Читать книгу John o' the Green - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 3

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Ten were they that languished in King Tristan's great dungeon at Fovant within Gerance, nine wild-seeming fellows, hairy and unkempt, and the one,--a lean comely man who sat apart, hands tight clenched, the sweat of anguish on his furrowed brow, haggard eyes turning almost furtively to watch where his companions, muttering together, peered in turn from the narrow loophole of their prison.

Now presently to this man came a slender youth, his fetters jangling, who, casting himself upon his knees, reached forth hands in passionate supplication crying:

"Oh, Master, good Master John, the townsfolk do throng them about the gallows down yonder ... ah, will they hang us today, think ye?"

"This only God knoweth, boy."

"Shall they hang us ... all, Master?"

"'Tis so the King hath willed."

"Jesu!" gasped the youth, blenching. "Oh, Master, is't very evil death ... to hang?"

"Why, 'tis soon over, Sim lad, and here's some small comfort."

"Nay but ... death frights me, good Master.... The rope ... I grow sick! I've watched folk hang ... kick they did and I ... laughed! Oh, Blessed Mary ... sweet Mother o' Mercy ... I laughed! And now ... ah, Master, Master, let me not hang ..." And sinking upon his face, this youth Sim crouched thus, shivering and wailing in his misery.

"Now God forgive me!" groaned John, and would have lifted the woeful lad to the solace of his arms, but to them and making great clash of his shackles, strode a squat, burly, red-headed fellow.

"What's ado?" quoth he harshly. "Ha, Sim lad, Simkyn, my chicken-hearted, lily-livered younker, d' ye quake for fear o' death now? D' ye yap and whine at blink o' noose and gallows--"

"Let be, Martin,--peace, old Redhead!" quoth John, setting long arm about the fearful youth. "'Tis but a very lad--"

"Yea, so, Master, and yet outlaw and wolf's-head accursed even as we, and to die anon by steel or hemp is common lot of outlawry. So an' he outlaw live, let him like outlaw die bold and cheery. How say ye, comrades all?"

Now at this came the others, and chief among them one who, though pale with imminent death, yet bore himself with a prideful arrogance.

"Death," cried he, "'tis the outlaws' friend, no matter what guise it wear, say I. So let Death come whenso he will ... a dance in air and so--to sleep. But for the nonce, ha, John, sweet messire and comrade, abate thy dolour and sing us cheerily--"

"Ay, Master, a song ... a song!" cried they in chorus.

"Sing us thy song of outlawry, good John."

"Nay," he answered, "no heart have I to singing, Reynold, since I am he that is the death of ye, every one."

But at this they brake out all together in clamourous dissent:

"No, no, John!"

"Never say so, comrade!"

"Us was betrayed and never no blame on thee, John!"

"Howbeit," answered John, shaking his head, "'tis no other than John hath brought ye to this so grievous peradventure, and 'tis now my bitter dole that I can no more than die with ye. But look now, as we be men and Man is of God, I have read and do verily believe, by death Man unto God returneth. Thus, though as outlaws we hang unshriven of our sins, yet God He shall take us poor souls unto Himself, showing us how we may win redemption hereafter, and greater life, making this shameful death a very Door of Life unto us. Now is there not some comfort in this? Speak,--thou, Martin."

"Why, John," answered the squat fellow, shaking his red head gloomily, "I have heard tell a man is damned to everlasting fire except his sins be loosed and soul annealed by Holy Church."

"And thou, Reynold?"

"Oh, as for me, John, being of knightly lineage and bred to arms, I care and know me nought o' such scholarly matters and to my comfort had liefer hear thee sing."

Now hereupon John sighed amain, looking on them, one and all, with troubled eyes; but when he would have spoken, was clank of bar and bolt, the massy door swung open, and to them entered divers men in bright mail who with shouts and blows marshalled the doomed ten and marched them forth of the mighty keep, up and out into the sunny marketplace, where a double rank of armoured pikemen held back the eager concourse, folk of all conditions who, beholding this sorry company, began to murmur against them, a dreadful muttering that swelled to a fierce shout, a merciless roar:

"Death ... death to the wolves'-heads! Death on all outlaws! Let them hang!"

