It was evening before the three comrades came into Aiguillon. There they found Sir Nigel Loring and Ford2 safely lodged3 at the sign of the “Baton Rouge4,” where they supped on good fare and slept between lavender-scented sheets. It chanced, however, that a knight5 of Poitou, Sir Gaston d'Estelle, was staying there on his way back from Lithuania, where he had served a term with the Teutonic knights6 under the land-master of the presbytery of Marienberg. He and Sir Nigel sat late in high converse7 as to bushments, outfalls, and the intaking of cities, with many tales of warlike men and valiant8 deeds. Then their talk turned to minstrelsy, and the stranger knight drew forth9 a cittern, upon which he played the minne-lieder of the north, singing the while in a high cracked voice of Hildebrand and Brunhild and Siegfried, and all the strength and beauty of the land of Almain. To this Sir Nigel answered with the romances of Sir Eglamour, and of Sir Isumbras, and so through the long winter night they sat by the crackling wood-fire answering each other's songs until the crowing cocks joined in their concert. Yet, with scarce an hour of rest, Sir Nigel was as blithe10 and bright as ever as they set forth after breakfast upon their way.
“This Sir Gaston is a very worthy11 man,” said he to his squires13 as they rode from the “Baton Rouge.” “He hath a very strong desire to advance himself, and would have entered upon some small knightly14 debate with me, had he not chanced to have his arm-bone broken by the kick of a horse. I have conceived a great love for him, and I have promised him that when his bone is mended I will exchange thrusts with him. But we must keep to this road upon the left.”
“Nay, my fair lord,” quoth Aylward. “The road to Montaubon is over the river, and so through Quercy and the Agenois.”
“True, my good Aylward; but I have learned from this worthy knight, who hath come over the French marches, that there is a company of Englishmen who are burning and plundering15 in the country round Villefranche. I have little doubt, from what he says, that they are those whom we seek.”
“By my hilt! it is like enough,” said Aylward. “By all accounts they had been so long at Montaubon, that there would be little there worth the taking. Then as they have already been in the south, they would come north to the country of the Aveyron.”
“We shall follow the Lot until we come to Cahors, and then cross the marches into Villefranche,” said Sir Nigel. “By St. Paul! as we are but a small band, it is very likely that we may have some very honorable and pleasing adventure, for I hear that there is little peace upon the French border.”
All morning they rode down a broad and winding16 road, barred with the shadows of poplars. Sir Nigel rode in front with his squires, while the two archers17 followed behind with the sumpter mule18 between them. They had left Aiguillon and the Garonne far to the south, and rode now by the tranquil19 Lot, which curves blue and placid20 through a gently rolling country. Alleyne could not but mark that, whereas in Guienne there had been many townlets and few castles, there were now many castles and few houses. On either hand gray walls and square grim keeps peeped out at every few miles from amid the forests while the few villages which they passed were all ringed round with rude walls, which spoke21 of the constant fear and sudden foray of a wild frontier land. Twice during the morning there came bands of horsemen swooping22 down upon them from the black gateways23 of wayside strongholds, with short, stern questions as to whence they came and what their errand. Bands of armed men clanked along the highway, and the few lines of laden24 mules25 which carried the merchandise of the trader were guarded by armed varlets, or by archers hired for the service.
“The peace of Bretigny hath not made much change in these parts,” quoth Sir Nigel, “for the country is overrun with free companions and masterless men. Yonder towers, between the wood and the hill, mark the town of Cahors, and beyond it is the land of France. But here is a man by the wayside, and as he hath two horses and a squire12 I make little doubt that he is a knight. I pray you, Alleyne, to give him greeting from me, and to ask him for his titles and coat-armor. It may be that I can relieve him of some vow26, or perchance he hath a lady whom he would wish to advance.”
“Nay, my fair lord,” said Alleyne, “these are not horses and a squire, but mules and a varlet. The man is a mercer, for he hath a great bundle beside him.”
“Now, God's blessing27 on your honest English voice!” cried the stranger, pricking28 up his ears at the sound of Alleyne's words. “Never have I heard music that was so sweet to mine ear. Come, Watkin lad, throw the bales over Laura's back! My heart was nigh broke, for it seemed that I had left all that was English behind me, and that I would never set eyes upon Norwich market square again.” He was a tall, lusty, middle-aged29 man with a ruddy face, a brown forked beard shot with gray, and a broad Flanders hat set at the back of his head. His servant, as tall as himself, but gaunt and raw-boned, had swung the bales on the back of one mule, while the merchant mounted upon the other and rode to join the party. It was easy to see, as he approached, from the quality of his dress and the richness of his trappings, that he was a man of some wealth and position.
