Читать книгу The Black Rose - Thomas B. Costain - Страница 16

Walter had never suspected what was wrong with his mother, and the discovery left him in such a depressed frame of mind that Tristram took him out for a walk in the hope that the exertion would lighten his mood. They tramped through a countryside as rich with regal color as an emperor’s robe, and content with the fatness of a rich harvest; a land tended by faithful hands so that even the cultivated fields seemed as lovely as the woods where nature suffered no interference; a land of quiet charm where the spires of small churches were like poems written on the sky, and the only sore spots to be seen were the swine-pens and the ross heap of Gurnie.

Dusk was falling when they returned, and they heard the banging and clamping of shutters as they crossed the drawbridge. In the main hall, however, the talk was cheerful. The day’s work was done, the barriers had been raised against the encroachments of evil, a smell of good food filled the air. There was much repeating of sly jokes about scholards at the niniversity and the likelihood that Walter himself would end up with a tonsured poll.

Walter watched the preparations for supper with an eagerness that had nothing to do with appetite. Crosswise on the dais was a table laid with a fine linen cloth, at the center of which his grandfather’s chair had been placed. It was a stately chair with an overhanging canopy and pommels of shining copper. Two of lesser height had been placed on each side of it. Did this mean, he asked himself with a sudden jubilance of spirit, that the ban was to be raised at last? Was he to be allowed to sit with the family? He had suffered so intensely from his exclusion that at the moment life could offer him no greater boon.

His hopes were soon dashed, however. Wilderkin bustled by him, saying in a disapproving voice: “There are guests tonight, Master Walter. And my lord Alfgar, as usual, has insisted that we do everything well. He is a proud man, my lord. Ha, how the stores in the kitchen have been used up!”

Walter sighed unhappily. It had been foolish of him, he knew, to set his hopes so high. His grandfather would never relent to such an extent. Nevertheless he felt so disappointed that he could find no compensation in the fine appearance of the hall. His grandfather’s two prized standing cups, called John the Beloved and Bernard of Clairvaux according to the custom which gave names to these valuable heirlooms, had been placed at each end of the table on the dais. His grandfather, he said to himself, would be sure to recite their pedigree again for the edification of his guests. There were silver ewers at intervals and a high candelabrum with new tapers. They were indeed doing everything well tonight.

Trestles were being set up in the lower part of the hall to form a T with the head table. Wilderkin came in with a silver saltcellar and, with a nod for Walter, placed it several feet from the point of junction. This meant, of course, that the old compromise arrangement was to be followed. Walter had always been placed just above the salt, a contrivance of his grandfather’s which did not seat him with the family but spared him the humiliation of eating with the family retainers and servants. Walter noticed that two chairs were being placed in that position, one on each side of the board. This must mean that Tristram was to be placed opposite him.

As soon as his grandfather entered, Walter knew that he held a poor esteem of his guests, in spite of the preparations which had been made. There was condescension in the gesture with which he assigned them to their seats. One was a surly and porcine sprat of a man in a dun-colored tunic. Wilderkin, whose opinions were set by his master’s, whispered scornfully in Walter’s ear: “The Socman of Tasker! When the pox got into our swine-pens last spring, we lost a Socman of Tasker every day.” The second guest was a fattish priest who kept his cowl drawn up over his head as though he found the hall too cold for his comfort. Wilderkin whispered: “The prior of Gatherby. It takes three monks to load him on the back of a mule. Toothless old adder!”

Alfgar of Gurnie was looking well, although Walter noticed that his stomach had rounded out almost to the point of tubbiness, and that the iron gray of his closely clipped mustache had changed to white. The hair on his head had retreated until the merest fringe was left and his dome stood up high, shining with the most scrupulous scrubbing. As usual he was elegantly attired, and a heavy gold chain hung around his neck.

Walter was surprised when his mother followed into the room. She seemed, however, to have become completely normal again. Tristram looked at her in wonder and whispered: “Your lady mother is beautiful. She looks like a queen, and yet like a saint too.”

Leaning across the table, she said to Walter, “I hope you will bring your companion from Oxford to talk with me after supper.”

Not knowing what he should do, Tristram flushed and glanced at Walter for guidance. He was so embarrassed that he had begun to perspire profusely. When Walter rose and bowed, he followed suit with an ungainly stiffness which told how much at sea he felt. The Lady Hild bowed back to them and said, “You are very tall young men, though it seems to me, Walter, that your companion has somewhat the advantage of you.”

Wulfa had dressed her in a flowing gown of green samite, with roses diapered handsomely on the bodice. To conceal its age, buttons had been sewn in rows from wrist to elbow in what was the latest feminine fashion. Her white hair, without ornamentation of any kind, was bound in braids and piled high on the top of her head. Walter thought with a surge of pride that Tristram had been right; she looked both queen and saint.

The maid had carried down all six sections of the family Bible, and she laid them now in one pile beside her mistress. Lady Hild was very proud of the Bible, for it had a glossatam and many illuminations made by patient monkly hands. She was so proud of it, in fact, that she was wont to practice a deception at times. Not being able to read, she had memorized many passages and would recite them aloud with the Book in front of her; not caring that she spoke them in English while the print, of course, was in Latin.

Agnes Malkinsmaiden was carrying in the food with the assistance of the buttery burd, a steamy-faced wench with great rolling hips. Even after the seneschal’s warning, Walter was amazed at the variety of the dishes set on the board. There was a haunch of venison, a round of prime beef, braces of woodcock and bittern roasted to such a turn that the brown skins seemed ready to burst with richness, and a platter of little pig sausages garnished with black puddings. Agnes did all the cooking for the household, and she had a sagacious hand with seasonings, scorning to heap on the pepper and the cloves and fennel from the East as had become the rule and using instead all the old English herbs, basil, lavender, coriander, and marjoram. After placing the last dish on the table, she took it on herself to repeat the formula used when the family supped alone, “God and Our Lady bless this feast.”

The host glanced once at Walter, and his eye softened almost imperceptibly by way of an unspoken welcome. Then he covered the bread tranchoir in front of him with a large slice of beef and called to have his horn mug filled with wine. His blue eye, so deceptively mild, began to beam. To show his scholarship (he had very little, as Walter knew), he bowed to the old prior and indulged in a quotation from Horace, “ ‘Death grips us by the ear and says, “Drink, for I come.” ’ ”

The prior, who clearly was doddering at the very brink of the grave, accepted the invitation to drink in this form with an ill grace. The Socman of Tasker, surprised that they did not begin by toasting the King, ventured to say, “Our young ruler promises to restore our rights and give us justice such as we have not seen since the days of our great Alfred.”

“Pay no heed to such idle talk, Tasker,” admonished the host. “We are all of pure Saxon blood here, and so I can speak freely. Talk like that is started for one purpose only, to make us slothful and content. We are living in an age of lawyers; sharp Norman fellows with covetous minds and glib tongues. They will beguile us with words while they find means to rivet still heavier chains on us.”

“I have been disposed to believe in the good intent of the young king,” protested the Socman, rather feebly.

The host shook his head with a well-satisfied dissent. He cut the juice-soaked tranchoir with his dagger and threw the strips of bread into the alms-dish in the center of the table, using great care that his fingers did not become stained in doing so. The alms-dish was well stocked by this time with gristly ends of meat and the wings of the game; there would be good fare for the beggars who came to the door next day.

“That is where you make your mistake.” Walter recognized this as his grandfather’s favorite phrase. “We must expect no favors from this young king. He is Norman, and there you have the answer. I have said this time and again to men who, like you, should know better than to believe in the soft lies of our rulers.” He shook his head from side to side. “No one pays heed to my warnings. As soon as Old King Harry died, I said ...”

Walter could hear his voice go on and on, telling what he had said and making it clear that he had always been right. The thread of argument was lost to the grandson, who now noticed with alarm that his mother’s hands were opening the last section of the Bible. Her eyes had taken on a strained look.

“I see the lake of everlasting fire!” she said suddenly in a low voice. “The day is near at hand when the Lord cometh in His wrath.”

A shudder ran along the board, and even the piggish eyes of the Socman of Tasker turned toward her with a suggestion of panic. Everyone lived in dread, knowing that all the signs of the Second Coming were being fulfilled rapidly. No one failed at the end of each day to look at the western sky and wonder if there was anything in the appearance of it to suggest that the Lord would come before morning.

Alfgar paid no heed to the interruption. He was regaling himself now with slices of pale yellow cheese, and he began to talk about the standing cups.

“My good churchman,” he said, turning to the priest, “I want to call John the Beloved to your attention. It is very old. In fact, it belonged to the saintly Lady Hild after whom my daughter is named. See, it is of the most ancient workmanship. Greek, in my opinion; and the maker undoubtedly lived in Antioch. The shape proves its antiquity, for you find here the true vase-turned body and the double handles. Fifth century, would you say?”

The prior, with the carcass of a whole pheasant in his hands, mumbled, “Undoubtedly,” and went on eating.

“I prefer to think that the figure of the apostle represents him on the Island of Patmos when the gift of prophecy ran so strangely in his veins. Observe, the face is gaunt from fasting, and there is a light in the eyes——”

A loud yelping came from under the table, where the dogs were disputing ownership of a bone. Alfgar broke off his discourse to call out sharply, “Chomper! Briff! Chetwind!” Wilderkin took down the lance from the wall and probed vigorously with it under the cloth. The noise subsided.

“Now this one,” continued the host, indicating Bernard of Clairvaux, “is not as old, but I value it because it rested once in the hands of the great saint for whom it is named.”

The Lady Hild had continued to talk, but in so low a tone that no one could tell what she was saying. Now she looked up and stared straight at Walter with no sign of recognition. Her voice became clear again. “And the heavens were rent as a scroll and the mountains and the islands were moved out of their places; and the kings of the earth hid themselves in the dens and the rocks of the mountains. For the great day of His wrath had come!”

“I cannot compete with the inspired Word,” smiled Alfgar. He called to Wulfa, standing back of her mistress’s chair, “She is tired and must be taken to her room at once.” Then he turned back to his guests. “Well, shall we have the board and pieces in and play a game of spillikins while we finish our wine? I warn you, my hand is quick at it. I suggest, for the good of your pockets, that a low stake be set.”