CHAPTER XXVII. HOW ROGER CLUB-FOOT WAS PASSED INTO PARADISE.

ItwaseveningbeforethethreecomradescameintoAiguillon.TheretheyfoundSirNigelLoringandFordsafelylodgedatthesignofthe“BatonRouge,”wheretheysuppedongoodfareandsleptbetweenlavender-scentedsheets.Itchanced,however,thataknightofPoitou,SirGastond'Estelle,wasstayingthereonhiswaybackfromLithuania,wherehehadservedatermwiththeTeutonicknightsundertheland-masterofthepresbyteryofMarienberg.HeandSirNigelsatlateinhighconverseastobushments,outfalls,andtheintakingofcities,withmanytalesofwarlikemenandvaliantdeeds.Thentheirtalkturnedtominstrelsy,andthestrangerknightdrewforthacittern,uponwhichheplayedtheminne-liederofthenorth,singingthewhileinahighcrackedvoiceofHildebrandandBrunhildandSiegfried,andallthestrengthandbeautyofthelandofAlmain.TothisSirNigelansweredwiththeromancesofSirEglamour,andofSirIsumbras,andsothroughthelongwinternighttheysatbythecracklingwood-fireansweringeachother'ssongsuntilthecrowingcocksjoinedintheirconcert.Yet,withscarceanhourofrest,SirNigelwasasblitheandbrightaseverastheysetforthafterbreakfastupontheirway. “ThisSirGastonisaveryworthyman,”saidhetohissquiresastheyrodefromthe“BatonRouge.”“Hehathaverystrongdesiretoadvancehimself,andwouldhaveentereduponsomesmallknightlydebatewithme,hadhenotchancedtohavehisarm-bonebrokenbythekickofahorse.Ihaveconceivedagreatloveforhim,andIhavepromisedhimthatwhenhisboneismendedIwillexchangethrustswithhim.Butwemustkeeptothisroadupontheleft.” “Nay,myfairlord,”quothAylward.“TheroadtoMontaubonisovertheriver,andsothroughQuercyandtheAgenois.” “True,mygoodAylwardbutIhavelearnedfromthisworthyknight,whohathcomeovertheFrenchmarches,thatthereisacompanyofEnglishmenwhoareburningandplunderinginthecountryroundVillefranche.Ihavelittledoubt,fromwhathesays,thattheyarethosewhomweseek.” “Bymyhilt!itislikeenough,”saidAylward.“ByallaccountstheyhadbeensolongatMontaubon,thattherewouldbelittlethereworththetaking.Thenastheyhavealreadybeeninthesouth,theywouldcomenorthtothecountryoftheAveyron.” “WeshallfollowtheLotuntilwecometoCahors,andthencrossthemarchesintoVillefranche,”saidSirNigel.“BySt.Paul!aswearebutasmallband,itisverylikelythatwemayhavesomeveryhonorableandpleasingadventure,forIhearthatthereislittlepeaceupontheFrenchborder.” Allmorningtheyrodedownabroadandwindingroad,barredwiththeshadowsofpoplars.SirNigelrodeinfrontwithhissquires,whilethetwoarchersfollowedbehindwiththesumptermulebetweenthem.TheyhadleftAiguillonandtheGaronnefartothesouth,androdenowbythetranquilLot,whichcurvesblueandplacidthroughagentlyrollingcountry.Alleynecouldnotbutmarkthat,whereasinGuiennetherehadbeenmanytownletsandfewcastles,therewerenowmanycastlesandfewhouses.Oneitherhandgraywallsandsquaregrimkeepspeepedoutateveryfewmilesfromamidtheforestswhilethefewvillageswhichtheypassedwereallringedroundwithrudewalls,whichspokeoftheconstantfearandsuddenforayofawildfrontierland.Twiceduringthemorningtherecamebandsofhorsemenswoopingdownuponthemfromtheblackgatewaysofwaysidestrongholds,withshort,sternquestionsastowhencetheycameandwhattheirerrand.Bandsofarmedmenclankedalongthehighway,andthefewlinesofladenmuleswhichcarriedthemerchandiseofthetraderwereguardedbyarmed