In three parts.
by G.P.R. James.
Originally published in Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance (Chapman and Hall) vol.1 #2 (Mar 1842).
Part I.
It was a merry time in the town of Chester, a merry time as eye could see or ear could hear; the whole place was ringing with harps, and fiddles, and songs, bagpipes, rotes, and rebecks; it seemed as if Nebuchadnezzar himself was about to worship his golden image, for certainly there was the sound of the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of music; besides a good deal of bellowing and shouting, roaring of laughter, and every other kind of noise that the human voice can be called upon to produce. In short, it was the fair time in Chester, a little before the end of the loose reign of King John. In one place might be seen the juggler performing all manner of tricks; in another place the saltimbank leaping through a ring, dancing upon a rope, or casting somersets to the delight of the people; in another place the fool or merry andrew throwing his witticisms abroad right and left. But these were only accessories and adjuncts of the fair, which was, in truth, a great commercial mart where goods and chattels of almost every kind were sold, from complete hauberks to gimnel rings, pieces of cloth, velvet, and silk, furs of all kinds, hoods made up and ready to be tried on by any one who might covet them, with clasps in a neighbouring stall to fasten them under the chin of the buyer. Then there were clothiers of all kinds; men who sold boxes of curious wood for containing the rare manuscript books, one or two of which formed a library, and close by were the books to be so contained, the missal, according to the rule of Salisbury, or Hereford, or Lincoln, in its magnificent velvet cover, lying cheek by jowl with a book of ribald songs, such as might issue from the Parisian press even in the present days of prurient literature. Near, was the vender of rich shoes and boots, with toes that varied from each other in every respect but that of being all enormously long; some were twisted into the shape of serpents, some were curled up so as to resemble a ram's horn, some imitated the peaked cap of a professed fool, and one pair had double points, with a hook at the end of each. Here, too, were booths displaying drinking cups of all sorts, sizes, and descriptions, and even glass, then rare and valuable; in another place were gums and spices, and all the stores of the apothecary; in another were delicate perfumes and cosmetics, palm oil and ambergris, frankincense and attar of roses, brought by the wandering merchant from the far East. Everything, almost, that the four quarters of the world could produce, with the exception of the one quarter which was waiting to be found out, was displayed in one corner or the other in the fair, while the Pied-poudré Court held its sittings hard by, for the purpose of protecting all these various wares by its stern sentences, executed without respite or delay.
In several parts of the great space devoted to the purposes of the fair, were booths for entertainment, where revelry, ribaldry, mirth, drunkenness, feasting, and debauchery was indulged with a degree of licence unknown at other times and seasons; whilst in other booths, again, the more sober merchants, and the large households that they sometimes brought with them, could provide themselves with food of all sorts at a reasonable price, and in a decent manner. Through all the manifold streets, turnings, and alleys of the fair, floated a mixed multitude of all kinds; buyers, sellers, minstrels, musicians, old women, beautiful girls, young children, knights, sailors, soldiers, friars, priests, nuns, franklins, yeomen, clowns; all jostling, hustling, talking, laughing, singing, and playing, in the most varied dresses that it is possible to conceive. Bright and brilliant was the scene; a sort of maddening merriment was in every sound; it was intoxicating, it was infectious, nobody could help imbibing the miasma of hilarity that spread around, and you would see grave merchants with long beards joking and jesting with the aged prioress of some very respect table order, or with the severe confessor who suffered not a little sin of all man's multitude to escape without penance and repentance.
It was about the hour of four in the evening, when down the principal alley of the fair, with rich dresses, but hoods so far drawn over their faces that they served the purposes of masks, came down a gay party of both sexes, walking at a rapid pace, jesting with those around them, and indeed with every one that they passed, full of the frolic of the hour, and enjoying the merry scene to the utmost. The front rank was occupied by three persons, a lady being in the middle, with a gentleman on either side. The one on the right hand was a stout, broad-shouldered, somewhat heavy man, who, to guess from the general contour of his figure, might be fifty, or nearly fifty years of age. The one on the other side was somewhat taller, but more slightly formed—at least more youthfully, for never was there a stronger or better proportioned leg than appeared from under the loose gown of blue cendal, trimmed with fur, in which he was clothed. His walk was free and careless, but graceful and dignified at the same time, and many a one from the neighbouring country instantly recognised him by his gait and carriage, and laughing, said, "Ay, there goes gay Roger, the best hearted young lord in the land."
"Hallo, fool, what art thou doing?" cried he of the blue cassock; "why art thou peering into the woman's empty hand?"
"Telling fortunes, noble sir," replied a man dressed in a merryandrew's coat, who with a sage look was enacting a fortune-teller for the amusement of the people, and dealing with the destinies of an old lady of about sixty.
"Ay!" cried the gentleman, stopping with his party, "and what good luck is in store for her?"
"Three husbands and a large family of children," said the fool, amidst a shout of laughter from the people.
"By St. Cyprian, she must make haste, then," said the young gentleman.
"Come, tell me my fortune, too, wise man,” he continued, drawing off his glove, and holding up his bare palm to the stage on which the mountebank was placed.
The man turned his eye curiously down towards it, taking it by the tip of the finger, and shutting one eye with a knowing look, while he examined it with the other. "Thou shalt fight a duel for a dancing girl," said the man of motley, somewhat to the consternation of the young cavalier, while the lady who walked between him and his companion laughed low but merrily.
"Stay, stay!" cried the diviner, seeing the colour come into his cheek; "there is more toward. Thou shalt defeat an army, with rags and tatters, and wed the lady that you love, though she may be somewhat jealous."
The young gentleman turned a gay look towards his fair companion, and then asked, in a mocking tone, "Is there anything more, Sir Fortune-teller?"
"Yes, sir," replied the man; "'tis but that
"You soon shall reign here,
Over fiddles and beer;
And every Dutton
Shall have his mutton."
Another loud shout of laughter burst from the whole crowd, who understood the allusion well, notwithstanding the semi-disguise which the young gentleman wore. The whole of his companions joined in the merriment; and he, to say sooth, was not behind the rest.
"There is a sterling for thee," he said, giving the man a piece of silver. "By my halidame, I will jest with thee no longer!" and he and his friends pursued their path laughing with each other; till suddenly a scene of struggling and confusion, as if either some accident had taken place, or some misdemeanor had been committed, presented itself a little lower down the same alley. Loud and angry voices then rose, imprecations were heard, and it seemed that the gaiety of the fair was about to end in blows.
"Let us go, Roger, let us go!" cried the elder of the gentlemen; "here is going to be a riot, and we must not have Mary in the midst of it."
"I will just see what is the matter, and follow you in a minute," said Roger Dutton.
"Do not fight a duel for a dancing girl, Roger," whispered the lady; and replying, laughingly, "No, no!" he advanced towards the crowd, while the rest of the party retrod their steps, and were soon seen taking their way towards the castle.
The place to which Roger Dutton of Dutton now bent his steps presented a wider opening than any other part of the fair for the exercise of that pushing and pressing which is the peculiar characteristic of an English mob, especially where anything which excites public curiosity is to be seen in the midst of it. The two great alleys of the fair there crossed each other, and the whole space in the middle was now filled up with a motley assembly, who made but little way for the young lord, though no man was better calculated to clear a path for himself, by dint of broad shoulders and strong arms. But there were all manner of things in the way,—rotes, and trumpets, and bagpipes, viols, swords, staves, bucklers, packages of goods, hoods, caps, trays, and boxes upon men's shoulders. The commanding height of the young gentleman, however, enabled him in some degree to see what was passing in the midst; and he could evidently perceive that some offence, either real or imaginary, had taken place against the dignity of the Pied-poudré Court, for two of its officers were to be seen very busily engaged in the middle of the crowd, endeavouring to force along an extremely pretty girl of about seventeen years of age, in spite of the remonstrances, tending almost to resistance, of a number of the minstrels of the fair, comprising all ranks and all classes of that honourable profession. One of these officers was tall and strong, the other fat and heavy, but both seemed determined to keep possession of the girl, and drag her on to the place where their court was sitting. The poor girl herself was in tears; and her gay dress bespoke her to be one of the wandering class which seemed now so universally eager in her defence. Amongst the most strenuous and vehement of these was a young man of very good mien, with a small harp on his shoulder, and Dutton heard him more than once exclaim, "She is not a dancing girl, I tell thee! Thou liest in thy teeth, ribald! she did but sing one song along with me, and that not for hire, as thou sayest!"
