Long Will

by Florence Converse

  CHAPTER III

  By a Burn's Side

  Brother Owyn gazed dreamily into the flashing waters of the burn. Hisfish-basket was empty; twice he had lost his bait. But if the hungerand thirst of a man be in his soul, 't is little he recks if he havenot fish for supper. Forty years past, when Brother Owyn was a youngman, he had fled into the Church in the hope to escape the world. Buthe learned that monastery gates are as gossamer; and the world, theflesh, and the devil, all three, caper in cloister. To-day he was indisgrace with his prior--not the old dull prior, but a newer, narrowerman--for defending the doctrine and opinions of Master John Wyclif,concerning sanctuary, and the possession of property, and the wrongthat it is for prelates to hold secular office.

  "Dost thou defend a devil's wight that is under ban of Holy Church,"quoth the prior, "and yet call thyself a servant to God and the Pope?"

  "Which Pope?" saith Brother Owyn; for at this time there were twopopes in Christendom, the one at Avignon and the other at Rome, andthey were very busy cursing each other.

  "Such levity in one of thy years is unseemly, brother," the prior madeanswer, and turned his back.

  Nevertheless, Brother Owyn was sore perplexed. Having that vision ofthe Holy City ever before his eyes, and his daughter awaiting him onthe other side of the River of Death, he was altogether minded to keephim from heresy. He began to be an old man now; haply the time wasshort till he might enter into that other Kingdom. Was Master JohnWyclif the Devil, who taketh the word out of the mouth of Dame Truth?Yet a many of those men, even his enemies who reviled him for hisdoctrine, revered him for a holy man and a scholar. Some said therewas not so great a man in England, nor so good, as John Wyclif. Here,then, was the old perplexity, to know what was truth. But Brother Owynerred in that he thought to save his soul alive by flight.

  "Malvern coveteth a hermit," he mused; "but if I go apart, and sleepin a cave, and never wash me, nor cut my beard, straightway there 'llbe a flocking of great folk to look on me, and to question me of theirwives' honour, and of the likelihood of these French wars, for that I'm a holy man. Alack, my Margaret, my Pearl, now lead me out of thisquandary away into a quiet place to pray, for John Wyclif's worddraweth. Soon I 'll be a heretic and accursed."

  Hereupon Brother Owyn lifted up his eyes, and suddenly cried outaloud; for, on the other side of the burn, there stood a golden-hairedmaid.

  "Ho! thou hast lost a fine fish, see him!--gone!" cried a merryvoice, and the boy that was the King of England came a-leaping andlaughing from stone to stone across the sun-flecked water. Afterhim tiptoed the maid, but the squire with the two horses bode onthe farther side.

  "Nay, climb not to thy feet, good brother," said the King. "Thy frighthath shaken thee; in sooth, we meant it not."

  "My lord, my lord," murmured Brother Owyn, and there were tears in hiseyes; "methought 't was my young daughter come to take me home,--homewhere a man sinneth no more, and the walls of the city are jasper, andthe gates are twelve pearls." He covered his face with his hands, andthe tears trickled down his beard.

  Richard knelt beside him and put his arm about the bent shoulders:"Oh, but I 'm sorry!" he said distressfully. "Don't weep! prythee,don't weep!"

  "If I be not thy daughter, yet my father was as a son to thee," Caloteassured him, kneeling at his other side. "'T was thou taught him tosing, and to-day he 's sent his song to thee."

  Brother Owyn had lifted up his face to look on her, and now he touchedher bright hair, soft, with his finger, and "Will Langland's voice waswonderly sweet," said he, "and low. 'T is nigh on thirty years sincehe went out from Malvern, but his was not a voice to be forgot. Hisdaughter, thou?--He ever did the thing he had not meant to do." Helooked on her with a curiosity most benevolent, staying his gaze along while at her eyes; and:--

  "Doth Will Langland sing at court?" he asked.

  Calote laughed, her father's image in the threadbare gown flashingsudden in her mind.

  "Nay, he hath not yet; but he shall one day, when Calote cometh againto London," declared the King. "'T is not so merry a poet as MasterChaucer; but I do love his solemnite. Whiles he jesteth, but histongue 's a whip then,--stingeth."

  Brother Owyn nodded his head, as he were hearing an old tale; andturned him again to Calote:--

  "Will Langland went a-seeking Truth, his lady, thirty years past. Hathhe found her?"

  "She is here," Calote answered simply; and unrolled the parchment toset it open before him.

  The old man looked on her keenly: "Thou hast a great trust in thyfather?"

  "More than in all men else," she said; and the squire on the otherside of the burn thrust his foot among the fallen leaves noisily, andjingled the bridles of the horses.

  "I am in sore straits to find Truth," quoth Brother Owyn, with ahalf-smile. "Many a man will thank Will Langland heartily, if so be hehath found her."

  He turned the pages, slow, reading to himself a bit here and there.

  "Give me thy rod, brother," said the King, "I 'll fish."

  "There 's a-many horns blowing, sire," Stephen warned him from theother side of the burn. "No doubt they seek thee and are troubled."

  "Coeur de joie! Let them seek!" replied Richard. "'T will give thema merry half-hour to think I 'm come to hurt, or slain. Then wouldthere be one less step to the throne for mine Uncle Lancaster. Looknot so sourly, Etienne! I 'll catch but one little fish. Hist!--Bestill!"

  For a little while there was no voice but the brook's voice, and noother sound but the slow turning of parchment pages. The monk busiedhim with the poem and Richard looked into the water. Meanwhile,Calote's gaze strayed to the squire and found his eyes awaiting her.Straightway he plucked his dagger from his belt, flashed it in the sunthat she might see, and kissed it; after, he took it by the point andheld it out, arm's length, as he would give it to her; and so he stoodtill she might rede his riddle. Presently, her eyes frowning aquestion, she put forth her hand, palm upward, uncertain. The squiresmiled and nodded, and because their two hands might not meet acrossthe brook, he thrust the dagger in the trunk of a tree and wedged thesheath betwixt the bark and the slant of the blade. All this verysilently.

  Brother Owyn pursed his lips, or shook his head, or turned the pagesbackward to read again. The King wagged his fishing-line up and downin the water, impatiently. The distant horns blew more frequent.

  "My lord," Stephen ventured once again.

  Richard got to his feet and threw away the rod. "Eh, well; let 's begoing, since thou wilt have it so," he agreed. "The holiday is over.On the morrow Gloucester again, and to say whether Urban or Clement istrue Pope."

  Brother Owyn's face was grave; rebuke and displeasure trembled in hisvoice:--

  "My lord, and dost thou think 't is England maketh the Pope?"

  Richard was halfway across the burn; he laughed, and looked over hisshoulder:--

  "Ma foy, but I 'm very sure 't is not France!" said he.

  After, when he was in the saddle, he felt for his horn, and,remembering, called:--

  "Prythee, Calote, blow thrice, that they may know whence I come. Now,give thee good day, sweet maid, and success to thine adventure.I 'll watch for thee in London."

  And Calote had not blown the third blast when king and squire were offand away; and she turned to meet Brother Owyn's disapproving eye.

  "'T would seem that thou art well acquaint at court, though thy fatheris not," he said.

  She opened her lips to speak, then hung her head and answered nothing.

  "Now, thanks be to Christ Jesus, the Lamb and the Bridegroom, that mylittle daughter is dead, and safe away from this world of sin," saidBrother Owyn. "She dwelleth as a Bride in the house of theBridegroom,--in the Holy City that John the beloved and I have seen ina vision. Thou art so fair that I could wish thou mightst dwelltherein likewise."

  "Yea, after I 'm dead, and my devoir is done," Calote assented to him."Beseech thee, judge me not, good brother! I carry a message ofcomfort to all
these poor English folk that sweat beneath the burdenof wrong. Haply, thy daughter, were she quick, would go along with methis day."

  "Is this thy message?" he asked, pointing to the parchment.

  "This, and more. I may not tell all to thee, for thou 'rt a monk."

  "A strange reason," he averred. "'T must be a most unholy message.Have a care of thy soul, maiden; the pure only shall see theBridegroom. Here am I sheltered in monastery, yet have I much ado towithstand the Devil, that I may keep me clean and a true believer, andso see Christ and my daughter at the last."

  "I cannot forever take keep of mine own soul, brother, when there beso many other in peril to be thought on. Wilt thou that I hide my headin monastery and sing plain-song, and watch perpetual at the altarlest the lamp go out; and, all the while, without the gate, the poortill the fields that I may have leisure to pray? The poor likewise beanhungered after truth. They cry, 'Wherefore did God make us to bestarved of the fat prelates!'"

  "So did thy father rail in years gone by," answered the monk, "andMaster John Wyclif would have more preaching. But monasteries areholy; they are ordained of God and the--the Pope. They shall endure."

  "Brother, what wilt thou do, thou and thy monastery, when the villeinsall are free, when they need no longer grind at the abbot's mill, norplough the abbey's fields, nay, nor even pay quit-rent to rid them ofservice?"

  "Free!" cried Brother Owyn, "and who shall set them free?"

  "Themselves, and Piers Ploughman, and Christ the King's Son of Heaven,which cureth all ills by love."

  The old man drew away from her: "Surely, thou hast a devil," he said.

  "Then an thou lov'st me, call it forth," quoth she; and smiled, andspread her arms wide, waiting.

  But he cried, "Woe, woe!" and cast up his hands to heaven; and after,"Lord, I 'm content my daughter died at two years old."

  "Had she lived, she might have saved souls other than her own."

  "She hath saved mine, mine most sinful," the monk interrupted hersternly; "and dost thou think I 'll lose it now to thee? Get theegone, with thy strange beliefs and blasphemies!"

  She got to her feet very slow, and stepped down the bank to the edgeof the burn; so, standing close at his knee, she spoke once again:--

  "In the city where the wall is jasper and the gates are twelve pearls,will there be any villeins to labour while other men feast?"

  Her face was very near to his, her hand was on his arm.

  "Nay, but I trow we 'll all be villeins there," he answered gently;"villeins of one Lord, and bound to the soil; and the streets of thatcity are as pure gold." So saying, he made the sign of the cross uponher brow.

  She trod the stepping-stones in silence, but on the other bank sheturned:--

  "Natheless, though bond, yet we 'll be free!" she cried; and, catchingup the squire's dagger, was quickly gone.