ceremony of saluting the hand which she extended
towards him in token of welcome. Eveline was under the necessity
of speaking first.

"We advance as far as our limits will permit us," she said, "to
greet with our thanks the messenger who brings us tidings of
safety. We speak--unless we err--to the noble Damian of Lacy?"

"To the humblest of your servants," answered Damian, falling with
some difficulty into the tone of courtesy which his errand and
character required, "who approaches you on behalf of his noble
uncle, Hugo de Lacy, Constable of Chester."

"Will not our noble deliverer in person honour with his presence
the poor dwelling which he has saved?"

"My noble kinsman," answered Damian, "is now God's soldier, and
bound by a vow not to come beneath a roof until he embark for the
Holy Land. But by my voice he congratulates you on the defeat of
your savage enemies, and sends you these tokens that the comrade
and friend of your noble father hath not left his lamentable death
many hours unavenged." So saying, he drew forth and laid before
Eveline the gold bracelets, the coronet, and the eudorchawg, or
chain of linked gold, which had distinguished the rank of the
Welsh Prince. [Footnote: Eudorchawg, or Gold Chains of the Welsh.
These were the distinguished marks of rank and valour among the
numerous tribes of Celtic extraction. Manlius, the Roman Champion,
gained the name of Torquatus, or he of the chain, on account of an
ornament of this kind, won, in single combat, from a gigantic
Gaul. Aneurin, the Welsh bard, mentions, in his poem on the battle
of Catterath, that no less than three hundred of the British, who
fell there, had their necks wreathed with the Eudorchawg. This
seems to infer that the chain was a badge of distinction, and
valour perhaps, but not of royalty; otherwise there would scarce
have been so many kings present in one battle. This chain has been
found accordingly in Ireland and Wales, and sometimes, though more
rarely, in Scotland. Doubtless it was of too precious materials
not to be usually converted into money by the enemy into whose
hands it fell.]

"Gwenwyn hath then fallen?" said Eveline, a natural shudder
combating with the feelings of gratified vengeance, as she beheld
that the trophies were speckled with blood,--"The slayer of my
father is no more!"

"My kinsman's lance transfixed the Briton as he endeavoured to
rally his flying people--he died grimly on the weapon which had
passed more than a fathom through his body, and exerted his last
strength in a furious but ineffectual blow with his mace." "Heaven
is just," said Eveline; "may his sins be forgiven to the man of
blood, since he hath fallen by a death so bloody!--One question I
would ask you, noble sir. My father's remains----" She paused
unable to proceed. "An hour will place them at your disposal, most
honoured lady," replied the squire, in the tone of sympathy which
the sorrows of so young and so fair an orphan called irresistibly
forth. "Such preparations as time admitted were making even when I
left the host, to transport what was mortal of the noble Berenger
from the field on which we found him amid a monument of slain
which his own sword had raised. My kinsman's vow will not allow
him to pass your portcullis; but, with your permission, I will
represent him, if such be your pleasure, at these honoured
obsequies, having charge to that effect."

"My brave and noble father," said Eveline, making an effort to
restrain her tears, "will be best mourned by the noble and the
brave." She would have continued, but her voice failed her, and
she was obliged to withdraw abruptly, in order to give vent to her
sorrow, and prepare for the funeral rites with such ceremony as
circumstances should permit. Damian bowed to the departing mourner
as reverently as he would have done to a divinity, and taking his
horse, returned to his uncle's host, which had encamped hastily on
the recent field of battle.

The sun was now high, and the whole plain presented the appearance
of a bustle, equally different from the solitude of the early
morning, and from the roar and fury of the subsequent engagement.
The news of Hugo de Lacy's victory every where spread abroad with
all alacrity of triumph, and had induced many of the inhabitants
of the country, who had fled before the fury of the Wolf of
Plinlimmon, to return to their desolate habitations. Numbers also
of the loose and profligate characters which abound in a country
subject to the frequent changes of war, had flocked thither in
quest of spoil, or to gratify a spirit of restless curiosity. The
Jew and the Lombard, despising danger where there was a chance of
gain, might be already seen bartering liquors and wares with the
victorious men-at-arms, for the blood-stained ornaments of gold
lately worn by the defeated British. Others acted as brokers
betwixt the Welsh captives and their captors; and where they could
trust the means and good faith of the former, sometimes became
bound for, or even advanced in ready money, the sums necessary for
their ransom; whilst a more numerous class became themselves the
purchasers of those prisoners who had no immediate means of
settling with their conquerors.

