Sir Geoffrey de Skeffington; or, a Romance of the Crusades

Front matter

a OR a IRomance of tbe Crusafces BY B. W. WARD, M.A. (Dublin) LONDON DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS 18 BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C. DEDICATORY EPISTLE To William Unwin Hkygate, of Roecliffe Hall, Leicestershire, Esquire, J.P., etc., etc. Sir, In these days oftentimes of thoughtless hurry, excitement and regard only for the things of the passing moment, the noble deeds of Englishmen in the generations that are gone, if remembered at all, are apt to be held in small esteem, being more often than not scoffed at as mere " ancient history," whilst it is too often forgotten that the circumstances of the present spring from the actions, whether good or bad, of those who, having acted their part on this world's stage, have left it, better or worse, according as they have done either their best for the welfare of their fellow-men or have led ignoble and selfish lives.

Whilst a romance founded ou historical facts may illustrate in glowing colours many a stirring incident in the lives of those who in ages long gone by have helped to make England great, and to raise her name high amongst the nations of the earth, it may also serve to remind us that there is something far nobler to aim at than mere material prosperity — which is, a sturdy performance of duty in the sight of God without regard to the favour of man. It has been the endeavour of the Author in the following pages — conscious though he is of his own shortcomings — to narrate some of the valorous deeds of a bold Crusader, in an age when to fight for the Redemption of the Holy Sepulchre was regarded as a thing not only highly meritorious in itself, but which shed a glamour of romance over the imaginations of multitudes of stalwart Englishmen Sir, the Author considers himself singularly fortunate in being allowed to dedicate the work to one held in such high repute and so justly honoured in so many walks of life as yourself.

As former Member of Parliament for Stamford, and later for the great and increasing Borough of Leicester, whilst afterwards you sat as Knight of the Shire for your native County, your voice in the House of Commons was ever raised in furtherance of those Dedicatory Epistle VI high and noble principles both in Church and State which count less numbers of your fellow-countrymen hold dear. Our National Church, too, owes much to your timely help and freely given advice, whilst the restored condition of the historical Cathedral of the Diocese, besides that of many another more lowly fane, testifies to your anxiety to promote all that is great and good in the land. In important commercial undertakings your position as a Director of the Midland Railway, and as Chairman of an enter prising and highly successful Banking Company is evidence enough, if any were wanting, of the great value set on your clear judgment and keen insight in all matters relating to the general business of the country, by your colleagues and the community at large.

Chapter I The Woodland Dell

On a gently sloping hill, or rather, strictly speaking, on the top thereof, surrounded on nearly every side by dense woodlands, chiefly of oak and ash trees of enormous size, under the shadow of which swine fed and herds of half wild cattle grazed, stood the Abbey of Osulveston, or Owston, dedicated to Our Lady and St Andrew. Founded a few years before the opening of this story it had already attained a high reputation amongst the religious houses of the period for the sanctity of its inmates no less than for the beauty and attractiveness of its general surroundings. But small, indeed, now are the remains of the grand old abbey church, whose massive towers and chaste pin nacles filled in bygone days the eye of the beholder with wonder and with awe. A mere wreck, like many an other, up and down the broad shires of old England, is all there is now left of the foundation of Robert Grim bald, a baron of Norman race, who, something like a hundred years after the wrong and robbery wrought under the guise of law and order by the tyrant William, gave great part of his lands, wrung from their rightful Saxon owner, to endow this fair abbey.

Perhaps the said Robert was uneasy in his conscience ; it may be, the ghost of Turchel, the dispossessed holder, haunted him in his dreams, giving him but little rest until he had parted with something like three thousand acres of fair wood, meadow A and arable land, to keep a score or two of good fat monks, who did not exactly go about in sackcloth or ashes. To fast on the best of fresh-water fish on high days and festivals was no great hardship to the good fathers, who at other times could always count on sirloins of beef, or whatever the name then was, and saddles of mutton, not to speak of venison and wild fowl. But if the burly monks neglected not their own proper persons, neither did they forget the wants of their poorer neighbours, who, daily, at the great gate of the abbey, were wont to receive doles, as large as their wallets could carry, of victuals, not always broken, from the refectory.

