CHAPTER IV
Montjoy rode through a dewy June morning. He crossed the bridge, hishorse’s hoofs sounding deeply, an air from the sea filling nostrils,the light striking sails of fishing boats gliding away below the archeswhere all widened. Montjoy was bound for Damson Wood.
Montjoy rode homeward in the evening, after a day in the deep wood,after a visit to Damson Hill graveyard. His two stout serving men,riding the brown and the roan behind him, thought it a strange visit.
Nearing the bridge Montjoy checked the black horse and turningslightly, looked back at Saint Leofric’s mound. There was now full,level flow of reddened light, and the mound was bathed in it. Thechurch stood up in that light, the cloister walls were made faery.
“Oh, Hugh and Hugh! I walk in your heart and I see the dark engines,and I walk in your mind and it is a hold for sorceries!”
He put his horse into motion. “Such a plan and such a course couldnever have come to Mark! Though it might have come to Prior Matthew.”
He was upon the bridge. Others were crossing. Sir Robert Somerville hecaught up with. “Well met, Somerville!”
“My lord Montjoy--” Somerville presented his kinsman riding beside him.The sunset reddened and reddened. The waters glowed below the arches,the boats moved, a barge slipped underneath, emerged and went upstream, its rowers singing. The dark houses rose from the river bank.One that was narrow and latticed, close to the old wall, drew theireyes. The sunset made its windows to blaze. Somerville and Montjoy bothsaw, without the physical eye, the courtesan, Morgen Fay.
Somerville began to talk of where he had been. He had been to show hiskinsman Saint Leofric’s and a miracle.
Said Sir Humphrey, “I have always desired to see a miracle.”
“Saw you one?”
“You gibe!” said Somerville. “But we did see one. It would not be wise,even for Montjoy, to doubt to the throng that we saw one!”
“What happened?”
“A woman received her sight.”
They left the bridge. The dying rose of the sun touched Middle Forest’sHigh Street. Folk were yet abroad, going this way and going that; mostor all going home. Droning sound was in the air; then Saint Ethelred’sbell began to ring.
Somerville talked on. He lived so, with vivacity, like a quick swordplaying with joy in its own point and edge, like wine liking its ownsparkle from beaker to cup. To a certain depth he could read Montjoy.Old rivalries, jealousies conflicts existed between Somerville andMontjoy. Now all the sea above was calm, but those ancient tendenciesstayed like reefs below. Light-drawing boats could pass above them, butgreater craft might be in danger.
Somerville’s quick and agreeable voice jetted on. His eye, quick as ahawk’s, marked the small erect man riding the black horse. If Montjoyin his nature had sensitive tracts, far be it from Somerville not totouch these! Do it always, though with swordly skill, keeping one’sself invisible, invulnerable!
Montjoy, it was evident, did not like Saint Leofric’s miracles. Why?Somerville, using wit, found part of it. All affairs were seesaw! Yougo up; I go down. Up Saint Leofric; down Saint Willebrod. Up Dominican;down Cistercian. Up Prior Hugh; down Abbot Mark, Montjoy’s kinsman. UpFriary; down Silver Cross, enriched by, linked to, the castle on thehill. Up neighbour’s glory; down my glory! If Montjoy, as apparentlywas the case, identified his glory with that of Silver Cross--Why, orto what extent, who cared? He did it, that was evident! His doing itanswered for Somerville’s cue.
Somerville with malice dilated upon the throng at Saint Leofric’s andthe mounting excitement. He had a vigour and colour of speech thatlifted the scene bodily across the river and set it in the High Street.He appealed for corroboration to his cousin. The latter, though hecould not guess all, guessed some motive and fell easily in with hiskinsman and host. Not only the great play over there, the singing andweeping, the light in the church and the shout of joy--but he couldreport the stir that was spreading through England. Indeed, it was saidthat the Princess of Spain was coming--
Montjoy thought, “That Princess should give her presence to SilverCross. She should smooth Isabel’s tomb with her hand. Life should comefrom her eyes to the picture.”
Somerville was drawing comparisons, and yet he lived this side theriver, up the Wander indeed, where from any hilltop he might see SilverCross!
“It’s an ill bird that fouls its own nest!” said Montjoy, harshly.
Somerville laughed and shot across a hawk glance. “But if it is true?Look at Abbot Mark and then at Prior Hugh! The last ascetic, fired,ever praying; the first--But he is your kinsman, Montjoy, and I touchhim not--”
“I want truth,” said Montjoy, and his voice had an angry croak.
“Then in truth is he one whose abbey would show miracles? Who saysgreat sanctity shows anywhere at Silver Cross? Is it carping to cryout against sloth and indulgence? If they are near home, I believe inconfessing they are near home! Has Silver Cross one monk who may standwith the Friar to whom hand and arm appeared?”
“I could tell you--,” burst forth Montjoy, then checked himself. “Iknow not of the monks,” he said, “though there be two or three--I knownot in these days of any place more or less slothful than another. Weare all drunken and dazed, we have sinned so long! But of old SilverCross was a saintly place!”
“Oh, I’ll give you ‘of old’! Well, Saint Leofric may redeem the time!And surely for that we must rejoice!”
“If it be redeemer and not Iscariot--yes! But Saint Leofric’s miraclesare false miracles!”
He spoke with an energy of passion, forgetting caution. He spoke louderthan his wont. They were passing through the market square and folk innumbers were about. Montjoy’s voice reached the nearer circle of these.There fell upon the centre of Middle Forest a pause, a hush. It was asthough the world had come to an end! Then like a bolt from the tawnysky laced with blue and rose, fell a great voice, “You lie, lord ofMontjoy!”
It was so thick, loud and startling that Montjoy himself, thrilling,dragged his horse back upon haunches. Somerville, too, started. Ittook a moment to see that the voice proceeded from a Black Friar, aman with the frame of a giant, who had been climbing the stone stairto the upper street. They were passing the stair foot; he heard andturned. Now he was set as in a pulpit above them. His great bell voicereached half the dwindled market. The folk were already looking Montjoyand Somerville way. Those hearing Montjoy needed no explanation, butexplained to their fellows. Montjoy’s words ran around the marketplace. With agitation a wave of folk lifted itself and began to flowtoward steps and toward checked horses. The Black Friar’s voice tookthunder tone. “Who discredits Saint Leofric discredits God and Our Ladyand Her Son!”
A woman shrilled from a booth of earthenware and hats of plaitedstraw. “Don’t ye anger the Saint and dry up his miracles, Montjoy!Don’t ye! My dumb daughter is coming from up the Wander. Don’t ye!”
“Don’t ye!”
“My palsied brother is going!”
“The morn I take my child--”
“Don’t ye!”
A mob was gathering. Above their heads the Dominican, great figurein great pulpit, with point and energy recited as it were a rosaryof Saint Leofric’s deeds, and between them scarified doubt. SaidSomerville with an excited laugh, “Wasp’s nest was not empty, Montjoy!”
Montjoy had power, Montjoy had his own kind of popularity. He wasthought a lord of his word and of generous notions, rather a godlylord. He had the gift of shy and subtle loving, and so he loved MiddleForest and it hurt him always when they differed.--Now what? He saw ina grim flash of cold, uncaring light, that his world was not going tohave Saint Leofric’s miracles false.
No use saying anything--
He must even recover if he could its liking, must render harmless tohimself Black Friar’s lightning.
What to say? How positively to lie? Excuse stuck in his throat. At lasthe managed to shout forth. “You know me, good folk. If I doubt, it isnot Saint Leofric that I doubt!”
&n
bsp; “Whom dost thou doubt? Prior Hugh, whose austerities, whose prayers andfastings brought the blessing? What dost thou doubt? That the woman whothis morn was blind now sees?”
“That you cannot doubt, Lord of Montjoy!” said Somerville in a loudvoice. “Sir Humphrey Somerville and I saw that wonder! The woman_sees_--praise Our Lady and Saint Leofric!”
Having cleared himself he found himself willing to aid in extricatingMontjoy. Give him the prick of being aided! “The sun is strongto-day, and my lord Montjoy hath been long in saddle and is weary andhalf-sick! So for one instant, good friends, the devil had his ear! Itis naught--he will shake the fiend off. Hurt him not by mistrustinghim! Presently will you see him on pilgrimage himself to SaintLeofric’s!”
Montjoy, dry-voiced, tried to speak. He was dark red, his voice brokein his throat. Suddenly, sharply turning Black King, he touched himwith his heel and rode from the market place. “See you, he is really asick man!” cried Somerville and pushed his bay after him. Sir Humphreyfollowed, and Montjoy’s two serving men.
Middle Forest knew the lord of the castle for an encreasingly devoutman. It could not even now see him as scoffer. Sir Robert Somerville,now, was much more like a scoffer than was Montjoy! For a moment folkhung in the wind, then the larger number agreed to give Montjoy thebenefit of the doubt. Probably to-morrow he would come praising SaintLeofric! Envious Satan did attack each one in turn! The buzz and humcontinued, but it left the key of anger. The Black Friar, havingvindicated the right, climbed triumphantly the stair to the upperstreet.
On castle road where the Wander road diverged Montjoy abruptly saidgood night. His voice was moved, sonorous, thrilling with hurt pride.He seemed eager to leave them, to mount to his old castle that was notso large, not so threatening, after all!
When he was gone Somerville laughed, and Sir Humphrey complaisantlywith him. They trotted on upon the Wander road, a great manor houseand supper before them, three miles up the vale. “When all’s spoken,”said Somerville, “I have a back-handed liking for that lord that’s justleft us! I like him enough inwardly to quarrel with him, and frustratehim, and make sure that he thinks not too well of himself! I preoccupymyself with him. The day is stale when I run not somehow against him!What miracle he decrys, will I cry up; or what he cries up, will Idecry!”
He began to whistle, sweet and clear as a blackbird.
“Lyken I wander My love for to see-- My love for to see On a May morning, Where she goes dressed In cramoisie--”