Jangling in their fetters, the doomed ten were hustled through this clamourous populace and halted where, for their dying, a great new gallows had been set up. Then a trumpet blared and all voices hushed, only young Simkyn whimpered in his misery. Now spake a herald, very loud and clear:

"Good people, hear ye! Thus saith Tristan the King: John o' the Green, rogue and outlaw and of all outlaws chief, being about to die an' ye have ought to say, speak and be done now and forever."

"Nay, John," cried red-headed Martin, fierce and defiant, "speak them not but sing, sing for us thy comrades; troll us ditty o' death, good John, a song o' farewell,--sing, brother!"

And so, glancing from grimly gallows up to radiant heaven and round about upon the pale, set faces of his companions, John sang in voice richly sweet and clear, these words:

"Here now ten dying men stand we

Yet comrades one and all.

Ten that shall soon on gallows tree

From tribulation win us free,

So joyous should our passing be,

My comrades one and all.

"For Death methinks our souls shall mend,

Our sorrows, pains and troubles end.

Thus let us greet Death like a friend.

"To life mayhap kind Death shall light us,

Yet if a while the dark benight us,

Still, faithful be and naught shall fright us.

"So, let us quit ourselves like men

Come now, my comrades all,

Take we a leap in air--and then

Awake belike to live again

Still faithful comrades all."

His song ended, John was aware of a strange silence and looking about, beheld one approaching who limped, a smallish, high-shouldered, black-avised man, whose deep-set eyes showed bright as the gems that sparkled in cap and girdle. Heads were bared; knees touched the cobblestones; spearpoints swung glittering in salute, but this sombre man, all unheeding, looked only towards John and pausing, questioned him soft-voiced:

"Shall sinful rogues, dying on gallows, live again, fellow?"

"Ay, Majesty, e'en as shall sinful king, an' they repent them of their sinning."

"So! And wilt dare name me 'sinful king', then?"

"That will I, High Mightiness, since being man thou'rt no more than child o' sin, maugre thy kingship."

Tristan the King limped nearer and stood, a silent-brooding, sinister shape, staring upon John beneath knit brows.

"A gallows!" quoth he at last, between curling lips.

"Yea, verily, thy gallows, Sir King!" answered John. "Thus 'tis disease engendered o' thee. Well, 'tis a death kindly swift, I've heard."

"True!" murmured the King. "Yet there is also death less kindly ... by the torment." John's grey eyes widened, his sinewy hands clenched themselves, but his voice was steady as he answered.

"So shall death prove the more welcome, most kingly Sire."

Awhile the King stood mute and pensive, chin 'twixt finger and thumb, then beckoning to John, he turned and limped back through the silent crowd. And forthwith John was led after,--beneath a frowning embattled gateway, across an echoing courtyard, up a narrow stair; and thus presently found himself in a small, panelled chamber, alone with the King, who sat frowning on vacancy.

"Thou art John o' the Green, these days?"

"So men do call me, Sire."

"Yet do I know thee for Aymery John, only son of Aymery, one-time Lord of High Morven."

"Your Majesty is well instruct."

"So today Fulk Fitz-Urse doth usurp your heritage."

"Most true, Sire. This befell in my absence."

"Ay, John o' Green. Ye were learned youth that went overseas to consort with monkish schoolmen. Well, this youth tarried overlong, and home returning finds his noble sire treacherously slain and in High Morven, ruling in his stead, Fulk Roger Fitz-Urse. Thus did Aymery John for his scholarship barter a rich and noble heritage. How sayst thou, John o' Green?"

"Yea, my lord."

"And, being thus destitute and landless, hies him to the wildwood with his harp and there consorts with rogues and outlawed men. He singeth to them, fighteth and so brings order among them; he learns them arts of warfare, forms them into companies; in fine, becometh a menace, wherefore I, being a king politic that loveth peace, do purpose to suppress him, and thus end this growing menace. And so it is I would hang thee, John o' the Green."

