The House of Walderne Part 25

Martin described the angels as weeping because men would not turn and love the Lord who had died for them. He described the joy over one repentant sinner, the horror over the sins which crucified the Lord afresh. They were waiting now to set the bells of heaven a ringing, when the news came of one soul converted and turned to the Lord--one repentant sinner.

"They are waiting now," he said. "Will you keep them waiting up there with their hands on the ropes?"

Cries of "No! no!" broke from several.

"And there be the cruel, rampant, remorseless devils with their claws, hoofs, and horns. They be terrible, but their hearts of fire are the worst, those evil hearts burning with hatred to the sons of men. Now, on my way I saw a vision: we rested at a holy house of G.o.d, where be many brethren who strive to glorify Him, according to the rule of Saint Benedict. And as we were all at prayers in the chapel, methought it was full of devils whispering all sorts of temptations, as they did to Saint Antony, trying to keep the monks from their prayers and meditations. And lo, I came to Lewes, and methought one devil only sat on the gate, and swayed the hearts of all the men in the town. He had little to do. The world and the flesh were helping him, and just now it was the devil of cruelty."

The men looked down.

"'A Jew! only a Jew!' you say; 'the wicked Jews crucified our Lord.'

"And ye, what do ye do? Why, ye crucify Him daily. Nay, look not so amazed. Saint Paul says it, not I. He says the sins of Christians crucify our Lord afresh."

And here he spoke so piteously of the Pa.s.sion of the Lord and His thirst for the souls of men, that women, yea and many men, wept aloud. In short, when the sermon was over, the crowd escorted Martin to the priory, where he was to lodge, with tears and cries of joy.

"Thou hast begun well, brother Martin," said Ginepro, when they could first speak to each other in the hospitium.

"I! No, not I. G.o.d gave me strength," and he sank on the bench exhausted and pale.

"It is too much for thee."

"No, not too much. I love the good work. G.o.d give the increase."

"What Martin, my Martin, thou here? I have followed thee. I heard thee, but couldn't get near thee for the press," cried an exultant voice.

"My Hubert, so thou art a knight at last?"

"Yes, and tomorrow I go to Walderne to say goodbye to the people there, and the next day take s.h.i.+p from Pevensey for Harfleur, on my road to the Holy Land.

"But how pale thou art! Come, tell me all. Art thou a brother yet?

Hast thou earned it by some pious deed, as I earned my knighthood by a warlike one? Come, tell me all, dear Martin."

"You tell your story first. I have only heard that you have won your spurs."

Hubert, nothing loth, told the story with which our readers are acquainted.

Then Martin told his story very simply and modestly, but Hubert could not help feeling that he would sooner have defended a ford twenty times over, than have spent one hour in that plague-infected house.

They were very happy in their mutual love, and this last meeting was made the most of. Old remembrances were recalled, scenes of the past brought to recollection; until the compline hour, after which all, monks and guests alike, retired to rest, and silence reigned through the vast pile.

Save in one narrow cell, where the sire and son were dispensed from the rule--where the old father rejoiced in his boy, devouring him with those aged eyes.

"G.o.d will preserve thee, Hubert. I know He will, but there will be trials and difficulties."

"I am prepared for them."

"But G.o.d will bring thee back to thy old father, the vow fulfilled; and my freed spirit shall rejoice in thee again. Thou knowest thy duty. Thou must first visit the Castle of Fievrault, and there seek of the old seneschal the sword of the man I slew. He will give it thee freely when thou tellest thy story and disclosest thy name.

But be sure thou dost not tarry there, no, not one night, for the place is haunted. Then thou must take the nearest route to Jerusalem."

"But it is now in the hands of the Mussulmen."

"Upon certain conditions, and the payment of a heavy fine, they allow pilgrims to approach. Would that thou couldst enter it amidst a victorious host, but that day, in penalty for our sins, is not allowed as yet to dawn. Thou hast but to pray before the Holy Sepulchre, to deposit the sword to be blessed thereon, and thou mayst return."

"But will there be no fighting?"

"This I cannot tell at present; a temporary truce exists. It may be broken at any moment, and if it be, thou mayst tarry for one campaign, not longer. My eyes will ache to see thee again, and remember that but to have visited the Holy Places will ent.i.tle thee to all the indulgences and privileges of a crusader--Bethlehem, Nazareth, Calvary, Gethsemane, Olivet. The task is easier now, by reason of the truce, although the infidels be very treacherous, and thou wilt need constant vigilance."

So they talked until the midnight hour.

No ghostly visitant appeared to mar its joy, and the sire and son slept. The old man made the youth lie on his couch, while he lay on the floor. Hubert resisted the arrangement in vain; the father was absolute, and so they slept.

On the morrow the travellers (of both parties) left the priory together, after the chapter ma.s.s at nine. Hubert had bidden the last farewell to his old father, who with difficulty relinquished his grasp of his adored boy, now that the hour for fulfilling the purpose of many years had come at last. Martin and his brother and companion Ginepro were there, and the six men-at-arms who were to act as a guard of honour to the young knight in his pa.s.sage through the forest to the castle of his ancestors. They purposed to travel together as long as their different objects permitted.

"My men will be a protection," said Hubert.

The young friars laughed.

"We need no protection," said Ginepro. "If we want arms, these bulrushes will serve for spears."

"Nay, do not jest," said Martin.

"We have other arms, my Hubert."

"What are they?"

"Only faith and prayer, but they never fail."

Then they talked of the future. Hubert disclosed all his plans to Martin; how he must visit the castle at Fievrault; how he must seek and carry the sword of the knight whom his father had slain and lay it on the Holy Sepulchre; how then he hoped to return, but not till he had dyed the sword in the blood of the Paynim, etc. And Martin told his plans for a mission in the Andredsweald; of his hope to reclaim the outlaws to Christianity, and to pacify the forests; to reunite the lords of Norman descent and the Saxon peasants together in one common love.

"Shall you visit Walderne Castle?" inquired Hubert.

"It may fall to my lot to do so."

"Avoid Drogo; at least do not trust him. He hates us both."

"He may have mended."

Hubert shook his head.

A few warm, affectionate words, and they came to the spot where their road divided--the one to the northeast, the other to the southeast. They tried to preserve the proper self control, but it failed them, and their eyes were very limpid. So they parted.

At midday the two friars rested in a sweet glade, and slept after a frugal meal, till the birds awoke them with their songs.

"They remind me of an incident in the life of our dear father Francis," said Ginepro, "which my father witnessed."

"Tell it as we go. Sweet converse shortens the toil of the way."

"Once, when he was preaching, the birds drowned his voice with their songs of gladness, whereupon he said: