And now the season of the moonless nights was drawing nigh and the King's design was ripe. Very secretly his preparations were made. Already the garrison1 of Calais, which consisted of five hundred archers3 and two hundred men-at-arms, could, if forewarned, resist any attack made upon it. But it was the King's design not merely to resist the attack, but to capture the attackers. Above all it was his wish to find the occasion for one of those adventurous4 passages of arms which had made his name famous throughout Christendom as the very pattern and leader of knight5-errant chivalry6.
But the affair wanted careful handling. The arrival of any, reinforcements, or even the crossing of any famous soldier, would have alarmed the French and warned them that their plot had been discovered. Therefore it was in twos and threes in the creyers and provision ships which were continually passing from shore to shore that the chosen warriors8 and their squires10 were brought to Calais. There they were passed at night through the water-gate into the castle where they could lie hidden, unknown to the townsfolk, until the hour for action had come.
Nigel had received word from Chandos to join him at “The Sign of the Broom-Pod” in Winchelsea. Three days beforehand he and Aylward rode from Tilford all armed and ready for the wars. Nigel was in hunting-costume, blithe12 and gay, with his precious armor and his small baggage trussed upon the back of a spare horse which Aylward led by the bridle13. The archer2 had himself a good black mare14, heavy and slow, but strong enough to be fit to carry his powerful frame. In his brigandine of chain mail and his steel cap, with straight strong sword by his side, his yellow long-bow jutting15 over his shoulder, and his quiver of arrows supported by a scarlet16 baldric, he was such a warrior9 as any knight might well be proud to have in his train. All Tilford trailed behind them, as they rode slowly over the long slope of heath land which skirts the flank of Crooksbury Hill.
At the summit of the rise Nigel reined18 in Pommers and looked back at the little village behind him. There was the old dark manor19 house, with one bent20 figure leaning upon a stick and gazing dimly after him from beside the door. He looked at the high-pitched roof, the timbered walls, the long trail of swirling21 blue smoke which rose from the single chimney, and the group of downcast old servants who lingered at the gate, John the cook, Weathercote the minstrel, and Red Swire the broken soldier. Over the river amid the trees he could see the grim, gray tower of Waverley, and even as he looked, the iron bell, which had so often seemed to be the hoarse22 threatening cry of an enemy, clanged out its call to prayer. Nigel doffed23 his velvet24 cap and prayed also—prayed that peace might remain at home, and good warfare25, in which honor and fame should await him, might still be found abroad. Then, waving his hand to the people, he turned his horse's head and rode slowly eastward26. A moment later Aylward broke from the group of archers and laughing girls who clung to his bridle and his stirrup straps27, and rode on, blowing kisses over his shoulder. So at last the two comrades, gentle and simple, were fairly started on their venture.
There are two seasons of color in those parts: the yellow, when the country-side is flaming with the gorse-blossoms, and the crimson28, when all the long slopes are smoldering29 with the heather. So it was now. Nigel looked back from time to time, as he rode along the narrow track where the ferns and the ling brushed his feet on either side, and as he looked it seemed to him that wander where he might he would never see a fairer scene than that of his own home. Far to the westward30, glowing in the morning light, rolled billow after billow of ruddy heather land, until they merged31 into the dark shadows of Woolmer Forest and the pale clear green of the Butser chalk downs. Never in his life had Nigel wandered far beyond these limits, and the woodlands, the down and the heather were dear to his soul. It gave him a pang32 in his heart now as he turned his face away from them; but if home lay to the westward, out there to the eastward was the great world of adventure, the noble stage where each of his kinsmen33 in turn had played his manly34 part and left a proud name behind.
How often he had longed for this day! And now it had come with no shadow cast behind it. Dame35 Ermyntrude was under the King's protection. The old servants had their future assured. The strife36 with the monks37 of Waverley had been assuaged38. He had a noble horse under him, the best of weapons, and a stout40 follower41 at his back. Above all he was bound on a gallant42 errand with the bravest knight in England as his leader. All these thoughts surged together in his mind, and he whistled and sang, as he rode, out of the joy of his heart, while Pommers sidled and curveted in sympathy with the mood of his master. Presently, glancing back, he saw from Aylward's downcast eyes and Puckered43 brow that the archer was clouded with trouble. He reined his horse to let him come abreast44 of him.
“How now, Aylward?” said he. “Surely of all men in England you and I should be the most blithe this morning, since we ride forward with all hopes of honorable advancement45. By Saint Paul! ere we see these heather hills once more we shall either worshipfully win worship, or we shall venture our persons in the attempt. These be glad thoughts, and why should you be downcast?”
Aylward shrugged46 his broad shoulders, and a wry48 smile dawned upon his rugged47 face. “I am indeed as limp as a wetted bowstring,” said he. “It is the nature of a man that he should be sad when he leaves the woman he loves.”