"As afore said, Sire."

"And yet," quoth the King, eyeing John, his lean might and proud, high look, "I hear this same rogue hath a quick wit, a subtle tongue and can on rote, gittern and mandora play right skillfully, can rhyme couplets featly and sing them rarely. Well, I might use such a man."

"Now as for myself, Sir King," said John serenely, "though very paladin of blood and conquest, thou art a lame man, a discomfortable solitary soul woeful and aweary!" The King arose and limped impatient to and fro, plucking at his long chin and scowling down at the sweet-scented herbs that strewed the floor.

"Solitary?" he repeated. "Yes, verily, such as I must needs go solitary ever. And for this maimed leg I won me a province. But as to conquest ... ha, the crags of High Morven still defy me and yonder i' the South the Duchy of Pelynt standeth yet unconquered--"

"Verily, Sir King, for 'tis mightily seated, its walls strong, its people valiant and its young Duchess a very Amazon by accounts."

"So would I have them mine."

"Alas!" sighed John. "So should more innocents die!"

King Tristan turned impatiently and drawing aside curtain of tapestry, showed a great map fairly drawn and painted, affixed to the panelling.

"Lo!" said he, pointing lean finger. "Here lieth Pelynt with Pentavalon its chief and strongest city to the southeast. Here, mid rock and crag, is High Morven, where Fulk Fitz-Urse hath his foul lair. Here, midway, lieth the Debatable Land, a black desolation I would make bloom again. And here, to the north, standeth my kingdom of Gerance.... And Fulk's lustful eye is on fair Pelynt and its lady, whiles I ... dream of a country united! To weld these peoples into one nation! And this, God willing, I will do.... Thus is Pelynt twixt hammer and anvil, and Gerance is the anvil. Now once I hold Pelynt and the Southern March, Fitz-Urse will I sweep into the sea, making all the land secure and clean of his foul rogueries for ever."

"Ay, but, Sir King, what o' this Duchess?"

"She shall to any man bold enow to wed her and, 'stead of a country, rule a home. Howbeit, by craft of state or fury of war, this will I do.... Lo now, thou Clapperclaw John, a land and people united to their future well-being,--this were right kingly purpose--ha?"

"So kingly, sir, 'twere better to strum lute or tootle through reedy pipe and suffer the world to wag as it listeth."

"How mean ye, rogue?"

"Blood and battle, sir, fury and flame, death and desolation--and all to the greater glory of ... thyself--"

"Dare ye say so?"

"High Mightiness, being at point o' death by the torment, I fear thee no more than buzzing fly."

Limping to his great cushioned chair, the King sank therein and, dark brows knit above kindling eye, viewed ragged John from mired shoon to matted hair with gloomy, pensive gaze.

"Why, then," sighed he at last, "needs must I suffer thee to live a while." Here, once again, John's keen eyes wavered, his fingers clenched.

"To--live?" he muttered.

"Verily!" nodded the King. "So shalt learn to fear and serve me."

"As how, lord--how serve thee?"

"Go win me this Duchy of Pelynt."

John stared, then he laughed and nodded; quoth he:

"Pelynt? And no more than this? Do thy kingly ambitions soar no higher? For verily I might win thee the whole world, couldst thou but endow me with power sufficing to such small matter." Here John laughed again, but meeting the King's cold, bright glance grew suddenly mute.

Now as they fronted each other, potent king and doomed outlaw, each viewing the other with a certain wistful intentness, in the anteroom without was sound of hasty feet, a mutter of voices; then the door opened and a grey-haired man stood bowing.

"What now, Sir Eustace?" murmured the King, his gaze still upon John's battered visage.

"Pardon, your Majesty, but Bardolf, your Majesty's falconer, is here with word for your Majesty--"

"Alack, my noble liege!" cried a hoarse voice and in thrust a swart fellow in livery of green who, with wild look and arms outflung, sank upon his knees, crouching at the King's feet.

"Lord!" he gasped. "Dread Majesty! Gracious Sire!" and smiting his breast, was dumb.

