AFTER LONDON or Wild England

 by

 Richard Jefferies

Contents

Part I The Relapse into Barbarism

 Chapter 1 The Great Forest

 Chapter 2 Wild Animals

 Chapter 3 Men of the Woods

 Chapter 4 The Invaders

 Chapter 5 The Lake

Part II Wild England

 Chapter 1 Sir Felix

 Chapter 2 The House of Aquila

 Chapter 3 The Stockade

 Chapter 4 The Canoe

 Chapter 5 Baron Aquila

 Chapter 6 The Forest Track

 Chapter 7 The Forest Track continued

 Chapter 8 Thyma Castle

 Chapter 9 Superstitions

 Chapter 10 The Feast

 Chapter 11 Aurora

 Chapter 12 Night in the Forest

 Chapter 13 Sailing Away

 Chapter 14 The Straits

 Chapter 15 Sailing Onwards

 Chapter 16 The City

 Chapter 17 The Camp

 Chapter 18 The King's Levy

 Chapter 19 Fighting

 Chapter 20 In Danger

 Chapter 21 A Voyage

 Chapter 22 Discoveries

 Chapter 23 Strange Things

 Chapter 24 Fiery Vapours

 Chapter 25 The Shepherds

 Chapter 26 Bow and Arrow

 Chapter 27 Surprised

 Chapter 28 For Aurora

Part I

The Relapse into Barbarism

CHAPTER I

THE GREAT FOREST

The old men say their fathers told them that soon after the fields wereleft to themselves a change began to be visible. It became greeneverywhere in the first spring, after London ended, so that all thecountry looked alike. 

The meadows were green, and so was the rising wheat which had been sown, but which neither had nor would receive any further care. Such arablefields as had not been sown, but where the last stubble had beenploughed up, were overrun with couch-grass, and where the short stubblehad not been ploughed, the weeds hid it. So that there was no placewhich was not more or less green; the footpaths were the greenest ofall, for such is the nature of grass where it has once been trodden on, and by-and-by, as the summer came on, the former roads were thinlycovered with the grass that had spread out from the margin. 

In the autumn, as the meadows were not mown, the grass withered as itstood, falling this way and that, as the wind had blown it; the seedsdropped, and the bennets became a greyish-white, or, where the docks andsorrel were thick, a brownish-red. The wheat, after it had ripened, there being no one to reap it, also remained standing, and was eaten byclouds of sparrows, rooks, and pigeons, which flocked to it and wereundisturbed, feasting at their pleasure. As the winter came on, thecrops were beaten down by the storms, soaked with rain, and trodden uponby herds of animals. 

Next summer the prostrate straw of the preceding year was concealed bythe young green wheat and barley that sprang up from the grain sown bydropping from the ears, and by quantities of docks, thistles, oxeyedaisies, and similar plants. This matted mass grew up through thebleached straw. Charlock, too, hid the rotting roots in the fields undera blaze of yellow flower. The young spring meadow-grass could scarcelypush its way up through the long dead grass and bennets of the yearprevious, but docks and thistles, sorrel, wild carrots, and nettles, found no such difficulty. 

Footpaths were concealed by the second year, but roads could be traced, though as green as the sward, and were still the best for walking, because the tangled wheat and weeds, and, in the meadows, the longgrass, caught the feet of those who tried to pass through. Year by yearthe original crops of wheat, barley, oats, and beans asserted theirpresence by shooting up, but in gradually diminished force, as nettlesand coarser plants, such as the wild parsnips, spread out into thefields from the ditches and choked them. 

Aquatic grasses from the furrows and water-carriers extended in themeadows, and, with the rushes, helped to destroy or take the place ofthe former sweet herbage. Meanwhile, the brambles, which grew very fast, had pushed forward their prickly runners farther and farther from thehedges till they had now reached ten or fifteen yards. The briars hadfollowed, and the hedges had widened to three or four times their firstbreadth, the fields being equally contracted. Starting from all sides atonce, these brambles and briars in the course of about twenty years metin the centre of the largest fields. 

Hawthorn bushes sprang up among them, and, protected by the briars andthorns from grazing animals, the suckers of elm-trees rose andflourished. Sapling ashes, oaks, sycamores, and horse-chestnuts, liftedtheir heads. Of old time the cattle would have eaten off the seed leaveswith the grass so soon as they were out of the ground, but now most ofthe acorns that were dropped by birds, and the keys that were wafted bythe wind, twirling as they floated, took root and grew into trees. Bythis time the brambles and briars had choked up and blocked the formerroads, which were as impassable as the fields. 

No fields, indeed, remained, for where the ground was dry, the thorns, briars, brambles, and saplings already mentioned filled the space, andthese thickets and the young trees had converted most part of thecountry into an immense forest. Where the ground was naturally moist, and the drains had become choked with willow roots, which, when confinedin tubes, grow into a mass like the brush of a fox, sedges and flags andrushes covered it. Thorn bushes were there, too, but not so tall; theywere hung with lichen. Besides the flags and reeds, vast quantities ofthe tallest cow-parsnips or "gicks" rose five or six feet high, and thewillow herb with its stout stem, almost as woody as a shrub, filledevery approach. 

By the thirtieth year there was not one single open place, the hillsonly excepted, where a man could walk, unless he followed the tracks ofwild creatures or cut himself a path. The ditches, of course, had longsince become full of leaves and dead branches, so that the water whichshould have run off down them stagnated, and presently spread out intothe hollow places and by the corner of what had once been fields, forming marshes where the horsetails, flags, and sedges hid the water. 

As no care was taken with the brooks, the hatches upon them graduallyrotted, and the force of the winter rains carried away the weak timbers, flooding the lower grounds, which became swamps of larger size. Thedams, too, were drilled by water-rats, and the streams percolatingthrough, slowly increased the size of these tunnels till the structureburst, and the current swept on and added to the floods below. Mill-damsstood longer, but, as the ponds silted up, the current flowed round andeven through the mill-houses, which, going by degrees to ruin, were insome cases undermined till they fell. 

Everywhere the lower lands adjacent to the streams had become marshes, some of them extending for miles in a winding line, and occasionallyspreading out to a mile in breadth. This was particularly the case wherebrooks and streams of some volume joined the rivers, which were alsoblocked and obstructed in their turn, and the two, overflowing, coveredthe country around; for the rivers brought down trees and branches, timbers floated from the shore, and all kinds of similar materials, which grounded in the shallows or caught against snags, and formed hugepiles where there had been weirs. 

Sometimes, after great rains, these piles swept away the timbers of theweir, driven by the irresistible power of the water, and then in itscourse the flood, carrying the balks before it like battering rams, cracked and split the bridges of solid stone which the ancients hadbuilt. These and the iron bridges likewise were overthrown, andpresently quite disappeared, for the very foundations were covered withthe sand and gravel silted up. 

Thus, too, the sites of many villages and towns that anciently existedalong the rivers, or on the lower lands adjoining, were concealed by thewater and the mud it brought with it. The sedges and reeds that arosecompleted the work and left nothing visible, so that the mightybuildings of olden days were by these means utterly buried. And, as hasbeen proved by those who have dug for treasures, in our time the veryfoundations are deep beneath the earth, and not to be got at for thewater that oozes into the shafts that they have tried to sink throughthe sand and mud banks. 

From an elevation, therefore, there was nothing visible but endlessforest and marsh. On the level ground and plains the view was limited toa short distance, because of the thickets and the saplings which had nowbecome young trees. The downs only were still partially open, yet it wasnot convenient to walk upon them except in the tracks of animals, because of the long grass which, being no more regularly grazed upon bysheep, as was once the case, grew thick and tangled. Furze, too, andheath covered the slopes, and in places vast quantities of fern. Therehad always been copses of fir and beech and nut-tree covers, and theseincreased and spread, while bramble, briar, and hawthorn extended aroundthem. 

By degrees the trees of the vale seemed as it were to invade and marchup the hills, and, as we see in our time, in many places the downs arehidden altogether with a stunted kind of forest. But all the abovehappened in the time of the first generation. Besides these things agreat physical change took place; but before I speak of that, it will bebest to relate what effects were produced upon animals and men. 

In the first years after the fields were left to themselves, the fallenand over-ripe corn crops became the resort of innumerable mice. Theyswarmed to an incredible degree, not only devouring the grain upon thestraw that had never been cut, but clearing out every single ear in thewheat-ricks that were standing about the country. Nothing remained inthese ricks but straw, pierced with tunnels and runs, the home andbreeding-place of mice, which thence poured forth into the fields. Suchgrain as had been left in barns and granaries, in mills, and inwarehouses of the deserted towns, disappeared in the same manner. 

When men tried to raise crops in small gardens and enclosures for theirsustenance, these legions of mice rushed in and destroyed the produce oftheir labour. Nothing could keep them out, and if a score were killed, ahundred more supplied their place. These mice were preyed upon bykestrel hawks, owls, and weasels; but at first they made little or noappreciable difference. In a few years, however, the weasels, havingsuch a superabundance of food, trebled in numbers, and in the same waythe hawks, owls, and foxes increased. There was then some relief, buteven now at intervals districts are invaded, and the granaries and thestanding corn suffer from these depredations. 

This does not happen every year, but only at intervals, for it isnoticed that mice abound very much more in some seasons than others. Theextraordinary multiplication of these creatures was the means ofproviding food for the cats that had been abandoned in the towns, andcame forth into the country in droves. Feeding on the mice, they became, in a very short time, quite wild, and their descendants now roam theforest. 

In our houses we still have several varieties of the domestic cat, suchas the tortoise-shell, which is the most prized, but when theabove-mentioned cats became wild, after a while the several varietiesdisappeared, and left but one wild kind. Those which are now so oftenseen in the forest, and which do so much mischief about houses andenclosures, are almost all greyish, some being striped, and they arealso much longer in the body than the tame. A few are jet black; theirskins are then preferred by hunters. 

Though the forest cat retires from the sight of man as much as possible, yet it is extremely fierce in defence of its young, and instances havebeen known where travellers in the woods have been attacked uponunwittingly approaching their dens. Dropping from the boughs of a treeupon the shoulders, the creature flies at the face, inflicting deepscratches and bites, exceedingly painful, and sometimes dangerous, fromthe tendency to fester. But such cases are rare, and the reason theforest cat is so detested is because it preys upon fowls and poultry, mounting with ease the trees or places where they roost. 

Almost worse than the mice were the rats, which came out of the oldcities in such vast numbers that the people who survived and saw themare related to have fled in fear. This terror, however, did not last solong as the evil of the mice, for the rats, probably not findingsufficient food when together, scattered abroad, and were destroyedsingly by the cats and dogs, who slew them by thousands, far more thanthey could afterwards eat, so that the carcases were left to decay. Itis said that, overcome with hunger, these armies of rats in some casesfell upon each other, and fed on their own kindred. They are stillnumerous, but do not appear to do the same amount of damage as isoccasionally caused by the mice, when the latter invade the cultivatedlands. 

The dogs, of course, like the cats, were forced by starvation into thefields, where they perished in incredible numbers. Of many species ofdogs which are stated to have been plentiful among the ancients, we havenow nothing but the name. The poodle is extinct, the Maltese terrier, the Pomeranian, the Italian greyhound, and, it is believed, greatnumbers of crosses and mongrels have utterly disappeared. There was noneto feed them, and they could not find food for themselves, nor couldthey stand the rigour of the winter when exposed to the frost in theopen air. 

Some kinds, more hardy and fitted by nature for the chase, became wild, and their descendants are now found in the woods. Of these, there arethree sorts which keep apart from each other, and are thought not tointerbreed. The most numerous are the black. The black wood-dog is shortand stoutly made, with shaggy hair, sometimes marked with white patches. 

There can be no doubt that it is the descendant of the ancientsheep-dog, for it is known that the sheep-dog was of that character, andit is said that those who used to keep sheep soon found their dogsabandon the fold, and join the wild troops that fell upon the sheep. Theblack wood-dogs hunt in packs of ten or more (as many as forty have beencounted), and are the pest of the farmer, for, unless his flocks areprotected at night within stockades or enclosures, they are certain tobe attacked. Not satisfied with killing enough to satisfy hunger, thesedogs tear and mangle for sheer delight of blood, and will destroy twentytimes as many as they can eat, leaving the miserably torn carcases onthe field. Nor are the sheep always safe by day if the wood-dogs happento be hungry. The shepherd is, therefore, usually accompanied by two orthree mastiffs, of whose great size and strength the others stand inawe. At night, and when in large packs, starving in the snow, not eventhe mastiffs can check them. 

No wood-dog, of any kind, has ever been known to attack man, and thehunter in the forest hears their bark in every direction without fear. It is, nevertheless, best to retire out of their way when charging sheepin packs, for they then seem seized with a blind fury, and some who haveendeavoured to fight them have been thrown down and seriously mauled. But this has been in the blindness of their rush; no instance has everbeen known of their purposely attacking man. 

These black wood-dogs will also chase and finally pull down cattle, ifthey can get within the enclosures, and even horses have fallen victimsto their untiring thirst for blood. Not even the wild cattle can alwaysescape, despite their strength, and they have been known to run downstags, though not their usual quarry. 

The next kind of wild wood-dog is the yellow, a smaller animal, withsmooth hair inclining to a yellow colour, which lives principally upongame, chasing all, from the hare to the stag. It is as swift, or nearlyas swift, as the greyhound, and possesses greater endurance. In coursingthe hare, it not uncommonly happens that these dogs start from the brakeand take the hare, when nearly exhausted, from the hunter's hounds. Theywill in the same way follow a stag, which has been almost run down bythe hunters, and bring him to bay, though in this case they lose theirbooty, dispersing through fear of man, when the hunters come up in abody. 

But such is their love of the chase, that they are known to assemblefrom their lairs at the distant sound of the horn, and, as the huntersride through the woods, they often see the yellow dogs flitting alongside by side with them through bush and fern. These animals sometimeshunt singly, sometimes in couples, and as the season advances, andwinter approaches, in packs of eight or twelve. They never attack sheepor cattle, and avoid man, except when they perceive he is engaged in thechase. There is little doubt that they are the descendants of the dogswhich the ancients called lurchers, crossed, perhaps, with thegreyhound, and possibly other breeds. When the various species of dogswere thrown on their own resources, those only withstood the exposureand hardships which were naturally hardy, and possessed natural aptitudefor the chase. 

The third species of wood-dog is the white. They are low on the legs, ofa dingy white colour, and much smaller than the other two. They neitherattack cattle nor game, though fond of hunting rabbits. This dog is, infact, a scavenger, living upon the carcases of dead sheep and animals, which are found picked clean in the night. For this purpose it hauntsthe neighbourhood of habitations, and prowls in the evening over heapsof refuse, scampering away at the least alarm, for it is extremelytimid. 

It is perfectly harmless, for even the poultry do not dread it, and itwill not face a tame cat, if by chance the two meet. It is rarely metwith far from habitations, though it will accompany an army on themarch. It may be said to remain in one district. The black and yellowdogs, on the contrary, roam about the forest without apparent home. Oneday the hunter sees signs of their presence, and perhaps may, for amonth afterwards, not so much as hear a bark. 

This uncertainty in the case of the black dog is the bane of theshepherds; for, not seeing or hearing anything of the enemy for monthsaltogether, in spite of former experience their vigilance relaxes, andsuddenly, while they sleep, their flocks are scattered. We still have, among tame dogs, the mastiff, terrier, spaniel, deerhound, andgreyhound, all of which are as faithful to man as ever. 

CHAPTER II

WILD ANIMALS

When the ancients departed, great numbers of their cattle perished. Itwas not so much the want of food as the inability to endure exposurethat caused their death; a few winters are related to have so reducedthem that they died by hundreds, many mangled by dogs. The hardiest thatremained became perfectly wild, and the wood cattle are now moredifficult to approach than deer. 

There are two kinds, the white and the black. The white (sometimes dun)are believed to be the survivors of the domestic roan-and-white, for thecattle in our enclosures at the present day are of that colour. Theblack are smaller, and are doubtless little changed from their state inthe olden times, except that they are wild. These latter are timid, unless accompanied by a calf, and are rarely known to turn upon theirpursuers. But the white are fierce at all times; they will not, indeed, attack man, but will scarcely run from him, and it is not always safe tocross their haunts. 

The bulls are savage beyond measure at certain seasons of the year. Ifthey see men at a distance, they retire; if they come unexpectedly faceto face, they attack. This characteristic enables those who travelthrough districts known to be haunted by white cattle to provide againstan encounter, for, by occasionally blowing a horn, the herd that may bein the vicinity is dispersed. There are not often more than twenty in aherd. The hides of the dun are highly prized, both for their intrinsicvalue, and as proofs of skill and courage, so much so that you shallhardly buy a skin for all the money you may offer; and the horns arelikewise trophies. The white or dun bull is the monarch of our forests. 

Four kinds of wild pigs are found. The most numerous, or at least themost often seen, as it lies about our enclosures, is the commonthorn-hog. It is the largest of the wild pigs, long-bodied andflat-sided, in colour much the hue of the mud in which it wallows. Tothe agriculturist it is the greatest pest, destroying or damaging allkinds of crops, and routing up the gardens. It is with difficulty keptout by palisading, for if there be a weak place in the wooden framework, the strong snout of the animal is sure to undermine and work a passagethrough. 

As there are always so many of these pigs round about inhabited placesand cultivated fields, constant care is required, for they instantlydiscover an opening. From their habit of haunting the thickets and bushwhich come up to the verge of the enclosures, they have obtained thename of thorn-hogs. Some reach an immense size, and they are veryprolific, so that it is impossible to destroy them. The boars are fierceat a particular season, but never attack unless provoked to do so. Butwhen driven to bay they are the most dangerous of the boars, on accountof their vast size and weight. They are of a sluggish disposition, andwill not rise from their lairs unless forced to do so. 

The next kind is the white hog, which has much the same habits as theformer, except that it is usually found in moist places, near lakes andrivers, and is often called the marsh-pig. The third kind is perfectlyblack, much smaller in size, and very active, affording by far the bestsport, and also the best food when killed. As they are found on thehills where the ground is somewhat more open, horses can follow freely, and the chase becomes exciting. By some it is called the hill-hog, fromthe locality it frequents. The small tusks of the black boar are usedfor many ornamental purposes. 

These three species are considered to be the descendants of the variousdomestic pigs of the ancients, but the fourth, or grey, is thought to bethe true wild boar. It is seldom seen, but is most common in thesouth-western forests, where, from the quantity of fern, it is calledthe fern-pig. This kind is believed to represent the true wild boar, which was extinct, or merged in the domestic hog among the ancients, except in that neighbourhood where the strain remained. 

With wild times, the wild habits have returned, and the grey boar is atonce the most difficult of access, and the most ready to encountereither dogs or men. Although the first, or thorn-hog, does the mostdamage to the agriculturist because of its numbers, and its habit ofhaunting the neighbourhood of enclosures, the others are equallyinjurious if they chance to enter the cultivated fields. 

The three principal kinds of wild sheep are the horned, the thyme, andthe meadow. The thyme sheep are the smallest, and haunt the highesthills in the south, where, feeding on the sweet herbage of the ridges, their flesh is said to acquire a flavour of wild thyme. They move insmall flocks of not more than thirty, and are the most difficult toapproach, being far more wary than deer, so continuously are they huntedby the wood-dogs. The horned are larger, and move in greater numbers; asmany as two hundred are sometimes seen together. 

They are found on the lower slopes and plains, and in the woods. Themeadow sheep have long shaggy wool, which is made into various articlesof clothing, but they are not numerous. They haunt river sides, and theshores of lakes and ponds. None of these are easily got at, on accountof the wood-dogs; but the rams of the horned kind are reputed tosometimes turn upon the pursuing pack, and butt them to death. In theextremity of their terror whole flocks of wild sheep have been drivenover precipices and into quagmires and torrents. 

Besides these, there are several other species whose haunt is local. Onthe islands, especially, different kinds are found. The wood-dogs willoccasionally, in calm weather, swim out to an island and kill everysheep upon it. 

From the horses that were in use among the ancients the two wild speciesnow found are known to have descended, a fact confirmed by their evidentresemblance to the horses we still retain. The largest wild horse isalmost black, or inclined to a dark colour, somewhat less in size thanour present waggon horses, but of the same heavy make. It is, however, much swifter, on account of having enjoyed liberty for so long. It iscalled the bush-horse, being generally distributed among thickets andmeadow-like lands adjoining water. 

The other species is called the hill-pony, from its habitat, the hills, and is rather less in size than our riding-horse. This latter is shortand thick-set, so much so as not to be easily ridden by short personswithout high stirrups. Neither of these wild horses are numerous, butneither are they uncommon. They keep entirely separate from each other. As many as thirty mares are sometimes seen together, but there aredistricts where the traveller will not observe one for weeks. 

Tradition says that in the olden times there were horses of a slenderbuild whose speed outstripped the wind, but of the breed of these famousracers not one is left. Whether they were too delicate to withstandexposure, or whether the wild dogs hunted them down is uncertain, butthey are quite gone. Did but one exist, how eagerly it would be soughtout, for in these days it would be worth its weight in gold, unless, indeed, as some affirm, such speed only endured for a mile or two. 

It is not necessary, having written thus far of the animals, thatanything be said of the birds of the woods, which every one knows werenot always wild, and which can, indeed, be compared with such poultry asare kept in our enclosures. Such are the bush-hens, the wood-turkeys, the galenæ, the peacocks, the white duck and the white goose, all ofwhich, though now wild as the hawk, are well known to have been oncetame. 

There were deer, red and fallow, in numerous parks and chases of veryold time, and these, having got loose, and having such immense tracts toroam over unmolested, went on increasing till now they are beyondcomputation, and I have myself seen a thousand head together. Withinthese forty years, as I learn, the roe-deer, too, have come down fromthe extreme north, so that there are now three sorts in the woods. Before them the pine-marten came from the same direction, and, thoughthey are not yet common, it is believed they are increasing. For thefirst few years after the change took place there seemed a danger lestthe foreign wild beasts that had been confined as curiosities inmenageries should multiply and remain in the woods. But this did nothappen. 

Some few lions, tigers, bears, and other animals did indeed escape, together with many less furious creatures, and it is related that theyroamed about the fields for a long time. They were seldom met with, having such an extent of country to wander over, and after a whileentirely disappeared. If any progeny were born, the winter frosts musthave destroyed it, and the same fate awaited the monstrous serpentswhich had been collected for exhibition. Only one such animal now existswhich is known to owe its origin to those which escaped from the dens ofthe ancients. It is the beaver, whose dams are now occasionally foundupon the streams by those who traverse the woods. Some of the aquaticbirds, too, which frequent the lakes, are thought to have beenoriginally derived from those which were formerly kept as curiosities. 

In the castle yard at Longtover may still be seen the bones of anelephant which was found dying in the woods near that spot. 

CHAPTER III

MEN OF THE WOODS

So far as this, all that I have stated has been clear, and there can beno doubt that what has been thus handed down from mouth to mouth is forthe most part correct. When I pass from trees and animals to men, however, the thing is different, for nothing is certain and everythingconfused. None of the accounts agree, nor can they be altogetherreconciled with present facts or with reasonable supposition; yet it isnot so long since but a few memories, added one to the other, can bridgethe time, and, though not many, there are some written notes still to befound. I must attribute the discrepancy to the wars and hatreds whichsprang up and divided the people, so that one would not listen to whatthe others wished to say, and the truth was lost. 

Besides which, in the conflagration which consumed the towns, most ofthe records were destroyed, and are no longer to be referred to. And itmay be that even when they were proceeding, the causes of the changewere not understood. Therefore, what I am now about to describe is notto be regarded as the ultimate truth, but as the nearest to which Icould attain after comparing the various traditions. Some say, then, that the first beginning of the change was because the sea silted up theentrances to the ancient ports, and stopped the vast commerce which wasonce carried on. It is certainly true that many of the ports are siltedup, and are now useless as such, but whether the silting up preceded thedisappearance of the population, or whether the disappearance of thepopulation, and the consequent neglect caused the silting, I cannotventure to positively assert. 

For there are signs that the level of the sea has sunk in some places, and signs that it has become higher in others, so that the judicioushistorian will simply state the facts, and refrain from colouring themwith his own theory as Silvester has done. Others again maintain thatthe supply of food from over the ocean suddenly stopping caused greatdisorders, and that the people crowded on board all the ships to escapestarvation, and sailed away, and were no more heard of. 

It has, too, been said that the earth, from some attractive powerexercised by the passage of an enormous dark body through space, becametilted or inclined to its orbit more than before, and that this, whileit lasted, altered the flow of the magnetic currents, which, in animperceptible manner, influence the minds of men. Hitherto the stream ofhuman life had directed itself to the westward, but when this reversalof magnetism occurred, a general desire arose to return to the east. Andthose whose business is theology have pointed out that the wickedness ofthose times surpassed understanding, and that a change and sweeping awayof the human evil that had accumulated was necessary, and was effectedby supernatural means. The relation of this must be left to them, sinceit is not the province of the philosopher to meddle with such matters. 

All that seems certain is, that when the event took place, the immensecrowds collected in cities were most affected, and that the richer andupper classes made use of their money to escape. Those left behind weremainly the lower and most ignorant, so far as the arts were concerned;those that dwelt in distant and outlying places; and those who lived byagriculture. These last at that date had fallen to such distress thatthey could not hire vessels to transport themselves. The exact number ofthose left behind cannot, of course, be told, but it is on record thatwhen the fields were first neglected (as I have already described), aman might ride a hundred miles and not meet another. They were not onlyfew, but scattered, and had not drawn together and formed towns as atpresent. 

Of what became of the vast multitudes that left the country, nothing hasever been heard, and no communication has been received from them. Forthis reason I cannot conceal my opinion that they must have sailedeither to the westward or to the southward where the greatest extent ofocean is understood to exist, and not to the eastward as Silvester wouldhave it in his work upon the "Unknown Orb", the dark body travelling inspace to which I have alluded. None of our vessels in the present daydare venture into those immense tracts of sea, nor, indeed, out of sightof land, unless they know they shall see it again so soon as they havereached and surmounted the ridge of the horizon. Had they only crossedto the mainland or continent again, we should most likely have heard oftheir passage across the countries there. 

It is true that ships rarely come over, and only to two ports, and thatthe men on them say (so far as can be understood) that their country isequally deserted now, and has likewise lost its population. But still, as men talk unto men, and we pass intelligence across great breadths ofland, it is almost certain that, had they travelled that way, some echoof their footsteps would yet sound back to us. Regarding this theory, therefore, as untenable, I put forward as a suggestion that the ancientsreally sailed to the west or to the south. 

As, for the most part, those who were left behind were ignorant, rude, and unlettered, it consequently happened that many of the marvellousthings which the ancients did, and the secrets of their science, areknown to us by name only, and, indeed, hardly by name. It has happenedto us in our turn as it happened to the ancients. For they were awarethat in times before their own the art of making glass malleable hadbeen discovered, so that it could be beaten into shape like copper. Butthe manner in which it was accomplished was entirely unknown to them;the fact was on record, but the cause lost. So now we know that thosewho to us are the ancients had a way of making diamonds and preciousstones out of black and lustreless charcoal, a fact which approaches theincredible. Still, we do not doubt it, though we cannot imagine by whatmeans it was carried out. 

They also sent intelligence to the utmost parts of the earth along wireswhich were not tubular, but solid, and therefore could not transmitsound, and yet the person who received the message could hear andrecognise the voice of the sender a thousand miles away. With certainmachines worked by fire, they traversed the land swift as the swallowglides through the sky, but of these things not a relic remains to us. What metal-work or wheels or bars of iron were left, and might havegiven us a clue, were all broken up and melted down for use in otherways when metal became scarce. 

Mounds of earth are said to still exist in the woods, which originallyformed the roads for these machines, but they are now so low, and socovered with thickets, that nothing can be learnt from them; and, indeed, though I have heard of their existence, I have never seen one. Great holes were made through the very hills for the passage of the ironchariot, but they are now blocked by the falling roofs, nor dare any oneexplore such parts as may yet be open. Where are the wonderfulstructures with which the men of those days were lifted to the skies, rising above the clouds? These marvellous things are to us little morethan fables of the giants and of the old gods that walked upon theearth, which were fables even to those whom we call the ancients. 

Indeed, we have fuller knowledge of those extremely ancient times thanof the people who immediately preceded us, and the Romans and the Greeksare more familiar to us than the men who rode in the iron chariots andmounted to the skies. The reason why so many arts and sciences were lostwas because, as I have previously said, the most of those who were leftin the country were ignorant, rude, and unlettered. They had seen theiron chariots, but did not understand the method of their construction, and could not hand down the knowledge they did not themselves possess. The magic wires of intelligence passed through their villages, but theydid not know how to work them. 

The cunning artificers of the cities all departed, and everything fellquickly into barbarism; nor could it be wondered at, for the few andscattered people of those days had enough to do to preserve their lives. Communication between one place and another was absolutely cut off, andif one perchance did recollect something that might have been of use, hecould not confer with another who knew the other part, and thus betweenthem reconstruct the machine. In the second generation even thesedisjointed memories died out. 

At first it is supposed that those who remained behind existed upon thegrain in the warehouses, and what they could thresh by the flail fromthe crops left neglected in the fields. But as the provisions in thewarehouses were consumed or spoiled, they hunted the animals, latelytame and as yet but half wild. As these grew less in number anddifficult to overtake, they set to work again to till the ground, andcleared away small portions of the earth, encumbered already withbrambles and thistles. Some grew corn, and some took charge of sheep. Thus, in time, places far apart from each other were settled, and townswere built; towns, indeed, we call them to distinguish them from thechampaign, but they are not worthy of the name in comparison with themighty cities of old time. 

There are many that have not more than fifty houses in the enclosure, and perhaps no other station within a day's journey, and the largest arebut villages, reckoning by antiquity. For the most part they have theirown government, or had till recently, and thus there grew up manyprovinces and kingdoms in the compass of what was originally but one. Thus separated and divided, there came also to be many races where inthe first place was one people. Now, in briefly recounting the principaldivisions of men, I will commence with those who are everywhereconsidered the lowest. These are the Bushmen, who live wholly in thewoods. 

Even among the ancients, when every man, woman, and child could exercisethose arts which are now the special mark of nobility, _i. E. _ readingand writing, there was a degraded class of persons who refused to availthemselves of the benefits of civilization. They obtained their food bybegging, wandering along the highways, crouching around fires which theylit in the open, clad in rags, and exhibiting countenances from whichevery trace of self-respect had disappeared. These were the ancestors ofthe present men of the bushes. 

They took naturally to the neglected fields, and forming "camps" as theycall their tribes, or rather families, wandered to and fro, easilysubsisting upon roots and trapped game. So they live to this day, havingbecome extremely dexterous in snaring every species of bird and animal, and the fishes of the streams. These latter they sometimes poison with adrug or a plant (it is not known which), the knowledge of which has beenpreserved among them since the days of the ancients. The poison killsthe fishes, and brings them to the surface, when they can be collectedby hundreds, but does not injure them for eating. 

Like the black wood-dogs, the Bushmen often in fits of savage frenzydestroy thrice as much as they can devour, trapping deer in wickerworkhedges, or pitfalls, and cutting the miserable animals in pieces, formere thirst of blood. The oxen and cattle in the enclosures areoccasionally in the same manner fearfully mutilated by these wretches, sometimes for amusement, and sometimes in vengeance for injuries done tothem. Bushmen have no settled home, cultivate no kind of corn orvegetable, keep no animals, not even dogs, have no houses or huts, noboats or canoes, nothing that requires the least intelligence or energyto construct. 

Roaming to and fro without any apparent aim or object, or any particularroute, they fix their camp for a few days wherever it suits their fancy, and again move on, no man knows why or whither. It is this uncertaintyof movement which makes them so dangerous. To-day there may not be theleast sign of any within miles of an enclosure. In the night a "camp"may pass, slaughtering such cattle as may have remained without thepalisade, or killing the unfortunate shepherd who has not got within thewalls, and in the morning they may be nowhere to be seen, havingdisappeared like vermin. Face to face the Bushman is never to be feared;a whole "camp" or tribal family will scatter if a traveler stumbles intotheir midst. It is from behind a tree or under cover of night that hedeals his murderous blow. 

A "camp" may consist of ten or twenty individuals, sometimes, perhaps, of forty, or even fifty, of various ages, and is ruled by the eldest, who is also the parent. He is absolute master of his "camp", but has nopower or recognition beyond it, so that how many leaders there may beamong them it is not possible even to guess. Nor is the master known tothem as king, or duke, nor has he any title, but is simply the oldest orfounder of the family. The "camp" has no law, no established custom;events happen, and even the master cannot be said to reign. When hebecomes feeble, they simply leave him to die. 

They are depraved, and without shame, clad in sheep-skins chiefly, ifclad at all, or in such clothes as they have stolen. They have noceremonies whatever. The number of these "camps" must be considerable, and yet the Bushman is seldom seen, nor do we very often hear of theirdepredations, which is accounted for by the extent of country theywander over. It is in severe winters that the chief danger occurs; theythen suffer from hunger and cold, and are driven to the neighbourhood ofthe enclosures to steal. So dexterous are they in slipping through thebushes, and slinking among the reeds and osiers, that they will passwithin a few yards without discovering their presence, and the signs oftheir passage can be detected only by the experienced hunter, and notalways by him. 

It is observed that whatever mischief the Bushman commits, he never setsfire to any ricks or buildings; the reason is because his nature is toslink from the scene of his depredations, and flame at once attractspeople to the spot. Twice the occurrence of a remarkably severe winterhas caused the Bushmen to flock together and act in an approach toconcert in attacking the enclosures. The Bushmen of the north, who wereeven more savage and brutal, then came down, and were with difficultyrepulsed from the walled cities. In ordinary times we see very little ofthem. They are the thieves, the human vermin of the woods. 

Under the name of gipsies, those who are now often called Romany andZingari were well known to the ancients. Indeed, they boast that theirancestry goes back so much farther than the oldest we can claim, thatthe ancients themselves were but modern to them. Even in that age ofhighest civilization, which immediately preceded the present, they say(and there is no doubt of it) that they preserved the blood of theirrace pure and untainted, that they never dwelt under permanent roofs, nor bowed their knees to the prevalent religion. They remained apart, and still continue after civilization has disappeared, exactly the sameas they were before it commenced. 

Since the change their numbers have greatly increased, and were they notalways at war with each other, it is possible that they might go far tosweep the house people from the land. But there are so many tribes, eachwith its king, queen, or duke, that their power is divided, and theirforce melts away. The ruler of the Bushman families is always a man, butamong the gipsies a woman, and even a young girl, often exercisessupreme authority, but must be of the sacred blood. These kings anddukes are absolute autocrats within their tribe, and can order by a nodthe destruction of those who offend them. Habits of simplest obediencebeing enjoined on the tribe from earliest childhood, such executions arerare, but the right to command them is not for a moment questioned. 

Of the sorcerers, and particularly the sorceresses, among them, all haveheard, and, indeed, the places where they dwell seem full of mystery andmagic. They live in tents, and though they constantly remove fromdistrict to district, one tribe never clashes with or crosses another, because all have their especial routes, upon which no intrusion is evermade. Some agriculture is practiced, and flocks and herds are kept, butthe work is entirely done by the women. The men are always on horseback, or sleeping in their tents. 

Each tribe has its central camping-place, to which they return atintervals after perhaps wandering for months, a certain number ofpersons being left at home to defend it. These camps are often situatedin inaccessible positions, and well protected by stockades. Theterritory which is acknowledged to belong to such a camp is extremelylimited; its mere environs only are considered the actual property ofthe tribe, and a second can pitch its tents with a few hundred yards. These stockades, in fact, are more like store-houses than residences;each is a mere rendezvous. 

The gipsies are everywhere, but their stockades are most numerous in thesouth, along the sides of the green hills and plains, and especiallyround Stonehenge, where, on the great open plains, among the hugeboulders, placed ages since in circles, they perform strange ceremoniesand incantations. They attack every traveller, and every caravan ortrain of waggons which they feel strong enough to master, but they donot murder the solitary sleeping hunter or shepherd like the Bushmen. They will, indeed, steal from him, but do not kill, except in fight. Once, now and then, they have found their way into towns, when terriblemassacres have followed, for, when excited, the savage knows not how torestrain himself. 

Vengeance is their idol. If any community has injured or affronted them, they never cease endeavouring to retaliate, and will wipe it out in fireand blood generations afterwards. There are towns which have thus beensuddenly harried when the citizens had forgotten that any cause ofenmity existed. Vengeance is their religion and their social law, whichguides all their actions among themselves. It is for this reason thatthey are continually at war, duke with duke, and king with king. Adeadly feud, too, has set Bushman and gipsy at each other's throat, farbeyond the memory of man. The Romany looks on the Bushman as a dog, andslaughters him as such. In turn, the despised human dog slinks in thedarkness of the night into the Romany's tent, and stabs his daughter orhis wife, for such is the meanness and cowardice of the Bushman that hewould always rather kill a woman than a man. 

There is also a third class of men who are not true gipsies, but havesomething of their character, though the gipsies will not allow thatthey were originally half-breeds. Their habits are much the same, exceptthat they are foot men and rarely use horses, and are therefore calledthe foot gipsies. The gipsy horse is really a pony. Once only have theRomany combined to attack the house people, driven, like the Bushmen, byan exceedingly severe winter, against which they had no provision. 

But, then, instead of massing their forces and throwing theirirresistible numbers upon one city or territory, all they would agree todo was that, upon a certain day, each tribe should invade the landnearest to it. The result was that they were, though with trouble, repulsed. Until lately, no leader ventured to follow the gipsies totheir strongholds, for they were reputed invincible behind theirstockades. By infesting the woods and lying in ambush they renderedcommunication between city and city difficult and dangerous, except tobodies of armed men, and every waggon had to be defended by troops. 

The gipsies, as they roam, make little secret of their presence (unless, of course, intent upon mischief), but light their fires by day and nightfearlessly. The Bushmen never light a fire by day, lest the ascendingsmoke, which cannot be concealed, should betray their whereabouts. Theirfires are lit at night in hollows or places well surrounded withthickets, and, that the flame may not be seen, they will build screensof fir boughs or fern. When they have obtained a good supply of hot woodcoals, no more sticks are thrown on, but these are covered with turf, and thus kept in long enough for their purposes. Much of their meat theydevour raw, and thus do not need a fire so frequently as others. 

CHAPTER IV

THE INVADERS

Those who live by agriculture or in towns, and are descended from theremnant of the ancients, are divided, as I have previously said, intonumerous provinces, kingdoms, and republics. In the middle part of thecountry the cities are almost all upon the shores of the Lake, or withina short distance of the water, and there is therefore more traffic andcommunication between them by means of vessels than is the case withinland towns, whose trade must be carried on by caravans and waggons. These not only move slowly, but are subject to be interrupted by theRomany and by the banditti, or persons who, for moral or politicalcrimes, have been banished from their homes. 

It is in the cities that cluster around the great central lake that allthe life and civilization of our day are found; but there also beginthose wars and social convulsions which cause so much suffering. Whenwas the Peninsula at peace? and when was there not some mischief andchange brewing in the republics? When was there not a danger from thenorthern mainland?

Until recent years there was little knowledge of, and scarcely anydirect commerce or intercourse between, the central part and thedistricts either of the extreme west or the north, and it is only nowthat the north and east are becoming open to us; for at the back of thenarrow circle or cultivated land, the belt about the Lake, there extendimmense forests in every direction, through which, till very lately, nopracticable way had been cut. Even in the more civilized central part itis not to this day easy to travel, for at the barriers, as you approachthe territories of every prince, they demand your business and yourpapers; nor even if you establish the fact that you are innocent ofdesigns against the State, shall you hardly enter without satisfying thegreed of the officials. 

A fine is thus exacted at the gate of every province and kingdom, andagain at the gateways of the towns. The difference of the coinage, suchas it is, causes also great loss and trouble, for the money of onekingdom (though passing current by command in that territory) is notreceived at its nominal value in the next on account of the alloy itcontains. It is, indeed, in many kingdoms impossible to obtain sterlingmoney. Gold there is little or none anywhere, but silver is the standardof exchange, and copper, bronze, and brass, sometimes tin, are themetals with which the greater number of the people transact theirbusiness. 

Justice is corrupt, for where there is a king or a prince it depends onthe caprice of a tyrant, and where there is a republic upon the shout ofthe crowd, so that many, if they think they may be put on trial, ratherthan face the risk at once escape into the woods. The League, thoughbased ostensibly on principles the most exalted and beneficial tohumanity, is known to be perverted. The members sworn to honour and thehighest virtue are swayed by vile motives, political hatreds, andprivate passions, and even by money. 

Men for ever trample upon men, each pushing to the front; nor is theresafety in remaining in retirement, since such are accused of bidingtheir time and of occult designs. Though the population of these citiesall counted together is not equal to the population that once dwelt in asingle second-rate city of the ancients, yet how much greater are thebitterness and the struggle!

Yet not content with the bloodshed they themselves cause, the tyrantshave called in the aid of mercenary soldiers to assist them. And, tocomplete the disgrace, those republics which proclaim themselves thevery home of patriotic virtues, have resorted to the same means. Thus wesee English cities kept in awe by troops of Welshmen, Irish, and eventhe western Scots, who swarm in the council-chambers of the republics, and, opening the doors of the houses, help themselves to what they will. This, too, in the face of the notorious fact that these nations havesworn to be avenged upon us, that their vessels sail about the Lakecommitting direful acts of piracy, and that twice already vast armieshave swept along threatening to entirely overwhelm the wholecommonwealth. 

What infatuation to admit bands of these same men into the verystrongholds and the heart of the land! As if upon the approach of theircountrymen they would remain true to the oaths they have sworn for pay, and not rather admit them with open arms. No blame can, upon a justconsideration, be attributed to either of these nations that endeavourto oppress us. For, as they point out, the ancients from whom we aredescended held them in subjection many hundred years, and took from themall their liberties. 

Thus the Welsh, or, as they call themselves, the Cymry, say that thewhole island was once theirs, and is theirs still by right ofinheritance. They were the original people who possessed it ages beforethe arrival of those whom we call the ancients. Though they were driveninto the mountains of the far distant west, they never forgot theirlanguage, ceased their customs, or gave up their aspirations to recovertheir own. This is now their aim, and until recently it seemed as ifthey were about to accomplish it. For they held all that countryanciently called Cornwall, having crossed over the Severn, and marcheddown the southern shore. The rich land of Devon, part of Dorset (all, indeed, that is inhabited), and the most part of Somerset, acknowledgedtheir rule. Worcester and Hereford and Gloucester were theirs; I mean, of course, those parts that are not forest. 

Their outposts were pushed forward to the centre of Leicestershire, andcame down towards Oxford. But thereabouts they met with the forces ofwhich I will shortly speak. Then their vessels every summer sailing fromthe Severn, came into the Lake, and, landing wherever there was anopportunity, they destroyed all things and carried off the spoil. Is itnecessary to say more to demonstrate the madness which possesses thoseprinces and republics which, in order to support their own tyranny, haveinvited bands of these men into their very palaces and forts?

As they approached near what was once Oxford and is now Sypolis, thearmies of the Cymry came into collision with another of our invaders, and thus their forward course to the south was checked. The Irish, whohad hitherto abetted them, turned round to defend their own usurpations. They, too, say that in conquering and despoiling my countrymen they arefulfilling a divine vengeance. Their land of Ireland had been forcenturies ground down with an iron tyranny by our ancestors, who closedtheir lips with a muzzle, and led them about with a bridle, as theirpoets say. But now the hateful Saxons (for thus both they and the Welshdesignate us) are broken, and delivered over to them for their spoil. 

It is not possible to deny many of the statements that they make, butthat should not prevent us from battling with might and main against thethreatened subjection. What crime can be greater than the admission ofsuch foreigners as the guards of our cities? Now the Irish have theirprincipal rendezvous and capital near to the ancient city of Chester, which is upon the ocean, and at the very top and angle of Wales. This istheir great settlement, their magazine and rallying-place, and thencetheir expeditions have proceeded. It is a convenient port, and wellopposite their native land, from which reinforcements continuallyarrive, but the Welsh have ever looked upon their possession of it withjealousy. 

At the period when the Cymry had nearly penetrated to Sypolis or Oxford, the Irish, on their part, had overrun all the cultivated and inhabitedcountry in a south and south-easterly line from Chester, through Rutlandto Norfolk and Suffolk, and even as far as Luton. They would have spreadto the north, but in that direction they were met by the Scots, who hadall Northumbria. When the Welsh came near Sypolis, the Irish awoke tothe position of affairs. 

Sypolis is the largest and most important city upon the northern shoreof the Lake, and it is situated at the entrance to the neck of land thatstretches out to the straits. If the Welsh were once well posted there, the Irish could never hope to find their way to the rich and cultivatedsouth, for it is just below Sypolis that the Lake contracts, and forms astrait in one place but a furlong wide. The two forces thus came intocollision, and while they fought and destroyed each other, Sypolis wassaved. After which, finding they were evenly matched, the Irish withdrewtwo days' march northwards, and the Cymry as far westwards. 

But now the Irish, sailing round the outside of Wales, came likewise upthrough the Red Rocks, and so into the Lake, and in their turn landing, harassed the cities. Often Welsh and Irish vessels, intending to attackthe same place, have discerned each other approaching, and, turning fromtheir proposed action, have flown at each other's throats. The Scotshave not harassed us in the south much, being too far distant, and thosethat wander hither come for pay, taking service as guards. They are, indeed, the finest of men, and the hardiest to battle with. I hadforgotten to mention that it is possible the Irish might have pushedback the Welsh, had not the kingdom of York suddenly reviving, by meanswhich shall be related, valiantly thrust out its masters, and fell upontheir rear. 

But still these nations are always upon the verge and margin of ourworld, and wait but an opportunity to rush in upon it. Our countrymengroan under their yoke, and I say again that infamy should be theportion of those rulers among us who have filled their fortified placeswith mercenaries derived from such sources. 

The land, too, is weak, because of the multitude of bondsmen. In theprovinces and kingdoms round about the Lake there is hardly a town wherethe slaves do not outnumber the free as ten to one. The laws are framedfor the object of reducing the greater part of the people to servitude. For every offence the punishment is slavery, and the offences are dailyartificially increased, that the wealth of the few in human beings maygrow with them. If a man in his hunger steal a loaf, he becomes a slave;that is, it is proclaimed he must make good to the State the injury hehas done it, and must work out his trespass. This is not assessed as thevalue of the loaf, nor supposed to be confined to the individual fromwhom it was taken. 

The theft is said to damage the State at large, because it corrupts themorality of the commonwealth; it is as if the thief had stolen a loaf, not from one, but from every member of the State. Restitution must, therefore, be made to all, and the value of the loaf returned in laboura thousandfold. The thief is the bondsman of the State. But as the Statecannot employ him, he is leased out to those who will pay into thetreasury of the prince the money equivalent to the labour he is capableof performing. Thus, under cover of the highest morality, the greatestiniquity is perpetrated. For the theft of a loaf, the man is reduced toa slave; then his wife and children, unable to support themselves, become a charge to the State, that is, they beg in the public ways. 

This, too, forsooth, corrupts morality, and they likewise are seized andleased out to any who like to take them. Nor can he or they ever becomefree again, for they must repay to their proprietor the sum he gave forthem, and how can that be done, since they receive no wages? Forstriking another, a man may be in the same way, as they term it, forfeited to the State, and be sold to the highest bidder. A stout brasswire is then twisted around his left wrist loosely, and the endssoldered together. Then a bar of iron being put through, a half turn isgiven to it, which forces the wire sharply against the arm, causing itto fit tightly, often painfully, and forms a smaller ring at theoutside. By this smaller ring a score of bondsmen may be seen strungtogether with a rope. 

To speak disrespectfully of the prince or his council, or of the nobles, or of religion, to go out of the precincts without permission, to tradewithout license, to omit to salute the great, all these and a thousandothers are crimes deserving of the brazen bracelet. Were a man to studyall day what he must do, and what he must not do, to escape servitude, it would not be possible for him to stir one step without becomingforfeit! And yet they hypocritically say that these things are done forthe sake of public morality, and that there are not slaves (notpermitting the word to be used), and no man was ever sold. 

It is, indeed, true that no man is sold in open market, he is leasedinstead; and, by a refined hypocrisy, the owner of slaves cannot sellthem to another owner, but he can place them in the hands of the notary, presenting them with their freedom, so far as he is concerned. Thenotary, upon payment of a fine from the purchaser, transfers them tohim, and the larger part of the fine goes to the prince. Debt aloneunder their laws must crowd the land with slaves, for, as wages arescarcely known, a child from its birth is often declared to be in debt. For its nourishment is drawn from its mother, and the wretched mother isthe wife of a retainer who is fed by his lord. To such a degree is thistyranny carried! If any owe a penny, his doom is sealed; he becomes abondsman, and thus the estates of the nobles are full of men who workduring their whole lives for the profit of others. Thus, too, the woodsare filled with banditti, for those who find an opportunity never failto escape, notwithstanding the hunt that is invariably made for them, and the cruel punishment that awaits recapture. And numbers, foreseeingthat they must become bondsmen, before they are proclaimed forfeit stealaway by night, and live as they may in the forests. 

How, then, does any man remain free? Only by the favour of the nobles, and only that he may amass wealth for them. The merchants, and those whohave license to trade by land or water, are all protected by some noblehouse, to whom they pay heavily for permission to live in their ownhouses. The principal tyrant is supported by the nobles, that they intheir turn may tyrannise over the merchants, and they again over all theworkmen of their shops and bazaars. 

Over their own servants (for thus they call the slaves, that the worditself may not be used), who work upon their estates, the nobles areabsolute masters, and may even hang them upon the nearest tree. And hereI cannot but remark how strange it is, first, that any man can remain aslave rather than die; and secondly, how much stranger it is that anyother man, himself a slave, can be found to hunt down or to hang hisfellow; yet the tyrants never lack executioners. Their castles arecrowded with retainers who wreak their wills upon the defenceless. Theseretainers do not wear the brazen bracelet; they are free. Are there, then, no beggars? Yes, they sit at every corner, and about the gates ofthe cities, asking for alms. 

Though begging makes a man forfeit to the State, it is only when he hasthews and sinews, and can work. The diseased and aged, the helpless andfeeble, may break the law, and starve by the roadside, because itprofits no one to make them his slaves. And all these things are done inthe name of morality, and for the good of the human race, as theyconstantly announce in their councils and parliaments. 

There are two reasons why the mercenaries have been called in; first, because the princes found the great nobles so powerful, and can keepthem in check only by the aid of these foreigners; and secondly, becausethe number of the outlaws in the woods has become so great that thenobles themselves are afraid lest their slaves should revolt, and, withthe aid of the outlaws, overcome them. 

Now the mark of a noble is that he can read and write. When the ancientswere scattered, the remnant that was left behind was, for the most part, the ignorant and the poor. But among them there was here and there a manwho possessed some little education and force of mind. At first therewas no order; but after thirty years or so, after a generation, someorder grew up, and these men, then become aged, were naturally chosen asleaders. They had, indeed, no actual power then, no guards or armies;but the common folk, who had no knowledge, came to them for decision oftheir disputes, for advice what to do, for the pronouncement of someform of marriage, for the keeping of some note of property, and to beunited against a mutual danger. 

These men in turn taught their children to read and write, wishing thatsome part of the wisdom of the ancients might be preserved. Theythemselves wrote down what they knew, and these manuscripts, transmittedto their children, were saved with care. Some of them remain to thisday. These children, growing to manhood, took more upon them, andassumed higher authority as the past was forgotten, and the originalequality of all men lost in antiquity. The small enclosed farms of theirfathers became enlarged to estates, the estates became towns, and thus, by degrees, the order of the nobility was formed. As they intermarriedonly among themselves, they preserved a certain individuality. At thisday a noble is at once known, no matter how coarsely he may be dressed, or how brutal his habits, by his delicacy of feature, his air ofcommand, even by his softness of skin and fineness of hair. 

Still the art of reading and writing is scrupulously imparted to alltheir legitimate offspring, and scrupulously confined to them alone. Itis true that they do not use it except on rare occasions when necessitydemands, being wholly given over to the chase, to war, and politics, butthey retain the knowledge. Indeed, were a noble to be known not to beable to read and write, the prince would at once degrade him, and thesentence would be upheld by the entire caste. No other but the noblesare permitted to acquire these arts; if any attempt to do so, they areenslaved and punished. But none do attempt; of what avail would it be tothem?

All knowledge is thus retained in the possession of the nobles; they donot use it, but the physicians, for instance, who are famous, are sobecause by favour of some baron, they have learned receipts in theancient manuscripts which have been mentioned. One virtue, and one only, adorns this exclusive caste; they are courageous to the verge ofmadness. I had almost omitted to state that the merchants know how toread and write, having special license and permits to do so, withoutwhich they may not correspond. There are few books, and still fewer toread them; and these all in manuscript, for though the way to print isnot lost, it is not employed since no one wants books. 

CHAPTER V

THE LAKE

There now only remains the geography of our country to be treated ofbefore the history is commenced. Now the most striking differencebetween the country as we know it and as it was known to the ancients isthe existence of the great Lake in the centre of the island. From theRed Rocks (by the Severn) hither, the most direct route a galley canfollow is considered to be about 200 miles in length, and it is ajourney which often takes a week even for a vessel well manned, becausethe course, as it turns round the islands, faces so many points of thecompass, and therefore the oarsmen are sure to have to labour in theteeth of the wind, no matter which way it blows. 

Many parts are still unexplored, and scarce anything known of theirextent, even by repute. Until Felix Aquila's time, the greater portion, indeed, had not even a name. Each community was well acquainted with thebay before its own city, and with the route to the next, but beyond thatthey were ignorant, and had no desire to learn. Yet the Lake cannotreally be so long and broad as it seems, for the country could notcontain it. The length is increased, almost trebled, by the islands andshoals, which will not permit of navigation in a straight line. For themost part, too, they follow the southern shore of the mainland, which isprotected by a fringe of islets and banks from the storms which sweepover the open waters. 

Thus rowing along round the gulfs and promontories, their voyage isthrice prolonged, but rendered nearly safe from the waves, which risewith incredible celerity before the gales. The slow ships of commerce, indeed, are often days in traversing the distance between one port andanother, for they wait for the wind to blow abaft, and being heavy, deeply laden, built broad and flat-bottomed for shallows, and bluff atthe bows, they drift like logs of timber. In canoes the hunters, indeed, sometimes pass swiftly from one place to another, venturing farther outto sea than the ships. They could pass yet more quickly were it not forthe inquisition of the authorities at every city and port, who not onlylevy dues and fees for the treasury of the prince, and for their ownrapacious desires, but demand whence the vessel comes, to whom shebelongs, and whither she is bound, so that no ship can travel rapidlyunless so armed as to shake off these inquisitors. 

The canoes, therefore, travel at night and in calm weather many milesaway from the shore, and thus escape, or slip by daylight among thereedy shallows, sheltered by the flags and willows from view. The shipsof commerce haul up to the shore towards evening, and the crews, disembarking, light their fires and cook their food. There are, however, one or two gaps, as it were, in their usual course which they cannotpass in this leisurely manner; where the shore is exposed and rocky, ortoo shallow, and where they must reluctantly put forth, and sail fromone horn of the land to the other. 

The Lake is also divided into two unequal portions by the straits ofWhite Horse, where vessels are often weather-bound, and cannot make wayagainst the wind, which sets a current through the narrow channel. Thereis no tide; the sweet waters do not ebb and flow; but while I thusdiscourse, I have forgotten to state how they came to fill the middle ofthe country. Now, the philosopher Silvester, and those who seek aftermarvels, say that the passage of the dark body through space caused animmense volume of fresh water to fall in the shape of rain, and alsothat the growth of the forests distilled rain from the clouds. Let usleave these speculations to dreamers, and recount what is known to be. 

For there is no tradition among the common people, who are extremelytenacious of such things, of any great rainfall, nor is there anymention of floods in the ancient manuscripts, nor is there any largerfall of rain now than was formerly the case. But the Lake itself tellsus how it was formed, or as nearly as we shall ever know, and thesefacts were established by the expeditions lately sent out. 

At the eastern extremity the Lake narrows, and finally is lost in thevast marshes which cover the site of the ancient London. Through these, no doubt, in the days of the old world there flowed the river Thames. Bychanges of the sea level and the sand that was brought up there musthave grown great banks, which obstructed the stream. I have formerlymentioned the vast quantities of timber, the wreckage of towns andbridges which was carried down by the various rivers, and by none moreso than by the Thames. These added to the accumulation, which increasedthe faster because the foundations of the ancient bridges held it likepiles driven in for the purpose. And before this the river had becomepartially choked from the cloacæ of the ancient city which poured intoit through enormous subterranean aqueducts and drains. 

After a time all these shallows and banks became well matted together bythe growth of weeds, of willows, and flags, while the tide, ebbing lowerat each drawing back, left still more mud and sand. Now it is believedthat when this had gone on for a time, the waters of the river, unableto find a channel, began to overflow up into the deserted streets, andespecially to fill the underground passages and drains, of which thenumber and extent was beyond all the power of words to describe. These, by the force of the water, were burst up, and the houses fell in. 

For this marvellous city, of which such legends are related, was afterall only of brick, and when the ivy grew over and trees and shrubssprang up, and, lastly, the waters underneath burst in, this hugemetropolis was soon overthrown. At this day all those parts which werebuilt upon low ground are marshes and swamps. Those houses that wereupon high ground were, of course, like the other towns, ransacked of allthey contained by the remnant that was left; the iron, too, wasextracted. Trees growing up by them in time cracked the walls, and theyfell in. Trees and bushes covered them; ivy and nettles concealed thecrumbling masses of brick. 

The same was the case with the lesser cities and towns whose sites areknown in the woods. For though many of our present towns bear theancient names, they do not stand upon the ancient sites, but are two orthree, and sometimes ten miles distant. The founders carried with themthe name of their original residence. 

Thus the low-lying parts of the mighty city of London became swamps, andthe higher grounds were clad with bushes. The very largest of thebuildings fell in, and there was nothing visible but trees and hawthornson the upper lands, and willows, flags, reeds, and rushes on the lower. These crumbling ruins still more choked the stream, and almost, if notquite, turned it back. If any water ooze past, it is not perceptible, and there is no channel through to the salt ocean. It is a vast stagnantswamp, which no man dare enter, since death would be his inevitablefate. 

There exhales from this oozy mass so fatal a vapour that no animal canendure it. The black water bears a greenish-brown floating scum, whichfor ever bubbles up from the putrid mud of the bottom. When the windcollects the miasma, and, as it were, presses it together, it becomesvisible as a low cloud which hangs over the place. The cloud does notadvance beyond the limit of the marsh, seeming to stay there by someconstant attraction; and well it is for us that it does not, since atsuch times when the vapour is thickest, the very wildfowl leave thereeds, and fly from the poison. There are no fishes, neither can eelsexist in the mud, nor even newts. It is dead. 

The flags and reeds are coated with slime and noisome to the touch;there is one place where even these do not grow, and where there isnothing but an oily liquid, green and rank. It is plain there are nofishes in the water, for herons do not go thither, nor the kingfishers, not one of which approaches the spot. They say the sun is sometimeshidden by the vapour when it is thickest, but I do not see how any cantell this, since they could not enter the cloud, as to breathe it whencollected by the wind is immediately fatal. For all the rottenness of athousand years and of many hundred millions of human beings is therefestering under the stagnant water, which has sunk down into andpenetrated the earth, and floated up to the surface the contents of theburied cloacæ. 

Many scores of men have, I fear, perished in the attempt to enter thisfearful place, carried on by their desire of gain. For it can scarcelybe disputed that untold treasures lie hidden therein, but guarded byterrors greater than fiery serpents. These have usually made theirendeavours to enter in severe and continued frost, or in the height of adrought. Frost diminishes the power of the vapour, and the marshes canthen, too, be partially traversed, for there is no channel for a boat. But the moment anything be moved, whether it be a bush, or a willow, even a flag, if the ice be broken, the pestilence rises yet stronger. Besides which, there are portions which never freeze, and which may beapproached unawares, or a turn of the wind may drift the gas towards theexplorer. 

In the midst of summer, after long heat, the vapour rises, and is in adegree dissipated into the sky, and then by following devious ways anentrance may be effected, but always at the cost of illness. If theexplorer be unable to quit the spot before night, whether in summer orwinter, his death is certain. In the earlier times some bold andadventurous men did indeed succeed in getting a few jewels, but sincethen the marsh has become more dangerous, and its pestilent character, indeed, increases year by year, as the stagnant water penetrates deeper. So that now for very many years no such attempts have been made. 

The extent of these foul swamps is not known with certainty, but it isgenerally believed that they are, at the widest, twenty miles across, and that they reach in a winding line for nearly forty. But the outsideparts are much less fatal; it is only the interior which is avoided. 

Towards the Lake the sand thrown up by the waves has long since formed apartial barrier between the sweet water and the stagnant, rising up towithin a few feet of the surface. This barrier is overgrown with flagsand reeds, where it is shallow. Here it is possible to sail along thesweet water within an arrow-shot of the swamp. Nor, indeed, would thestagnant mingle with the sweet, as is evident at other parts of theswamp, where streams flow side by side with the dark or reddish water;and there are pools, upon one side of which the deer drink, while theother is not frequented even by rats. 

The common people aver that demons reside in these swamps; and, indeed, at night fiery shapes are seen, which, to the ignorant, are sufficientconfirmation of such tales. The vapour, where it is most dense, takesfire, like the blue flame of spirits, and these flaming clouds float toand fro, and yet do not burn the reeds. The superstitious trace in themthe forms of demons and winged fiery serpents, and say that whitespectres haunt the margin of the marsh after dusk. In a lesser degree, the same thing has taken place with other ancient cities. It is truethat there are not always swamps, but the sites are uninhabitablebecause of the emanations from the ruins. Therefore they are avoided. Even the spot where a single house has been known to have existed, isavoided by the hunters in the woods. 

They say when they are stricken with ague or fever, that they must haveunwittingly slept on the site of an ancient habitation. Nor can theground be cultivated near the ancient towns, because it causes fever;and thus it is that, as I have already stated, the present places of thesame name are often miles distant from the former locality. No soonerdoes the plough or the spade turn up an ancient site than those who workthere are attacked with illness. And thus the cities of the old world, and their houses and habitations, are deserted and lost in the forest. If the hunters, about to pitch their camp for the night, should stumbleon so much as a crumbling brick or a fragment of hewn stone, they atonce remove at least a bowshot away. 

The eastward flow of the Thames being at first checked, and finallyalmost or quite stopped by the formation of these banks, the waterturned backwards as it were, and began to cover hitherto dry land. Andthis, with the other lesser rivers and brooks that no longer had anyultimate outlet, accounts for the Lake, so far as this side of thecountry is concerned. 

At the western extremity the waters also contract between the steepcliffs called the Red Rocks, near to which once existed the city ofBristol. Now the Welsh say, and the tradition of those who dwell in thatpart of the country bears them out, that in the time of the old worldthe River Severn flowed past the same spot, but not between thesecliffs. The great river Severn coming down from the north, with Englandon one bank and Wales upon the other, entered the sea, widening out asit did so. Just before it reached the sea, another lesser river, calledthe Avon, the upper part of which is still there, joined it passingthrough this cleft in the rocks. 

But when the days of the old world ended in the twilight of theancients, as the salt ocean fell back and its level became lower, vastsandbanks were disclosed, which presently extended across the most partof the Severn river. Others, indeed, think that the salt ocean did notsink, but that the land instead was lifted higher. Then they say thatthe waves threw up an immense quantity of shingle and sand, and thatthus these banks were formed. All that we know with certainty, however, is, that across the estuary of the Severn there rose a broad barrier ofbeach, which grew wider with the years, and still increases westwards. It is as if the ocean churned up its floor and cast it forth upon thestrand. 

Now when the Severn was thus stayed yet more effectually than theThames, in the first place it also flowed backwards as it were, till itsoverflow mingled with the reflux of the Thames. Thus the inland sea offresh water was formed; though Silvester hints (what is most improbable)that the level of the land sank and formed a basin. After a time, whenthe waters had risen high enough, since all water must have an outletsomewhere, the Lake, passing over the green country behind the RedRocks, came pouring through the channel of the Avon. 

Then, farther down, it rose over the banks which were lowest there, andthus found its way over a dam into the sea. Now when the tide of theocean is at its ebb, the waters of the Lake rush over these banks withso furious a current that no vessel can either go down or come up. Ifthey attempted to go down, they would be swamped by the meeting of thewaves; if they attempted to come up, the strongest gale that blows couldnot force them against the stream. As the tide gradually returns, however, the level of the ocean rises to the level of the Lake, theoutward flow of water ceases, and there is even a partial inward flow ofthe tide which, at its highest, reaches to the Red Rocks. At this stateof the tide, which happens twice in a day and night, vessels can enteror go forth. 

The Irish ships, of which I have spoken, thus come into the Lake, waiting outside the bar till the tide lifts them over. The Irish ships, being built to traverse the ocean from their country, are large andstout and well manned, carrying from thirty to fifty men. The Welshships, which come down from that inlet of the Lake which follows theancient course of the Severn, are much smaller and lighter, as not beingrequired to withstand the heavy seas. They carry but fifteen or twentymen each, but then they are more numerous. The Irish ships, on accountof their size and draught, in sailing about the sweet waters, cannotalways haul on shore at night, nor follow the course of the ships ofburden between the fringe of islands and the strand. 

They have often to stay in the outer and deeper waters; but the Welshboats come in easily at all parts of the coast, so that no place is safeagainst them. The Welsh have ever been most jealous of the Severn, andwill on no account permit so much as a canoe to enter it. So thatwhether it be a narrow creek, or whether there be wide reaches, or whatthe shores may be like, we are ignorant. And this is all that is withcertainty known concerning the origin of the inland sea of sweet water, excluding all that superstition and speculation have advanced, andsetting down nothing but ascertained facts. 

A beautiful sea it is, clear as crystal, exquisite to drink, aboundingwith fishes of every kind, and adorned with green islands. There isnothing more lovely in the world than when, upon a calm evening, the sungoes down across the level and gleaming water, where it is so wide thatthe eye can but just distinguish a low and dark cloud, as it were, resting upon the horizon, or perhaps, looking lengthways, cannotdistinguish any ending to the expanse. Sometimes it is blue, reflectingthe noonday sky; sometimes white from the clouds; again green and darkas the wind rises and the waves roll. 

Storms, indeed, come up with extraordinary swiftness, for which reasonthe ships, whenever possible, follow the trade route, as it is called, behind the islands, which shelter them like a protecting reef. They dropequally quickly, and thus it is not uncommon for the morning to be calm, the midday raging in waves dashing resistlessly upon the beach, and theevening still again. The Irish, who are accustomed to the salt ocean, say, in the suddenness of its storms and the shifting winds, it is moredangerous than the sea itself. But then there are almost always islands, behind which a vessel can be sheltered. 

Beneath the surface of the Lake there must be concealed very manyancient towns and cities, of which the names are lost. Sometimes theanchors bring up even now fragments of rusty iron and old metal, orblack beams of timber. It is said, and with probability, that when theremnant of the ancients found the water gradually encroaching (for itrose very slowly), as they were driven back year by year, theyconsidered that in time they would be all swept away and drowned. Butafter extending to its present limits the Lake rose no farther, not evenin the wettest seasons, but always remains the same. From the positionof certain quays we know that it has thus remained for the last hundredyears at least. 

Never, as I observed before, was there so beautiful an expanse of water. How much must we sorrow that it has so often proved only the easiestmode of bringing the miseries of war to the doors of the unoffending!Yet men are never weary of sailing to and fro upon it, and most of thecities of the present time are upon its shore. And in the evening wewalk by the beach, and from the rising grounds look over the waters, asif to gaze upon their loveliness were reward to us for the labour of theday. 

Part II

WILD ENGLAND

CHAPTER I

SIR FELIX

On a bright May morning, the sunlight, at five o'clock, was pouring intoa room which face the east at the ancestral home of the Aquilas. In thisroom Felix, the eldest of the three sons of the Baron, was sleeping. Thebeams passed over his head, and lit up a square space on the oppositewhitewashed wall, where, in the midst of the brilliant light, hung anivory cross. There were only two panes of glass in the window, each nomore than two or three inches square, the rest of the window beingclosed by strong oaken shutters, thick enough to withstand the stroke ofan arrow. 

In the daytime one of these at least would have been thrown open toadmit air and light. They did not quite meet, and a streak of sunshine, in addition to that which came through the tiny panes, entered at thechink. Only one window in the house contained more than two such panes(it was in the Baroness's sitting-room), and most of them had none atall. The glass left by the ancients in their dwellings had long sincebeen used up or broken, and the fragments that remained were tooprecious to be put in ordinary rooms. When larger pieces werediscovered, they were taken for the palaces of the princes, and eventhese were but sparingly supplied, so that the saying "he has glass inhis window" was equivalent to "he belongs to the upper ranks". 

On the recess of the window was an inkstand, which had been recently inuse, for a quill lay beside it, and a sheet of parchment partly coveredwith writing. The ink was thick and very dark, made of powderedcharcoal, leaving a slightly raised writing, which could be perceived bythe finger on rubbing it lightly over. Beneath the window on the barefloor was an open chest, in which were several similar parchments andbooks, and from which the sheet on the recess had evidently been taken. This chest, though small, was extremely heavy and strong, being dug outwith the chisel and gouge from a solid block of oak. Except a fewparallel grooves, there was no attempt at ornamentation upon it. Thelid, which had no hinges, but lifted completely off, was tilted againstthe wall. It was, too, of oak some inches thick, and fitted upon thechest by a kind of dovetailing at the edges. 

Instead of a lock, the chest was fastened by a lengthy thong of oxhide, which now lay in a coil on the floor. Bound round and round, twisted andintertangled, and finally tied with a special and secret knot (the endsbeing concealed), the thong of leather secured the contents of the chestfrom prying eyes or thievish hands. With axe or knife, of course, theknot might easily have been severed, but no one could obtain access tothe room except the retainers of the house, and which of them, even ifunfaithful, would dare to employ such means in view of the certainpunishment that must follow? It would occupy hours to undo the knot, andthen it could not be tied again in exactly the same fashion, so that thereal use of the thong was to assure the owner that his treasures had notbeen interfered with in his absence. Such locks as were made were of theclumsiest construction. They were not so difficult to pick as the thongto untie, and their expense, or rather the difficulty of getting aworkman who could manufacture them, confined their use to the heads ofgreat houses. The Baron's chest was locked, and his alone, in thedwelling. 

Besides the parchments which were nearest the top, as most in use, therewere three books, much worn and decayed, which had been preserved, moreby accident than by care, from the libraries of the ancients. One was anabridged history of Rome, the other a similar account of Englishhistory, the third a primer of science or knowledge; all three, indeed, being books which, among the ancients, were used for teaching children, and which, by the men of those days, would have been cast aside withcontempt. 

Exposed for years in decaying houses, rain and mildew had spotted andstained their pages; the covers had rotted away these hundred years, andwere now supplied by a broad sheet of limp leather with wide margins faroverlapping the edges; many of the pages were quite gone, and otherstorn by careless handling. The abridgment of Roman history had beenscorched by a forest fire, and the charred edges of the leaves haddropped away in semicircular holes. Yet, by pondering over these, Felixhad, as it were, reconstructed much of the knowledge which was thecommon (and therefore unvalued) possession of all when they wereprinted. 

The parchments contained his annotations, and the result of his thought;they were also full of extracts from decaying volumes lying totallyneglected in the houses of other nobles. Most of these were of extremeantiquity, for when the ancients departed, the modern books which theyhad composed being left in the decaying houses at the mercy of theweather, rotted, or were destroyed by the frequent grass fires. Butthose that had been preserved by the ancients in museums escaped for awhile, and some of these yet remained in lumber-rooms and corners, whence they were occasionally dragged forth by the servants for greaterconvenience in lighting the fires. The young nobles, entirely devoted tothe chase, to love intrigues, and war, overwhelmed Felix Aquila withridicule when they found him poring over these relics, and being of aproud and susceptible spirit, they so far succeeded that he abandonedthe open pursuit of such studies, and stole his knowledge by fitfulglances when there was no one near. As among the ancients learning wasesteemed above all things, so now, by a species of contrast, it was ofall things the most despised. 

Under the books, in one corner of the chest, was a leather bagcontaining four golden sovereigns, such as were used by the ancients, and eighteen pieces of modern silver money, the debased shillings of theday, not much more than half of which was silver and the rest alloy. Thegold coins had been found while digging holes for the posts of a newstockade, and by the law should have been delivered to the prince'streasury. All the gold discovered, whether in the form of coin orjewellery, was the property of the Prince, who was supposed to pay forits value in currency. 

As the actual value of the currency was only half of its nominal value(and sometimes less), the transaction was greatly in favour of thetreasury. Such was the scarcity of gold that the law was strictlyenforced, and had there been the least suspicion of the fact, the housewould have been ransacked from the cellars to the roof. Imprisonment andfine would have been the inevitable fate of Felix, and the family wouldvery probably have suffered for the fault of one of its members. Butindependent and determined to the last degree, Felix ran any risk ratherthan surrender that which he had found, and which he deemed his own. This unbending independence and pride of spirit, together with scarceconcealed contempt for others, had resulted in almost isolating him fromthe youth of his own age, and had caused him to be regarded with dislikeby the elders. He was rarely, if ever, asked to join the chase, andstill more rarely invited to the festivities and amusements provided inadjacent houses, or to the grander entertainments of the higher nobles. Too quick to take offence where none was really intended, he fanciedthat many bore him ill-will who had scarcely given him a passingthought. He could not forgive the coarse jokes uttered upon his personalappearance by men of heavier build, who despised so slender a stripling. 

He would rather be alone than join their company, and would not competewith them in any of their sports, so that, when his absence from thearena was noticed, it was attributed to weakness or cowardice. Theseimputations stung him deeply, driving him to brood within himself. Hewas never seen in the courtyards or ante-rooms at the palace, norfollowing in the train of the Prince, as was the custom with theyouthful nobles. The servility of the court angered and disgusted him;the eagerness of strong men to carry a cushion or fetch a dog annoyedhim. 

There were those who observed this absence from the crowd in theante-rooms. In the midst of so much intrigue and continual striving forpower, designing men, on the one hand, were ever on the alert for whatthey imagined would prove willing instruments; and on the other, thePrince's councillors kept a watchful eye on the dispositions of everyone of the least consequence; so that, although but twenty-five, Felixwas already down in two lists, the one, at the palace, of persons whoseviews, if not treasonable, were doubtful, and the other, in the hands ofa possible pretender, as a discontented and therefore useful man. Felixwas entirely ignorant that he had attracted so much observation. Hesupposed himself simply despised and ignored; he cherished no treason, had not the slightest sympathy with any pretender, held totally alooffrom intrigue, and his reveries, if they were ambitious, concerned onlyhimself. 

But the most precious of the treasures in the chest were eight or tensmall sheets of parchment, each daintily rolled and fastened with aribbon, letters from Aurora Thyma, who had also given him the ivorycross on the wall. It was of ancient workmanship, a relic of the oldworld. A compass, a few small tools (valuable because preserved for somany years, and not now to be obtained for any consideration), and amagnifying glass, a relic also of the ancients, completed the contentsof the chest. 

Upon a low table by the bedstead were a flint and steel and tinder, andan earthenware oil lamp, not intended to be carried about. There, too, lay his knife, with a buckhorn hilt, worn by everyone in the belt, andhis forester's axe, a small tool, but extremely useful in the woods, without which, indeed, progress was often impossible. These were in thebelt, which, as he undressed, he had cast upon the table, together withhis purse, in which were about a dozen copper coins, not very regular inshape, and stamped on one side only. The table was formed of two shorthewn planks, scarcely smoothed, raised on similar planks (on edge) ateach end, in fact, a larger form. 

From a peg driven into the wall hung a disc of brass by a thin leathernlace; this disc, polished to the last degree, answered as a mirror. Theonly other piece of furniture, if so it could be called, was a block ofwood at the side of the table, used as a chair. In the corner, betweenthe table and the window, stood a long yew bow, and a quiver full ofarrows ready for immediate use, besides which three or four sheaves layon the floor. A crossbow hung on a wooden peg; the bow was of wood, and, therefore, not very powerful; bolts and square-headed quarrels werescattered carelessly on the floor under it. 

Six or seven slender darts used for casting with the hand, as javelins, stood in another corner by the door, and two stouter boar spears. By thewall a heap of nets lay in apparent confusion, some used for partridges, some of coarse twine for bush-hens, another, lying a little apart, forfishes. Near these the component parts of two turkey-traps were strewnabout, together with a small round shield or targe, such as are used byswordsmen, snares of wire, and, in an open box, several chisels, gouges, and other tools. 

A blowtube was fastened to three pegs, so that it might not warp, ahunter's horn hung from another, and on the floor were a number ofarrows in various stages of manufacture, some tied to the straighteningrod, some with the feathers already attached, and some hardly shapedfrom the elder or aspen log. A heap of skins filled the third corner, and beside them were numerous stag's horns, and two of the white cow, but none yet of the much dreaded and much desired white bull. A fewpeacock's feathers were there also, rare and difficult to get, andintended for Aurora. Round one footpost of the bed was a long coil ofthin hide, a lasso, and on another was suspended an iron cap, orvisorless helmet. 

There was no sword or lance. Indeed, of all these weapons andimplements, none seemed in use, to judge by the dust that had gatheredupon them, and the rusted edges, except the bow and crossbow and one ofthe boar spears. The bed itself was very low, framed of wood, thick andsolid; the clothes were of the coarsest linen and wool; there were fursfor warmth in winter, but these were not required in May. There was nocarpet, nor any substitute for it; the walls were whitewashed, ceilingthere was none, the worm-eaten rafters were visible, and the roof tree. But on the table was a large earthenware bowl, full of meadow orchids, blue-bells, and a bunch of may in flower. 

His hat, wide in the brim, lay on the floor; his doublet was on thewooden block or seat, with the long tight-fitting trousers, which showedevery muscle of the limb, and by them high shoes of tanned but unblackedleather. His short cloak hung on a wooden peg against the door, whichwas fastened with a broad bolt of oak. The parchment in the recess ofthe window at which he had been working just before retiring was coveredwith rough sketches, evidently sections of a design for a ship or galleypropelled by oars. 

The square spot of light upon the wall slowly moved as the sun rosehigher, till the ivory cross was left in shadow, but still the slumbererslept on, heedless, too, of the twittering of the swallows under theeaves, and the call of the cuckoo not far distant. 

CHAPTER II

THE HOUSE OF AQUILA

Presently there came the sound of a creaking axle, which grew louder andlouder as the waggon drew nearer, till it approached a shriek. Thesleeper moved uneasily, but recognising the noise even in his dreams, did not wake. The horrible sounds stopped; there was the sound ofvoices, as if two persons, one without and one within the wall, werehailing each other; a gate swung open, and the waggon came past underthe very window of the bedroom. Even habit could not enable Felix toentirely withstand so piercing a noise when almost in his ears. He satup a minute, and glanced at the square of light on the wall to guess thetime by its position. 

In another minute or two the squeaking of the axle ceased, as the waggonreached the storehouses, and he immediately returned to the pillow. Without, and just beneath the window, there ran a road or way, which inpart divided the enclosure into two portions; the dwelling-house and itsoffices being on one side, the granaries and storehouses on the other. But a few yards to the left of his room, a strong gate in the enclosingwall gave entrance to this roadway. It was called the Maple Gate, because a small maple tree grew near outside. The wall, which surroundedthe whole place at a distance of eight or ten yards from the buildings, was of brick, and about nine feet high, with a ditch without. 

It was partly embattled, and partly loopholed, and a banquette of earthrammed hard ran all round inside, so that the defenders might dischargedarts or arrows through the embrasures, and step down out of sight toprepare a fresh supply. At each corner there was a large platform, wherea considerable number of men could stand and command the approaches;there were, however, no bastions or flanking towers. On the roof of thedwelling-house a similar platform had been prepared, protected by aparapet; from which height the entire enclosure could be overlooked. 

Another platform, though at a less height, was on the roof of theretainers' lodgings, so placed as especially to command the second gate. Entering by the Maple Gate, the dwelling-house was on the right hand, and the granaries and general storehouses on the left, the latter builton three sides of a square. Farther on, on the same side, were thestables, and near them the forge and workshops. Beyond these, again, were the lodgings of the retainers and labourers, near which, in thecorner, was the South Gate, from which the South Road led to thecattle-pens and farms, and out to the south. 

Upon the right hand, after the dwelling-house, and connected with it, came the steward's stores, where the iron tools and similar valuablearticles of metal were kept. Then, after a covered passage-way, thekitchen and general hall, under one roof with the house. The housefronted in the opposite direction to the roadway; there was a narrowgreen lawn between it and the enceinte, or wall, and before the generalhall and kitchens a gravelled court. This was parted from the lawn bypalings, so that the house folk enjoyed privacy, and yet were close totheir servitors. The place was called the Old House, for it dated backto the time of the ancients, and the Aquilas were proud of the simpledesignation of their fortified residence. 

Felix's window was almost exactly opposite the entrance to thestorehouse or granary yard, so that the waggon, after passing it, had togo but a little distance, and then, turning to the left, was drawn upbefore the doors of the warehouse. This waggon was low, built for thecarriage of goods only, of hewn plank scarcely smooth, and the wheelswere solid; cut, in fact, from the butt of an elm tree. Unlesscontinually greased the squeaking of such wheels is terrible, and thecarters frequently forgot their grease-horns. 

Much of the work of the farm, such as the carting of hay and corn inharvest-time, was done upon sleds; the waggons (there were but few ofthem) being reserved for longer journeys on the rough roads. Thiswaggon, laden with wool, some of the season's clip, had come in four orfive miles from an out-lying cot, or sheep-pen, at the foot of thehills. In the buildings round the granary yard there were stored notonly the corn and flour required for the retainers (who might at anymoment become a besieged garrison), but the most valuable products ofthe estate, the wool, hides, and tanned leather from the tan-pits, besides a great quantity of bacon and salt beef; indeed, every possiblearticle that could be needed. 

These buildings were put together with wooden pins, on account of thescarcity of iron, and were all (dwelling-houses included) roofed withred tile. Lesser houses, cottages, and sheds at a distance werethatched, but in an enclosure tiles were necessary, lest, in case of anattack, fire should be thrown. 

Half an hour later, at six o'clock, the watchman blew his horn as loudlyas possible for some two or three minutes, the hollow sound echoingthrough the place. He took the time by the sundial on the wall, it beinga summer morning; in winter he was guided by the position of the stars, and often, when sun or stars were obscured, went by guess. The househorn was blown thrice a day; at six in the morning, as a signal that theday had begun, at noon as a signal for dinner, at six in the afternoonas a signal that the day (except in harvest-time) was over. The watchmenwent their round about the enclosure all night long, relieved everythree hours, armed with spears, and attended by mastiffs. By day onesufficed, and his station was then usually (though not always) on thehighest part of the roof. 

The horn re-awoke Felix; it was the note by which he had been accustomedto rise for years. He threw open the oaken shutters, and the sunlightand the fresh breeze of the May morning came freely into the room. Therewas now the buzz of voices without, men unloading the wool, men at theworkshops and in the granaries, and others waiting at the door of thesteward's store for the tools, which he handed out to them. Iron beingso scarce, tools were a temptation, and were carefully locked up eachnight, and given out again in the morning. 

Felix went to the ivory cross and kissed it in affectionate recollectionof Aurora, and then looked towards the open window, in the pride and joyof youth turning to the East, the morning, and the light. Before he hadhalf dressed there came a knock and then an impatient kick at the door. He unbarred it, and his brother Oliver entered. Oliver had been for hisswim in the river. He excelled in swimming, as, indeed, in every manlyexercise, being as active and energetic as Felix was outwardly languid. 

His room was only across the landing, his door just opposite. It alsowas strewn with implements and weapons. But there was a far greaternumber of tools; he was an expert and artistic workman, and his tableand his seat, unlike the rude blocks in Felix's room, were tastefullycarved. His seat, too, had a back, and he had even a couch of his ownconstruction. By his bedhead hung his sword, his most valued and mostvaluable possession. It was one which had escaped the dispersion of theancients; it had been ancient even in their days, and of far better workthan they themselves produced. 

Broad, long, straight, and well-balanced, it appeared capable of cuttingthrough helmet and mail, when wielded by Oliver's sturdy arm. Such asword could not have been purchased for money; money, indeed, had oftenbeen offered for it in vain; persuasion, and even covert threats fromthose higher in authority who coveted it, were alike wasted. The swordhad been in the family for generations, and when the Baron grew too old, or rather when he turned away from active life, the second son claimedit as the fittest to use it. The claim was tacitly allowed; at allevents, he had it, and meant to keep it. 

In a corner stood his lance, long and sharp, for use on horse-back, andby it his saddle and accoutrements. The helmet and the shirt of mail, the iron greaves and spurs, the short iron mace to bang at thesaddle-bow, spoke of the knight, the man of horses and war. 

Oliver's whole delight was in exercise and sport. The boldest rider, thebest swimmer, the best at leaping, at hurling the dart or the heavyhammer, ever ready for tilt or tournament, his whole life was spent withhorse, sword, and lance. A year younger than Felix, he was at least tenyears physically older. He measured several inches more round the chest;his massive shoulders and immense arms, brown and hairy, his powerfullimbs, tower-like neck, and somewhat square jaw were the naturalconcomitants of enormous physical strength. 

All the blood and bone and thew and sinew of the house seemed to havefallen to his share; all the fiery, restless spirit and defiant temper;all the utter recklessness and warrior's instinct. He stood every inch aman, with dark, curling, short-cut hair, brown cheek and Roman chin, trimmed moustache, brown eye, shaded by long eyelashes and well-markedbrows; every inch a natural king of men. That very physicalpreponderance and animal beauty was perhaps his bane, for his comradeswere so many, and his love adventures so innumerable, that they left himno time for serious ambition. 

Between the brothers there was the strangest mixture of affection andrepulsion. The elder smiled at the excitement and energy of the younger;the younger openly despised the studious habits and solitary life of theelder. In time of real trouble and difficulty they would have been drawntogether; as it was, there was little communion; the one went his way, and the other his. There was perhaps rather an inclination to detractfrom each other's achievements that to praise them, a species ofjealousy or envy without personal dislike, if that can be understood. They were good friends, and yet kept apart. 

Oliver made friends of all, and thwacked and banged his enemies intorespectful silence. Felix made friends of none, and was equally despisedby nominal friends and actual enemies. Oliver was open and jovial; Felixreserved and contemptuous, or sarcastic in manner. His slender frame, too tall for his width, was against him; he could neither lift theweights nor undergo the muscular strain readily borne by Oliver. It waseasy to see that Felix, although nominally the eldest, had not yetreached his full development. A light complexion, fair hair and eyes, were also against him; where Oliver made conquests, Felix wasunregarded. He laughed, but perhaps his secret pride was hurt. 

There was but one thing Felix could do in the way of exercise and sport. He could shoot with the bow in a manner till then entirely unapproached. His arrows fell unerringly in the centre of the target, the swift deerand the hare were struck down with ease, and even the wood-pigeon infull flight. Nothing was safe from those terrible arrows. For this, andthis only, his fame had gone forth; and even this was made a source ofbitterness to him. 

The nobles thought no arms worthy of men of descent but the sword andlance; missile weapons, as the dart and arrow, were the arms ofretainers. His degradation was completed when, at a tournament, where hehad mingled with the crowd, the Prince sent for him to shoot at thebutt, and display his skill among the soldiery, instead of with theknights in the tilting ring. Felix shot, indeed, but shut his eyes thatthe arrow might go wide, and was jeered at as a failure even in thatignoble competition. Only by an iron self-control did he refrain thatday from planting one of the despised shafts in the Prince's eye. 

But when Oliver joked him about his failure, Felix asked him to hang uphis breastplate at two hundred yards. He did so, and in an instant ashaft was sent through it. After that Oliver held his peace, and in hisheart began to think that the bow was a dangerous weapon. 

"So you are late again this morning, " said Oliver, leaning against therecess of the window, and placing his arms on it. The sunshine fell onhis curly dark hair, still wet from the river. "Studying last night, Isuppose?" turning over the parchment. "Why didn't you ride into townwith me?"

"The water must have been cold this morning?" said Felix, ignoring thequestion. 

"Yes; there was a slight frost, or something like it, very early, and amist on the surface; but it was splendid in the pool. Why don't you getup and come? You used to. "

"I can swim, " said Felix laconically, implying that, having learnt theart, it no more tempted him. "You were late last night. I heard you putNight in. "

"We came home in style; it was rather dusky, but Night galloped theGreen Miles. "

"Mind she doesn't put her hoof in a rabbit's hole, some night. "

"Not that. She can see like a cat. I believe we got over the twelvemiles in less than an hour. Sharp work, considering the hills. You don'tinquire for the news. "

"What's the news to me?"

"Well, there was a quarrel at the palace yesterday afternoon. The Princetold Louis he was a double-faced traitor, and Louis told the Prince hewas a suspicious fool. It nearly came to blows, and Louis is banished. "

"For the fiftieth time. "

"This time it is more serious. "

"Don't believe it. He will be sent for again this morning; cannot yousee why?"

"No. "

"If the Prince is really suspicious, he will never send his brother intothe country, where he might be resorted to by discontented people. Hewill keep him close at hand. "

"I wish the quarrelling would cease; it spoils half the fun; one'sobliged to creep about the court and speak in whispers, and you can'ttell whom you are talking to; they may turn on you if you say too much. There is no dancing either. I hate this moody state. I wish they wouldeither dance or fight. "

"Fight! who?"

"Anybody. There's some more news, but you don't care. "

"No. I do not. "

"Why don't you go and live in the woods all by yourself?" said Oliver, in some heat. 

Felix laughed. 

"Tell me your news. I am listening. "

"The Irish landed at Blacklands the day before yesterday, and burntRobert's place; they tried Letburn, but the people there had beenwarned, and were ready. And there's an envoy from Sypolis arrived; somethink the Assembly has broken up; they were all at daggers drawn. Somuch for the Holy League. "

"So much for the Holy League, " repeated Felix. 

"What are you going to do to-day?" asked Oliver, after awhile. 

"I am going down to my canoe, " said Felix. 

"I will go with you; the trout are rising. Have you got any hooks?"

"There's some in the box there, I think; take the tools out. "

Oliver searched among the tools in the open box, all rusty and coveredwith dust, while Felix finished dressing, put away his parchment, andknotted the thong round his chest. He found some hooks at the bottom, and after breakfast they walked out together, Oliver carrying his rod, and a boar-spear, and Felix a boar-spear also, in addition to a smallflag basket with some chisels and gouges. 

CHAPTER III

THE STOCKADE

When Oliver and Felix started, they left Philip, the third and youngestof the three brothers, still at breakfast. They turned to the left, ongetting out of doors, and again to the left, through the covered passagebetween the steward's store and the kitchen. Then crossing the waggonyard, they paused a moment to glance in at the forge, where two men wererepairing part of a plough. 

Oliver must also look for a moment at his mare, after which theydirected their steps to the South Gate. The massive oaken door was open, the bolts having been drawn back at hornblow. There was a guard-room onone side of the gate under the platform in the corner, where there wasalways supposed to be a watch. 

But in times of peace, and when there were no apprehensions of attack, the men whose turn it was to watch there were often called away for atime to assist in some labour going forward, and at that moment werehelping to move the woolpacks farther into the warehouse. Still theywere close at hand, and had the day watchman or warder, who was now onthe roof, blown his horn, would have rushed direct to the gate. Felixdid not like this relaxation of discipline. His precise ideas were upsetat the absence of the guard; method, organization, and precision, werethe characteristics of his mind, and this kind of uncertainty irritatedhim. 

"I wish Sir Constans would insist on the guard being kept, " he remarked. Children, in speaking of their parents, invariably gave them theirtitles. Now their father's title was properly "my lord, " as he was abaron, and one of the most ancient. But he had so long abnegated theexercise of his rights and privileges, sinking the noble in themechanician, that men had forgotten the proper style in which theyshould address him. "Sir" was applied to all nobles, whether theypossessed estates or not. The brothers were invariably addressed as SirFelix or Sir Oliver. It marked, therefore, the low estimation in whichthe Baron was held when even his own sons spoke of him by that title. 

