The Italian Armourer—The Knight of Cheviot.
“Ha! Signor Andria Martellino, can it be? Do mine eyes deceive me, or
is it really thou whom I do thus behold in Scotland?” cried Mortimer
Sang, as he entered the temporary shop of an armourer, erected at the
back of one end of the lists; “by the mass, I should as soon have
looked to see our Holy Father the Pope in these parts, as thee in the
Mead of St. John’s.”
The person the squire thus addressed was a tall, thin, shambling,
though athletic, black-a-viced looking man, whose very appearance
bespoke his long intimacy with ignited charcoal and sulphurous vapours,
and whose stooping shoulders argued a life of bending over the anvil,
whilst the length, swing, and sinew of his arms betrayed the power with
which he might still be expected to assail the stubborn metal. As Sang
spoke to him he opened a wide mouth from ear to ear, so that the large
gold rings that ornamented their pendulous cartilages almost appeared
to issue from the corners of it, and replied with a grin of immediate
recognition.
“Eh! Signore Mortimero Sang, how I am verri glad to see dee. Dee be
verri vell, I do hope? E il vostro padrone, il Cavaliere?—Eh! il
Cavaliere Seer Pietro Hepborne, I hope he is good?—sta bene?—Preet
vell, eh?”
“Yes,” replied Sang, “I thank God, he is well; he is here upon the
field.”
“Ha, ha!” returned the armourer, “Seer Pietro wid dee here? Ha, I glad
to hear dat. I glad to see heem. San Lorenzo, he alvays moss good for
me. Sempre, sempre mi fa molto bene. He do me more vell dan all de oder
Cavalieri in de leest at Paris; he break more shield, more
breast-plate, more helmet of knight, dan all de oder who did joust.
Dite mi, Signor Mortimero, dos he vant anyding in my vay? I have moss
good armour, all made of right good Milano metal—tutta fabricata nella
fabrica mia—all made in my vat dee do call vorksop. Dere, guardate, see
vat a preet show. Aha!” continued he, as he opened a door that led from
the temporary workshop, where his assistant workmen were labouring at
the forge, into an inner place, where there was a grand display of
armour, and weapons of all sorts and sizes, ready for immediate use;
“dou mayest see I can feet il Cavaliere Seer Pietro vid anyding dat he
may vant in my vay.”
“Nay,” replied Sang, “I do opine that Sir Patrick lacketh nothing in
thy way; he is right well supplied with all necessary gear at present.”
“Ah!” said the Italian, “I am verri sorri, verri sorri for dat. I glad
to gif him armour for noding at all; he do cause me moss good vid the
vicked blows he do give. Ha! it vas vonder to see heem. I do make
armour to stand against the blows of de Diavolo heemself—ma, for Seer
Pietro—no; he cut troo anyding. I verri glad to arm heem for noding—si,
Signor Mortimero, for noding at all.”
“Eh! sayest thou so, Signor Martellino, my master?” exclaimed Sang,
with a knowing look; “by the mass, but I am right glad to find thee so
liberally disposed, yea, and all the more, too, that thou dost seem to
have sike mountance of the very articles I do lack. By St. Baldrid,
though Sir Patrick hath no need to put thy generosity to the preve in
his own proper person, I shall do my best to pleasure thee, and shall
strive so far to overcome my delicacy, and to yield me to thy volunde,
as to coart myself to accept of a helmet and a complete suit of plate
from thee on gift.”
“Eh, cospetto! no, no, no, Signor Mortimero, mio caro,” hastily replied
the Italian starting back, and screwing up his mouth, and shrugging his
shoulders; “eh, povero me, quello non poso fare—I not can do dat. Ma,
dou not intend vat I do mean. I not do mean dee; but I do mean il
Signor Cavaliere Pietro Hepborne, il vostro padrone. It vas heem I do
speak about.”
“Nay, I do comprehend thee perfectly,” answered Sang; “but as it is
with my master’s money that I must pay for what I may buy from thee, I
was in full thought that thou mightest have been filled with jovisaunce
thus to discover a mode of showing thy gratitude and regard towards
him, by haining his purse, and giving that gratis the which he must
otherwise lay out for so largely.”
