HOW BELTANE TALKED WITH ONE HIGHT GILES BRABBLECOMBE, WHO WAS A
NOTABLE AND LEARNED ARCHER
The morning was yet young when my Beltane fared forth into the world, a
joyous, golden morning trilling with the glad song of birds and rich
with a thousand dewy scents; a fair, sweet, joyous world it was indeed,
whose glories, stealing in at eye and ear, filled him with their
gladness. On strode my Beltane by rippling brook and sleepy pool, with
step swift and light and eyes wide and shining, threading an unerring
course as only a forester might; now crossing some broad and sunny
glade where dawn yet lingered in rosy mist, anon plunging into the
green twilight of dell and dingle, through tangled brush and scented
bracken gemmed yet with dewy fire, by marsh and swamp and lichened
rock, until he came out upon the forest road, that great road laid by
the iron men of Rome, but now little better than a grassy track, yet
here and there, with mossy stone set up to the glory of proud emperor
and hardy centurion long since dust and ashes; a rutted track, indeed,
but leading ever on, 'neath mighty trees, over hill and dale towards
the blue mystery beyond.
Now, in a while, being come to the brow of a hill, needs must my
Beltane pause to look back upon the woodlands he had loved so well and,
sighing, he stretched his arms thitherward; and lo! out of the soft
twilight of the green, stole a gentle wind full of the scent of root
and herb and the fresh, sweet smell of earth, a cool, soft wind that
stirred the golden hair at his temples, like a caress, and so--was
gone. For a while he stood thus, gazing towards where he knew his
father yet knelt in prayer for him, then turned he slowly, and went his
appointed way.
Thus did Beltane bid farewell to the greenwood and to woodland things,
and thus did the green spirit of the woods send forth a gentle wind to
kiss him on the brow ere he went out into the world of men and cities.
Now, after some while, as he walked, Beltane was aware of the silvery
tinkle of bells and, therewith, a full, sweet voice upraised in song,
and the song was right merry and the words likewise:
"O ne'er shall my lust for the bowl decline,
Nor my love for my good long bow;
For as bow to the shaft and as bowl to the wine,
Is a maid to a man, I trow."
Looking about, Beltane saw the singer, a comely fellow whose long legs
bestrode a plump ass; a lusty man he was, clad in shirt of mail and
with a feather of green brooched to his escalloped hood; a long-bow
hung at his back together with a quiver of arrows, while at his thigh
swung a heavy, broad-bladed sword. Now he, espying Beltane amid the
leaves, brought the ass to a sudden halt and clapped hand to the pommel
of his sword.
"How now, Goliath!" cried he. "_Pax vobiscum,_ and likewise
_benedicite_! Come ye in peace, forsooth, or is it to be _bellum
internecinum?_ Though, by St. Giles, which is my patron saint, I care
not how it be, for mark ye, _vacuus cantat coram latrone viator,_ Sir
Goliath, the which in the vulgar tongue signifieth that he who travels
with an empty purse laughs before the footpad--moreover, I have a
sword!"
But Beltane laughed, saying:
"I have no lust to thy purse, most learned bowman, or indeed to aught
of thine unless it be thy company."
"My company?" quoth the bowman, looking Beltane up and down with merry
blue eyes, "why now do I know thee for a fellow of rare good judgment,
for my company is of the best, in that I have a tongue which loveth to
wag in jape or song. Heard ye how the birds and I were a-carolling? A
right blithesome morn, methinks, what with my song, and the birds'
song, and this poor ass's bells--aye, and the flowers a-peep from the
bank yonder. God give ye joy of it, tall brother, as he doth me and
this goodly ass betwixt my knees, patient beast."
Now leaning on his quarter-staff Beltane smiled and said:
"How came ye by that same ass, master bowman?"
"Well--I met a monk!" quoth the fellow with a gleam of white teeth. "O!
a ponderous monk, brother, of most mighty girth of belly! Now, as ye
see, though this ass be sleek and fat as an abbot, she is something
small. 'And shall so small a thing needs bear so great a mountain o'
flesh?' says I (much moved at the sight, brother). 'No, by the blessed
bones of St. Giles (which is my patron saint, brother), so thereafter
(by dint of a little persuasion, brother) my mountainous monk, to ease
the poor beast's back, presently got him down and I, forthwith, got up--
as being more in proportion to her weight, sweet beast! O! surely
ne'er saw I fairer morn than this, and never, in so fair a morn, saw I
fairer man than thou, Sir Forester, nor taller, and I have seen many
men in my day. Wherefore an so ye will, let us company together what
time we may; 'tis a solitary road, and the tongue is a rare shortener
of distance."
