CHAPTER VII. HOW THE THREE COMRADES JOURNEYED THROUGH THE WOODLANDS.

enyearsback,whenheborehimselflikeaman.HeisthemasteroftheKing'shorse,andcansingarightjovialstave,thoughinthathecannotcomenightoSirJohnChandos,whoisfirstattheboardorinthesaddle.Threemartletsonafieldazure,thatmustbeoneoftheLuttrells.Bythecrescentuponit,itshouldbethesecondsonofoldSirHugh,whohadaboltthroughhisankleattheintakingofRomorantin,hehavingrushedintothefrayerehissquirehadtimetoclasphissollerettohisgreave.TheretooisthehacklewhichistheolddeviceoftheDeBrays.IhaveservedunderSirThomasdeBray,whowasasjollyasapie,andalustyswordsmanuntilhegottoofatforhisharness.” Sothearchergossipedasthethreewayfarersthreadedtheirwayamongthestampinghorses,thebusygrooms,andtheknotsofpagesandsquireswhodisputedoverthemeritsoftheirmasters'horsesanddeer-hounds.Astheypassedtheoldchurch,whichstooduponamoundattheleft-handsideofthevillagestreetthedoorwasflungopen,andastreamofworshipperswounddowntheslopingpath,comingfromthemorningmass,allchatteringlikeacloudofjays.Alleynebentkneeanddoffedhatatthesightoftheopendoorbuterehehadfinishedanavehiscomradeswereoutofsightroundthecurveofthepath,andhehadtoruntoovertakethem. “What!”hesaid,“notonewordofprayerbeforeGod'sownopenhouse?HowcanyehopeforHisblessingupontheday?” “Myfriend,”saidHordleJohn,“Ihaveprayedsomuchduringthelasttwomonths,notonlyduringtheday,butatmatins,lauds,andthelike,whenIcouldscarcekeepmyheaduponmyshouldersfornodding,thatIfeelthatIhavesomewhatover-prayedmyself.” “Howcanamanhavetoomuchreligion?”criedAlleyneearnestly.“Itistheonethingthatavaileth.Amanisbutabeastashelivesfromdaytoday,eatinganddrinking,breathingandsleeping.Itisonlywhenheraiseshimself,andconcernshimselfwiththeimmortalspiritwithinhim,thathebecomesinverytruthaman.BethinkyehowsadathingitwouldbethatthebloodoftheRedeemershouldbespilledtonopurpose.” “Blessthelad,ifhedothnotblushlikeanygirl,andyetpreachlikethewholeCollegeofCardinals,”criedthearcher. “IntruthIblushthatanyonesoweakandsounworthyasIshouldtrytoteachanotherthatwhichhefindsitsopassinghardtofollowhimself.” “Prettilysaid,mongarcon.TouchingthatsameslayingoftheRedeemer,itwasabadbusiness.AgoodpadreinFrancereadtousfromascrollthewholetruthofthematter.Thesoldierscameuponhiminthegarden.Intruth,theseApostlesofHismayhavebeenholymen,buttheywereofnogreataccountasmen-at-arms.Therewasone,indeed,SirPeter,whosmoteoutlikeatruemanbut,unlessheisbelied,hedidbutclipavarlet'sear,whichwasnoveryknightlydeed.Bythesetenfinger-bones!hadIbeentherewithBlackSimonofNorwich,andbutonescorepickedmenoftheCompany,wehadheldtheminplay.Couldwedonomore,wehadatleastfilledthefalseknight,SirJudas,sofullofEnglisharrowsthathewouldcursethedaythateverhecameonsuchanerrand.” Theyoungclerksmiledathiscompanion'searnestness.“HadHewishedhelp,”hesaid,“Hecouldhavesummonedlegionsofarchangelsfromheaven,sowhatneedhadHeofyourpoorbowandarrow?Besides,bethinkyouofHisownwords—thatthosewholivebytheswordshallperishbythesword.” “Andhowcouldmandiebetter?”askedthearcher.“IfIhadmywish,itwouldbetofallso—not,markyou,inanymereskirmishoftheCompany,butinastrickenfield,withthegreatlionbannerwavingoverusandtheredoriflammeinfront,amidtheshoutingofmyfellowsandthetwangingofthestrings.Butletitbesword,lance,orboltthatstrikesmedown:forIshouldthinkitshametodiefromanironballfromthefire-crakeorbombardoranysuchunsoldierlyweapon,whichisonlyfittedtoscarebabeswithitsfoolishnoiseandsmoke.” “Ihaveheardmucheveninthequietcloistersofthesenewanddreadfulengines,”quothAlleyne.“Itissaid,thoughIcanscarcebringmyselftobelieveit,thattheywillsendaballtwiceasfarasabowmancanshoothisshaft,andwithsuchforceastobreakthrougharmorofproof.” “Trueenough,mylad.Butwhilethearmoreristhrustinginhisdevil's-dust,anddroppinghisball,andlightinghisflambeau,Icanveryeasilyloosesixshafts,oreightmaybe,sohehathnogreatvantageafterall.YetIwill