Windsor Castle, Book 6 — Chapter VI

Showing how Morgan Fenwolf escaped from the Garter Tower.

Half-an-hour afterwards Fenwolf was visited by the Duke of Suffolk and a canon of the college; and the guard-chamber being cleared, the duke enjoined him to make clear his bosom by confession.

“I hold it my duty to tell you, prisoner,” said Suffolk, “that there is no hope of your life.

The king's highness is determined to make a fearful example of you and all your companions in crime; but he does not seek to destroy your soul, and has therefore sent this holy man to you, with the desire that you may open your heart to him, and by confession and repentance save yourself from eternal perdition.

” “Confession will profit me nothing,” said Fenwolf moodily.

“I cannot pray if I would.

” “You cannot be so utterly lost, my son,” rejoined the canon.

“Hell may have woven her dark chains round you, but not so firmly but that the hand of Heaven can burst them.

” “You waste time in seeking to persuade me,” returned Fenwolf.

“You are not ignorant of the punishment inflicted upon those condemned for sorcery, my son?

” demanded the canon.

“It is the stake, is it not?

” replied Fenwolf “Ay,” replied the canon; “but even that fiery trial will fail to purge out your offences without penitence.

My lord of Suffolk, this wretched man's condition demands special attention.

It will profit the Church much to win his soul from the fiend.

Let him, I pray you, be removed to the dungeon beneath the Garter Tower, where a priest shall visit him, and pray by his side till daybreak.

” “It will be useless, father,” said Fenwolf.

“I do not despair, my son,” replied the canon; “and when I see you again in the morning I trust to find you in a better frame of mind.

” The duke then gave directions to the guard to remove the prisoner, and after some further conference with the canon, returned to the royal apartments.

Meanwhile, the canon shaped his course towards the Horseshoe Cloisters, a range of buildings so designated from their form, and situated at the west end of St. George's Chapel, and he had scarcely entered them when he heard footsteps behind him, and turning at the sound, beheld a Franciscan friar, for so his habit of the coarsest grey cloth, tied with a cord round the waist, proclaimed him.

The friar was very tall and gaunt, and his cowl was drawn over his face so as to conceal his features.

“What would you, brother?

” inquired the canon, halting.

“I have a request to make of you, reverend sir,” replied the friar, with a lowly inclination of the head.

“I have just arrived from Chertsey Abbey, whither I have been tarrying for the last three days, and while conversing with the guard at the gate, I saw a prisoner brought into the castle charged with heinous offences, and amongst others, with dealings with the fiend.

” “You have been rightly informed, brother,” rejoined the canon.

“And have I also been rightly informed that you desire a priest to pass the night with him, reverend sir?

” returned the friar.

“If so, I would crave permission to undertake the office.

Two souls, as deeply laden as that of this poor wretch, have been snatched from the jaws of Satan by my efforts, and I do not despair of success now.

” “Since you are so confident, brother,” said the canon, “I commit him readily to your hands.

I was about to seek other aid, but your offer comes opportunely.

With Heaven's help I doubt not you will achieve a victory over the evil one.

” As the latter words were uttered a sudden pain seemed to seize the friar.

Staggering slightly, he caught at the railing of the cloisters for support, but he instantly recovered himself.

“It is nothing, reverend sir,” he said, seeing that the good canon regarded him anxiously.

“Long vigils and fasting have made me liable to frequent attacks of giddiness, but they pass as quickly as they come.

Will it please you to go with me, and direct the guard to admit me to the prisoner?

” The canon assented; and crossing the quadrangle, they returned to the gateway.

Meanwhile, the prisoner had been removed to the lower chamber of the Garter Tower.

This fortification, one of the oldest in the castle, being coeval with the Curfew Tower, is now in a state of grievous neglect and ruin.

Unroofed, unfloored, filled with rubbish, masked by the yard walls of the adjoining habitations, with one side entirely pulled down, and a great breach in front, it is solely owing to the solid and rock-like construction of its masonry that it is indebted for partial preservation.

Still, notwithstanding its dilapidated condition, and that it is the mere shell of its former self, its appearance is highly picturesque.

The walls are of prodigious thickness, and the deep embrasures within them are almost perfect; while a secret staircase may still be tracked partly round the building.