So Beltane strode on beside this garrulous bowman, hearkening to his
merry talk, yet himself speaking short and to the point as was ever his
custom; as thus:
BOWMAN. "How do men call thee, tall brother?"
BELTANE. "Beltane."
BOWMAN. "Ha! 'Tis a good name, forsooth I've heard worse--and yet,
forsooth, I've heard better. Yet 'tis a fairish name--'twill serve. As
for me, Giles Brabblecombe o' the Hills men call me, for 'twas in the
hill country I was born thirty odd years agone. Since then twelve
sieges have I seen with skirmishes and onfalls thrice as many. Death
have I beheld in many and divers shapes and in experience of wounds and
dangers am rich, though, by St. Giles (my patron saint), in little
else. Yet do I love life the better, therefore, and I have read that
'to despise gold is to be rich.'"
BELTANE. "Do all bowmen read, then?"
BOWMAN. "Why look ye, brother, I am not what I was aforetime--_non sum
quails eram _--I was bred a shaveling, a mumbler, a be-gowned
do-nothing--brother, I was a monk, but the flesh and the devil made of me
a bowman, heigho--so wags the world! Though methinks I am a better
bowman than ever I was a monk, having got me some repute with this my
bow."
BELTANE (shaking his head). "Methinks thy choice was but a sorry one
for--"
BOWMAN (laughing). "Choice quotha! 'Twas no choice, 'twas forced upon
me, _vi et armis._ I should be chanting prime or matins at this very
hour but for this tongue o' mine, God bless it! For, when it should
have been droning psalms, it was forever lilting forth some blithesome
melody, some merry song of eyes and lips and stolen kisses. In such
sort that the good brethren were wont to gather round and, listening,--
sigh! Whereof it chanced I was, one night, by order of the holy Prior,
drubbed forth of the sacred precincts. So brother Anselm became Giles
o' the Bow--the kind Saints be praised, in especial holy Saint Giles
(which is my patron saint!). For, heed me--better the blue sky and the
sweet, strong wind than the gloom and silence of a cloister. I had
rather hide this sconce of mine in a hood of mail than in the mitre of
a lord bishop--_nolo episcopare,_ good brother! Thus am I a fighter,
and a good fighter, and a wise fighter, having learned 'tis better to
live to fight than to fight to live."
BELTANE. "And for whom do ye fight?"
BOWMAN. "For him that pays most, _pecuniae obediunt omnia,_ brother."
BELTANE (frowning). "Money? And nought beside?"
BOWMAN (staring). "As what, brother?"
BELTANE. "The justice of the cause wherefore ye fight."
BOWMAN. "Justice quotha--cause! O innocent brother, what have such
matters to do with such as I? See you now, such lieth the case. You,
let us say, being a baron (and therefore noble!) have a mind to a
certain other baron's castle, or wife, or both--(the which is more
usual) wherefore ye come to me, who am but a plain bowman knowing
nought of the case, and you chaffer with me for the use of this my body
for so much money, and thereafter I shoot my best on thy behalf as in
mine honour bound. Thus have I fought both for and against Black Ivo
throughout the length and breadth of his Duchy of Pentavalon. If ye be
minded to sell that long sword o' thine, to none better market could ye
come, for there be ever work for such about Black Ivo."
BELTANE. "Aye, 'tis so I hear."
BOWMAN. "Nor shall ye anywhere find a doughtier fighter than Duke Ivo,
nor a leader quicker to spy out the vantage of position and attack."
BELTANE. "Is he so lusty a man-at-arms?"
BOWMAN. "With lance, axe, or sword he hath no match. I have seen him
lead a charge. I have watched him fight afoot. I have stormed behind
him through a breach, and I know of none dare cope with him--unless it
be Sir Pertolepe the Red."
BELTANE. "Hast ne'er heard tell, then, of Benedict of Bourne?"
BOWMAN (clapping hand to thigh). "Now by the blood and bones of St.
Giles 'tis so! Out o' the mouth of a babe and suckling am I corrected!
Verily if there be one to front Black Ivo 'tis Benedict o' the Mark. To
behold these two at handstrokes--with axes--ha, there would be a sweet
affray indeed--a sight for the eyes of holy archangels! Dost know aught
of Sir Benedict, O Innocence?"
BELTANE. "I have seen him."
BOWMAN. "Then, my soft and gentle dove-like youth, get thee to thy
marrow-bones and pray that kind heaven shall make thee more his like,
for in his shoes doth stand a man--a knight--a very paladin!"
BELTANE. "Who fighteth not for--hire. Sir Bowman!"
