The Candlemass Road, Page 2

  When first I went there, I was told of a traveller who had inquired of the people, where the Christians dwelt, to which they made answer, “No Christians, sir, we are Elliots and Armstrongs.” I thought it a blasphemous jest, but it was true. God had forgotten the Borderland, or turned away from its wickedness in His despair.

  You may wonder why my Lord Dacre, who had fair lands in the far south, such as this where I live out the winter of my time, should keep his home in such a den of strife and iniquity. But he was one who craved a hard life, and must be doing; it was in him to dare, and if there had been no Cumberland I believe he would have made his bed in Tartary. Moreover, his house had held their own on that stark border three hundred years, through the bitter Scotch wars in which the people of the Marches had their tempering — and this, I am assured, was why they must continue to live like warring nomads, for it was bred in their nature. He would not shrink from it, not for all the gold and quiet of the south country, which he might have had in plenty. “For I am Dacre,” he would say. “Shift me an ye can.”

  It was as though the fiend had taken him at his word, for his estate of Askerton lay in the worst part of all the border, where the baddest of the thieves were wont to run their roads – for so they called their forays, raid and road being all one to them; in the same sort they called their going forth in any number a “gang”. He had broad acres, and many fat cattle, and fifteen score tenants in petty villages and farms about, all in that pretty land that lies fifteen miles or so north and east of Carlisle, where the rich champain ground runs to the foot of the fells. So close to Carlisle, the strongest hold in all the Marches, and the seat of what government there was on the English side, should have been safe enough, but it was not so. To the east lay the great Waste, the highway of the robbers, and beyond, Tynedale, a great haunt of English thieves, Charltons and Milburns and Robsons and the like, for they robbed as families, calling themselves “riding surnames”. To the west was the country of the Grahams, a barbarous nation, Scotch or English for all that any man knew, but mostly English. There too was the Debatable Land, that had been of neither country, and only lately divided between them jealously, and a great nest of outlaws. Yet to the north was worst of all, a scant ten miles away, for there on the very rim of the frontier lay the valleys of the most feared Scotch robbers, the Nixons and Armstrongs and Crosiers and Elliots, who dwelt in Liddesdale, and if there be a Hell, and it hath a mouth, then it gapes at the foot of that dark and terrible glen, and those within are devils incarnate.

  When a man has such neighbours he goes to bed late and lies not long in the morning, but my lord throve on it as it were sport. And being an expert borderer and skilly soldier, he gave so much better than he took that in his last years we began to have some quiet in the lands about Askerton, though the rest of the frontier corrupted by the day. Even the hardiest freebooters, Armstrongs of Mangerton and Whithaugh, Elliots of Stobs and the Park, and Grahams of Brackenhill and Eden, began to look for their living otherwhere than on Dacre’s ground, and rode wide of the Red Bull’s pen. It was a grisly A.B.C. that he learned them. I have seen his great gallows beyond the barnekin, four ells high and four across the beam, loaded with such a cargo of dead thieves as would have gorged me every crow from Kelso to Caldbeck, and not a day but there was fresh fodder for them, swinging in the cold fell wind.

  And if the meanest of his tenants was spoiled of so much as a hen, then out from Askerton’s gate would come the red steer banner, and my lord in his silverstudded jack, lance on thigh, and his grey locks streaming in the wind, and at his back fifty, aye, or a hundred riders, every man in his steel cap with sword or Jedburgh axe, and the turf of hot trod smoking on his esquire’s point. They would ride Liddesdale to Riccarton and back, to Smailholm Tower or the Rede banks, leaving red ruin behind them, and there would be widows crying in Teviotdale for their men on the Askerton gallows. And when those he had despoiled and punished cried to the Wardens to summons him to answer at the next truce day, he would give the officer who brought the bill such entertainment as would have contented an ambassador, and when he had eaten and drunk his fill Ralph Dacre would press the bill back in his hand, wrapped in a glove, and say:

  “Bid Lord Scroop at Carlisle (or Carmichael at Dumfries, or the Keepers of Liddesdale or Tynedale, as it might be) good cheer, and tell them they may foul their bill against me, and who will collect their double and sawfey?” Which is to say, the threefold penalty of restitution imposed on one found guilty of offence. “I ride against none, nor never did, that has done me no hurt. Let the Wardens keep their border – but not ’twixt Hethersgill and Triermain, for that is my charge, and mine alone.”

  And the Wardens, who had grief enough, were glad to let his bill be continued, or adjourned. They were driven lords, with not money nor equipment nor men enough to do any good in all that frontier of decay; they were content that one so rich and strong, that had the Queen’s ear, should stand as a rock of order in a sea of misrule.

  You would suppose, in such a parish, that I was seldom idle, but for the most I was occupied with my lord’s tenants, the simple folk of the estate who clung to the faith of their fathers. They were few enough, the others taking their lead in the new religion from their lord, and in his household I was forbidden to meddle.

  So for seventeen years I dwelt in Askerton Hall, doing my duty with a failing heart, for I saw nothing but the wickedness of the world about me, and knowing a dripping on my soul that wears away faith, more even than I had known in the pagan places. I was weary with the weight of evil and my more than three score years, but without the will to go elsewhere.

  Then on a summer’s day my lord took him to the races at Carlisle, where one of his troopers won the Bell on my lord’s grey, Sandeman, wherefore he was in great fettle, as they say here, and gave entertainment at the Apple Tree on the Drover’s Lane to my lords Scroop, and Willoughby of the East March, and that good man Carmichael, and others less good, such as Hutcheon Graham the brigand, and Kerr of Cessford that they called “Fyrebrande”, and the young Buccleuch who had broken open Carlisle Castle but three years before – for the strangeness of these people is how they make company together, the lord and the peasant, the Scotch thief and the English constable, men that were at handstrokes o’ Thursday drinking together on the Saturday. I have seen that Kinmont Will, the bloodiest rogue on the West border, cheek by jowl with my Lord Hunsdon, who held the English Mid-March as the Queen’s Warden, as they made wagers on Hunsdon’s son, young Robin Carey who was his father’s deputy, when he played at football on the Bitts, whether he would win one goal or two. The thief and the catcher at game together, content each in company of the other. But it is their way, unless feud should fall between them, which it may as easily for a broken cup as for a broken head, and yet they forgive each other grievous wrongs, too. But deadly feud they pursue to the death, not only of the enemy but of all his kinsfolk. They take joy of their difference from mankind, Scot and English together, for though they are of both realms, they are first and last of the Border.

  But I wander, in my dotage. My Lord Ralph won the Bell, and parted in the evening from his foe-friends, and rode out by the Rickergate with two grooms for company, to fare home to Askerton. They were waiting for him on the Brampton road, men in visors, well-horsed, and they shot him through with calivers, nine balls in his body, and he let die by the roadside. They killed the grooms with their swords, and made away. Who they were was not found out. Some suspected Hutcheon Graham, but he made oath on his father’s stone in St Cuthbert’s churchyard of Carlisle, so he was clean, and I believe it, for in all my time yonder I never knew a word broken, for all their other faults. Sundry were named, Lance Carleton and Black Ogle and Stark Jack Charlton of Tynedale on the English side, and on the Scottish, Will Kang, that was a notable murderer for hire, and the Scotts of Teviotdale, and as for the Liddesdales, why, who you will. The truth was, my lord had more ill-willers than hairs on his head; he was a terrible man, but a good friend
to me-ward, and while he lived his folk slept secure, and his cattle grazed untroubled even on the lion’s lip.

  He was buried at Arthuret, before a great company, and my lord Bishop himself came from Carlisle to say his solemns, with staff and mitre and many attendants and a singing choir within. There were many lords there, and I marvelled to see so many notable thieves there also, of both sides. Some said, in scandalous jest, that they came to see him well delved under, but I think otherwise, for I have seen that affinity that grows betwixt enemies, who while they hate lustily in life, yet sorrow when death parts them. They are a strange folk. I heard one say, “Now he is at peace,” and another made answer saying he wished his soul no peace, but great action wheresoever it had gone, for that he had loved above all. My lords Scroop and Willoughby and the Scots Warden Carmichael bore his bier, and among the others that Scott of Harden whom they called Auld Wat, a principal reiver, and the young Buccleuch and John Carey, who were no friends to each other elsewhere.

