Part 59

‘He pulled a writing from his scrip, and Hugh, coming up, read it.

‘It set out that the pilgrim was Rahere’s man, and that Rahere was the King’s jester. There was Latin writ at the back.

‘“What a plague conjuration’s here?” said Hugh, turning it over. “Pum-quum-sum oc-occ. Magic?”

‘“Black Magic,” said the Clerk of Netherfield (he had been a monk at Battle). “They say Rahere is more of a priest than a fool and more of a wizard than either. Here’s Rahere’s name writ, and there’s Rahere’s red cockscomb mark drawn below for such as cannot read.” He looked slyly at me.

‘“Then read it,” said I, “and show thy learning.” He was a vain little man, and he gave it us after much mouthing.

‘“The charm, which I think is from Virgilius the Sorcerer, says: ‘When thou art once dead, and Minos’ (which is a heathen judge) ‘has doomed thee, neither cunning, nor speechcraft, nor good works will restore thee!’ A terrible thing! It denies any mercy to a man’s soul!”

‘“Does it serve?” said the pilgrim, plucking at Hugh’s cloak. “Oh, man of the King’s blood, does it cover me?”

‘Hugh was of Earl Godwin’s blood, and all Sussex knew it, though no Saxon dared call him kingly in a Norman’s hearing. There can be but one King.

‘“It serves,” said Hugh. “But the day will be long and hot. Better rest here. We go forward now.”

‘“No, I will keep with thee, my kinsman,” he answered like a child. He was indeed childish through great age.

‘The line had not moved a bowshot when De Aquila’s great horn blew for a halt, and soon young Fulke--our false Fulke’s son--yes, the imp that lit the straw in Pevensey Castle [See ‘Old Men at Pevensey’ in PUCK OF POOK’S HILL.]--came thundering up a woodway.

‘“Uncle,” said he (though he was a man grown, he called me Uncle), “those young Norman fools who shot at you this morn are saying that your beaters cried treason against the King. It has come to Harry’s long ears, and he bids you give account of it. There are heavy fines in his eye, but I am with you to the hilt, Uncle!” ‘When the boy had fled back, Hugh said to me: “It was Rahere’s witless man that cried, ‘’Ware Red William’s arrow!’ I heard him, and so did the Clerk of Netherfield.”

‘“Then Rahere must answer to the King for his man,” said I. “Keep him by you till I send,” and I hastened down.

‘The King was with De Aquila in the Grand Stand above Welansford down in the valley yonder. His Court--knights and dames--lay glittering on the edge of the glade. I made my homage, and Henry took it coldly. ‘“How came your beaters to shout threats against me?” said he.

‘“The tale has grown,” I answered. “One old witless man cried out, ‘’Ware Red William’s arrow,’ when the young knights shot at our line. We had two beaters hit.”

‘“I will do justice on that man,” he answered. “Who is his master?”

‘“He’s Rahere’s man,” said I.

‘“Rahere’s?” said Henry. “Has my fool a fool?”

‘I heard the bells jingle at the back of the stand, and a red leg waved over it; then a black one. So, very slowly, Rahere the King’s jester straddled the edge of the planks, and looked down on us, rubbing his chin. Loose-knit, with cropped hair, and a sad priest’s face, under his cockscomb cap, that he could twist like a strip of wet leather. His eyes were hollow-set.

‘“Nay, nay, Brother,” said he. “If I suffer you to keep your fool, you must e’en suffer me to keep mine.”

‘This he delivered slowly into the King’s angry face! My faith, a King’s jester must be bolder than lions!

‘“Now we will judge the matter,” said Rahere. “Let these two brave knights go hang my fool because he warned King Henry against running after Saxon deer through woods full of Saxons. ‘Faith, Brother, if thy Brother, Red William, now among the Saints as we hope, had been timely warned against a certain arrow in New Forest, one fool of us four would not be crowned fool of England this morning. Therefore, hang the fool’s fool, knights!” ‘Mark the fool’s cunning! Rahere had himself given us order to hang the man. No King dare confirm a fool’s command to such a great baron as De Aquila; and the helpless King knew it.

‘“What? No hanging?” said Rahere, after a silence. “A’ God’s Gracious Name, kill something, then! Go forward with the hunt!”

‘He splits his face ear to ear in a yawn like a fish-pond. “Henry,” says he, “the next time I sleep, do not pester me with thy fooleries.” Then he throws himself out of sight behind the back of the stand.

‘I have seen courage with mirth in De Aquila and Hugh, but stark mad courage of Rahere’s sort I had never even guessed at.’

‘What did the King say?’ cried Dan.

‘He had opened his mouth to speak, when young Fulke, who had come into the stand with us, laughed, and, boy-like, once begun, could not check himself. He kneeled on the instant for pardon, but fell sideways, crying: “His legs! Oh, his long, waving red legs as he went backward!”

‘Like a storm breaking, our grave King laughed,--stamped and reeled with laughter till the stand shook. So, like a storm, this strange thing passed!