CHAPTER XVII. THE BLACK DEATH
The glorious termination of Edward's campaign, and the rich spoilbrought home from the wars by the soldiers, had served to put the nationinto a marvellous good temper. Their enthusiasm for their King amountedalmost to adoration, and nothing was thought of but tourneys, jousts,and all sorts of feasting and revelry. Indeed, things came to such apass that at last an order was given that tournaments might be held onlyat the royal pleasure, else the people were disposed to think of nothingelse, and to neglect the ordinary avocations of life. As the Kingappointed nineteen in six months, to be held in various placesthroughout the kingdom, it cannot be said that he defrauded his subjectsof their sports; and he himself set the example of the extravagant andfanciful dressing which called forth so much adverse criticism from themore sober minded, appearing at the jousts in all manner of wonderfulapparel, one of his dresses being described as "a harness of whitebuckram inlaid with silver -- namely, a tunic, and a shield with the motto:
'Hay, hay, the wythe swan!By Goddes soul I am thy man;'
whilst he gave away on that occasion five hoods of long white clothworked with blue men dancing, and two white velvet harnesses worked withblue garters and diapered throughout with wild men."
Women disgraced themselves by going about in men's attire and behavingthemselves in many unseemly fashions. The ecclesiastics, too, often fellinto the prevailing vices of extravagance and pleasure seeking that atthis juncture characterized the whole nation, and, as Father Paul hadsaid to Raymond, disgraced their calling by so doing far more thanothers who had never professed a higher code. Amongst the graver andmore austere men of the day heads were gravely shaken over the wildburst of enthusiasm and extravagance, and there were not wanting thosewho declared that the nation was calling down upon itself some terriblejudgment of God -- such a judgment as so often follows upon a season ofunwonted and sudden prosperity.
As for the twin brothers, they spent these months in diverse fashion,each carrying out his own tastes and preferences. Gaston attachedhimself to Sir James Audley once again, and travelled with him intoScotland, where the knight frequently went upon the King's business.When in or about the Court, he threw himself into the jousting andsports with the greatest enthusiasm and delight, quickly excelling sowell in each and every contest that he made a name and reputation forhimself even amongst the chosen flower of the English nobility. Realfighting was, however, more to his taste than mock contests, and he wasalways glad to accompany his master upon his journeys, which were notunfrequently attended by considerable peril, as the unsettled state ofthe Border counties, and the fierce and sometimes treacherous nature ofthe inhabitants, made travelling there upon the King's business a matterof some difficulty and danger. There was no fear of Gaston's growingeffeminate or turning into a mere pleasure hunter; and he soon madehimself of great value to his master, not only by his undaunted bravery,but by his success in diplomatic negotiation -- a success by no meansexpected by himself, and a surprise to all about him.
Perhaps the frank, free bearing of the youth, his perfect fearlessness,and his remarkably quick and keen intelligence, helped him when he hadany delicate mission entrusted to him. Then, too, the hardy andindependent nature of the Scots was not altogether unlike that of thefree-born Gascon peasant of the Pyrenean portion of the south of France;so that he understood and sympathized with them better, perhaps, than anaverage Englishman could have done.
A useful life is always a happy one, and the successful exercise oftalents of whose very existence we were unaware is in itself a source ofgreat satisfaction. Gaston, as he grew in years, now began to develop inmind more rapidly than he had hitherto done, and though separated forthe most part from his brother, was seldom many months without meetinghim for at least a few days.
Raymond was spending the time with his old friend and comrade andcousin, John de Brocas. It had become evident to all who knew him thatJohn was not long for this world. He might linger on still some fewyears, but the insidious disease we now call consumption had firm holdupon him, and he was plainly marked as one who would not live to makeany name in the world. He showed no disposition to seclude himself fromhis kind by entering upon the monastic life, and his father had recentlybestowed upon him a small property which he had purchased nearGuildford, the air and dryness of which place had always been beneficialto him.
This modest but pleasant residence, with the revenues attached, keptJohn in ease and comfort. He had spent the greater part of his incomethe year previous in the purchase of books, and his uncle's library wasalways at his disposal. He had many friends in and about the place; andhis life, though a little lonely, was a very happy one -- just the lifeof quietness and study that he loved better than any other.