  In all this I had no part, being what they styled a recusant, but came hooded and cloaked to give no offence, which they overlooked, knowing well what I was. I gave back, thinking I had never seen so much costly stuff and apparel mingled with such a deal of leather and steel by a graveside, and as I stood at the church door I saw that which lessoned me even more what a contrary country is this, for as the Lord Bishop led them in prayers, all standing sodden in the rain, there in the church porch sat Long Tom Hetherington, a great villain that they called “the Merchant”, casting the accounts of blackmail that he and his fellow-robber Richie Graham had wrung from the poor folk thereabouts. Now this blackmail, or black rent, is an extortion much practised by the thieves, who come to a man, or a village, and say, pay us such-and-such and you and your possessions will be safe, for we shall see to it, but if ye pay not, look to it, for sundry reivers will doubtless ride upon you (by which they mean their wicked selves). And the poor folk are wont to pay to be left in peace. It is a protection money and one of the principal curses of the frontier in those days. Because of my old lord’s zeal and care of his people, none on Dacre ground had paid this black rent to any for a half-score years, but this was in Arthuret that lay beyond our bounds. Yet it took me by the throat to see this vile money-changer at his practices in the House of God, and my lord not cold in the ground.

  “Have ye no shame,” I asked him, “that ye count your blood money in the church, and the bell yet tolling for the dead?”

  He looked at me astonied, saying there was none of Dacre’s folk on his books “and where else should I keep them for safety but in the kirk where the clients come to pay, and this the day? Would ye have us run about the country, chapping at gates, for our black rent?”

  I could have struck him, for all he had his sword naked by his books, but it was no place or time and I a priest. “Keep them in your thieves’ den at Brackenhill Tower, with your vile confederate Richie Graham,” I bade him, and he laughed.

  “Thinkst thou I’d trust them within Richie’s reach? Go to, man, y’are wandered! Get thysel’ back to Askerton, confess thy young maids, and I’ll help thee penance them!”

  And sat there taking his extortion, which is crime the world over, but here it was open, and the lords at the grave and the Warden officers and constables marked him not, for that it was but lightly regarded and, as they say, the custom of the country!

  Now I see that the preambulation to my tale has taken longer than I would it had, yet my excuse is that I had need tell you of my poor self and my old lord, and of my being at Askerton, and not only that but to lay open to you the ways of the frontier and the godless folk therein, at some length, with illustration of their manners, that you may understand perfectly all that befell on that Candlemass that I spoke of, which I shall now come to before long, I do assure you.

  It was in the summer time that my lord departed this life, and all through the back end and winter unto the February following we that had served him lived a-tiptoe in Askerton Hall, wondering when the thieves would ride on our goodly land and livestock, now that the Red Bull was no more. For his armed following were all dispersed to seek other employs, having no mind to bide at Askerton without him to lead them, and we were but a household reduced, the bailiff and myself and the servitors, with no security for the tenants and farms. Yet they rode not against us that winter, such was the shadow of his name, and also because in the cold months the herds were away at softer pasturing in the deep vales by the lakes, in which hard time the riding surnames were wont to rest them in their towers and bastels, and the outlaws in the mosses. Yet was there rumour that with the mastiff dead the foxes soon would prowl, and word of Liddesdale spears spying below the Lyne rivers against the coming of spring, when the great thieves would burst forth of their lairs and, in their barbarous phrase, shake loose the border.

  So were we in apprehension, but took comfort from word that had reached us at Christmas, that my Lady Dacre that was grand-daughter to old Lord Ralph as I told you I met her when a little maid, was to come up into the country from London, she being his only kin and heiress to all his great wealth and estates. Whereof we were right glad, for we doubted not that her advisers would take order for the security of the Askerton demesne. Indeed I wondered that she should come in her own person, being but a young woman and long away from that fierce country, when her men of affairs could have been sent, and she continued in her enjoyment of southern pleasantry. But it hath been whispered in mine ear since, that the Queen herself willed it so, for a reason, to wit, that my Lady Margaret having been in waiting on the Queen, had given her offence by her temper, which was as proud, and her stomach as high, as even Her Grace’s, and that was not small, God knows.

