"I had taken up my quarters at an inn, and was striving in vain to drown my remorse in utter recklessness, in wine and mirth, when one night, as I lay half unconscious in bed, I heard the door open. I started up and laid my hand on my sword, but melted into a sweat of fear as I saw the ghost of him I had slain, standing as if in life, his hand upon the wound my blade had made.

"'Nay,' said he, 'mortal weapons harm me not now, but see that thou fulfil for me the vow I have made. Carry my sword in person or by proxy to Jerusalem, and lay it on the altar of the Holy Sepulchre.

Then I forgive thee my death.'

"The vision disappeared, but left me impressed with a sense that it was real and no dream. Hence I dared to return to Malta, and telling my story begged, but begged in vain, to be allowed to carry the sword of the man I had slain through the campaign.

"I could not even obtain the sword. It had been sent back to hang by the side of the rusty weapons his ancestors had once borne, in the hall of their distant Chateau de Fievrault.

"I returned to Provence, revisited the tomb of my Eveline, saw my boy, sought absolution, made many prayers, but could not shake off the phantom. It was on a Friday I slew my foe, and on each Friday night he appeared. The young Simon de Montfort was about to form another band of crusaders, and he allowed me to accompany him, with the result I have described. During my stay in the monastery at Acre the phantom troubled me not, and as I have already said, I would fain have remained there, but when they heard my tale they bade me return and fulfil my duties to my kindred, and stir up others to come to the aid of the Holy Land, since I was physically incapable of ever bearing arms again.

"But I shall even yet fulfil my vow, and the vow of the man I slew, through my boy, when he has gained his spurs. My sinful steps are not permitted to press that soil, once trodden by those blessed feet, nailed for our salvation to the holy rood. Hubert will live and bear the sword of the slain Sieur de Fievrault, sans peur et sans reproche. Then I may lay me down in peace and take my rest."

"Will thou not see my husband?"

"I cannot reveal myself here in this castle to any one but thee, and as my tormentor pays his visits again, I will betake me to the Priory of Lewes."

"And must thou leave thy ancestral halls, and bury thyself again, my brother?"

"I must. My task is done. I came but to feast my eyes with the sight of thee, and to tell thee that thy nephew, the true heir of Walderne, lives, satisfied that thou wilt not now allow him to be defrauded of his rights."

"Why not reveal thyself to my husband?"

"I cannot--at least not in this house; but in the morn, after I have parted for Lewes. tell him all."

"And what proofs shall I give if he ask them?"

"Let him seek me at Lewes or, better still, refer to Simon de Montfort, who is the guardian of the boy, and has him in safe keeping at Kenilworth."

"Sybil," cried a voice.

"It is my husband. I must go. Farewell, dearly loved, unhappy brother."

And she departed, leaving him alone in the chapel.

Hours had pa.s.sed by, the inmates of the castle at Walderne all slept, still as the sleeping woods around, save only the watchman on the walls, for in those days of nightly rapine and daily violence no castle or house of any pretensions dispensed with such a guard.

Save only the watcher on the walls, and a lonelier watcher in the chapel. For there, in the sanctuary his sister had erected, knelt the returned prodigal, unknown to all save that sister. His heart was full of deep emotion, as well it might be. And thus he mused:

"This chapel was not here in my father's time. There were few lessons to be learnt then, save those of strife and violence. What wonder that when he set me the example, my young blood ran too hotly in my veins, and that I finished my career of violence and riot by slaying the rival who stood in my path? Yet was it done, not in cold blood but in fair fight. Still, he was my cousin, a favourite of my sire, who never forgave me, but drove me from home to make reparation in the holy wars. Then on the way to the land of expiation I must needs again stain my sword with Christian blood, and that on a day when it was sacrilege to draw sword.

"But I repent, I repent. O Lord, let the Blood which flowed on that very day down the Holy Rood blot out my sins, atone for my transgressions.

"Nay, he appears, as oft before, and stands before me as when I transfixed him on the quay at Malta.

"Avaunt, unquiet spirit. My feet have pressed the soil hallowed by the Sacred Blood. Avaunt, for I appeal from thy malice to G.o.d. Was it not thou who didst provoke, and wouldst fain have slain me? What was my act but one of self defence, defence first of honour, then of life?"

Here he paused, as if listening.

"What dost thou say? I give thee rest. Let my son take the sword from thy ancestral hall, and wield it in the holy war in thy name.

Then thy vow will be fulfilled, and thou wilt c.u.mber earth no longer.

"Well, we shall see! But can I send him to that distant land? He may suffer as I.

"No! no! Son of my love! It may not be.

"Ah, thou departest. It is well. Avaunt thee, poor ghost! Avaunt thee."

So the night sped away, and when the gates of the castle opened at sunrise, the palmer pa.s.sed through them and took the road for Lewes.

We need hardly say that, in the course of the day after the ill-fated Roger had departed for Lewes, to bury his sorrows and his sins within the hallowed walls of the Priory of Saint Pancras, the Lady Sybil made a full revelation of all the circ.u.mstances of his visit to her husband, Sir Nicholas HarenG.o.d.

There was not a moment's doubt in the mind of that worthy knight as to the proper course to be pursued. Roger must be left to carry out his own decision--as the most convenient to all parties concerned--and the son must at once be brought home and acknowledged as the true heir of Walderne, c.u.m Icklesham, c.u.m Dene, and I wot not what else. As for poor Drogo, he must be content with the patrimony of Sir Nicholas--the manor of HarenG.o.d.

So Sir Nicholas first sought an interview with his brother-in-law, Roger, at the priory. He found him on the point of being admitted to the novitiate, and then started post haste across the country--northward for Kenilworth--where he arrived in due course, and was soon closeted with the mighty earl, to whom he revealed the whole story of the resurrection of Sir Roger of Walderne.

It was indeed a resurrection. At first the earl hardly credited its possibility; but anon with joy received it, and gave his full consent for Sir Nicholas to take Hubert away for a time, that he might make acquaintance with the home of his ancestors, and seek his father at Lewes.

Much more conversation pa.s.sed between the knight and the earl, but we shall have occasion to develop its results as our narrative proceeds.

So we shall leave our readers to picture the delight and wonder of Hubert, the jealousy of Drogo, and much besides, while we go to Oxford to see Martin.

Chapter 7: Martin's First Day At Oxford.

It was a lovely morning in the Eastertide of 1256 when young Martin looked forth from the window of his hostel at Oxford on the quaint streets, the stately towers of the semi-monastic city. He was bound, of course, as a dutiful son of Mother Church, to attend the early service at one of the thirteen churches, after which, still at a very early hour, he was invited to break his fast with the great Franciscan, Adam de Maresco, to whom his friend the chaplain had strongly commended him. So he put on his scholar's gown, and went to the finest church then existing in Oxford, the Abbey Church of Oseney.

This magnificent abbey had been endowed by Robert D'Oyley, nephew of the Norman Conqueror, mentioned in another of our Chronicles {12}. It was situated on an island, formed by various branches of the Isis, in the western suburbs of the city, and extended as far as from the present Oseney Mill to St. Thomas' Church. The abbey church, long since destroyed, was lofty and magnificent, containing twenty-four altars, a central tower of great height, and a western tower. Here King Henry III pa.s.sed a Christmas with "reverent mirth."

There was a large gathering of monks, friars, and students; the quiet sober side of Oxford predominated in the early dawn, and Martin thought he had never seen so orderly a city. He was destined to change his ideas, or at least modify them, before he laid his head on his pillow that night.

Before leaving the church Martin ascended to the summit of the abbey tower, the wicket gate of which stood invitingly open, in order to survey the city and country, and gain a general idea of his future home. Below him, in the sweet freshness of the early morn, the branches of the Isis surrounded the abbey precincts, the river being well guarded by stone work and terraces, so that it could not at flood time encroach upon the abbey. Neither before the days of locks could or did such floods occur as we have now, the water got away more readily, and the students could not sail upon "Port Meadow" as upon a lake, in the winter and spring, as they do at the present day.

Beyond the abbey rose the church and college of "Saint George in the Castle," that is within the precincts of the fortress, and the great mound thrown up by Queen Ethelflaed, a sister of Alfred, now called the Jew's Mount {13}, and the two towers of the Norman Castle seemed to make one group with church and college. The town church of Saint Martin rose from a thickly-built group of houses, at a spot called Quatre Voies, where the princ.i.p.al streets crossed, which name we corrupt into Carfax. He counted the towers of thirteen churches, including the historic shrine of Saint Frideswide, which afterwards developed into the College of Christchurch, and later still furnished the Cathedral of the diocese.

Around lay a wild land of heath and forest, with cultivated fields very infrequently interspersed; the moors of Cowley, the woods of Shotover and Bagley; and farther still, the forests of Nuneham, inhabited even then by the Harcourts, who still hold the ancestral demesne. Descending, he made his way to Greyfriars, as the Franciscan house was called, encountering many groups who were already wending their way to lecture room, or, like Martin, returning to break their fast after morning chapel, which then meant early ma.s.s at one of the many churches, for only in three or four instances had corporate bodies chapels of their own.

These groups were very unlike modern undergraduates; as a rule they were much younger people, of the same ages as the upper forms in our public schools, from fourteen or fifteen years upwards; mere boys, living in crowded hostels, fighting and quarrelling with all the sweet "abandon" of early youth, sometimes begging masterfully, for licenses to beg were granted to poor students, living, it might be, in the greatest poverty, but still devoted to learning.

At length Martin arrived at the house of the Franciscans, where he was eventually to lodge, but they had no room for him at this moment, hence he had been sent to a hostelry, licensed to take lodgers; much to the regret of Adam de Maresco. But he could not show partiality. Each newcomer must take his turn, according to the date of the entry of his name. The friary was on the marshy ground between the walls and the Isis, on land bestowed upon them in charity, amongst the huts of the poor whom they loved. At first huts of mud and timber, as rough and rude as those around, arose within the fence and ditch which they drew and dug around their habitations, but the necessities of the climate had driven them to build in stone, for the damp climate, the mists and fogs from the Isis, soon rotted away their woodwork. And so Martin found a very simple, but very substantial building in the Norman architecture of the period. The first "Provincial" of the Greyfriars had persuaded Robert Grosseteste, afterwards the great Bishop of Lincoln, to lecture at the school they founded in their Oxford house, and all his powerful influence was exercised to gain them a sound footing in the University. They deserved it, for their schools attained a reputation throughout Christendom, so n.o.bly was the work, which Grosseteste began, carried on by his scholar and successor, Adam de Maresco.

And they had helped to make Oxford, as it was then, the second city of importance in England, and only second to Paris amongst the learned cities of the world.

Martin was shown along a cloister looking through the most sombre of Norman arches, upon a greensward. The doors of many cells opened upon it. He was told to knock at one of them, and a deep voice replied, "Enter in the name of the Lord."

It was a large, plain room, with a vaulted ceiling lighted by lancet windows and scantily furnished; rough oaken benches, a plain heavy table, covered with parchments and ma.n.u.scripts: in one recess a Prie-Dieu beneath a crucifix, and under the fald stool a skull, with the words "memento mori," three or four chairs with painfully straight backs, a cupboard for books (ma.n.u.scripts) and parchments, another for vestments ecclesiastical or collegiate. This was all which c.u.mbered the bare floor. At the corner of the room a spiral stone staircase led to the bed chamber.