When his cousin Raymond came home from the wars without any verydefinite ideas as to his own immediate career in the future, it hadoccurred to John that if he could secure the companionship of thiscousin for the coming winter it would be a great boon to himself; andthe suggestion had been hailed with pleasure by the youth.
Raymond would gladly have remained with the King had there been anyfighting in the cause of his country to be done; but the round offeasting and revelry which now appeared to be the order of the day hadno charms for him. After breaking a lance or two at Windsor, and seeingwhat Court life was in times of triumphant peace, he wearied of thescene, and longed for a life of greater purpose. Hearing where hiscousin John was located, he had quickly ridden across to pay him avisit; and that visit had lasted from the previous October till now,when the full beauty of a glorious English summer had clothed the worldin green, and the green was just tarnishing slightly in the heat of aglaring August.
As Raymond had seen something of the fashion in which the world waswagging, his thoughts had ofttimes recurred to Father Paul and thatsolemn warning he had uttered. He had spoken of it to John, and both hadmused upon it, wondering if indeed something of prophetic fire dweltwithin that strong, spare frame -- whether indeed, through hisausterities and fasts, the monk had so reduced the body that the thingsof the spiritual world were revealed to him, and the future lay spreadbefore his eyes.
At first both the cousins had thought week by week to hear some news ofa terrible visitation; but day had followed day, and months had rolledby, and still the country was holding high revel without a thought or afear for the future. So gradually the two studious youths had ceased tospeak of the visitation they had once confidently looked for, and theygave themselves up with the zest of pure enjoyment to their studies andthe pursuit of learning. Raymond's spiritual nature was deepened andstrengthened by his perusal of such sacred and devotional lore as hecould lay hands upon; and though the Scriptures, as they were presentedto him, were not without many errors and imperfections and omissions, heyet obtained a clearer insight into many of the prophetical writings,and a fuller grasp of God's purposes towards man, than he had everdreamed of before. So that though strongly tinged with the mysticism andeven with the superstition of the times, his spiritual growth was great,and the youth felt within him a spring of power unknown before which wasin itself a source of exaltation and power.
And there was another element of happiness in Raymond's life at thistime which must not be omitted from mention. Seldom as he saw her --jealously as she was guarded by her father and brother, now returnedfrom the war, and settled again at Woodcrych -- he did nevertheless fromtime to time encounter Mistress Joan Vavasour, and each encounter wasfraught with a new and increasing pleasure. He had never spoken a wordof love to her; indeed he scarce yet knew that he had lost his heart inthat fashion which so often leads to wedlock. He was only just beginningto realize that she was not many years older than himself -- that shewas not a star altogether beyond the firmament of his own sky. He hadhitherto regarded her with one of those boyish adorations which are forthe time being sufficient in themselves, and do not look ahead into thefuture; and then Raymond well knew that before he could for a momentdream of aspiring to the hand of the proud knight's dau
ghter, he musthimself have carved his way to moderate fortune and fame.
His dreams of late had concerned themselves little with his worldlyestate, and therefore his deep reverential admiration for Joan had notdeveloped into anything of a definite purpose. If he dreamed dreams ofthe future in which she bore a part, it was only of laying at her feetsuch laurels as he should win, without thinking of asking a reward ather hands, unless it was the reward of being her own true knight, andrescuing her from the power of the Sanghursts, father and son, whoappeared to have regained their old ascendency over Sir Hugh and hisson, and to be looking forward still to the alliance between the twofamilies.
Joan was of more than marriageable age. It was thought strange by manythat the match was not yet consummated. But the quietly determinedresistance on the part of the girl herself was not without some effect;and although there were many rumours afloat as to the boundless wealthof the ill-famed father and son, it was not yet an affair of absolutecertainty that they were in possession of the secret of thetransmutation of metals. So the match still hung fire, and Raymondreceived many bewitching smiles from the lady on the rare occasions whenthey met; and he thought nothing of the threat of Peter Sanghurst, beingendowed with that fearless courage which does not brood upon possibleperils, but faces real ones with quiet resolution.
John was sitting over his books in the pleasant western window oneevening at the close of a hot September day, when he heard a quickfootstep crossing the anteroom, and Raymond came in with a strange lookupon his face.
"John," he said, before his cousin could ask a single question, "it hascome at last!"
"What has come?"
"The visitation -- the sickness -- the scourge of God. I knew thatFather Paul was looking into the future when he pronounced the doom uponthis land. It has come; it is amongst us now!"
"Not here -- not in this very place! We must have heard something of ithad it been so nigh."
"It has not yet reached this town," answered Raymond, the same strangelight shining in his eyes that John had observed there from hisentrance. "Listen, and I will tell thee all I myself know. Thou knowestthat I have been to Windsor, to meet my brother who is there. Him Ifound well and happy, brave as ever, knowing naught of this curse andscourge. But even as we talked together, there came a messenger fromLondon in hot haste to see thy father, good John. He had been straightdespatched by the King with a message of dire warning. A terriblesickness, which already men are calling by the name of Black Death, hasbroken out in the south and west of the land, and seems creepingeastward with these hot west winds that steadily blow. It attacks notonly men, but beasts and cattle -- that is, it seems to be accompaniedby a plague something similar in nature which attacks the beasts. Wordhas been passed on by the monks of what is happening far away, andalready a great terror has seized upon many, and some are for flying thecountry, others for shutting themselves up in their houses and keepinggreat fires burning around them. The message to thy father was to have acare for the horses, and to buy no new ones that might by chance carrythe seeds of the sickness within them. Men say that the people of Londonare very confident that they can keep the sickness away from enteringtheir walls, by maintaining a careful guard upon the city gates. AtWindsor, I left the town in a mighty fear, folks looking already askanceat each other, as if afraid they were smitten with the deadly disease.The news of its appearance is passing from mouth to mouth faster than ahorseman could spread the tidings. It had outridden me hither, and Ithought perchance thou mightest have heard it ere I reached home."
"Nay, I have heard naught; but I would fain hear more now."
"I know little but what I have already told thee," answered Raymond."Indeed, it is but little that there is to know at present. The diseaseseems to me somewhat to resemble that described by Lucretius as visitingAthens. Men sometimes suddenly fall down dead; or they are seized withviolent shiverings, their hair bristling upon their heads. Sometimes itis like a consuming fire within, and they run raving mad to the nearestwater, falling in perchance, and perishing by drowning, leaving theircarcases to pollute the spring. But if it do not carry off the strickenperson for some hours or days, black swellings are seen upon theirbodies like huge black boils, and death follows rapidly, the victimoften expiring in great agony. I have heard that the throat and lungsoften become inflamed before the Black Death seizes its victim, and thatin districts where the scourge has reached, any persons who appear tohave about them even a common rheum are cast forth from their homes evenby those nearest and dearest, for fear they are victims to the terriblescourge."
"Misfortune makes men cruel if it do not bind them closer together.Raymond, I see a purpose in thy face -- a purpose of which I would knowthe meaning. That light in thine eyes is not for nothing. Tell me allthat is in thine heart. Methinks I divine it somewhat already."
"Belike thou dost, good John," answered Raymond, speaking very calmlyand steadily, "for thou knowest the charge laid upon me by my spiritualFather. 'Fear not, be not dismayed. A thousand shall fall beside thee,and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.'Such was the burden of his charge; and shall I shrink or falter when thehour I have waited and watched for all these years has come like a thiefin the night? Good John, thou wast the first to teach me that there wasa truer, deeper chivalry than that of the tourney or the battlefield.Thou wast the first to understand, and to make me understand, that thehighest chivalry was that of our Lord Himself, when He laid down Hislife for sinners, and prayed for His enemies who pierced and nailed Himto the Cross. His words are ever words of mercy. Were He here with ustoday upon earth, where should we find Him now? Surely where the perilwas greatest, where the need sorest, where the darkness, the terror, thedistress blackest. And where He would be, were He with us here, is theplace where those who would follow Him most faithfully should be found.Not all perchance; there be claims of kindred, ties of love that no manmay lightly disregard: But none such ties bind me. I have but my brotherto love, and he is out in the world -- he needs me not. I am free to gowhere the voice within calls me; and I go forth to-morrow."
"And whither goest thou?" asked John, in a low, awestruck tone.
