Beltane the Smith Part 9

HE KILLED A DEER

Then spake Beltane 'twixt pallid lips:

"And do they hang men for killing deer in this country?"

"Aye, forsooth, and very properly, for, heed me, your ragged rogues be a plenty, but a stag is a n.o.ble creature and something scarcer-- moreover they be the Duke's."

"By whose order was this done?"

"Why, the parchment beareth the badge of Sir Pertolepe, called the Red.

But look you, Sir Innocent, no man may kill a deer unless he be of gentle blood."

"And wherefore?"

"'Tis so the law!"

"And who made the law?"

"Why--as to that," quoth Giles, rubbing his chin, "as to that--what matters it to you or me? Pah! come away lest I stifle!"

But now, even as they stood thus, out of the green came a cry, hoa.r.s.e at first but rising ever higher until it seemed to fill the world about and set the very leaves a-quiver. Once it came, and twice, and so--was gone. Then Beltane trembling, stooped and caught up his long quarter-staff, and seized the bowman in a shaking hand that yet was strong, and dragging him from the a.s.s all in a moment, plunged into the underbrush whence the cry had come. And, in a while, they beheld a cottage upon whose threshold a child lay--not asleep, yet very still; and beyond the cottage, his back to a tree, a great hairy fellow, quarter-staff in hand, made play against five others whose steel caps and ringed hauberks glittered in the sun. Close and ever closer they beset the hairy man who, bleeding at the shoulder, yet swung his heavy staff; but ever the glittering pike-heads thrust more close. Beside the man a woman crouched, young and of comely seeming, despite wild hair and garments torn and wrenched, who of a sudden, with another loud cry, leapt before the hairy man covering him with her clinging body and, in that moment, her scream died to a choking gasp and she sank huddled 'neath a pike-thrust. Then Beltane leapt, the great sword flashing in his grasp, and smote the smiter and set his feet upon the writhing body and smote amain with terrible arm, and his laughter rang out fierce and wild. So for a s.p.a.ce, sword clashed with pike, but ever Beltane, laughing loud, drave them before him till but two remained and they writhing upon the sward. Then Beltane turned to see Giles o' the Bow, who leaned against a tree near by, wide-eyed and pale.

"Look!" he cried, pointing with quivering finger, "one dead and one sore hurt--Saint Giles save us, what have ye done? These be Sir Pertolepe's foresters--behold his badge!"

But Beltane laughed, fierce-eyed.

"How, bowman, dost blench before a badge, then? I was too meek and gentle for thee ere this, but now, if thou'rt afraid--get you gone!"

"Art surely mad!" quoth Giles. "The saints be my witness here was no act of mine!" So saying he turned away and hasted swift-footed through the green. Now when the bowman was gone, Beltane turned him to the hairy man who yet kneeled beside the body of the woman. Said he:

"Good fellow, is there aught I may do for thee?"

"Wife and child--and dead!" the man muttered, "child and wife--and dead! A week ago, my brother--and now, the child, and then the wife!

Child and wife and brother--and dead!" Then Beltane came, minded to aid him with the woman, but the hairy man sprang before her, swinging his great staff and muttering in his beard; therefore Beltane, sick at heart, turned him away. And, in a while, being come to the road once more, he became aware that he yet grasped his sword and beheld its bright steel dimmed here and there with blood, and, as he gazed, his brow grew dark and troubled.

"'Tis thus have I made beginning," he sighed, "so now, G.o.d aiding me, ne'er will I rest 'till peace be come again and tyranny made an end of!"

Then, very solemnly, did my Beltane kneel him beside the way and lifting the cross hilt of his sword to heaven kissed it, and thereafter rose. And so, having cleansed the steel within the earth, he sheathed the long blade and went, slowfooted, upon his way.

CHAPTER VIII

HOW BELTANE HELD DISCOURSE WITH A BLACK FRIAR

The sun was high, and by his shadow Beltane judged it the noon hour; very hot and very still it was, for the wind had died and leaf and twig hung motionless as though asleep. And presently as he went, a sound stole upon the stillness, a sound soft and beyond all things pleasant to hear, the murmurous ripple of running water near by. Going aside into the green therefore, Beltane came unto a brook, and here, screened from the sun 'neath shady willows, he laid him down to drink, and to bathe face and hands in the cool water.

Now as he lay thus, staring sad-eyed into the hurrying waters of the brook, there came to him the clicking of sandalled feet, and glancing up, he beheld one clad as a black friar. A fat man he was, jolly of figure and mightily round; his nose was bulbous and he had a drooping lip.

"Peace be unto thee, my son!" quoth he, breathing short and loud, "an evil day for a fat man who hath been most basely bereft of a goodly a.s.s --holy Saint Dunstan, how I gasp!" and putting back the cowl from his tonsured crown, he puffed out his cheeks and mopped his face. "Hearkee now, good youth, hath there pa.s.sed thee by ever a ribald in an escalloped hood--an unhallowed, long-legged, scurvy archer knave astride a fair white a.s.s, my son?"

"Truly," nodded Beltane, "we parted company scarce an hour since."

The friar sat him down in the shade of the willows and sighing, mopped his face again; quoth he:

"Now may the curse of Saint Augustine, Saint Benedict, Saint Cuthbert and Saint Dominic light upon him for a lewd fellow, a clapper-claw, a thieving dog who hath no regard for Holy Church--forsooth a most vicious rogue, _monstrum nulla virtute redemptum a vitiis_!"

"Good friar, thy tongue is something harsh, methinks. Here be four saints with as many curses, and all for one small a.s.s!"

The friar puffed out his cheeks and sighed:

"'Twas a goodly a.s.s, my son, a fair and gentle beast and of an easy gait, and I am one that loveth not to trip it in the dust. Moreover 'twas the property of Holy Church! To take from thy fellow is evil, to steal from thy lord is worse, but to ravish from Holy Church--_per de_ 'tis sacrilege, 'tis foul blasphemy thrice--aye thirty times d.a.m.ned and beyond all hope of redemption! So now do I consign yon archer-knave to the lowest pit of Acheron--_d.a.m.natus est_, amen! Yet, my son, here--by the mercy of heaven is a treasure the rogue hath overlooked, a pasty most rarely seasoned that I had this day from my lord's own table. 'Tis something small for two, alack and yet--stay--who comes?"

Now, lifting his head, Beltane beheld a man, bent and ragged who crept towards them on a stick; his face, low-stooped, was hid 'neath long and matted hair, but his tatters plainly showed the hideous nakedness of limbs pinched and shrunken by famine, while about his neck was a heavy iron collar such as all serfs must needs wear. Being come near he paused, leaning upon his staff, and cried out in a strange, cracked voice:

"O ye that are strong and may see the blessed sun, show pity on one that is feeble and walketh ever in the dark!" And now, beneath the tangled hair, Beltane beheld a livid face in whose pale oval, the eyeless sockets glowed fierce and red; moreover he saw that the man's right arm was but a mutilated stump, whereat Beltane shivered and, bowing his head upon his hands, closed his eyes.

"Oho!" cried the friar, "and is it thou, Simon? Trouble ye the world yet, child of Satan?"

Hereupon the blind man fell upon his knees. "Holy father," he groaned, clasping his withered arms upon his gaunt breast, "good Friar Gui I die of hunger; aid me lest I perish. 'Tis true I am outlaw and no man may minister unto me, yet be merciful, give me to eat--O gentle Christ, aid me--"

"How!" cried the friar, "dare ye speak that name, ye that are breaker of laws human and divine, ye that are murderer, dare ye lift those b.l.o.o.d.y hands to heaven?"

"Holy sir," quoth Beltane, "he hath but one; I pray you now give him to eat."

"Feed an outlaw! Art mad, young sir? Feed a murderer, a rogue banned by Holy Church, a serf that hath raised hand 'gainst his lord? He should have hanged when the witch his daughter burned, but that Sir Pertolepe, with most rare mercy, gave to the rogue his life."

"But," sighed Beltane, "left him to starve--'tis a death full as sure yet slower, methinks. Come, let us feed him."

"I tell thee, fond youth, he is excommunicate. Wouldst have me contravene the order of Holy Church? Go to!"

Then my Beltane put his hand within his pouch and taking thence a gold piece held it out upon his palm; said he:

"Friar, I will buy the half of thy pasty of thee!" Hereupon Friar Gui stared from the gold to the pasty, and back again.

"So much!" quoth he, round-eyed. "Forsooth 'tis a n.o.ble pasty and yet-- nay, nay, tempt me not--_retro Sathanas!_" and closing his eyes he crossed himself. Then Beltane took out other two gold pieces and set them in the blind man's bony hand, saying:

"Take these three gold pieces and buy you food, and thereafter--"

"Gold!" cried the blind man, "gold! Now the Saints keep and bless thee, young sir, sweet Jesu love thee ever!" and fain would he have knelt to kiss my Beltane's feet. But Beltane raised him up with gentle hand, speaking him kindly, as thus:

"Tell now, I pray you, how came ye to slay?"

"Stay! stay!" cried Friar Gui, "bethink thee, good youth--so much gold, 'tis a very fortune! With so much, ma.s.ses might be sung for his wretched soul; give it therefore to Holy Church, so shall he, peradventure, attain Paradise."

"Not so," answered Beltane, "I had rather he, of a surety, attain a full belly, Sir Friar." Then, turning his back upon the friar, Beltane questioned the blind man again, as thus:

"Tell me, an ye will, how ye came to shed blood?" and the outlaw, kneeling at Beltane's feet answered with bowed head: