CHAPTER VII. HOW THE THREE COMRADES JOURNEYED THROUGH THE WOODLANDS.
At early dawn the country inn was all alive, for it was rare indeedthat an hour of daylight would be wasted at a time when lighting was soscarce and dear. Indeed, early as it was when Dame Eliza began to stir,it seemed that others could be earlier still, for the door was ajar,and the learned student of Cambridge had taken himself off, with amind which was too intent upon the high things of antiquity to stoopto consider the four-pence which he owed for bed and board. It was theshrill out-cry of the landlady when she found her loss, and the cluckingof the hens, which had streamed in through the open door, that firstbroke in upon the slumbers of the tired wayfarers.
Once afoot, it was not long before the company began to disperse. Asleek mule with red trappings was brought round from some neighboringshed for the physician, and he ambled away with much dignity upon hisroad to Southampton. The tooth-drawer and the gleeman called for a cupof small ale apiece, and started off together for Ringwood fair, the oldjongleur looking very yellow in the eye and swollen in the face afterhis overnight potations. The archer, however, who had drunk more thanany man in the room, was as merry as a grig, and having kissed thematron and chased the maid up the ladder once more, he went out to thebrook, and came back with the water dripping from his face and hair.
"Hola! my man of peace," he cried to Alleyne, "whither are you bent thismorning?"
"To Minstead," quoth he. "My brother Simon Edricson is socman there, andI go to bide with him for a while. I prythee, let me have my score, gooddame."
"Score, indeed!" cried she, standing with upraised hands in front of thepanel on which Alleyne had worked the night before. "Say, rather whatit is that I owe to thee, good youth. Aye, this is indeed a pied merlin,and with a leveret under its claws, as I am a living woman. By the roodof Waltham! but thy touch is deft and dainty."
"And see the red eye of it!" cried the maid.
"Aye, and the open beak."
"And the ruffled wing," added Hordle John.
"By my hilt!" cried the archer, "it is the very bird itself."
The young clerk flushed with pleasure at this chorus of praise, rude andindiscriminate indeed, and yet so much heartier and less grudging thanany which he had ever heard from the critical brother Jerome, or theshort-spoken Abbot. There was, it would seem, great kindness as well asgreat wickedness in this world, of which he had heard so little that wasgood. His hostess would hear nothing of his paying either for bed orfor board, while the archer and Hordle John placed a hand upon eithershoulder and led him off to the board, where some smoking fish, a dishof spinach, and a jug of milk were laid out for their breakfast.
"I should not be surprised to learn, mon camarade," said the soldier, ashe heaped a slice of fish upon Alleyne's tranchoir of bread, "that youcould read written things, since you are so ready with your brushes andpigments."
"It would be shame to the good brothers of Beaulieu if I could not," heanswered, "seeing that I have been their clerk this ten years back."
The bowman looked at him with great respect. "Think of that!" said he."And you with not a hair to your face, and a skin like a girl. I canshoot three hundred and fifty paces with my little popper there, andfour hundred and twenty with the great war-bow; yet I can make nothingof this, nor read my own name if you were to set 'Sam Aylward' upagainst me. In the whole Company there was only one man who could read,and he fell down a well at the taking of Ventadour, which proves thatthe thing is not suited to a soldier, though most needful to a clerk."
"I can make some show at it," said big John; "though I was scarce longenough among the monks to catch the whole trick of it.
"Here, then, is something to try upon," quoth the archer, pulling asquare of parchment from the inside of his tunic. It was tied securelywith a broad band of purple silk, and firmly sealed at either end with alarge red seal. John pored long and earnestly over the inscription uponthe back, with his brows bent as one who bears up against great mentalstrain.
"Not having read much of late," he said, "I am loth to say too muchabout what this may be. Some might say one thing and some another, justas one bowman loves the yew, and a second will not shoot save with theash. To me, by the length and the look of it, I should judge this to bea verse from one of the Psalms."
