by John Buchan
CHAPTER 2. THE ENGLISHMAN
Part 1
The little hut among the oak trees was dim in the October twilight onthe evening of St. Callixtus' Day. It had been used by swineherds, forthe earthen floor was puddled by the feet of generations of hogs, and inthe corner lay piles of rotting acorns. Outside the mist had filled theforest, and the ways were muffled with fallen leaves, so that the fourmen who approached the place came as stealthily as shades.
They reconnoitred a moment at the entrance, for it was a country of war.
"Quarters for the night," said one, and put his shoulder to the door ofoak-toppings hinged on strips of cowhide.
But he had not taken a step inside before he hastily withdrew.
"There is something there," he cried--"something that breathes. A light,Gil."
One of the four lit a lantern from his flint and poked it within. Itrevealed the foul floor and the rotting acorns, and in the far corner,on a bed of withered boughs, something dark which might be a man. Theystood still and listened. There was the sound of painful breathing, andthen the gasp with which a sick man wakens. A figure disengaged itselffrom the shadows. Seeing it was but one man, the four pushed inside, andthe last pulled the door to behind him.
"What have we here?" the leader cried. A man had dragged himself to hisfeet, a short, square fellow who held himself erect with a grip on aside-post. His eyes were vacant, dazzled by the light and also by pain.He seemed to have had hard usage that day, for his shaggy locks werematted with blood from a sword-cut above his forehead, one arm hunglimp, and his tunic was torn and gashed. He had no weapons but a knifewhich he held blade upwards in the hollow of his big hand.
The four who confronted him were as ill-looking a quartet as DukeWilliam's motley host could show. One, the leader, was an unfrockedpriest of Rouen; one was a hedge-robber from the western marches whohad followed Alan of Brittany; a third had the olive cheeks and the longnose of the south; and the fourth was a heavy German from beyond theRhine. They were the kites that batten on the offal of war, and thegreat battle on the seashore having been won by better men, werecreeping into the conquered land for the firstfruits of its plunder.
"An English porker," cried the leader. "We will have the tusks off him."Indeed, in the wild light the wounded man, with his flat face and forkedbeard, had the look of a boar cornered by hounds.
"'Ware his teeth," said the one they called Gil. "He has a knife in histrotter."
The evil faces of the four were growing merry. They were worthlesssoldiers, but adepts in murder. Loot was their first thought, but afterthat furtive slaying. There seemed nothing to rob here, but there wasweak flesh to make sport of.
Gil warily crept on one side, where he held his spear ready. Theex-priest, who had picked up somewhere a round English buckler, gave theorders. "I will run in on him, and take his stroke, so you be ready toclose. There is nothing to be feared from the swine. See, he is bloodedand faints."
The lantern had been set on the ground by the door and revealed only thelower limbs of the four. Their heads were murky in shadow. Their speechwas foreign to the wounded man, but he saw their purpose. He was clearlyforedone with pain, but his vacant eyes kindled to slow anger, andhe shook back his hair so that the bleeding broke out again on hisforehead. He was as silent as an old tusker at bay.
The ex-priest gave the word and the four closed in on him. He defeatedtheir plan by hurling himself on the leader's shield, so that his weightbore him backwards and he could not use his weapon. The spears on theflanks failed for the same reason, and the two men posted there hadwell-nigh been the death of each other. The fourth, the one from thesouth, whose business it had been to support the priest, tripped andfell sprawling beside the lantern.
The Englishman had one arm round the priest's neck and was squeezing thebreath out of him. But the blood of the four was kindling, and they hadvengeance instead of sport to seek. Mouthing curses, the three of themwent to the rescue of the leader, and a weaponless and sore-wounded mancannot strive with such odds. They overpowered him, bending his armsviciously back and kicking his broken head. Their oaths filled the hutwith an ugly clamour, but no sound came from their victim.
Suddenly a gust of air set the lantern flickering, and a new-comer stoodin the doorway. He picked up the light and looked down on the struggle.He was a tall, very lean man, smooth faced, and black haired, helmetlessand shieldless, but wearing the plated hauberk of the soldier. Therewas no scabbard on his left side, but his right hand held a long brightsword.
For a second he lifted the light high, while he took in the scene. Hiseyes were dark and dancing, like the ripples on a peat stream. "So-ho!"he said softly. "Murder! And by our own vermin!"
