Chapter Three: The Knighting of the Brethren
Another month had gone by, and though Godwin was still somewhat
weak and suffered from a headache at times, the brethren had
recovered from their wounds. On the last day of November, about
two o'clock in the afternoon, a great procession might have been
seen wending its way from the old Hall at Steeple. In it rode
many knights fully armed, before whom were borne their banners.
These went first. Then came old Sir Andrew D'Arcy, also fully
armed, attended by squires and retainers. He was accompanied by
his lovely daughter, the lady Rosamund, clad in beautiful apparel
under her cloak of fur, who rode at his right hand on that same
horse which had swum Death Creek. Next appeared the brethren,
modestly arrayed as simple gentlemen, followed each of them by
his squire, scions of the noble houses of Salcote and of Dengie.
After them rode yet more knights, squires, tenants of various
degree, and servants, surrounded by a great number of peasantry
and villeins, who walked and ran with their women folk and
children.
Following the road through the village, the procession turned to
the left at the great arch which marked the boundary of the
monk's lands, and headed for Stangate Abbey, some two miles
away, by the path that ran between the arable land and the Salt
marshes, which are flooded at high tide. At length they came to
the stone gate of the Abbey, that gave the place its name of
Stangate. Here they were met by a company of the Cluniac monks,
who dwelt in this wild and lonely spot upon the water's edge,
headed by their prior, John Fitz Brien. He was a venerable,
white-haired man, clad in wide-sleeved, black robes, and preceded
by a priest carrying a silver cross. Now the procession
separated, Godwin and Wulf, with certain of the knights and their
esquires, being led to the Priory, while the main body of it
entered the church, or stood about outside its door.
Arrived in the house, the two knights elect were taken to a room
where their hair was cut and their chins were shaved by a barber
who awaited them. Then, under the guidance of two old knights
named Sir Anthony de Mandeville and Sir Roger de Merci, they were
conducted to baths surrounded with rich cloths. Into these,
having been undressed by the squires, they entered and bathed
themselves, while Sir Anthony and Sir Roger spoke to them through
the cloths of the high duties of their vocation, ending by
pouring water over them, and signing their bare bodies with the
sign of the Cross. Next they were dressed again, and preceded by
minstrels, led to the church, at the porch of which they and
their esquires were given wine to drink.
Here, in the presence of all the company, they were clothed first
in white tunics, to signify the whiteness of their hearts; next
in red robes, symbolical of the blood they might be called upon
to shed for Christ; and lastly, in long black cloaks, emblems of
the death that must be endured by all. This done, their armour
was brought in and piled before them upon the steps of the altar,
and the congregation departed homeward, leaving them with their
esquires and the priest to spend the long winter night in orisons
and prayers.
Long, indeed, it was, in that lonesome, holy place, lit only by a
lamp which swung before the altar. Wulf prayed and prayed until
he could pray no more, then fell into a half dreamful state that
was haunted by the face of Rosamund, where even her face should
have been forgotten. Godwin, his elbow resting against the tomb
that hid his father's heart, prayed also, until even his
earnestness was outworn, and he began to wonder about many
things.
That dream of his, for instance, in his sickness, when he had
seemed to be dead, and what might be the true duty of man. To be
brave and upright? Surely. To fight for the Cross of Christ
against the Saracen? Surely, if the chance came his way. What
more? To abandon the world and to spend his life muttering
prayers like those priests in the darkness behind him? Could that
be needful or of service to God or man? To man, perhaps, because
such folk tended the sick and fed the poor. But to God? Was he
not sent into the world to bear his part in the world--to live
his full life? This would mean a half-life--one into which no
woman might enter, to which no child might be added, since to
monks and even to certain brotherhoods, all these things, which
Nature decreed and Heaven had sanctified, were deadly sin.
It would mean, for instance, that he must think no more of
Rosamund. Could he do this for the sake of the welfare of his
soul in some future state?
