The Knight's Ransom ... With original illustrations

Front matter

THE KNIGHT'S RANSOM. Sir Gerald repulsed by the Lady Cicely. p. 313 Front. THE Knights Ransom By L. VALENTINE, EDITOR OF THE 'HOME BOOK.' ' Seest thou yon grey gleaming half, Where the deep elm shadows fall? Voices that have left the earth Long ago, Still are murmuring from its hearth Soft and low.' Mrs. Hemans. OTtttf) Œristnal illustrations. LONDON; Frederick Warne and Co. BEDFORD STREET, COVENT GARDEN. New York: SCRIBNER, WELFORD, AND CO, 1870. Publisher's Preface. This tale was originally published under the title of ' The Ransom.' Some years having elapsed since it appeared, and many inquiries having been made for it in a popular form, it has been thoroughly revised, much of it re-written ; and it is hoped that its appearance in ' Warne's Household Novels ' will meet with the appro bation of the reading community. r?^2yyy5Fb Contents.

CHAPTER pAGE I. An Old English Home r II. Constance de Lingard ..... 9 III. A False Friend . . . . . .16 IV. A Disappearance . . ... 30 V. The Unseen Witness . . . . . -44 VI. The Scroll . . . . . , . 54 VII. The Oxford Murder 60 VIII. A Street Adventure .... 72 IX. Cicely ........ 79 X. Too late . . . . . . 94 XL Alinor ........ 99 XII. The Loss of the Trenc-le-Mere . . .106 XIII. The Betrothal . . . . . . .114 XIV. In Paris 125 XV. Doubts and Fears . . . . . -139 XVI. A Royal Suitor 15! XVII. The Leper 166 XVIII. John 0' the Mill 176 XIX. The Duel in the Wood 186 XX. Bound for Palestine ..... 200 XXI. Eudocia . . . . . . . ,213 XXII. The Falcon 226 XXIII. The Sentence CONTENTS. VIII CHAPTER PAGE XXIV. An Escape 259 XXV. A Discovery 268 XXVI. The Wreck 287 XXVII. A Bridal . . 292 XXVIII. Venetian Revenge 3°° XXIX.

A Rescue 3°3 XXX. The Promise fulfilled . . . ■ 318 XXXI. Unstable as Water . . " . . .321 XXXII. A Reappearance 330 XXXIII. The Lost Battle 338 XXXIV. The Ransom demanded . . . .352 XXXV. The Pilgrim . . . . . .370 XXXVI. The Message from the East . . 381 XXXVII. The Hakim 390 XXXVIII. Outlaws of the New Forest . . 398 XXXIX. The Ransom . . . . . .405 XL. Unveiled ....... 413 XLI. The Convent . . . . . .421 XLII. The Unguent ...... 444 XLIII. The Return of the Crusaders . . -455 XLIV. Repentance and Peace .... 464 f-cL^Mfe^

Chapter I. An Old English Home

HE old English manor, resting in calm antiquity beneath the shadows of its ancestral oaks, possesses a charm to which few are insensible. Its quiet dignity and homely comfort, its neighbourly union with the poor dwellings that cluster round it, its stillness and repose, the caw of its rookery, and the solemn shades of its surrounding woodlands, form a spell by which the giddy present is united to the solemn past, and something of its repose comes to soothe and still the ' vexed pulse ' of this overtasked, over busy age. Many of these homes of our forefathers possess, in their modest archives, traditions well worth preserving : stories of man's daring and woman's devotion, which would make a domestic history of England as noble and inspiring as our national record is. One of these stray leaves we purpose now to gather up and tell its story, that maidens of the nineteenth S/ century may see of what deeds the women of England were then capable.

In the thirtieth year of the reign of King Henry III. might be seen, where Leighton Manor now stands, a castellated and strongly defended dwelling ; of no great age, for it had been erected since the jealous restrictions placed upon the erection of castles or domestic fortresses had led to the embattled and moated house as their substitute. Leighton Manor was a quad rangular building, with gables and a single tower at one of the angles. A moat surrounded it ; but it was not otherwise fortified. Here dwelt a country knight, by name Grimbald Pauncefort. He was of Norman descent, though the lands he held had become his by his marriage with a Saxon heiress. His family consisted of two sons and of an adopted daughter, the orphan of a dear brother-at-arms of Sir Grimbald, who, dying in poverty, to which he had been reduced in the evil days of the tyrant John, committed his portionless babe to the care of his brother soldier.

The trust was frankly undertaken and faithfully fulfilled. ' She shall be to me as a daughter and hereafter wed my heir,' was the prompt assurance that had robbed death of its terrors for the father. The look of the dying man, full of confidence and gratitude, which repaid his promise, never was effaced from Sir Grimbald's memory. Constance de Lingard was a fair, meek child, timid and silent ; for indistinct images of suffering that had passed before her infant gaze haunted her young imagination, and all the love and care of her adopted parents, and the joyous companionship of their boys, failed to remove the dark shade of sorrow which had obscured her infancy. She shrank from the boisterous playfulness of the heir, who was her destined betrothed, and sought AN OLD ENGLISH HOME. 3 rather the society of his younger and gentler brother, who, being intended for the military priesthood of the Temple, received clerkly training from the confessor, Father Dennis, in his own home, till he should be old enough to be sent to one of the preceptories of the Order.

The elder son, Edward, was only an occasional visitor to his family, being, according to the fashions of the age, first a page and next a squire in the family of a great noble — that of the Baron Fitzwalter — where he served the apprenticeship of chivalry. Gerald, the younger brother, having no other companion, made little Constance a sharer both in his pastimes and his studies. He had become her tutor in sport ; and her rapid pro gress so interested the learned Franciscan who taught the boy, that he vouchsafed a share of his instructions to the young girl also, and gave her an education rarely bestowed on her sex in that age. Sharing their beloved studies and their sylvan sports together, the young pair grew up together, as happy as the birds and butterflies of their native woodlands, till the time came for that first parting, which is, perhaps, saddest of all for the girlhood of a family — when they who have dwelt beneath the same roof, and shared all the joys and transient griefs of childhood, are separated for the first time — when the sister sees the brother of her love go forth to dwell amongst strangers, to return henceforth only as a passing guest from the chill atmosphere of that world out of which none ever came unchanged.

Gerald departed to enter on his noviciate at the Preceptory of the Temple in London. He grieved at bidding farewell to his gentle pupil, whom he loved with the affection of a brother; but his grief did not equal hers. He was going to embrace a 1 — high and a holy destiny— to join the band of champions who were the defence and boast of Christendom, and imagination and enthusiasm conspired to throw a halo over the future, the radiance of which lighted the darkened present. In scenes of novelty, in the companionship of the young men amongst whom he soon found himself, Gerald had little time to think of the old Manor, of its merry greenwood, of the gentle mother, and the fair girl who had for years been the sharer of his thoughts. Yet he loved them truly, and was of a kind and gentle nature ; but as a swift stream bears on its ever-flowing waters no trace of that which has crossed its bosom, so in the rapid succession of passing events — in the current of the world — the images of the past are insensibly effaced from the mind, and man, its denizen, is not, like woman, the slave of memory.

For Constance the every-day events of life, the studies she loved, the change of seasons, were all full of memories of her absent companion, who thus became the engrossing in terest of the secluded little maiden's mind. But years were stealing on, and Constance was soon to be roused from her day-dreams. On a summer evening of the year 1 246, two young knights, attended by their esquires bearing their casques and shields, and by some five or six men-at-arms, turned from the great London road into the thick wood which separated it from the village of Leighton. The elder of the two was a young man of a most striking and commanding presence. He was upwards of six feet in height, but so admirably was his figure propor tioned, that he looked much shorter than he really was. His velvet hood was thrown far back, and his rich dark curls (which, when lifted by the light air, betrayed the use of an exquisite perfume) fell on his shoulders.

