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THE LIBRARY OF ROMANCE.

Edited

by LEITCH RITCHIE.

VOL. V.

THE BONDMAN.






London:
Smith, Elder and Co., 65, Cornhill.

1833.

Printed by Stewart and Co., Old Bailey.


THE BONDMAN.

A Story of the Times of Wat Tyler.






London:
Smith, Elder and Co., 65, Cornhill;

1833.




ADVERTISEMENT.


The idea of the following tale was suggested on reading the first
volume of Robertson's Charles the Fifth, on the Feudal Policy of
Germany; and the picture of moral and political debasement presented in
those pages, whether as regards the oppressor or the oppressed. Those
revolting distinctions have, however, passed away--villein is but a
thing that was. But if the old chronicles are to be credited, the monk,
whom the author has endeavoured to pourtray in the course of this tale,
was the first who whispered in the ear of an English serf, that slavery
was not his birthright.

It may, perhaps, be superfluous to add, that all the legal information
scattered through the volume, is strictly correct; and every historical
event, as nearly so as the machinery of the tale permitted. The
critical reader, whose indulgence the writer solicits, will immediately
perceive from whence the information has been derived.




THE BONDMAN.




BOOK I.




CHAPTER I.


About a quarter of a mile south of Winchcombe, on the summit of a
gentle elevation, are still the remains of a castle, which, as Fuller
says, "was of subjects' castles the most handsome habitation, and of
subjects' habitations the strongest castle."

In the month of August, in the year thirteen hundred and seventy-four,
this distinguished place, called Sudley Castle, presented an
interesting scene--the then owner, in consequence of his father's
death, holding his first court for receiving the homage and fealty of
his vassals.

The court-yards were thronged with the retainers of the Baron,
beguiling the hour until the ceremony called them into the hall. This
apartment, which corresponded in magnificence and beauty with the
outward appearance of the noble pile, was of an oblong shape. Carved
representations of battles adorned the lofty oaken ceiling, and
suspended were banners and quarterings of the Sudley and De Boteler
families. Ancestral statues of oak, clad in complete armour, stood
in niches formed in the thick walls. The heavy linked mail of the
Normans, with the close helmet, or skull cap, fastened under the chin,
and leaving the face exposed, encased those who represented the early
barons of Sudley; while those of a later period were clad in the more
convenient, and more beautiful armour of the fourteenth century. The
walls were covered with arms, adapted to the different descriptions of
soldiers of the period, and arranged so, as each might provide himself
with his proper weapons, without delay or confusion.

The hall had a tesselated pavement, on which the arms of the united
families of Sudley and De Boteler (the latter having inherited by
marriage, in consequence of a failure of male issue in the former)
were depicted with singular accuracy and beauty. About midway from
the entrance, two broad steps of white marble led to the part of the
hall exclusively appropriated to the owner of the castle. The mosaic
work of this privileged space was concealed on the present occasion
by a covering of fine crimson cloth. A large arm chair, covered with
crimson velvet, with the De Boteler arms richly emblazoned on the high
back, over which hung a velvet canopy fringed with gold, was placed
in the centre of the elevation; and several other chairs with similar
coverings and emblazonings, but wanting canopies, were disposed around
for the accommodation of the guests.

The steward at length appeared, and descended the steps to classify
the people for the intended homage, and to satisfy himself that none
had disobeyed the summons.

The tenantry were arranged in the following order:--

First--the steward and esquire stood on either side next the steps.

Then followed the vassals who held lands for watching and warding the
castle. These were considered superior to the other vassals from the
peculiar nature of their tenure, as the life-guards, as it were, of
their lord.

Then those who held lands in chivalry, namely, by performing stated
military services, the perfection of whose tenures was homage.

The next were those who held lands by agricultural or rent service, and
who performed fealty as a memorial of their attachment and dependence.