He appeared to brood for a second, and then he acted. For he set thelight very carefully in the crook of a joist so that it illumined thewhole hut. Then he reached out a hand, plucked the ex-priest from hisquarry, and, swinging him in both arms, tossed him through the door intothe darkness. It would seem that he fell hard, for there was a groan andthen silence.
"One less," he said softly.
The three had turned to face him, warned by Gil's exclamation, and foundthemselves looking at the ominous bar of light which was his sword.Cornered like rats, they took small comfort from the odds. They wereready to surrender, still readier to run, and they stood on theirdefence with no fight in their faces, whining in their several patois.All but the man from the south. He was creeping round in the darkness bythe walls, and had in his hands a knife. No mailed hauberk protectedthe interloper's back and there was a space there for steel to quiverbetween his shoulder blades.
The newcomer did not see, but the eyes of the wounded man seemed tohave been cleared by the scuffle. He was now free, and from the floor hesnatched the round shield which the ex-priest had carried, and hurled itstraight at the creeping miscreant. It was a heavy oaken thing with rimand boss of iron, and it caught him fairly above the ear, so that hedropped like a poled ox. The stranger turned his head to see what washappening. "A lucky shot, friend," he cried. "I thank you." And headdressed himself to the two pitiful bandits who remained.
But their eyes were looking beyond him to the door, and their jaws haddropped in terror. For from outside came the sound of horses' hooves andbridles, and two riders had dismounted and were peering into the hut.The first was a very mountain of a man, whose conical helmet surmounteda vast pale face, on which blond moustaches hung like the teeth of awalrus. The said helmet was grievously battered, and the nose-piece wasawry as if from some fierce blow, but there was no scar on the skin. Hislong hauberk was wrought in scales of steel and silver, and the filletswhich bound his great legs were of fine red leather. Behind him camea grizzled squire, bearing a kite-shaped shield painted with thecognisance of a dove.
"What have we here?" said the knight in a reedy voice like a boy's. Hispale eyes contemplated the figures--the wounded man, now faint againwith pain and half-fallen on the litter of branches; his deliverer, talland grim, but with laughing face; the two murderers cringing in theirfear; in a corner the huddled body of the man from the south half hiddenby the shield. "Speak, fellow," and he addressed the soldier. "What workhas been toward? Have you not had your bellyfull of battles that youmust scrabble like rats in this hovel? What are you called, and whencecome you?"
The soldier lifted his brow, looked his questioner full in the face,and, as if liking what he found there, bowed his head in respect. Thehuge man had the air of one to be obeyed.
"I am of the Duke's army," he said, "and was sent on to reconnoitre theforest roads I stumbled on this hut and found four men about to slay awounded English. One lies outside where I flung him, another is therewith a cracked skull, and you have before you the remnant."
The knight seemed to consider. "And why should a soldier of the Duke'sbe so careful of English lives?" he asked.
"I would help my lord Duke to conquer this land," was the answer. "Wehave broken their army and the way is straight before us. We shall haveto fight othe
r armies, but we cannot be fighting all our days, and we donot conquer England till England accepts us. I have heard enough of thatstubborn people to know that the way to win them is not by murder. Afair fight, and then honest dealing and mercy, say I."
The knight laughed. "A Solomon in judgment," he cried. "But who are youthat bear a sword and wear gold on your finger?"
The old squire broke in. "My lord Count, I know the man. He is a hunterof the Lord Odo's, and has a name for valour. He wrought mightily thismorning on the hill. They call him Jehan the Hunter, and sometimes Jehanthe Outborn, for no man knows his comings. There is a rumour that he isof high blood, and truly in battle he bears himself like a prince. Themonks loved him not, but the Lord Odo favoured him."
The knight looked steadily for the space of a moment at the tallsoldier, and his light eyes seemed to read deep. "Are you that man," heasked at last, and got the reply: "I am Jehan the Hunter."
"Bid my fellows attend to yon scum," he told his squire. "The campmarshal will have fruit for his gallows. The sweepings of all Europehave drifted with us to England, and it is our business to make bonfireof them before they breed a plague.... See to the wounded man, likewise.He may be one of the stout house-carles who fought with Harold atStamford, and to meet us raced like a gale through the length ofEngland. By the Mount of the Archangel, I would fain win such mettle toour cause."
Presently the hut was empty save for the two soldiers, who faced eachother while the lantern flickered to its end on the rafters.