The bowman shook his head. "It is scarce likely," he said, "that SirClaude Latour should send me all the way across seas with nought moreweighty than a psalm-verse. You have clean overshot the butts this time,mon camarade. Give it to the little one. I will wager my feather-bedthat he makes more sense of it."
"Why, it is written in the French tongue," said Alleyne, "and in aright clerkly hand. This is how it runs: 'A le moult puissant et moulthonorable chevalier, Sir Nigel Loring de Christchurch, de son tresfidele ami Sir Claude Latour, capitaine de la Compagnie blanche,chatelain de Biscar, grand seigneur de Montchateau, vavaseur de lerenomme Gaston, Comte de Foix, tenant les droits de la haute justice, dela milieu, et de la basse.' Which signifies in our speech: 'To the verypowerful and very honorable knight, Sir Nigel Loring of Christchurch,from his very faithful friend Sir Claude Latour, captain of the WhiteCompany, chatelain of Biscar, grand lord of Montchateau and vassal tothe renowned Gaston, Count of Foix, who holds the rights of the highjustice, the middle and the low.'"
"Look at that now!" cried the bowman in triumph. "That is just what hewould have said."
"I can see now that it is even so," said John, examining the parchmentagain. "Though I scarce understand this high, middle and low."
"By my hilt! you would understand it if you were Jacques Bonhomme. Thelow justice means that you may fleece him, and the middle that you maytorture him, and the high that you may slay him. That is about the truthof it. But this is the letter which I am to take; and since the platteris clean it is time that we trussed up and were afoot. You come withme, mon gros Jean; and as to you, little one, where did you say that youjourneyed?"
"To Minstead."
"Ah, yes. I know this forest country well, though I was born myselfin the Hundred of Easebourne, in the Rape of Chichester, hard by thevillage of Midhurst. Yet I have not a word to say against the Hamptonmen, for there are no better comrades or truer archers in the wholeCompany than some who learned to loose the string in these very parts.We shall travel round with you to Minstead lad, seeing that it is littleout of our way."
"I am ready," said Alleyne, right pleased at the thought of such companyupon the road.
"So am not I. I must store my plunder at this inn, since the hostess isan honest woman. Hola! ma cherie, I wish to leave with you my gold-work,my velvet, my silk, my feather bed, my incense-boat, my ewer, my napinglinen, and all the rest of it. I take only the money in a linen bag,and the box of rose colored sugar which is a gift from my captain to theLady Loring. Wilt guard my treasure for me?"
"It shall be put in the safest loft, good archer. Come when you may, youshall find it ready for you."
"Now, there is a true friend!" cried the bowman, taking her hand. "Thereis a bonne amie! English land and English women, say I, and French wineand French plunder. I shall be back anon, mon ange. I am a lonely man,my sweeting, and I must settle some day when the wars are over and done.Mayhap you and I----Ah, mechante, mechante! There is la petite peepingfrom behind the door. Now, John, the sun is over the trees; you must bebrisker than this when the bugleman blows 'Bows and Bills.'"
"I have been waiting this time back," said Hordle John gruffly.
"Then we must be off. Adieu, ma vie! The two livres shall settle thescore and buy some ribbons against the next kermesse. Do not forget SamAylward, for his heart shall ever be thine alone--and thine, ma petite!So, marchons, and may St. Julian grant us as good quarters elsewhere!"
The sun had risen over Ashurst and Denny woods, and was shiningbrightly, though the eastern wind had a sharp flavor to it, and theleaves were flickering thickly from the trees. In the High Street ofLyndhurst the wayfarers had to pick their way, for the little townwas crowded with the gu
ardsmen, grooms, and yeomen prickers who wereattached to the King's hunt. The King himself was staying at CastleMalwood, but several of his suite had been compelled to seek suchquarters as they might find in the wooden or wattle-and-daub cottages ofthe village. Here and there a small escutcheon, peeping from aglassless window, marked the night's lodging of knight or baron. Thesecoats-of-arms could be read, where a scroll would be meaningless, andthe bowman, like most men of his age, was well versed in the commonsymbols of heraldry.
