Long Will Part 27

'T was now the French that came up the coombe, and as they came they sang. They had the parson with them. The miller and his children they had slain and cast into the fire; but 't was against conscience to kill parsons. The miller's wife went blubbering betwixt two knights, that quarrelled together very playful concerning her.

In the village every house was empty--every cottage door was wide.

"They 'll rouse their lord, I heard a horn," said the leader of the band. "Burn, pillage,--in haste,--then back to the ship! We are too few to stay in safety, but we 'll fill our bellies and the ship's."

Then at the other end of the street he saw a maid running through the dusk; her hair was all unbound, and flew behind her like a golden banner.

They came up with her at the cross, and closed about her in a ring, forgetful of haste in their wonder at her loveliness. The leader was a gallant gentleman, he doffed his bonnet and unlaced his helm, and dropped upon one knee, saying sweet words; and although Calote and the parson were but little versed in the French tongue, they knew right well what this was to mean.

Then the knight rose up off his knee and went and set his finger beneath Calote's chin, and lifted up her face, and stooped his own.

And presently the knight and the parson lay both at their lengths on the gra.s.s. The knight was stunned only, already he opened his eyes, but the parson had three thrusts of a sword through his body, and he would die.

Out of the stillness that followed this deed there grew a faint sound of horses' hoofs; but the men who stood around heard nothing of this.

'T is not well done to slay a priest, even a priest of the English, whose pope is not the pope of the French.

The knight lifted himself upon his elbow and stared as he were mazed.

Calote was kneeling by the side of the parson. And on a sudden there rode up hors.e.m.e.n, and the French turned about in confusion to fight and to flee. In the midst of this battle Calote knelt at the parson's head, as she had been in a hushed chamber, and presently she was 'ware that the peddler came to kneel at the other side.

"How did this hap?" said the peddler, and he had to call out loud, because of the noise of clashing steel, and the groans, and the cries of battle,--"A Courtney, a Courtney!" for these were retainers of the Earl of Devon.

"The French knight"--sobbed Calote.

And now the parson opened his eyes:--

"'Conformen Kings to peace,'" said he, very faint. He was babbling out of the Vision. Calote bent her ear to his lips.

"'And to be conqueror called, that cometh of special grace,'" he said and smiled. After a bit there came blood to his lips, but he sat up joyously:--

"'And now I see where a soul cometh hitherward sailing, With glory and with great light, G.o.d it is, I wot.'"

And so he fell backward dead.

There were other dead men lying all about. The few French that were not slain were fleeing to their ship, and the English after them pell-mell, hacking and hewing. The peddler lifted Calote off her knees and led her away. They walked wearily many miles, stumbling through the summer darkness. When the dawn came, the peddler made a bed of moss and leaves for Calote, but she would not lie in it. She sat a-sighing, with her head in her hand.

"S-s-sleep, mistress!" said the peddler, "a-and forget!"

"I 'll never forget that they are cowards!--cowards!" she cried pa.s.sionately. "Is 't these shall save the kingdom to the King?"

""W-'ware thee from w-wanhope, w-would thee betray,'" said the peddler, speaking out of the Vision. "Th-these men be not w-warriors, but tillers of the soil; peaceable folk. They have been ca-cared for and fought for all their l-life long. Not cowards, but un-un-accustomed. We met them as we rode; they came to c-call the lord of the manor to s-succour them. Peter was sore distressed f-for thee."

"Natheless, they ran away," she said. "They were afeared."

"N-not the parson," declared the peddler. "He was n-no coward. I did never know a b-better man; and he was one of them. The ki-kingdom 's not to be taken this year. P-patience!"

"Thou art no coward neither," she a.s.sented, a little comforted. "And thou also art one of them."

But to this the peddler made no reply.

CHAPTER VI

The Adventure in Cheshire

In late September Calote and the peddler, having got as far north as the ancient city of Chester, fell in with a company of bold outlaws that dwelt in a wood some way without the city walls. Six of these men were villeins that had run from their land; three more had been soldiers beyond the sea and were now loth to lend their great limbs to any peaceful labours; the tenth man was a beggar by trade, yet for some cause best known to himself he would not beg in Chester; and there was yet another, a young lad who had slain his lord's bailiff.

