IT was evening before the three comrades came into Aiguillon,There they found Sir Nigel Loring and Ford safely lodged at thesign of the "Baton Rouge," where they supped on good fare andslept between lavender-scented sheets. It chanced, however, thata knight of Poitou, Sir Gaston d'Estelle, was staying there onhis way back from Lithuania, where he had served a term with theTeutonic knights under the land-master of the presbytery ofMarienberg. He and Sir Nigel sat late in high converse as tobushments, outfalls, and the intaking of cities, with many talesof warlike men and valiant deeds. Then their talk turned tominstrelsy, and the stranger knight drew forth a cittern, uponwhich he played the minne-lieder of the north, singing the whilein a high cracked voice of Hildebrand and Brunhild and Siegfried,and all the strength and beauty of the land of Almain. To thisSir Nigel answered with the romances of Sir Eglamour, and of SirIsumbras, and so through the long winter night they sat by thecrackling wood-fire answering each other's songs until thecrowing cocks joined in their concert. Yet, with scarce an hourof rest, Sir Nigel was as blithe and bright as ever as they setforth after breakfast upon their way.

"This Sir Gaston is a very worthy man," said he to his squires asthey rode from the "Baton Rouge." "He hath a very strong desireto advance himself, and would have entered upon some smallknightly debate with me, had he not chanced to have his arm-bonebroken by the kick of a horse. I have conceived a great love forhim, and I have promised him that when his bone is mended I willexchange thrusts with him. But we must keep to this road uponthe left."

"Nay, my fair lord," quoth Aylward. "The road to Montaubon isover the river, and so through Quercy and the Agenois."

"True, my good Aylward; but I have learned from this worthyknight, who hath come over the French marches, that there is acompany of Englishmen who are burning and plundering in thecountry round Villefranche. I have little doubt, from what hesays, that they are those whom we seek."

"By my hilt! it is like enough," said Aylward. "By all accountsthey had been so long at Montaubon, that there would be littlethere worth the taking. Then as they have already been in thesouth, they would come north to the country of the Aveyron."

"We shall follow the Lot until we come to Cahors, and then crossthe marches into Villefranche," said Sir Nigel. "By St. Paul! aswe are but a small band, it is very likely that we may have somevery honorable and pleasing adventure, for I hear that there islittle peace upon the French border."

All morning they rode down a broad and winding road, barred withthe shadows of poplars. Sir Nigel rode in front with hissquires, while the two archers followed behind with the sumptermule between them. They had left Aiguillon and the Garonne farto the south, and rode now by the tranquil Lot, which curves blueand placid through a gently rolling country. Alleyne could notbut mark that, whereas in Guienne there had been many townletsand few castles, there were now many castles and few houses. Oneither hand gray walls and square grim keeps peeped out at everyfew miles from amid the forests while the few villages which theypassed were all ringed round with rude walls, which spoke of theconstant fear and sudden foray of a wild frontier land. Twiceduring the morning there came bands of horsemen swooping downupon them from the black gateways of wayside strongholds, withshort, stern questions as to whence they came and what theirerrand. Bands of armed men clanked along the highway, and thefew lines of laden mules which carried the merchandise of thetrader were guarded by armed varlets, or by archers hired for theservice.

"The peace of Bretigny hath not made much change in these parts,"quoth Sir Nigel, "for the country is overrun with free companionsand masterless men. Yonder towers, between the wood and thehill, mark the town of Cahors, and beyond it is the land ofFrance. But here is a man by the wayside, and as he hath twohorses and a squire I make little doubt that he is a knight. Ipray you, Alleyne, to give him greeting from me, and to ask himfor his titles and coat-armor. It may be that I can relieve himof some vow, or perchance he hath a lady whom he would wish toadvance."

"Nay, my fair lord," said Alleyne, "these are not horses and asquire, but mules and a varlet. The man is a mercer, for he hatha great bundle beside him."

"Now, God's blessing on your honest English voice!" cried thestranger, pricking up his ears at the sound of Alleyne's words."Never have I heard music that was so sweet to mine ear. Come,Watkin lad, throw the bales over Laura's back! My heart was nighbroke, for it seemed that I had left all that was English behindme, and that I would never set eyes upon Norwich market squareagain." He was a tall, lusty, middle-aged man with a ruddy face,a brown forked beard shot with gray, and a broad Flanders hat setat the back of his head. His servant, as tall as himself, butgaunt and raw-boned, had swung the bales on the back of one mule,while the merchant mounted upon the other and rode to join theparty. It was easy to see, as he approached, from the qualityof his dress and the richness of his trappings, that he was a manof some wealth and position.

"Sir knight," said he, "my name is David Micheldene, and I am aburgher and alderman of the good town of Norwich, where I livefive doors from the church of Our Lady, as all men know on thebanks of Yare. I have here my bales of cloth which I carry toCahors--woe worth the day that ever I started on such an errand!I crave your gracious protection upon the way for me, my servant,and my mercery; for I have already had many perilous passages,and have now learned that Roger Club-foot, the robber-knight ofQuercy, is out upon the road in front of me. I hereby agree togive you one rose-noble if you bring me safe to the inn of the'Angel' in Cahors, the same to be repaid to me or my heirs if anyharm come to me or my goods."

"By Saint Paul!" answered Sir Nigel, "I should be a sorry knightif I ask pay for standing by a countryman in a strange land. Youmay ride with me and welcome, Master Micheldene, and your varletmay follow with my archers."

"God's benison upon thy bounty!" cried the stranger. "Should youcome to Norwich you may have cause to remember that you have beenof service to Alderman Micheldene. It is not very far to Cahors,for surely I see the cathedral towers against the sky-line; but Ihave heard much of this Roger Clubfoot, and the more I hear theless do I wish to look upon his face. Oh, but I am sick andweary of it all, and I would give half that I am worth to see mygood dame sitting in peace beside me, and to hear the bells ofNorwich town."

"Your words are strange to me," quoth Sir Nigel, "for you havethe appearance of a stout man, and I see that you wear a sword byyour side."

"Yet it is not my trade," answered the merchant. "I doubt notthat if I set you down in my shop at Norwich you might scarcetell fustian from falding, and know little difference between thevelvet of Genoa and the three-piled cloth of Bruges. There youmight well turn to me for help. But here on a lone roadside,with thick woods and robber-knights, I turn to you, for it is thebusiness to which you have been reared."

"There is sooth in what you say, Master Micheldene," said SirNigel, "and I trust that we may come upon this Roger Clubfoot,for I have heard that he is a very stout and skilful soldier, anda man from whom much honor is to be gained."

"He is a bloody robber," said the trader, curtly, "and I wish Isaw him kicking at the end of a halter."

"It is such men as he," Sir Nigel remarked, "who give the trueknight honorable deeds to do, whereby he may advance himself."

"It is such men as he," retorted Micheldene, "who are like ratsin a wheat-rick or moths in a woolfels, a harm and a hindrance toall peaceful and honest men."

"Yet, if the dangers of the road weigh so heavily upon you,master alderman, it is a great marvel to me that you shouldventure so far from home."

"And sometimes, sir knight, it is a marvel to myself. But I am aman who may grutch and grumble, but when I have set my face to doa thing I will not turn my back upon it until it be done. Thereis one, Francois Villet, at Cahors, who will send me wine-casksfor my cloth-bales, so to Cahors I will go, though all therobber-knights of Christendom were to line the roads like yonderpoplars."

"Stoutly spoken, master alderman! But how have you faredhitherto?"

"As a lamb fares in a land of wolves. Five times we have had tobeg and pray ere we could pass. Twice I have paid toll to thewardens of the road. Three times we have had to draw, and onceat La Reolle we stood seer our wool-bales, Watkin and I, and welaid about us for as long as a man might chant a litany, slayingone rogue and wounding two others. By God's coif! we are men ofpeace, but we are free English burghers, not to be mishandledeither in our country or abroad. Neither lord, baron, knight, orcommoner shall have as much as a strike of flax of mine whilst Ihave strength to wag this sword."

"And a passing strange sword it is," quoth Sir Nigel. "What makeyou, Alleyne, of these black lines which are drawn across thesheath?"

"I cannot tell what they are, my fair lord."

"Nor can I," said Ford.

The merchant chuckled to himself. "It was a thought of mineown," said he; "for the sword was made by Thomas Wilson, thearmorer, who is betrothed to my second daughter Margery. Knowthen that the sheath is one cloth-yard, in length, marked offaccording to feet and inches to serve me as a measuring wand. Itis also of the exact weight of two pounds, so that I may use itin the balance."

"By Saint Paul!" quoth Sir Nigel, "it is very clear to me thatthe sword is like thyself, good alderman, apt either for war orfor peace. But I doubt not that even in England you have hadmuch to suffer from the hands of robbers and outlaws."

"It was only last Lammastide, sir knight, that I was left fordead near Reading as I journeyed to Winchester fair. Yet I hadthe rogues up at the court of pie-powder, and they will harm nomore peaceful traders."

"You travel much then!"

"To Winchester, Linn mart, Bristol fair, Stourbridge, andBartholomew's in London Town. The rest of the year you may everfind me five doors from the church of Our Lady, where I wouldfrom my heart that I was at this moment, for there is no air likeNorwich air, and no water like the Yare, nor can all the wines ofFrance compare with the beer of old Sam Yelverton who keeps the'Dun Cow.' But, out and alack, here is an evil fruit which hangsupon this chestnut-tree!"

As he spoke they had ridden round a curve of the road and comeupon a great tree which shot one strong brown branch across theirpath. From the centre of this branch there hung a man, with hishead at a horrid slant to his body and his toes just touching theground. He was naked save for a linen under shirt and pair ofwoollen drawers. Beside him on a green bank there sat a smallman with a solemn face, and a great bundle of papers of allcolors thrusting forth from the scrip which lay beside him. Hewas very richly dressed, with furred robes, a scarlet hood, andwide hanging sleeves lined with flame-colored silk. A great goldchain hung round his neck, and rings glittered from every fingerof his hands. On his lap he had a little pile of gold and ofsilver, which he was dropping, coin by coin, into a plump pouchwhich hung from his girdle.

"May the saints be with you, good travellers!" he shouted, as theparty rode up. "May the four Evangelists watch over you! Maythe twelve Apostles bear you up! May the blessed army of martyrsdirect your feet and lead you to eternal bliss!"

"Gramercy for these good wishes!" said Sir Nigel. "But Iperceive, master alderman, that this man who hangs here is, bymark of foot, the very robber-knight of whom we have spoken. Butthere is a cartel pinned upon his breast, and I pray you,Alleyne, to read it to me."

The dead robber swung slowly to and fro in the wintry wind, afixed smile upon his swarthy face, and his bulging eyes stillglaring down the highway of which he had so long been the terror;on a sheet of parchment upon his breast was printed in rudecharacters;

ROGER PIED-BOT.

Par l'ordre du Senechal de Castelnau, et de l'Echevin de Cahors,servantes fideles du tres vaillant et tres puissant Edouard,Prince de Galles et d'Aquitaine. Ne touchez pas, Ne coutezpas, Ne depechez pas.

"He took a sorry time in dying," said the man who sat beside him."He could stretch one toe to the ground and bear him self up, sothat I thought he would never have done. Now at last, however,he is safely in paradise, and so I may jog on upon my earthlyway." He mounted, as he spoke, a white mule which had beengrazing by the wayside, all gay with fustian of gold and silverbells, and rode onward with Sir Nigel's party.

"How know you then that he is in paradise?" asked Sir Nigel."All things are possible to God, but, certes, without a miracle,I should scarce expect to find the soul of Roger Clubfoot amongstthe just,"

"I know that he is there because I have just passed him inthere," answered the stranger, rubbing his bejewelled handstogether in placid satisfaction. "It is my holy mission to be asompnour or pardoner. I am the unworthy servant and delegate ofhim who holds the keys. A contrite heart and ten nobles to holymother Church may stave off perdition; but he hath a pardon ofthe first degree, with a twenty-five livre benison, so that Idoubt if he will so much as feel a twinge of purgatory. I cameup even as the seneschal's archers were tying him up, and I gavehim my fore-word that I would bide with him until he had passed.There were two leaden crowns among the silver, but I would notfor that stand in the way of his salvation."