"There is the Saracen's head of Sir Bernard Brocas," quoth he. "I sawhim last at the ruffle at Poictiers some ten years back, when he borehimself like a man. He is the master of the King's horse, and can singa right jovial stave, though in that he cannot come nigh to Sir JohnChandos, who is first at the board or in the saddle. Three martlets on afield azure, that must be one of the Luttrells. By the crescent upon it,it should be the second son of old Sir Hugh, who had a bolt through hisankle at the intaking of Romorantin, he having rushed into the fray erehis squire had time to clasp his solleret to his greave. There too isthe hackle which is the old device of the De Brays. I have served underSir Thomas de Bray, who was as jolly as a pie, and a lusty swordsmanuntil he got too fat for his harness."
So the archer gossiped as the three wayfarers threaded their way amongthe stamping horses, the busy grooms, and the knots of pages and squireswho disputed over the merits of their masters' horses and deer-hounds.As they passed the old church, which stood upon a mound at the left-handside of the village street the door was flung open, and a stream ofworshippers wound down the sloping path, coming from the morning mass,all chattering like a cloud of jays. Alleyne bent knee and doffed hat atthe sight of the open door; but ere he had finished an ave his comradeswere out of sight round the curve of the path, and he had to run toovertake them.
"What!" he said, "not one word of prayer before God's own open house?How can ye hope for His blessing upon the day?"
"My friend," said Hordle John, "I have prayed so much during the lasttwo months, not only during the day, but at matins, lauds, and the like,when I could scarce keep my head upon my shoulders for nodding, that Ifeel that I have somewhat over-prayed myself."
"How can a man have too much religion?" cried Alleyne earnestly. "It isthe one thing that availeth. A man is but a beast as he lives from dayto day, eating and drinking, breathing and sleeping. It is only whenhe raises himself, and concerns himself with the immortal spirit withinhim, that he becomes in very truth a man. Bethink ye how sad a thingit would be that the blood of the Redeemer should be spilled to nopurpose."
"Bless the lad, if he doth not blush like any girl, and yet preach likethe whole College of Cardinals," cried the archer.
"In truth I blush that any one so weak and so unworthy as I shouldtry to teach another that which he finds it so passing hard to followhimself."
"Prettily said, mon garcon. Touching that same slaying of the Redeemer,it was a bad business. A good padre in France read to us from a scrollthe whole truth of the matter. The soldiers came upon him in the garden.In truth, these Apostles of His may have been holy men, but they were ofno great account as men-at-arms. There was one, indeed, Sir Peter, whosmote out like a true man; but, unless he is belied, he did but clipa varlet's ear, which was no very knightly deed. By these tenfinger-bones! had I been there with Black Simon of Norwich, and but onescore picked men of the Company, we had held them in play. Could we dono more, we had at least filled the false knight, Sir Judas, so full ofEnglish arrows that he would curse the day that ever he came on such anerrand."
The young clerk smiled at his companion's earnestness. "Had He wishedhelp," he said, "He could have summoned legions of archangels fromheaven, so what need had He of your poor bow and arrow? Besides, bethinkyou of His own words--that those who live by the sword shall perish bythe sword."
"And how could man die better?" asked the archer. "If I had my wish, itwould be to fall so--not, mark you, in any mere skirmish of the Company,but in a stricken field, with the great lion banner waving over us andthe red oriflamme in front, amid the shouting of my fellows and thetwanging of the strings. But let it be sword, lance, or bolt thatstrikes me down: for I should think it shame to die from an iron ballfrom the fire-crake or bombard or any such unsoldierly weapon, which isonly fitted to scare babes with its foolish noise and smoke."
"I have heard much even in the quiet cloisters of these new and dreadfulengines," quoth Alleyne. "It is said, though I can scarce bring myselfto believe it, that they will send a ball twice as far as a bowmancan shoot his shaft, and with such force as to break through armor ofproof."
