A Monk of Fife<br />Being the Chronicle Written by Norman Leslie of Pitcullo, Concerning Marvellous, Andrew Lang [speld decodable readers TXT] 📗

Never, sure, came gladder tidings to any man than these to me.  An hour ago the rope seemed tight about my neck; one day past, and I was but a prentice to the mean craft of painting and limning, arts good for a monk, or a manant, but, save for pleasure, not to be melled or meddled with by a man of gentle blood.  And now I was to wear arms, and that in the best of causes, under the best of captains, one of my own country—a lord in Ayrshire.

“Ay, even so,” my master said, marking the joy in my face, “you are right glad to leave us—a lass and a lameter. {17} Well, well, such is youth, and eld is soon forgotten.”

I fell on my knees at his feet, and kissed his hands, and I believe that I wept.

“Sir,” I said, “you have been to me as a father, and more than it has been my fortune to find my own father.  Never would I leave you with my will, and for the gentle demoiselle, your daughter—”  But here I stinted, since in sooth I knew not well what words to say.

“Ay, we shall both miss you betimes; but courage, man!  After all, this new life beseems you best, and, mark me, a lass thinks none the worse of a lad because he wears not the prentice’s hodden grey, but a Scots archer’s green, white, and red, and Charles for badge on breast and sleeve, and a sword by his side.  And as for the bonny Book of Hours—‘Master,’ I said with shame, ‘was that my ransom?’

“Kennedy would have come near my price, and strove to make me take the gold.  But what is bred in the bone will out; I am a gentleman born, not a huckster, and the book I gave him freely.  May it profit the good knight in his devotions!  But now, come, they are weary waiting for us; the hour waxes late, and Elliot, I trow, is long abed.  You must begone to the castle.”

In the stairs, and about the door, some ten of Sir Hugh’s men were waiting, all countrymen of my own, and the noise they made and their speech were pleasant to me.  They gave me welcome with shouts and laughter, and clasped my hands: “for him that called us wine-sacks, you have given him water to his wine, and the frog for his butler,” they said, making a jest of life and death.  But my own heart for the nonce was heavy enough again, I longing to take farewell of Elliot, which might not be, nor might she face that wild company.  Howbeit, thinking it good to have a friend at court, I made occasion to put in the hand of the old serving-woman all of such small coins as I had won in my life servile, deeming myself well quit of such ill-gotten gear.  And thereafter, with great mirth and noise, they set forth to climb the hill towards the castle, where I was led, through many a windy passage, to the chamber of Sir Hugh Kennedy.  There were torches lit, and the knight, a broad-shouldered, fair-haired man, with a stern, flushed face, was turning over and gazing at his new Book of Hours, like a child busy with a fresh toy.  He laid the book down when we entered, and the senior of the two archers who accompanied me told him that I was he who had been summoned.

“Your name?” he asked; and I gave it.

“You are of gentle blood?”  And I answering “Yes,” he replied, “Then see that you are ready to shed it for the King.  Your life that was justly forfeit, is now, by his Royal mercy, returned to you, to be spent in his service.  Rutherford and Douglas, go take him to quarters, and see that to-morrow he is clad as beseems a man of my command.  Now good night to you—but stay!  You, Norman Leslie, you will have quarrels on your hand.  Wait not for them, but go to meet them, if they are with the French men-at-arms, and in quarrel see that you be swift and deadly.  For the townsfolk, no brawling, marauding, or haling about of honest wenches.  Here we are strangers, and my men must be respected.”

He bowed his head: his words had been curt, no grace or kindness had he shown me of countenance.  I felt in my heart that to him I was but a pawn in the game of battle.  Now I seemed as far off as ever I was from my foolish dream of winning my spurs; nay, perchance never had I sunk lower in my own conceit.  Till this hour I had been, as it were, the hinge on which my share of the world turned, and now I was no more than a wheel in the carriage of a couleuvrine, an unconsidered cog in the machine of war.  I was to be lost in a multitude, every one as good as myself, or better; and when I had thought of taking service, I had not foreseen the manner of it and the nature of the soldier’s trade.  My head, that I had carried high, somewhat drooped, as I saluted, imitating my companions, and we wheeled forth of the room.

“Hugh has taken the pride out of you, lad, or my name is not Randal Rutherford,” said the Border man who had guided me.  “Faith, he has a keen tongue and a short way with him, but there are worse commanders.  And now you must to your quarters, for the hour is late and the guard-room shut.”

He led me to our common sleeping-place, where, among many snoring men-at-arms in a great bare hall, a pallet was laid for me, and my flesh crept as I remembered how this was the couch of him whom I had slain.  Howbeit, being well weary, despite the strangeness of the place, after brief orisons I slept sound till a trumpet called us in the morning.

