I am older than thou, and somewhat a man of the world,”here the jongleur straightened himself up; “and I swear to thee,’twould work naught but mischief were I to seek out yonder count andstrive to prevent his encounter to-morrow. He would simply be angered,and would not believe me, or would pretend not to, because he does notwish to be stopped till he hath killed this Count Boni you tell meof, and got his lands. Naught but the king’s heralds themselves couldhinder that affair.” And then, as he meditated, he added: “’Tis amonstrous pity, though! When didst thou say they fight, little one? Inthe morning? A monstrous pity! For the heralds will no doubt arrive inDives to-morrow afternoon; they were to come hither on leaving Rouen.Thou knowest they must proclaim the edict through all the cities of therealm!”
Six hundred years ago printing and newspapers and the telegraph wereunknown; and so when a war was to be undertaken, or peace settledupon, or a new law made, the king sent his heralds about through allhis dominions, and they made proclamation to the people, with a greatflourish of trumpets and much quaint ceremony.
But here Pippo became engaged in a squabble with a fat peacock, and thejongleur rising, separated them, and then strolled off toward the innkitchen; for he had journeyed far, and the savory smells wafted outinto the courtyard suddenly reminded him that he was very hungry.
Geoffrey, thus left alone, fell to thinking, and he thought and thoughtas never before in all his life. So the heralds were on their way toDives, if what the jongleur told was true, and he believed it was; andthe jongleur had said, moreover, that these heralds could stop even thewicked Hugo from carrying out his designs. Geoffrey felt that this wastrue also, for he knew that not even noblemen dared openly defy theking. And then he reasoned, perhaps more wisely than he knew, thatHugo stirred up and fought these “judicial duels” merely to increasehis property and not to satisfy his personal honor; and that if nothingwere to be gained, Hugo would surely not fight. The king had forbiddenhis subjects to acquire property that way; the great thing, therefore,was to prevent the encounter in the morning, so that the heralds mighthave time to come to Dives and make their proclamation, which wouldcertainly put an end to the whole affair. But how, how could he,Geoffrey, do this?
At last, however, an idea occurred to him that made his eyes brightenand his cheeks flush. If he could only get hold of that bewitchedSaracen sword of Count Hugo’s, and hide it, why, probably, as the countwas known superstitiously to prefer it to any other weapon, he might bedelayed hunting for it till the heralds came.
As Geoffrey thought over this plan, he reflected that if he gotpossession of the sword it must be that night, as the count wore itconstantly all day long; and though he felt like a highwayman and arobber even to plan it, for he was an honest little lad, yet he said tohimself there was no other way to save Isabeau’s father.
And so, full of his project, as a preliminary, he got up and saunteredpast that part of the inn where he knew was the count’s sleepingchamber, and noticed that it had one window opening upon one of thelittle wooden galleries which was approached from the outside by awinding stair. The window was barred with heavy wooden rounds; but asGeoffrey measured with his eye the distance between these bars, he feltsure that if he made himself as flat as possible, he could squeeze inthrough them. It would not be so easy to get the sword out, but perhapshe could manage it somehow; he _must_ manage it!
Having thus made up his mind as to what he would do, Geoffrey passedthe rest of the afternoon and evening in a fever of impatience. Aftersupper was over he hid himself in the garden behind a rose bush, and ashe watched the inn it seemed as if the last of the clatter would neverdie away, and people would never settle down and go to sleep! But atlength—after weeks, it seemed to Geoffrey—the last candle flickeredout and the inn became quiet.
He waited, however, an hour or two longer, knowing the habit of themaids to lie awake and gossip in the dark. But when he heard the Diveswatchman passing the inn gateway and calling out, “Midnight! and all’swell!” he crept out, and keeping close in the shadow of the wall,reached the stairway to the gallery by the count’s sleeping room.The moon had risen and might have betrayed him as he mounted it, butfortunately the stair was overhung by vines. He made his way along thegallery to the count’s window. There was no glass in it, and, as it wassummer time, the heavy wooden shutter that guarded it was wide open,the bars seeming quite enough protection from ordinary intruders. Butthey could not keep out this little boy, who drew in his breath andmade his little stomach as flat as possible as he cautiously wriggledin between them. At last he stood on tiptoe in the count’s chamber.
