|The Little Duke|
|by Charlotte M. Yonge|
|An inspiring story of Richard the Fearless (943-996) who became Duke of Normandy at the age of 8. Relates the perils of his childhood, both at home in Normandy and during his captivity at the court of France, and how at long last he came to embrace the values his father espoused. Ages 9-12 |
A WELCOME VISIT
 ON a bright autumn day, as long ago as the year 943, there was a
great bustle in the Castle of Bayeux in Normandy.
The hall was large and low, the roof arched, and supported on thick
short columns, almost like the crypt of a Cathedral; the walls were
thick, and the windows, which had no glass, were very small, set in
such a depth of wall that there was a wide deep window seat, upon
which the rain might beat, without reaching the interior of the room.
And even if it had come in, there was nothing for it to hurt, for the
walls were of rough stone, and the floor of tiles. There was a fire
at each end of this great dark apartment, but there were no chimneys
over the ample hearths, and the smoke curled
 about in thick white
folds in the vaulted roof, adding to the wreaths of soot, which made
the hall look still darker.
The fire at the lower end was by far the largest and hottest. Great
black cauldrons hung over it, and servants, both men and women, with
red faces, bare and grimed arms, and long iron hooks, or pots and
pans, were busied around it. At the other end, which was raised
about three steps above the floor of the hall, other servants were
engaged. Two young maidens were strewing fresh rushes on the floor;
some men were setting up a long table of rough boards, supported on
trestles, and then ranging upon it silver cups, drinking horns, and
Benches were placed to receive most of the guests, but in the middle,
at the place of honour, was a high chair with very thick crossing
legs, and the arms curiously carved with lions' faces and claws; a
clumsy wooden footstool was set in front, and the silver drinking-cup
on the table was of far more beautiful workmanship than the others,
richly chased with vine leaves and grapes, and figures of little boys
with goats' legs. If that cup
 could have told its story, it would
have been a strange one, for it had been made long since, in the old
Roman times, and been carried off from Italy by some Northman pirate.
From one of these scenes of activity to the other, there moved a
stately old lady: her long thick light hair, hardly touched with
grey, was bound round her head, under a tall white cap, with a band
passing under her chin: she wore a long sweeping dark robe, with
wide hanging sleeves, and thick gold ear-rings and necklace, which
had possibly come from the same quarter as the cup. She directed the
servants, inspected both the cookery and arrangements of the table,
held council with an old steward, now and then looked rather
anxiously from the window, as if expecting some one, and began to say
something about fears that these loitering youths would not bring
home the venison in time for Duke William's supper.
Presently, she looked up rejoiced, for a few notes of a bugle-horn
were sounded; there was a clattering of feet, and in a few moments
there bounded into the hall, a boy of about eight years old, his
cheeks and large blue eyes bright with air
 and exercise, and his long
light-brown hair streaming behind him, as he ran forward flourishing
a bow in his hand, and crying out, "I hit him, I hit him! Dame
Astrida, do you hear? 'Tis a stag of ten branches, and I hit him in
RICHARD WITH DAME ASTRIDA.
"You! my Lord Richard! you killed him?"
"Oh, no, I only struck him. It was Osmond's shaft that took him in
the eye, and—Look you, Fru Astrida, he came thus through the wood,
and I stood here, it might be, under the great elm with my bow thus"—
And Richard was beginning to act over again the whole scene of the
deer-hunt, but Fru, that is to say, Lady Astrida, was too busy to
listen, and broke in with, "Have they brought home the haunch?"
"Yes, Walter is bringing it. I had a long arrow—"
A stout forester was at this instant seen bringing in the venison,
and Dame Astrida hastened to meet it, and gave directions, little
Richard following her all the way, and talking as eagerly as if she
was attending to him, showing how he shot, how Osmond shot, how the
deer bounded, and how it fell, and then counting the branches of its
 always ending with, "This is something to tell my father.
Do you think he will come soon?"
In the meantime two men entered the hall, one about fifty, the other,
one or two-and-twenty, both in hunting dresses of plain leather,
crossed by broad embroidered belts, supporting a knife, and a bugle-
horn. The elder was broad-shouldered, sun-burnt, ruddy, and rather
stern-looking; the younger, who was also the taller, was slightly
made, and very active, with a bright keen grey eye, and merry smile.
These were Dame Astrida's son, Sir Eric de Centeville, and her
grandson, Osmond; and to their care Duke William of Normandy had
committed his only child, Richard, to be fostered, or brought up.
It was always the custom among the Northmen, that young princes
should thus be put under the care of some trusty vassal, instead of
being brought up at home, and one reason why the Centevilles had been
chosen by Duke William was, that both Sir Eric and his mother spoke
only the old Norwegian tongue, which he wished young Richard to
understand well, whereas, in other parts of the Duchy, the Normans
had forgotten their own
 tongue, and had taken up what was then called
the Langued'oui, a language between German and Latin, which was the
beginning of French.