“Sir knight,” said he, “my name is David Micheldene, and I am a burgher and alderman of the good town of Norwich, where I live five doors from the church of Our Lady, as all men know on the banks of Yare. I have here my bales of cloth which I carry to Cahors—woe worth the day that ever I started on such an errand! I crave30 your gracious protection upon the way for me, my servant, and my mercery; for I have already had many perilous31 passages, and have now learned that Roger Club-foot, the robber-knight of Quercy, is out upon the road in front of me. I hereby agree to give you one rose-noble if you bring me safe to the inn of the 'Angel' in Cahors, the same to be repaid to me or my heirs if any harm come to me or my goods.”
“By Saint Paul!” answered Sir Nigel, “I should be a sorry knight if I ask pay for standing32 by a countryman in a strange land. You may ride with me and welcome, Master Micheldene, and your varlet may follow with my archers.”
“God's benison33 upon thy bounty34!” cried the stranger. “Should you come to Norwich you may have cause to remember that you have been of service to Alderman Micheldene. It is not very far to Cahors, for surely I see the cathedral towers against the sky-line; but I have heard much of this Roger Clubfoot, and the more I hear the less do I wish to look upon his face. Oh, but I am sick and weary of it all, and I would give half that I am worth to see my good dame35 sitting in peace beside me, and to hear the bells of Norwich town.”
“Your words are strange to me,” quoth Sir Nigel, “for you have the appearance of a stout36 man, and I see that you wear a sword by your side.”
“Yet it is not my trade,” answered the merchant. “I doubt not that if I set you down in my shop at Norwich you might scarce tell fustian37 from falding, and know little difference between the velvet38 of Genoa and the three-piled cloth of Bruges. There you might well turn to me for help. But here on a lone39 roadside, with thick woods and robber-knights, I turn to you, for it is the business to which you have been reared.”
“There is sooth in what you say, Master Micheldene,” said Sir Nigel, “and I trust that we may come upon this Roger Clubfoot, for I have heard that he is a very stout and skilful40 soldier, and a man from whom much honor is to be gained.”
“He is a bloody41 robber,” said the trader, curtly42, “and I wish I saw him kicking at the end of a halter.”
“It is such men as he,” Sir Nigel remarked, “who give the true knight honorable deeds to do, whereby he may advance himself.”
“It is such men as he,” retorted Micheldene, “who are like rats in a wheat-rick or moths43 in a woolfels, a harm and a hindrance44 to all peaceful and honest men.”
“Yet, if the dangers of the road weigh so heavily upon you, master alderman, it is a great marvel45 to me that you should venture so far from home.”
“And sometimes, sir knight, it is a marvel to myself. But I am a man who may grutch and grumble46, but when I have set my face to do a thing I will not turn my back upon it until it be done. There is one, Francois Villet, at Cahors, who will send me wine-casks for my cloth-bales, so to Cahors I will go, though all the robber-knights of Christendom were to line the roads like yonder poplars.”
“Stoutly spoken, master alderman! But how have you fared hitherto?”
“As a lamb fares in a land of wolves. Five times we have had to beg and pray ere we could pass. Twice I have paid toll47 to the wardens48 of the road. Three times we have had to draw, and once at La Reolle we stood over our wool-bales, Watkin and I, and we laid about us for as long as a man might chant a litany, slaying49 one rogue50 and wounding two others. By God's coif! we are men of peace, but we are free English burghers, not to be mishandled either in our country or abroad. Neither lord, baron51, knight, or commoner shall have as much as a strike of flax of mine whilst I have strength to wag this sword.”
“And a passing strange sword it is,” quoth Sir Nigel. “What make you, Alleyne, of these black lines which are drawn52 across the sheath?”
“I cannot tell what they are, my fair lord.”
“Nor can I,” said Ford.
The merchant chuckled53 to himself. “It was a thought of mine own,” said he; “for the sword was made by Thomas Wilson, the armorer, who is betrothed54 to my second daughter Margery. Know then that the sheath is one cloth-yard, in length, marked off according to feet and inches to serve me as a measuring wand. It is also of the exact weight of two pounds, so that I may use it in the balance.”
“By Saint Paul!” quoth Sir Nigel, “it is very clear to me that the sword is like thyself, good alderman, apt either for war or for peace. But I doubt not that even in England you have had much to suffer from the hands of robbers and outlaws55.”
“It was only last Lammastide, sir knight, that I was left for dead near Reading as I journeyed to Winchester fair. Yet I had the rogues56 up at the court of pie-powder, and they will harm no more peaceful traders.”
“You travel much then!”
“To Winchester, Linn mart, Bristol fair, Stourbridge, and Bartholomew's in London Town. The rest of the year you may ever find me five doors from the church of Our Lady, where I would from my heart that I was at this moment, for there is no air like Norwich air, and no water like the Yare, nor can all the wines of France compare with the beer of old Sam Yelverton who keeps the 'Dun Cow.' But, out and alack, here is an evil fruit which hangs upon this chestnut-tree!”
As he spoke they had ridden round a curve of the road and come upon a great tree which shot one strong brown branch across their path. From the centre of this branch there hung a man, with his head at a horrid57 slant58 to his body and his toes just touching59 the ground. He was naked save for a linen60 under shirt and pair of woollen drawers. Beside him on a green bank there sat a small man with a solemn face, and a great bundle of papers of all colors thrusting forth from the scrip which lay beside him. He was very richly dressed, with furred robes, a scarlet61 hood62, and wide hanging sleeves lined with flame-colored silk. A great gold chain hung round his neck, and rings glittered from every finger of his hands. On his lap he had a little pile of gold and of silver, which he was dropping, coin by coin, into a plump pouch63 which hung from his girdle.
“May the saints be with you, good travellers!” he shouted, as the party rode up. “May the four Evangelists watch over you! May the twelve Apostles bear you up! May the blessed army of martyrs64 direct your feet and lead you to eternal bliss65!”
“Gramercy for these good wishes!” said Sir Nigel. “But I perceive, master alderman, that this man who hangs here is, by mark of foot, the very robber-knight of whom we have spoken. But there is a cartel pinned upon his breast, and I pray you, Alleyne, to read it to me.”
The dead robber swung slowly to and fro in the wintry wind, a fixed66 smile upon his swarthy face, and his bulging67 eyes still glaring down the highway of which he had so long been the terror; on a sheet of parchment upon his breast was printed in rude characters;
ROGER PIED-BOT.
Par1 l'ordre du Senechal de
Castelnau, et de l'Echevin de
Cahors, servantes fideles du
tres vaillant et tres puissant68
Edouard, Prince de Galles et
d'Aquitaine.
Ne touchez pas,
Ne coutez pas,
Ne depechez pas.
“He took a sorry time in dying,” said the man who sat beside him. “He could stretch one toe to the ground and bear himself up, so that I thought he would never have done. Now at last, however, he is safely in paradise, and so I may jog on upon my earthly way.” He mounted, as he spoke, a white mule which had been grazing by the wayside, all gay with fustian of gold and silver bells, and rode onward69 with Sir Nigel's party.
“How know you then that he is in paradise?” asked Sir Nigel. “All things are possible to God, but, certes, without a miracle, I should scarce expect to find the soul of Roger Clubfoot amongst the just.”
“I know that he is there because I have just passed him in there,” answered the stranger, rubbing his bejewelled hands together in placid satisfaction. “It is my holy mission to be a sompnour or pardoner. I am the unworthy servant and delegate of him who holds the keys. A contrite70 heart and ten nobles to holy mother Church may stave off perdition; but he hath a pardon of the first degree, with a twenty-five livre benison, so that I doubt if he will so much as feel a twinge of purgatory71. I came up even as the seneschal's archers were tying him up, and I gave him my fore-word that I would bide72 with him until he had passed. There were two leaden crowns among the silver, but I would not for that stand in the way of his salvation73.”
“By Saint Paul!” said Sir Nigel, “if you have indeed this power to open and to shut the gates of hope, then indeed you stand high above mankind. But if you do but claim to have it, and yet have it not, then it seems to me, master clerk, that you may yourself find the gate barred when you shall ask admittance.”
“Small of faith! Small of faith!” cried the sompnour. “Ah, Sir Didymus yet walks upon earth! And yet no words of doubt can bring anger to mine heart, or a bitter word to my lip, for am I not a poor unworthy worker in the cause of gentleness and peace? Of all these pardons which I bear every one is stamped and signed by our holy father, the prop74 and centre of Christendom.”
“Which of them?” asked Sir Nigel.
“Ha, ha!” cried the pardoner, shaking a jewelled forefinger75. “Thou wouldst be deep in the secrets of mother Church? Know then that I have both in my scrip. Those who hold with Urban shall have Urban's pardon, while I have Clement's for the Clementist—or he who is in doubt may have both, so that come what may he shall be secure. I pray you that you will buy one, for war is bloody work, and the end is sudden with little time for thought or shrift. Or you, sir, for you seem to me to be a man who would do ill to trust to your own merits.” This to the alderman of Norwich, who had listened to him with a frowning brow and a sneering76 lip.