"I go to Father Paul," answered Raymond, without hesitation, as one whohas thought the matter well out beforehand. "Wherever the need issorest, the peril greatest, there will Father Paul be found. And theBrotherhood stands in the heart of the smitten regions; wherefore at hisvery doors the sick will be lying, untended perchance and unassoiled,save in those places whither he can go. I fare forth at sunrisingtomorrow, to seek and to find him. He will give me work, he will let metoil beside him; better than that I ask not."
John had risen from his seat. An answering light had sprung to his eyesas he had heard and watched Raymond. Now he laid his hand upon hiscousin's arm, and said quietly:
"Go, then, in the name of the Lord; I too go with thee."
Raymond turned his head and looked full at his cousin, marking the thin,sunken lines of the face, the stooping pose of the shoulders, the hecticflush that came and went upon the hollow cheek; and seeing this andknowing what it betokened, he linked his arm within John's and commencedwalking up and down the room with him, as though inaction wereimpossible at such a moment. And as he walked he talked.
"Good John," he said, "I would fain have thee with me; but I well knowthou hast no strength for the task thou hast set thyself. Even the longday's ride would weary thy frame so sorely that thou wouldst fall aneasy victim to the sickness ere thou hadst done aught to help another.Thou hast thy father, thy mother, and thy good uncle to think of. Howsad would they be to hear whither thou hadst gone! And then, my cousin,it may well be that for thee there is other work, and work for whichthou canst better prepare thyself here than in any other place. I havethought of thee as well as of myself as I have ridden homeward this day.Shall I tell thee what my thought -- my dream of thee was like?"
"Ay, tell me; I would gladly hear."
"I saw in my spirit the advance of this terrible Black De
ath; I saw itcome to this very place. Dead and dying, cast out of their homes bythose who would neither bury the one nor tend the other, were left lyingin the streets around, and a deadly fear was upon all the place. Andthen I saw a man step forth amongst these miserable wretches, and theman had thy face, dear cousin. And he came forward and said to those whowere yet willing to touch the sick, 'Carry them into my house; I have aplace made ready for them. Bring them to my house; there they will hetended and cared for.' And then I thought that I saw the bearers liftand carry the sick here to this house, and that there they were receivedby some devoted men and women who had not been driven away by thegeneral terror, and there were clean and comfortable beds awaiting thesick, and great fires of aromatic herbs burning upon the hearths to keepaway the fumes of the pestilence from the watchers. And as the wretchedand stricken creatures found themselves in this fair haven, they blessedhim who had had this care for them; and those who died, died in comfort,shriven and assoiled by holy priests, whilst some amongst the numberwere saved, and saved through the act of him who had found them thissafe refuge."
Raymond ceased speaking, and looked out over the fair landscapecommanded by the oriel window of the room in which they were standing;and John's pale face suddenly kindled and glowed. The same spirit ofself-sacrifice animated them both; but the elder of the pair realized,when it was put before him, how little he was fit for the work which theyounger had set himself to do, whilst he had the means as well as thedisposition to perform an act of mercy which in the end might be agreater boon to many than any service he could offer now. And if he didthis thing -- if he turned his house into a house of mercy for the sickof the plague -- he would then have his own opportunity to tend and carefor the sufferers.
Only one thought for a moment hindered him from giving an answer. Helooked at Raymond, and said:
"Thinkest thou that this sickness will surely come this way?"
"In very truth I believe that it will ravage the land from end to end. Iknow that Father Paul looked to see the whole country swept by thescourge of God. Fear not but that thy work will find thee here. Thouwilt not have to wait long, methinks. Thou wilt but have fair time tomake ready all that thou wilt need -- beds, medicaments, aromatic wood,and perfumes -- and gather round thee a few faithful, trusty souls whowill not fly at the approach of danger. It may be no easy task to findthese, yet methinks they will be found here and there; for where Godsends His scourges upon His earth, He raises up pious men and women too,to tend the sufferers and prove to the world that He has still amongstthe gay and worldly His own children, His own followers, who will followwherever He leads."
John's mind was quickly made up.
"I will remain behind and do this thing," he said. "Perchance thou and Iwill yet work together in this very place amongst the sick and dying."
