Baron Aquila

: WILD ENGLAND

Felix's own position was bitter in the extreme. He felt he had talent.

He loved deeply, he knew that he was in turn as deeply beloved; but he

was utterly powerless. On the confines of the estate, indeed, the men

would run gladly to do his bidding. Beyond, and on his own account, he

was helpless. Manual labour (to plough, to sow, to work on shipboard)

could produce nothing in a time when almost all work was done by

bond men or family retainers. The life of a hunter in the woods was

free, but produced nothing.



The furs he sold simply maintained him; it was barter for existence, not

profit. The shepherds on the hills roamed in comparative freedom, but

they had no wealth except of sheep. He could not start as a merchant

without money; he could not enclose an estate and build a house or

castle fit for the nuptials of a noble's daughter without money, or that

personal influence which answers the same purpose; he could not even

hope to succeed to the hereditary estate, so deeply was it encumbered;

they might, indeed, at any time be turned forth.



Slowly the iron entered into his soul. This hopelessness, helplessness,

embittered every moment. His love increasing with the passage of time

rendered his position hateful in the extreme. The feeling within that he

had talent which only required opportunity stung him like a scorpion.

The days went by, and everything remained the same. Continual brooding

and bitterness of spirit went near to drive him mad.



At last the resolution was taken, he would go forth into the world. That

involved separation from Aurora, long separation, and without

communication, since letters could be sent only by special messenger,

and how should he pay a messenger? It was this terrible thought of

separation which had so long kept him inactive. In the end the

bitterness of hopelessness forced him to face it. He began the canoe,

but kept his purpose secret, especially from her, lest tears should melt

his resolution.



There were but two ways of travelling open to him: on foot, as the

hunters did, or by the merchant vessels. The latter, of course, required

payment, and their ways were notoriously coarse. If on foot he could not

cross the Lake, nor visit the countries on either shore, nor the

islands; therefore he cut down the poplar and commenced the canoe.

Whither he should go, and what he should do, was entirely at the mercy

of circumstances. He had no plan, no route.



He had a dim idea of offering his services to some distant king or

prince, of unfolding to him the inventions he had made. He tried to

conceal from himself that he would probably be repulsed and laughed at.

Without money, without a retinue, how could he expect to be received or

listened to? Still, he must go; he could not help himself, go he must.



As he chopped and chipped through the long weeks of early spring, while

the easterly winds bent the trees above him, till the buds unfolded and

the leaves expanded--while his hands were thus employed, the whole map,

as it were, of the known countries seemed to pass without volition

before his mind. He saw the cities along the shores of the great Lake;

he saw their internal condition, the weakness of the social fabric, the

misery of the bondsmen. The uncertain action of the League, the only

thread which bound the world together; the threatening aspect of the

Cymry and the Irish; the dread north, the vast northern forests, from

which at any time invading hosts might descend on the fertile south--it

all went before his eyes.



What was there behind the immense and untraversed belt of forest which

extended to the south, to the east, and west? Where did the great Lake

end? Were the stories of the gold and silver mines of Devon and Cornwall

true? And where were the iron mines, from which the ancients drew their

stores of metal?



Led by these thoughts he twice or thrice left his labour, and walking

some twenty miles through the forests, and over the hills, reached the

summit of White Horse. From thence, resting on the sward, he watched the

vessels making slow progress by oars, and some drawn with ropes by gangs

of men or horses on the shore, through the narrow straits. North and

South there nearly met. There was but a furlong of water between them.

If ever the North came down there the armies would cross. There was

the key of the world. Excepting the few cottages where the owners of the

horses lived, there was neither castle nor town within twenty miles.



Forced on by these thoughts, he broke the long silence which had existed

between him and his father. He spoke of the value and importance of this

spot; could not the Baron send forth his retainers and enclose a new

estate there? There was nothing to prevent him. The forest was free to

all, provided that they rendered due service to the Prince. Might not a

house or castle built there become the beginning of a city? The Baron

listened, and then said he must go and see that a new hatch was put in

the brook to irrigate the water-meadow. That was all.



