THE

FAMILY FRIEND.

JANUARY, 1866.

WILLIAM FITZ-OSBERT.

A STORY OF LONDON LIFE IN THE DAYS OF RICHARD

COEUR DE LION.

CHAPTER I.

DANEDRED TOWER-GLAD TIDINGS AND ILL FOREBODINGS-A SOLEMN WARNING AT HOUNDSDITCH.

She

HE mistress of Danedred Tower was a proud woman. was proud of the square mansion of massive stone wherein she reigned supreme-she was proud of the black forest and broad lands which she called her own-she was proud of the memory of her lord who fell pierced to the heart by a random arrow at the defence of Verneuil-and she was proud, above all else, of her brave and handsome son. When this son was a little, dark, curly-haired boy, she loved him with the deep, warm, passionate love of a mother; and now that he had become a sturdy, strong-armed young man, she adored him with the sterner passion of a mother's pride. Hugh de Danedred was her only child. When but eighteen years of age, being skilled in the arts of the tournament and the sports of the forest, he listened eagerly to the monks who pleaded everywhere for the rescue of the Holy Sepulchre, and his bold spirit soon caught the feverish enthusiasm of the times. It was a day to be remembered at Danedred Tower, when stalwart young Hugh, flushed with ambition and followed by forty stout-hearted retainers, went forth from his mother's mansion to meet King Richard at Messina. The priest of the house stood at the gate and blessed him. The Lady of Danedred stood there pale and erect, and solemnly kissed his forehead. A young girl, Mary de Lawnford, stood there, too, and watched him with her large dark eyes until he grasped her little white hand in his and pressed it to his lips-then she bowed her head down, the warm blood rushed to her face, and a bright tear fell glittering on his gauntlet. Without

an

the gate, a group of cottagers-mostly women, aged men, and young children-watched the warlike company. The old men and the women looked on in silence, but the children were boisterous in their delight at the gay apparel and bright armour of the troop, as over the wooden drawbridge and up the dusty road they hurried along till hidden from sight by the thick trees beyond. Then the outer gates were closed, and the gloomy battlements of the Tower looked gloomier, the black line of the forest looked blacker, and the halls and chambers within seemed to mock the footfall with hollow echoes for many a weary month after their departure. Mary de Lawnford was orphan, and the house of her father was held in wardship by the King. Yet gloom and loneliness were not her natural lot-she had no need to be lonely. Beauty, wealth, friends, and influence were hers. The lion-hearted monarch had known her father in boyhood, and Hubert Walter, Archbishop of Canterbury, was her cousin. It was not so with the Lady of Danedred: few sought her company but the sheriff who went for the King's rents, tallages, and aids. Beyond the strip of forest on the hills, the barren moors, the half-cultivated fields, and the twenty huts which filled the landscape as you gazed from the Tower, she had no care for anything in the world except her son. When pilgrims journeying to the tomb of Saint Thomas A'Becket craved food and shelter, she received them herself in the outer gate, but these acts of hospitality were performed with a freezing stately grace. She studied what she deemed her duty, and did it rigidly; yet it gave her no visible pleasure. In years gone by it had been different. There was fire in her eyes of yore, and her firm lips were often moved into genial smiles; but the fire had become dull, only flickering fitfully ever and anon, and firm hard lines had settled on her face. When her son was enlivening her home, making the old walls ring with his blyth voice and manly tread, she was happy in her heart, but her happiness never found its way out-it was there nevertheless, hidden in her soul like some precious jewel, clouded at times by anxieties for his welfare, and kindled at others by ambitious hopes. The struggle of parting with him had been terrible, but her troubles, like her joys, were hoarded up and concealed within herself. She kept her vigils and fasted-she gave alms to the poor, and believed in the blessings of Heaven on the brave Crusaders. These things gave her strength, while pride whispered stories of glory and fame awaiting her son, and gave her secret pleasure. Mary de Lawnford respected and almost loved this stern and stately matron. Perhaps she saw below the stony surface, or perhaps there was a joy in being near to one who spoke so proudly of Hugh. Danedred Tower had been her home since Hugh's departure for Messina. Her cousin, Hubert Walter, knew enough of the Danedreds to trust her under the shelter of the old castle and under the protection of its mistress, who, knowing perhaps the secret of her bosom, and foresee

ing the wealth and powers that would accompany the bestowal of her heart and hand, extended a hearty welcome. It was with the shadowy conception of a possible event favourable to her son that the Lady of Danedred invited Mary de Lawnford to the Tower four months previously to Hugh's departure. Mary and Hugh had met before at the Nottingham tournament. From that day Sir Hugh talked often and loudly of Mary's beauty, and Mary secretly pondered over the vivid impression which the handsome face and noble bearing of the young baron had produced. When she received the invitation to visit Danedred Tower she forgot the gay company she would have to leave behind, and impelled by a confusion of ideas which she feared to disentangle, but which all concentrated on the graceful agility, the cheery voice, and the manly countenance of Sir Hugh, she obtained her guardian's consent, and went, with a small retinue of women and serving-men, to abide awhile with the Lady of Danedred. Sir Hugh, with a troop of horsemen, met her on the road. The portcullis was raised, and the drawbridge down, ready to receive the fair guest; and Sir Hugh's mother advanced across the oaken hall to greet her with a heartiness that might have seemed more theatrical than real to a close observer, but appeared quite kind and genial to Mary. The preparations were then being made for Sir Hugh to follow King Richard, but time tripped merrily along. The Lady of Danedred made greater efforts at hospitality than had been her custom for many years, and Mary had many reasons for being happy. When Sir Hugh, with his troop of followers, departed for the Crusades, she possessed but one desire-to await patiently his return, under the protection of his mother, and surrounded by all the associations of the blissful dream that had taken possession of her young life. The days which glided by so pleasantly before, now slowly followed each other with lingering monotony.

Embroidery was a private amusement among the Norman ladies at that period, and the Lady of Danedred was skilful with her needle. Mary, too, well understood the art, and much of their time was occupied in working elaborate tapestries.

One clear and frosty afternoon, soon after Christmas of the year 1192, when the sun was sinking down behind the dark trees that crowned the hills, and pouring a flood of light on the western battlements of the Tower, Mary and the Lady of Danedred were seated in an upper chamber, as busy as ever with their needlework, and conversing on their one favourite topic-Sir Hugh.

"I sometimes think he never will return," said Mary, who was seated on a cushion at the feet of Hugh's mother, and was gazing dreamily at the rich tapestry on the wall.

"It seems a dreary time, child, but Hugh is strong and brave, and fights under the banner of the Cross; all the legions of Heaven are on his side."