CHAPTER VII.
HOW THE THREE COMRADES JOURNEYED THROUGH THE WOODLANDS.
At early dawn the country inn was all alive, for it was rare
indeed that an hour of daylight would be wasted at a time when
lighting was so scarce 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 a mind which was too intent
upon the high things of antiquity to stoop to consider the
four-pence which he owed for bed and board. It was the shrill
out-cry of the landlady when she found her loss, and the clucking
of the hens, which had streamed in through the open door, that
first broke in upon the slumbers of the tired wayfarers.
Once afoot, it was not long before the company began to disperse.
A sleek mule with red trappings was brought round from some
neighboring shed for the physician, and he ambled away with much
dignity upon his road to Southampton. The tooth-drawer and the
gleeman called for a cup of small ale apiece, and started off
together for Ringwood fair, the old jongleur looking very yellow
in the eye and swollen in the face after his overnight potations.
The archer, however, who had drunk more than any man in the room,
was as merry as a grig, and having kissed the matron and chased
the maid up the ladder once more, he went out to the brook, 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 this morning?"
"To Minstead," quoth he. "My brother Simon Edricson is socman
there, and I go to bide with him for a while. I prythee, let me
have my score, good dame."
"Score, indeed!" cried she, standing with upraised hands in front
of the panel on which Alleyne had worked the night before. "Say,
rather what it 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 rood of 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 and indiscriminate indeed, and yet so much heartier and less
grudging than any which he had ever heard from the critical
brother Jerome, or the short-spoken Abbot. There was, it would
seem, great kindness as well as great wickedness in this world,
of which he had heard so little that was good. His hostess would
hear nothing of his paying either for bed or for board, while the
archer and Hordle John placed a hand upon either shoulder and led
him off to the board, where some smoking fish, a dish of spinach,
and a jug of milk were laid out for their breakfast.
"I should not be surprised to learn, mon camarade," said the
soldier, as he heaped a slice of fish upon Alleyne's tranchoir of
bread, "that you could read written things, since you are so
ready with your brushes and pigments."
"It would be shame to the good brothers of Beaulieu if I could
not," he answered, "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 can shoot three hundred and fifty paces with my little
popper there, and four hundred and twenty with the great war-bow;
yet I can make nothing of this, nor read my own name if you were
to set `Sam Aylward' up against 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 what the 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
long enough among the monks to catch the whole trick of it.
"Here, then, is something to try upon," quoth the archer, pulling
a square of parchment from the inside of his tunic. It was tied
securely with a broad band of purple silk, and firmly sealed at
either end with a large red seal. John pored long and earnestly
over the inscription upon the back, with his brows bent as one
who bears up against great mental strain.
"Not having read much of late," he said, "I am loth to say too
much about what this may be. Some might say one thing and some
another, just as one bowman loves the yew, and a second will not
shoot save with the ash. To me, by the length and the look of
it, I should judge this to be a verse from one of the Psalms."
The bowman shook his head. "It is scarce likely," he said, "that
Sir Claude Latour should send me all the way across seas with
nought more weighty 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-bed that he makes more sense of it."
"Why, it is written in the French tongue," said Alleyne, "and in
a right clerkly hand. This is how it runs: `A le moult puissant
et moult honorable chevalier, Sir Nigel Loring de Christchurch,
de son tres fidele ami Sir Claude Latour, capitaine de la
Compagnie blanche, chatelain de Biscar, grand seigneur de
Montchateau, vavaseur de le renomme Gaston, Comte de Foix, tenant
les droits de la haute justice, de la milieu, et de la basse.'
Which signifies in our speech: `To the very powerful and very
honorable knight, Sir Nigel Loring of Christchurch, from his very
faithful friend Sir Claude Latour, captain of the White Company,
chatelain of Biscar, grand lord of Montchateau and vassal to the
renowned Gaston, Count of Foix, who holds the rights of the high
justice, the middle and the low.'"
"Look at that now!" cried the bowman in triumph. "That is just
what he would have said."
"I can see now that it is even so," said John, examining the
parchment again. "Though I scarce understand this high, middle
and low."