Oliver, though a military man by profession, laughed at Felix's strictview of the guards' duties. Familiarity with danger, and naturalcarelessness, had rendered him contemptuous of it. 

"There's no risk, " said he, "that I can see. Who could attack us? TheBushmen would never dream of it; the Romany would be seen coming daysbeforehand; we are too far from the Lake for the pirates; and as we arenot great people, as we might have been, we need dread no privateenmity. Besides which, any assailants must pass the stockades first. "

"Quite true. Still I don't like it; it is a loose way of doing things. "

Outside the gate they followed the waggon track, or South Road, forabout half a mile. It crossed meadows parted by low hedges, and theyremarked, as they went, on the shortness of the grass, which, for wantof rain, was not nearly fit for mowing. Last year there had been a badwheat crop; this year there was at present scarcely any grass. Thesematters were of the highest importance; peace or war, famine or plenty, might depend upon the weather of the next few months. 

The meadows, besides being divided by the hedges, kept purposely croppedlow, were surrounded, like all the cultivated lands, by high and strongstockades. Half a mile down the South Road they left the track, andfollowing a footpath some few hundred yards, came to the pool whereOliver had bathed that morning. The river, which ran through theenclosed grounds, was very shallow, for they were near its source in thehills, but just there it widened, and filled a depression fifty or sixtyyards across, which was deep enough for swimming. Beyond the pool thestream curved and left the enclosure; the stockade, or at least an openwork of poles, was continued across it. This work permitted the streamto flow freely, but was sufficiently close to exclude any one who mightattempt to enter by creeping up the bed of the river. 

They crossed the river just above the pool by some stepping-stones, large blocks rolled in for the purpose, and approached the stockade. Itwas formed of small but entire trees, young elms, firs, or very thickash-poles, driven in a double row into the earth, the first or inner rowside by side, the outer row filling the interstices, and the whole boundtogether at the bottom by split willow woven in and out. Thisinterweaving extended only about three feet up, and was intended firstto bind the structure together, and secondly to exclude small animalswhich might creep in between the stakes. The reason it was not carriedall up was that it should not afford a footing to human thieves desirousof climbing over. 

The smooth poles by themselves afforded no notch or foothold for aBushman's naked foot. They rose nine or ten feet above the willow, sothat the total height of the palisade was about twelve feet, and thetops of the stakes were sharpened. The construction of such palisadesrequired great labour, and could be carried out only by those who couldcommand the services of numbers of men, so that a small proprietor wasimpossible, unless within the walls of a town. This particular stockadewas by no means an extensive one, in comparison with the estates of moreprominent nobles. 

The enclosure immediately surrounding the Old House was of an irregularoval shape, perhaps a mile long, and not quite three-quarters of a milewide, the house being situated towards the northern and higher end ofthe oval. The river crossed it, entering on the west and leaving on theeastern side. The enclosure was for the greater part meadow and pasture, for here the cattle were kept, which supplied the house with milk, cheese, and butter, while others intended for slaughter were driven inhere for the last months of fattening. 

The horses in actual use for riding, or for the waggons, were alsoturned out here temporarily. There were two pens and rickyards withinit, one beside the river, one farther down. The South Road ran almostdown the centre, passing both rickyards, and leaving the stockade at thesouthern end by a gate, called the barrier. At the northern extremity ofthe oval the palisade passed within three hundred yards of the house, and there was another barrier, to which the road led from the MapleGate, which has been mentioned. From thence it went across the hills tothe town of Ponze. Thus, anyone approaching the Old House had first topass the barrier and get inside the palisade. 

At each barrier there was a cottage and a guard-room, though, as amatter of fact, the watch was kept in peaceful times even morecarelessly than at the inner gates of the wall about the House itself. Much the same plan, with local variations, was pursued on the otherestates of the province, though the stockade at the Old House wasremarkable for the care and skill with which it had been constructed. Part of the duty of the watchman on the roof was to keep an eye on thebarriers, which he could see from his elevated position. 

In case of an incursion of gipsies, or any danger, the guard at thebarrier was supposed to at once close the gate, blow a horn, and exhibita flag. Upon hearing the horn or observing the flag, the warder on theroof raised the alarm, and assistance was sent. Such was the system, butas no attack had taken place for some years the discipline had grownlax. 

After crossing on the stepping-stones Oliver and Felix were soon underthe stockade which ran high above them, and was apparently as difficultto get out of as to get into. By the strict law of the estate, anyperson who left the stockade except by the public barrier renderedhimself liable to the lash or imprisonment. Any person, even a retainer, endeavouring to enter from without by pole, ladder, or rope, might bekilled with an arrow or dart, putting himself into the position of anoutlaw. In practice, of course, this law was frequently evaded. It didnot apply to the family of the owner. 

Under some bushes by the palisade was a ladder of rope, the rungs, however, of wood. Putting his fishing-tackle and boar spear down, Olivertook the ladder and threw the end over the stockade. He then picked up apole with a fork at the end from the bushes, left there, of course, forthe purpose, and with the fork pushed the rungs over till the ladder wasadjusted, half within and half without the palisade. It hung by thewooden rungs which caught the tops of the stakes. He then went up, andwhen at the top, leant over and drew up the outer part of the ladder onerung, which he put the inner side of the palisade, so that ontransferring his weight to the outer side it might uphold him. Otherwisethe ladder, when he got over the points of the stakes, must have slippedthe distance between one rung and a second. 

Having adjusted this, he got over, and Felix carrying up the spears andtackle handed them to him. Felix followed, and thus in three minutesthey were on the outer side of the stockade. Originally the ground fortwenty yards, all round outside the stockade, had been cleared of treesand bushes that they might not harbour vermin, or thorn-hogs, orfacilitate the approach of human enemies. Part of the weekly work of thebailiffs was to walk round the entire circumference of the stockade tosee that it was in order, and to have any bushes removed that began togrow up. As with other matters, however, in the lapse of time thebailiffs became remiss, and under the easy, and perhaps too mercifulrule of Sir Constans, were not recalled to their duties with sufficientsharpness. 

Brambles and thorns and other underwood had begun to cover the spacethat should have been open, and young sapling oaks had risen fromdropped acorns. Felix pointed this out to Oliver, who seldom accompaniedhim; he was indeed rather glad of the opportunity to do so, as Oliverhad more interest with Sir Constans than himself. Oliver admitted itshowed great negligence, but added that after all it really did notmatter. "What I wish, " said he, "is that Sir Constans would go to Court, and take his proper position. "

Upon this they were well agreed; it was, in fact, almost the only pointupon which all three brothers did agree. They sometimes talked about ittill they separated in a furious temper, not with each other but withhim. There was a distinct track of footsteps through the narrow band oflow brambles and underwood between the stockade and the forest. This hadbeen made by Felix in his daily visits to his canoe. 

The forest there consisted principally of hawthorn-trees and thornthickets, with some scattered oaks and ashes; the timber was sparse, butthe fern was now fast rising up so thick, that in the height of summerit would be difficult to walk through it. The tips of the frondsunrolling were now not up to the knee; then the brake would reach to theshoulder. The path wound round the thickets (the blackthorn being quiteimpenetrable except with the axe) and came again to the river some fouror five hundred yards from the stockade. The stream, which ran from westto east through the enclosure, here turned and went due south. 

On the bank Felix had found a fine black poplar, the largest andstraightest and best grown of that sort for some distance round, andthis he had selected for his canoe. Stones broke the current here intoeddies, below which there were deep holes and gullies where alders hungover, and an ever-rustling aspen spread the shadow of its boughs acrossthe water. The light-coloured mud, formed of disintegrated chalk, on thefarther and shallower side was only partly hidden by flags and sedges, which like a richer and more alluvial earth. Nor did the bushes growvery densely on this soil over the chalk, so that there was more roomfor casting the fly than is usually the case where a stream runs througha forest. Oliver, after getting his tackle in order, at once began tocast, while Felix, hanging his doublet on an oft-used branch, andleaning his spear against a tree, took his chisels and gouge from theflag basket. 

He had chosen the black poplar for the canoe because it was the lightestwood, and would float best. To fell so large a tree had been a greatlabour, for the axes were of poor quality, cut badly, and often requiredsharpening. He could easily have ordered half-a-dozen men to throw thetree, and they would have obeyed immediately; but then the individualityand interest of the work would have been lost. Unless he did it himselfits importance and value to him would have been diminished. It had nowbeen down some weeks, had been hewn into outward shape, and the largerpart of the interior slowly dug away with chisel and gouge. 

He had commenced while the hawthorn was just putting forth its firstspray, when the thickets and the trees were yet bare. Now the May bloomscented the air, the forest was green, and his work approachedcompletion. There remained, indeed, but some final shaping and roundingoff, and the construction, or rather cutting out, of a secret locker inthe stern. This locker was nothing more than a square aperture chiselledout like a mortice, entering not from above but parallel with thebottom, and was to be closed with a tight-fitting piece of wood drivenin by force of mallet. 

A little paint would then conceal the slight chinks, and the boat mightbe examined in every possible way without any trace of this hiding-placebeing observed. The canoe was some eleven feet long, and nearly threefeet in the beam; it tapered at either end, so that it might bepropelled backwards or forwards without turning, and stem and stern(interchangeable definitions in this case) each rose a few inches higherthan the general gunwale. The sides were about two inches thick, thebottom three, so that although dug out from light wood the canoe wasrather heavy. 

At first Felix constructed a light shed of fir poles roofed withspruce-fir branches over the log, so that he might work sheltered fromthe bitter winds of the early spring. As the warmth increased he hadtaken the shed down, and now as the sun rose higher was glad of theshade of an adjacent beech. 

CHAPTER IV

THE CANOE

Felix had scarcely worked half an hour before Oliver returned and threwhimself on the ground at full length. He had wearied of fishing, thedelicate adjustment of the tackle and the care necessary to keep thehook and line from catching in the branches had quickly proved too muchfor his patience. He lay on the grass, his feet towards the stream whichran and bubbled beneath, and watched Felix chipping out the blockintended to fit into the secret opening or locker. 

"Is it nearly finished, then?" he said presently. "What a time you havebeen at it!"

"Nearly three months. "

"Why did you make it so big? It is too big. "

"Is it really? Perhaps I want to put some things in it. "

"Oh, I see; cargo. But where are you going to launch it?"

"Below the stones there. "

"Well, you won't be able to go far; there's an old fir across the riverdown yonder, and a hollow willow has fallen in. Besides, the stream'stoo shallow; you'll take ground before you get half a mile. "

"Shall I?"

"Of course you will. That boat will float six inches deep by herself, and I'm sure there's not six inches by the Thorns. "

"Very awkward. "

"Why didn't you have a hide boat made, with a willow framework andleather cover? Then you might perhaps get down the river by hauling itpast the shallows and the fallen trees. In two days' time you would bein the hands of the gipsies. "

"And you would be Sir Constans' heir!"

"Now, come, I say; that's too bad. You know I didn't mean that. Besides, I think I'm as much his heir as you now" (looking at his sinewy arm);"at least, he doesn't listen as much to you. I mean, the river runs intothe gipsies' country as straight as it can go. "

"Just so. "

"Well, you seem very cool about it!"

"I am not going down the river. "

"Then, where _are_ you going?"

"On the Lake. "

"Whew!" (whistling) "Pooh! Why, the Lake's--let me see, to Heron Bayit's quite fifteen miles. You can't paddle across the land. "

"But I can put the canoe on a cart. "

"Aha! why didn't you tell me before?"

"Because I did not wish anyone to know. Don't say anything. "

"Not I. But what on earth, or rather, on water, are you driving at?Where are you going? What's the canoe for?"

"I am going a voyage. But I will tell you all when it is ready. Meantime, I rely on you to keep silence. The rest think the boat is forthe river. "

"I will not say a word. But why did you not have a hide boat?"

"They are not strong enough. They can't stand knocking about. "

"If you want to go a voyage (where to, I can't imagine), why not take apassage on board a ship?"

"I want to go my own way. They will only go theirs. Nor do I like thecompany. "

"Well, certainly the sailors are the roughest lot I know. Still, thatwould not have hurt you. You are rather dainty, Sir Felix!"

"My daintiness does not hurt you. "

"Can't I speak?" (sharply)

"Please yourself. "

A silence. A cuckoo sang in the forest, and was answered from a treewithin the distant palisade. Felix chopped away slowly and deliberately;he was not a good workman. Oliver watched his progress with contempt; hecould have put it into shape in half the time. Felix could draw, anddesign; he could invent, but he was not a practical workman, to givespeedy and accurate effect to his ideas. 

"My opinion is, " said Oliver, "that that canoe will not float upright. It's one-sided. "

Felix, usually so self-controlled, could not refrain from casting hischisel down angrily. But he picked it up again, and said nothing. Thissilence had more influence upon Oliver, whose nature was very generous, than the bitterest retort. He sat up on the sward. 

"I will help launch it, " he said. "We could manage it between us, if youdon't want a lot of the fellows down here. "

"Thank you. I should like that best. "

"And I will help you with the cart when you start. "

Oliver rolled over on his back, and looked up idly at the white flecksof cloud sailing at a great height. 

"Old Mouse is a wretch not to give me a command, " he said presently. 

Felix looked round involuntarily, lest any one should have heard; Mousewas the nick-name for the Prince. Like all who rule with irresponsiblepower, the Prince had spies everywhere. He was not a cruel man, nor abenevolent, neither clever nor foolish, neither strong nor weak; simplyan ordinary, a very ordinary being, who chanced to sit upon a thronebecause his ancestors did, and not from any personal superiority. 

He was at times much influenced by those around him; at others he tookhis own course, right or wrong; at another he let matters drift. Therewas never any telling in the morning what he might do towards night, forthere was no vein of will or bias running through his character. Infact, he lacked character; he was all uncertainty, except in jealousy ofhis supremacy. Possibly some faint perception of his own incapacity, ofthe feeble grasp he had upon the State, that seemed outwardly socompletely his, occasionally crossed his mind. 

Hence the furious scenes with his brother; hence the suddenimprisonments and equally sudden pardons; the spies and eavesdroppers, the sequestration of estates for no apparent cause. And, following theseerratic severities to the suspected nobles, proclamations givingprivileges to the people, and removing taxes. But in a few days thesewere imposed again, and men who dared to murmur were beaten by thesoldiers, or cast into the dungeons. Yet Prince Louis (the family wereall of the same name) was not an ill-meaning man; he often meant well, but had no stability or firmness of purpose. 

This was why Felix dreaded lest some chance listener should hear Oliverabuse him. Oliver had been in the army for some time; his excellence inall arms, and especially with lance and sword, his acknowledged courage, and his noble birth, entitled him to a command, however lowly it mightbe. But he was still in the ranks, and not the slightest recognition hadever been taken of his feats, except, indeed, if whispers were true, bysome sweet smiles from a certain lady of the palace, who admiredknightly prowess. 

Oliver chafed under this neglect. 

"I would not say that kind of thing, " remarked Felix. "Certainly it isannoying. "

"Annoying! that is a mild expression. Of course, everyone knows thereason. If we had any money, or influence, it would be very different. But Sir Constans has neither gold nor power, and he might have hadboth. "

"There was a clerk from the notary's at the house yesterday evening, "said Felix. 

"About the debts, no doubt. Some day the cunning old scoundrel, when hecan squeeze no more interest out of us, will find a legal quibble andtake the lot. "

"Or put us in the Blue Chamber, the first time the Prince goes to warand wants money. The Blue Chamber will say, 'Where can we get it? Who'sweakest?' 'Why, Sir Constans!' 'Then away with him. '"

"Yes, that will be it. Yet I wish a war would happen; there would besome chance for me. I would go with you in your canoe, but you are goingyou don't know where. What's your object? Nothing. You don't knowyourself. "

"Indeed!"

"No, you don't; you're a dreamer. "

"I am afraid it is true. "

"I hate dreams. " After a pause, in a lower voice, "Have you any money?"

Felix took out his purse and showed him the copper pieces. 

"The eldest son of Constans Aquila with ten copper pieces, " growledOliver, rising, but taking them all the same. "Lend them to me. I'll trythem on the board to-night. Fancy me putting down _copper!_ It'sintolerable" (working himself into a rage). "I'll turn bandit, and robon the roads. I'll go to King Yeo and fight the Welsh. Confusion!"

He rushed into the forest, leaving his spear on the sward. 

Felix quietly chipped away at the block he was shaping, but his temper, too, was inwardly rising. The same talk, varied in detail, but the samein point, took place every time the brothers were together, and alwayswith the same result of anger. In earlier days Sir Constans had been asforward in all warlike exercises as Oliver was now, and being possessedof extraordinary physical strength, took a leading part among men. Wielding his battle-axe with irresistible force, he distinguishedhimself in several battles and sieges. 

He had a singular talent for mechanical construction (the wheel by whichwater was drawn from the well at the palace was designed by him), butthis very ingenuity was the beginning of his difficulties. During a longsiege, he invented a machine for casting large stones against the walls, or rather put it together from the fragmentary descriptions he had seenin authors, whose works had almost perished before the dispersion of theancients; for he, too, had been studious in youth. 

The old Prince was highly pleased with this engine, which promised himspeedy conquest over his enemies, and the destruction of theirstrongholds. But the nobles who had the hereditary command of the siegeartillery, which consisted mainly of battering-rams, could not endure tosee their prestige vanishing. They caballed, traduced the Baron, and hefell into disgrace. This disgrace, as he was assured by secret messagesfrom the Prince, was but policy; he would be recalled so soon as thePrince felt himself able to withstand the pressure of the nobles. But ithappened that the old Prince died at that juncture, and the presentPrince succeeded. 

The enemies of the Baron, having access to him, obtained his confidence;the Baron was arrested and amerced in a heavy fine, the payment of whichlaid the foundation of those debts which had since been constantlyincreasing. He was then released, but was not for some two yearspermitted to approach the Court. Meantime, men of not half his descent, but with an unblushing brow and unctuous tongue, had become thefavourites at the palace of the Prince, who, as said before, was notbad, but the mere puppet of circumstances. 

Into competition with these vulgar flatterers Aquila could not enter. Itwas indeed pride, and nothing but pride, that had kept him from thepalace. By slow degrees he had sunk out of sight, occupying himself moreand more with mechanical inventions, and with gardening, till at last hehad come to be regarded as no more than an agriculturist. Yet in thisobscure condition he had not escaped danger. 

The common people were notoriously attached to him. Whether this was dueto his natural kindliness, his real strength of intellect, and charm ofmanner, or whether it was on account of the uprightness with which hejudged between them, or whether it was owing to all these thingscombined, certain it is that there was not a man on the estate thatwould not have died for him. Certain it is, too, that he was beloved bythe people of the entire district, and more especially by the shepherdsof the hills, who were freer and less under the control of the patriciancaste. Instead of carrying disputes to the town, to be adjudged by thePrince's authority, many were privately brought to him. 

This, by degrees becoming known, excited the jealousy and anger of thePrince, an anger cunningly inflamed by the notary Francis, and by othernobles. But they hesitated to execute anything against him lest thepeople should rise, and it was doubtful, indeed, if the very retainersof the nobles would attack the Old House, if ordered. Thus the Baron'sweakness was his defence. The Prince, to do him justice, soon forgot thematter, and laughed at his own folly, that he should be jealous of a manwho was no more than an agriculturist. 

The rest were not so appeased; they desired the Baron's destruction ifonly from hatred of his popularity, and they lost no opportunity ofcasting discredit upon him, or of endeavouring to alienate theaffections of the people by representing him as a magician, a thingclearly proved by his machines and engines, which must have beendesigned by some supernatural assistance. But the chief, as the mostimmediate and pressing danger, was the debt to Francis the notary, whichmight at any moment be brought before the Court. 

Thus it was that the three sons found themselves without money orposition, with nothing but a bare patent of nobility. The third andyoungest alone had made any progress, if such it could be called. Bydint of his own persistent efforts, and by enduring insults and rebuffswith indifference, he had at last obtained an appointment in thatsection of the Treasury which received the dues upon merchandise, andregulated the imposts. He was but a messenger at every man's call; hispay was not sufficient to obtain his food, still it was an advance, andhe was in a government office. He could but just exist in the town, sleeping in a garret, where he stored the provisions he took in with himevery Monday morning from the Old House. He came home on the Saturdayand returned to his work on the Monday. Even his patience was almostworn out. 

The whole place was thus falling to decay, while at the same time itseemed to be flowing with milk and honey, for under the Baron's personalattention the estate, though so carelessly guarded, had become a verygarden. The cattle had increased, and were of the best kind, the horseswere celebrated and sought for, the sheep valued, the crops the wonderof the province. Yet there was no money; the product went to the notary. This extraordinary fertility was the cause of the covetous longing ofthe Court favourites to divide the spoil. 

CHAPTER V

BARON AQUILA

Felix's own position was bitter in the extreme. He felt he had talent. He loved deeply, he knew that he was in turn as deeply beloved; but hewas utterly powerless. On the confines of the estate, indeed, the menwould run gladly to do his bidding. Beyond, and on his own account, hewas helpless. Manual labour (to plough, to sow, to work on shipboard)could produce nothing in a time when almost all work was done bybondsmen or family retainers. The life of a hunter in the woods wasfree, but produced nothing. 

The furs he sold simply maintained him; it was barter for existence, notprofit. The shepherds on the hills roamed in comparative freedom, butthey had no wealth except of sheep. He could not start as a merchantwithout money; he could not enclose an estate and build a house orcastle fit for the nuptials of a noble's daughter without money, or thatpersonal influence which answers the same purpose; he could not evenhope to succeed to the hereditary estate, so deeply was it encumbered;they might, indeed, at any time be turned forth. 

Slowly the iron entered into his soul. This hopelessness, helplessness, embittered every moment. His love increasing with the passage of timerendered his position hateful in the extreme. The feeling within that hehad talent which only required opportunity stung him like a scorpion. The days went by, and everything remained the same. Continual broodingand bitterness of spirit went near to drive him mad. 

At last the resolution was taken, he would go forth into the world. Thatinvolved separation from Aurora, long separation, and withoutcommunication, since letters could be sent only by special messenger, and how should he pay a messenger? It was this terrible thought ofseparation which had so long kept him inactive. In the end thebitterness of hopelessness forced him to face it. He began the canoe, but kept his purpose secret, especially from her, lest tears should melthis resolution. 

There were but two ways of travelling open to him: on foot, as thehunters did, or by the merchant vessels. The latter, of course, requiredpayment, and their ways were notoriously coarse. If on foot he could notcross the Lake, nor visit the countries on either shore, nor theislands; therefore he cut down the poplar and commenced the canoe. Whither he should go, and what he should do, was entirely at the mercyof circumstances. He had no plan, no route. 

He had a dim idea of offering his services to some distant king orprince, of unfolding to him the inventions he had made. He tried toconceal from himself that he would probably be repulsed and laughed at. Without money, without a retinue, how could he expect to be received orlistened to? Still, he must go; he could not help himself, go he must. 

As he chopped and chipped through the long weeks of early spring, whilethe easterly winds bent the trees above him, till the buds unfolded andthe leaves expanded--while his hands were thus employed, the whole map, as it were, of the known countries seemed to pass without volitionbefore his mind. He saw the cities along the shores of the great Lake;he saw their internal condition, the weakness of the social fabric, themisery of the bondsmen. The uncertain action of the League, the onlythread which bound the world together; the threatening aspect of theCymry and the Irish; the dread north, the vast northern forests, fromwhich at any time invading hosts might descend on the fertile south--itall went before his eyes. 

What was there behind the immense and untraversed belt of forest whichextended to the south, to the east, and west? Where did the great Lakeend? Were the stories of the gold and silver mines of Devon and Cornwalltrue? And where were the iron mines, from which the ancients drew theirstores of metal?

Led by these thoughts he twice or thrice left his labour, and walkingsome twenty miles through the forests, and over the hills, reached thesummit of White Horse. From thence, resting on the sward, he watched thevessels making slow progress by oars, and some drawn with ropes by gangsof men or horses on the shore, through the narrow straits. North andSouth there nearly met. There was but a furlong of water between them. If ever the North came down there the armies would cross. _There_ wasthe key of the world. Excepting the few cottages where the owners of thehorses lived, there was neither castle nor town within twenty miles. 

Forced on by these thoughts, he broke the long silence which had existedbetween him and his father. He spoke of the value and importance of thisspot; could not the Baron send forth his retainers and enclose a newestate there? There was nothing to prevent him. The forest was free toall, provided that they rendered due service to the Prince. Might not ahouse or castle built there become the beginning of a city? The Baronlistened, and then said he must go and see that a new hatch was put inthe brook to irrigate the water-meadow. That was all. 

Felix next wrote an anonymous letter to the Prince pointing out thevalue of the place. The Prince should seize it, and add to his power. Heknew that the letter was delivered, but there was no sign. It hadindeed, been read and laughed at. Why make further efforts when theyalready had what they desired? One only, the deep and designingValentine, gave it serious thought in secret. It seemed to him thatsomething might come of it, another day, when he was himself inpower--if that should happen. But he, too, forgot it in a week. Somesecret effort was made to discover the writer, for the council were veryjealous of political opinion, but it soon ended. The idea, not beingsupported by money or influence, fell into oblivion. 

Felix worked on, chipping out the canoe. The days passed, and the boatwas nearly finished. In a day or two now it would be launched, and soonafterwards he should commence his voyage. He should see Aurora once moreonly. He should see her, but he should not say farewell; she would notknow that he was going till he had actually departed. As he thought thusa dimness came before his eyes; his hand trembled, and he could notwork. He put down the chisel, and paused to steady himself. 

Upon the other side of the stream, somewhat lower down, a yellowwood-dog had been lapping the water to quench its thirst, watching theman the while. So long as Felix was intent upon his work, the wildanimal had no fear; the moment he looked up, the creature sprang backinto the underwood. A dove was cooing in the forest not far distant, butas he was about to resume work the cooing ceased. Then a wood-pigeonrose from the ashes with a loud clapping of wings. Felix listened. Hishunter instinct told him that something was moving there. A rustling ofthe bushes followed, and he took his spear which had been leant againstthe adjacent tree. But, peering into the wood, in a moment he recognisedOliver, who, having walked off his rage, was returning. 

"I though it might have been a Bushman, " said Felix, replacing hisspear; "only they are noiseless. "

"Any of them might have cut me down, " said Oliver; "for I forgot myweapon. It is nearly noon; are you coming home to dinner?"

"Yes; I must bring my tools. "

He put them in the basket, and together they returned to the ropeladder. As they passed the Pen by the river they caught sight of theBaron in the adjacent gardens, which were irrigated by his contrivancesfrom the stream, and went towards him. A retainer held two horses, onegaily caparisoned, outside the garden; his master was talking with SirConstans. 

"It is Lord John, " said Oliver. They approached slowly under thefruit-trees, not to intrude. Sir Constans was showing the courtier anearly cherry-tree, whose fruit was already set. The dry hot weather hadcaused it to set even earlier than usual. A suit of black velvet, anextremely expensive and almost unprocurable material, brought thecourtier's pale features into relief. It was only by the very oldestfamilies that any velvet or satin or similar materials were stillpreserved; if these were in pecuniary difficulties they might sell somepart of their store, but such things were not to be got for money in theordinary way. 

Two small silver bars across his left shoulder showed that he was alord-in-waiting. He was a handsome man, with clear-cut features, somewhat rakish from late hours and dissipation, but not the lessinteresting on that account. But his natural advantages were so over-runwith the affectation of the Court that you did not see the man at all, being absorbed by the studied gesture to display the jewelled ring, andthe peculiarly low tone of voice in which it was the fashion to speak. 

Beside the old warrior he looked a mere stripling. The Baron's arm wasbare, his sleeve rolled up; and as he pointed to the tree above, themuscles, as the limb moved, displayed themselves in knots, at which thecourtier himself could not refrain from glancing. Those mighty arms, hadthey clasped him about the waist, could have crushed his bending ribs. The heaviest blow that he could have struck upon that broad chest wouldhave produced no more effect than a hollow sound; it would not even haveshaken that powerful frame. 

He felt the steel blue eye, bright as the sky of midsummer, glance intohis very mind. The high forehead bare, for the Baron had his hat in hishand, mocked at him in its humility. The Baron bared his head in honourof the courtier's office and the Prince who had sent him. The beard, though streaked with white, spoke little of age; it rather indicated anabundant, a luxuriant vitality. 

Lord John was not at ease. He shifted from foot to foot, andoccasionally puffed a large cigar of Devon tobacco. His errand wassimple enough. Some of the ladies at the Court had a fancy for fruit, especially strawberries, but there were none in the market, nor to beobtained from the gardens about the town. It was recollected that SirConstans was famous for his gardens, and the Prince despatched Lord Johnto Old House with a gracious message and request for a basket ofstrawberries. Sir Constans was much pleased; but he regretted that thehot, dry weather had not permitted the fruit to come to any size orperfection. Still there were some. 

The courtier accompanied him to the gardens, and saw the water-wheelwhich, turned by a horse, forced water from the stream into a small pondor elevated reservoir, from which it irrigated the ground. This supplyof water had brought on the fruit, and Sir Constans was able to gather asmall basket. He then looked round to see what other early product hecould send to the palace. There was no other fruit; the cherries, thoughset, were not ripe; but there was some asparagus, which had not yet beenserved, said Lord John, at the Prince's table. 

Sir Constans set men to hastily collect all that was ready, and whilethis was done took the courtier over the gardens. Lord John felt nointerest whatever in such matters, but he could not choose but admirethe extraordinary fertility of the enclosure, and the variety of theproducts. There was everything; fruit of all kinds, herbs of everyspecies, plots specially devoted to those possessing medicinal virtue. This was only one part of the gardens; the orchards proper were fartherdown, and the flowers nearer the house. Sir Constans had sent a man tothe flower-garden, who now returned with two fine bouquets, which werepresented to Lord John: the one for the Princess, the Prince's sister;the other for any lady to whom he might choose to present it. 

The fruit had already been handed to the retainer who had charge of thehorses. Though interested, in spite of himself, Lord John, acknowledgingthe flowers, turned to go with a sense of relief. This simplicity ofmanners seemed discordant to him. He felt out of place, and in some waylowered in his own esteem, and yet he despised the rural retirement andbeauty about him. 

Felix and Oliver, a few yards distant, were waiting with rising tempers. The spectacle of the Baron in his native might of physique, humblystanding, hat in hand, before this Court messenger, discoursing oncherries, and offering flowers and fruit, filled them with anger anddisgust. The affected gesture and subdued voice of the courtier, on theother hand, roused an equal contempt. 

As Lord John turned, he saw them. He did not quite guess theirrelationship, but supposed they were cadets of the house, it beingcustomary for those in any way connected to serve the head of thefamily. He noted the flag basket in Felix's hand, and naturally imaginedthat he had been at work. 

"You have been to-to plough, eh?" he said, intending to be very graciousand condescending. "Very healthy employment. The land requires somerain, does it not? Still I trust it will not rain till I am home, for myplume's sake, " tossing his head. "Allow me, " and as he passed he offeredOliver a couple of cigars. "One each, " he added; "the best Devon. "

Oliver took the cigars mechanically, holding them as if they had beenvipers, at arm's length, till the courtier had left the garden, and thehedge interposed. Then he threw them into the water-carrier. The besttobacco, indeed the only real tobacco, came from the warm Devon land, but little of it reached so far, on account of the distance, thedifficulties of intercourse, the rare occasions on which the merchantsucceeded in escaping the vexatious interference, the downright robberyof the way. Intercourse was often entirely closed by war. 

These cigars, therefore, were worth their weight in silver, and suchtobacco could be obtained only by those about the Court, as a matter offavour, too, rather than by purchase. Lord John would, indeed, havestared aghast had he seen the rustic to whom he had given so valuable apresent cast them into a ditch. He rode towards the Maple Gate, excusinghis haste volubly to Sir Constans, who was on foot, and walked besidehim a little way, pressing him to take some refreshment. 

His sons overtook the Baron as he walked towards home, and walked by hisside in silence. Sir Constans was full of his fruit. 

"The wall cherry, " said he, "will soon have a few ripe. "

Oliver swore a deep but soundless oath in his chest. Sir Constanscontinued talking about his fruit and flowers, entirely oblivious of thesilent anger of the pair beside him. As they approached the house, thewarder blew his horn thrice for noon. It was also the signal for dinner. 

CHAPTER VI

THE FOREST TRACK

When the canoe was finished, Oliver came to help Felix launch it, andthey rolled it on logs down to the place where the stream formed a pool. But when it was afloat, as Oliver had foretold, it did not swim uprightin the water. It had not been shaped accurately, and one side was higherout of the water than the other. 

Felix was so disgusted at this failure that he would not listen toanything Oliver could suggest. He walked back to the spot where he hadworked so many weeks, and sat down with his face turned from the pool. It was not so much the actual circumstance which depressed him, as thelong train of untoward incidents which had preceded it for years past. These seemed to have accumulated, till now this comparatively littleannoyance was like the last straw. 

Oliver followed him, and said that the defect could be remedied byplacing ballast on the more buoyant side of the canoe to bring it downto the level of the other; or, perhaps, if some more wood were cut awayon the heavier side, that it would cause it to rise. He offered to dothe work himself, but Felix, in his gloomy mood, would not answer him. Oliver returned to the pool, and getting into the canoe, poled it up anddown the stream. It answered perfectly, and could be easily managed; thedefect was more apparent than real, for when a person sat in the canoe, his weight seemed to bring it nearly level. 

It was only when empty that it canted to one side. He came back again toFelix, and pointed this out to him. The attempt was useless; the boatmight answer the purpose perfectly well, but it was not the boat Felixhad intended it to be. It did not come up to his ideal. 

Oliver was now somewhat annoyed at Felix's sullen silence, so he drewthe canoe partly on shore, to prevent it from floating away, and thenleft him to himself. 

Nothing more was said about it for a day or two. Felix did not go nearthe spot where he had worked so hard and so long, but on the SaturdayPhilip came home as usual, and, as there was now no secret about thecanoe, went down to look at it with Oliver. They pushed it off, andfloated two or three miles down the stream, hauling it on the shore pastthe fallen fir tree, and then, with a cord, towed it back again. Thecanoe, with the exception of the trifling deficiency alluded to, was agood one, and thoroughly serviceable. 

They endeavoured again to restore Felix's opinion of it, and an ideaoccurring to Philip, he said a capital plan would be to add anoutrigger, and so balance it perfectly. But though usually quick toadopt ideas when they were good, in this case Felix was too much out ofconceit with himself. He would listen to nothing. Still, he could notbanish it from his mind, though now ashamed to return to it after soobstinately refusing all suggestions. He wandered aimlessly about in thewoods, till one day he found himself in the path that led to Heron Bay. 

Strolling to the shore of the great Lake, he sat down and watched avessel sailing afar off slowly before the east wind. The thoughtpresently occurred to him, that the addition of an outrigger in themanner Philip had mentioned would enable him to carry a sail. The canoecould not otherwise support a sail (unless a very small one merely forgoing before the breeze), but with such a sail as the outrigger wouldbear, he could venture much farther away from land, his voyage might bemuch more extended, and his labour with the paddle lessened. 

This filled him with fresh energy; he returned, and at once recommencedwork. Oliver, finding that he was again busy at it, came and insistedupon assisting. With his help, the work progressed rapidly. He used thetools so deftly as to accomplish more in an hour than Felix could in aday. The outrigger consisted of a beam of poplar, sharpened at bothends, and held at some six or seven feet from the canoe by two strongcross-pieces. 

A mast, about the same height as the canoe was long, was then set up; itwas made from a young fir-tree. Another smaller fir supplied the yard, which extended fore and aft, nearly the length of the boat. The sail, ofcoarse canvas, was not very high, but long, and rather broader at eachend where the rope attached it to the prow and stern, or, rather, thetwo prows. Thus arranged, it was not so well suited for running straightbefore the wind, as for working into it, a feat never attempted by theships of the time. 

Oliver was delighted with the appearance of the boat, so much so thatnow and then he announced his intention of accompanying Felix on hisvoyage. But after a visit to the town, and a glance at the PrincessLucia, his resolution changed. Yet he wavered, one time openlyreproaching himself for enduring such a life of inaction and ignominy, and at another deriding Felix and his visionary schemes. The canoe wasnow completed; it was tried on the pool and found to float exactly as itshould. It had now to be conveyed to Heron Bay. 

The original intention was to put it on a cart, but the rude carts usedon the estate could not very well carry it, and a sledge wassubstituted. Several times, during the journey through the forest, thesledge had to be halted while the underwood was cut away to permit ofits passing; and once a slough had to be filled up with branches hewnfrom fir trees, and bundles of fern. These delays made it evening beforethe shore of the creek was reached. 

It was but a little inlet, scarce a bowshot wide at the entrance andcoming to a point inland. Here the canoe was left in charge of threeserfs, who were ordered to build a hut and stay beside it. Someprovisions were sent next day on the backs of other serfs, and in theafternoon (it was Saturday) all three brothers arrived; the canoe waslaunched, and they started for a trial sail. With a south wind they ranto the eastward at a rapid pace, keeping close to the shore till withina mile of White Horse. 

There they brought to by steering the canoe dead against the wind; thentransferring the steering-paddle (a rather large one, made for thepurpose) to the other end, and readjusting the sail, the outrigger beingstill to leeward, they ran back at an equal speed. The canoe answeredperfectly, and Felix was satisfied. He now despatched his tools andvarious weapons to the hut to be put on board. His own peculiar yew bowhe kept to the last at home; it and his chest bound with hide would gowith him on the last day. 

Although, in his original purpose, Felix had designed to go forthwithout anyone being aware of his intention, the circumstances which hadarisen, and the necessary employment of so many men, had let out thesecret to some degree. The removal of the tools and weapons, thecrossbow, darts, and spear, still more attracted attention. But littleor nothing was said about it, though the Baron and Baroness could nothelp but observe these preparations. The Baron deliberately shut hiseyes and went about his gardening; he was now, too, busy with the firstmowing. In his heart, perhaps, he felt that he had not done altogetherright in so entirely retiring from the world. 

By doing so he had condemned his children to loneliness, and to beregarded with contempt. Too late now, he could only obstinately persistin his course. The Baroness, inured for so many, many years todisappointment, had contracted her view of life till it scarcelyextended beyond mere physical comfort. Nor could she realize the idea ofFelix's approaching departure; when he was actually gone, it would, perhaps, come home to her. 

All was now ready, and Felix was only waiting for the Feast of St. Jamesto pay a last visit to Aurora at Thyma Castle. The morning before theday of the Feast, Felix and Oliver set out together. They had not livedaltogether in harmony, but now, at this approaching change, Oliver feltthat he must bear Felix company. Oliver rode his beautiful Night, hewore his plumed hat and precious sword, and carried his horseman'slance. Felix rode a smaller horse, useful, but far from handsome. Hecarried his yew bow and hunting knife. 

Thyma Castle was situated fifteen miles to the south; it was the lastoutpost of civilization; beyond it there was nothing but forest, and thewild open plains, the home of the gipsies. This circumstance of positionhad given Baron Thyma, in times past, a certain importance more than wasdue to the size of his estate or the number of his retainers. During aninvasion of the gipsies, his castle bore the brunt of the war, and itsgallant defence, indeed, broke their onward progress. So many fell inendeavouring to take it, that the rest were disheartened, and onlyscattered bands penetrated beyond. 

For this service the Baron received the grant of various privileges; hewas looked on as a pillar of the State, and was welcome at the court. But it proved an injury to him in the end. His honours, and the highsociety they led him into, were too great for the comparative smallnessof his income. Rich in flocks and herds, he had but little coin. High-spirited, and rather fond of display, he could not hold back; helaunched forth, with the usual result of impoverishment, mortgage, anddebt. 

He had hoped to obtain the command of an army in the wars that broke outfrom time to time; it was, indeed, universally admitted that he was inevery respect qualified for such a post. The courtiers and others, however, jealous, as is ever the case, of ability and real talent, debarred him by their intrigues from attaining his object. Prideprevented him from acquiescing in this defeat; he strove by display andextravagance to keep himself well to the front, flaunting himself beforethe eyes of all. This course could not last long; he was obliged toretire to his estate, which narrowly escaped forfeiture to hiscreditors. 

So ignominious an end after such worthy service was, however, preventedby the personal interference of the old Prince, who, from his privateresources, paid off the most pressing creditors. To the last, the oldPrince received him as a friend, and listened to his counsel. Thyma wasever in hopes that some change in the balance of parties would give himhis opportunity. When the young Prince succeeded, he was clever enoughto see that the presence of such men about his Court gave it astability, and he, too, invited Thyma to tender his advice. The Baron'shopes now rose higher than ever, but again he was disappointed. 

The new Prince, himself incapable, disliked and distrusted talent. Theyears passed, and the Baron obtained no appointment. Still he strainedhis resources to the utmost to visit the Court as often as possible;still he believed that sooner or later a turn of the wheel would elevatehim. 

There had existed between the houses of Thyma and Aquila the bond ofhearth-friendship; the gauntlets, hoofs, and rings were preserved byboth, and the usual presents passed thrice a year, at midsummer, Christmas, and Lady-day. Not much personal intercourse had taken place, however, for some years, until Felix was attracted by the beauty of theLady Aurora. Proud, showy, and pushing, Thyma could not understand thefeelings which led his hearth-friend to retire from the arena and busyhimself with cherries and water-wheels. On the other hand, Constansrather looked with quiet derision on the ostentation of the other. Thusthere was a certain distance, as it were, between them. 

Baron Thyma could not, of course, be ignorant of the attachment betweenhis daughter and Felix; yet as much as possible he ignored it. He neverreferred to Felix; if his name was incidentally mentioned, he remainedsilent. The truth was, he looked higher for Lady Aurora. He could not incourtesy discourage even in the faintest manner the visits of hisfriend's son; the knightly laws of honour would have forbidden so mean acourse. Nor would his conscience permit him to do so, remembering theold days when he and the Baron were glad companions together, and howthe Baron Aquila was the first to lead troops to his assistance in thegipsy war. Still, he tacitly disapproved; he did not encourage. 

Felix felt that he was not altogether welcome; he recognised the senseof restraint that prevailed when he was present. It deeply hurt hispride, and nothing but his love for Aurora could have enabled him tobear up against it. The galling part of it was that he could not in hissecret heart condemn the father for evidently desiring a better alliancefor his child. This was the strongest of the motives that had determinedhim to seek the unknown. 

If anything, the Baron would have preferred Oliver as a suitor for hisdaughter; he sympathized with Oliver's fiery spirit, and admired hisfeats of strength and dexterity with sword and spear. He had alwayswelcomed Oliver heartily, and paid him every attention. This, to doOliver justice, was one reason why he determined to accompany hisbrother, thinking that if he was there he could occupy attention, andthus enable Felix to have more opportunity to speak with Aurora. 

The two rode forth from the courtyard early in the morning, and passingthrough the whole length of the enclosure within the stockade, issued atthe South Barrier and almost immediately entered the forest. They ratherchecked their horses' haste, fresh as the animals were from the stable, but could not quite control their spirits, for the walk of a horse iseven half as fast again while he is full of vigour. The turn of thetrack soon shut out the stockade; they were alone in the woods. 

Long since, early as they were, the sun had dried the dew, for his beamswarm the atmosphere quickly as the spring advances towards summer. Butit was still fresh and sweet among the trees, and even Felix, thoughbound on so gloomy an errand, could not choose but feel the joyousinfluence of the morning. Oliver sang aloud in his rich deep voice, andthe thud, thud of the horses' hoofs kept time to the ballad. 

The thrushes flew but a little way back from the path as they passed, and began to sing again directly they were by. The whistling ofblackbirds came from afar where there were open glades or a runningstream; the notes of the cuckoo became fainter and fainter as theyadvanced farther from the stockade, for the cuckoo likes the woodlandsthat immediately border on cultivation. For some miles the track wasbroad, passing through thickets of thorn and low hawthorn-trees withimmense masses of tangled underwood between, brambles and woodbinetwisted and matted together, impervious above but hollow beneath; underthese they could hear the bush-hens running to and fro and scratching atthe dead leaves which strewed the ground. Sounds of clucking deeper inbetrayed the situation of their nests. 

Rushes, and the dead sedges of last year, up through which the greenfresh leaves were thrusting themselves, in some places stood beside theway, fringing the thorns where the hollow ground often held the waterfrom rainstorms. Out from these bushes a rabbit occasionally started andbounded across to the other side. Here, where there were so few trees, and the forest chiefly consisted of bush, they could see some distanceon either hand, and also a wide breadth of the sky. After a time thethorn bushes were succeeded by ash wood, where the trees stood closer tothe path, contracting the view; it was moister here, the hoofs cut intothe grass, which was coarse and rank. The trees growing so closetogether destroyed themselves, their lower branches rubbed together andwere killed, so that in many spots the riders could see a long waybetween the trunks. 

Every time the wind blew they could hear a distant cracking of branchesas the dead boughs, broken by the swaying of the trees, fell off andcame down. Had any one attempted to walk into the forest there theywould have sunk above the ankle in soft decaying wood, hidden from sightby thick vegetation. Wood-pigeons rose every minute from these ash-treeswith a loud clatter of wings; their calls resounded continually, nowdeep in the forest, and now close at hand. It was evident that a largeflock of them had their nesting-place here, and indeed their nests oftwigs could be frequently seen from the path. There seemed no otherbirds. 

Again the forest changed, and the track, passing on higher ground, entered among firs. These, too, had killed each other by growing sothickly; the lower branches of many were dead, and there was nothing buta little green at the tops, while in many places there was an open spacewhere they had decayed away altogether. Brambles covered the ground inthese open places, brambles and furze now bright with golden blossom. The jays screeched loudly, startled as the riders passed under them, andfluttered away; rabbits, which they saw again here, dived into theirburrows. Between the first the track was very narrow, and they could notconveniently ride side by side; Oliver took the lead, and Felixfollowed. 

CHAPTER VII

THE FOREST TRACK CONTINUED

Once as they trotted by a pheasant rose screaming from the furze andflew before them down the track. Just afterwards Felix, who had beenpreviously looking very carefully into the firs upon his right hand, suddenly stopped, and Oliver, finding this, pulled up as quickly as hecould, thinking that Felix wished to tighten his girth. 

"What is it?" he asked, turning round in his saddle. 

"Hush!" said Felix, dismounting; his horse, trained to hunting, stoodperfectly still, and would have remained within a few yards of the spotby the hour together. Oliver reined back, seeing Felix about to bend andstring his bow. 

"Bushmen, " whispered Felix, as he, having fitted the loop to the hornnotch, drew forth an arrow from his girdle, where he carried two orthree more ready to hand than in the quiver on his shoulder. "I thoughtI saw signs of them some time since, and now I am nearly sure. Stay herea moment. "

He stepped aside from the track in among the firs, which just there werefar apart, and went to a willow bush standing by some furze. He hadnoticed that one small branch on the outer part of the bush was snappedoff, though green, and only hung by the bark. The wood cattle, had theybrowsed upon it, would have nibbled the tenderest leaves at the end ofthe bough; nor did they usually touch willow, for the shoots are bitterand astringent. Nor would the deer touch it in the spring, when they hadso wide a choice of food. 

Nothing could have broken the branch in that manner unless it was thehand of a man, or a blow with a heavy stick wielded by a human hand. Oncoming to the bush he saw that the fracture was very recent, for thebough was perfectly green; it had not turned brown, and the bark wasstill soft with sap. It had not been cut with a knife or any sharpinstrument; it had been broken by rude violence, and not divided. Thenext thing to catch his eye was the appearance of a larger branchfarther inside the bush. 

This was not broken, but a part of the bark was abraded, and even tornup from the wood as if by the impact of some hard substance, as a stonethrown with great force. He examined the ground, but there was no stonevisible, and on again looking at the bark he concluded that it had notbeen done with a stone at all, because the abraded portion was not cut. The blow had been delivered by something without edges or projections. He had now no longer any doubt that the lesser branch outside had beenbroken, and the large inside branch bruised, by the passage of aBushman's throw-club. 

These, their only missile weapons, are usually made of crab-tree, andconsist of a very thin short handle, with a large, heavy, and smoothknob. With these they can bring down small game, as rabbits or hares, ora fawn (even breaking the legs of deer), or the large birds, as thewood-turkeys. Stealing up noiselessly within ten yards, the Bushmanthrows his club with great force, and rarely misses his aim. If notkilled at once, the game is certain to be stunned, and is much moreeasily secured than if wounded with an arrow, for with an arrow in itswing a large bird will flutter along the ground, and perhaps creep intosedges or under impenetrable bushes. 

Deprived of motion by the blow of the club, it can, on the other hand, be picked up without trouble and without the aid of a dog, and if notdead is despatched by a twist of the Bushman's fingers or a thrust fromhis spud. The spud is at once his dagger, his knife and fork, hischisel, his grub-axe, and his gouge. It is a piece of iron (rarely ornever of steel, for he does not know how to harden it) about ten incheslong, an inch and a half wide at the top or broadest end, where it isshaped and sharpened like a chisel, only with the edge not straight butsloping, and from thence tapering to a point at the other, the pointedpart being four-sided, like a nail. 

It has, indeed, been supposed that the original spud was formed from alarge wrought-iron nail, such as the ancients used, sharpened on a stoneat one end, and beaten out flat at the other. This instrument has ahandle in the middle, half-way between the chisel end and the point. Thehandle is of horn or bone (the spud being put through the hollow of thebone), smoothed to fit the hand. With the chisel end he cuts up his gameand his food; the edge, being sloping, is drawn across the meat anddivides it. With this end, too, he fashions his club and his traps, anddigs up the roots he uses. The other end he runs into his meat as afork, or thrusts it into the neck of his game to kill it and let out theblood, or with it stabs a sleeping enemy. 

The stab delivered by the Bushman can always be distinguished, becausethe wound is invariably square, and thus a clue only too certain hasoften been afforded to the assassin of many an unfortunate hunter. Whatever the Bushman in this case had hurled his club at, the club hadgone into the willow bush, snapping the light branch and leaving itsmark upon the bark of the larger. A moment's reflection convinced Felixthat the Bushman had been in chase of a pheasant. Only a few momentspreviously a pheasant had flown before them down the track, and wherethere was one pheasant there were generally several more in theimmediate neighbourhood. 

The Bushmen were known to be peculiarly fond of the pheasant, pursuingthem all the year round without reference to the breeding season, and socontinuously, that it was believed they caused these birds to be muchless numerous, notwithstanding the vast extent of the forests, than theywould otherwise have been. From the fresh appearance of the snappedbough, the Bushman must have passed but a few hours previously, probablyat the dawn, and was very likely concealed at that moment near at handin the forest, perhaps within a hundred yards. 

Felix looked carefully round, but could see nothing; there were thetrees, not one of them large enough to hide a man behind it, the furzebranches were small and scattered, and there was not sufficient fern toconceal anything. The keenest glance could discern nothing more. Therewere no footmarks on the ground, indeed, the dry, dead leaves and firneedles could hardly have received any impression, and up in the firsthe branches were thin, and the sky could be seen through them. Whetherthe Bushman was lying in some slight depression of the ground, orwhether he had covered himself with dead leaves and fir needles, orwhether he had gone on and was miles away, there was nothing to show. But of the fact that he had been there Felix was perfectly certain. 

He returned towards Oliver, thoughtful and not without some anxiety, forhe did not like the idea (though there was really little or no danger)of these human wild beasts being so near Aurora, while he should so soonbe far away. Thus occupied he did not heed his steps, and suddenly feltsomething soft under his feet, which struggled. Instantaneously hesprang as far as he could, shuddering, for he had crushed an adder, andbut just escaped, by his involuntary and mechanical leap, from itsvenom. 

In the warm sunshine the viper, in its gravid state, had not cared tomove as usual on hearing his approach; he had stepped full upon it. Hehastened from the spot, and rejoined Oliver in a somewhat shaken stateof mind. Common as such an incident was in the woods, where sandy soilwarned the hunter to be careful, it seemed ominous that particularmorning, and, joined with the discovery of Bushman traces, quitedestroyed his sense of the beauty of the day. 

On hearing the condition of the willow boughs Oliver agreed as to thecause, and said that they must remember to warn the Baron's shepherdsthat the Bushmen, who had not been seen for some time, were about. Soonafterwards they emerged from the sombre firs and crossed a wide andsloping ground, almost bare of trees, where a forest fire last year hadswept away the underwood. A verdant growth of grass was now springingup. Here they could canter side by side. The sunshine poured down, andbirds were singing joyously. But they soon passed it, and checked theirspeed on entering the trees again. 

Tall beeches, with round smooth trunks, stood thick and close upon thedry and rising ground; their boughs met overhead, forming a greencontinuous arch for miles. The space between was filled with brake fern, now fast growing up, and the track itself was green with moss. As theycame into this beautiful place a red stag, startled from his browsing, bounded down the track, his swift leaps carried him away like the wind;in another moment he left the path and sprang among the fern, and wasseen only in glimpses as he passed between the beeches. Squirrels ran upthe trunks as they approached; they could see many on the ground inamong the trees, and passed under others on the branches high abovethem. Woodpeckers flashed across the avenue. 

Once Oliver pointed out the long, lean flank of a grey pig, or fern-hog, as the animal rushed away among the brake. There were several glades, from one of which they startled a few deer, whose tails only were seenas they bounded into the underwood, but after the glades came thebeeches again. Beeches always form the most beautiful forest, beechesand oak; and though nearing the end of their journey, they regrettedwhen they emerged from these trees and saw the castle before them. 

The ground suddenly sloped down into a valley, beyond which rose theDowns; the castle stood on a green isolated low hill, about half-wayacross the vale. To the left a river wound past; to the right the beechforest extended as far as the eye could see. The slope at their feet hadbeen cleared of all but a few hawthorn bushes. It was not enclosed, buta neatherd was there with his cattle half a mile away, sitting himselfat the foot of a beech, while the cattle grazed below him. 

Down in the valley the stockade began; it was not wide but long. Theenclosure extended on the left to the bank of the river, and two fieldson the other side of it. On the right it reached a mile and a half ornearly, the whole of which was overlooked from the spot where they hadpassed. Within the enclosures the corn crops were green and flourishing;horses and cattle, ricks and various buildings, were scattered about it. The town or cottages of the serfs were on the bank of the riverimmediately beyond the castle. On the Downs, which rose a mile or moreon the other side of the castle, sheep were feeding; part of the ridgewas wooded and part open. Thus the cultivated and enclosed valley waseverywhere shut in with woods and hills. 

The isolated round hill on which the castle stood was itself enclosedwith a second stockade; the edge of the brow above that again wasdefended by a stout high wall of flints and mortar, crenellated at thetop. There were no towers or bastions. An old and ivy-grown buildingstood inside the wall; it dated from the time of the ancients; it hadseveral gables, and was roofed with tiles. This was the dwelling-house. The gardens were situated on the slope between the wall and the innerstockade. Peaceful as the scene appeared, it had been the site offurious fighting not many years ago. The Downs trended to the south, where the Romany and the Zingari resided, and a keen watch was kept bothfrom the wall and from the hills beyond. 

They now rode slowly down the slope, and in a few minutes reached thebarrier or gateway in the outer stockade. They had been observed, andthe guard called by the warden, but as they approached were recognised, and the gate swang open before them. Walking their horses they crossedto the hill, and were as easily admitted to the second enclosure. At thegate of the wall they dismounted, and waited while the warden carriedthe intelligence of their arrival to the family. A moment later, and theBaron's son advanced from the porch, and from the open window theBaroness and Aurora beckoned to them. 

CHAPTER VIII

THYMA CASTLE

Soon afterwards the hollow sound of the warden's horn, from the watchover the gate of the wall, proclaimed the hour of noon, and they allassembled for dinner in the banqueting chamber. The apartment was on theground floor, and separated from the larger hall only by an internalwall. The house, erected in the time of the ancients, was not designedfor our present style of life; it possessed, indeed, many comforts andconveniences which are scarcely now to be found in the finest palaces, but it lacked the breadth of construction which our architects have nowin view. 

In the front there were originally only two rooms, extensive for thoseold days, but not sufficiently so for ours. One of these had thereforebeen enlarged, by throwing into it a back room and part of the entrance, and even then it was not long enough for the Baron's retainers, and atfeast-time a wooden shed was built opposite, and up to the window, tocontinue, as it were, the apartment out of doors. Workmen were busyputting up this shed when they arrived. 

The second apartment retained its ancient form, and was used as thedining-room on ordinary days. It was lighted by a large window, nowthrown wide open that the sweet spring air might enter, which window wasthe pride of the Baroness, for it contained more true glass than anywindow in the palace of the Prince. The glass made now is nottransparent, but merely translucent; it indeed admits light after afashion, but it is thick and cannot be seen through. These panes werealmost all (the central casement wholly) of ancient glass, preservedwith the greatest care through the long years past. 

Three tables were arranged in an open square; the Baron and Baroness'schairs of oak faced the window, the guests sat at the other tablessideways to them, the servants moved on the outer side, and thus placedthe food before them without pushing against or incommoding them. Afourth table was placed in a corner between the fireplace and thewindow. At it sat the old nurse, the housekeeper (frequently arising toorder the servants), and the Baron's henchman, who had taught him toride, but now, grey and aged, could not mount himself withoutassistance, and had long ceased from active service. 

Already eight or nine guests had arrived besides Felix and Oliver. Somehad ridden a great distance to be present at the House Day. They wereall nobles, richly dressed; one or two of the eldest were wealthy andpowerful men, and the youngest was the son and heir of the Earl ofEssiton, who was then the favourite at Court. Each had come with hispersonal attendants; the young Lord Durand brought with him twenty-fiveretainers, and six gentlemen friends, all of whom were lodged in thetown, the gentlemen taking their meals at the castle at the same time asthe Baron, but, owing to lack of room, in another apartment bythemselves. Durand was placed, or rather, quietly helped himself to aseat, next to the Lady Aurora, and of all the men there present, certainly there was none more gallant and noble than he. 

His dark eyes, his curling hair short but brought in a thick curl overhis forehead, his lips well shaped, his chin round and somewhatprominent, the slight moustache (no other hair on the face), formed thevery ideal of what many women look for in a man. But it was his bright, lively conversation, the way in which his slightly swarthy complexionflushed with animation, the impudent assurance and yet generous warmthof his manner, and, indeed, of his feelings, which had given him themerited reputation of being the very flower of the nobles. 

With such a reputation, backed with the great wealth and power of hisfather, gentlemen competed with each other to swell his train; he couldnot, indeed, entertain all that came, and was often besieged with almostas large a crowd as the Prince himself. He took as his right the chairnext to Aurora, to whom, indeed, he had been paying unremittingattention all the morning. She was laughing heartily as she sat down, atsome sally of his upon a beauty at the Court. 

The elder men were placed highest up the tables, and nearest the host, but to the astonishment of all, and not the least of himself, Oliver wasinvited by the Baron to sit by his side. Oliver could not understandthis special mark of favour; the others, though far too proud for amoment to resent what they might have deemed a slight upon them, at oncebegan to search their minds for a reason. They knew the Baron as an oldintriguer; they attached a meaning, whether intended or not, to hissmallest action. 

Felix, crowded out, as it were, and unnoticed, was forced to take hisseat at the end of the table nearest that set apart in the corner forthe aged and honoured servitors of the family. Only a few feetintervened between him and ancient henchmen; and he could not butoverhear their talk among themselves, whispered as it was. He had merelyshaken hands with Aurora; the crowd in the drawing-room and the markedattentions of Durand had prevented the exchange of a single word betweenthem. As usual, the sense of neglect and injury over which he had solong brooded with little or no real cause (considering, of course, hisposition, and that the world can only see our coats and not our hearts), under these entirely accidental circumstances rose up again within him, and blinded him to the actual state of things. 

His seat, the lowest, and the nearest to the servitors, was in itself amark of the low estimation in which he was held. The Lord Durand hadbeen placed next to Aurora, as a direct encouragement to him, and adirect hint to himself not to presume. Doubtless, Durand had been at thecastle many times, not improbably already been accepted by the Baron, and not altogether refused by Aurora. As a fact, though delighted withher beauty and conversation, Durand's presence was entirely due to thewill of his father, the Earl, who wished to maintain friendly relationswith Baron Thyma, and even then he would not have come had not thelovely weather invited him to ride into the forest. 

It was, however, so far true, that though his presence was accidental, yet he was fast becoming fascinated by one who, girl though she was, wasstronger in mind than he. Now Aurora, knowing that he father's eye wason her, dared not look towards Felix, lest by an open and pronouncedconduct she should be the cause of his being informed that his presencewas not desirable. She knew that the Baron only needed a pretext tointerfere, and was anxious to avoid offering him a chance. 

Felix, seeing her glance bent downwards or towards her companion, andnever all the time turned to him, not unnaturally, but too hastily, concluded that she had been dazzled by Durand and the possibility of analliance with his powerful family. He was discarded, worthless, and ofno account; he had nothing but his sword; nay, he had not a sword, hewas only an archer, a footman. Angry, jealous, and burning with inwardannoyance, despising himself since all others despised him, scarce ableto remain at the table, Felix was almost beside himself, and did notanswer nor heed the remarks of the gentlemen sitting by him, who put himdown as an ill-bred churl. 

For the form's sake, indeed, he put his lips to the double-handled cupof fine ale, which continually circulated round the table, and was neverallowed to be put down; one servant had nothing else to do but to seethat its progress never stopped. But he drank nothing, and ate nothing;he could not swallow. How visionary, how weak and feeble now seemed thewild scheme of the canoe and his proposed voyage! Even should itsucceed, years must elapse before he could accomplish anythingsubstantial; while here were men who really had what he could only thinkof or imagine. 

The silver chain or sword-belt of Durand (the sword and the dagger werenot worn at the banquet, nor in the house, they were received by themarshal, and deposited in his care, a precaution against quarrelling), solid silver links passing over his shoulder, were real actual things. All the magnificence that he could call up by the exercise of hisimagination, was but imagination; a dream no more to be seen by othersthan the air itself. 

The dinner went on, and the talk became more noisy. The trout, thechicken, the thyme lamb (trapped on the hills by the shepherds), theplover eggs, the sirloin, the pastry (the Baroness superintended themaking of it herself), all the profusion of the table, rather set himagainst food than tempted him. Nor could he drink the tiny drop, as itwere, of ancient brandy, sent round to each guest at the conclusion, precious as liquid gold, for it had been handed down from the ancients, and when once the cask was empty it could not be re-filled. 

The dessert, the strawberries, the nuts and walnuts, carefully preservedwith a little salt, and shaken in the basket from time to time that theymight not become mouldy, the apples, the honey in the comb with slicesof white bread, nothing pleased him. Nor did he drink, otherwise thanthe sip demanded by courtesy, of the thin wine of Gloucester, costly asit was, grown in the vineyard there, and shipped across the Lake, andrendered still more expensive by risk of pirates. This was poured intoflagons of maple wood, which, like the earthenware cup of ale, werenever allowed to touch the board till the dinner was over. 

Wearily the time went on; Felix glanced more and more often at the skyseen through the casement, eagerly desiring to escape, and at least tobe alone. At last (how long it seemed!) the Baron rose, and immediatelythe rest did the same, and they drank the health of the Prince. Then aservitor brought in a pile of cigars upon a carved wooden tray, like alarge platter, but with a rim. "These, " said the Baron, again rising(the signal to all to cease conversing and to listen), "are a presentfrom my gracious and noble friend the Earl of Essiton" (he lookedtowards Durand), "not less kindly carried by Lord Durand. I could haveprovided only our own coarse tobacco; but these are the best Devon. "

The ladies now left the table, Aurora escorted by Durand, the Baronessby Oliver. Oliver, indeed, was in the highest spirits; he had eatenheartily of all; especially the sweet thyme lamb, and drunk as freely. He was in his element, his laugh the loudest, his talk the liveliest. Directly Durand returned (he had gone even a part of the way upstairstowards the drawing-room with Aurora, a thing a little againstetiquette) he took his chair, formality being now at an end, and placedit by Oliver. They seemed to become friends at once by sympathy of mindand taste. 

Round them the rest gradually grouped themselves, so that presentlyFelix, who did not move, found himself sitting alone at the extreme endof the table; quite apart, for the old retainers, who dined at theseparate table, had quitted the apartment when the wine was brought in. Freed from the restraint of the ladies, the talk now became extremelynoisy, the blue smoke from the long cigars filled the great apartment;one only remained untouched, that placed before Felix. Suddenly itstruck him that thus sitting alone and apart, he should attractattention; he, therefore, drew his chair to the verge of the group, butremained silent, and as far off as ever. Presently the arrival of fivemore guests caused a stir and confusion, in the midst of which heescaped into the open air. 

He wandered towards the gate of the wall, passing the wooden shed wherethe clink of hammers resounded, glanced at the sundial, which showed thehour of three (three weary hours had they feasted), and went out intothe gardens. Still going on, he descended the slope, and not muchheeding whither he was going, took the road that led into town. Itconsisted of some hundred or more houses, built of wood and thatched, placed without plan or arrangement on the bank of the stream. Only onelong street ran through it, the rest were mere by-ways. 

All these were inhabited by the Baron's retainers, but the number andapparently small extent of the houses did not afford correct data forthe actual amount of the population. In these days the people (as iswell known) find much difficulty in marrying; it seems only possible fora certain proportion to marry, and hence there are always a great numberof young or single men out of all ratio to the houses. At the sound ofthe bugle the Baron could reckon on at least three hundred men flockingwithout a minute's delay to man the wall; in an hour more would arrivefrom the outer places, and by nightfall, if the summons went forth inthe morning, his shepherds and swineherds would arrive, and thesetogether would add some hundred and fifty to the garrison. 

Next must be reckoned the armed servants of the house, the Baron'spersonal attendants, the gentlemen who formed his train, his sons andthe male relations of the family; these certainly were not less thanfifty. Altogether over five hundred men, well armed and accustomed tothe use of their weapons, would range themselves beneath his banner. Twoof the buildings in he town were of brick (the material carried hither, for there was no clay or stone thereabouts); they were not far apart. The one was the Toll House, where all merchants or traders paid thecharges in corn or kind due to the Baron; the other was the Court House, where he sat to administer justice and decide causes, or to send thecriminal to the gibbet. 

These alone of the buildings were of any age, for the wooden houses wereextremely subject to destruction by fire, and twice in the Baron's timehalf the town had been laid in ashes, only to rise again in a few weeks. Timber was so abundant and so ready of access, it seemed a loss oflabour to fetch stone or brick, or to use the flints of the hills. Aboutthe doors of the two inns there were gathered groups of people; amongthem the liveries of the nobles visiting the castle were conspicuous;the place was full of them, the stables were filled, and their horseswere picketed under the trees and even in the street. 

Every minute the numbers increased as others arrived; men, too (who hadobtained permission of their lords), came in on foot, ten or twelvetravelling together for mutual protection, for the feuds of theirmasters exposed them to frequent attack. All (except the nobles) weredisarmed at the barrier by the warden and guard, that peace might bepreserved in the enclosure. The folk at the moment he passed werewatching the descent of three covered waggons from the forest track, inwhich were travelling the ladies of as many noble families. 

Some, indeed, of the youngest and boldest ride on horseback, but theladies chiefly move in these waggons, which are fitted up withconsiderable comfort, and are necessary to sleep in when the camp isformed by the wayside at night. None noticed him as he went by, except agroup of three cottage girls, and a serving-woman, an attendant of alady visitor at the castle. He heard them allude to him; he quickenedhis pace, but heard one say, "He's nobody; he hasn't even got a horse. "

"Yes he is, " replied the serving-woman; "he's Oliver's brother; and Ican tell you my lord Oliver is somebody; the Princess Lucia--" and shemade the motion of kissing with her lips. Felix, ashamed and annoyed tothe last degree, stepped rapidly from the spot. The serving-woman, however, was right in a measure; the real or supposed favour shownOliver by the Prince's sister, the Duchess of Deverell, had begun to bebruited abroad, and this was the secret reason why the Baron had shownOliver so much and so marked an attention, even more than he had paid toLord Durand. 

Full well he knew the extraordinary influence possessed by ladies ofrank and position. From what we can learn out of the scanty records ofthe past, it was so even in the days of the ancients; it is ahundredfold more so in these times, when, although every noble must ofnecessity be taught to read and write, as a matter of fact the men doneither, but all the correspondence of kings and princes, and thediplomatic documents, and notices, and so forth, are one and all, almostwithout a single exception, drawn up by women. They know the secret andhidden motives of courts, and have this great advantage, that they canuse their knowledge without personal fear, since women are neverseriously interfered with, but are protected by all. 

The one terrible and utterly shameful instance to the contrary had notoccurred at the time of which we are now speaking, and it was and isstill repudiated by every man, from the knight to the boys who gatheracorns for the swine. Oliver himself had no idea whatever that he wasregarded as a favourite lover of the Duchess; he took the welcome thatwas held out to him as perfectly honest. Plain, straightforward, andhonest, Oliver, had he been openly singled out by a queen, would havescorned to give himself an air for such a reason. But the Baron, deep inintrigue this many a year, looked more profoundly into the possibilitiesof the future when he kept the young knight at his side. 

CHAPTER IX

SUPERSTITIONS

Felix was now outside the town and alone in the meadow which borderedthe stream; he knelt, and drank from it with the hollow of his hand. Hewas going to ascend the hill beyond, and had already reached the barrierupon that side, when he recollected that etiquette demanded the presenceof the guests at meal-times, and it was now the hour for tea. Hehastened back, and found the courtyard of the castle crowded. Within, the staircase leading to the Baroness's chamber (where tea was served)could scarcely be ascended, what with the ladies and their courtiers, the long trains of the serving-women, the pages winding their way in andout, the servants endeavouring to pass, the slender pet greyhounds, theinseparable companions of their mistresses. 

By degrees, and exercising patience, he gained the upper floor andentered the drawing-room. The Baroness alone sat at the table, theguests wheresoever they chose, or chance carried them; for the most partthey stood, or leaned against the recess of the open window. Of teaitself there was none; there had been no tea to be had for love or moneythese fifty years past, and, indeed, its use would have been forgotten, and the name only survived, had not some small quantities been yetpreserved and brought out on rare occasions at the palaces. Instead, there was chicory prepared from the root of the plant, grown for thepurpose; fresh milk; fine ale and mead; and wine from Gloucester. Butter, honey, and cake were also on the table. 

The guests helped themselves, or waited till the servants came to themwith wooden carved trays. The particular characteristic of tea is thefreedom from restraint; it is not considered necessary to sit as atdinner or supper, nor to do as others do; each pleases himself, andthere is no ceremony. Yet, although so near Aurora, Felix did notsucceed in speaking to her; Durand still engaged her attention wheneverother ladies were not talking with her. Felix found himself, exactly asat dinner-time, quite outside the circle. There was a buzz ofconversation around, but not a word of it was addressed to him. Dressesbrushed against him, but the fair owners were not concerned even toacknowledge his existence. 

Pushed by the jostling crowd aside from the centre of the floor, Felixpresently sat down, glad to rest at last, behind the open door. Forgotten, he forgot; and, looking as it were out of the present in abitter reverie, scarcely knew where he was, except at moments when heheard the well-known and loved voice of Aurora. A servant after a whilecame to him with a tray; he took some honey and bread. Almostimmediately afterwards another servant came and presented him with aplate, on which was a cup of wine, saying, "With my lady's lovingwishes. "

As in duty bound, he rose and bowed to the Baroness; she smiled andnodded; the circle which had looked to see who was thus honoured, turnedaside again, not recognising him. To send a guest a plate with wine orfood is the highest mark of esteem, and this plate in especial was ofalmost priceless value, as Felix saw when his confusion had abated. Itwas of the ancient china, now not to be found in even the houses of thegreat. 

In all that kingdom but five perfect plates were known to exist, and twoof these were at the palace. They are treasured as heirlooms, and, ifever broken, can never be replaced. The very fragments are rare; theyare often set in panels, and highly prized. The Baroness, glancing roundher court, had noticed at last the young man sitting in the obscurecorner behind the door; she remembered, not without some twinge ofconscience, that his house was their ancient ally and swornhearth-friend. 

She knew, far better than the Baron, how deeply her daughter loved him;better, perhaps, even than Aurora herself. She, too, naturally hoped ahigher alliance for Aurora; yet she was a true woman, and her heart wasstronger than her ambition. The trifle of the wine was, of course, nothing; but it was open and marked recognition. She expected that Felix(after his wont in former times, before love or marriage was thought offor Aurora) would have come upon this distinct invitation, and taken hisstand behind her, after the custom. But as he did not come, fresh guestsand the duties of hospitality distracted her attention, and she againforgot him. 

He was, indeed, more hurt than pleased with the favour that had beenshown him; it seemed to him (though really prompted by the kindestfeeling) like a bone cast at a dog. He desired to be so regarded that nospecial mark of favour should be needed. It simply increased hisdiscontent. The evening wore on, the supper began; how weary it seemedto him, that long and jovial supper, with the ale that ran in acontinual stream, the wine that ceaselessly circled round, the jokes, and bustle, and laughter, the welcome to guests arriving; the cards, andchess, and games that succeeded it, the drinking, and drinking, anddrinking, till the ladies again left; then drinking yet more freely. 

He slipped away at the first opportunity, and having first strolled toand fro on the bowling green, wet with dew, at the rear of the castle, asked for his bedroom. It was some time before he could get attended to;he stood alone at the foot of the staircase while others went first(their small coins bought them attention), till at last a lamp wasbrought to him, and his chamber named. This chamber, such as it was, wasthe only pleasure, and that a melancholy one, he had had that day. 

Though overflowing with guests, so that the most honoured visitors couldnot be accommodated within the castle, and only the ladies could findsleeping room there, yet the sacred law of honour, the pledge of thehearth-friend passed three generations ago, secured him this privilege. The hearth-friend must sleep within, if a king were sent without. Oliver, of course, would occupy the same room, but he was drinking andshouting a song below, so that for a while Felix had the chamber tohimself. 

It pleased him, because it was the room in which he had always sleptwhen he visited the place from a boy, when, half afraid and yetdetermined to venture, he had first come through the lonely forestalone. How well he remembered that first time! the autumn sunshine onthe stubble at Old House, and the red and brown leaves of the forest ashe entered; how he entered on foot, and twice turned back, and twiceadventured again, till he got so deep into the forest that it seemed asfar to return as to advance. How he started at the sudden bellow of twostags, and the clatter of their horns as they fought in the brake closeby, and how beautiful the castle looked when presently he emerged fromthe bushes and looked down upon it!

This was the very room he slept in; the Baroness, mother-like, came tosee that he was comfortable. Here he had slept every time since; here hehad listened in the early morning for Aurora's footfall as she passedhis door, for the ladies rose earlier than did the men. He now sat downby the open window; it was a brilliant moonlight night, warm anddelicious, and the long-drawn note of the nightingale came across thegardens from the hawthorn bushes without the inner stockade. To the lefthe could see the line of the hills, to the right the forest; all wasquiet there, but every now and then the sound of a ballad came round thecastle, a sound without recognizable words, inarticulate merriment. 

If he started upon the hazardous voyage he contemplated, and for whichhe had been so long preparing, should he ever sleep there again, so nearthe one he loved? Was it not better to be poor and despised, but nearher, than to attempt such an expedition, especially as the chances (ashis common sense told him) were all against him? Yet he could not stay;he _must_ do it, and he tried to stifle the doubt which insisted uponarising in his mind. Then he recurred to Durand; he remembered that notonce on that day had he exchanged one single word, beyond the first andordinary salutation, with Aurora. 

Might she not, had she chosen, have arranged a moment's interview? Mightshe not easily have given him an opportunity? Was it not clear that shewas ashamed of her girlish fancy for a portionless and despised youth?If so, was it worth while to go upon so strange an enterprise for hersake? But if so, also, was life worth living, and might he not as wellgo and seek destruction?

While this conflict of feeling was proceeding, he chanced to looktowards the table upon which he had carelessly placed his lamp, andobserved, what in his agitated state of mind he had previouslyoverlooked, a small roll of manuscript tied round with silk. Curious inbooks, he undid the fastening, and opened the volume. There was not muchwriting, but many singular diagrams, and signs arranged in circles. Itwas, in fact, a book of magic, written at the dictation, as the prefacestated, of one who had been for seven years a slave among the Romany. 

He had been captured, and forced to work for the tent to which hisowners belonged. He had witnessed their worship and their sorceries; hehad seen the sacrifice to the full moon, their chief goddess, and thewild extravagances with which it was accompanied. He had learnt some fewof their signs, and, upon escaping, had reproduced them from memory. Some were engraved on the stones set in their rings; some were carved onwooden tablets, some drawn with ink on parchment; but, with all, theirprocedure seemed to be the repetition of certain verses, and then asteady gaze upon the picture. Presently they became filled with rapture, uttered what sounded as the wildest ravings, and (their womenespecially) prophesied of the future. 

A few of the signs he understood the meaning of, but the others he ownedwere unknown to him. At the end of the book were several pages ofcommentary, describing the demons believed in and worshipped by theRomany, demons which haunted the woods and hills, and against which itwas best to be provided with amulets blessed by the holy fathers of St. Augustine. Such demons stole on the hunter at noonday, and, alarmed atthe sudden appearance, upon turning his head (for demons invariablyapproach from behind, and their presence is indicated by a shudder inthe back), he toppled into pits hidden by fern, and was killed. 

Or, in the shape of a dog, they ran between the traveller's legs; or aswoman, with tempting caresses, lured him from the way at nightfall intothe leafy recesses, and then instantaneously changing into vast bat-likeforms, fastened on his throat and sucked his blood. The terrible screamsof such victims had often been heard by the warders at the outposts. Some were invisible, and yet slew the unwary by descending unseen uponhim, and choking him with a pressure as if the air had suddenly becomeheavy. 

But none of these were, perhaps, so much to be dreaded as thesweetly-formed and graceful ladies of the fern. These were creatures, not of flesh and blood, and yet not incorporeal like the demons, norwere they dangerous to the physical man, doing no bodily injury. Theharm they did was by fascinating the soul so that it revolted from allreligion and all the rites of the Church. Once resigned to the caress ofthe fern-woman, the unfortunate was lured farther and farther from thehaunts of men, until at last he wandered into the unknown forest, andwas never seen again. These creatures were usually found among the brakefern, nude, but the lower limbs and body hidden by the green fronds, their white arms and shoulders alone visible, and their golden hairaglow with the summer sunshine. 

Demons there were, too, of the streams, and demons dwelling in the midstof the hills; demons that could travel only in the moonbeams, and othersthat floated before the stormy winds and hurled the wretched wanderer todestruction, or crushed him with the overthrown trees. In proof of thisthe monk asked the reader if he had not heard of huge boughs fallingfrom trees without visible cause, suddenly and without warning, and evenof trees themselves in full foliage, in calm weather, toppling with acrash, to the imminent danger or the death of those who happened to bepassing. Let all these purchase the amulets of St. Augustine, concludedthe writer, who it appeared was a monk in whose monastery the escapedprisoner had taken refuge, and who had written down his relation andcopied his rude sketches. 

Felix pored over the strange diagrams, striving to understand the hiddenmeaning; some of them he thought were alchemical signs, and related tothe making of gold, especially as the prisoner stated the Romanypossessed much more of that metal in the tents than he had seen in thepalaces of our kings. Whether they had a gold mine from whence they drewit, or whether they had the art of transmutation, he knew not, but hehad heard allusions to the wealth in the mountain of the apple trees, which he supposed to be a mystical phrase. 

When Felix at last looked up, the lamp was low, the moonbeams hadentered and fell upon the polished floor, and from the window he couldsee a long white ghostly line of mist where a streamlet ran at the baseof the slope by the forest. The songs were silent; there was no soundsave the distant neigh of a horse and the heavy tramp of a guest comingalong the gallery. Half bewildered by poring over the magic scroll, fullof the signs and the demons, and still with a sense of injury andjealousy cankering his heart, Felix retired to his couch, and, wearybeyond measure, instantly fell asleep. 

In his unsettled state of mind it did not once occur to him to askhimself how the manuscript came to be upon his table. Rare as they were, books were not usually put upon the tables of guests, and at an ordinarytime he would certainly have thought it peculiar. The fact was, thatAurora, whom all day he had inwardly accused of forgetting him, hadplaced it there for him with her own hands. She, too, was curious inbooks and fond of study. She had very recently bought the volume from amerchant who had come thus far, and who valued it the least of all hiswares. 

She knew that Felix had read and re-read every other scrap of writingthere was in the castle, and thought that this strange book mightinterest him, giving, as it did, details of those powers of the air inwhich almost all fully believed. Unconscious of this attention, Felixfell asleep, angry and bitter against her. When, half an hourafterwards, Oliver blundered into the room, a little unsteady on hislegs, notwithstanding his mighty strength, he picked up the roll, glanced at it, flung it down with contempt, and without a minute's delaysought and obtained slumber. 

CHAPTER X

THE FEAST

At ten in the morning next day the feast began with a drama fromSophocles, which was performed in the open air. The theatre was in thegardens between the wall and the inner stockade; the spectators sat onthe slope, tier above tier; the actors appeared upon a green terracebelow, issuing from an arbour and passing off behind a thick box-hedgeon the other side of the terrace. There was no scenery whatever. 

Aurora had selected the Antigone. There were not many dramatists fromwhom to choose, for so many English writers, once famous, had droppedout of knowledge and disappeared. Yet some of the far more ancient Greekand Roman classics remained because they contained depth and originalityof ideas in small compass. They had been copied in manuscripts bythoughtful men from the old printed books before they mouldered away, and their manuscripts being copied again, these works were handed down. The books which came into existence with printing had never been copiedby the pen, and had consequently nearly disappeared. Extremely long anddiffuse, it was found, too, that so many of them were but enlargementsof ideas or sentiments which had been expressed in a few words by theclassics. It is so much easier to copy an epigram of two lines than aprinted book of hundreds of pages, and hence it was that Sophocles hadsurvived while much more recent writers had been lost. 

From a translation Aurora had arranged several of his dramas. Antigonewas her favourite, and she wished Felix to see it. In some indefinablemanner the spirit of the ancient Greeks seemed to her in accord with thetimes, for men had or appeared to have so little control over their ownlives that they might well imagine themselves overruled by destiny. Communication between one place and another was difficult, the divisionof society into castes, and the iron tyranny of arms, prevented theindividual from making any progress in lifting himself out of the groovein which he was born, except by the rarest opportunity, unless speciallyfavoured by fortune. As men were born so they lived; they could notadvance, and when this is the case the idea of Fate is alwayspredominant. The workings of destiny, the Irresistible overpowering boththe good and the evil-disposed, such as were traced in the Greek drama, were paralleled in the lives of many a miserable slave at that day. Theywere forced to endure, for there was no possibility of effort. 

Aurora saw this and felt it deeply; ever anxious as she was for the goodof all, she saw the sadness that reigned even in the midst of the freshfoliage of spring and among the flowers. It was Fate; it was Sophocles. 

She took the part of the heroine herself, clad in Greek costume; Felixlistened and watched, absorbed in his love. Never had that ancient dramaappeared so beautiful as then, in the sunlight; the actors stepped uponthe daisied sward, and the song of birds was all their music. 

While the play was still proceeding, those who were to form the usualprocession had already been assembling in the court before the castle, and just after noon, to the sound of the trumpet, the Baron, with hisyoungest son beside him (the eldest was at Court), left the porch, wearing his fur-lined short mantle, his collar, and golden spurs, andthe decoration won so many years before; all the insignia of his rank. He walked; his war-horse, fully caparisoned, with axe at the saddle-bow, was led at his right side, and upon the other came a knight carrying thebanneret of the house. 

The gentlemen of the house followed closely, duly marshalled in ranks, and wearing the gayest dress; the leading retainers fully armed, broughtup the rear. Immediately upon issuing from the gate of the wall, theprocession was met and surrounded by the crowd, carrying large branchesof may in bloom, flowers, and green willow boughs. The flowers theyflung before him on the ground; the branches they bore with them, chanting old verses in honour of the family. The route was through thetown, where the Baron stopped at the door of the Court House, andproclaimed a free pardon to all serfs (who were released within a fewminutes) not guilty of the heavier crimes. 

Thence he went to the pasture just beyond, carefully mown close andswept for the purpose, where the May-pole stood, wreathed with flowersand green branches. Beneath it he deposited a bag of money fordistribution upon a carved butt placed there, the signal that the gameswere open. Instantly the fiddles began to play, and the feast reallycommenced. At the inns ale was served out freely (at the Baron'scharge), carts, too, came down from the castle laden with ale and cookedprovisions. Wishing them joy, the Baron returned by the same road to thecastle, where dinner was already served in the hall and the sheds thathad been erected to enlarge the accommodation. 

In the afternoon there were foot-races, horse-races, and leapingcompetitions, and the dances about the May-pole were prolonged far intothe night. The second day, early in the morning, the barriers wereopened, and trials of skill with the blunt sword, jousting with theblunt lance at the quintain, and wrestling began, and continued almosttill sunset. Tournament with sharpened lance or sword, when thecombatants fight with risk of serious wounds, can take place only in thepresence of the Prince or his deputy. But in these conflictssufficiently severe blows were given to disable the competitors. 

On the third day there was a set battle in the morning between fifteenmen on each side, armed with the usual buckler or small shield, andstout single-sticks instead of swords. This combat excited more interestthan all the duels that had preceded it; the crowd almost broke down thebarriers, and the cheering and cries of encouragement could be heardupon the hills. Thrice the combatants rested from the engagement, andthrice at the trumpet call started again to meet each other, at leastthose who had sustained the first onslaught. 

Blood, indeed, was not shed (for the iron morions saved their skulls), but nearly half of the number required assistance to reach the tentspitched for their use. Then came more feasting, the final dinnerprolonged till six in the evening, when the company, constantly risingfrom their seats, cheered the Baron, and drank to the prosperity of thehouse. After the horn blew at six, the guests who had come from adistance rapidly dispersed (their horses were already waiting), for theywere anxious to pass the fifteen miles of forest before nightfall. Thoseon foot, and those ladies who had come in covered waggons, stayed tillnext morning, as they could not travel so speedily. By seven or eightthe castle courtyard was comparatively empty, and the Baron, weary fromthe mere bodily efforts of saying farewell to so many, had flung himselfat full length on a couch in the drawing-room. 

During the whole of this time Felix had not obtained a single momentwith Aurora; her time, when not occupied in attending to the guests, wasalways claimed by Lord Durand. Felix, after the short-lived but purepleasure he had enjoyed in watching her upon the grass-grown stage, hadendured three days of misery. He was among the crowd, he was in thecastle itself, he sat at table with the most honoured visitors, yet hewas distinct from all. There was no sympathy between them and him. Thegames, the dancing, the feasting and laughter, the ceaseless singing andshouting, and jovial jostling, jarred upon him. 

The boundless interest the people took in the combats, and especiallythat of the thirty, seemed to him a strange and inexplicable phenomenon. It did not excite him in the least; he could turn his back upon itwithout hesitation. He would, indeed, have left the crowd, and spent theday in the forest, or on the hills, but he could not leave Aurora. Hemust be near her; he must see her, though he was miserable. Now hefeared that the last moment would come, and that he should not exchangea word with her. 

He could not, with any show of pretext, prolong his stay beyond thesunset; all were already gone, with the exceptions mentioned. It wouldbe against etiquette to remain longer, unless specially invited, and hewas not specially invited. Yet he lingered, and lingered. His horse wasready below; the groom, weary of holding the bridle, had thrown it overan iron hook in the yard, and gone about other business. The sunperceptibly declined, and the shadow of the beeches of the forest beganto descend the grassy slope. Still he stayed, restlessly moving, now inthe dining chamber, now in the hall, now at the foot of the staircase, with an unpleasant feeling that the servants looked at him curiously, and were watching him. 

Oliver had gone long since, riding with his new friend Lord Durand; theymust by now be half-way through the forest. Forced by the inexorableflight of time, he put his foot upon the staircase to go up to thedrawing-room and bid farewell to the Baroness. He ascended it, step bystep, as a condemned person goes to his doom. He stayed to look out ofthe open windows as he went by; anything to excuse delay to himself. Hereached the landing at last, and had taken two steps towards the door, when Aurora's maid, who had been waiting there an hour or more for theopportunity, brushed past him, and whispered, "The Rose arbour. "

Without a word he turned, hastened down the stairs, ran through thecastle yard, out at the gate, and, entering the gardens between the walland the inner stockade, made for the arbour on the terrace where thedrama had been enacted. Aurora was not there; but as he looked round, disappointed, she came from the Filbert walk, and, taking his arm, ledhim to the arbour. They sat down without a word. In a moment she placedher head upon his shoulder; he did not respond. She put her arm (howwarm it felt!) about his neck; he yielded stiffly and ungraciously tothe pressure; she drew down his head, and kissed him. His lips touchedbut did not press hers; they met, but did not join. In his sullen andangry silence he would not look. She drew still nearer, and whisperedhis name. 

Then he broke out: he pushed her away; his petty jealousy and injuredself-esteem poured out upon her. 

"I am not the heir to an earldom, " he said; "I do not ride with a scoreof gentlemen at my back. They have some wonderful diamonds, have theynot--_Countess?_"

"Felix!"

"It is no use. Yes, your voice is sweet, I know. But you, all of you, despise me. I am nothing, no one!"

"You are all, _everything_, to me. "

"You were with--with Durand the whole time. "

"I could not help myself. "

"Not help yourself! Do you think I believe that?"

"Felix, dear. I tell you I could not help myself; I could not, indeed. You do not know all--"

"No, probably not. I do not know the terms of the marriage contract. "

"Felix, there is no such thing. Why, what has come to you? How pale youlook! Sit down!" for he had risen. 

"I cannot, Aurora, dear; I cannot! Oh, what shall I do? I love you so!"

CHAPTER XI

AURORA

Felix fell on the seat beside her, burying his face in the folds of herdress; he sobbed, not with tears, but choking passion. She held him toher heart as if he had been a child, stroking his hair and kissing it, whispering to him, assuring him that her love was his, that she wasunchanged. She told him that it was not her fault. A little while beforethe feast the Baron had suddenly broken out into a fit of temper, suchas she had never seen him indulge in previously; the cause was pressureput upon him by his creditors. Unpleasant truths had escaped him;amongst the rest, his dislike, his positive disapproval of the tacitengagement they had entered into. 

He declared that if the least outward sign of it appeared before theguests that were expected, he would order Felix to leave the place, andcancel the hearth-friendship, no matter what the consequence. It wasclear that he was set upon a wealthy and powerful alliance for her; thatthe Earl was either coming, or would send his son, he knew; and he knewthat nothing so repels a possible suitor as the rumour that the lady hasa previous engagement. In short, he made it a condition of Felix'spresence being tolerated at all, that Aurora should carefully abstainfrom showing the slightest attention to him; that she should ignore hisexistence. 

Nor could she prevent Durand following her without a marked refusal tolisten to his conversation, a refusal which would most certainly at oncehave brought about the dreaded explosion. She thought it better, underthe circumstances, to preserve peace, lest intercourse between her andFelix should be entirely broken off for ever. This was the secrethistory of the apparent indifference and neglect which had so deeplyhurt him. The explanation, accompanied as it was with so many tenderexpressions and caresses, soothed him; he returned her kisses and becamecalmer. He could not doubt her, for in his heart he had suspectedsomething of the kind long since. 

Yet it was not so much the explanation itself, nor even the love shepoured upon him, as the mere fact of her presence so near that broughthim to himself. The influence of her steadfast nature, of her clear, broad, straightforward view of things, the decision of her character, the high, unselfish motives which animated her, all together suppliedthat which was wanting in himself. His indecision, his tooimpressionable disposition, which checked and stayed the force of histalent, and counteracted the determination of a naturally iron will;these, as it were, were relieved; in a word, with her he became himself. 

How many times he had told her as much! How many times she had repliedthat it was not herself, but that in which she believed, that was thereal cause of this feeling! It was that ancient and true religion; thereligion of the primitive church, as she found it in the fragments ofthe Scriptures that had come down from the ancients. 

Aurora had learnt this faith from childhood; it was, indeed, a traditionof the house preserved unbroken these hundred years in the midst of thejarring creeds, whose disciples threatened and destroyed each other. Onthe one hand, the gorgeous rite of the Vice-Pope, with the priests andthe monks, claimed dominion, and really held a large share, both overthe body and the soul; on the other, the Leaguers, with their bold, harsh, and flowerless creed, were equally over-bearing and equallybigoted. Around them the Bushmen wandered without a god; the Romanycalled upon the full moon. Within courts and cities the gay and thelearned alike mocked at all faith, and believed in gold alone. 

Cruelty reigned everywhere; mercy, except in the name of honour, therewas none; humanity was unknown. A few, a very few only, had knowledge ofor held to the leading tenets, which, in the time of the ancients, wereassented to by everyone, such as the duty of humanity to all, the dutyof saving and protecting life, of kindness and gentleness. These few, with their pastors, simple and unassuming, had no power or influence;yet they existed here and there, a living protest against thelawlessness and brutality of the time. 

Among these the house of Thyma had in former days been conspicuous, butof late years the barons of Thyma had, more from policy than from aughtelse, rather ignored their ancestral faith, leaning towards the League, which was then powerful in that kingdom. To have acted otherwise wouldhave been to exclude himself from all appointments. But Aurora, learningthe old faith at her mother's knee, had become too deeply imbued withits moral beauty to consent to this course. By degrees, as she grew up, it became in her a passion; more than a faith, a passion; the object ofher life. 

A girl, indeed, can do but little in our iron days, but that little shedid. The chapel beside the castle, long since fallen to decay, was, ather earnest request, repaired; a pastor came and remained as chaplain, and services, of the simplest kind, but serious and full of meaning, took place twice a week. To these she drew as many as possible of theinhabitants of the enclosure; some even came from afar once now and thento attend them. Correspondence was carried on with the remnant of thefaith. 

That no one might plead ignorance (for there was up to the date nowritten record) Aurora set herself the task of reducing the traditionswhich had been handed down to writing. When the manuscript was at lastcompleted it occupied her months to transcribe copies of it forcirculation; and she still continued to make copies, which were sent bymessengers and by the travelling merchants to the markets, and evenacross the sea. Apart from its intrinsically elevating character, themere mental labour expended on this work had undoubtedly strengthened anaturally fine intellect. As she said, it was the faith, the hope thatthat faith would one day be recognised, which gave her so much influenceover others. 

Upon this one thing only they differed; Felix did not oppose, did noteven argue, he was simply untouched. It was not that he believed inanything else, nor that he doubted; he was merely indifferent. He hadtoo great a natural aptitude for the physical sciences, and too clear amind, to accept that which was taught by the one or the other of the twochief opposing parties. Nor could he join in the ridicule and derisionof the gay courtiers, for the mystery of existence had impressed himdeeply while wandering alone in the forest. But he stood aloof; hesmiled and listened, unconvinced; like the wild creatures of the forest, he had no ears for these matters. He loved Aurora, that was all. 

But he felt the influence just the same; with all his powers of mind andcontempt of superstitions in others, he could not at times shake off theapprehensions aroused by untoward omens, as when he stepped upon theadder in the woods. Aurora knew nothing of such things; her faith wasclear and bright like a star; nothing could alarm her, or bringuneasiness of mind. This beautiful calm, not cold, but glowing with hopeand love, soothed him. 

That evening, with her hope and love, with her message of trust, shealmost persuaded him. He almost turned to what she had so long taught. He almost repented of that hardness of heart, that unutterable distance, as it were, between him and other men, which lay at the bottom of hisproposed expedition. He opened his lips to confess to her his purpose, and had he done so assuredly she would have persuaded him from it. Butin the very act of speaking, he hesitated. It was characteristic of himto do so. Whether she instinctively felt that there was somethingconcealed from her, or guessed that the discontent she knew he had solong endured was coming to a point, or feared lest what she had told himmight drive him to some ill-considered act, she begged him with all thepower of her love to do nothing hasty, or in despair, nothing that wouldseparate them. He threw his arms around her, he pressed her closely tohim, he trembled with the passion and the struggle within him. 

"My lady calls for you, Mademoiselle, " said a voice; it was Aurora'smaid who had kept watch. "She has asked for you some time since. Someoneis coming into the garden!"

There was no help for it; Aurora kissed him, and was gone before hecould come to himself. How long the interview had lasted (time fliesswiftly in such sweet intercourse), or how long he sat there after sheleft, he could not tell; but when he went out already the dusk wasgathering, the sun had gone down, and in the east the as yet pale orb ofthe moon was rising over the hills. As if in a dream he walked withunsteady steps to the castle stable; his horse had been put back, andthe grooms suggested to him that it was better not to attempt the forestat night. But he was determined; he gave them all the coin he had abouthim, it was not much, but more than they had expected. 

They ran beside him to the barrier; advising him as they ran, as hewould go, to string his bow and loosen an arrow in the girdle, and aboveall, not to loiter, or let his horse walk, but to keep him at as sharp atrot as he could. The fact that so many wealthy persons had assembled atthe castle for the feast would be sure to be known to the banditti (theoutlaws of the cities and the escaped serfs). They were certain to be onthe look out for travellers; let him beware. 

His ears tingled and his head felt hot, as if the blood had rushed intoit (it was the violence of the emotion that he had felt), as he rodefrom the barrier, hearing, and yet without conscious knowledge of whatthey said. They watched him up the slope, and saw him disappear fromsight under the dark beeches of the forest. 

CHAPTER XII

NIGHT IN THE FOREST

At first Felix rode quickly, but his horse stumbling, though accustomedto the woods, warned him to be more careful. The passage of so manyhorsemen in the last few days had cut up and destroyed the track, whichwas nothing but a green path, and the covered waggons had of courseassisted in rendering it rough and broken. He therefore rode slowly, andgiving his horse his head, he picked his way of his own accord at theside of the road, often brushing against the underwood. 

Still, indeed, absorbed by the feelings which had almost mastered him inthe arbour, and thinking of Aurora, he forgot where he was, till thedismal howling of wood-dogs deep in the forest woke him. It was almostpitch dark under the tall beeches, the highest of the trees preventingthe beams of the moon from illuminating the path till later in thenight. Like a curtain the thick foliage above shut out the sky, so thatno star was visible. When the wood-dogs ceased there was no sound beyondthe light fall of the horse's hoofs as he walked upon the grass. Darkness and silence prevailed; he could see nothing. He spoke to hishorse and patted his neck; he stepped a little faster and lifted hishead, which he had held low as if making his way by scent. 

The gloom weighed upon him, unhappy as he was. Often as he hadvoluntarily sought the loneliness of the woods, now in this state ofmind, it oppressed him; he remembered that beyond the beeches the groundwas open and cleared by a forest fire, and began to be anxious to reachit. It seemed an hour, but it really was only a few minutes, when thebeeches became thinner and wider apart, the foliage above ceased, andthe stars shone. Before him was the open space he had desired, slopingto the right hand, the tall grass grey-green in the moonlight, and nearat hand sparkling with dew. 

Amongst it stood the crooked and charred stems of furze with which ithad been covered before the fire passed. A white owl floated rather thanflew by, following the edge of the forest; from far down the slope camethe chattering notes of a brook-sparrow, showing that there was water inthe hollow. Some large animal moved into the white mist that hung thereand immediately concealed it, like a cloud upon the ground. He was notcertain in the dim light, and with so momentary and distant a view, butsupposed from its size that it must have been a white or dun wood-cow. 

Ahead, across the open, rose the dark top of the fir trees through whichthe route ran. Instead of the relief which he had anticipated as he rodetowards them, the space clear of trees around seemed to expose him tothe full view of all that might be lurking in the forest. As heapproached the firs and saw how dark it was beneath them, the shadowydepths suggested uncertain shapes hiding therein, and his memoryimmediately reverted to the book of magic he had read at the castle. 

There could not be such things, and yet no one in his heart doubtedtheir existence; deny it as they might with their tongues as they sat atthe supper-table and handed round the ale, out of doors in the night, the haste to pass the haunted spot, the bated breath, and the fearfulglances cast around, told another tale. He endeavoured to callphilosophy to his aid; he remembered, too, how many nights he had spentin the deepest forest without seeing anything, and without even thinkingof such matters. He reproved himself for his folly, and asked himself ifever he could hope to be a successful leader of men who started at ashadow. In vain: the tone of his mind had been weakened by the strain ithad undergone. 

Instead of strengthening him, the teachings of philosophy now seemedcold and feeble, and it occurred to him that possibly the belief of thecommon people (fully shared by their religious instructors) was just asmuch entitled to credence as these mere suppositions and theories. Thedetails of the volume recurred to his mind; the accurate description ofthe demons of the forest and the hill, and especially the horriblevampires enfolding the victim with outstretched wings. In spite ofhimself, incredulous, yet excited, he pressed his horse to greaterspeed, though the track was narrow and very much broken under the firs. He obeyed, and trotted, but reluctantly, and needed continual urging. 

The yellow spark of a glowworm shining by a bush made him set his teeth;trifling and well known as it was, the light suddenly seen thrilled himwith the terror of the unexpected. Strange rushings sounded among thefern, as if the wings of a demon brushed it as he travelled. Felix knewthat they were caused by rabbits hastening off, or a boar bounding away, yet they increased the feverish excitement with which he was burdened. Though dark beneath the firs, it was not like the darkness of thebeeches; these trees did not form a perfect canopy overhead everywhere. In places he could see where a streak of moonlight came aslant throughan opening and reached the ground. One such streak fell upon the trackahead; the trees there had decayed and fallen, and a broad band of lightlit up the way. 

As he approached it and had almost entered, suddenly something shottowards him in the air; a flash, as it were, as if some object hadcrossed the streak, and was rendered visible for the tenth of a second, like a mote in the sunbeams. At the same instant of time, the horse, which he had pressed to go faster, put his foot into a rut or hole, andstumbled, and Felix was flung so far forward that he only saved himselffrom being thrown by clinging to his neck. A slight whizzing soundpassed over his head, followed immediately by a sharp tap against a treein his rear. 

The thing happened in the twinkling of an eye, but he recognised thesound; it was the whiz of a crossbow bolt, which had missed his head, and buried its point in a fir. The stumble saved him; the bolt wouldhave struck his head or chest had not the horse gone nearly on his knee. The robber had so planned his ambush that his prey should be well seen, distinct in the moonlight, so that his aim might be sure. Recoveringhimself, the horse, without needing the spur, as if he recognised thedanger to his rider, started forward at full speed, and raced, regardless of ruts, along the track. Felix, who had hardly got into hisseat again, could for awhile but barely restrain it, so wildly he fled. He must have been carried within a few yards of the bandit, but sawnothing, neither did a second bolt follow him; the crossbow takes timeto bend, and if the robber had companions they were differently armed. 

He was a furlong or more from the spot before he quite realized thedanger he had escaped. His bow was unstrung in his hand, his arrows wereall in the quiver; thus, had the bolt struck him, even if the wound hadnot been mortal (as it most likely would have been) he could have madeno resistance. How foolish to disregard the warnings of the grooms atthe castle! It was now too late; all he could do was to ride. Dreadingevery moment to be thrown, he pushed on as fast as the horse would go. There was no pursuit, and after a mile or so, as he left the firs andentered the ash woods, he slackened somewhat. It was, indeed, necessary, for here the hoofs of preceding horsemen had poached the turf (alwaysdamp under ash) into mud. It was less dark, for the boughs of the ashesdid not meet above. 

As he passed, wood-pigeons rose with loud clatterings from theirroosting-places, and once or twice he saw in the gloom the fieryphosphoric eye-balls of the grey wood-cats. How gladly he recognisedpresently the change from trees to bushes, when he rode out from thethick ashes among the low hawthorns, and knew that he was within a mileor so of the South Barrier at home! Already he heard the song of thenightingale, the long note which at night penetrates so far; thenightingale, which loves the hawthorn and the neighbourhood of man. Imperceptibly he increased the speed again; the horse, too, knew that hewas nearing home, and responded willingly. 

The track was much broader and fairly good, but he knew that at one spotwhere it was marshy it must be cut up. There he went at the side, almostbrushing a projecting maple bush. Something struck the horse, he fanciedthe rebound of a bough; he jumped, literally jumped, like a buck, andtore along the road. With one foot out of the stirrup, it was with theutmost difficulty he stuck to his seat; he was not riding, but holdingon for a moment or two. Presently recovering from the jolt, heendeavoured to check him, but the bit was of no avail; the animal wasbeside himself with terror, and raced headlong till they reached thebarrier. It was, of course, closed, and the warder was asleep; so that, until he dismounted, and kicked and shouted, no one challenged him. 

Then the warder, spear in hand, appeared with his lantern, butrecognising the voice, ran to the gate. Within the gate a few yardsthere were the embers of a fire, and round it a bivouac of footmen whohad been to the feast, and had returned thus far before nightfall. Hearing the noise, some of them arose, and came round him, when oneimmediately exclaimed and asked if he was wounded. Felix replied that hewas not, but looking at his foot where the man pointed, saw that it wascovered with blood. But, upon close examination, there was no cut orincision; he was not hurt. The warder now called to them, and showed along deep scratch on the near flank of the horse, from which the bloodwas dripping. 

It was such a scratch as might have been made with an iron nail, and, without hesitation, they all put it down to a Bushman's spud. Withoutdoubt, the Bushman, hearing Felix approach, had hidden in the maplebush, and, as he passed, struck with his nail-like dagger; but, miscalculating the speed at which the horse was going, instead ofpiercing the thigh of the rider, the blow fell on the horse, and thesharp point was dragged along the side. The horse trembled as theytouched him. 

"Sir, " said one of the retainers, their headman, "if you will pardon me, you had best string your bow and send a shaft through his heart, for hewill die in misery before morning. "

The Bushman's spud, the one he uses for assassination or to despatch hisprey, is poisoned. It is a lingering poison, and takes several hours toproduce its effect; but no remedy is known, and many who have escapedfrom the cowardly blow have crawled to the path only to expire intorture. There was no denying that what the retainer proposed was theonly thing that could be done. The warder had meantime brought a bucketof water, of which the poor creature drank eagerly. Felix could not doit; he could not slay the creature which had carried him so long, andwhich twice that night had saved him, and was now to die, as it were, inhis place. He could not consent to it; he led the horse towards home, but he was weak or weary, and could not be got beyond the Pen. 

There the group assembled around him. Felix ordered the scratch to becleansed, while he ran over in his mind every possible remedy. He gavestrict orders that he should not be despatched, and then hastened to thehouse. He undid with trembling hands the thongs that bound his chest, and took out his manuscripts, hoping against hope that among the manynotes he had made there might be something. But there was nothing, or inhis excitement he overlooked it. Remembering that Oliver was a greatauthority upon horses, he went into his room and tried to wake him. Oliver, weary with his ride, and not as yet having slept off the effectsof the feast, could not be roused. 

Felix left him and hurried back to the Pen. Weary as he was, he watchedby the horse till the larks began to sing and the dawn was at hand. Asyet he had not shown any severe symptoms except twitching of the limbs, and a constant thirst, which water could not quench. But suddenly hefell, and the old retainer warned them all to stand away, for he wouldbite anything that was near. His words were instantly fulfilled; herolled, and kicked, and bit at everything within reach. Seeing thisagony, Felix could no longer delay. He strung his bow, but he could notfit the arrow to the string, he missed the notch, so much did his handsshake. He motioned to the retainers who had gathered around, and one ofthem thrust his spear into the horse behind his shoulder. 

When Felix at last returned to his chamber he could not but reflect, asthe sun rose and the beams entered, that every omen had been againsthim; the adder under foot, the bandit's bolt, the Bushman's poisonedpoint. He slept till noon, and, upon going out, unrefreshed and stillweary, he found that they had already buried the horse, and ordered amound to be raised above his grave. The day passed slowly; he wanderedabout the castle and the enclosed grounds, seeking comfort and findingnone. His mind vacillated; he recalled all that Aurora had said, persuading him not to do anything in haste or despair. Yet he could notcontinue in his present condition. Another day went by, and stillundecided and doubting, he remained at home. 

Oliver began to jest at him; had he abandoned the expedition? Olivercould not understand indecision; perhaps he did not see so many sides tothe question, his mind was always quickly made up. Action was his forte, not thought. The night came, and still Felix lingered, hesitating. 

CHAPTER XIII

SAILING AWAY

But the next morning Felix arose straight from his sleep resolved tocarry out his plan. Without staying to think a moment, without furtherexamination of the various sides of the problem, he started up theinstant his eyes unclosed, fully determined upon his voyage. The breathof the bright June morn as he threw open the window-shutter filled himwith hope; his heart responded to its joyous influence. The excitementwhich had disturbed his mind had had time to subside. In the stillslumber of the night the strong undercurrent of his thought resumed itscourse, and he awoke with his will still firmly bent in one direction. 

When he had dressed, he took his bow and the chest bound with theleathern thongs, and went down. It was early, but the Baron had alreadyfinished breakfast and gone out to his gardens; the Baroness had not yetappeared. While he was making a hurried breakfast (for having now madeup his mind he was eager to put his resolve into execution), Oliver camein, and seeing the chest and the bow, understood that the hour hadarrived. He immediately said he should accompany him to Heron Bay, andassist him to start, and went out to order their horses. There werealways plenty of riding horses at Old House (as at every fortifiedmansion), and there was not the least difficulty in getting another forFelix in place of his old favourite. 

Oliver insisted upon taking the wooden chest, which was rather heavy, before him on the saddle, so that Felix had nothing to carry but hisfavourite bow. Oliver was surprised that Felix did not first go to thegardens and say good-bye to the Baron, or at least knock at theBaroness's door and bid her farewell. But he made no remark, knowingFelix's proud and occasionally hard temper. Without a word Felix leftthe old place. 

He rode forth from the North Barrier, and did not even so much as lookbehind him. Neither he nor Oliver thought of the events that mighthappen before they should again meet in the old familiar house! When thecircle is once broken up it is often years before it is reformed. Often, indeed, the members of it never meet again, at least, not in the samemanner, which, perhaps, they detested then, and ever afterwardsregretted. Without one word of farewell, without a glance, Felix rodeout into the forest. 

There was not much conversation on the trail to Heron Bay. The serfswere still there in charge of the canoe, and were glad enough to seetheir approach, and thus to be relieved from their lonely watch. Theylaunched the canoe with ease, the provisions were put on board, thechest lashed to the mast that it might not be lost, the favourite bowwas also fastened upright to the mast for safety, and simply shakinghands with Oliver, Felix pushed out into the creek. He paddled the canoeto the entrance and out into the Lake till he arrived where thesouth-west breeze, coming over the forest, touched and rippled thewater, which by the shore was perfectly calm. 

Then, hoisting the sail, he put out the larger paddle which answered asa rudder, took his seat, and, waving his hand to Oliver, began hisvoyage. The wind was but light, and almost too favourable, for he haddetermined to sail to the eastward; not for any specific reason, butbecause there the sun rose, and that was the quarter of light and hope. His canoe, with a long fore-and-aft sail, and so well adapted forworking into the wind, was not well rigged for drifting before a breeze, which was what he was now doing. He had merely to keep the canoe beforethe wind, steering so as to clear the bold headland of White Horse whichrose blue from the water's edge far in front of him. Though the wind waslight, the canoe being so taper and sharp at the prow, and the sail solarge in comparison, slipped from the shore faster than he at firstimagined. 

As he steered aslant from the little bay outwards into the great Lake, the ripples rolling before the wind gradually enlarged into wavelets, these again increased, and in half an hour, as the wind now played uponthem over a mile of surface, they seemed in his canoe, with its lowfreeboard, to be considerable waves. He had purposely refrained fromlooking back till now, lest they should think he regretted leaving, andin his heart desired to return. But now, feeling that he had reallystarted, he glanced behind. He could see no one. 

He had forgotten that the spot where they had launched the canoe was atthe end of an inlet, and as he sailed away the creek was shut off fromview by the shore of the Lake. Unable to get to the mouth of the baybecause of the underwood and the swampy soil, Oliver had remained gazingin the direction the canoe had taken for a minute or two, absorbed inthought (almost the longest period he had ever wasted in such anoccupation), and then with a whistle turned to go. The serfs, understanding that they were no longer required, gathered their thingstogether, and were shortly on their way home. Oliver, holding Felix'shorse by the bridle, had already ridden that way, but he presentlyhalted, and waited till the three men overtook him. He then gave thehorse into their charge, and turning to the right, along a forest pathwhich branched off there, went to Ponze. Felix could therefore see noone when he looked back, and they were indeed already on their way fromthe place. 

He now felt that he was alone. He had parted from the shore, and fromall the old associations; he was fast passing not only out upon thewater, but out into the unknown future. But his spirit no longervacillated; now that he was really in the beginning of his longcontemplated enterprise his natural strength of mind returned. Theweakness and irresolution, the hesitation, left him. He became full ofhis adventure, and thought of nothing else. 

The south-west breeze, blowing as a man breathes, with alternate riseand fall, now driving him along rapidly till the water bubbled under theprow, now sinking, came over his right shoulder and cooled his cheek, for it was now noon, and the June sun was unchecked by clouds. He couldno longer distinguish the shape of the trees on shore; all the boughswere blended together in one great wood, stretching as far as he couldsee. On his left there was a chain of islands, some covered with firs, and others only with brushwood, while others again were so low and flatthat the waves in stormy weather broke almost over them. 

As he drew near White Horse, five white terns, or sea-swallows, flewover; he did not welcome their appearance, as they usually precededrough gales. The headland, wooded to its ridge, now rose high againstthe sky; ash and nut-tree and hawthorn had concealed the ancient gravenfigure of the horse upon its side, but the tradition was not forgotten, and the site retained its name. He had been steering so as just to clearthe promontory, but he now remembered that when he had visited thesummit of the hill, he had observed that banks and shoals extended farout from the shore, and were nearly on a level with the surface of theLake. In a calm they were visible, but waves concealed them, and unlessthe helmsman recognised the swirl sufficiently early to change hiscourse, they were extremely dangerous. 

Felix bore more out from the land, and passing fully a mile to thenorth, left the shoals on his right. On his other hand there was a sandyand barren island barely a quarter of a mile distant, upon which hethought he saw the timbers of a wreck. It was quite probable, for theisland lay in the track of vessels coasting along the shore. BeyondWhite Horse, the land fell away in a series of indentations, curvinginwards to the south; an inhospitable coast, for the hills came down tothe strand, ending abruptly in low, but steep, chalk cliffs. Manyislands of large size stood out on the left, but Felix, not knowing theshape of the Lake beyond White Horse, thought it best to follow thetrend of the land. He thus found, after about three hours, that he hadgone far out of his course, for the gulf-like curve of the coast nowbegan to return to the northward, and looking in that direction he saw amerchant vessel under her one square sail of great size, standing acrossthe bay. 

She was about five miles distant, and was evidently steering so as tokeep just inside the line of the islands. Felix, with some difficulty, steered in a direction to interrupt her. The south-west wind being thenimmediately aft, his sail did not answer well; presently he lowered it, and paddled till he had turned the course so that the outrigger was nowon the eastern side. Then hoisting the sail again, he sat at what hadbefore been the prow, and steered a point or so nearer the wind. Thisimproved her sailing, but as the merchant ship had at least five milesstart, it would take some hours to overtake her. Nor on reflection washe at all anxious to come up with her, for mariners were dreaded fortheir lawless conduct, being, when on a voyage, beyond all jurisdiction. 

On the one hand, if they saw an opportunity, they did not hesitate toland and pillage a house, or even a hamlet. On the other, those whodwelt anywhere near the shore considered it good sport to light a fireand lure a vessel to her destruction, or if she was becalmed to sallyout in boats, attack, and perhaps destroy both ship and crew. Hence themany wrecks, and losses, and the risks of navigation, not so much fromnatural obstacles, since the innumerable islands, and the creeks andinlets of the mainland almost always offered shelter, no matter whichway the storm blew, but from the animosity of the coast people. If therewas an important harbour and a town where provisions could be obtained, or repairs effected, the right of entrance was jealously guarded, and noship, however pressed by the gale, was permitted to leave, if she hadanchored, without payment of a fine. So that vessels as much as possibleavoided the harbours and towns, and the mainland altogether, sailingalong beside the islands, which were, for the most part, uninhabited, and anchoring under their lee at night. 

Felix, remembering the character of the mariners, resolved to keep wellaway from them, but to watch their course as a guide to himself. Themainland now ran abruptly to the north, and the canoe, as he brought hermore into the wind, sprang forward at a rapid pace. The outriggerprevented her from making any leeway, or heeling over, and the largespread of sail forced her swiftly through the water. He had lost sightof the ship behind some islands, and as he approached these, began toask himself if he had not better haul down his sail there, as he mustnow be getting near her, when to his surprise, on coming close, he sawher great square sail in the middle, as it seemed, of the land. Theshore there was flat, the hills which had hitherto bounded it suddenlyceasing; it was overgrown with reeds and flags, and about two miles awaythe dark sail of the merchantman drifted over these, the hull beinghidden. He at once knew that he had reached the western mouth of thestraits which divide the southern and northern mainland. When he went tosee the channel on foot through the forest, he must have struck it amile or two more to the east, where it wound under the hills. 

In another half hour he arrived at the opening of the strait; it wasabout a mile wide, and either shore was quite flat, that on the rightfor a short distance, the range of downs approaching within two miles;that on the left, or north, was level as far as he could see. He had nowagain to lower his sail, to get the outrigger on his lee as he turned tothe right and steered due east into the channel. So long as the shorewas level, he had no difficulty, for the wind drew over it, but when thehills gradually came near and almost overhung the channel, they shut offmuch of the breeze, and his progress was slow. When it turned and rannarrowing every moment to the south, the wind failed him altogether. 

On the right shore, wooded hills rose from the water like a wall; on theleft, it was a perfect plain. He could see nothing of the merchantman, although he knew that she could not sail here, but must be workingthrough with her sweeps. Her heavy hull and bluff bow must make therowing a slow and laborious process; therefore she could not be farahead, but was concealed by the winding of the strait. He lowered thesail, as it was now useless, and began to paddle; in a very short timehe found the heat under the hills oppressive when thus working. He hadnow been afloat between six and seven hours, and must have come fullythirty miles, perhaps rather more than twenty in a straight line, and hefelt somewhat weary and cramped from sitting so long in the canoe. 

Though he paddled hard he did not seem to make much progress, and atlength he recognised that there was a distinct current, which opposedhis advance, flowing through the channel from east to west. If he ceasedpaddling, he found he drifted slowly back; the long aquatic weeds, too, which he passed, all extended their floating streamers westward. We didnot know of this current till Felix Aquila observed and recorded it. 

Tired and hungry (for, full of his voyage, he had taken no refreshmentssince he started), he resolved to land, rest a little while, and thenascend the hill, and see what he could of the channel. He soon reachedthe shore, the strait having narrowed to less than a mile in width, andran the canoe on the ground by a bush, to which, on getting out, heattached the painter. The relief of stretching his limbs was so greatthat it seemed to endow him with fresh strength, and without waiting toeat, he at once climbed the hill. From the top, the remainder of thestrait could be easily distinguished. But a short distance from where hestood, it bent again, and proceeded due east. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE STRAITS

The passage contracted there to little over half a mile, but thesenarrows did not continue far; the shores, having approached thus neareach other, quickly receded, till presently they were at least two milesapart. The merchant vessel had passed the narrows with the aid of hersweeps, but she moved slowly, and, as it seemed to him, with difficulty. She was about a mile and a half distant, and near the eastern mouth ofthe strait. As Felix watched he saw her square sail again raised, showing that she had reached a spot where the hills ceased to shut offthe wind. Entering the open Lake she altered her course and sailed awayto the north-north-east, following the course of the northern mainland. 

Looking now eastwards, across the Lake, he saw a vast and beautifulexpanse of water, without island or break of any kind, reaching to thehorizon. Northwards and southwards the land fell rapidly away, skirtedas usual with islets and shoals, between which and the shore vesselsusually voyaged. He had heard of this open water, and it was hisintention to sail out into and explore it, but as the sun now began todecline towards the west, he considered that he had better wait tillmorning, and so have a whole day before him. Meantime, he would paddlethrough the channel, beach the canoe on the islet that stood farthestout, and so start clear on the morrow. 

Turning now to look back the other way, westward, he was surprised tosee a second channel, which came almost to the foot of the hill on whichhe stood, but there ended and did not connect with the first. Theentrance to it was concealed, as he now saw, by an island, past which hemust have sailed that afternoon. This second or blind channel seemedmore familiar to him than the flat and reedy shore at the mouth of thetrue strait, and he now recognised it as the one to which he hadjourneyed on foot through the forest. He had not then struck the truestrait at all; he had sat down and pondered beside this deceptive inletthinking that it divided the mainlands. From this discovery he saw howeasy it was to be misled in such matters. 

But it even more fully convinced him of the importance of thisuninhabited and neglected place. It seemed like a canal cut on purposeto supply a fort from the Lake in the rear with provisions and material, supposing access in front prevented by hostile fleets and armies. Acastle, if built near where he stood, would command the channel; arrows, indeed, could not be shot across, but vessels under the protection ofthe castle could dispute the passage, obstructed as it could be withfloating booms. An invader coming from the north must cross here; formany years past there had been a general feeling that some day such anattempt would be made. Fortifications would be of incalculable value inrepelling the hostile hordes and preventing their landing. 

Who held this strait would possess the key of the Lake, and would bemaster of, or would at least hold the balance between, the kings andrepublics dotted along the coasts on either hand. No vessel could passwithout his permission. It was the most patent illustration of theextremely local horizon, the contracted mental view of the petty kingsand their statesmen, who were so concerned about the frontiers of theirprovinces, and frequently interfered and fought for a single palisadedestate or barony, yet were quite oblivious of the opportunity of empireopen here to any who could seize it. 

If the governor of such a castle as he imagined built upon the strait, had also vessels of war, they could lie in this second channel shelteredfrom all winds, and ready to sally forth and take an attacking forceupon the flank. While he pondered upon these advantages he could notconceal from himself that he had once sat down and dreamed beside thissecond inlet, thinking it to be the channel. The doubt arose whether, ifhe was so easily misled in such a large, tangible, and purely physicalmatter, he might not be deceived also in his ideas; whether, if tested, they might not fail; whether the world was not right and he wrong. 

The very clearness and many-sided character of his mind often hinderedand even checked altogether the best founded of his impressions, themore especially when he, as it were, stood still and thought. Inreverie, the subtlety of his mind entangled him; in action, he wasalmost always right. Action prompted his decision. Descending from thehill he now took some refreshment, and then pushed out again in thecanoe. So powerful was the current in the narrowest part of the straitthat it occupied him two hours in paddling as many miles. 

When he was free of the channel, he hoisted sail and directed his coursestraight out for an island which stood almost opposite the entrance. Butas he approached, driven along at a good pace, suddenly the canoe seemedto be seized from beneath. He knew in a moment that he had grounded onsoft mud, and sprang up to lower the sail, but before he could do so thecanoe came to a standstill on the mud-bank, and the waves followingbehind, directly she stopped, broke over the stern. Fortunately theywere but small, having only a mile or so to roll from the shore, butthey flung enough water on board in a few minutes to spoil part of hisprovisions, and to set everything afloat that was loose on the bottom ofthe vessel. 

He was apprehensive lest she should fill, for he now perceived that hehad forgotten to provide anything with which to bale her out. Somethingis always forgotten. Having got the sail down (lest the wind should snapthe mast), he tried hard to force the canoe back with his longer paddle, used as a movable rudder. His weight and the resistance of the adhesivemud, on which she had driven with much force was too great; he could notshove her off. When he pushed, the paddle sank into the soft bottom, andgave him nothing to press against. After struggling for some time, hepaused, beginning to fear that his voyage had already reached an end. 

A minute's thought, more potent than the strength of ten men, showed himthat the canoe required lightening. There was no cargo to throwoverboard, nor ballast. He was the only weight. He immediatelyundressed, and let himself overboard at the prow, retaining hold of thestem. His feet sank deep into the ooze; he felt as if, had he let go, heshould have gradually gone down into this quicksand of fine mud. Byrapidly moving his feet he managed, however, to push the canoe; she roseconsiderably so soon as he was out of her, and, although he had hold ofthe prow, still his body was lighter in the water. Pushing, struggling, and pressing forward, he, by sheer impact, as it were, for his feetfound no hold in the mud, forced her back by slow degrees. 

The blows of the waves drove her forward almost as much as he pushed herback. Still, in time, and when his strength was fast decreasing, she didmove, and he had the satisfaction of feeling the water deeper beneathhim. But when he endeavoured to pull himself into the canoe over theprow, directly his motive power ceased, the waves undid the advance hehad achieved, and he had to resume his labour. This time, thinkingagain, before he attempted to get into the canoe he turned her sidewaysto the wind, with the outrigger to leeward. When her sharp prow androunded keel struck the mud-bank end on she ran easily along it. But, turned sideways, her length found more resistance, and though the wavessent her some way upon it, she soon came to a standstill. He clamberedin as quickly as he could (it is not easy to get into a boat out of thewater, the body feels so heavy), and, taking the paddle, without waitingto dress, worked away from the spot. 

Not till he had got some quarter of a mile back towards the mainland didhe pause to dry himself and resume part of his clothing; the canoe beingstill partly full of water, it was no use to put on all. Resting awhileafter his severe exertions, he looked back, and now supposed, from thecolour of the water and the general indications, that these shallowsextended a long distance, surrounding the islands at the mouth of thechannel, so that no vessel could enter or pass out in a direct line, butmust steer to the north or south until the obstacle was rounded. Afraidto attempt to land on another island, his only course, as the sun wasnow going down, was to return to the mainland, which he reached withoutmuch trouble, as the current favoured him. 

He drew the canoe upon the ground as far as he could. It was not a goodplace to land, as the bottom was chalk, washed into holes by the waves, and studded with angular flints. As the wind was off the shore it didnot matter; if it had blown from the east, his canoe might very likelyhave been much damaged. The shore was overgrown with hazel to withintwenty yards of the water, then the ground rose and was clothed with lowash-trees, whose boughs seemed much stunted by tempest, showing howexposed the spot was to the easterly gales of spring. The south-westwind was shut off by the hills beyond. Felix was so weary that for sometime he did nothing save rest upon the ground, which was but scantilycovered with grass. An hour's rest, however, restored him to himself. 

He gathered some dry sticks (there were plenty under the ashes), struckhis flint against the steel, ignited the tinder, and soon had a fire. Itwas not necessary for warmth, the June evening was soft and warm, but itwas the hunter's instinct. Upon camping for the night the hunter, unlessBushmen are suspected to be in the neighbourhood, invariably lights afire, first to cook his supper, and secondly, and often principally, tomake the spot his home. The hearth is home, whether there be walls roundit or not. Directly there are glowing embers the place is no longerwild, it becomes human. Felix had nothing that needed cooking. He tookhis cowhide from the canoe and spread it on the ground. 

A well-seasoned cowhide is the first possession of every hunter; itkeeps him from the damp; and with a second, supported on three shortpoles stuck in the earth (two crossed at the top in front, forming afork, and fastened with a thong, the third resting on these), heprotects himself from the heaviest rain. This little tent is alwaysbuilt with the back to windward. Felix did not erect a second hide, theevening was so warm and beautiful he did not need it, his cloak would beample for covering. The fire crackled and blazed at intervals, just farenough from him that he might feel no inconvenience from its heat. 

Thrushes sang in the ash wood all around him, the cuckoo called, and thechiff-chaff never ceased for a moment. Before him stretched the expanseof waters; he could even here see over the low islands. In the sky astreak of cloud was tinted by the sunset, slowly becoming paler as thelight departed. He reclined in that idle, thoughtless state whichsucceeds unusual effort, till the deepening shadow and the sinking fire, and the appearance of a star, warned him that the night was really here. Then he arose, threw on more fuel, and fetched his cloak, his chest, andhis boar spear from the canoe. The chest he covered with a corner of thehide, wrapped himself in the cloak, bringing it well over his face onaccount of the dew; then, drawing the lower corners of the hide over hisfeet and limbs, he stretched himself at full length and fell asleep, with the spear beside him. 

There was the possibility of Bushmen, but not much probability. Therewould be far more danger near the forest path, where they might expect atraveller and watch to waylay him, but they could not tell beforehandwhere he would rest that night. If any had seen the movements of hiscanoe, if any lighted upon his bivouac by chance, his fate was certain. He knew this, but trusted to the extreme improbability of Bushmenfrequenting a place where there was nothing to plunder. Besides, he hadno choice, as he could not reach the islands. If there was risk, it wasforgotten in the extremity of his weariness. 

CHAPTER XV

SAILING ONWARDS

When Felix awoke, he knew at once by the height of the sun that themorning was far advanced. Throwing off his cloak, he stood up, butimmediately crouched down again, for a vessel was passing but a shortdistance from the shore, and nearly opposite his encampment. She had twomasts, and from the flags flying, the numerous bannerets, and themovements of so many men on board, he knew her to be a ship of war. Hewas anxious that he should not be seen, and regretted that his canoe wasso much exposed, for the bush by which he had landed hid it only fromone side. As the shore was so bare and open, if they looked that way themen on board would hardly fail to see it, and might even distinguishhim. But whether they were too much engaged with their own affairs, orkept a careless look-out, no notice appeared to be taken, no boat waslowered. 

He watched the war-ship for nearly an hour before he ventured to move. Her course was to the eastward, inside the fringe of islands. That shewas neither Irish nor Welsh he was certain from her build and from herflags; they were too distant for the exact designs upon them to be seen, but near enough for him to know that they were not those displayed bythe foreigners. She sailed fast, having the wind nearly aft, whichsuited her two square sails. 

The wind had risen high during the night, and now blew almost a gale, sothat he saw he must abandon for the present his project of sailing outupon the open water. The waves there would be too high for his canoe, which floated low in the water, and had but about six inches freeboard. They would wash over and possibly swamp her. Only two courses were opento him: either to sail inside the islands under shelter of the land, orto remain where he was till the breeze moderated. If he sailed insidethe islands, following the northward course of the merchant vessel hehad observed the previous evening, that would carry him past Eaststock, the eastern port of Sypolis, which city, itself inland, had twoharbours, with the western of which (Weststock) it had communication bywater. 

Should he continue to sail on, he would soon reach that part of thenorthern continent which was occupied by the Irish outposts. On theother hand, to follow the war-ship, east by south, would, he knew, bringhim by the great city of Aisi, famous for its commerce, its riches, andthe warlike disposition of its king, Isembard. He was the acknowledgedhead of the forces of the League; but yet, with the inconsistency of theage, sometimes attacked other members of it. His furious energy wasalways disturbing the world, and Felix had no doubt he was now at warwith some one or other, and that the war-ship he had seen was on its wayto assist him or his enemies. One of the possibilities which hadimpelled him to this voyage was that of taking service with some king orcommander, and so perhaps gradually rising himself to command. 

Such adventures were very common, knights often setting forth upon suchexpeditions when dissatisfied with their own rulers, and they wereusually much welcomed as an addition to the strength of the camp theysought. But there was this difference: that such knights carried withthem some substantial recommendation, either numerous retainers wellarmed and accustomed to battle, considerable treasure, or at least areputation for prowess in the field. Felix had nothing to offer, and fornothing nothing is given. 

The world does not recognise intrinsic worth, or potential genius. Genius must accomplish some solid result before it is applauded andreceived. The unknown architect may say: "I have a design in my mind foran impregnable castle. " But the world cannot see or appreciate the meredesign. If by any personal sacrifice of time, dignity, or self-respectthe architect, after long years, can persuade someone to permit him tobuild the castle, to put his design into solid stone which squadrons mayknock their heads against in vain, then he is acknowledged. There isthen a tangible result. 

Felix was in the position of the architect. He believed he had ideas, but he had nothing substantial, no result, to point to. He had thereforebut little hope of success, and his natural hauteur and pride revoltedagainst making application for enrolment which must be accompanied withmuch personal humiliation, since at best he could but begin in thecommon ranks. The very idea of asking was repugnant to him. The thoughtof Aurora, however, drew him on. 

The pride was false, he said to himself, and arose from too high anestimate of his abilities; or it was the consequence of living so longentirely secluded from the world. He acknowledged to himself that he hadnot been beaten down to his level. Full of devotion to Aurora, heresolved to humble himself, to seek the humblest service in KingIsembard's camp, to bow his spirit to the orders of men above him inrank but below him in birth and ability, to submit to the numberlessindignities of a common soldier's life. 

He proceeded to launch the canoe, and had already placed the chest onboard when it occurred to him that the difficulties he had encounteredthe previous evening, when his canoe was so nearly lost, arose from hisignorance of the channels. It would be advisable to ascend the hill, andcarefully survey the coast as far as possible before setting forth. Hedid so. The war-ship was still visible from the summit, but while helooked she was hidden by the intervening islands. The white foam andangry appearance of the distant open water direct to the eastward, showed how wise he had been not to attempt its exploration. Under theland the wind was steady; yonder, where the gale struck the surface withall its force, the waves were large and powerful. 

From this spot he could see nearly the whole length of the strait, and, gazing up it in the direction he had come, he saw some boats crossing inthe distance. As they moved so slowly, and appeared so broad, heconjectured that they were flat-bottomed punts, and, straining his eyes, he fancied he detected horses on board. He watched four cross, andpresently the first punt returned, as if for another freight. He nownoticed that there was a land route by which travellers or waggons camedown from the northward, and crossed the strait by a ferry. It appearedthat the ferry was not in the narrowest part of the strait, but nearerits western mouth, where the shores were flat, and covered with reedsand flags. He wondered that he had not seen anything of thelanding-places, or of the ferry-boats, or some sign of this traffic whenhe passed, but concluded that the track was hidden among the densegrowth of reed and flag, and that the punts, not being in use that day, had been drawn up, and perhaps covered with green boughs to shelter themfrom the heat of the summer sun. 

The fact of this route existing, however, gave additional importance tothe establishment of a fort on the shore of the strait, as he had solong contemplated. By now, the first punt had obtained another load, andwas re-crossing the channel. It was evident that a caravan of travellersor merchants had arrived, such persons usually travelling in largebodies for safety, so that the routes were often deserted for weekstogether, and then suddenly covered with people. Routes, indeed, theywere, and not roads; mere tracks worn through the forest and over thehills, often impassable from floods. 

Still further satisfied that his original idea of a castle here wasfounded on a correct estimate of the value of the spot, Felix resolvedto keep the conception to himself, and not again to hazard it to others, who might despise him, but adopt his design. With one long last glanceat the narrow streak of water which formed the central part, as it were, of his many plans, he descended the hill, and pushed off in the canoe. 

His course this time gave him much less trouble than the day before, when he had frequently to change his tack. The steady, strong breezecame off the land, to which he was too close for any waves to arise, andhour after hour passed without any necessity to shift the sail, furtherthan to ease or tighten the sheets as the course of the land varied. Bydegrees the wind came more and more across his course, at right anglesto it, and then began to fall aft as he described an arc, and the landprojected northwards. 

He saw several small villages on the shore, and passed one narrow bay, which seemed, indeed, to penetrate into the land deeper than he couldactually see. Suddenly, after four or five hours, sailing, he saw thetower of a church over the wooded hills. This he knew must indicate theposition of Aisi. The question now came, whether he should sail into theharbour, when he would, of course, at once be seen, and have to undergothe examination of the officers; or should he land, and go on foot tothe city? A minute's reflection assured him the latter was the betterplan, for his canoe was of so unusual a construction, that it would bemore than carefully examined, and not unlikely his little treasureswould be discovered and appropriated. Without hesitation, therefore, andcongratulating himself that there were no vessels in sight, he ran thecanoe on shore among the flags and reeds which bordered it. 

He drew her up as far as his strength permitted, and not only took downthe sail, but unshipped the mast; then cutting a quantity of dead reeds, he scattered them over her, so that, unless a boat passed very close tothe land, she would not be seen. While he had a meal he considered howhe had better proceed. The only arms with which he excelled were the bowand arrow; clearly, therefore, if he wished an engagement, he shouldtake these with him, and exhibit his skill. But well he knew the utterabsence of law and justice except for the powerful. His bow, which he sogreatly valued, and which was so well seasoned, and could be reliedupon, might be taken from him. 

His arrows, so carefully prepared from chosen wood, and pointed withsteel, might be seized. Both bow and arrows were far superior to thoseused by the hunters and soldiery, and he dreaded losing them. There washis crossbow, but it was weak, and intended for killing only small game, as birds, and at short range. He could make no display with that. Swordhe had none for defence; there remained only his boar spear, and withthis he resolved to be content, trusting to obtain the loan of a bowwhen the time came to display his skill, and that fortune would enablehim to triumph with an inferior weapon. 

After resting awhile and stretching his limbs, cramped in the canoe, heset out (carrying his boar-spear only) along the shore, for the thickgrowth of the firs would not let him penetrate in the direction he hadseen the tower. He had to force his way through the reeds and flags andbrushwood, which flourished between the firs and the water's edge. Itwas hard work walking, or rather pushing through these obstacles, and herejoiced when he emerged upon the slope of a down where there was anopen sward, and but a few scattered groups of firs. The fact of it beingopen, and the shortness of the sward, showed at once that it was usedfor grazing purposes for cattle and sheep. Here he could walk freely, and soon reached the top. Thence the city was visible almost underneathhim. 

It stood at the base of a low narrow promontory, which ran a long wayinto the Lake. The narrow bank, near where it joined the mainland, waspenetrated by a channel or creek, about a hundred yards wide, or less, which channel appeared to enter the land and was lost from sight ofamong the trees. Beyond this channel a river ran into the lake, and inthe Y, between the creek and the river, the city had been built. 

It was surrounded with a brick wall, and there were two large roundbrick towers on the land side, which indicated the position of thecastle and palace. The space enclosed by the walls was not more thanhalf a mile square, and the houses did not occupy nearly all of it. There were open places, gardens, and even small paddocks among them. None of the houses were more than two storeys high, but what at oncestruck a stranger was the fact that they were all roofed with red tiles, most of the houses of that day being thatched or covered with shinglesof wood. As Felix afterwards learnt, this had been effected during thereign of the present king, whose object was to protect his city frombeing set on fire by burning arrows. The encircling wall had become adull red hue from the long exposure to the weather, but the roofs were abrighter red. There was no ensign flying on either of the towers, fromwhich he concluded that the king at that moment was absent. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE CITY

Slowly descending towards the city, Felix looked in vain for any meansof crossing the channel or creek, which extended upon the side of it, and in which he counted twenty-two merchant vessels at anchor, or mooredto the bank, besides a number of smaller craft and boats. The ship ofwar, which had arrived before him, was beached close up by a gate of thecity, which opened on the creek or port, and her crew were busilyengaged discharging her stores. As he walked beside the creek trying tocall the attention of some boatman to take him across, he was impressedby the silence, for though the city wall was not much more than astone's throw distant, there was none of the usual hum which arises fromthe movements of people. On looking closer he noticed, too, that therewere few persons on the merchant vessels, and not one gang at workloading or unloading. Except the warder stalking to and fro on the wall, and the crew of the war-ship, there was no one visible. As the warderpaced to and fro the blade of his partisan gleamed in the sunshine. Hemust have seen Felix, but with military indifference did not pay theslightest heed to the latter's efforts to attract his attention. 

He now passed the war-ship, and shouted to the men at work, who were, hecould see, carrying sheaves of arrows and bundles of javelins from thevessel and placing them on carts; but they did not trouble to reply. Hiscommon dress and ordinary appearance did not inspire them with any hopeof payment from him if they obliged him with a boat. The utterindifference with which his approach was seen showed him the contempt inwhich he was held. 

Looking round to see if there were no bridge or ferry, he caught sightof the grey church tower which he had observed from afar while sailing. It was quite a mile from the city, and isolated outside the walls. Itstood on the slope of the hill, over whose summit the tower was visible. He wandered up towards it, as there were usually people in or about thechurches, which were always open day and night. If no one else, theporter in the lodge at the church door would be there, for he or hisrepresentative never left it, being always on the watch lest some thiefshould attempt to enter the treasury, or steal the sacred vessels. 

But as he ascended the hill he met a shepherd, whose dogs prepared tofly at him, recognising a stranger. For a moment the man seemed inclinedto let them wreak their will, if they could, for he also felt inclinedto challenge a stranger, but, seeing Felix lower his spear, it probablyoccurred to him that some of his dogs would be killed. He thereforeordered them down, and stayed to listen. Felix learnt that there was nobridge across the creek, and only one over the river; but there was aferry for anybody who was known. No strangers were allowed to cross theferry; they must enter by the main road over the bridge. 

"But how am I to get into the place then?" said Felix. The shepherdshook his head, and said he could not tell him, and walked away abouthis business. 

Discouraged at these trifling vexations, which seemed to cross his pathat every step, Felix found his way to the ferry, but, as the shepherdhad said, the boatman refused to carry him, being a stranger. Nopersuasion could move him; nor the offer of a small silver coin, worthabout ten times his fare. 

"I must then swim across, " said Felix, preparing to take off hisclothes. 

"Swim, if you like, " said the boatman, with a grim smile; "but you willnever land. "

"Why not?"

"Because the warder will let drive at you with an arrow. "

Felix looked, and saw that he was opposite the extreme angle of the citywall, a point usually guarded with care. There was a warder stalking toand fro; he carried a partisan, but, of course, might have his bowwithin reach, or could probably call to the soldiers of the guard. 

"This _is_ annoying, " said Felix, ready to give up his enterprise. "However can I get into the city?"

The old boatman grinned, but said nothing, and returned to a net whichhe was mending. He made no answer to the further questions Felix put tohim. Felix then shouted to the warder; the soldier looked once, but paidno more heed. Felix walked a little way and sat down on the grass. Hewas deeply discouraged. These repulses, trifles in themselves, assumedan importance, because his mind had long been strung up to a high pitchof tension. A stolid man would have thought nothing of them. After awhile he arose, again asking himself how should he become a leader, whohad not the perseverance to enter a city in peaceful guise?

Not knowing what else to do, he followed the creek round the foot of thehill, and so onwards for a mile or more. This bank was steep, on accountof the down; the other cultivated, the corn being already high. Thecuckoo sang (she loves the near neighbourhood of man) and flew over thechannel towards a little copse. Almost suddenly the creek wound roundunder a low chalk cliff, and in a moment Felix found himself confrontedby another city. This had no wall; it was merely defended by a ditch andearthwork, without tower or bastion. 

The houses were placed thickly together; there were, he thought, six orseven times as many as he had previously seen, and they were thatched orshingled, like those in his own country. It stood in the midst of thefields, and the corn came up to the fosse; there were many people atwork, but, as he noticed, most of them were old men, bowed and feeble. Alittle way farther he saw a second boathouse; he hastened thither, andthe ferrywoman, for the boat was poled across by a stout dame, made notthe least difficulty about ferrying him over. So delighted was Felix atthis unexpected fortune, that he gave her the small silver coin, atsight of which he instantly rose high in her estimation. 

She explained to him, in answer to his inquiries, that this was alsocalled Aisi; this was the city of the common folk. Those who were richor powerful had houses in the walled city, the precinct of the Court. Many of the houses there, too, were the inns of great families who dweltin the country in their castles, but when they came to the Courtrequired a house. Their shields, or coats of arms, were painted over thedoors. The walled city was guarded with such care, because so manyattempts had been made to surprise it, and to assassinate the king, whose fiery disposition and constant wars had raised him up so manyenemies. As much care was taken to prevent a single stranger entering asif he were the vanguard of a hostile army, and if he now went back (ashe could do) to the bridge over the river, he would be stopped andquestioned, and possibly confined in prison till the king returned. 

"Where is the king?" asked Felix; "I came to try and take service withhim. "

"Then you will be welcome, " said the woman. "He is in the field, and hasjust sat down before Iwis. "

"That was why the walled city seemed so empty, then. " said Felix. 

"Yes; all the people are with him; there will be a great battle thistime. "

"How far is it to Iwis?" said Felix. 

"Twenty-seven miles, " replied the dame; "and if you take my advice, youhad better walk twenty-seven miles there, than two miles back to thebridge over the river. "

Someone now called from the opposite bank, and she started with the boatto fetch another passenger. 

"Thank you, very much, " said Felix, as he wished her good day; "but whydid not the man at the other ferry tell me I could cross here?"

The woman laughed outright. "Do you suppose he was going to put a pennyin my way when he could not get it himself?"

So mean and petty is the world! Felix entered the second city and walkedsome distance through it, when he recollected that he had not eaten forsome time. He looked in vain for an inn, but upon speaking to a man whowas leaning on his crutch at a doorway, he was at once asked to enter, and all that the house afforded was put before him. The man with thecrutch sat down opposite, and remarked that most of the folk were goneto the camp, but he could not because his foot had been injured. He thenwent on to tell how it had happened, with the usual garrulity of thewounded. He was assisting to place the beam of a battering-ram upon atruck (it took ten horses to draw it) when a lever snapped, and the beamfell. Had the beam itself touched him he would have been killed on thespot; as it was, only a part of the broken lever or pole hit him. Thrownwith such force, the weight of the ram driving it, the fragment of thepole grazed his leg, and either broke one of the small bones that formthe arch of the instep, or so bruised it that it was worse than broken. All the bone-setters and surgeons had gone to the camp, and he was leftwithout attendance other than the women, who fomented the foot daily, but he had little hope of present recovery, knowing that such thingswere often months about. 

He thought it lucky that it was no worse, for very few, he had noticed, ever recovered from serious wounds of spear or arrow. The woundedgenerally died; only the fortunate escaped. Thus he ran on, talking asmuch for his own amusement as that of his guest. He fretted because hecould not join the camp and help work the artillery; he supposed the ramwould be in position by now and shaking the wall with its blow. Hewondered if Baron Ingulph would miss his face. 

"Who's he?" asked Felix. 

"He is captain of the artillery, " replied his host. 

"Are you his retainer?"

"No; I am a servant. "

Felix started slightly, and did but just check himself from rising fromthe table. A "servant" was a slave; it was the euphemism used instead ofthe hateful word, which not even the most degraded can endure to bear. The class of the nobles to which he belonged deemed it a disgrace to sitdown with a slave, to eat with him, even to accidently touch him. Withthe retainers, or free men, they were on familiar terms, though despoticto the last degree; the slave was less than the dog. Then, stealing aglance at the man's face, Felix saw that he had no moustache; he had notnoticed this before. No slaves were allowed to wear the moustache. 

This man having been at home ill some days had neglected to shave, andthere was some mark upon his upper lip. As he caught his guest's glance, the slave hung his head, and asked his guest in a low and humble voicenot to mention this fault. With his face slightly flushed, Felixfinished his meal; he was confused to the last degree. His long trainingand the tone of the society in which he had moved (though so despised amember of it) prejudiced him strongly against the man whose hospitalitywas so welcome. On the other hand, the ideas which had for so longworked in his mind in his solitary intercommunings in the forest wereentirely opposed to servitude. In abstract principle he had long sincecondemned it, and desired to abolish it. But here was the fact. 

He had eaten at a slave's table, and sat with him face to face. Theoryand practice are often strangely at variance. He felt it an importantmoment; he felt that he was himself, as it were, on the balance; shouldhe adhere to the ancient prejudice, the ancient exclusiveness of hisclass, or should he boldly follow the dictate of his mind? He chose thelatter, and extended his hand to the servant as he rose to say good-bye. The act was significant; it recognised man as distinct from caste. Theservant did not know the conflict that had taken place; but to be shakenhands with at all, even by a retainer as he supposed Felix to be, wasindeed a surprise. He could not understand it; it was the first time hishand had been taken by any one of superior position since he had beenborn. He was dumb with amazement, and could scarcely point out the roadwhen asked; nor did he take the small coin Felix offered, one of the fewhe possessed. Felix therefore left it on the table and again started. 

Passing through the town, Felix followed the track which led in thedirection indicated. In about half a mile it led him to a wider track, which he immediately recognised as the main way and road to the camp bythe ruts and dust, for the sward had been trampled down for fifty yardswide, and even the corn was cut up by wheels and horses' hoofs. The armyhad passed, and he had but to follow its unmistakable trail. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE CAMP

Felix walked steadily on for nearly three hours, when the rough track, the dust, and heat began to tell upon him, and he sat down beside theway. The sun was now declining, and the long June day tending to itsend. A horseman passed, coming from the camp, and as he wore only asword, and had a leathern bag slung from his shoulder, he appeared to bea courtier. The dust raised by the hoofs, as it rose and floated abovethe brushwood, rendered his course visible. Some time afterwards, whilehe still rested, being very weary with walking through the heat of theafternoon, he heard the sound of wheels, and two carts drawn by horsescame along the track from the city. 

The carts were laden with bundles of arrows, perhaps the same he hadseen unloading that morning from the war-ship, and were accompanied onlyby carters. As they approached he rose, feeling that it was time tocontinue his journey. His tired feet were now stiff, and he limped as hestepped out into the road. The men spoke, and he walked as well as hecould beside them, using his boar-spear as a staff. There were twocarters with each cart; and presently, noting how he lagged, and couldscarce keep pace with them, one of them took a wooden bottle from theload on his cart, and offered him a draught of ale. 

Thus somewhat refreshed, Felix began to talk, and learnt that the arrowswere from the vessel in whose track he had sailed; that it had been sentloaded with stores for the king's use, by his friend the Prince ofQuinton; that very great efforts had been made to get together a largearmy in this campaign; first, because the city besieged was so nearhome, and failure might be disastrous, and, secondly, because it was oneof three which were all republics, and the other two would be certain tosend it assistance. These cities stood in a plain, but a few milesapart, and in a straight line on the banks of the river. The king hadjust sat down before the first, vowing that he would knock them down, one after the other, like a row of ninepins. 

The carters asked him, in return, whose retainer he was, and he saidthat he was on his way to take service, and was under no banner yet. 

"Then, " said the man who had given him a drink, "if you are free likethat, you had better join the king's levy, and be careful to avoid thebarons' war. For if you join either of the barons' war, they will knowyou to be a stranger, and very likely, if they see that you are quickand active, they will not let you free again, and if you attempt toescape after the campaign, you will find yourself mightily mistaken. Thebaron's captain would only have to say you had always been his man; and, as for your word, it would be no more than a dog's bark. Besides which, if you rebelled, it would be only to shave off that moustache of yours, and declare you a slave, and as you have no friends in camp, a slave youwould be. "

"That would be very unjust, " said Felix. "Surely the king would notallow it?"

"How is he to know?" said another of the carters. "My brother's boy wasserved just like that. He was born free, the same as all our family, buthe was fond of roving, and when he reached Quinton, he was seen by BaronRobert, who was in want of men, and being a likely young fellow, theyshaved his lip, and forced him to labour under the thong. When hisspirit was cowed, and he seemed reconciled, they let him grow hismoustache again, and there he is now, a retainer, and well treated. Butstill, it was against his will. Jack is right; you had better join theking's levy. "

The king's levy is composed of his own retainers from his estates, oftownsmen, who are not retainers of the barons, of any knights andvolunteers who like to offer their services; and a king always desiresas large a levy as possible, because it enables him to overawe hisbarons. These, when their "war", or forces, are collected together incamp, are often troublesome, and inclined to usurp authority. Avolunteer is, therefore, always welcome in the king's levy. 

Felix thanked them for the information they had given him, and said heshould certainly follow their advice. He could now hardly keep up withthe carts, having walked for so many hours, and undergone so muchprevious exertion. Finding this to be the case, he wished themgood-night, and looked round for some cover. It was now dusk, and heknew he could go no farther. When they understood his intention, theyconsulted among themselves, and finally made him get up into one of thecarts, and sit down on the bundles of arrows, which filled it likefaggots. Thus he was jolted along, the rude wheels fitting but badly onthe axle, and often sinking deep into a rut. 

They were now in thick forest, and the track was much narrower, so thatit had become worn into a hollow, as if it were the dry bed of atorrent. The horses and the carters were weary, yet they were obliged toplod on, as the arms had to be delivered before the morrow. They spokelittle, except to urge the animals. Felix soon dropped into a recliningposture (uneasy as it was, it was a relief), and looking up, saw thewhite summer stars above. After a time he lost consciousness, and sleptsoundly, quite worn out, despite the jolting and creaking of the wheels. 

The sound of a trumpet woke him with a start. His heavy and dreamlesssleep for a moment had taken away his memory, and he did not know wherehe was. As he sat up two sacks fell from him; the carters had thrownthem over him as a protection against the night's dew. The summermorning was already as bright as noonday, and the camp about him wasastir. In half a minute he came to himself, and getting out of the cartlooked round. All his old interest had returned, the spirit of warentered into him, the trumpet sounded again, and the morning breezeextended the many-coloured banners. 

The spot where he stood was in the rear of the main camp, and but ashort distance from the unbroken forest. Upon either hand there was anintermingled mass of stores, carts, and waggons crowded together, sacksand huge heaps of forage, on and about which scores of slaves, driversand others, were sleeping in every possible attitude, many of themevidently still under the influence of the ale they had drunk the nightbefore. What struck him at once was the absence of any guard here in therear. The enemy might steal out from the forest behind and help himselfto what he chose, or murder the sleeping men, or, passing through thestores, fall on the camp itself. To Felix this neglect appearedinexplicable; it indicated a mental state which he could not comprehend, a state only to be described by negatives. There was no completeness, nosystem, no organization; it was a kind of haphazardness, altogetheropposite to his own clear and well-ordered ideas. 

The ground sloped gently downwards from the edge of the forest, and theplace where he was had probably been ploughed, but was now trodden flatand hard. Next in front of the stores he observed a long, low hut builtof poles, and roofed with fir branches; the walls were formed of ferns, straw, bundles of hay, anything that had come to hand. On a standardbeside it, a pale blue banner, with the device of a double hammer workedin gold upon it, fluttered in the wind. Twenty or thirty, perhaps more, spears leant against one end of this rude shed, their bright pointsprojecting yards above the roof. To the right of the booth as manyhorses were picketed, and not far from them some soldiers were cookingat an open fire of logs. As Felix came slowly towards the booth, windingin and out among the carts and heaps of sacks, he saw that similarerections extended down the slope for a long distance. 

There were hundreds of them, some large, some small, not placed in anyorder, but pitched where chance or fancy led, the first-comers takingthe sites that pleased them, and the rest crowding round. Beside eachhut stood the banner of the owner, and Felix knew from this that theywere occupied by the barons, knights, and captains of the army. Theretainers of each baron bivouacked as they might in the open air; someof them had hunter's hides, and others used bundles of straw to sleepon. Their fire was as close to their lord's hut as convenient, and thusthere were always plenty within call. 

The servants, or slaves, also slept in the open air, but in the rear oftheir owner's booth, and apart from the free retainers. Felix noticed, that although the huts were pitched anyhow and anywhere, those on thelowest ground seemed built along a line, and, looking closer, he foundthat a small stream ran there. He learnt afterwards that there wasusually an emulation among the commanders to set up their standards asnear the water as possible, on account of convenience, those in the rearhaving often to lead their horses a long distance to water. Beyond thestream the ground rose again as gradually as it had declined. It wasopen and cultivated up to the walls of the besieged city, which was notthree-quarters of a mile distant. Felix could not for the momentdistinguish the king's head-quarters. The confused manner in which thebooths were built prevented him from seeing far, though from the higherground it was easy to look over their low roofs. 

He now wandered into the centre of the camp, and saw with astonishmentgroups of retainers everywhere eating, drinking, talking, and evenplaying cards or dice, but not a single officer of any rank. At last, stopping by the embers of a fire, he asked timidly if he might havebreakfast. The soldiers laughed and pointed to a cart behind them, telling him to help himself. The cart was turned with the tail towardsthe fire, and laden with bread and sides of bacon, slices of which theretainers had been toasting at the embers. 

He did as he was bid, and the next minute a soldier, not quite steady onhis legs even at that hour, offered him the can, "for, " said he, "youhad best drink whilst you may, youngster. There is always plenty ofdrink and good living at the beginning of a war, and very often not adrop or a bite to be got in the middle of it. " Listening to their talkas he ate his breakfast, Felix found the reason there were no officersabout was because most of them had drunk too freely the night before. The king himself, they said, was put to bed as tight as a drum, and ittook no small quantity to fill so huge a vessel, for he was a remarkablybig man. 

After the fatigue of the recent march, they had, in fact, refreshedthemselves, and washed down the dust of the track. They thought thatthis siege was likely to be a very tough business, and congratulatedthemselves that it was not thirty miles to Aisi, so that so long as theystayed there they might, perhaps, get supplies of provisions withtolerable regularity. "But if you're over the water, my lad, " said theold fellow with the can, picking his teeth with a twig, "and have got toget your victuals by ship; by George, you may have to eat grass, or gnawboughs like a horse. "

None of these men wore any arms, except the inevitable knife; their armswere piled against the adjacent booth, bows and quivers, spears, swords, bills and darts, thrown together just as they had cast them aside, andmore or less rusty from the dew. Felix thought that had the enemy comesuddenly down in force they might have made a clean sweep of the camp, for there were no defences, neither breastwork, nor fosse, nor any setguard. But he forgot that the enemy were quite as ill-organized as thebesiegers; probably they were in still greater confusion, for KingIsembard was considered one of the greatest military commanders of hisage, if not the very greatest. 

The only sign of discipline he saw was the careful grooming of somehorses, which he rightly guessed to be those ridden by the knights, andthe equally careful polishing of pieces of armour before the doors ofthe huts. He wished now to inquire his way to the king's levy, but asthe question rose to his lips he checked himself, remembering thecaution the friendly carters had given him. He therefore determined towalk about the camp till he found some evidence that he was in theimmediate neighbourhood of the king. 

He rose, stood about a little while to allay any possible suspicion(quite needless precautions, for the soldiers were far too agreeablyengaged to take the least notice of him), and then sauntered off with ascareless an air as he could assume. Looking about him, first at a forgewhere the blacksmith was shoeing a horse, then at a grindstone, where aknight's sword was being sharpened, he was nearly knocked down by ahorse, urged at some speed through the crowds. By a rope from thecollar, three dead bodies were drawn along the ground, dusty anddisfigured by bumping against stone and clod. They were those of slaves, hanged the preceding day, perhaps for pilfering, perhaps for a merewhim, since every baron had power of the gallows. 

They were dragged through the camp, and out a few hundred yards beyond, and there left to the crows. This horrible sight, to which the rest wereso accustomed and so indifferent that they did not even turn to look atit, deeply shocked him; the drawn and distorted features, the tonguesprotruding and literally licking the dust, haunted him for long after. Though his father, as a baron, possessed the same power, it had neverbeen exercised during his tenure of the estate, so that Felix had notbeen hardened to the sight of executions, common enough elsewhere. Uponthe Old House estate a species of negative humanity reigned; if theslaves were not emancipated, they were not hanged or cruelly beaten fortrifles. 

Hastening from the spot, Felix came across the artillery, whichconsisted of battering rams and immense crossbows; the bows were madefrom entire trees, or, more properly, poles. He inspected these clumsycontrivances with interest, and entered into a conversation with somemen who were fitting up the framework on which a battering ram was toswing. Being extremely conceited with themselves and the knowledge theyhad acquired from experience only (as the repeated blows of the blockdrive home the pile), they scarcely answered him. But, presently, as helent a hand to assist, and bore with their churlishness without reply, they softened, and, as usual, asked him to drink, for here, andthroughout the camp, the ale was plentiful, too plentiful for muchprogress. 

Felix took the opportunity and suggested a new form of trigger for theunwieldy crossbows. He saw that as at present discharged it must requiresome strength, perhaps the united effort of several men, to pull awaythe bolt or catch. Such an effort must disconcert the aim; thesecrossbows were worked upon a carriage, and it was difficult to keep thecarriage steady even when stakes were inserted by the low wheels. Itoccurred to him at once that the catch could be depressed by a lever, sothat one man could discharge the bow by a mere pressure of the hand, andwithout interfering with the aim. The men soon understood him, andacknowledged that it would be a great improvement. One, who was theleader of the gang, thought it so valuable an idea that he went off atonce to communicate with the lieutenant, who would in his turn carry thematter to Baron Ingulph, Master of the Artillery. 

The others congratulated him, and asked to share in the reward thatwould be given to him for this invention. To whose "war" did he belong?Felix answered, after a little hesitation, to the king's levy. At thisthey whispered among themselves, and Felix, again remembering thecarters' caution, said that he must attend the muster (this was a pureguess), but that he would return directly afterwards. Never for a momentsuspecting that he would avoid the reward they looked upon as certain, they made no opposition, and he hurried away. Pushing through thegroups, and not in the least knowing where he was going, Felix stumbledat last upon the king's quarters. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE KING'S LEVY

The king's booth stood apart from the rest; it was not much larger, butproperly thatched with straw, and the wide doorway hung with purplecurtains. Two standards stood beside it; one much higher than the other. The tallest bore the ensign of the kingdom; the lesser, the king's ownprivate banner as a knight. A breastwork encircled the booth, enclosinga space about seventy yards in diameter, with a fosse, and stakes soplanted as to repel assailants. There was but one gateway, opposite thegeneral camp, and this was guarded by soldiers fully armed. A knight onhorseback in armour, except his helmet, rode slowly up and down beforethe gate; he was the officer of the guard. His retainers, some thirty orforty men, were drawn up close by. 

A distance of fifty yards intervened between this entrenchment and thecamp, and was kept clear. Within the entrenchment Felix could see anumber of gentlemen, and several horses caparisoned, but from theabsence of noise and the fact that every one appeared to walk daintilyand on tiptoe, he concluded that the king was still sleeping. The streamran beside the entrenchment, and between it and the city; the king'squarters were at that corner of the camp highest up the brook, so thatthe water might not be fouled before it reached him. 

The king's levy, however, did not seem to be hereabouts, for the boothsnearest the head-quarters were evidently occupied by great barons, asFelix easily knew from their banners. There was here some littleappearance of formality; the soldiery were not so noisy, and there wereseveral officers moving among them. He afterwards discovered that thegreater barons claimed the right to camp nearest the king, and that theking's levy was just behind their booths. But unable to discover theplace, and afraid of losing his liberty if he delayed longer, Felix, after hesitating some time, determined to apply direct to the guard atthe gate of the circular entrenchment. 

As he crossed the open ground towards it, he noticed that the king'squarters were the closest to the enemy. Across the little stream weresome corn-fields, and beyond these the walls of the city, scarcely halfa mile distant. There was no outpost, the stream was but a brook, andcould be crossed with ease. He marvelled at the lack of precaution; buthe had yet to learn that the enemy, and all the armies of the age, wereequally ignorant and equally careless. 

With as humble a demeanour as he could assume, Felix doffed his cap andbegan to speak to the guard at the gateway of the entrenchment. Thenearest man-at-arms immediately raised his spear and struck him with thebutt. The unexpected blow fell on his left shoulder, and with such forceas to render it powerless. Before he could utter a remonstrance, asecond had seized his boar-spear, snapped the handle across his knee, and hurled the fragments from him. Others then took him by the shouldersand thrust him back across the open space to the camp, where they kickedhim and left him, bruised, and almost stupefied with indignation. Hisoffence was approaching the king's ground with arms in his hands. 

Later in the afternoon he found himself sitting on the bank of thestream far below the camp. He had wandered thither without knowing wherehe was going or what he was doing. His spirit for the time had beencrushed, not so much by the physical brutality as by the repulse to hisaspirations. Full of high hopes, and conscious of great ideas, he hadbeen beaten like a felon hound. 

From this spot beside the brook the distant camp appeared verybeautiful. The fluttering banners, the green roofs of the booths (offerns and reeds and boughs), the movement and life, for bodies of troopswere now marching to and fro, and knights in gay attire riding onhorseback, made a pleasant scene on the sloping ground with the forestat the back. Over the stream the sunshine lit up the walls of thethreatened city, where, too, many flags were waving. Felix came somewhatto himself as he gazed, and presently acknowledged that he had only hadhimself to blame. He had evidently transgressed a rule, and hisignorance of the rule was no excuse, since those who had any right to bein the camp at all were supposed to understand it. 

He got up, and returning slowly towards the camp, passed on his way thedrinking-place, where a groom was watering some horses. The man calledto him to help hold a spirited charger, and Felix mechanically did as hewas asked. The fellow's mates had left him to do their work, and therewere too many horses for him to manage. Felix led the charger for himback to the camp, and in return was asked to drink. He preferred food, and a plentiful supply was put before him. The groom, gossiping as heattended to his duties, said that he always welcomed the beginning of awar, for they were often half starved, and had to gnaw the bones, likethe dogs, in peace. But when war was declared, vast quantities ofprovisions were got together, and everybody gorged at their will. Thevery dogs battened; he pointed to half a dozen who were tearing a rawshoulder of mutton to pieces. Before the campaign was over, those verydogs might starve. To what "war" did Felix belong? He replied to theking's levy. 

The groom said that this was the king's levy where they were; but underwhose command was he? This puzzled Felix, who did not know what to say, and ended by telling the truth, and begging the fellow to advise him, ashe feared to lose his liberty. The man said he had better stay where hewas, and serve with him under Master Lacy, who was mean enough in thecity, but liked to appear liberal when thus consorting with knights andgentlemen. 

Master Lacy was a merchant of Aisi, an owner of vessels. Like most ofhis fellows, when war came so close home, he was almost obliged to jointhe king's levy. Had he not done so it would have been recorded againsthim as a lack of loyalty. His privileges would have been taken from him, possibly the wealth he had accumulated seized, and himself reduced toslavery. Lacy, therefore, put on armour, and accompanied the king to thecamp. Thus Felix, after all his aspirations, found himself serving asthe knave of a mere citizen. 

He had to take the horses down to water, to scour arms, to fetch woodfrom the forest for the fire. He was at the beck and call of all theother men, who never scrupled to use his services, and, observing thathe never refused, put upon him all the more. On the other hand, whenthere was nothing doing, they were very kind and even thoughtful. Theyshared the best with him, brought wine occasionally (wine was scarce, though ale plentiful) as a delicacy, and one, who had dexterously takena purse, presented him with half a dozen copper coins as his share ofthe plunder. Felix, grown wiser by experience, did not dare refuse thestolen money, it would have been considered as the greatest insult; hewatched his opportunity and threw it away. 

The men, of course, quickly discovered his superior education, but thatdid not in the least surprise them, it being extremely common forunfortunate people to descend by degrees to menial offices, if once theyleft the estate and homestead to which they naturally belonged. There ascadets, however humble, they were certain of outward respect: onceoutside the influence of the head of the house, and they were worse offthan the lowest retainer. His fellows would have resented any show ofpride, and would speedily have made his life intolerable. As he showednone, they almost petted him, but at the same time expected him to domore than his share of the work. 

Felix listened with amazement to the revelations (revelations to him) ofthe inner life of the camp and court. The king's weaknesses, hisinordinate gluttony and continual intoxication, his fits of temper, hisfollies and foibles, seemed as familiar to these grooms as if they haddwelt with him. As for the courtiers and barons, there was not one whosevices and secret crimes were not perfectly well known to them. Vice andcrime must have their instruments; instruments are invariablyindiscreet, and thus secrets escape. The palace intrigues, the intrigueswith other states, the influence of certain women, there was nothingwhich they did not know. 

Seen thus from below, the whole society appeared rotten and corrupted, coarse to the last degree, and animated only by the lowest motives. Thisvery gossip seemed in itself criminal to Felix, but he did not at themoment reflect that it was but the tale of servants. Had such languagebeen used by gentlemen, then it would have been treason. As himself ofnoble birth, Felix had hitherto seen things only from the point of viewof his own class. Now he associated with grooms, he began to see societyfrom _their_ point of view, and recognised how feebly it was heldtogether by brute force, intrigue, cord and axe, and woman's flattery. But a push seemed needed to overthrow it. Yet it was quite secure, nevertheless, as there was none to give that push, and if any such plothad been formed, those very slaves who suffered the most would have beenthe very men to give information, and to torture the plotters. 

Felix had never dreamed that common and illiterate men, such as thesegrooms and retainers, could have any conception of reasons of State, orthe crafty designs of courts. He now found that, though they couldneither writer nor read, they had learned the art of reading man (theworst and lowest side of character) to such perfection that they at oncedetected the motive. They read the face; the very gait and gesture gavethem a clue. They read man, in fact, as an animal. They understood menjust as they understood the horses and hounds under their charge. Everymood and vicious indication in those animals was known to them, and so, too, with their masters. 

Felix thought that he was himself a hunter, and understood woodcraft; henow found how mistaken he had been. He had acquired woodcraft as agentleman; he now learned the knave's woodcraft. They taught him ahundred tricks of which he had had no idea. They stripped man of hisdignity, and nature of her refinement. Everything had a blackguard sideto them. He began to understand that high principles and abstracttheories were only words with the mass of men. 

One day he saw a knight coolly trip up a citizen (one of the king'slevy) in the midst of the camp and in broad daylight, and quietly cutaway his purse, at least a score of persons looking on. But they wereonly retainers and slaves; there was no one whose word would for amoment have been received against the knight's, who had observed this, and plundered the citizen with impunity. He flung the lesser coins tothe crowd, keeping the gold and silver for himself, and walked offamidst their plaudits. 

Felix saw a slave nailed to a tree, his arms put round it so as to claspit, and then nails driven through them. There he was left in his agonyto perish. No one knew what his fault had been; his master had simplytaken a dislike to him. A guard was set that no one should relieve themiserable being. Felix's horror and indignation could not have beenexpressed, but he was totally helpless. 

His own condition of mind during this time was such as could not be wellanalysed. He did not himself understand whether his spirit had beenbroken, whether he was really degraded with the men with whom he lived, or why he remained with them, though there were moments when it dawnedupon him that this education, rude as it was, was not without its valueto him. He need not practise these evils, but it was well to know oftheir existence. Thus he remained, as it were, quiescent, and the dayspassed on. He really had not much to do, although the rest put theirburdens upon him, for discipline was so lax, that the loosest attendanceanswered equally well with the most conscientious. The one thing all themen about him seemed to think of was the satisfying of their appetites;the one thing they rejoiced at was the fine dry weather, for, as hismates told him, the misery of camp life in rain was almost unendurable. 

CHAPTER XIX

FIGHTING

Twice Felix saw the king. Once there was a review of the horse outsidethe camp, and Felix, having to attend with his master's third charger (amere show and affectation, for there was not the least chance of hisneeding it), was now and then very near the monarch. For that day atleast he looked every whit what fame had reported him to be. A man ofunusual size, his bulk rendered him conspicuous in the front of thethrong. His massive head seemed to accord well with the possession ofdespotic power. 

The brow was a little bare, for he was no longer young, but the back ofhis head was covered with thick ringlets of brown hair, so thick as topartly conceal the coronet of gold which he wore. A short purple cloak, scarcely reaching to the waist, was thrown back off his shoulders, sothat his steel corselet glistened in the sun. It was the only armour hehad on; a long sword hung at his side. He rode a powerful black horse, full eighteen hands high, by far the finest animal on the ground; herequired it, for his weight must have been great. Felix passed nearenough to note that his eyes were brown, and the expression of his faceopen, frank, and pleasing. The impression left upon the observer wasthat of a strong intellect, but a still stronger physique, which lattertoo often ran away with and controlled the former. No one could lookupon him without admiration, and it was difficult to think that he couldso demean himself as to wallow in the grossest indulgence. 

As for the review, though it was a brilliant scene, Felix could notconceal from himself that these gallant knights were extremely irregularin their movements, and not one single evolution was performedcorrectly, because they were constantly quarrelling about precedence, and one would not consent to follow the other. He soon understood, however, that discipline was not the object, nor regularity considered;personal courage and personal dexterity were everything. This review wasthe prelude to active operations, and Felix now hoped to have somepractical lessons in warfare. 

He was mistaken. Instead of a grand assault, or a regular approach, thefighting was merely a series of combats between small detachments andbodies of the enemy. Two or three knights with their retainers andslaves would start forth, cross the stream, and riding right past thebesieged city endeavour to sack some small hamlet, or the homestead of anoble. From the city a sortie would ensue; sometimes the two bodies onlythreatened each other at a distance, the first retiring as the secondadvanced. Sometimes only a few arrows were discharged; occasionally theycame to blows, but the casualties were rarely heavy. 

One such party, while returning, was followed by a squadron of horsemenfrom the town towards the stream to within three hundred yards of theking's quarters. Incensed at this assurance, several knights mountedtheir horses and rode out to reinforce the returning detachment, whichwas loaded with booty. Finding themselves about to be supported, theythrew down their spoils, faced about, and Felix saw for the first time areal and desperate _melée_. It was over in five minutes. The king'sknights, far better horsed, and filled with desire to exhibit theirvalour to the camp, charged with such fury that they overthrew the enemyand rode over him. 

Felix saw the troops meet; there was a crash and cracking as the lancesbroke, four or five rolled from the saddle on the trodden corn, and thenext moment the entangled mass of men and horses unwound itself as theenemy hastened back to the walls. Felix was eager to join in such anaffray, but he had no horse nor weapon. Upon another occasion early onebright morning four knights and their followers, about forty in all, deliberately set out from the camp, and advanced up the sloping groundtowards the city. The camp was soon astir watching their proceedings;and the king, being made acquainted with what was going on, came outfrom his booth. Felix, who now entered the circular entrenchment withoutany difficulty, got up on the mound with scores of others, where, holding to the stakes, they had a good view. 

The king stood on a bench and watched the troops advance, shading hiseyes with his hand. As it was but half a mile to the walls they couldsee all that took place. When the knights had got within two hundredyards and arrows began to drop amongst them, they dismounted from theirhorses and left them in charge of the grooms, who walked them up anddown, none remaining still a minute, so as to escape the aim of theenemy's archers. Then drawing their swords, the knights, who were infull armour, put themselves at the head of the band, and advanced at asteady pace to the wall. In their mail with their shields before themthey cared not for such feeble archery, nor even for the darts thatpoured upon them when they came within reach. There was no fosse to thewall, so that, pushing forward, they were soon at the foot. So easilyhad they reached it that Felix almost thought the city already won. Nowhe saw blocks of stone, darts, and beams of wood cast at them from theparapet, which was not more than twelve feet above the ground. 

Quite undismayed, the knights set up their ladders, of which they hadbut four, one each. The men-at-arms held these by main force against thewall, the besiegers trying to throw them away, and chopping at the rungswith their axes. But the ladders were well shod with iron to resist suchblows, and in a moment Felix saw, with intense delight and admiration, the four knights slowly mount to the parapet and cut at the defenderswith their swords. The gleam of steel was distinctly visible as theblades rose and fell. The enemy thrust at them with pikes, but seemed toshrink from closer combat, and a moment afterwards the gallant fourstood on the top of the wall. Their figures, clad in mail and shield inhand, were distinctly seen against the sky. Up swarmed the men-at-armsbehind them, and some seemed to descend on the other side. A shout rosefrom the camp and echoed over the woods. Felix shouted with the rest, wild with excitement. 

The next minute, while yet the knights stood on the wall, and scarcelyseemed to know what to do next, there appeared at least a dozen men inarmour running along the wall towards them. Felix afterwards understoodthat the ease with which the four won the wall at first was owing tothere being no men of knightly rank among the defenders at that earlyhour. Those who had collected to repulse the assault were citizens, retainers, slaves, any, in fact who had been near. But now the news hadreached the enemy's leaders, and some of them hastened to the wall. Asthese were seen approaching, the camp was hushed, and every eye strainedon the combatants. 

The noble four could not all meet their assailants, the wall was butwide enough for two to fight; but the other two had work enough the nextminute, as eight or ten more men in mail advanced the other way. So theyfought back to back, two facing one way, and two the other. The swordsrose and fell. Felix saw a flash of light fly up into the air, it wasthe point of a sword broken off short. At the foot of the wall the menwho had not had time to mount endeavoured to assist their masters bystabbing upwards with their spears. 

All at once two of the knights were hurled from the wall; one seemed tobe caught by his men, the other came heavily to the ground. While theywere fighting their immediate antagonists, others within the wall hadcome with lances; and literally thrust them from the parapet. The othertwo still fought back to back for a moment; then, finding themselvesoverwhelmed, they sprang down among their friends. 

The minute the two first fell, the grooms with the horses ran towardsthe wall, and despite the rain of arrows, darts, and stones from theparapet, Felix saw with relief three of the four knights placed on theirchargers. One only could sit upright unassisted, two were supported intheir saddles, and the fourth was carried by his retainers. Thus theyretreated, and apparently without further hurt, for the enemy on thewall crowded so much together as to interfere with the aim of theirdarts, which, too, soon fell short. But there was a dark heap beneaththe wall, where ten or twelve retainers and slaves, who wore no armour, had been slain or disabled. Upon these the loss invariably fell. 

None attempted to follow the retreating party, who slowly returnedtowards the camp, and were soon apparently in safety. But suddenly afresh party of the enemy appeared upon the wall, and the instantafterwards three retainers dropped, as if struck by lightning. They hadbeen hit by sling stones, whirled with great force by practisedslingers. These rounded pebbles come with such impetus as to stun a manat two hundred yards. The aim, it is true, is uncertain, but where thereis a body of troops they are sure to strike some one. Hastening on, leaving the three fallen men where they lay, the rest in two minuteswere out of range, and came safely into camp. Everyone, as they crossedthe stream, ran to meet them, the king included, and as he passed in thethrong, Felix heard him remark that they had had a capital main of cocksthat morning. 

Of the knights only one was much injured; he had fallen upon a stone, and two ribs were broken; the rest suffered from severe bruises, but hadno wound. Six men-at-arms were missing, probably prisoners, for, ascourageous as their masters, they had leapt down from the wall into thetown. Eleven other retainers or slaves were slain, or had deserted, orwere prisoners, and no trouble was taken about them. As for the threewho were knocked over by the sling stones, there they lay until theyrecovered their senses, when they crawled into camp. This incidentcooled Felix's ardour for the fray, for he reflected that, if injuredthus, he too, as a mere groom, would be left. The devotion of theretainers to save and succour their masters was almost heroic. Themailed knights thought no more of their men, unless it was someparticular favourite, than of a hound slashed by a boar's tusk in thechase. 

When the first flush of his excitement had passed, Felix, thinking overthe scene of the morning as he took his horses down to water at thestream, became filled at first with contempt, and then with indignation. That the first commander of the age should thus look on while the wallwas won before his eyes, and yet never send a strong detachment, or movehimself with his whole army to follow up the advantage, seemed pastunderstanding. If he did not intend to follow it up, why permit suchdesperate ventures, which must be overwhelmed by mere numbers, and couldresult only in the loss of brave men? And if he did permit it, why didhe not, when he saw they were overthrown, send a squadron to cover theirretreat? To call such an exhibition of courage "a main of cocks", tolook on it as a mere display for his amusement, was barbarous and cruelin the extreme. He worked himself up into a state of anger whichrendered him less cautious than usual in expressing his opinions. 

The king was not nearly so much at fault as Felix, arguing on abstractprinciples, imagined. He had long experience of war, and he knew itsextreme uncertainty. The issue of the greatest battle often hung on theconduct of a single leader, or even a single man-at-arms. He had seenwalls won and lost before. To follow up such a venture with a strongdetachment must result in one of two things, either the detachment inits turn must be supported by the entire army, or it must eventuallyretreat. If it retreated, the loss of prestige would be serious, andmight encourage the enemy to attack the camp, for it was only hisprestige which prevented them. If supported by the entire army, then thefate of the whole expedition depended upon that single day. 

The enemy had the advantage of the wall, of the narrow streets andenclosures within, of the houses, each of which would become a fortress, and thus in the winding streets a repulse might easily happen. To risksuch an event would be folly in the last degree, before the town hadbeen dispirited and discouraged by the continuance of the siege, thefailure of their provisions, or the fall of their chief leaders in thedaily combats that took place. 

The army had no discipline whatever, beyond that of the attachment ofthe retainer to his lord, and the dread of punishment on the part of theslave. There were no distinct ranks, no organized corps. The knightsfollowed the greater barons, the retainers the knights; the greaterbarons followed the king. Such an army could not be risked in an assaultof this kind. The venture was not ordered, nor was it discouraged; todiscourage, indeed, all attempts would have been bad policy; it was uponthe courage and bravery of his knights that the king depended, and uponthat alone rested his hopes of victory. 

The great baron whose standard they followed would have sent themassistance if he had deemed it necessary. The king, unless on the day ofbattle, would not trouble about such a detail. As for the remark, thatthey had had "a good main of cocks that morning, " he simply expressedthe feeling of the whole camp. The spectacle Felix had seen was, infact, merely an instance of the strength and of the weakness of the armyand the monarch himself. 

Felix afterwards acknowledged these things to himself, but at themoment, full of admiration for the bravery of the four knights and theirfollowers, he was full of indignation, and uttered his views too freely. His fellow-grooms cautioned him; but his spirit was up, and he gave wayto his feelings without restraint. Now, to laugh at the king'sweaknesses, his gluttony or follies, was one thing; to criticise hismilitary conduct was another. The one was merely badinage, and the kinghimself might have laughed had he heard it; the other was treason, and, moreover, likely to touch the monarch on the delicate matter of militaryreputation. 

Of this Felix quickly became aware. His mates, indeed, tried to shieldhim; but possibly the citizen, his master, had enemies in the camp, barons, perhaps, to whom he had lent money, and who watched for a chanceof securing his downfall. At all events, early the next day Felix wasrudely arrested by the provost in person, bound with cords, and placedin the provost's booth. At the same time, his master was ordered toremain within, and a guard was put over him. 

CHAPTER XX

IN DANGER

Hope died within Felix when he thus suddenly found himself so near theexecutioner. He had known so many butchered without cause, that he had, indeed, reason to despair. Towards the sunset he felt sure he should bedragged forth and hanged on the oak used for the purpose, and whichstood near where the track from Aisi joined the camp. Such would mostprobably have been his fate, had he been alone concerned in this affair, but by good fortune he was able to escape so miserable an end. Still, hesuffered as much as if the rope had finished him, for he had no means ofknowing what would be the result. 

His heart swelled with bitterness; he was filled with inexpressibleindignation, his whole being rebelled against the blundering, as itwere, of events which had thus thrown him into the jaws of death. In anhour or two, however, he sufficiently recovered from the shock toreflect that most probably they would give him some chance to speak forhimself. There would not be any trial; who would waste time in trying soinsignificant a wretch? But there might be some opportunity of speaking, and he resolved to use it to the utmost possible extent. 

He would arraign the unskilful generalship of the king; he would notonly point out his errors, but how the enemy could be defeated. He wouldprove that he had ideas and plans worthy of attention. He would, as itwere, vindicate himself before he was executed, and he tried to collecthis thoughts and to put them into form. Every moment the face of Auroraseemed to look upon him, lovingly and mournfully; but beside it he sawthe dusty and distorted features of the copse he had seen drawn by thehorse through the camp. Thus, too, his tongue would protrude and lickthe dust. He endured, in a word, those treble agonies which thehighly-wrought and imaginative inflict upon themselves. 

The hours passed, and still no one came near him; he called, and theguard appeared at the door, but only to see what was the matter, andfinding his prisoner safe, at once resumed his walk to and fro. Thesoldier did not, for his own sake, dare to enter into conversation witha prisoner under arrest for such an offence; he might be involved, orsuspected. Had it been merely theft or any ordinary crime, he would havetalked freely enough, and sympathized with the prisoner. As time wenton, Felix grew thirsty, but his request for water was disregarded, andthere he remained till four in the afternoon. They then marched him out;he begged to be allowed to speak, but the soldiery did not reply, simplyhurrying him forward. He now feared that he should be executed withoutthe chance being afforded him to say a word; but, to his surprise, hefound in a few minutes that they were taking him in the direction of theking's quarters. New fears now seized him, for he had heard of men beingturned loose, made to run for their lives, and hunted down with houndsfor the amusement of the Court. 

If the citizen's wealth had made him many enemies (men whom he hadbefriended, and who hoped, if they could be see him executed, to escapethe payment of their debts), on the other hand, it had made him as manyfriends, that is, interested friends, who trusted by doing him serviceto obtain advances. These latter had lost no time, for greed is quite aseager as hate, and carried the matter at once to the king. What theydesired was that the case should be decided by the monarch himself, andnot by his chancellor, or a judge appointed for the purpose. The judgewould be nearly certain to condemn the citizen, and to confiscatewhatever he could lay hands on. The king might pardon, and would becontent with a part only, where his ministers would grasp all. 

