Volume Ii Part 1 (2/2)

”Are they killing him?” enquired his Master, with the greatest composure, and without lifting his eyes from a large book that lay before him.

”I wot not, sire,” said Gourlay, with the same indifference.

”Ay, it is no matter,” returned the Master; ”It will keep them in employment a little while.”

”Perhaps,” said Gourlay,--and retired back to the cas.e.m.e.nt with sullen step.

By this time the mule had become so outrageous, that he wheeled, kicked, and plunged, like one of the furies; and, at the last, in spite of all the friar could do, laid him fairly on his back, amid the frantic shrieks and gibberish of his tormentors. Gourlay beheld the incident from the crevice of the turret, and, not daring to discompose the great Master, he walked down to the gate to witness the sport at a shorter distance; though with a callous indifference about the matter, and without the least hope to enjoy it.

When he came nigh to the scene of action, he looked as if he expected the friar to have been dead, and was rather astonished when he saw him raise his head, and utter a solemn anathema against the pages, who fled back as if awed and overcome. The seneschal not comprehending this, turned his pale glazed cheek toward the friar, elevated his brow as if looking at the verge of the high hill beyond the river, and stood motionless, stealing a side glance, now and then, of the stranger.

The latter raised up his gruff face, inflamed with pa.s.sion, and, seeing the tall ungainly figure of Gourlay standing like a statue, with a red turban on his head, and a grey frock or mantle, that in ample folds covered him from the neck to the sandals, took him at once for the mighty enchanter, and addressed him with as little respect as might be.

”If thou art the lord of this mansion, draw near unto me, that I may tell thee of the deeds of thy servants, which eat thy bread, and stand at thy gate. Lo, have they not lifted up the hand against my life, who am a stranger, and a servant of him against whom thou hast rebelled and lifted up the heel? Go to; thou art a churl, and a derision, and a bye-word among thy kindred and people, and not worthy to be called by their name. I came unto thy gate in peace, on a message of peace, and the words of peace were in my mouth; and why hast thou suffered these children of the wicked one to maltreat and abuse me? Why dost thou not open thy mouth?”

The pages chattered with a malicious laugh at a distance, and the seneschal came stalking near, in a sort of confused astonishment, to take a nearer view of this talking phenomenon. He came and looked over him without altering a muscle of his face; and the friar, irritated by pain and the contempt shewn toward his sufferings, went on. At any other time he would haply have been chilled by the pale frigid countenance, s.h.a.gged beard, and glazed unearthly eye that were now bent over him; but in the present state of his feelings he disregarded them; and, though convinced that he spoke to the mighty enchanter himself, continued his harangue:--

”Come thou near unto me that I may curse thee. Thou child of all unrighteousness, art thou not already cursed among the children of men?

Where are the wealth and the cheerfulness, where are the welcome, and the faces of joy and mirth, that are to be met with at the houses of thy kinsmen whose bread I eat? Where the full basket and the welcome store?

the wine that giveth its colour in the gla.s.s? the sounds of mirth and gladness? the sounds of the song, the viol, and the harp? And where is thy tongue, that thou canst not speak?” cried the friar, elevating his voice to its highest and most impatient tones.

”Humph,” said Gourlay.

”Humph!” returned the friar; ”What dost thou mean by humph? Tell me, in one word, Art thou the lord of this castle?”

”No; but his seneschal,” said Gourlay; ”What hast thou to say?”

”Then lead me to thy master, that I may see him face to face, and tell him the words of him that sent me. I will not be afraid of these dogs of thine and thy master's. What is become of thy tongue that thou dost not speak? Tell me, I say, can I see thy master?”

”Perhaps,” said Gourlay; and, seizing the friar by the shoulder with a rude but powerful grasp, he dragged him in at the gate.

”With-hold thine hand, and thy unmannerly grasp,” said the friar,--”else I will smite thee with the sword.”

The seneschal regarded this threat only with a grim unmeaning smile; and as he held the friar by the right arm so firmly that he even lost the power of it, it was impossible for him to draw his sword.

”Nay but hearken unto me,” continued he; ”surely it is better for thee to live than to die. Therefore bring in my beast that he may have provender; and let me also bring my goods and my changes of raiment along with me in peace, else how shall I set up my face before thy master?”

The seneschal then paused, and motioned with his hand to the pages to bring the panniers; they ran to obey, but as soon as any of them touched the huge wallet, he hastened back and fell to the ground.

”Vermin! cannot you bring the furniture?” cried Gourlay.

They shook their heads, and stood at a distance.

”Humph!” said he, ”I do not comprehend this,” and leading the friar back, still holding him fast by the arm, he suffered him to lift the panniers himself, which he did with good will, and then allowed himself to be led away by the uncourteous seneschal, who said to the pages as he departed, ”See to the vile animal!”

Without more ado he led the friar in, and pus.h.i.+ng him rudely into a small vaulted apartment, he locked first a ponderous iron door, and then a ma.s.sy wooden one, full of nails, upon him; and, without regarding his complaints or anathemas, or deigning a word in reply to his queries, he left him to his own bitter reflections.

The apartment at first appeared to be dark, but on looking about he found that there were two grated loop-holes in it, and by the light from these he soon perceived that there was nothing in the place save the skeleton of a man of uncommon stature and dimensions. The bones were lying flat on the floor, every one in its place exactly as the man had died, and the flesh wasted away from them. No disarrangement had taken place, nor was the smallest joint wanting. This was a petrifying sight to the poor friar, who, crossing himself, and turning from the horrible spectacle, set his nose through the grating and looked out on the fields.

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