“Ha! Signor Mortimero caro,” said Andria, “ma non m’intendete ancora;
dou not intend vat I do say yet. Il Signor Cavaliere Pietro Hepborne e
voi sono du persone; ha! dou and dy master not von man. I do say
(figurativamente) dat I moss glad to arm Seer Pietro, because he do
vork moss mischief to de arms of de oder knights, so moss dat he more
dan pay me by vat I sell to dem, for all vat I mote gif him. He do cut
out good vork and good sell for me; ma voi siete vat you call an
apprentiss in de joost. I give dee good armour! Ha, ha! it vould be all
destroy in one leettel momento, and dou voud do leettel harm to dose
dat mote be against dee. Ah-ha! dou voud destroy no von man’s armour
but dine own. Ha! dou hast de good coraggio, and de stout leems; ma,
per Baccho, dy skeel is not like dat of dy padrone, Seer Pietro.”
“Nay, as to that,” said Sang, laughing good-naturedly, “thou mayest be
right enow, Signor Andria; yet meseemed that the stream of thy
generosity did run best when thou didst ween that no one thirsted. But
I am glad to see thee so well provided with good steel plate, from the
which I must now supply myself, sith that thou wilt not be generous;
and though they be dear, yet of a truth I do ken that thy goods are
ever of the best.”
“Ah-ha! Signor Sang,” answered the Italian, with an air of triumph,
“adesso avete ragione—dou art right; la mia armadura è fabricata
d’acciajo stupendissimo de Milano—vat dou voud call de best steel of
Milano. Dere is not no von as do work in vat dou call steel as do know
his trade better; dere is no armajuolo is so good as mine broder and
me. Bah! Giacomo dere dost make so moss noise vid his hammaire dat I
not see myself speak. Come dis vay, Signor Mortimero, com dis vay—come
into dis appartamento, and I make dee see all vat do make thee vonder.”
“Holy St. Andrew, what sort of men dost thou look to meet with in
Scotland, when thou dost bring sike armour as that?” cried Sang, as he
entered, and pointed to an enormous suit of plate armour that hung at
one side of the farther wall of the place; “why that must be intended
for a giant.”
“Ha, ha, ha, he! so dou dost vonder already, Signor Sang,” said the
Italian; “I did look for dy vonder, but I did not tink so dat I voud
see dee vonder for dat; I not tink but dou didst see dat in my store at
Paris. I have had him verri long—ma no, I do remember dat ’tis not long
since mine broder Giuseppe did bring him from our store at Milano. He
and anoder I did sell yesterday morning vas make by mine broder
Giuseppe, for de two ends of de store at Milano, for show. Dey look
verri preet at de two ends of de appartamento dere, vere we did show de
armour for sell. I never tink I sell von or oder, or dat I ever see von
man dat mote be big enow to wear dem. But yesterday morning I have de
good fortune to meet vid von Polypheme, who did come to me, vid von
mout I fear he did eat me up. He did vant armour. Eh, morte, I do tink
I did feet him ven none oder von man in Europe have done it but
mineself. I make him pay vell; ma, ven you see armourers like de
broders Martellini—Andria me, e Giuseppe, mine broder—de first
armourers in the vorld?”
“True, true,” replied Sang, “ye are both mighty men-at-arms, and ye
seem to know it as well, too; though, from what I know of ye both, ye
do ken better how to make a sword than to use it. But come, we lose
time. Hand me down that tilting helmet, that cuirass, and those
vantbraces and cuisses. Let me see, I say, what thou hast got that may
fit me for a turn or two in the lists. I must e’en try what I can do,
an ’twere only to hack and destroy some steel-plate to win thy favour,
and so screw up thy generosity, that I may earn a gratis suit from thee
for my prowess one of these days.”