These friends succeeded in their object; the king, who hated alljudicial affairs because they involved the trouble of investigation, shrugged his shoulders at the request, and would not have granted it hadit not come out that the citizen's servant had declared him to be anincapable commander. At this the king started. "We are, indeed, fallenlow, " said he, "when a miserable trader's knave calls us incapable. Wewill see this impudent rascal. " He accordingly ordered that the prisonershould be brought before him after dinner. 

Felix was led inside the entrenchment, unbound, and commanded to standupright. There was a considerable assembly of the greater barons anxiousto see the trial of the money-lender, who, though present, was keptapart from Felix lest the two should arrange their defence. The king wassleeping on a couch outside the booth in the shade; he was lying on hisback breathing loudly with open mouth. How different his appearance tothe time when he sat on his splendid charger and reviewed his knights! Aheavy meal had been succeeded by as heavy a slumber. No one dared todisturb him; the assembly moved on tiptoe and conversed in whispers. Theexperienced divined that the prisoners were certain to be condemned, forthe king would wake with indigestion, and vent his uneasy sensationsupon them. Full an hour elapsed before the king awoke with a snort andcalled for a draught of water. How Felix envied that draught! He hadneither eaten nor drunk since the night previous; it was a hot day, andhis tongue was dry and parched. 

The citizen was first accused; he denied any treasonable designs orexpressions whatever; as for the other prisoner, till the time he wasarrested he did not even know he had been in his service. He was somestroller whom his grooms had incautiously engaged, the lazy scoundrels, to assist them. He had never even spoken to him; it the knave told thetruth he must acknowledge this. 

"How now, " said the king, turning to Felix; "what do you say?"

"It is true, " replied Felix, "he has never spoken to me nor I to him. Heknew nothing of what I said. I said it on my own account, and I say itagain!"

"And pray, sir knave, " said the king, sitting up on his couch, for hewas surprised to hear one so meanly dressed speak so correctly, and soboldly face him. "What was it you did say?"

"If your majesty will order me a single drop of water, " said theprisoner, "I will repeat it word for word, but I have had nothing thewhole day, and I can hardly move my tongue. "

Without a word the king handed him the cup from which he had himselfdrunk. Never, surely, was water so delicious. Felix drained it to thebottom, handed it back (an officer took it), and with one brief thoughtof Aurora, he said: "Your majesty, you are an incapable commander. "

"Go on, " said the king sarcastically; "why am I incapable?"

"You have attacked the wrong city; these three are all your enemies, andyou have attacked the first. They stand in a row. "

"They stand in a row, " repeated the king; "and we will knock them overlike three nine-pins. "

"But you have begun with the end one, " said Felix, "and that is themistake. For after you have taken the first you must take the second, and still after that the third. But you might have saved much troubleand time if----"

"If what?"

"If you had assaulted the middle one first. For then, while the siegewent on, you would have been able to prevent either of the other twotowns from sending assistance, and when you had taken the first and putyour garrison in it, neither of the others could have stirred, or reapedtheir corn, nor could they even communicate with each other, since youwould be between them; and in fact you would have cut your enemies intwain. "

"By St. John!" swore the king, "it is a good idea. I begin to think--butgo on, you have more to say. "

"I think, too, your majesty, that by staying here as you have done thisfortnight past without action, you have encouraged the other two citiesto make more desperate resistance; and it seems to me that you are in adangerous position, and may at any moment be overwhelmed with disaster, for there is nothing whatever to prevent either of the other two fromsending troops to burn the open city of Aisi in your absence. And thatdanger must increase every day as they take courage by your idleness. "

"Idleness! There shall be idleness no longer. The man speaks the truth;we will consider further of this, we will move on Adelinton, " turning tohis barons. 

"If it please your majesty, " said Baron Ingulph, "this man invented anew trigger for our carriage crossbows, but he was lost in the crowd, and we have sought for him in vain; my serjeant here has this momentrecognised him. "

"Why did you not come to us before, fellow?" said the king. "Let him bereleased; let him be entertained at our expense; give him clothes and asword. We will see you further. "

Overjoyed at this sudden turn of fortune, Felix forgot to let wellalone. He had his audience with him for a moment; he could not resist asit were following up his victory. He thanked the king, and added that hecould make a machine which would knock the walls yonder to pieceswithout it being necessary to approach nearer than half a bow-shot. 

"What is this?" said the king. "Ingulph, have you ever heard of such amachine?"

"There is no such thing, " said the Baron, beginning to feel that hisprofessional reputation as the master of the artillery was assailed. "There is nothing of the kind known. "

"It will shoot stones as big, as heavy as a man can lift, " said Felixeagerly, "and easily knock towers to fragments. "

The king looked from one to another; he was incredulous. The Baronsmiled scornfully. "Ask him, your majesty, how these stones are to bethrown; no bow could do it. "

"How are the stones to be thrown?" said the king sharply. "Beware howyou play with us. "

"By the force of twisted ropes, your majesty. "

They all laughed. The Baron said: "You see, your majesty, there isnothing of the kind. This is some jester. "

"The twisted rope should be a halter, " said another courtier, one ofthose who hoped for the rich man's downfall. 

"It can be done, your majesty, " cried Felix, alarmed. "I assure you, astone of two hundredweight might be thrown a quarter of a mile. "

The assembly did not repress its contempt. 

"The man is a fool, " said the king, who now thought that Felix was ajester who had put a trick upon him. "But your joke is out of joint; Iwill teach such fellows to try tricks on us! Beat him out of camp. "

The provost's men seized him, and in a moment he was dragged off hisfeet, and bodily carried outside the entrenchment. Thence they pushedhim along, beating him with the butts of their spears to make him runthe faster; the groups they passed laughed and jeered; the dogs barkedand snapped at his ankles. They hurried him outside the camp, andthrusting him savagely with their spear butts sent him headlong. Therethey left him, with the caution which he did not hear, being insensible, that if he ventured inside the lines he would be at once hanged. Like adead dog they left him on the ground. 

Some hours later, in the dusk of the evening, Felix stole from the spot, skirting the forest like a wild animal afraid to venture from its cover, till he reached the track which led to Aisi. His one idea was to reachhis canoe. He would have gone through the woods, but that was notpossible. Without axe or wood-knife to hew a way, the tangled brushwoodhe knew to be impassable, having observed how thick it was when coming. Aching and trembling in every limb, not so much with physical sufferingas that kind of inward fever which follows unmerited injury, the revoltof the mind against it, he followed the track as fast as his weary framewould let him. He had tasted nothing that day but the draught from theking's cup, and a second draught when he recovered consciousness, fromthe stream that flowed past the camp. Yet he walked steadily on withoutpause; his head hung forward, and his arms were listless, but his feetmechanically plodded on. He walked, indeed, by his will, and not withhis sinews. Thus, like a ghost, for there was no life in him, hetraversed the shadowy forest. 

The dawn came, and still he kept onwards. As the sun rose higher, havingnow travelled fully twenty miles, he saw houses on the right of thetrail. They were evidently those of retainers or workmen employed on themanor, for a castle stood at some distance. 

An hour later he approached the second or open city of Aisi, where theferry was across the channel. In his present condition he could not passthrough the town. No one there knew of his disgrace, but it was the sameto him as if they had. Avoiding the town itself, he crossed thecultivated fields, and upon arriving at the channel he at once steppedin, and swam across to the opposite shore. It was not more than sixtyyards, but, weary as he was, it was an exhausting effort. He sat down, but immediately got up and struggled on. 

The church tower on the slope of the hill was a landmark by which heeasily discovered the direction of the spot where he had hidden thecanoe. But he felt unable to push through the belt of brushwood, reeds, and flags beside the shore, and therefore struck through the firs, following a cattle track, which doubtless led to another grazing ground. This ran parallel with the shore, and when he judged himself about levelwith the canoe he left it, and entered the wood itself. For a little wayhe could walk, but the thick fir branches soon blocked his progress, andhe could progress only on hands and knees, creeping beneath them. Therewas a hollow space under the lower branches free from brushwood. 

Thus he painfully approached the Lake, and descending the hill, after anhour's weary work emerged among the rushes and reeds. He was within twohundred yards of the canoe, for he recognised the island opposite it. Inten minutes he found it undisturbed and exactly as he had left it, except that the breeze had strewn the dry reeds with which it wascovered with willow leaves, yellow and dead (they fall while all therest are green), which had been whirled from the branches. Throwinghimself upon the reeds beside the canoe, he dropped asleep as if he hadbeen dead. 

He awoke as the sun was sinking and sat up, hungry in the extreme, butmuch refreshed. There were still some stores in the canoe, of which heate ravenously. But he felt better now; he felt at home beside his boat. He could hardly believe in the reality of the hideous dream throughwhich he had passed. But when he tried to stand, his feet, cut andblistered, only too painfully assured him of its reality. He took outhis hunter's hide and cloak and spread himself a comfortable bed. Thoughhe had slept so long he was still weary. He reclined in asemi-unconscious state, his frame slowly recovering from the strain ithad endured, till by degrees he fell asleep again. Sleep, nothing butsleep, restores the overtaxed mind and body. 

CHAPTER XXI

A VOYAGE

The sun was up when Felix awoke, and as he raised himself the beauty ofthe Lake before him filled him with pleasure. By the shore it was socalm that the trees were perfectly reflected, and the few willow leavesthat had fallen floated without drifting one way or the other. Fartherout the islands were lit up with the sunlight, and the swallows skimmedthe water, following the outline of their shores. In the Lake beyondthem, glimpses of which he could see through the channel or passagebetween, there was a ripple where the faint south-western breeze touchedthe surface. His mind went out to the beauty of it. He did not questionor analyse his feelings; he launched his vessel, and left that hard andtyrannical land for the loveliness of the water. 

Paddling out to the islands he passed through between them, and reachedthe open Lake. There he hoisted the sail, the gentle breeze filled it, the sharp cutwater began to divide the ripples, a bubbling sound arose, and steering due north, straight out to the open and boundless expanse, he was carried swiftly away. 

The mallards, who saw the canoe coming, at first scarcely moved, neverthinking that a boat would venture outside the islands, within whoseline they were accustomed to see vessels, but when the canoe continuedto bear down upon them, they flew up and descended far away to one side. When he had sailed past the spot where these birds had floated, the Lakewas his own. By the shores of the islands the crows came down formussels. Moorhens swam in and out among the rushes, water-rats nibbledat the flags, pikes basked at the edge of the weeds, summer-snipes ranalong the sand, and doubtless an otter here and there was inconcealment. Without the line of the shoals and islets, now that themallards had flown, there was a solitude of water. It was far too deepfor the longest weeds, nothing seemed to exist here. The verywater-snails seek the shore, or are drifted by the currents into shallowcorners. Neither great nor little care for the broad expanse. 

The canoe moved more rapidly as the wind came now with its full forceover the distant woods and hills, and though it was but a lightsoutherly breeze, the broad sail impelled the taper vessel swiftly. Reclining in the stern, Felix lost all consciousness of aught but thathe was pleasantly borne along. His eyes were not closed, and he wasaware of the canoe, the Lake, the sunshine, and the sky, and yet he wasasleep. Physically awake, he mentally slumbered. It was rest. After themisery, exertion, and excitement of the last fortnight it was rest, intense rest for body and mind. The pressure of the water against thehandle of the rudder-paddle, the slight vibration of the wood, as thebubbles rushed by beneath, alone perhaps kept him from really fallingasleep. This was something which could not be left to itself; it must befirmly grasped, and that effort restrained his drowsiness. 

Three hours passed. The shore was twelve or fifteen miles behind, andlooked like a blue cloud, for the summer haze hid the hills, more thanwould have been the case in clearer weather. 

Another hour, and at last Felix, awakening from his slumberouscondition, looked round and saw nothing but the waves. The shore he hadleft had entirely disappeared, gone down; if there were land more loftyon either hand, the haze concealed it. He looked again; he couldscarcely comprehend it. He knew the Lake was very wide, but it had neveroccurred to him that he might possibly sail out of sight of land. This, then was why the mariners would not quit the islands; they feared theopen water. He stood up and swept the horizon carefully, shading hiseyes with his hand; there was nothing but a mist at the horizon. He wasalone with the sun, the sky, and the Lake. He could not surely havesailed into the ocean without knowing it? He sat down, dipped his handoverboard and tasted the drops that adhered; the water was pure andsweet, warm from the summer sunshine. 

There was not so much as a swift in the upper sky; nothing but slenderfilaments of white cloud. No swallows glided over the surface of thewater. If there were fishes he could not see them through the waves, which were here much larger; sufficiently large, though the wind waslight, to make his canoe rise and fall with their regular rolling. Tosee fishes a calm surface is necessary, and, like other creatures, theyhaunt the shallows and the shore. Never had he felt alone like this inthe depths of the farthest forest he had penetrated. Had he contemplatedbeforehand the possibility of passing out of sight of land, when hefound that the canoe had arrived he would probably have been alarmed andanxious for his safety. But thus stumbling drowsily into the solitude ofthe vast Lake, he was so astounded with his own discovery, so absorbedin thinking of the immense expanse, that the idea of danger did notoccur to him. 

Another hour passed, and he now began to gaze about him more eagerly forsome sight of land, for he had very little provision with him, and hedid not wish to spend the night upon the Lake. Presently, however, themist on the horizon ahead appeared to thicken, and then became blue, andin a shorter time than he expected land came in sight. This arose fromthe fact of its being low, so that he had approached nearer than he knewbefore recognising it. At the time when he was really out of sight ofthe coast, he was much further from the hilly land left behind than fromthe low country in front, and not in the mathematical centre, as he hadsupposed, of the Lake. As it rose and came more into sight, he alreadybegan to wonder what reception he should meet with from the inhabitants, and whether he should find them as hard of heart as the people he hadjust escaped from. Should he, indeed, venture among them at all? Orshould he remain in the woods till he had observed more of their waysand manners? These questions were being debated in his mind, when heperceived that the wind was falling. 

As the sun went past the meridian the breeze fell, till, in the hottestpart of the afternoon, and when he judged that he was not more thaneight miles from shore, it sank to the merest zephyr, and the waves bydegrees diminished. So faint became the breeze in half-an-hour's time, and so intermittent, that he found it patience wasted even to hold therudder-paddle. The sail hung and was no longer bellied out; as the idlewaves rolled under, it flapped against the mast. The heat was now sointolerable, the light reflected from the water increasing thesensation, that he was obliged to make himself some shelter by partlylowering the sail, and hauling the yard athwart the vessel, so that thecanvas acted as an awning. Gradually the waves declined in volume, andthe gentle breathing of the wind ebbed away, till at last the surfacewas almost still, and he could feel no perceptible air stirring. 

Weary of sitting in the narrow boat, he stood up, but he could notstretch himself sufficiently for the change to be of much use. The longsummer day, previously so pleasant, now appeared scarcely endurable. Upon the silent water the time lingered, for there was nothing to markits advance, not so much as a shadow beyond that of his own boat. Thewaves having now no crest, went under the canoe without chafing againstit, or rebounding, so that they were noiseless. No fishes rose to thesurface. There was nothing living near, except a blue butterfly, whichsettled on the mast, having ventured thus far from land. The vastness ofthe sky, over-arching the broad water, the sun, and the motionlessfilaments of cloud, gave no repose for his gaze, for they were seeminglystill. To the weary gaze motion is repose; the waving boughs, thefoam-tipped waves, afford positive rest to look at. Such intensestillness as this of the summer sky was oppressive; it was like livingin space itself, in the ether above. He welcomed at last the gradualdownward direction of the sun, for, as the heat decreased, he could workwith the paddle. 

Presently he furled the sail, took his paddle, and set his face for theland. He laboured steadily, but made no apparent progress. The canoe washeavy, and the outrigger or beam, which was of material use in sailing, was a drawback to paddling. He worked till his arms grew weary, andstill the blue land seemed as far off as ever. 

But by the time the sun began to approach the horizon, his efforts hadproduced some effect, the shore was visible, and the woods beyond. Theywere still five miles distant, and he was tired; there was little chanceof his reaching it before night. He put his paddle down for refreshmentand rest, and while he was thus engaged, a change took place. A faintpuff of air came; a second, and a third; a tiny ripple ran along thesurface. Now he recollected that he had heard that the mariners dependeda great deal on the morning and the evening--the land and theLake--breeze as they worked along the shore. This was the first breathof the Land breeze. It freshened after a while, and he re-set his sail. 

An hour or so afterwards he came near the shore; he heard the thrushessinging, and the cuckoo calling, long before he landed. He did not stayto search about for a creek, but ran the canoe on the strand, which wasfree of reeds or flags, a sign that the waves often beat furiouslythere, rolling as they must for so many miles. He hauled the canoe up ashigh as he could, but presently when he looked about him he found thathe was on a small and narrow island, with a channel in the rear. Tiredas he was, yet anxious for the safety of his canoe, he pushed off again, and paddled round and again beached her with the island between her andthe open Lake. Else he feared if a south wind should blow she might bebroken to pieces on the strand before his eyes. It was prudent to takethe precaution, but, as it happened, the next day the Lake was still. 

He could see no traces of human occupation upon the island, which was ofsmall extent and nearly bare, and therefore, in the morning, paddledacross the channel to the mainland, as he thought. But upon exploringthe opposite shore, it proved not to be the mainland, but merely anotherisland. Paddling round it, he tried again, but with the same result; hefound nothing but island after island, all narrow, and bearing nothingexcept bushes. Observing a channel which seemed to go straight in amongthese islets, he resolved to follow it, and did so (resting atnoon-time) the whole morning. As he paddled slowly in, he found thewater shallower, and weeds, bulrushes, and reeds became thick, exceptquite in the centre. 

After the heat of midday had gone over, he resumed his voyage, and stillfound the same; islets and banks, more or less covered with hawthornbushes, willow, elder, and alder, succeeded to islets, fringed roundtheir edges with reeds and reed canary-grass. When he grew weary ofpaddling, he landed and stayed the night; the next day he went on again, and still for hour after hour rowed in and out among these banks andislets, till he began to think he should never find his way out. 

The farther he penetrated the more numerous became the waterfowl. Ducksswam among the flags, or rose with a rush and splashing. Coots andmoorhens dived and hid in the reeds. The lesser grebe sank at the soundof the paddle like a stone. A strong northern diver raised a wave as hehurried away under the water, his course marked by the undulation abovehim. Sedge-birds chirped in the willows; black-headed buntings sat onthe trees, and watched him without fear. Bearded titmice were there, clinging to the stalks of the sedges, and long-necked herons rose fromthe reedy places where they love to wade. Blue dragon-flies darted toand fro, or sat on water-plants as if they were flowers. Snakes swamacross the channels, vibrating their heads from side to side. Swallowsswept over his head. Pike "struck" from the verge of the thick weeds ashe came near. Perch rose for insects as they fell helpless into thewater. 

He noticed that the water, though so thick with reeds, was as clear asthat in the open Lake; there was no scum such as accumulates in stagnantplaces. From this he concluded that there must be a current, howeverslight, perhaps from rivers flowing into this part of the Lake. He feltthe strongest desire to explore farther till he reached the mainland, but he reflected that mere exploration was not his object; it wouldnever obtain Aurora for him. There were no signs whatever of humanhabitation, and from reeds and bulrushes, however interesting, nothingcould be gained. Reluctantly, therefore, on the third morning, havingpassed the night on one of the islets, he turned his canoe, and paddledsouthwards towards the Lake. 

He did not for a moment attempt to retrace the channel by which he hadentered; it would have been an impossibility; he took advantage of anyclear space to push through. It took him as long to get out as it had toget in; it was the afternoon of the fourth day when he at last regainedthe coast. He rested the remainder of the afternoon, wishing to startfresh in the morning, having determined to follow the line of the shoreeastwards, and so gradually to circumnavigate the Lake. If he succeededin nothing else, that at least would be something to relate to Aurora. 

The morning rose fair and bright, with a south-westerly air rather thana breeze. He sailed before it; it was so light that his progress couldnot have exceeded more than three miles an hour. Hour after hour passedaway, and still he followed the line of the shore, now going a short wayout to skirt an island, and now nearer it to pass between sandbanks. Bynoon he was so weary of sitting in the canoe that he ran her ashore, andrested awhile. 

It was the very height of the heat of the day when he set forth again, and the wind lighter than in the morning. It had, however, changed alittle, and blew now from the west, almost too exactly abaft to suit hiscraft. He could not make a map while sailing, or observe his positionaccurately, but it appeared to him that the shore trended towards thesouth-east, so that he was gradually turning an arc. He supposed fromthis that he must be approaching the eastern end of the Lake. The waterseemed shallower, to judge from the quantity of weeds. Now and then hecaught glimpses between the numerous islands of the open Lake, andthere, too, the weeds covered the surface in many places. 

In an hour or two the breeze increased considerably, and travelling somuch quicker, he found it required all his dexterity to steer past theislands and clear the banks upon which he was drifting. Once or twice hegrazed the willows that overhung the water, and heard the keel of thecanoe drag on the bottom. As much as possible he bore away from themainland, steering south-east, thinking to find deeper water, and to befree of the islets. He succeeded in the first, but the islets were nowso numerous that he could not tell where the open Lake was. The fartherthe afternoon advanced, the more the breeze freshened, tilloccasionally, as it blew between the islands, it struck his mast almostwith the force of a gale. Felix welcomed the wind, which would enablehim to make great progress before evening. If such favouring breezeswould continue, he could circumnavigate the waters in a comparativelyshort time, and might return to Aurora, so far, at least, successful. Hope filled his heart, and he sang to the wind. 

The waves could not rise among these islands, which intercepted thembefore they could roll far enough to gather force, so that he had allthe advantage of the gale without its risks. Except a light haze allround the horizon, the sky was perfectly clear, and it was pleasant nowthe strong current of air cooled the sun's heat. As he came round theislands he constantly met and disturbed parties of waterfowl, mallards, and coots. Sometimes they merely hid in the weeds, sometimes they rose, and when they did so passed to his rear. 

CHAPTER XXII

DISCOVERIES

This little circumstance of the mallards always flying over him and awaybehind, when flushed, presently made Felix speculate on the cause, andhe kept a closer watch. He now saw (what had, indeed, been going on forsome time) that there was a ceaseless stream of waterfowl, mallards, ducks, coots, moorhens, and lesser grebes coming towards him, swimmingto the westward. As they met him they parted and let him through, orrose and went over. Next he noticed that the small birds on the islandswere also travelling in the same direction, that is against the wind. They did not seem in any haste, but flitted from islet to islet, bush totree, feeding and gossiping as they went; still the movement wasdistinct. 

Finches, linnets, blackbirds, thrushes, wrens, and whitethroats, andmany others, all passed him, and he could see the same thing going on tohis right and left. Felix became much interested in this migration, allthe more singular as it was the nesting-time, and hundreds of thesebirds must have left their nests with eggs or young behind them. Nothingthat he could think of offered an adequate explanation. He imagined hesaw shoals of fishes going the same way, but the surface of the waterbeing ruffled, and the canoe sailing rapidly, he could not be certain. About an hour after he first observed the migration the stream of birdsceased suddenly. 

There were no waterfowls in the water, and no finches in the bushes. They had evidently all passed. Those in the van of the migratory armywere no doubt scattered and thinly distributed, so that he had beenmeeting the flocks a long while before he suspected it. The nearer heapproached their centre the thicker they became, and on getting throughthat he found a solitude. The weeds were thicker than ever, so that hehad constantly to edge away from where he supposed the mainland to lie. But there were no waterfowls and no birds on the islets. Suddenly as herounded a large island he saw what for the moment he imagined to be aline of white surf, but the next instant he recognised a solid mass, asit were, of swallows and martins flying just over the surface of thewater straight towards him. He had no time to notice how far theyextended before they had gone by him with a rushing sound. Turning tolook back, he saw them continue directly west in the teeth of the wind. 

Like the water and the islands, the sky was now cleared of birds, andnot a swallow remained. Felix asked himself if he were running into someunknown danger, but he could not conceive any. The only thing thatoccurred to him was the possibility of the wind rising to a hurricane;that gave him no alarm, because the numerous islands would affordshelter. So complete was the shelter in some places, that as he passedalong his sail drew above, while the surface of the water, almostsurrounded with bushes and willows, was smooth. No matter to how manyquarters of the compass the wind might veer, he should still be able toget under the lee of one or other of the banks. 

The sky remained without clouds; there was nothing but a slight haze, which he sometimes fancied looked thicker in front or to the eastward. There was nothing whatever to cause the least uneasiness; on thecontrary, his curiosity was aroused, and he was desirous of discoveringwhat it was that had startled the birds. After a while the water becamerather more open, with sandbanks instead of islands, so that he couldsee around him for a considerable distance. By a large bank, behindwhich the ripple was stilled, he saw a low wave advancing towards him, and moving against the wind. It was followed by two others at shortintervals, and though he could not see them, he had no doubt shoals offishes were passing and had raised the undulations. 

The sedges on the sandbanks appeared brown and withered, as if it hadbeen autumn instead of early summer. The flags were brown at the tip, and the aquatic grasses had dwindled. They looked as if they could notgrow, and had reached but half their natural height. From the lowwillows the leaves were dropping, faded and yellow, and the thorn busheswere shrivelled and covered with the white cocoons of caterpillars. Thefarther he sailed the more desolate the banks seemed, and trees ceasedaltogether. Even the willows were fewer and stunted, and the highestthorn bush was not above his chest. His vessel was now more exposed tothe wind, so that he drove past the banks and scattered islands rapidly, and he noticed that there was not so much as a crow on them. Upturnedmussel-shells, glittering in the sunshine, showed where crows had beenat work, but there was not one now visible. 

Felix thought that the water had lost its clearness and had becomethick, which he put down to the action of the wavelets disturbing thesand in the shallows. Ahead the haze, or mist, was now much thicker, andwas apparently not over a mile distant. It hid the islands and concealedeverything. He expected to enter it immediately, but it receded as heapproached. Along the strand of an island he passed there was a darkline like a stain, and in still water under the lee the surface wascovered with a floating scum. Felix, on seeing this, at once concludedthat he had unknowingly entered a gulf, and had left the main Lake, forthe only place he had ever seen scum before was at the extremity of acreek near home, where the water was partly stagnant on a marshy level. The water of the Lake was proverbial for its purity and clearness. 

He kept, therefore, a sharp look-out, expecting every moment to sightthe end of the gulf or creek in which he supposed himself sailing, sothat he might be ready to lower his sail. By degrees the wind had risentill it now blew with fury, but the numerous sandflats so broke up thewaves that he found no inconvenience from them. One solitary gull passedover at a great height, flying steadily westwards against the wind. Thecanoe now began to overtake fragments of scum drifting before the wind, and rising up and down on the ripples. Once he saw a broad piece rise tothe surface together with a quantity of bubbles. None of the sandbanksnow rose more than a foot or so above the surface, and were entirelybare, mere sand and gravel. 

The mist ahead was sensibly nearer, and yet it eluded him; it was of afaint yellow, and though so thin, obscured everything where it hovered. From out of the mist there presently appeared a vast stretch of weeds. They floated on the surface and undulated to the wavelets, a paleyellowish green expanse. Felix was hesitating whether to lower his sailor attempt to drive over them, when, as he advanced and the mistretreated, he saw open water beyond. The weeds extended on either handas far as he could see, but they were only a narrow band, and hehesitated no longer. He felt the canoe graze the bottom once as hesailed over the weeds. The water was free of sandbanks beyond them, buthe could see large islands looming in several directions. 

Glancing behind him he perceived that the faint yellow mist had closedin and now encircled him. It came with two or three hundred yards, andwas not affected by the wind, rough as it was. Quite suddenly he noticedthat the water on which the canoe floated was black. The wavelets whichrolled alongside were black, and the slight spray that occasionally flewon board was black, and stained the side of the vessel. This greatlyastonished and almost shocked him; it was so opposite and contrary toall his ideas about the Lake, the very mirror of purity. He leant over, and dipped up a little in the palm of his hand; it did not appear blackin such a small quantity, it seemed a rusty brown, but he became awareof an offensive odour. The odour clung to his hand, and he could notremove it, to his great disgust. It was like nothing he had ever smeltbefore, and not in the least like the vapour of marshes. 

By now being some distance from any island, the wavelets increased insize, and spray flew on board, wetting everything with this blackliquid. Instead of level marshes and the end of the gulf, it appeared asif the water were deep, and also as if it widened. Exposed to the fullpress of the gale, Felix began to fear that he should not be able toreturn very easily against it. He did not know what to do. The horridblackness of the water disposed him to turn about and tack out; on theother hand, having set out on a voyage of discovery, and having nowfound something different to the other parts of the Lake, he did notlike to retreat. He sailed on, thinking to presently pass theseloathsome waters. 

He was now hungry, and indeed thirsty, but was unable to drink becausehe had no water-barrel. No vessel sailing on the Lake ever carried awater-barrel, since such pure water was always under their bows. He wascramped, too, with long sitting in the canoe, and the sun wasperceptibly sloping in the west. He determined to land and rest, andwith this purpose steered to the right under the lee of a large island, so large, indeed, that he was not certain it was not part of themainland or one side of the gulf. The water was very deep close up tothe shore, but, to his annoyance, the strand appeared black, as ifsoaked with the dark water. He skirted along somewhat farther, and founda ledge of low rocks stretching out into the Lake, so that he wasobliged to run ashore before coming to these. 

On landing, the black strand, to his relief, was fairly firm, for he haddreaded sinking to the knees in it; but its appearance was so unpleasantthat he could not bring himself to sit down. He walked on towards theledge of rocks, thinking to find a pleasanter place there. They werestratified, and he stepped on them to climb up, when his foot went deepinto the apparently hard rock. He kicked it, and his shoe penetrated itas if it had been soft sand. It was impossible to climb up the reef. Theground rose inland, and curious to see around him as far as possible, heascended the slope. 

From the summit, however, he could not see farther than on the shore, for the pale yellow mist rose up round him, and hid the canoe on thestrand. The extreme desolation of the dark and barren ground repelledhim; there was not a tree, bush, or living creature, not so much as abuzzing fly. He turned to go down, and then for the first time noticedthat the disk of the sun was surrounded with a faint blue rim, apparently caused by the yellow vapour. So much were the rays shorn oftheir glare, that he could look at the sun without any distress, but itsheat seemed to have increased, though it was now late in the afternoon. 

Descending towards the canoe, he fancied the wind had veeredconsiderably. He sat down in the boat, and took some food; it waswithout relish, as he had nothing to drink, and the great heat had tiredhim. Wearily, and without thinking, he pushed off the canoe; she slowlyfloated out, when, as he was about to hoist up the sail, a tremendousgust of wind struck him down on the thwarts, and nearly carried himoverboard. He caught the mast as he fell, or over he must have gone intothe black waves. Before he could recover himself, she drifted againstthe ledge of rocks, which broke down and sank before the bow, so thatshe passed over uninjured. 

Felix got out a paddle, and directed the canoe as well as he could; thefury of the wind was irresistible, and he could only drive before it. Ina few minutes, as he was swept along the shore, he was carried betweenit and another immense reef. Here, the waves being broken and lesspowerful, he contrived to get the heavy canoe ashore again, and, jumpingout, dragged her up as far as he could on the land. When he had donethis, he found to his surprise that the gale had ceased. The tremendousburst of wind had been succeeded by a perfect calm, and the waves hadalready lost their violent impetus. 

This was a relief, for he had feared that the canoe would be utterlybroken to pieces; but soon he began to doubt if it were an unmixedbenefit, as without a wind he could not move from this dismal place thatevening. He was too weary to paddle far. He sat on the canoe to resthimself, and, whether from fatigue or other causes, fell asleep. Hishead heavily dropping on his chest partly woke him several times, buthis lassitude overcame the discomfort, and he slept on. When he got uphe felt dazed and unrefreshed, as if sleeping had been hard work. He wasextremely thirsty, and oppressed with the increasing heat. The sun hadsunk, or rather was so low that the high ground hid it from sight. 

CHAPTER XXIII

STRANGE THINGS

The thought struck Felix that perhaps he might find a spring somewherein the island, and he started at once up over the hill. At the top hepaused. The sun had not sunk, but had disappeared as a disk. In itsplace was a billow of blood, for so it looked, a vast up-heaved billowof glowing blood surging on the horizon. Over it flickered a tint ofpalest blue, like that seen in fire. The black waters reflected theglow, and the yellow vapour around was suffused with it. Thoughmomentarily startled, Felix did not much heed these appearances; he wasstill dazed and heavy from his sleep. 

He went on, looking for a spring, sometimes walking on firm ground, sometimes sinking to the ankle in a friable soil like black sand. Theground looked, indeed, as if it had been burnt, but there were nocharred stumps of timber such as he had seen on the sites of forestfires. The extreme dreariness seemed to oppress his spirits, and he wenton and on in a heavy waking dream. Descending into a plain, he lostsight of the flaming sunset and the black waters. In the level plain thedesolation was yet more marked; there was not a grass-blade or plant;the surface was hard, black, and burned, resembling iron, and indeed inplaces it resounded to his feet, though he supposed that was the echofrom hollow passages beneath. 

Several times he shook himself, straightened himself up, and endeavouredto throw off the sense of drowsy weight which increased upon him. Hecould not do so; he walked with bent back, and crept, as it were, overthe iron land which radiated heat. A shimmer like that of water appearedin front; he quickened his pace, but could not get to it, and realizedpresently that it was a mirage which receded as he advanced. There wasno pleasant summer twilight; the sunset was succeeded by an indefinitegloom, and while this shadow hung overhead the yellow vapour around wasfaintly radiant. Felix suddenly stopped, having stepped, as he thought, on a skeleton. 

Another glance, however, showed that it was merely the impression ofone, the actual bones had long since disappeared. The ribs, the skull, and limbs were drawn on the black ground in white lines as if it hadbeen done with a broad piece of chalk. Close by he found three or fourmore, intertangled and superimposed as if the unhappy beings had fallenpartly across each other, and in that position had mouldered awayleaving nothing but their outline. From among a variety of objects thatwere scattered about Felix picked up something that shone; it was adiamond bracelet of one large stone, and a small square of blue chinatile with a curious heraldic animal drawn on it. Evidently these hadbelonged to one or other of the party who had perished. 

Though startled at the first sight, it was curious that Felix felt solittle horror; the idea did not occur to him that he was in danger asthese had been. Inhaling the gaseous emanations from the soil andcontained in the yellow vapour, he had become narcotized, and moved asif under the influence of opium, while wide awake, and capable ofrational conduct. His senses were deadened, and did not carry the usualvivid impression to the mind; he saw things as if they were afar off. Accidentally looking back, he found that his footmarks, as far as hecould see, shone with a phosphoric light like that of "touchwood" in thedark. Near at hand they did not shine; the appearance did not come tillsome few minutes had elapsed. His track was visible behind till thevapour hid it. As the evening drew on the vapour became more luminous, and somewhat resembled an aurora. 

Still anxious for water, he proceeded as straight ahead as he could, andshortly became conscious of an indefinite cloud which kept pace with himon either side. When he turned to look at either of the clouds, the onelooked at disappeared. It was not condensed enough to be visible todirect vision, yet he was aware of it from the corner of his eye. Shapeless and threatening, the gloomy thickness of the air floatedbeside him like the vague monster of a dream. Sometimes he fancied thathe saw an arm or a limb among the folds of the cloud, or an approach toa face; the instant he looked it vanished. Marching at each hand thesevapours bore him horrible company. 

His brain became unsteady, and flickering things moved about him; yet, though alarmed, he was not afraid; his senses were not acute enough forfear. The heat increased; his hands were intolerably hot as if he hadbeen in a fever, he panted; but did not perspire. A dry heat like anoven burned his blood in his veins. His head felt enlarged, and his eyesseemed alight; he could see these two globes of phosphoric light underhis brows. They seemed to stand out so that he could see them. Hethought his path straight, it was really curved; nor did he know that hestaggered as he walked. 

Presently a white object appeared ahead; and on coming to it, he foundit was a wall, white as snow, with some kind of crystal. He touched it, when the wall fell immediately, with a crushing sound as if pulverised, and disappeared in a vast cavern at his feet. Beyond this chasm he cameto more walls like those of houses, such as would be left if the roofsfell in. He carefully avoided touching them, for they seemed as brittleas glass, and merely a white powder having no consistency at all. As headvanced these remnants of buildings increased in number, so that he hadto wind in and out round them. In some places the crystallized wall hadfallen of itself, and he could see down into the cavern; for the househad either been built partly underground, or, which was more probable, the ground had risen. Whether the walls had been of bricks or stone orother material he could not tell; they were now like salt. 

Soon wearying of winding round these walls, Felix returned and retracedhis steps till he was outside the place, and then went on towards theleft. Not long after, as he still walked in a dream and without feelinghis feet, he descended a slight slope and found the ground change incolour from black to a dull red. In his dazed state he had taken severalsteps into this red before he noticed that it was liquid, unctuous andslimy, like a thick oil. It deepened rapidly and was already over hisshoes; he returned to the black shore and stood looking out over thewater, if such it could be called. 

The luminous yellow vapour had now risen a height of ten or fifteenfeet, and formed a roof both over the land and over the red water, underwhich it was possible to see for a great distance. The surface of thered oil or viscid liquid was perfectly smooth, and, indeed, it did notseem as if any wind could rouse a wave on it, much less that a swellshould be left after the gale had gone down. Disappointed in his searchfor water to drink, Felix mechanically turned to go back. 

He followed his luminous footmarks, which he could see a long way beforehim. His trail curved so much that he made many short cuts across thewinding line he had left. His weariness was now so intense that allfeeling had departed. His feet, his limbs, his arms, and hands werenumbed. The subtle poison of the emanations from the earth had begun todeaden his nerves. It seemed a full hour or more to him till he reachedthe spot where the skeletons were drawn in white upon the ground. 

He passed a few yards to one side of them, and stumbled over a heap ofsomething which he did not observe, as it was black like the levelground. It emitted a metallic sound, and looking he saw that he hadkicked his foot against a great heap of money. The coins were black asink; he picked up a handful and went on. Hitherto Felix had accepted allthat he saw as something so strange as to be unaccountable. During hisadvance into this region in the canoe he had in fact become slowlystupefied by the poisonous vapour he had inhaled. His mind was partly inabeyance; it acted, but only after some time had elapsed. He now at lastbegan to realize his position; the finding of the heap of blackenedmoney touched a chord of memory. These skeletons were the miserablerelics of men who had ventured, in search of ancient treasures, into thedeadly marshes over the site of the mightiest city of former days. Thedeserted and utterly extinct city of London was under his feet. 

He had penetrated into the midst of that dreadful place, of which he hadheard many a tradition: how the earth was poison, the water poison, theair poison, the very light of heaven, falling through such anatmosphere, poison. There were said to be places where the earth was onfire and belched forth sulphurous fumes, supposed to be from thecombustion of the enormous stores of strange and unknown chemicalscollected by the wonderful people of those times. Upon the surface ofthe water there was a greenish-yellow oil, to touch which was death toany creature; it was the very essence of corruption. Sometimes itfloated before the wind, and fragments became attached to reeds or flagsfar from the place itself. If a moorhen or duck chanced to rub the reed, and but one drop stuck to its feathers, it forthwith died. Of the redwater he had not heard, nor of the black, into which he had unwittinglysailed. 

Ghastly beings haunted the site of so many crimes, shapeless monsters, hovering by night, and weaving a fearful dance. Frequently they caughtfire, as it seemed, and burned as they flew or floated in the air. Remembering these stories, which in part, at least, now seemed to betrue, Felix glanced aside, where the cloud still kept pace with him, andinvoluntarily put his hands to his ears lest the darkness of the airshould whisper some horror of old times. The earth on which he walked, the black earth, leaving phosphoric footmarks behind him, was composedof the mouldered bodies of millions of men who had passed away in thecenturies during which the city existed. He shuddered as he moved; hehastened, yet could not go fast, his numbed limbs would not permit him. 

He dreaded lest he should fall and sleep, and wake no more, like thesearchers after treasure; treasure which they had found only to lose forever. He looked around, supposing that he might see the gleaming headand shoulders of the half-buried giant, of which he recollected he hadbeen told. The giant was punished for some crime by being buried to thechest in the earth; fire incessantly consumed his head and played aboutit, yet it was not destroyed. The learned thought, if such a thingreally existed, that it must be the upper part of an ancient brazenstatue, kept bright by the action of acid in the atmosphere, and shiningwith reflected light. Felix did not see it, and shortly afterwardssurmounted the hill, and looked down upon his canoe. It was on fire!

CHAPTER XXIV

FIERY VAPOURS

Felix tried to run, but his feet would not rise from the ground; hislimbs were numb as in a nightmare; he could not get there. His bodywould not obey his will. In reality he did move, but more slowly thanwhen he walked. By degrees approaching the canoe his alarm subsided, foralthough it burned it was not injured; the canvas of the sail was noteven scorched. When he got to it the flames had disappeared; likeJack-o'-the-lantern, the phosphoric fire receded from him. With all hisstrength he strove to launch her, yet paused, for over the surface ofthe black water, now smooth and waveless, played immense curling flames, stretching out like endless serpents, weaving, winding, rolling overeach other. Suddenly they contracted into a ball, which shone with asteady light, and was as large as the full moon. The ball swept along, rose a little, and from it flew out long streamers till it was unwoundin fiery threads. 

But remembering that the flames had not even scorched the canvas, hepushed the canoe afloat, determined at any risk to leave this dreadfulplace. To his joy he felt a faint air rising; it cooled his forehead, but was not enough to fill the sail. He paddled with all the strength hehad left. The air seemed to come from exactly the opposite direction towhat it had previously blown, some point of east he supposed. Labour ashard as he would, the canoe moved slowly, being so heavy. It seemed asif the black water was thick and clung to her, retarding motion. Still, he did move, and in time (it seemed, indeed, a time) he left the island, which disappeared in the luminous vapours. Uncertain as to thedirection, he got his compass, but it would not act; the needle had nolife, it swung and came to rest, pointing any way as it chanced. It wasdemagnetized. Felix resolved to trust to the wind, which he was certainblew from the opposite quarter, and would therefore carry him out. Thestars he could not see for the vapour, which formed a roof above him. 

The wind was rising, but in uncertain gusts; however, he hoisted thesail, and floated slowly before it. Nothing but excitement could havekept him awake. Reclining in the canoe, he watched the serpent-likeflames playing over the surface, and forced himself by sheer power ofwill not to sleep. The two dark clouds which had accompanied him to theshore now faded away, and the cooling wind enabled him to bear up betteragainst his parching thirst. His hope was to reach the clear andbeautiful Lake; his dread that in the uncertain light he might strike aconcealed sandbank and become firmly fixed. 

Twice he passed islands, distinguishable as masses of visible darkness. While the twisted flames played up to the shore, and the luminous vapouroverhung the ground, the island itself appeared as a black mass. Thewind became by degrees steadier, and the canoe shot swiftly over thewater. His hopes rose; he sat up and kept a keener look-out ahead. Allat once the canoe shook as if she had struck a rock. She vibrated fromone end to the other, and stopped for a moment in her course. Felixsprang up alarmed. At the same instant a bellowing noise reached him, succeeded by a frightful belching and roaring, as if a volcano had burstforth under the surface of the water; he looked back but could seenothing. The canoe had not touched ground; she sailed as rapidly asbefore. 

Again the shock, and again the hideous roaring, as if some force beneaththe water were forcing itself up, vast bubbles rising and turning. Fortunately it was at a great distance. Hardly was it silent before itwas reiterated for the third time. Next Felix felt the canoe heave up, and he was aware that a large roller had passed under him. A second anda third followed. They were without crests, and were not raised by thewind; they obviously started from the scene of the disturbance. Soonafterwards the canoe moved quicker, and he detected a strong currentsetting in the direction he was sailing. 

The noise did not recur, nor did any more rollers pass under. Felix feltbetter and less dazed, but his weariness and sleepiness increased everymoment. He fancied that the serpent flames were less brilliant andfarther apart, and that the luminous vapour was thinner. How long he satat the rudder he could not tell; he noticed that it seemed to growdarker, the serpent flames faded away, and the luminous vapour wassucceeded by something like the natural gloom of night. At last he saw astar overhead, and hailed it with joy. He thought of Aurora; the nextinstant he fell back in the canoe firm asleep. 

His arm, however, still retained the rudder-paddle in position, so thatthe canoe sped on with equal swiftness. She would have struck more thanone of the sandbanks and islets had it not been for the strong currentthat was running. Instead of carrying her against the banks this wardedher off, for it drew her between the islets in the channels where it ranfastest, and the undertow, where it struck the shore, bore her back fromthe land. Driving before the wind, the canoe swept onward steadily tothe west. In an hour it had passed the line of the black water, andentered the sweet Lake. Another hour and all trace of the marshes hadutterly disappeared, the last faint glow of the vapour had vanished. Thedawn of the coming summer's day appeared, and the sky became a lovelyazure. The canoe sailed on, but Felix remained immovable in slumber. 

Long since the strong current had ceased, it scarcely extended into thesweet waters, and the wind only impelled the canoe. As the sun rose thebreeze gradually fell away, and in an hour or so there was only a lightair. The canoe had left most of the islets and was approaching the openLake when, as she passed almost the last, the yard caught theoverhanging branch of a willow, the canoe swung round and groundedgently under the shadow of the tree. For some time the little waveletsbeat against the side of the boat; gradually they ceased, and the clearand beautiful water became still. Felix slept till nearly noon, when heawoke and sat up. At the sudden movement a pike struck, and two moorhensscuttled out of the water into the grass on the shore. A thrush wassinging sweetly, whitethroats were busy in the bushes, and swallowsswept by overhead. 

Felix drew a long deep breath of intense relief; it was like awakeningin Paradise. He snatched up a cup, dipped, and satisfied his cravingthirst, then washed his hands over the side, and threw the water overhis face. But when he came to stand up and move, he found that his limbswere almost powerless. Like a child he tottered, his joints had nostrength, his legs tingled as if they had been benumbed. He was so weakhe crawled on all fours along to the mast, furled the sail kneeling, anddragged himself rather than stepped ashore with the painter. The instanthe had fastened the rope to a branch, he threw himself at full length onthe grass, and grasped a handful of it. Merely to touch the grass aftersuch an experience was intense delight. 