BOWMAN. "Yet who hireth to fight, Sir Dove-eyed Giant, for I have
fought for him, ere now, within his great keep of Thrasfordham within
Bourne. But, an ye seek employ, his is but a poor service, where a man
shall come by harder knocks than good broad pieces."
BELTANE. "And yet, 'spite thy cunning and all thy warring, thy purse
goeth empty!"
BOWMAN. "My purse, Sir Dove? Aye, I told thee so for that I am by
nature cautious--_sicut mos est nobis_! But thy dove's eyes are honest
eyes, so now shall you know that hid within the lining of this my left
boot be eighty and nine gold pieces, and in my right a ring with stones
of price, and, moreover, here behold a goodly chain."
So saying, the bowman drew from his bosom a gold chain, thick and long
and heavy, and held it up in the sunlight.
"I got this, Sir Dove, together with the ring and divers other toys, at
the storming of Belsaye, five years agone. Aha! a right good town is
Belsaye, and growing rich and fat against another plucking."
"And how came Belsaye to be stormed?" Quoth Giles the Bowman, eying
his golden chain:
"My lord Duke Ivo had a mind to a certain lady, who was yet but a
merchant's daughter, look ye. But she was young and wondrous fair, for
Duke Ivo hath a quick eye and rare judgment in such pretty matters. But
she (and she but a merchant's daughter!) took it ill, and when Duke
Ivo's messengers came to bear her to his presence, she whined and
struggled, as is ever woman's way, and thereafter in the open street
snatched a dagger and thereupon, before her father's very eye did slay
herself (and she but a merchant's daughter!), whereat some hot-head
plucked out sword and other citizens likewise, and of my lord Duke's
messengers there none escaped save one and he sore wounded. So Belsaye
city shut its gates 'gainst my lord Duke and set out fighting-hoards
upon its walls. Yet my lord Duke battered and breached it, for few can
match him in a siege, and stormed it within three days. And, by Saint
Giles, though he lost the merchant's daughter methinks he lacked not
at all, for the women of Belsaye are wondrous fair."
The rising sun made a glory all about them, pouring his beams 'twixt
mighty trees whose knotted, far-flung branches dappled the way here and
there with shadow; but now Beltane saw nought of it by reason that he
walked with head a-droop and eyes that stared earthward; moreover his
hands were clenched and his lips close and grim-set. As for Giles o'
the Bow, he chirrupped merrily to the ass, and whistled full
melodiously, mocking a blackbird that piped amid the green. Yet in a
while he turned to stare at Beltane rubbing at his square, shaven chin
with strong, brown fingers.
"Forsooth," quoth he, nodding, "thou'rt a lusty fellow, Sir
Gentleness, by the teeth of St. Giles, which is my patron saint, ne'er
saw I a goodlier spread of shoulder nor such a proper length of arm to
twirl an axe withal, and thy legs like me well--hast the makings of a
right lusty man-at-arms in thee, despite thy soft and peaceful look!"
"Yet a lover of peace am I!" said Beltane, his head yet drooping.
"Peace, quotha--peace? Ha? by all the holy saints--peace! A soft word!
A woman's word! A word smacking of babes and milk! Out upon thee, what
hath a man with such an arm--aye, and legs--to do with peace? An you
would now, I could bring ye to good service 'neath Duke Ivo's banner.
'Tis said he hath sworn, this year, to burn Thrasfordham keep, to hang
Benedict o' the Mark and lay waste to Bourne. Aha! you shall see good
fighting 'neath Ivo's banner, Sir Dove!"
Then Beltane raised his head and spake, swift and sudden, on this wise:
"An I must fight, the which God forbid, yet once this my sword is drawn
ne'er shall it rest till I lie dead or Black Ivo is no more."
Then did the archer stare upon my Beltane in amaze with eyes full wide
and mouth agape, nor spake he for awhile, then:
"Black Ivo--thou!" he cried, and laughed amain. "Go to, my tender
youth," said he, "methinks a lute were better fitted to thy hand than
that great sword o' thine." Now beholding Beltane's gloomy face, he
smiled within his hand, yet eyed him thoughtfully thereafter, and so
they went with never a word betwixt them. But, in a while, the archer
fell to snuffing the air, and clapped Beltane upon the shoulder.
"Aha!" quoth he, "methinks we reach the fair Duchy of Pentavalon; smell
ye aught, brother?" And now, indeed, Beltane became aware of a cold
wind, foul and noisome, a deadly, clammy air breathing of things
corrupt, chilling the flesh with swift unthinking dread; and, halting
in disgust, he looked about him left and right.
"Above--above!" cried Giles o' the Bow, "this is Sir Pertolepe's
country--look you heavenward, Sir Innocence!"