“Aha! Signor Sang, den must dou joost vid some knight dat vear de
armour of dat donner Tedesche at de oder end of de leest,” cried
Martellino, with a sarcastic air of triumph; “dat stupid Meenher
Eisenfelsenbroken, dat do pretend to make de armour as good as me. Eh,
he! quel bericuocolajo! dat do make his breastplate of de bread of de
gingaire, his vork vill split more easy; ma, for dat sell by de
Martellini, no, dou not break it so fast, caro Signor Sang.”
“Perdie, if I can but meet with that same Polypheme of whom thou didst
talk, I will at least try the metal of thy brother Giuseppe’s plate.”
While the squire was in the act of fitting himself with what he wanted,
a new customer came into the front shop or forge, where the armourer’s
men were working strenuously, with heavy and repeated strokes, at a
piece of iron that glowed at that moment on the anvil. It was Rory
Spears.
“Hear ye me, lads,” roared he; “will ye haud yer din till I speak?”
The hammers fell thicker and faster, for the men heard him not.
“Dinna ye hear me? Haud yer din. I tell ye, till I effunde three words.
Na, the red fiend catch ye, then—devil ane o’ ye will stop. Haud yer
din, I tell ye,” shouted Rory, at the very top of his voice; but if it
had been like that of ten elephants united, it must have had as little
effect as that of a weasel amidst such thunder. The furious grimaces
and gesticulations that accompanied it were sufficiently visible, and
the iron having now become cold, the men stopped of their own accord,
and gave him an opportunity of being heard.
“Ay, by St. Lowry, I thought I should gar ye hear at length. Seest thou
here, lad,” continued he, addressing one of the men in particular, and
at the same time holding out to him the strange amphibious weapon he
usually carried, “seest thou here, my man? my clip-gaud lacketh
pointing; try what thou mayest do to sharpen it.”
The man understood not his words, but comprehended his signs, and
nodded assent; then pointing to the work they were busy about, he made
Rory aware that he must wait until they had finished it.
“Ou, ay, weel-a-weel,” said Rory, “Ise tarry here till thou be’st ready
to do the job;” and sitting down on a stool, he began peering about
with his eyes in all directions.
The door of the inner apartment being open, he sent many a long look
through the doorway, as Mortimer Sang and Andria Martellino crossed and
re-crossed his field of vision. The squire at last appeared, fully
armed cap-a-pie.
“Ha!” said he, as he strode forth, well contented with himself, “ha!
this will do—this will do bravely.”
“Ou, Maister Sang, art thou bound for the lists too,” said Rory Spears.
“Hey, Master Spears, art thou there?” replied the squire. “By’r
lackins, I knew thee not at first. Yea, I am going to try my luck.
What! be’st thou bent thither alswa with thy gaud-clip?”
“Na, na, not I,” replied Rory. “I hae other fish to fry, I promise
thee. I did come here but to get my gaud-clip sharpened. As I did sit
yestreen watchin the salmons loupin at the ess, I did espy an otter
creeping over the rock; so I threw my gaud at the brute and speared
him, but I broke the point on’t, as thou mayest see here. Na, na, I can
clip a salmon, or can toss a spear at a rae or red buck i’ the forest,
or it may be, at a man in the field; but I kenna about yere galloping
and jousting.”
“Signor Martellino, here is thy coin,” said Sang, counting it out to
him; “but remember thee thou didst owe me half a broad piece in change
the last chevisaunce that did pass between us; I do mean the which thou
didst forget to return me in our dealings at Paris, ere thou didst set
out for Milan.”
“Ah! signor, non mi recordo niente di quello,” replied Martellino, with
a knavish air of pretended forgetfulness.
“Nay, but by St. Bartholomew, thou must remember it,” said Sang
sternly. “I higgle never for thy price, but I shall have every penny
that is lawfully mine own. It was in paying thee for a morion I had of
thee; thou hadst not the change, and thou didst say I should have it
next day; but when I did call, thou wert gone to Milan. By St.
Barnabas, I will have mine own.”
“Ah! si, Signor Mortimero,” said the Italian, as if suddenly
recollecting, and twanging his response obsequiously through his nose,
accompanying it at the same time with a profound inclination of his
body, “si, avete ragione davvero, I do now remember.”