“In truth, yes!” cried Nigel, and in a flash the dark eyes of Mary Buttesthorn rose before him, and he heard her low, sweet, earnest voice as he had heard it that night when they brought her frailer51 sister back from Shalford Manor, a voice which made all that was best and noblest in a man thrill within his soul. “Yet, bethink you, archer, that what a woman loves in man is not his gross body, but rather his soul, his honor, his fame, the deeds with which he has made his life beautiful. Therefore you are winning love as well as glory when you turn to the wars.”
“It may be so,” said Aylward; “but indeed it goes to my heart to see the pretty dears weep, and I would fain weep as well to keep them company. When Mary—or was it Dolly?—nay52, it was Martha, the red-headed girl from the mill—when she held tight to my baldric it was like snapping my heart-string to pluck myself loose.”
“You speak of one name and then of another,” said Nigel. “How is she called then, this maid whom you love?”
Aylward pushed back his steel cap and scratched his bristling53 head with some embarrassment54. “Her name,” said he, “is Mary Dolly Martha Susan Jane Cicely Theodosia Agnes Johanna Kate.”
Nigel laughed as Aylward rolled out this prodigious55 title. “I had no right to take you to the wars,” said he; “for by Saint Paul! it is very clear that I have widowed half the parish. But I saw your aged39 father the franklin. Bethink you of the joy that will fill his heart when he hears that you have done some small deed in France, and so won honor in the eyes of all.”
“I fear that honor will not help him to pay his arrears56 of rent to the sacrist of Waverley,” said Aylward. “Out he will go on the roadside, honor and all, if he does not find ten nobles by next Epiphany. But if I could win a ransom57 or be at the storming of a rich city, then indeed the old man would be proud of me. 'Thy sword must help my spade, Samkin,' said he as he kissed me goodby. Ah! it would indeed be a happy day for him and for all if I could ride back with a saddle-bag full of gold pieces, and please God, I shall dip my hand in somebody's pocket before I see Crooksbury Hill once more!”
Nigel shook his head, for indeed it seemed hopeless to try to bridge the gulf59 between them. Already they had made such good progress along the bridle-path through the heather that the little hill of Saint Catharine and the ancient shrine60 upon its summit loomed61 up before them. Here they crossed the road from the south to London, and at the crossing two wayfarers62 were waiting who waved their hands in greeting, the one a tall, slender, dark woman upon a white jennet, the other a very thick and red-faced old man, whose weight seemed to curve the back of the stout gray cob which he bestrode.
“What how, Nigel!” he cried. “Mary has told me that you make a start this morning, and we have waited here this hour and more on the chance of seeing you pass. Come, lad, and have a last stoup of English ale, for many a time amid the sour French wines you will long for the white foam63 under your nose, and the good homely64 twang of it.”
Nigel had to decline the draft, for it meant riding into Guildford town, a mile out of his course, but very gladly he agreed with Mary that they should climb the path to the old shrine and offer a last orison together. The knight and Aylward waited below with the horses; and so it came about that Nigel and Mary found themselves alone under the solemn old Gothic arches, in front of the dark shadowed recess65 in which gleamed the golden reliquary of the saint. In silence they knelt side by side in prayer, and then came forth66 once more out of the gloom and the shadow into the fresh sunlit summer morning. They stopped ere they descended67 the path, and looked to right and left at the fair meadows and the blue Wey curling down the valley.
“What have you prayed for, Nigel?” said she.
“I have prayed that God and His saints will hold my spirit high and will send me back from France in such a fashion that I may dare to come to you and to claim you for my own.”
“Bethink you well what it is that you say, Nigel,” said she. “What you are to me only my own heart can tell; but I would never set eyes upon your face again rather than abate68 by one inch that height of honor and worshipful achievement to which you may attain69.”
“Nay, my dear and most sweet lady, how should you abate it, since it is the thought of you which will nerve my arm and uphold my heart?”
“Think once more, my fair lord, and hold yourself bound by no word which you have said. Let it be as the breeze which blows past our faces and is heard of no more. Your soul yearns70 for honor. To that has it ever turned. Is there room in it for love also? or is it possible that both shall live at their highest in one mind? Do you not call to mind that Galahad and other great knights71 of old have put women out of their lives that they might ever give their whole soul and strength to the winning of honor? May it not be that I shall be a drag upon you, that your heart may shrink from some honorable task, lest it should bring risk and pain to me? Think well before you answer, my fair lord, for indeed my very heart would break if it should ever happen that through love of me your high hopes and great promise should miss fulfilment.”
Nigel looked at her with sparkling eyes. The soul which shone through her dark face had transformed it for the moment into a beauty more lofty and more rare than that of her shallow sister. He bowed before the majesty72 of the woman, and pressed his lips to her hand. “You are like a star upon my path which guides me on the upward way,” said he. “Our souls are set together upon the finding of honor, and how shall we hold each other back when our purpose is the same?”
She shook her proud head. “So it seems to you now, fair lord, but it may be otherwise as the years pass. How shall you prove that I am indeed a help and not a hindrance73?”
