NOTE.The remains of the five Danish vessels still lie embedded in the mud of the Hamble River near Southampton, though parts have been carried off and used as wood for furniture in the farm-houses. The neighbouring wood is known as Cat Copse, and a tradition has been handed down that a cat, and a boy in a red cap, escaped from the Danish ships, took refuge there.
DE FACTO AND DE JURE
I. DE FACTOThe later summer sunbeams lay on an expanse of slightly broken ground where purple and crimson heather were relieved by the golden blossoms of the dwarf gorse, interspersed with white stars of stitch-wort. Here and there, on the slopes, grew stunted oaks and hollies, whose polished leaves gleamed white with the reflection of the light; but there was not a trace of human habitation save a track, as if trodden by horses feet, clear of the furze and heath, and bordered by soft bent grass, beginning to grow brown.
Near this trackfor path it could hardly be calledstood a slender lad waiting and watching, a little round cap covering his short-cut brown hair, a crimson tunic reaching to his knee, leggings and shoes of deerhide, and a sword at his side, fastened by a belt of the like skin, guarded and clasped with silver. His features were delicate, though sunburnt, and his eyes were riveted on the distance, where the path had disappeared amid the luxuriant spires of ling.
A hunting-horn sounded, and the youth drew himself together into an attitude of eager attention; the baying of hounds and trampling of horses hoofs came nearer and nearer, and by and by there came in view the ends of boar-spears, the tall points of bows, a cluster of heads of men and horsesstrong, sturdy, shaggy, sure-footed creatures, almost ponies, but the only steeds fit to pursue the chase on this rough and encumbered ground.
Foremost rode, with ivory and gold hunting-horn slung in a rich Spanish baldrick, and a slender gilt circlet round his green hunting-cap, a stout figure, with a face tanned to a fiery colour, keen eyes of a dark auburn tint, and a shock of hair of the same deep red.
At sight of him, the lad flung himself on his knees on the path, with the cry, Haro! Haro! Justice, Sir King!
Out of my way, English hound! cried the King. This is no time for thy Haro.
Nay, but one word, good fair King! I am FrenchFrench by my fathers side! cried the lad, as there was a halt, more from the instinct of the horse than the will of the King. Bertram de Maisonforte! My father married the Lady of Boyatt, and her inheritance was confirmed to him by your father, brave King William, my Lord; but now he is dead, and his kinsman, Roger de Maisonforte, hath ousted her and me, her son and lawful heir, from house and home, and we pray for justice, Sir King?
Ha, Roger, thou there! What sayst thou to this bold beggar! shouted the Red King.
I say, returned a black, bronzed hunter, pressing to the front, that what I hold of thee, King William, on tenure of homage, and of two good horses and staunch hounds yearly, I yield to no English mongrel churl, who dares to meddle with me.
Thou hearst, lad, said Rufus, with his accustomed oath, homage hath been done to us for the land, nor may it be taken back. Out of our way, or
Sir! sir! entreated the lad, grasping the bridle, if no more might be, we would be content if Sir Roger would but leave my mother enough for her maintenance among the nuns of Romsey, and give me a horse and suit of mail to go on the Holy War with Duke Robert.
Ho! ho! a modest request for a beggarly English clown! cried the King, aiming a blow at the lad with his whip, and pushing on his horse, so as almost to throw him back on the heath. Ho! ho! fit him out for a fools errand!
Well fit him! Well teach him to take the cross at other mens expense! shouted the followers, seizing on the boy.
Nay; well bestow his cross on him for a free gift! exclaimed Roger de Maisonforte.
And Bertram, struggling desperately in vain among the band of ruffians, found his left arm bared, and two long and painful slashes, in the form of the Crusaders cross, inflicted, amid loud laughter, as the blood sprang forth.
There, Sir Crusader, said Roger, grinding his teeth over him. Go on thy way nowas a horse-boy, if so please thee, and know better than to throw thy mean false English pretension in the face of a gentle Norman.
Men, horses, dogs, all seemed to trample and scoff at Bertram as he fell back on the elastic stems of the heath and gorse, whose prickles seemed to renew the insults by scratching his face. When the Kings horn, the calls, the brutal laughter, and the baying of the dogs had begun to die away in the distance, he gathered himself together, sat up, and tried to find some means of stanching the blood. Not only was the wound in a place hard to reach, but it had been ploughed with the point of a boar-spear, and was grievously torn. He could do nothing with it, and, as he perceived, he had further been robbed of his sword, his last possession, his fathers sword.
The large tears of mingled rage, grief, and pain might well spring from the poor boys eyes in his utter loneliness, as he clenched his hand with powerless wrath, and regained his feet, to retrace, as best he might, his way to where his widowed mother had found a temporary shelter in a small religious house.
The sun grew hotter and hotter, Bertrams wound bled, though not profusely, the smart grew upon him, his tongue was parched with thirst, and though he kept resolutely on, his breath came panting, his head grew dizzy, his eyes dim, his feet faltered, and at last, just as he attained a wider and more trodden way, he dropped insensible by the side of the path, his dry lips trying to utter the cry, Lord, have mercy on me!
II. DE JUREWhen Bertram de Maisonforte opened his eyes again cold waters were on his face, wine was moistening his lips, the burning of his wound was assuaged by cooling oil, while a bandage was being applied, and he was supported on a breast and in arms, clad indeed in a hauberk, but as tenderly kind as the full deep voice that spoke in English, He comes round. How now, my child?
Father, murmured Bertram, with dreamy senses.
Better now; another sup from the flask, David, again said the kind voice, and looking up, he became aware of the beautiful benignant face, deep blue eyes, and long light locks of the man in early middle age who had laid him on his knee, while a priest was binding his arm, and a fair and graceful boy, a little younger than himself, was standing by with the flask of wine in his hand, and a face of such girlish beauty that as he knelt to hold the wine to his lips, Bertram asked
Am I among the Angels?
Not yet, said the elder man. Art thou near thine home?
Alack! I have no home, kind sir, said Bertram, now able to raise himself and to perceive that he was in the midst of a small hand of armed men, such as every knight or noble necessarily carried about with him for protection. There was a standard with a dragon, and their leader himself was armed, all save his head, and, as Bertram saw, was a man of massive strength, noble stature, and kingly appearance.
What shall we do for thee? he asked. Who hath put thee in this evil case?
Bertram gave his name, and at its Norman sound there was a start of repulsion from the boy. French after all! he exclaimed.
Nay, David, said the leader, if I mind me rightly, the Lady Elftrud of Boyatt wedded a brave Norman of that name. Art thou her son? I see something of her face, and thou hast an English tongue.