A. D. Crake - The House of Walderne
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A. D. Crake >> The House of Walderne
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"And now, O men of the greenwood, whom I love so dearly, let me, a
child of the greenwood, speak yet a few words about myself. For I
am not only the last represent alive of the old English house of
Michelham, but also a son of the house of Walderne; Mabel, my
mother, being the sister, as many know, of the Lady Sybil. Ah,
well. I seek a more continuing city than either Walderne or
Michelham, and I want no earthly dignities. Wherever God gives me
souls to tend is my home; and He has given it me, O men of the
Andredsweald, amongst my countrymen and my kindred, and to Hubert I
leave the castle right gladly. Now let there be peace, and let men
turn their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning
hooks, and hasten the glorious day when the kingdoms of this world
shall become the kingdoms of God and His Christ."
"We will. God bless Sir Hubert of Walderne."
"God bless brother Martin."
Drogo was forgotten, as though he had never lived, forgiven and
forgotten. And the multitude dispersed, each man to his own home or
haunt in the forest, leaving Sir Hubert in possession of the castle
of his ancestors, and Martin his guest.
______________________________________________________________
Martin's first wish after his release was, as our readers will
imagine, to visit his mother, and assure her of his safety in
person. Kynewulf was in waiting to escort him. He had caused a
litter to be constructed of the branches of trees, knowing that the
severe strain Martin had undergone must have rendered him too weak
for so long a journey; and the "merrie men" were only too eager to
relieve each other in bearing so precious a burden.
"You will find our chieftain very far from well," said Kynewulf, as
he walked by Martin's side. "He was wounded by one of the arrows
from the castle when we came to demand your liberation of Drogo,
and the wound has taken a bad turn."
"How does my poor mother bear it?"
"Like a true wife and good Englishwoman."
No more was said. Martin lapsed into deep thought until the retreat
of the outlaws was attained. There, on a couch strewn with skins
and soft herbage, lay the redoubtable Grimbeard; and by his side,
nursing him tenderly, Mabel of Walderne. But for this she had been
with Martin's rescuers at the castle, but she could not leave her
dying lord, who clung fondly to her now, and would take food from
no other hand.
The wound he had received had been thought slight, and neglected.
Hence it had become serious, and since Kynewulf departed
mortification had set in.
The mother rose and embraced her "sweet son."
"Thank God!" she said, and led him to his stepfather's side.
Grimbeard raised himself with difficulty, and looked Martin in the
face.
"Martin is here," he said. "Let my dying eyes gaze upon him again.
"Martin, I have longed for thee. Tell me more about Him thou lovest
so deeply."
"My father, He is waiting to receive and to bless thee. Cast
thyself wholly on the Incarnate Love which embraced thee on the
Tree. Say, for His sake, canst thou forgive all, even these Normans
thou hast so hated?"
"Dost thou forgive the wretch who shut thee up, my gentle boy, in
that dungeon?"
"Yes, verily, and pray to God to pardon him, too."
"Then I may pardon my foes, although my life has been spent in
fighting against them for England's freedom. But I see we must
submit, as thou hast often said, to God's will; and if the past may
be forgiven, my merrie men will be well content to make peace, and
to turn their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into
pruning hooks; especially now Drogo has met his just doom, as they
tell me, and thy friend is about to rule at Walderne. Thou must be
the mediator between them and him.
"But oh! my son, it has been hard to submit to all this. All those
I loved when young carried on the fight, and my own father
bequeathed it to me as a sacred heritage. We hoped to see England
governed by Englishmen, and the alien cast out; and now I give it
up. The problem is too hard for me. God will make it clear."
"My father," said Martin, "I, too, am the descendant of a long line
of warriors, who have never before me submitted to the foreign
yoke. But I see that the two peoples are becoming one: that the
sons of the Norman learn our English tongue, and that the day is at
hand when they will be proud of the name 'Englishmen.' Norman and
Saxon all alike, one people, even as in heaven there is no
distinction of race, but all are alike before the throne."
"And now, my son, art thou not a priest yet? I would fain make
confession of my sins."
"God will accept the will for the deed. He is not limited to
earthly means; and if thou truly repent of thy sins for the love of
the Crucified, and believest in Him, all will be well."
For Martin feared that there would be no time to fetch a priest, or
he would not have questioned the universal precept of the church of
his day; while his own faith led him to see clearly that God's
mercy was not limited by the accidental omission of the outward
ordinance.
"I sent for Sir Richard {36}, the parish priest of Walderne,
ere we left the castle, and he is doubtless on his way with the
Viaticum," said Kynewulf.
And while they yet spake the priest arrived, and the dying man
received with simple faith the last sacraments of the Church. After
this his people gathered round him.
"Tell them," he said, in stammering tones, for the speech was
failing, "what I have said. With thy friend in the castle, and thou
in the greenwood, there will be peace."
Martin turned to the silent outlaws who stood by, and repeated his
words. They listened in silence. The prospect was not new to them,
for Martin's long labours had not been in vain; but while Drogo was
at Walderne, and the royal party triumphant, it seemed useless to
hope for its realisation. Now things had changed, and there was
hope that the breach would be healed.