"By Saint Paul!" said Sir Nigel, "if you have indeed this powerto open and to shut the gates of hope, then indeed you stand highabove mankind. But if you do but claim to have it, and yet haveit not, then it seems to me, master clerk, that you may yourselffind the gate barred when you shall ask admittance."

"Small of faith! Small of faith!" cried the sompnour. "Ah, SirDidymus yet walks upon earth! And yet no words of doubt canbring anger to mine heart, or a bitter word to my lip, for am Inot a poor unworthy worker in the cause of gentleness and peace?Of all these pardons which I bear every one is stamped and signedby our holy father, the prop and centre of Christendom."

"Which of them?" asked Sir Nigel.

"Ha, ha!" cried the pardoner, shaking a jewelled forefinger. Thouwouldst be deep in the secrets of mother Church? Know then thatI have both in my scrip. Those who hold with Urban shall haveUrban's pardon, while I have Clement's for the Clementist--or hewho is in doubt may have both, so that come what may he shall besecure. I pray you that you will buy one, for war is bloodywork, and the end is sudden with little time for thought orshrift. Or you, sir, for you seem to me to be a man who would doill to trust to your own merits." This to the alderman ofNorwich, who had listened to him with a frowning brow and asneering lip.

"When I sell my cloth," quoth he, "he who buys may weigh and feeland handle. These goods which you sell are not to be seen, noris there any proof that you hold them. Certes, if mortal manmight control God's mercy, it would be one of a lofty and God-like life, and not one who is decked out with rings and chainsand silks, like apleasure-wench at a kermesse.

"Thou wicked and shameless man!" cried the clerk. "Dost thoudare to raise thy voice against the unworthy servant of motherChurch?"

"Unworthy enough!" quoth David Micheldene. "I would have you toknow, clerk, that I am a free English burgher, and that I daresay my mind to our father the Pope himself, let alone such alacquey's lacquey as you!"

"Base-born and foul-mouthed knave!" cried the sompnour. "Youprate of holy things, to which your hog's mind can never rise.Keep silence, lest I call a curse upon you!"

"Silence yourself!" roared the other. "Foul bird!" we found theeby the gallows like a carrion-crow. A fine life thou hast of itwith thy silks and thy baubles, cozening the last few shillingsfrom the pouches of dying men. A fig for thy curse! Bide here,if you will take my rede, for we will make England too hot forsuch as you, when Master Wicliff has the ordering of it. Thouvile thief!" it is you, and such as you, who bring an evil nameupon the many churchmen who lead a pure and a holy life. Thououtside the door of heaven! Art more like to be inside the doorof hell."

At this crowning insult the sompnour, with a face ashen withrage, raised up a quivering hand and began pouring Latinimprecations upon the angry alderman. The latter, however, wasnot a man to be quelled by words, for he caught up his ell-measure sword-sheath and belabored the cursing clerk with it. Thelatter, unable to escape from the shower of blows, set spurs tohis mule and rode for his life, with his enemy thundering behindhim. At sight of his master's sudden departure, the varletWatkin set off after him, with the pack-mule beside him, so thatthe four clattered away down the road together, until they sweptround a curve and their babble was but a drone in the distance.Sir Nigel and Alleyne gazed in astonishment at one another, whileFord burst out a-laughing.

"Pardieu!" said the knight, "this David Micheldene must be one ofthose Lollards about whom Father Christopher of the priory had somuch to say. Yet he seemed to be no bad man from what I haveseen 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 methe faith that I have been taught, it would be long ere I couldlearn one to set in its place. It is but a chip here and a chipthere, yet it may bring the tree down in time. Yet, on the otherhand, I cannot but think it shame that a man should turn God'smercy on and off, as a cellarman doth wine with a spigot."

"Nor is it," said Alleyne, "part of the teachings of that motherChurch of which he had so much to say. There was sooth in whatthe alderman said of it."

"Then, by St. Paul! they may settle it betwixt them," quoth SirNigel. "For me, I serve God, the king and my lady; and so longas I can keep the path of honor I am well content. My creedshall ever be that of Chandos:

" 'Fais ce que dois--adviegne que peut, C'estcommande au chevalier.' "