At early dawn the country inn was all alive, for it was rare indeed that an hour of daylight would be wasted at a time when lighting1 was so scarce and dear. Indeed, early as it was when Dame2 Eliza began to stir, it seemed that others could be earlier still, for the door was ajar, and the learned student of Cambridge had taken himself off, with a mind which was too intent upon the high things of antiquity3 to stoop to consider the four-pence which he owed for bed and board. It was the shrill4 out-cry of the landlady5 when she found her loss, and the clucking of the hens, which had streamed in through the open door, that first broke in upon the slumbers6 of the tired wayfarers7.
Once afoot, it was not long before the company began to disperse8. A sleek9 mule10 with red trappings was brought round from some neighboring shed for the physician, and he ambled11 away with much dignity upon his road to Southampton. The tooth-drawer and the gleeman called for a cup of small ale apiece, and started off together for Ringwood fair, the old jongleur looking very yellow in the eye and swollen12 in the face after his overnight potations. The archer13, however, who had drunk more than any man in the room, was as merry as a grig, and having kissed the matron and chased the maid up the ladder once more, he went out to the brook14, and came back with the water dripping from his face and hair.
“Hola! my man of peace,” he cried to Alleyne, “whither are you bent15 this morning?”
“To Minstead,” quoth he. “My brother Simon Edricson is socman there, and I go to bide16 with him for a while. I prythee, let me have my score, good dame.”
“Score, indeed!” cried she, standing17 with upraised hands in front of the panel on which Alleyne had worked the night before. “Say, rather what it is that I owe to thee, good youth. Aye, this is indeed a pied merlin, and with a leveret under its claws, as I am a living woman. By the rood of Waltham! but thy touch is deft18 and dainty.”
“And see the red eye of it!” cried the maid.
“Aye, and the open beak19.”
“And the ruffled21 wing,” added Hordle John.
“By my hilt!” cried the archer, “it is the very bird itself.”
The young clerk flushed with pleasure at this chorus of praise, rude and indiscriminate indeed, and yet so much heartier22 and less grudging23 than any which he had ever heard from the critical brother Jerome, or the short-spoken Abbot. There was, it would seem, great kindness as well as great wickedness in this world, of which he had heard so little that was good. His hostess would hear nothing of his paying either for bed or for board, while the archer and Hordle John placed a hand upon either shoulder and led him off to the board, where some smoking fish, a dish of spinach24, and a jug25 of milk were laid out for their breakfast.
“I should not be surprised to learn, mon camarade,” said the soldier, as he heaped a slice of fish upon Alleyne's tranchoir of bread, “that you could read written things, since you are so ready with your brushes and pigments26.”
“It would be shame to the good brothers of Beaulieu if I could not,” he answered, “seeing that I have been their clerk this ten years back.”
The bowman looked at him with great respect. “Think of that!” said he. “And you with not a hair to your face, and a skin like a girl. I can shoot three hundred and fifty paces with my little popper there, and four hundred and twenty with the great war-bow; yet I can make nothing of this, nor read my own name if you were to set 'Sam Aylward' up against me. In the whole Company there was only one man who could read, and he fell down a well at the taking of Ventadour, which proves that the thing is not suited to a soldier, though most needful to a clerk.”
“I can make some show at it,” said big John; “though I was scarce long enough among the monks28 to catch the whole trick of it.
“Here, then, is something to try upon,” quoth the archer, pulling a square of parchment from the inside of his tunic29. It was tied securely with a broad band of purple silk, and firmly sealed at either end with a large red seal. John pored long and earnestly over the inscription30 upon the back, with his brows bent as one who bears up against great mental strain.
“Not having read much of late,” he said, “I am loth to say too much about what this may be. Some might say one thing and some another, just as one bowman loves the yew31, and a second will not shoot save with the ash. To me, by the length and the look of it, I should judge this to be a verse from one of the Psalms32.”
The bowman shook his head. “It is scarce likely,” he said, “that Sir Claude Latour should send me all the way across seas with nought33 more weighty than a psalm-verse. You have clean overshot the butts34 this time, mon camarade. Give it to the little one. I will wager35 my feather-bed that he makes more sense of it.”
“Why, it is written in the French tongue,” said Alleyne, “and in a right clerkly hand. This is how it runs: 'A le moult puissant36 et moult honorable chevalier, Sir Nigel Loring de Christchurch, de son tres fidele ami Sir Claude Latour, capitaine de la Compagnie blanche, chatelain de Biscar, grand seigneur de Montchateau, vavaseur de le renomme Gaston, Comte de Foix, tenant37 les droits de la haute justice, de la milieu38, et de la basse.' Which signifies in our speech: 'To the very powerful and very honorable knight39, Sir Nigel Loring of Christchurch, from his very faithful friend Sir Claude Latour, captain of the White Company, chatelain of Biscar, grand lord of Montchateau and vassal40 to the renowned41 Gaston, Count of Foix, who holds the rights of the high justice, the middle and the low.'”
