CHAPTER VI
From now on, the old man devoted himself to the training of the boy inthe handling of his lance and battle-axe, but each day also, a periodwas allotted to the sword, until, by the time the youth had turnedsixteen, even the old man himself was as but a novice by comparison withthe marvelous skill of his pupil.
During these days, the boy rode Sir Mortimer abroad in many directionsuntil he knew every bypath within a radius of fifty miles of Torn.Sometimes the old man accompanied him, but more often he rode alone.
On one occasion, he chanced upon a hut at the outskirts of a smallhamlet not far from Torn and, with the curiosity of boyhood, determinedto enter and have speech with the inmates, for by this time the naturaldesire for companionship was commencing to assert itself. In all hislife, he remembered only the company of the old man, who never spokeexcept when necessity required.
The hut was occupied by an old priest, and as the boy in armor pushedin, without the usual formality of knocking, the old man looked up withan expression of annoyance and disapproval.
"What now," he said, "have the King's men respect neither for piety norage that they burst in upon the seclusion of a holy man without so muchas a 'by your leave'?"
"I am no king's man," replied the boy quietly, "I am Norman of Torn, whohas neither a king nor a god, and who says 'by your leave' to no man.But I have come in peace because I wish to talk to another than myfather. Therefore you may talk to me, priest," he concluded with haughtyperemptoriness.
"By the nose of John, but it must be a king has deigned to honor me withhis commands," laughed the priest. "Raise your visor, My Lord, Iwould fain look upon the countenance from which issue the commands ofroyalty."
The priest was a large man with beaming, kindly eyes, and a round jovialface. There was no bite in the tones of his good-natured retort, and so,smiling, the boy raised his visor.
"By the ear of Gabriel," cried the good father, "a child in armor!"
"A child in years, mayhap," replied the boy, "but a good child to own asa friend, if one has enemies who wear swords."
"Then we shall be friends, Norman of Torn, for albeit I have fewenemies, no man has too many friends, and I like your face and yourmanner, though there be much to wish for in your manners. Sit down andeat with me, and I will talk to your heart's content, for be there oneother thing I more love than eating, it is talking."
With the priest's aid, the boy laid aside his armor, for it was heavyand uncomfortable, and together the two sat down to the meal that wasalready partially on the board.
Thus began a friendship which lasted during the lifetime of the goodpriest. Whenever he could do so, Norman of Torn visited his friend,Father Claude. It was he who taught the boy to read and write in French,English and Latin at a time when but few of the nobles could sign theirown names.
French was spoken almost exclusively at court and among the higherclasses of society, and all public documents were inscribed either inFrench or Latin, although about this time the first proclamation writtenin the English tongue was issued by an English king to his subjects.
Father Claude taught the boy to respect the rights of others, to espousethe cause of the poor and weak, to revere God and to believe that theprincipal reason for man's existence was to protect woman. All of virtueand chivalry and true manhood which his old guardian had neglected toinculcate in the boy's mind, the good priest planted there, but he couldnot eradicate his deep-seated hatred for the English or his belief thatthe real test of manhood lay in a desire to fight to the death with asword.
An occurrence which befell during one of the boy's earlier visits to hisnew friend rather decided the latter that no arguments he could bring tobear could ever overcome the bald fact that to this very belief of theboy's, and his ability to back it up with acts, the good father owed agreat deal, possibly his life.
As they were seated in the priest's hut one afternoon, a rough knockfell upon the door which was immediately pushed open to admit asdisreputable a band of ruffians as ever polluted the sight of man. Sixof them there were, clothed in dirty leather, and wearing swords anddaggers at their sides.
The leader was a mighty fellow with a great shock of coarse black hairand a red, bloated face almost concealed by a huge matted black beard.Behind him pushed another giant with red hair and a bristling mustache;while the third was marked by a terrible scar across his left cheek andforehead and from a blow which had evidently put out his left eye, forthat socket was empty, and the sunken eyelid but partly covered theinflamed red of the hollow where his eye had been.
"A ha, my hearties," roared the leader, turning to his motley crew,"fine pickings here indeed. A swine of God fattened upon the sweat ofsuch poor, honest devils as we, and a young shoat who, by his looks,must have pieces of gold in his belt.
"Say your prayers, my pigeons," he continued, with a vile oath, "for TheBlack Wolf leaves no evidence behind him to tie his neck with a halterlater, and dead men talk the least."
"If it be The Black Wolf," whispered Father Claude to the boy, "no worsefate could befall us for he preys ever upon the clergy, and when drunk,as he now is, he murders his victims. I will throw myself before themwhile you hasten through the rear doorway to your horse, and make goodyour escape." He spoke in French, and held his hands in the attitude ofprayer, so that he quite entirely misled the ruffians, who had no ideathat he was communicating with the boy.
Norman of Torn could scarce repress a smile at this clever ruse of theold priest, and, assuming a similar attitude, he replied in French:
"The good Father Claude does not know Norman of Torn if he thinks heruns out the back door like an old woman because a sword looks in at thefront door."
Then rising he addressed the ruffians.
"I do not know what manner of grievance you hold against my good friendhere, nor neither do I care. It is sufficient that he is the friend ofNorman of Torn, and that Norman of Torn be here in person to acknowledgethe debt of friendship. Have at you, sir knights of the great filth andthe mighty stink!" and with drawn sword he vaulted over the table andfell upon the surprised leader.
In the little room, but two could engage him at once, but so fiercelydid his blade swing and so surely did he thrust that, in a bare moment,The Black Wolf lay dead upon the floor and the red giant, Shandy, wasbadly, though not fatally wounded. The four remaining ruffians backedquickly from the hut, and a more cautious fighter would have let themgo their way in peace, for in the open, four against one are odds no manmay pit himself against with impunity. But Norman of Torn saw red whenhe fought and the red lured him ever on into the thickest of the fray.Only once before had he fought to the death, but that once had taughthim the love of it, and ever after until his death, it marked his mannerof fighting; so that men who loathed and hated and feared him were asone with those who loved him in acknowledging that never before had Godjoined in the human frame absolute supremacy with the sword and suchutter fearlessness.
So it was, now, that instead of being satisfied with his victory, herushed out after the four knaves. Once in the open, they turned uponhim, but he sprang into their midst with his seething blade, and it wasas though they faced four men rather than one, so quickly did he parrya thrust here and return a cut there. In a moment one was disarmed,another down, and the remaining two fleeing for their lives toward thehigh road with Norman of Torn close at their heels.
Young, agile and perfect in health, he outclassed them in running aswell as in swordsmanship, and ere they had made fifty paces, both hadthrown away their swords and were on their knees pleading for theirlives.
"Come back to the good priest's hut, and we shall see what he may say,"replied Norman of Torn.
On the way back, they found the man who had been disarmed bending overhis wounded comrade. They were brothers, named Flory, and one would notdesert the other. It was evident that the wounded man was in no danger,so Norman of Torn ordered the others to assist him into the hut, wherethey found Red Shandy sitting propped against the wall while t
he goodfather poured the contents of a flagon down his eager throat.
The villain's eyes fairly popped from his head when he saw his fourcomrades coming, unarmed and prisoners, back to the little room.
"The Black Wolf dead, Red Shandy and John Flory wounded, James Flory,One Eye Kanty and Peter the Hermit prisoners!" he ejaculated.
"Man or devil! By the Pope's hind leg, who and what be ye?" he said,turning to Norman of Torn.
"I be your master and ye be my men," said Norman of Torn. "Me ye shallserve in fairer work than ye have selected for yourselves, but withfighting a-plenty and good reward."
The sight of this gang of ruffians banded together to prey upon theclergy had given rise to an idea in the boy's mind, which had beenrevolving in a nebulous way within the innermost recesses of hissubconsciousness since his vanquishing of the three knights had broughthim, so easily, such riches in the form of horses, arms, armor and gold.As was always his wont in his after life, to think was to act.
"With The Black Wolf dead, and may the devil pull out his eyes with redhot tongs, we might look farther and fare worse, mates, in search of achief," spoke Red Shandy, eyeing his fellows, "for verily any man, be hebut a stripling, who can vanquish six such as we, be fit to command us."
"But what be the duties?" said he whom they called Peter the Hermit.
"To follow Norman of Torn where he may lead, to protect the poor and theweak, to lay down your lives in defence of woman, and to prey upon richEnglishmen and harass the King of England."
The last two clauses of these articles of faith appealed to the ruffiansso strongly that they would have subscribed to anything, even dailymass, and a bath, had that been necessary to admit them to the serviceof Norman of Torn.
"Aye, aye!" they cried. "We be your men, indeed."
"Wait," said Norman of Torn, "there is more. You are to obey my everycommand on pain of instant death, and one-half of all your gains are tobe mine. On my side, I will clothe and feed you, furnish you with mountsand armor and weapons and a roof to sleep under, and fight for and withyou with a sword arm which you know to be no mean protector. Are yousatisfied?"
"That we are," and "Long live Norman of Torn," and "Here's to the chiefof the Torns" signified the ready assent of the burly cut-throats.
"Then swear it as ye kiss the hilt of my sword and this token," pursuedNorman of Torn catching up a crucifix from the priest's table.
With these formalities was born the Clan Torn, which grew in a few yearsto number a thousand men, and which defied a king's army and helped tomake Simon de Montfort virtual ruler of England.
Almost immediately commenced that series of outlaw acts upon neighboringbarons, and chance members of the gentry who happened to be caught inthe open by the outlaws, that filled the coffers of Norman of Torn withmany pieces of gold and silver, and placed a price upon his head ere hehad scarce turned eighteen.
That he had no fear of or desire to avoid responsibility for his acts,he grimly evidenced by marking with a dagger's point upon the foreheadsof those who fell before his own sword the initials NT.
As his following and wealth increased, he rebuilt and enlarged the grimCastle of Torn, and again dammed the little stream which had furnishedthe moat with water in bygone days.
Through all the length and breadth of the country that witnessedhis activities, his very name was worshipped by poor and lowly andoppressed. The money he took from the King's tax gatherers, he returnedto the miserable peasants of the district, and once when Henry III senta little expedition against him, he surrounded and captured the entireforce, and, stripping them, gave their clothing to the poor, andescorted them, naked, back to the very gates of London.
By the time he was twenty, Norman the Devil, as the King himself haddubbed him, was known by reputation throughout all England, though noman had seen his face and lived other than his friends and followers.He had become a power to reckon with in the fast culminating quarrelbetween King Henry and his foreign favorites on one side, and the Saxonand Norman barons on the other.
Neither side knew which way his power might be turned, for Norman ofTorn had preyed almost equally upon royalist and insurgent. Personally,he had decided to join neither party, but to take advantage of theturmoil of the times to prey without partiality upon both.
As Norman of Torn approached his grim castle home with his five filthy,ragged cut-throats on the day of his first meeting with them, the oldman of Torn stood watching the little party from one of the small towersof the barbican.
Halting beneath this outer gate, the youth winded the horn which hung athis side in mimicry of the custom of the times.
"What ho, without there!" challenged the old man entering grimly intothe spirit of the play.
"'Tis Sir Norman of Torn," spoke up Red Shandy, "with his great hostof noble knights and men-at-arms and squires and lackeys and sumpterbeasts. Open in the name of the good right arm of Sir Norman of Torn."
"What means this, my son?" said the old man as Norman of Torn dismountedwithin the ballium.
The youth narrated the events of the morning, concluding with, "These,then, be my men, father; and together we shall fare forth upon thehighways and into the byways of England, to collect from the richEnglish pigs that living which you have ever taught me was owing us."
"'Tis well, my son, and even as I myself would have it; together weshall ride out, and where we ride, a trail of blood shall mark our way.
"From now, henceforth, the name and fame of Norman of Torn shall grow inthe land, until even the King shall tremble when he hears it, and shallhate and loathe ye as I have even taught ye to hate and loathe him.
"All England shall curse ye and the blood of Saxon and Norman shallnever dry upon your blade."
As the old man walked away toward the great gate of the castle afterthis outbreak, Shandy, turning to Norman of Torn, with a wide grin,said:
"By the Pope's hind leg, but thy amiable father loveth the English.There should be great riding after such as he."
"Ye ride after ME, varlet," cried Norman of Torn, "an' lest ye shouldforget again so soon who be thy master, take that, as a reminder," andhe struck the red giant full upon the mouth with his clenched fist--sothat the fellow tumbled heavily to the earth.
He was on his feet in an instant, spitting blood, and in a toweringrage. As he rushed, bull-like, toward Norman of Torn, the latter madeno move to draw; he but stood with folded arms, eyeing Shandy with cold,level gaze; his head held high, haughty face marked by an arrogant sneerof contempt.
The great ruffian paused, then stopped, slowly a sheepish smileoverspread his countenance and, going upon one knee, he took the hand ofNorman of Torn and kissed it, as some great and loyal noble knight mighthave kissed his king's hand in proof of his love and fealty. There wasa certain rude, though chivalrous grandeur in the act; and it markednot only the beginning of a lifelong devotion and loyalty on the part ofShandy toward his young master, but was prophetic of the attitude whichNorman of Torn was to inspire in all the men who served him during thelong years that saw thousands pass the barbicans of Torn to crave aposition beneath his grim banner.
As Shandy rose, one by one, John Flory, James, his brother, One EyeKanty, and Peter the Hermit knelt before their young lord and kissedhis hand. From the Great Court beyond, a little, grim, gray, old man hadwatched this scene, a slight smile upon his old, malicious face.
"'Tis to transcend even my dearest dreams," he muttered. "'S death,but he be more a king than Henry himself. God speed the day of hiscoronation, when, before the very eyes of the Plantagenet hound, a blackcap shall be placed upon his head for a crown; beneath his feet theplatform of a wooden gibbet for a throne."