Then, lifting his eyes to the shivering leaves overhead, Beltane of a
sudden espied a naked foot--a down-curving, claw-like thing,
shrivelled and hideous, and, glancing higher yet, beheld a sight to
blast the sun from heaven: now staring up at the contorted horror of
this shrivelled thing that once had lived and laughed, Beltane let fall
his staff and, being suddenly sick and faint, sank upon his knees and,
covering his eyes, crouched there in the grass the while that grisly,
silent thing swayed to and fro above him in the gentle wind of morning
and the cord whereby it hung creaked faintly.
"How now--how now!" cried Giles; "do ye blench before this churlish
carrion? Aha! ye shall see the trees bear many such hereabouts. Get up,
my qualmish, maid-like youth; he ne'er shall injure thee nor any man
again--save by the nose--faugh! Rise, rise and let us be gone."
So, presently Beltane, shivering, got him to his feet and looking up,
pale-faced, beheld upon the ragged breast a parchment with this legend
in fair, good writing:
HE KILLED A DEER
Then spake Beltane 'twixt pallid lips:
"And do they hang men for killing deer in this country?"
"Aye, forsooth, and very properly, for, heed me, your ragged rogues be
a plenty, but a stag is a noble creature and something scarcer--
moreover they be the Duke's."
"By whose order was this done?"
"Why, the parchment beareth the badge of Sir Pertolepe, called the Red.
But look you, Sir Innocent, no man may kill a deer unless he be of
gentle blood."
"And wherefore?"
"'Tis so the law!"
"And who made the law?"
"Why--as to that," quoth Giles, rubbing his chin, "as to that--what
matters it to you or me? Pah! come away lest I stifle!"
But now, even as they stood thus, out of the green came a cry, hoarse
at first but rising ever higher until it seemed to fill the world about
and set the very leaves a-quiver. Once it came, and twice, and so--was
gone. Then Beltane trembling, stooped and caught up his long quarter-staff,
and seized the bowman in a shaking hand that yet was strong, and
dragging him from the ass all in a moment, plunged into the underbrush
whence the cry had come. And, in a while, they beheld a cottage upon
whose threshold a child lay--not asleep, yet very still; and beyond the
cottage, his back to a tree, a great hairy fellow, quarter-staff in
hand, made play against five others whose steel caps and ringed
hauberks glittered in the sun. Close and ever closer they beset the
hairy man who, bleeding at the shoulder, yet swung his heavy staff; but
ever the glittering pike-heads thrust more close. Beside the man a
woman crouched, young and of comely seeming, despite wild hair and
garments torn and wrenched, who of a sudden, with another loud cry,
leapt before the hairy man covering him with her clinging body and, in
that moment, her scream died to a choking gasp and she sank huddled
'neath a pike-thrust. Then Beltane leapt, the great sword flashing in
his grasp, and smote the smiter and set his feet upon the writhing body
and smote amain with terrible arm, and his laughter rang out fierce and
wild. So for a space, sword clashed with pike, but ever Beltane,
laughing loud, drave them before him till but two remained and they
writhing upon the sward. Then Beltane turned to see Giles o' the Bow,
who leaned against a tree near by, wide-eyed and pale.
"Look!" he cried, pointing with quivering finger, "one dead and one
sore hurt--Saint Giles save us, what have ye done? These be Sir
Pertolepe's foresters--behold his badge!"
But Beltane laughed, fierce-eyed.
"How, bowman, dost blench before a badge, then? I was too meek and
gentle for thee ere this, but now, if thou'rt afraid--get you gone!"
"Art surely mad!" quoth Giles. "The saints be my witness here was no
act of mine!" So saying he turned away and hasted swift-footed through
the green. Now when the bowman was gone, Beltane turned him to the
hairy man who yet kneeled beside the body of the woman. Said he:
"Good fellow, is there aught I may do for thee?"
"Wife and child--and dead!" the man muttered, "child and wife--and
dead! A week ago, my brother--and now, the child, and then the wife!
Child and wife and brother--and dead!" Then Beltane came, minded to aid
him with the woman, but the hairy man sprang before her, swinging his
great staff and muttering in his beard; therefore Beltane, sick at
heart, turned him away. And, in a while, being come to the road once
more, he became aware that he yet grasped his sword and beheld its
bright steel dimmed here and there with blood, and, as he gazed, his
brow grew dark and troubled.
"'Tis thus have I made beginning," he sighed, "so now, God aiding me,
ne'er will I rest 'till peace be come again and tyranny made an end
of!"
Then, very solemnly, did my Beltane kneel him beside the way and
lifting the cross hilt of his sword to heaven kissed it, and thereafter
rose. And so, having cleansed the steel within the earth, he sheathed
the long blade and went, slowfooted, upon his way.