Beltane the Smith Part 44

"And therefore," quoth the Pardoner, "and therefore, most n.o.ble, gentle lord, art thou most a.s.suredly and inevitably--" The Pardoner sighed.

"d.a.m.ned?" said Beltane.

"d.a.m.ned!" sighed the Pardoner.

"Along with the rest of humanity!" nodded Beltane.

"All men be more p.r.o.ne to sin when youth doth riot in their veins,"

quoth the Pardoner, "and alas, thou art very young, messire, so do I tremble for thee."

"Yet with each hour do I grow older!"

"And behold in this hour come I, declaring to thee there is no sin so vile but that through me, Holy Church shall grant thee remission--at a price!"

"A price, good Pardoner?"

"Why, there be sins great and sins little. But, youthful sir, for thine own d.a.m.nable doings, grieve not, mope not nor repine, since I, Lubbo Fitz-Lubbin, Past Pardoner of the Holy See, will e'en now unloose, a.s.soil and remit them unto thee--"

"At a price!" nodded Beltane.

"Good my lord," spake Giles, viewing the Pardoner's plump person with a yearning eye, "pray thee bid me kick him hence!"

"Not so, Giles, since from all things may we learn--with patience.

Here now is one that hath travelled and seen much and should be wise--"

"Forsooth, messire, I have been so accounted ere now," nodded the Pardoner.

"Dost hear, Giles? Thus, from his wisdom I may perchance grow wiser than I am. So get thee back to thy duty, Giles. Begone--thy presence doth distract us."

"Aye, base archer, begone!" nodded the Pardoner, seating himself upon the sward. "Thy visage dour accordeth not with deep-seated thought-- take it hence!"

"There spake wisdom, Giles, and he is a fool that disobeys. So, Giles --begone!"

Hereupon Giles frowned upon the Pardoner, who lolling at his ease, snapped his fingers at Giles, whereat Giles scowled amain and scowling, strode away.

"Now, messire," quoth the Pardoner, opening his wallet, "now in the matter of sinning, messire, an thou hast some pet and peculiar vice-- some little, pretty vanity, some secret, sweet transgression--"

"Nay, first," quoth Beltane, "'tis sure thou hast a tongue--"

"O infallibly, messire; a sweet tongue--a tongue attuned to cunning phrases. G.o.d gave to women beauty, to flowers perfume, and to me--a tongue!"

"Good Pardoner, a lonely wight am I, ignorant of the world and of its ways and doings. So for thy tongue will I barter base coin--what can'st tell me for this fair gold piece?"

"That fain would I have the spending on't, n.o.ble, generous sir."

"What more?"

"Anything ye will, messire: for since I am the want universal and gold the universal need, needs must want need! And here is a rare-turned phrase, methinks?"

"So thus do I wed need with want," nodded Beltane, tossing him the coin. "Come now, discourse to me of worldly things--how men do trim their beards these days, what sins be most i' the fas.h.i.+on, if Duke Ivo sleepeth a-nights, whether Pentavalon city standeth yet?"

"Aha!" cried the Pardoner (coin safely pouched), "I can tell ye tales a-plenty: sly, merry tales of lovely ladies fair and gay. I can paint ye a tongue picture of one beyond all fair ladies fair--her soft, white body panting-warm for kisses, the lure of her mouth, the languorous pa.s.sion of her eyes, the glorious mantle of her flame-like hair. I'll tell of how she, full of witching, wanton wiles, love-alluring, furtive fled fleet-footed from the day and--there amid the soft and slumberous silence of the tender trees did yield her love to one beyond all beings blest. Thus, sighing and a-swoon, did Helen fair, a d.u.c.h.ess proud--"

"Ah!" cried Beltane, clenching sudden fist, "what base and lying babble do ye speak? Helen, forsooth--dare ye name her, O Thing?"

Now before Beltane's swift and blazing anger the Pardoner's a.s.surance wilted on the instant, and he cowered behind a lifted elbow.

"Nay, nay, most potent lord," he stammered, "spit on me an ye will-- spit, I do implore thee, but strike me not. Beseech thee sir, in what do I offend? The story runs that the proud and wilful lady is fled away, none know wherefore, why, nor where. I do but read the riddle thus: wherefore should she flee but for love, and if for love, then with a man, and if with a man--"

"Enough of her!" quoth Beltane scowling, "woman and her wiles is of none account to me!"

"How--how?" gasped the Pardoner, "of no account--! Woman--! But thou'rt youthful--of no account--! Thou'rt a man very strong and l.u.s.ty--! Of no account, forsooth? O, Venus, hear him! Woman, forsooth! She is man's aim, his beginning and oft-times his end. She is the everlasting cause.