"The good Odo is dead," said the knight. "An arrow in the left eye hasbereft our Duke of a noble ally and increased the blessedness of theCity of Paradise. You are masterless now. Will you ride with me on myservice, you Jehan the Hunter? It would appear that we are alike in ourways of thinking. They call me the Dove from the shield I bear, and adove I seek to be in the winning of England. The hawk's task is overwhen the battle is won, and he who has but the sword for weapon is nohawk, but carrion-crow. We have to set our Duke on the throne, but thatis but the first step. There are more battles before us, and when theyare ended begins the slow task of the conquest of English hearts. Howsay you, Jehan? Will you ride north with me on this errand, and outof the lands which are granted me to govern have a corner on which topractise your creed?"
So it befell that Jehan the Hunter, sometimes called Jehan the Outborn,joined the company of Ivo of Dives, and followed him when Duke Williamswept northward laughing his gross jolly laughter and swearing terriblyby the splendour of God.
Part 2
Two years later in the same month of the year Jehan rode east out ofIvo's new castle of Belvoir to visit the manor of which, by the graceof God and the King and the favour of the Count of Dives, he was nowthe lord. By the Dove's side he had been north to Durham and west to theWelsh marches, rather on falcon's than on dove's errands, for Ivo heldthat the crooning of peace notes came best after hard blows. But at hisworst he was hawk and not crow, and malice did not follow his steps.The men he beat had a rude respect for one who was just and patient invictory, and whose laughter did not spare himself. Like master like man;and Jehan was presently so sealed of Ivo's brotherhood that in the talesof the time the two names were rarely separate. The jealous, swift todeprecate good fortune, spared the Outborn, for it was observed that hestood aside while others scrambled for gain. Also, though no man knewhis birth, he bore himself with the pride of a king.
When Ivo's raw stone towers faded in the blue distance, the road ledfrom shaggy uplands into a forested plain, with knolls at intervalswhich gave the traveller a prospect of sullen levels up to the fringe ofthe fens and the line of the sea. Six men-at-arms jolted at his back onlittle country-red horses, for Jehan did his tasks with few helpers; andthey rode well in the rear, for he loved to be alone. The weather wasall October gleams and glooms, now the sunshine of April, now the purpledepths of a thunderstorm. There was no rain in the air, but an infinityof mist, which moved in fantastic shapes, rolling close about thecavalcade, so that the very road edge was obscured, now dissolving intoclear light, now opening up corridors at the end of which some landmarkappeared at an immeasurable distance. In that fantastic afternoonthe solid earth seemed to be dissolving, and Jehan's thoughts as hejourneyed ranged like the mists.
He told himself that he had discovered his country. He, the Outborn, hadcome home; the landless had found his settlement. He loved every acreof this strange England--its changing skies, the soft pastures in thevalleys, the copses that clung like moss to the hills, the wide moorlandthat lay quiet as a grave from mountain to mountain. But this daysomething new had been joined to his affection. The air that met himfrom the east had that in it which stirred some antique memory. Therewas brine in it from the unruly eastern sea, and the sourness of marshwater, and the sweetness of marsh herbage. As the forest thinned intoscrub again it came stronger and fresher, and he found himself sniffingit like a hungry man at the approach of food. "If my manor of Highsteadis like this," he told himself, "I think I will lay my bones there."
At a turn of the road where two grassy tracks forked, he passed a gravenstone now chipped and moss-grown, set on noble eminence among reddeningthorns. It was an altar to the old gods of the land, there had beenanother such in the forest of his childhood. The priest had told himit was the shrine of the Lord Apollo and forbade him on the pain of amighty cursing to do reverence to it. Nevertheless he had been wont todoff his cap when he passed it, for he respected a god that lived inthe woods instead of a clammy church. Now the sight of the ancientthing seemed an omen. It linked up the past and the present. He waveda greeting to it. "Hail, old friend," he said. "Bid your master be withme, whoever he be, for I go to find a home."
One of his fellows rode up to his side. "We are within a mile ofHighstead," he told him. "Better go warily, for the King's law runslimpingly in the fanlands. I counsel that a picket be sent forward toreport if the way be clear. Every churl that we passed on the road willhave sent news of our coming."
"So much the better," said Jehan. "Man, I come not as a thief in thenight. This is a daylight business. If I am to live my days here I mustmake a fair conquest."
The man fell back sullenly, and there were anxious faces in the retinuejogging twenty yards behind. But no care sat on Jehan's brow. He pluckedsprays of autumn berries and tossed and caught them, he sang gently tohimself and spoke his thoughts to his horse. Harm could not come to himwhen air and scene woke in his heart such strange familiarity.
A last turn of the road showed Highstead before him, two furlongsdistant. The thatched roof of the hall rose out of a cluster of shingledhuts on a mound defended by moat and palisade. No smoke came from thedwelling, and no man was visible, but not for nothing was Jehan namedthe Hunter. He was aware that every tuft of reed and scrog of woodconcealed a spear or a bowman. So he set his head stiff and laughed, andhummed a bar of a song which the ferry-men used to sing on Seine side."A man does not fight to win his home," he told his horse, "but only todefend it when he has won it. If God so wills I shall be welcomed withopen gates: otherwise there will be burying ere nightfall."
In this fashion he rode steadfastly toward the silent burg. Now he waswithin a stone's throw of it, and no spear had been launched; now hewas before the massive oaken gate. Suddenly it swung open and a man cameout. He was a short, square fellow who limped, and, half hidden by hislong hair, a great scar showed white on his forehead.
"In whose name?" he asked in the English tongue.
"In the name of our lord the King and the Earl Ivo."
"That is no passport," said the man.
"In my own name, then,--in the name of Jehan the Hunter."
The man took two steps forward and laid a hand on the off stirrup. Jehanleaped to the ground and kissed him on both cheeks.
"We have met before, friend," he said, and he took between his palms thejoined hands of his new liege.
"Two years back on the night of Hastings," said the man. "But for thatmeeting, my lord, you had tasted twenty arrows betwixt Highstead
and theforest."
Part 3
"I go to visit my neighbours," said Jehan next morning.
Arn the Steward stared at his master with a puzzled face. "You will geta dusty welcome," he said. "There is but the Lady Hilda at Galland, andher brother Aelward is still at odds with your Duke."
Nevertheless Jehan rode out in a clear dawn of St. Luke's summer,leaving a wondering man behind him, and he rode alone, having sent backhis men-at-arms to Ivo. "He has the bold heart," said Arn to himself."If there be many French like him there will assuredly be a newEngland."
At Galland, which is low down in the fen country, he found a sullengirl. She met him at the bridge of the Galland fen and her grey eyesflashed fire. She was a tall maid, very fair to look upon, and the bluetunic which she wore over her russet gown was cunningly embroidered.Embroidered too with gold was the hood which confined her plaited yellowhair.
"You find a defenceless house and a woman to conquer," she railed.
"Long may it need no other warder," said Jehan, dismounting and lookingat her across the water.
"The fortune of war has given me a home, mistress. I would dwell inamity with my neighbours."
"Amity!" she cried in scorn. "You will get none from me. My brotherAelward will do the parleying."
"So be it," he said. "Be assured I will never cross this water intoGalland till you bid me."
He turned and rode home, and for a month was busied with the work of hisfarms. When he came again it was on a dark day in November, and everyrunnel of the fens was swollen. He got the same answer from the girl,and with it a warning "Aelward and his men wait for you in the oakshaw,"she told him. "I sent word to them when the thralls brought news ofyou." And her pretty face was hard and angry.
Jehan laughed. "Now, by your leave, mistress, I will wait here the houror two till nightfall. I am Englishman enough to know that your folk donot strike in the dark."
He returned to Highstead unscathed, and a week later came a message fromAelward. "Meet me," it ran, "to-morrow by the Danes' barrow at noon,and we will know whether Englishman or Frenchman is to bear rule in thisland."
Jehan donned his hauberk and girt himself with his long sword. "Therewill be hot work to-day in that forest," he told Arn, who was busiedwith the trussing of his mail.
"God prosper you, master," said the steward. "Frenchman or no, you aresuch a man as I love. Beware of Aelward and his downward stroke, for hehas the strength of ten."
At noon by the Danes' barrow Jehan met a young tow-headed giant, whospoke with the back of his throat and made surly-response to the other'sgreeting. It was a blue winter's day, with rime still white on thegrass, and the forest was very still. The Saxon had the shorter swordand a round buckler; Jehan fought only with his blade.
At the first bout they strove with steel, and were ill-matched at that,for the heavy strength of the fenman was futile against the lithe speedof the hunter. Jehan ringed him in circles of light, and the famousdownward stroke was expended on vacant air. He played with him tillhe breathed heavily like a cow, and then by a sleight of hand sent hissword spinning among the oak mast. The young giant stood sulkily beforehim, unarmed, deeply shamed, waiting on his death, but with no fear inhis eyes.