"Seize him, too, Rouse! seize him, too!" cried the fattest of the two officers, who seemed choleric in proportion to his size. "He called thee ribald; he insulted the reverend Pied-poudré Court; he ought to be decapitated."
"What's that?" cried a voice from the crowd; but the young harper continued to repeat vehemently, without noticing the wrath of either officer, "She is not a dancing girl, I tell thee."
Dutton could not help smiling, as he heard the words, at being so soon placed in a situation to exercise his chivalry in favour of one bearing the name of a "dancing girl;" but he muttered very confidently to himself, as he forced his way on, "No, no! I wont make the fool's words good by fighting a duel in her behalf, though I must see how the matter passes. By my fay, she is a pretty creature, and looks modest withal."
He was just within two or three persons of the constables, when the tall man, beginning to share in the wrath of his companion, and finding that the poor girl held somewhat back as they were endeavouring to drag her on, suddenly seized her with his other hand also, and gave her a most tremendous shake, crying, "Come along, minion!"
This violence drew a short cry of pain from the girl, and at the same time caused her high cap to fall off, and an immense quantity of beautiful shining brown hair to fall far down over her neck and shoulders.
An involuntary exclamation of indignation burst from Roger Dutton's lips; and seeing that he was interested, an old fiddler, who stood beside him, plucked him by the sleeve, saying, "'Tis a shame, sir—'tis a shame! The old judge saw her at the inn three days ago, and Wants her for his paramour. But she's a good girl, and going to marry blithe Allan, the gentle harper; though they say his father, who is of good blood, will not consent to his wedding the miller's daughter."
"Methinks I have seen Allan before, if that be him," said Roger. "But what has the girl done, that they treat her so?"
"They say she is a dancing girl, and has not a licence for the fair from the Earl of Chester."
"That's the constable of the castle's business," said Dutton, "and not that of old Glanville, the judge."
"Ay," replied the fiddler, "but the judge wants her for his leman, I tell you. He's a sad old mountain goat."
"I know him," said Dutton, significantly; but the fiddler at that moment cried, "If Allan draws his sword upon them, he will lose his hand;" and looking round again, he perceived that the harper was grasping his sheathed weapon in rather a menacing manner.
Dutton could not resist his inclination to interfere, though promising himself all the while to fight no duel for a dancing girl.
"Lend me thy cloak," he said to the fiddler; thou shalt have it again in a minute."
"Take it, noble sir, take it," replied the man of music; and throwing it over his shoulders so as to conceal in part his richer apparel, Dutton strode forward till he nearly reached the spot where the officers and their prisoner were slowly advancing, determined to follow them into the court, and see that justice was done. But at that moment, burly Master Rouse gave the poor girl another violent pull of the arm, and Dutton's hot spirit could bear no more in silence.
"Hallo, my men!" he cried, the hood still covering his face, "you seem somewhat rough with the lady. Draw not your sword—draw not your sword, young man; no one has a right to draw a sword here but the Lord Constable or the Steward of Chester. Treat the poor girl gently, oflicers."
"And who art thou, that takest upon thee?" cried the fat man.
"Who, indeed?" said Rouse, in a furious tone. "Stand back, or I will knock thy head!" and he raised his hand, as if to suit the action to the word.
The blood of Roger Dutton was up in a moment; and, with one blow of his clenched fist, he struck his tall antagonist headlong backwards amongst the crowd.
The people were all rushing upon him, and he would have been torn to pieces in a moment; but Roger Dutton strode across him, waving them back, and exclaiming, "Stand off, my masters, stand off! I will serve the first man the same that touches a hair of his head. Get up," he continued, stirring the fallen officer with his foot, "get up, and march on,—but touch not the girl again with your finger. She shall go with you quietly. Unhand her, thou tub of butter! Go quietly, fair lady, between them; justice shall be done you. Allan, come hither;" and he whispered a word in the young harper's ear.
That word seemed to allay the youth's fears; for he, too, instantly cried, "Go, Marian; go,—you will be safe."
In the meanwhile Master Rouse had raised himself, grumbling and muttering from the ground, and looked round with a face contorted by passion, and bearing very significant marks of the blow he had received.
"Ha, ha! look at his eye!" cried one of the crowd.