  Also there had been talk of my Lady Margaret’s commerce with certain young lords at the Court having given displeasure to Her Grace, for she was none of your lily maids, but free and frank in her manner, as I had seen when she was little, and I doubt not she smiled whither she pleased, caring not if it misliked Her Grace or no. This may be scandal of the sort they love to tattle after in London, but the long and short was that the Queen commanded her away. So we had great heave and ho at Askerton against her coming, and myself much perturbed, wondering would she tolerate me, the Portingale priest, as her grandsire had done, he being careless in such matters, as I have shown, but she, coming from the Court, it was not to be doubted that she was strong for the reformed church, and like to turn me away, or worse. And at my time of life I knew not whither to go if she dismissed me.

  Candlemass was the day pricked for her coming in, and though we knew it not, it was to be the day of Archie Noble Waitabout’s coming also. She was looked for by open day, but he that was not looked for came like a thief in the night while the house slept, and none sounder than I.

  BEING THEN IN that state of years when the aches of my limbs and back cured not with resting, and the great scaur on my leg that I had of the Mexican savages troubling most of all, sleep was a sweet relief, and I was wont to drowse abed in the mornings, like any sluggard, but comfortable. None in that household seeking my offices, I had fallen into neglect of all duty, and was seldom abroad before prime. But that Candlemass I was afoot early, it being the day of my lady’s coming in, and we having word that she had lain the night at Naworth, only a short way off, which, thinks I, will have done little for her temper. It had been a fair priory before the old King worked his will on such places, but fallen into neglect lately, and little apt to furnish entertainment for gentle folk. I trembled, too, for our condition at Askerton, for old Lord Ralph had lived somewhat rough, and neglected the comforts of the house, which had not bettered since his death, and was, to tell truth, sadly decayed, for the slatterns swept it but idly, and nothing was clean.

  I had remonstrated with Master Hodgson, who was the bailiff, but had no satisfaction there. He was an honest man enough, stout and hearty, but of that choleric temper which makes for tyranny in one when he is given rule over others and hath himself no very quick
understanding. A good and honest steward to my lord, knowing then his duties within their limits, but now all the care and management was on him, and it was beyond him, so that he made great stir and noise among the tenants, bidding them this and that, but all to no purpose, and for the household he never ceased to complain and carp, with “Godamercy, the fire’s out!” and “Where the devil are those lackbrain men got to?”, and swearing he must do all himself — but nothing ever done. He was in a great taking for my lady’s arrival, sending the boys up the hill to spy her carriage, and hindering the wenches with his bustling and roaring in the kitchen, and fearful, I think, for his shortcomings over the estate, with rents not properly reckoned or accounts made, for he wrote but poorly, and for figuring commend me to the village dunce. I had offered my help, but he waved me away, saying affairs were not for priests, and more ink on his elbows than on the page. Yet he was an honest man, and meant well, but without my old lord to direct him he was adrift in confusion.

  Thinking it well that some things at least should be in order for my lady, I bade the wenches scour and polish in my lord’s old bedroom, and put out the best linen, with lavender between the sheets, and make all as pretty as might be, and myself set to with broom and dusters in the hall, so that there should be one chamber fit for her reception. I raised dust enough for a mill, and with the help of the kitchen loon, Wattie, a great lubber that could have stood billy to Callaban in the play, made shift to remove all the holly and bay and rosemary hung for Christmas, Candlemass being the time when it is taken down. I would have had it away and burned before, but Master Hodgson nayed me, saying it must wait for the day, as in my lord’s time.

  We made what order we could in the hall, with fresh rushes and green stuff in a pot, and took away the mouldiest of the tapestry, but we could no way hide the cracked leather of the chairs, or the scaurs on the table, or the moth in the bit carpet that covered it, or the sad neglect of the walls where the damp had come in. Wattie put wood on the great fire, but it was green and bubbled and stank with smoke like the pit, which was of a piece, for he fouled more than he cleaned. Welcome home, my lady, thinks I, to this draughty dirty barn, to the wind and the rain and the bare hillside and the company of animals and Cumbrians, and if ye tarry longer than to change your shoon and rest your cotchman, I shall be the more amazed.