9. CHAPTER IX
Who set my man i' the stocks?—
I set him there, Sir but his own disorders
Deserved much less advancement.—Lear.
THE baron was inflexible in his resolution not to let Matilda leave
the castle. The letter, which announced to her the approaching fate of
young Gamwell, filled her with grief, and increased the irksomeness of a
privation which already preyed sufficiently on her spirits, and began to
undermine her health. She had no longer the consolation of the society
of her old friend father Michael: the little fat friar of Rubygill was
substituted as the castle confessor, not without some misgivings in his
ghostly bosom; but he was more allured by the sweet savour of the good
things of this world at Arlingford Castle, than deterred by his awe of
the lady Matilda, which nevertheless was so excessive, from his
recollection of the twang of the bow-string, that he never ventured to
find her in the
wrong, much less to enjoin any thing in the shape of penance, as was the
occasional practice of holy confessors, with or without cause, for the
sake of pious discipline, and what was in those days called social
order, namely, the preservation of the privileges of the few who
happened to have any, at the expense of the swinish multitude who
happened to have none, except that of working and being shot at for the
benefit of their betters, which is obviously not the meaning of social
order in our more enlightened times: let us therefore be grateful to
Providence, and sing
Te Deum laudamus in chorus with the Holy
Alliance.
The little friar, however, though he found the lady spotless, found
the butler a great sinner: at least so it was conjectured, from the
length of time he always took to confess him in the buttery.
Matilda became every day more pale and dejected: her spirit, which
could have contended against any strenuous affliction, pined in the
monotonous inaction to which she was condemned. While she could freely
range the forest with her lover in the morning, she had been content to
return to her father's castle in the evening, thus preserving underanged
the balance of her duties, habits, and affections; not without a hope
that the repeal of her lover's outlawry
might be eventually obtained, by a judicious distribution of some of his
forest spoils among the holy fathers and saints that-were-to-be,—pious
proficients in the ecclesiastic art equestrian, who rode the conscience
of King Henry with double-curb bridles, and kept it well in hand when it
showed mettle and seemed inclined to rear and plunge. But the affair at
Gamwell feast threw many additional difficulties in the way of the
accomplishment of this hope; and very shortly afterwards King Henry the
Second went to make up in the next world his quarrel with
Thomas-à-Becket; and Richard Cœur de Lion made all England
resound with preparations for the crusade, to the great delight of many
zealous adventurers, who eagerly flocked under his banner in the hope of
enriching themselves with Saracen spoil, which they called fighting the
battles of God. Richard, who was not remarkably scrupulous in his
financial operations, was not likely to overlook the lands and castle of
Locksley, which he appropriated immediately to his own purposes, and
sold to the highest bidder. Now, as the repeal of the outlawry would
involve the restitution of the estates to the rightful owner, it was
obvious that it could never be expected from that most legitimate and
most Christian king, Richard the
First of England, the arch-crusader and anti-jacobin by excellence,—the
very type, flower, cream, pink, symbol, and mirror of all the Holy
Alliances that have ever existed on earth, excepting that he seasoned
his superstition and love of conquest with a certain condiment of
romantic generosity and chivalrous self-devotion, with which his
imitators in all other points have found it convenient to dispense. To
give freely to one man what he had taken forcibly from another, was
generosity of which he was very capable; but to restore what he had
taken to the man from whom he had taken it, was something that wore too
much of the cool physiognomy of justice to be easily reconcileable to
his kingly feelings. He had, besides, not only sent all King Henry's
saints about their business, or rather about their no-business—their
fainèantise—but he had laid them under rigorous
contribution for the purposes of his holy war; and having made them
refund to the piety of the successor what they had extracted from the
piety of the precursor, he compelled them, in addition, to give him
their blessing for nothing. Matilda, therefore, from all these
circumstances, felt little hope that her lover would be any thing but an
outlaw for life.
The departure of King Richard from
England was succeeded by the episcopal regency of the bishops of Ely and
Durham. Longchamp, bishop of Ely, proceeded to show his sense of
Christian fellowship by arresting his brother bishop, and despoiling him
of his share in the government; and to set forth his humility and
loving-kindness in a retinue of nobles and knights who consumed in one
night's entertainment some five years' revenue of their entertainer, and
in a guard of fifteen hundred foreign soldiers, whom he considered
indispensable to the exercise of a vigour beyond the law in maintaining
wholesome discipline over the refractory English. The ignorant
impatience of the swinish multitude with these fruits of good living,
brought forth by one of the meek who had inherited the earth, displayed
itself in a general ferment, of which Prince John took advantage to make
the experiment of getting possession of his brother's crown in his
absence. He began by calling at Reading a council of barons, whose
aspect induced the holy bishop to disguise himself (some say as an old
woman, which, in the twelfth century, perhaps might have been a disguise
for a bishop), and make his escape beyond sea. Prince John followed up
his advantage by obtaining possession of several strong posts, and among
others of the castle of Nottingham.
While John was conducting his operations at Nottingham, he rode at
times past the castle of Arlingford. He stopped on one occasion to claim
Lord Fitzwater's hospitality, and made most princely havoc among his
venison and brawn. Now it is a matter of record among divers great
historians and learned clerks, that he was then and there grievously
smitten by the charms of the lovely Matilda, and that a few days after
he despatched his travelling minstrel, or laureate, Harpiton,
3 (whom he retained at moderate wages, to keep
a journal of his proceedings, and prove them all just and legitimate),
to the castle of Arlingford, to make proposals to the lady. This
Harpiton was a very useful person. He was always ready, not only to
maintain the cause of his master with his pen, and to sing his eulogies
to his harp, but to undertake at a moment's notice any kind of courtly
employment, called dirty work by the profane, which the blessings of
civil government, namely, his master's pleasure, and the interests of
social order, namely, his own emolument, might require. In short,
Il eût l'emploi qui certes n'est pas
mince,
Et qu'à la cour, où tout se peint en
beau,
On appelloit être l'ami du
prince;
Mais qu'à la ville, et surtout en
province,
Les gens grossiers ont nommé
maquereau.
Prince John was of opinion that the love of a prince actual and king
expectant, was in itself a sufficient honour to the daughter of a simple
baron, and that the right divine or royalty would make it sufficiently
holy without the rite divine of the church. He was, therefore,
graciously pleased to fall into an exceeding passion, when his
confidential messenger returned from his embassy in piteous plight,
having been, by the baron's order, first tossed in a blanket and set in
the stocks to cool, and afterwards ducked in the moat and set again in
the stocks to dry. John swore to revenge horribly this flagrant outrage
on royal prerogative, and to obtain possession of the lady by force of
arms; and accordingly collected a body of troops, and marched upon
Arlingford castle. A letter, conveyed as before on the point of a blunt
arrow, announced his approach to Matilda: and lord Fitzwater had just
time to assemble his retainers, collect a hasty supply of provision,
raise the draw-bridge, and drop the portcullis, when the castle was
surrounded by the enemy. The little fat friar, who during the confusion
was asleep in the buttery, found himself, on awaking, inclosed in the
besieged castle, and dolefully bewailed his evil chance.