“’Tis well,” said Sang, “take this then; I shall now go look for
Polypheme. Master Spears, I bid thee good day;” and saying so, he
walked out of the forge, and, taking the rein of his steed from the
groom that attended him, mounted and rode off towards the chapel of St.
John’s.
As he approached the gate of the enclosure that surrounded it, he
observed a countryman holding two sorry ill-equipped hackneys with one
hand, and with the other an enormous heavy long-tailed coarse black
waggon-horse, covered with saddle and trappings of no small value; yet,
unfit as it seemed for tourney, it bore all the furniture necessary to
a steed destined for the lists.
Squire Mortimer dismounted, and, tossing his rein to the groom,
hastened into the Chapel, to see what new knight had arrived who could
own so unseemly a courser. The crowds who had visited the interior to
gaze at the achievements of the chevaliers, were by this time all gone
to the lists, and the most perfect stillness reigned within the Chapel.
The pages, esquires, and bannermen stood by the heraldic trophies of
their respective knights, immovable as statues; and the only sound or
motion within the place proceeded from a herald who remained to receive
and put up the achievement of any knight who might yet arrive before
sunset, and to register his name and titles, and who was at that moment
employed in doing these offices for him who called himself the Knight
of Cheviot.
This colossal man in armour was standing opposite to the place where
his achievement was erecting. On the helmet was a furze bush, with the
motto, “I prick full sore;” and the blazon bore on a field-vert, a
mountain azure, with the sun’s disc beginning to appear from behind it,
or, and the motto, “I shall shine.” The gigantic owner was leaning on a
spear, the shaft of which looked liker some taper pine-tree of good
growth, than any instrument that mortal might be supposed to wield. The
vizor of his bassinet was down, and his face was hid so that no one
could judge of it or know it; but the very shadow that he threw over
the length of the pavement of the transept, even until it rose against
the wall at the farther end of it, was enough to have daunted the
boldest heart. Sang stood patiently, with his arms folded, attentively
surveying him, and the achievement that was rearing for him; and no
sooner was the arrangement of it completed than, clutching up the shaft
of his lance short in his hand, he bestowed such a thwack with the butt
end of it on one cheek of the tilting helmet of the Knight of Cheviot,
that he made it sound through the Chapel like a bell, till all the
squires, pages, and bannermen started to hear it.
“Who art thou,” demanded the huge figure in a hollow and indistinct
voice—“who art thou who darest to challenge the Knight of Cheviot to
tilt before the day of tourney?”
“I am Mortimer Sang, esquire of the body of the renowned Sir Patrick
Hepborne, younger of Hailes,” replied he, “and thus may the herald
inscribe me, so please him. Achievement have I none at present, but a
bold heart and doughty deeds may yet win me a proud one. I do crave the
boon of a meeting from thee, mighty Knight of Mountains, so soon as the
lists may be free for us.”
“Am I, a knight, obliged to give ear to the challenge of an esquire?”
demanded he of Cheviot.
“Sir Knight,” said the herald, “such matchers are not without example,
both for jousting and outrance. But to-day and to-morrow are set apart
for giving license to all esquires and pages of good report, who have
fair reason to hope that they may one day win their spurs, that they
may challenge whom they list.”
“I could have wished some nobler antagonist to begin with,” muttered
the Knight of Cheviot; “I could have wished that Sir Patrick
Hepborne——”
“Dost thou refuse my challenge, then?” demanded Sang, striking the butt
end of his lance against the other cheek of the helmet with greater
force than before.
The Knight of Cheviot was silent and disturbed for some moments.
“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the herald, “thou mayest not well refuse it,
without forfeiting all right to tilting at this tourney.”
“Then will I accept it,” muttered the Knight of Cheviot, after a short
silence of seeming hesitation. “What! must it be even now, saidst
thou?”
“Ay, truly, as soon as the lists are clear for us,” replied Sang
coolly; “for I take it some of them are hot at it by this time. I shall
look to meet thee there forthwith, and I shall now hasten thither to
secure us our turn.”