His mantle was richly embroi- AN OLD ENGLISH HOME. 5 dered, and by its gay colour confirmed what the admirably wrought hauberk it covered hinted, that the gallant was a courtier and something of a coxcomb. The younger horseman was shorter and stouter than his comrade, fresh coloured, and be traying, by his auburn hair and quick blue eye, a Saxon affinity. If his features were inferior to the tall knight's — who was indeed greatly gifted by Nature — they were far more pleasing to a physiognomist, being animated by an expression of frank good humour and honesty, which instantly gained him the confidence of the beholder. 'You have a fair inheritance, Edward,' said the tall knight, as they entered the wood. ' I would willingly exchange with you, and resign the distinguished honour (as he deems it) of being nephew to the powerful Baron Fitzwalter, to possess it.' Sir Edward Pauncefort cast a glance of gratified pride on the scene before them as he answered, ' Nay, envy not a poor country knight, doomed to pass his inglorious days, in these times of peace, in hunting, hawking, eating, sleeping, and exercising justice on rustics as stupid as their own flocks and herds ; whilst your fate is cast in a Court, where your occupations will be tilting and running at the ring, singing Provencal chansons, and wooing the fair dames who contend for the notice of the spoiled child of fortune.' 'Ay, but of these delights I am weary, Sir Knight of the Woods and Fields !

The sweet fresh breezes of the country are worth all the perfumes of the south, and the smile of a gentle maiden unversed in the arts of our Court dames is to be preferred to all the practised glances and studied graces of the fair frequenters of tournaments and revels.' ' A new whim,' said Pauncefort, smiling, ' and not likely to be of any duration. How long would the ambitious Fitzwalter, the fastidious, refined knight, the unrivalled squire of dames, be content to dwell an exile from the world in which he has hitherto delighted?' ' Till winter should have stripped these magnificent trees, and clothed the greensward in snow, perhaps,' was the laughing reply; 'and till my rural damsel's fingers and pretty nose should be redder than might be deemed becoming or attractive. Such a scene as this, nevertheless, may excuse a man for taking to the greenwood, and give a charm to the honourable profession of thief and deer-stealer, Edward.' They were nearly in the middle of the wood now, and its picturesque beauty well merited the admiration the knight ex pressed.

The road was bordered on each side by stately oaks, which extended their leafy arms over the pathway; and by light trembling aspens and beeches of unusual size and beauty, the branches of which lay, heavy with their glittering and luxuriant foliage, upon the earth which they had robbed of its grassy covering. And all around, and between the trees, sparkled the silver star of Bethlehem, mingling its white blossoms with the graceful bluebell and many other wild flowers. The bright hues of sunset threw a glory over the forest trees, and, as the knights rode onwards, they yielded to the influences of the hour and scene, and were silent, listening to the murmur of the wood-pigeon, the distant cawing of the rooks, and the hum of the summer insects — the only sounds, except the tramp of their own and their attendants' steeds, that broke the hush of departing day.

The road at length grew wider, and a thin spiral line of smoke ascending from amongst the trees announced the ending of the wood and the entrance to Leighton village. The first dwelling that met the eye of the traveller, on issuing from it, was a yeoman's home- AN OLD ENGLISH HOME. 7 stead and farm ; a thriving-looking possession, with byres and barns, fields and cattle, attesting the prosperity and industry of the owner. The house door was open, a spinning-wheel stood just within, and on the roots of an immense oak, which grew almost close to the threshold, lay a quantity of rushes and a half-finished basket, delicately wrought. ' This is the dwelling of our trusty yeoman, Giles Perrot,' observed the heir of Leighton, reining in his horse ; ' do you remember him, Fitzwalter?' ' To be sure I do.

He was my instructor in the art of angling when I was last at Leighton. Many an hour, when he could afford the time, did we spend beside the Ouzel together. I marvel at my extraordinary patience in those days ! What has become of his son, your foster-brother, who was our willing assistant in all our mad pranks?' ' Dead ; and the youngest and only surviving son is an idiot. But I must give my good foster-mother a passing greeting, or she will never forgive me.' And he called loudly on the name of Maud Perrot. A slight bustle was heard within, a rustic damsel looked from an open window, and, uttering an exclamation of surprise and joy, as instantly withdrew her head, and ran to summon her mistress. In a few moments a girl of about nineteen or twenty years of age came out, and with low obei sance, glad smiles, and shy blushes, welcomed her lord's son to his home.

