Gathering of Brother Hilarius Part 12

Then the Princess spoke, and her voice cut Hilarius like the sting of a lash:-

"Bring me yon flowers."

He obeyed.

"Set them at my feet."

He bent his knee and did so, wondering.

A moment, and she trod them under; their dying fragrance filled the air, as their living breath had flooded the senses of the blind- eyed lad at the Monastery gate.

One by one she set her heel upon the blossoms, and the marble was yellow with stolen gold.

Hilarius held his breath; it was as if she did to death some living thing, and yet he dared not bid her stay her insolent feet.

It was done; and she looked at him under questioning brows.

"So much for thy lilies! Dost still think that it will soil thy brush to limn such an one as I? I, whom men call the Queen of Love--but thy lips, say they, burnt with another name! Bethink thee, faint heart, there is not a man in all this city but would count death a small price to pay for my favours; and I ask of thee one little service, and thou shalt name thine own reward. Surely 'tis churlish to gainsay!"

Her voice was suddenly sweet.

Stooping, she gathered to her the destruction she had wrought, fingering the fallen petals tenderly, with a little sigh. She glanced up at Hilarius through her lashes' net. "Maybe I was over hasty," she said softly, and a sob swelled the round of her wonderful throat--"and yet how couldst thou call me wanton?" Her mouth drooped a little--she was very fair.

"Art thou still minded to set these poor pale flowers against the roses in love's garden? For I love thee," she added, and then suddenly she was still.

Hilarius looked from the dead flowers to the woman in her over- mastering beauty, and all at once the pa.s.sion that lies hid in the heart of every man leapt to his lips. He desired this woman as he had never before desired aught in all the world, and he knew, to his shame, that she was his for the asking. The blood thudded and rang in his veins; he feasted his eyes on the curve of her neck and the radiance of her sun-swept hair. He stretched out his hands, but ere he could speak she raised a white, terrified face, and glanced over her shoulder.

"Who touched me?" she gasped, her voice shrill with fear, "who touched me?" And she sprang to her feet.

There was no one: the two shared a common pallor as they stared into each other's eyes across the dying lilies. Hilarius shrank back and covered his face with his hands. Clear and distinct he heard the Prior's voice: "A light woman--a light woman."

Then the Princess said hoa.r.s.ely, "Go, go;" and without word or look Hilarius went.

The Prior rose from his knees comforted. He had wrestled with the devil for his son's soul, and knew that he had prevailed.

CHAPTER III--OPEN EYES AT THE GATE

Another year wrote its record on forest and field. The weeks pa.s.sed; summer sped to autumn, the ripe corn bowed to the sickle.

The Convent's lands were rich and heavy, virgin soil reclaimed; and the Prior, watching the last great wain piled high with wealth of golden treasure, saw the porter coming to him.

Now the porter was stout, short of breath, and of a hasty spirit; and the Prior knew something was amiss by reason of his hurried gait and wrathful countenance.

"Domine," he gasped, "Domine, there is a ragged man at the gate, a vagabond by his own showing, and he craves speech of thee. I bade him go to the guest-house, but he will not budge, and hath waited already an hour despite my--"

The porter stayed, staring; he spoke to the wind; the Prior was already halfway to the gate.

"This my son was dead and is alive again," sang his heart. The porter, afraid, hasted after him with the keys, and had scarce time to do his office ere the sunburnt vagabond was clasped in the Prior's arms. It was a harvesting indeed.

That night Hilarius went across to the Prior's house to tell the tale of his journeyings. He found him seated in a great oak chair by the open window; the sky was ablaze with stars, and the flame of the oil lamp jarred like a splash of yellow paint on the moonlight which flooded the room; the Prior's eyes smiled measureless content, and the murmured "Laus Deo" of his lips voiced the gladness of his heart. Thus, in the shelter of peace and a great love, Hilarius told his tale, while the forest waved a welcome to him over the Monastery wall, and the late lilies burned white in the garth below.

The Prior sat with his chin in his hand, his eyes fixed on the lad's face, pale against the dark wainscot; and Hilarius told of his journeyings, and all that befell, even as it hath been recorded in this chronicle; and the Prior's eyes were wet as he heard of the little maid.

"And then, my son?" said the Prior.

"Then, my Father, I companied with the caravan folk as far as the sea-coast; and, leaving them there, went overseas in the train of my lord Bishop Robert Walter of Norwich, who was hasting to Rome.

He knew thee, my Father, and bade his people supply my needs."