“I will prove it by my deeds, fair and dear lady,” said Nigel. “Here at the shrine of the holy Catharine, on this, the Feast of Saint Margaret, I take my oath that I will do three deeds in your honor as a proof of my high love before I set eyes upon your face again, and these three deeds shall stand as a proof to you that if I love you dearly, still I will not let the thought of you stand betwixt me and honorable achievement!”
Her face shone with her love and her pride. “I also make my oath,” said she, “and I do it in the name of the holy Catharine whose shrine is hard by. I swear that I will hold myself for you until these three deeds be done and we meet once more; also that if—which may dear Christ forfend! you fall in doing them then I shall take the veil in Shalford nunnery and look upon no man's face again! Give me your hand, Nigel.”
She had taken a little bangle of gold filigree74 work from her arm and fastened it upon his sunburnt wrist, reading aloud to him the engraved75 motto in old French: “Fais ce que dois, adviegne que pourra—c'est commande au chevalier.” Then for one moment they fell into each other's arms and with kiss upon kiss, a loving man and a tender woman, they swore their troth to each other. But the old knight was calling impatiently from below and together they hurried down the winding77 path to where the horses waited under the sandy bluff78.
As far as the Shalford crossing Sir John rode by Nigel's arm, and many were the last injunctions which he gave him concerning woodcraft, and great his anxiety lest he confuse a spay with a brocket, or either with a hind17. At last when they came to the reedy edge of the Wey the old knight and his daughter reined up their horses. Nigel looked back at them ere he entered the dark Chantry woods, and saw them still gazing after him and waving their hands. Then the path wound amongst the trees and they were lost to sight; but long afterwards when a clearing exposed once more the Shalford meadows Nigel saw that the old man upon the gray cob was riding slowly toward Saint Catharine's Hill, but that the girl was still where he had seen her last, leaning forward in her saddle and straining her eyes to pierce the dark forest which screened her lover from her view. It was but a fleeting79 glance through a break in the foliage80, and yet in after days of stress and toil81 in far distant lands it was that one little picture—the green meadow, the reeds, the slow blue-winding river, and the eager bending graceful82 figure upon the white horse—which was the clearest and the dearest image of that England which he had left behind him.
But if Nigel's friends had learned that this was the morning of his leaving, his enemies too were on the alert. The two comrades had just emerged from the Chantry woods and were beginning the ascent83 of that curving path which leads upward to the old Chapel84 of the Martyr85 when with a hiss86 like an angry snake a long white arrow streaked87 under Pommers and struck quivering in the grassy88 turf. A second whizzed past Nigel's ear, as he tried to turn; but Aylward struck the great war-horse a sharp blow over the haunches, and it had galloped89 some hundreds of yards before its rider could pull it up. Aylward followed as hard as he could ride, bending low over his horse's neck, while arrows whizzed all around him.
“By Saint Paul!” said Nigel, tugging90 at his bridle and white with anger, “they shall not chase me across the country as though I was a frighted doe. Archer, how dare you to lash49 my horse when I would have turned and ridden in upon them?”
“It is well that I did so,” said Aylward, “or by these ten finger-bones! our journey would have begun and ended on the same day. As I glanced round I saw a dozen of them at the least amongst the brushwood. See now how the light glimmers91 upon their steel caps yonder in the bracken under the great beech-tree. Nay, I pray you, my fair lord, do not ride forward. What chance has a man in the open against all these who lie at their ease in the underwood? If you will not think of yourself, then consider your horse, which would have a cloth-yard shaft92 feathered in its hide ere it could reach the wood.”
Nigel chafed93 in impotent anger. “Am I to be shot at like a popinjay at a fair, by any reaver or outlaw94 that seeks a mark for his bow?” he cried. “By Saint Paul! Aylward, I will put on my harness and go further into the matter. Help me to untruss, I pray you!”
“Nay, my fair lord, I will not help you to your own downfall. It is a match with cogged dice95 betwixt a horseman on the moor96 and archers amid the forest. But these men are no outlaws97, or they would not dare to draw their bows within a league of the sheriff of Guildford.”
“Indeed, Aylward, I think that you speak truth,” said Nigel. “It may be that these are the men of Paul de la Fosse of Shalford, whom I have given little cause to love me. Ah! there is indeed the very man himself.”
They sat their horses with their backs to the long slope which leads up to the old chapel on the hill. In front of them was the dark ragged98 edge of the wood, with a sharp twinkle of steel here and there in its shadows which spoke99 of these lurking100 foes101. But now there was a long moot102 upon a horn, and at once a score of russet-clad bowmen ran forward from amid the trees, spreading out into a scattered103 line and closing swiftly in upon the travelers. In the midst of them, upon a great gray horse, sat a small misshapen man, waving and cheering as one sets hounds on a badger104, turning his head this way and that as he whooped105 and pointed106, urging his bowmen onward107 up the slope.
“Draw them on, my fair lord! Draw them on until we have them out on the down!” cried Aylward, his eyes shining with joy. “Five hundred paces more, and then we may be on terms with them. Nay, linger not, but keep them always just clear of arrowshot until our turn has come.”
