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CHAPTER XXIV. HOW A CHAMPION CAME FORTH FROM THE EAST.
The Bordeaux lists were, as has already been explained, situated
upon the plain near the river upon those great occasions when the
tilting-ground in front of the Abbey of St. Andrew's was deemed to be
too small to contain the crowd. On the eastern side of this plain the
country-side sloped upwards, thick with vines in summer, but now ridged
with the brown bare enclosures. Over the gently rising plain curved the
white road which leads inland, usually flecked with travellers, but now
with scarce a living form upon it, so completely had the lists drained
all the district of its inhabitants. Strange it was to see such a vast
concourse of people, and then to look upon that broad, white, empty
highway which wound away, bleak and deserted, until it narrowed itself
to a bare streak against the distant uplands.
Shortly after the contest had begun, any one looking from the lists
along this road might have remarked, far away in the extreme distance,
two brilliant and sparkling points which glittered and twinkled in
the bright shimmer of the winter sun. Within an hour these had become
clearer and nearer, until they might be seen to come from the reflection
from the head-pieces of two horsemen who were riding at the top of their
speed in the direction of Bordeaux. Another half-hour had brought
them so close that every point of their bearing and equipment could be
discerned. The first was a knight in full armor, mounted upon a brown
horse with a white blaze upon breast and forehead. He was a short man of
great breadth of shoulder, with vizor closed, and no blazonry upon his
simple white surcoat or plain black shield. The other, who was evidently
his squire and attendant, was unarmed save for the helmet upon his
head, but bore in his right hand a very long and heavy oaken spear which
belonged to his master. In his left hand the squire held not only the
reins of his own horse but those of a great black war-horse, fully
harnessed, which trotted along at his side. Thus the three horses and
their two riders rode swiftly to the lists, and it was the blare of the
trumpet sounded by the squire as his lord rode into the arena which
had broken in upon the prize-giving and drawn away the attention and
interest of the spectators.
"Ha, John!" cried the prince, craning his neck, "who is this cavalier,
and what is it that he desires?"
"On my word, sire," replied Chandos, with the utmost surprise upon his
face, "it is my opinion that he is a Frenchman."
"A Frenchman!" repeated Don Pedro. "And how can you tell that, my Lord
Chandos, when he has neither coat-armor, crest, or blazonry?"
"By his armor, sire, which is rounder at elbow and at shoulder than any
of Bordeaux or of England. Italian he might be were his bassinet more
sloped, but I will swear that those plates were welded betwixt this and
Rhine. Here comes his squire, however, and we shall hear what strange
fortune hath brought him over the marches."
As he spoke the attendant cantered up the grassy enclosure, and pulling
up his steed in front of the royal stand, blew a second fanfare upon
his bugle. He was a raw-***, swarthy-cheeked man, with black bristling
beard and a swaggering bearing.
Having sounded his call, he thrust the bugle into his belt, and, pushing
his way betwixt the groups of English and of Gascon knights, he reined
up within a spear's length of the royal party.
"I come," he shouted in a hoarse, thick voice, with a strong Breton
accent, "as squire and herald from my master, who is a very valiant
pursuivant-of-arms, and a liegeman to the great and powerful monarch,
Charles, king of the French. My master has heard that there is jousting
here, and prospect of honorable advancement, so he has come to ask that
some English cavalier will vouchsafe for the love of his lady to run a
course with sharpened lances with him, or to meet him with sword, mace,
battle-axe, or dagger. He bade me say, however, that he would fight only
with a true Englishman, and not with any mongrel who is neither English
nor French, but speaks with the tongue of the one, and fights under the
banner of the other."
"Sir!" cried De Clisson, with a voice of thunder, while his countrymen
clapped their hands to their swords. The squire, however, took no notice
of their angry faces, but continued with his master's message.
"He is now ready, sire," he said, "albeit his destrier has travelled
many miles this day, and fast, for we were in fear lest we come too late
for the jousting."
"Ye have indeed come too late," said the prince, "seeing that the prize
is about to be awarded; yet I doubt not that one of these gentlemen will
run a course for the sake of honor with this cavalier of France."
"And as to the prize, sire," quoth Sir Nigel, "I am sure that I speak
for all when I say this French knight hath our leave to bear it away
with him if he can fairly win it."
"Bear word of this to your master," said the prince, "and ask him which
of these five Englishmen he would desire to meet. But stay; your master
bears no coat-armor, and we have not yet heard his name."
"My master, sire, is under vow to the *** neither to reveal his name
nor to open his vizor until he is back upon French ground once more."
"Yet what assurance have we," said the prince, "that this is not some
varlet masquerading in his master's harness, or some caitiff knight,
the very touch of whose lance might bring infamy upon an honorable
gentleman?"
"It is not so, sire," cried the squire earnestly. "There is no man upon
earth who would demean himself by breaking a lance with my master."
"You speak out boldly, squire," the prince answered; "but unless I have
some further assurance of your master's noble birth and gentle name I
cannot match the choicest lances of my court against him."
"You refuse, sire?"
"I do refuse."
"Then, sire, I was bidden to ask you from my master whether you would
consent if Sir John Chandos, upon hearing my master's name, should
assure you that he was indeed a man with whom you might yourself cross
swords without indignity."
"I ask no better," said the prince.
"Then I must ask, Lord Chandos, that you will step forth. I have your
pledge that the name shall remain ever a secret, and that you will
neither say nor write one word which might betray it. The name is——"
He stooped down from his horse and whispered something into the old
knight's ear which made him start with surprise, and stare with much
curiosity at the distant Knight, who was sitting his charger at the
further end of the arena.
"Is this indeed sooth?" he exclaimed.
"It is, my lord, and I swear it by St. Ives of Brittany."
"I might have known it," said Chandos, twisting his moustache, and still
looking thoughtfully at the cavalier.
"What then, Sir John?" asked the prince.
"Sire, this is a knight whom it is indeed great honor to meet, and I
would that your grace would grant me leave to send my squire for my
harness, for I would dearly love to run a course with him.
"Nay, nay, Sir John, you have gained as much honor as one man can bear,
and it were hard if you could not rest now. But I pray you, squire, to
tell your master that he is very welcome to our court, and that wines
and spices will be served him, if he would refresh himself before
jousting."
"My master will not drink," said the squire.
"Let him then name the gentleman with whom he would break a spear."
"He would contend with these five knights, each to choose such weapons
as suit him best."
"I perceive," said the prince, "that your master is a man of great heart
and high of enterprise. But the sun already is low in the west, and
there will scarce be light for these courses. I pray you, gentlemen, to
take your places, that we may see whether this stranger's deeds are as
bold as his words."
The unknown knight had sat like a statue of steel, looking neither to
the right nor to the left during these preliminaries. He had changed
from the horse upon which he had ridden, and bestrode the black charger
which his squire had led beside him. His immense breadth, his stern
composed appearance, and the mode in which he handled his shield and his
lance, were enough in themselves to convince the thousands of critical
spectators that he was a dangerous opponent. Aylward, who stood in
the front row of the archers with Simon, big John, and others of the
Company, had been criticising the proceedings from the commencement with
the ease and freedom of a man who had spent his life under arms and had
learned in a hard school to know at a glance the points of a horse and
his rider. He stared now at the stranger with a wrinkled brow and the
air of a man who is striving to stir his memory.
"By my hilt! I have seen the thick body of him before to-day. Yet I
cannot call to mind where it could have been. At Nogent belike, or was
it at Auray? Mark me, lads, this man will prove to be one of the best
lances of France, and there are no better in the world."
"It is but child's play, this poking game," said John. "I would fain
try my hand at it, for, by the black rood! I think that it might be
amended."
"What then would you do, John?" asked several.
"There are many things which might be done," said the forester
thoughtfully. "Methinks that I would begin by breaking my spear."
"So they all strive to do."
"Nay, but not upon another man's shield. I would break it over my own
knee."
"And what the better for that, old beef and bones?" asked Black Simon.
"So I would turn what is but a lady's bodkin of a weapon into a very
handsome club."
"And then, John?"
"Then I would take the other's spear into my arm or my leg, or where
it pleased him best to put it, and I would dash out his brains with my
club."
"By my ten finger-bones! old John," said Aylward, "I would give my
feather-bed to see you at a spear-running. This is a most courtly and
gentle sport which you have devised."
"So it seems to me," said John seriously. "Or, again, one might seize
the other round the middle, pluck him off his horse and bear him to the
pavilion, there to hold him to ransom."
"Good!" cried Simon, amid a roar of laughter from all the archers round.
"By Thomas of Kent I we shall make a camp-marshal of thee, and thou
shalt draw up rules for our jousting. But, John, who is it that you
would uphold in this knightly and pleasing fashion?"
"What mean you?"
"Why, John, so strong and strange a tilter must fight for the brightness
of his lady's eyes or the curve of her eyelash, even as Sir Nigel does
for the Lady Loring."
"I know not about that," said the big archer, scratching his head in
perplexity. "Since Mary hath played me false, I can scarce fight for
her."
"Yet any woman will serve."
"There is my mother then," said John. "She was at much pains at my
upbringing, and, by my soul! I will uphold the curve of her eyelashes,
for it tickleth my very heart-root to think of her. But who is here?"
"It is Sir William Beauchamp. He is a valiant man, but I fear that he is
scarce firm enough upon the saddle to bear the thrust of such a tilter
as this stranger promises to be."
Aylward's words were speedily justified, for even as he spoke the two
knights met in the centre of the lists. Beauchamp struck his opponent a
shrewd blow upon the helmet, but was met with so frightful a thrust that
he whirled out of his saddle and rolled over and over upon the ground.
Sir Thomas Percy met with little better success, for his shield was
split, his vambrace torn and he himself wounded slightly in the side.
Lord Audley and the unknown knight struck each other fairly upon the
helmet; but, while the stranger sat as firm and rigid as ever upon his
charger, the Englishman was bent back to his horse's cropper by the
weight of the blow, and had galloped half-way down the lists ere he
could recover himself. Sir Thomas Wake was beaten to the ground with a
battle-axe—that being the weapon which he had selected—and had to be
carried to his pavilion. These rapid successes, gained one after the
other over four celebrated warriors, worked the crowd up to a pitch of
wonder and admiration. Thunders of applause from the English soldiers,
as well as from the citizens and peasants, showed how far the love of
brave and knightly deeds could rise above the rivalries of race.
"By my soul! John," cried the prince, with his cheek flushed and his
eyes shining, "this is a man of good courage and great hardiness. I
could not have thought that there was any single arm upon earth which
could have overthrown these four champions."
"He is indeed, as I have said, sire, a knight from whom much honor is to
be gained. But the lower edge of the sun is wet, and it will be beneath
the sea ere long."
"Here is Sir Nigel Loring, on foot and with his sword," said the prince.
"I have heard that he is a fine swordsman."
"The finest in your army, sire," Chandos answered. "Yet I doubt not that
he will need all his skill this day."
As he spoke, the two combatants advanced from either end in full armor
with their two-handed swords sloping over their shoulders. The stranger
walked heavily and with a measured stride, while the English knight
advanced as briskly as though there was no iron shell to weigh down the
freedom of his limbs. At four paces distance they stopped, eyed each
other for a moment, and then in an instant fell to work with a clatter
and clang as though two sturdy smiths were busy upon their anvils. Up
and down went the long, shining blades, round and round they circled in
curves of glimmering light, crossing, meeting, disengaging, with flash
of sparks at every parry. Here and there bounded Sir Nigel, his head
erect, his jaunty plume fluttering in the air, while his dark opponent
sent in crashing blow upon blow, following fiercely up with cut and with
thrust, but never once getting past the practised blade of the skilled
swordsman. The crowd roared with delight as Sir Nigel would stoop his
head to avoid a blow, or by some slight movement of his body allow some
terrible thrust to glance harmlessly past him. Suddenly, however, his
time came. The Frenchman, whirling up his sword, showed for an instant
a *** betwixt his shoulder piece and the rerebrace which guarded his
upper arm. In dashed Sir Nigel, and out again so swiftly that the eye
could not follow the quick play of his blade, but a trickle of blood
from the stranger's shoulder, and a rapidly widening red smudge upon his
white surcoat, showed where the thrust had taken effect. The wound was,
however, but a slight one, and the Frenchman was about to renew his
onset, when, at a sign from the prince, Chandos threw down his baton,
and the marshals of the lists struck up the weapons and brought the
contest to an end.
"It were time to check it," said the prince, smiling, "for Sir Nigel is
too good a man for me to lose, and, by the five holy wounds! if one of
those cuts came home I should have fears for our champion. What think
you, Pedro?"
"I think, Edward, that the little man was very well able to take care of
himself. For my part, I should wish to see so well matched a pair fight
on while a drop of blood remained in their veins."
"We must have speech with him. Such a man must not go from my court
without rest or sup. Bring him hither, Chandos, and, certes, if the Lord
Loring hath resigned his claim upon this goblet, it is right and proper
that this cavalier should carry it to France with him as a sign of the
prowess that he has shown this day."
As he spoke, the knight-errant, who had remounted his warhorse, galloped
forward to the royal stand, with a silken kerchief bound round his
wounded arm. The setting sun cast a ruddy glare upon his burnished
arms, and sent his long black shadow streaming behind him up the level
clearing. Pulling up his steed, he slightly inclined his head, and
sat in the stern and composed fashion with which he had borne himself
throughout, heedless of the applauding shouts and the flutter of
kerchiefs from the long lines of brave men and of fair women who were
looking down upon him.
"Sir knight," said the prince, "we have all marvelled this day at this
great skill and valor with which God has been pleased to endow you.
I would fain that you should tarry at our court, for a time at least,
until your hurt is healed and your horses rested.."
"My hurt is nothing, sire, nor are my horses weary," returned the
stranger in a deep, stern voice.
"Will you not at least hie back to Bordeaux with us, that you may drain
a cup of muscadine and sup at our table?"
"I will neither drink your wine nor sit at your table," returned the
other. "I bear no love for you or for your race, and there is nought
that I wish at your hands until the day when I see the last sail which
bears you back to your island vanishing away against the western sky."
"These are bitter words, sir knight," said Prince Edward, with an angry
frown.
"And they come from a bitter heart," answered the unknown knight. "How
long is it since there has been peace in my hapless country? Where are
the steadings, and orchards, and vineyards, which made France fair?
Where are the cities which made her great? From Providence to Burgundy
we are beset by every prowling hireling in Christendom, who rend and
tear the country which you have left too weak to guard her own marches.
Is it not a by-word that a man may ride all day in that unhappy land
without seeing thatch upon roof or hearing the crow of ***? Does not
one fair kingdom content you, that you should strive so for this other
one which has no love for you? Pardieu! a true Frenchman's words may
well be bitter, for bitter is his lot and bitter his thoughts as he
rides through his thrice unhappy country."
"Sir knight," said the prince, "you speak like a brave man, and our
cousin of France is happy in having a cavalier who is so fit to uphold
his cause either with tongue or with sword. But if you think such evil
of us, how comes it that you have trusted yourselves to us without
warranty or safe-conduct?"
"Because I knew that you would be here, sire. Had the man who sits upon
your right been ruler of this land, I had indeed thought twice before I
looked to him for aught that was knightly or generous." With a soldierly
salute, he wheeled round his horse, and, galloping down the lists,
disappeared amid the dense crowd of footmen and of horsemen who were
streaming away from the scene of the tournament.
"The insolent villain!" cried Pedro, glaring furiously after him. "I
have seen a man's tongue torn from his jaws for less. Would it not be
well even now, Edward, to send horsemen to hale him back? Bethink you
that it may be one of the royal house of France, or at least some knight
whose loss would be a heavy blow to his master. Sir William Felton, you
are well mounted, gallop after the caitiff, I pray you."
"Do so, Sir William," said the prince, "and give him this purse of a
hundred nobles as a sign of the respect which I bear for him; for,
by St. George! he has served his master this day even as I would wish
liegeman of mine to serve me." So saying, the prince turned his back
upon the King of Spain, and springing upon his horse, rode slowly
homewards to the Abbey of Saint Andrew's.
End of Chapter XXIV
CHAPTER XXV. HOW SIR NIGEL WROTE TO TWYNHAM CASTLE.
On the morning after the jousting, when Alleyne Edricson went, as was
his custom, into his master's chamber to wait upon him in his dressing
and to curl his hair, he found him already up and very busily at work.
He sat at a table by the window, a deer-hound on one side of him and a
lurcher on the other, his feet tucked away under the trestle on which
he sat, and his tongue in his cheek, with the air of a man who is much
perplexed. A sheet of vellum lay upon the board in front of him, and
he held a pen in his hand, with which he had been scribbling in a rude
schoolboy hand. So many were the blots, however, and so numerous the
scratches and erasures, that he had at last given it up in despair, and
sat with his single uncovered eye cocked upwards at the ceiling, as one
who waits upon inspiration.