He had taken sanctuary and after abjured the realm, so that he was under oath to get him out of England by the nearest way; yet he lingered. Two women were also with this company: the one was light-o'-love to the youngest soldier of the three; the other was sister to the lad that had murdered the bailiff,--they two were orphaned.

After the peddler had come out of Devon, leaving his hood and pack on the cliff, he bought him a new pack in Bristol; but by now well-nigh all his gewgaws were sold, and he purposed to buy other at the October Fair in Chester. Meanwhile, he waited without the town, saving the cost of bed and board, and keeping his eyes and ears open to serve Calote.

These outlaws were no cowards, except it might be the young murderer, who screeched in his sleep of nights and woke up staring, in a cold sweat. They were a merry band; their food was berries and herbs and the small game that ran in the woods. Now and again they ventured on the high road and plundered solitary market-women or a farmer's boy.

In winter and spring they dared even set upon a merchant or franklin; but at fair-time the merchants, coming to display their wares at Chester, travelled in so great companies for safety, that 't was but foolhardiness to attack them. So it fell that about the time Calote and the peddler came among them these robbers, were in a mood of discontent more than ordinary, having not so much as a groat wherewith to bless themselves. An Calote's tales had not charmed them when first they caught the couple a-wandering in the wood, no doubt it had gone hard with the peddler. But when they heard how he sang to his lute, and he said he had not peddled for many a day and 't was a poor trade, they looked no further than his pack; the bits of ribbon that were left in it the soldier gave to his wench.

"One eats all that one sells," quoth the peddler; but when they saw how he did eat that night, they roared and said 't was plain he had sold little of late.

They were wondrous kind to Calote; they crowned her with a garland of green, and gave her of their best. Her tales of the Brotherhood, the Great Society, they heard with pa.s.sion and impatience. They were for setting out to London without pause. The Vision went to their heads like strong drink, so that they cursed and beat upon the earth, and anon fell on each other's necks with kisses, in a kind of frenzy.

"Ye 'll be no more outlaws," quoth Calote, "but makers of laws. Ye 'll be your own bailiffs on your own lands."

The poor lad that had killed the bailiff cast himself on his face, at this, and wept, and his little sister also. And all those others did what they might to comfort him, with:--

"Ho, man! leave off tears; 't was bravely done!" and "Never grieve for a black heart!" and "A pox o' bailiffs!"

The horn they handled greedily, counting the linked jewels in the chain and the pearls that were set about the image of the white hart.

Calote kept it in a little bag that she had made of a bit of blanket the peddler gave her. This she wore by a string about her middle, and drew forth the horn willingly when they called for it. She was not aware how they coveted it, nor wherefore; but the peddler knew. He heard them when they sat about the fire of nights, after the women were gone to sleep. He listened the while they wrangled of the pearls.

One said there were thirty, another swore by Saint Christopher there were but five and twenty.

"S-seven and twenty," quoth the peddler; "I-I-I counted."

They turned and looked on him. There were three awake, the beggar, a villein, and the youngest soldier. They called the villein Symme Tipuppe, and the soldier Nicholas Bendebowe; the beggar was only Haukyn.

Quoth Haukyn to the peddler: "Art thou kin to the maid?"

"N-nay," said the peddler, "we met by the r-road."

"Tell me," said Symme, leaning forward. "Thou 'rt a kind of merchant, is the horn silver, or some baser metal?"

"T-t-true silver," answered the peddler, and Nicholas Bendebowe, looking on Symme, set his thumb to his nose and wagged his fingers, with "Said I not so? I saw jewels in France, yea, and handled them."

"'T would bring a pretty penny if 't were sold?" Symme questioned.

"N-no doubt," the peddler made reply.

For a little while they sat silent, and the soldier laid a fresh bough on the blaze, for that the night was crisp and all these fellows were ragged and brier-torn.

Then said Haukyn the beggar, gloomily: "After to-morrow is the beginning of the Fair."

"Small joy to such as we be," snapped Nicholas Bendebowe.