“Look at that now!” cried the bowman in triumph. “That is just what he would have said.”
“I can see now that it is even so,” said John, examining the parchment again. “Though I scarce understand this high, middle and low.”
“By my hilt! you would understand it if you were Jacques Bonhomme. The low justice means that you may fleece him, and the middle that you may torture him, and the high that you may slay42 him. That is about the truth of it. But this is the letter which I am to take; and since the platter is clean it is time that we trussed up and were afoot. You come with me, mon gros Jean; and as to you, little one, where did you say that you journeyed?”
“To Minstead.”
“Ah, yes. I know this forest country well, though I was born myself in the Hundred of Easebourne, in the Rape43 of Chichester, hard by the village of Midhurst. Yet I have not a word to say against the Hampton men, for there are no better comrades or truer archers44 in the whole Company than some who learned to loose the string in these very parts. We shall travel round with you to Minstead lad, seeing that it is little out of our way.”
“I am ready,” said Alleyne, right pleased at the thought of such company upon the road.
“So am not I. I must store my plunder45 at this inn, since the hostess is an honest woman. Hola! ma cherie, I wish to leave with you my gold-work, my velvet46, my silk, my feather bed, my incense-boat, my ewer47, my naping linen48, and all the rest of it. I take only the money in a linen bag, and the box of rose colored sugar which is a gift from my captain to the Lady Loring. Wilt49 guard my treasure for me?”
“It shall be put in the safest loft50, good archer. Come when you may, you shall find it ready for you.”
“Now, there is a true friend!” cried the bowman, taking her hand. “There is a bonne amie! English land and English women, say I, and French wine and French plunder. I shall be back anon, mon ange. I am a lonely man, my sweeting, and I must settle some day when the wars are over and done. Mayhap you and I——Ah, mechante, mechante! There is la petite peeping from behind the door. Now, John, the sun is over the trees; you must be brisker than this when the bugleman blows 'Bows and Bills.'”
“I have been waiting this time back,” said Hordle John gruffly.
“Then we must be off. Adieu, ma vie! The two livres shall settle the score and buy some ribbons against the next kermesse. Do not forget Sam Aylward, for his heart shall ever be thine alone—and thine, ma petite! So, marchons, and may St. Julian grant us as good quarters elsewhere!”
The sun had risen over Ashurst and Denny woods, and was shining brightly, though the eastern wind had a sharp flavor to it, and the leaves were flickering51 thickly from the trees. In the High Street of Lyndhurst the wayfarers had to pick their way, for the little town was crowded with the guardsmen, grooms52, and yeomen prickers who were attached to the King's hunt. The King himself was staying at Castle Malwood, but several of his suite27 had been compelled to seek such quarters as they might find in the wooden or wattle-and-daub cottages of the village. Here and there a small escutcheon, peeping from a glassless window, marked the night's lodging53 of knight or baron54. These coats-of-arms could be read, where a scroll55 would be meaningless, and the bowman, like most men of his age, was well versed56 in the common symbols of heraldry.
“There is the Saracen's head of Sir Bernard Brocas,” quoth he. “I saw him last at the ruffle20 at Poictiers some ten years back, when he bore himself like a man. He is the master of the King's horse, and can sing a right jovial57 stave, though in that he cannot come nigh to Sir John Chandos, who is first at the board or in the saddle. Three martlets on a field azure58, that must be one of the Luttrells. By the crescent upon it, it should be the second son of old Sir Hugh, who had a bolt through his ankle at the intaking of Romorantin, he having rushed into the fray59 ere his squire60 had time to clasp his solleret to his greave. There too is the hackle which is the old device of the De Brays62. I have served under Sir Thomas de Bray61, who was as jolly as a pie, and a lusty swordsman until he got too fat for his harness.”
So the archer gossiped as the three wayfarers threaded their way among the stamping horses, the busy grooms, and the knots of pages and squires64 who disputed over the merits of their masters' horses and deer-hounds. As they passed the old church, which stood upon a mound65 at the left-hand side of the village street the door was flung open, and a stream of worshippers wound down the sloping path, coming from the morning mass, all chattering66 like a cloud of jays. Alleyne bent knee and doffed67 hat at the sight of the open door; but ere he had finished an ave his comrades were out of sight round the curve of the path, and he had to run to overtake them.
