CHAPTER XIX
A FIGURE IN THE MOONLIGHT
Experiencing no further inconvenience than the ordinary vicissitudes oftraveling without litter or cavalcade, several days of wandering slowlypassed. Few people they met, and those, for the most part, varioustypes of vagabonds and nomads; some wild and savage, roaming likebeasts from place to place; others, harmless, mere bedraggled birds ofpassage. In this latter class were the vagrant-entertainers, withdancing rooster or singing dog, who stopped at every peasant's door.To the shrill piping of the flageolet, these merry stragglers added astep of their own, and won a crust for themselves, a bone for the dogor a handful of grain for the performing fowl.
In those days when court ladies rode in carved and gilded coaches, andtheir escorts on horses covered with silken, jeweled nets, the modestappearance of the jestress and her companion was not calculated toattract especial attention from the yokels and honest peasantry;although their steeds, notwithstanding their unpretentious housings,might still excite the cupidity of highway rogues. As it minimizedtheir risk from this latter class, the young girl was content to wearthe cap of the jestress, piquantly perched upon her dark curls, therebysuggesting an indefinable affinity with vagrancy and the itinerantfraternity.
Not only had she donned the symbol of her office, but she endeavored toact up to it, accepting the sweet with the sour, with ever a jest atdiscomfort and concealing weariness with a smile. Often the foolwondered at her endurance and her calm courage in the face of peril,for although they met with no misadventures, each day seemed fraughtwith jeopardy. Perhaps it was fortunate their attire, somewhattravel-stained, appeared better suited to the character of poor,migratory wearers of the cap and bells than to the more magnificentroles of _fou du roi_ or _folle de la reine_. But although they hadgone far, the jester knew they had not yet traveled beyond the reach ofFrancis' arm, and that, while the king might reconcile himself to theescape of the _plaisant_, he would not so easily tire in seeking themaid.
Once they slept in the fields; again, beside an old ruined shrine, inthe shadow of an ancient cross; the third night, on the bank of astream, when it rained, and she shivered until dawn with no word ofcomplaint. Fortunately the sun arose, bright and warm, drying thegarments that clung to her slender figure, At the peasants' houses theypaused no longer than necessary to procure food and drink, and, not toawaken suspicion, she preferred paying them with a song of the peoplerather than from the well-filled purse she had brought with her.
And as the fool listened to a sprightly, contagious carol and noted itseffect on clod and hind, he wondered if this could be the same voice hehad heard, uplifted in one of Master Calvin's psalms in the solitude ofthe forest. She had the gift of music, and, sometimes on the journey,would break out with a catch or madrigal by Marot, Caillette, orherself. It appeared a brave effort to bear up under continuedhardship--insufficient rest and sharp riding--and the jester reproachedhimself for thus taxing her strength; but often, when he suggested apause, she would shake her head wilfully, assert she was not tired, andride but the faster.
"No, no!" she would say; "if we would escape, we must keep on. We canrest afterward."
"Where do you wish to go?" he asked her once.
"There is time enough yet to speak of that," she returned, evasively.
"You have some plan, mistress?"
"Perhaps."
This answer forbade his further questioning; offended, possibly, hissense of that confidence which is due comrade to comrade, but shebecame immediately so propitiative and sweetly dependent--theantithesis to that self-reliance her response implied--he thought nomore of it, but remained content with her reticence. Half-shyly, shelooked at him beneath her dark lashes, as if to read how deeply he wasannoyed, and, seeing his face clear, laughed lightly.
"What are you laughing at, mistress?" he said.
"If I knew I could tell," she replied.
Toward sundown on the fourth day they came to a lonely inn, set in aclearing on the verge of a forest. They had ridden late in themoonlight the night before, and all that morning and afternoon almostwithout resting, and the first sight of the solitary hostelry was notunwelcome to the weary fugitives. A second inspection of the place,however, awakened misgivings. The building seemed the better adaptedfor a fortress than a tavern, being heavily constructed with massivedoors and blinds, and loopholes above. A brightly painted sign, TheRooks' Haunt, waved cheerily, it is true, above the door, as though todisarm suspicion, but the isolated situation of the inn, and thedepressing sense of the surrounding wilderness, might well cause thewayfarer to hesitate whether to tarry there or continue his journey.
A glance at the pale face and unnaturally bright eyes of the girlbrought the jester, however, to a quick decision. Springing from hishorse, he held out his hand to assist her, but, overcome by weakness,or fatigue, she would have fallen had he not sustained her. Quicklyshe recovered, and with a faint flush mantling her white cheek,withdrew from his grasp, while at the same time the landlord of thetavern came forward to welcome his guests.