Felix next wrote an anonymous letter to the Prince pointing out the

value of the place. The Prince should seize it, and add to his power. He

knew that the letter was delivered, but there was no sign. It had

indeed, been read and laughed at. Why make further efforts when they

already had what they desired? One only, the deep and designing

Valentine, gave it serious thought in secret. It seemed to him that

something might come of it, another day, when he was himself in

power--if that should happen. But he, too, forgot it in a week. Some

secret effort was made to discover the writer, for the council were very

jealous of political opinion, but it soon ended. The idea, not being

supported by money or influence, fell into oblivion.



Felix worked on, chipping out the canoe. The days passed, and the boat

was nearly finished. In a day or two now it would be launched, and soon

afterwards he should commence his voyage. He should see Aurora once more

only. He should see her, but he should not say farewell; she would not

know that he was going till he had actually departed. As he thought thus

a dimness came before his eyes; his hand trembled, and he could not

work. He put down the chisel, and paused to steady himself.



Upon the other side of the stream, somewhat lower down, a yellow

wood-dog had been lapping the water to quench its thirst, watching the

man the while. So long as Felix was intent upon his work, the wild

animal had no fear; the moment he looked up, the creature sprang back

into the underwood. A dove was cooing in the forest not far distant, but

as he was about to resume work the cooing ceased. Then a wood-pigeon

rose from the ashes with a loud clapping of wings. Felix listened. His

hunter instinct told him that something was moving there. A rustling of

the bushes followed, and he took his spear which had been leant against

the adjacent tree. But, peering into the wood, in a moment he recognised

Oliver, who, having walked off his rage, was returning.



"I though it might have been a Bushman," said Felix, replacing his

spear; "only they are noiseless."



"Any of them might have cut me down," said Oliver; "for I forgot my

weapon. It is nearly noon; are you coming home to dinner?"



"Yes; I must bring my tools."



He put them in the basket, and together they returned to the rope

ladder. As they passed the Pen by the river they caught sight of the

Baron in the adjacent gardens, which were irrigated by his contrivances

from the stream, and went towards him. A retainer held two horses, one

gaily caparisoned, outside the garden; his master was talking with Sir

Constans.



"It is Lord John," said Oliver. They approached slowly under the

fruit-trees, not to intrude. Sir Constans was showing the courtier an

early cherry-tree, whose fruit was already set. The dry hot weather had

caused it to set even earlier than usual. A suit of black velvet, an

extremely expensive and almost unprocurable material, brought the

courtier's pale features into relief. It was only by the very oldest

families that any velvet or satin or similar materials were still

preserved; if these were in pecuniary difficulties they might sell some

part of their store, but such things were not to be got for money in the

ordinary way.



Two small silver bars across his left shoulder showed that he was a

lord-in-waiting. He was a handsome man, with clear-cut features,

somewhat rakish from late hours and dissipation, but not the less

interesting on that account. But his natural advantages were so over-run

with the affectation of the Court that you did not see the man at all,

being absorbed by the studied gesture to display the jewelled ring, and

the peculiarly low tone of voice in which it was the fashion to speak.



Beside the old warrior he looked a mere stripling. The Baron's arm was

bare, his sleeve rolled up; and as he pointed to the tree above, the

muscles, as the limb moved, displayed themselves in knots, at which the

courtier himself could not refrain from glancing. Those mighty arms, had

they clasped him about the waist, could have crushed his bending ribs.

The heaviest blow that he could have struck upon that broad chest would

have produced no more effect than a hollow sound; it would not even have

shaken that powerful frame.



He felt the steel blue eye, bright as the sky of midsummer, glance into

his very mind. The high forehead bare, for the Baron had his hat in his

hand, mocked at him in its humility. The Baron bared his head in honour

of the courtier's office and the Prince who had sent him. The beard,

though streaked with white, spoke little of age; it rather indicated an

abundant, a luxuriant vitality.