"By Saint Paul!" he cried, as Alleyne entered, "you are the man who will
stand by me in this matter. I have been in sore need of you, Alleyne."
"God be with you, my fair lord!" the squire answered. "I trust that you
have taken no hurt from all that you have gone through yesterday."
"Nay; I feel the fresher for it, Alleyne. It has eased my joints, which
were somewhat stiff from these years of peace. I trust, Alleyne, that
thou didst very carefully note and mark the bearing and carriage of
this knight of France; for it is time, now when you are young, that you
should see all that is best, and mould your own actions in accordance.
This was a man from whom much honor might be gained, and I have seldom
met any one for whom I have conceived so much love and esteem. Could
I but learn his name, I should send you to him with my cartel, that we
might have further occasion to watch his goodly feats of arms."
"It is said, my fair lord, that none know his name save only the Lord
Chandos, and that he is under vow not to speak it. So ran the gossip at
the squires' table."
"Be he who he might, he was a very hardy gentleman. But I have a task
here, Alleyne, which is harder to me than aught that was set before me
yesterday."
"Can I help you, my lord?"
"That indeed you can. I have been writing my greetings to my sweet wife;
for I hear that a messenger goes from the prince to Southampton within
the week, and he would gladly take a packet for me. I pray you, Alleyne,
to cast your eyes upon what I have written, and see it they are such
words as my lady will understand. My fingers, as you can see, are more
used to iron and leather than to the drawing of strokes and turning of
letters. What then? Is there aught amiss, that you should stare so?"
"It is this first word, my lord. In what tongue were you pleased to
write?"
"In English; for my lady talks it more than she doth French.
"Yet this is no English word, my sweet lord. Here are four t's and never
a letter betwixt them."
"By St. Paul! it seemed strange to my eye when I wrote it," said Sir
Nigel. "They bristle up together like a clump of lances. We must break
their ranks and set them farther apart. The word is 'that.' Now I will
read it to you, Alleyne, and you shall write it out fair; for we leave
Bordeaux this day, and it would be great joy to me to think that the
Lady Loring had word from me."
Alleyne sat down as ordered, with a pen in his hand and a fresh sheet
of parchment before him, while Sir Nigel slowly spelled out his letter,
running his forefinger on from word to word.
"That my heart is with thee, my dear sweeting, is what thine own heart
will assure thee of. All is well with us here, save that Pepin hath
the mange on his back, and Pommers hath scarce yet got clear of his
stiffness from being four days on ship-board, and the more so because
the sea was very high, and we were like to founder on account of a hole
in her side, which was made by a stone cast at us by certain sea-rovers,
who may the saints have in their keeping, for they have gone from
amongst us, as has young Terlake, and two-score mariners and archers,
who would be the more welcome here as there is like to be a very fine
war, with much honor and all hopes of advancement, for which I go to
gather my Company together, who are now at Montaubon, where they pillage
and destroy; yet I hope that, by God's help, I may be able to show that
I am their master, even as, my sweet lady, I am thy servant."
"How of that, Alleyne?" continued Sir Nigel, blinking at his squire,
with an expression of some pride upon his face. "Have I not told her all
that hath befallen us?"
"You have said much, my fair lord; and yet, if I may say so, it is
somewhat crowded together, so that my Lady Loring can, mayhap, scarce
follow it. Were it in shorter periods——"
"Nay, it boots me not how you marshal them, as long as they are all
there at the muster. Let my lady have the words, and she will place
them in such order as pleases her best. But I would have you add what it
would please her to know."
"That will I," said Alleyne, blithely, and bent to the task.
"My fair lady and mistress," he wrote, "God hath had us in His keeping,
and my lord is well and in good cheer. He hath won much honor at the
jousting before the prince, when he alone was able to make it good
against a very valiant man from France. Touching the moneys, there is
enough and to spare until we reach Montaubon. Herewith, my fair lady,
I send my humble regards, entreating you that you will give the same
to your daughter, the Lady Maude. May the holy saints have you both in
their keeping is ever the prayer of thy servant,
"ALLEYNE EDRICSON."
"That is very fairly set forth," said Sir Nigel, nodding his bald head
as each sentence was read to him. "And for thyself, Alleyne, if there be
any dear friend to whom you would fain give greeting, I can send it for
thee within this packet."
"There is none," said Alleyne, sadly.
"Have you no kinsfolk, then?"
"None, save my brother."
"Ha! I had forgotten that there was ill blood betwixt you. But are there
none in all England who love thee?"
"None that I dare say so."
"And none whom you love?"
"Nay, I will not say that," said Alleyne.
Sir Nigel shook his head and laughed softly to himself, "I see how it
is with you," he said. "Have I not noted your frequent sighs and vacant
eye? Is she fair?"
"She is indeed," cried Alleyne from his heart, all tingling at this
sudden turn of the talk.
"And good?"
"As an angel."
"And yet she loves you not?"
"Nay, I cannot say that she loves another."
"Then you have hopes?"
"I could not live else."
"Then must you strive to be worthy of her love. Be brave and pure,
fearless to the strong and humble to the weak; and so, whether this love
prosper or no, you will have fitted yourself to be honored by a maiden's
love, which is, in sooth, the highest guerdon which a true knight can
hope for."
"Indeed, my lord, I do so strive," said Alleyne; "but she is so sweet,
so dainty, and of so noble a spirit, that I fear me that I shall never
be worthy of her."
"By thinking so you become worthy. Is she then of noble birth?"
"She is, my lord," faltered Alleyne.
"Of a knightly house?"
"Yes."
"Have a care, Alleyne, have a care!" said Sir Nigel, kindly. "The higher
the steed the greater the fall. Hawk not at that which may be beyond thy
flight."
"My lord, I know little of the ways and usages of the world," cried
Alleyne, "but I would fain ask your rede upon the matter. You have known
my father and my kin: is not my family one of good standing and repute?"
"Beyond all question."
"And yet you warn me that I must not place my love too high."
"Were Minstead yours, Alleyne, then, by St. Paul! I cannot think that
any family in the land would not be proud to take you among them, seeing
that you come of so old a strain. But while the Socman lives——Ha, by
my soul! if this is not Sir Oliver's step I am the more mistaken."
As he spoke, a heavy footfall was heard without, and the portly knight
flung open the door and strode into the room.
"Why, my little coz," said he, "I have come across to tell you that
I live above the barber's in the Rue de la Tour, and that there is a
venison pasty in the oven and two flasks of the right vintage on the
table. By St. James! a blind man might find the place, for one has but
to get in the wind from it, and follow the savory smell. Put on your
cloak, then, and come, for Sir Walter Hewett and Sir Robert Briquet,
with one or two others, are awaiting us."
"Nay, Oliver, I cannot be with you, for I must to Montaubon this day."
"To Montaubon? But I have heard that your Company is to come with my
forty Winchester rascals to Dax."
"If you will take charge of them, Oliver. For I will go to Montaubon
with none save my two squires and two archers. Then, when I have found
the rest of my Company I shall lead them to Dax. We set forth this
morning."
"Then I must back to my pasty," said Sir Oliver. "You will find us at
Dax, I doubt not, unless the prince throw me into prison, for he is very
wroth against me."
"And why, Oliver?"
"Pardieu! because I have sent my cartel, gauntlet, and defiance to Sir
John Chandos and to Sir William Felton."
"To Chandos? In God's name, Oliver, why have you done this?"
"Because he and the other have used me despitefully."
"And how?"
"Because they have passed me over in choosing those who should joust for
England. Yourself and Audley I could pass, coz, for you are mature men;
but who are Wake, and Percy, and Beauchamp? By my soul! I was prodding
for my food into a camp-kettle when they were howling for their pap. Is
a man of my weight and substance to be thrown aside for the first three
half-grown lads who have learned the trick of the tilt-yard? But hark
ye, coz, I think of sending my cartel also to the prince."
"Oliver! Oliver! You are mad!"
"Not I, i' faith! I care not a denier whether he be prince or no. By
Saint James! I see that your squire's eyes are starting from his head
like a trussed crab. Well, friend, we are all three men of Hampshire,
and not lightly to be jeered at."
"Has he jeered at you than?"
"Pardieu! yes, 'Old Sir Oliver's heart is still stout,' said one of his
court. 'Else had it been out of keeping with the rest of him,' quoth the
prince. 'And his arm is strong,' said another. 'So is the backbone of
his horse,' quoth the prince. This very day I will send him my cartel
and defiance."
"Nay, nay, my dear Oliver," said Sir Nigel, laying his hand upon his
angry friend's arm. "There is naught in this, for it was but saying that
you were a strong and robust man, who had need of a good destrier. And
as to Chandos and Felton, bethink you that if when you yourself were
young the older lances had ever been preferred, how would you then have
had the chance to earn the good name and fame which you now bear? You do
not ride as light as you did, Oliver, and I ride lighter by the weight
of my hair, but it would be an ill thing if in the evening of our lives
we showed that our hearts were less true and loyal than of old. If such
a knight as Sir Oliver Buttesthorn may turn against his own prince for
the sake of a light word, then where are we to look for steadfast faith
and constancy?"
"Ah! my dear little coz, it is easy to sit in the sunshine and preach to
the man in the shadow. Yet you could ever win me over to your side with
that soft voice of yours. Let us think no more of it then. But, holy
Mother! I had forgot the pasty, and it will be as scorched as Judas
Iscariot! Come, Nigel, lest the foul fiend get the better of me again."
"For one hour, then; for we march at mid-day. Tell Aylward, Alleyne,
that he is to come with me to Montaubon, and to choose one archer for
his comrade. The rest will to Dax when the prince starts, which will be
before the feast of the Epiphany. Have Pommers ready at mid-day with my
sycamore lance, and place my harness on the sumpter mule."
With these brief directions, the two old soldiers strode off together,
while Alleyne hastened to get all in order for their journey.
End of Chapter XXV
CHAPTER XXVI. HOW THE THREE COMRADES GAINED A MIGHTY TREASURE
It was a bright, crisp winter's day when the little party set off from
Bordeaux on their journey to Montaubon, where the missing half of their
Company had last been heard of. Sir Nigel and Ford had ridden on in
advance, the knight upon his hackney, while his great war-horse trotted
beside his squire. Two hours later Alleyne Edricson followed; for he had
the tavern reckoning to settle, and many other duties which fell to him
as squire of the body. With him came Aylward and Hordle John, armed
as of old, but mounted for their journey upon a pair of clumsy Landes
horses, heavy-headed and shambling, but of great endurance, and capable
of jogging along all day, even when between the knees of the huge
archer, who turned the scale at two hundred and seventy pounds. They
took with them the sumpter mules, which carried in panniers the wardrobe
and table furniture of Sir Nigel; for the knight, though neither fop nor
epicure, was very dainty in small matters, and loved, however bare the
board or hard the life, that his napery should still be white and his
spoon of silver.
There had been frost during the night, and the white hard road rang loud
under their horses' irons as they spurred through the east gate of the
town, along the same broad highway which the unknown French champion
had traversed on the day of the jousts. The three rode abreast, Alleyne
Edricson with his eyes cast down and his mind distrait, for his thoughts
were busy with the conversation which he had had with Sir Nigel in the
morning. Had he done well to say so much, or had he not done better to
have said more? What would the knight have said had he confessed to his
love for the Lady Maude? Would he cast him off in disgrace, or might he
chide him as having abused the shelter of his roof? It had been ready
upon his tongue to tell him all when Sir Oliver had broken in upon them.
Perchance Sir Nigel, with his love of all the dying usages of chivalry,
might have contrived some strange ordeal or feat of arms by which his
love should be put to the test. Alleyne smiled as he wondered what
fantastic and wondrous deed would be exacted from him. Whatever it was,
he was ready for it, whether it were to hold the lists in the court of
the King of Tartary, to carry a cartel to the Sultan of Baghdad, or to
serve a term against the wild heathen of Prussia. Sir Nigel had said
that his birth was high enough for any lady, if his fortune could but
be amended. Often had Alleyne curled his lip at the beggarly craving for
land or for gold which blinded man to the higher and more lasting issues
of life. Now it seemed as though it were only by this same land and gold
that he might hope to reach his heart's desire. But then, again, the
Socman of Minstead was no friend to the Constable of Twynham Castle. It
might happen that, should he amass riches by some happy fortune of war,
this feud might hold the two families aloof. Even if Maude loved him, he
knew her too well to think that she would wed him without the blessing
of her father. Dark and murky was it all, but hope mounts high in youth,
and it ever fluttered over all the turmoil of his thoughts like a white
plume amid the shock of horsemen.
If Alleyne Edricson had enough to ponder over as he rode through the
bare plains of Guienne, his two companions were more busy with the
present and less thoughtful of the future. Aylward rode for half a mile
with his chin upon his shoulder, looking back at a white kerchief which
fluttered out of the gable window of a high house which peeped over the
corner of the battlements. When at last a dip of the road hid it from
his view, he cocked his steel cap, shrugged his broad shoulders, and
rode on with laughter in his eyes, and his weather-beaten face all
ashine with pleasant memories. John also rode in silence, but his eyes
wandered slowly from one side of the road to the other, and he stared
and pondered and nodded his head like a traveller who makes his notes
and saves them up for the re-telling.
"By the rood!" he broke out suddenly, slapping his thigh with his great
red hand, "I knew that there was something a-missing, but I could not
bring to my mind what it was."
"What was it then?" asked Alleyne, coming with a start out of his
reverie.
"Why, it is the hedgerows," roared John, with a shout of laughter. "The
country is all scraped as clear as a friar's poll. But indeed I cannot
think much of the folk in these parts. Why do they not get to work and
dig up these long rows of black and crooked stumps which I see on every
hand? A franklin of Hampshire would think shame to have such litter upon
his soil."
"Thou foolish old John!" quoth Aylward. "You should know better, since
I have heard that the monks of Beaulieu could squeeze a good cup of
wine from their own grapes. Know then that if these rows were dug up
the wealth of the country would be gone, and mayhap there would be dry
throats and gaping mouths in England, for in three months' time these
black roots will blossom and snoot and burgeon, and from them will come
many a good ship-load of Medoc and Gascony which will cross the narrow
seas. But see the church in the hollow, and the folk who cluster in the
churchyard! By my hilt! it is a burial, and there is a passing bell!"
He pulled off his steel cap as he spoke and crossed himself, with a
muttered prayer for the repose of the dead.
"There too," remarked Alleyne, as they rode on again, "that which seems
to the eye to be dead is still full of the sap of life, even as the
vines were. Thus God hath written Himself and His laws very broadly on
all that is around us, if our poor dull eyes and duller souls could but
read what He hath set before us."
"Ha! mon petit," cried the bowman, "you take me back to the days when
you were new fledged, as sweet a little chick as ever pecked his way
out of a monkish egg. I had feared that in gaining our debonair young
man-at-arms we had lost our soft-spoken clerk. In truth, I have noted
much change in you since we came from Twynham Castle."
"Surely it would be strange else, seeing that I have lived in a world
so new to me. Yet I trust that there are many things in which I have not
changed. If I have turned to serve an earthly master, and to carry arms
for an earthly king, it would be an ill thing if I were to lose all
thought of the great high King and Master of all, whose humble and
unworthy servant I was ere ever I left Beaulieu. You, John, are also
from the cloisters, but I trow that you do not feel that you have
deserted the old service in taking on the new."
"I am a slow-witted man," said John, "and, in sooth, when I try to think
about such matters it casts a gloom upon me. Yet I do not look upon
myself as a worse man in an archer's jerkin than I was in a white cowl,
if that be what you mean."
"You have but changed from one white company to the other," quoth
Aylward. "But, by these ten finger-bones! it is a passing strange thing
to me to think that it was but in the last fall of the leaf that we
walked from Lyndhurst together, he so gentle and maidenly, and you,
John, like a great red-limbed overgrown moon-calf; and now here you
are as sprack a squire and as *** an archer as ever passed down the
highway from Bordeaux, while I am still the same old Samkin Aylward,
with never a change, save that I have a few more sins on my soul and a
few less crowns in my pouch. But I have never yet heard, John, what the
reason was why you should come out of Beaulieu."
"There were seven reasons," said John thoughtfully. "The first of them
was that they threw me out."
"Ma foi! camarade, to the devil with the other six! That is enough for
me and for thee also. I can see that they are very wise and discreet
folk at Beaulieu. Ah! mon ange, what have you in the pipkin?"
"It is milk, worthy sir," answered the peasant-maid, who stood by the
door of a cottage with a jug in her hand. "Would it please you, gentles,
that I should bring you out three horns of it?"