"He always was a beauty!" shouted another.
"His nose will never get straight again!" said a third.
"Unless he gets such a blow on t' other side," replied a fourth.
"Those are not every day whacks!" vociferated a new voice; and under a torrent of such jests, Master Rouse and his companion were fain to take their way on, promising themselves ample vengeance when they got within the walls of the court, upon him who had ventured to interrupt them in pursuit of their gentle avocations.
The poor girl Marian, still trembling and agitated, walked on between them, while an elderly woman, dressed like an inferior servant, followed close, whispering words of comfort in her ear. Near the two constables, and watching well their proceedings, came Dutton and the young harper, while the fiddler, whom the young gentleman had stripped of his cloak, seeing that the group assumed somewhat of the form of a procession, jumped into the front, with a droll antic, and began playing a rude but merry march upon his instrument. The boys laughed, the crowd shouted, and in this guise the whole party, proceeding through one of the long arcades of Chester, reached the door of the Pied-poudré Court, and began to enter more calmly and orderly than might have been expected. It was a large hall, in one of the houses of the city, situated within the limits of the fair, and at the further end sat, before a huge table, Glanville, the judge, with a number of clerks and people round him, amongst whom were five or six tipstaves of his court. On the right and left hand of the judge were doorways, through which he himself and his officers came in and went out, without passing through the ordinary entrance appropriated to the people. Glanville himself was a stout elderly man, with features which had been handsome in the days of his youth, but with a twinkling eye somewhat wrinkled at the corner, and a large-lipped sensual mouth, which spoke not well for the propensities of the worthy judge.
"What is all this—what is all this?" he cried. "Stop that fiddler instantly! How dare you disturb the court?"
"I was trying my powers," replied the fiddler, in whom the spirit of mirth was wakened irrepressibly—"I was trying my powers, like him of old, to see whether I could not melt the stones and make the beasts dance."
It is possible that his reply would have subjected him to some severe treatment, but that the judge's eye fell upon poor Marian, the miller's daughter, and his face lighted up with a look of unholy satisfaction.
"Ho, ho, maiden," he cried, "come at last, are you? How is it that you venture to dance and sing, and play the Tomblestere in Chester fair without a licence? Do you not know that you may be publicly whipped for that? or set upon a ram, with your face to the tail, and exposed three days through the fair to all the people."
"It must first be proved," said the young harper, standing forward—"it must first be proved that she has done anything of the kind, which we all here deny."
"Ho, ho, Sir Malapert!" cried the judge. "Is that you again? We shall catch you tripping some of these days. Where is the man that saw the woman dancing?"
"I heard her sing,” said a small sallow man, with bluish tips to his countenance, who stood at the judge's left hand, a somewhat exaggerated representation of Master Slender. "I heard her sing as she and the harper went through the fair."
"And what then, thou risen corpse of a dead cobbler?" cried Allan. "She sung not for money. Thou canst not prove that she or I took a sol of the people; and who shall stop us from singing any pleasant geste we please, as well as any other persons in the realm?"
"Not in Chester fair—not in Chester fair," cried the judge, "without licence of the Earl, or Constable of the castle. But we will be merciful; she is too pretty to be whipped, so let her be committed to our prison for three days, or till she make humble suit and shew penitence."
"Nay, but this is unjust," said Dutton, advancing.
"Who is that man?" cried the judge. "Pull off his hood, and let us see his face."
"He struck me, your worship—he struck me!" cried Rouse. "He felled me to the ground while bringing her hither."
"Ha?" cried the judge. "Seize him, officers! we will have his hand struck off."
"Mighty good!" cried Dutton. "But most worshipful sir, I would have you hear me first. These good officers were misusing the poor girl, and then, when I remonstrated sweetly with them, would have laid hands on me. Now, I am no clerk ecclesiastic to bear the imposition of hands discreetly. I am one that would always rather knock than be knocked; so all men—especially those good gentlemen coming round towards me with their staves—had better be somewhat reverent in the touching me. I pray your worship, listen for a moment. This good youth has, as I take it, bedecked himself as a harper, for the purpose of courting and stealing away this pretty maiden, with the sad and sober purpose of matrimony—a great offence truly, but not one within the cognizance of this court."
Loud laughter and a shout of applause broke in upon their grave deliberations for a moment, and the judge turned round and whispered something to one of those who stood near, which caused him instantly to quit the court by the-side door.
"As to the singing within the fair," continued Dutton, "it must be proved that the girl sang for hire or wages."
"Nay, master lawyer," cried Glanville, with a look of sneering mockery, "you are very learned, but we have power to commit all lewd and disorderly persons, and as such, we commit her. Take her away, constables! We will deal with the lawyer anon. We have power to commit, I say, all lewd and disorderly persons."
"And we have power to appeal," replied Dutton, "to the court of the Earl of Chester, and, failing justice therein, to the King's court, at Westminster."
"But bail!—we must have bail!" cried the judge. "And for your own offence," he continued, "he who draws a sword in strife within the limits of Chester fair, or strikes an officer of the Pied-poudré Court, forfeits his hand without appeal. Now officers, seize him too!"
The latter words were addressed, not only to the persons who had surrounded him at first, but to a number of stout men also, who, apparently sent for in haste, had just entered the court from the side.
"Stay, stay!" cried Dutton, in a tone of some affected alarm. "Let me hear that again. Is there no appeal?"
"None, none!" thundered the judge.
"Is there no exemption?" demanded Dutton. "Are there none can plead exception to the law?"
"None but clerks ecclesiastic!" cried Glanville, "which you declared yourself not to be. None but clerks ecclesiastic, I say."
"And the High Steward of Chester!" cried Dutton, throwing off the fiddler's cloak, and casting back his hood at the same time, while a loud shout that made the whole hall ring, as if the roof would fall, burst from the people.
"A Dutton! A Dutton! Long live gay Roger Dutton! God's blessing on the noble Steward! Foul fall the judge, and Dutton for ever!" burst from a hundred lips, while the clerks and constables of the Pied-poudré Court looked extremely blank and chop-fallen. Not so, however, the judge, who, trembling with rage and anger, fixed his eyes fiercely upon Dutton, tearing a roll of paper which he held in his hands in two, in the mad excitement of passion.
"John Glanville, thou art a luxurious knave!" cried Roger Dutton, "and shrewd lawyer as thou art, thou hast overshot thy mark. This poor girl shall not be given up to thee. I will be her bail."
"Ah, Roger Dutton, Roger Dutton!" cried the judge; "what, one leman more? But I will not take thy bail; thou art a party to the cause. I must have three sufficient suretics. Take her away, constables! I charge you, by my authority, take her away; and if he hinders you by wagging a finger in this court, I will commit him, though I dare not touch him in life or members."
A slight shade of doubt and hesitation passed over Dutton's face, for he knew that the judge had now law, though not justice, on his side, and there was but one resource—to make might support right, whatever the law might say. He whispered a word then to Allan, the harper, who instantly seemed to pass it to the people near, and then moved himself towards the door, while Dutton exclaimed in a loud voice, "Take notice, everyone, that he refuses the bail of the High Steward, upon a false pretence! If justice be not done, we must do justice to ourselves. Stand back, my men—stand back! Once more, Glanville, I offer you my bail. Lay finger on her, if you dare, Nicholas Rouse. You know Roger Dutton!"
"He contemns the court," shouted Glanville, in a voice not less loud than his opponent; "he stands committed. Officers, do your duty, at every risk. Seize on them both, and away with them to the common gaol!"
"Oh, then, if that be so," cried Dutton, "mark ye, that he drives me to resist with the armed hand. Out of the way, fiddler—out of the way! Clear the way to the door, Allan, I will take care of the girl;" and throwing back the edge of his cloak, he drew his heavy sword with his right hand, the bright blade flashing in the eyes of the officers, and making them stagger back in no light alarm.
In the meantime, Allan, the harper, drew on his fair Marian towards the door, the crowd separating on each side to let them pass, while Roger Dutton followed close behind, with his naked sword in his hand, striking no one, but keeping a wary watch around; and the judge, half mad with rage, nearly leaped over the table in the vehemence of his denunciations, crying out, "Let him not pass! let him not pass! Strike him down with your partisans! he is a rebel to justice! a committed criminal! a traitor! Strike him down, I say! I will put you in the stocks if you let him pass."
None of the court keepers who were armed with partisans ventured to use them in the violent way that the judge desired, but one of them, a stout, burly, determined fellow, pushed through the crowd just as the young nobleman and the rest were approaching the door, and thrusting the staff of the long heavy weapon that he carried, between Marian and her lover, as he was hurrying her along, suddenly separated them from each other, and cast himself in the way.
"Ha, ha!" cried the judge, with a triumphant shout, and all the officers of the court instantly made a rush to capture the Steward of Chester and the object of his generous rashness. But the crowd of those who took part with the opponents of the court, though they dared not offer open resistance, were not altogether inactive. The fiddler, making a wilful false step in the way of the tipstaff Rouse, just as he was rushing on, came suddenly upon his knees, and the long-shanked officer fell over him with most disastrous effect, for his heels in the tumble hit the stomach of his stout companion, who was knocked backwards against the table, and drove the large inkhorn into the lap of the judge. Numbers of others, harpers, rote-players, trumpeters, ballad-singers, and conjurers, cast themselves between the officers and the objects of their pursuit, with an affected eagerness to get out of the hall where the scene of a all was taking place, and in a moment all was scramble and disarray. Blows were given by the constables with very little ceremony; objurgations and remonstrances were shouted forth by the mob, and the voice of the judge was heard above all, roaring forth orders, directions, and reproaches, part of which could not be heard, and none of which were attended to. In the meanwhile, Roger Dutton drew a step back, whirled his blade round his head, as if about to cleave the burly court-keeper to the waist, and then, with one blow, severed the staff of his raised partisan in two, the heavy iron axe that formed the head falling to the ground with a loud ringing sound, amidst the merriment of the beholders. The man, however, who was determined as well as bold, still kept his place, and seeing no other resource, Dutton knocked him down with the pommel of his sword, caught up the light form of Marian as if she had been a feather, and the people making a lane, he bore her at once out of the court into the open air.
"Away! away!" he cried to Allan the harper, who had been struggling to make his way back to the side of his love. "Away to the castle! this is no time for delay." And, still carrying Marian in his arms, he proceeded with a hasty step through the narrow streets, followed by a number of those who had crowded the court-house, and were all anxious to cover his retreat.
Speed and precaution, indeed, were not a little needed, for in vomiting forth the crowd, the Pied-poudré Court poured out all its force of constables too. They were furious with anger and disappointment; and on they rushed in the pursuit, gaining something on Roger Dutton and his fair burden, though interrupted at every step by the manœuvres of the rabble, who took a pleasure in impeding and annoying them. At length they seemed resolved to observe no mean, but indiscriminately knocked down everybody that came in their way, and by this proceeding had cleared the way to some ten or twelve yards of the young Steward, while he was yet at least a hundred from the gates of the castle.
Under the archway of the gate, itself, however, were standing at that moment the whole party whom we have shewn taking their merry walk through the fair. The crowd, the confusion, the young lord in flight, the constables pursuing, were all clearly perceivable by those above. Some twelve or fourteen armed men ran down at full speed; and just as Roger Dutton saw that he would be obliged to turn and face his pursuers, his friends came up, giving him the assistance of a force that the adversary dared not attack.
Setting down his fair burden, whose hand was instantly caught by Allan, the harper, Dutton exclaimed, "Up with her to the castle, Allan—quick!" and then turning towards the obnoxious officers of the Pied-poudré court, he cried, "Back, hounds—back to your kennel, and tell John Glanville that he shall be punished for his insolence;—ay, punished by those who have a right to punish him; and moreover, that if I catch him beyond the walls of Chester, I will cut his ears like a bob-tailed cur, that all men may know who it is when they meet with the liquorish and unjust judge."
"Long live Roger Dutton, gay Roger Dutton! Long live the minstrel's friend! A Dutton for ever! a Dutton for ever!" cried the crowd; and while the object of their gratulations bent his steps onward to the castle, little knowing the unpleasant reception that was prepared for him, the constables retreated, grumbling and abusive, and the mob dispersed to bear the news of Roger Dutton's exploit through the whole fair, and to celebrate his name that night with songs and merriment.[1]
1. By some persons the hero of this tale is called Hugh Dutton, and it is stated that he was steward to Roger, or John de Lacy, constable of Chester Castle. But it is proved by other records, that Dutton was nearly allied to the Lord de Lacy, and not merely his steward, but High Steward of Chester.