In appearance mine host was round and jovial; his bulk bespoke heartyliving; his rosy face reflected good cheer; his stentorian voice,free-and-easy hospitality. His eyes constituted the only setback tothis general impression of friendliness and fellow-feeling; they weresmall, twinkling, glassy.
"Good even to you, gentle folk," he said. "You tarry for the night, Itake it?"
"If you have suitable accommodations," answered the jester, reassuredby the man's aspect and manner.
"The Rooks' Haunt never yet turned away a weary traveler," answered thelandlord. "You come from the palace?"
"Yes," briefly, as a lad led away their horses.
"And have done well? Reaped a harvest from the merry lords and ladies?"
"There were many others there for that purpose," returned the jester,following the proprietor to the door of the hostelry.
"True. Still I'll warrant your fair companion cozened the silverpieces from the pockets of the gentry." And, smiling knowingly, heushered them into the principal living room of the tavern.
It was a smoke-begrimed apartment, with tables next to the wall, andrough chairs and benches for the guests. Heavy pine rafters spannedthe ceiling; the floor was sprinkled with sand; from a chain hung awrought-iron frame for candles. Upon a shelf a row of batteredtankards, suggesting many a bout, shone dully, like a line of war-worntroopers, while a great pewter pitcher, the worse for wear, commandedthe disreputable array.
In this room was gathered a nondescript company: mountebanks andbuffoons; rogues unclassified, drinking and dicing; a robust vagrant,at whose feet slept a performing boar, with a ring--badge ofservitude--through its nose; a black-bearded, shaggy-haired Spanishtroubadour, with attire so ragged and worn as to have lost itserstwhile picturesque characteristics. This last far fromprepossessing worthy half-started from his seat upon the appearance offool and jestress; stared at them, and then resumed his place and theballad he had been singing:
"Within the garden of Beaucaire He met her by a secret stair, Said Aucassin, 'My love, my pet, These old confessors vex me so! They threaten all the pains of hell Unless I give you up, _ma belle_,'-- Said Aucassin to Nicolette."
Watching the nimble fingers of the shabby minstrel with pitiablychildish expression of amusement, a half-imbecile morio leaned upon thetable. His huge form, for he was a giant among stalwart men, and hisgreat moon-shaped head made him at once an object hideous and miserableto contemplate. But the poor creature seemed unaware of his owndeformities, and smiled contentedly and patted the table caressingly tothe sprightly rhythm.
Gazing upon this choice assemblage, the _plaisant_ was vaguelyconscious that some of the curious and uncommon faces seemed familiar,and the picture of the Franciscan monk whom they had overtaken on theroad recurred to him, together with the misgivings he had experiencedupon parting from that canting knave. He half-expected to see Nanette;to hear her voice, and was relieved that the gipsy on
this occasion didnot make one of the unwonted gathering. The landlord, observing thefool's discriminating gaze, and reading something of what was passingin his mind, reassuringly motioned the new-comers to an unoccupiedcorner, and by his manner sought to allay such mistrust as theappearance of his guests was calculated to inspire.
"We have to take those that come," he said, deprecatorily. "Therascals have money. It is as good as any lord's. Besides, whate'erthey do without, here must they behave. And--for their credit--theyare docile as children; ruled by the cook's ladle. You will find that,though there be ill company, you will partake of good fare. If I sayit myself, there's no better master of the flesh pots outside of Paristhan at this hostelry. The rogues eat as well as the king's gentlemen.Feasting, then fasting, is their precept."
"At present we have a leaning for the former, good host," carelesslyanswered the fool. "Though the latter will, no doubt, come later."
"For which reason it behooves a man to eat, drink and be merry while hemay," retorted the other. "What say you to a carp on the spit, withshallots, and a ham boiled with pistachios?"
"The ham, if it be ready. Our appetites are too sharp to wait for thefish."
"Then shall you have with it a cold teal from the marshes, and I'llwarrant such a repast as you have not tasted this many a day. Becausea man lives in a retired spot, it does not follow he may not be anepicure," he went on, "and in my town days I was considered a goodfellow among gourmands." His eyes twinkled; he studied the new-comersa moment, and then vanished kitchenward.
His self-praise as a provider of creature comforts proved not illdeserved; the viands, well prepared, were soon set before them; aserving lad filled their glasses from a skin of young but sound wine hebore beneath his arm, and, under the influence of this cheer, the younggirl's cheek soon lost its pallor. In the past she had becomeaccustomed to rough as well as gentle company; so now it was disdain,not fear, she experienced in that uncouth gathering; the same sort ofcontempt she had once so openly expressed for Master Rabelais,whipper-in for all gluttons, wine-bibbers and free-livers.
As the darkness gathered without, the merriment increased within. Overthe scene the dim light cast an uncertain luster. Indefatigably thedicers pursued their pastime, with now and then an audible oath, ormuttered imprecation, which belied that docility mine host had boastedof. The troubadour played and the morio yet listened. Several of agroup who had been singing now sat in sullen silence. Suddenly one ofthem muttered a broken sentence and his fellows immediately turnedtheir eyes toward the corner where were fool and jestress. This rippleof interest did not escape the young girl's attention, who saiduneasily:
"Why do those men look at us?"
"One of them spoke to the others," replied the jester. "He calledattention to something."
"What do you suppose it was?" she asked curiously.
"_Gladius gemmatus!_" ["The jeweled sword."]
Whence came the voice? Near the couple, in a shadow, sat a woebegonelooking man who had been holding a book so close to his eyes as toconceal his face. Now he permitted the volume to fall and the jesteruttered an exclamation of surprise, as he looked upon those pinched,worn, but well-remembered features.
"The scamp-student!" he said.
Immediately the reader buried his head once more behind the book andspoke aloud in Latin as though quoting some passage which he followedwith his finger; "Did you understand?"
"Yes," answered the _plaisant_, apparently speaking to the jestress,whose face wore a puzzled expression.
The scamp-student laid the volume on the table. "These men are outlawsand intend to kill you for your jeweled sword," he continued in thelanguage of Horace.
"Why do you tell me this?" asked the fool in the same tongue, nowaddressing directly the scholar.
"Because you spared my life once; I would serve you now."
"What's all this monk's gibberish about?" cried an angry voice, as themaster of the boar stepped toward them.
"A discussion between two scholars," readily answered the scamp-student.
"Why don't you talk in a language we understand?" grumbled the man.
"Latin is the tongue of learning," was the humble response.
"I like not the sound of it," retorted the other, as he retired. Froma distance, however, he continued to cast suspicious glances in theirdirection. Bewildered, the girl looked from one of the allegedcontroverters to the other. Who was this starveling the jester seemedto know? Again were they conversing in the language of the monastery,and their colloquy led to a conclusion as unexpected as it wasstartling.
"What if we leave the inn now?" asked the jester.
"They would prevent you."
"Who is the leader?"
"The man with the boar," answered the scamp-student. "But it is themorio who usually kills their victims."
The jester glanced at the colossal monster, repugnant in deformity, andthen at the girl, who was tapping impatiently on the table with herwhite fingers. The fool's color came and went; what human strengthmight stand against that frightful prodigy of nature?
"Is there no way to escape?" he asked.
"Alas! I can but warn; not advise," said the scholar. "Already theleader suspects me."
A half-shiver ran through him. In the presence of actual and seeminglyassured death he had appeared calm, resigned, a Socrates intemperament; before the mere prospect of danger the apprehensivethief-and-fugitive elements of his nature uprose. He would meet, whenneed be, the grim-visaged monster of dissolution with the dignity of astoic, but by habit disdained not to dodge the shadow with thepractised agility of a filcher and scamp. So the lower part of hismoral being began to cower; he glanced furtively at the company.
"Yes; I am sure I have put my own neck in it," he muttered. "I mustdevise a way to save it. I have it. We must seem to quarrel." Andrising, he closed his book deliberately.
"Fool!" he said in a sharp voice. "Your argument is as scurvy as yourLatin. Thou, a philosopher! A bookless, shallow dabbler! So I treatyou and your reasonings!"
Whereupon, with a quick gesture, he threw the dregs of his glass in theface of the jester. So suddenly and unexpectedly was it done, theother sprang angrily from his seat and half drew his sword. A momentthey stood thus, the fool with his hand menacingly upon the hilt; thescamp-scholar continuing to confront him with undiminished volubility.
He threw the dregs of his glass in the face of thejester.]
"A smatterer! an ignoramus! a dunce!" he repeated in high-pitched tonesto the amusement of the company.
"Make a ring for the two monks, my masters," cried the man with theboar. "Then let each state his case with bludgeon or dagger."
