CHAPTER XX
The priest of the parish at Oundle had Hugo and Humphrey up and offbetimes the next morning, as he had said. "It must be he liketh not ourcompany over well," observed Humphrey, as they jogged on after a verybrief and hasty leave-taking.
"Perhaps he taketh thee for a wolf in sheep's clothing," said Hugo,with a meaning glance at the priest's habit in which the stalwartHumphrey was engulfed.
"And thee for the cub, dear lad," retorted Humphrey. "But it may beafter all that he looketh but to his own safety, and desireth not tofall into disgrace with the king by harboring us. But hark! Let uswithdraw ourselves into the wood. Here come travellers this way. And Icannot feel safe in the priest's garb. The wood, methinks, were abetter protection."
With the celerity of practice the two concealed themselves in the woodin such a position that they could see the path. And presently therecame into view a small party of knights on their way northward.
"They look not so dangerous," commented Hugo.
"Nay," agreed Humphrey. "I would liefer see them than king's spies. Butbide we here a bit and see if more will come."
It was very still in the wood that morning and a little sound seemed agreat one. So the two, while they waited, talked together in low tones."The merry-hearted canon is in most things wise, I do suppose,"observed Humphrey. "But I feel not like a priest though I wear hisgarb. And I fear to do something which will betray me to be but theSaxon serving-man which I am. Still, I must wear it?" And he lookedinquiringly at Hugo.
"Yea," replied the boy. "The land is so full of priests that few scanthem closely. And, moreover, there be Saxons among them. He was bornbut a Saxon serf who was the great pope Adrian IV."
"Sayest thou so?" said Humphrey. "I will e'en take courage and wear thepriest's garb as well as I can. I suppose thou knowest all this fromthine uncle, the prior?"
Humphrey in Priest's Garb]
"Yea," answered Hugo, with a smile.
A while there was silence, while both listened. Then Humphrey said,"But I like not the canon's plan that we go to St. Albans."
"And wherefore?" asked Hugo.
"That I cannot tell. I do but know that I like it not. It were betterto go straight to London. So think I, and so do I say."
Hugo reflected. He knew that the way was not particularly safe for themanywhere. "If it should be discovered that we have been atPeterborough," he said at length.
"Yea, lad," broke in Humphrey. "I had not thought of that. But wouldthey not straight seek for us at St. Albans, where the merry-heartedcanon hath sent us? And neither did I like the parish priest at Oundle.He did speed us too gladly. And he knoweth that we go to St. Albans."
"Thou mayest be right, Humphrey," said Hugo. "It will doubtless costthe monks at St. Albans small grief if they do not see us. We will goto London as thou sayest."
Humphrey regarded him approvingly. "It is easy to see that thou art farfrom being a fool," he said. "Hiding and skulking through wood and fenare making thee wary."
The two now resumed their journey, and Humphrey asked, "Hast ever beenon this Watling Street?"
"Nay," replied Hugo. "I was bred up, as thou knowest, by mine uncle,the prior, and all my travels have been by ear. What I did hear himspeak of I know, but not much else."
"And he did never speak of the Watling Street?"
"Yea, he hath oft spoken of it. But it is a long road, and here inEngland since the time of the Romans. I know that it goeth to London."
"Then we go to St. Albans after all?"
"Why, St. Albans lieth on the Watling Street. So said the CanonThurstan. But we need not stop long there."
"Unless we be stopped," said Humphrey. "I would we need not go nigh theplace." He now halted and looked about him carefully. "Said the priestat Oundle where we should first come to the Watling Street?" he asked."Nay," replied Hugo. "He did say only, 'Go till thou come to it,' evenas the Canon Thurstan said."
"I hope we be on the right way," observed Humphrey. "I would fain findnot only the Watling Street, but a town and an inn also. For thebreakfast of the priest at Oundle was more of a fast than a feast."
They were now traversing an undulating country and going in a southerlydirection.
"We may not ask our way," said Humphrey, decidedly. "It is as much as Ican do to wear the priest's garb and speak when I be spoken to. Were Ito speak of myself, it would speedily be known that I was no priest,for I have not the mind of a priest."
Hugo smiled. He had already learned that, although one might turn themind of Humphrey for a little from its accustomed track, yet itspeedily turned back. He had taken a little courage at the mention ofthe Saxon pope, Adrian IV, but now he was as fearful as ever.
"I wear this garb only till we be through London," resumed Humphrey."The Canon Thurstan bid me wear it only so far. He said naught of whatshould be done later. And once we leave London I will be again Humphreythe serving-man, and no make-believe priest. I like not make-believes."
Hugo smiled again. "How likest thou my being a make-believe Josceline,and no Hugo?" he asked.
"That be a different matter," was the decided answer. "Thou hast savedour young lord's life, and thou art a brave lad. But I would ratherskulk and hide in the fen than in the priest's garb. How likest thou tobe a novice?"
"Why, very well," replied Hugo, "so that it serve my turn and help meon my way in safety. I should have been a true novice had I heeded myuncle. But, as thou knowest, I will be a knight."
"Ay, and a bold one thou wilt be," was the response; "as bold as ourlord who is in France."
All day they held slowly on their way, and, though they frequently metother travellers, they attracted no more attention than an occasionalcurious glance. And toward sundown they came to the town of Dunstable.
"Now," cried Humphrey, joyfully, "here be a town. Let us make haste toenter before the curfew and find an inn. We have had a long fast."
"Shall we not rather go to the priory?" asked Hugo.
"Nay, verily," answered Humphrey. "I go to no priory to-night. I willgo to an inn, and I will have there a mighty supper, and a good bed,and no priestly duties to perform. I know not how to perform them if Iwould. And I proclaim to no man that we be counterfeits. And moreover,the priests here may be even as the parish priest of Oundle. Mayhap hewill not set the pursuers on our track, but I trust him not. I trust noman who sendeth forth travellers with such a breakfast." So saying, herode boldly down the main street which he had entered till he came towhere it intersected another main street at right angles. There hestopped. "Here be inns in plenty," he said. "It must be this town is onthe Watling Street." And he questioned the groom who came to take theirtired horses.
"Yea," answered the groom. "This be the town of Dunstable. And here itis that the Watling Street crosseth the Icknield Street."
"_Pax vobiscum_," said Humphrey. "I will in to the fire and my supper.Do thou care well for the beasts." And, followed by Hugo, he strode offwith a gait which was not often seen on a priest.
The inn which Humphrey had chosen displayed the sign of the Shorn Lamb,and was one of the smallest in the neighborhood; it made its patrons athome in its large kitchen while they waited for the meal to be served.There was but one other guest in the room when Hugo and Humphreyentered, and the moment the faithful serving-man saw him he wasgrateful for his priest's garb; for the fierce little man who wasgiving orders in a peremptory manner was none other than WalterSkinner.
In great fear he had fled from Newark at the instance of the courtier,but his courage, after three days of wandering, had returned to him;for his hope of one day being a duke died hard. "Though I be the king'sspy no longer," he had said to himself, "I have been the king's spy.Therefore I have had a certain measure of preferment and may hope formore." And in this humor he had come into Dunstable by way of theIcknield Street, and by chance had chosen the very inn Humphrey hadselected. That he had fled from Newark and was no longer in pursuit ofthem Humphrey did not know; and he, accordingly, withdrew deeper in
tothe concealment of his hood, while Hugo did the same.
As for Walter Skinner, he looked at them with contempt. "Here cometh abeggarly priest and a novice," he thought, "to keep company at thetable with me. I will none of it." And he said haughtily to theinnkeeper: "Worthy host, I have no liking to priests. Seat them not atthe table with me. Give me thy company, if it please thee, but servethe priest and his novice elsewhere."
The innkeeper happened to be in a surly humor. Certain affairs had gonecontrary and vexed him. Therefore he made answer: "I keep but one table.There may ye all feed or ye may look elsewhere. There be other inns."And he added slowly and impressively, "They--be--all--full--also."
"Why, here be a circumstance!" cried Walter Skinner. "The inns of thistown be full, sayest thou? Why, all the inns in London be not full, Iwarrant thee. And why should they be full here in this bit of a town,with one street running this way, and one another way, like a cross? Iwould have thee to know that I have been servant to the king, and amused to be served accordingly."
"And what service hast thou done the king?" demanded the surlyinnkeeper, unbelievingly.
"I did watch from the top of the high tree the De Aldithely castle,"was the boastingly given answer. "I did see the young lord and hisserving-man flee through the postern and enter the wood." He was aboutto rehearse all the particulars of his pursuit of the runaways when theinnkeeper interrupted him.
"Thou must, then," said he, "be the spy for whom the king is looking,and I will give thee to him."
"Nay, nay," said Walter Skinner, his fierceness all gone as he suddenlyremembered the warning given him in Newark by the courtier who had sethim free. "That thou mayest not do. I do journey toward the south. Thoumayest not delay me."
"I could if I would," returned the innkeeper, his surly mood vanishingas he saw before him the opportunity of enjoying himself by tormentingsomebody. "But thou art such a sprat of a man that my compassionforbids me. The king looketh for thee to hear thee tell what thouknowest of the whereabouts of the young lord and his companion. If thoucanst not tell, he will have thy head; so hath he sworn. For he is inan evil rage, and heads are as nothing to him when he rageth, as thouknowest. He searcheth also for the bailiff who had thee in charge andlet thee escape. I warrant thee the bailiff hath a wit too sound to goproclaiming how he was some great man, even a bailiff in the town ofNewark."
All this was lost on Walter Skinner, however, who grasped but onethought, that he was in danger, and had but one anxiety, how to escapeit. He turned now with some degree of humility to Humphrey.
"What!" said the innkeeper. "Dost thou turn to the beggarly priest whomthou erstwhile didst despise? But it shall not avail thee. It is withme that thou must deal. Knowest thou that I might lose my head forharboring thee, if I give thee not up? But I will hide thee, my littlesprat, so that the king himself would not know thee. Come with me."
The little spy, his importance all gone, did as the burly innkeeperbade him, and Hugo and Humphrey were left alone in the kitchen with theservants.
"What do we?" asked Humphrey, in a low tone. "Flee?"
"Nay," replied Hugo. "That were to invite pursuit."
"This innkeeper is a knave," said Humphrey.
"The more reason for caution," answered Hugo.
"I have heard that some priests be great sleepers and great eaters,"said Humphrey a few moments later.
"Some priests be," agreed Hugo.
"Then I be one of them. I do now drowse in my chair, and naught but thecall to supper shall awake me. And then will I play so busily with myfood that no words can escape me save _pax vobiscum_. This rascalinnkeeper learns naught of me."
Presently back came the innkeeper with Walter Skinner in his turnplaying scullion. "Here, sir priest," cried the innkeeper. "Here is hewho shall serve thee at thy meal."
But there was no response. The priest's head was sunk on his breast,and he seemed asleep. His novice also appeared to sleep.
The innkeeper, emboldened, now gazed openly and curiously at the two."They have not come far," he said to himself. "Their garments be nottravel-stained enough for that. They be some dullards of small wit ontheir first journey, for the groom did say they knew not that this wasDunstable."
His observations were here cut short by the appearance of three othertravellers; but their entrance failed to arouse the priest and hisnovice, who remained, as before, apparently asleep.
"Yea, verily," thought the innkeeper, as he slowly advanced to meet thenewcomers, "they be but two dullards. There is neither game nor gain tobe made of them as there is of this Walter Skinner, from whom I willtake his horse before I let him go. I will e'en bid priest and novicepack to make room for these newcomers, from whom I may win something,and to save room for others who may come."
Accordingly he set to work, but it was with great difficulty that heroused the two. "_Pax vobiscum_," murmured Humphrey, sleepily. "Is thesupper ready?"
"Yea, but at some other inn," returned the innkeeper. "Here be threeworthy people just come in. There is not room for them and ye. Thegroom bringeth your horses, and ye must go." Without a word ofobjection Hugo and Humphrey rose to do the innkeeper's bidding anddepart. But they walked like men half awake, and followed the innkeeperstumblingly; and mounted their horses clumsily, to the great merrimentof the groom. It was now dark, and they knew not which way to turn. "Ichoose not another inn," said Humphrey, "though we bide supperless inthe streets."
"Then choose I," returned Hugo. And he rode off down the street withHumphrey close beside him.
"Lad, lad!" cried the serving-man, "thou must not lead. It will betrayus."
At once Hugo fell behind, and the two rode on until, at a little inncalled the Blue Bell, the boy bade the serving-man stop. The twoalighted, gave their horses to the groom, went in, were promptly serveda good supper, and, in due time, were shown to their beds.
"There be dangers on the Watling Street as well as in the fen," saidHumphrey.
In the meanwhile the keeper of the Shorn Lamb was having his enjoymentat the expense of Walter Skinner. He bade him serve the three strangersand fear nothing, as no one would recognize him in the guise of ascullion.
"Why, here didst thou come strutting it finely," said the innkeeper, ina mocking tone. "And dost thou strut now? Nay, verily; but thou art asmeek as any whipped cock. And since it was by thy strut that men didrecognize thee, how shall they make thee out when thy fine strut isgone? Wherefore serve the strangers, and be not afraid."
In spite of this exhortation the manner of Walter Skinner stillbetrayed doubt, and even timidity. And at last he made the innkeeperunderstand that it was he whom he feared and not the strangers.
The innkeeper laughed. "Dost fear me?" he said. "Why, thou needstnot--that is, thou needst not if thou observest my conditions. Thouhast a horse that thou needest not, since thou hast legs of thine own.Somewhat short they be, and somewhat stiff in the joints, being moremade to strut with than for the common gait of mankind. Still I doubtnot they will carry thee whither thou wouldst go after I have dismissedthee. Serve the strangers, therefore, and afterward thou shalt sup."
In great meekness Walter Skinner obeyed, and the innkeeper, observinghim, sat down later with satisfaction to his own meal.
Now it chanced that the strangers had ordered liquor, and WalterSkinner paused in the bringing of it long enough to take a drink of itand fill up the measure again with water. And in a few moments hisfears were gone. He surreptitiously drank again, and yet again, for thestrangers were convivial. And, by the time they were served and histask done, he had forgotten his danger and remembered only theinjustice of the innkeeper.
"What!" he said to himself. "Here be a degradation! Here be a puttingof fine metal to base uses! I who have been servant to the king am madea scullion to traveling strangers who be drunken, moreover, and fitonly to be served by this rascal innkeeper who hath made a scullion ofme. And shall he have my horse also? Nay, he shall not. I will away tothe stables this moment and set out and gain my liberty
."
Nobody noticed him as he went out the kitchen door, and nobody saw himas he entered the stable and prepared his horse for the journey. And,still unnoticed, he mounted, after many a crazy lurch, and set off downthe street. In due time he came to the gate, and the watchmanchallenged him.
"Dost stop me, sirrah!" demanded the half-drunken Walter Skinner. "I bethe servant of the king; and, moreover, I be but just come from the innof the Shorn Lamb. Pass me outside the walls."
The watchman, at the mention of the Shorn Lamb, made haste to lead thehorse through the narrow side gate, for he and the innkeeper wereconfederates in villany; and away went Walter Skinner at a great pacetoward London.