Volume I Part 7 (2/2)
or chief moderator, in all debates held therein. He was a shrewd fellow and a bold one. A humorous and inquisitive cunning lurked in the corner of his grey and restless eye. His curiosity was insatiable; and as a cross-questioner, when fairly at work, for worming out a secret he had not his fellow. His brain was a general deposit for odd sc.r.a.ps, and a reservoir in which flowed all stray news about the country. He was an abstract and chronicle of the time; and could tell you where the Earl of Lancaster mustered his forces, the day of their march, and the very purposes and projects of that turbulent n.o.ble. Even the secrets of my lady's bower did not elude the prying of this indefatigable artist; at any rate, he had the credit of knowing all that he a.s.sumed, which amounted very much to the same thing as though his knowledge were unlimited: a nod and a wink supplying the place of intelligence, when his wondering neophytes grew disagreeably minute in their inquiries.
Towards this abode did the pilgrim bend his steps. A thick smoke hovered about the thatch, that appeared very ingeniously adapted for the reception and nurture of any stray spark that might happen to find there a temporary lodgment. Several times had this Vulcan been burnt out, yet the materials were easily replaced; and again and again the hovel arose in all its pristine ugliness and disorder.
Darby was just kindling his fire: a merry-making overnight had trenched upon morning duties, and daylight found him still stretched on his pallet. Subsequent to this a noisy troop from the hall had roused him from a profound slumber.
”St George and the Virgin protect thee, honest friend!” said the pilgrim, as he stood by an opening, just then performing the functions of both door and chimney. Darby's perceptions being much impeded by the smoke, he hastily approached the door. His surprise manifested itself aloud, yet did he not forget a becoming reverence to the stranger, as he invited him into the only apartment, besides his workshop, of which the roof could boast. It served for parlour, bedchamber, and kitchen; where the presiding deity, Grim's helpmate, carried on her multifarious operations.
The officious housewife fetched a joint-stool, first clearing it from dust, whilst her husband added a billet to the heap. She was just preparing breakfast. A wooden porringer, filled to the brim with new milk, in which oatmeal was stirred, a rasher of salted mutton, and a large cake of coa.r.s.e bread, comprised the delicacies of their morning repast. To this, however, was added a s.n.a.t.c.h of cold venison from the hall. ”But this, you see,” said the old woman, ”is not of our own killing; St Gregory forbid!--it comes from Dan there, who has the care of the knight's b.u.t.tery.”
”Rot him for a churl!” said the smith; ”Sir Osmund grudges every mouth about him; but”--and here he looked wondrous knowing--”he may happen to be ousted yet, if Earl Thomas should come by the worst in this cabal.”
”Sir Osmund, I find, is no favourite with his neighbours.”
”Hang him!” replied Grim, first looking cautiously into the shop; ”there's not a man of us but would like to see him and his countrymen packed off to-morrow upon a.s.s-panniers. They were sp.a.w.ned from the Welsh ditches to help that overgrown Earl against his master. If Sir William had been alive I had spoken out without fear. He was a loyal knight and a true--he ever served his country and his king. But I bethink me that peradventure ye may have heard of our late master's death, and who knows but ye bring some token, pilgrim, to his lady?”
”Thou hast shrewdly guessed--I bear the last message that Sir William sent to his lady; thinkest thou it may be delivered without the knight's privity?”
”Save thee, father! peril betides him who would hazard a message to my lady without her husband's leave.”
”Is the Lady Mabel in health?--and the children?” inquired the stranger.
”Sorely did she grieve when tidings came of Sir William's death in the great battle; but sorer still rues she her wedding with Sir Osmund Neville. Poor soul! It would melt the nails out of a rusty horse-shoe to see how she moans herself, when she can steal privily to her chamber.
They say the knight caught her weeping once over some token that belonged to Sir William, and he burnt it before her face, ill-treating her into the bargain.”
”How came she to wed this churl?”
”Oh, it's a sorry history!”--The speaker paused, and it was at the pilgrim's entreaty that he thus continued:--
”Parson Cliderhow had his paw in the mischief. She was in a manner forced either to wed, or, in the end, to have found herself and her children with never a roof-tree above their heads.”
”How?--Sir William did not leave her portionless?”
”I know not; but Sir Osmund had, or pretended he had, got a grant from the Earl of Lancaster for possession of all that belonged to Sir William, as a reward for his great services; and unless she wed him--why, you may guess what follows, when a lone woman is left in a wooer's clutches. I shall never forget their wedding-day; it should rather have been her burying, by the look on't. Her long veil was more like a winding-sheet than a bride's wimple.”
During this recital the palmer drew his seat closer to the hearth. He leant him over his staff, absorbed in that conscious stupor which seems at once shut out from all connection with external objects, and yet intensely alive to their impressions. Suddenly he rose, tightened his sandals, and looking round, appeared as if about to depart.
”It is our late master's birthday,” said the loquacious informant: ”ten years ago there was free commons at the hall for man and beast. Now, save on almous-days, when some half-dozen doitering old bodies get a s.n.a.t.c.h at the broken meat, not a man of us thrusts his nose into the knight's b.u.t.tery but by stealth. Sir William's banner has not been hoisted, as it was wont on this day, since he left, with fifty armed men in his train, to help the king, then hard pressed in the Scottish wars.
Ye may get an alms among the poor to-day, but have an eye to the Welsh bowmen: these be the knight's privy guard, and hold not the quality of his guests in much respect.”
Here the smith's angry garrulity was interrupted by Daniel Hardseg, a sort of deputy house-steward, whose duty it was to look after all business not immediately connecting itself with any other department in the household. He was prime executive in most of the out-door duty, and a particular crony at the hovel. His ”Hilloa!” was terrific.
”Why, a murrain to thee, goodman Grim, thy fire is colder than my halidome; the sun is so high it puts it out, I reckon. Here have I two iron pots, a plate from my master's best greaves, and a pair of spurs that want piecing, and I'm like to tinker them as I list on a cold st.i.thy. Get out, thou”--Here he became aware of an additional inmate to Grim's dwelling; and this discovery for a while checked the copious torrent of Dan's eloquence. Shortly, Darby drew him aside, and from their looks it might be gathered that some scheme was negotiating for the pilgrim's safe admission at the hall. To an entreaty, more strenuously urged on the part of our diplomatist, Dan replied, in a louder tone--
”Why, look thee, gossip, it were as much as my lugs were worth--but--I'll e'en try.”
”We shall hear some news about Sir William, depend on't, an' thou get him a word with my lady.”
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