Nigel shook and trembled with eagerness, as with his hand on his sword-hilt he looked at the line of eager hurrying men. But it flashed through his mind what Chandos had said of the cool head which is better for the warrior than the hot heart. Aylward's words were true and wise. He turned Pommers' head therefore, and amid a cry of derision from behind them the comrades trotted109 over the down. The bowmen broke into a run, while their leader screamed and waved more madly than before. Aylward cast many a glance at them over his shoulder.
“Yet a little farther! Yet a little farther still!” he muttered. “The wind is towards them and the fools have forgot that I can overshoot them by fifty paces. Now, my good lord, I pray you for one instant to hold the horses, for my weapon is of more avail this day, than thine can be. They may make sorry cheer ere they gain the shelter of the wood once more.”
He had sprung from his horse, and with a downward wrench110 of his arm and a push with his knee he slipped the string into the upper nock of his mighty111 war-bow. Then in a flash he notched112 his shaft and drew it to the pile, his keen blue eyes glowing fiercely behind it from under his knotted brows. With thick legs planted sturdily apart, his body laid to the bow, his left arm motionless as wood, his right bunched into a double curve of swelling113 muscles as he stretched the white well-waxed string, he looked so keen and fierce a fighter that the advancing line stopped for an instant at the sight of him. Two or three loosed off their arrows, but the shafts114 flew heavily against the head wind, and snaked along the hard turf some score of paces short of the mark. One only, a short bandy-legged man, whose squat115 figure spoke of enormous muscular strength, ran swiftly in and then drew so strong a bow that the arrow quivered in the ground at Aylward's very feet.
“It is Black Will of Lynchmere,” said the bowman. “Many a match have I shot with him, and I know well that no other man on the Surrey marches could have sped such a shaft. I trust that you are houseled and shriven, Will, for I have known you so long that I would not have your damnation upon my soul.”
He raised his bow as he spoke, and the string twanged with a rich deep musical note. Aylward leaned upon his bow-stave as he keenly watched the long swift flight of his shaft, skimming smoothly116 down the wind.
“On him, on him! No, over him, by my hilt!” he cried. “There is more wind than I had thought. Nay, nay, friend, now that I have the length of you, you can scarce hope to loose again.”
Black Will had notched an arrow and was raising his bow when Aylward's second shaft passed through the shoulder of his drawing arm. With a shout of anger and pain he dropped his weapon, and dancing in his fury he shook his fist and roared curses at his rival.
“I could slay117 him; but I will not, for good bowmen are not so common,” said Aylward. “And now, fair sir, we must on, for they are spreading round on either side, and if once they get behind us, then indeed our journey has come to a sudden end. But ere we go I would send a shaft through yonder horseman who leads them on.”
“Nay, Aylward, I pray you to leave him,” said Nigel. “Villain as he is, he is none the less a gentleman of coat-armor, and should die by some other weapon than thine.”
“As you will,” said Aylward, with a clouded brow. “I have been told that in the late wars many a French prince and baron118 has not been too proud to take his death wound from an English yeoman's shaft, and that nobles of England have been glad enough to stand by and see it done.”
Nigel shook his head sadly. “It is sooth you say, archer, and indeed it is no new thing, for that good knight Richard of the Lion Heart met his end in such a lowly fashion, and so also did Harold the Saxon. But this is a private matter, and I would not have you draw your bow against him. Neither can I ride at him myself, for he is weak in body, though dangerous in spirit. Therefore, we will go upon our way, since there is neither profit nor honor to be gained, nor any hope of advancement.”
Aylward, having unstrung his bow, had remounted his horse during this conversation, and the two rode swiftly past the little squat Chapel of the Martyr and over the brow of the hill. From the summit they looked back. The injured archer lay upon the ground, with several of his comrades gathered in a knot around him. Others ran aimlessly up the hill, but were already far behind. The leader sat motionless upon his horse, and as he saw them look back he raised his hand and shrieked119 his curses at them. An instant later the curve of the ground had hid them from view. So, amid love and hate, Nigel bade adieu to the home of his youth.
And now the comrades were journeying upon that old, old road which runs across the south of England and yet never turns toward London, for the good reason that the place was a poor hamlet when first the road was laid. From Winchester, the Saxon capital, to Canterbury, the holy city of Kent, ran that ancient highway, and on from Canterbury to the narrow straits where, on a clear day, the farther shore can be seen. Along this track as far back as history can trace the metals of the west have been carried and passed the pack-horses which bore the goods which Gaul sent in exchange. Older than the Christian120 faith and older than the Romans, is the old road. North and south are the woods and the marshes121, so that only on the high dry turf of the chalk land could a clear track be found. The Pilgrim's Way, it still is called; but the pilgrims were the last who ever trod it, for it was already of immemorial age before the death of Thomas a Becket gave a new reason why folk should journey to the scene of his murder.
