occurred, was delivered with great shrewdness, and received with absolute submission. The Black Knight was not a little surprised to find that men in a state so lawless were nevertheless among themselves so regularly and equitably governed, and all that he observed added to his opinion of the justice and judgment of their leader.
When each had taken his own proportion of the booty, and while the treasurer, accompanied by four tall yeomen, was transporting that belonging to the state to some place of concealment or of security, the portion devoted to the church still remained unappropriated.
“I would,” said the leader, “we could hear tidings of our joyous chaplain; he was never wont to be absent when meat was to be blessed, or spoil to be parted; and it is his duty to take care of these the tithes of our successful enterprise. It may be the office has helped to cover some of his canonical irregularities. Also, I have a holy brother of his a prisoner at no great distance, and I would fain have the Friar to help me to deal with him in due sort. I greatly misdoubt the safety of the bluff priest.”
“I were right sorry for that,” said the Knight of the Fetterlock, “for I stand indebted to him for the joyous hospitality of a merry night in his cell. Let us to the ruins of the castle; it may be we shall there learn some tidings of him.”
While they thus spoke, a loud shout among the yeomen announced the arrival of him for whom they feared, as they learned from the stentorian voice of the Friar himself, long before they saw his burly person.
“Make room, my merry men!” he exclaimed—“room for your godly father and his prisoner. Cry welcome once more. I come, noble leader, like an eagle with my prey in my clutch.” And making his way through the ring, amidst the laughter of all around, he appeared in majestic triumph, his huge partizan in one hand, and in the other a halter, one end of which was fastened to the neck of the unfortunate Isaac of York, who, bent down by sorrow and terror, was dragged on by the victorious priest, who shouted aloud, “Where is Allan-a-Dale, to chronicle me in a ballad, or if it were but a lay? By St. Hermangild, the jingling crowder is ever out of the way where there is an apt theme for exalting valour!”
“Curtal priest,” said the captain, “thou hast been at a wet mass this morning, as early as it is. In the name of St. Nicholas, whom hast thou got here?”
“A captive to my sword and to my lance, noble captain,” replied the clerk of Copmanhurst—“to my bow and to my halberd, I should rather say; and yet I have redeemed him by my divinity from a worse captivity. Speak, Jew—have I not ransomed thee from Sathanas?—have I not taught thee thy
“For the love of God!” ejaculated the poor Jew, “will no one take me out of the keeping of this mad—I mean this holy man?”
“How’s this, Jew?” said the Friar, with a menacing aspect; “dost thou recant, Jew? Bethink thee, if thou dost relapse into thine infidelity, though thou art not so tender as a suckling pig—I would I had one to break my fast upon—thou art not too tough to be roasted! Be comformable, Isaac, and repeat the words after me.
“Nay, we will have no profanation, mad priest,” said Locksley; “let us rather hear where you found this prisoner of thine.”
“By St. Dunstan,” said the Friar, “I found him where I sought for better ware! I did step into the cellarage to see what might be rescued there; for though a cup of burnt wine, with spice, be an evening’s draught for an emperor, it were waste, methought, to let so much good liquor be mulled at once; and I had caught up one runlet of sack, and was coming to call more aid among these lazy knaves, who are ever to seek when a good deed is to be done, when I was advised of a strong door. ‘Aha!’ thought I, ‘here is the choicest juice of all in this secret crypt; and the knave butler, being disturbed in his vocation, hath left the key in the door.’ In therefore I went, and found just nought besides a commodity of rusted chains and this dog of a Jew, who presently rendered himself my prisoner, rescue or no rescue. I did but refresh myself after the fatigue of the action with the unbeliever with one humming cup of sack, and was proceeding to lead forth my captive, when, crash after crash, as with wild thunder-dint and levin-fire, down toppled the masonry of an outer tower—marry beshrew their hands that built it not the firmer!—and blocked up the passage. The roar of one falling tower followed another. I gave up thought of life; and deeming it a dishonour to one of my profession to pass out of this world in company with a Jew, I heaved up my halberd to beat his brains out; but I took pity on his grey hairs, and judged it better to lay down the partizan, and take up my spiritual weapon for his conversion. And truly, by the blessing of St. Dunstan, the seed has been sown in good soil; only that, with speaking to him of mysteries through the whole night, and being in a manner fasting—for the few draughts of sack which I sharpened my wits with were not worth marking—my head is wellnigh dizzied, I trow. But I was clean exhausted. Gilbert and Wibbald know in what state they found me— quite and clean exhausted.”
“We can bear witness,” said Gilbert; “for when we had cleared away the ruin, and by St. Dunstan’s help lighted upon the dungeon stair, we found the runlet of sack half-empty, the Jew half-dead, and the Friar more than half—exhausted, as he calls it.”
“Ye be knaves! ye lie!” retorted the offended Friar; “it was you and your gormandising companions that drank up the sack, and called it your morning draught. I am a pagan, an I kept it not for the captain’s own throat. But what recks it? The Jew is converted, and understands all I have told him, very nearly, if not altogether, as well as myself.”
“Jew,” said the captain, “is this true? Hast thou renounced thine unbelief?”
“May I so find mercy in your eyes,” said the Jew, “as I know not one word which the reverend prelate spake to me all this fearful night. Alas! I was so distraught with agony, and fear, and grief, that had our holy father Abraham come to preach to me, he had found but a deaf listener.”
“Thou liest, Jew, and thou knowest thou dost,” said the Friar; “I will remind thee but of one word of our conference: thou didst promise to give all thy substance to our holy order.”
“So help me the promise,ej fair sirs,” said Isaac, even more alarmed than before, “as no such sounds ever crossed my lips! Alas! I am an aged beggar’d man—I fear me a childless; have ruth on me, and let me go!”
“Nay,” said the Friar, “if thou dost retract vows made in favour of holy church, thou must do penance.”
Accordingly, he raised his halberd, and would have laid the staff of it lustily on the Jew’s shoulders, had not the Black Knight stopped the blow, and thereby transferred the holy clerk’s resentment to himself.
“By St. Thomas of Kent,” said he, “an I buckle to my gear, I will teach thee, sir lazy lover, to mell with thine own matters, maugre thine iron case there!”
“Nay, be not wroth with me,” said the Knight; “thou knowest I am thy sworn friend and comrade.”
“I know no such thing,” answered the Friar; “and defy thee for a meddling coxcomb!”
“Nay, but,” said the Knight, who seemed to take a pleasure in provoking his quondam host, “hast thou forgotten how, that for my sake—for I say nothing of the temptation of the flagon and the pasty—thou didst break thy vow of fast and vigil?”
“Truly, friend,” said the Friar, clenching his huge fist, “I will bestow a buffet on thee.”
“I accept of no such presents,” said the Knight;3 “I am content to take thy cuff as a loan, but I will repay thee with usury as deep as ever thy prisoner there exacted in his traffic.”
“I will prove that presently,” said the Friar.
“Hola!” cried the captain, “what art thou after, mad Friar—brawling beneath our trysting-tree?”
“No brawling,” said the Knight; “it is but a friendly interchangeof courtesy. Friar, strike an thou darest; I will stand thy blow, if thou wilt stand mine.”
“Thou hast the advantage with that iron pot on thy head,” said the churchman; “but have at thee. Down thou goest, an thou wert Goliath of Gath in his brazen helmet.”
The Friar bared his brawny arm up to the elbow, and putting his full strength to the blow, gave the Knight a buffet that might have felled an ox. But his adversary stood firm as a rock. A loud shout was uttered by all the yeomen around; for the clerk’s cuff was proverbial amongst them, and there were few who, in jest or earnest, had not had occasion to know its vigour.
“Now, priest,” said the Knight, pulling off his gauntlet, “if I had vantage on my head, I will have none on my hand; stand fast as a true man.”