The bondmen, or legally speaking, the villeins, concluded the array.
These were either attached to the soil or to the person. The former
were designated _villeins appendant_, because following the transfer
of the ground, like fixtures of a freehold, their persons, lands, and
goods, being the property of the lord; they might be chastised, but not
maimed. They paid a fine on the marriage of females; who obtained their
freedom on marriage with a free man, but returned again to bondage
on surviving their husband. The latter class were called _villeins
in gross_, and differed nothing from the others except in name; the
term signifying that they were severed from the soil, and followed the
person of the lord. Neither of the classes were permitted to leave the
lands of their owner; and on flight or settlement in towns or cities,
might be pursued and reclaimed. An action for damages lay against those
who harboured them, or who refused to deliver them up,--the law also
provided a certain form of writ by which the sheriff was commanded
to seize, or obtain them by force. There was one mode, however, of
nullifying the right of capture. If the runaway resided on lands of the
king, for a year and a day, without claim, he could not be molested
for the future; although he was still liable, if caught beyond the
precincts of the royal boundary, to be retaken.

The classification had just finished, when a door at the upper end of
the hall was thrown open, and the Baron of Sudley entered, attended by
his guests, and followed by a page.

Roland de Boteler was a man about six-and-twenty, of a tall,
well-proportioned figure, with an open, handsome countenance; but
there was a certain boldness or freedom in the laughing glance of
his large black eyes, and in the full parted lips, blended with an
expression, which though not perhaps exactly haughty or cruel, yet told
distinctly enough that he was perfectly regardless of the feelings
of his dependants, and considered them merely as conducive to his
amusement, or to the display of military power. A doublet of crimson
cloth, embroidered with gold, was well chosen to give advantage to his
dark complexion. His tunic composed of baudykin, or cloth of gold,
was confined round the waist by a girdle, below which it hung in full
plaits, nearly to the knee,--thus allowing little of his trunk hose,
of rich velvet, corresponding in colour with the doublet, to be seen.
Over his dress he wore a surcoat or mantle of fine violet-
cloth, fastened across the breast, with a gold clasp, and lined with
minever. His hair, according to the fashion introduced by the Black
Prince, when he brought over his royal captive, John of France, fell
in thick short curls below a cap in colour and material resembling
his mantle, and edged with minever; and the lip and chin wore neither
mustachio nor beard.

His eye fell proudly for a moment on the assembled yeomen, as he
took his seat for the first time as Lord of Sudley; but speedily the
ceremony commenced.

The individual first summoned from among the group, was a tall athletic
young man of about twenty-five, with a complexion fair but reddened
through exposure to the seasons. His hair was light-brown, thick and
curly, and there was a good-humoured expression in the clear grey eyes,
and in the full, broad, well marked countenance, that would give one
the idea of a gay, thoughtless spirit--had it not been for the bold
and firm step, and the sudden change of feature from gay to grave as
he advanced to the platform, and met unabashed the Baron's scrutiny,
at once indicating that the man possessed courage and decision when
occasion required these qualities to be called into action.

Stephen Holgrave ascended the marble steps, and proceeded on till he
stood at the baron's feet. He then unclasped the belt of his waist, and
having his head uncovered, knelt down, and holding up both his hands.
De Boteler took them within his own, and the yeoman said in a loud,
distinct voice--

"Lord Roland de Boteler, I become your man from this day forward, of
life and limb and earthly worship, and unto you shall be true and
faithful, and bear to you faith, for the lands that I claim to hold of
you, saving the faith that I owe unto our sovereign lord the king."

The baron then bent his head forward and kissed the young man's
forehead; and unloosing his hands, Holgrave arose, and bending his
head, stood to hear what De Boteler might say.

"You have spoken well, Holgrave," said De Boteler, looking
good-humouredly upon the yeoman, "and, truly, if the life of Roland de
Boteler is worth any thing, you have earned your reward; and, here, in
the presence of this good company, I covenant for myself and my heirs,
that you and your heirs, shall hold the land for ever, in chivalry,
presenting every feast of the Holy Baptist, a pair of gloves."