"I well believe it," answered Raymond, with one of his far-away looks;and the cousins stood together looking out over the green world bathedin the light of sunset, wondering how and when they would meet again,but both strangely possessed with perfect confidence that they would someet.
Then Raymond went to make his simple preparations for the morrow's ride.He had intended travelling quite alone, and chancing the perils of theroad, which, however, in these times of peace and rejoicing, were notvery great; for freebooters seldom disturbed travellers by day, saveperhaps in very lonely forest roads. But when Roger, the woodman's son,heard whither his master's steps were bent, and upon what errand he wasgoing, he fell at his feet in one of his wild passions of devotionalexcitement, and begged to be allowed to follow him even to the death.
"It may well be to the death, good Roger," answered Raymond gravely."Men say that death is certain for those who take the breath of thesmitten persons; and such as go amongst them go at the risk of theirlives. I do not bid thee follow me -- I well believe the peril is great;but if thou willest to do this thing, I dare not say thee nay, formethinks it is a work of God, and may well win His approval."
"I will go," answered Roger, without the slightest hesitation. "Do I notowe all -- my body and soul alike -- to you and Father Paul? Where yougo, there will I go with you. What you fear not to face, I fear noteither. For life or for death I am yours; and if the Holy Saints and theBlessed Virgin will but give me strength to fight and to conquer thisfell foe, I trow they will do it because that thou art half a saintthyself, and they will know that I go to be with thee, to watch overthee, and perchance, by my service and my prayers, guard thee in somesort from ill."
Raymond smiled and held out his hand to his faithful servant. In timesof common peril men's hearts are very closely knit together. The bondbetween the two youths seemed suddenly to take a new form; and when theyrode forth at sunrise on the morrow, with John waving an adieu to themand watching their departure with a strange look of settled purpose onhis face, it was no longer as master and servant that they rode, but asfriends and comrades going forth to meet a deadly peril together.
It seemed strange, as they rode along in the bright freshness of a clearSeptember morning, to realize that any scenes of horror and death couldbe enacting themselves upon this fair earth not very many miles away.Yet as they rode ever onwards and drew near to the infected districts,the sunshine became obscured by a thick haze, the fresh wind which hadhitherto blown in their faces dropped, and the air was still with adeadly stillness new to both of them -- a stillness which was oppressiveand which weighed upon their spirits like lead. The first intimationthey had of the pestilence itself was the sight of the carcasses ofseveral beasts lying dead in their pasture, and, what was more terriblestill, the body of a man lying beside them, as though he had droppeddead as he came to drive them into shelter.
Raymond looked at the little group with an involuntary shudder, andRoger crossed himself and muttered a prayer. But they did not turn outof their way; they were now nearing the gates of the Monastery, and itwas of Father Paul that Raymond's thoughts were full. Plainly enough hewas in the heart of the peril. How had it gone with him since thesickness had appeared here?
That question was answered the moment the travellers appeared withinsight of the well-known walls. They saw a sight that lived in theirmemories for many a day to come.
Instead of the calm and solitude which generally reigned in this place,a great crowd was to be seen around the gate, but such a crowd as theyouths had never dreamed of before. Wretched, plague-stricken people,turned from their own doors and abandoned by their kindred, had draggedthemselves from all parts to the doors of the Monastery, in the hopethat the pious Brothers would give them help and a corner to die inpeace. And that they were not disappointed in this hope was well seen:for as Raymond and his companion appeared, they saw that one afteranother of these wretched beings was carried within the precincts of theMonastery by the Brothers; whilst amongst those who lay outside waitingtheir turn for admission, or too far gone to be moved again, a tall thinform moved fearlessly, bending over the dying sufferers and hearingtheir last confessions, giving priestly absolution, or soothing withstrong and tender hands the last agonies of some stricken creature.
Raymond, with a strange, tense look upon his face, went straight to theFather where he stood amongst the dying and the dead, and just as hereached his side the Monk stood suddenly up and looked straight at him.His austere face did not relax, but in his eyes shone a light thatlooked like triumph.
"It is well, my son," he said. "I knew that thou wouldest be here anon.The soldier of the Cross is ever found at his post in such a time as this."
In the Days of Chivalry: A Tale of the Times of the Black Prince Page 17