"Nay, ma petite, but here is a two-sous piece for thy kindly tongue and
for the sight of thy pretty face. Ma foi! but she has a bonne mine. I
have a mind to bide and speak with her."
"Nay, nay, Aylward," cried Alleyne. "Sir Nigel will await us, and he in
haste."
"True, true, camarade! Adieu, ma cherie! mon coeur est toujours a
toi. Her mother is a well-grown woman also. See where she digs by the
wayside. Ma foi! the riper fruit is ever the sweeter. Bon jour, ma belle
dame! God have you in his keeping! Said Sir Nigel where he would await
us?"
"At Marmande or Aiguillon. He said that we could not pass him, seeing
that there is but the one road."
"Aye, and it is a road that I know as I know the Midhurst parish
butts," quoth the bowman. "Thirty times have I journeyed it, forward and
backward, and, by the twang of string! I am wont to come back this way
more laden than I went. I have carried all that I had into France in
a wallet, and it hath taken four sumpter-mules to carry it back again.
God's benison on the man who first turned his hand to the making of war!
But there, down in the ***, is the church of Cardillac, and you may
see the inn where three poplars grow beyond the village. Let us on, for
a stoup of wine would hearten us upon our way."
The highway had lain through the swelling vineyard country, which
stretched away to the north and east in gentle curves, with many a
peeping spire and feudal tower, and cluster of village houses, all clear
cut and hard in the bright wintry air. To their right stretched the blue
Garonne, running swiftly seawards, with boats and barges dotted over its
broad ***. On the other side lay a strip of vineyard, and beyond it
the desolate and sandy region of the Landes, all tangled with faded
gorse and heath and broom, stretching away in unbroken gloom to the blue
hills which lay low upon the furthest sky-line. Behind them might still
be seen the broad estuary of the Gironde, with the high towers of
Saint Andre and Saint Remi shooting up from the plain. In front, amid
radiating lines of poplars, lay the riverside townlet of Cardillac—gray
walls, white houses, and a feather of blue smoke.
"This is the 'Mouton d'Or,'" said Aylward, as they pulled up their
horses at a whitewashed straggling hostel. "What ho there!" he
continued, beating upon the door with the hilt of his sword. "Tapster,
ostler, varlet, hark hither, and a wannion on your lazy limbs! Ha!
Michel, as red in the nose as ever! Three jacks of the wine of the
country, Michel—for the air bites shrewdly. I pray you, Alleyne, to
take note of this door, for I have a tale concerning it."
"Tell me, friend," said Alleyne to the portly red-faced inn-keeper, "has
a knight and a squire passed this way within the hour?"
"Nay, sir, it would be two hours back. Was he a small man, weak in the
eyes, with a want of hair, and speaks very quiet when he is most to be
feared?"
"The same," the squire answered. "But I marvel how you should know how
he speaks when he is in wrath, for he is very gentle-minded with those
who are beneath him."
"Praise to the saints! it was not I who angered him," said the fat
Michel.
"Who, then?"
"It was young Sieur de Crespigny of Saintonge, who chanced to be here,
and made game of the Englishman, seeing that he was but a small man and
hath a face which is full of peace. But indeed this good knight was a
very quiet and patient man, for he saw that the Sieur de Crespigny
was still young and spoke from an empty head, so he sat his horse
and quaffed his wine, even as you are doing now, all heedless of the
clacking tongue."
"And what then, Michel?"
"Well, messieurs, it chanced that the Sieur de Crespigny, having said
this and that, for the laughter of the varlets, cried out at last about
the glove that the knight wore in his coif, asking if it was the custom
in England for a man to wear a great archer's glove in his cap. Pardieu!
I have never seen a man get off his horse as quick as did that stranger
Englishman. Ere the words were past the other's lips he was beside him,
his face nigh touching, and his breath hot upon his cheeks. 'I think,
young sir,' quoth he softly, looking into the other's eyes, 'that now
that I am nearer you will very clearly see that the glove is not an
archer's glove.' 'Perchance not,' said the Sieur de Crespigny with a
twitching lip. 'Nor is it large, but very small,' quoth the Englishman.
'Less large than I had thought,' said the other, looking down, for the
knight's gaze was heavy upon his eyelids. 'And in every way such a glove
as might be worn by the fairest and sweetest lady in England,' quoth
the Englishman. 'It may be so,' said the Sieur de Crespigny, turning his
face from him. 'I am myself weak in the eyes, and have often taken one
thing for another,' quoth the knight, as he sprang back into his saddle
and rode off, leaving the Sieur de Crespigny biting his nails before the
door. Ha! by the five wounds, many men of war have drunk my wine, but
never one was more to my fancy than this little Englishman."
"By my hilt! he is our master, Michel," quoth Aylward, "and such men as
we do not serve under a laggart. But here are four deniers, Michel, and
God be with you! En avant, camarades! for we have a long road before
us."
At a brisk trot the three friends left Cardillac and its wine-house
behind them, riding without a halt past St. Macaire, and on by ferry
over the river Dorpt. At the further side the road winds through La
Reolle, Bazaille, and Marmande, with the sunlit river still gleaming
upon the right, and the bare poplars bristling up upon either side. John
and Alleyne rode silent on either side, but every inn, farm-steading,
or castle brought back to Aylward some remembrance of love, foray, or
plunder, with which to beguile the way.
"There is the smoke from Bazas, on the further side of Garonne," quoth
he. "There were three sisters yonder, the daughters of a farrier, and,
by these ten finger-bones! a man might ride for a long June day and
never set eyes upon such maidens. There was Marie, tall and grave, and
Blanche petite and gay, and the dark Agnes, with eyes that went through
you like a waxed arrow. I lingered there as long as four days, and was
betrothed to them all; for it seemed shame to set one above her sisters,
and might make ill blood in the family. Yet, for all my care, things
were not merry in the house, and I thought it well to come away. There,
too, is the mill of Le Souris. Old Pierre Le Caron, who owned it, was a
right good comrade, and had ever a seat and a crust for a weary archer.
He was a man who wrought hard at all that he turned his hand to; but he
heated himself in grinding bones to mix with his flour, and so through
over-diligence he brought a fever upon himself and died."
"Tell me, Aylward," said Alleyne, "what was amiss with the door of
yonder inn that you should ask me to observe it."
"Pardieu! yes, I had well-nigh forgot. What saw you on yonder door?"
"I saw a square hole, through which doubtless the host may peep when he
is not too sure of those who knock."
"And saw you naught else?"
"I marked that beneath this hole there was a deep cut in the door, as
though a great nail had been driven in."
"And naught else?"
"No."
"Had you looked more closely you might have seen that there was a stain
upon the wood. The first time that I ever heard my comrade Black Simon
laugh was in front of that door. I heard him once again when he slew a
French squire with his teeth, he being unarmed and the Frenchman having
a dagger."
"And why did Simon laugh in front of the inn-door!" asked John.
"Simon is a hard and perilous man when he hath the bitter drop in him;
and, by my hilt! he was born for war, for there is little sweetness or
rest in him. This inn, the 'Mouton d'Or,' was kept in the old days by
one Francois Gourval, who had a hard fist and a harder heart. It was
said that many and many an archer coming from the wars had been served
with wine with simples in it, until he slept, and had then been stripped
of all by this Gourval. Then on the morrow, if he made complaint, this
wicked Gourval would throw him out upon the road or beat him, for he
was a very *** man, and had many stout varlets in his service. This
chanced to come to Simon's ears when we were at Bordeaux together, and
he would have it that we should ride to Cardillac with a good hempen
cord, and give this Gourval such a scourging as he merited. Forth we
rode then, but when we came to the Mouton d'Or,' Gourval had had word of
our coming and its purpose, so that the door was barred, nor was there
any way into the house. 'Let us in, good Master Gourval!' cried Simon,
and 'Let us in, good Master Gourval!' cried I, but no word could we get
through the hole in the door, save that he would draw an arrow upon us
unless we went on our way. 'Well, Master Gourval,' quoth Simon at last,
'this is but a sorry welcome, seeing that we have ridden so far just to
shake you by the hand.' 'Canst shake me by the hand without coming in,'
said Gourval. 'And how that?' asked Simon. 'By passing in your hand
through the hole,' said he. 'Nay, my hand is wounded,' quoth Simon, 'and
of such a size that I cannot pass it in.' 'That need not hinder,' said
Gourval, who was hot to be rid of us, 'pass in your left hand.' 'But I
have something for thee, Gourval,' said Simon. 'What then?' he asked.