"His last prayer was for peace," said Grimbeard. "Should not mine
be the same? Oh, God, save my country, grant it the blessing of
peace, and forgive a poor erring man, who sees, too late, that he
has been fighting against Thy dispensation, for he can now say 'Thy
will be done.'"
These were his last words, and although we have related them as if
spoken connectedly, they were really only uttered in broken gasps.
The end came; the widow turned aside from the bed after closing the
eyes.
"Martin," she said, "thou alone art left to me."
And she fell on his neck and wept.
______________________________________________________________
From the grave to the gay, from a death to a wedding, such is life.
The same bell which tolls dolorously at a burial clangs in company
with its fellows at a marriage on the next day. So the world goes
on.
The scene was the priory of Saint Pancras at Lewes, where so lately
the feeble old king had held his court. Now with his brave son he
had gone into honourable captivity, for it was little better, and
the followers of Earl Simon filled the place.
Before the high altar stood a youthful pair; Hubert of Walderne,
now to be known as Radulphus, or Ralph; and Alicia de Grey, who had
been sheltered from ill and Drogo as one of the handmaidens of the
Countess Eleanor, in keeping for her true love.
The good prior, Foville, performed the ceremony and celebrated the
mass Pro sponso et sponsa. The father, the happy and glad father,
stood by, now fully delivered from his ghostly tormentor, his
fondest wish on earth achieved. Earl Simon gave the bride away,
while Martin stood by, so happy.
It was over, and the aisle was strewn with the gay flowers of early
summer, as our Hubert and his bride left the sacred pile. But one
adieu to the father, who would not leave his monastery even then,
but who fell upon Hubert's neck and wept while he cried, "My son,
my dear son, God bless thee;" and the bridal train rode off to the
castle above, where the marriage feast was spread.
Then Earl Simon to his onerous duties, and the happy pair to keep
their honeymoon at Walderne.
Oh, the joy of that leafy month of June, in the wild woods, all
loosed from care. Hubert seemed to have found true happiness, if it
could be found on earth. And Martin, he too was happy, in his work
of love and reconciliation.
It was an oasis in life's pilgrimage, when man might well fancy he
had found an Eden upon earth again. And there we would fain leave
our two friends and cousins.
Epilogue.
A few words respecting the fate of our chief characters must close
our story. We need not tell our readers the future of the great
earl--it is written on the pages of history. But his work did not
die on the fatal field of Evesham. It lived in the royal nephew,
through whose warlike skill he was overthrown, and who speedily
arrived at the conclusion that most of the reforms of his uncle
were founded upon the eternal principles of truth and justice.
Hence that legislation which gained for Edward, the greatest of the
Plantagenets, and the first truly English king since Harold, the
title of the "English Justinian."
Hubert was not with his lord when he fell. He had been selected to
be of the household of Simon's beloved Countess Eleanor, and he was
with her at Dover when the fatal news of Evesham arrived. He could
only cry, "Would God I had died for him," while the countess
abandoned herself to her grief.
Edward soon sought a reconciliation with the countess, who, it will
be remembered, was his father's sister; which being effected, she
passed over to France with her only daughter, to join her sons
already there; and King Louis received her with great kindness,
while Hubert and his companions of her guard were received into the
favour of Edward, and exempted from the sweeping sentence of
confiscation passed in the first intoxication of triumph upon all
the adherents of the Montforts.
Brother Roger died in peace at a great age, at the Priory of Lewes,
growing in grace as he grew in years, until at last he passed away,
"awaiting," as he said, "the manifestation of the sons of God,"
amongst whom, sinner though he had been, he hoped to stand in his
lot in the latter days.
Ralph of Herstmonceux, who had been happily preserved from death at
the battle of Evesham, followed his father to Dover, where they
joined the countess in the defence of that fortress, and shared the
forgiveness extended to her followers. So completely did Edward
forgive the family, that we read in the Chronicles how King Edward,
long afterwards, honoured Herstmonceux with a royal visit on his
road to make a pious retreat at the Abbey of Battle. Ralph
succeeded his father, and we may be sure lived on good terms with
Hubert.
Hubert followed the banner of Edward Longshanks both in Wales and
Scotland ere he came home to his wife and children, satiated at
last with war, and spent the rest of his days at Walderne. He died
at a good old age, and was buried as a crusader in Lewes Priory,
with crossed legs and half-drawn sword, where his tomb could be
seen until the sacrilegious hands of the minions of Thomas Cromwell
destroyed that noble edifice.
Mabel of Walderne retired, at her son's persuasion, to a convent at
Mayfield, where she ended her days in all the "odour of sanctity,"
and Martin closed her eyes.
And lastly we have to tell of our Martin. He remained in the
Andredsweald until he had completely succeeded in reconciling the
outlaws to the authorities {37}, and he had seen them, his
"merrie men," settle down as peaceful tillers of the soil, or enter
the service of the knights and abbots as gamekeepers, woodsmen,
huntsmen, and the like; at his strong recommendation and assurance
that he would be surety for their good behaviour--an assurance they
did their best to justify.
