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HOW STRANGE THINGS BEFELL IN MINSTEAD WOOD.
THE path which the young clerk had now to follow lay through a
magnificent forest of the very heaviest timber, where the giant bowls of oak and
of beech formed long aisles in every direction, shooting up their huge branches
to build the majestic arches of Nature's own cathedral.
Beneath lay a broad carpet of the softest and greenest moss, flecked over
with fallen leaves, but yielding pleasantly to the foot of the traveller.
The track which guided him was one so seldom used that in places it lost
itself entirely among the grass, to reappear as a reddish rut between the
distant tree trunks. It was very
still here in the heart of the woodlands. The
gentle rustle of the branches and the distant cooing of pigeons were the only
sounds which broke in upon the silence, save that once Alleyne heard afar off a
merry call upon a hunting bugle and the shrill yapping of the hounds.
It was not without some emotion that he looked upon the scene around him,
for, in spite of his secluded life, he knew enough of the ancient greatness of
his own family to be aware that the time had been when they had held undisputed
and paramount sway over all that tract of country.
His father could trace his pure Saxon lineage back to that Godfrey Malf
who had held the manors of Bisterne and of Minstead at the time when the Norman
first set mailed foot upon English soil. The
afforestation of the district, however, and its conversion into a royal demesne
had clipped off a large section of his estate, while other parts had been
confiscated as a punishment for his supposed complicity in an abortive Saxon
rising. The fate of the ancestor
had been typical of that of his descendants.
During three hundred years their domains had gradually contracted,
sometimes through royal or feudal encroachment, and sometimes through such gifts
to the Church as that with which Alleyne's father had opened the doors of
Beaulieu Abbey to his younger son. The
importance of the family had thus dwindled, but they still retained the old
Saxon manor-house, with a couple of farms and a grove large enough to afford
pannage to a hundred pigs--"sylva de centum porcis," as the old family
parchments describe it. Above all,
the owner of the soil could still hold his head high as the veritable Socman of
Minstead--that is, as holding the land in free socage, with no feudal superior,
and answerable to no man lower than the king. Knowing this, Alleyne felt some
little glow of worldly pride as he looked for the first time upon the land with
which so many generations of his ancestors had been associated. He pushed on the quicker, twirling his staff merrily, and
looking out at every turn of the path for some sign of the old Saxon residence.
He was suddenly arrested, however, by the appearance of a wild- looking
fellow armed with a club, who sprang out from behind a tree and barred his
passage. He was a rough, powerful
peasant, with cap and tunic of untanned sheepskin, leather breeches, and
galligaskins round legs and feet.
"Stand!" he shouted, raising his heavy cudgel to enforce the
order. "Who are you who walk
so freely through the wood? Whither would you go, and what is your errand?"
"Why should I answer your questions, my friend?" said Alleyne,
standing on his guard.
"Because your tongue may save your pate.
But where have I looked upon your face before?"
"No longer ago than last night at the 'Pied Merlin,' " the
clerk answered, recognizing the escaped serf who had been so outspoken as to his
"By the Virgin! yes. You
were the little clerk who sat so mum in the corner, and then cried fy on the
gleeman. What hast in the
"Naught of any price."
"How can I tell that, clerk? Let
"Fool! I could pull you
limb from limb like a pullet. What would you have? Hast
forgot that we are alone far from all men? How can your clerkship help you?
Wouldst lose scrip and life too?"
"I will part with neither without fight."
"A fight, quotha? A
fight betwixt spurred cock and new hatched chicken!
Thy fighting days may soon be over."
"Hadst asked me in the name of charity I would have given
freely," cried Alleyne. "As it stands, not one farthing shall you have with my
free will, and when I see my brother. the
Socman of Minstead, he will raise hue and cry from vill to vill, from hundred to
hundred, until you are taken as a common robber and a scourge to the
The outlaw sank his club. "The
Socman's brother!" he gasped. "Now, by the keys of Peter!
I had rather that hand withered and tongue was palsied ere I had struck
or miscalled you. If you are the
Socman's brother you are one of the right side, I warrant, for all your clerkly
"His brother I am," said Alleyne.
"But if I were not, is that reason why you should molest me on the
"I give not the pip of an apple for king or for noble," cried
the serf passionately. "Ill have I had from them, and ill I shall repay them.
I am a good friend to my friends, and, by the Virgin! an evil foeman to
And therefore the worst of foemen to thyself," said Alleyne.
"But I pray you, since you seem to know him, to point out to me the
shortest path to my brother's house."
The serf was about to reply, when the clear ringing call of a bugle burst
from the wood close behind them, and Alleyne caught sight for an instant of the
dun side and white breast of a lordly stag glancing swiftly betwixt the distant
tree trunks. A minute later came the shaggy deer-hounds, a dozen or
fourteen of them, running on a hot scent, with nose to earth and tail in air.
As they streamed past the silent forest around broke suddenly into loud
life, with galloping of hoofs, crackling of brushwood, and the short, sharp
cries of the hunters. Close behind the pack rode a fourrier and a yeoman-pricker,
whooping on the laggards and encouraging the leaders, in the shrill half-French
jargon which was the language of venery and woodcraft.
Alleyne was still gazing after them, listening to the loud
"Hyke-a-Bayard! Hyke-a-Pomers! Hyke-a-Lebryt!"
with which they called upon their favorite hounds, when a group of horsemen
crashed out through the underwood at the very spot where the serf and he were
The one who led was a man between fifty and sixty years of age, war-worn
and weather-beaten, with a broad, thoughtful forehead and eyes which shone
brightly from under his fierce and overhung brows, His beard, streaked thickly
with gray, bristled forward from his chin, and spoke of a passionate nature,
while the long, finely cut face and firm mouth marked the leader of men.
His figure was erect and soldierly, and he rode his horse with the
careless grace of a man whose life had been spent in the saddle. In common garb,
his masterful face and flashing eye would have marked him as one who was born to
rule; but now, with his silken tunic powdered with golden fleurs-de-lis, his
velvet mantle lined with the royal minever, and the lions of England stamped in
silver upon his harness, none could fail to recognize the noble Edward, most
warlike and powerful of all the long line of fighting monarchs who had ruled the
Anglo-Norman race. Alleyne doffed
hat and bowed head at the sight of him, but the serf folded his hands and leaned
them upon his cudgel, looking with little love at the knot of nobles and
knights-in-waiting who rode behind the king.
"Ha!" cried Edward, reining up for an instant his powerful
black steed. "Le cerf est
passe? Non? Ici, Brocas; tu parles
"The deer, clowns?" said a hard-visaged, swarthy-faced man, who
rode at the king's elbow. "If
ye have headed it back it is as much as your ears are worth."
"It passed by the blighted beech there," said Alleyne,
pointing, "and the hounds were hard at its heels."
"It is well," cried Edward, still speaking in French: for,
though he could understand English, he had never learned to express himself in
so barbarous and unpolished a tongue. "By
my faith, sirs," he continued, half turning in his saddle to address his
escort, "unless my woodcraft is sadly at fault, it is a stag of six tines
and the finest that we have roused this journey.
A golden St. Hubert to the man who is the first to sound the mort."
He shook his bridle as he spoke, and thundered away, his knights lying
low upon their horses and galloping as hard as whip and spur would drive them,
in the hope of winning the king's prize. Away they drove down the long green
glade--bay horses, black and gray, riders clad in every shade of velvet, fur, or
silk, with glint of brazen horn and flash of knife and spear.
One only lingered, the black-browed Baron Brocas, who, making a gambade
which brought him within arm-sweep of the serf, slashed him across the face with
his riding-whip. "Doff, dog,
doff," he hissed, "when a monarch deigns to lower his eyes to such as
you!"--then spurred through the underwood and was gone, with a gleam of
steel shoes and flutter of dead leaves.
The villein took the cruel blow without wince or cry, as one to whom
stripes are a birthright and an inheritance.
His eyes flashed, however, and he shook his bony hand with a fierce wild
gesture after the retreating figure.
"Black hound of Gascony," he muttered, "evil the day that
you and those like you set foot in free England!
I know thy kennel of Rochecourt. The
night will come when I may do to thee and thine what you and your class have
wrought upon mine and me. May God
smite me if I fail to smite thee, thou French robber, with thy wife and thy
child and all that is under thy castle roof!"
"Forbear!" cried Alleyne.
"Mix not God's name with these unhallowed threats!
And yet it was a coward's blow, and one to stir the blood and loose the
tongue of the most peaceful. Let me
find some soothing simples and lay them on the weal to draw the sting,"
"Nay, there is but one thing that can draw the sting, and that the
future may bring to me. But, clerk, if you would see your brother you must on, for
there is a meeting to-day, and his merry men will await him ere the shadows turn
from west to east. I pray you not
to hold him back, for it would be an evil thing if all the stout lads were there
and the leader a-missing. I would
come with you, but sooth to say I am stationed here and may not move.
The path over yonder, betwixt the oak and the thorn, should bring you out
into his nether field."
Alleyne lost no time in following the directions of the wild, masterless
man, whom he left among the trees where he had found him.
His heart was the heavier for the encounter, not only because all
bitterness and wrath were abhorrent to his gentle nature, but also because it
disturbed him to hear his brother spoken of as though he were a chief of outlaws
or the leader of a party against the state.
Indeed, of all the things which he had seen yet in the world to surprise
him there was none more strange than the hate which class appeared to bear to
class. The talk of laborer, woodman
and villein in the inn had all pointed to the wide-spread mutiny, and now his
brother's name was spoken as though he were the very centre of the universal
discontent. In good truth, the
commons throughout the length and breadth of the land were heart-weary of this
fine game of chivalry which had been played so long at their expense. So long as knight and baron were a strength and a guard to
the kingdom they might be endured, but now, when all men knew that the great
battles in France had been won by English yeomen and Welsh stabbers, warlike
fame, the only fame to which his class had ever aspired, appeared to have
deserted the plate-clad horsemen. The
sports of the lists had done much in days gone by to impress the minds of the
people, but the plumed and unwieldy champion was no longer an object either of
fear or of reverence to men whose fathers and brothers had shot into the press
at Crecy or Poitiers, and seen the proudest chivalry in the world unable to make
head against the weapons of disciplined peasants.
Power had changed hands. The protector had become the protected, and the
whole fabric of the feudal system was tottering to a fall.
Hence the fierce mutterings of the lower classes and the constant
discontent, breaking out into local tumult and outrage, and culminating some
years later in the great rising of Tyler. What
Alleyne saw and wondered at in Hampshire would have appealed equally to the
traveller in any other English county from the Channel to the marches of
He was following the track, his misgivings increasing with every step
which took him nearer to that home which he had never seen, when of a sudden the
trees began to thin and the sward to spread out onto a broad, green lawn, where
five cows lay in the sunshine and droves of black swine wandered unchecked.
A brown forest stream swirled down the centre of this clearing, with a
rude bridge flung across it, and on the other side was a second field sloping up
to a long, low-lying wooden house, with thatched roof and open squares for
windows. Alleyne gazed across at it
with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes--for this, he knew, must be the home of
his fathers. A wreath of blue smoke
floated up through a hole in the thatch, and was the only sign of life in the
place, save a great black hound which lay sleeping chained to the door- post.
In the yellow shimmer of the autumn sunshine it lay as peacefully and as
still as he had oft pictured it to himself in his dreams.
He was roused, however, from his pleasant reverie by the sound of voices,
and two people emerged from the forest some little way to his right and moved
across the field in the direction of the bridge.
The one was a man with yellow flowing beard and very long hair of the
same tint drooping over his shoulders; his dress of good Norwich cloth and his
assured bearing marked him as a man of position, while the sombre hue of his
clothes and the absence of all ornament contrasted with the flash and glitter
which had marked the king's retinue. By
his side walked a woman, tall and slight and dark, with lithe, graceful figure
and clear-cut, composed features. Her
jet-black hair was gathered back under a light pink coif, her head poised
proudly upon her neck, and her step long and springy, like that of some wild,
tireless woodland creature. She
held her left hand in front of her, covered with a red velvet glove, and on the
wrist a little brown falcon, very fluffy and bedraggled, which she smoothed and
fondled as she walked. As she came
out into the sunshine, Alleyne noticed that her light gown, slashed with pink,
was all stained with earth and with moss upon one side from shoulder to hem.
He stood in the shadow of an oak staring at her with parted lips, for
this woman seemed to him to be the most beautiful and graceful creature that
mind could conceive of. Such had he
imagined the angels, and such he had tried to paint them in the Beaulieu
missals; but here there was something human, were it only in the battered hawk
and discolored dress, which sent a tingle and thrill through his nerves such as
no dream of radiant and stainless spirit had ever yet been able to conjure up.
Good, quiet, uncomplaining mother Nature, long slighted and miscalled,
still bide, her time and draws to her bosom the most errant of her children.
The two walked swiftly across the meadow to the narrow bridge, he in
front and she a pace or two behind. There
they paused, and stood for a few minutes face to face talking earnestly.
Alleyne had read and had heard of love and of lovers.
Such were these, doubtless--this golden-bearded man and the fair damsel
with the cold, proud face. Why else
should they wander together in the woods, or be so lost in talk by rustic
streams? And yet as he watched, uncertain whether to advance from the
cover or to choose some other path to the house, he soon came to doubt the truth
of this first conjecture. The man
stood, tall and square, blocking the entrance to the bridge, and throwing out
his hands as he spoke in a wild eager fashion, while the deep tones of his
stormy voice rose at times into accents of menace and of anger.
She stood fearlessly in front of him, still stroking her bird; but twice
she threw a swift questioning glance over her shoulder, as one who is in search
of aid. So moved was the young
clerk by these mute appeals, that he came forth from the trees and crossed the
meadow, uncertain what to do, and yet loth to hold back from one who might need
his aid. So intent were they upon
each other that neither took note of his approach; until, when he was close upon
them, the man threw his arm roughly round the damsel's waist and drew her
towards him, she straining her lithe, supple figure away and striking fiercely
at him, while the hooded hawk screamed with ruffled wings and pecked blindly in
its mistress's defence. Bird and maid, however, had but little chance against
their assailant who, laughing loudly, caught her wrist in one hand while he drew
her towards him with the other.
"The best rose has ever the longest thorns," said he.
"Quiet, little one, or you may do yourself a hurt.
Must pay Saxon toll on Saxon land, my proud Maude, for all your airs and
"You boor!" she hissed. "You
base underbred clod! Is this your
care and your hospitality? I would
rather wed a branded serf from my father's fields.
Leave go, I say---- Ah! good youth, Heaven has sent you.
Make him loose me! By the
honor of your mother, I pray you to stand by me and to make this knave loose
"Stand by you I will, and that blithely."
said Alleyne. "Surely, sir, you should take shame to hold the damsel
against her will."
The man turned a face upon him which was lion-like in its strength and in
its wrath. With his tangle of
golden hair, his fierce blue eyes, and his large, well-marked features, he was
the most comely man whom Alleyne had ever seen, and yet there was something so
sinister and so fell in his expression that child or beast might well have
shrunk from him. His brows were drawn, his cheek flushed, and there was a mad
sparkle in his eyes which spoke of a wild, untamable nature.
"Young fool!" he cried, holding the woman still to his side,
though every line of her shrinking figure spoke her abhorrence. "Do you
keep your spoon in your own broth. I
rede you to go on your way, lest worse befall you.
This little wench has come with me and with me she shall bide."
"Liar!" cried the woman; and, stooping her head, she suddenly
bit fiercely into the broad brown hand which held her.
He whipped it back with an oath, while she tore herself free and slipped
behind Alleyne, cowering up against him like the trembling leveret who sees the
falcon poising for the swoop above him.
"Stand off my land!" the man said fiercely, heedless of the
blood which trickled freely from his fingers.