"What, Bardolf!" said the King, viewing him with his sombre eyes. "Bleat not, man; speak and be done."

"Out--out--alas!" groaned the falconer. "I bring thee dire news, lord--fire and death! Thy noble, new-builded hunting lodge ... thy goodly hawks and hounds ... Sir Geoffrey de Broham, thy chief Huntsman and lord Warden o' thy forests ... gone, gone, lord,--alack ... all gone!"

"Good my Bardolf, leave thy cackling and tell thy news plain and to the point,--speak me forthright."

"Dread lord, today at dawn we, thy foresters, waked to sudden, dread alarm ... the doors were beat in upon us--thy lodge fired about us, we--thy faithful huntsmen and verderers--woefully smitten and bound--and Sir Geoffrey, thy Warden, the noble De Broham ... alack, my lord ... oh, woe!"

"Bray not, my Bardolf! Tell me, what of De Broham?"

"Dead, my lord! They stripped, they scourged him and hanged him naked to a tree ... and thy noble hunting lodge ... no more than ashes; burned it they did, Sire."

"'They', Bardolf? What like are these that dared so much?"

"Rogues of Pelynt, lord, the Duchess' men; I saw her red leopards on shield and surcoat."

"And what of thy fellows, Bardolf? Fifty and five ye were besides De Broham; what of them?"

"All taken, Sire; all dragged away in shameful bonds."

"Yet thou art free--?"

"Lord, he that commanded for the Duchess gave me letter and bade me deliver it to none but thyself,--behold it, Sire!" And from breast of green jerkin, Bardolf drew a roll of parchment bound with silken cord whence dangled large, waxen seal. Slowly the King unrolled this parchment and having read the message it contained, sat plucking at his chin, until chancing to espy the falconer yet upon his knees, he sighed and spake:

"So thou'rt safe, my Bardolf, safe and all unharmed, not so much as a scratch on my behalf!"

"Sire, I ... we were outmatched ... I cried them quarter and they ... they spared me, lord--"

"So will not I," murmured the King. "Ho, Sir Eustace, take now my Bardolf and let him be whipped somewhat, that he may grieve for himself, my goodly hunting lodge and for me. And so begone, nor let any trouble me until I summon with my little bell here."

So Bardolf was led forth, a man very deject and woeful, what time the King sat, chin on fist, staring moodily at the evening sunshine that flooded in through the narrow window. Presently, his gaze still abstracted, he beckoned John nearer and pointing to the letter bade him read it aloud; whereupon bending over the table, John read forth, and the words these:

"Majesty: A month since, one Arletta, a young maid of Swanscombe within my Duchy of Pelynt, was waylaid hard beside the Abbey of Holy Cross, by your Majesty's verderers and borne to your Majesty's hunting lodge, there to make sport for your Majesty's lord Warden and boon companion Sir Geoffrey de Broham. Since when she is dead. Three weeks since, her father, a worthy man of Pelynt, being my swineherd, ventured forth in quest of her. Five days since he was found creeping within the wild, maimed and blinded by the will of Sir Geoffrey de Broham, your Majesty's Warden aforesaid. Today therefore I have caused your Majesty's hunting lodge to be purged with fire and your Majesty's lord Warden, namely Sir Geoffrey de Broham, to be hanged that he, being thus totally dead, shall sin no more and be a warning to like ill-doers.

"Now therefore--should your Majesty leap to battle in cause so unworthy, know that within Pelynt our swords be sharp and I am, now as ever

"Ippolita of Pelynt."

"Soho!" murmured the King, tapping the letter with long, sinewy finger, "here defiance trumpeteth, Bellona thundereth with clash of arms eager for war! Here's blood and death,--how think ye, my lurker o' thickets?"

"That verily, sir, 'tis right valiant lady, this."

"Valiant--hum!" quoth the King. "'Tis a rampant Fury, a harpy lusting for slaughter,--ha, 'tis very plague in petticoats."

"And yet a very duchess, Sire."

