CHAPTER IX
LAURENCE SINGS A HYMN
Laurence turned and beheld his brother. In another instant the twoyoung men had clinched and were rolling on the ground, wrestling andstriking according to their ability. Sholto might easily have had thebest of the fray, but for the temper aroused by Laurence's recentdegradation, for the elder brother was taller by an inch, and of aframe of body more lithe and supple. Moreover, the accuracy of SholtoMacKim's shape and the severe training of the smithy had not left asuperfluous ounce of flesh on him anywhere.
In a minute the brothers had become the centre of a riotous, laughingthrong of varlets--archers seeking their corps, and young squires sentby their lords to find out the exact positions allotted to eachcontingent by the provost of the camp. For as the wappenshaw was to beof three days' duration in all its nobler parts, a wilderness of tentshad already begun to arise under the scattered white thorns of thegreat Boreland Croft which stretched up from the river.
These laughed and jested after their kind, encouraging the youths tofight it out, and naming Laurence the brock or badger from hisstoutness, and the slim Sholto the whitterick or, as one might say,weasel.
"At him, Whitterick--grip him! Grip him! Now you have him at thepinch! Well pulled, Brock! 'Tis a certainty for Brock--good Brock!Well done--well done! Ah, would you? Hands off that dagger! Letfisticuffs settle it! The Whitterick hath it--the Whitterick!"
And thus ran the comment. Sholto being cumbered with his armour,Laurence might in time have gotten the upper grip. But at this momenta diversion occurred which completely altered the character of theconflict. A stout, reddish young man came up, holding in his hand astaff painted with twining stripes of white and red, which showed himto be the marshal of that part of the camp which pertained to the Earlof Angus. He looked on for a moment from the skirts of the crowd, andthen elbowed his way self-importantly into the centre, till he stoodimmediately above Laurence and Sholto.
"What means this hubbub, I say? Quit your hold there and come with me;my Lord of Angus will settle this dispute."
He had come up just when the young men were in the final grips, whenSholto had at last gotten his will of his brother's head, and was, asthe saying is, giving him "Dutch spice" in no very knightly fashion.
The Angus marshal, seeing this, seized Sholto by the collar of hismailed shirt, and drawing him suddenly back, caused him to lose holdof his brother, who as quickly rose to his feet. The red man began tobeat Sholto about the headpiece right heartily with his staff, whichexercise made a great ringing noise, though naturally, the skull capbeing the work of Malise MacKim, little harm ensued to the headenclosed therein.
But Master Laurence was instantly on fire.
"Here, Foxy-face," he cried, "let my brother a-be! What business is itof yours if two gentlemen have a difference? Go back to your Anguskernes and ragged craw-bogle Highland folk!"
Meanwhile Sholto had recovered from his surprise, and the crowd ofvarlets was melting apace, thinking the Angus marshal some one ofconsequence. But the brothers MacKim were not the lads to take beatingwith a stick meekly, and the provost, who indeed had nothing to dowith the Galloway part of the encampment, had far better have confinedhis officiousness to his own quarters.
"Take him on the right, Sholto," cried Laurence, "and I will have athim from this side." The Red Angus drew his sword and threatenedforthwith to slay the lads if they came near him. But with a springlike that of a grey Grimalkin of the woods, Sholto leapt within hisguard ere he had time to draw back his arm for thrust or parry, and atthe same moment Laurence, snatching the red and white staff out of hishand, dealt him so sturdy a clout between the shoulders that, thoughhe was of weight equal to both of his opponents taken together, he wasknocked breathless at the first blow and went down beneath the impetusof Sholto's attack.
Laurence coolly disengaged his brother, and began to thrash the Angusman with his own staff upon all exposed parts, till the dry woodbroke. Then he threw the pieces at his head, and the two brothers wentoff arm in arm to find a woody covert in which to repair damagesagainst the weapon-showing, and the inspection of their lord and hiskeen-eyed master armourer.
As soon as they had discovered such a sequestered holt, Laurence, whohad frequent experience of such rough-and-tumble encounters, strippedoff his doublet of purple velvet, and, turning the sleeve inside out,he showed his brother that it was lined with a rough-surfaced feltcloth almost of the nature of teasle. This being rubbed briskly uponany dusty garment or fouled armour proved most excellent for restoringits pristine gloss and beauty. The young men, being as it were born tothe trade and knowing that their armament must meet their father'sinexorable eye, as he passed along their lines with the Earl, rubbedand polished their best, and when after half an hour's sharp work eachexamined the other, not a speck or stain was left to tell of thevarious casual incidents of the morning. Two bright, fresh-colouredyouths emerged from their thicket, immaculately clad, and withcountenances of such cherubic innocence, that my lord the AbbotWilliam of the great Cistercian Abbey of Dulce Cor, looking upon themas with bare bowed heads they knelt reverently on one knee to ask hisblessing, said to his train, "They look for all the world like youngangels! It is a shame and a sin that two such fair innocents should becompelled to join in aught ruder than the chanting of psalms in holyservice."
Whereat one of his company, who had been witness to their treatment ofthe Angus provost and also of Laurence's encounter with the knight ofthe black armour, was seized incontinently with a fit of coughingwhich almost choked him.
"Bless you, my sons," said the Abbot, "I will speak to my nephew, theEarl, concerning you. Your faces plead for you. Evil cannot dwell insuch fair bodies. What are your names?"
The younger knelt with his fingers joined and his eyes meekly on thegrass, while Sholto, who had risen, stood quietly by with his steelcap in his hand.
"Laurence MacKim," answered the younger, modestly, without venturingto raise his eyes from the ground, "and this is my brother Sholto."
"Can you sing, pretty boy?" said the Abbot to Laurence.
"We have never been taught," answered downright Sholto. But hisbrother, feeling that he was losing chances, broke in:
"I can sing, if it please your holiness."
"And what can you sing, sweet lad?" asked the Abbot, smiling withexpectation and setting his hand to his best ear to assist hisincreasing deafness.
"Shut your fool's mouth!" said Sholto under his breath to his brother.
"Shut your own! 'Tis ugly as a rat-trap at any rate!" respondedLaurence in the same key. Then aloud to the Abbot he said, "An itplease you, sir, I can sing 'O Mary Quean!'"
The Abbot smiled, well pleased.
"Ah, exceeding proper, a song to the honour of the Queen of Heaven (hedevoutly crossed himself at the name),--I knew that I could not bemistaken in you."
"Your pardon, most reverend," interjected Sholto, anxiously, "pleaseyou to excuse my brother; his voice hath just broken and he cannotsing at present." Then, under his breath, he added, "Laurie MacKim,you God-forgotten fool, if you sing that song you will get us bothstripped in a thrice and whipped on the bare back for insolence to theEarl's uncle!"
"Go to," said his brother, "I _will_ sing. The old cook is monstrousdeaf at any rate."
"Sing," said the Abbot, "I would hear you gladly. So fair a face mustbe accompanied by the pipe of a nightingale. Besides, we sorely need atenor for the choir at Sweetheart."
So, encouraged in this fashion, the daring Laurence began:
_"Nae priests aboot me shall be seen To mumble prayers baith morn and e'en, I'll swap them a' for Mary Quean! I'll bid nae mess for me be sung, Dies ille, dies irae, Nor clanking bells for me be rung, Sic semper solet fieri! I'll gang my ways to Mary Quean."_
"Ah, very good, very good, truly," said the Abbot, thrusting his handinto his pouch beneath his gown, "here are two gold nobles for thee,sweet lad, and another for your brother, whose countenance methinks issomewhat
less sweet. You have sung well to the praise of our Lady!What did you say your name was? Of a surety, we must have you atSweetheart. And you have the Latin, too, as I heard in the hymn. It isa thing most marvellous. Verily, the very unction of grace must havevisited you in your cradle!"
Laurence held down his head with all his native modesty, but the moreopen Sholto grew red in the face, hearing behind him the tittering andshoulder-shaking of the priests and lay servants in the Abbot's train,and being sure that they would inform their master as soon as hepassed on concerning the true import of Master Laurence's song. He wasmuttering in a rapid recitative, "Oh, wait--wait, Laurie MacKim, tillI get you on the Carlinwark shore. A sore back and a stiff skinful ofbones shalt thou have, and not an inch of hide on thee that is notblack and blue. Amen!" he added, stopping his maledictions quickly,for at that moment the Abbot came somewhat abruptly to the end of hisspeech.
The great churchman rode away on his fair white mule, with a smile anda backward wave of his hand.
"I will speak to my nephew concerning you this very day, my child," hecried.
And the countenance of that most gentle youth kept its sweet innocenceand angelic grace to the last, but that of Sholto was more dark andfrowning than ever.