“What!” he said, “not one word of prayer before God's own open house? How can ye hope for His blessing68 upon the day?”
“My friend,” said Hordle John, “I have prayed so much during the last two months, not only during the day, but at matins, lauds69, and the like, when I could scarce keep my head upon my shoulders for nodding, that I feel that I have somewhat over-prayed myself.”
“How can a man have too much religion?” cried Alleyne earnestly. “It is the one thing that availeth. A man is but a beast as he lives from day to day, eating and drinking, breathing and sleeping. It is only when he raises himself, and concerns himself with the immortal70 spirit within him, that he becomes in very truth a man. Bethink ye how sad a thing it would be that the blood of the Redeemer should be spilled to no purpose.”
“Bless the lad, if he doth not blush like any girl, and yet preach like the whole College of Cardinals71,” cried the archer.
“In truth I blush that any one so weak and so unworthy as I should try to teach another that which he finds it so passing hard to follow himself.”
“Prettily said, mon garcon. Touching72 that same slaying73 of the Redeemer, it was a bad business. A good padre in France read to us from a scroll the whole truth of the matter. The soldiers came upon him in the garden. In truth, these Apostles of His may have been holy men, but they were of no great account as men-at-arms. There was one, indeed, Sir Peter, who smote74 out like a true man; but, unless he is belied75, he did but clip a varlet's ear, which was no very knightly76 deed. By these ten finger-bones! had I been there with Black Simon of Norwich, and but one score picked men of the Company, we had held them in play. Could we do no more, we had at least filled the false knight, Sir Judas, so full of English arrows that he would curse the day that ever he came on such an errand.”
The young clerk smiled at his companion's earnestness. “Had He wished help,” he said, “He could have summoned legions of archangels from heaven, so what need had He of your poor bow and arrow? Besides, bethink you of His own words—that those who live by the sword shall perish by the sword.”
“And how could man die better?” asked the archer. “If I had my wish, it would be to fall so—not, mark you, in any mere77 skirmish of the Company, but in a stricken field, with the great lion banner waving over us and the red oriflamme in front, amid the shouting of my fellows and the twanging of the strings78. But let it be sword, lance, or bolt that strikes me down: for I should think it shame to die from an iron ball from the fire-crake or bombard or any such unsoldierly weapon, which is only fitted to scare babes with its foolish noise and smoke.”
“I have heard much even in the quiet cloisters79 of these new and dreadful engines,” quoth Alleyne. “It is said, though I can scarce bring myself to believe it, that they will send a ball twice as far as a bowman can shoot his shaft80, and with such force as to break through armor of proof.”
“True enough, my lad. But while the armorer is thrusting in his devil's-dust, and dropping his ball, and lighting his flambeau, I can very easily loose six shafts81, or eight maybe, so he hath no great vantage after all. Yet I will not deny that at the intaking of a town it is well to have good store of bombards. I am told that at Calais they made dints in the wall that a man might put his head into. But surely, comrades, some one who is grievously hurt hath passed along this road before us.”
All along the woodland track there did indeed run a scattered82 straggling trail of blood-marks, sometimes in single drops, and in other places in broad, ruddy gouts, smudged over the dead leaves or crimsoning83 the white flint stones.
“It must be a stricken deer,” said John.
“Nay, I am woodman enough to see that no deer hath passed this way this morning; and yet the blood is fresh. But hark to the sound!”
They stood listening all three with sidelong heads. Through the silence of the great forest there came a swishing, whistling sound, mingled84 with the most dolorous85 groans86, and the voice of a man raised in a high quavering kind of song. The comrades hurried onwards eagerly, and topping the brow of a small rising they saw upon the other side the source from which these strange noises arose.
A tall man, much stooped in the shoulders, was walking slowly with bended head and clasped hands in the centre of the path. He was dressed from head to foot in a long white linen cloth, and a high white cap with a red cross printed upon it. His gown was turned back from his shoulders, and the flesh there was a sight to make a man wince87, for it was all beaten to a pulp88, and the blood was soaking into his gown and trickling89 down upon the ground. Behind him walked a smaller man with his hair touched with gray, who was clad in the same white garb90. He intoned a long whining91 rhyme in the French tongue, and at the end of every line he raised a thick cord, all jagged with pellets of lead, and smote his companion across the shoulders until the blood spurted92 again. Even as the three wayfarers stared, however, there was a sudden change, for the smaller man, having finished his song, loosened his own gown and handed the scourge93 to the other, who took up the stave once more and lashed94 his companion with all the strength of his bare and sinewy95 arm. So, alternately beating and beaten, they made their dolorous way through the beautiful woods and under the amber96 arches of the fading beech-trees, where the calm strength and majesty97 of Nature might serve to rebuke98 the foolish energies and misspent strivings of mankind.
