by Guy Thorne
CHAPTER XV
"Though you be in a place of safety, do not, on that account, think yourself secure."--SAINT BERNARD.
Brother Felix, the monk who had come to them from Icomb, bade them restanother day before setting out over the lake.
"Ye have had a shrewd shog, Lisole, in the news that Hyla brought, andhe also has gone hardly of late. Let us rest a day and eat well, andtalk withal. There is a bottle of clary that the Prior sent. It is goodto rest here."
His merry black eyes regarded them with an eminent satisfaction at hisproposal. It was his holiday, this trip from the Priory, and he had nomind to curtail it.
There was yet a quaint strain of melancholy humour about the ex-fool.The joy had gone, the wit lingered. His sojourn alone among the watershad mellowed it, added a new virtue to the essential sadness of thejester.
And Felix was no ordinary man. He had been an epicure in such thingsonce. What the time could give of culture was his. He had been a writerof MS., a lay scriptor in the house of the Bishop at Rouen; he hadilluminated missals in London, was a good Latinist, and, even in thattime, had a little Greek. A day with Lisole was a most pleasant variantto a life which he lived with real endeavour, but which was sometimes atwar with his mental needs.
So they sat out on deck, among all the medley of the jester's roughhousehold goods, on deck in the sunshine, while the monk and theprospective novice ranged over their experiences.
Hyla had never heard such talk before. Indeed, it is not too much to saythat through all the years of his life he had never, until this day,been present at a _conversation_. Nearly all the words the serf hadheard, almost all the words he himself had spoken, were about thingswhich people could touch and see.
He and his friends, Cerdic notably, had touched on the unseen things ofreligion--"principalities and powers" who dominated the future--in theirown uncouth way. But conversation about the abstract things of thisearthly life he had rarely heard before.
For the first hour the novelty of it almost stunned him. He listenedwithout thought, drinking it all in with an eagerness which defiedconsideration. It was his first and last social experience!
"Wilt not be so lonely in the cloister, friend," said Felix.
"Say you so?" answered the jester. "Yet to be alone is a powerful goodthing. I have but hardly felt lack of humans this many a year. Manysorry poor ghosts of friends, gone to death back-along, come to me atnight-time."
"And she, that saint that was thy wife, comes she to thee, Lisole?"
"Betimes she comes, and ever with healing to my brain; but it is not thewife who slept by my side."
"More Saint and less Woman! Is that truth?"
Lisole nodded sadly. The big monk stretched himself out at length sothat the hot sun rays should fall on every part of him.
"I have no more to do with women," he said; "but in those other days Iliked a woman to be a very woman, and not too good. Else, look you,wherein lieth the pleasure? It is because of the difference. Nevercared I for a silent woman. If you would make a pair of good shoon, takethe tongue of a woman for the sole thereof. It will not wear away. Fullmany a worthless girl has enslaved me--me whom no enemy ever did. Yetknowing all and seeing all, yet loved I all of them. And now--quantummutatus ab illo!"
He sighed, a reminiscent sigh. "They took from me all I had," hecontinued, "and being poor and in distress I turned my thoughtsGodwards."
"Women, priests, and pullets have never enough," said Lisole with asudden and quaint return of his professional manner. "They are past allunderstanding, save only the saints. Truly I have found a woman to beboth apple and serpent in one. A woman, she is like to a fair tablespread with goodly meats that one sees with different eyes before andafter the feast."
"But hast feasted, brother, natheless? Forget not that."
"Art right, and it was well said. One should take bitter and sweettogether. Yet, friend, I do not doubt but that when the Lord Jesus fedthe concourse out of His charity and miracle, there were some at thatfeast who told one another the bread was stale and the fish too long outo' water! Men are so made. It is so in this life."
"Aye, and thou doest well in leaving this world for the Church's peace.Now thy enemy is dead and thy hate with him thou shalt find peace, evenas I have done. For in what a pass is England! Peace being altogetheroverthrown love is cooled; all the land is moist with weeping, and allfriendship and quietness is disappeared. All seek consolation and quiet.Almost all the nobles spend their time in contriving evil; the madesquires delight in malice. These cruel butchers despise doctrine, andthe holy preachers have no effect. These men will not be amended byforce of sermons, nor do they take any account of the lives of men. Theyall plunder together like robbers."
His voice rose in indignation, and both Hyla and the jester raised theirheads in bitter acquiescence.
It was so true of that dark time. Each one there was a waif of life, asomewhat piteous jetsam from the dark tides which had almostoverwhelmed them. The Anglo-Norman song was very true--
"_Boidie ad seignurie, pes est mise suz pe._"
("The fraud of the rulers prevails, peace is trodden underfoot.")
