The House of Walderne

  Chapter 9: The Other Side Of The Picture.

  The young scion of the house of Herstmonceux led Martin a few stepsdown the lane opposite Saint Mary's Church, until they came to thevaulted doorway of a house of some pretensions. Its walls werethick, its windows deep set and narrow. Dull in externalappearance, it did not seem to be so within, for sounds of riotousmirth proceeded from many a window left open for admittance of air.The great door was shut, but a little wicket was on the latch, andRalph de Monceux opened it, saying:

  "Come and do me the honour of a short visit, and give me the latestnews from dear old Sussex."

  "What place is this?" replied Martin.

  "Beef Halt, so called because of the hecatombs of oxen we consume."

  Martin smiled.

  "What is the real name?"

  "It should be 'Ape Hall,' for here we ape men of learning, whereaslittle is done but drinking, dicing, and fighting. But you willfind our neighbours in the next street have monopolised that title,with yet stronger claims."

  "But what do the outsiders call you?"

  "Saint Dymas' Halt, since we never pay our debts. But the worldcalls it Le Oriole {17} Hostel. A better name just now is'Liberty Hall,' for we all do just as we like. There is no king inIsrael."

  So speaking, he lifted the latch, and saluted a gigantic porter:

  "Holloa, Magog! hast thou digested the Woodstock deer yet?"

  "Not so loud, my young sir. We may be heard." He paused, but puthis hand knowingly to the neck just under the left ear.

  "Pshaw, he that is born to die in his bed can never be hanged.Where is Spitfire?"

  "Here," said a sharp-speaking voice, coming from a precocious youngmonkey in a servitor's dress.

  "Get me a flagon of canary, and we will wash down the remains ofthe pasty."

  "But strangers are not admitted after curfew," said the porter.

  "And I must be getting to my lodgings," said Martin.

  "Tush, tush, didn't you hear that this is Liberty Hall?

  "Shut your mouth, Magog--here is something to stop it. This youngwarrior just knocked down a bos borealis, who strove to break myhead. Shall I not offer him bread and salt in return?"

  The porter offered no further opposition, for the speaker slipped acoin into his palm as he continued:

  "Come this way, this is my den. Not that way, that is speluncalatronum, a den of robbers."

  "Holloa! here is Ralph de Monceux, and with a broken head, asusual.

  "Where didst thou get that, Master Ralph, roaring Ralph?"

  Such sounds came from the spelunca latronum."

  "At the Quatre Voies, fighting for your honour against a drove ofnorthern oxen."

  "And whom hast thou brought with thee to help thee mend it?"

  "The fellow who knocked down the bos who gave it me, as deftly asany butcher."

  "Let us see him."

  "What name shall I give thee?" whispered Ralph.

  "Martin."

  "Martin of--?"

  "Martin from Kenilworth," said our bashful hero, blushing.

  "Thou didst say thou wert of Sussex?"

  "So I am, but I was adopted into the earl's household three yearsagone."

  "Then he is Northern," said a listener.

  "No, he came from Sussex."

  "Say where? no tricks upon gentlemen."

  "Michelham Priory."

  "Michelham Priory. Ah! an acolyte! Tapers, incense, and albs."

  "Acolyte be hanged. He does not fight like one at all events."

  "Come up into my den.

  "Come, Hugh, Percy, Aylmer, Richard, Roger, and we will discuss thematter deftly over a flagon of canary with eke a flask or two ofsack, in honour of our new acquaintance."

  "Nay," said Martin, "now I have seen you safe home, I must go. Itis past curfew. I am a stranger, and should be at my lodgings."

  "We will see thee safely home, and improve the occasion by crackinga few more bovine skulls if we meet them, the northern burringbrutes. Their lingo sickens me, but here we are."

