CHAPTER VII. HOW THE THREE COMRADES JOURNEYED THROUGH THE WOODLANDS.
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notdenythatattheintakingofatownitiswelltohavegoodstoreofbombards.IamtoldthatatCalaistheymadedintsinthewallthatamanmightputhisheadinto.Butsurely,comrades,someonewhoisgrievouslyhurthathpassedalongthisroadbeforeus.”
Allalongthewoodlandtracktheredidindeedrunascatteredstragglingtrailofblood-marks,sometimesinsingledrops,andinotherplacesinbroad,ruddygouts,smudgedoverthedeadleavesorcrimsoningthewhiteflintstones.
“Itmustbeastrickendeer,”saidJohn.
“Nay,Iamwoodmanenoughtoseethatnodeerhathpassedthiswaythismorningandyetthebloodisfresh.Butharktothesound!”
Theystoodlisteningallthreewithsidelongheads.Throughthesilenceofthegreatforesttherecameaswishing,whistlingsound,mingledwiththemostdolorousgroans,andthevoiceofamanraisedinahighquaveringkindofsong.Thecomradeshurriedonwardseagerly,andtoppingthebrowofasmallrisingtheysawupontheothersidethesourcefromwhichthesestrangenoisesarose.
Atallman,muchstoopedintheshoulders,waswalkingslowlywithbendedheadandclaspedhandsinthecentreofthepath.Hewasdressedfromheadtofootinalongwhitelinencloth,andahighwhitecapwitharedcrossprinteduponit.Hisgownwasturnedbackfromhisshoulders,andthefleshtherewasasighttomakeamanwince,foritwasallbeatentoapulp,andthebloodwassoakingintohisgownandtricklingdownupontheground.Behindhimwalkedasmallermanwithhishairtouchedwithgray,whowascladinthesamewhitegarb.HeintonedalongwhiningrhymeintheFrenchtongue,andattheendofeverylineheraisedathickcord,alljaggedwithpelletsoflead,andsmotehiscompanionacrosstheshouldersuntilthebloodspurtedagain.Evenasthethreewayfarersstared,however,therewasasuddenchange,forthesmallerman,havingfinishedhissong,loosenedhisowngownandhandedthescourgetotheother,whotookupthestaveoncemoreandlashedhiscompanionwithallthestrengthofhisbareandsinewyarm.So,alternatelybeatingandbeaten,theymadetheirdolorouswaythroughthebeautifulwoodsandundertheamberarchesofthefadingbeech-trees,wherethecalmstrengthandmajestyofNaturemightservetorebukethefoolishenergiesandmisspentstrivingsofmankind.
SuchaspectaclewasnewtoHordleJohnortoAlleyneEdricsonbutthearchertreateditlightly,asacommonmatterenough.
“ThesearetheBeatingFriars,otherwisecalledtheFlagellants,”quothhe.“Imarvelthatyeshouldhavecomeuponnoneofthembefore,foracrossthewatertheyareascommonasgallybaggers.IhaveheardthattherearenoEnglishamongthem,butthattheyarefromFrance,ItalyandBohemia.Enavant,camarades!thatwemayhavespeechwiththem.”
Astheycameuptothem,Alleynecouldhearthedolefuldirgewhichthebeaterwaschanting,bringingdownhisheavywhipattheendofeachline,whilethegroansofthesuffererformedasortofdismalchorus.ItwasinoldFrench,andransomewhatinthisway:
Oravant,entrenoustousfreres
Battonsnoscharognesbienfort
Enremembrantlagrantmisere
DeDieuetsapiteusemort
Quifutprisenlagentamere
Etvendusettraisatort
Etbastusachair,viergeetdere
Aunomdecebattonsplusfort.
Thenattheendoftheversethescourgechangedhandsandthechantingbegananew.
“Truly,holyfathers,”saidthearcherinFrenchastheycameabreastofthem,“youhavebeatenenoughforto-day.TheroadisallspottedlikeashamblesatMartinmas.Whyshouldyemishandleyourselvesthus?”
“C'estpourvospeches—pourvospeches,”theydroned,lookingatthetravellerswithsadlack-lustreeyes,andthenbenttotheirbloodyworkoncemorewithoutheedtotheprayersandpersuasionswhichwereaddressedtothem.Findingallremonstranceuseless,thethreecomradeshastenedontheirway,leavingthesestrangetravellerstotheirdrearytask.
“MortDieu!”criedthebowman,“thereisabucketfulormoreofmybloodoverinFrance,butitwasallspilledinhotfight,andIshouldthinktwicebeforeIdrewitdropbydropasthesefriarsaredoing.Bymyhilt!ouryoungonehereisaswhiteasaPicardycheese.Whatisamissthen,moncher?”
“Itisnothing,”Alleyneanswered.“Mylifehasbeentooquiet,Iamnotusedtosuchsights.”
“Mafoi!”theothercried,“Ihaveneveryetseenamanwhowassostout