Brian Fitz-Count. A. D. Crake
strange instance of the long life of oral tradition—which is, however, paralleled at Bensington, where the author in his youth found traditions of the battle of the year 777 yet in existence, although the fight does not find a place, or did not then, in the short histories read in schools.
The author dedicates this book, with great respect, to the present owner of the site and remains of Wallingford Castle, John Kirby Hedges, Esq., who with great kindness granted him free access to the Castle-grounds at all times for the purposes of the story; and whose valuable work, The History of Wallingford, has supplied the topographical details and the special history of the Castle. For the history of Dorchester Abbey, he is especially indebted to the notes of his lamented friend, the late vicar of Dorchester.
A. D. C.
Christmas 1887.
CHAPTER I THE LORD OF THE CASTLE
It was the evening of the 30th of September in the year of grace 1139; the day had been bright and clear, but the moon, arising, was rapidly overpowering the waning light of the sun.
Brian Fitz-Count, Lord of Wallingford Castle by marriage with the Lady Maude (Matildis Domina de Walingfort), the widow of the doughty Baron Milo Crispin, who died in 1107, without issue—was pacing the ramparts of his castle, which overlooked the Thames. Stern and stark was this mediæval baron, and large were his possessions. He was the son of Count Alain of Brittany[1]—a nephew of Hamelin de Baladin, of Abergavenny Castle, from whom he inherited large possessions in Wales: a nephew also of Brian, lord of a manor in Cornwall, which he also inherited.
"Great his houses, lands, and castles,
Written in the Domesday Book."
Furthermore, he was an especial favourite with Henry the First, who commanded the Lady of Wallingford to marry his minion—according to the law which placed such widows at the disposal of the crown—he was present at the consecration of the great abbey of Reading, where amongst the co-signatories we read "Signum Brientii filii comitis, de Walingfort:" the seal of Brian Fitz-Count of Wallingford.
He walked the ramparts on this last evening of September, and gazed upon his fair castle, or might have done so had his mind been at rest, but "black care sat on his back."
Still we will gaze, unimpeded by that sable rider, although we fear he is not dead yet.
The town of Wallingford had been utterly destroyed by the Danes in 1006, as recorded in our former story of Alfgar the Dane. It was soon afterwards rebuilt, and in the time of Edward the Confessor, was in the hands of the thane, and shire-reeve (sheriff) Wigod de Wallingford, a cupbearer of the pious monarch, and one who shared all that saintly king's Norman proclivities. Hence it is not wonderful that when William the Conqueror could not cross the Thames at Southwark, owing to the opposition of the brave men of London town, he led his army along the southern bank of the great river to Wallingford, where he was assured of sympathy, and possessed an English partisan. Here Wigod received him in his hall—a passable structure for those times—which subsequently formed a part of the castle which the Norman king ordered to be built, and which became one of the strongest fortresses in the kingdom, and the key of the midlands.
The Conqueror was a guest of Wigod for several days, and before he left he witnessed the marriage of the eldest daughter of his host, the English maiden Aldith, to a Norman favourite, Robert d'Oyley, whom he made Lord of Oxford.
Now the grand-daughter of that Wigod, whom we will not call traitor to his country—although some might deem him so—in default of male issue, became the wife of Brian Fitz-Count. The only son of Wigod, who might have passed on the inheritance to a line of English lords—Tokig of Wallingford—died in defence of William the Conqueror[2] at the battle of Archenbrai, waged between the father and his son Robert Courthose.
To build the new castle,[3] Robert d'Oyley, who succeeded to the lordship on the death of Wigod, destroyed eight houses, which furnished space for the enlargement, and material for the builders. We are not told whether he made compensation—it is doubtful.
The castle was built within the ancient walls in the north-east quarter of the town, occupying a space of some twenty or thirty acres, and its defence on the eastern side was the Thames.
Within the precincts rose one of those vast mounds thrown up by Ethelfleda, lady of the Mercians, and daughter of the great Alfred, a century and a half earlier. It formed the kernel of the new stronghold, and surmounted by a lofty tower, commanded a wondrous view of the country around, from a height of some two hundred feet.
On the north-east lay the long line of the Chilterns; on the south-west, the Berkshire downs stretching towards Cwichelm's Hlawe, and the White Horse Hill; between the two lay the gorge of the Thames, and in the angle the fertile alluvial plain, chiefly filled at that time by a vast park or chase, or by forest or marsh land.
The Chilterns were covered with vast beech forests, the Berkshire downs were more bare.
There were three bastions to the north and two on the south; within the inner dyke or moat on the east was the "glacis," which sloped abruptly towards the river: the main entrance, on the west, was approached by a series of drawbridges, while beneath the tower a heavy portcullis defended the gateway.
Upon the keep stood two sentinels, who from the summit of their lofty tower scrutinised the roads and open country all day long, until they were relieved by those who watched by night. Beneath them lay the town with its moat, and earthen rampart in compass a good mile and more, joining the river at each extremity. Within the compass were eleven parishes, "well and sufficiently built," with one parish church in each of them, well constructed, and with chaplains and clerks daily officiating, so that people had no lack of spiritual provision.
Beyond, the roads stretched in all directions: the Lower Icknield Street ran by woody Ewelme along the base of the downs, towards distant Stokenchurch and Wycombe; while on the opposite side, it ran across the wild moor land through Aston and Blewbery to the Berkshire downs, where it joined the upper way again, and continued its course for Devizes. Our readers will know this road well by and by.
Another road led towards the hills, called "Ye Kynge's Standynge," where it ascended the downs, and joining the upper Icknield Street, stretched across the slopes of Lowbury Hill, the highest point on the eastern downs, where the remains of a strong Roman tower formed a conspicuous object at that date. Another road led directly to the west, and to distant Ffaringdune, along the southern side of the twin hills of Synodune.
Now we will cease from description and take up our story.
"Our lord looks ill at ease," said Malebouche, one of the sentinels on the keep, to Bardulf, his companion.
"As well he may on this day!"
"Why on this day?"
"Dost thou not know that he is childless?"
"I suppose that is the case every day in the year."
"Ah, thou art fresh from fair Brittany, so I will tell thee the tale, only breathe it not where our lord can hear of my words, or I shall make acquaintance with his dog-whip, if not with gyves and fetters. Well, it chanced that thirteen years agone he burnt an old manor-house over on the downs near Compton, inhabited by a family of English churls who would not pay him tribute; the greater part of the household, unable to escape, perished in the flames, and amongst them, the mother and eldest child. In a dire rage and fury the father, who escaped, being absent from home, plotted revenge. Our lord had a son then, a likely lad of some three summers, and soon afterwards, on this very day, the child was out with scanty attendance taking the air, for who, thought they, would dare to injure the heir of