"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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d"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. G.o.d 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."
"G.o.d 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 G.o.d"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 Viatic.u.m," 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, G.o.d, 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.
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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 ma.s.s 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, G.o.d 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 t.i.tle 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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed away, "awaiting," as he said, "the manifestation of the sons of G.o.d,"
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 n.o.ble 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 sanct.i.ty,"
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 a.s.surance that he would be surety for their good behaviour--an a.s.surance 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 a.s.surance of a glorious immortality. And they put over his tomb these words:
We know that we have pa.s.sed 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.