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

custom, opposite the booths of the gold-workers,” quoth he, “about the hour of noon”; and so, saluting us, he went, as he said, to provide himself with friends.

“Blood of Judas!” quoth Robin, who swore terribly in his speech, “you have your hands full, young Norman.  He is but now crept out of the rank of pages, but when the French and English pages fought a valliance of late, under Orleans, none won more praise than he, who was captain of the French party.”

“He played a good sword?” I asked.

“He threw a good stone!  Man, it was a stone bicker, and they had lids of baskets for targes.”

“And he challenges me to the field,” I said hotly, “By St. Andrew!  I will cuff his ears and send him back to the other boys.”

“Norman, my lad, when were you in a stone bicker last?” quoth Randal; and I hung my head, for it was not yet six months gone since the sailors and we students were stoning each other in North Street.

“Yet he does play a very good sword, and is cunning of fence, for your comfort,” said Randal.  So I hummed the old lilt of the Leslies, whence, they say, comes our name—

Between the less lea and the mair,
He slew the knight and left him there;—

for I deemed it well to show a good face.  Moreover, I had some conceit of myself as a swordsman, and Randal was laughing like a foolbody at my countenance.

“Faith, you will make a spoon or spoil a horn, and—let me have my laugh out—you bid well for an archer,” said Randal; and Robin counselling me to play the same prank on the French lad’s sword as late I had done on his own, they took each of them an arm of mine, and so we swaggered down the steep ways into Chinon.

First I would go to the tailor and the cordwainer, and be fitted for my new splendours as an archer of the guard.

They both laughed at me again, for, said they very cheerfully, “You may never live to wear these fine feathers.”

But Randal making the reflection that, if I fell, there would be none to pay the shopmaster, they both shouted with delight in the street, so that passers-by turned and marvelled at them.  Clearly I saw that to go to fight a duel is one thing, and to go and look on is another, and much more gay, for my heart had no desire of all this merriment.  Rather would I have recommended my case to the saints, and chiefly to St. Andrew, for whose cause and honour I was about to put my life in jeopardy.  But shame, and the fear of seeming fearful, drove me to jest with the others—such risks of dying unconfessed are run by sinful men!

Howbeit, they helped me to choose cloth of the best colour and fashion, laughing the more because I, being short of stature and slim, the tailor, if I fell, might well find none among the archers to purchase that for which, belike, I should have no need.

“We must even enlist the Pucelle in our guard, for she might wear this apparel,” quoth Randal.

Thus boisterously they bore themselves, but more gravely at the swordsmith’s, where we picked out a good cut-and-thrust blade, well balanced, that came readily to my hand.  Then, I with sword at side, like a gentleman, we made to the river, passing my master’s booth, where I looked wistfully at the windows for a blink of Elliot, but saw none that I knew, only, from an open casement, the little jackanapes mopped and mowed at me in friendly fashion.  Hard by the booth was a little pier, and we took boat, and so landed on the island, where were waiting for us my adversary and two other gentlemen.  Having saluted each other, we passed to a smooth grassy spot, surrounded on all sides by tall poplar trees.  Here in places daffodils were dancing in the wind; but otherwhere the sward was much trampled down, and in two or three spots were black patches that wellnigh turned my courage, for I was not yet used to the sight of men’s blood, here often shed for little cause.

The friends of us twain adversaries, for enemies we could scarce be called, chose out a smooth spot with a fair light, the sun being veiled, and when we had stripped to our smocks, we drew and fell to work.  He was very quick and light in his movements, bounding nimbly to this side or that, but I, using a hanging guard, in our common Scots manner, did somewhat perplex him, to whom the fashion was new.  One or two scratches we dealt each other, but, for all that, I could see we were well matched, and neither closed, as men rarely do in such a combat, till they are wroth with hurts and their blood warm.  Now I gashed his thigh, but not deeply, and with that, as I deemed, his temper fired, for he made a full sweep at my leg above the knee.  This I have always reckoned a fool’s stroke, as leaving the upper part of the body unguarded, and avoiding with my right leg, I drove down with all my force at his head.  But, even as I struck, came a flash and the sudden deadness of a deep wound, for he had but feinted, and then, avoiding me so that I touched him not, he drove his point into my breast.  Between the force of my own blow and this stab I fell forward on my face, and thence rolled over on my back, catching at my breast with my hands, as though to stop the blood, but, in sooth, not well knowing what I did.

He had thrown down his sword, and now was kneeling by my side.