"True enough, my lad. But while the armorer is thrusting in hisdevil's-dust, and dropping his ball, and lighting his flambeau, Ican very easily loose six shafts, or eight maybe, so he hath no greatvantage after all. Yet I will not deny that at the intaking of a townit is well to have good store of bombards. I am told that at Calais theymade dints in the wall that a man might put his head into. But surely,comrades, some one who is grievously hurt hath passed along this roadbefore us."
All along the woodland track there did indeed run a scattered stragglingtrail of blood-marks, sometimes in single drops, and in other places inbroad, ruddy gouts, smudged over the dead leaves or crimsoning the whiteflint stones.
"It must be a stricken deer," said John.
"Nay, I am woodman enough to see that no deer hath passed this way thismorning; and yet the blood is fresh. But hark to the sound!"
They stood listening all three with sidelong heads. Through the silenceof the great forest there came a swishing, whistling sound, mingledwith the most dolorous groans, and the voice of a man raised in ahigh quavering kind of song. The comrades hurried onwards eagerly, andtopping the brow of a small rising they saw upon the other side thesource from which these strange noises arose.
A tall man, much stooped in the shoulders, was walking slowly withbended head and clasped hands in the centre of the path. He was dressedfrom head to foot in a long white linen cloth, and a high white capwith a red cross printed upon it. His gown was turned back from hisshoulders, and the flesh there was a sight to make a man wince, for itwas all beaten to a pulp, and the blood was soaking into his gown andtrickling down upon the ground. Behind him walked a smaller man with hishair touched with gray, who was clad in the same white garb. He intoneda long whining rhyme in the French tongue, and at the end of every linehe raised a thick cord, all jagged with pellets of lead, and smote hiscompanion across the shoulders until the blood spurted again. Even asthe three wayfarers stared, however, there was a sudden change, for thesmaller man, having finished his song, loosened his own gown and handedthe scourge to the other, who took up the stave once more and lashedhis companion with all the strength of his bare and sinewy arm. So,alternately beating and beaten, they made their dolorous way through thebeautiful woods and under the amber arches of the fading beech-trees,where the calm strength and majesty of Nature might serve to rebuke thefoolish energies and misspent strivings of mankind.
Such a spectacle was new to Hordle John or to Alleyne Edricson; but thearcher treated it lightly, as a common matter enough.
"These are the Beating Friars, otherwise called the Flagellants," quothhe. "I marvel that ye should have come upon none of them before, foracross the water they are as common as gallybaggers. I have heard thatthere are no English among them, but that they are from France, Italyand Bohemia. En avant, camarades! that we may have speech with them."
As they came up to them, Alleyne could hear the doleful dirge which thebeater was chanting, bringing down his heavy whip at the end of eachline, while the groans of the sufferer formed a sort of dismal chorus.It was in old French, and ran somewhat in this way:
Or avant, entre nous tous freres Battons nos charognes bien fort En remembrant la grant misere De Dieu et sa piteuse mort Qui fut pris en la gent amere Et vendus et trais a tort Et bastu sa chair, vierge et dere Au nom de ce battons plus fort.
Then at th
e end of the verse the scourge changed hands and the chantingbegan anew.
"Truly, holy fathers," said the archer in French as they came abreast ofthem, "you have beaten enough for to-day. The road is all spotted like ashambles at Martinmas. Why should ye mishandle yourselves thus?"
"C'est pour vos peches--pour vos peches," they droned, looking at thetravellers with sad lack-lustre eyes, and then bent to their bloodywork once more without heed to the prayers and persuasions which wereaddressed to them. Finding all remonstrance useless, the three comradeshastened on their way, leaving these strange travellers to their drearytask.
"Mort Dieu!" cried the bowman, "there is a bucketful or more of my bloodover in France, but it was all spilled in hot fight, and I should thinktwice before I drew it drop by drop as these friars are doing. By myhilt! our young one here is as white as a Picardy cheese. What is amissthen, mon cher?"
"It is nothing," Alleyne answered. "My life has been too quiet, I am notused to such sights."