From the hill of Weston Wood the travelers could see the long white band which dipped and curved and rose over the green downland, its course marked even in the hollows by the line of the old yew-trees which flanked it. Neither Nigel nor Aylward had wandered far from their own country, and now they rode with light hearts and eager eyes taking note of all the varied122 pictures of nature and of man which passed before them. To their left was a hilly country, a land of rolling heaths and woods, broken here and there into open spaces round the occasional farm-house of a franklin. Hackhurst Down, Dunley Hill, and Ranmore Common swelled123 and sank, each merging124 into the other. But on the right, after passing the village of Shere and the old church of Gomshall, the whole south country lay like a map at their feet. There was the huge wood of the Weald, one unbroken forest of oak-trees stretching away to the South Downs, which rose olive-green against the deep blue sky. Under this great canopy125 of trees strange folk lived and evil deeds were done. In its recesses126 were wild tribes, little changed from their heathen ancestors, who danced round the altar of Thor, and well was it for the peaceful traveler that he could tread the high open road of the chalk land with no need to wander into so dangerous a tract127, where soft clay, tangled128 forest and wild men all barred his progress.
But apart from the rolling country upon the left and the great forest-hidden plain upon the right, there was much upon the road itself to engage the attention of the wayfarers. It was crowded with people. As far as their eyes could carry they could see the black dots scattered thickly upon the thin white band, sometimes single, sometimes several abreast, sometimes in moving crowds, where a drove of pilgrims held together for mutual129 protection, or a nobleman showed his greatness by the number of retainers who trailed at his heels. At that time the main roads were very crowded, for there were many wandering people in the land. Of all sorts and kinds, they passed in an unbroken stream before the eyes of Nigel and of Aylward, alike only in the fact that one and all were powdered from their hair to their shoes with the gray dust of the chalk.
There were monks journeying from one cell to another, Benedictines with their black gowns looped up to show their white skirts, Carthusians in white, and pied Cistercians. Friars also of the three wandering orders—Dominicans in black, Carmelites in white and Franciscans in gray. There was no love lost between the cloistered130 monks and the free friars, each looking on the other as a rival who took from him the oblations of the faithful; so they passed on the high road as cat passes dog, with eyes askance and angry faces.
Then besides the men of the church there were the men of trade, the merchant in dusty broadcloth and Flanders hat riding at the head of his line of pack-horses. He carried Cornish tin, Welt-country wool, or Sussex iron if he traded eastward, or if his head should be turned westward then he bore with him the velvets of Genoa, the ware131 of Venice, the wine of France, or the armor of Italy and Spain. Pilgrims were everywhere, poor people for the most part, plodding132 wearily along with trailing feet and bowed heads, thick staves in their hands and bundles over their shoulders. Here and there on a gaily133 caparisoned palfrey, or in the greater luxury of a horse-litter, some West-country lady might be seen making her easy way to the shrine of Saint Thomas.
Besides all these a constant stream of strange vagabonds drifted along the road: minstrels who wandered from fair to fair, a foul134 and pestilent crew; jugglers and acrobats135, quack136 doctors and tooth-drawers, students and beggars, free workmen in search of better wages, and escaped bondsmen who would welcome any wages at all. Such was the throng137 which set the old road smoking in a haze138 of white dust from Winchester to the narrow sea.
But of all the wayfarers those which interested Nigel most were the soldiers. Several times they passed little knots of archers or men-at-arms, veterans from France, who had received their discharge and were now making their way to their southland homes. They were half drunk all of them, for the wayfarers treated them to beer at the frequent inns and ale-stakes which lined the road, so that they cheered and sang lustily as they passed. They roared rude pleasantries at Aylward, who turned in his saddle and shouted his opinion of them until they were out of hearing.
Once, late in the afternoon, they overtook a body of a hundred archers all marching together with two knights riding at their head. They were passing from Guildford Castle to Reigate Castle, where they were in garrison. Nigel rode with the knights for some distance, and hinted that if either was in search of honorable advancement, or wished to do some small deed, or to relieve himself of any vow139, it might be possible to find some means of achieving it. They were both, however, grave and elderly men, intent upon their business and with no mind for fond wayside adventures, so Nigel quickened his pace and left them behind.
They had left Boxhill and Headley Heath upon the left, and the towers of Reigate were rising amid the trees in front of them, when they overtook a large, cheery, red-faced man, with a forked beard, riding upon a good horse and exchanging a nod or a merry word with all who passed him. With him they rode nearly as far as Bletchingley, and Nigel laughed much to hear him talk; but always under the raillery there was much earnestness and much wisdom in all his words. He rode at his ease about the country, he said, having sufficient money to keep him from want and to furnish him for the road. He could speak all the three languages of England, the north, the middle and the south, so that he was at home with the people of every shire and could hear their troubles and their joys. In all parts in town and in country there was unrest, he said; for the poor folk were weary of their masters both of the Church and State, and soon there would be such doings in England as had never been seen before.