“When I sell my cloth,” quoth he, “he who buys may weigh and feel and handle. These goods which you sell are not to be seen, nor is there any proof that you hold them. Certes, if mortal man might control God's mercy, it would be one of a lofty and God-like life, and not one who is decked out with rings and chains and silks, like a pleasure-wench at a kermesse.
“Thou wicked and shameless man!” cried the clerk. “Dost thou dare to raise thy voice against the unworthy servant of mother Church?”
“Unworthy enough!” quoth David Micheldene. “I would have you to know, clerk, that I am a free English burgher, and that I dare say my mind to our father the Pope himself, let alone such a lacquey's lacquey as you!”
“Base-born and foul-mouthed knave77!” cried the sompnour. “You prate78 of holy things, to which your hog's mind can never rise. Keep silence, lest I call a curse upon you!”
“Silence yourself!” roared the other. “Foul bird! we found thee by the gallows79 like a carrion-crow. A fine life thou hast of it with thy silks and thy baubles80, cozening the last few shillings from the pouches81 of dying men. A fig82 for thy curse! Bide here, if you will take my rede, for we will make England too hot for such as you, when Master Wicliff has the ordering of it. Thou vile83 thief! it is you, and such as you, who bring an evil name upon the many churchmen who lead a pure and a holy life. Thou outside the door of heaven! Art more like to be inside the door of hell.”
At this crowning insult the sompnour, with a face ashen84 with rage, raised up a quivering hand and began pouring Latin imprecations upon the angry alderman. The latter, however, was not a man to be quelled85 by words, for he caught up his ell-measure sword-sheath and belabored86 the cursing clerk with it. The latter, unable to escape from the shower of blows, set spurs to his mule and rode for his life, with his enemy thundering behind him. At sight of his master's sudden departure, the varlet Watkin set off after him, with the pack-mule beside him, so that the four clattered87 away down the road together, until they swept round a curve and their babble88 was but a drone in the distance. Sir Nigel and Alleyne gazed in astonishment89 at one another, while Ford burst out a-laughing.
“Pardieu!” said the knight, “this David Micheldene must be one of those Lollards about whom Father Christopher of the priory had so much to say. Yet he seemed to be no bad man from what I have seen of him.”
“I have heard that Wicliff hath many followers90 in Norwich,” answered Alleyne.
“By St. Paul! I have no great love for them,” quoth Sir Nigel. “I am a man who am slow to change; and, if you take away from me the faith that I have been taught, it would be long ere I could learn one to set in its place. It is but a chip here and a chip there, yet it may bring the tree down in time. Yet, on the other hand, I cannot but think it shame that a man should turn God's mercy on and off, as a cellarman doth wine with a spigot.”
“Nor is it,” said Alleyne, “part of the teachings of that mother Church of which he had so much to say. There was sooth in what the alderman said of it.”
“Then, by St. Paul! they may settle it betwixt them,” quoth Sir Nigel. “For me, I serve God, the king and my lady; and so long as I can keep the path of honor I am well content. My creed91 shall ever be that of Chandos:
“Fais ce que dois—adviegne que peut,
C'est commande au chevalier.”
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1
par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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knightly
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| adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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plundering
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的现在分词 ) | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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archers
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| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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gateways
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| n.网关( gateway的名词复数 )；门径；方法；大门口 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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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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benison
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| n.祝福 | |
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bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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fustian
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| n.浮夸的；厚粗棉布 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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40
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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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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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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45
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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46
grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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47
toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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48
wardens
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| n.看守人( warden的名词复数 )；管理员；监察员；监察官 | |
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slaying
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| 杀戮。 | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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outlaws
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| 歹徒，亡命之徒( outlaw的名词复数 )； 逃犯 | |
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rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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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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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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puissant
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| adj.强有力的 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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contrite
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| adj.悔悟了的，后悔的，痛悔的 | |
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purgatory
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| n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的 | |
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bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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prate
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| v.瞎扯，胡说 | |
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gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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80
baubles
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| n.小玩意( bauble的名词复数 )；华而不实的小件装饰品；无价值的东西；丑角的手杖 | |
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81
pouches
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| n.（放在衣袋里或连在腰带上的）小袋( pouch的名词复数 )；（袋鼠等的）育儿袋；邮袋；（某些动物贮存食物的）颊袋 | |
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fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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85
quelled
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| v.（用武力）制止，结束，镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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belabored
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| v.毒打一顿( belabor的过去式和过去分词 )；责骂；就…作过度的说明；向…唠叨 | |
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87
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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90
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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