That the spoil thus acquired might not long encumber the soldier,
or blunt his ardour for farther enterprise, the usual means of
dissipating military spoils were already at hand. Courtezans,
mimes, jugglers, minstrels, and tale-tellers of every description,
had accompanied the night-march; and, secure in the military
reputation of the celebrated De Lacy, had rested fearlessly at
some little distance until the battle was fought and won. These
now approached, in many a joyous group, to congratulate the
victors. Close to the parties which they formed for the dance, the
song, or the tale, upon the yet bloody field, the countrymen,
summoned in for the purpose, were opening large trenches for
depositing the dead--leeches were seen tending the wounded--
priests and monks confessing those in extremity--soldiers
transporting from the field the bodies of the more honoured among
the slain--peasants mourning over their trampled crops and
plundered habitations--and widows and orphans searching for the
bodies of husbands and parents, amid the promiscuous carnage of
two combats. Thus wo mingled her wildest notes with those of
jubilee and bacchanal triumph, and the plain of the Garde
Doloureuse formed a singular parallel to the varied maze of human
life, where joy and grief are so strangely mixed, and where the
confines of mirth and pleasure often border on those of sorrow and
of death.

About noon these various noises were at once silenced, and the
attention alike of those who rejoiced or grieved was arrested by
the loud and mournful sound of six trumpets, which, uplifting and
uniting their thrilling tones in a wild and melancholy death-note,
apprised all, that the obsequies of the valiant Raymond Berenger
were about to commence. From a tent, which had been hastily
pitched for the immediate reception of the body, twelve black
monks, the inhabitants of a neighbouring convent, began to file
out in pairs, headed by their abbot, who bore a large cross, and
thundered forth the sublime notes of the Catholic _Miserere me,
Domine_. Then came a chosen body of men-at-arms, trailing their
lances, with their points reversed and pointed to the earth; and
after them the body of the valiant Berenger, wrapped in his own
knightly banner, which, regained from the hands of the Welsh, now
served its noble owner instead of a funeral pall. The most gallant
Knights of the Constable's household (for, like other great nobles
of that period, he had formed it upon a scale which approached to
that of royalty) walked as mourners and supporters of the corpse,
which was borne upon lances; and the Constable of Chester himself,
alone and fully armed, excepting the head, followed as chief
mourner. A chosen body of squires, men-at-arms, and pages of noble
descent, brought up the rear of the procession; while their nakers
and trumpets echoed back, from time to time, the melancholy song
of the monks, by replying in a note as lugubrious as their own.

The course of pleasure was arrested, and even that of sorrow was
for a moment turned from her own griefs, to witness the last
honours bestowed on him, who had been in life the father and
guardian of his people.

The mournful procession traversed slowly the plain which had been
within a few hours the scene of such varied events; and, pausing
before the outer gate of the barricades of the castle, invited, by
a prolonged and solemn flourish, the fortress to receive the
remains of its late gallant defender. The melancholy summons was
answered by the warder's horn--the drawbridge sunk--the portcullis
rose--and Father Aldrovand appeared in the middle of the gateway,
arrayed in his sacerdotal habit, whilst a little way behind him
stood the orphaned damsel, in such weeds of mourning as time
admitted, supported by her attendant Rose, and followed by the
females of the household.

The Constable of Chester paused upon the threshold of the outer
gate, and, pointing to the cross signed in white cloth upon his
left shoulder, with a lowly reverence resigned to his nephew,
Damian, the task of attending the remains of Raymond Berenger to
the chapel within the castle. The soldiers of Hugo de Lacy, most
of whom were bound by the same vow with himself, also halted
without the castle gate, and remained under arms, while the death-
peal of the chapel bell announced from within the progress of the
procession.

It winded on through those narrow entrances, which were skilfully
contrived to interrupt the progress of an enemy, even should he
succeed in forcing the outer gate, and arrived at length in the
great court-yard, where most of the inhabitants of the fortress,
and those who, under recent circumstances, had taken refuge there,
were drawn up, in order to look, for the last time, on their
departed lord. Among these were mingled a few of the motley crowd
from without, whom curiosity, or the expectation of a dole, had
brought to the castle gate, and who, by one argument or another,
had obtained from the warder permission to enter the interior.

The body was here set down before the door of the chapel, the
ancient Gothic front of which formed one side of the court-yard,
until certain prayers were recited by the priests, in which the
crowd around were supposed to join with becoming reverence.

It was during this interval, that a man, whose peaked beard,
embroidered girdle, and high-crowned hat of gray felt, gave him
the air of a Lombard merchant, addressed Margery, the nurse of
Eveline, in a whispering tone, and with a foreign accent.--"I am a
travelling merchant, good sister, and am come hither in quest of
gain--can you tell me whether I can have any custom in this
castle?"

"You are come at an evil time, Sir Stranger--you may yourself see
that this is a place for mourning and not for merchandise."

"Yet mourning times have their own commerce," said the stranger,
approaching still closer to the side of Margery, and lowering his
voice to a tone yet more confidential. "I have sable scarfs of
Persian silk--black bugles, in which a princess might mourn for a
deceased monarch--cyprus, such as the East hath seldom sent forth
--black cloth for mourning hangings--all that may express sorrow
and reverence in fashion and attire; and I know how to be grateful
to those who help me to custom. Come, bethink you, good dame--such
things must be had--I will sell as good ware and as cheap as
another; and a kirtle to yourself, or, at your pleasure, a purse
with five florins, shall be the meed of your kindness."

"I prithee peace, friend," said Margery, "and choose a better time
for vaunting your wares--you neglect both place and season; and if
you be farther importunate, I must speak to those who will show
you the outward side of the castle gate. I marvel the warders
would admit pedlars upon a day such as this--they would drive a
gainful bargain by the bedside of their mother, were she dying, I
trow." So saying, she turned scornfully from him.

While thus angrily rejected on the one side, the merchant felt his
cloak receive an intelligent twitch upon the other, and, looking
round upon the signal, he saw a dame, whose black kerchief was
affectedly disposed, so as to give an appearance of solemnity to a
set of light laughing features, which must have been captivating
when young, since they retained so many good points when at least
forty years had passed over them. She winked to the merchant,
touching at the same time her under lip with her forefinger, to
announce the propriety of silence and secrecy; then gliding from
the crowd, retreated to a small recess formed by a projecting
buttress of the chapel, as if to avoid the pressure likely to take
place at the moment when the bier should be lifted. The merchant
failed not to follow her example, and was soon by her side, when
she did not give him the trouble of opening his affairs, but
commenced the conversation herself.

"I have heard what you said to our Dame Margery--Mannerly Margery,
as I call her--heard as much, at least, as led me to guess the
rest, for I have got an eye in my head, I promise you."

"A pair of them, my pretty dame, and as bright as drops of dew in
a May morning."

"Oh, you say so, because I have been weeping," said the scarlet-
hosed Gillian, for it was even herself who spoke; "and to be sure,
I have good cause, for our lord was always my very good lord, and
would sometimes chuck me under the chin, and call me buxom Gillian
of Croydon--not that the good gentleman was ever uncivil, for he
would thrust a silver twopennies into my hand at the same time.--
Oh! the friend that I have lost!--And I have had anger on his
account too--I have seen old Raoul as sour as vinegar, and fit for
no place but the kennel for a whole day about it; but, as I said
to him, it was not for the like of me, to be affronting our
master, and a great baron, about a chuck under the chin, or a
kiss, or such like."

"No wonder you are so sorry for so kind a master, dame," said the
merchant.

"No wonder, indeed," replied the dame, with a sigh; "and then what
is to become of us?--It is like my young mistress will go to her
aunt--or she will marry one of these Lacys that they talk so much
of--or, at any rate, she will leave the castle; and it's like old
Raoul and I will be turned to grass with the lord's old chargers.
The Lord knows, they may as well hang him up with the old hounds,
for he is both footless and fangless, and fit for nothing on earth
that I know of."

"Your young mistress is that lady in the mourning mantle," said
the merchant, "who so nearly sunk down upon the body just now?"

"In good troth is she, sir--and much cause she has to sink down. I
am sure she will be to seek for such another father."

"I see you are a most discerning woman, gossip Gillian," answered
the merchant; "and yonder youth that supported her is her
bridegroom?"

"Much need she has for some one to support her," said Gillian;
"and so have I for that matter, for what can poor old rusty Raoul
do?"

"But as to your young lady's marriage?" said the merchant.

"No one knows more, than that such a thing was in treaty between
our late lord and the great Constable of Chester, that came to-day
but just in time to prevent the Welsh from cutting all our
throats, and doing the Lord knoweth what mischief beside. But
there is a marriage talked of, that is certain--and most folk
think it must be for this smooth-cheeked boy, Damian, as they call
him; for though the Constable has gotten a beard, which his nephew
hath not, it is something too grizzled for a bridegroom's chin--
Besides, he goes to the Holy Wars--fittest place for all elderly
warriors--I wish he would take Raoul with him.--But what is all
this to what you were saying about your mourning wares even now?--
It is a sad truth, that my poor lord is gone--But what then?--
Well-a-day, you know the good old saw,--

  'Cloth must be wear,
  Eat beef and drink beer,
  Though the dead go to bier.'

And for your merchandising, I am as like to help you with my good
word as Mannerly Margery, provided you bid fair for it; since, if
the lady loves me not so much, I can turn the steward round my
finger."

"Take this in part of your bargain, pretty Mistress Gillian," said
the merchant; "and when my wains come up, I will consider you
amply, if I get good sale by your favourable report.--But how
shall I get into the castle again? for I would wish to consult
you, being a sensible woman, before I come in with my luggage."

"Why," answered the complaisant dame, "if our English be on guard,
you have only to ask for Gillian, and they will open the wicket to
any single man at once; for we English stick all together, were it
but to spite the Normans;--but if a Norman be on duty, you must
ask for old Raoul, and say you come to speak of dogs and hawks for
sale, and I warrant you come to speech of me that way. If the
sentinel be a Fleming, you have but to say you are a merchant, and
he will let you in for the love of trade."

The merchant repeated his thankful acknowledgment, glided from her
side, and mixed among the spectators, leaving her to congratulate
herself on having gained a brace of florins by the indulgence of
her natural talkative humour; for which, on other occasions, she
had sometimes dearly paid.

The ceasing of the heavy toll of the castle bell now gave
intimation that the noble Raymond Berenger had been laid in the
vault with his fathers. That part of the funeral attendants who
had come from the host of De Lacy, now proceeded to the castle
hall, where they partook, but with temperance, of some
refreshments which were offered as a death-meal; and presently
after left the castle, headed by young Damian, in the same slow
and melancholy form in which they had entered. The monks remained
within the castle to sing repeated services for the soul of the
deceased, and for those of his faithful men-at-arms who had fallen
around him, and who had been so much mangled during, and after,
the contest with the Welsh, that it was scarce possible to know
one individual from another; otherwise the body of Dennis Morolt
would have obtained, as his faith well deserved, the honours of a
separate funeral. [Footnote: The Welsh, a fierce and barbarous
people, were often accused of mangling the bodies of their slain
antagonists. Every one must remember Shakspeare's account, how

  -----"the noble Mortimer,
  Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight,
  Against the irregular and wild Glendower--
  Was, by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
  And a thousand of his people butchered;

  Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,
  Such beastly, shameless transformation,
  By these Welshwomen done, as may not be,
  Without much shame, retold or spoken of."]




CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.


  ----The funeral baked meats
  Did coldly furnish forth the marriage table.
      HAMLET.


The religious rites which followed the funeral of Raymond
Berenger, endured without interruption for the period of six days;
during which, alms were distributed to the poor, and relief
administered, at the expense of the Lady Eveline, to all those who
had suffered by the late inroad. Death-meals, as they were termed,
were also spread in honour of the deceased; but the lady herself,
and most of her attendants, observed a stern course of vigil,
discipline, and fasts, which appeared to the Normans a more
decorous manner of testifying their respect for the dead, than the
Saxon and Flemish custom of banqueting and drinking inordinately
upon such occasions.

Meanwhile, the Constable De Lacy retained a large body of his men
encamped under the walls of the Garde Doloureuse, for protection
against some new irruption of the Welsh, while with the rest he
took advantage of his victory, and struck terror into the British
by many well-conducted forays, marked with ravages scarcely less
hurtful than their own. Among the enemy, the evils of discord were
added to those of defeat and invasion; for two distant relations
of Gwenwyn contended for the throne he had lately occupied, and on
this, as on many other occasions, the Britons suffered as much
from internal dissension as from the sword of the Normans. A worse
politician, and a less celebrated soldier, than the sagacious and
successful De Lacy, could not have failed, under such
circumstances, to negotiate as he did an advantageous peace,
which, while it deprived Powys of a part of its frontier, and the
command of some important passes, in which it was the Constable's
purpose to build castles, rendered the Garde Doloureuse more
secure than formerly, from any sudden attack on the part of
their fiery and restless neighbours. De Lacy's care also went to
re-establishing those settlers who had fled from their possessions,
and putting the whole lordship, which now descended upon an
unprotected female, into a state of defence as perfect as its
situation on a hostile frontier could possibly permit.