On this day, Duke William himself was expected at Bayeux, to pay a
visit to his son before setting out on a journey to settle the
disputes between the Counts of Flanders and Montreuil, and this was
the reason of Fru Astrida's great preparations. No sooner had she
seen the haunch placed upon a spit, which a little boy was to turn
before the fire, than she turned to dress something else, namely, the
young Prince Richard himself, whom she led off to one of the upper
rooms, and there he had full time to talk, while she, great lady
though she was, herself combed smooth his long flowing curls, and
fastened his short scarlet cloth tunic, which just reached to his
knee, leaving his neck, arms, and legs bare. He begged hard to be
allowed to wear a short, beautifully ornamented dagger at his belt,
but this Fru Astrida would not allow.
"You will have enough to do with steel and dagger before your life is
at an end," said she, "without seeking to begin over soon."
 "To be sure I shall," answered Richard. "I will be called Richard of
the Sharp Axe, or the Bold Spirit, I promise you, Fru Astrida. We
are as brave in these days as the Sigurds and Ragnars you sing of! I
only wish there were serpents and dragons to slay here in Normandy."
"Never fear but you will find even too many of them," said Dame
Astrida; "there be dragons of wrong here and everywhere, quite as
venomous as any in my Sagas."
"I fear them not," said Richard, but half understanding her, "if you
would only let me have the dagger! But, hark! hark!" he darted to
the window. "They come, they come! There is the banner of
Away ran the happy child, and never rested till he stood at the
bottom of the long, steep, stone stair, leading to the embattled
porch. Thither came the Baron de Centeville, and his son, to receive
their Prince. Richard looked up at Osmond, saying, "Let me hold his
stirrup," and then sprang up and shouted for joy, as under the arched
gateway there came a tall black horse,
 bearing the stately form of
the Duke of Normandy. His purple robe was fastened round him by a
rich belt, sustaining the mighty weapon, from which he was called
"William of the long Sword," his legs and feet were cased in linked
steel chain-work, his gilded spurs were on his heels, and his short
brown hair was covered by his ducal cap of purple, turned up with
fur, and a feather fastened in by a jewelled clasp. His brow was
grave and thoughtful, and there was something both of dignity and
sorrow in his face, at the first moment of looking at it, recalling
the recollection that he had early lost his young wife, the Duchess
Emma, and that he was beset by many cares and toils; but the next
glance generally conveyed encouragement, so full of mildness were his
eyes, and so kind the expression of his lips.
And now, how bright a smile beamed upon the little Richard, who, for
the first time, paid him the duty of a pupil in chivalry, by holding
the stirrup while he sprung from his horse. Next, Richard knelt to
receive his blessing, which was always the custom when children met
their parents. The Duke laid his hand on his head, saying, "God of
 His mercy bless thee, my son," and lifting him in his arms, held him
to his breast, and let him cling to his neck and kiss him again and
again, before setting him down, while Sir Eric came forward, bent his
knee, kissed the hand of his Prince, and welcomed him to his Castle.
It would take too long to tell all the friendly and courteous words
that were spoken, the greeting of the Duke and the noble old Lady
Astrida, and the reception of the Barons who had come in the train of
their Lord. Richard was bidden to greet them, but, though he held
out his hand as desired, he shrank a little to his father's side,
gazing at them in dread and shyness.
There was Count Bernard, of Harcourt, called the "Dane,"
shaggy red hair and beard, to which a touch of grey had given a
strange unnatural tint, his eyes looking fierce and wild under his
thick eyebrows, one of them mis-shapen in consequence of a sword cut,
which had left a broad red and purple scar across both cheek and
forehead. There, too, came tall Baron Rainulf, of Ferrieres, cased
in a linked steel hauberk, that rang as he walked, and the men-at-
 helmets and shields, looking as if Sir Eric's armour that
hung in the hail had come to life and was walking about.
They sat down to Fru Astrida's banquet, the old Lady at the Duke's
right hand, and the Count of Harcourt on his left; Osmond carved for
the Duke, and Richard handed his cup and trencher. All through the
meal, the Duke and his Lords talked earnestly of the expedition on
which they were bound to meet Count Arnulf of Flanders, on a little
islet in the river Somme, there to come to some agreement, by which
Arnulf might make restitution to Count Herluin of Montreuil, for
certain wrongs which he had done him.
Some said that this would be the fittest time for requiring Arnulf to
yield up some towns on his borders, to which Normandy had long laid
claim, but the Duke shook his head, saying that he must seek no
selfish advantage, when called to judge between others.
Richard was rather tired of their grave talk, and thought the supper
very long; but at last it was over, the Grace was said, the boards
which had served for tables were removed, and as it was still
some of the guests went to see how their steeds had been bestowed,
others to look at Sir Eric's horses and hounds, and others collected
together in groups.
The Duke had time to attend to his little boy, and Richard sat upon
his knee and talked, told about all his pleasures, how his arrow had
hit the deer to-day, how Sir Eric let him ride out to the chase on
his little pony, how Osmond would take him to bathe in the cool
bright river, and how he had watched the raven's nest in the top of
the old tower.
Duke William listened, and smiled, and seemed as well pleased to hear
as the boy was to tell. "And, Richard," said he at last, "have you
nought to tell me of Father Lucas, and his great book? What, not a
word? Look up, Richard, and tell me how it goes with the learning."