Concerning the strangeness of this waking, to me who had been gently nurtured, and the rough life, and profane words which I must hear (not, indeed, that they had been wholly banished from our wild days at St. Andrews), it is needless that I should tell.  Seeing that I was come among rude neighbours, I even made shift to fall back, in semblance, on such manners as I had used among the students before I left Scotland, though many perils, and the fear wherein I stood of Brother Thomas, and the company of the maid Elliot, had caused me half to forget my swaggering ways.  So, may God forgive me! I swore roundly; I made as if I deemed lightly of that Frenchman’s death, and, in brief, I so bore me that, ere noon (when I behoved to go into Chinon with Randal Rutherford, and there provide me with the rich apparel of our company), I had three good quarrels on my hand.

First, there was the man-at-arms who had kissed me in the guard-room.  He, in a “bourde” and mockery, making pretence that he would repeat his insult, got that which was owing him, and with interest, for indeed he could see out of neither of his squint eyes when I had dealt with him.  And for this cause perforce, if he needed more proof of my manhood than the weight of my fist, he must tarry for the demonstration which he desired.

Then there was Robin Lindsay, and at his wrath I make no marvel, for the tale of how he came late to tryst, and at second-hand (with many such rude and wanton additions as soldiers use to make), was noised abroad all over the castle.  His quarrel was no matter for fisticuffs; so, being attired in helmet, vambrace rere-brace, gauntlets, and greaves out of the armoury, where many such suits were stored, I met him in a certain quiet court behind the castle, where quarrels were usually voided.  And now my practice of the sword at home and the lessons of our smith came handily to my need.  After much clashing of steel and smiting out of sparks, I chanced, by an art known to me, to strike his sword out of his hand.  Then, having him at an avail, I threw down my own blade, and so plainly told him the plain truth, and how to his mistress I owed my life, which I would rather lose now at his hand than hear her honour blamed, that he forgave me, and we embraced as friends.  Neither was this jest anew cast up against either of us, men fearing to laugh, as we say, with the wrong side of their mouths.

After this friendly bout at point and edge, Robin and Randal Rutherford, being off duty, must needs carry me to the Tennis Court, where Trémouille and the King were playing two young lords, and that for such a stake as would have helped to arm a hundred men for the aid of Orleans.  It was pretty to see the ball fly about basted from the walls, and the players bounding and striking; and, little as I understood the game, so eager was I over the sport, that a gentleman within the “dedans” touched me twice on the shoulder before I was aware of him.

“I would have a word with you, sir, if your grace can spare me the leisure.”

“May it not be spoken here?” I asked, for I was sorry to lose the spectacle of the tennis, which was new to me, and is a pastime wherein France beats the world.  Pity it is that many players should so curse and blaspheme God and His saints!

“My business,” replied the stranger, “is of a kind that will hardly endure waiting.”

With that I rose and followed him out into the open courtyard, much marvelling what might be toward.

“You are that young gentleman,” said my man, “for a gentleman I take you to be, from your aspect and common report, who yesterday were the death of Gilles de Puiseux?”

“Sir, to my sorrow, and not by my will, I am he, and but now I was going forth to have certain masses said for his soul’s welfare”: which was true, Randal Rutherford having filled my purse against pay-day.

“I thank you, sir, for your courtesy, and perchance may have occasion to do the like gentle service for you.  Gilles de Puiseux was of my blood and kin; he has none other to take up his feud for him in this place, and now your quickness of comprehension will tell you that the business wherewith I permit myself to break your leisure will brook no tarrying.  Let me say that I take it not upon me to defend the words of my cousin, who insulted a woman, and, as I believe, a messenger from the blessed Saints that love France.”

I looked at him in some amazement.  He was a young man of about my own years, delicately and richly clad in furs, silks, and velvets, a great gold chain hanging in loops about his neck, a gold brooch with an ancient Roman medal in his cap.  But the most notable thing in him was his thick golden hair, whence La Hire had named him “Capdorat,” because he was so blond, and right keen in war, and hardy beyond others.  And here he was challenging me, who stood before him in a prentice’s hodden grey!

“Sir,” I said, “I could wish you a better quarrel, but not more courtesy.  Many a gentleman seeing me such as I am, would bid me send, ere he crossed swords with me, to my own country for my bor-brief, {18} which I came away in too great haste to carry with me.  Nay, I was but now to set forth and buy me a sword and other accoutrements; natheless, from the armoury here they may equip me with sword and body armour.”

“Of body-armour take no thought,” he answered, “for this quarrel is of a kind that must needs be voided in our smocks”; he meaning that it was “à outrance,” till one of us fell.

Verily, now I saw that this was not to be a matter of striking sparks from steel, as Robin and I had done, but of life and death.

“I shall be the more speedily at your service,” I made answer; and as I spoke Randal and Robin came forth from the “dedans,” the sport being over.  They joined me, and I told them in few words my new business, my adversary tarrying, cap in hand, till I had spoken, and then proclaiming himself Aymar de Puiseux, a gentleman of Dauphiné, as indeed my friends knew.

“I shall wait on you, with your leave, at the isle in the river, where it is of