Lisole began to sing the air under his breath. The monk stopped him."Not so," he said. "I was wrong to speak of these things to-day. Theyhave passed us by. And this is my holiday, and I would not have it a sadone withal. We have no cause for sadness, we three. Let us eat, for ourbetter enjoyment. Sun hath clomb half-way upon his journey, and I amhungry."
He bustled about, helping them to prepare the meal.
"Wine, fish, and eke wheaten-cakes," he cried merrily. "Do not we readin the Gospels that it was Christ His fare?"
Hyla noticed that a curious change had taken place in his host's face.The strained, brooding look in his eyes had disappeared. Already it wascalmer, happier.
The monk, full of meat and once more basking in the heat, began to chaton all trivial subjects. He made little, aimless, lazy jests;contentment was exhaled from him.
The sun seemed to draw out the latent humour on the jester'scountenance. He capped one remark by another; on the eve of taking theVows, the clown flickered up in him, as though to rattle the bells oncemore in a last farewell.
Felix had thrown off his habit, and his massive neck and chest, coveredwith black hair, lay open to the genial warmth. His black hair and eyes,his ruddy cheeks, were in fine colour contrast; he was a study in blackand crimson. He lay at length, his head pillowed on a catskin rug, andlooked up at Lisole, who leaned his length against the side of thecabin.
The jester had a thin metal rod in his hand, part of his cookingapparatus, his poker in fact, and all unconsciously he began to use itto emphasise his remarks--the fools baton of his happier days. Now thatthe pressure on his brain, the dead-weight of hate, had been removed, akind of reflex action took place. He became a little like his formerself.
"Old Fenward," said the monk, "thou art changing as the worm to thewinged fly! Thy wit fattens and mars with sorrow! On this day ofdeliverance make some sport for us; show thy old tricks, as SeigneurDavid leapt before the Lord. There is no sin in mirth--out ofcloister," he added with a sudden afterthought, as a quick vision ofRichard Espec crossed his mind.
Hyla sat at the edge of the little deck and looked on, wondering, hishard brown feet just touched the water. His face had sunk once more intoits old passive unemotional aspect. A gaudy marsh fly, in its livery ofblack and yellow, had settled upon his hand, but he made no movement tobrush it away.
The trio were beautifully grouped against the background of vivid greenreeds, surrounded by the still brown water. To any one coming suddenlyupon the quaint old boat lying among the white and yellowwater-flowers, and its strange distinctive crew, the picture would haveremained for long as an unforgettable mental possession.
The accidents of time, place, and colour, had so beautifully blendedinto a perfectly proportioned whole that it seemed more of design thanchance.
Lisole smiled down at the big man. "My jesting
days are long gone by,"he said. "But, messires, I will try my hand for you this noon ifperchance it has not lost all cunning. Once I had knowledge of the artof legerdemain, by which the hands, moving very swiftly and withconcealed motions, do so trick and deceive the eye that he knows notwhat a-hath seen."
With a gurgle of satisfaction, Brother Felix sat up and propped himselfagainst the cabin. Hyla drew nearer, with attentive eyes.
Lisole left them for a moment and went inside the cabin. He came outwith several articles in his hands, which he put beside him on the deck.
He showed them his bare hands, and then suddenly stretching out hisright arm he caught at the empty air, and, behold! there came into hishand, how they could not tell, a little rod of black wood a foot inlength or more.
A swift change came into his voice. It sank a full tone and became verysolemn. His face was very grave. Hyla watched him with wide eyes andparted lips.
He turned to the serf, "Now, Hyla," said he, "art about to witness artmagic, but none of Satan's, so be brave. Take you this little wand ofenchaunted ebon-wood and say what dost make of it."
Very timidly, and with a half withdrawal, Hyla's great brown paw tookthe toy. He examined it, smelt it like a dog, and then with some reliefgave it back to the owner.
"'Tis but a little stick of wood," he said.
"Natheless, a stick of good magic, thrall, for 'twas of this wood thatthe coffin of Mahound was built."
Hyla crossed himself reverently. He was surprised to see the monk wassmiling easily. "The holy man has known these things of old," thoughthe, with a humble recognition of his own limitations and ignorance. "Heseemeth nothing accoyed."
Lisole cleared a space on the deck in front of him, and laid the wandupon it. Then he stretched out his hand over it, as though ininvocation. "_By the Garden of Alamoot where thou grew_," he cried,"_and by the virtue of the blood of Count Raymond of Tripoli, whoseblood fell on thee as he died in that garden, I command thee to do mywill, little black stick_."
He took a little pipe of reed from his belt, and, stopping one end withhis finger, blew softly through it.
A mellow flute-like note quivered through the air. Hardly pausing forbreath, the jester continued the monotonous cooing sound for severalminutes.
Hyla watched the wand with fascinated eyes. Suddenly it began to trembleslightly and to roll this way and that. The pipe changed its notes andbroke into the lilt of a simple dance. Simultaneously with the changethe little stick rose up on its end and inclined itself gravely to eachof them in turn. Then it began to hop up and down, retreating andadvancing, in time to the music.
Hyla's tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. His lips were hot and dry,his throat seemed as if he had been eating salt.
A horrid fear began to rise within him, such strange fear as he hadnever known, as he watched the devilish little stick--how human itwas!--in its fantastic dance. He did not see that both Felix and Lisolewere regarding him with the most intense amusement. The monk wasgrinning from ear to ear, and his hands were pressed to his sides in theeffort to control a paroxysm of internal laughter.
Suddenly the music stopped. The stick ceased all movement, standingupright upon its end. Then--horror!--very slowly, but with greatdeliberation, it began to hop towards Hyla. Nearer and nearer it came,in little jumps of an inch or so. The tan of the serf's face turned adusky cream colour, he put out both hands to ward off the evil thing.
But it hopped on relentlessly.
It came within a foot or two, and Hyla's terror welled up within him sofiercely that he gave a loud cry, stepped back, and with an echoingsplash disappeared into the water over the boat side.
He rose almost immediately, spluttering and gasping, the shock deprivinghim of his senses.
Peals of laughter, echoing uncontrollable peals, saluted him. Felixthundered out his joy, the jester's thin voice shrieked in merriment.
Hyla trod water, staring at them in amazement.
"Come aboard, man! Come aboard!" cried the monk at length. "'Twas naughtbut a jest, a jougleur's trick, oh slayer of Lords!" His laughterforbade speech once more.
They helped the poor fellow on deck once more, and reassured him. But itwas long before he began to like his company again. He remembered theshrine inside the cabin, the sudden appearance of the jester's torchthrough the mists of night, and longed most devoutly to be back at workon the good brown fields.
Till evening fell and supper-time was at hand, Lisole entertained them.Never had he been more skilful and more full of humour than on this, his"farewell appearance," as he would have called it nowadays.
In his hands a wild duck's egg came, went, and changed, until Hyla's armwas tired with crossing himself. Water poured into an earthen jarchanged into chopped straw in a single moment. Never were such wondersbefore on earth.
But as day went, so gaiety went with it. And before rest the monk saidprayers at the lighted shrine of Isoult the Healer. He prayed for a safepassage over the waters on the morrow, and that the healing virtues ofthe relics before them might grow stronger and more powerful as theyreposed before the Host in Church.
Then they all said the Lord's Prayer together, and so to sleep.
But Hyla's rest was fitful and disturbed. Strange broken dreams flittedthrough it. Often during the night he lay awake and heard the heavysnoring of his companions. The sound brought little sense ofcompanionship with it. He was alone with his thoughts and the night.
* * * * *
In the early morning they set forth gravely, as befitted the solemnbusiness they were about.
The precious coffer was laid reverently upon a bed of reeds in the punt,and, as the air was very still, the thick candle was lighted and placedbefore it. It was a very feeble, dusty, yellow gleam in the sunshine.
They set slowly out, down the brown channel among the rushes. The birdswere singing.
The monk blessed the boat and the holy relics, and Lisole took a lastlong look at his floating home ere they turned a corner and it passedfrom view.
He was very silent now that he had left everything. His thoughts weresad, for he was but human. That little refuge had been Home. He had beenalone with the memory of Isoult there. They forged up the creek towardsthe lake, and his eyes fell upon the iron-bound box.
Then his face brightened. He set it towards the Island of Icomb, andmade the sign of the cross. Nor did he look back any more.
About half-way over the lake they rested, and ate some bread and broiledfish. Till then Hyla's strong arms had rowed them, and now Lisoleprepared to relieve him.
They were busy with the victuals in the bottom of the boat when a shoutfloated over the water, sudden and startling. They had thought no onenear.
Looking up they saw a large boat manned by many oars, but two hundredyards away. It was strange they had not heard the rattle in therowlocks.
A man in a shirt of chain mail stood upright in the bows, and a levelledcross-bow threatened them.
They gazed stupidly at the advancing terror. In forty seconds the boatwas lying motionless beside them. Hyla saw many cruel, exulting,well-known faces. The monk began Latin prayers. Lisole grasped theiron-bound box.
Suddenly Hyla became aware that a harsh voice was speaking. "We have noquarrel with you, Sir Monk, nor with your boatman. Natheless, unless youwish death, you will give that serf Hyla up to us without trouble. Weare in luck to-day. We but thought to find the bodies of dead friends."
The rapid pattering Latin went on unceasingly, Hyla was lifted from thepunt by strong, eager arms. A push sent the smaller vessel glidingaway, he saw the distance opening out between--the ripples sparkled inthe sun.
The wail of a farewell floated towards him, and then some one struck hima heavy blow upon the head, and everything flashed away.
