The House of Walderne Part 9

The answer came in due course, and at the beginning of the Easter term Martin was told to prepare for his journey to the University.

He was not then more than fifteen, but that was a common age for matriculation in those days.

The morning came, so long looked for, and with a strange feeling Martin arose with daybreak from his couch, and looked from his cas.e.m.e.nt upon the little world he was leaving. A busy hum already ascended from beneath as our Martin put his head out of the window; he heard the clank of the armourer's hammer on mail and weapon, he heard the clamorous noise of the hungry hounds who were being fed, he heard the scolding of the cooks and menials who were preparing the breakfast in the hall, he heard the merry laughter of the boys in the pages' chamber. But soon one sound dominated over all--boom!

boom! boom! came the great bell of the chapel, filling hill and dale, park and field, with its echoes. Father Edmund was about to say the daily ma.s.s, and all must go to begin the day with prayer who were not reasonably hindered--such was the earl's command.

And soon the chaplain called, "Martin, Martin."

"I am ready, sire."

"Looking round on the home thou art leaving, thou wilt find Oxford much fairer."

"But thou wilt not be there."

"My good friend Adam will do more for thee than ever I could."

"Nay, but for thee, sire, I had fallen into utter recklessness; thou hast dragged me from the mire.

"Sit Deo gloria, then, not to a frail man like thyself; thou must learn to lean on the Creator, not the creature. Come, it is time to vest for ma.s.s. Thou shalt serve me as acolyte for the last time."

People sometimes talk of that olden rite, wherein our ancestors showed forth the death of Christ day by day, as if it had been a mere mechanical service. It was a dead form only to those who brought dead hearts to it. To our Martin it was instinct with life, and it satisfied the deep craving of his soul for communion with the most High, while he pleaded the One Oblation for all his present needs, just entering upon a new world.

The short service was over, and Martin was breakfasting in the chaplain's room with him and Hubert, who had been invited to share the meal. They were sitting after breakfast--the usual feeling of depression which precedes a departure from home was upon them--when a firm step was heard echoing along the corridor.

"It is the earl," said the chaplain, and they all rose as the great man entered.

"Pardon my intrusion, father. I am come to say farewell to this wilful boy."

They all rose, Martin overwhelmed by the honour.

"Nay, sit down. I have not yet broken my own fast and will crack a crust with you."

And the earl ate and drank that he might put them all at their ease.

"So the scholar's gown and pen suit thee better than the coat of mail and the sword, master Martin!"

"Oh, my good lord!"

"Nay, my boy, thou wast exiled from home in my cause, and I may owe thee a life for all I can tell."

"They would not have harmed thee, not even they, had they known."

"But you see they did not know, and all was fish that came to their nets. Martin, don't thou ever think of them."

"Hubert, thou hadst better go, and come back presently," whispered the chaplain, who felt that there were certain circ.u.mstances of which the boy might be better left ignorant, which nearly concerned his companion.

"Nay," said Martin, 'there are no secrets between us. He knows mine. I know his."

"But no one else, I trust," said the earl, who remembered a certain prohibition.

"No, my lord, only Hubert. He already knew so much, I was forced to tell him all."

"Then thou hast not forgotten thy kindred in the greenwood?"

"I can never forget my poor mother."

"Thou hast already told me all that thou dost know, and that thy fathers once owned Michelham."

"So the outlaws said, the merrie men of the wood. Oh if my father had but lived."

"He would have made thee an outlaw, too."

"It might well have been, but my poor mother would have been happy then."

"But I think Martin has a scheme in his head," said Hubert shyly.

"What is it, my son?" said the earl.

"The chaplain knows."

"He thinks that when he has put on the cord of Saint Francis he will go and preach the Gospel to them that are afar off in the woods."

"But they are Christians, I hope."

"Nominally, but they know nought of the Gospel of love and peace.

Their religion is limited to a few outward observances," said the chaplain, "which, separated from the living Spirit, only fulfil the words: 'The letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life.'"

"Ah, well, my boy, G.o.d speed thee on thy path, and preserve thee for that day when thou shalt come as a messenger of peace to them that sit in darkness," said the earl.

"Thine," he continued, 'is a far n.o.bler ambition than that of the warrior, thine the task to save, his to destroy.

"What sayest thou, Hubert?"

"I would fain be a soldier of the Cross, like my father, and cut down the Paynim."

"Like a G.o.dly knight I once knew, who, called upon to convert a Saracen, said the Creed and told him he was to believe it. The Saracen, as one might have expected, uttered some words of scorn, and the good knight straight-way clove him to the chine."

"It was short and simple, my lord; I should like to convert them that way best."

The chaplain sighed.

"Oh, Hubert!" said Martin.

The earl listened and smiled a sad smile.

"Well, there is work for you both. Mine is not yet done in the busy fighting world; rivers of blood have I seen shed, nay, helped to shed, and I must answer to G.o.d for the way in which I have played my part; yet I thank Him that He did not disdain to call one whose career lay in like b.l.o.o.d.y paths 'the man after His own heart.'"

"It is lawful to draw sword in a good cause, my lord," said the chaplain.