"Ay, he knows me," said the Prior briefly. "The Lord reward him according to his works, but show him mercy forasmuch as he had compa.s.sion on my son!"

"Then saw I Rome, my Father, that great and beauteous city full of treasure and many wonders; only the Holy Father I did not see, being let. Methinks life in that country is as one long pageant; but I marked that great holiness and an evil life, much riches and much penury, dwelt there side by side, and men reeked little of death but much of pleasure. Then one bade me go to Florence an I would be a limner; therefore I hasted thither, and gave my last coin for bread as I entered the city."

The Prior's brows contracted; the lad had seen some schooling.

"But thou didst learn to be a limner, my son?"

"Ay, my Father, in G.o.d's time: at first I must herd goats and sell melons in the market-place for a lump of bread. Day by day I strove to gain enough to buy colours, but could not, for the Lord sent me ever a neighbour poorer than myself. Nevertheless I was of good courage, knowing the Lord's ways are not as ours; and mindful how Brother Ambrose held that inasmuch as the Heavenly City is laid with fair colours 'twere no sin to deem that a man may limn perfect pictures there, for the gift is from the Lord."

"My son, 'tis a great lesson thou hast learnt," said the Prior, "for the Word was made Flesh; and as Blessed John hath it, a man cannot love G.o.d unseen, if he love not the brother whom He hath given him. What next, dear lad?"

"My Father, the Lord Himself sent a messenger to me. One day a great limner, the Signor Andrea di Cione, whom men call d'Orcagna, stayed by me where I stood with my melons in the shadow of the Shepherd's Tower, and bade me follow him to his house, for he would fain use me for an angel's head in the great Altar-piece he was e'en then concerned with for the Church of the White Friars. Later he heard my story; and when he found I had some small skill with the brush, he kept me with him, and taught me as only such an one can teach: him I served five years. And many times Satan desired my soul; nay, once I was in peril of h.e.l.l-fire, but the Lord was with me, and plucked my feet out of the pit. But of that I will speak anon, at my shriving, as is meet."

The Prior remembered his dream, but he said no word, and Hilarius took up his tale.

"Then one day my master cried there was an end to teaching; nevertheless he would have me bide with him in honour for the work.

But my heart was full of longing for home and the scent of the forest; and, above all, for thee, my Father; therefore I set my face north, that I might bring back my gift to St Benedict and our Church; and should have been here long ere this, but I was let by the way."

The Prior looked up a little anxiously, and Hilarius smiled at the question in his face.

"'Tis a lawless tract, my Father, under the shadow of the great mountains beyond Florence; and I was taken by robbers, who bore me and others of our company to their fastness in the hills: there I lay in a little cave many days; but what befell the rest I know not. The robbers brought me forth to serve them, and by G.o.d's mercy handled me kindly, though they thought little of bloodshedding.

"Then one of them was troubled in his spirit, and minded to forsake this evil manner of life. Therefore one night he fled, carrying me with him, when the others had gone forth; and we made good our way to Mantua. There Pietro, for so was the robber called, left me that he might give himself to the service of G.o.d and men, inasmuch as he had formerly abused them. Never saw I man so changed, my Father; his speech, formerly profane, was all of G.o.d and the Saints; he did penance and confessed his sins publicly; ay, by the Justice's order he received one hundred lashes in the market-place, and at every lash he cried with upturned face, 'Deo Gratias!' And I was there, because he besought of me to stand in the crowd and pray for him that his courage failed not. But it came to pa.s.s that even the people marvelled at his joyful endurance; and indeed 'twas more like a scourging of one of the blessed martyrs than of a poor sinful robber. After this the Brothers of the Poor took him, for such was his desire; and so I bade him farewell, and craved his blessing."

"The Lord fulfil all his mind!" said the Prior with clasped hands.

"Amen," said Hilarius.

"Didst thou not fear to journey further alone, my son?"

"Nay, my Father, I found for the most part good and kindly men by the way, despite their somewhat evil seeming; but at Genoa I took service with a merchant then beginning his journey, and travelled with him through Flanders, a strange, flat country with many ca.n.a.ls and tall poplar trees; and so we came to Bruges in safety, after a most prosperous course. There he commended me to a good friend of his, a wool merchant travelling to Salisbury; and at first all things went well with us; but later the winds proved contrary, and we were driven hither and thither in great peril of our lives, but at last made the Bristol Channel, and so came safe into port.

Thence I have come hither afoot begging my bread."

When Hilarius had made an end, the Prior took him in his arms and blessed him for his dear son; praising G.o.d that the lad had come back a child at heart, but hungering, loving, open-eyed.