The latter, however, was not a man to be quelled by words, for he caught up his ell- measure sword-sheath and belabored the cursing clerk with it.
The latter, unable to escape from the shower of blows, set spurs to his mule and rode for his life, with his enemy thundering behind him.
At sight of his master's sudden departure, the varlet Watkin set off after him, with the pack-mule beside him, so that the four clattered away down the road together, until they swept round a curve and their babble was but a drone in the distance.
Sir Nigel and Alleyne gazed in astonishment at one another, while Ford burst out a-laughing.
"Pardieu!" said the knight, "this David Micheldene must be one of those Lollards about whom Father Christopher of the priory had so much to say.
Yet he seemed to be no bad man from what I have seen of him."
"I have heard that Wicliff hath many followers in Norwich," answered Alleyne.
"By St. Paul!
I have no great love for them," quoth Sir Nigel.
"I am a man who am slow to change; and, if you take away from me the faith that I have been taught, it would be long ere I could learn one to set in its place.
It is but a chip here and a chip there, yet it may bring the tree down in time.
Yet, on the other hand, I cannot but think it shame that a man should turn God's mercy on and off, as a cellarman doth wine with a spigot."
"Nor is it," said Alleyne, "part of the teachings of that mother Church of which he had so much to say.
There was sooth in what the alderman said of it."
"Then, by St. Paul! they may settle it betwixt them," quoth Sir Nigel.
"For me, I serve God, the king and my lady; and so long as I can keep the path of honor I am well content.
My creed shall ever be that of Chandos:
" 'Fais ce que dois--adviegne que peut, C'est commande au chevalier.' "
Chapter XXVIII.
HOW THE COMRADES CAME OVER THE MARCHES OF FRANCE
AFTER passing Cahors, the party branched away from the main road, and leaving the river to the north of them, followed a smaller track which wound over a vast and desolate plain.
This path led them amid marshes and woods, until it brought them out into a glade with a broad stream swirling swiftly down the centre of it.
Through this the horses splashed their way, and on the farther shore Sir Nigel announced to them that they were now within the borders of the land of France.
For some miles they still followed the same lonely track, which led them through a dense wood, and then widening out, curved down to an open rolling country, such as they had traversed between Aiguillon and Cahors.
If it were grim and desolate upon the English border, however, what can describe the hideous barrenness of this ten times harried tract of France?
The whole face of the country was scarred and disfigured, mottled over with the black blotches of burned farm-steadings, and the gray, gaunt gable-ends of what had been chateaux.
Broken fences, crumbling walls, vineyards littered with stones, the shattered arches of bridges--look where you might, the signs of ruin and rapine met the eye.
Here and there only, on the farthest sky-line, the gnarled turrets of a castle, or the graceful pinnacles of church or of monastery showed where the forces of the sword or of the spirit had preserved some small islet of security in this universal flood of misery.
Moodily and in silence the little party rode along the narrow and irregular track, their hearts weighed down by this far-stretching land of despair.
It was indeed a stricken and a blighted country, and a man might have ridden from Auvergne in the north to the marches of Foix, nor ever seen a smiling village or a thriving homestead.
From time to time as they advanced they saw strange lean figures scraping and scratching amid the weeds and thistles, who, on sight of the band of horsemen, threw up their arms and dived in among the brushwood, as shy and as swift as wild animals.
More than once, however, they came on families by the wayside, who were too weak from hunger and disease to fly, so that they could but sit like hares on a tussock, with panting chests and terror in their eyes.
So gaunt were these poor folk, so worn and spent- -with bent and knotted frames, and sullen, hopeless, mutinous faces--that it made the young Englishman heart-sick to look upon them.
Indeed, it seemed as though all hope and light had gone so far from them that it was not to be brought back; for when Sir Nigel threw down a handful of silver among them there came no softening of their lined faces, but they clutched greedily at the coins, peering questioningly at him, and champing with their animal jaws.
Here and there amid the brushwood the travellers saw the rude bundle of sticks which served them as a home--more like a fowl's nest than the dwelling-place of man.
Yet why should they build and strive, when the first adventurer who passed would set torch to their thatch, and when their own feudal lord would wring from them with blows and curses the last fruits of their toil?
They sat at the lowest depth of human misery, and hugged a bitter comfort to their souls as they realized that they could go no lower.
Yet they had still the human gift of speech, and would take council among themselves in their brushwood hovels, glaring with bleared eyes and pointing with thin fingers at the great widespread chateaux which ate like a cancer into the life of the country-side.
When such men, who are beyond hope and fear, begin in their dim minds to see the source their woes, it may be an evil time for those who have wronged them.
The weak man becomes strong when he has nothing, for then only can he feel the wild, mad thrill of despair.
High and strong the chateaux, lowly and weak the brushwood hut; but God help the seigneur and his lady when the men of the brushwood set their hands to the work of revenge!
Through such country did the party ride for eight or it might be nine miles, until the sun began to slope down in the west and their shadows to stream down the road in front of them.
Wary and careful they must be, with watchful eyes to the right and the left, for this was no man's land, and their only passports were those which hung from their belts.
Frenchmen and Englishmen, Gascon and Provencal, Brabanter, Tardvenu, Scorcher, Flayer, and Free Companion, wandered and struggled over the whole of this accursed district.
So bare and cheerless was the outlook, and so few and poor the dwellings, that Sir Nigel began to have fears as to whether he might find food and quarters for his little troop.
It was a relief to him, therefore, when their narrow track opened out upon a larger road, and they saw some little way down it a square white house with a great bunch of holly hung out at the end of a stick from one of the upper windows.
"By St. Paul!" said he,
"I am right glad; for I had feared that we might have neither provant nor herbergage.
Ride on, Alleyne, and tell this inn-keeper that an English knight with his party will lodge with him this night."
Alleyne set spurs to his horse and reached the inn door a long bow-shot before his companions. Neither varlet nor ostler could be seen, so he pushed open the door and called loudly for the landlord.