Why, at the thought of it even, in that solemn place and hour of
dedication, his spirit reeled, for then and there for the first
time it was borne in upon him that he loved this woman more than
all the world beside--more than his life, more, perhaps, than his
soul. He loved her with all his pure young heart--so much that it
would be a joy to him to die for her, not only in the heat of
battle, as lately had almost chanced on the Death Creek quay, but
in cold blood, of set purpose, if there came need. He loved her
with body and with spirit, and, after God, here to her he
consecrated his body and his spirit. But what value would she put
upon the gift? What if some other man--?
By his side, his elbows resting on the altar rails, his eyes
fixed upon the beaming armour that he would wear in battle, knelt
Wulf, his brother--a mighty man, a knight of knights, fearless,
noble, open-hearted; such a one as any woman might well love. And
he also loved Rosamund. Of this Godwin was sure. And, oh! did not
Rosamund love Wulf? Bitter jealousy seized upon his vitals. Yes;
even then and there, black envy got hold of Godwin, and rent him
so sore that, cold as was the place, the sweat poured from his
brow and body.
Should he abandon hope? Should he fly the battle for fear that he
might be defeated? Nay; he would fight on in all honesty and
honour, and if he were overcome, would meet his fate as a brave
knight should--without bitterness, but without shame. Let destiny
direct the matter. It was in the hands of destiny, and stretching
out his arm, he threw it around the neck of his brother, who
knelt beside him, and let it rest there, until the head of the
weary Wulf sank sleepily upon his shoulder, like the head of an
infant upon its mother's breast.
"Oh Jesu," Godwin moaned in his poor heart, "give me strength to
fight against this sinful passion that would lead me to hate the
brother whom I love. Oh Jesu, give me strength to bear it if he
should be preferred before me. Make me a perfect knight--strong
to suffer and endure, and, if need be, to rejoice even in the
joy of my supplanter."
At length the grey dawn broke, and the sunlight, passing through
the eastern window, like a golden spear, pierced the dusk of the
long church, which was built to the shape of a cross, so that
only its transepts remained in shadow. Then came a sound of
chanting, and at the western door entered the Prior, wearing all
his robes, attended by the monks and acolytes, who swung censers.
In the centre of the nave he halted and passed to the
confessional, calling on Godwin to follow. So he went and knelt
before the holy man, and there poured out all his heart. He
confessed his sins. They were but few. He told him of the vision
of his sickness, on which the Prior pondered long; of his deep
love, his hopes, his fears, and his desire to be a warrior who
once, as a lad, had wished to be a monk, not that he might shed
blood, but to fight for the Cross of Christ against the Paynim,
ending with a cry of--
"Give me counsel, O my father. Give me counsel."
"Your own heart is your best counsellor," was the priest's
answer. "Go as it guides you, knowing that, through it, it is God
who guides. Nor fear that you will fail. But if love and the joys
of life should leave you, then come back, and we will talk again.
Go on, pure knight of Christ, fearing nothing and sure of the
reward, and take with you the blessing of Christ and of his
Church."
"What penance must I bear, father?"
"Such souls as yours inflict their own penance. The saints forbid
that I should add to it," was the gentle answer.
Then with a lightened heart Godwin returned to the altar rails,
while his brother Wulf was summoned to take his place in the
confessional. Of the sins that he had to tell we need not speak.
They were such as are common to young men, and none of them very
grievous. Still, before he gave him absolution, the good Prior
admonished him to think less of his body and more of his spirit;
less of the glory of feats of arms and more of the true ends to
which he should enter on them. He bade him, moreover, to take his
brother Godwin as an earthly guide and example, since there lived
no better or wiser man of his years, and finally dismissed him,
prophesying that if he would heed these counsels, he would come
to great glory on earth and in heaven.
"Father, I will do my best," answered Wulf humbly; "but there
cannot be two Godwins; and, father, sometimes I fear me that our
paths will cross, since two men cannot win one woman."
"I know the trouble," answered the Prior anxiously, "and with
less noble-natured men it might be grave. But if it should come
to this, then must the lady judge according to the wishes of her
own heart, and he who loses her must be loyal in sorrow as in
joy. Be sure that you take no base advantage of your brother in
the hour of temptation, and bear him no bitterness should he win
the bride."
"I think I can be sure of that," said Wulf; "also that we, who
have loved each other from birth, would die before we betrayed
each other."
"I think so also," answered the Prior; "but Satan is very
strong."
Then Wulf also returned to the altar rails, and the full Mass was
sung, and the Sacrament received by the two neophytes, and the
offerings made all in their appointed order. Next they were led
back to the Priory to rest and eat a little after their long
night's vigil in the cold church, and here they abode awhile,
thinking their own thoughts, seated alone in the Prior's chamber.
At length Wulf, who seemed to be ill at ease, rose and laid his
hand upon his brother's shoulder, saying:
"I can be silent no more; it was ever thus: that which is in my
mind must out of it. I have words to say to you."
"Speak on, Wulf," said Godwin.
Wulf sat himself down again upon his stool, and for a while
stared hard at nothing, for he did not seem to find it easy to
begin this talk. Now Godwin could read his brother's mind like a
book, but Wulf could not always read Godwin's, although, being
twins who had been together from birth, their hearts were for the
most part open to each other without the need of words.
"It is of our cousin Rosamund, is it not?" asked Godwin
presently.
"Ay. Who else?"
"And you would tell me that you love her, and that now you are a
knight--almost--and hard on five-and twenty years of age, you
would ask her to become your affianced wife?"
"Yes, Godwin; it came into my heart when she rode the grey horse
into the water, there upon the pier, and I thought that I should
never see her any more. I tell you it came into my heart that
life was not worth living nor death worth dying without her."
"Then, Wulf," answered Godwin slowly, "what more is there to say?
Ask on, and prosper. Why not? We have some lands, if not many,
and Rosamund will not lack for them. Nor do I think that our
uncle would forbid you, if she wills it, seeing that you are the
properest man and the bravest in all this country side."
"Except my brother Godwin, who is all these things, and good and
learned to boot, which I am not," replied Wulf musingly. Then
there was silence for a while, which he broke.
"Godwin, our ill-luck is that you love her also, and that you
thought the same thoughts which I did yonder on the quay-head."
Godwin flushed a little, and his long fingers tightened their
grip upon his knee.
"It is so," he said quietly. "To my grief it is so. But Rosamund
knows nothing of this, and should never know it if you will keep
a watch upon your tongue. Moreover, you need not be jealous of
me, before marriage or after."
"What, then, would you have me do?" asked Wulf hotly. "Seek her
heart, and perchance--though this I doubt--let her yield it to
me, she thinking that you care naught for her?"
"Why not?" asked Godwin again, with a sigh; "it might save her
some pain and you some doubt, and make my own path clearer.
Marriage is more to you than to me, Wulf, who think sometimes
that my sword should be my spouse and duty my only aim."
"Who think, having a heart of gold, that even in such a thing as
this you will not bar the path of the brother whom you love. Nay,
Godwin, as I am a sinful man, and as I desire her above all
things on earth, I will play no such coward's game, nor conquer
one who will not lift his sword lest he should hurt me. Sooner
would I bid you all farewell, and go to seek fortune or death in
the wars without word spoken."
"Leaving Rosamund to pine, perchance. Oh, could we be sure that
she had no mind toward either of us, that would be best--to
begone together. But, Wulf, we cannot be sure, since at times, to
be honest, I have thought she loves you."
"And at times, to be honest, Godwin, I have been sure that she
loves you, although I should like to try my luck and hear it from
her lips, which on such terms I will not do."
"What, then, is your plan, Wulf?"
"My plan is that if our uncle gives us leave, we should both
speak to her--you first, as the elder, setting out your case as
best you can, and asking her to think of it and give you your
answer within a day. Then, before that day is done I also should
speak, so that she may know all the story, and play her part in
it with opened eyes, not deeming, as otherwise she might, that we
know each other's minds, and that you ask because I have no will
that way.
"It is very fair," replied Godwin;"and worthy of you, who are the
most honest of men. Yet, Wulf, I am troubled. See you, my
brother, have ever brethren loved each other as we do? And now
must the shadow of a woman fall upon and blight that love which
is so fair and precious?"
"Why so?" asked Wulf."Come, Godwin, let us make a pact that it
shall not be thus, and keep it by the help of heaven. Let us show
the world that two men can love one woman and still love each
other, not knowing as yet which of them she will choose--if,
indeed, she chooses either. For, Godwin, we are not the only
gentlemen whose eyes have turned, or yet may turn, towards the
high-born, rich, and lovely lady Rosamund. Is it your will that
we should make such a pact?"
