The Rival Heirs; being the Third and Last Chronicle of Aescendune by A. D. Crake (best desktop ebook reader .txt) 📖

woods, in full view, and paused on the edge of the Swamp.

"Now they come forth to their doom. The Lord hath delivered them into our hands," said Haga.

Foremost amongst them the old man recognised his son Ordgar; his arms were bound, and a cord attached to the thongs which confined them, held by a man-at-arms.

We will transport ourselves to the other side of the Swamp.

Hugo sat there on his steed, in the full panoply of warlike pride, throbbing with the desire of vengeance, and with the hope of recovering his son--whom he was destined never to see again; for justice, although her pace may seem tardy, seldom fails to overtake evildoers, even in this world; and he who, as men thought, had slain others by fire, was destined to perish by the same avenging element.

But no shadow of coming events was there to disturb his equanimity; all seemed to promise the gratification of his fondest wishes, and he was in the highest spirits.

And now he bade them bring Ordgar forward, and the guide--his feet free, but his arms bound--stood before him.

"Thou hast said that thou knowest the road through the Swamp?"

"I do."

"Lead on, then, and beware of treachery; for if there be any doubt, even a doubt, of thy faith, thou diest."

"Fear not; my faith is pledged--it shall be kept."

Pledged, yes: but to whom?

The Normans failed to see the "double entendre" of this reply. Their claim was but the omnipotence of torture.

The thrall led the way to a spot where the earth bore marks of footsteps; here it was evident men had recently entered the maze which stretched before them.

Hugo pressed forward and took the cord himself.

"Now," he said, "Normans, follow me. Lead on, thrall; remember thy farm at Aescendune, and thy forfeit life."

Onward, infatuated as the Egyptians when they passed between the suspended walls of the Red Sea, the band followed their leader into the maze; the path was narrow, the reeds were tall, and soon they towered above the heads of the rash invaders.

High bulrushes, tall flags; thick, sedgy vegetation beneath; the ground, firm enough below at first, soon became quaking and felt strangely elastic under their feet. The marsh was here of great width, and shortly they had advanced a considerable distance from firm ground, and were in the midst of the Swamp.

And here the path became more and more difficult. Sometimes only one could pass at once; nor could they see distinctly where they were going. The sun, too, which might have guided them as to the direction of their march, was temporarily clouded.

"Dog," said Hugo to the captive guide, "if thou misleadest us thou shalt die."

"A man can die but once."

"Thou art a bold villain," said the baron, raising his sword.

"Slay me, and who will guide thee through the marsh?"

"True; do thy duty and fear nought."

"I will do my duty."

All this passed while they were slowly advancing, and the strange part of it was this, that they did not seem to get to the end of their toil. Little did they suspect that they were wandering in a path which knew no end, save the bottom of the quagmire.

And now the marks of the feet, which had hitherto appeared plain before Hugo as he rode, were seen no more; nor could the baron tell the precise spot when they faded from sight; they had become fainter and fainter, and then had vanished.

"Dog, where are the footmarks? thou art wandering from the road."

"We shall soon find them again."

"Are we nearly over the Swamp?"

"Thou wilt see firm land soon."

The baron grasped the cord tightly.

Onward they wandered, and still naught but rushes and flags, sedges and dried reeds, met their gaze, until a promontory of firm ground--a rock of deep red sandstone--rose from the mire, above their heads--distant, it might be, a bow shot.

The baron uttered a sigh of relief, when his horse stumbled; the poor brute strove to recover his footing, and sank deeper into the treacherous quicksand. Over went the Baron, over his horse's head.

Ordgar snatched at the cord; it escaped Hugo's grasp; the guide was amidst the reeds, and in one moment he had made his escape; the reeds parted, waved again, higher than the head of the fugitive, and the baron saw him no more; only a mocking laugh arose to augment the rage of the baffled tyrant.

But that rage was speedily changed to terror, for, as the baron rose, his feet sank beneath him, and he felt as if some unseen hand had grasped them in the tenacity of the quicksand, just as a faint cloud of smoke rolled by overhead.

Meanwhile the men in the rear were pressing on, and the foremost advanced to help their leader and his struggling steed; but all who did so were soon in the mire in like fashion, sinking deeper with each struggle.

Oh, how awful that sucking, clasping feeling beneath the surface of the earth, that gradual sinking out of sight--a process lasting perhaps for hours. But hours were not given to Baron Hugo; for at this moment the awful cry of "Fire!" "Fire!" was heard on all sides, and a loud mocking shout of laughter from hundreds of unseen enemies, now safe on the firm ground beyond the Swamp, was the answer.

A cloud of thick smoke rolled over the reeds, and cries of distress and anguish arose yet more loudly.

"Death to the incendiary! let him who burnt the monks of St. Wilfred die by fire himself as is meet!"

The latter cry arose from the borders of the Swamp, hidden from sight by thick eddying billows of smoke.

A flashing sheet of flame, then another--clouds of thick smoke rolling above--the crackling of flame, devouring the dry herbage--stifling heat, yet more unendurable each moment--suffocation impending as the air became thicker and denser.

Held by the quicksand, and sinking deeper and deeper--only raised above the ground from the middle of the body; so Hugo awaited his just fate--and felt it just.

"Oh for an hour to repent! oh for a priest! My sins have found me out."

A sudden gust of wind opened a passage through the smoke, and revealed in the lurid light of the flames--Wilfred of Aescendune!

