The beer, and the blunt heroism5 of this barber surgeon brought Barnabo’s man briskly upon his haunches. He clapped his hand to his neck, saw that there was blood on it, and promptly6 began to whimper.
“You’ve pulled the spiggot out,” he wailed7. “Lord, did ever a hogshead gush8 faster! Linen9—oil, and linen, for the love of the Saints.”
The men laughed at him. One of them took a smock that hung on a nail outside the porter’s lodge10, tore a strip from it, spat11 on the wound, and bandaged Barnabo’s man till he had a gorget and whimple fit for a nun12.
“Take a little more beer, comrade,” he said. “Never a rabbit ran more bravely.”
“Go to perdition,” he retorted. “It was fifty to one, there, in the woods. Messire Gaillard must hear of it. You will all be very brave, sirs, when these devils begin to shoot at you from behind a hundred trees.”
Gaillard heard of it soon enough, as did Etoile, and Peter of Savoy. Barnabo had been waylaid16 in the woods that morning, and the pole-cats had clawed him off his mule17. For no man was more hated than Dan Barnabo in those parts, a hard, shrewd man who held many benefices, and saw that his steward18 ground out the dues. The Italian could not speak ten words in the vulgar tongue. His ministrations would have been ridiculous had he ever troubled his soul about the people. It was told that a woman had once waylaid Barnabo, and demanded to be shriven. The Italian had understood nothing of what she said to him, but since she was pretty and importunate19, he had created a scandal by misunderstanding her whole desire, and by seeking to comfort her in a fashion that was not fatherly. The woman had scratched Barnabo’s face. There were many people who had lusted20 to scarify him more viciously. Barnabo baptised no children, sought out none of the sick, buried none of the dead. Twice a year perhaps he had said mass in the churches that belonged to him. Few of the people had come to hear Barnabo’s Roman voice. He was a better lute21 player and lap-dog than priest, and the people knew it.
Gaillard had his orders from Peter of Savoy. Etoile laughed in his face when she met him upon the stairs.
“Let the pole-cats play a little with Barnabo,” she said. “Do not ride furiously, dear lord! I can learn to serve at chess better than Barnabo.”
Gaillard caught at her, but she slipped past him up the stairs.
“There are two sorts of fools in the world, my Gaillard,” she said. “One is killed for the sake of a woman, the other through greed for a woman. Keep out of Barnabo’s path.”
Both Peter of Savoy and the Gascon knew whither Barnabo had ridden that April day. It was notorious that the Italian had kept a focaria or hearth22-ward at a priest’s house of his in a valley beyond the hill called Bright Ling because of the glory of its heathlands in the summer. The woman—a Norman—was more comely23 than was well for Dan Barnabo’s name, and she had kept the house for him, and rendered it to him sweet and garnished24 whenever he chose to ride that way.
Gaillard and his men marched past Dallington, where Guillaume Sancto de Leodegario was lord of the manor25, and on over Bright Ling with the furze in full bloom. The little red spy jogged along beside the Gascon’s horse. He led them into a deep valley, a valley full of the grey-green trunks of oak trees, and the brown wreckage26 of last year’s bracken. A stream dived and winked27 in the bottoms, and at the end of a piece of grassland28 the thatch29 of the priest’s house shelved under the very boughs30 of the oaks. No smoke rose from the place. It seemed silent and deserted31 as Gaillard and his men came trampling32 through the dead bracken.
Gaillard’s eyes swept hillside and valley, for he was shrewd enough to guess that many an alert shadow had dogged them on the march that day. He dismounted, sent his archers33 into the woods as scouts34, and taking the pick of his men-at-arms, marched up to the silent house, holding his shield ready to catch any treacherous36 arrow that might be shot from the dark squints37. A wooden perch38 shadowed the main entry, and Gaillard saw that the door stood ajar, and that the flagstones paving the porch were littered with rushes, and caked with mud as though many feet had passed to and fro over the stones.
Gaillard pushed the door open with the point of his sword. It gave to him innocently enough, and he crossed the threshold, and stood staring at something that the men behind him could not see.
The place had the dimness of twilight39, lit as it was by the narrow lancets cut in the thickness of the wall. Not three paces from Gaillard, their feet nearly touching40 the floor, two bodies dangled41 on ropes from the black beams of the roof. The face of the one was grey; of the other, black and turgid; for one had died by the sword, the other by the rope.
The body with the black face was still twisting to and fro as a joint42 twists on a spit before the fire. The arms had been pinioned43, and the man’s tongue been drawn44 out, and the head of an arrow thrust through it. The face could scarcely be recognised, but by the clothes Gaillard knew him for Dan Barnabo, the Italian, lutanist, lover, spoiler of the poor.
Gaillard touched the body. It was still warm. His men were crowding in, peering over each other’s shoulders so that the doorway45 was full of faces, shields, and swords.
Gaillard waved them back. He swung his sword, struck at the rope that held Barnabo, and cut it so cleanly that the body came down upon its feet. For a moment it stood, poised46 there, before falling forward to hide its black face in the rushes.
Gaillard looked at it a little contemptuously, thinking of Etoile, and the rivalry47 between her and this thing that had been a man.
“Only fools come by such a death,” he said. “A dog’s death. This man had a woman’s hands.”
Dusk was falling, and Gaillard and his men settled themselves to pass the night in dead Barnabo’s house under the oak trees. Gaillard, who did not trouble himself about such a thing as a “crowner’s quest,” had the two bodies buried in the garden at the foot of a holly48 tree. Waleran de Monceaux had hanged Barnabo, and the priest was not pretty to look at with his black face and his swollen49 tongue. Nor was Gaillard going to quarrel with so convenient a coincidence. He called his archers back out of the woods, posted two sentinels, had the horses brought in and stabled in the hall. A fire was lit on the hearth, and the men gathered round it, and opened their wallets for supper.
Gaillard kept the red-headed hunchback at his elbow, and questioned him narrowly as to the woodways, and the manor houses, and the gentry50 with whom he would have to deal. These Sussex rebels had hanged Barnabo, and in the hanging, thrown down the blood gauge51 to Peter of Savoy. War was Gaillard’s business. He had learnt the trade in Gascony, where neighbour went out against neighbour as for a day’s hunting. Nor was it Gaillard’s concern to trouble about the law of the land, and how far feudal52 faith bound this man or that. The King was the great over-lord, and Peter of Savoy stood as his champion in those parts. Hence if rebels popped their heads up, it was only necessary to strike with the sword.
Night fell, and the men lay down to sleep in the long hall, crowding about the fire, for the horses were ranged along the walls. The air of the place was close and heavy with the smoke from the fire, the animal heat of the crowded bodies, and the pungent53 scent54 of horses’ dung. Faint flickers55 of light lost themselves in the black zenith of the timbered roof. Gaillard, sitting propped56 in a corner with his sword across his knees, could hear the wet murmur57 of the stream that ran close to the house. He could also hear the two sentinels answering each other, and since they seemed so whole-heartedly alert, Gaillard dozed58 off like a dog.
About midnight Gaillard opened his eyes, and sat staring at the dying fire, and though he remained motionless, his face sharpened like the face of one who listens. His eyes moved slowly from figure to figure, to rest at last on the shutter59 closing a window. And Gaillard saw that the shutter was shaking ever so little, and he knew that there was no wind.
Gaillard did not move. He could hear a vague scuffling as of many men moving about the house. But there were other sounds that made the Gascon’s lips tighten60 and retract61 so that the teeth showed, a faint crackling as of dry brushwood being piled against the door of Barnabo’s house.
The Gascon saw the shutter open. A white face peered in with eyes that moved like the eyes of a wonder-working image. Then the face disappeared, and the shutter closed again, but Gaillard was on his feet, and going to and fro, silently rousing his men. Hardly a word was spoken. The men caught up their arms, and stood like listening dogs, while the archers marked the windows.
Gaillard was at the door trying to lift the bar, but some weight from without had jammed it in the sockets63. He stood listening, sniffing64 the air, and watching grey puffs65 of smoke come curling in through the crevices66. Then he shouted an order through the hall, an order that brought his men crowding forward for a sally. Some of the strongest of them put their shoulders to the bar. It flew up, letting the door swing in with a gush of smoke and a crash of falling faggots.
“Out—out!”
Gaillard and his men broke through, hurling67 the brushwood aside, dragging it into the hall, cursing as they realised the devil’s trick that had been played them. Only the outer faggots were alight. There was a gush of flame under the hooded68 entry, but Gaillard and his men sprang through it with a weird69 glitter of gold upon their harness, and an uprush of smoke and sparks. Dark figures flitted about the priest’s garden. Arrows whistled and struck the walls as the Savoyard’s men came tumbling out over the burning faggots.
There was a sharp tussle70 in the garden; blows were given and taken in the dark; arrows shot at a venture; torches thrust into hairy faces. Gaillard’s men-at-arms in their heavy mail, for they had lain down armed to sleep, were more than a match for the woodlanders in their leather jerkins. Soon—scampering shadows went away into the moonlight. Gaillard and his men were left to put out the fire about the porch.
And savage71 men they were, men with the hot flare72 of that death trap in their nostrils73. The two sentinels had been stalked and killed, and the brushwood piled against the door. The windows were so narrow that men could have been shot while struggling through them. The flames and smoke would have leapt in, making the place a hell of plunging74, terrified beasts, and mad and half-dazed men.
Gaillard watched his fellows trampling on the brushwood. Now and again an arrow came whistling out of the moonlight.
“We will pay them for this,” he said grimly. “God, but they meant to burn us like blind mice in a stack!”