And how shall we describe his labour of love--his work as the
bondsman of Christ? But after the death of his mother, his
superiors recalled him to Oxford, as a more important sphere, and
better suited to his talents; where the peculiar sweetness of his
disposition gave him a great influence over the younger students.
In short he became a power in the university, and died head of the
Franciscan house, loved and lamented, in full assurance of a
glorious immortality. And they put over his tomb these words:
We know that we have passed from death to life,
because we love the brethren.
--Vale Beatissime.
From the south wall of Walderne Church project or projected two
iron brackets with lances, whereon hung for many a generation the
banners of Sir Ralph (alias Hubert) and his son Laurence.
The boast of chivalry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth ere gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
THE END.
Notes.
1
Rivingtons' Historical Biographies.
2
Demonology and Witchcraft.
3
See the Andredsweald, a tale of the Norman Conquest, by the
same author.
4
He was the last lord of Pevensey of his race, all his land
and honours being forfeited in 1235 for passing over into
Normandy without King Henry the Third's license.
5
Lord of Lewes Castle from 1242-1304, a local tyrant.
6
There were then no family names, properly so called; the
English generally took one descriptive of trade or
profession, hence the multitude of Smiths; the Normans
generally then name of their estate or birthplace, with the
affix De. Knight's Pictorial History, volume 2, page 643.
7
His literary acquirements, unusual in the time, increased
his influence and reputation. Knight's Pictorial History.
8
How did I weep in Thy Hymns and Canticles, touched to the
quick by the voices of Thy sweet-attuned Church, the voices
flowed into my ears and the truth distilled into my heart.
Saint Augustine's Confessions volume 9 page 6.
9
Afterwards the site of the battle of Edgehill.
10
See his biography in Macmillan's Sunday Library.
11
Ethelflaed, Lady or Queen of the Mercians (under her brother
Edward, son of Alfred), threw up certain huge mounds and
certain stone castles, to defend her realm and serve as
refuges in troublous times. One site was Oxford, and it is
the first authentic event recorded in the history of the
city--the foundation of the university by Alfred being
abandoned by scholars, as an interpolation in Asser, the
king's biographer.
12
The Rival Heirs, or the Third Chronicle of Aescendune.
13
Because in later times some poor Jews were burnt there.
14
Like those still seen at Tewkesbury Abbey, of similar
proportions.
15
The date of the surrender was November 16, 1537. It was
granted to Thomas Cromwell, February 16, 1538. It was at
once destroyed by skilled agents of destruction, and the
materials sold. Cromwell did not enjoy it long; he perished
at Tower Hill by the axe, July 28, 1540.
16
The old hymn for Wednesday morning, according to Sarum use.
I am indebted to the Hymnary for the translation.
17
The supposed name of the penitent thief. The author is not
answerable for the non-elision of the vowel--the name is
authentic; it stood on the site of the present Oriel
College. See preface.
18
See Alfgar the Dane, chapter 24.
19
It was the Gospel for the day in Italy--not in England.
20
The Viaticum was the Last Communion, given in preparation
for death, as the provision for the way.
21
Such an arrangement was made in the Egyptian Temple at On;
at one particular moment on one day in the year, the rays
admitted through a concealed aperture gilded the shrine, and
the crowd thought it miraculous.
22
Adapted from a translation of a chorus in the Agamemnon by
my lamented friend, the late Reverend Gerard Moultrie.
23
A mere tradition of the time, not historical.
24
See the Andredsweald, by the same author.
25
This is the same spot mentioned in the Andredsweald, chapter
9 part 2, as a retreat of the English after Senlac.
26
A proclamation had just been put forth by the barons, that
all foreigners should be expelled and lose their property;
and much violence ensued throughout England, the victims
being often detected by their pronunciation, as in our
story.
27
How good to those who seek Thou art,
But what to those who find!
--Saint Bernard.
28
It was one of them who first stabbed Edward the First, when
his queen saved him by sucking the poison from the wound,
according to a Spanish historian.
29
Sixty-six pounds, 13 shillings, four pence; a large sum in
those days.
30
It was afterwards ascertained that on the very night, the
father, Roger, dreamt that he saw his son in a gloomy cell,
a slave condemned to apparently hopeless toil or death, and
addressed him as in the text.
31
Acre was stormed by the Moslems, AD 1291, and the Holy Land
was lost with it.
32
How unlike the ceremonial of Hubert's knighthood! But the
approach of a battle justified the omission of the usual
rites in the opinion of the many.
33
Witness the case of the Scotch judge--pursued under divers
forms by the supposed apparition of a man he had hanged,
until he died of fright--as recorded by Sir Walter Scott in
Demonology and Witchcraft.
34
Whom they had pelted with mud as she passed under London
Bridge, calling her a witch. Life of Simon de Montfort, page
126.
35
Old English for hence.
36
Parish priests were frequently styled Sir in those days.
Father meant a monk or regular, as opposed to the secular,
clergy.
37
His descent from noble families of either race--Michelham,
the house of Ella, through his father; Walderne, of ancient
Norman blood, through his mother, rendered him acceptable to
both parties.
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