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The present castle was built by Sir Roger de Fiennes in the reign of Henry VI. The name is taken from the first Lord of the Manor, Waleran de Monceux. The outer shell is all that remains of what was once one of the grandest fortified mansions in England; it is now but a subject for artists and photographers, though at one time, since its dismantling, it made a good secret wine and spirit vaults.
Dull in external appearance, it did not seem to be so within, for sounds of riotous mirth proceeded from many a window left open for admittance of air. The great door was shut, but a little wicket was on the latch, and Ralph de Monceux opened it, saying: "Come and do me the honour of a short visit, and give me the latest news from dear old Sussex." "What place is this?" replied Martin.
The porter offered no further opposition, for the speaker slipped a coin into his palm as he continued: "Come this way, this is my den. Not that way, that is spelunca latronum, a den of robbers." "Holloa! here is Ralph de Monceux, and with a broken head, as usual. "Where didst thou get that, Master Ralph, roaring Ralph?" Such sounds came from the spelunca latronum."
Martin now learned that the death of an elder brother had recalled his former acquaintance from Oxford to figure as the heir apparent of Herst de Monceux: hence the occasion of their meeting under such different auspices. The system of the early Franciscans bore a very remarkable likeness to that devised by John Wesley for his itinerant preachers, if indeed the former did not suggest the latter.
There, in a sort of better-most cabin, lay a young man, dying wounded, as I afterwards learned, in an attack upon the Lord of Herst de Monceux. "A goodly man of some thirty years was he, and a goodly end he made. He told me his story, and as the lips of dying men speak the truth, I believed him.
"Bring forth the prisoners." They were led forth; Ralph looking as saucy and careless as ever. "What is thy name?" asked Grimbeard. "Ralph, son of Waleran de Monceux." "And what has brought thee into my woods?" "Thy woods, are they? Well, thou couldst see I came to hunt." "And thou must pay for thy sport." "Willingly, since I must. Only do not fix the price too high."
Meanwhile a sound of scuffling drew other members of the band to a chamber in the tower, where the good knight Ralph de Monceux was confined, and as they approached they heard a heavy fall and found Marboeuf lying dead on the floor, his skull cleft asunder, whilst over him stood Ralph, axe in hand. The "merrie men" knew their bold captive. "Ah! How is this? What ox hast thou felled?"
"From the woods of merry Sussex, and later on, the tilt yard of Kenilworth." "Oh, you are a true Southerner, then. So am I, the second son of Waleran de Monceux of Herst, in the Andredsweald. "Here we are at home come in to Saint Dymas' Hall."
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