uld you
come to norwich you may have cause to remember that you have been
of service to alderman micheldene. it is not very far to cahors,
for surely i see the cathedral towers against the sky-line; but i
have heard much of this roger clubfoot, and the more i hear the
less do i wish to look upon his face. oh, but i am sick and
weary of it all, and i would give half that i am worth to see my
good dame sitting in peace beside me, and to hear the bells of
norwich town."
"your words are strange to me," quoth sir nigel, "for you have
the appearance of a stout man, and i see that you wear a sword by
your side."
"yet it is not my trade," answered the merchant. "i doubt not
that if i set you down in my shop at norwich you might scarce
tell fustian from falding, and know little difference between the
velvet of genoa and the three-piled cloth of bruges. there you
might 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 the
business to which you have been reared."
"there is sooth in what you say, master micheldene," said sir
nigel, "and i trust that we may come upon this roger clubfoot,
for i have heard that he is a very stout and skilful soldier, and
a man from whom much honor is to be gained."
"he is a bloody robber," said the trader, curtly, "and i wish i
saw him kicking at the end of a halter."
"it is such men as he," sir nigel remarked, "who give the true
knight honorable deeds to do, whereby he may advance himself."
"it is such men as he," retorted micheldene, "who are like rats
in a wheat-rick or moths in a woolfels, a harm and a hindrance to
all 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 should
venture so far from home."
"and sometimes, sir knight, it is a marvel to myself. but i am a
man who may grutch and grumble, but when i have set my face to do
a thing i will not turn my back upon it until it be done. there
is one, francois villet, at cahors, who will send me wine-casks
for my cloth-bales, so to cahors i will go, though all the
robber-knights of christendom were to line the roads like yonder
poplars."
"stoutly spoken, master alderman! but how have you fared
hitherto?"
"as a lamb fares in a land of wolves. five times we have had to
beg and pray ere we could pass. twice i have paid toll to the
wardens of the road. three times we have had to draw, and once
at la reolle we stood seer our wool-bales, watkin and i, and we
laid about us for as long as a man might chant a litany, slaying
one rogue and wounding two others. by god's coif! we are men of
peace, but we are free english burghers, not to be mishandled
either in our country or abroad. neither lord, baron, knight, or
commoner shall have as much as a strike of flax of mine whilst i
have strength to wag this sword."
"and a passing strange sword it is," quoth sir nigel. "what make
you, alleyne, of these black lines which are drawn across the
sheath?"
"i cannot tell what they are, my fair lord."
"nor can i," said ford.
the merchant chuckled to himself. "it was a thought of mine
own," said he; "for the sword was made by thomas wilson, the
armorer, who is betrothed to my second daughter margery. know
then that the sheath is one cloth-yard, in length, marked off
according to feet and inches to serve me as a measuring wand. it
is also of the exact weight of two pounds, so that i may use it
in the balance."
"by saint paul!" quoth sir nigel, "it is very clear to me that
the sword is like thyself, good alderman, apt either for war or
for peace. but i doubt not that even in england you have had
much to suffer from the hands of robbers and outlaws."
"it was only last lammastide, sir knight, that i was left for
dead near reading as i journeyed to winchester fair. yet i had
the rogues up at the court of pie-powder, and they will harm no
more peaceful traders."
"you travel much then!"
"to winchester, linn mart, bristol fair, stourbridge, and
bartholomew's in london town. the rest of the year you may ever
find me five doors from the church of our lady, where i would
from my heart that i was at this moment, for there is no air like
norwich air, and no water like the yare, nor can all the wines of
france compare with the beer of old sam yelverton who keeps the
'dun cow.' but, out and alack, here is an evil fruit which hangs
upon this chestnut-tree!"
as he spoke they had ridden round a curve of the road and come
upon a great tree which shot one strong brown branch across their
path. from the centre of this branch there hung a man, with his
head at a horrid slant to his body and his toes just touching the
ground. he was naked save for a linen under shirt and pair of
wool
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