Godwin thought a little, then answered:
"Yes; but if so, it must be one so strong that for her sake and
for both our sakes we cannot break it and live with honour."
"So be it," said Wulf; "this is man's work, not child's
make-believe."
Then Godwin rose, and going to the door, bade his squire, who
watched without, pray the Prior John to come to them as they
sought his counsel in a matter. So he came, and, standing before
him with downcast head, Godwin told him all the tale, which,
indeed, he who knew so much already, was quick to understand, and
of their purpose also; while at a question from the prior, Wulf
answered that it was well and truly said, nothing having been
kept back. Then they asked him if it was lawful that they should
take such an oath, to which he replied that he thought it not
only lawful, but very good.
So m the end, kneeling together hand in hand before the Rood that
stood in the chamber, they repeated this oath after him, both of
them together.
"We brethren, Godwin and Wulf D'Arcy, do swear by the holy Cross
of Christ, and by the patron saint of this place, St. Mary
Magdalene, and our own patron saints, St. Peter and St. Chad,
standing in the presence of God, of our guardian angels, and of
you, John, that being both of us enamoured of our cousin,
Rosamund D'Arcy, we will ask her to wife in the manner we have
agreed, and no other. That we will abide by her decision, should
she choose either of us, nor seek to alter it by tempting her
from her troth, or in any fashion overt or covert. That he of us
whom she refuses will thenceforth be a brother to her and no
more, however Satan may tempt his heart otherwise. That so far as
may be possible to us, who are but sinful men, we will suffer
neither bitterness nor jealousy to come between our love because
of this woman, and that in war or peace we will remain faithful
comrades and brethren. Thus we swear with a true heart and
purpose, and in token thereof, knowing that he who breaks this
oath will be a knight dishonoured and a vessel fit for the wrath
of God, we kiss this Rood and one another."
This, then, these brethren said and did, and with light minds and
joyful faces received the blessing of the Prior, who had
christened them in infancy, and went down to meet the great
company that had ridden forth to lead them back to Steeple, where
their knighting should be done.
So to Steeple, preceded by the squires, who rode before them
bareheaded, carrying their swords by the scabbarded points, with
their gold spurs hanging from the hilts, they came at last. Here
the hall was set for a great feast, a space having been left
between the tables and the dais, to which the brethren were
conducted. Then came forward Sir Anthony de Mandeville and Sir
Roger de Merci
in full armour, and presented to Sir Andrew D'Arcy, their uncle,
who stood upon the edge of the dais, also in his armour, their
swords and spurs, of which he gave back to them two of the
latter, bidding them affix these upon the candidates' right
heels. This done, the Prior John blessed the swords, after which
Sir Andrew girded them about the waists of his nephews, saying:
"Take ye back the swords that you have used so well."
Next, he drew his own silver-hilted blade that had been his
father's and his grandfather's, and whilst they knelt before
him, smote each of them three blows upon the right shoulder,
crying with a loud voice: "In the name of God, St. Michael, and
St. George, I knight ye. Be ye good knights."
Thereafter came forward Rosamund as their nearest kinswoman, and,
helped by other ladies, clad upon them their hauberks, or coats
of mail, their helms of steel, and their kite-shaped shields,
emblazoned with a skull, the cognizance of their race. This done,
with the musicians marching before them, they walked to Steeple
church--a distance of two hundred paces from the Hall, where they
laid their swords upon the altar and took them up again, swearing
to be good servants of Christ and defenders of the Church. As
they left its doors, who should meet them but the cook, carrying
his chopper in his hand and claiming as his fee the value of the
spurs they wore, crying aloud at the same time:
"If either of you young knights should do aught in despite of
your honour and of the oaths that you have sworn--from which may
God and his saints prevent you!--then with my chopper will I hack
these spurs from off your heels."
Thus at last the long ceremony was ended, and after it came a
very great feast, for at the high table were entertained many
noble knights and ladies, and below, in the hall their squires,
and other gentlemen, and outside all the yeomanry and villagers,
whilst the children and the aged had food and drink given to them
in the nave of the church itself. When the eating at length was
done, the centre of the hall was cleared, and while men drank,
the minstrels made music. All were very merry with wine and
strong ale, and talk arose among them as to which of these
brethren--Sir Godwin or Sir Wulf--was the more brave, the more
handsome, and the more learned and courteous.
Now a knight--it was Sir Surin de Salcote--seeing that the
argument grew hot and might lead to blows, rose and declared that
this should be decided by beauty alone, and that none could be
more fitted to judge than the fair lady whom the two of them had
saved from woman-thieves at the Death Creek quay. They all
called, "Ay, let her settle it," and it was agreed that she would
give the kerchief from her neck to the bravest, a beaker of wine
to the handsomest, and a Book of Hours to the most learned.
So, seeing no help for it, since except her father, the
brethren, the most of the other ladies and herself, who drank but
water, gentle and simple alike, had begun to grow heated with
wine, and were very urgent, Rosamund took the silk kerchief from
her neck. Then coming to the edge of the dais, where they were
seated in the sight of all, she stood before her cousins, not
knowing, poor maid, to which of them she should offer it. But
Godwin whispered a word to Wulf, and both of them stretching out
their right hands, snatched an end of the kerchief which she held
towards them, and rending it, twisted the severed halves round
their sword hilts. The company laughed at their wit, and cried:
"The wine for the more handsome. They cannot serve that thus."
Rosamund thought a moment; then she lifted a great silver
beaker, the largest on the board, and having filled it full of
wine, once more came forward and held it before them as though
pondering. Thereon the brethren, as though by a single movement,
bent forward and each of them touched the beaker with his lips.
Again a great laugh went up, and even Rosamund smiled.
"The book! the book!" cried the guests. "They dare not rend the
holy book!"
So for the third time Rosamund advanced, bearing the missal.
"Knights," she said,"you have torn my kerchief and drunk my wine.
Now I offer this hallowed writing--to him who can read it best."
"Give it to Godwin," said Wulf. "I am a swordsman, not a clerk."
"Well said! well said!" roared the company. "The sword for
us--not the pen!" But Rosamund turned on them and answered:
"He who wields sword is brave, and he who wields pen is wise, but
better is he who can handle both sword and pen--like my cousin
Godwin, the brave and learned."
"Hear her! hear her!" cried the revellers, knocking their horns
upon the board, while in the silence that followed a woman's
voice said, "Sir Godwin's luck is great, but give me Sir Wulf's
strong arms."
Then the drinking began again, and Rosamund and the ladies
slipped away, as well they might--for the times were rough and
coarse.
On the morrow, after most of the guests were gone, many of them
with aching heads, Godwin and Wulf sought their uncle, Sir
Andrew, in the solar where he sat alone, for they knew Rosamund
had walked to the church hard by with two of the serving women to
make it ready for the Friday's mass, after the feast of the
peasants that had been held in the nave. Coming to his oaken
chair by the open hearth which had a chimney to it--no common
thing in those days--they knelt before him.
"What is it now, my nephews?" asked the old man, smiling. "Do you
wish that I should knight you afresh?"
"No, sir," answered Godwin;"we seek a greater boon."
"Then you seek in vain, for there is none."
"Another sort of boon," broke in Wulf.
Sir Andrew pulled his beard, and looked at them. Perhaps the
Prior John had spoken a word to him, and he guessed what was
coming.
"Speak," he said to Godwin. "The gift is great that I would not
give to either of you if it be within my power."
"Sir," said Godwin, "we seek the leave to ask your daughter's
hand in marriage.
"What! the two of you?"
"Yes, sir; the two of us."
Then Sir Andrew, who seldom laughed, laughed outright.
"Truly," he said, "of all the strange things I have known, this
is the strangest--that two knights should ask one wife between
them."
"It seems strange, sir; but when you have heard our tale you will
understand."
So he listened while they told him all that had passed between
them and of the solemn oath which they had sworn.