For a moment the baron thought himself dead, and at the judgment seat; then as he saw his supposed victim standing in safety, afar off on the high rock, and pointing out the scene, with awe yet exultation on his youthful face, he grasped, as in a moment, the whole secret of the forces which had been arrayed against him, and tasted an agony bitterer than that of death.

"All is lost," he cried.

His courage now gave way; he proffered fabulous rewards to any who would save him; but none could help; nay, all were in like distress. His brain reeled--the flames approached--nearer--nearer.

It was an awful scene. The marsh was a raging furnace. The exulting cries of the English mingled with the groans of their suffering foes. Pity there was none--the remembrance of the burnt priory had extinguished that sweet virtue.

Ah! who shall tell of the terrible hatred, the thirst of blood, which war--begotten of man's fellest passions--had created in the hearts of the oppressed? Who would not pray for peace on earth, good will towards men {xv}?

CHAPTER XVII. THE ENGLISH HEIR TAKES POSSESSION.

The castle and village of Aescendune lay in deep silence all through this eventful day; it was in early spring, and the air was balmy, the sun bright, the birds sang their sweetest songs, the hedgerows and trees put forth their fresh green buds, and all nature seemed instinct with life.

Only a few gray-headed servitors were left to guard the precincts of the castle, for no attack was apprehended from the marauders of the forest, as the Normans styled the English; and every one who could bear arms had left to swell the final triumph of Hugo.

Noontide came, and found the little band, of some score aged men, intent upon their midday meal. This accomplished, they reclined in various easy positions, around the battlements, or on the greensward without, while some had even penetrated into the forest in their eagerness to hear the first news of the extermination of the English, which none doubted was close at hand.

Towards the evening, one of them, who lay reclining on a mossy bank beneath a spreading beech, on a slight eminence, observed a great smoke rising above the tree tops in the distance.

"Doubtless," thought he, "they are smoking the vermin out, or burning the houses and barns--of which we have heard--within the circle of the Deadly Swamp."

But as the smoke increased more and more, a certain vague feeling of anxiety gained possession of him, and he longed for more accurate means of observation.

"Would I were not so old!

"Oh, young Tristam," he cried, as he observed a Norman boy, son of one of the men-at-arms--a lad of about twelve years of age--"come here!"

"What does all that smoke mean?" cried the lad; "are they burning the encampment of the rebels, or has the forest caught fire? it is dry enough."

"No doubt they are burning the huts of those rebels and outlaws in the Swamp; but, Tristam, thou art young; canst thou not run over through the woods? The hill, whereon the pine lately struck by lightning stands, will command a distant view of the Swamp; then return, and tell me all."

The boy started like a greyhound, and ran through the woods with eagerness.

"A fine stripling, that; the saints grant his arms may turn out as good as his legs," growled out old Raoul; and so he waited with such patience as he could command.

An hour passed, and the old man was dozing, when the boy returned.

"Wake up, old man," he said, "I bring news."

"News--what news? Are they all burnt--slain--captives?"

"I know not; only the Dismal Swamp is a mass of flame, and all the reeds and flags are burning merrily; 'tis such a bonfire!"

"I believe the lad would clap his hands at a bonfire, if his own grandmother were burning therein as a witch. How dost thou know whether this is for us or against us?"

"How can I tell?" said the lad, more seriously.

"Perchance our people had not all crossed, and the English fired it to secure their own safety. But how could they have foreseen our expedition?"

His anxiety was not of long duration, for an object was seen emerging from the shadow of the woods, and making by the base of the little hill towards Aescendune.

"What cheer?" cried the old man, "hither!"

And as he spoke the stranger turned his head, hearing the familiar sounds, and ascended the hill slowly, and with pain.

He presented a dismal object; his hair and beard had been scorched in some intense fire, and his clothes blackened and burnt.

The two Normans, old man and boy, stood up aghast.

"What! is it thou, Owen of Bayeux?"

"I was that man a few hours agone. I doubt what I am now."

"What hast thou suffered, then? Where are the baron and his men?"

"Burnt in the Dismal Swamp?"

"Burnt?"

"Yes, burnt; I speak good French do I not?"

"Owen, Owen," cried the old Raoul, "do not mistake thy friends for foes! tell us what dreadful event has happened, to disturb thy reason."

"Would it were but disturbed! Oh that I should have lived to see this day!"

"Tell us," cried young Tristam, "tell us, Owen."

"A fate was on us, as on the Egyptians of old; only they perished by water, we by fire."

"But how?"

"Ordgar the guide, whom we thought we had secured so opportunely, led us into the marshes and left us therein; and while we were there, the English fired the reeds and bulrushes on all sides."

"And the baron?"

"He and all have perished; I only have escaped to tell thee. Where are the rest who were left behind?"

"Here they are," cried Tristam, as a group of old warriors approached.

"Come, Roger, Jocelyn, Jolliffe--come hear the news," cried the boy. "Oh, come and hear them; can they be true? All burnt? all dead?"

The horror-struck Normans soon learnt the fatal truth from Owen of Bayeux, and all their stoical fortitude was shaken.

"I was one of the last on the track, and saved only by a mere chance, or the grace of St. Owen, my patron. I had dropped my quiver of arrows, and had gone back a few steps to fetch it; they brought me to the edge of the reedy marsh, and I was just returning, having found the quiver, when I heard a cry, followed by echoes as from a chain of sentinels all round the marsh--'Fire the reeds!' I ran back to the main land, climbed a tree which stood handy, and saw the marsh burst into fire in a hundred spots. It was lighted all round, while our men were in the midst. A chain of enemies surrounded it. I did my best to warn our lord or to die with him. I penetrated the marsh a little distance, when the flames beat