Lord John was not at ease. He shifted from foot to foot, and

occasionally puffed a large cigar of Devon tobacco. His errand was

simple enough. Some of the ladies at the Court had a fancy for fruit,

especially strawberries, but there were none in the market, nor to be

obtained from the gardens about the town. It was recollected that Sir

Constans was famous for his gardens, and the Prince despatched Lord John

to Old House with a gracious message and request for a basket of

strawberries. Sir Constans was much pleased; but he regretted that the

hot, dry weather had not permitted the fruit to come to any size or

perfection. Still there were some.



The courtier accompanied him to the gardens, and saw the water-wheel

which, turned by a horse, forced water from the stream into a small pond

or elevated reservoir, from which it irrigated the ground. This supply

of water had brought on the fruit, and Sir Constans was able to gather a

small basket. He then looked round to see what other early product he

could send to the palace. There was no other fruit; the cherries, though

set, were not ripe; but there was some asparagus, which had not yet been

served, said Lord John, at the Prince's table.



Sir Constans set men to hastily collect all that was ready, and while

this was done took the courtier over the gardens. Lord John felt no

interest whatever in such matters, but he could not choose but admire

the extraordinary fertility of the enclosure, and the variety of the

products. There was everything; fruit of all kinds, herbs of every

species, plots specially devoted to those possessing medicinal virtue.

This was only one part of the gardens; the orchards proper were farther

down, and the flowers nearer the house. Sir Constans had sent a man to

the flower-garden, who now returned with two fine bouquets, which were

presented to Lord John: the one for the Princess, the Prince's sister;

the other for any lady to whom he might choose to present it.



The fruit had already been handed to the retainer who had charge of the

horses. Though interested, in spite of himself, Lord John, acknowledging

the flowers, turned to go with a sense of relief. This simplicity of

manners seemed discordant to him. He felt out of place, and in some way

lowered in his own esteem, and yet he despised the rural retirement and

beauty about him.



Felix and Oliver, a few yards distant, were waiting with rising tempers.

The spectacle of the Baron in his native might of physique, humbly

standing, hat in hand, before this Court messenger, discoursing on

cherries, and offering flowers and fruit, filled them with anger and

disgust. The affected gesture and subdued voice of the courtier, on the

other hand, roused an equal contempt.



As Lord John turned, he saw them. He did not quite guess their

relationship, but supposed they were cadets of the house, it being

customary for those in any way connected to serve the head of the

family. He noted the flag basket in Felix's hand, and naturally imagined

that he had been at work.



"You have been to-to plough, eh?" he said, intending to be very gracious

and condescending. "Very healthy employment. The land requires some

rain, does it not? Still I trust it will not rain till I am home, for my

plume's sake," tossing his head. "Allow me," and as he passed he offered

Oliver a couple of cigars. "One each," he added; "the best Devon."



Oliver took the cigars mechanically, holding them as if they had been

vipers, at arm's length, till the courtier had left the garden, and the

hedge interposed. Then he threw them into the water-carrier. The best

tobacco, indeed the only real tobacco, came from the warm Devon land,

but little of it reached so far, on account of the distance, the

difficulties of intercourse, the rare occasions on which the merchant

succeeded in escaping the vexatious interference, the downright robbery

of the way. Intercourse was often entirely closed by war.



These cigars, therefore, were worth their weight in silver, and such

tobacco could be obtained only by those about the Court, as a matter of

favour, too, rather than by purchase. Lord John would, indeed, have

stared aghast had he seen the rustic to whom he had given so valuable a

present cast them into a ditch. He rode towards the Maple Gate, excusing

his haste volubly to Sir Constans, who was on foot, and walked beside

him a little way, pressing him to take some refreshment.



His sons overtook the Baron as he walked towards home, and walked by his

side in silence. Sir Constans was full of his fruit.



"The wall cherry," said he, "will soon have a few ripe."



Oliver swore a deep but soundless oath in his chest. Sir Constans

continued talking about his fruit and flowers, entirely oblivious of the

silent anger of the pair beside him. As they approached the house, the

warder blew his horn thrice for noon. It was also the signal for dinner.