The Iron Trevet; or, Jocelyn the Champion: A Tale of the Jacquerie

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Эжен Сю. The Iron Trevet; or, Jocelyn the Champion: A Tale of the Jacquerie

PART I. THE SEIGNIORY OF NOINTEL

CHAPTER I. THE TAVERN OF ALISON THE HUFFY

CHAPTER II. THE "AMENDE HONORABLE"

CHAPTER III. THE TOURNAMENT

CHAPTER IV. THE JUDICIAL COMBAT

CHAPTER V. SHEET LIGHTNINGS

CHAPTER VI. PROPHECIES AND PREMONITIONS

CHAPTER VII. WRECKED HEARTS

PART II. THE REGENCY OF NORMANDY

CHAPTER I. THE STATES GENERAL

CHAPTER II. ETIENNE MARCEL

CHAPTER III. THE MAN OF THE FURRED CAP

CHAPTER IV. THE SERPENT UNDER THE GRASS

CHAPTER V. CHARLES THE WICKED

CHAPTER VI. AT THE CORDELIERS

CHAPTER VII. POPULAR JUSTICE

CHAPTER VIII. THE HOUR HAS SOUNDED!

PART III. THE JACQUERIE

CHAPTER I. CAPTAIN GRIFFITH AND HIS CHAPLAIN

CHAPTER II. THE FOX'S BURROW

CHAPTER III. THE CASTLE OF CHIVRY

CHAPTER IV "JACQUERIE! JACQUERIE!"

CHAPTER V. THE ORVILLE BRIDGE

CHAPTER VI. ON TO CLERMONT!

CHAPTER VII. CLERMONT

PART IV. JOHN MAILLART

CHAPTER I. THE WAYS OF ENVY

CHAPTER II. LAST DAY AT HOME

CHAPTER III. DARKENING SHADOWS

CHAPTER IV. PLOTTERS UNCOVERED

CHAPTER V. THE GATE OF ST. ANTOINE

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On a Sunday, towards the end of the month of October of 1356, a great stir was noticeable since early morning in the little town of Nointel, situated a few leagues from the city of Beauvais, in the department of Beauvoisis. The tavern of Alison the Huffy – so nicknamed from her hot temper, although she was a good woman – was rapidly filling with artisans, villeins and serfs who came to wait for the hour of mass at the tavern, where, due to the prevailing poverty, little was drunk and much talked. Alison never complained. As talkative as huffy, dame Alison preferred to see her tavern full with chatterers than empty of tipplers. Still fresh and buxom, though on the shady side of thirty, she wore a short skirt and low bodice – probably because her bust was well rounded and her limbs well shaped. Black of hair, bright of eyes, white of teeth, and quick of hands, more than once since her widowhood, had Alison broken a bumper over the head of some customer, whom liquor had rendered too expressive in his admiration for her charms. Accordingly, like a prudent housekeeper, she had taken the precaution of replacing her earthenware bumpers with pewter ones. That morning the dame seemed to be in a particular huffy mood, judging by her rumpling brows, her brusque motions, and her sharp and cross words.

Presently, the door of the tavern was darkened and in stepped a man of vigorous age, with an angular and sun-burnt face, whose only striking features were two little, piercing, crafty and savage eyes half hidden under his eyebrows thick and grizzly like his hair, that escaped in disorder from under his old woolen cap. He had traveled a long distance; his wooden shoes, shabby cloth leggings and patched smock-frock were covered with dust. He was noticeably tired; it was with difficulty that he moved his limbs with the support of a knotted stick. Hardly inside the tavern, the serf, whose name was William Caillet, let himself down heavily upon a bench, immediately placing his elbows on his knees and his head upon his hands. Alison the Huffy, already out of humor, as stated, called to him sharply:

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"But how did you become a serf of this seigniory?"

"After I killed my wife, I kept in hiding for a month in the forest of Senlis, where I lived on roots; thereupon I came to this country. Caillet gave me shelter. I offered my services as a butcher to the superintendent of the seigniory of Nointel. After the lapse of a year I was numbered among the vassals of the domain. I remained here out of friendship for Caillet."

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