Such a spectacle was new to Hordle John or to Alleyne Edricson; but the archer treated it lightly, as a common matter enough.
“These are the Beating Friars, otherwise called the Flagellants,” quoth he. “I marvel99 that ye should have come upon none of them before, for across the water they are as common as gallybaggers. I have heard that there are no English among them, but that they are from France, Italy and Bohemia. En avant, camarades! that we may have speech with them.”
As they came up to them, Alleyne could hear the doleful dirge100 which the beater was chanting, bringing down his heavy whip at the end of each line, while the groans of the sufferer formed a sort of dismal101 chorus. It was in old French, and ran somewhat in this way:
Or avant, entre nous tous freres
Battons nos charognes bien fort
En remembrant la grant misere
De Dieu et sa piteuse mort
Qui fut pris en la gent amere
Et vendus et trais a tort
Et bastu sa chair, vierge et dere
Au nom de ce battons plus fort.
Then at the end of the verse the scourge changed hands and the chanting began anew.
“Truly, holy fathers,” said the archer in French as they came abreast102 of them, “you have beaten enough for to-day. The road is all spotted103 like a shambles104 at Martinmas. Why should ye mishandle yourselves thus?”
“C'est pour vos peches—pour vos peches,” they droned, looking at the travellers with sad lack-lustre eyes, and then bent to their bloody105 work once more without heed106 to the prayers and persuasions107 which were addressed to them. Finding all remonstrance108 useless, the three comrades hastened on their way, leaving these strange travellers to their dreary109 task.
“Mort Dieu!” cried the bowman, “there is a bucketful or more of my blood over in France, but it was all spilled in hot fight, and I should think twice before I drew it drop by drop as these friars are doing. By my hilt! our young one here is as white as a Picardy cheese. What is amiss then, mon cher?”
“It is nothing,” Alleyne answered. “My life has been too quiet, I am not used to such sights.”
“Ma foi!” the other cried, “I have never yet seen a man who was so stout110 of speech and yet so weak of heart.”
“Not so, friend,” quoth big John; “it is not weakness of heart for I know the lad well. His heart is as good as thine or mine but he hath more in his pate111 than ever you will carry under that tin pot of thine, and as a consequence he can see farther into things, so that they weigh upon him more.”
“Surely to any man it is a sad sight,” said Alleyne, “to see these holy men, who have done no sin themselves, suffering so for the sins of others. Saints are they, if in this age any may merit so high a name.”
“I count them not a fly,” cried Hordle John; “for who is the better for all their whipping and yowling? They are like other friars, I trow, when all is done. Let them leave their backs alone, and beat the pride out of their hearts.”
“By the three kings! there is sooth in what you say,” remarked the archer. “Besides, methinks if I were le bon Dieu, it would bring me little joy to see a poor devil cutting the flesh off his bones; and I should think that he had but a small opinion of me, that he should hope to please me by such provost-marshal work. No, by my hilt! I should look with a more loving eye upon a jolly archer who never harmed a fallen foe112 and never feared a hale one.”
“Doubtless you mean no sin,” said Alleyne. “If your words are wild, it is not for me to judge them. Can you not see that there are other foes113 in this world besides Frenchmen, and as much glory to be gained in conquering them? Would it not be a proud day for knight or squire if he could overthrow114 seven adversaries115 in the lists? Yet here are we in the lists of life, and there come the seven black champions against us Sir Pride, Sir Covetousness116, Sir Lust63, Sir Anger, Sir Gluttony, Sir Envy, and Sir Sloth117. Let a man lay those seven low, and he shall have the prize of the day, from the hands of the fairest queen of beauty, even from the Virgin-Mother herself. It is for this that these men mortify118 their flesh, and to set us an example, who would pamper119 ourselves overmuch. I say again that they are God's own saints, and I bow my head to them.”
“And so you shall, mon petit,” replied the archer. “I have not heard a man speak better since old Dom Bertrand died, who was at one time chaplain to the White Company. He was a very valiant120 man, but at the battle of Brignais he was spitted through the body by a Hainault man-at-arms. For this we had an excommunication read against the man, when next we saw our holy father at Avignon; but as we had not his name, and knew nothing of him, save that he rode a dapple-gray roussin, I have feared sometimes that the blight121 may have settled upon the wrong man.”