Jehan tossed his own blade to the ground, and stripped off his hauberk."We have fought with weapons," he said, "now we will fight in theancient way."
There followed a very different contest. Aelward lost his shamefastnessand his slow blood fired as flesh met flesh and sinew strained againstsinew. His great arms crushed the Frenchman till the ribs cracked, butalways the other slipped through and evaded the fatal hug. And as thestruggle continued Aelward's heart warmed to his enemy. When theirswords crossed he had hated him like death; now he seemed to be strivingwith a kinsman.
Suddenly, when victory looked very near, he found the earth moving frombeneath him, and a mountain descended on his skull. When he blinkedhimself into consciousness again, Jehan was laving his head from a poolin an oak-root.
"I will teach you that throw some day, friend," he was saying. "Had Inot known the trick of it, you had mauled me sadly. I had liefer grapplewith a bear."
Aelward moistened his lips. "You have beat me fairly, armed andweaponless," he said, and his voice had no anger in it.
"Talk not of beating between neighbours," was the answer. "We haveplayed together and I have had the luck of it. It will be your turn tobreak my head to-morrow."
"Head matters little," grumbled Aelward. "Mine has stood harder dints.But you have broken my leg, and that means a month of housekeeping."
Jehan made splints of ash for the leg, and set him upon his horse, andin this wise they came to the bridge of Galland fen. On the far side ofthe water stood the Lady Hilda. He halted and waited on her bidding.She gazed speechless at the horse whereon sat her brother with a cloutedscalp.
"What ails you, Frenchman?" said Aelward. "It is but a half-grown girlof my father's begetting."
"I have vowed not to pass that bridge till yonder lady bids me."
"Then for the pity of Christ bid him, sister. He and I are warm withplay and yearn for a flagon."
In this manner did Jehan first enter the house of Galland, whence in thenext cowslip-time he carried a bride to Highstead.
* * *
The months passed smoothly in the house on the knoll above the fat fenpastures. Jehan forsook his woodcraft for the work of byre and furrowand sheepfold, and the yield of his lands grew under his wardenship. Hebrought heavy French cattle to improve the little native breed, and madea garden of fruit trees where once had been only bent and sedge. Thethralls wrought cheerfully for him, for he was a kindly master, andthe freemen of the manor had no complaint against one who did impartialjustice and respected their slow and ancient ways. As for skill inhunting, there was no fellow to the lord of Highstead between Trent andThames.
Inside the homestead the Lady Hilda moved happily, a wife smiling andwell content. She had won more than a husband; it seemed she had madea convert; for daily Jehan grew into the country-side as if he had beenborn in it. Something in the soft woodland air and the sharper tang ofthe fens and the sea awoke response from his innermost soul. An achingaffection was born in him for every acre of his little heritage. Hisson, dark like his father, who made his first diffident pilgrimages inthe sunny close where the pigeons cooed, was not more thirled to Englishsoil.
They were quiet years in that remote place, for Aelward over at Gallandhad made his peace with the King. But when the little Jehan was fouryears old the tides of war lapped again to the forest edges. One Hugo ofAuchy, who had had a usurer to his father and had risen in an iron ageby a merciless greed, came a-foraying from the north to see how he mightadd to his fortunes. Men called him the Crane, for he was tall and leanand parchment-skinned, and to his banner resorted all malcontents andbroken men. He sought to conduct a second Conquest, making war on theEnglish who still held their lands, but sparing the French manors.The King's justice was slow-footed, and the King was far away, so thethreatened men, banded together to hold their own by their own might.
Aelward brought the news from Galland that the Crane had entered theirborders. The good Ivo was overseas, busy on the Brittany marches, andthere was no ruler in Fenland.
"You he will spare," Aelward told his sister's husband. "He does not warwith you new-comers. But us of the old stock he claims as his prey. Howsay you, Frenchman? Will you reason with him? Hereaways we are peacefulfolk, and would fain get on with our harvest."
"I will reason with him," said Jehan, "and by the only logic that suchcarrion understands. I am by your side, brother. There is but the onecause for all us countrymen."
But that afternoon as he walked abroad in his cornlands he saw aportent. A heron rose out of the shallows, and a harrier-hawk swooped tothe pounce, but the long bird flopped securely into the western sky, andthe hawk dropped at his feet, dead but with no mark of a wound.