"By my hilt! you would understand it if you were Jacques
Bonhomme. The low justice means that you may fleece him, and the
middle that you may torture him, and the high that you may slay
him. That is about the truth of it. But this is the letter
which I am to take; and since the platter is clean it is time
that we trussed up and were afoot. You come with me, mon gros
Jean; and as to you, little one, where did you say that you
journeyed?"
"To Minstead."
"Ah, yes. I know this forest country well, though I was born
myself in the Hundred of Easebourne, in the Rape of Chichester,
hard by the village of Midhurst. Yet I have not a word to say
against the Hampton men, for there are no better comrades or
truer archers in the whole Company 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 little out of our way."
"I am ready," said Alleyne, right pleased at the thought of such
company upon the road.
"So am not I. I must store my plunder at this inn, since the
hostess is an 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 naping linen, 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 the Lady Loring. Wilt
guard my treasure for me?"
"It shall be put in the safest loft, good archer. Come when you
may, you shall find it ready for you."
"Now, there is a true friend!" cried the bowman, taking her hand.
"There is a bonne amie! English land and English women, say I,
and French wine and 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 peeping from behind the
door. Now, John, the sun is over the trees; you must be brisker
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 the score and buy some ribbons against the next kermesse.
Do not forget Sam Aylward, 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 shining
brightly, though the eastern wind had a sharp flavor to it, and
the leaves were flickering thickly from the trees. In the High
Street of Lyndhurst the wayfarers had to pick their way, for the
little town was crowded with the guardsmen, grooms, and yeomen
prickers who were attached to the King's hunt. The King himself
was staying at Castle Malwood, but several of his suite had been
compelled to seek such quarters as they might find in the wooden
or wattle-and-daub cottages of the village. Here and there a
small escutcheon, peeping from a glassless window, marked the
night's lodging of knight or baron. These coats-of-arms could be
read, where a scroll would be meaningless, and the bowman, like
most men of his age, was well versed in the common symbols of
heraldry.
"There is the Saracen's head of Sir Bernard Brocas," quoth he.
"I saw him last at the ruffle at Poictiers some ten years back,
when he bore himself like a man. He is the master of the King's
horse, and can sing a right jovial stave, though in that he
cannot come nigh to Sir John Chandos, who is first at the board
or in the saddle. Three martlets on a field 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 his ankle at
the intaking of Romorantin, he having rushed into the fray ere
his squire had time to clasp his solleret to his greave. There
too is the hackle which is the old device of the De Brays. I
have served under Sir Thomas de Bray, who was as jolly as a pie,
and a lusty swordsman until he got too fat for his harness."
So the archer gossiped as the three wayfarers threaded their way
among the stamping horses, the busy grooms, and the knots of
pages and squires who 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-hand side of the village street
the door was flung open, and a stream of worshippers wound down
the sloping path, coming from the morning mass, all chattering
like a cloud of jays. Alleyne bent knee and doffed hat at the
sight of the open door; but ere he had finished an ave his
comrades were out of sight round the curve of the path, and he
had to run to overtake 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
last two 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 I feel that I have somewhat over-prayed
myself."
"How can a man have too much religion?" cried Alleyne earnestly.
"It is the one thing that availeth. A man is but a beast as he
lives from day to day, eating and drinking, breathing and
sleeping. It is only when he raises himself, and concerns
himself with the immortal spirit within him, that he becomes in
very truth a man. Bethink ye how sad a thing it would be that
the blood of the Redeemer should be spilled to no purpose."
"Bless the lad, if he doth not blush like any girl, and yet
preach like the whole College of Cardinals," cried the archer.
"In truth I blush that any one so weak and so unworthy as I
should try to teach another that which he finds it so passing
hard to follow himself."
"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 scroll the 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 of no great account as
men-at-arms. There was one, indeed, Sir Peter, who smote out
like a true man; but, unless he is belied, he did but clip a
varlet's ear, which was no very knightly deed. By these ten
finger-bones! had I been there with Black Simon of Norwich, and
but one score picked men of the Company, we had held them in
play. Could we do no more, we had at least filled the false
knight, Sir Judas, so full of English arrows that he would curse
the day that ever he came on such an errand."
The young clerk smiled at his companion's earnestness. "Had He
wished help," he said, "He could have summoned legions of
archangels from heaven, so what need had He of your poor bow and
arrow? Besides, bethink you of His own words--that those who
live by the sword shall perish by the sword."
"And how could man die better?" asked the archer. "If I had my
wish, it would 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 and the red oriflamme in front, amid the
shouting of my fellows and the twanging of the strings. But let
it be sword, lance, or bolt that strikes me down: for I should
think it shame to die from an iron ball from the fire-crake or
bombard or any such unsoldierly weapon, which is only fitted to
scare babes with its foolish noise and smoke."
"I have heard much even in the quiet cloisters of these new and
dreadful engines," quoth Alleyne. "It is said, though I can
scarce bring myself to believe it, that they will send a ball
twice as far as a bowman can shoot his shaft, and with such force
as to break through armor of proof."
"True enough, my lad. But while the armorer is thrusting in his
devil's-dust, and dropping his ball, and lighting his flambeau, I
can very easily loose six shafts, or eight maybe, so he hath no
great vantage after all. Yet I will not deny that at the
intaking of a town it is well to have good store of bombards. I
am told that at Calais they made 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 road before us."
All along the woodland track there did indeed run a scattered
straggling trail of blood-marks, sometimes in single drops, and
in other places in broad, ruddy gouts, smudged over the dead
leaves or crimsoning the white flint stones.
"It must be a stricken deer," said John.
"Nay, I am woodman enough to see that no deer hath passed this
way this morning; and yet the blood is fresh. But hark to the
sound!"
They stood listening all three with sidelong heads. Through the
silence of the great forest there came a swishing, whistling
sound, mingled with the most dolorous groans, and the voice of a
man raised in a high quavering kind of song. The comrades
hurried onwards eagerly, and topping the brow of a small rising
they saw upon the other side the source from which these strange
noises arose.
A tall man, much stooped in the shoulders, was walking slowly
with bended head and clasped hands in the centre of the path. He
was dressed from head to foot in a long white linen cloth, and a
high white cap with a red cross printed upon it. His gown was
turned back from his shoulders, and the flesh there was a sight
to make a man wince, for it was all beaten to a pulp, and the
blood was soaking into his gown and trickling down upon the
ground. Behind him walked a smaller man with his hair touched
with gray, who was clad in the same white garb. He intoned a
long whining rhyme in the French tongue, and at the end of every
line he raised a thick cord, all jagged with pellets of lead, and
smote his companion across the shoulders until the blood spurted
again. Even as the three wayfarers stared, however, there was a
sudden change, for the smaller man, having finished his song,
loosened his own gown and handed the scourge to the other, who
took up the stave once more and lashed his companion with all the
strength of his bare and sinewy arm. So, alternately beating and
beaten, they made their dolorous way through the beautiful woods
and under the amber arches of the fading beech-trees, where the
calm strength and majesty of Nature might serve to rebuke the
foolish energies and misspent strivings of mankind.
Such a spectacle was new to Hordle John or to Alleyne Edricson;
but the archer treated it lightly, as a common matter enough.
"These are the Beating Friars, otherwise called the Flagellants,"
quoth he. "I marvel that ye should have come upon none of them
before, for across the water they are as common as gallybaggers.
I have heard that there are no English among them, but that they
are from France, Italy and Bohemia. En avant, camarades! that we
may have speech with them."
As they came up to them, Alleyne could hear the doleful dirge
which the beater was chanting, bringing down his heavy whip at
the end of each line, 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 the end of the verse the scourge changed hands and the
chanting began anew.
"Truly, holy fathers," said the archer in French as they came
abreast of them, "you have beaten enough for to-day. The road is
all spotted like a shambles at Martinmas. Why should ye
mishandle yourselves thus?"
"C'est pour vos peches--pour vos peches," they droned, looking at
the travellers with sad lack-lustre eyes, and then bent to their
bloody work once more without heed to the prayers and persuasions
which were addressed to them. Finding all remonstrance useless,
the three comrades hastened on their way, leaving these strange
travellers to their dreary task.
"Mort Dieu!" cried the bowman, "there is a bucketful or more of
my blood over in France, but it was all spilled in hot fight, and
I should think twice before I drew it drop by drop as these
friars are doing. By my hilt! our young one here is as white as
a Picardy cheese. What is amiss then, mon cher?"
"It is nothing," Alleyne answered. "My life has been too quiet,
I am not used to such sights."
"Ma foi!" the other cried, "I have never yet seen a man who was
so stout of speech and yet so weak of heart."
"Not so, friend," quoth big John; "it is not weakness of heart
for I know the lad well. His heart is as good as thine or mine
but he hath more 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 weigh upon him more."
"Surely to any man it is a sad sight," said Alleyne, "to see
these holy men, who have done no sin themselves, suffering so for
the sins of others. 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 for all their whipping and yowling? They are like other
friars, I trow, when all is done. Let them leave their backs
alone, and beat the pride out of their hearts."
"By the three kings! there is sooth in what you say," remarked
the archer. "Besides, methinks if I were le bon Dieu, it would
bring me little joy to see a poor devil cutting the flesh off his
bones; and I should think that he had but a small opinion of me,
that he should hope to please me by such provost-marshal work.
No, by my hilt! I should look with a more loving eye upon a jolly
archer who never harmed a fallen foe and never feared a hale
one."
"Doubtless you mean no sin," said Alleyne. "If your words are
wild, it is not for me to judge them. Can you not see that there
are other foes in this world besides Frenchmen, and as much glory
to be gained in conquering them? Would it not be a proud day for
knight or squire if he could overthrow seven adversaries in the
lists? Yet here are we in the lists of life, and there come the
seven black champions against us Sir Pride, Sir Covetousness, Sir
Lust, Sir Anger, Sir Gluttony, Sir Envy, and Sir Sloth. Let a
man lay those seven low, and he shall have the prize of the day,
from the hands of the fairest queen of beauty, even from the
Virgin-Mother herself. It is for this that these men mortify
their flesh, and to set us an example, who would pamper
ourselves overmuch. I say again that they are God's own saints,
and I bow my head to them."
"And so you shall, mon petit," replied the archer. "I have not
heard a man speak better since old Dom Bertrand died, who was at
one time chaplain to the White Company. He was a very valiant
man, but at the battle of Brignais he was spitted through the
body by a Hainault man-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 have feared
sometimes that the blight may have settled upon the wrong man."
"Your Company has been, then, to bow knee before our holy father,
the Pope Urban, the prop and centre of Christendom?" asked
Alleyne, much interested. "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 out of him, though he made much ado about it.
The second time we asked ten thousand, but it was three days
before we could come to terms, and I am of opinion myself that we
might have done better by plundering the palace. His chamberlain
and cardinals came forth, as I remember, to ask whether we would
take seven thousand crowns with his blessing and a 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 the
ten thousand with the curse; but in some way they prevailed upon
Sir John, so that we were blest and shriven against our will.
Perchance it is as well, for the Company were in need of it about
that time."
The pious Alleyne was deeply shocked by this reminiscence.
Involuntarily he glanced up and around to see if there were any
trace of those opportune levin-flashes and thunderbolts which, in
the "Acta Sanctorum," were wont so often to cut short the loose
talk of the scoffer. The autumn sun streamed down as brightly as
ever, and the peaceful red path still wound in front of them
through the rustling, yellow-tinted forest, Nature seemed to be
too busy with her own concerns to heed the dignity of an outraged
pontiff. Yet he felt a sense of weight and reproach within his
breast, as though he had sinned himself in giving ear to such
words. The teachings of twenty years cried out against such
license. It was not until he had thrown himself down before one
of the many wayside crosses, and had prayed from his heart both
for the archer and for himself, that the dark cloud rolled back
again from his spirit.