The cellar, also, of the abbey was equally well supplied with the larder, for row after row of hogsheads, filled with nut-brown October, stood on the wide, massive thrawls, as Brother Anketin, with his nose of a goodly red, could testify if he felt so disposed, as he stood talking in front of the old cloisters to Geoffrey de SkeffingtoD, a Saxon franklin of pure and ancient lineage. Though why he stuck the Norman " de " to his name, he would himself, perhaps, have been puzzled to explain. But it was the fashion in those times, and fashion in the days of King Richard the Lion-hearted ruled as fully and absolutely as in these latter and more prosaic times. So it was that, on a lovely June morning, in the early days of the romantic Richard's reign, Geoffrey de Skeffington rode under the old abbey gateway, and was duly accosted by Brother Anketin, who, somewhat heated with the arduous labours in which he had been engaged of turning off some choice old wines from far-off Gascony and Bordeaux, came puffing up the cellar steps, which opened through strong iron-bound doors, not far from the arched cloisters, beneath which, in rainy weather, the good fathers were wont to meditate on the vanity of all worldly affairs.

As the monk glanced up and met the bright blue eye of his visitor, a broad, good-humoured smile spread itself over his honest-lookinoface for Geoffrey de Skeffington was ever a welcome visitor to the Abbey of Owston, where in his early youth he had gained whatever knowledge of letters he possessed from his good friend and tutor Peter de Bocland the wise and saintly abbot. " What, ho ! Father Anketin, art looking after the worldly welfare of thy holy brethren ? " asked Skeffington. " Even so, my sou," answered he, " for as everybody knows, fasts and vigils must have their proper observance, though they cannot be kept up without due support given to the tenements of clay." "I conceive thee, reverend father, and so it comes to pass that without kitchen and brew-house, primes and vespers could not be duly celebrated," said Geoffrey.

" Thou art right, my son," quoth Anketin, " though some of the ignorant laity do say that we, who observe the rule of St Augustine, fast and pray less often than some of the mere seculars." " Some folks talk such scandal," said Geoffrey, with a bright laugh ; " but where is my old friend the abbot ? " " Even now gone to his lodging," answered Anketin. " Thither go I then," said Skeffington, as, dismounting, he gave his horse, strong and useful, of the kind afterwards known as hackneys, into the care of a lay brother, who was known in the abbey as Odo the Silent, for he seldom spoke, not always when he was spoken to. Anketin the cellarer followed with his eye the re treating figure of Skeffington, as he disappeared from view beneath an archway of noble proportions which gave access to the abbot's lodging, standing somewhat apart from the other buildings of the abbey, then, turning, he walked with step solemn and slow, as became an important officer like the cell^rfci . to the abbey gate way, whence, shading his eyes from the sun's rays with his right hand, he gazed forth on the fair view without.

" Ay," muttered he, as he looked, " if all the folk in the world were true and fair as the scene before me, no one would ever want to leave it." It was, indeed, a lovely view, that on which the fat pursy cellarer of Owston Abbey looked forth. For miles before and beneath him lay a beautifully wooded country, with gentle undulating hills, broken here and there by rising knolls, clothed with all the greenness of summer's verdure. Many a deep dingle, with brawling rivulet or fern-clad bottom, lay between him and the more distant hills. Stretches of meadowland, with the haymakers busy gathering in the store of fodder for the coming winter, were interspersed with wide breadths of waving corn, some even now whitening, ready for the sickle. A goodly land in truth, and one for which the holy monks forgot not the memory of their worthy founder.

But the good father's meditations were here inter rupted by the reappearance of Skeffington, who, though his morning talk with the abbot could not have been long, yet was it pleasing to judge from his face, for hav ing already mounted his horse, with cheery voice he bade farewell to the burly custodian of the abbey cellar. " Whither away so fast, my son ? " asked the latter in some surprise, as the franklin, setting spurs to his stout nag, rode away from the abbey. " To the Castle of Newbold," answered he, shouting back over his shoulder. " Ah, ah ! " laughed the monk to himself, " and is it even so ? To Newbold, ah, ah ! it is not the old knight, Humphrey de Chaworth, who draws thee hither, I'll warrant me, neither is it to taste a morning draught of his good, strong ale, which, however, is somewhat too powerful for the stomachs of the laity, and should be kept for the sole use and profit for the canons regular of St Augustine.

But stay, Anketin, stay, thou hast been young thyself, though now henceforth should care for nought but serving Holy Church." No thoughts of monkish rule or monkish legend, however, troubled the bead of the young franklin, as he galloped away from the abbey, though, for some reason best known to himself, instead of taking the straight road to the Castle of Newbold Sauvey, when out of sight of the abbey he pulled up his horse to a walk, going at a gentle pace down the slope of one of the wooded gorges or dingles above mentioned, and keeping steadily on he stopped at the overhanging archway, formed by some gigantic elms. In front rose a high, precipitous rock, in many parts overgrown with moss or lichen, in others showing the beautiful grey tints formed by many a winter's storm and rain. Around, on nearly every side, grew primæval oaks, whose boughs, thrown out from hoary stems, spread for many a yard around, and from which in due season dropped the thousands of acorns on which the abbot's swine grew fat, for several herds of these latter were kept on little else for many months of the year than what they found for themselves in the neighbouring forests.

The spot was truly one of surpassing beauty, for the sun's rays, fierce enough in the open ground, were here tempered and shaded, in fact, almost hidden from view by the grand leafy foliage overhead. The Saxon franklin halted beneath the shade, as he looked round before dismounting. His horse seemed to know the place as well as his master, as well he might, for had he not been there many a time before ? Though scarcely past the age of manhood the franklin might have been taken by a close observer to have been three or four and twenty, so well set and manly was his frame. A little above the middle height, as he stood beside his horse, straight as a reed, deep chested, but with shoulders not too broad, he looked fit either to undergo fatigue, or to fight in the foremost ranks where the battle raged the hottest.

Dressed in a fashion belonging rather to a past generation than the present, he carried no arms, save a short sword hanging at his side. His legs were encased in hosen twisted round and about up to the knee in the old Saxon manner. A tight-fitting jerkin, secured by a broad leathern belt around his middle, and a plain-looking cap on his close-cropped head, for he had discarded the rather cumbrous and inconvenient manner of wear ing his hair long, completed his attire. Further up the wooded dingle or valley a path, almost invisible from the spot where the Saxon franklin stood beside his nag, in a listening attitude almost betokening impatience, led by many a pleasant winding away up the side of the hill, as though pointing to the Castle of New bold Sauvey. Looking up the path as far as he could for trees and great masses of undergrowth of various kinds, there bounded across his rather limited view a noble, many-antlered stag.

Had he but been in hunting trim, with hounds and horses ready, dearly would he have loved to have cried " Tally-ho " and joined in the heart-stirring chase, that is, if the season had come, which it had not. But other thoughts, some gayer, some quite otherwise, occupied his mind this bright summer morning as he stood waiting for the coming of his " fayre ladye," Beatrice de Chaworth. It seemed quite evident that this was not the first time by many a one that these two youthful lovers had met in this beautiful sequestered spot. How his wide brow, a trifle overclouded before, cleared at once, while his eye lightened up with pleasure as his ear caught the rustle as of someone approaching the spot where he stood. His heart bounded with hope, nor was he deceived, as forth from the hitherto covering under wood, a lady, young and handsome, appeared in the opening.

It was t-ei for whom he waited. With merely a saucy nod as she came up to him she said, — " I was in two minds about coming here to-day, for the sun is hot, although cooler in the shade, and I had plenty to keep me at home. You ought to feel very grateful if you do not, but I question whether you do. I think I shall stay away for a time, and then see if you will come to the castle as often as you used to do." " And shall again, my lovely Beatrice ; or to the end of the world after you," said the franklin. " Ah, now thou dost profess too much," said she. She looked archly at him, with black sparkling eyes that matched her hair, great masses of which were neatly coiled up at the back of her finely-formed head, being nearly the colour of the raven's wing. Her form, not over tall, was shapely, and well-developed for her age, which was about nineteen.

She was dressed be coming her rank in a robe of blue, edged round with white, fitting rather loosely to the body, but yet not so much so as to hide all the delicate lines of her finely rounded figure. At a little distance, further up the woodland path, out of earshot, if not altogether out of sight, was her attendant handmaiden, who, discreet and silent like most of her class, was often entrusted with message or love-token that passed between this faithful pair. " I have been this morning to see my old friend Peter de Bocland, at the abbey yonder, to consult with him as to a project I have long entertained, and of which he quite approves," said Skeffington. " Well, and what may this great and important matter be ? " asked Beatrice, with something of a jealous air, " for thou hast told me nought about it."

" Nay, lady, I have but lately made up my mind on the subject." " Come, don't beat about the bush any longer but tell me," said she, with a pretty, imperious air, one she well knew how to assume. " It is to follow Richard of the Lion-heart to Palestine, and to fight for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre from the Saracens," said the franklin, as his eye kindled with martial ardour at the glorious thought. The lady fairly started in surprise, for this was the very first time that such a thought as the loss of her lover — of whom she was passionately fond, with all the devotion of her true, womanly nature, although she tried hard, not without a great measure of success, to hide the real state of her feelings from him — had ever crossed her mind, even though such loss might only mean absence from his native land for no great length of time.

