Books: The Little Duke
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Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Little Duke
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"But they shall not be so long!" cried Richard, starting forward; for
to his childish fancy this dreadful history was more like one of Dame
Astrida's legends than a reality, and at the moment his thought was
only of the blackness of the treason. "Oh, that I were a man to
chastise them! One day they shall feel--"
He broke off short, for he remembered how his father had forbidden
his denunciations of vengeance, but his words were eagerly caught up
by the Barons, who, as Duke William had said, were far from
possessing any temper of forgiveness, thought revenge a duty, and
were only glad to see a warlike spirit in their new Prince.
"Ha! say you so, my young Lord?" exclaimed old Count Bernard, rising.
"Yes, and I see a sparkle in your eye that tells me you will one day
avenge him nobly!"
Richard drew up his head, and his heart throbbed high as Sir Eric
made answer, "Ay, truly, that will he! You might search Normandy
through, yea, and Norway likewise, ere you would find a temper more
bold and free. Trust my word, Count Bernard, our young Duke will be
famed as widely as ever were his forefathers!"
"I believe it well!" said Bernard. "He hath the port of his
grandfather, Duke Rollo, and much, too, of his noble father! How say
you, Lord Richard, will you be a valiant leader of the Norman race
against our foes?"
"That I will!" said Richard, carried away by the applause excited by
those few words of his. "I will ride at your head this very night if
you will but go to chastise the false Flemings."
"You shall ride with us to-morrow, my Lord," answered Bernard, "but
it must be to Rouen, there to be invested with your ducal sword and
mantle, and to receive the homage of your vassals."
Richard drooped his head without replying, for this seemed to bring
to him the perception that his father was really gone, and that he
should never see him again. He thought of all his projects for the
day of his return, how he had almost counted the hours, and had
looked forward to telling him that Father Lucas was well pleased with
him! And now he should never nestle into his breast again, never
hear his voice, never see those kind eyes beam upon him. Large tears
gathered in his eyes, and ashamed that they should be seen, he sat
down on a footstool at Fru Astrida's feet, leant his forehead on his
hands, and thought over all that his father had done and said the
last time they were together. He fancied the return that had been
promised, going over the meeting and the greeting, till he had almost
persuaded himself that this dreadful story was but a dream. But when
he looked up, there were the Barons, with their grave mournful faces,
speaking of the corpse, which Duke Alan of Brittany was escorting to
Rouen, there to be buried beside the old Duke Rollo, and the Duchess
Emma, Richard's mother. Then he lost himself in wonder how that
stiff bleeding body could be the same as the father whose arm was so
lately around him, and whether his father's spirit knew how he was
thinking of him; and in these dreamy thoughts, the young orphan Duke
of Normandy, forgotten by his vassals in their grave councils, fell
asleep, and scarce wakened enough to attend to his prayers, when Fru
Astrida at length remembered him, and led him away to bed.
When Richard awoke the next morning, he could hardly believe that all
that had passed in the evening was true, but soon he found that it
was but too real, and all was prepared for him to go to Rouen with
the vassals; indeed, it was for no other purpose than to fetch him
that the Count of Harcourt had come to Bayeux. Fru Astrida was quite
unhappy that "the child," as she called him, should go alone with the
warriors; but Sir Eric laughed at her, and said that it would never
do for the Duke of Normandy to bring his nurse with him in his first
entry into Rouen, and she must be content to follow at some space
behind under the escort of Walter the huntsman.
So she took leave of Richard, charging both Sir Eric and Osmond to
have the utmost care of him, and shedding tears as if the parting was
to be for a much longer space; then he bade farewell to the servants
of the castle, received the blessing of Father Lucas, and mounting
his pony, rode off between Sir Eric and Count Bernard. Richard was
but a little boy, and he did not think so much of his loss, as he
rode along in the free morning air, feeling himself a Prince at the
head of his vassals, his banner displayed before him, and the people
coming out wherever he passed to gaze on him, and call for blessings
on his name. Rainulf de Ferrieres carried a large heavy purse filled
with silver and gold, and whenever they came to these gazing crowds,
Richard was well pleased to thrust his hands deep into it, and
scatter handfuls of coins among the gazers, especially where he saw
little children.
They stopped to dine and rest in the middle of the day, at the castle
of a Baron, who, as soon as the meal was over, mounted his horse, and
joined them in their ride to Rouen. So far it had not been very
different from Richard's last journey, when he went to keep Christmas
there with his father; but now they were beginning to come nearer the
town, he knew the broad river Seine again, and saw the square tower
of the Cathedral, and he remembered how at that very place his father
had met him, and how he had ridden by his side into the town, and had
been led by his hand up to the hall.
His heart was very heavy, as he recollected there was no one now to
meet and welcome him; scarcely any one to whom he could even tell his
thoughts, for those tall grave Barons had nothing to say to such a
little boy, and the very respect and formality with which they
treated him, made him shrink from them still more, especially from
the grim-faced Bernard; and Osmond, his own friend and playfellow,
was obliged to ride far behind, as inferior in rank.
They entered the town just as it was growing dark. Count Bernard
looked back and arrayed the procession; Eric de Centeville bade
Richard sit upright and not look weary, and then all the Knights held
back while the little Duke rode alone a little in advance of them
through the gateway. There was a loud shout of "Long live the little
Duke!" and crowds of people were standing round to gaze upon his
entry, so many that the bag of coins was soon emptied by his
largesses. The whole city was like one great castle, shut in by a
wall and moat, and with Rollo's Tower rising at one end like the keep
of a castle, and it was thither that Richard was turning his horse,
when the Count of Harcourt said, "Nay, my Lord, to the Church of our
Lady." {7}
It was then considered a duty to be paid to the deceased, that their
relatives and friends should visit them as they lay in state, and
sprinkle them with drops of holy water, and Richard was now to pay
this token of respect. He trembled a little, and yet it did not seem
quite so dreary, since he should once more look on his father's face,
and he accordingly rode towards the Cathedral. It was then very
unlike what it is now; the walls were very thick, the windows small
and almost buried in heavy carved arches, the columns within were
low, clumsy, and circular, and it was usually so dark that the
vaulting of the roof could scarcely be seen.
Now, however, a whole flood of light poured forth from every window,
and when Richard came to the door, he saw not only the two tall thick
candles that always burnt on each side of the Altar, but in the
Chancel stood a double row ranged in a square, shedding a pure, quiet
brilliancy throughout the building, and chiefly on the silver and
gold ornaments of the Altar. Outside these lights knelt a row of
priests in dark garments, their heads bowed over their clasped hands,
and their chanted psalms sounding sweet, and full of soothing music.
Within that guarded space was a bier, and a form lay on it.
Richard trembled still more with awe, and would have paused, but he
was obliged to proceed. He dipped his hand in the water of the font,
crossed his brow, and came slowly on, sprinkled the remaining drops
on the lifeless figure, and then stood still. There was an
oppression on his breast as if he could neither breathe nor move.
There lay William of the Long Sword, like a good and true Christian
warrior, arrayed in his shining armour, his sword by his side, his
shield on his arm, and a cross between his hands, clasped upon his
breast. His ducal mantle of crimson velvet, lined with ermine, was
round his shoulders, and, instead of a helmet, his coronet was on his
head; but, in contrast with this rich array, over the collar of the
hauberk, was folded the edge of a rough hair shirt, which the Duke
had worn beneath his robes, unknown to all, until his corpse was
disrobed of his blood-stained garments. His face looked full of
calm, solemn peace, as if he had gently fallen asleep, and was only
awaiting the great call to awaken. There was not a single token of
violence visible about him, save that one side of his forehead bore a
deep purple mark, where he had first been struck by the blow of the
oar which had deprived him of sense.
"See you that, my Lord?" said Count Bernard, first breaking the
silence, in a low, deep, stern voice.
Richard had heard little for many hours past save counsels against
the Flemings, and plans of bitter enmity against them; and the sight
of his murdered father, with that look and tone of the old Dane,
fired his spirit, and breaking from his trance of silent awe and
grief, he exclaimed, "I see it, and dearly shall the traitor Fleming
abye it!" Then, encouraged by the applauding looks of the nobles, he
proceeded, feeling like one of the young champions of Fru Astrida's
songs. His cheek was coloured, his eye lighted up, and he lifted his
head, so that the hair fell back from his forehead; he laid his hand
on the hilt of his father's sword, and spoke on in words, perhaps,
suggested by some sage. "Yes, Arnulf of Flanders, know that Duke
William of Normandy shall not rest unavenged! On this good sword I
vow, that, as soon as my arm shall have strength--"
The rest was left unspoken, for a hand was laid on his arm. A
priest, who had hitherto been kneeling near the head of the corpse,
had risen, and stood tall and dark over him, and, looking up, he
recognized the pale, grave countenance of Martin, Abbot of Jumieges,
his father's chief friend and councillor.