As he gazed about, here and there the moonlight touched some object ofits quaint furnishings, and although Geoffrey, on the inn errands, hadbeen in the room before, everything now looked strange and unfamiliarto his wide-open, excited eyes. To his dismay he had not consideredhow he should find the sword; but as he stood wondering and gropingabout in the dim light, a beam of moonlight fell at the foot of thehigh-posted, carved and canopied bed where the count lay asleep, andshowed the scabbard with the sword in it, hanging by its chased metalhook to a projecting ornament in the heavy carving of the bed. Geoffreytiptoed over toward it, all the while listening, with his heart in hismouth, to the count’s breathing. He seemed to be sound asleep, fornow and then he gave a little snore; but, as with trembling fingersGeoffrey took down the sword, its tip end struck lightly against a tallchest of drawers near by, and the count started slightly. Geoffreycrouched down hopelessly in the shadow of a chair, expecting the countto pounce upon him at any moment.
But in a few minutes Hugo’s regular breathing told that he was againdeep asleep.
Geoffrey then hastened to make his way back to the window, though hefound the sword in its heavy scabbard rather an awkward burden for alittle boy, and it became still more awkward as he prepared to climbbetween the bars. He first thought he would take the sword out of itssheath; but then how could he drop it to the gallery below withoutmaking a noise? He could not climb out with it in his arms. So, onsecond thought, he decided to leave it in the scabbard, whose metalhook he saw might be useful; then lifting this, which took all hisstrength, he carefully thrust it outside between the bars, on one ofwhich he hung the hook, thus keeping both sword and sheath from falling.
He next turned his attention to getting himself out, and climbing up,and squeezing and squirming, legs first, at last managed once more tostand outside on the gallery floor. But it had happened that just as hewas making the last twist through the bars, his foot had accidentallytouched the scabbard, hanging from the window, and it clanked againstthe wall. This time the sound seemed to penetrate the ears of thesleeping Count Hugo, for he started up in earnest, though not entirelyawake; he drowsily arose, however, and crossed over to the window.
Geoffrey, meantime, hearing him coming, drew back into the shadow,tightly clutching the sword, and was hidden by the curtain of vines.
As the count peered through the bars, he caught sight of the cockatoo,whose perch was in one of the gable windows near by. Now, as good luckhad it, the cockatoo also had been half aroused from his sleep, andgiving a faint screech, began to shift uneasily in his dreams, from oneleg to the other, his chain clanking against his perch as he did so.Count Hugo hearing him, at once supposed the cockatoo responsible forthat other clanking sound which had aroused him; he swore a round oath,and turned from the window, muttering to himself, “A plague on thatjabbering popinjay! What with their everlasting peacocks and monkeys,and heaven only knows what, a man can not get a wink of sleep in thisaccursed tavern!” He then went back to bed and, angrily flinginghimself down, was soon snoring soundly.
After a while, Geoffrey, outside on the gallery, began creepingcautiously along, and at last managing to get down the stairway, stoodhesitating a moment at its foot; for he had not fully decided what todo with the sword, now that he had it. He wished as soon as possible tobe rid of the wicked thing; for everybody was superstitious in thosedays, and he felt that some fearful evil threatened him so long
as hehad hold of the fatal weapon. He would really have very much liked totake it out and throw it in the river Dives, so it could never killany one else; but as he remembered that to do this he would have toclimb over the high wall of the courtyard, for the gate was locked andthe portcullis down, and that then he would have to run the risk ofmeeting the town watchman, he concluded the chances for being caughtwere too many, and that he must hide the sword elsewhere. Moreover, hethought that to drop it in the river would be too much like stealing,anyway, which he did not wish to be guilty of; he merely wished to keepthe count from finding the sword until the heralds came, when he waswilling to restore it.
So quickly making up his mind, he sped down into the garden, where hecarefully hid it, scabbard and all, under a thick tangle of vines andshrubbery which grew in a secluded corner where the inn people seldomwent. This done, he made his way back to his own little chamber underone of the gables, and crept into bed, although he was so excited withhis night’s
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