"Oh, father!" said Richard, in a low voice, playing with the clasp of
his father's belt, and looking down, "I don't like those crabbed
letters on the old yellow parchment."
"But you try to learn them, I hope!" said the Duke.
 "Yes, father, I do, but they are very hard, and the words are so
long, and Father Lucas will always come when the sun is so bright,
and the wood so green, that I know not how to bear to be kept poring
over those black hooks and strokes."
"Poor little fellow," said Duke William, smiling and Richard, rather
encouraged, went on more boldly. "You do not know this reading,
"To my sorrow, no," said the Duke.
"And Sir Eric cannot read, nor Osmond, nor any one, and why must I
read, and cramp my fingers with writing, just as if I was a clerk,
instead of a young Duke?" Richard looked up in his father's face,
and then hung his head, as if half-ashamed of questioning his will,
but the Duke answered him without displeasure.
"It is hard, no doubt, my boy, to you now, but it will be the better
for you in the end. I would give much to be able myself to read
those holy books which I must now only hear read to me by a clerk,
but since I have had the wish, I have had no time to learn as you
 "But Knights and Nobles never learn," said Richard.
"And do you think it a reason they never should? But you are wrong,
my boy, for the Kings of France and England, the Counts of Anjou, of
Provence, and Paris, yes, even King Hako of Norway,
can all read."
"I tell you, Richard, when the treaty was drawn up for restoring this
King Louis to his throne, I was ashamed to find myself one of the few
crown vassals who could not write his name thereto."
"But none is so wise or so good as you, father," said Richard,
proudly. "Sir Eric often says so."
"Sir Eric loves his Duke too well to see his faults," said Duke
William; "but far better and wiser might I have been, had I been
taught by such masters as you may be. And hark, Richard, not only
can all Princes here read, but in England, King Ethelstane would have
every Noble taught; they study in his own palace, with his brothers,
and read the good words that King Alfred the truth-teller put into
their own tongue for them."
 "I hate the English," said Richard, raising his head and looking very
"Hate them? and wherefore?"
"Because they traitorously killed the brave Sea King Ragnar! Fru
Astrida sings his death-song, which he chanted when the vipers were
gnawing him to death, and he gloried to think how his sons would
bring the ravens to feast upon the Saxon. Oh! had I been his son,
how I would have carried on the feud! How I would have laughed when
I cut down the false traitors, and burnt their palaces!" Richard's
eye kindled, and his words, as he spoke the old Norse language,
flowed into the sort of wild verse in which the Sagas or legendary
songs were composed, and which, perhaps, he was unconsciously
Duke William looked grave.
"Fru Astrida must sing you no more such Sagas," said he, "if they
fill your mind with these revengeful thoughts, fit only for the
worshippers of Odin and Thor. Neither Ragnar nor his sons knew
better than to rejoice in this deadly vengeance, but we, who are
Christians, know that it is for us to forgive."
 "The English had slain their father!" said Richard, looking up with
wondering dissatisfied eyes.
"Yes, Richard, and I speak not against them, for they were even as we
should have been, had not King Harold the fair-haired driven your
grandfather from Denmark. They had not been taught the truth, but to
us it has been said, 'Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.' Listen to
me, my son, Christian as is this nation of ours, this duty of
forgiveness is too often neglected, but let it not be so with you.
Bear in mind, whenever you see the Cross
marked on our banner, or
carved in stone on the Churches, that it speaks of forgiveness to us;
but of that pardon we shall never taste if we forgive not our
enemies. Do you mark me, boy?"
Richard hesitated a little, and then said, "Yes, father, but I could
never have pardoned, had I been one of Ragnar's sons."
"It may be that you will be in their case, Richard," said the Duke,
"and should I fall, as it may well be I shall, in some of the
contests that tear to pieces this unhappy Kingdom of France,
remember what I say now. I charge you, on your duty to God and to
your father, that you keep up no feud, no hatred, but rather that you
should deem me best revenged, when you have with heart and hand,
given the fullest proof of forgiveness to your enemy. Give me your
word that you will."
"Yes, father," said Richard, with rather a subdued tone, and resting
his head on his father's shoulder. There was a silence for a little
space, during which he began to revive into playfulness, to stroke
the Duke's short curled beard, and play with his embroidered collar.
In so doing, his fingers caught hold of a silver chain, and pulling
it out with a jerk, he saw a silver key attached to it. "Oh, what is
that?" he asked eagerly. "What does that key unlock?"
"My greatest treasure," replied Duke William, as he replaced the
chain and key within his robe.
"Your greatest treasure, father! Is that your coronet?"
"You will know one day," said his father, putting the little hand
down from its too busy
 investigations; and some of the Barons at that
moment returning into the hall, he had no more leisure to bestow on
his little son.
The next day, after morning service in the Chapel, and breakfast in
the hall, the Duke again set forward on his journey, giving Richard
hopes he might return in a fortnight's time, and obtaining from him a
promise that he would be very attentive to Father Lucas, and very
obedient to Sir Eric de Centeville.
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