"Richard of Normandy, what sayest thou?" said he, sternly. "Yes,
hang thy head, and reply not, rather than repeat those words. Dost
thou come here to disturb the peace of the dead with clamours for
vengeance? Dost thou vow strife and anger on that sword which was
never drawn, save in the cause of the poor and distressed? Wouldst
thou rob Him, to whose service thy life has been pledged, and devote
thyself to that of His foe? Is this what thou hast learnt from thy
blessed father?"
Richard made no answer, but he covered his face with his hands, to
hide the tears which were fast streaming.
"Lord Abbot, Lord Abbot, this passes!" exclaimed Bernard the Dane.
"Our young Lord is no monk, and we will not see each spark of noble
and knightly spirit quenched as soon as it shows itself."
"Count of Harcourt," said Abbot Martin, "are these the words of a
savage Pagan, or of one who has been washed in yonder blessed font?
Never, while I have power, shalt thou darken the child's soul with
thy foul thirst of revenge, insult the presence of thy master with
the crime he so abhorred, nor the temple of Him who came to pardon,
with thy hatred. Well do I know, ye Barons of Normandy, that each
drop of your blood would willingly be given, could it bring back our
departed Duke, or guard his orphan child; but, if ye have loved the
father, do his bidding--lay aside that accursed spirit of hatred and
vengeance; if ye love the child, seek not to injure his soul more
deeply than even his bitterest foe, were it Arnulf himself, hath
power to hurt him."
The Barons were silenced, whatever their thoughts might be, and Abbot
Martin turned to Richard, whose tears were still dropping fast
through his fingers, as the thought of those last words of his father
returned more clearly upon him. The Abbot laid his hand on his head,
and spoke gently to him. "These are tears of a softened heart, I
trust," said he. "I well believe that thou didst scarce know what
thou wert saying."
"Forgive me!" said Richard, as well as he could speak.
"See there," said the priest, pointing to the large Cross over the
Altar, "thou knowest the meaning of that sacred sign?"
Richard bowed his head in assent and reverence.
"It speaks of forgiveness," continued the Abbot. "And knowest thou
who gave that pardon? The Son forgave His murderers; the Father them
who slew His Son. And shalt thou call for vengeance?"
"But oh!" said Richard, looking up, "must that cruel, murderous
traitor glory unpunished in his crime, while there lies--" and again
his voice was cut off by tears.
"Vengeance shall surely overtake the sinner," said Martin, "the
vengeance of the Lord, and in His own good time, but it must not be
of thy seeking. Nay, Richard, thou art of all men the most bound to
show love and mercy to Arnulf of Flanders. Yes, when the hand of the
Lord hath touched him, and bowed him down in punishment for his
crime, it is then, that thou, whom he hath most deeply injured,
shouldst stretch out thine hand to aid him, and receive him with
pardon and peace. If thou dost vow aught on the sword of thy blessed
father, in the sanctuary of thy Redeemer, let it be a Christian vow."
Richard wept too bitterly to speak, and Bernard de Harcourt, taking
his hand, led him away from the Church.
CHAPTER III
Duke William of the Long Sword was buried the next morning in high
pomp and state, with many a prayer and psalm chanted over his grave.
When this was over, little Richard, who had all the time stood or
knelt nearest the corpse, in one dull heavy dream of wonder and
sorrow, was led back to the palace, and there his long, heavy, black
garments were taken off, and he was dressed in his short scarlet
tunic, his hair was carefully arranged, and then he came down again
into the hall, where there was a great assembly of Barons, some in
armour, some in long furred gowns, who had all been attending his
father's burial. Richard, as he was desired by Sir Eric de
Centeville, took off his cap, and bowed low in reply to the
reverences with which they all greeted his entrance, and he then
slowly crossed the hall, and descended the steps from the door, while
they formed into a procession behind him, according to their ranks--
the Duke of Brittany first, and then all the rest, down to the
poorest knight who held his manor immediately from the Duke of
Normandy.
Thus, they proceeded, in slow and solemn order, till they came to the
church of our Lady. The clergy were there already, ranged in ranks
on each side of the Choir; and the Bishops, in their mitres and rich
robes, each with his pastoral staff in his hand, were standing round
the Altar. As the little Duke entered, there arose from all the
voices in the Chancel the full, loud, clear chant of Te Deum
Laudamus, echoing among the dark vaults of the roof. To that sound,
Richard walked up the Choir, to a large, heavy, crossed-legged,
carved chair, raised on two steps, just before the steps of the Altar
began, and there he stood, Bernard de Harcourt and Eric de Centeville
on each side of him, and all his other vassals in due order, in the
Choir.
After the beautiful chant of the hymn was ended, the service for the
Holy Communion began. When the time came for the offering, each
noble gave gold or silver; and, lastly, Rainulf of Ferrieres came up
to the step of the Altar with a cushion, on which was placed a
circlet of gold, the ducal coronet; and another Baron, following him
closely, carried a long, heavy sword, with a cross handle. The
Archbishop of Rouen received both coronet and sword, and laid them on
the Altar. Then the service proceeded. At that time the rite of
Confirmation was administered in infancy, and Richard, who had been
confirmed by his godfather, the Archbishop of Rouen, immediately
after his baptism, knelt in solemn awe to receive the other Holy
Sacrament from his hands, as soon as all the clergy had communicated.
{8}
When the administration was over, Richard was led forward to the step
of the Altar by Count Bernard, and Sir Eric, and the Archbishop,
laying one hand upon both his, as he held them clasped together,
demanded of him, in the name of God, and of the people of Normandy,
whether he would be their good and true ruler, guard them from their
foes, maintain truth, punish iniquity, and protect the Church.
"I will!" answered Richard's young, trembling voice, "So help me
God!" and he knelt, and kissed the book of the Holy Gospels, which
the Archbishop offered him.
It was a great and awful oath, and he dreaded to think that he had
taken it. He still knelt, put both hands over his face, and
whispered, "O God, my Father, help me to keep it."
The Archbishop waited till he rose, and then, turning him with his
face to the people, said, "Richard, by the grace of God, I invest
thee with the ducal mantle of Normandy!"
Two of the Bishops then hung round his shoulders a crimson velvet
mantle, furred with ermine, which, made as it was for a grown man,
hung heavily on the poor child's shoulders, and lay in heaps on the
ground. The Archbishop then set the golden coronet on his long,
flowing hair, where it hung so loosely on the little head, that Sir
Eric was obliged to put his hand to it to hold it safe; and, lastly,
the long, straight, two-handed sword was brought and placed in his
hand, with another solemn bidding to use it ever in maintaining the
right. It should have been girded to his side, but the great sword
was so much taller than the little Duke, that, as it stood upright by
him, he was obliged to raise his arm to put it round the handle.
He then had to return to his throne, which was not done without some
difficulty, encumbered as he was, but Osmond held up the train of his
mantle, Sir Eric kept the coronet on his head, and he himself held
fast and lovingly the sword, though the Count of Harcourt offered to
carry it for him. He was lifted up to his throne, and then came the
paying him homage; Alan, Duke of Brittany, was the first to kneel
before him, and with his hand between those of the Duke, he swore to
be his man, to obey him, and pay him feudal service for his dukedom
of Brittany. In return, Richard swore to be his good Lord, and to
protect him from all his foes. Then followed Bernard the Dane, and
many another, each repeating the same formulary, as their large
rugged hands were clasped within those little soft fingers. Many a
kind and loving eye was bent in compassion on the orphan child; many
a strong voice faltered with earnestness as it pronounced the vow,
and many a brave, stalwart heart heaved with grief for the murdered
father, and tears flowed down the war-worn cheeks which had met the
fiercest storms of the northern ocean, as they bent before the young
fatherless boy, whom they loved for the sake of his conquering
grandfather, and his brave and pious father. Few Normans were there
whose hearts did not glow at the touch of those small hands, with a
love almost of a parent, for their young Duke.
The ceremony of receiving homage lasted long and Richard, though
interested and touched at first, grew very weary; the crown and
mantle were so heavy, the faces succeeded each other like figures in
an endless dream, and the constant repetition of the same words was
very tedious. He grew sleepy, he longed to jump up, to lean to the
right or left, or to speak something besides that regular form. He
gave one great yawn, but it brought him such a frown from the stern
face of Bernard, as quite to wake him for a few minutes, and make him
sit upright, and receive the next vassal with as much attention as he
had shown the first, but he looked imploringly at Sir Eric, as if to
ask if it ever would be over. At last, far down among the Barons,
came one at whose sight Richard revived a little. It was a boy only
a few years older than himself, perhaps about ten, with a pleasant
brown face, black hair, and quick black eyes which glanced, with a
look between friendliness and respect, up into the little Duke's
gazing face. Richard listened eagerly for his name, and was
refreshed at the sound of the boyish voice which pronounced, "I,
Alberic de Montemar, am thy liegeman and vassal for my castle and
barony of Montemar sur Epte."
When Alberic moved away, Richard followed him with his eye as far as
he could to his place in the Cathedral, and was taken by surprise
when he found the next Baron kneeling before him.
The ceremony of homage came to an end at last, and Richard would fain
have run all the way to the palace to shake off his weariness, but he
was obliged to head the procession again; and even when he reached
the castle hall his toils were not over, for there was a great state
banquet spread out, and he had to sit in the high chair where he
remembered climbing on his father's knee last Christmas-day, all the
time that the Barons feasted round, and held grave converse.
Richard's best comfort all this time was in watching Osmond de
Centeville and Alberic de Montemar, who, with the other youths who
were not yet knighted, were waiting on those who sat at the table.
At last he grew so very weary, that he fell fast asleep in the corner
of his chair, and did not wake till he was startled by the rough
voice of Bernard de Harcourt, calling him to rouse up, and bid the
Duke of Brittany farewell.
"Poor child!" said Duke Alan, as Richard rose up, startled, "he is
over-wearied with this day's work. Take care of him, Count Bernard;
thou a kindly nurse, but a rough one for such a babe. Ha! my young
Lord, your colour mantles at being called a babe! I crave your
pardon, for you are a fine spirit. And hark you, Lord Richard of
Normandy, I have little cause to love your race, and little right, I
trow, had King Charles the Simple to call us free Bretons liegemen to
a race of plundering Northern pirates. To Duke Rollo's might, my
father never gave his homage; nay, nor did I yield it for all Duke
William's long sword, but I did pay it to his generosity and
forbearance, and now I grant it to thy weakness and to his noble
memory. I doubt not that the recreant Frank, Louis, whom he restored
to his throne, will strive to profit by thy youth and helplessness,
and should that be, remember that thou hast no surer friend than Alan
of Brittany. Fare thee well, my young Duke."
"Farewell, Sir," said Richard, willingly giving his hand to be shaken
by his kind vassal, and watching him as Sir Eric attended him from
the hall.
"Fair words, but I trust not the Breton," muttered Bernard; "hatred
is deeply ingrained in them."
"He should know what the Frank King is made of," said Rainulf de
Ferrieres; "he was bred up with him in the days that they were both
exiles at the court of King Ethelstane of England."
"Ay, and thanks to Duke William that either Louis or Alan are not
exiles still. Now we shall see whose gratitude is worth most, the
Frank's or the Breton's. I suspect the Norman valour will be the
best to trust to."
"Yes, and how will Norman valour prosper without treasure? Who knows
what gold is in the Duke's coffers?"
There was some consultation here in a low voice, and the next thing
Richard heard distinctly was, that one of the Nobles held up a silver
chain and key, {9} saying that they had been found on the Duke's
neck, and that he had kept them, thinking that they doubtless led to
something of importance.
"Oh, yes!" said Richard, eagerly, "I know it. He told me it was the
key to his greatest treasure."
The Normans heard this with great interest, and it was resolved that
several of the most trusted persons, among whom were the Archbishop
of Rouen, Abbot Martin of Jumieges, and the Count of Harcourt, should
go immediately in search of this precious hoard. Richard accompanied
them up the narrow rough stone stairs, to the large dark apartment,
where his father had slept. Though a Prince's chamber, it had little
furniture; a low uncurtained bed, a Cross on a ledge near its head, a
rude table, a few chairs, and two large chests, were all it
contained. Harcourt tried the lid of one of the chests: it opened,
and proved to be full of wearing apparel; he went to the other, which
was smaller, much more carved, and ornamented with very handsome
iron-work. It was locked, and putting in the key, it fitted, the
lock turned, and the chest was opened. The Normans pressed eagerly
to see their Duke's greatest treasure.
It was a robe of serge, and a pair of sandals, such as were worn in
the Abbey of Jumieges.
"Ha! is this all? What didst say, child?" cried Bernard the Dane,
hastily.
"He told me it was his greatest treasure!" repeated Richard.
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