Charlotte Yonge - The Little Duke - Richard the Fearless

“Poor child!” said Duke Alan, as Richard rose up, startled, “he is over-wearied with this day’s work. Take care of him, Count Bernard; thou a kindly nurse, but a rough one for such a babe. Ha! my young Lord, your colour mantles at being called a babe! I crave your pardon, for you are a fine spirit. And hark you, Lord Richard of Normandy, I have little cause to love your race, and little right, I trow, had King Charles the Simple to call us free Bretons liegemen to a race of plundering Northern pirates. To Duke Rollo’s might, my father never gave his homage; nay, nor did I yield it for all Duke William’s long sword, but I did pay it to his generosity and forbearance, and now I grant it to thy weakness and to his noble memory. I doubt not that the recreant Frank, Louis, whom he restored to his throne, will strive to profit by thy youth and helplessness, and should that be, remember that thou hast no surer friend than Alan of Brittany. Fare thee well, my young Duke.”

“Farewell, Sir,” said Richard, willingly giving his hand to be shaken by his kind vassal, and watching him as Sir Eric attended him from the hall.

“Fair words, but I trust not the Breton,” muttered Bernard; “hatred is deeply ingrained in them.”

“He should know what the Frank King is made of,” said Rainulf de Ferrières; “he was bred up with him in the days that they were both exiles at the court of King Ethelstane of England.”

“Ay, and thanks to Duke William that either Louis or Alan are not exiles still. Now we shall see whose gratitude is worth most, the Frank’s or the Breton’s. I suspect the Norman valour will be the best to trust to.”

“Yes, and how will Norman valour prosper without treasure? Who knows what gold is in the Duke’s coffers?”

There was some consultation here in a low voice, and the next thing Richard heard distinctly was, that one of the Nobles held up a silver chain and key, 9 9 Une clef d’argent unt trovee A sun braiol estreit noee. Tout la gent se merveillont Que cete clef signifiont. * * * * Ni la cuoule e l’estamine En aveit il en un archete, Que disfermeront ceste clavete De sol itant ert tresorier Kar nul tresor n’vait plus cher. The history of the adventures of Jumièges is literally true, as is Martin’s refusal to admit the Duke to the cloister:— Dun ne t’a Deus mis e posé Prince gardain de sainte iglise E cur tenir leial justise. saying that they had been found on the Duke’s neck, and that he had kept them, thinking that they doubtless led to something of importance.

“Oh, yes!” said Richard, eagerly, “I know it. He told me it was the key to his greatest treasure.”

The Normans heard this with great interest, and it was resolved that several of the most trusted persons, among whom were the Archbishop of Rouen, Abbot Martin of Jumièges, and the Count of Harcourt, should go immediately in search of this precious hoard. Richard accompanied them up the narrow rough stone stairs, to the large dark apartment, where his father had slept. Though a Prince’s chamber, it had little furniture; a low uncurtained bed, a Cross on a ledge near its head, a rude table, a few chairs, and two large chests, were all it contained. Harcourt tried the lid of one of the chests: it opened, and proved to be full of wearing apparel; he went to the other, which was smaller, much more carved, and ornamented with very handsome iron-work. It was locked, and putting in the key, it fitted, the lock turned, and the chest was opened. The Normans pressed eagerly to see their Duke’s greatest treasure.

It was a robe of serge, and a pair of sandals, such as were worn in the Abbey of Jumièges.

“Ha! is this all? What didst say, child?” cried Bernard the Dane, hastily.

“He told me it was his greatest treasure!” repeated Richard.

“And it was!” said Abbot Martin.

Then the good Abbot told them the history, part of which was already known to some of them. About five or six years before, Duke William had been hunting in the forest of Jumièges, when he had suddenly come on the ruins of the Abbey, which had been wasted thirty or forty years previously by the Sea-King, Hasting. Two old monks, of the original brotherhood, still survived, and came forth to greet the Duke, and offer him their hospitality.

“Ay!” said Bernard, “well do I remember their bread; we asked if it was made of fir-bark, like that of our brethren of Norway.”

William, then an eager, thoughtless young man, turned with disgust from this wretched fare, and throwing the old men some gold, galloped on to enjoy his hunting. In the course of the sport, he was left alone, and encountered a wild boar, which threw him down, trampled on him, and left him stretched senseless on the ground, severely injured. His companions coming up, carried him, as the nearest place of shelter, to the ruins of Jumièges, where the two old monks gladly received him in the remaining portion of their house. As soon as he recovered his senses, he earnestly asked their pardon for his pride, and the scorn he had shown to the poverty and patient suffering which he should have reverenced.

William had always been a man who chose the good and refused the evil, but this accident, and the long illness that followed it, made him far more thoughtful and serious than he had ever been before; he made preparing for death and eternity his first object, and thought less of his worldly affairs, his wars, and his ducal state. He rebuilt the old Abbey, endowed it richly, and sent for Martin himself from France, to become the Abbot; he delighted in nothing so much as praying there, conversing with the Abbot, and hearing him read holy books; and he felt his temporal affairs, and the state and splendour of his rank, so great a temptation, that he had one day come to the Abbot, and entreated to be allowed to lay them aside, and become a brother of the order. But Martin had refused to receive his vows. He had told him that he had no right to neglect or forsake the duties of the station which God had appointed him; that it would be a sin to leave the post which had been given him to defend; and that the way marked out for him to serve God was by doing justice among his people, and using his power to defend the right. Not till he had done his allotted work, and his son was old enough to take his place as ruler of the Normans, might he cease from his active duties, quit the turmoil of the world, and seek the repose of the cloister. It was in this hope of peaceful retirement, that William had delighted to treasure up the humble garments that he hoped one day to wear in peace and holiness.

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Richard’s place of education was Bayeaux; for, as Duke William says in the rhymed Chronicle of Normandy,—