"So I would she were dead or wed, for she is the disease doth blight my purpose of a people united from sea to sea,--a nation!"

"Ay, faith," nodded John, "and thyself lord supreme thereof. In sooth, High Mightiness, thou hadst been a right potent king ere now but for God and this so resolute lady--"

"God, sayst thou? Ha, will ye dare couple them, fellow? God is an Abstraction Universal, the Spirit Mysterious, the Eternal I AM;--this duchess no more than poor thing o' flesh and blood, a termagant hath destroyed my goods and murdered my Warden--"

"Murdered, Sire? Nay, good sooth, methinks this vile gentleman o' thine dies of a swineherd's daughter, the which, though a sickness unknown to Galen or Hippocrates, is yet passing deadly, 'twould seem, the same unworthy lord Warden being so 'totally dead',--the which is well enough save that, by reason of his roguish dying, others innocent must die also, belike, to assuage thy so kingly pride."

The King's sinister face darkened and he nodded slowly; quoth he:

"This shall depend on thyself, John o' Green.... Gape, man, gape an ye will but clack not; keep a still tongue and use now those ears! For mark me! Lord will I be of Pelynt, its every town, city and bailiwick, soon or late, by battle and storm or peaceful contrivance, by hard blows or cunning strategy. Now should it so befall the Duchess Ippolita were lost to Pelynt, so surely is Pelynt won to me. Well, John o' Green, I prove thee a bold fellow, 'tis said thou'rt also a man of wiles, very subtle and crafty; so do I grant thee four months of life wherein thou shalt, by force or guile, carry this proud termagant Duchess hither to me."

"I ... I, lord?" stammered John.

"Ay,--do this and ask what ye will as guerdon. Howbeit, three days hence shalt ride for Pelynt."

"Alone, lord?"

"Alone, but with money sufficient and in what guise ye will."

"Oh, faith, Sire," laughed John, with rueful shake of head, "being neither god, demigod nor hero, 'twere meeter, on errand so fool-like, I were dight as fool with ass's ears a-dangle--"

"As ye will," nodded the King.

"To adventure me on quest so desperate, pitting my poor wit 'gainst all the might and chivalry of Pelynt--"

"Three days hence!" murmured the King.

"Fool were I forsooth, Sire, yet one that should cease from folly, of a sudden becoming wiser than the wisest by means o' noose or prick o' steel. And so, being neither a Thor, Hercules or Theseus I ..."

"To win the Duchess Ippolita into my hands," sighed the King.

"Ha," laughed John, "wouldst have her alive, lord, or dead?"

"As may be, but attempt me this ye shall. Is it understood?"

"So well, Sire," answered John, frowning, "that needs must thou find other than I to thy so kingly purpose."

The King gestured towards the window.

"Fool," he murmured, "look forth."

So John crossed thither and peering down, behind the palace courtyard athrong with men-at-arms and in their midst his nine companions, and each with noose about his throat.

"Ha, lord," said John, blenching, "what wouldst with these, my poor comrades?"

"Hang them," answered the King, in his soft, passionless voice, "hang them forthright or hold them hostages to thy return. For, deny my will, John o' the Green, and shalt die this hour in fashion most ungentle and these thy fellows with thee. But, set this Duchess Ippolita within my power and from thee and thy roguish following, from every outlaw and masterless man within the greenwood--yea, every wolf's-head of ye all--I will lift the ban of outlawry; and unto thee, moreover, will I restore lands and titles and John o' Green shall be again Aymery John, Lord of Morven, Athelney and Brackley Thorn, as aforetime. So here now is death to thee and thine or perchance freedom and honours,--choose thou!"

"'Tis choice, Sir King, evil as thy mission, for an I go yet bring thee not thy victim, how then?"

"A gallows!" murmured the King.

"And what of my nine fellows yonder?"

"Thyself in my power again, these poor rogues go free."

"And how if I be slain in this adventure?"

"Thy death in my service shall be life to thy companions yonder."

"So then," answered John, turning his back upon the little window and bowing battered head, "High Mightiness--I go."