" What ! and leave thy Beatrice," said she, when she had at length recovered from her astonishment, as she came with a soft, clinging motion, nestling yet closer to his outstretched arms ; " to go, thou knowest not whither, for who knows aught truly of that Holy Land about which monks and Templars preach so much, urg ing men to fight for that Sepulchre, about which, I trow, they care little, so that they themselves can eat and drink of the best in their own monasteries safe in England ? " " But think of the renown in arms, the honour to be gained by fighting boldly under the splendid banner of Richard Plantagenet, the bravest king England has ever seen since Harold fell at Senlac," answered the Saxon franklin with animation, as his cheek flushed and his eye dilated at the grand vision which opened before his mind's eye.

" Ay," sighed the lady, " it was but yesternight that a wandering harper told my father sad tales of those same bold Crusaders, how that some had died miserably on a foreign shore, far away from friends and kindred, whilst others wandered homewards, many with the loss of an eye, and more still with loss of arms or legs, but all baffled in their endeavour to take the Holy City from the Saracens, who seem to be too numerous for the Christians easily to overcome." " All the more need, then," answered Skeffington, " for brave, English hearts to sally hence to help the lion hearted Richard in the unequal combat." " Nay," said Beatrice, " what difference could one more make to Richard's army ? " as she saw that, instead of dissuading her lover, she had, unhappily, only supplied him with the argument befitting a brave man and his own courageous nature.

" But think of what even one good lance or sword might achieve," said he, " though I should not go alone, for Redwald, my foster brother, is to the full as eager as I am myself to win his spurs or die with his face to the foe, fighting valiantly for the Tomb of our Lord." After a pause, during which they stood facing each other, with the fire of love glowing in the eyes of both, for Beatrice, being somewhat off her guard, seemingly cared not, for the moment, to even try to conceal the interest, at least, that she felt for her Saxon franklin. At the time when the thoughts of many a stalwart Englishman were turned to the burning sands of Syria, consumed, as it were, with an overwhelming passion to attain military glory, no mere womanly arguments seemed strong enough to thwart the purpose, or even divert the attention, from a project at once so bold and altogether so fascinating.

" Ah, I see it is useless for thy Beatrice to talk to thee any longer on this matter," said she, slightly dis engaging herself, with the shade of a frown on her beauti ful forehead, " and I have already stayed too long, and may be missed from the castle, and then it may be weeks ere we could meet again." Adding, " But I suppose it is even with thee as with others in these times. Thou must e'en change thyself from a plain Saxon franklin into a gaudy Norman knight, but thou canst never be dearer to thy Beatrice though jangling in golden spurs, with all the pomp and vainglory of knighthood, than thou art here now in the woods of Owston." "Would Beatrice have me live apart from arms unknown in the ranks of noble war? Wouldst have me stay all my life at home amongst swine-herds and churls, as stupid as they are lazy ? or fight, as my gallant fathers fought, at least for freedom, if not for glory ?

" said the franklin, with something of surprise and irrita tion in his tone. " Ah, now, in truth hast thou spoken the very words I myself would have uttered," said the Norman lady, smiling brightly; "for freedom, yes. Were England's shores invaded again by a foreign foe, even though by another Norman army, Beatrice herself would be the first to bid thee go forth to help to hurl back the hosts of the insulting enemy ; she would herself gird on thy sword and buckle on thy armour, and welcome thee home victorious from the heart-stirring strife. Then the war would be for honour and for liberty, but now it is for mere vainglory and empty pomp." " Say not so, my noble Beatrice," answered the franklin, in a tone -rather sad, but yet withal still de termined. " What you say is true enough, though not all the truth as I see it.

Is it not a meritorious action, as monks tell us, to fight to recover the tomb of the Redeemer of mankind from the foul clutches of the Saracenic hordes who now possess it ? Our heroic king, Richard, calls for help from his brave English subjects; shall we baulk him, pressed now as he is by overwhelming odds ? " "Ay, and leave the same brave English to endure all kinds of unlawful oppressions at the hands of those he has left in charge of his kingdom. Let him come home and give his lieges something of that freedom of which we hear so much, instead of going forth to slaughter the infidels," answered the lady, with a slight sneer on her well-formed lips. The franklin still hesitated ere he again spoke, im pressed with the justice and sense of the words of his betrothed, though yet with his mind made up to embark on the perilous adventure which he had long meditated.

Well would it have been for him, as for many another, if he had not only pondered over, but have been entirely guided by her, who loved him so truly, and who, with the clear head of a woman, could at once distinguish between what should without hesitation be undertaken for the sake of duty, and that which, by alluring pomp, seemed to beckon the headstrong warriors of the day to brave all sorts of hardships and dangers for the sake of gaining renown in arms and martial glory. Happy is that man who has for wife one with keen perception and shrewd intellect; happier still is he who has common sense enough to listen to the advice of her who will " do him good and not evil all the days of her life." "But bethink thee, dear Beatrice," at length spoke the franklin, "of the airs and graces which the proud Normans yet give themselves, as if they were in truth the very salt of the earth, and we Saxons were quite an inferior race.

But they have in many cases already been shown that Saxon prowess and Saxon courage are, at least, equal on the battlefield to their much-vaunted intrepidity. I have often heard my good father repeat by the hall fire at night, the story that my grandsire often told him — for he fought in the battle — of the charge of Norman chivalry at Hastings, and how, had the arrow that struck our brave King Harold flown but half a hand's breadth wider, we of the ancient English race should never have had to mourn for ages the loss of all that makes life worth the living. But God's will be done. All wre can do now is to prove that Saxon manhood and bravery stir the hearts of those, their descendants, as they stirred those of their forefathers, who fought and bled for free dom at Hastings." " I will not listen to thy abuse of the Normans," said the lady, " for, I, too, am Norman, and therefore must uphold the credit of my race.

But, after all, what is the great difference between Norman and Saxon ? Each springs from the same bold northern race. Each holds, more or less, the virtues as well as the failings of the hardy Vikings. In short, they are brothers, only from their somewhat lengthened stay in France or Normandy, the Normans have put on — shall I say it — a little more polish than their Saxon brethren; although I freely admit it is in most cases but skin deep, for what says the old proverb, 'scratch a Norman, and you will find the Dane.' " Ay," said the franklin, who had given his best attention to the words of his Beatrice; "and what if you scratch the Dane ? ' "Why then you find the Viking," answered the lady, smiling. " And if you scratch the Viking you will find the devil incarnate; for what can exceed in warlike fury one possessed with the fearful rage of the old Berserker.

But hist, what noise was that ? " asked Skeffington, hastily. "I thought there was a rustle in the green wood. Was it an eavesdropper or only thy waiting woman, impatient to be gone ? " " I heard nought," answered Beatrice, " though it is more than time for me to go." " Canst thou altogether trust the discretion and honesty of thy maid ? " asked he. " Oh, yes, Elgiva is true as steel." " And almost as sharp, judging by the form of her visage," laughed the franklin. "It's all very well to make fun, but how can the poor girl help her plain features. Perhaps some folks will laugh at you when you come back from fighting the Saracens " — for the maiden had by this time quite made up her mind that her lover meant to go to the war in the Holy Land, despite all that she could say to the contrary — " puffing and strutting in golden spurs with all the added merit of having slain a score or two of turbaned infidels," as, with becoming grace, she mimicked the style and bearing of such knights as she had seen in her father's castle, who had, or pretended they had, gained high renown in Palestine by sending to their doom some dozens of swarthy Saracens.

But hastily resuming, she cut short all further parley by bidding farewell to her lover, having seen what he from his position could not, a signal from Elgiva, who kept faithful watch and one which the lady was not slow to obey. Quickly embracing, thus they parted, expecting soon to meet again. Mounting his horse the Saxon franklin rode away through the forest, less gaily, it must be owned, than on many a former occasion, before the new-born desire of attaining martial fame in the Holy Land had taken possession of his soul. As she threaded the winding path that led through overhanging woods from the bosky dell up to her father's castle, Beatrice de Chaworth, on her part, was filled with forebodings of impending evil, though of an undefinable nature, from the effect of which she in vain tried to free herself.

"What was it that disturbed thee in thy watch, Elgiva?" at length she asked her maid, as the towers and bulwarks of Sauvey Castle loomed in the distance. " It was the monk from the abbey, I think they call Odo the Silent. I know not if he saw thee, for his head was bent towards the ground, doubtless in holy medita tion," simpered the maid, " though, to my mind, he hath more the face of a devil than a man, at least, like some of those stone figures on the west front of the abbey church." "Odo," repeated Beatrice, " and whither went he ?" " He took the path that leads to the ' Hermitage of the Woods,'" answered Elgiva, as the gentle tinkling of the chapel bell now for the first time fell on the ear, as the two emerged from the shelter of the forest into the open space, which, though broken here and there by a few solitary clumps of timber, was of such a nature that no great hostile force could approach by any means towards the castle without being observed by those on the watch.