BADGER CRACKS THE NORMAN'S PATE.
"Those who in quarrels interpose
Must often wipe a bloody nose."
_The Mastiffs._
A few miles down the valley from the Norman headquarters at the castle,
and following the trend of the river--because there was on its banks to
be found a path, or track, very irregular, it is true, but which was
made to serve the purposes of pedestrians, and which was little
frequented--a Norman runner, or messenger, the bearer of De Montfort's
despatch to the Conqueror, was steadily pressing on towards his
destination. He had had a sharp walk along a road none of the best, and
the springiness was beginning to disappear from his tread. He carried a
sword by his side. Over his shoulder there was fastened a wallet
containing provisions, and a long bow with a small quiver of arrows. In
his right hand he carried a quarterstaff, which he used as a
walking-stick. This latter weapon was much affected by the Normans, they
having learnt its use from the Saxons, and it was now inseparable from
their rough games and amusements, it being singularly adapted to call
forth the powers of strength and dexterity of the wielders of it, whilst
its vigorous application seldom resulted in anything worse than bruises
and ruffled tempers. Ahead of this Norman, and quite unobserved by him,
there was patiently lying in wait a remarkable being, who was quietly
peering over the top of a knoll which commanded a view of a turning in
the road. His dress plainly proclaimed him to be a child of the forest
and the chase, his weird and outlandish appearance being simply
indescribable. He sprang to his feet with remarkable agility as the form
of the Norman runner rounded the corner into view. He fell into the
path, and affected to journey as the stranger did, though as yet the
Norman had not got a glimpse of him. As he went slowly trudging along,
he burst into a merry ditty, trolling it right lustily. The burden of
his doggerel ran something like the following:--
"My song is of a palmer bold,
Who footed it o'er the lea.
A monkish buck to him stepp'd up,
'What's the news, my man?' quoth he.
"'Bad news! Why, wine is getting scarce,
And venison, too, I trow.
And this I know the Normans vow;
They are eat and drunk by you.
"'And paunches measuring a cloth-yard's girth,
They tap them with lance or spear;
For good old sack is kept in stock
By such, the Normans swear.'
"'Then take my bottle, thou palmer bold,
My venison pasty too.
I'll fast and pray, and hair-shirt wear,
As a pious monk should do.'"
The strange singer affected to be totally oblivious of the approach of
the Norman, for he accompanied his song by a vigorous twirling of his
quarterstaff, ever and anon flinging it into the air and catching it
again. So he kept trudging along all the while, as merrily as a cricket.
He was apparently greatly startled when the Norman accosted him in the
following unceremonious fashion:--
"Hilloa, old weazen-face! you appear to be in a wonderfully merry mood
this morning. What is't makes you wag your tail at such a rate this
morning, eh?"
"I give you good morning, fair sir. My obedience to your honour. Give me
a moment; you quite startle me. What was your honour saying to me?"
"What is it makes you so merry, pray?"
"Why, it is better to be merry than sad; and, begging your pardon for
being so bold, but I have that about me would make a man merry if he had
a foot in the grave."
"Oh, aye, that is it makes you so merry, old bogskipper, is it? I
thought you were going sweethearting."
"Marry, no! Did you ever see as old a dog as I am amuse himself by
catching his tail. Mark me, I have in my wallet good barley-bread, and a
stout collop of venison; and in my case I have a stiff supply of old
Flemish wine," said he, tapping a huge leathern bottle he carried. "So I
will be merry while it lasts, anyhow."
"I warrant, too, you have had that snout of yours to the neck of that
bottle pretty frequently, old fellow, eh?"
"Thou art in error, friend; grossly in error. Such words are a grave
reflection upon my character for sobriety. But it is only fair to say
that I have smelt at it occasionally as I came along; but I never drink
except I'm thirsty, begging your pardon, fair sir--only when I'm
thirsty."
"Thirsty, eh? And how oft does that sensation come on? Not a week
between, I'll go bond."
"No, I grant you this much. I always seem to have a parched sensation at
the pit of my stomach when wine or ale is about; and I have noticed this
frequently, good wine seems to go straight to the spot. It is a very
soothing medicine if it be applied regularly, and pretty oft, so as to
keep my stomach nice and moist."
"Well, I think you might ask a thirsty comrade to have a taste of your
wine, anyhow, old sucker. 'Tis a very small favour, that."
"Not so fast, my buck; don't jump your fence afore you come to't! First
fee your priest, then have your shriving. How should I know whether thou
beest a comrade or no. Dost thou see, to give good wine to a bad fellow
were to waste good liquor, and there is no sin in the calendar half so
bad as to waste good liquor. Marry, 'twere mortal sin."
"Ho, ho, my master's all! Dost thou know, old fellow, when an ass kicks
his heels he inquires for the cudgel. Come, now, what if I lay siege to
thy weazen carcase, and carry off thy bottle, and flay thy carcase for
thee into the bargain. How then?"
"Easy there, my hearty!" said the stranger, twirling lustily his staff.
