About midnight a suggestion of secret stir and movement rose in the town. Denise heard footsteps go stealthily by, as of people creeping along under the shadow of the houses. Men stopped to whisper to one another, and once she heard the sound of a sword dropped on the cobbles. Fulcon had opened his shop door again, for she heard the creak of the hinges. Then silence once more smothered1 the town, save for an occasional flutter of sound, like the flicker2 of leaves on a still night in summer.
Half an hour had passed, and Denise had begun to think that nothing was to be done that night, when a burst of shouting rose in the very centre of the town. So loud and sudden was it, that all the dead might have risen with one great and exultant3 cry, a cry that set the moonlit night vibrating with the thrill of a coming storm.
Then a bell began to ring, quickly, volubly, with an angry clashing to and fro. Denise heard men go rushing by with a clatter4 of arms, laughter and loud oaths. Soon, the whole town was in an uproar5, and old Fulcon, standing6 in the doorway7 of his shop, shouted and clapped his hands together.
“Tear them, good lads, tear them.”
The wave of war had broken over the town, and went splashing and plunging8 into every court and corner. Denise opened the door at the top of the outside stair, and stood listening to the roar of the fight, the wall of the next house throwing a black shadow across her and the stair. She could hear shouts and rallying cries, and a sullen9 under-chant that seemed made up of blows, curses, and the trampling10 of many feet. Confused and shadowy figures went tearing hither and thither11, appearing and disappearing in the moonlight. A wounded and riderless horse galloped12 by, screaming with terror. Presently the glow of a fire coloured the sky with a blur13 of yellow light.
Denise was leaning against the jamb of the doorway when she saw a man come running down the street, a naked sword in his hand, his shield held up as though to hide his face. He stopped outside Fulcon’s shop, dropping his shield arm, and looking about him cautiously, yet thanks to the deep shadow he did not see Denise. She took him for Gaillard, and was about to shut and bar the door, when she heard Fulcon’s voice shrill14 and thin with an old man’s joy.
“Hervé, Hervé!”
The man had disappeared round the angle of the house, and Fulcon dropped his voice to a cautious whisper. The door creaked and closed. Fulcon and the soldier were together in the shop. Denise did not doubt that it was Hervé his son who had come with the Londoners, and such of De Montfort’s men who were with them that night.
Denise heard them talking together, the younger man’s voice loud and rather aggressive, Fulcon’s a mere15 gentle and deprecating grumble16. The son seemed to be asking the father something, Fulcon to be putting Hervé off with reasons and excuses. Before long the younger man’s voice changed its tone. It began to plead and to persuade with an insinuating17 light-heartedness that Denise did not trust. Old Fulcon’s grumble became more persuadable. Denise heard a door opened, and then the sound of a man’s voice singing.
The singing ceased. For some moments silence held, to be broken by a sudden scuffling noise, and a voice, thick and choking, crying “Hervé, Hervé!” A dog’s growl18 joined in, fierce and threatening, to end in a piteous and wailing19 whimper. Something seemed to struggle to and fro with inarticulate anguish20 and horror. Then silence fell. Nothing moved in the room below.
Denise was caught by an impulse that took no account of self and of fear. She went down the stairway and into the street, only to find the door of the shop barred. Her hand was still on the latch21 when the door opened. The man Hervé came out, huddling22 something under his surcoat, his sword in the moonlight showing a shadowy smear23. He stopped dead on the threshold, staring at Denise, and then pushed past her roughly, and fled up the street.
There was a light burning somewhere behind the shop, probably in the bakehouse where Fulcon and dog Ban lived and slept. Denise went in, wondering what she would find there, nor was she long in discovering Messire Hervé’s handiwork. A candle was burning in a sconce on the wall, and close to the great brick oven lay Fulcon, stretched upon his back, one arm covering his face as though to shut out the sight of something, or to break the force of a blow. Ban, in his death agony, had dragged himself to his master, and crouched24 there with his forepaws on the baker’s chest. They were dead, both of them, Fulcon and the dog. A black hole in the wall showed above the place where Fulcon had fallen, and the stone that had closed the hole lay close to the old man’s head. Fulcon had hidden his hoard25 there, the money that he had scraped together with infinite labour for the sake of Hervé his son. Denise could guess what had happened. Fulcon had not been willing to part with the whole sum, because of his dream that Hervé would need it when he came by knighthood. And the son had watched the father go to the hiding-place in the wall, and then had beaten him down, and taken all that he could find.
A great horror of the place seized on Denise, with the two dead things lying there, and the brutal27 violence of the deed making old Fulcon’s end seem pitiful and ugly. The horror of it drew her out into the night, as though to escape the sickly odour of freshly shed blood. Shuddering28, she went up to her room, put on her cloak, and tied such money as she had left into a corner of her tunic29. The grossness of the deed had shocked her, so that she fled away like a child from a haunted wood, forgetting such a thing as justice, and the fact that her tongue might drop a noose30 over Master Hervé’s head.
Whither she was going, or what her plans were, Denise did not consider for the moment. Blind panic carried her away from a thing that had filled her with pity, and yet with disgust. She seemed hardly conscious of the fact that fighting was still raging in the town. Houses were on fire not fifty yards away, but the scattering31 sparks and the glare above the house-tops seemed hardly to strike her senses. The burning houses threw up a flare32 to match the horror that possessed33 her; such surroundings seemed natural and to be expected after Hervé’s slaying34 and robbing of his father.
Denise found herself at last in an open space where many people were gathered, and torches threw up tawny35 light under the white face of the moon. Here was much shouting, much running to and fro, much uproar and exultation36. Now and again a sword or axe37 flashed above the black mass of humanity. As Denise came out of the darkness a party of men went charging through, carrying ladders, hatchets38, and iron bars. “Room, room,” they shouted, for they were bent39 on stopping the spread of the fire by pulling down some of the flimsy houses.
In the middle of the square sat a knight26 on horseback, a knot of torches about him, and a pennon fluttering faintly above the smoke. The motion of the crowd seemed towards the knight, as though he were Lord and King of the Play. Denise was caught in the crowd and carried slowly towards the knight on the horse.
He sat there bareheaded, calm and a little grim, the torchlight flickering40 on his face, and on the harness that glittered under his tawny surcoat. Men went to and fro carrying his commands, figures in red, blue, and green, going and coming through the crowd. He spoke41 so quietly that at a little distance no one heard his voice, but saw only the lips move in his stern and watchful42 face.
It was Aymery, lord of Goldspur, Knight of the Hawk’s Claw, who had the command of the Londoners who had rushed on Reigate. The crowd carried Denise close to him, within an arm’s length of the circle of torches. And with her nearness she seemed suddenly to awake with a great cry of the heart that did not reach her lips.
“Aymery, Aymery!”
Her utter loneliness in the midst of that crowd seemed to her symbolical43 of the past and of the future. She was just a child that moment, with the passionate44 and pathetic longing45 of a child, touched with the deeper instinct of the woman. And by chance Aymery looked straight at Denise, so that it seemed to her that he was looking at her, and at her alone. She did not realise that Aymery could see nothing but a moving mist of faces because of the torch flare and the smoke. His face was so grim and intense, and his eyes so hard, that Denise shrank back, believing that he had recognised her, and that he looked at her as a thing of shame. She hid her face from him with bitterness and humiliation46, and crept away into the thick of the crowd.
Of all that happened afterwards that night in Reigate town Denise had but a confused memory. She remembered being hurried along by the crowd, with shouting and tumult47 in the dark alleyways and streets. She had a memory of being crushed against a group of panting and fiercely exultant men who had blood upon their hot hands and faces. One of them had thrown an arm round her and kissed her, laughing when she shuddered48 and broke away. Once a couple of heads went dancing by on the points of spears, heads that seemed to mock with dead, open mouths at the jeering49 crowd below. Men were still fighting in one corner of the town, for Gaillard had got the remnant of his followers50 together, and was struggling to break through. Denise, still carried onwards, saw a black mass like the mass of a town gate rising before her. She was pressed against a wall as the crowd opened to let a file of mounted men ride through. She saw Aymery in his surcoat of tawny gold go riding under the arch of the gate, shield forward, sword swinging, his men crowding after him like sheep through a gap. Then the rush of the people carried her through the town gate into the space outside the barriers. And when the dawn came she found herself a mile from Reigate town, sitting under a tree, with a cold wind driving grey clouds across an April sky.
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1
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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6
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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7
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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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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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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10
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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11
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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12
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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13
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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14
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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15
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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17
insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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18
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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19
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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20
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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22
huddling
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| n. 杂乱一团, 混乱, 拥挤 v. 推挤, 乱堆, 草率了事 | |
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23
smear
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| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
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24
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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26
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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27
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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28
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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29
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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30
noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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31
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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32
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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33
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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34
slaying
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| 杀戮。 | |
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35
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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36
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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37
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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38
hatchets
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| n.短柄小斧( hatchet的名词复数 )；恶毒攻击；诽谤；休战 | |
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39
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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40
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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41
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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42
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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43
symbolical
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| a.象征性的 | |
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44
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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45
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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46
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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47
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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48
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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49
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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50
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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