The song of the thrush, the chatter of the whitethroats, the sight of ahedge-sparrow, gave him inexpressible pleasure. Lying on the sward hewatched the curves traced by the swallows in the sky. From the sedgescame the curious cry of the moorhen; a bright kingfisher went by. Herested as he had never rested before. His whole body, his whole beingwas resigned to rest. It was fully two hours before he rose and crept onall fours into the canoe for food. There was only sufficient left forone meal, but that gave him no concern now he was out of the marshes; hecould fish and use his crossbow. 

He now observed what had escaped him during the night, the canoe wasblack from end to end. Stem, stern, gunwale, thwart, outrigger, mast andsail were black. The stain did not come off on being touched, it seemedburnt in. As he leaned over the side to dip water, and saw hisreflection, he started; his face was black, his clothes were black, hishair black. In his eagerness to drink, the first time, he had noticednothing. His hands were less dark; contact with the paddle and ropes hadpartly rubbed it off, he supposed. He washed, but the water did notmaterially diminish the discoloration. 

After eating, he returned to the grass and rested again; and it was nottill the sun was sinking that he felt any return of vigour. Still weak, but able now to walk, leaning on a stick, he began to make a camp forthe coming night. But a few scraps, the remnant of his former meal, wereleft; on these he supped after a fashion, and long before the white owlbegan his rounds Felix was fast asleep on his hunter's hide from thecanoe. He found next morning that the island was small, only a fewacres; it was well-wooded, dry, and sandy in places. He had littleinclination or strength to resume his expedition; he erected a booth ofbranches, and resolved to stay a few days till his strength returned. 

By shooting wildfowl, and fishing, he fared very well, and soonrecovered. In two days the discoloration of the skin had faded to anolive tint, which, too, grew fainter. The canoe lost its blackness, andbecame a rusty colour. By rubbing the coins he had carried away he foundthey were gold; part of the inscription remained, but he could not readit. The blue china-tile was less injured than the metal; after washingit, it was bright. But the diamond pleased him most; it would be asplendid present for Aurora. Never had he seen anything like it in thepalaces; he believe it was twice the size of the largest possessed byany king or prince. 

It was as big as his finger-nail, and shone and gleamed in the sunlight, sparkling and reflecting the beams. Its value must be very great. Butwell he knew how dangerous it would be to exhibit it; on some pretext orother he would be thrown into prison, and the gem seized. It must behidden with the greatest care till he could produce it in Thyma Castle, when the Baron would protect it. Felix regretted now that he had notsearched further; perhaps he might have found other treasures forAurora; the next instant he repudiated his greed, and was only thankfulthat he had escaped with his life. He wondered and marvelled that he haddone so, it was so well known that almost all who had ventured in hadperished. 

Reflecting on the circumstances which had accompanied his entrance tothe marshes, the migration of the birds seemed almost the most singular. They were evidently flying from some apprehended danger, and that mostprobably would be in the air. The gale at that time, however, wasblowing in a direction which would appear to ensure safety to them;into, and not out of, the poisonous marshes. Did they, then, foreseethat it would change? Did they expect it to veer like a cyclone andpresently blow east with the same vigour as it then blew west? Thatwould carry the vapour from the inky waters out over the sweet Lake, andmight even cause the foul water itself to temporarily encroach on thesweet. The more he thought of it, the more he felt convinced that thiswas the explanation; and, as a fact, the wind, after dropping, did ariseagain and blow from the east, though, as it happened, not with nearlythe same strength. It fell, too, before long, fortunately for him. Clearly the birds had anticipated a cyclone, and that the wind turningwould carry the gases out upon them to their destruction. They hadtherefore hurried away, and the fishes had done the same. 

The velocity of the gale which had carried him into the black waters hadproved his safety, by driving before it the thicker and most poisonousportion of the vapour, compressing it towards the east, so that he hadentered the dreaded precincts under favourable conditions. When itdropped, while he was on the black island, he soon began to feel theeffect of the gases rising imperceptibly from the soil, and had he nothad the good fortune to escape so soon, no doubt he would have fallen avictim. He could not congratulate himself sufficiently upon his goodfortune. The other circumstances appeared to be due to the decay of theancient city, to the decomposition of accumulated matter, tophosphorescence and gaseous exhalations. The black rocks that crumbledat a touch were doubtless the remains of ancient buildings saturatedwith the dark water and vapours. Inland similar remains were white, andresembled salt. 

But the great explosions which occurred as he was leaving, and whichsent heavy rollers after him, were not easily understood, till heremembered that in Sylvester's "Book of Natural Things" it was relatedthat "the ancient city had been undermined with vast conduits, sewers, and tunnels, and that these communicated with the sea". It had been muchdisputed whether the sea did or did not still send its tides up to thesite of the old quays. Felix now thought that the explosions were due tocompressed air, or more probably to gases met with by the ascendingtide. 

CHAPTER XXV

THE SHEPHERDS

For four days Felix remained on the island recovering his strength. Bydegrees the memory of the scenes he had witnessed grew less vivid, andhis nerves regained their tone. The fifth morning he sailed again, making due south with a gentle breeze from the west, which suited thecanoe very well. He considered that he was now at the eastern extremityof the Lake, and that by sailing south he should presently reach theplace where the shore turned to the east again. The sharp prow of thecanoe cut swiftly through the waves, a light spray flew occasionally inhis face, and the wind blew pleasantly. In the cloudless sky swallowsand swifts were wheeling, and on the water half a dozen mallards movedaside to let him pass. 

About two hours after he started he encountered a mist, which camesoftly over the surface of the water with the wind, and in an instantshut out all view. Even the sun was scarcely visible. It was very warm, and left no moisture. In five minutes he passed through and emergedagain in the bright sunlight. These dry, warm mists are frequently seenon the Lake in summer, and are believed to portend a continuance of fineweather. 

Felix kept a good distance from the mainland, which was hilly andwooded, and with few islands. Presently he observed in the extremedistance, on his right hand, a line of mountainous hills, which hesupposed to be the southern shore of the Lake, and that he was sailinginto a gulf or bay. He debated with himself whether he should alter hiscourse and work across to the mountains, or to continue to trace theshore. Unless he did trace the shore, he could scarcely say that he hadcircumnavigated the Lake, as he would leave this great bay unexplored. He continued, therefore, to sail directly south. 

The wind freshened towards noon, and the canoe flew at a great pace. Twice he passed through similar mists. There were now no islands at all, but a line of low chalk cliffs marked the shore. Considering that itmust be deep, and safe to do so, Felix bore in closer to look at theland. Woods ran along the hills right to the verge of the cliff, but hesaw no signs of inhabitants, no smoke, boat, or house. The sound of thesurf beating on the beach was audible, though the waves were not large. High over the cliff he noted a kite soaring, with forked tail, at agreat height. 

Immediately afterwards he ran into another mist or vapour, thicker, ifanything, and which quite obscured his view. It seemed like a greatcloud on the surface of the water, and broader than those he hadpreviously entered. Suddenly the canoe stopped with a tremendous jerk, which pitched him forward on his knees, the mast cracked, and there wasa noise of splitting wood. As soon as he could get up, Felix saw, to hisbitter sorrow, that the canoe had split longitudinally; the water cameup through the split, and the boat was held together only by the beamsof the outrigger. He had run aground on a large sharp flint embedded ina chalk floor, which had split the poplar wood of the canoe like an axe. The voyage was over, for the least strain would cause the canoe to partin two, and if she were washed off the ground she would be water-logged. In half a minute the mist passed, leaving him in the bright day, shipwrecked. 

Felix now saw that the waters were white with suspended chalk, andsounding with the paddle, found that the depth was but a few inches. Hehad driven at full speed on a reef. There was no danger, for thedistance to the shore was hardly two hundred yards, and judging by theappearance of the water, it was shallow all the way. But his canoe, theproduct of so much labour, and in which he had voyaged so far, his canoewas destroyed. He could not repair her; he doubted whether it could havebeen done successfully even at home with Oliver to help him. He couldsail no farther; there was nothing for it but to get ashore and travelon foot. If the wind rose higher, the waves would soon break clean overher, and she would go to pieces. 

With a heavy heart, Felix took his paddle and stepped overboard. Feelingwith the paddle, he plumbed the depth in front of him, and, as heexpected, walked all the way to the shore, no deeper than his knees. This was fortunate, as it enabled him to convey his things to landwithout loss. He wrapped up the tools and manuscripts in one of hishunter's hides. When the whole cargo was landed, he sat down sorrowfullyat the foot of the cliff, and looked out at the broken mast and sail, still flapping uselessly in the breeze. 

It was a long time before he recovered himself, and set to workmechanically to bury the crossbow, hunter's hides, tools, andmanuscripts, under a heap of pebbles. As the cliff, though low, wasperpendicular, he could not scale it, else he would have preferred toconceal them in the woods above. To pile pebbles over them was the besthe could do for the present; he intended to return for them when hediscovered a path up the cliff. He then started, taking only his bow andarrows. 

But no such path was to be found; he walked on and on till weary, andstill the cliff ran like a wall on his left hand. After an hour's rest, he started again; and, as the sun was declining, came suddenly to a gapin the cliff, where a grassy sward came down to the shore. It was nowtoo late, and he was too weary, to think of returning for his thingsthat evening. He made a scanty meal, and endeavoured to rest. But theexcitement of losing the canoe, the long march since, the lack of goodfood, all tended to render him restless. Weary, he could not rest, normove farther. The time passed slowly, the sun sank, the wind ceased;after an interminable time the stars appeared, and still he could notsleep. He had chosen a spot under an oak on the green slope. The nightwas warm, and even sultry, so that he did not miss his covering, butthere was no rest in him. Towards the dawn, which comes very early atthat season, he at last slept, with his back to the tree. He awoke witha start in broad daylight, to see a man standing in front of him armedwith a long spear. 

Felix sprang to his feet, instinctively feeling for his hunting-knife;but he saw in an instant that no injury was meant, for the man wasleaning on the shaft of his weapon, and, of course, could, if so he hadwished, have run him through while sleeping. They looked at each otherfor a moment. The stranger was clad in a tunic, and wore a hat ofplaited straw. He was very tall and strongly built; his single weapon, aspear of twice his own length. His beard came down on his chest. Hespoke to Felix in a dialect the latter did not understand. Felix heldout his hand as a token of amity, which the other took. He spoke again. Felix, on his part, tried to explain his shipwreck, when a word thestranger uttered recalled to Felix's memory the peculiar dialect used bythe shepherd race on the hills in the neighbourhood of his home. 

He spoke in this dialect, which the stranger in part at leastunderstood, and the sound of which at once rendered him more friendly. By degrees they comprehended each other's meaning the easier, as theshepherd had come the same way and had seen the wreck of the canoe. Felix learned that the shepherd was a scout sent on ahead to see thatthe road was clear of enemies. His tribe were on the march with theirflocks, and to avoid the steep woods and hills which there blocked theircourse, they had followed the level and open beach at the foot of thecliff, aware, of course, of the gap which Felix had found. While theywere talking, Felix saw the cloud of dust raised by the sheep as theflocks wound round a jutting buttress of cliff. 

His friend explained that they marched in the night and early morning toavoid the heat of the day. Their proposed halting-place was close athand; he must go on and see that all was clear. Felix accompanied him, and found within the wood at the summit a grassy coombe, where a springrose. The shepherd threw down his spear, and began to dam up the channelof the spring with stones, flints, and sods of earth, in order to form apool at which the sheep might drink. Felix assisted him, and the waterspeedily began to rise. 

The flocks were not allowed to rush tumultuously to the water; they camein about fifty at a time, each division with its shepherds and theirdogs, so that confusion was avoided and all had their share. There wereabout twenty of these divisions, besides eighty cows and a few goats. They had no horses; their baggage came on the backs of asses. 

After the whole of the flocks and herds had been watered several fireswere lit by the women, who in stature and hardihood scarcely differedfrom the men. Not till this work was over did the others gather aboutFelix to hear his story. Finding that he was hungry they ran to thebaggage for food, and pressed on him a little dark bread, plentifulcheese and butter, dried tongue, and horns of mead. He could not devoura fiftieth part of what these hospitable people brought him. Havingnothing else to give them, he took from his pocket one of the gold coinshe had brought from the site of the ancient city, and offered it. 

They laughed, and made him understand that it was of no value to them;but they passed it from hand to hand, and he noticed that they began tolook at him curiously. From its blackened appearance they conjecturedwhence he had obtained it; one, too, pointed to his shoes, which werestill blackened, and appeared to have been scorched. The whole camp nowpressed on him, their wonder and interest rising to a great height. Withsome trouble Felix described his journey over the site of the ancientcity, interrupted with constant exclamations, questions, and excitedconversation. He told them everything, except about the diamond. 

Their manner towards him perceptibly altered. From the first they hadbeen hospitable; they now became respectful, and even reverent. Theelders and their chief, not to be distinguished by dress or ornamentfrom the rest, treated him with ceremony and marked deference. Thechildren were brought to see and even to touch him. So great was theiramazement that any one should have escaped from these pestilentialvapours, that they attributed it to divine interposition, and lookedupon him with some of the awe of superstition. He was asked to stay withthem altogether, and to take command of the tribe. 

The latter Felix declined; to stay with them for awhile, at least, hewas, of course, willing enough. He mentioned his hidden possessions, andgot up to return for them, but they would not permit him. Two menstarted at once. He gave them the bearings of the spot, and they had notthe least doubt but that they should find it, especially as, the windbeing still, the canoe would not yet have broken up, and would guidethem. The tribe remained in the green coombe the whole day, resting fromtheir long journey. They wearied Felix with questions, still he answeredthem as copiously as he could; he felt too grateful for their kindnessnot to satisfy them. His bow was handled, his arrows carried about sothat the quiver for the time was empty, and the arrows scattered intwenty hands. He astonished them by exhibiting his skill with theweapon, striking a tree with an arrow at nearly three hundred yards. 

Though familiar, of course, with the bow, they had never seen shootinglike that, nor, indeed, any archery except at short quarters. They hadno other arms themselves but spears and knives. Seeing one of the womencutting the boughs from a fallen tree, dead and dry, and, therefore, preferable for fuel, Felix naturally went to help her, and, taking theaxe, soon made a bundle, which he carried for her. It was his duty as anoble to see than no woman, not a slave, laboured; he had been bred inthat idea, and would have felt disgraced had he permitted it. The womenlooked on with astonishment, for in these rude tribes the labour of thewomen was considered valuable and appraised like that of a horse. 

Without any conscious design, Felix thus in one day conciliated and wonthe regard of the two most powerful parties in the camp, the chief andthe women. By his refusing the command the chief was flattered, and hispossible hostility prevented. The act of cutting the wood and carryingthe bundle gave him the hearts of the women. They did not, indeed, thinktheir labour in any degree oppressive; still, to be relieved of it waspleasing. 

The two men who had gone for Felix's buried treasure did not return tillbreakfast next morning. They stepped into the camp, each with his spearreddened and dripping with fresh blood. Felix no sooner saw the bloodthan he fainted. He quickly recovered, but he could not endure the sightof the spears, which were removed and hidden from his view. He had seenblood enough spilt at the siege of Iwis, but this came upon him in allits horror unrelieved by the excitement of war. 

The two shepherds had been dogged by gipsies, and had been obliged tomake a round to escape. They took their revenge by climbing into trees, and as their pursuers passed under thrust them through with their longspears. The shepherds, like all their related tribes, had been at feudwith the gipsies for many generations. The gipsies followed them to andfrom their pastures, cut off stragglers, destroyed or stole their sheepand cattle, and now and then overwhelmed a while tribe. Of late thecontest had become more sanguinary and almost ceaseless. 

Mounted on swift, though small, horses, the gipsies had the advantage ofthe shepherds. On the other hand, the shepherds, being men of greatstature and strength, could not be carried away by a rush if they hadtime to form a circle, as was their custom of battle. They lost many menby the javelins thrown by the gipsies, who rode up to the edge of thecircle, cast their darts, and retreated. If the shepherds left theircircle they were easily ridden over; while they maintained formationthey lost individuals, but saved the mass. Battles were of rareoccurrence; the gipsies watched for opportunities and executed raids, the shepherds retaliated, and thus the endless war continued. Theshepherds invariably posted sentinels, and sent forward scouts toascertain if the way were clear. Accustomed to the horrid scenes of warfrom childhood, they could not understand Felix's sensitiveness. 

They laughed, and then petted him like a spoilt child. This galled himexceedingly; he felt humiliated, and eager to reassert his manhood. Hewas willing to stay with them there for awhile, nothing would haveinduced him to leave them now till he had vindicated himself in theirsight. The incident happened soon after sunrise, which is very early atthe end of June. The camp had only waited for the return of these men, and on their appearance began to move. The march that morning was not along one, as the sky was clear and the heat soon wearied the flocks. Felix accompanied the scout in advance, armed with his bow, eager toencounter the gipsies. 

CHAPTER XXVI

BOW AND ARROW

Three mornings the shepherds marched in the same manner, when they camein view of a range of hills so high that to Felix they appearedmountains. The home of the tribe was in these hills, and once there theywere comparatively safe from attack. In early spring when the herbage onthe downs was scarce, the flocks moved to the meadowlike lands far inthe valleys; in summer they returned to the hills; in autumn they wentto the vales again. Soon after noon on the third day the scouts reportedthat a large body of gipsies were moving in a direction which would cutoff their course to the hills on the morrow. 

The chief held a council, and it was determined that a forced marchshould be made at once by another route, more to the left, and it wasthought that in this way they might reach the base of the slopes byevening. The distance was not great, and could easily have beentraversed by the men; the flocks and herds, however, could not behurried much. A messenger was despatched to the hills for assistance, and the march began. It was a tedious movement. Felix was wearied, andwalked in a drowsy state. Towards six o'clock, as he guessed, the treesbegan to thin, and the column reached the first slopes of the hills. Here about thirty shepherds joined them, a contingent from the nearestcamp. It was considered that the danger was now past, and that thegipsies would not attack them on the hill; but it was a mistake. 

A large body almost immediately appeared, coming along the slope on theright, not less than two hundred; and from their open movements andnumbers it was evident that they intended battle. The flocks and herdswere driven hastily into a coombe, or narrow valley, and there left totheir fate. All the armed men formed in a circle; the women occupied thecentre. Felix took his stand outside the circle by a gnarled and decayedoak. There was just there a slight rise in the ground, which he knewwould give him some advantage in discharging his arrows, and would alsoallow him a clear view. His friends earnestly entreated him to enter thecircle, and even sought to bring him within it by force, till heexplained to them that he could not shoot if so surrounded, and promisedif the gipsies charged to rush inside. 

Felix unslung his quiver, and placed it on the ground before him; asecond quiver he put beside it; four or five arrows he stuck upright inthe sward, so that he could catch hold of them quickly; two arrows heheld in his left hand, another he fitted to the string. Thus prepared, he watched the gipsies advance. They came walking their short wiryhorses to within half a mile, when they began to trot down the slope;they could not surround the shepherds because of the steep-sided coombeand some brushwood, and could advance only on two fronts. Felix rapidlybecame so excited that his sight was affected, and his head whirled. Hisheart beat with such speed that his breath seemed going. His limbstottered, and he dreaded lest he should faint. 

His intensely nervous organization, strung up to its highest pitch, shook him in its grasp, and his will was powerless to control it. Hefelt that he should disgrace himself once more before these rugged butbrave shepherds, who betrayed not the slightest symptom of agitation. For one hour of Oliver's calm courage and utter absence of nervousnesshe would have given years of his life. His friends in the circleobserved his agitation, and renewed their entreaties to him to comeinside it. This only was needed to complete his discomfiture. He losthis head altogether; he saw nothing but a confused mass of yellow andred rushing towards him, for each of the gipsies wore a yellow or redscarf, some about the body, some over the shoulder, others round thehead. They were now within three hundred yards. 

A murmur from the shepherd spearmen. Felix had discharged an arrow. Itstuck in the ground about twenty paces from him. He shot again; it flewwild and quivering, and dropped harmlessly. Another murmur; theyexpressed to each other their contempt for the bow. This immediatelyrestored Felix; he forgot the enemy as an enemy, he forgot himself; hethought only of his skill as an archer, now in question. Pride upheldhim. The third arrow he fitted properly to the string, he planted hisleft foot slightly in advance, and looked steadfastly at the horsemenbefore he drew his bow. 

At a distance of one hundred and fifty yards they had paused, and werewidening out so as to advance in loose open rank and allow each man tothrow his javelin. They shouted; the spearmen in the circle replied, andlevelled their spears. Felix fixed his eye on one of the gipsies who wasordering and marshalling the rest, a chief. He drew the arrow swiftlybut quietly, the string hummed, the pliant yew obeyed, and the longarrow shot forward in a steady swift flight like a line of gossamerdrawn through the air. It missed the chief, but pierced the horse herode just in front of the rider's thigh. The maddened horse reared andfell backwards on his rider. 

The spearmen shouted. Before the sound could leave their lips anotherarrow had sped; a gipsy threw up his arms with a shriek; the arrow hadgone through his body. A third, a fourth, a fifth--six gipsies rolled onthe sward. Shout upon shout rent the air from the spearmen. Utterlyunused to this mode of fighting, the gipsies fell back. Still the fatalarrows pursued them, and ere they were out of range three others fell. Now the rage of battle burned in Felix; his eyes gleamed, his lips wereopen, his nostrils wide like a horse running a race. He shouted to thespearmen to follow him, and snatching up his quiver ran forward. Gathered together in a group, the gipsy band consulted. 

Felix ran at full speed; swift of foot, he left the heavy spearmenbehind. Alone he approached the horsemen; all the Aquila courage was upwithin him. He kept the higher ground as he ran, and stopped suddenly ona little knoll or tumulus. His arrow flew, a gipsy fell. Again, and athird. Their anger gave them fresh courage; to be repulsed by one only!Twenty of them started to charge and run him down. The keen arrows flewfaster than their horses' feet. Now the horse and now the man met thosesharp points. Six fell; the rest returned. The shepherds came running;Felix ordered them to charge the gipsies. His success gave himauthority; they obeyed; and as they charged, he shot nine more arrows;nine more deadly wounds. Suddenly the gipsy band turned and fled intothe brushwood on the lower slopes. 

Breathless, Felix sat down on the knoll, and the spearmen swarmed aroundhim. Hardly had they begun to speak to him than there was a shout, andthey saw a body of shepherds descending the hill. There were threehundred of them; warned by the messenger, the whole country had risen torepel the gipsies. Too late to join in the fight, they had seen the lastof it. They examined the field. There were ten dead and six wounded, whowere taken prisoners; the rest escaped, though hurt. In many cases thearrow had gone clean through the body. Then, for the first time, theyunderstood the immense power of the yew bow in strong and skilful hands. 

Felix was overwhelmed; they almost crushed him with their attentions;the women fell at his feet and kissed them. But the archer couldscarcely reply; his intense nervous excitement had left him weak andalmost faint; his one idea was to rest. As he walked back to the campbetween the chiefs of the shepherd spearmen, his eyes closed, his limbstottered, and they had to support him. At the camp he threw himself onthe sward, under the gnarled oak, and was instantly fast asleep. Immediately the camp was stilled, not to disturb him. 

His adventures in the marshes of the buried city, his canoe, hisarchery, were talked of the livelong night. Next morning the camp setout for their home in the mountains, and he was escorted by nearly fourhundred spearmen. They had saved for him the ornaments of the gipsieswho had fallen, golden earrings and nose-rings. He gave them to thewomen, except one, a finger-ring, set with turquoise, and evidently ofancient make, which he kept for Aurora. Two marches brought them to thehome of the tribe, where the rest of the spearmen left them. The placewas called Wolfstead. 

Felix saw at once how easily this spot might be fortified. There was adeep and narrow valley like a groove or green trench opening to thesouth. At the upper end of the valley rose a hill, not very high, butsteep, narrow at the ridge, and steep again on the other side. Over itwas a broad, wooded, and beautiful vale; beyond that again the highermountains. Towards the foot of the narrow ridge here, there was asuccession of chalk cliffs, so that to climb up on that side in the faceof opposition would be extremely difficult. In the gorge of the enclosednarrow valley a spring rose. The shepherds had formed eight pools, oneafter the other, water being of great importance to them; and fartherdown, where the valley opened, there were forty or fifty acres ofirrigated meadow. The spring then ran into a considerable brook, acrosswhich was the forest. 

Felix's idea was to run a palisade along the margin of the brook, and upboth sides of the valley to the ridge. There he would build a fort. Theedges of the chalk cliffs he would connect with a palisade or a wall, and so form a complete enclosure. He mentioned his scheme to theshepherds; they did not greatly care for it, as they had always beensecure without it, the rugged nature of the country not permittinghorsemen to penetrate. But they were so completely under his influencethat to please him they set about the work. He had to show them how tomake a palisade; they had never seen one, and he made the first part ofit himself. At building a wall with loose stones, without mortar, theshepherds were skilful; the wall along the verge of the cliffs was soonup, and so was the fort on the top of the ridge. The fort consistedmerely of a circular wall, breast high, with embrasures orcrenellations. 

When this was finished, Felix had a sense of mastership, for in thisfort he felt as if he could rule the whole country. From day to dayshepherds came from the more distant parts to see the famous archer, andto admire the enclosure. Though the idea of it had never occurred tothem, now they saw it they fully understood its advantages, and twoother chiefs began to erect similar forts and palisades. 

CHAPTER XXVII

SURPRISED

Felix was now anxious to continue his journey, yet he did not like toleave the shepherds, with whom his life was so pleasant. As usual, whendeliberating, he wandered about the hills, and then into the forest. Theshepherds at first insisted on at least two of their number accompanyinghim; they were fearful lest the gipsies should seize him, or a Bushmanassassinate him. This company was irksome to Felix. In time he convincedthem that he was a much better hunter than any of the tribe, and theypermitted him to roam alone. During one of these excursions into theforest he discovered a beautiful lake. He looked down on the water fromthe summit of one of the green mountains. 

It was, he thought, half a mile across, and the opposite shore was openwoodland, grassy and meadow-like, and dotted with fine old oaks. Bydegrees these closed together, and the forest succeeded; beyond itagain, at a distance of two miles, were green hills. A little clearingonly was wanted to make the place fit for a castle and enclosure. Through the grass-land opposite he traced the course of a large brookdown to the lake; another entered it on the right, and the lakegradually narrowed to a river on his left. Could he erect a tower there, and bring Aurora to it, how happy he would be! A more beautiful spot hehad never seen, nor one more suited for every purpose in life. 

He followed the course of the stream which left the lake, every now andthen disturbing wild goats from the cliffs, and twice he saw deer underthe oaks across it. On rounding a spur of down he saw that the riverdebouched into a much wider lake, which he conjectured must be the SweetWaters. He went on till he reached the mouth of the river, and had thenno doubt that he was standing once more on the shore of the Sweet Watersea. On this, the southern side, the banks were low; on the other, asteep chalky cliff almost overhung the river, and jutted out into thelake, curving somewhat towards him. A fort on that cliff would commandthe entrance to the river; the cliff was a natural breakwater, so thatthere was a haven at its base. The river appeared broad and deep enoughfor navigation, so that vessels could pass from the great Lake to theinland water; about six or seven miles, he supposed. 

Felix was much taken with this spot; the beauty of the inland lake, theevident richness of the soil, the river communicating with the greatLake, the cliff commanding its entrance; never, in all his wanderings, had he seen a district so well suited for a settlement and the foundingof a city. If he had but a thousand men! How soon he would bring Aurorathere, and build a tower, and erect a palisade! So occupied was he withthe thought that he returned the whole distance to the spot where he hadmade the discovery. There he remained a long time, designing it all inhis mind. 

The tower he would build yonder, three-quarters of a mile, perhaps amile, inland from the opposite shore, on a green knoll, at the base ofwhich the brook flowed. It would be even more pleasant there than on theshore of the lake. The forest he would clear back a little, and put up astout palisade, enclosing at least three miles of grassy land. By theshore of the lake he would build his town, so that his vessels might beable to go forth into the great Sweet Water sea. So strongly didimagination hold him that he did not observe how near it was to sunset, nor did he remark the threatening aspect of the sky. Thunder awoke himfrom his dream; he looked, and saw a storm rapidly coming from thenorth-east. 

He descended the hill, and sheltered himself as well as possible amongsome thick fir-trees. After the lightning, the rain poured so heavilythat it penetrated the branches, and he unstrung his bow and placed thestring in his pocket, that it might not become wet. Instantly there wasa whoop on either side, and two gipsies darted from the undergrowthtowards him. While the terrible bow was bent they had followed him, tracking his footsteps; the moment he unstrung the bow, they rushed out. Felix crushed through between the firs, by main force getting through, but only opening a passage for them to follow. They could easily havethrust their darts through him, but their object was to take him alive, and gratify the revenge of the tribes with torture. 

Felix doubled from the firs, and made towards the far-distant camp; buthe was faced by three more gipsies. He turned again and made for thesteep hill he had descended. With all his strength he raced up it; hislightness of foot carried him in advance, and he reached the summit ahundred yards ahead; but he knew he must be overtaken presently, unlesshe could hit upon some stratagem. In the instant that he paused tobreathe on the summit a thought struck him. Like the wind he raced alongthe ridge, making for the great Sweet Water, the same path he hadfollowed in the morning. Once on the ridge the five pursuers shouted;they knew they should have him now there were no more hills to breast. It was not so easy as they imagined. 

Felix was in splendid training; he kept his lead, and even drew a littleon them. Still he knew in time he must succumb, just as the stag, thoughswifter of foot, ultimately succumbs to the hounds. They would track himtill they had him. If only he could gain enough to have time to stringand bend his bow! But with all his efforts he could not get away morethan the hundred yards, and that was not far enough. It could betraversed in ten seconds, they would have him before he could string itand fit an arrow. If only he had been fresh as in the morning! But hehad had a long walk during the day and not much food. He knew that hisburst of speed must soon slacken, but he had a stratagem yet. 

Keeping along the ridge till he reached the place where the lakenarrowed to the river, suddenly he rushed down the hill towards thewater. The edge was encumbered with brushwood and fallen trees; hescrambled over and through anyhow; he tore a path through the bushes andplunged in. But his jacket caught in a branch; he had his knife out andcut off the shred of cloth. Then with the bow and knife in one hand hestruck out for the opposite shore. His hope was that the gipsies, beinghorsemen, and passing all their lives on their horses, might not knowhow to swim. His conjecture was right; they stopped on the brink, andyelled their loudest. When he had passed the middle of the slow streamtheir rage rose to a shriek, startling a heron far down the water. 

Felix reached the opposite shore in safety, but the bow-string was nowwet and useless. He struck off at once straight across the grass-lands, past the oaks he had admired, past the green knoll where in imaginationhe had built his castle and brought Aurora, through the brook, which hefound was larger than it appeared at a distance, and required two orthree strokes to cross. A few more paces and the forest sheltered him. Under the trees he rested, and considered what course to pursue. Thegipsies would expect him to endeavour to regain his friends, and wouldwatch to cut off his return. Felix determined to make, instead, foranother camp farther east, and to get even there by a detour. 

Bitterly he reproached himself for his folly in leaving the camp, knowing that gipsies were about, with no other weapon than the bow. Theknife at his belt was practically no weapon at all, useful only in thelast extremity. Had he a short sword, or javelin, he would have facedthe two gipsies who first sprang towards him. Worse than this was thefolly of wandering without the least precaution into a territory at thattime full of gipsies, who had every reason to desire his capture. If hehad used the ordinary precautions of woodcraft, he would have noticedtheir traces, and he would not have exposed himself in full view on theridges of the hills, where a man was visible for miles. If he perishedthrough his carelessness, how bitter it would be! To lose Aurora by themerest folly would, indeed, be humiliating. 

He braced himself to the journey before him, and set off at a goodswinging hunter's pace, as it is called, that is, a pace rather morethan a walk and less than a run, with the limbs somewhat bent, and longspringy steps. The forest was in the worst possible condition formovement; the rain had damped the fern and undergrowth, and every branchshowered raindrops upon him. It was now past sunset and the dusk wasincreasing; this he welcomed as hiding him. He travelled on till nearlydawn, and then, turning to the right, swept round, and regained the lineof the mountainous hills after sunrise. There he rested, and reached acamp about nine in the morning, having walked altogether since thepreceding morning fully fifty miles. This camp was about fifteen milesdistant from that of his friends; the shepherds knew him, and one ofthem started with the news of his safety. In the afternoon ten of hisfriends came over to see him, and to reproach him. 

His weariness was so great that for three days he scarcely moved fromthe hut, during which time the weather was wet and stormy, as is oftenthe case in summer after a thunderstorm. On the fourth morning it wasfine, and Felix, now quite restored to his usual strength, went out withthe shepherds. He found some of them engaged in throwing up a heap ofstones, flint, and chalk lumps near an oak-tree in a plain at the footof the hill. They told him that during the thunderstorm two cows and tensheep had been killed there by lightning, which had scarcely injured theoak. 

It was their custom to pile up a heap of stones wherever such an eventoccurred, to warn others from staying themselves, or allowing theirsheep or cattle to stay, near the spot in thunder, as it was observedthat where lightning struck once it was sure to strike again, sooner orlater. "Then, " said Felix, "you may be sure there is water there!" Heknew from his study of the knowledge of the ancients that lightningfrequently leaped from trees or buildings to concealed water, but he hadno intention of indicating water in that particular spot. He meant theremark in a general sense. 

But the shepherds, ever desirous of water, and looking on Felix as abeing of a different order to themselves, took his casual observation inits literal sense. They brought their tools and dug, and, as it chanced, found a copious spring. The water gushed forth and formed a streamlet. Upon this the whole tribe gathered, and they saluted Felix as one almostdivine. It was in vain that he endeavoured to repel this homage, and toexplain the reason of his remark, and that it was only in a general waythat he intended it. Facts were too strong for him. They had heard hiswords, which they considered an inspiration, and _there_ was the water. It was no use; _there_ was the spring, the very thing they most wanted. Perforce Felix was invested with attributes beyond nature. 

The report spread; his own old friends came in a crowd to see the newspring, others journeyed from afar. In a week, Felix having meanwhilereturned to Wolfstead, his fame had for the second time spread all overthe district. Some came a hundred miles to see him. Nothing he could saywas listened to; these simple, straightforward people understood nothingbut facts, and the defeat of the gipsies and the discovery of the springseemed to them little less than supernatural. Besides which, ininnumerable little ways Felix's superior knowledge had told upon them. His very manners spoke of high training. His persuasive voice won them. His constructive skill and power of planning, as shown in the palisadesand enclosure, showed a grasp of circumstances new to them. This was aman such as they had never before seen. 

They began to bring him disputes to settle; he shrank from this positionof judge, but it was useless to struggle; they would wait as long as heliked, but his decision they would have, and no other. Next came thesick begging to be cured. Here Felix was firm; he would not attempt tobe a physician, and they went away. But, unfortunately, it happened thathe let out his knowledge of plants, and back they came. Felix did notknow what course to pursue; if by chance he did any one good, crowdswould beset him; if injury resulted, perhaps he would be assassinated. This fear was quite unfounded; he really had not the smallest idea ofhow high he stood in their estimation. 

After much consideration, Felix hit upon a method which would save himfrom many inconveniences. He announced his intention of forming aherb-garden in which to grow the best kind of herbs, and at the sametime said he would not administer any medicine himself, but would telltheir own native physicians and nurses all he knew, so that they coulduse his knowledge. The herb-garden was at once begun in the valley; itcould not contain much till next year, and meantime if any diseasedpersons came Felix saw them, expressed his opinion to the old shepherdwho was the doctor of the tribe, and the latter carried out hisinstructions. Felix did succeed in relieving some small ailments, andthereby added to his reputation. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

FOR AURORA

Felix now began to find out for himself the ancient truth, thatdifficulties always confront man. Success only changes them, andincreases their number. Difficulties faced him in every direction; athome it had seemed impossible for him to do anything. Now that successseemed to smile on him and he had become a power, instead of everythingbeing smooth and easy, new difficulties sprang up for solution at everypoint. He wished to continue his journey, but he feared that he wouldnot be permitted to depart. He would have to start away in the night, inwhich case he could hardly return to them again, and yet he wished toreturn to these, the first friends he had had, and amongst whom he hopedto found a city. 

Another week slipped away, and Felix was meditating his escape, when oneafternoon a deputation of ten spearmen arrived from a distant tribe, whohad nominated him their king, and sent their principal men to convey theintelligence. Fame is always greatest at a distance, and this tribe inthe mountains of the east had actually chosen him as king, and declaredthat they would obey him whether he took up his residence with them ornot. Felix was naturally greatly pleased; how delighted Aurora would be!but he was in perplexity what to do, for he could not tell whether theWolfstead people would be favourably inclined or would resent hisselection. 

He had not long to consider. There was an assembly of the tribe, andthey, too, chose him by common consent as their king. Secretly they wereannoyed that another tribe had been more forward than themselves, andwere anxious that Felix should not leave them. Felix declined thehonour; in spite of his refusal, he was treated as if he were the mostdespotic monarch. Four days afterwards two other tribes joined themovement, and sent their acceptance of him as their monarch. Othersfollowed, and so quickly now that a day never passed without anothertribe sending a deputation. 

Felix thought deeply on the matter. He was, of course, flattered, andready to accept the dignity, but he was alive to considerations ofpolicy. He resolved that he would not use the title, nor exercise thefunctions of a king as usually understood. He explained his plan to thechiefs; it was that he should be called simply "Leader", the Leader ofthe War; that he should only assume royal authority in time of war; thatthe present chiefs should retain their authority, and each govern asbefore, in accordance with ancient custom. He proposed to be king onlyduring war-time. He would, if they liked, write out their laws for themin a book, and so give their customs cohesion and shape. To this planthe tribes readily agreed; it retained all the former customs, it leftthe chiefs their simple patriarchal authority, and it gave all of themthe advantage of combination in war. As the Leader, Felix was henceforthknown. 

In the course of a fortnight, upwards of six thousand men had joined theConfederacy, and Felix wrote down the names of twenty tribes on a sheetof parchment which he took from his chest. A hut had long since beenbuilt for him; but he received all the deputations, and held theassemblies which were necessary, in the circular fort. He was so pressedto visit the tribes that he could not refuse to go to the nearest, andthus his journey was again postponed. During this progress from tribalcamp to tribal camp, Felix gained the adhesion of twelve more, making atotal of thirty-two names of camps, representing about eight thousandspearmen. With pride Felix reflected that he commanded a far larger armythan the Prince of Ponze. But he was not happy. 

Months had now elapsed since he had parted from Aurora. There were nomeans of communicating with her. A letter could be conveyed only by aspecial messenger; he could not get a messenger, and even if one hadbeen forthcoming, he could not instruct him how to reach Thyma Castle. He did not know himself; the country was entirely unexplored. Exceptthat the direction was west, he had no knowledge whatever. He had ofteninquired of the shepherds, but they were perfectly ignorant. Anker'sGate was the most westerly of all their settlements, which chieflyextended eastwards. Beyond Anker's Gate was the trackless forest, ofwhich none but the Bushmen knew anything. They did not understand whathe meant by a map; all they could tell him was that the range ofmountainous hills continued westerly and southerly for an unascertaineddistance, and that the country was uninhabited except by wandering gipsytribes. 

South was the sea, the salt water; but they never went down to it, ornear it, because there was no sustenance for their flocks and herds. Till now, Felix did not know that he was near the sea; he resolved atonce to visit it. As nearly as he could discover, the great fresh waterLake did not reach any farther south; Wolfstead was not far from itssouthern margin. He concluded, therefore, that the shore of the Lakemust run continually westward, and that if he followed it he shouldultimately reach the very creek from which he had started in his canoe. How far it was he could not reckon. 

There were none of the shepherds who could be sent with a letter; theywere not hunters, and were unused to woodcraft; there was not onecapable of the journey. Unless he went himself he could not communicatewith Aurora. Two routes were open to him; one straight through theforest on foot, the other by water, which latter entailed theconstruction of another canoe. Journey by water, too, he had found wassubject to unforeseen risks. Till he could train some of the younger mento row a galley, he decided not to attempt the voyage. There was but theforest route left, and that he resolved to attempt; but when? And how, without offending his friends?

Meantime, while he revolved the subject in his mind, he visited theriver and the shore of the great Lake, this time accompanied by tenspears. The second visit only increased his admiration of the place andhis desire to take possession of it. He ascended a tall larch, fromwhose boughs he had a view out over the Lake; the shore seemed to goalmost directly west. There were no islands, and no land in sight; thewater was open and clear. Next day he started for the sea; he wished tosee it for its own sake, and, secondly, because if he could trace thetrend of the shore, he would perhaps be able to put together a mentalmap of the country, and so assure himself of the right route to pursuewhen he started for Thyma Castle. 

His guides took him directly south, and in three marches (three days)brought him to the strand. This journey was not in a straight line; theyconsidered it was about five-and-thirty or forty miles to the sea, butthe country was covered with almost impenetrable forests, whichcompelled a circuitous path. They had also to avoid a great ridge ofhills, and to slip through a pass or river valley, because these hillswere frequently traversed by the gipsies who were said, indeed, totravel along them for hundreds of miles. Through the river valley, therefore, which wound between the hills, they approached the sea, somuch on a level with it that Felix did not catch a distant glimpse. 

In the afternoon of the third day they heard a low murmur, and soonafterwards came out from the forest itself upon a wide bed of shingle, thinly bordered with scattered bushes on the inland side. Climbing overthis, Felix saw the green line of the sea rise and extend itself oneither hand; in the glory of the scene he forgot his anxieties and hishopes, they fell from him together, leaving the mind alone with itselfand love. For the memory of Aurora rendered the beauty before him stillmore beautiful; love, like the sunshine, threw a glamour over the waves. His old and highest thoughts returned to him in all their strength. Hemust follow them, he could not help himself. Standing where the foamcame nearly to his feet, the resolution to pursue his aspirations tookpossession of him as strong as the sea. When he turned from it, he saidto himself, "This is the first step homewards to her; this is the firststep of my renewed labour. " To fulfil his love and his ambition was oneand the same thing. He must see her, and then again endeavour with allhis abilities to make himself a position which she could share. 

Towards the evening, leaving his escort, he partly ascended the nearestslope of the hills to ascertain more perfectly than was possible at alower level the direction in which the shore trended. It was nearly eastand west, and as the shore of the inland lake ran west, it appeared thatbetween them there was a broad belt of forest. Through this he mustpass, and he thought if he continued due west he should cross animaginary line drawn south from his own home through Thyma Castle; thenby turning to the north he should presently reach that settlement. Butwhen he should cross this line, how many days' travelling it would needto reach it, was a matter of conjecture, and he must be guided bycircumstances, the appearance of the country, and his hunter's instinct. 

On the way back to Wolfstead Felix was occupied in considering how hecould leave his friends, and yet be able to return to them and resumehis position. His general idea was to build a fortified house or castleat the spot which had so pleased him, and to bring Aurora to it. Hecould then devote himself to increasing and consolidating his rule overthese people, and perhaps in time organize a kingdom. But without Aurorathe time it would require would be unendurable; by some means he mustbring her. The whole day long as he walked he thought and thought, trying to discover some means by which he could accomplish these things;yet the more he considered the more difficult they appeared to him. There seemed no plan that promised success; all he could do would be torisk the attempt. 

But two days after returning from the sea it chanced towards theafternoon he fell asleep, and on awakening found his mind full of ideaswhich he felt sure would succeed if anything would. The question hadsolved itself during sleep; the mind, like a wearied limb, strained bytoo much effort, had recovered its elasticity and freshness, and he sawclearly what he ought to do. 

He convened an assembly of the chief men of the nearest tribes, andaddressed them in the circular fort. He asked them if they could placesufficient confidence in him to assist him in carrying out certainplans, although he should not be able to altogether disclose the objecthe had in view. 

They replied as one man that they had perfect confidence in him, andwould implicitly obey. 

He then said that the first thing he wished was the clearing of the landby the river in order that he might erect a fortified dwelling suitableto his position as their Leader in war. Next he desired their permissionto leave them for two months, at the end of which he would return. Hecould not at that time explain the reasons, but until his journey hadbeen made he could not finally settle among them. 

To this announcement they listened in profound silence. It was evidentthat they disliked him leaving them, yet did not wish to seemdistrustful by expressing the feeling. 

Thirdly, he continued, he wanted them to clear a path through theforest, commencing at Anker's Gate and proceeding exactly west. Thetrack to be thirty yards wide in order that the undergrowth might notencroach upon it, and to be carried on straight to the westward untilhis return. The distance to which this path was cleared he should takeas the measure of their loyalty to him. 

They immediately promised to fulfil this desire, but added that therewas no necessity to wait till he left them, it should be commenced thevery next morning. To his reiterated request for leave of absence theypreserved an ominous silence, and as he had no more to say, the assemblythen broke up. 

It was afternoon, and Felix, as he watched the departing chiefs, reflected that these men would certainly set a watch upon him to preventhis escape. Without another moment's delay he entered his hut, and tookfrom their hiding-place the diamond bracelet, the turquoise ring, andother presents for Aurora. He also secured some provisions, and put twospare bowstrings in his pocket. His bow of course he carried. 

Telling the people about that he was going to the next settlement, Bedeston, and was anxious to overtake the chief from that place who hadattended the assembly, he started. So soon as he knew he could not beseen from the settlement he quitted the trail, and made a wide circuittill he faced westwards. Anker's Gate was a small outlying post, themost westerly from Wolfstead; he went near it to get a true direction, but not sufficiently near to be observed. This was on the fourth ofSeptember. The sun was declining as he finally left the country of hisfriends, and entered the immense forest which lay between him andAurora. Not only was there no track, but no one had ever traversed it, unless, indeed, it were Bushmen, who to all intents might be confusedwith the wild animals which it contained. 

Yet his heart rose as he walked rapidly among the oaks; already he sawher, he felt the welcoming touch of her hand; the danger of Bushman orgipsy was nothing. The forest at the commencement consisted chiefly ofoaks, trees which do not grow close together, and so permitted of quickwalking. Felix pushed on, absorbed in thought. The sun sank; stillonward; and as the dusk fell he was still moving rapidly westwards. 

The End

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