"What have you to do here? By
your dress you should be one of those cursed clerks who overrun the land like
vile rats, poking and prying into other men's concerns, too caitiff to fight and
too lazy to work. By the rood! if I
had my will upon ye, I should nail you upon the abbey doors, as they hang vermin
before their holes. Art neither man
nor woman, young shaveling. Get
thee back to thy fellows ere I lay hands upon you: for your foot is on my land,
and I may slay you as a common draw-latch."
"Is this your land, then?" gasped Alleyne.
"Would you dispute it, dog? Would
you wish by trick or quibbie to juggle me out of these last acres?
Know, base-born knave, that you have dared this day to stand in the path
of one whose race have been the advisers of kings and the leaders of hosts, ere
ever this vile crew of Norman robbers came into the land, or such half-blood
hounds as you were let loose to preach that the thief should have his booty and
the honest man should sin if he strove to win back his own."
"You are the Socman of Minstead?"
"That am I; and the son of Edric the Socman, of the pure blood of
Godfrey the thane, by the only daughter of the house of Aluric, whose
forefathers held the white-horse banner at the fatal fight where our shield was
broken and our sword shivered. I
tell you, clerk, that my folk held this land from Bramshaw Wood to the Ringwood
road; and, by the soul of my father! it will be a strange thing if I am to be
bearded upon the little that is left of it.
Begone, I say, and meddle not with my affair."
"If you leave me now," whispered the woman, "then shame
forever upon your manhood."
"Surely, sir," said Alleyne, speaking in as persuasive and
soothing a way as he could, "if your birth is gentle, there is the more
reason that your manners should be gentle too.
I am well persuaded that you did but jest with this lady, and that you
will now permit her to leave your land either alone or with me as a guide, if
she should need one, through the wood. As
to birth, it does not become me to boast, and there is sooth in what you say as
to the unworthiness of clerks, but it is none the less true that I am as well
born as you."
"Dog!" cried the furious Socman, "there is no man in the
south who can saw as much."
"Yet can I," said Alleyne smiling; "for indeed I also am
the son of Edric the Socman, of the pure blood of Godfrey the thane, by the only
daughter of Aluric of Brockenhurst. Surely,
dear brother," he continued, holding out his hand, "you have a warmer
greeting than this for me. There
are but two boughs left upon this old, old Saxon trunk."
His elder brother dashed his hand aside with an oath, while an expression
of malignant hatred passed over his passion-drawn features.
"You are the young cub of Beaulieu, then," said he. "I
might have known it by the sleek face and the slavish manner too monk-ridden and
craven in spirit to answer back a rough word. Thy father, shaveling, with all
his faults, had a man's heart; and there were few who could look him in the eyes
on the day of his anger. But you!
Look there, rat, on yonder field where the cows graze, and on that other
beyond, and on the orchard hard by the church.
Do you know that all these were squeezed out of your dying father by
greedy priests, to pay for your upbringing in the cloisters?
I, the Socman, am shorn of my lands that you may snivel Latin and eat
bread for which you never did hand's turn. You rob me first, and now you would
come preaching and whining, in search mayhap of another field or two for your
priestly friends. Knave! my dogs shall be set upon you; but, meanwhile, stand
out of my path, and stop me at your peril!"
As he spoke he rushed forward, and, throwing the lad to one side, caught
the woman's wrist. Alleyne,
however, as active as a young deer- hound, sprang to her aid and seized her by
the other arm, raising his iron-shod staff as he did so.
"You may say what you will to me," he said between his clenched
teeth--"it may be no better than I deserve; but, brother or no, I swear by
my hopes of salvation that I will break your arm if you do not leave hold of the
There was a ring in his voice and a flash in his eyes which promised that
the blow would follow quick at the heels of the word.
For a moment the blood of the long line of hot-headed thanes was too
strong for the soft whisperings of the doctrine of meekness and mercy.
He was conscious of a fierce wild thrill through his nerves and a throb
of mad gladness at his heart, as his real human self burst for an instant the
bonds of custom and of teaching which had held it so long.
The socman sprang back, looking to left and to right for some stick or
stone which might serve him for weapon; but finding none, he turned and ran at
the top of his speed for the house, blowing the while upon a shrill whistle.
"Come!" gasped the woman.
"Fly, friend, ere he come back."
"Nay, let him come!" cried Alleyne.
"I shall not budge a foot for him or his dogs."
"Come, come!" she cried, tugging at his arm.
"I know the man: he will kill you.
Come, for the Virgin's sake, or for my sake, for I cannot go and leave
"Come, then," said he; and they ran together to the cover of
the woods. As they gained the edge
of the brushwood, Alleyne, looking back, saw his brother come running out of the
house again, with the sun gleaming upon his hair and his beard.
He held something which flashed in his right hand, and he stooped at the
threshold to unloose the black hound.
"This way!" the woman whispered, in a low eager voice.
"Through the bushes to that forked ash.
Do not heed me; I can run as fast as you, I trow.
Now into the stream--right in, over ankles, to throw the dog off, though
I think it is but a common cur, like its master."
As she spoke, she sprang herself into the shallow stream and ran swiftly
up the centre of it, with the brown water bubbling over her feet and her hand
out-stretched toward the clinging branches of bramble or sapling.
Alleyne followed close at her heels, with his mind in a whirl at this
black welcome and sudden shifting of all his plans and hopes.
Yet, grave as were his thoughts, they would still turn to wonder as he
looked at the twinkling feet of his guide and saw her lithe figure bend this way
and that, dipping under boughs, springing over stones, with a lightness and ease
which made it no small task for him to keep up with her.
At last, when he was almost out of breath, she suddenly threw herself
down upon a mossy bank, between two holly- bushes, and looked ruefully at her
own dripping feet and bedraggled skirt.
"Holy Mary!" said she, "what shall I do?
Mother will keep me to my chamber for a month, and make me work at the
tapestry of the nine bold knights. She
promised as much last week, when I fell into Wilverly bog, and yet she knows
that I cannot abide needle- work."
Alleyne, still standing in the stream, glanced down at the graceful
pink-and-white figure, the curve of raven-black hair, and the proud, sensitive
face which looked up frankly and confidingly at his own.
"We had best on," he said.
"He may yet overtake us."
"Not so. We are well off his land now, nor can he tell in this great
wood which way we have taken. But
you--you had him at your mercy. Why
did you not kill him?"
"Kill him! My brother!"
"And why not?"--with a quick gleam of her white teeth.
"He would have killed you. I
know him, and I read it in his eyes. Had
I had your staff I would have tried--aye, and done it, too."
She shook her clenched white hand as she spoke, and her lips tightened
"I am already sad in heart for what I have done," said he,
sitting down on the bank, and sinking his face into his hands. "God help
me!--all that is worst in me seemed to come uppermost. Another instant, and I
had smitten him: the son of my own mother, the man whom I have longed to take to
my heart. Alas! that I should still be so weak."
"Weak!" she exclaimed, raising her black eyebrows.
"I do not think that even my father himself, who is a hard judge of
manhood, would call you that. But
it is, as you may think, sir, a very pleasant thing for me to hear that you are
grieved at what you have done, and I can but rede that we should go back
together, and you should make your peace with the Socman by handing back your
prisoner. It is a sad thing that so
small a thing as a woman should come between two who are of one blood."
Simple Alleyne opened his eyes at this little spurt of feminine
bitterness. "Nay, lady,"
said he, "that were worst of all. What
man would be so caitiff and thrall as to fail you at your need? I have turned my
brother against me, and now, alas! I
appear to have given you offence also with my clumsy tongue.
But, indeed, lady, I am torn both ways, and can scarce grasp in my mind
what it is that has befallen."
"Nor can I marvel at that," said she, with a little tinkling
laugh. "You came in as the
knight does in the jongleur's romances, between dragon and damsel, with small
time for the asking of questions. Come,"
she went on, springing to her feet, and smoothing down her rumpled frock,
"let us walk through the shaw together, and we may come upon Bertrand with
the horses. If poor Troubadour had
not cast a shoe, we should not have had this trouble.
Nay, I must have your arm: for, though I speak lightly, now that all is
happily over I am as frightened as my brave Roland.
