



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




A Forgotten Hero, or, Not for Him, by Emily Sarah Holt.

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This shortish book takes us to the end of the thirteenth century, and,
although the people in the book are mostly high-born, the scene is a
very domestic one.  It gives us a good understanding of the way life was
lived in those days.  Recommended for its social interest.
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A FORGOTTEN HERO, OR, NOT FOR HIM, BY EMILY SARAH HOLT.



CHAPTER ONE.

CASTLES IN THE AIR.

  "O pale, pale face, so sweet and meek, Oriana!"

  Tennyson.

"Is the linen all put away, Clarice?"

"Ay, Dame."

"And the rosemary not forgotten?"

"I have laid it in the linen, Dame."

"And thy day's task of spinning is done?"

"All done, Dame."

"Good.  Then fetch thy sewing and come hither, and I will tell thee
somewhat touching the lady whom thou art to serve."

"I humbly thank your Honour."  And dropping a low courtesy, the girl
left the room, and returned in a minute with her work.

"Thou mayest sit down, Clarice."

Clarice, with another courtesy and a murmur of thanks, took her seat in
the recess of the window, where her mother was already sitting.  For
these two were mother and daughter; a middle-aged, comfortable-looking
mother, with a mixture of firmness and good-nature in her face; and a
daughter of some sixteen years, rather pale and slender, but active and
intelligent in her appearance.  Clarice's dark hair was smoothly brushed
and turned up in a curl all round her head, being cut sufficiently short
for that purpose.  Her dress was long and loose, made in what we call
the Princess style, with a long train, which she tucked under one arm
when she walked.  The upper sleeve was of a narrow bell shape, but under
it came down tight ones to the wrist, fastened by a row of large round
buttons quite up to the elbow.  A large apron--which Clarice called a
barm-cloth--protected the dress from stain.  A fillet of ribbon was
bound round her head, but she had no ornaments of any kind.  Her mother
wore a similar costume, excepting that in her case the fillet round the
head was exchanged for a wimple, which was a close hood, covering head
and neck, and leaving no part exposed but the face.  It was a very
comfortable article in cold weather, but an eminently unbecoming one.

These two ladies were the wife and daughter of Sir Gilbert Le Theyn, a
knight of Surrey, who held his manor of the Earl of Cornwall; and the
date of the day when they thus sat in the window was the 26th of March
1290.

It will strike modern readers as odd if I say that Clarice and her
mother knew very little of each other.  She was her father's heir, being
an only child; and it was, therefore, considered the more necessary that
she should not live at home.  It was usual at that time to send all
young girls of good family, not to school--there were no schools in
those days--but to be brought up under some lady of rank, where they
might receive a suitable education, and, on reaching the proper age,
have a husband provided for them, the one being just as much a matter of
course as the other.  The consent of the parents was asked to the
matrimonial selection of the mistress, but public opinion required some
very strong reason to justify them in withholding it.  The only
exception to this arrangement was when girls were destined for the
cloister, and in that case they received their education in a convent.
But there was one person who had absolutely no voice in the matter, and
that was the unfortunate girl in question.  The very idea of consulting
her on any point of it, would have struck a mediaeval mother with
astonishment and dismay.

Why ladies should have been considered competent in all instances to
educate anybody's daughters but their own is a mystery of the Middle
Ages.  Dame La Theyn had under her care three girls, who were receiving
their education at her hands, and she never thought of questioning her
own competency to impart it; yet, also without a question, she sent
Clarice away from her, first to a neighbouring knight's wife, and now to
a Princess, to receive the education which she might just as well have
had at home.  It was the command of Fashion; and who does not know that
Fashion, whether in the thirteenth century or the nineteenth, _must_ be
obeyed?

Clarice was on the brink of high promotion.  By means of a ladder of
several steps--a Dame requesting a Baroness, and the Baroness entreating
a Countess--the royal lady had been reached at last, whose husband was
the suzerain of Sir Gilbert.  It made little difference to this lady
whether her bower-women were two or ten, provided that the attendance
given her was as much as she required; and she readily granted the
petition that Clarice La Theyn might be numbered among those young
ladies.  The Earl of Cornwall was the richest man in England, not
excepting the King.  It may be added that, at this period, Earl was the
highest title known short of the Prince of Wales.  The first Duke had
not yet been created, while Marquis is a rank of much later date.

Dame La Theyn, though she had some good points, had also one grand
failing.  She was an inveterate gossip.  And it made no difference to
her who was her listener, provided a listener could be had.  A spicy
dish of scandal was her highest delight.  She had not the least wish nor
intention of doing harm to the person whom she thus discussed.  She had
not even the slightest notion that she did any.  But her bower-maidens
knew perfectly well that, if one of them wanted to put the dame in high
good-humour before extracting a favour, the best way to do so was to
inform her that Mrs Sheppey had had words with her goodman, or that
Dame Rouse considered Joan Stick i' th' Lane [Note 1], no better than
she should be.

An innocent request from Clarice, that she might know something about
her future mistress, had been to Dame La Theyn a delightful opportunity
for a good dish of gossip.  Reticence was not in the Dame's nature; and
in the thirteenth century--and much later than that--facts which in the
nineteenth would be left in concealment, or, at most, only delicately
hinted at, were spoken out in the plainest English, even to young girls.
The fancy that the Countess of Cornwall might not like her whole life,
so far as it was known, laid bare to her new bower-woman was one which
never troubled the mind of Dame La Theyn.  Privacy, to any person of
rank more especially, was an unknown thing in the Middle Ages.

"Thou must know, Clarice," began the Dame, "that of old time, before
thou wert born, I was bower-maiden unto my most dear-worthy Lady of
Lincoln--that is brother's wife to my gracious Lady of Gloucester,
mother unto my Lady of Cornwall, that shall be thy mistress.  The Lady
of Lincoln, that was mine, is a dame of most high degree, for her father
was my Lord of Saluces, [Note 2], in Italy--very nigh a king--and she
herself was wont to be called `Queen of Lincoln,' being of so high
degree.  Ah, she gave me many a good gown, for I was twelve years in her
service.  And a good woman she is, but rarely proud--as it is but like
such a princess should be.  I mind one super-tunic she gave me, but half
worn,"--this was said impressively, for a garment only _half worn_ was
considered a fit gift from one peeress to another--"of blue damask, all
set with silver buttons, and broidered with ladies' heads along the
border.  I gave it for a wedding gift unto Dame Rouse when she was wed,
and she hath it now, I warrant thee.  Well! her lord's sister, our Lady
Maud, was wed to my Lord of Gloucester; but stay!--there is a tale to
tell thee thereabout."

And Dame La Theyn bit off her thread with a complacent face.  Nothing
suited her better than a tale to tell, unless it were one to hear.

"Well-a-day, there be queer things in this world!"

The Dame paused, as if to give time for Clarice to note that very
original sentiment.

"Our Lady Maud was wed to her lord, the good Earl of Gloucester, with
but little liking of her side, and yet less on his.  Nathless, she made
no plaint, but submitted herself, as a good maid should do--for mark
thou, Clarice, 'tis the greatest shame that can come to a maiden to set
her will against those of her father and mother in wedlock.  A good
maid--as I trust thou art--should have no will in such matters but that
of those whom God hath set over her.  And all love-matches end ill,
Clarice; take my word for it!  Art noting me?"

Clarice meekly responded that the moral lesson had reached her.  She did
not add whether she meant to profit by it.  Probably she had her own
ideas on the question, and it is quite possible that they did not
entirely correspond with those which her mother was instilling.

"Now look on me, Clarice," pursued Dame La Theyn,