Her mother, she said, ' was gone to the Hall with Giles, to carry a basket of his own making to the lady, full of their fairest flowers ; for it was Lady Constance's birthday, and the poor boy ' — her eyes glistened as she named him — ' had been thinking day and night for weeks of the little offering he wished to make her : she was so good and kind to him. Her mother would be vexed that she was not at home when Sir Edward did them the honour of calling at their house; but would he please to take any refreshment there ?' ' We shall sup at the Manor, I thank you, pretty Alinor,' said Pauncefort, kindly. 'Commend me to your good father; per haps I shall see Maud at the Hall. Alinor has outgrown your recollection, Edmund, has she not?' 'She has in truth,' replied Fitzwalter; 'but though I might forget the little damsel of other days, I shall not fail to remember the fairest forest flower I have ever gazed on.' The girl coloured deeply, and her eyes bashfully sought the ground, as the knight fixed his bold gaze on her face. 'Go to thy household duty, Alinor,' said Pauncefort, 'and heed not the flattering words of knights and courtiers, which mean nothing.' Nodding kindly to her, he rode on, accompanied by Fitzwalter, whose backward gaze discerned the pretty villager still on the same spot, looking after them, though the moment she saw herself observed she withdrew into the farm.

Edmund Fitzwalter had a keen perception and strong taste for the beautiful, which had been fully gratified in his brief progress through his friend's inheritance, for the rare loveliness of the yeoman's daughter was worthy of the scene of sylvan beauty in which he had beheld her. The form of rounded symmetry, the eyes and hair of the colour of the hazel nut, the dark but glowing complexion, and dazzling teeth of the rustic beauty, were all by turns the subject of the warm encomiums he uttered to his somewhat absent companion as they proceeded. Edward scarcely heard, and did not heed him, for those sweet and sacred emotions which fill the heart on approaching the place of one's birth after a long absence were awakened by his near approach to the home of his fathers. And now they had entered the village, and serf and freeman, young and old, came forth to LLNGARD. 9 hail with their glad shouts of welcome the heir of Leighton, the son of him who ruled them more as a father than a feudal lord.

Sir Edward had kind words of greeting and remembrance for all; his followers had their share in the welcome; and, escorted by a large party of retainers, the travellers passed the park gates, and reached the drawbridge of the ancient Hall, where the parents waited to embrace their first-born.

Chapter II. Constance De Lingard

'Tis pity love should be so contrary. SHAKSrEARE. THE Norman possessors of Leighton had, as we have said, replaced the low rambling dwelling of their Saxon prede cessors with a tall, castellated manor-house, which had been enlarged and improved by the present knight; he had also employed the skill and taste of the carvers in wood and stone, whose genius was at that time fostered by royal patronage, for the adornment of the noble hall in which he and his wife now waited to receive their son and his guest. The sun's rays were still sufficiently powerful to force their way through the narrow arched windows above the great doorway, and their crimson hue rested on the elaborate carving, or flickered on the polished armour and sylvan trophies which decorated the walls, giving a faint glow also to the somewhat pale cheeks of the Lady Pauncefort Her husband stood near her, eagerly talking to a grave and venerable-looking priest immediately behind her seat.

Sir Grimbald Pauncefort was a tall, powerful man, between fifty and sixty years of age, comely rather than handsome, with the same open, benevolent expression of countenance observable in his son, and possessing a certain frank bluntness of manner, which indicated a long absence from the Court, in which the re finement of foreign manners was already greatly softening the habits and bearing of the English chivalry. ' It is mere folly and perverseness of Constance to refuse to come down and welcome Edward here,' he said, impatiently, after a moment's pause. ' What can make her indisposed, as her damsel says she is ? She was well enough this morning. It is nought but foolish caprice, and you do not wisely in permitting it, lady.' ' Nay, but you forget, Sir Grimbald,' was the calm reply, ' that Constance learned of her betrothal to Edward only to-day.