Whilst thus anxiously provident in the affairs of the orphan of
the Garde Doloureuse, De Lacy during the space we have mentioned,
sought not to disturb her filial grief by any personal
intercourse. His nephew, indeed, was despatched by times every
morning to lay before her his uncle's _devoirs,_ in the high-
flown language of the day, and acquaint her with the steps which
he had taken in her affairs. As a meed due to his relative's high
services, Damian was always admitted to see Eveline on such
occasions, and returned charged with her grateful thanks, and her
implicit acquiescence in whatever the Constable proposed for her
consideration.

But when the days of rigid mourning were elapsed, the young de
Lacy stated, on the part of his kinsman, that his treaty with the
Welsh being concluded, and all things in the district arranged as
well as circumstances would permit, the Constable of Chester now
proposed to return into his own territory, in order to resume his
instant preparations for the Holy Land, which the duty of
chastising her enemies had for some days interrupted.

"And will not the noble Constable, before he departs from this
place," said Eveline, with a burst of gratitude which the occasion
well merited, "receive the personal thanks of her that was ready
to perish, when he so valiantly came to her aid?"

"It was even on that point that I was commissioned to speak,"
replied Damian; "but my noble kinsman feels diffident to propose
to you that which he most earnestly desires--the privilege of
speaking to your own ear certain matters of high import, and with
which he judges it fit to intrust no third party."

"Surely," said the maiden, blushing, "there can be nought beyond
the bounds of maidenhood, in my seeing the noble Constable
whenever such is his pleasure."

"But his vow," replied Damian, "binds my kinsman not to come
beneath a roof until he sets sail for Palestine; and in order to
meet him, you must grace him so far as to visit his pavilion;--a
condescension which, as a knight and Norman noble, he can scarcely
ask of a damsel of high degree."

"And is that all?" said Eveline, who, educated in a remote
situation, was a stranger to some of the nice points of etiquette
which the damsels of the time observed in keeping their state
towards the other sex. "Shall I not," she said, "go to render my
thanks to my deliverer, since he cannot come hither to receive
them? Tell the noble Hugo de Lacy, that, next to my gratitude to
Heaven, it is due to him, and to his brave companions in arms. I
will come to his tent as to a holy shrine; and, could such homage
please him, I would come barefooted, were the road strewed with
flints and with thorns."

"My uncle will be equally honoured and delighted with your
resolve," said Damian; "but it will be his study to save you all
unnecessary trouble, and with that view a pavilion shall be
instantly planted before your castle gate, which, if it please you
to grace it with your presence, may be the place for the desired
interview."

Eveline readily acquiesced in what was proposed, as the expedient
agreeable to the Constable, and recommended by Damian; but, in the
simplicity of her heart, she saw no good reason why, under the
guardianship of the latter, she should not instantly, and without
farther form, have traversed the little familiar plain on which,
when a child, she used to chase butterflies and gather king's-
cups, and where of later years she was wont to exercise her
palfrey on this well-known plain, being the only space, and that
of small extent, which separated her from the camp of the
Constable.

The youthful emissary, with whose presence she had now become
familiar, retired to acquaint his kinsman and lord with the
success of his commission; and Eveline experienced the first
sensation of anxiety upon her own account which had agitated her
bosom, since the defeat and death of Gwenwyn gave her permission
to dedicate her thoughts exclusively to grief, for the loss which
she had sustained in the person of her noble father. But now, when
that grief, though not satiated, was blunted by solitary
indulgence--now that she was to appear before the person of whose
fame she had heard so much, of whose powerful protection she had
received such recent proofs, her mind insensibly turned upon the
nature and consequences of that important interview. She had seen
Hugo de Lacy, indeed, at the great tournament at Chester, where
his valour and skill were the theme of every tongue, and she had
received the homage which he rendered her beauty when he assigned
to her the prize, with all the gay flutterings of youthful vanity;
but of his person and figure she had no distinct idea, excepting
that he was a middle-sized man, dressed in peculiarly rich armour,
and that the countenance, which looked out from under the shade of
his raised visor, seemed to her juvenile estimate very nearly as
old as that of her father. This person, of whom she had such
slight recollection, had been the chosen instrument employed by
her tutelar protectress in rescuing her from captivity, and in
avenging the loss of a father, and she was bound by her vow to
consider him as the arbiter of her fate, if indeed he should deem
it worth his while to become so. She wearied her memory with vain
efforts to recollect so much of his features as might give her
some means of guessing at his disposition, and her judgment toiled
in conjecturing what line of conduct he was likely to pursue
towards her.