But above all this man was earnest against the Church its enormous wealth, its possession of nearly one-third of the whole land of the country, its insatiable greed for more at the very time when it claimed to be poor and lowly. The monks and friars, too, he lashed108 with his tongue: their roguish ways, their laziness and their cunning. He showed how their wealth and that of the haughty140 lord must always be founded upon the toil of poor humble141 Peter the Plowman, who worked and strove in rain and cold out in the fields, the butt50 and laughing-stock of everyone, and still bearing up the whole world upon his weary shoulders. He had set it all out in a fair parable142; so now as he rode he repeated some of the verses, chanting them and marking time with his forefinger143, while Nigel and Aylward on either side of him with their heads inclined inward listened with the same attention, but with very different feelings—Nigel shocked at such an attack upon authority, and Aylward chuckling144 as he heard the sentiments of his class so shrewdly expressed. At last the stranger halted his horse outside the “Five Angels” at Gatton.
“It is a good inn, and I know the ale of old,” said he. “When I had finished that 'Dream of Piers145 the Plowman' from which I have recited to you, the last verses were thus:
“'Now have I brought my little booke to an ende
“I pray you come in with me and share it.”
“Nay,” said Nigel, “we must on our way, for we have far to go. But give me your name, my friend, for indeed we have passed a merry hour listening to your words.”
“Have a care!” the stranger answered, shaking his head. “You and your class will not spend a merry hour when these words are turned into deeds and Peter the Plowman grows weary of swinking in the fields and takes up his bow and his staff in order to set this land in order.”
“By Saint Paul! I expect that we shall bring Peter to reason and also those who have put such evil thoughts into his head,” said Nigel. “So once more I ask your name, that I may know it if ever I chance to hear that you have been hanged?”
The stranger laughed good-humoredly. “You can call me Thomas Lackland,” said he. “I should be Thomas Lack-brain if I were indeed to give my true name, since a good many robbers, some in black gowns and some in steel, would be glad to help me upwards147 in the way you speak of. So good-day to you, Squire11, and to you also, archer, and may you find your way back with whole bones from the wars!”
That night the comrades slept in Godstone Priory, and early next morning they were well upon their road down the Pilgrim's Way. At Titsey it was said that a band of villeins were out in Westerham Wood and had murdered three men the day before; so that Nigel had high hopes of an encounter; but the brigands148 showed no sign, though the travelers went out of their way to ride their horses along the edges of the forest. Farther on they found traces of their work, for the path ran along the hillside at the base of a chalk quarry149, and there in the cutting a man was lying dead. From his twisted limbs and shattered frame it was easy to see that he had been thrown over from above, while his pockets turned outward showed the reason for his murder. The comrades rode past without too close a survey, for dead men were no very uncommon150 objects on the King's highway, and if sheriff or bailiff should chance upon you near the body you might find yourself caught in the meshes151 of the law.
Near Sevenoaks their road turned out of the old Canterbury way and pointed south toward the coast, leaving the chalk lands and coming down into the clay of the Weald. It was a wretched, rutted mule-track running through thick forests with occasional clearings in which lay the small Kentish villages, where rude shock-headed peasants with smocks and galligaskins stared with bold, greedy eyes at the travelers. Once on the right they caught a distant view of the Towers of Penshurst, and once they heard the deep tolling152 of the bells of Bayham Abbey, but for the rest of their day's journey savage153 peasants and squalid cottages were all that met their eyes, with endless droves of pigs who fed upon the litter of acorns154. The throng of travelers who crowded the old road were all gone, and only here and there did they meet or overtake some occasional merchant or messenger bound for Battle Abbey, Pevensey Castle or the towns of the south.
That night they slept in a sordid155 inn, overrun with rats and with fleas156, one mile south of the hamlet of Mayfield. Aylward scratched vigorously and cursed with fervor157. Nigel lay without movement or sound. To the man who had learned the old rule of chivalry there were no small ills in life. It was beneath the dignity of his soul to stoop to observe them. Cold and heat, hunger and thirst, such things did not exist for the gentleman. The armor of his soul was so complete that it was proof not only against the great ills of life but even against the small ones; so the flea-bitten Nigel lay grimly still while Aylward writhed158 upon his couch.
They were now but a short distance from their destination; but they had hardly started on their journey through the forest next morning, when an adventure befell them which filled Nigel with the wildest hopes.
Along the narrow winding path between the great oak trees there rode a dark sallow man in a scarlet tabard who blew so loudly upon a silver trumpet159 that they heard the clanging call long before they set eyes on him. Slowly he advanced, pulling up every fifty paces to make the forest ring with another warlike blast. The comrades rode forward to meet him.
“I pray you,” said Nigel, “to tell me who you are and why you blow upon this trumpet.”
The fellow shook his head, so Nigel repeated the question in French, the common language of chivalry, spoken at that age by every gentleman in Western Europe.