"Noble in this as in other things," commented Sir Andrew when
they had done; "but I fear that one of you may find that vow hard
to keep. By all the saints, nephews, you were right when you said
that you asked a great boon. Do you know, although I have told
you nothing of it, that, not to speak of the knave Lozelle,
already two of the greatest men in this land have sought my
daughter Rosamund in marriage?"
"It may well be so," said Wulf.
"It is so, and now I will tell you why one or other of the pair
is not her husband, which in some ways I would he were. A simple
reason. I asked her, and she had no mind to either, and as her
mother married when her heart was, so I have sworn that the
daughter should do, or not at all--for better a nunnery than a
loveless bridal.
"Now let us see what you have to give. You are of good
blood--that of Uluin by your mother, and mine, also on one side
her own. As squires to your sponsors of yesterday, the knights
Sir Anthony de Mandeville and Sir Roger de Merci, you bore
yourselves bravely in the Scottish War; indeed, your liege king
Henry remembered it, and that is why he granted my prayer so
readily. Since then, although you loved the life little, because
I asked it of you, you have rested here at home with me, and done
no feats of arms, save that great one of two months gone which
made you knights, and, in truth, gives you some claim on
Rosamund.
"For the rest, your father being the younger son, your lands are
small, and you have no other gear. Outside the borders of this
shire you are unknown men, with all your deeds to do--for I will
not count those Scottish battles when you were but boys. And she
whom you ask is one of the fairest and noblest and most learned
ladies in this land, for I, who have some skill in such things,
have taught her myself from childhood. Moreover, as I have no
other heir, she will be wealthy. Well, what more have you to
offer for all this?"
"Ourselves," answered Wulf boldly."We are true knights of whom
you know the best and worst, and we love her. We learned it for
once and for all on Death Creek quay, for till then she was our
sister and no more."
"Ay," added Godwin, "when she swore herself to us and blessed us,
then light broke on both."
"Stand up," said Sir Andrew, "and let me look at you."
So they stood side by side in the full light of the blazing fire,
for little other came through those narrow windows.
"Proper men; proper men," said the old knight;"and as like to one
another as two grains of wheat from the same sample. Six feet
high, each of you, and broad chested, though Wulf is larger made
and the stronger of the two. Brown and waving-haired both, save
for that line of white where the sword hit yours, Godwin--Godwin
with grey eyes that dream and Wulf with the blue eyes that shine
like swords. Ah! your grandsire had eyes like that, Wulf; and I
have been told that when he leapt from the tower to the wall at
the taking of Jerusalem, the Saracens did not love the light
which shone in them--nor, in faith, did I, his son, when he was
angry. Proper men, the pair of you; but Sir Wulf most
warriorlike, and Sir Godwin most courtly."
"Now which do you think would please a woman most?"
"That, sir, depends upon the woman," answered Godwin, and
straightway his eyes began to dream.
"That, sir, we seek to learn before the day is out, if you give
us leave," added Wulf; "though, if you would know, I think my
chance a poor one."
"Ah, well; it is a very pretty riddle. But I do not envy her who
has its answering, for it might well trouble a maid's mind,
neither is it certain when all is done that she will guess best
for her own peace. Would it not be wiser, then, that I should
forbid them to ask this riddle?" he added as though to himself
and fell to thinking while they trembled, seeing that he was
minded to refuse their suit.
At length he looked up again and said: "Nay, let it go as God
wills Who holds the future in His hand. Nephews, because you are
good knights and true, either of whom would ward her well--and
she may need warding--because you are my only brother's sons,
whom I have promised him to care for; and most of all because I
love you both with an equal love, have your wish, and go try your
fortunes at the hands of my daughter Rosamund in the fashion you
have agreed. Godwin, the elder, first, as is his right; then
Wulf. Nay, no thanks; but go swiftly, for I whose hours are short
wish to learn the answer to this riddle."
So they bowed and went, walking side by side. At the door of the
hall, Wulf stopped and said:
"Rosamund is in the church. Seek her there, and--oh! I would that
I could wish you good fortune; but, Godwin, I cannot. I fear me
that this may be the edge of that shadow of woman's love whereof
you spoke, falling cold upon my heart."
"There is no shadow; there is light, now and always, as we have
sworn that it should be," answered Godwin.
