Edricson; but the archer treated it lightly, as a common matter enough.
'These are the Beating Friars, otherwise called the Flagellants,' quoth he. 'I marvel that ye should have come upon none of them before, for across the water they are as common as gallybaggers. I have heard that there are no English among them, but that they are from France, Italy, and Bohemia. En avant, camarades! that we may have speech with them.'
As they came up to them, Alleyne could hear the doleful dirge which the beater was chanting, bringing down his heavy whip at the end of each line, while the groans of the sufferer formed a sort of dismal chorus. It was in old French, and ran somewhat in this way:
Or avant, entre nous tous frères
Battons nos charognes bien fort
En remembrant la grant misère
De Dieu et sa piteuse mort,
Qui fut pris en la gent amère
Et vendus et trais à tort
Et bastu sa chair, vierge et dère
Au nom de oe battons plus fort.
Then at the end of the verse the scourge changed hands and the chanting began anew.
'Truly, holy fathers,' said the archer in French as they came abreast of them, 'you have beaten enough for to-day. The road is all spotted like a shambles at Martinmas. Why should ye mishandle yourselves thus?'
'C'est pour vos péchés—pour vos péchés,' they droned, looking at the travellers with sad lack-lustre eyes, and then bent to their bloody work once more without heed to the prayers and persuasions which were addressed to them. Finding all remonstrance useless, the three comrades hastened on their way, leaving these strange travellers to their dreary task.
'Mort Dieu!' cried the bowman, 'there is a bucketful or more of my blood over in France, but it was all spilled in