"Here be marvels," said Jehan, and with that there came on him theforeknowledge of
fate, which in the brave heart wakes awe, but no fear.He stood silent for a time and gazed over his homelands. The bere wasshaking white and gold in the light evening wind; in the new orchard hehad planted the apples were reddening; from the edge of the forest landrose wreaths of smoke where the thralls were busy with wood-clearing.There was little sound in the air, but from the steading came the happylaughter of a child. Jehan stood very still, and his wistful eyes drankthe peace of it.
"_Non nobis, Domine,_" he said, for a priest had once had the training ofhim. "But I leave that which shall not die."
He summoned his wife and told her of the coming of the Crane. From afinger of his left hand he took the thick ring of gold which Ivo hadmarked years before in the Wealden hut.
"I have a notion that I am going a long journey," he told her. "If I donot return, the Lord Ivo will confirm the little lad in these lands ofours. But to you and for his sake I make my own bequest. Wear thisring for him till he is a man, and then bid him wear it as hisfather's guerdon. I had it from my father, who had it from his, andmy grandfather told me the tale of it. In his grandsire's day it was amighty armlet, but in the famine years it was melted and part sold, andonly this remains. Some one of us far back was a king, and this is thebadge of a king's house. There comes a day, little one, when the fruitof our bodies shall possess a throne. See that the lad be royal inthought and deed, as he is royal in blood."
Next morning he kissed his wife and fondled his little son, and with hismen rode northward, his eyes wistful but his mouth smiling.
What followed was for generations a tale among humble folk in England,who knew nothing of the deeds of the King's armies. By cottage firesthey wove stories about it and made simple songs, the echo of which maystill be traced by curious scholars. There is something of it in thegreat saga of Robin Hood, and long after the fens were drained womenhushed their babies with snatches about the Crane and the Falcon, andfairy tales of a certain John of the Shaws, who became one with Jack theGiant-killer and all the nursery heroes.
Jehan and his band met Aelward at the appointed rendezvous, and soonwere joined by a dozen knots of lusty yeomen, who fought not only forthemselves but for the law of England and the peace of the new king. Ofthe little force Jehan was appointed leader, and once again became theHunter, stalking a baser quarry than wolf or boar. For the Crane and hisrabble, flushed with easy conquest, kept ill watch, and the tongues offorest running down to the fenland made a good hunting ground for a waryforester.
Jehan's pickets found Hugo of Auchy by the Sheen brook and broughtback tidings. Thereupon a subtle plan was made. By day and night theinvaders' camp was kept uneasy; there would be sudden attacks, whichdied down after a few blows; stragglers disappeared, scouts neverreturned; and when a peasant was brought in and forced to speak, he toldwith scared face a tale of the great mustering of desperate men in thisor that quarter. The Crane was a hardy fighter, but the mysterybaffled him, and he became cautious, and--after the fashion of hiskind credulous. Bit by bit Jehan shepherded him into the trap he hadprepared. He had but one man to the enemy's six, and must drain thatenemy's strength before he struck. Meantime the little steadings wentup in flames, but with every blaze seen in the autumn dusk the Englishtemper grew more stubborn. They waited confidently on the reckoning.
It came on a bleak morning when the east wind blew rain and fog from thesea. The Crane was in a spit of open woodland, with before him and oneither side deep fenland with paths known only to its dwellers. ThenJehan struck. He drove his enemy to the point of the dry ground, andthrust him into the marshes. Not since the time of the Danes had theland known such a slaying. The refuse of France and the traitor Englishwho had joined them went down like sheep before wolves. When the LordIvo arrived in the late afternoon, having ridden hot-speed from thesouth coast when he got the tidings, he found little left of themarauders save the dead on the land and the scum of red on the fenpools.
Jehan lay by a clump of hazels, the blood welling from an axe-wound inthe neck. His face was ashen with the oncoming of death, but he smiledas he looked up at his lord.
"The Crane pecked me," he said. "He had a stout bill, if a black heart."
Ivo wept aloud, being pitiful as he was brave. He would have scoured thecountry for a priest.
"Farewell, old comrade," he sobbed. "Give greeting to Odo in Paradise,and keep a place for me by your side. I will nourish your son, as if hehad been that one of my own whom Heaven has denied me. Tarry a little,dear heart, and the Priest of Glede will be here to shrive you."
Through the thicket there crawled a mighty figure, his yellowhair dabbled in blood, and his breath labouring like wind in athreshing-floor. He lay down by Jehan's side, and with a last effortkissed him on the lips.
"Priest!" cried the dying Aelward. "What need is there of priest to helpus two English on our way to God?"