The House of Walderne | Page 4

old lord died in the arms of his remaining daughter Sybil, without
seeking any reconciliation with his other children--in fact Roger was
lost to sight--upon her head he concentrated the benediction which
should have been divided amongst the three.
She married Sir Nicholas of Harengod, near the sea, and was happy in
her choice. She built a chapel within the castle precincts, and her prayer
for permission to do so yet remains recorded:
"That it may be allowed me to have a chapel in my castle of Walderne,
at my own expense, to be served by the parish priest as chaplain;
without either font or bell."
It was granted upon the condition that to avoid any appearance of
schism, she should attend the parish church in state with her whole

household thrice in the year.
Six Hundred Years Ago: they have all been dead and buried these six
centuries; a dense wood, within which the moat can be traced, covers
the site of Sybil's castle and chapel, yet in these old records they seem
to live again. A sojourner for a brief summer holiday amidst their
former haunts--the same yet so changed--the writer has striven to
revivify the dry bones, and to make the family live again in the story he
now presents to his readers.
Chapter 1
: The Knight And Squire.
The opening scene of our tale is a wild tract of common land,
interspersed with forest and heath, which lies northward at the foot of
the eastern range of the Sussex downs. The time is the year of grace
twelve hundred and fifty and three; the month a cold and seasonable
January. The wild heath around is crisp with frost and white with snow,
it appears a dense solitude; away to the east lies the town of
Hamelsham, or Hailsham; to the west the downs about Lewes; to the
south, at a short distance, one sees the lofty towers and monastic
buildings of a new and thriving community, surrounded by a broad and
deep moat; to the north copse wood, brake, heath, dell, and dense forest,
in various combinations and endless variety, as far as the lodge of
Cross in Hand, so called from the crusaders who took the sacred sign in
their hands, and started for the earthly Jerusalem not so many years
agone.
Across this waste, as the dark night was falling, rode a knight and his
squire. The knight was a man of some fifty years of age, but still strong,
tall, and muscular; his dark features indicated his southern blood, and
an indescribable expression and manner told of one accustomed to
command. His face bore the traces of scars, doubtless honourably
gained; seen beneath a scarlet cap, lined with steel, but trimmed with
fur. A flexible coat of mail, so cunningly wrought as to offer no more
opposition to the movements of the wearer than a greatcoat might

nowadays, was covered with a thick cloak or mantle, in deference to
the severity of the weather; the thighs were similarly protected by
linked mail, and the hose and boots defended by unworked plates of
thin steel. In his girdle was a dagger, and from the saddle depended, on
one side, a huge two-handed sword, on the other a gilded battle axe.
It was, in short, a knight of the olden time, who thus travelled through
this dangerous country, alone with his squire, who bore his master's
lance and carried his small triangular shield, broad at the summit to
protect the breast, but thence diminishing to a point.
"Dost thou know, my Stephen, thy way through this desolate country?
for verily the traces of the road are but slight."
"My lord, the night grows darker, and the air seems full of snow. Had
we not better return and seek shelter within the walls of Hamelsham? I
fear we have lost the way utterly, and shall never reach Michelham
Priory tonight."
"Nay, the motives that led me forth to face the storm still press upon
me, I must reach Michelham tonight."
An angry hollow gust of wind almost impeded his further progress as
he spoke, and choked his utterance.
"An inhospitable reception England affords us, after an absence of so
many years. Methinks I like Gascony the better in regard to climate."
"For five happy years have I followed thy banner there, my lord."
"Yet I love England better, foreign although my blood, or I had thought
more of the French king's offer."
"It was a noble offer, my lord."
"To be regent of an unquiet realm while my revered suzerain and friend,
Louis, went upon his crusade--mark me, Stephen, England has higher
destinies than France; this land is fated to be the mother of a race of

freemen such as once ruled the world from Rome of old.