CHAPTER XXVII.
HOW ROGER CLUB-FOOT WAS PASSED INTO PARADISE.
It was evening before the three comrades came into Aiguillon,
There they found Sir Nigel Loring and Ford safely lodged at the
sign of the "Baton Rouge," where they supped on good fare and
slept between lavender-scented sheets. It chanced, however, that
a knight of Poitou, Sir Gaston d'Estelle, was staying there on
his way back from Lithuania, where he had served a term with the
Teutonic knights under the land-master of the presbytery of
Marienberg. He and Sir Nigel sat late in high converse as to
bushments, outfalls, and the intaking of cities, with many tales
of warlike men and valiant deeds. Then their talk turned to
minstrelsy, and the stranger knight drew forth a cittern, upon
which he played the minne-lieder of the north, singing the while
in a high cracked voice of Hildebrand and Brunhild and Siegfried,
and all the strength and beauty of the land of Almain. To this
Sir Nigel answered with the romances of Sir Eglamour, and of Sir
Isumbras, and so through the long winter night they sat by the
crackling wood-fire answering each other's songs until the
crowing cocks joined in their concert. Yet, with scarce an hour
of rest, Sir Nigel was as blithe and bright as ever as they set
forth after breakfast upon their way.
"This Sir Gaston is a very worthy man," said he to his squires as
they rode from the "Baton Rouge." "He hath a very strong desire
to advance himself, and would have entered upon some small
knightly debate with me, had he not chanced to have his arm-bone
broken by the kick of a horse. I have conceived a great love for
him, and I have promised him that when his bone is mended I will
exchange thrusts with him. But we must keep to this road upon
the left."
"Nay, my fair lord," quoth Aylward. "The road to Montaubon is
over the river, and so through Quercy and the Agenois."
"True, my good Aylward; but I have learned from this worthy
knight, who hath come over the French marches, that there is a
company of Englishmen who are burning and plundering in the
country round Villefranche. I have little doubt, from what he
says, that they are those whom we seek."
"By my hilt! it is like enough," said Aylward. "By all accounts
they had been so long at Montaubon, that there would be little
there worth the taking. Then as they have already been in the
south, they would come north to the country of the Aveyron."
"We shall follow the Lot until we come to Cahors, and then cross
the marches into Villefranche," said Sir Nigel. "By St. Paul! as
we are but a small band, it is very likely that we may have some
very honorable and pleasing adventure, for I hear that there is
little peace upon the French border."
All morning they rode down a broad and winding road, barred with
the shadows of poplars. Sir Nigel rode in front with his
squires, while the two archers followed behind with the sumpter
mule between them. They had left Aiguillon and the Garonne far
to the south, and rode now by the tranquil Lot, which curves blue
and placid through a gently rolling country. Alleyne could not
but mark that, whereas in Guienne there had been many townlets
and few castles, there were now many castles and few houses. On
either hand gray walls and square grim keeps peeped out at every
few miles from amid the forests while the few villages which they
passed were all ringed round with rude walls, which spoke of the
constant fear and sudden foray of a wild frontier land. Twice
during the morning there came bands of horsemen swooping down
upon them from the black gateways of wayside strongholds, with
short, stern questions as to whence they came and what their
errand. Bands of armed men clanked along the highway, and the
few lines of laden mules which carried the merchandise of the
trader were guarded by armed varlets, or by archers hired for the
service.
"The peace of Bretigny hath not made much change in these parts,"
quoth Sir Nigel, "for the country is overrun with free companions
and masterless men. Yonder towers, between the wood and the
hill, mark the town of Cahors, and beyond it is the land of
France. But here is a man by the wayside, and as he hath two
horses and a squire I make little doubt that he is a knight. I
pray you, Alleyne, to give him greeting from me, and to ask him
for his titles and coat-armor. It may be that I can relieve him
of some vow, or perchance he hath a lady whom he would wish to
advance."
"Nay, my fair lord," said Alleyne, "these are not horses and a
squire, but mules and a varlet. The man is a mercer, for he hath
a great bundle beside him."
"Now, God's blessing on your honest English voice!" cried the
stranger, pricking up his ears at the sound of Alleyne's words.