Amid the rubbish choking up its lower chamber grows a young tree, green and flourishing-a type, it is to be hoped, of the restoration of the structure.

Conducted to a low vaulted chamber in this tower, the prisoner was cast upon its floor-for he was still hound hand and foot-and left alone and in darkness.

But he was not destined to continue in this state long.

The door of the dungeon opened, and the guard ushered in the tall Franciscan friar.

“What ho!

dog of a prisoner,” he cried, “here is a holy man come to pass the night with you in prayer.

” “He may take his Ave Maries and Paternosters elsewhere-I want them not,” replied Fenwolf moodily.

“You would prefer my bringing Herne the Hunter, no doubt,” rejoined the guard, laughing at his own jest; “but this is a physician for your soul.

The saints help you in your good work, father; you will have no easy task.

” “Set down the light, my son,” cried the friar harshly, “and leave us; my task will be easily accomplished.

” Placing the lamp on the stone floor of the dungeon, the guard withdrew, and locked the door after him.

“Do you repent, my son?

” demanded the friar, as soon as they were alone.

“Certes, I repent having put faith in a treacherous fiend, who has deserted me-but that is all,” replied Fenwolf, with his face turned to the ground.

“Will you put faith in me, if I promise you deliverance?

” demanded the friar.

“You promise more than you can perform, as most of your brethren do,” rejoined the other.

“You will not say so if you look up,” said the friar.

Fenwolf started at the words, which were pronounced in a different tone from that previously adopted by the speaker, and raised himself as far as his bonds would permit him.

The friar had thrown hack his cowl, and disclosed features of appalling hideousness, lighted up by a diabolical grin.

“You here!

” cried Fenwolf.

“You doubted me,” rejoined Herne, “but I never desert a follower.

Besides, I wish to show the royal Harry that my power is equal to his own.

” “But how are we to get out of this dungeon?

” asked Fenwolf, gazing round apprehensively.

“My way out will be easy enough,” replied Herne; “but your escape is attended with more difficulty.

You remember how we went to the vaulted chamber in the Curfew Tower on the night when Mark Fytton, the butcher, was confined within it?

” “I do,” replied Fenwolf; “but I can think of nothing while I am tied thus.

” Heme instantly drew forth a hunting-knife, and cutting Fenwolf's bonds asunder, the latter started to his feet.

“If that bull-headed butcher would have joined me, I would have liberated him as I am about to liberate you,” pursued Herne.

“But to return to the matter in hand.

You recollect the secret passage we then tracked?

There is just such another staircase in this tower.

” And stepping to the farther side of the chamber, he touched a small knob in the wall, and a stone flew hack, disclosing an aperture just large enough to allow a man to pass through it.

“There is your road to freedom,” he said, pointing to the hole.

“Creep along that narrow passage, and it will bring you to a small loophole in the wall, not many feet from the ground.

The loophole is guarded by a bar of iron, but it is moved by a spring in the upper part of the stone in which it appears to be mortised.

This impediment removed, you will easily force your way through the loophole.

Drop cautiously, for fear of the sentinels on the walls; then make your way to the forest, and if you 'scape the arquebusiers who are scouring it, conceal yourself in the sandstone cave below the beech-tree.

” “And what of you?

” asked Fenwoif.

“I have more to do here,” replied Herne impatiently-“away!

” Thus dismissed, Fenwolf entered the aperture, which was instantly closed after him by Herne.

Carefully following the instructions of his leader, the keeper passed through the loophole, let himself drop softly down, and keeping close to the walls of the tower till he heard the sentinels move off, darted swiftly across the street and made good his escape.

Meanwhile Herne drew the cowl over his head, and stepping to the door, knocked loudly against it.

“What would you, father?

” cried the guard from without.

“Enter, my son, and you shall know,” replied Herne.

The next moment the door was unlocked, and the guard advanced into the dungeon.

“Ha!

” he exclaimed, snatching up the lamp and looking around, “where is the prisoner?

” “Gone,” replied Herne.

“What!

has the fiend flown away with him?

” cried the man, in mixed astonishment and alarm.

“He has been set free by Herne the Hunter!

” cried the demon.

“Tell all who question thee so, and relate what thou now seest.

” At the words a bright blue flame illumined the chamber, in the midst of which was seen the tall dark figure of Herne.

His Franciscan's gown had dropped to his feet, and he appeared habited in his wild deer-skin garb.

With a loud cry, the guard fell senseless on the ground.

A few minutes after this, as was subsequently ascertained, a tall Franciscan friar threaded the cloisters behind Saint George's Chapel, and giving the word to the sentinels, passed through the outer door communicating with the steep descent leading to the town.

X.

How Herne the Hunter was himself hunted.

On the guard's recovery, information of what had occurred was immediately conveyed to the king, who had not yet retired to rest, but was sitting in his private chamber with the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk.

The intelligence threw him into a great fury: he buffeted the guard, and ordered him to be locked up in the dungeon whence the prisoner had escaped; reprimanded the canon; directed the Duke of Suffolk, with a patrol, to make search in the neighbourhood of the castle for the fugitive and the friar; and bade the Duke of Norfolk get together a band of arquebusiers; and as soon as the latter were assembled, he put himself at their head and again rode into the forest.

The cavalcade had proceeded about a mile along the great avenue, when one of the arquebusiers rode up and said that he heard some distant sounds on the right.

Commanding a halt, Henry listened for a moment, and, satisfied that the man was right, quitted the course he was pursuing, and dashed across the broad glade now traversed by the avenue called Queen Anne's Ride.

As he advanced the rapid trampling of horses was heard, accompanied by shouts, and presently afterwards a troop of wild-looking horsemen in fantastic garbs was seen galloping down the hill, pursued by Bouchier and his followers.

The king immediately shaped his course so as to intercept the flying party, and, being in some measure screened by the trees, he burst unexpectedly upon them at a turn of the road.

Henry called to the fugitives to surrender, but they refused, and, brandishing their long knives and spears, made a desperate resistance.

But they were speedily surrounded and overpowered.

Bouchier inquired from the king what should be done with the prisoners.

“Hang them all upon yon trees!

” cried Henry, pointing to two sister oaks which stood near the scene of strife.

The terrible sentence was immediately carried into execution.

Cords were produced, and in less than half-an-hour twenty breathless bodies were swinging from the branches of the two trees indicated by the king.

“This will serve to deter others from like offences,” observed Henry, who had watched the whole proceedings with savage satisfaction.

“And now, Bouchier, how came you to let the leader of these villains escape?

” “I did not know he had escaped, my liege,” replied Bouchier, in astonishment.

“Yea, marry, but he has escaped,” rejoined Henry; “and he has had the audacity to show himself in the castle within this hour, and the cunning, moreover, to set the prisoner free.

” And he proceeded to relate what had occurred.

“This is strange indeed, my liege,” replied Bouchier, at the close of the king's recital, “and to my thinking, is proof convincing that we have to do with a supernatural being.

” “Supernatura!

--pshaw!

--banish the idle notion,” rejoined Henry sternly.

“We are all the dupes of some jugglery.

The caitiff will doubtless return to the forest.

Continue your search, therefore, for him throughout the night.

If you catch him, I promise you a royal reward.

” So saying, he rode back to the castle, somewhat appeased by the wholesale vengeance he had taken upon the offenders.

In obedience to the orders he had received, Bouchier, with his followers, continued riding about the forest during the whole night, but without finding anything to reward his search, until about dawn it occurred to him to return to the trees on which the bodies were suspended.

As he approached them he fancied he beheld a horse standing beneath the nearest tree, and immediately ordered his followers to proceed as noiselessly as possible, and to keep under the cover of the wood.

A nearer advance convinced him that his eyes had not deceived him.

It was a swart, wild-looking horse that he beheld, with eyes that flamed like carbuncles, while a couple of bodies, evidently snatched from the branches, were laid across his back.

A glance at the trees, too, showed Bouchier that they had been considerably lightened of their hideous spoil.

Seeing this, Bouchier dashed forward.

Alarmed by the noise, the wild horse neighed loudly, and a dark figure instantly dropped from the tree upon its back, and proceeded to disencumber it of its load.

But before this could be accomplished, a bolt from a cross-bow, shot by one of Bouchier's followers, pierced the animal's brain.

Rearing aloft, it fell backwards in such manner as would have crushed an ordinary rider, but Herne slipped off uninjured, and with incredible swiftness darted among the trees.

The others started in pursuit, and a chase commenced in which the demon huntsman had to sustain the part of the deer--nor could any deer have afforded better sport.

Away flew the pursued and pursuers over broad glade and through tangled glen, the woods resounding with their cries.

Bouchier did not lose sight of the fugitive for a moment, and urged his men to push on; but, despite his alternate proffers and menaces, they gained but little on Herne, who, speeding towards the home park, cleared its high palings with a single bound.

Over went Bouchier and his followers, and they then descried him making his way to a large oak standing almost alone in the centre of a wide glade.

An instant afterwards he reached the tree, shook his arm menacingly at his pursuers, and vanished.

The next moment Bouchier came up, flung himself from his panting steed, and, with his drawn sword in hand, forced himself through a rift in its side into the tree.

There was a hollow within it large enough to allow a man to stand upright, and two funnel-like holes ran upwards into the branches.

Finding nothing, Bouchier called for a hunting-spear, and thrust it as far as he could into the holes above.

The point encountered no obstruction except such as was offered by the wood itself.

He stamped upon the ground, and sounded it on all sides with the spear, but with no better success.

Issuing forth he next directed his attention to the upper part of the tree, which, while he was occupied inside, had been very carefully watched by his followers, and not content with viewing it from below, he clambered into the branches.

But they had nothing to show except their own leafy covering.

The careful examination of the ground about the tree at length led to the discovery of a small hole among its roots, about half a dozen yards from the trunk, and though this hole seemed scarcely large enough to serve for an entrance to the burrow of a fox, Bouchier deemed it expedient to keep a careful watch over it.

His investigation completed, he dispatched a sergeant of the guard to the castle to acquaint the king with what had occurred.

Disturbed by the events of the night, Henry obtained little sleep, and at an early hour summoned an attendant, and demanded whether there were any tidings from the forest The attendant replied that a sergeant of the guard was without, sent by Captain Bouchier with a message for his majesty.

The sergeant was immediately admitted to the royal presence, and on the close of his marvellous story the king, who had worked himself into a tremendous fury during its relation, roared out, “What!

foiled again?

ha!

But he shall not escape, if I have to root up half the trees in the forest.

Bouchier and his fellows must be bewitched.

Harkye, knaves: get together a dozen of the best woodmen and yeomen in the castle--instantly, as you value your lives; bid them bring axe and saw, pick and spade.

D'ye mark me?

ha!

Stay, I have not done.

I must have fagots and straw, for I will burn this tree to the ground--burn it to a char.

Summon the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk--the rascal archer I dubbed the Duke of Shoreditch and his mates--the keepers of the forest and their hounds--summon them quickly, and bid a band of the yeomen of the guard get ready.

” And he sprang from his couch.

The king's commands were executed with such alacrity, that by the time he was fully attired the whole of the persons he had ordered to be summoned were assembled.

Putting himself at their head, he rode forth to the home park, and found Bouchier and his followers grouped around the tree.

“We are still at fault, my liege,” said Bouchier.

“So I see, Sir,” replied the king angrily.

“Hew down the tree instantly, knaves,” he added to the woodmen.

“Fall to--fall to.

” Ropes were then fastened to the head of the tree, and the welkin resounded with the rapid strokes of the hatchets.

It was a task of some difficulty, but such zeal and energy were displayed by the woodmen that ere long the giant trunk lay prostrate on the ground.

Its hollows were now fully exposed to view, but they were empty.

“Set fire to the accursed piece of timber!

” roared the king, “and burn it to dust, and scatter it to the wind!

” At these orders two yeomen of the guard advanced, and throwing down a heap of fagots, straw, and other combustibles on the roots of the tree, soon kindled a fierce fire.

Meanwhile a couple of woodmen, stripped of their jerkins, and with their brawny arms bared to the shoulder, mounted on the trunk, and strove to split it asunder.

Some of the keepers likewise got into the branches, and peered into every crack and crevice, in the hope of making some discovery.

Amongst the latter was Will Sommers, who had posted himself near a great arm of the tree, which he maintained when lopped off would be found to contain the demon.

Nor were other expedients neglected.

A fierce hound had been sent into the hole near the roots of the tree by Gabriel Lapp, but after a short absence he returned howling and terrified, nor could all the efforts of Gabriel, seconded by a severe scourging with his heavy dog-whip, induce him to enter it again.

When the hound had come forth, a couple of yeomen advanced to enlarge the opening, while a third with a pick endeavoured to remove the root, which formed an impediment to their efforts.

“They may dig, but they'll never catch him,” observed Shoreditch, who stood by, to his companions.

“Hunting a spirit is not the same thing as training and raising a wolf, or earthing and digging out a badger.

” “Not so loud, duke,” said Islington; “his majesty may think thy jest irreverent.

” “I have an arrow blessed by a priest,” said Paddington, “which I shall let fly at the spirit if he appears.

” “Here he is--here he is!

” cried Will Sommers, as a great white horned owl, which had been concealed in some part of the tree, flew forth.

“It may be the demon in that form--shoot!

shoot!

” cried Shoreditch.

Paddington bent his bow.

The arrow whistled through the air, and in another moment the owl fell fluttering to the ground completely transfixed; but it underwent no change, as was expected by the credulous archer.

Meanwhile the fire, being kept constantly supplied with fresh fagots, and stirred by the yeomen of the guard, burnt bravely.

The lower part of the tree was already consumed, and the flames, roaring through the hollow within with a sound like that of a furnace, promised soon to reduce it to charcoal.

The mouth of the hole having now been widened, another keeper, who had brought forward a couple of lurchers, sent them into it; but in a few moments they returned, as the hound had done, howling and with scared looks.

Without heeding their enraged master, they ran off, with their tails between their legs, towards the castle.

“I see how it is, Rufus,” said Gabriel, patting his hound, who looked wistfully and half-reproachfully at him.

“Thou wert not to blame, poor fellow!

The best dog that ever was whelped cannot be expected to face the devil.

” Though long ere this it had become the general opinion that it was useless to persevere further in the search, the king, with his characteristic obstinacy, would not give it up.

In due time the whole of the trunk of the enormous tree was consumed, and its branches cast into the fire.

The roots were rent from the ground, and a wide and deep trench digged around the spot.

The course of the hole was traced for some distance, but it was never of any size, and was suddenly lost by the falling in of the earth.

At length, after five hours' close watching, Henry's patience was exhausted, and he ordered the pit to be filled up, and every crevice and fissure in the ground about to be carefully stopped.

“If we cannot unkennel the fox,” he said, “we will at least earth him up.

“For all your care, gossip Henry,” muttered Will Sommers, as he rode after his royal master to the castle, “the fox will work his way out.

” THUS ENDS THE SECOND BOOK OF THE CHRONICLE OF WINDSOR CASTLE

BOOK III. THE HISTORY OF THE CASTLE

I.

Comprising the First Two Epochs in the History of Windsor Castle.

Amid the gloom hovering over the early history of Windsor Castle appear the mighty phantoms of the renowned King Arthur and his knights, for whom it is said Merlin reared a magic fortress upon its heights, in a great hall whereof, decorated with trophies of war and of the chase, was placed the famous Round Table.

But if the antique tale is now worn out, and no longer part of our faith, it is pleasant at least to record it, and surrendering ourselves for a while to the sway of fancy, to conjure up the old enchanted castle on the hill, to people its courts with warlike and lovely forms, its forests with fays and giants.

Windsor, or Wyndleshore, so called from the winding banks of the river flowing past it, was the abode of the ancient Saxon monarchs; and a legend is related by William of Malmesbury of a woodman named Wulwin, who being stricken with blindness, and having visited eighty-seven churches and vainly implored their tutelary saints for relief, was at last restored to sight by the touch of Edward the Confessor, who further enhanced the boon by making him keeper of his palace at Windsor.

But though this story may be doubted, it is certain that the pious king above mentioned granted Windsor to the abbot and monks of Saint Peter at Westminster, “for the hope of eternal reward, the remission of his sins, the sins of his father, mother, and all his ancestors, and to the praise of Almighty God, as a perpetual endowment and inheritance.

” But the royal donation did not long remain in the hands of the priesthood.

Struck by the extreme beauty of the spot, “for that it seemed exceeding profitable and commodious, because situate so near the Thames, the wood fit for game, and many other particulars lying there, meet and necessary for kings--yea, a place very convenient for his reception,” William the Conqueror prevailed upon Abbot Edwin to accept in exchange for it Wakendune and Feringes, in Essex, together with three other tenements in Colchester; and having obtained possession of the coveted hill, he forthwith began to erect a castle upon it--occupying a space of about half a hide of land.