She is man's sweetest curse and eke salvation, his slave, his very tyrant. Without woman strife would cease, ambition languish, Venus pine to skin and bone (sweet soul!) and I never sell another pardon and starve for lack of custom; for while women are, so will be pardoners.

But this very week I did good trade in fair Belsaye with divers women-- three were but ordinary indulgences for certain small marital transgressions; but one, a tender maid and youthful, being put to the torment, had denounced her father and lover--"

"The torment?" quoth Beltane, starting. "The torment, say you?"

"Aye, messire! Belsaye setteth a rare new fas.h.i.+on in torments of late.

Howbeit, the father and lover being denounced before Sir Gui's tribunal, they were forthwith hanged upon my lord Gui's new gibbets--"

"O--hanged?" quoth Beltane "hanged?"

"Aye, forsooth, by the neck as is the fas.h.i.+on. Now cometh this woeful wench to me vowing she heard their voices i' the night, and, to quiet these voices besought of me a pardon. But she had but two sorry silver pieces and pardons be costly things, and when she could get no pardon, she went home and that night killed herself--silly wench! Ha! my lord-- good messire--my arm--holy saints! 'twill break!"

"Killed herself--and for lack of thy pitiful, accursed pardon! Heard you aught else in Belsaye--speak!" and Beltane's cruel grip tightened.

"Indeed--indeed that will I, good news, sweet news--O my lord, loose my arm!"

"Thine arm, good Pardoner--thine arm? Aye, take it back, it availeth me nothing--take it and cherish it. To part with a pardon for but two silver pieces were a grave folly! So pray you forgive now my ungentleness and speak my thy good, sweet tidings." But hereupon, the Pardoner feeling his arm solicitously, held his peace and glowered sullenly at Beltane, who had turned and was staring away into the distance. So the Pardoner sulked awhile and spake not, until, seeing Beltane's hand creep out towards him, he forthwith fell to volubility.

"'Tis told in Belsaye on right good authority that a certain vile knave, a lewd, seditious rogue hight Beltane that was aforetime a charcoal-burner and thereafter a burner of gibbets--as witness my lord Duke's tall, great and goodly gallows--that was beside a prison breaker and known traitor, hath been taken by the doughty Sir Pertolepe, lord Warden of the Marches, and by him very properly roasted and burned to death within his great Keep of Garthlaxton."

"Roasted, forsooth?" said Beltane, his gaze yet afar off; "and, forsooth, burned to ashes; then forsooth is he surely dead?"

"Aye, that is he; and his ashes scattered on a dung-hill."

"A dung-hill--ha?"

"He was but a charcoal-burning knave, 'tis said--a rogue base-born and a traitor. Now hereupon my lord, the good lord Sir Gui, my lord Duke's lord Seneschal of Belsaye--"

"Forsooth," sighed Beltane, "here be lords a-plenty in Pentavalon!"

"Hereupon the n.o.ble Sir Gui set a close watch upon the townsfolk whereby he apprehended divers suspected rogues, and putting them to the torture, found thereby proofs of their vile sedition, insomuch that though the women held their peace for the most part, certain men enduring not, did confess knowledge of a subterraneous pa.s.sage 'neath the wall. Then did Sir Gui cause this pa.s.sage to be stopped, and four gibbets to be set up within the market-place, and thereon at sunset every day did hang four men, whereto the towns folk were summoned by sound of tucket and drum: until upon a certain evening some six days since (myself standing by) came a white friar hight Friar Martin--well known in Belsaye, and bursting through the throng he did loud-voiced proclaim himself the traitor that had oped and shown the secret way into the dungeons unto that charcoal-rogue for whose misdeeds so many folk had suffered. So they took this rascal friar and scourged him and set him in the water-dungeons where rats do frolic, and to-night at sunset he dieth by slow fire as a warning to--Ah! sweet, n.o.ble, good my lord, what--what would ye--" for Beltane had risen and was looking down at the crouching Pardoner, suddenly haggard, pallid-lipped, and with eyes a-glare with awful menace; but now the Pardoner saw that those eyes looked through him and beyond--living eyes in a face of death.

"Messire--messire!" quavered the Pardoner on trembling knees; but Beltane, as one that is deaf and blind, strode forward and over him, and as he went set his bugle to his lips and sounded a rallying note.

Forthwith came men that ran towards him at speed, but now was there no outcry or confusion and their mail gleamed in the early sun as they fell into their appointed rank and company.

Then Beltane set his hands unto his eyes and thereafter stared up to the heavens and round about upon the fair earth as one that wakes from a dream evil and hateful, and spake, sudden and harsh-voiced: