Page:A C Doyle - The White Company.djvu/145

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THE WHITE COMPANY
119

four bones among the stricken, and have them all houseled and shriven, as quick as shelling peas. Ma foi! there were those who wished that he would have less care for their souls and a little more for their bodies!'

'It is well to have a learned clerk in every troop,' said Sir Nigel. 'By St. Paul! there are men so caitiff that they think more of a scrivener's pen than of their lady's smile, and do their devoir in hopes that they may fill a line in a chronicle or make a tag to a jongleur's romance. I remember well that, at the siege of Betters, there was a little, sleek, fat clerk of the name of Chaucer, who was so apt at rondel, sirvente, or tonson, that no man dare give back a foot from the walls, lest he find it all set down in his rhymes and sung by every underling and varlet in the camp. But, my soul's bird, you hear me prate as though all were decided, when I have not yet taken counsel either with you or with my lady mother. Let us to the chamber, while these strangers find such fare as pantry and cellar may furnish.'

'The night air strikes chill, ' said the lady, and turned down the road with her hand upon her lord's arm. The three comrades dropped behind and followed: Aylward much the lighter for having accomplished his mission, Alleyne full of wonderment at the humble bearing of so renowned a captain, and John loud with snorts and sneers, which spoke his disappointment and contempt.

'What ails the man?' asked Aylward in surprise.

'I have been cozened and bejaped,' quoth he gruffly.

'By whom, Sir Samson the strong?'

'By thee, Sir Balaam the false prophet.'

'By my hilt!' cried the archer, 'though I be not Balaam, yet I hold converse with the very creature that spake to him. What is amiss, then, and how have I played you false?'

'Why, marry, did you not say, and Alleyne here will be my witness, that, if I would hie to the wars with you, you would place me under a leader who was second to none in all England for valour? Yet here you bring me to a shred of a man, peaky and ill-nourished, with eyes like a moulting