Around it he formed large parks, to enable him to pursue his favourite pastime of hunting; and he enacted and enforced severe laws for the preservation of the game.

As devoted to the chase as his father, William Rufus frequently hunted in the forests of Windsor, and solemnised some of the festivals of the Church in the castle.

In the succeeding reign--namely, that of Henry the First--the castle was entirely rebuilt and greatly enlarged--assuming somewhat of the character of a palatial residence, having before been little more than a strong hunting-seat.

The structure then erected in all probability occupied the same site as the upper and lower wards of the present pile;

but nothing remains of it except perhaps the keep, and of that little beyond its form and position.

In 1109 Henry celebrated the feast of Pentecost with great state and magnificence within the castle.

In 1122 he there espoused his second wife, Adelicia, daughter of Godfrey, Duke of Louvain; and failing in obtaining issue by her, assembled the barons at Windsor, and causing them, together with David, King of Scotland, his sister Adela, and her son Stephen, afterwards King of England, to do homage to his daughter Maud, widow of the Emperor Henry the Fifth.

Proof that Windsor Castle was regarded as the second fortress in the realm is afforded by the treaty of peace between the usurper Stephen and the Empress Maud, in which it is coupled with the Tower of London under the designation of Mota de Windsor.

At the signing of the treaty it was committed to the custody of Richard de Lucy, who was continued in the office of keeper by Henry the Second.

In the reign of this monarch many repairs were made in the castle, to which a vineyard was attached--the cultivation of the grape being at this time extensively practised throughout England.

Strange as the circumstance may now appear, Stow mentions that vines grew in abundance in the home park in the reign of Richard the Second, the wine made from them being consumed at the king's table, and even sold.

It is related by Fabian that Henry, stung by the disobedience and ingratitude of his sons, caused an allegorical picture to be painted, representing an old eagle assailed by four young ones, which he placed in one of the chambers of the castle.

When asked the meaning of the device, he replied, “I am the old eagle, and the four eaglets are my sons, Who cease not to pursue my death.

The youngest bird, who is tearing out its parent's eyes, is my son John, my youngest and best-loved son, and who yet is the most eager for my destruction.

” On his departure for the holy wars Richard Coeur de Lion entrusted the government of the castle to Hugh de Pudsey, Bishop of Durham and Earl of Northumberland; but a fierce dispute arising between the warrior-prelate and his ambitious colleague, William Longchamp, Bishop of Ely, he was seized and imprisoned by the latter, and compelled to surrender the castle.

After an extraordinary display of ostentation, Longchamp was ousted in his turn.

On the arrival of the news of Richard's capture and imprisonment in Austria, the castle was seized by Prince John; but it was soon afterwards taken possession of in the king's behalf by the barons, and consigned to the custody of Eleanor, the queen-dowager.

In John's reign the castle became the scene of a foul and terrible event William de Braose, a powerful baron, having offended the king, his wife Maud was ordered to deliver up her son a hostage for her husband.

But instead of complying with the injunction, she rashly returned for answer--“that she would not entrust her child to the person who could slay his own nephew.

” Upon which the ruthless king seized her and her son, and enclosing them in a recess in the wall of the castle, built them up within it.

Sorely pressed by the barons in 1215, John sought refuge within the castle, and in the same year signed the two charters, Magna Charta and Charta de Foresta, at Runnymede--a plain between Windsor and Staines.

A

curious account of his frantic demeanour, after divesting himself of so much power and extending so greatly the liberties of the subject, is given by Holinshed:--“Having acted so far contrary to his mind, the king was right sorrowful in heart, cursed his mother that bare him, and the hour in which he was born; wishing that he had received death by violence of sword or knife instead of natural nourishment.

He whetted his teeth, and did bite now on one staff, now on another, as he walked, and oft brake the same in pieces when he had done, and with such disordered behaviour and furious gestures he uttered his grief, that the noblemen very well perceived the inclination of his inward affection concerning these things before the breaking-up of the council, and therefore sore lamented the state of the realm, guessing what would follow of his impatience, and displeasant taking of the matter.

” The faithless king made an attempt to regain his lost power, and war breaking out afresh in the following year, a numerous army, under the command of William de Nivernois, besieged the castle, which was stoutly defended by Inglehard de Achie and sixty knights.