'There was an English archer who slept here last week of the name of
Hugh of Nutbourne.' 'We have had many rogues here,' said Gourval. 'His
conscience hath been heavy within him because he owes you a debt of
fourteen deniers, having drunk wine for which he hath never paid.
For the easing of his soul, he asked me to pay the money to you as I
passed.' Now this Gourval was very greedy for money, so he thrust forth
his hand for the fourteen deniers, but Simon had his dagger ready and
he pinned his hand to the door. 'I have paid the Englishman's debt,
Gourval!' quoth he, and so rode away, laughing so that he could scarce
sit his horse, leaving mine host still nailed to his door. Such is the
story of the hole which you have marked, and of the smudge upon the
wood. I have heard that from that time English archers have been better
treated in the auberge of Cardillac. But what have we here by the
wayside?"
"It appears to be a very holy man," said Alleyne.
"And, by the rood! he hath some strange wares," cried John. "What are
these bits of stone, and of wood, and rusted nails, which are set out in
front of him?"
The man whom they had remarked sat with his back against a cherry-tree,
and his legs shooting out in front of him, like one who is greatly at
his ease. Across his thighs was a wooden board, and scattered over it
all manner of slips of wood and knobs of brick and stone, each laid
separate from the other, as a huckster places his wares. He was dressed
in a long gray gown, and wore a broad hat of the same color, much
weather-stained, with three scallop-shells dangling from the brim. As
they approached, the travellers observed that he was advanced in years,
and that his eyes were upturned and yellow.
"Dear knights and gentlemen," he cried in a high crackling voice,
"worthy Christian cavaliers, will ye ride past and leave an aged pilgrim
to die of hunger? The sight hast been burned from mine eyes by the sands
of the Holy Land, and I have had neither crust of bread nor cup of wine
these two days past."
"By my hilt! father," said Aylward, looking keenly at him, "it is a
marvel to me that thy girdle should have so goodly a span and clip thee
so closely, if you have in sooth had so little to place within it."
"Kind stranger," answered the pilgrim, "you have unwittingly spoken
words which are very grievous to me to listen to. Yet I should be loth
to blame you, for I doubt not that what you said was not meant to sadden
me, nor to bring my sore affliction back to my mind. It ill becomes me
to prate too much of what I have endured for the faith, and yet, since
you have observed it, I must tell you that this thickness and roundness
of the waist is caused by a dropsy brought on by over-haste in
journeying from the house of Pilate to the Mount of Olives."
"There, Aylward," said Alleyne, with a reddened cheek, "let that curb
your blunt tongue. How could you bring a fresh pang to this holy man,
who hath endured so much and hath journeyed as far as Christ's own
blessed tomb?"
"May the foul fiend strike me dumb!" cried the bowman in hot repentance;
but both the palmer and Alleyne threw up their hands to stop him.
"I forgive thee from my heart, dear brother," piped the blind man. "But,
oh, these wild words of thine are worse to mine ears than aught which
you could say of me."
"Not another word shall I speak," said Aylward; "but here is a franc for
thee and I crave thy blessing."
"And here is another," said Alleyne.
"And another," cried Hordle John.
But the blind palmer would have none of their alms. "Foolish, foolish
pride!" he cried, beating upon his chest with his large brown hand.
"Foolish, foolish pride! How long then will it be ere I can scourge it
forth? Am I then never to conquer it? Oh, strong, strong are the ties of
flesh, and hard it is to subdue the spirit! I come, friends, of a noble
house, and I cannot bring myself to touch this money, even though it be
to save me from the grave."
"Alas! father," said Alleyne, "how then can we be of help to thee?"
"I had sat down here to die," quoth the palmer; "but for many years I
have carried in my wallet these precious things which you see set forth
now before me. It were sin, thought I, that my secret should perish with
me. I shall therefore sell these things to the first worthy passers-by,
and from them I shall have money enough to take me to the shrine of Our
Lady at Rocamadour, where I hope to lay these old bones."
"What are these treasures, then, father?" asked Hordle John. "I can but
see an old rusty nail, with bits of stone and slips of wood."
"My friend," answered the palmer, "not all the money that is in this
country could pay a just price for these wares of mine. This nail," he
continued, pulling off his hat and turning up his sightless orbs, "is
one of those wherewith man's salvation was secured. I had it, together
with this piece of the true rood, from the five-and-twentieth descendant
of Joseph of Arimathea, who still lives in Jerusalem alive and well,
though latterly much afflicted by boils. Aye, you may well cross
yourselves, and I beg that you will not breathe upon it or touch it with
your fingers."
"And the wood and stone, holy father?" asked Alleyne, with bated breath,
as he stared awe-struck at his precious relics.
"This cantle of wood is from the true cross, this other from Noah his
ark, and the third is from the door-post of the temple of the wise King
Solomon. This stone was thrown at the sainted Stephen, and the other two
are from the Tower of Babel. Here, too, is part of Aaron's rod, and a
lock of hair from Elisha the prophet."
"But, father," quoth Alleyne, "the holy Elisha was bald, which brought
down upon him the revilements of the wicked children."
"It is very true that he had not much hair," said the palmer quickly,
"and it is this which makes this relic so exceeding precious. Take now
your choice of these, my worthy gentlemen, and pay such a price as
your consciences will suffer you to offer; for I am not a chapman nor
a huckster, and I would never part with them, did I not know that I am
very near to my reward."
"Aylward," said Alleyne excitedly, "This is such a chance as few folk
have twice in one life. The nail I must have, and I will give it to the
abbey of Beaulieu, so that all the folk in England may go thither to
wonder and to pray."
"And I will have the stone from the temple," cried Hordle John. "What
would not my old mother give to have it hung over her bed?"
"And I will have Aaron's rod," quoth Aylward. "I have but five florins
in the world, and here are four of them."
"Here are three more," said John.
"And here are five more," added Alleyne. "Holy father, I hand you twelve
florins, which is all that we can give, though we well know how poor a
pay it is for the wondrous things which you sell us."
"Down, pride, down!" cried the pilgrim, still beating upon his chest.
"Can I not bend myself then to take this sorry sum which is offered me
for that which has cost me the labors of a life. Give me the dross! Here
are the precious relics, and, oh, I pray you that you will handle them
softly and with reverence, else had I rather left my unworthy bones here
by the wayside."
With doffed caps and eager hands, the comrades took their new and
precious possessions, and pressed onwards upon their journey, leaving
the aged palmer still seated under the cherry-tree. They rode in
silence, each with his treasure in his hand, glancing at it from time to
time, and scarce able to believe that chance had made them sole owners
of relics of such holiness and worth that every abbey and church
in Christendom would have bid eagerly for their possession. So they
journeyed, full of this good fortune, until opposite the town of Le Mas,
where John's horse cast a shoe, and they were glad to find a wayside
smith who might set the matter to rights. To him Aylward narrated the
good hap which had befallen them; but the smith, when his eyes lit upon
the relics, leaned up against his anvil and laughed, with his hand to
his side, until the tears hopped down his sooty cheeks.
"Why, masters," quoth he, "this man is a coquillart, or seller of false
relics, and was here in the smithy not two hours ago. This nail that
he hath sold you was taken from my nail-box, and as to the wood and the
stones, you will see a heap of both outside from which he hath filled
his scrip."
"Nay, nay," cried Alleyne, "this was a holy man who had journeyed to
Jerusalem, and acquired a dropsy by running from the house of Pilate to
the Mount of Olives."
"I know not about that," said the smith; "but I know that a man with a
gray palmer's hat and gown was here no very long time ago, and that he
sat on yonder stump and ate a cold pullet and drank a flask of wine.
Then he begged from me one of my nails, and filling his scrip with
stones, he went upon his way. Look at these nails, and see if they are
not the same as that which he has sold you."
"Now may God save us!" cried Alleyne, all aghast. "Is there no end then
to the wickedness of humankind? He so humble, so aged, so loth to take
our money—and yet a villain and a cheat. Whom can we trust or believe
in?"
"I will after him," said Aylward, flinging himself into the saddle.
"Come, Alleyne, we may catch him ere John's horse be shod."
Away they galloped together, and ere long they saw the old gray palmer
walking slowly along in front of them. He turned, however, at the sound
of their hoofs, and it was clear that his blindness was a cheat like all
the rest of him, for he ran swiftly through a field and so into a wood,
where none could follow him. They hurled their relics after him, and so
rode back to the blacksmith's the poorer both in pocket and in faith.
End of Chapter XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII. HOW ROGER CLUB-FOOT WAS PASSED INTO PARADISE.
It was evening before the three comrades came into Aiguillon, There they
found Sir Nigel Loring and Ford safely lodged at the sign of the
"Baton Rouge," where they supped on good fare and slept between
lavender-scented sheets. It chanced, however, that a knight of Poitou,
Sir Gaston d'Estelle, was staying there on his way back from Lithuania,
where he had served a term with the Teutonic knights under the
land-master of the presbytery of Marienberg. He and Sir Nigel sat late
in high converse as to bushments, outfalls, and the intaking of cities,
with many tales of warlike men and valiant deeds. Then their talk turned
to minstrelsy, and the stranger knight drew forth a cittern, upon which
he played the minne-lieder of the north, singing the while in a high
cracked voice of Hildebrand and Brunhild and Siegfried, and all the
strength and beauty of the land of Almain. To this Sir Nigel answered
with the romances of Sir Eglamour, and of Sir Isumbras, and so through
the long winter night they sat by the crackling wood-fire answering each
other's songs until the crowing *** joined in their concert. Yet, with
scarce an hour of rest, Sir Nigel was as blithe and bright as ever as
they set forth after breakfast upon their way.
"This Sir Gaston is a very worthy man," said he to his squires as they
rode from the "Baton Rouge." "He hath a very strong desire to advance
himself, and would have entered upon some small knightly debate with me,
had he not chanced to have his arm-bone broken by the kick of a horse.
I have conceived a great love for him, and I have promised him that when
his bone is mended I will exchange thrusts with him. But we must keep to
this road upon the left."
"Nay, my fair lord," quoth Aylward. "The road to Montaubon is over the
river, and so through Quercy and the Agenois."
"True, my good Aylward; but I have learned from this worthy knight, who
hath come over the French marches, that there is a company of Englishmen
who are burning and plundering in the country round Villefranche. I have
little doubt, from what he says, that they are those whom we seek."
"By my hilt! it is like enough," said Aylward. "By all accounts they had
been so long at Montaubon, that there would be little there worth the
taking. Then as they have already been in the south, they would come
north to the country of the Aveyron."
"We shall follow the Lot until we come to Cahors, and then cross the
marches into Villefranche," said Sir Nigel. "By St. Paul! as we are but
a small band, it is very likely that we may have some very honorable
and pleasing adventure, for I hear that there is little peace upon the
French border."
All morning they rode down a broad and winding road, barred with the
shadows of poplars. Sir Nigel rode in front with his squires, while the
two archers followed behind with the sumpter mule between them. They
had left Aiguillon and the Garonne far to the south, and rode now by
the tranquil Lot, which curves blue and placid through a gently rolling
country. Alleyne could not but mark that, whereas in Guienne there had
been many townlets and few castles, there were now many castles and few
houses. On either hand gray walls and square grim keeps peeped out at
every few miles from amid the forests while the few villages which
they passed were all ringed round with rude walls, which spoke of the
constant fear and sudden foray of a wild frontier land. Twice during the
morning there came bands of horsemen swooping down upon them from the
black gateways of wayside strongholds, with short, stern questions as to
whence they came and what their errand. Bands of armed men clanked
along the highway, and the few lines of laden mules which carried the
merchandise of the trader were guarded by armed varlets, or by archers
hired for the service.
"The peace of Bretigny hath not made much change in these parts,"
quoth Sir Nigel, "for the country is overrun with free companions and
masterless men. Yonder towers, between the wood and the hill, mark the
town of Cahors, and beyond it is the land of France. But here is a man
by the wayside, and as he hath two horses and a squire I make little
doubt that he is a knight. I pray you, Alleyne, to give him greeting
from me, and to ask him for his titles and coat-armor. It may be that I
can relieve him of some vow, or perchance he hath a lady whom he would
wish to advance."
"Nay, my fair lord," said Alleyne, "these are not horses and a squire,
but mules and a varlet. The man is a mercer, for he hath a great bundle
beside him."
"Now, God's blessing on your honest English voice!" cried the stranger,
pricking up his ears at the sound of Alleyne's words. "Never have I
heard music that was so sweet to mine ear. Come, Watkin lad, throw the
bales over Laura's back! My heart was nigh broke, for it seemed that I
had left all that was English behind me, and that I would never set eyes
upon Norwich market square again." He was a tall, ***, middle-aged
man with a ruddy face, a brown forked beard shot with gray, and a
broad Flanders hat set at the back of his head. His servant, as tall as
himself, but gaunt and raw-***, had swung the bales on the back of
one mule, while the merchant mounted upon the other and rode to join
the party. It was easy to see, as he approached, from the quality of
his dress and the richness of his trappings, that he was a man of some
wealth and position.
"Sir knight," said he, "my name is David Micheldene, and I am a burgher
and alderman of the good town of Norwich, where I live five doors from
the church of Our Lady, as all men know on the banks of Yare. I have
here my bales of cloth which I carry to Cahors—woe worth the day that
ever I started on such an errand! I crave your gracious protection upon
the way for me, my servant, and my mercery; for I have already had
many perilous passages, and have now learned that Roger Club-foot, the
robber-knight of Quercy, is out upon the road in front of me. I hereby
agree to give you one rose-noble if you bring me safe to the inn of the
'Angel' in Cahors, the same to be repaid to me or my heirs if any harm
come to me or my goods."
"By Saint Paul!" answered Sir Nigel, "I should be a sorry knight if I
ask pay for standing by a countryman in a strange land. You may ride
with me and welcome, Master Micheldene, and your varlet may follow with
my archers."
"God's benison upon thy bounty!" cried the stranger. "Should you come to
Norwich you may have cause to remember that you have been of service to
Alderman Micheldene. It is not very far to Cahors, for surely I see the
cathedral towers against the sky-line; but I have heard much of this
Roger Clubfoot, and the more I hear the less do I wish to look upon his
face. Oh, but I am sick and weary of it all, and I would give half that
I am worth to see my good dame sitting in peace beside me, and to hear
the bells of Norwich town."
"Your words are strange to me," quoth Sir Nigel, "for you have the
appearance of a stout man, and I see that you wear a sword by your
side."
"Yet it is not my trade," answered the merchant. "I doubt not that if
I set you down in my shop at Norwich you might scarce tell fustian from
falding, and know little difference between the velvet of Genoa and the
three-piled cloth of Bruges. There you might well turn to me for help.
But here on a lone roadside, with thick woods and robber-knights, I turn
to you, for it is the business to which you have been reared."
"There is sooth in what you say, Master Micheldene," said Sir Nigel,
"and I trust that we may come upon this Roger Clubfoot, for I have heard
that he is a very stout and skilful soldier, and a man from whom much
honor is to be gained."
"He is a bloody robber," said the trader, curtly, "and I wish I saw him
kicking at the end of a halter."
"It is such men as he," Sir Nigel remarked, "who give the true knight
honorable deeds to do, whereby he may advance himself."
"It is such men as he," retorted Micheldene, "who are like rats in
a wheat-rick or moths in a woolfels, a harm and a hindrance to all
peaceful and honest men."
"Yet, if the dangers of the road weigh so heavily upon you, master
alderman, it is a great marvel to me that you should venture so far from
home."
"And sometimes, sir knight, it is a marvel to myself. But I am a man who
may grutch and grumble, but when I have set my face to do a thing I
will not turn my back upon it until it be done. There is one, Francois
Villet, at Cahors, who will send me wine-casks for my cloth-bales, so to
Cahors I will go, though all the robber-knights of Christendom were to
line the roads like yonder poplars."
"Stoutly spoken, master alderman! But how have you fared hitherto?"
"As a lamb fares in a land of wolves. Five times we have had to beg and
pray ere we could pass. Twice I have paid toll to the wardens of the
road. Three times we have had to draw, and once at La Reolle we stood
seer our wool-bales, Watkin and I, and we laid about us for as long as a
man might chant a litany, slaying one rogue and wounding two others. By
God's coif! we are men of peace, but we are free English burghers, not
to be mishandled either in our country or abroad. Neither lord, baron,
knight, or commoner shall have as much as a strike of flax of mine
whilst I have strength to wag this sword."
"And a passing strange sword it is," quoth Sir Nigel. "What make you,
Alleyne, of these black lines which are drawn across the sheath?"
"I cannot tell what they are, my fair lord."
"Nor can I," said Ford.
The merchant chuckled to himself. "It was a thought of mine own,"
said he; "for the sword was made by Thomas Wilson, the armorer, who is
betrothed to my second daughter Margery. Know then that the sheath is
one cloth-yard, in length, marked off according to feet and inches to
serve me as a measuring wand. It is also of the exact weight of two
pounds, so that I may use it in the balance."
"By Saint Paul!" quoth Sir Nigel, "it is very clear to me that the sword
is like thyself, good alderman, apt either for war or for peace. But
I doubt not that even in England you have had much to suffer from the
hands of robbers and outlaws."
"It was only last Lammastide, sir knight, that I was left for dead near
Reading as I journeyed to Winchester fair. Yet I had the rogues up at
the court of pie-powder, and they will harm no more peaceful traders."
"You travel much then!"
"To Winchester, Linn mart, Bristol fair, Stourbridge, and Bartholomew's
in London Town. The rest of the year you may ever find me five doors
from the church of Our Lady, where I would from my heart that I was at
this moment, for there is no air like Norwich air, and no water like the
Yare, nor can all the wines of France compare with the beer of old Sam
Yelverton who keeps the 'Dun Cow.' But, out and alack, here is an evil
fruit which hangs upon this chestnut-tree!"
As he spoke they had ridden round a curve of the road and come upon a
great tree which shot one strong brown branch across their path. From
the centre of this branch there hung a man, with his head at a horrid
slant to his body and his toes just touching the ground. He was naked
save for a linen under shirt and pair of woollen drawers. Beside him
on a green bank there sat a small man with a solemn face, and a great
bundle of papers of all colors thrusting forth from the scrip which lay
beside him. He was very richly dressed, with furred robes, a scarlet
hood, and wide hanging sleeves lined with flame-colored silk. A great
gold chain hung round his neck, and rings glittered from every finger of
his hands. On his lap he had a little pile of gold and of silver, which
he was dropping, coin by coin, into a plump pouch which hung from his
girdle.
"May the saints be with you, good travellers!" he shouted, as the
party rode up. "May the four Evangelists watch over you! May the twelve
Apostles bear you up! May the blessed army of martyrs direct your feet
and lead you to eternal bliss!"
"Gramercy for these good wishes!" said Sir Nigel. "But I perceive,
master alderman, that this man who hangs here is, by mark of foot, the
very robber-knight of whom we have spoken. But there is a cartel pinned
upon his breast, and I pray you, Alleyne, to read it to me."
The dead robber swung slowly to and fro in the wintry wind, a fixed
smile upon his swarthy face, and his bulging eyes still glaring down the
highway of which he had so long been the terror; on a sheet of parchment
upon his breast was printed in rude characters;
ROGER PIED-BOT.
Par l'ordre du Senechal de Castelnau, et de l'Echevin de
Cahors, servantes fideles du tres vaillant et tres puissant
Edouard, Prince de Galles et d'Aquitaine.
Ne touchez pas, Ne coutez pas,
Ne depechez pas
"He took a sorry time in dying," said the man who sat beside him. "He
could stretch one toe to the ground and bear him self up, so that I
thought he would never have done. Now at last, however, he is safely in
paradise, and so I may jog on upon my earthly way." He mounted, as he
spoke, a white mule which had been grazing by the wayside, all gay
with fustian of gold and silver bells, and rode onward with Sir Nigel's
party.
"How know you then that he is in paradise?" asked Sir Nigel. "All things
are possible to God, but, certes, without a miracle, I should scarce
expect to find the soul of Roger Clubfoot amongst the just."
"I know that he is there because I have just passed him in there,"
answered the stranger, rubbing his bejewelled hands together in placid
satisfaction. "It is my holy mission to be a sompnour or pardoner. I am
the unworthy servant and delegate of him who holds the keys. A contrite
heart and ten nobles to holy mother Church may stave off perdition; but
he hath a pardon of the first degree, with a twenty-five livre benison,
so that I doubt if he will so much as feel a twinge of purgatory. I came
up even as the seneschal's archers were tying him up, and I gave him my
fore-word that I would bide with him until he had passed. There were two
leaden crowns among the silver, but I would not for that stand in the
way of his salvation."
"By Saint Paul!" said Sir Nigel, "if you have indeed this power to open
and to shut the gates of hope, then indeed you stand high above mankind.
But if you do but claim to have it, and yet have it not, then it seems
to me, master clerk, that you may yourself find the gate barred when you
shall ask admittance."
"Small of faith! Small of faith!" cried the sompnour. "Ah, Sir Didymus
yet walks upon earth! And yet no words of doubt can bring anger to mine
heart, or a bitter word to my lip, for am I not a poor unworthy worker
in the cause of gentleness and peace? Of all these pardons which I bear
every one is stamped and signed by our holy father, the prop and centre
of Christendom."
"Which of them?" asked Sir Nigel.
"Ha, ha!" cried the pardoner, shaking a jewelled forefinger. "Thou
wouldst be deep in the secrets of mother Church? Know then that I have
both in my scrip. Those who hold with Urban shall have Urban's pardon,
while I have Clement's for the Clementist—or he who is in doubt may
have both, so that come what may he shall be secure. I pray you that you
will buy one, for war is bloody work, and the end is sudden with little
time for thought or shrift. Or you, sir, for you seem to me to be a man
who would do ill to trust to your own merits." This to the alderman of
Norwich, who had listened to him with a frowning brow and a sneering
lip.
"When I sell my cloth," quoth he, "he who buys may weigh and feel and
handle. These goods which you sell are not to be seen, nor is there
any proof that you hold them. Certes, if mortal man might control God's
mercy, it would be one of a lofty and God-like life, and not one who is
decked out with rings and chains and silks, like a pleasure-*** at a
kermesse.
"Thou wicked and shameless man!" cried the clerk. "Dost thou dare to
raise thy voice against the unworthy servant of mother Church?"
"Unworthy enough!" quoth David Micheldene. "I would have you to know,
clerk, that I am a free English burgher, and that I dare say my mind to
our father the Pope himself, let alone such a lacquey's lacquey as you!"
"Base-born and foul-mouthed knave!" cried the sompnour. "You prate of
holy things, to which your hog's mind can never rise. Keep silence, lest
I call a curse upon you!"
"Silence yourself!" roared the other. "Foul bird! we found thee by the
gallows like a carrion-crow. A fine life thou hast of it with thy silks
and thy baubles, cozening the last few shillings from the pouches of
dying men. A fig for thy curse! Bide here, if you will take my rede, for
we will make England too hot for such as you, when Master Wicliff has
the ordering of it. Thou vile thief! it is you, and such as you, who
bring an evil name upon the many churchmen who lead a pure and a holy
life. Thou outside the door of heaven! Art more like to be inside the
door of hell."
At this crowning insult the sompnour, with a face ashen with rage,
raised up a quivering hand and began pouring Latin imprecations upon
the angry alderman. The latter, however, was not a man to be quelled by
words, for he caught up his ell-measure sword-sheath and belabored the
cursing clerk with it. The latter, unable to escape from the shower
of blows, set spurs to his mule and rode for his life, with his enemy
thundering behind him. At sight of his master's sudden departure, the
varlet Watkin set off after him, with the pack-mule beside him, so that
the four clattered away down the road together, until they swept round
a curve and their babble was but a drone in the distance. Sir Nigel
and Alleyne gazed in astonishment at one another, while Ford burst out
a-laughing.
"Pardieu!" said the knight, "this David Micheldene must be one of those
Lollards about whom Father Christopher of the priory had so much to say.
Yet he seemed to be no bad man from what I have seen of him."
"I have heard that Wicliff hath many followers in Norwich," answered
Alleyne.
"By St. Paul! I have no great love for them," quoth Sir Nigel. "I am a
man who am slow to change; and, if you take away from me the faith that
I have been taught, it would be long ere I could learn one to set in its
place. It is but a chip here and a chip there, yet it may bring the tree
down in time. Yet, on the other hand, I cannot but think it shame that a
man should turn God's mercy on and off, as a cellarman doth wine with a
spigot."
"Nor is it," said Alleyne, "part of the teachings of that mother Church
of which he had so much to say. There was sooth in what the alderman
said of it."
"Then, by St. Paul! they may settle it betwixt them," quoth Sir Nigel.
"For me, I serve God, the king and my lady; and so long as I can keep
the path of honor I am well content. My creed shall ever be that of
Chandos:
"Fais ce que dois—adviegne que peut, C'est commande au chevalier."
End of Chapter XXVII �