CHAPTER IX. HOW STRANGE THINGS BEFELL IN MINSTEAD WOOD.

erfestpasse?Non?Ici,BrocastuparlesAnglais.” “Thedeer,clowns?”saidahard-visaged,swarthy-facedman,whorodeattheking'selbow.“Ifyehaveheadeditbackitisasmuchasyourearsareworth.” “Itpassedbytheblightedbeechthere,”saidAlleyne,pointing,“andthehoundswerehardatitsheels.” “Itiswell,”criedEdward,stillspeakinginFrench:for,thoughhecouldunderstandEnglish,hehadneverlearnedtoexpresshimselfinsobarbarousandunpolishedatongue.“Bymyfaith,sirs,”hecontinued,halfturninginhissaddletoaddresshisescort,“unlessmywoodcraftissadlyatfault,itisastagofsixtinesandthefinestthatwehaverousedthisjourney.AgoldenSt.Huberttothemanwhoisthefirsttosoundthemort.”Heshookhisbridleashespoke,andthunderedaway,hisknightslyinglowupontheirhorsesandgallopingashardaswhipandspurwoulddrivethem,inthehopeofwinningtheking'sprize.Awaytheydrovedownthelonggreenglade—bayhorses,blackandgray,riderscladineveryshadeofvelvet,fur,orsilk,withglintofbrazenhornandflashofknifeandspear.Oneonlylingered,theblack-browedBaronBrocas,who,makingagambadewhichbroughthimwithinarm-sweepoftheserf,slashedhimacrossthefacewithhisriding-whip.“Doff,dog,doff,”hehissed,“whenamonarchdeignstolowerhiseyestosuchasyou!”—thenspurredthroughtheunderwoodandwasgone,withagleamofsteelshoesandflutterofdeadleaves. Thevilleintookthecruelblowwithoutwinceorcry,asonetowhomstripesareabirthrightandaninheritance.Hiseyesflashed,however,andheshookhisbonyhandwithafiercewildgestureaftertheretreatingfigure. “BlackhoundofGascony,”hemuttered,“evilthedaythatyouandthoselikeyousetfootinfreeEngland!IknowthykennelofRochecourt.ThenightwillcomewhenImaydototheeandthinewhatyouandyourclasshavewroughtuponmineandme.MayGodsmitemeifIfailtosmitethee,thouFrenchrobber,withthywifeandthychildandallthatisunderthycastleroof!” “Forbear!”criedAlleyne.“MixnotGod'snamewiththeseunhallowedthreats!Andyetitwasacoward'sblow,andonetostirthebloodandloosethetongueofthemostpeaceful.Letmefindsomesoothingsimplesandlaythemonthewealtodrawthesting.” “Nay,thereisbutonethingthatcandrawthesting,andthatthefuturemaybringtome.But,clerk,ifyouwouldseeyourbrotheryoumuston,forthereisameetingto-day,andhismerrymenwillawaithimeretheshadowsturnfromwesttoeast.Iprayyounottoholdhimback,foritwouldbeanevilthingifallthestoutladswerethereandtheleadera-missing.Iwouldcomewithyou,butsoothtosayIamstationedhereandmaynotmove.Thepathoveryonder,betwixttheoakandthethorn,shouldbringyououtintohisnetherfield.” Alleynelostnotimeinfollowingthedirectionsofthewild,masterlessman,whomheleftamongthetreeswherehehadfoundhim.Hisheartwastheheavierfortheencounter,notonlybecauseallbitternessandwrathwereabhorrenttohisgentlenature,butalsobecauseitdisturbedhimtohearhisbrotherspokenofasthoughhewereachiefofoutlawsortheleaderofapartyagainstthestate.Indeed,ofallthethingswhichhehadseenyetintheworldtosurprisehimtherewasnonemorestrangethanthehatewhichclassappearedtobeartoclass.Thetalkoflaborer,woodmanandvilleinintheinnhadallpointedtothewide-spreadmutiny,andnowhisbrother'snamewasspokenasthoughheweretheverycentreoftheuniversaldiscontent.Ingoodtruth,thecommonsthroughoutthelengthandbreadthofthelandwereheart-wearyofthisfinegameofchivalrywhichhadbeenplayedsolongattheirexpense.Solongasknightandbaronwereastrengthandaguardtothekingdomtheymightbeendured,butnow,whenallmenknewthatthegreatbattlesinFrancehadbeenwonbyEnglishyeomenandWelshstabbers,warlikefame,theonlyfametowhichhisclasshadeveraspired,appearedtohavedesertedtheplate-cladhorsemen.Thesportsofthelistshaddonemuchindaysgonebytoimpressthemindsofthepeople,buttheplumedandunwieldychampionwasnolongeranobjecteitheroffearorofreverencetomenwhosefathersandbrothershadshotintothepressatCrecyorPoitiers,andseentheproudestchivalryintheworldunabletomakeheadagainsttheweaponsofdisciplinedpeasants.Powerhadchangedhands.Theprotectorhadbecometheprotected,andthewholefabricofthefeudalsystemwastotteringtoafall.Hencethefiercemutteringsofthelowerclassesandtheconstantdiscontent,breakingoutintolocaltumultandoutrage,andculminatingsomeyearslaterinthegreatrisingofTyler.WhatAlleynesawandwonderedatinHampshirewouldhaveappealedequallytothetravellerinanyotherEnglishcountyfromtheChanneltothemarchesofScotland. Hewasfollowingthetrack,hismisgivingsincreasingwitheverystepwhichtookhimnearertothathomewhichhehadneverseen,whenofasuddenthetreesbegantothinandtheswardtospreadoutontoabroad,greenlawn,wherefivecowslayinthesunshineanddrovesofblackswinewanderedunchecked.Abrownforeststreamswirleddownthecentreofthisclearing,witharudebridgeflungacrossit,andontheothersidewasasecondfieldslopinguptoalong,low-lyingwoodenhouse,withthatchedroofandopensquaresforwindows.Alleynegazedacrossatitwithflushedcheeksandsparklingeyes—forthis,heknew,mustbethehomeofhisfathers.Awreathofbluesmokefloatedupthroughaholeinthethatch,andwastheonlysignoflifeintheplace,saveagreatblackhoundwhichlaysleepingchainedtothedoor-post.Intheyellowshimmeroftheautumnsunshineitlayaspeacefullyandasstillashehadoftpicturedittohimselfinhisdreams. Hewasroused,however,fromhispleasantreveriebythesoundofvoices,andtwopeopleemergedfromtheforestsomelittlewaytohisrightandmovedacrossthefieldinthedirectionofthebridge.TheonewasamanwithyellowflowingbeardandverylonghairofthesametintdroopingoverhisshouldershisdressofgoodNorwichclothandhisassuredbearingmarkedhimasamanofposition,whilethesombrehueofhisclothesandtheabsenceofallornamentcontrastedwiththeflashandglitterwhichhadmarkedtheking'sretinue.Byhissidewalkedawoman,tallandslightanddark,withlithe,gracefulfigureandclear-cut,composedfeatures.Herjet-blackhairwasgatheredbackunderalightpinkcoif,herheadpoisedproudlyuponherneck,andhersteplongandspringy,likethatofsomewild,tirelesswoodlandcreature.Sheheldherlefthandinfrontofher,coveredwitharedvelvetglove,andonthewristalittlebrownfalcon,veryfluffyandbedraggled,whichshesmoothedandfondledasshewalked.Asshecameoutintothesunshine,Alleynenoticedthatherlightgown,slashedwithpink,wasallstainedwithearthandwithmossupononesidefromshouldertohem.Hestoodintheshadowofanoakstaringatherwithpartedlips,forthiswomanseemedtohimtobethemostbeautifulandgracefulcreaturethatmindcouldconceiveof.Suchhadheimaginedtheangels,andsuchhehadtriedtopaintthemintheBeaulieumissalsbutheretherewassomethinghuman,wereitonlyinthebatteredhawkanddiscolor