The man put his lips to the trumpet and blew another long note before he answered. “I am Gaston de Castrier,” said he, “the humble Squire of the most worthy160 and valiant161 knight Raoul de Tubiers, de Pestels, de Grimsard, de Mersac, de Leoy, de Bastanac, who also writes himself Lord of Pons. It is his order that I ride always a mile in front of him to prepare all to receive him, and he desires me to blow upon a trumpet not out of vainglory, but out of greatness of spirit, so that none may be ignorant of his coming should they desire to encounter him.”
Nigel sprang from his horse with a cry of joy, and began to unbutton his doublet. “Quick, Aylward, quick!” he said. “He comes, a knight errant comes! Was there ever such a chance of worshipfully winning worship? Untruss the harness whilst I loose my clothes! Good sir, I beg you to warn your noble and valiant master that a poor Squire of England would implore162 him to take notice of him and to do some small deed upon him as he passes.”
But already the Lord of Pons had come in sight. He was a huge man upon an enormous horse, so that together they seemed to fill up the whole long dark archway under the oaks. He was clad in full armor of a brazen163 hue164 with only his face exposed, and of this face there was little visible save a pair of arrogant165 eyes and a great black beard, which flowed through the open visor and down over his breastplate. To the crest166 of his helmet was tied a small brown glove, nodding and swinging above him. He bore a long lance with a red square banner at the end, charged with a black boar's head, and the same symbol was engraved upon his shield. Slowly he rode through the forest, ponderous167, menacing, with dull thudding of his charger's hoofs168 and constant clank of metal, while always in front of him came the distant peal169 of the silver trumpet calling all men to admit his majesty and to clear his path ere they be cleared from it.
Never in his dreams had so perfect a vision come to cheer Nigel's heart, and as he struggled with his clothes, glancing up continually at this wondrous170 traveler, he pattered forth prayers of thanksgiving to the good Saint Paul who had shown such loving-kindness to his unworthy servant and thrown him in the path of so excellent and debonair171 a gentleman.
But alas172! how often at the last instant the cup is dashed from the lips! This joyful173 chance was destined174 to change suddenly to unexpected and grotesque175 disaster—disaster so strange and so complete that through all his life Nigel flushed crimson when he thought of it. He was busily stripping his hunting-costume, and with feverish176 haste he had doffed boots, hat, hose, doublet and cloak, so that nothing remained save a pink jupon and pair of silken drawers. At the same time Aylward was hastily unbuckling the load with the intention of handing his master his armor piece by piece, when the Squire gave one last challenging peal from his silver trumpet into the very ear of the spare horse.
In an instant it had taken to its heels, the precious armor upon its back, and thundered away down the road which they had traversed. Aylward jumped upon his mare, drove his prick177 spurs into her sides and galloped after the runaway178 as hard as he could ride. Thus it came about that in an instant Nigel was shorn of all his little dignity, had lost his two horses, his attendant and his outfit179, and found himself a lonely and unarmed man standing180 in his shirt and drawers upon the pathway down which the burly figure of the Lord of Pons was slowly advancing.
The knight errant, whose mind had been filled by the thought of the maiden181 whom he had left behind at St. Jean—the same whose glove dangled182 from his helmet—had observed nothing that had occurred. Hence, all that met his eyes was a noble yellow horse, which was tethered by the track, and a small young man, who appeared to be a lunatic since he had undressed hastily in the heart of the forest, and stood now with an eager anxious face clad in his underlinen amid the scattered debris183 of his garments. Of such a person the high Lord of Pons could take no notice, and so he pursued his inexorable way, his arrogant eyes looking out into the distance and his thoughts set intently upon the maiden of St. Jean. He was dimly aware that the little crazy man in the undershirt ran a long way beside him in his stockings, begging, imploring184 and arguing.
“Just one hour, most fair sir, just one hour at the longest, and a poor Squire of England shall ever hold himself your debtor185! Do but condescend186 to rein7 your horse until my harness comes back to me! Will you not stoop to show me some small deed of arms? I implore you, fair sir, to spare me a little of your time and a handstroke or two ere you go upon your way!”
Lord de Pons motioned impatiently with his gauntleted hand, as one might brush away an importunate187 fly, but when at last Nigel became desperate in his clamor he thrust his spurs into his great war-horse, and clashing like a pair of cymbals188 he thundered off through the forest. So he rode upon his majestic189 way, until two days later he was slain190 by Lord Reginald Cobham in a field near Weybridge.
When after a long chase Aylward secured the spare horse and brought it back, he found his master seated upon a fallen tree, his face buried in his hands and his mind clouded with humiliation191 and grief. Nothing was said, for the matter was beyond words, and so in moody192 silence they rode upon their way.
But soon they came upon a scene which drew Nigel's thoughts away from his bitter trouble, for in front of them there rose the towers of a great building with a small gray sloping village around it, and they learned from a passing hind that this was the hamlet and Abbey of Battle. Together they drew rein upon the low ridge58 and looked down into that valley of death from which even now the reek193 of blood seems to rise. Down beside that sinister194 lake and amid those scattered bushes sprinkled over the naked flank of the long ridge was fought that long-drawn struggle betwixt two most noble foes with broad England as the prize of victory. Here, up and down the low hill, hour by hour the grim struggle had waxed and waned195, until the Saxon army had died where it stood, King, court, house-carl and fyrdsman, each in their ranks even as they had fought. And now, after all the stress and toil, the tyranny, the savage revolt, the fierce suppression, God had made His purpose complete, for here were Nigel the Norman and Aylward the Saxon with good-fellowship in their hearts and a common respect in their minds, with the same banner and the same cause, riding forth to do battle for their old mother England.