"Never have I heard music that was so sweet to mine ear. Come,
Watkin lad, throw the bales over Laura's back! My heart was nigh
broke, for it seemed that I had left all that was English behind
me, and that I would never set eyes upon Norwich market square
again." He was a tall, lusty, middle-aged man with a ruddy face,
a brown forked beard shot with gray, and a broad Flanders hat set
at the back of his head. His servant, as tall as himself, but
gaunt and raw-boned, had swung the bales on the back of one mule,
while the merchant mounted upon the other and rode to join the
party. It was easy to see, as he approached, from the quality
of his dress and the richness of his trappings, that he was a man
of some wealth and position.
"Sir knight," said he, "my name is David Micheldene, and I am a
burgher and alderman of the good town of Norwich, where I live
five doors from the church of Our Lady, as all men know on the
banks of Yare. I have here my bales of cloth which I carry to
Cahors--woe worth the day that ever I started on such an errand!
I crave your gracious protection upon the way for me, my servant,
and my mercery; for I have already had many perilous passages,
and have now learned that Roger Club-foot, the robber-knight of
Quercy, is out upon the road in front of me. I hereby agree to
give you one rose-noble if you bring me safe to the inn of the
`Angel' in Cahors, the same to be repaid to me or my heirs if any
harm come to me or my goods."
"By Saint Paul!" answered Sir Nigel, "I should be a sorry knight
if I ask pay for standing by a countryman in a strange land. You
may ride with me and welcome, Master Micheldene, and your varlet
may follow with my archers."
"God's benison upon thy bounty!" cried the stranger. "Should you
come to Norwich you may have cause to remember that you have been
of service to Alderman Micheldene. It is not very far to Cahors,
for surely I see the cathedral towers against the sky-line; but I
have heard much of this Roger Clubfoot, and the more I hear the
less do I wish to look upon his face. Oh, but I am sick and
weary of it all, and I would give half that I am worth to see my
good dame sitting in peace beside me, and to hear the bells of
Norwich town."
"Your words are strange to me," quoth Sir Nigel, "for you have
the appearance of a stout man, and I see that you wear a sword by
your side."
"Yet it is not my trade," answered the merchant. "I doubt not
that if I set you down in my shop at Norwich you might scarce
tell fustian from falding, and know little difference between the
velvet of Genoa and the three-piled cloth of Bruges. There you
might well turn to me for help. But here on a lone roadside,
with thick woods and robber-knights, I turn to you, for it is the
business to which you have been reared."
"There is sooth in what you say, Master Micheldene," said Sir
Nigel, "and I trust that we may come upon this Roger Clubfoot,
for I have heard that he is a very stout and skilful soldier, and
a man from whom much honor is to be gained."
"He is a bloody robber," said the trader, curtly, "and I wish I
saw him kicking at the end of a halter."
"It is such men as he," Sir Nigel remarked, "who give the true
knight honorable deeds to do, whereby he may advance himself."
"It is such men as he," retorted Micheldene, "who are like rats
in a wheat-rick or moths in a woolfels, a harm and a hindrance to
all peaceful and honest men."
"Yet, if the dangers of the road weigh so heavily upon you,
master alderman, it is a great marvel to me that you should
venture so far from home."
"And sometimes, sir knight, it is a marvel to myself. But I am a
man who may grutch and grumble, but when I have set my face to do
a thing I will not turn my back upon it until it be done. There
is one, Francois Villet, at Cahors, who will send me wine-casks
for my cloth-bales, so to Cahors I will go, though all the
robber-knights of Christendom were to line the roads like yonder
poplars."
"Stoutly spoken, master alderman! But how have you fared
hitherto?"
"As a lamb fares in a land of wolves. Five times we have had to
beg and pray ere we could pass. Twice I have paid toll to the
wardens of the road. Three times we have had to draw, and once
at La Reolle we stood seer our wool-bales, Watkin and I, and we
laid about us for as long as a man might chant a litany, slaying
one rogue and wounding two others. By God's coif! we are men of
peace, but we are free English burghers, not to be mishandled
either in our country or abroad. Neither lord, baron, knight, or
commoner shall have as much as a strike of flax of mine whilst I
have strength to wag this sword."
"And a passing strange sword it is," quoth Sir Nigel. "What make
you, Alleyne, of these black lines which are drawn across the
sheath?"
"I cannot tell what they are, my fair lord."
"Nor can I," said Ford.
The merchant chuckled to himself. "It was a thought of mine
own," said he; "for the sword was made by Thomas Wilson, the
armorer, who is betrothed to my second daughter Margery. Know
then that the sheath is one cloth-yard, in length, marked off
according to feet and inches to serve me as a measuring wand. It
is also of the exact weight of two pounds, so that I may use it
in the balance."
"By Saint Paul!" quoth Sir Nigel, "it is very clear to me that
the sword is like thyself, good alderman, apt either for war or
for peace. But I doubt not that even in England you have had
much to suffer from the hands of robbers and outlaws."
"It was only last Lammastide, sir knight, that I was left for
dead near Reading as I journeyed to Winchester fair. Yet I had
the rogues up at the court of pie-powder, and they will harm no
more peaceful traders."
"You travel much then!"
"To Winchester, Linn mart, Bristol fair, Stourbridge, and
Bartholomew's in London Town. The rest of the year you may ever
find me five doors from the church of Our Lady, where I would
from my heart that I was at this moment, for there is no air like
Norwich air, and no water like the Yare, nor can all the wines of
France compare with the beer of old Sam Yelverton who keeps the
`Dun Cow.' But, out and alack, here is an evil fruit which hangs
upon this chestnut-tree!"
As he spoke they had ridden round a curve of the road and come
upon a great tree which shot one strong brown branch across their
path. From the centre of this branch there hung a man, with his
head at a horrid slant to his body and his toes just touching the
ground. He was naked save for a linen under shirt and pair of
woollen drawers. Beside him on a green bank there sat a small
man with a solemn face, and a great bundle of papers of all
colors thrusting forth from the scrip which lay beside him. He
was very richly dressed, with furred robes, a scarlet hood, and
wide hanging sleeves lined with flame-colored silk. A great gold
chain hung round his neck, and rings glittered from every finger
of his hands. On his lap he had a little pile of gold and of
silver, which he was dropping, coin by coin, into a plump pouch
which hung from his girdle.
"May the saints be with you, good travellers!" he shouted, as the
party rode up. "May the four Evangelists watch over you! May
the twelve Apostles bear you up! May the blessed army of martyrs
direct your feet and lead you to eternal bliss!"
"Gramercy for these good wishes!" said Sir Nigel. "But I
perceive, master alderman, that this man who hangs here is, by
mark of foot, the very robber-knight of whom we have spoken. But
there is a cartel pinned upon his breast, and I pray you,
Alleyne, to read it to me."
The dead robber swung slowly to and fro in the wintry wind, a
fixed smile upon his swarthy face, and his bulging eyes still
glaring down the highway of which he had so long been the terror;
on a sheet of parchment upon his breast was printed in rude
characters;
ROGER PIED-BOT.
Par l'ordre du Senechal de
Castelnau, et de l'Echevin de
Cahors, servantes fideles du
tres vaillant et tres puissant
Edouard, Prince de Galles et
d'Aquitaine.
Ne touchez pas,
Ne coutez pas,
Ne depechez pas
"He took a sorry time in dying," said the man who sat beside him.
"He could stretch one toe to the ground and bear him self up, so
that I thought he would never have done. Now at last, however,
he is safely in paradise, and so I may jog on upon my earthly
way." He mounted, as he spoke, a white mule which had been
grazing by the wayside, all gay with fustian of gold and silver
bells, and rode onward with Sir Nigel's party.
"How know you then that he is in paradise?" asked Sir Nigel.
"All things are possible to God, but, certes, without a miracle,
I should scarce expect to find the soul of Roger Clubfoot amongst
the just,"
"I know that he is there because I have just passed him in
there," answered the stranger, rubbing his bejewelled hands
together in placid satisfaction. "It is my holy mission to be a
sompnour or pardoner. I am the unworthy servant and delegate of
him who holds the keys. A contrite heart and ten nobles to holy
mother Church may stave off perdition; but he hath a pardon of
the first degree, with a twenty-five livre benison, so that I
doubt if he will so much as feel a twinge of purgatory. I came
up even as the seneschal's archers were tying him up, and I gave
him my fore-word that I would bide with him until he had passed.
There were two leaden crowns among the silver, but I would not
for that stand in the way of his salvation."
"By Saint Paul!" said Sir Nigel, "if you have indeed this power
to open and to shut the gates of hope, then indeed you stand high
above mankind. But if you do but claim to have it, and yet have
it not, then it seems to me, master clerk, that you may yourself
find the gate barred when you shall ask admittance."
"Small of faith! Small of faith!" cried the sompnour. "Ah, Sir
Didymus yet walks upon earth! And yet no words of doubt can
bring anger to mine heart, or a bitter word to my lip, for am I
not a poor unworthy worker in the cause of gentleness and peace?
Of all these pardons which I bear every one is stamped and signed
by our holy father, the prop and centre of Christendom."
"Which of them?" asked Sir Nigel.
"Ha, ha!" cried the pardoner, shaking a jewelled forefinger. Thou
wouldst be deep in the secrets of mother Church? Know then that
I have both in my scrip. Those who hold with Urban shall have
Urban's pardon, while I have Clement's for the Clementist--or he
who is in doubt may have both, so that come what may he shall be
secure. I pray you that you will buy one, for war is bloody
work, and the end is sudden with little time for thought or
shrift. Or you, sir, for you seem to me to be a man who would do
ill to trust to your own merits." This to the alderman of
Norwich, who had listened to him with a frowning brow and a
sneering lip.
"When I sell my cloth," quoth he, "he who buys may weigh and feel
and handle. These goods which you sell are not to be seen, nor
is there any proof that you hold them. Certes, if mortal man
might control God's mercy, it would be one of a lofty and God-like
life, and not one who is decked out with rings and chains and
silks, like a pleasure-wench at a kermesse.
"Thou wicked and shameless man!" cried the clerk. "Dost thou
dare to raise thy voice against the unworthy servant of mother
Church?"
"Unworthy enough!" quoth David Micheldene. "I would have you to
know, clerk, that I am a free English burgher, and that I dare
say my mind to our father the Pope himself, let alone such a
lacquey's lacquey as you!"
"Base-born and foul-mouthed knave!" cried the sompnour. "You
prate of holy things, to which your hog's mind can never rise.
Keep silence, lest I call a curse upon you!"
"Silence yourself!" roared the other. "Foul bird! we found thee
by the gallows like a carrion-crow. A fine life thou hast of it
with thy silks and thy baubles, cozening the last few shillings
from the pouches of dying men. A fig for thy curse! Bide here,
if you will take my rede, for we will make England too hot for
such as you, when Master Wicliff has the ordering of it. Thou
vile thief! it is you, and such as you, who bring an evil name
upon the many churchmen who lead a pure and a holy life. Thou
outside the door of heaven! Art more like to be inside the door
of hell."
At this crowning insult the sompnour, with a face ashen with
rage, raised up a quivering hand and began pouring Latin
imprecations upon the angry alderman. The latter, however, was
not a man to be quelled by words, for he caught up his ell-measure
sword-sheath and belabored the cursing clerk with it. The
latter, unable to escape from the shower of blows, set spurs to
his mule and rode for his life, with his enemy thundering behind
him. At sight of his master's sudden departure, the varlet
Watkin set off after him, with the pack-mule beside him, so that
the four clattered away down the road together, until they swept
round a curve and their babble was but a drone in the distance.
Sir Nigel and Alleyne gazed in astonishment at one another, while
Ford burst out a-laughing.
"Pardieu!" said the knight, "this David Micheldene must be one of
those Lollards about whom Father Christopher of the priory had so
much to say. Yet he seemed to be no bad man from what I have
seen of him."
"I have heard that Wicliff hath many followers in Norwich,"
answered Alleyne.
"By St. Paul! I have no great love for them," quoth Sir Nigel.
"I am a man who am slow to change; and, if you take away from me
the faith that I have been taught, it would be long ere I could
learn one to set in its place. It is but a chip here and a chip
there, yet it may bring the tree down in time. Yet, on the other
hand, I cannot but think it shame that a man should turn God's
mercy on and off, as a cellarman doth wine with a spigot."
"Nor is it," said Alleyne, "part of the teachings of that mother
Church of which he had so much to say. There was sooth in what
the alderman said of it."
"Then, by St. Paul! they may settle it betwixt them," quoth Sir
Nigel. "For me, I serve God, the king and my lady; and so long
as I can keep the path of honor I am well content. My creed
shall ever be that of Chandos:
"Fais ce que dois--adviegne que peut,
C'est commande au chevalier."
