Читать книгу The Fall of the Grand Sarrasin - William John Ferrar - Страница 7

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Of my Lord Maugher and his Familiar Demon. How he received the abbot's letter, and how I was courteously entertained at his house of Blanchelande.

And my lord was not difficult of access. He sat in a deep chair in the hall, and round him were all manner of strange things whose shape and name I knew not, but little was there save old rolls of parchment to betoken a Churchman's dwelling. A great table held bottles of many shapes of glass and earthenware, and optic glasses and tools lay intermingled. I caught the gleam of much bright steel on settle and shelf—chain-mail, targe, dagger, helmet, and sword. A great warrior's complete equipment, tunic and hose of mail, shield, and helm, hung before me as I entered. Three huge hounds, with heavy chaps hanging loose from their jaws, lay about the hearth, but only noted my entrance with a drowsy gaze, then dropped back upon their paws; but a strange ugly creature, like an ill-shaped child, that was so vile to look on that I thought him the very Devil himself, crouching on the table by the archbishop's side, set up a chattering and a muttering, with now and then a kind of mocking laughter like a madman's meaningless merriment. Nor would he cease until my lord clouted him twice or thrice rudely on his ill-favoured crown with a "Hist, folly, stay thy devil's clatter." Now, this beast it was, one, I suppose, of those apes that King Solomon trafficked in, that gave rise to the saying that a familiar from Hell housed with my lord in Guernsey. But being of a bold spirit, and expecting even worse than I yet saw from the ill-fame of my lord, and the tales of monk and churl, I stood firm, and with something of a courtier's air placed in his hand the letter I bore, with a simple, "Greeting, your grace, from my lord the Abbot of the Vale;" and as I gave the letter, I set my gaze on him for the first time square and straight, and met eyes as keen and straight as mine own. Now, this surprised me, for I had heard evil men could not look straight into men's faces. He was far above the common height, and his body and face were very fat; like a great bull of the stall he lay in his chair. His face was full and red, and I noted he had little hair, save a mass, half grey, half red, that clung about his ears and neck. Of his passions I was soon to see evidence, for having gazed at me a moment, he took the letter from my hand, tore away the seal, and unrolled the scroll. As he did so I saw another little scroll roll out, which fell upon the ground before my feet. Then I knelt and handed this to him likewise. Can I ere forget his look as he took it from me, or wrung it rather from my fingers?

"Whence hast thou this? Whence came it?" he shrieked, with a rabble of ill words; and for a moment it seemed he would have crushed me in his great sinewy clenched hands as I stood there before him. His face was scarlet that before was only red. Great black veins started up upon his forehead, and his round blue eyes were straining out of the flesh in which they were enclosed.

I stood firm before him, and humbly showed him that the second scroll fell out of the first. Then he turned suddenly upon his heel and went towards the window, and looking forth upon the bay below in a few moments calmed himself, read what was writ on the first scroll, and with an air of unconcern tossed them to a corner of the table.

"Thou knowest naught of these papers, lad?" he said at length.

"Naught, my lord, in good faith, save that I bore them hither."

"And thou didst well to do that," he said, "for here is a matter dangerous to me, as thou sawest by mine anger. Your good abbot hath done well to send me this letter by thee."

I answered not, since it was not for me to speak, and yet I craved to know what could be in the second scroll to move him so.

"May I return with your grace's greeting or other message to my lord?" I said.

"Ay, and by word of mouth," he said. "We exiled men well-nigh forget to write, nor have much practice in the tools of the clerk. Tell the abbot the Archbishop of Rouen thanks him for his courtesy, and that this paper—this paper was written by some foe of other days that chooses thus to strike the fallen. Canst thou carry that."

I said I could, but I thought that there was an ill lie behind his words.

"Hist, good lad, what is thy name?" said he.

"Nigel de Bessin, nephew of the Vicomte of St. Sauveur," I answered.

He pondered and gazed at me curiously. "Ay, well I knew thy grandsire, the old vicomte," said he. "And thine uncle has had of me other gifts than shriving."

Now it came into my heart to ask him of my father, since he knew my grandsire and my uncle; so I said boldly—

"And didst thou know my father?"

"Ay, I knew him—I knew him," said he; "but what do they tell thee of him?"

"Nothing, in sooth, my lord," I answered; "and bid me wait till my pupilage is over."

"Then I may tell thee naught more than thou knowest, save that we were good friends. Thou wilt not long be bearing missives for your abbot, if thou art like thy sires. Thou art soon for Normandy?"

I wished not to unfold my purpose to this man, so I simply bowed, and prepared to go with due courtesy. Now, as I knelt upon one knee, he laid his hand upon my shoulder wondrous kindly, and raised me up by the arm, and led me to a seat so gently that for the moment I forgot that I distrusted him. Then he spoke of studies, and brought down some great tomes, excellently well writ and pictured in French scriptoria, and turning from them to his table he showed me a wondrous box, which looking through, as I held it up, I saw as it were the far off bay draw near to mine eyes, so that I could see men walk clear where I saw but shapes before. And with surprise I well-nigh dropped it from my hands. He took it from me, and told me I had seen what none had seen in the earth before but he alone.

And the thought entering into my mind that here was something more than human, he seemed to guess it, and said with a smile that was hard and keen—

"Nor is there wizardry therein, save the wizardry of a lonely man, that devises new solace for his loneliness."

A pasty was ere long set before us and a flask of wine, whereof we both partook.

"Say not," said he, "that my lord of Rouen sends his guests hungry away."

So we ate together. And after eating, as the sun was already stealing down the western sky, he bade me farewell, and pressed a little ring upon my finger as I left him, bidding me not forget to see him again ere I left for the wars, and at any time he said he would stand my friend, with a greater air of power, it struck me, than one could show who knew no other future than more long years of exile, such as he now lived in our small isle.

Now, as I turned from the drawbridge at the moat-house of Blanchelande to go homewards the remembrance came to me of those men that I guessed were pirates digging their storehouse in mother earth in the midst of the wood. And thinking on it, though I feared them not, I had no taste to return to the vale that way. So, instead, I followed the path rugged and uneven as it was, along the side of the cliff to the northward. First along the gorge of the Bay of Saints I went by the side of the stream that ran singing from Blanchelande, and then I cut straight up the cliff amid the heather, and so came into sight of Moulin Huet, where an ugly craft, that I liked not the sight of lay at anchor, right under the nose of Jerbourg Castle, wherein our abbot had a small corps of men, even as at the Vale. I stood a moment looking down on her riding deep in the sky-blue water, and presently I saw a boat put out from shore with men on board that rowed towards her. I could not tell if they were the same I saw up by the château, but I guessed they were, as I saw them climb into the bark. And then I journeyed on, clinging here and there to the cliff or the green stuff that grew thereon, like a very cat of the woods, past Fermain Bay, and through the little township of St. Pierre Port, and I wondered, since the pirate bark was so near at hand, that naught was stirring in the street or on the jetty. Now, St. Pierre Port was a pleasant place to me. A little world of its own, for every man of St. Pierre Port was a soldier, and could draw bow and slash with his broadsword, and pirates meddled not much with St. Pierre Port, for its men were tough and stern and loved their homes right well.

I stayed not to chatter with fishermen or priest to-day; but hasted on, and at length the little tower of St. Sampson arose before me, and ere long I was at the abbot's lodging.

The abbot paced up and down his orchard and garden of flowers.

"Thou art late, my son," said he. "Did my lord detain you?"

"My lord," I said, "was very kind and gentle, far beyond that I dreamed possible, and kept me with good entertainment and choice converse far into the day."

"And my lord was pleasing to thy taste?" said Abbot Michael, with a strange smile, not like his own, that I knew not.

"How may I, holy Father," answered I, "speak aught but well of him, who did me no ill, but good only? And, indeed, my lord spake to me out of his store of knowledge, as to one not ignorant and young; but, indeed, like himself in age and state. And yet, in good faith, he pleased me not at first."

"And how was that?"

"There seemed indeed, Father, somewhat that I distrusted, and then his passion at the opening of thy scroll was terrible to see."

"Ay, was he moved? And what said he when he perceived that inner scroll?" inquired the abbot.

"Moved, Father! I thought he might have done some deadly deed. But he calmed himself at length."

"And what sent he in return?"

"Nothing in writing," I answered, "but this by my mouth—that the inner scroll was the writing of some foe of other days, who thus strikes at a fallen man."

The abbot mused in silence at this reply, and took a pace or two beside his lily border. Then he gazed seriously at me for a moment, and bade me walk by his side.

"Thou hast seen to-day, son, one of the world's schemers, and thou hadst been, as was natural, deceived by him. With ill men first impressions are the true ones. Thou hadst been more than a stripling of the cloister, and we had taught thee over well for thy years, had he, whose power has lain in such arts, not made thee love him in spite of thyself. Son, dost thou know why this Maugher lies here in exile?"

"Ay, Father, was he not like St. John of old, who said, 'Thou shalt not have her:' to King Herod?" answered I, as I thought aptly.

"Indeed, my son, they said so, and strong were the archbishop's words when Duke William wedded against God's law. But thou wilt learn, that words and censures of Holy Church are too oft like daggers and knives in the hands of evil men in high places of the Church—and such was this censure of the marriage of Matilda in the hand of Maugher. He would have cut his way with it—dost thou know whither, son?"

"Whither, Father?"

"My son, to the dukedom itself, Churchman though he was."

I listened in astonishment, and an air of doubt must have shone out from my innocent eyes, that never knew to hide the thought within.

"Wouldst thou have proof of this that I say, and know how even to-day this serpent in our island-grass bites at the heel of princely authority?" the abbot asked.

"Indeed, Father, I would. His words to me so frank, his description of great men so just—his——" I was about to be fervent indeed in the praise of my new-found friend. Abbot Michael drew a scroll from his breast, and held it before my eyes with firm fingers, watching me intently the while. It was like the scroll I had taken to Blanchelande within the other. It was the same scroll, or a cunning copy, for there lay two great hasty blots upon it in one corner, and its signature ran up the page like a ladder against a wall.

"Read here, and here," said he, "and understand how this cursed man would incite milder men to shed Duke William's blood!"