  So speaking, he opened the door of the vaulted chamber he calledhis "den." It was sparingly furnished, and bore no likeness to thesort of smoking divan an undergrad of the tone of Ralph wouldaffect now in Oxford. Plain stove, floor strewn with rushes, rudetapestry around the walls, with those uncouth faces and figuresworked thereon which give antiquarians a low idea of the personalappearance of the people of the day, a solid table, upon which abear might dance without breaking it, two or three stools, a carvedcabinet, a rude hearth and chimney piece, a rough basin and ewer ofred ware in deal setting, a pallet bed in a recess.

  And the students, the undergraduates of the period, were worthstudying. One had a black eye, another a plastered head, a third anarm in a sling, a fourth a broken nose. Martin stared at them inamazement.

  "We had a tremendous fight here last night. The Northernersbesieged us in our hostel. We made a sally and levelled a few ofthe burring brutes before the town guard came up and spoiled thefun. What a pity we can't fight like gentlemen with swords andbattle axes!"

  "Why not, if you must fight at all?" said Martin, who had beentaught at Kenilworth to regard fists and cudgels as the weapons ofclowns.

  "Because, young greenhorn," said Hugh, "he who should bring a swordor other lethal weapon into the University would shortly beexpelled by alma mater from her nursery, according to the statutesfor that case made and provided."

  "But why do you come here, if you love fighting better thanlearning? There is plenty of fighting in the world."

  "Some come because they are made to come, others from a vocationfor the church, like thyself perhaps, others from an inexplicablelove of books; you should hear us when our professor AsinusAsinorum takes us in class.

  "Amo, amas, amat, see me catch a rat. Rego, regis, regit, let mesweat a bit."

  "Tace, no more Latin till tomorrow. Here is a venison pasty from aWoodstock deer, smuggled into the town beneath a load of hay, underthe very noses of the watch."

  "Who shot it?"

  "Mad Hugh and I."

  "Where did you get the load of hay from?"

  "Oh, a farmer's boy was driving it into town. We knocked him down,then tied him to a tree. It didn't hurt him much, and we left him awalnut for his supper. Then Hugh put on his smock and otherragtags, and hiding the deer under the hay, drove it straight tothe door, and Magog, who loves the smell of venison, took it in,but we made him buy the bulk of the carcase."

  "How much did he give?"

  "A rose noble, and a good pie out of the animal into the bargain."

  "And what did you do with the cart?"

  "Hugh put on the smock again, and drove it outside the northerngate, past 'Perilous Hall,' then gave the horse a cut or two of thewhip, and left it to find its way home to Woodstock if it could."

  "A good thing you are here with your necks only their naturallength. The king's forester would have hung you all three."

  "Only he couldn't catch us. We have led him many a dance beforenow."

  When the reader considers that killing the king's deer was ahanging matter in those days, he will not think these youngOxonians behind their modern successors in daring, or, as he maycall it, foolhardiness.

  Martin was hungry, the smell of the pasty was very appetising, andneither he nor any one else said any more until the pie had beendivided upon six wooden platters, and all had eaten heartily,washing it down with repeated draughts from a huge silver flagon ofcanary, one of the heirlooms of Herstmonceux; and afterwards theycleansed their fingers, which they had used instead of forks, in alarge central finger glass--nay, bowl of earthenware.

  "More drink, I have a jorum of splendid sack in you cupboard,"cried their host when the flagon was empty.

  "Now a song, every one must give a song.

  "Hugh, you begin."I love to lurk in the gloom of the woodWhere the lithesome stags are roaming,And to send a sly shaft just to tickle their ribsEre I smuggle them home in the gloaming.

  "Just the case
with this one we have been eating. But that measureis slow, let me give you one," said Ralph.

  Come, drink until you drop, my boys,And if a headache follow,Why, go to bed and sleep it off,And drink again tomorrow.

  Martin began to fear that the wine was suffocating his consciencein its fumes--and said:

  "I must go now."

  "We will all go with you."

  "Magog won't let us out."

  "Yes he will, we will say we are all going to Saint Frideswide'sshrine to say our prayers."

  "The dice before we go."

  "Throw against me," said Hugh to our Martin.

  "I cannot, I never played in my life."

  "Then the sooner you begin the better.

  "Here, roaring Ralph, this innocent young acolyte says he has nevertouched the dice."

  "Then the sooner he begins the better.

  "Come, stake a mark against me."

  "He hasn't got one."

  Shame, false shame, conquered Martin's repugnance. He threw one ofhis few coins down, and Ralph did the same.

  "You throw first--six and four--ten. Here goes--I have only twothrees, the marks are yours."

  "Nay, I don't want them."

  "Take them and be hanged. D'ye think I can't spare a mark?"

  "Fighting, dicing, drinking," and then came to Martin's mind thewords of Adam de Maresco, uttered that very morning, and now hedetermined to go at once at any cost, and turned to the door.

  "Nay, we are all going to see thee safe home. The boves borealesmay be grazing in the streets."

  "I hear them! Burr! burr! burr!"

  Down the stairs they all staggered. Martin felt so overcome as heemerged into the air that he did not know at first how to walkstraight, yet he had not drunk half so much as the rest.

  "Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute."

  But happily (to ease the mind of our readers we will say at once)he was not to take many steps on this road.

  "Magog! Magog! open! open!"

  "Not such a noise, you'll wake the old governor above,"--alludingto the master of the hostel.

  "He won't wake, not he. It does not pay to see too much. He knowshis own interests."

  "Past curfew," growled Magog. "Can't let any one out."

  "That only means he wants another coin."

  "Open, Magog, we are going to pray at Saint Frideswide's shrine forthee."

  "We are going to get another deer for thee at Woodstock."

  "We are going by the king's invitation to visit the palace, and seethe ghost of fair Rosamond."

  "We are going to sup with the Franciscans--six split peas and athimbleful of water to each man."

  Even the venal porter hesitated to let such a crew into thestreets, but he gave way under the pressure of another coin. Cudgelin hand they went forth, and as they passed the hostel they called"Ape Hall" they sang aloud:

  Come forth, ye apes, and scratch your polls,Your learning is in question,And while ye scratch, eat what ye catch,To quicken your digestion.

  Two or three "apes" looked out of the window much disgusted, aswell they might be, and were driven back by a shower of stones.Onward--shouting, roaring, singing, but they met no one. All theworld was in bed. The moon alone looked down upon them as she wadedthrough the clouds, casting brilliant light here, leaving blackshadows there.

  All at once a light, the light of a torch, turned the corner. Thetinkling of a small bell was heard. It was close upon them. Apriest bore the last Sacrament to the dying--the Viaticum, or HolyCommunion, so called when given in the hour of death.

  "Down," cried Ralph, and they all knelt as it passed, for such wasthe universal habit. Even vicious sinners thought they atoned fortheir vice by their ready compliance with the forms of the Church.Many a man in that day would have thought it a less sin to cut athroat than to omit such an act of devotion.

  But Martin recognised the priest. It was Adam de Maresco in hisgray Franciscan robes, and he thought the father recognised him. Heturned crimson with shame at being found in such company.

  At last they reached home, and sick at heart he knocked at thedoor. It was long before he was admitted, and then not withoutsharp words of reproof, at which his companions laughed, as theyturned and went back to Le Oriole.

  Martin bathed his head in water to drive away the racking headache.Fire seemed coursing through his veins as he lay down on the hardpallet of straw in his little cell.

  He was awoke by a hideous purring; there, as he thought, upon hiscast-off garments, sat the enemy of mankind: he had drawn the markgained at the dice out of the gypsire, and was feasting on it withhis eyes, ever and anon licking it with great gusto, and meanwhilepurr, purr, purring like a huge cat.

  Martin, now awake, dashed from his couch--no fiend was there--hetore his gypsire open, took out the coin, opened his casement, andthrew it like an accursed thing into the street. Then he got in bedagain and sobbed like a child.