"Ma foi!" the other cried, "I have never yet seen a man who was so stoutof speech and yet so weak of heart."
"Not so, friend," quoth big John; "it is not weakness of heart for Iknow the lad well. His heart is as good as thine or mine but he hathmore in his pate than ever you will carry under that tin pot of thine,and as a consequence he can see farther into things, so that they weighupon him more."
"Surely to any man it is a sad sight," said Alleyne, "to see theseholy men, who have done no sin themselves, suffering so for the sins ofothers. Saints are they, if in this age any may merit so high a name."
"I count them not a fly," cried Hordle John; "for who is the better forall their whipping and yowling? They are like other friars, I trow, whenall is done. Let them leave their backs alone, and beat the pride out oftheir hearts."
"By the three kings! there is sooth in what you say," remarked thearcher. "Besides, methinks if I were le bon Dieu, it would bring melittle joy to see a poor devil cutting the flesh off his bones; and Ishould think that he had but a small opinion of me, that he should hopeto please me by such provost-marshal work. No, by my hilt! I should lookwith a more loving eye upon a jolly archer who never harmed a fallen foeand never feared a hale one."
"Doubtless you mean no sin," said Alleyne. "If your words are wild, itis not for me to judge them. Can you not see that there are other foesin this world besides Frenchmen, and as much glory to be gained inconquering them? Would it not be a proud day for knight or squire if hecould overthrow seven adversaries in the lists? Yet here are we in thelists of life, and there come the seven black champions against us SirPride, Sir Covetousness, Sir Lust, Sir Anger, Sir Gluttony, Sir Envy,and Sir Sloth. Let a man lay those seven low, and he shall have theprize of the day, from the hands of the fairest queen of beauty, evenfrom the Virgin-Mother herself. It is for this that these men mortifytheir flesh, and to set us an example, who would pamper ourselvesovermuch. I say again that they are God's own saints, and I bow my headto them."
"And so you shall, mon petit," replied the archer. "I have not hearda man speak better since old Dom Bertrand died, who was at one timechaplain to the White Company. He was a very valiant man, but atthe battle of Brignais he was spitted through the body by a Hainaultman-at-arms. For this we had an excommunication read against the man,when next we saw our holy father at Avignon; but as we had not his name,and knew nothing of him, save that he rode a dapple-gray roussin, I havefeared sometimes that the blight may have settled upon the wrong man."
"Your Company has been, then, to bow knee before our holy father, thePope Urban, the prop and centre of Christendom?" asked Alleyne, muchinterested. "Perchance you have yourself set eyes upon his august face?"
"Twice I saw him," said the archer. "He was a lean little rat of a man,with a scab on his chin. The first time we had five thousand crowns outof him, though he made much ado about it. The second time we asked tenthousand, but it was three days before we could come to terms, and Iam of opinion myself that we might have done better by plundering thepalace. His chamberlain and cardinals came forth, as I remember, toask whether we would take seven thousand crowns with his blessing anda plenary absolution, or the ten thousand with his solemn ban by bell,book and candle. We were all of one mind that it was best to have theten thousand with the curse; but in some way they prevailed upon SirJohn, so that we were blest and shriven against our will. Perchance itis as well, for the Company were in need of it about that time."
The pious Alleyne was deeply shocked by this reminiscence. Involuntarilyhe glanced up and around to see if there were any trace of thoseopportune levin-flashes and thunderbolts which, in the "Acta Sanctorum,"were wont so often to cut short the loose talk of the scoffer. Theautumn sun streamed down as brightly as ever, and the peaceful red pathstill wound in front of them through the rustling, yellow-tinted forest,Nature seemed to be too busy with her own concerns to heed the dignityof an outraged pontiff. Yet he felt a sense of weight and reproachwithin his breast, as though he had sinned himself in giving ear to suchwords. The teachings of twenty years cried out against such license. Itwas not until he had thrown himself down before one of the many waysidecrosses, and had prayed from his heart both for the archer and forhimself, that the dark cloud rolled back again from his spirit.
The White Company Page 7