The barons, however, learning that John was marching through Norfolk and Suffolk, and ravaging the country, hastily raised the siege and advanced to meet him.

But he avoided them, marched to Stamford and Lincoln, and from thence towards Wales.

On his return from this expedition he was seized with the distemper of which he died.

Henry the Third was an ardent encourager of architecture, and his reign marks the second great epoch in the annals of the castle.

In 1223 eight hundred marks were paid to Engelhard de Cygony, constable of the castle, John le Draper, and William the clerk of Windsor, masters of the works, and others, for repairs and works within the castle; the latter, it is conjectured, referring to the erection of a new great hall within the lower ward, there being already a hall of small dimensions in the upper court.

The windows of the new building were filled with painted glass, and at the upper end, upon a raised dais, was a gilt throne sustaining a statue of the king in his robes.

Within this vast and richly decorated chamber, in 1240, on the day of the Nativity, an infinite number of poor persons were collected and fed by the king's command.

During the greater part of Henry's long and eventful reign the works within the castle proceeded with unabated activity.

Carpenters were maintained on the royal establishment; the ditch between the hall and the lower ward was repaired; a new kitchen was built; the bridges were repaired with timber procured from the neighbouring forests; certain breaches in the wall facing the garden were stopped; the fortifications were surveyed, and the battlements repaired.

At the same time the queen's chamber was painted and wainscoted, and iron bars were placed before the windows of Prince Edward's chamber.

In 1240 Henry commenced building an apartment for his own use near the wall of the castle, sixty feet long and twenty-eight high; another apartment for the queen contiguous to it; and a chapel, seventy feet long and twenty-eight feet wide, along the same wall, but with a grassy space between it and the royal apartments.

The chapel, as appears from an order to Walter de Grey, Archbishop of York, had a Galilee and a cloister, a lofty wooden roof covered with lead, and a stone turret in front holding three or four bells.

Withinside it was made to appear like stone-work with good ceiling and painting, and it contained four gilded images.

This structure is supposed to have been in existence, under the designation of the Old College Church, in the latter part of the reign of Henry the Seventh, by whom it was pulled down to make way for the tomb-house.

Traces of its architecture have been discovered by diligent antiquarian research in the south ambulatory of the Dean's Cloister, and in the door behind the altar in St. George's Chapel, the latter of which is conceived to have formed the principal entrance to the older structure, and has been described as exhibiting “one of the most beautiful specimens which time and innovation have respected of the elaborate ornamental work of the period.

” In 1241 Henry commenced operations upon the outworks of the castle, and the three towers on the western side of the lower ward--now known as the Curfew, the Garter, and the Salisbury Towers--were erected by him.

He also continued the walls along the south side of the lower ward, traces of the architecture of the period being discoverable in the inner walls of the houses of the alms-knights as far as the tower now bearing his name.

From thence it is concluded that the ramparts ran along the east side of the upper ward to a tower occupying the site of the Wykeham or Winchester Tower.

The three towers at the west end of the lower ward, though much dilapidated, present unquestionable features of the architecture of the thirteenth century.

The lower storey of the Curfew Tower, which has been but little altered, consists of a large vaulted chamber, twenty-two feet wide, with walls of nearly thirteen feet in thickness, and having arched recesses terminated by loopholes.

The walls are covered with the inscriptions of prisoners who have been confined within it.

The Garter Tower, though in a most ruinous condition, exhibits high architectural beauty in its moulded arches and corbelled passages.

The Salisbury Tower retains only externally, and on the side towards the town, its original aspect.

The remains of a fourth tower are discernible in the Governor of the Alms-Knights' Tower; and Henry the Third's Tower, as before observed, completes what remains of the original chain of fortifications.

On the 24th of November 1244 Henry issued a writ enjoining “the clerks of the works at Windsor to work day and night to wainscot the high chamber upon the wall of the castle near our chapel in the upper bailey, so that it may be ready and properly wainscoted on Friday next [the 24th occurring on a Tuesday, only two days were allowed for the task], when we come there, with boards radiated and coloured, so that nothing be found reprehensible in that wainscot; and also to make at each gable of the said chamber one glass window, on the outside of the inner window of each gable, so that when the inner window shall be closed the glass windows may be seen outside.