The fire was soon out, and there was nothing left but to wait for the daylight, and to keep the house in darkness so that no lurking75 woodlander should have the outline of a window for a mark. Gaillard’s men were very sullen76 and bitter over the night’s adventure. They had brought in the two dead sentinels, and crowded about them, letting their fury break out in growls77 for to-morrow’s reckoning. There was no more sleep for Gaillard’s men that night; they squatted78 round the walls, telling each other what they would do to these people who murdered priests and set fire to houses where the King’s men slept.
The dawn came with a thick mist hanging over the woods, even covering the crowns of the uplands of Bright Ling. Gaillard had made his plans, and in the garden the little spy was drawing a map on the soil with the point of a charred79 stake. The archers had gone out to scout35, but had found nothing but fog and rotting bracken. Gaillard ordered his men to horse, and they were soon on the move through the mist, the drippings from the trees falling on them, and on grass that was grey with dew.
The hunchback, marching beside Gaillard’s horse, led them towards Goldspur, following the high ground where there was less chance of an ambuscade. Gaillard had ordered silence. Not a man spoke62. The grey shapes moved through the greyer mist with no sounds but the dull shuffle80 of hoofs81, the occasional snort of a horse, the creaking of saddles, and the faint jingle82 of steel.
It was still very early when they came to the hill above Goldspur, and skirted the great beech83 wood whose topmost boughs were beginning to glitter in the sunlight. The mist lifted quite suddenly like a white diaphanous84 curtain drawn up into the sky. A broad beam of sunlight clove85 like a sword into the deeps of the beech wood. And to these rough riders of Peter of Savoy was revealed a vision, a vision such as a crystal-gazer might watch growing from nothingness in the heart of a crystal.
In the full sunlight at the opening of a glade86 a woman stood washing herself at a forest pool. The woman’s figure gleamed like snow against the sombre trunks of the trees. Her hair blazed about her naked body like flames licking a white tower. As yet she had not seen that line of armed men winding87 along the hillside not a hundred paces from where she stood.
Gaillard reined88 in, and held up a hand for his men to halt. He looked from the woman to the hunchback who held his stirrup strap89.
“Hallo, what have we here?”
The cripple crossed himself, cur that he was.
“It is Denise of the Forest, lording,” he said. “They call her their Lady of Healing in these parts. She has a cell yonder, in the wood. She can work miracles, so they say.”
The rough faces behind Gaillard were all agog90. A short, yapping laugh came from some man in the rear. Gaillard turned in the saddle, and looked for the man who had made the noise.
“Enough of that, sirs,” he said. “Shall we laugh because a saint happens not to cherish vermin.”
Perhaps curiosity pricked91 Gaillard, perhaps something still more human. At all events he pushed his horse forward and rode alone up the stretch of green turf that sloped towards the beech wood. The men grinned like apes so soon as his back was turned. Messire Gaillard might be a great captain, but assuredly he was no saint.
Gaillard was laughing to himself with a coarse spirit of mischief92, being inquisitive93 as to what this woman would do when she discovered that she was no longer alone. He carried his chin high in the air, his hard eyes gleaming like the eyes of a man who has drunk strong wine. But Denise made her womanhood a thing of pride and splendour that spring morning. Her tunic94 was still open at the bosom95 when the Gascon’s horse threw a shadow on the grass close to the pool.
Denise looked Gaillard straight in the eyes, and yet not at him, but past him, as though he were so much vapour. Gaillard, Gascon that he was, had not a word to say for himself, though he boasted himself so debonair96 with women. Denise took her hair with her hands, put it behind her shoulders, and picking up the clean cloth that she had brought, turned and walked away into the wood.
For once in his life Gaillard felt a fool, and his arrant97 sheepishness did not please him. He comforted himself with that infallible sneer98 that is the refuge of a vain man who has done something mean and cowardly.
“Red-headed Pharisee, go your way,” he said. “A woman’s sanctity is as thick as her skin. Fool! I am not the first sheep that has bleated99 in these parts.”
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收听单词发音
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1
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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2
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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clout
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| n.用手猛击；权力，影响力 | |
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4
mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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9
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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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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15
jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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16
waylaid
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| v.拦截，拦路( waylay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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importunate
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| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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lusted
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| 贪求（lust的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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lute
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| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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28
grassland
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| n.牧场，草地，草原 | |
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thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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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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34
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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squints
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| 斜视症( squint的名词复数 )； 瞥 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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41
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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43
pinioned
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| v.抓住[捆住]（双臂）( pinion的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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46
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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47
rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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48
holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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49
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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50
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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51
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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52
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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53
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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54
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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55
flickers
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| 电影制片业； （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的名词复数 ) | |
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56
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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58
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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60
tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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61
retract
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| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
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62
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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63
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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64
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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tussle
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| n.&v.扭打，搏斗，争辩 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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72
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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74
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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82
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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83
beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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diaphanous
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| adj.(布)精致的，半透明的 | |
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clove
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| n.丁香味 | |
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glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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arrant
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| adj.极端的；最大的 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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bleated
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的过去式和过去分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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