“Your Company has been, then, to bow knee before our holy father, the Pope Urban, the prop122 and centre of Christendom?” asked Alleyne, much interested. “Perchance you have yourself set eyes upon his august face?”
“Twice I saw him,” said the archer. “He was a lean little rat of a man, with a scab on his chin. The first time we had five thousand crowns out of him, though he made much ado about it. The second time we asked ten thousand, but it was three days before we could come to terms, and I am of opinion myself that we might have done better by plundering123 the palace. His chamberlain and cardinals came forth124, as I remember, to ask whether we would take seven thousand crowns with his blessing and a plenary absolution, or the ten thousand with his solemn ban by bell, book and candle. We were all of one mind that it was best to have the ten thousand with the curse; but in some way they prevailed upon Sir John, so that we were blest and shriven against our will. Perchance it is as well, for the Company were in need of it about that time.”
The pious125 Alleyne was deeply shocked by this reminiscence. Involuntarily he glanced up and around to see if there were any trace of those opportune126 levin-flashes and thunderbolts which, in the “Acta Sanctorum,” were wont127 so often to cut short the loose talk of the scoffer128. The autumn sun streamed down as brightly as ever, and the peaceful red path still wound in front of them through the rustling129, yellow-tinted forest, Nature seemed to be too busy with her own concerns to heed the dignity of an outraged130 pontiff. Yet he felt a sense of weight and reproach within his breast, as though he had sinned himself in giving ear to such words. The teachings of twenty years cried out against such license131. It was not until he had thrown himself down before one of the many wayside crosses, and had prayed from his heart both for the archer and for himself, that the dark cloud rolled back again from his spirit.
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1
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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wayfarers
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| n.旅人，（尤指）徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
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disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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ambled
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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archer
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| n.射手，弓箭手 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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heartier
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| 亲切的( hearty的比较级 )； 热诚的； 健壮的； 精神饱满的 | |
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grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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spinach
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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pigments
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| n.（粉状）颜料( pigment的名词复数 )；天然色素 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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tunic
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inscription
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yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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nought
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butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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36
puissant
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| adj.强有力的 | |
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37
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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38
milieu
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| n.环境；出身背景；(个人所处的)社会环境 | |
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39
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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40
vassal
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| n.附庸的；属下；adj.奴仆的 | |
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41
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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42
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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43
rape
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| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
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44
archers
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| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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45
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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46
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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47
ewer
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| n.大口水罐 | |
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48
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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49
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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50
loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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51
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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52
grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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53
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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54
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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55
scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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56
versed
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| adj. 精通，熟练 | |
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57
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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58
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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59
fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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60
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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61
bray
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| n.驴叫声, 喇叭声；v.驴叫 | |
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62
brays
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| n.驴叫声，似驴叫的声音( bray的名词复数 )；（喇叭的）嘟嘟声v.发出驴叫似的声音( bray的第三人称单数 )；发嘟嘟声；粗声粗气地讲话（或大笑）；猛击 | |
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63
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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64
squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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65
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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66
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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67
doffed
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| v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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69
lauds
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| v.称赞，赞美( laud的第三人称单数 ) | |
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70
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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71
cardinals
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| 红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 )； 红衣凤头鸟（见于北美，雄鸟为鲜红色）； 基数 | |
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72
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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73
slaying
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| 杀戮。 | |
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74
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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75
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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76
knightly
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| adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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77
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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78
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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79
cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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80
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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81
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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82
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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83
crimsoning
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| 变为深红色（crimson的现在分词形式） | |
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84
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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85
dolorous
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| adj.悲伤的；忧愁的 | |
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86
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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87
wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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88
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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89
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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90
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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91
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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92
spurted
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
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93
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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94
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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95
sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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96
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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97
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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98
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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99
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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100
dirge
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| n.哀乐，挽歌，庄重悲哀的乐曲 | |
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101
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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102
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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103
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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104
shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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105
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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106
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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107
persuasions
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| n.劝说，说服（力）( persuasion的名词复数 )；信仰 | |
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108
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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109
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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111
pate
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| n.头顶；光顶 | |
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112
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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113
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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114
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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115
adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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116
covetousness
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117
sloth
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| n.[动]树懒；懒惰，懒散 | |
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118
mortify
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| v.克制，禁欲，使受辱 | |
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119
pamper
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| v.纵容，过分关怀 | |
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120
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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121
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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122
prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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123
plundering
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的现在分词 ) | |
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124
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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125
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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126
opportune
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| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
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127
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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128
scoffer
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| 嘲笑者 | |
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129
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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130
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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131
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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