And now the long ride drew to an end. In front of them was the blue sea, flecked with the white sails of ships. Once more the road passed upward from the heavy-wooded plain to the springy turf of the chalk downs. Far to the right rose the grim fortalice of Pevensey, squat and powerful, like one great block of rugged stone, the parapet twinkling with steel caps and crowned by the royal banner of England. A flat expanse of reeded marshland lay before them, out of which rose a single wooded hill, crowned with towers, with a bristle196 of masts rising out of the green plain some distance to the south of it. Nigel looked at it with his hand shading his eyes, and then urged Pommers to a trot76. The town was Winchelsea, and there amid that cluster of houses on the hill the gallant Chandos must be awaiting him.
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1
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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archer
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| n.射手，弓箭手 | |
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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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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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6
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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8
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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16
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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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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19
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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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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21
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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22
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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23
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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24
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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25
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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26
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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27
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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28
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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29
smoldering
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
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30
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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31
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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32
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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33
kinsmen
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| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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34
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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35
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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36
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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37
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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38
assuaged
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| v.减轻( assuage的过去式和过去分词 )；缓和；平息；使安静 | |
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39
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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41
follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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42
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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43
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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45
advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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46
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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47
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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48
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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49
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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50
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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51
frailer
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| 脆弱的( frail的比较级 )； 易损的； 易碎的 | |
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52
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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53
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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54
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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55
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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56
arrears
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| n.到期未付之债，拖欠的款项；待做的工作 | |
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57
ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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58
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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59
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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60
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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61
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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62
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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63
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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64
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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65
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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66
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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67
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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68
abate
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| vi.(风势，疼痛等)减弱，减轻，减退 | |
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69
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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70
yearns
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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71
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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72
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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73
hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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74
filigree
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| n.金银丝做的工艺品；v.用金银细丝饰品装饰；用华而不实的饰品装饰；adj.金银细丝工艺的 | |
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75
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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76
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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77
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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78
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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79
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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80
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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81
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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82
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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83
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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84
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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85
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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86
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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87
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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88
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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89
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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90
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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91
glimmers
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| n.微光，闪光( glimmer的名词复数 )v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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92
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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93
chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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94
outlaw
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| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
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95
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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96
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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97
outlaws
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| 歹徒，亡命之徒( outlaw的名词复数 )； 逃犯 | |
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98
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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99
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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100
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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101
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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102
moot
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| v.提出；adj.未决议的；n.大会；辩论会 | |
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103
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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104
badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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105
whooped
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| 叫喊( whoop的过去式和过去分词 )； 高声说； 唤起 | |
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106
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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107
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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108
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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109
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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110
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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111
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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112
notched
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| a.有凹口的，有缺口的 | |
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113
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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114
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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115
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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116
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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117
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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118
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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119
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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121
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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122
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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123
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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124
merging
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| 合并（分类） | |
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125
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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126
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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127
tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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128
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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129
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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130
cloistered
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| adj.隐居的，躲开尘世纷争的v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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131
ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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132
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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133
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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134
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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135
acrobats
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| n.杂技演员( acrobat的名词复数 )；立场观点善变的人，主张、政见等变化无常的人 | |
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136
quack
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| n.庸医；江湖医生；冒充内行的人；骗子 | |
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137
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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138
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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139
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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140
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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141
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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142
parable
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| n.寓言，比喻 | |
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143
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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144
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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145
piers
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| n.水上平台( pier的名词复数 )；（常设有娱乐场所的）突堤；柱子；墙墩 | |
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146
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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147
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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148
brigands
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| n.土匪，强盗( brigand的名词复数 ) | |
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149
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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150
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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151
meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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152
tolling
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| [财]来料加工 | |
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153
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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154
acorns
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| n.橡子，栎实( acorn的名词复数 ) | |
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155
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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156
fleas
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| n.跳蚤( flea的名词复数 )；爱财如命；没好气地（拒绝某人的要求） | |
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157
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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158
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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160
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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161
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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162
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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163
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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164
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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165
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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166
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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167
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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168
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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169
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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170
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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171
debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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172
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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173
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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174
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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175
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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176
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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177
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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178
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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179
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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180
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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181
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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182
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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183
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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184
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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185
debtor
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| n.借方，债务人 | |
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186
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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187
importunate
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| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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188
cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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189
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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190
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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191
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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192
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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193
reek
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| v.发出臭气；n.恶臭 | |
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194
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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195
waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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196
bristle
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| v.（毛发）直立，气势汹汹，发怒；n.硬毛发 | |
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