Rewards and Fairies Part 43

'"But how did he come alive from Santlache fight?" asked the King. "Ask him! Hast thou heard it, Rahere?"

'"Never. He says he has been stoned too often for telling the tale. But he can count you off Saxon and Norman shrines till daylight," said Rahere, and the old man nodded proudly.

'"My faith," said Henry after a while, "I think even my Father the Great Duke would pity if he could see him."

"How if he _does_ see?" said Rahere.

'Hugh covered his face with his sound hand. "Ah, why hast thou shamed him?" he cried again to Rahere.

'"No--no," says the old man, reaching to pluck at Rahere's cape. "I am Rahere's man. None stone me now," and he played with the bells on the scollops of it.

'"How if he had been brought to me when you found him?" said the King to Rahere.

'"You would have held him prisoner again--as the Great Duke did," Rahere answered.

'"True," said our King. "He is nothing except his name. Yet that name might have been used by stronger men to trouble my England. Yes. I must have made him my life's guest--as I shall make Robert."

'"I knew it," said Rahere. "But while this man wandered mad by the wayside, none cared what he called himself."

'"I learned to cease talking before the stones flew," says the old man, and Hugh groaned.

'"Ye have heard!" said Rahere. "Witless, landless, nameless, and, but for my protection, masterless, he can still make shift to bide his doom under the open sky."

'"Then wherefore didst thou bring him here for a mock and a shame?"

cried Hugh, beside himself with woe.

'"A right mock and a just shame!" said William of Exeter.

'"Not to me," said Nigel of Ely. "I see and I tremble, but I neither mock nor judge."

'"Well spoken, Ely." Rahere falls into the pure fool again. "I'll pray for thee when I turn monk. Thou hast given thy blessing on a war between two most Christian brothers." He meant the war forward 'twixt Henry and Robert of Normandy. "I charge you, Brother," he says, wheeling on the King, "dost thou mock my fool?"

'The King shook his head, and so then did smooth William of Exeter.

'"De Aquila, dost thou mock him?" Rahere jingled from one to another, and the old man smiled.

'"By the Bones of the Saints, not I," said our Lord of Pevensey. "I know how dooms near he broke us at Santlache."

'"Sir Hugh, you are excused the question. But you, valiant, loyal, honourable, and devout barons, Lords of Man's Justice in your own bounds, do _you_ mock my fool?"

'He shook his bauble in the very faces of those two barons whose names I have forgotten. "Na--Na!" they said, and waved him back foolishly enough.

'He hies him across to staring, nodding Harold, and speaks from behind his chair.

'"No man mocks thee. Who here judges this man? Henry of England--Nigel--De Aquila! On your souls, swift with the answer!" he cried.

'None answered. We were all--the King not least--overborne by that terrible scarlet and black wizard-jester.

'"Well for your souls," he said, wiping his brow. Next, shrill like a woman: "Oh, come to me!" and Hugh ran forward to hold Harold, that had slidden down in the chair.

'"Hearken," said Rahere, his arm round Harold's neck. "The King--his bishops--the knights--all the world's crazy chessboard neither mock nor judge thee. Take that comfort with thee, Harold of England!"

'Hugh heaved the old man up and he smiled.

'"Good comfort," said Harold. "Tell me again! I have been somewhat punished----"

'Rahere hallooed it once more into his ear as the head rolled. We heard him sigh, and Nigel of Ely stood forth, praying aloud.

'"Out! I will have no Norman!" Harold said as clearly as I speak now, and he refuged himself on Hugh's sound shoulder, and stretched out, and lay all still.'

'Dead?' said Una, turning up a white face in the dusk.

'That was his good fortune. To die in the King's presence, and on the breast of the most gentlest, truest knight of his own house. Some of us envied him,' said Sir Richard, and fell back to take Swallow's bridle.

'Turn left here,' Puck called ahead of them from under an oak. They ducked down a narrow path through close ash plantation.

The children hurried forward, but cutting a corner charged full breast into the thorn-f.a.ggot that old Hobden was carrying home on his back.

'My! My!' said he. 'Have you scratted your face, Miss Una?'

'Sorry! It's all right,' said Una, rubbing her nose. 'How many rabbits did you get to-day?'

'That's tellin's,' the old man grinned as he re-hoisted his f.a.ggot. 'I reckon Mus' Ridley he've got rheumatism along o' lyin' in the dik to see I didn't snap up any. Think o' that now!'

They laughed a good deal while he told them the tale.

'An' just as he crawled away I heard some one hollerin' to the hounds in our woods,' said he. 'Didn't you hear? You must ha' been asleep sure-ly.'

'Oh, what about the sleeper you promised to show us?' Dan cried.

''Ere he be--house an' all!' Hobden dived into the p.r.i.c.kly heart of the f.a.ggot and took out a dormouse's wonderfully woven nest of gra.s.s and leaves. His blunt fingers parted it as if it had been precious lace, and tilting it toward the last of the light he showed the little, red, furry chap curled up inside, his tail between his eyes that were shut for their winter sleep.

'Let's take him home. Don't breathe on him,' said Una. 'It'll make him warm and he'll wake up and die straight off. Won't he, Hobby?'

'That's a heap better by my reckonin' than wakin' up and findin' himself in a cage for life. No! We'll lay him into the bottom o' this hedge.

Dat's jus' right! No more trouble for him till come Spring. An' now we'll go home.'

_A CAROL_

_Our Lord Who did the Ox command To kneel to Judah's King, He binds His frost upon the land To ripen it for Spring-- To ripen it for Spring, good sirs, According to His word; Which well must be as ye can see-- And who shall judge the Lord?_

_When we poor fenmen skate the ice Or shiver on the wold, We hear the cry of a single tree That breaks her heart in the cold-- That breaks her heart in the cold, good sirs, And rendeth by the board; Which well must be as ye can see-- And who shall judge the Lord?_

_Her wood is crazed and little worth Excepting as to burn, That we may warm and make our mirth Until the Spring return-- Until the Spring return, good sirs, When people walk abroad; Which well must be as ye can see-- And who shall judge the Lord?_