"With bludgeon or dagger!" echoed the excited voice of the morio, whoseappearance had undergone a transformation. The indescribable vacancywith which he had listened to the minstrel was replaced by anexpression of revolting malignity.
The jestress half-arose, her face once more white, her dark eyesfastened on the fool. But the latter, realizing the purpose of theaffront, and the actual service the scamp-student had rendered him,unexpectedly thrust back his blade.
"I'll not fight a puny bookworm," he said, and resumed his seat,although his cheek was flushed.
"You bear a brave sword, fool, for one so loath to draw," sneered themaster of the boar.
Disappointed at this tame outcome of an affair which had so spirited abeginning, the company, with derisive scoffing and muttered sarcasm,resumed their places; all save the morio, who stood glaring upon thejester.
"Stab! stab!" he muttered through his dry lips, and at that moment thetroubadour played a few chords on his instrument. The passion fadedfrom the creature's face; quietly he turned and sought the chairnearest to the minstrel.
"Sing, master," he said.
"_Diable_, thou art an insatiable monster!" grumbled the troubadour.
"Insatiable," smilingly repeated the strange being.
"If you went also, _ma douce m
iette_! The joys of heaven I'd forego To have you with me there below,'-- Said Aucassin to Nicolette."
softly sang the troubadour.
Over the gathering a marked constraint appeared to fall. More soberlythe men shook their dice; the scamp-student took up his book, but evenHorace seemed not to absorb his undivided attention; a mountebankattempted several tricks, but failed to amuse his spectators. Thecandles, burning low, began to drip, and the servant silently replacedthem. Beneath lowering brows the master of the boar moodily regardedthe young girl, whose face seemed cold and disdainful in the flickeringlight. The _plaisant_ addressed a remark to her, but she did notanswer, and silently he watched the shadow on the floor, of thechandelier swinging to and fro, like a waving sword.
"Will you have something more, good fool?" said the insinuating andunexpected voice of the host at the _plaisant's_ elbow.
"Nothing."
"You were right not to draw," continued the boniface with a sharp look."What could a jester do with the blade? I'll warrant you do not knowhow to use it?"
"Nay," answered the fool; "I know how to use it not--and save my neck."
Mine host nodded approvingly. "Ha! a merry fellow," he said. "Come;drink again. 'Twill make you sleep."
"I have better medicine than that," retorted the jester, and yawned.
"Ah, weariness. I'll warrant you'll rest like a log," he added, as hemoved away.
At that some one who had been listening laughed, but the fool did notlook up. A great clock began to strike with harsh clangor andJacqueline suddenly arose. At the same time the minstrel, stretchinghis arms, strolled to the door and out into the open air.
"Good-night, mistress," said the harsh voice of the master of the boar,as his glittering eyes dwelt upon her graceful figure.
The girl responded coldly, and, amid a hush from the company, made herway to the stairs, which she slowly mounted, preceded by the lad whohad waited upon them, and followed by the jester.
"A craven fellow for so trim a maid," continued he of the boar, as theydisappeared. "She has eyes like friar's lanterns. What a decoy she'dmake for the lords in Paris!"
"Yes," assented the landlord, "a pitfall to pill 'em and poll 'em."
At the end of the passage the guide of jestress and fool paused beforea door. "Your room, mistress," he said. "And yonder is yours, MasterJester." Then placing the candle on a stand and vouchsafing no furtherwords, he shuffled off in the darkness, leaving the two standing there.
"Lock your door this night, Jacqueline," whispered the fool.
"You submit over-easily to an affront," was her scornful retort,turning upon the jester.
"Perhaps," he replied, phlegmatically. "Yet forget not the bolt."
"It were more protection than you are apt to prove," she answered, and,quickly entering the room closed hard the door.
A moment he stood in indecision; then rapped lightly.
"Jacqueline," he said, in a low voice.
There was no answer.
"Jacqueline!"
The bolt shot sharply into place, fastening the door. No otherresponse would she make, and the jester, after waiting in vain for herto speak, turned and made his way to his own chamber, adjoining hers.
Weary as the young girl was, she did not retire at once, but going tothe window, threw wide open the blinds. Bright shone the moon, and,leaning forth, she gazed upon clearing and forest sleeping beneath thesoft glamour. A beautiful, yet desolate scene, with not a livingobject visible--yes, one, and she suddenly drew back, for there,motionless in the full light, and gazing steadfastly toward her room,stood a figure in whom she recognized the Spanish troubadour.
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