“I take you to witness,” he said, “that this has befallen to my great sorrow, and had I been where this gentleman was yesterday, and heard my cousin blaspheme, I would myself have drawn on him, but—”  And here, as I later heard, he fainted from loss of blood, my sword having cut a great vein; and I likewise lost sense and knowledge.  Nor did I know more till they lifted me and laid me on a litter of poplar boughs, having stanched my wound as best they might.  In the boat, as they ferried us across the river, I believe that I fainted again; and so, “between home and hell,” as the saying is, I lay on my litter and was carried along the street beside the water.  Folk gathered around us as we went.  I heard their voices as in a dream, when lo! there sounded a voice that I knew right well, for Elliot was asking of the people “who was hurt?”  At this hearing I hove myself up on my elbow, beckoning with my other hand; and I opened my mouth to speak, but, in place of words, came only a wave of blood that sickened me, and I seemed to be dreaming, in my bed, of Elliot and her jackanapes; and then feet were trampling, and at length I was laid down, and so seemed to fall most blessedly asleep, with a little hand in mine, and rarely peaceful and happy in my heart, though wherefore I knew not.  After many days of tossing on the waves of the world, it was as if I had been brought into the haven where I would be.  Of what was passing I knew or I remember nothing.  Later I heard that a good priest had been brought to my bedside, and perchance there was made some such confession as the Church, in her mercy, accepts from sinful men in such case as mine.  But I had no thought of life or death, purgatory or paradise; only, if paradise be rest among those we love, such rest for an unknown while, and such sense of blissful companionship, were mine.  But whether it was well to pass through and beyond this scarce sensible joy, or whether that peace will ever again be mine and unending, I leave with humility to them in whose hands are Christian souls.

CHAPTER IX—OF THE WINNING OF ELLIOT

The days of fever and of dreams went by and passed, leaving me very weak, but not ignorant of where I was, and of what had come and gone.  My master had often been by my bedside, and Elliot now and again; the old housewife also watched me by night, and gave me drink when I thirsted.  Most of the while I deemed I was at home, in the house of Pitcullo; yet I felt there was something strange, and that there was pain somewhere in the room.  But at length, as was said, I came to knowledge of things, and could see Elliot and remember her, when she knelt praying by my bed, as oft she did, whiles I lay between life and death.  I have heard speak of men who, being inflamed with love, as I had been, fell into a fever of the body, and when that passed, lo! their passion had passed with it, and their longing.  And so it seemed to be with me.  For some days I was not permitted to utter a word, and later, I was as glad in Elliot’s company as you may have seen a little lad and lass, not near come to full age, who go playing together with flowers and such toys.  So we were merry together, the jackanapes keeping us company, and making much game and sport.

Perchance these were my most blessed days, as of one who had returned to the sinless years, when we are happier than we know, and not yet acquainted with desire.  Now and again Rutherford and Lindsay would come to visit me, seeming strangely still and gentle, speaking little, but looking at me with kind eyes, and vowing that my tailor should yet be paid for his labour.  Capdorat also came, for he had but suffered a flesh wound with much loss of blood, and we showed each other the best countenance.  So time went by, while I grew stronger daily; and now it was ordained by the leech, a skilful man, that I might leave my bed, and be clothed, and go about through the house, and eat stronger food, whereof I had the greatest desire, and would ever be eating like a howlet. {19}  Now, when I was to rise, I looked that they should bring me my old prentice’s gabardine and hose, but on the morning of that day Elliot came, bearing in her arms a parcel of raiment very gay and costly.

“Here is your fine clothing new come from the tailor’s booth,” she cried merrily.  “See, you shall be as bright as spring, in green, and white, and red!”

There was the bonnet, with its three coloured plumes, and the doublet, with Charles wrought in silver on the arm and breast, and all other things seemly—a joy to mine eyes.

She held them up before me, her face shining like the return of life, with a happy welcome; and my heart beat to see and hear her as of old it was wont to do.

“And wherefore should not I go to the wars,” she cried, “and fight beside the Maid?  I am as tall as she, if scantly so strong, and brave—oh, I am very brave Glacidas, I bid you beware!” she said, putting the archer’s bonnet gallantly cocked on her beautiful head, and drawing forth the sword from his scabbard, as one in act to fight, but in innocent unwarlike wise.

There she stood before me in the sunlight, like the Angel of Victory, all glad and fair, and two blue rays from her eyes shot into my heart, and lo! I was no more a child, but a man again and a lover.

“O Elliot,” I said, ere ever I wist what I was saying, and I caught her left hand into mine—“O Elliot, I love you!  Give me but your love, and I shall come back from the wars a knight, and claim my love to be my lady.”

She snatched her hand suddenly, as if angered, out of mine, and therewith, being very weak, I gave a cry, my wound fiercely paining me.  Then her face changed from rose-red to lily-white, she dropped on her knees by my bed, and her arms were about my neck, and all over my face her soft, sweet-scented hair and her tears.

“Oh, I have slain you, I have slain you, my love!” she sobbed, making a low, sweet moan, as a cushat in the wild wood, for I lay deadly still, being overcome with pain and joy.  And there I was, my love comforting me as a mother comforts her child.

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