” The following year the works were suspended, but they were afterwards resumed and continued, with few interruptions; the keep was new constructed; a stone bench was fixed in the wall near the grass-plot by the king's chamber; a bridge was thrown across the ditch to the king's garden, which lay outside the walls; a barbican was erected, to which a portcullis was subsequently attached; the bridges were defended by strong iron chains; the old chambers in the upper ward were renovated;

a conduit and lavatory were added; and a fountain was constructed in the garden.

In this reign, in all probability, the Norman Tower, which now forms a gateway between the middle and the upper ward, was erected.

This tower, at present allotted to the house keeper of the castle, Lady Mary Fox, was used as a prison-lodging during the civil wars of Charles the First's time; and many noble and gallant captives have left mementoes of their loyalty and ill fate upon its walls.

In 1260 Henry received a visit to Windsor from his daughter Margaret, and her husband, Alexander the Third, King of Scotland.

The queen gave birth to a daughter during her stay at the castle.

In 1264, during the contest between Henry and the barons, the valiant Prince Edward, his son, returning from a successful expedition into Wales, surprised the citizens of London, and carrying off their military chest, in which was much treasure, retired to Windsor Castle and strongly garrisoned it.

The Queen Eleanor, his mother, would fain have joined him there, but she was driven back by the citizens at London Bridge, and compelled to take sanctuary in the palace of the Bishop of London, at St. Paul's. Compelled at length to surrender the castle to the barons, and to depart from it with his consort, Eleanor of Castile, the brave prince soon afterwards recovered it, but was again forced to deliver it up to Simon de Montford, Earl of Leicester, who appointed Geoffrey de Langele governor.

But though frequently wrested from him at this period, Windsor Castle was never long out of Henry's possession; and in 1265 the chief citizens of London were imprisoned till they had paid the heavy fine imposed upon them for their adherence to Simon de Montford, who had been just before slain at the battle of Evesham.

During this reign a terrific storm of wind and thunder occurred, which tore up several great trees in the park, shook the castle, and blew down a part of the building in which the queen and her family were lodged, but happily without doing them injury.

Four of the children of Edward the First, who was blessed with a numerous offspring, were born at Windsor; and as he frequently resided at the castle, the town began to increase in importance and consideration.

By a charter granted in 1276 it was created a free borough, and various privileges were conferred on its inhabitants.

Stow tells us that in 1295, on the last day of February, there suddenly arose such a fire in the castle of Windsor that many offices were therewith consumed, and many goodly images, made to beautify the buildings, defaced and deformed.

Edward the Second, and his beautiful but perfidious queen, Isabella of France, made Windsor Castle their frequent abode; and here, on the 13th day of November 1312 at forty minutes past five in the morning, was born a prince, over whose nativity the wizard Merlin must have presided.

Baptized within the old chapel by the name of Edward, this prince became afterwards the third monarch of the name, and the greatest, and was also styled, from the place of his birth, EDWARD OF WINDSOR.

II.

Comprising the Third Great Epoch in the History of the Castle--And showing how the Most Noble Order of the Garter was instituted.

Strongly attached to the place of his birth, Edward the Third, by his letters patent dated from Westminster, in the twenty-second year of his reign, now founded the ancient chapel established by Henry the First, and dedicated it to the Virgin, Saint George of Cappadocia, and Saint Edward the Confessor; ordaining that to the eight canons appointed by his predecessor there should be added one custos, fifteen more canons, and twenty-four alms-knights; the whole to be maintained out of the revenues with which the chapel was to be endowed.

The institution was confirmed by Pope Clement the Sixth, by a bull issued at Avignon the 13th of November 1351. In 1349, before the foundation of the college had been confirmed, as above related, Edward instituted the Order of the Garter.

The origin of this illustrious Order has been much disputed.

By some writers it has been ascribed to Richard Coeur de Lion, who is said to have girded a leathern band round the legs of his bravest knights in.

Palestine.

By others it has been asserted that it arose from the word “garter” having been used as a watchword by Edward at the battle of Cressy.

Others again have stoutly maintained that its ringlike form bore mysterious reference to the Round Table.

But the popular legend, to which, despite the doubts thrown upon it, credence still attaches, declares its origin to be as follows: Joan, Countess of Salisbury, a beautiful dame, of whom Edward was enamoured, while dancing at a high festival accidentally slipped her garter, of blue embroidered velvet.