"I trow I would flatten thy crown with my staff ere thou take my bottle;
though 'twere pity truly to flatten thee any more above thy shoulders,
for, gramercy! I take it thou would be welcome where flats are wanted."
"I perceive thou art a stout rogue enough when driven to a push, and
saucy into the bargain. But I can stop thy brag, my cock-a-loup, pretty
handy, I doubt not."
"That may be, or that may not be, which signifies nothing. But just let
me point out to thee, by way of caution, that my staff is harder than
thy pate, anyhow. So, in a friendly sort of way, I would advise thee to
take no unnecessary risks."
"Risks, eh? Ha, ha, ha! And from such a swag-belly as thou art! There
are not many risks, I flatter me."
"Very well, then; since thou wilt not be advised, take thy staff for a
friendly bout," said the Saxon, unstrapping his wallet and leathern
bottle, and laying them on the ground. "If I crack thy pate, thou shalt
have half my wine; and marry, if thou crack mine thou shalt have the
whole, for I love a bout with the staff almost as well as I like Flemish
wine."
Now the Norman prided himself upon his prowess with the staff. He was
also a span taller than the Saxon. The uncouth garments of the latter,
also, made him appear as though much beyond the time of youth, and so
disguised his stout limbs that the Norman could scarcely conceal his
contempt for such an opponent. So he readily accepted the challenge, and
at once the pair were toe to toe, and dealing blow or parry with right
good will. The Saxon did not appear to very great advantage at the
commencement of the fray. Frequently he received slight blows here and
there, at which the Norman was visibly elated, and he led the attack
with much vigour, and equal recklessness. The Saxon seemed to shrink
from the onset, but there was a sly humour lurking about his wicked grey
eye which was very ominous. Eventually taking a mild blow, without
parrying, from his foe, the Saxon put a giant's strength into his arm,
and like a thunderbolt his staff came down with a crash upon the
Norman's skull, cutting open his head, and knocking him senseless on the
ground.
"Poor fellow!" said Badger, for it was he. "You don't know how sorry I
feel to have to give you a crack like this; but less would hardly do the
business."
He quickly undid the Norman's doublet, and took from an inside pocket
the sealed message from De Montfort. Then he deposited a similar one in
its place. Next, he went down to the river and steeped a cloth in the
water, then gently bathed the Norman's head, and staunched the bleeding,
also carefully drawing the hair over it to hide the wound as much as
possible. He next poured down his throat some of the Flemish wine he
carried. The Norman slowly opened his eyes, and stared about him with a
dazed, unmeaning look.
"All right, my gallant fellow," said Badger. "Here you are. Have another
taste of my bottle."
The Norman took a good long pull, which seemed to revive him
considerably. By degrees the whole scene came back to his stunned
senses, and mechanically he put up his hand to his head, and felt the
wound.
"You hound!" said he. "You've cracked my skull!"
"Not a bit of it, my hearty! Your skull is not so easy to crack. The
skin is peeled a little, that is all, and a day or two will put it right
again."
"I trow not, nor a week or two either. You villain! You meant to brain
me, I do believe!"
"Not a bit of it, comrade. Why, if I meant you harm, what so easy whilst
you have been lying here? The fact is, you beat me black and blue. My
limbs will be sore for many a day after this. It was the first time I
had touched you; and you were so eager to knock me out of it that you
left your head unguarded. Why, man, you had the best of it up to the
last stroke."
By touching up the Norman's vanity by such artful speeches, and by
pouring good wine down his throat, the pair were speedily on good terms,
and they parted the best of friends, Badger chuckling to his heart's
content as he struck off on a short cut for the hills.
In the meantime, Oswald waited anxiously at an appointed place for the
coming of Badger, profoundly hoping that his mission would be
successful. He knew that, excepting some untoward accident had happened,
Badger would hang on to the heels of his man until, by either fair or
foul means, he secured the despatches. But he himself had prepared for
drastic means, if stratagem had failed. For failure to intercept the
message would probably mean disaster to the little Saxon colony on the
hill. His mind, however, was greatly relieved as he beheld Badger in the
distance with beaming countenance, hurrying towards him.
"Well, I'm glad to see you, Badger. How has the business gone? No
miscarriage, I hope?"
Badger made no reply, but, quickly hauling out the parchment from his
bosom, he handed it to Oswald.
"I trust this will make better answer than I can muster, my lord."
Oswald took the parchment, and quickly tore it open, and ran his eyes
over its contents.
"All right, Badger. How came you by it? Does the messenger know that you
have relieved him of his message?"
"He has not the slightest idea. He trudged off, after carefully
ascertaining, as he thought, that his packet was safe."
"You are the slyest rogue in the world, Badger, I do declare. Come, let
us hear the news, how you came by this paper?"
So, as the pair journeyed on together, Badger, in high glee, told how he
had circumvented the Norman, and sent him on his journey with a cracked
skull into the bargain, all of which Oswald highly relished.