The Geste of Duke Jocelyn Part 19

"Nay, then," quoth Jocelyn, reaching for his sword, "I must out and aid my comrades."

"Alack!" sighed the old woman. "Thy comrades do without lie all slain save one that groaneth--hearken!"

"O, woe!" mourned a quavering voice beyond the door. "O, woe, sore hurted I be, and like to die--and I a tanner!"

Very heedfully, Jocelyn unbarred the door, and peering into the narrow street, found it deserted and empty save for certain outstretched forms that stirred not; looking down on these dim shapes he knew one for Rick the Ploughman, whose ploughing days were sped and, huddled in a corner hard by, he found Will the Tanner, who groaned fitfully; but of Sir Pertinax and Gurth he saw nothing. So Jocelyn made shift to bear the Tanner within the house, and here Will, finding his hurts of small account, sat up, and while the wise old woman bandaged his wound, answered Jocelyn's eager questions, and told how Sir Pertinax and Gurth the Dyer had broken through their a.s.sailants and made good their escape.

Now, when the old woman had thus cherished their hurts, Jocelyn would fain have given her money, but she mumbled and mowed and cracked her finger-joints and shook grey head.

"Not so, good Fool!" she croaked, "for I do know thee for that same gentle Motley did save me from Black Lewin--a murrain seize him! So now will I save thee--behold!" So saying she set bony hand to wall; and lo! in the wall yawned a square opening narrow and dark, whence issued a cold wind.

"Begone, thou brave merryman!" quoth she. "Yonder safety lieth; this darksome way shall carry thee out beneath the city wall!"

"Gramercy, thou kindly Witch!" said Jocelyn. "Yet first must I to the watch-house beside the gate for one Robin that lieth 'prisoned there."

"How, Fool, dost mean Robin-a-Green that is to hang?"

"In truth!"

"But Rob o' the Green is outlawed, banned o' Church, a very rogue!"

"But a man, wherefore I would save him alive."

"Nay, Fool, o' thy folly be wise and seek ye safety instead. Would'st peril thy body for a thief?"

"Verily, dame, even as I did for a Witch."

Now, here the old woman scowled and mumbled and cracked her finger-bones angrily. But the beauteous young maid viewed Jocelyn with bright, approving eyes:

"But, Fool," cried she, "O wondrous Fool, wilt adventure thyself in cause so desperate?"

"Blithely, fair lady!"

"But, alas! the guards be many and thou but one--"

"Nay!" cried a voice:

"For thou may'st see That two are we!"

And forth of the dark opening in the wall strode Lobkyn Lollo the Dwarf, his great, spiked club on brawny shoulder. Jocelyn viewed the monstrous little man in awed wonder; but beholding his mighty girth and determined aspect, wonder changed to kindliness; quoth he:

"Fair greeting, comrade! If thou'rt for a little bickering and disputation with that goodly club o' thine, come thy ways for methinks I do smell the dawn."

"Aha, thou naughty little one!" cried the Witch, shaking bony fist. "Art for fighting for rogue's life along of a Fool, then?"

Quoth LOBKYN:

Aye, grannam, though ye slap me, still, Fight and aid this Fool I will--

"And talking o' Will," quoth Will, "what o' me, for though I'm a tanner I'm a man, aye, verily, as I'm a tanner."

"And methinks a better man than tanner!" said Jocelyn. "So here we stand three goodly wights and well armed. Let's away--"

"Nay, then, wild Madcap," croaked the Witch, "an my Lobkyn go I go, and, though I be old and feeble, shalt find my craft more potent than sword or club--wait!"

Here the old woman, opening a dingy cupboard, took thence a small crock over which she muttered spells and incantations with look and gesture so evil that Lobkyn eyed her askance, Will the Tanner cowered and whispered fragments of prayers, and even Jocelyn crossed himself.

"Come!" croaked the Witch. "Now do I go to save rogue from gallows for sake of thee, tall Fool. Come ye, come and do as I bid ye in all things--come!"

FYTTE 6

Tells how for Robin a good fight was fought And our old Witch a spell mysterious wrought.

Phoebus, the young and gladsome G.o.d of day, His fiery steeds had yoked to flaming car (By which, my Gill, you may surmise The sun was just about to rise) And that be-feathered, crook-billed harbinger, The rosy-wattled herald of the dawn, Red comb aflaunt, bold-eyed and spurred for strife, Brave Chanticleer, his strident summons raised (By which fine phrase I'd have you know, The c.o.c.k had just begun to crow) And gentle Zephyr, child of Boreas, Stole soft the hush of dewy leaves, And pa.s.sing kissed the flowers to wakefulness.

Thus, laden with their sweetness, Zephyr came O'er hill and dale, o'er battlement and wall, Into the sleeping town of Ca.n.a.lise, Through open lattice and through prison-bars, To kiss the cheek of sleeping Innocence And fevered brows of prisoners forlorn, Who, stirring 'neath sweet Zephyr's soft caress, Dreamed themselves young, with all their sins unwrought.

So, gentle Zephyr, messenger of dawn, Fresh as the day-spring, of earth redolent, Through narrow loophole into dungeon stole, Where Robin the bold outlaw fettered lay, Who, sighing, woke to feel her fragrant kiss,

And, breathing in this perfume-laden air, He seemed to smell those thousand woodland scents He oft had known, yet, knowing, never heeded: Of lofty bracken, golden in the sun, Of dewy violets shy that bloomed dim-seen Beside some merry-laughing, woodland brook Which, bubbling, with soft music filled the air; The fragrant reek of smouldering camp-fire Aglow beside some dark, sequestered pool Whose placid waters a dim mirror made To hold the glister of some lonely star; He seemed to see again in sunny glade The silky coats of yellow-dappled deer, With branching antlers gallantly upborne; To hear the tw.a.n.g of bow, the whizz of shaft, And cheery sound of distant-winded horn.

Of this and more than this, bold Robin thought, And, in his dungeon's gloomy solitude, He groaned full deep and, since no eye could see, Shed bitter tears.

My daughter GILLIAN supplicateth:

GILL: Poor Robin! Father, promise me To save him from the gallows-tree.

He's much too nice a man to kill; So save him, father; say you will!

MYSELF: But think of poor Ranulph with no one to hang!

GILL: Ranulph's song was top-hole, but--

MYSELF: You know I hate slang--

GILL: Yes, father--but then I hate Ranulph much more, With his nasty great beard that in tangles he wore.

So, father, if you must have some one to slay, Instead of poor Robin, hang Ranulph--

MYSELF: Why, pray?

GILL: In nice books the nasty folks only should die; Those are the kind of books nice people buy.

I like a book that makes me glad, And loathe a book that makes me sad; So, as this Geste is made for me, Make it as happy as can be.

MYSELF: And is it, so far, as you'd wish?

GILL: Well, father, though it's rather swish, I think it needs a deal more love--