Such intelligence may well agitate one so gentle and so sensitive.' ' Learned it for the first time to-day !' exclaimed the knight. ' Did she not come beneath my roof as his affianced bride ?' ' Ay, but she knew it not. She was too young to have under stood or remembered what she then heard. Trust me, Edward will prize her the more for her timid modesty.' ' Methinks he would better have liked her to give him a frank welcome ; but be it as thou wilt, my Edith : I presume not to be so good a judge of maidenly decorum as thou art.' LINGARD. 11 The blast of a horn and the lowering of the drawbridge interrupted their further discourse, and the knight stepped eagerly forward as the great doors were thrown open, and young Pauncefort and his knightly comrade were ushered into the hall. The lady rose from her seat, and passed hastily down the apartment, and whilst she gave a mother's welcome to her first born son, the father turned from him to proffer a warm greeting to their guest. ' It rejoices me, young sir,' he said, as he released his visitor's hand from his cordial grasp, — ' it rejoices me to behold the kins man of my good Lord Fitzwalter once more beneath my roof.

But you have outgrown all recollection. You were no higher than my lady's page yonder when first we welcomed you to Leighton, and now you have at least two inches the advantage of myself in height. Should you have recognized Sir Edmund Fitzwalter, had you met him elsewhere, Edith?' ' Methinks I should have had some recollection of his fea tures,' said the lady, smiling : ' he has the lip and eye of a Fitzwalter; but time has been as prodigal of its favours to him as it has been unkind to ourselves, Grimbald.' 'Say not so, I pray you, lady,' answered Fitzwalter, eagerly; ' time hath cast no shadow on your fair face since it won my childish admiration by its sweet, kind smile. I should have recognized you immediately.' ' You flatter bravely, Edmund,' said the Knight of Leighton, with one of his joyous laughs ; ' if you lavish such honied com pliments on our country ladies, you will win all their hearts : and we have a bevy of fair dames coming to-morrow, with their lords, sires, and other kinsmen, to try the hospitality of Leighton.

But let us to a more private chamber till these knaves, who stand gazing and grinning a welcome to you both, get us some supper. You must be weary of your long fast, if you have had no food since dinner.' As the knight ushered his guest to the inner apartment, making many courteous inquiries as to the well-being of his uncle the Baron, and of his own old friends of former years who were residing in London or about the Court, the lady lingered behind them, and, taking her son's hand, gazed long and fondly in his face. ' How much you are grown, my Edward,' she said, ' and how sun-burned you are ! You are more like your father when I first remember him than you ever were. And you are come now to dwell altogether with us, my son?' ' For a time, dear mother,' he replied, with a smile of answer ing affection ; ' for a long time, I may say in truth, since King Henry has no need of our almost useless swords.

But where tarries Constance? Why is she not here to greet me?' ' She is not well. — Nay, do not look alarmed, Edward ; it is a mere trifling indisposition.' ' Mother,' said the young heir, ' tell me, I beseech you, does Constance know she is destined to be my wife ? Is she willing to listen to my suit?' ' She learned your father's will this morning, and it has agitated her a little ; you know how timid she has ever been.' 'Does it grieve her?' exclaimed Pauncefort, impetuously. 'Does she dread me — hate me?' ' Hate you, Edward !' replied the lady, looking proudly in his face ; ' who could hate you ? And why should you suspect our gentle Constance of such an unchristian feeling ? No ; believe me, she is perfectly happy in her dutiful obedience to our will.' ' Thank Heaven for it !' ejaculated the young man, earnestly.

LLNGARD. 13 'I should have been miserable had it been otherwise. When shall I see her?' 'At supper. Now let us join your guest, or he may deem us lacking in 'courtesy.' ' The heart knoweth its own bitterness,' saith Divine Wisdom, 'and a stranger doth not intermeddle with its joy;' a deep se cret are its most cherished thoughts and feelings, even to the dwellers beneath the same roof, to the daily, hourly companions of our life. Even womanly sympathy and penetration cannot always perceive the many hidden springs of joy or sorrow that dwell in its depths. The Lady Edith had naturally mis interpreted the emotion of her adopted daughter, when Con stance, with tears, requested to be allowed a few hours of solitary reflection after learning her guardian's will, and, misled by her own secret wishes and her maternal love, she uninten tionally deceived her son.

For, in her lonely turret chamber, Constance de Lingard listened to the distant shouts that hailed the arrival of the heir of Leighton with anguish ; and when the sound of the descending drawbridge announced that he was admitted within the home of his fathers, and that a short interval of time must bring him to her presence, she sank before the crucifix in earnest prayer, — prayer for strength under her appointed trial, — prayer that the sin of her heart might be for given her ; for a deep sin it was in the pure eyes of the Catholic Constance that she had dared to love a destined servant of the altar — that, unwooed, she had bestowed her heart where such a gift was sacrilege. Bitter were the feelings of the affianced bride during that brief time of supplication and suffering. No trial of her after life ever equalled that sorrow.

But she had sought strength where it is ever to be found; and when the summons to the evening meal obliged her to leave her chamber THE KNLGHTS RANSOM. 14 and join the guests, she had regained her usual calm gentleness of demeanour, and entered the hall with an expression of so angelic a character in her fair face, and a humility so touching and unconscious in her manner, that Edward Pauncefort, struck by the new and inexplicable charm, wondered that he had not before perceived the perfection of her loveliness ; and the Knight of Baynard's Castle secretly acknowledged that the young lady of Leighton had no equal, in her own peculiar style of beauty, in the fair train of the Queen of England. Con stance spoke little during supper, though she listened with pleased attention to Fitzwalter's news of the Court and of the city, and received his studied compliments and graceful flat teries with quiet courtesy.

He had begun to think that nothing could animate the lovely statue, when a sudden remark from the old knight brought a deep glow to her pale cheeks and a sudden light to her soft blue eyes. 'Thou hast never yet asked after thy playfellow of former years, Constance,' he said, ' and Edward has seen Gerald lately.' ' He is well, I hope ?' asked the maiden, timidly, and without raising her eyes to her betrothed's face as she spoke. ' Quite well ; and commended him to your kind remembrance, sweet Constance. He met with an untoward accident, though, some time past. His horse threw him near the Franciscan monastery in Newgate Street, and, but for the care of one of the holy brotherhood, the Temple had lost a lance. Nay, look not so alarmed, dear lady ; he is quite recovered.' ' And is devoted to the society of his leech,' added Fitzwalter, with a scornful smile, ' who is the pupil and friend of the re nowned Franciscan — half monk, half sorcerer — residing at Oxford.

I hope they will not make your old companion a dealer, like themselves, in the black art, lady.' LINGARD. 15 Constance smiled ; but the Lady Pauncefort exclaimed, ' The saints forbid ! Gerald was ever too fond of strange wild studies, and it is an awful thing to aspire to more know ledge than has been vouchsafed to us. Dost hear our guest's tidings, Father Dennis?' ' Be not alarmed, my daughter,' said the priest, calmly ; ' Friar John, of London, is a right holy and learned son of the Church, and will rather benefit my dear pupil by his admonitions than harm him by counselling unholy studies. I heard from your son whilst under the good father's care, lady ; but I deemed it useless to alarm you with the tidings of a past danger.' ' The priest is of your order, holy father,' said Fitzwalter, ' and, it may be, your friend ; but you cannot deny that both he and his friend Friar Roger of Oxford, prosecute studies beyond the usual routine of the schools, and scarcely befitting their sacred calling.

They tell wild stories in the good city of Oxford of the magic art of Friar Roger Bacon.' 'Mere inventions of the ignorant populace,' answered the priest : ' he is a wonderful and profound scholar, and his acquire ments, and even his virtues, create him enemies ; for who, Sir Knight, can surpass his fellows in this evil world, and not incur the malignity of envy ?' ' The good father is right,' said the old Knight of Leighton. ' I know it full well ; for never yet did I win prize at tilt or tournay without finding my friends look the cooler on me for it. And, in truth, I too love my friend the better when I feel he is but my equal, or, it may be, my inferior.' ' A frank confession,' said the friar, smiling, ' and true to our fallen and evil nature.' ' We will hope,' said the host, ' that our Gerald will be safe from the snares of the Evil One under the banner of Beauseant.