"Calverley," said the baron, as Holgrave retired, and while addressing
his esquire, his features assumed a peculiar expression: "What a pity
it is that a yeoman should reap the reward of a service that _should_
have been performed by you had your health permitted!"

The sarcastic smile that accompanied these words, called up a glow even
deeper than envy had done; yet, in a calm voice, Calverley replied,
"The land, my lord, though the gift be fair, is of little account in
comparison with the honour of the deed; but I may humbly say, that if
Thomas Calverley had witnessed his master's peril, he would have been
found as valiant in his defence as the yeoman, whose better fortune it
was to be present."

"Aye, aye, my good'squire," said the baron, still in a laughing
tone, "your illness, I am told, gave you a most outrageous
appetite--doubtless your feeble constitution needed strengthening!
Come, come, man, it is but a joke--never look so blank; yet, if _we_
laugh, there is no reason why those knaves should stand grinning there
from ear to ear. Bid the senior vassal advance."

The vassals who were to perform homage then prepared to go through the
customary form; and an old grey-headed man advanced first from the
group to do fealty, and, standing before the baron, pronounced after
him the following oath, holding his right hand on the gospels:--

"I, John Hartwell, will be to you, my Lord Roland de Boteler, true and
faithful, and bear to you fealty and faith for the lands and tenements
which I hold of you; and I will truly do and perform the customs and
services that I ought to do to you, so help me God!" The old man then
kissed the book, and retired to give place to the next; and so on till
all who owed fealty had gone through the ceremony.

Lastly advanced from among the bondmen, or villeins, the oldest
servitor, and, holding his right hand over the book, pronounced after
De Boteler--

"Hear you, my Lord de Boteler, that I, William Marson, from this day
forth unto you shall be true and faithful, and shall owe you fealty for
the land which I may hold of you in villeinage, and shall be justified
by you both in body and goods, so help me God and all the saints."
After kissing the book he withdrew; and the bondmen successively
renewed their servile compact.

While the vassals were retiring from the hall, the Lord de Boteler
turned to the gentleman near him--

"Sir Robert," said he, "you saw that vassal who first did homage?--to
that base-born churl I owe my life. I had engaged hand to hand with a
French knight, when my opponent's esquire treacherously attacked me
from behind. This was observed by my faithful follower, who struck down
the coward with his axe, and, in a moment more, rid me of the knight by
a blow that cleft his helmet and entered his brain. He also, by rare
chance, I know not how, slew the bearer of that banner yonder, and,
when the battle was over, laid it at my feet."

"You have made him a freeman since then?" inquired Sir Robert.

"No; he received his freedom from my father when a boy for some
juvenile service--I hardly remember what. Yet I shall never forget the
look of the varlet--as if it mattered to such as he whether they were
free or not! He stared for an instant at my father--the tears trembling
in his eyes, and all the blood in his body, I verily believe, reddening
his face, and he looked as if he would have said something; but my
father and I did not care to listen, and we turned away. As for the
land he has now received, I promised it him on the field of battle, and
I could not retract my word."

"No, baron," said Sir Robert; "the man earned it by his bravery: and
surely the life of the Lord de Boteler is worth more than a piece of
dirty land."

De Boteler, not caring to continue so uninteresting a subject,
discoursed upon other matters; and the business of the morning having
concluded, he retired with his guests from the hall.

It was about a fortnight after this court day that the fortunate yeoman
one morning led his mother, Edith Holgrave, to the cottage he had built
on the land that was now his own.

Edith entered the cottage, her hand resting for support upon the
shoulder of her son--for she was feeble, though not so much from age
as from a weak constitution. As she stepped over the threshold she
devoutly crossed herself; and when they stood upon the earthen floor,
she withdrew her left hand from the arm that supported her, and,
sinking upon her knees, and raising up her eyes, exclaimed--

"May He, in whose hands are the ends of the earth, preserve thee, my
son, from evil. And oh! may He bless this house!"

While she spoke, her eyes brightened, and her pale face for a short
time glowed with the fervor of her soul.

"Stephen, my son," she continued (as with his aid she arose and seated
herself upon a wooden stool), "many days of sorrow have I seen, but
this proud day is an atonement for all. _My_ father was a freeman,
but _thy_ father was a serf;--but all are alike in _His_ eyes, who
oftentimes gives the soul of a churl to him who dwelleth in castles,
and quickens the body of the base of birth with a spirit that might
honour the wearer of crimson and gold. My husband was a villein, but
his soul spurned the bondage; and oftentimes, my son, when you have
been an infant in my arms, thy father wished that the free-born breast
which nourished you, could infuse freedom into your veins. _He_ did not
live to see it; but oh! what a proud day was that for me, when my son
no longer bore the name of slave! I had prayed--I had yearned for that
day; and it at length repaid me for all the taunts of our neighbours,
who reviled me because my spirit was not such as theirs!"

"Come, come, mother," interrupted Holgrave, "don't agitate yourself;
there is time to talk of all this by-and-bye."

"And so there is, child--but I am old; and the aged, as well as the
young, love to be talking. Stephen, you must bear with your mother."

"Aye, that I will, mother," replied Holgrave, kissing her cheek which
had assumed its accustomed paleness; "and ill befall the son that will
not!"

Leaving his mother to attend to the visitors who crowded in to drink
success to the new proprietor in a cup of ale, Stephen Holgrave stole
unobserved out of the cottage towards nightfall.

Passing through Winchcombe, he arrived at a small neat dwelling, in a
little sequestered valley, about a quarter of a mile from the town--the
tenant of which lowly abode is of no small consequence to our story.

Like Holgrave, Margaret was the offspring of the bond and the free. Her
father had been a bondman attached to the manor of Sudley; and her
mother a poor friendless orphan, with no patrimony save her freedom.
Such marriages were certainly of rare occurrence, because women
naturally felt a repugnance to become the mother of serfs; but still,
that they did occur, is evidenced by the law of villeinage, ordaining
that the children of a bondman and free woman should in no wise partake
of their mother's freedom.

It might be, perhaps, that this similarity in their condition had
attracted them towards each other; or it might be that, as Margaret
had been motherless since her birth, and Edith had nursed and reared
her till she grew to womanhood, from the feelings natural to long
association, love had grown and strengthened in Stephen's heart.
Indeed, there were not many of her class who could have compared with
this young woman. Her figure was about the middle height of her sex,
and so beautifully proportioned, that even the close kerchief and
russet gown could not entirely conceal the symmetrical formation of
the broad white shoulders, the swelling bust, and the slender waist.
Plain braids of hair of the darkest shade, and arched brows of the same
hue, gave an added whiteness to a forehead smooth and high; and her
full intelligent eyes, with a fringe as dark as her hair, were of a
clear deep blue. The feminine occupation of a sempstress had preserved
the delicacy of her complexion, and had left a soft flickering
blush playing on her cheek. Such was Margaret the beloved--the
betrothed--whom Holgrave was now hastening to invite, with all the
simple eloquence of honest love, to become the bride of his bosom--the
mistress of his home.

The duskiness of the twilight hour was lightened by the broad beams of
an autumn moon; and as the moonlight, streaming full upon the thatch,
revealed distinctly the little cot that held his treasure, all the high
thoughts of freedom and independence, all the wandering speculative
dreamings that come and go in the heart of man, gave place, for a
season, to one engrossing feeling. Margaret was not this evening, as
she was wont to be, sitting outside the cottage door awaiting his
approach. The door was partly opened--he entered--and beheld a man
kneeling before her, and holding one of her hands within his own!

"Stephen Holgrave!" cried the devotee, jumping up, "what brings you
here at such an hour?"

"What brings me, Calverley!" replied Holgrave, furiously, "who are you,
to ask such a question? What brings _you_ here?"

"My own will, Stephen Holgrave," answered Calverley in a calm tone;
"and mark you--this maiden has no right to plight her troth except with
her lord's consent. She is Lord de Boteler's bondwoman, and dares not
marry without his leave--which will never be given to wed with you."

"You talk boldly, sir, of my lord's intents," answered the yeoman
sulkily.

"I speak but the truth," replied Calverley. "You have been rewarded
well for the deed you did; and think not that your braggart speech
will win my lord. This maid is no meet wife for such as you. My lord
has offered me fair lands and her freedom if I choose to wed her: and
though many a free dowered maid would smile upon the suit of Thomas
Calverley, yet have I come to offer wedlock to Margaret."

"Margaret!" said Holgrave fiercely, "can this be true? answer me! Has
Calverley spoken of marriage to you?--why do you not answer? Have I
loved a false one?"

"No, Stephen," replied Margaret, in a low trembling voice.

Holgrave's mind was relieved as Margaret spoke, for he had confidence
in her truth. He knew, however, that Calverley stood high in the favour
of De Boteler, and he determined not to trust himself with further
words.

"Margaret," said Calverley suddenly, "I leave Sudley Castle on the
morrow to attend my lord to London. At my return I shall expect that
this silence be changed into language befitting the chosen bride of the
Baron de Boteler's esquire. Remember you are not yet free!--and now,
Stephen Holgrave, I leave not this cottage till you depart. The maiden
is my lord's nief, the cottage is his, and here I am privileged--not
you."

Fierce retorts and bitter revilings were on Holgrave's tongue; but the
sanctuary of a maiden's home was no place for contention. He knew that
Calverley did possess the power he vaunted; and, without uttering a
word, he crossed the threshold, and stood on the sod just beyond the
door.

Calverley paused a moment gazing on the blanched beauty of the agitated
girl, her cheek looking more pale from the moonlight that fell upon
it; and then, in the soft insinuating tone he knew so well how to
assume--

"Forgive me, Margaret," said he, "for what I have said. But oh," he
continued, taking her hand, and pressing it passionately to his bosom,
"You know not how much I love you!--Come, sir, will you walk?" Then
kissing the damsel's hand he relinquished it; and Margaret, with
streaming eyes and a throbbing heart, watched till the two receding
figures were lost in the distance.

Holgrave and Calverley pursued their path in sullen silence. There
were about a dozen paces between them, but neither were one foot in
advance of the other. On they went through Winchcombe and along the
road, till they came to where a footpath from the left intersected
the highway. Here they both, as if by mutual agreement, made a sudden
pause, and stood doggedly eyeing each other. At considerably less than
a quarter of a mile to the right was Sudley Castle; and at nearly the
same distance to the left was Holgrave's new abode. After the lapse of
several minutes, Calverley leaped across a running ditch to the right;
and Holgrave, having thus far conquered, turned to the left on his
homeward path.

The reader will, perhaps, feel some surprise that an esquire of the
rich and powerful Lord de Boteler should be thus competing with the
yeoman for the hand of a portionless humble nief; but it is necessary
to observe, in the first place, that in the fifteenth century esquires
were by no means of the consideration they had enjoyed a century
before. Some nobles, indeed, who were upholders of the ancient system,
still regarded an esquire as but a degree removed from a knight, but
these were merely exceptions;--the general rule, at the period we
are speaking of, was to consider an esquire simply as a principal
attendant, without the least claim to any distinction beyond. Such a
state of things accorded well with the temper of De Boteler;--he could
scarcely have endured the equality, which, in some measure, formerly
subsisted between the esquire and his lord. With him the equal might
be familiar, but the inferior must be submissive; and it was, perhaps,
the humility of Calverley's deportment that alone had raised him to the
situation he now held. Calverley, besides, had none of the requisites
of respectability which would have entitled him to take a stand among a
class such as esquires had formerly been.

About ten years before the commencement of our tale, a pale emaciated
youth presented himself one morning at Sudley Castle, desiring the
hospitality that was never denied to the stranger. Over his dress,
which was of the coarse monks' cloth then generally worn by the
religious, he wore a tattered cloak of the dark russet peculiar to the
peasant. That day he was fed, and that night lodged at the castle; and
the next morning, as he stood in a corner of the court-yard, apparently
lost in reflection as to the course he should next adopt, the young
Roland de Boteler, then a fine boy of fifteen, emerged from the stone
arch-way of the stable mounted on a spirited charger. The glow on his
cheek, the brightness of his eyes, and the youthful animation playing
on his face, and ringing in the joyous tones of his voice, seemed
to make the solitary dejected being, who looked as if he could claim
neither kindred nor home, appear even more care-worn and friendless.
The youth gazed at the young De Boteler, and ran after him as he rode
through the gateway followed by two attendants.

He then wandered about with a look of still deeper despondence, till
the trampling of the returning horses sent a transient tinge across
his cheek. He followed Roland's attendants, and again entered the
court-yard. By some chance, as the young rider was alighting, his eye
fell on the dejected stranger, who was standing at a little distance
fixing an anxious gaze upon the heir.

"Who is that sickly-looking carle, Ralph?" enquired De Boteler.

The attendant did not know. The youth interpreted the meaning of
Roland's glance, and approached, and, with a humble yet not ungraceful
obeisance--

"Noble young lord," said he, "may a wanderer crave leave to abide for a
time in this castle?"

"You have my leave," replied the boy in the consequential tone that
youth generally assumes when conferring a favour. "Indeed, you don't
look very fit to wander farther;--Ralph, see that this knave is
attended to."

The stranger was now privileged to remain, and a week's rest and
good cheer considerably improved his appearance. He did not presume,
however, to approach the part of the castle inhabited by the owners;
but never did the young Roland enter the court-yard, or walk abroad,
but the silent homage of the grateful stranger greeted him.

This strange youth was Thomas Calverley, and, by the end of a month,
Roland's eyes as instinctively sought for him when he needed an
attendant, as if he had been a regular domestic.

It was good policy in Calverley to propitiate the young De Boteler; for
had he presented himself to his father, although for a space he might
have been fed, he could never have presumed to obtrude himself upon his
notice.

There was a humility in the stranger which pleased Roland's imperious
temper; _he_ had granted the permission by which he abided in the
castle, and he seemed to feel a kind of interest in his protege; and
the envy of his attendants was often excited by their young lord
beckoning to Calverley to assist him to mount, or alight, or do him
any other little service. Calverley began now to be considered as a
kind of inmate in the castle, and various were the whispered tales
that went about respecting him. At length it was discovered that he
was a scholar--that is, he could read and write; and the circumstance,
though it abated nothing of the whisperings of idle curiosity, entirely
silenced the taunts he had been compelled to endure. If still disliked,
yet was he treated with some respect; for none of the unlettered
domestics would have presumed to speak rudely to one so far above them
in intellectual attainments.

Such a discovery could not long remain a secret;--the tale reached the
ears of young De Boteler, and, already prepossessed in his favour, it
was but a natural consequence that Calverley should rise from being
first an assistant, to be the steward, the page, and, at length,
the esquire to the heir to the barony of Sudley. But the progress
of his fortunes did but add to the malevolence of the detractor and
the tale-bearer; theft, sacrilege, and even murder were hinted at
as probable causes for a youth, who evidently did not belong to the
vulgar, being thus a friendless outcast. But the most charitable
surmise was, that he was the offspring of the unhallowed love of some
dame or damsel who had re