Rufus escaped the storm, and landed the next day at Harfleur. When the news of his advance reached the town of Mans, the insurgents appear to have been struck with dismay. Helie, forgetting bis knightly fame, and the safety of the people, who looked to him for guidance, disbanded his troops and fled at the mere sound of the enemy's approach, while William passed through the country, dealing ruin and desolation around him. A short time sufficed to reduce the insurgents to submission, and this being accomplished, Rufus returned to England.
On his return to England, the king began, "after his old manner, to spoil and waste the country by unreasonable exactions," assisted by bis favourite, Ralph Flambard. Various public buildings, which were erected by Rufus, served as pretexts for demands of money, a large portion of which was applied to satisfy his own private extravagance.
In the month of August, A.D. 1100, there was held, in the New Forest, a hunting meeting, at which the king was present. This district, where the blackened ruins of villages still remained, where the ground had been watered by the tears and the blood of the miserable inhabitants, murdered or driven from their homes, where the trees grew thickly in commemoration of a deed of cruelty which has but few parallels in history—this gloomy solitude was destined to be the death-scene of Rufus, as it had already been of two other persons of the Conqueror's blood. In the year 1081, Richard, the eldest son of William I., had mortally wounded himself in the New Forest; and in May, 1100, Richard, son of Duke Robert and nephew of Rufus, was killed there accidentally by an arrow, in these successive calamities, the people thought they saw a retribution for the crime which bad been committed in that place. With little light of religion, and but vague notions of Providence, they entertained a deep-seated belief in a punishment attendant on crime, and in the final though long-delayed triumph of the principle of justice.
On Lammas Day the king and his court were assembled at Malwood Keep or Castle, preparing to go a-hunting. A large and noble company were there making merry, and at the side of the king sat Prince Henry—the two brothers having become reconciled some time before. Among the party was a Norman knight, noted as a good sportsman and a gallant gentleman; his name was Sir Walter Tyrrel, or De Poix.
The monkish historians relate that during the feast a message came to the king from the abbot of a neighbouring monastery, to the effect that a monk, the night before, had a dream, in which the fiend had appeared to him, and that the dream foretold some impending evil to the king. Rufus laughed at the story. "The man is a right monk," he said, "and dreams for money. Give him an hundred pence, and tell him to dream of better fortune to our person."
If there is any truth in this story, it is probable that William was more affected by the prediction of the monk than he was willing to admit. He, however, passed on the wine cup quicker than before, encouraged the revelry of the party, and at length rose up and gave the signal to horse.
The company separated on arriving in the forest, as the custom was in hunting the only person who remained near to the king being Sir Walter Tyrell. As it drew towards evening, a hart, suddenly bounding from a thicket, crossed the path of the king. Rufus drew his bow, but the shot missed its mark. Tyrrel was placed at some little distance in the underwood, and the hart, being attacked on both sides, stood for a moment at bay. Then the king, who had spent all his arrows, called out to his companion, "Shoot! shoot! in the devil's name!" Tyrrel obeyed, and the arrow, glancing from a tree, struck the king in the breast, piercing him to the heart. Rufus fell beside his startled horse, and died instantaneously.
Such is the story most commonly related of the death of the Red King, but the account is not to be received without reservation. The facts which may be considered fully authenticated are, that Rufus met with a violent death in the New Forest, having been shot in the breast by an arrow. Whether the bow was drawn "at a venture," or by the hand of a murderer—whether the hand was that of Sir Walter Tyrrel, or of another—are questions to which no positive answer can be given.
Tyrrel, however, was suspected from the first of having killed the king, he immediately galloped away to the sea-coast, and took ship for Normandy, whence he proceeded to seek the protection of the King of France. On arriving there he swore solemnly that be had no part in the death of King William; but in those days few men hesitated either to make or break an oath for a powerful motive, and, therefore, this circumstance of itself would not be sufficient to throw discredit on the account already related.
The body of the king was discovered by a poor charcoal burner, named Purkess, by whom it was carried in a cart to Winchester Cathedral, where it was buried.
Rufus died at about forty-three years of age, having reigned thirteen years. He was short in stature, with red hair, and a stout person. He had an impediment in his speech, especially in moments of anger, for then, says Holinshed, "his utterance was so hindered, that he could scarcely show the conceits of his mind," He was fond of gorgeous apparel, and it is said of him that on one occasion he threw away a pair of new hose, because they cost no more than three shillings. In a vicious age he was remarkable for his debaucheries, and he died without issue.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Any narrative purporting to be the history of a nation, and which at the same time should confine itself to an account of wars, cabals, and changes of dynasty, would be extremely imperfect. To form a just estimate of the character of a people, to appreciate fully the effect of the various causes which indirectly influence the progress of political events, it is necessary to study the condition of social life, and the state of the arts and industry of the period. It is intended, therefore, to interrupt, from time to time, the main current of the narrative, for the purpose of viewing the people at borne, and of investigating, as far as the materials at command will permit, the condition of society, and the advance of civilisation.
From the time when the Gothic nations spread themselves over Southern and Western Europe, till the fourteenth century, nearly all the literature then in existence was preserved to us by the labours of the monks. The monasteries were