See how his chest heaves, and his dear feathers all awry--the little
knight who would not have his lady mishandled." So she prattled on to her
hawk, while Alleyne walked by her side, stealing a glance from time to time at
this queenly and wayward woman. In
silence they wandered together over the velvet turf and on through the broad
Minstead woods, where the old lichen- draped beeches threw their circles of
black shadow upon the sunlit sward.
"You have no wish, then, to hear my story?" said she, at last.
"If it pleases you to tell it me," he answered.
"Oh!" she cried tossing her head, "if it is of so little
interest to you, we had best let it bide."
"Nay," said he eagerly, "I would fain hear it."
"You have a right to know it, if you have lost a brother's favor
through it. And yet----Ah well, you
are, as I understand, a clerk, so I must think of you as one step further in
orders, and make you my father-confessor. Know
then that this man has been a suitor for my hand, less as I think for my own
sweet sake than because he hath ambition and had it on his mind that he might
improve his fortunes by dipping into my father's strong box-- though the Virgin
knows that he would have found little enough therein.
My father, however, is a proud man, a gallant knight and tried soldier of
the oldest blood, to whom this man's churlish birth and low descent----Oh,
lackaday! I had forgot that he was of the same strain as yourself."
"Nay, trouble not for that," said Alleyne, "we are all
from good mother Eve."
"Streams may spring from one source, and yet some be clear and some
be foul," quoth she quickly. "But,
to be brief over the matter, my father would have none of his wooing, nor in
sooth would I. On that he swore a
vow against us, and as he is known to be a perilous man, with many outlaws and
others at his back, my father forbade that I should hawk or hunt in any part of
the wood to the north of the Christchurch road.
As it chanced, however, this morning my little Roland here was loosed at
a strong-winged heron, and page Bertrand and I rode on, with no thoughts but for
the sport, until we found ourselves in Minstead woods.
Small harm then, but that my horse Troubadour trod with a tender foot
upon a sharp stick, rearing and throwing me to the ground.
See to my gown, the third that I have befouled within the week.
Wo worth me when Agatha the tire-woman sets eyes upon it!"
"And what then, lady?" asked Alleyne.
"Why, then away ran Troubadour, for belike I spurred him in falling,
and Bertrand rode after him as hard as hoofs could bear him.
When I rose there was the Socman himself by my side, with the news that I
was on his land, but with so many courteous words besides, and such gallant
bearing, that he prevailed upon me to come to his house for shelter, there to
wait until the page return. By the
grace of the Virgin and the help of my patron St. Magdalen, I stopped short ere
I reached his door, though, as you saw, he strove to hale me up to it. And then--ah-h-h-h!"--she shivered and chattered like
one in an ague-fit.
"What is it?" cried Alleyne, looking about in alarm.
"Nothing, friend, nothing! I
was but thinking how I bit into his hand. Sooner
would I bite living toad or poisoned snake.
Oh, I shall loathe my lips forever!
But you--how brave you were, and how quick!
How meek for yourself, and how bold for a stranger! If I were a man, I
should wish to do what you have done."
"It was a small thing," he answered, with a tingle of pleasure
at these sweet words of praise. "But
you--what will you do?"
"There is a great oak near here, and I think that Bertrand will
bring the horses there, for it is an old hunting-tryst of ours. Then hey for
home, and no more hawking to-day! A
twelve-mile gallop will dry feet and skirt."
"But your father?"
"Not one word shall I tell him.
You do not know him; but I can tell you he is not a man to disobey as I
have disobeyed him. He would avenge me, it is true, but it is not to him that I
shall look for vengeance. Some day,
perchance, in joust or in tourney, knight may wish to wear my colors, and then I
shall tell him that if he does indeed crave my favor there is wrong unredressed,
and the wronger the Socman of Minstead. So my knight shall find a venture such as bold knights love,
and my debt shall be paid, and my father none the wiser, and one rogue the less
in the world. Say, is not that a brave plan?"
"Nay, lady, it is a thought which is unworthy of you.
How can such as you speak of violence and of vengeance.
Are none to be gentle and kind, none to be piteous and forgiving? Alas! it is a hard, cruel world, and I would that I had never
left my abbey cell. To hear such
words from your lips is as though I heard an angel of grace preaching the
devil's own creed."
She started from him as a young colt who first feels the bit.
"Gramercy for your rede, young sir!" she said, with a little curtsey.
"As I understand your words, you are grieved that you ever met me,
and look upon me as a preaching devil. Why,
my father is a bitter man when he is wroth, but hath never called me such a name
as that. It may be his right and
duty, but certes it is none of thine. So
it would be best, since you think so lowly of me, that you should take this path
to the left while I keep on upon this one; for it is clear that I can be no fit
companion for you." So saying,
with downcast lids and a dignity which was somewhat marred by her bedraggled
skirt, she swept off down the muddy track, leaving Alleyne standing staring
ruefully after her. He waited in vain for some backward glance or sign of
relenting, but she walked on with a rigid neck until her dress was only a white
flutter among the leaves. Then,
with a sunken head and a heavy heart, he plodded wearily down the other path,
wroth with himself for the rude and uncouth tongue which had given offence where
so little was intended.
He had gone some way, lost in doubt and in self-reproach, his mind all
tremulous with a thousand new-found thoughts and fears and wonderments, when of
a sudden there was a light rustle of the leaves behind him, and, glancing round,
there was this graceful, swift-footed creature, treading in his very shadow,
with her proud head bowed, even as his was--the picture of humility and
"I shall not vex you, nor even speak," she said; "but I
would fain keep with you while we are in the wood."
"Nay, you cannot vex me," he answered, all warm again at the
very sight of her. "It was my rough words which vexed you; but I have been
thrown among men all my life, and indeed, with all the will, I scarce know how
to temper my speech to a lady's ear."
"Then unsay it," cried she quickly; "say that I was right
to wish to have vengeance on the Socman."
"Nay, I cannot do that," he answered gravely.
"Then who is ungentle and unkind now?" she cried in triumph.
"How stern and cold you are for one so young! Art surely no mere clerk, but
bishop or cardinal at the least. Shouldst
have crozier for staff and mitre for cap. Well,
well, for your sake I will forgive the Socman and take vengeance on none but on
my own wilful self who must needs run into danger's path.
So will that please you, sir?"
"There spoke your true self," said he; "and you will find
more pleasure in such forgiveness than in any vengeance."
She shook her head, as if by no means assured of it, and then with a
sudden little cry, which had more of surprise than of joy in it, "Here is
Bertrand with the horses!"
Down the glade there came a little green-clad page with laughing eyes,
and long curls floating behind him. He
sat perched on a high bay horse, and held on to the bridle of a spirited black
palfrey, the hides of both glistening from a long run.
"I have sought you everywhere, dear Lady Maude," said he in a
piping voice, springing down from his horse and holding the stirrup.
"Troubadour galloped as far as Holmhill ere I could catch him. I trust that you have had no hurt or scath?" He shot a
questioning glance at Alleyne as he spoke.
"No, Bertrand," said she, "thanks to this courteous
stranger. And now, sir," she continued, springing into her saddle, "it
is not fit that I leave you without a word more.
Clerk or no, you have acted this day as becomes a true knight.
King Arthur and all his table could not have done more. It may be that, as some small return, my father or his kin
may have power to advance your interest. He
is not rich, but he is honored and hath great friends.
Tell me what is your purpose, and see if he may not aid it."
"Alas! lady, I have now no purpose.
I have but two friends in the world, and they have gone to Christchurch,
where it is likely I shall join them."
"And where is Christchurch?"
"At the castle which is held by the brave knight, Sir Nigel Loring,
constable to the Earl of Salisbury."
To his surprise she burst out a-laughing, and, spurring her palfrey,
dashed off down the glade, with her page riding behind her.
Not one word did she say, but as she vanished amid the trees she half
turned in her saddle and waved a last greeting. Long time he stood, half hoping
that she might again come back to him; but the thud of the hoofs had died away,
and there was no sound in all the woods but the gentle rustle and dropping of
the leaves. At last he turned away
and made his way back to the high-road--another person from the light-hearted
boy who had left it a short three hours before.
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