The Gathering of Brother Hilarius [11]
that seek the shelter of Holy Church?" asked Hilarius, perplexed.
"Most surely he knows; but what would'st thou have? It hath ever been the part of the Church to embrace sinners with open arms lest they repent. A man leaves wrath behind him when he flees hither; but should he set foot in the city without, he is the law's, and no man may gainsay it."
"Nay, sir, but these look far from repentance," said Hilarius.
"Ay, ay, true eno'," rejoined the other cheerfully, "but then 'tis not for nothing Mother Church holds the keys. Man's law may fail to reach, but there is ever hell-fire for the unrepented sinner."
Hilarius nodded, and his eyes wandered over the squalid place with the North Porch of the Abbey for its sole beauty.
"It must be as hell here, to live with robbers and men with bloody hands."
"Nay," said the old man hastily, "many of them are kindly folk, and many have slain in anger without thought. 'Tis a sad place, though, and thy young face is like a sunbeam on a winter's day. Come, I will show thee thy road."
He led Hilarius through the winding alleys and set him once more on the edge of the city's stir and hum.
"I can no further," he said. "Farewell, young sir, and God keep thee! An old man's blessing ne'er harmed any one."
Hilarius gave him godden, and sped swiftly back through the streets crowded with folks returning from the tourney. The Abbey bell rang out above the shouts and din.
"'Tis an evil, evil world," quoth young Hilarius.
CHAPTER III - A SENDING FROM THE LORD
OCTOBER and November came and sped, and Hilarius' longing to be a limner waxed with the waning year. One day by the waterside he met Martin, of whom he saw now much, now little, for the Minstrel followed the Court.
"The cage grows too small for me, lad," he said, as he stood with Hilarius watching the sun sink below the Surrey uplands; "ay, and I love one woman, which is ill for a man of my trade. I must be away to my mistress, winter or no winter, else my song will die and my heart break."
"'Tis even so with me, good Martin," said Hilarius sadly; "I too would fain go forth and serve my mistress; but the cage door is barred, and I may not open it from within."
Martin whistled and smote the lad friendly on the shoulder.
"Patience, lad, patience, thou art young yet. Eighteen this Martinmas, say you? In truth 'tis a great age, but still leaves time and to spare. 'All things come to a waiting man,' saith the proverb."
A week later he chanced on Hilarius sitting on a bench under the south wall of the farmery cloister. It was a mild, melancholy day, and suited the Minstrel's mood.
He sat down by him and told of King and Court; then when Hilarius had once more cried his longing, he said gravely:-
"One comes who will open more cage doors than thine and mine, lad - and yet earn no welcome."
Hilarius looked at him questioningly.
"Lad, hast thou ever seen Death?"
"Nay, good Martin."
"It comes, lad, it comes; or I am greatly at fault. I saw the Plague once in Flanders, and fled against the wind, and so came out with a clean skin; now I am like to see it again; for it has landed in the south, and creeps this way. Mark my words, lad, thou wilt know Death ere the winter is out, and such as God keep thee from."
Hilarius understood little of these words but the sound of them, and turned to speak of other things.
Martin looked at him gloomily.
"Best get back to the cloister and Prior Stephen, lad."
"Nay, good Martin, that may not be; but I have still a letter for the Abbat of St Alban's, and would hasten thither if Sir John would set me free. Methinks I am a slow scholar," went on poor Hilarius ruefully, "for I have not yet gone hungry - and as for love, methinks there are few folk to love in this wicked city."
Martin laughed and then grew grave again.
"Maybe he comes who will teach thee both, and yet I would fain find thee a kinder master. Well, well, lad, get thee to St Alban's an it be possible; thou art best in a cloister, methinks, for all thy wise
"Most surely he knows; but what would'st thou have? It hath ever been the part of the Church to embrace sinners with open arms lest they repent. A man leaves wrath behind him when he flees hither; but should he set foot in the city without, he is the law's, and no man may gainsay it."
"Nay, sir, but these look far from repentance," said Hilarius.
"Ay, ay, true eno'," rejoined the other cheerfully, "but then 'tis not for nothing Mother Church holds the keys. Man's law may fail to reach, but there is ever hell-fire for the unrepented sinner."
Hilarius nodded, and his eyes wandered over the squalid place with the North Porch of the Abbey for its sole beauty.
"It must be as hell here, to live with robbers and men with bloody hands."
"Nay," said the old man hastily, "many of them are kindly folk, and many have slain in anger without thought. 'Tis a sad place, though, and thy young face is like a sunbeam on a winter's day. Come, I will show thee thy road."
He led Hilarius through the winding alleys and set him once more on the edge of the city's stir and hum.
"I can no further," he said. "Farewell, young sir, and God keep thee! An old man's blessing ne'er harmed any one."
Hilarius gave him godden, and sped swiftly back through the streets crowded with folks returning from the tourney. The Abbey bell rang out above the shouts and din.
"'Tis an evil, evil world," quoth young Hilarius.
CHAPTER III - A SENDING FROM THE LORD
OCTOBER and November came and sped, and Hilarius' longing to be a limner waxed with the waning year. One day by the waterside he met Martin, of whom he saw now much, now little, for the Minstrel followed the Court.
"The cage grows too small for me, lad," he said, as he stood with Hilarius watching the sun sink below the Surrey uplands; "ay, and I love one woman, which is ill for a man of my trade. I must be away to my mistress, winter or no winter, else my song will die and my heart break."
"'Tis even so with me, good Martin," said Hilarius sadly; "I too would fain go forth and serve my mistress; but the cage door is barred, and I may not open it from within."
Martin whistled and smote the lad friendly on the shoulder.
"Patience, lad, patience, thou art young yet. Eighteen this Martinmas, say you? In truth 'tis a great age, but still leaves time and to spare. 'All things come to a waiting man,' saith the proverb."
A week later he chanced on Hilarius sitting on a bench under the south wall of the farmery cloister. It was a mild, melancholy day, and suited the Minstrel's mood.
He sat down by him and told of King and Court; then when Hilarius had once more cried his longing, he said gravely:-
"One comes who will open more cage doors than thine and mine, lad - and yet earn no welcome."
Hilarius looked at him questioningly.
"Lad, hast thou ever seen Death?"
"Nay, good Martin."
"It comes, lad, it comes; or I am greatly at fault. I saw the Plague once in Flanders, and fled against the wind, and so came out with a clean skin; now I am like to see it again; for it has landed in the south, and creeps this way. Mark my words, lad, thou wilt know Death ere the winter is out, and such as God keep thee from."
Hilarius understood little of these words but the sound of them, and turned to speak of other things.
Martin looked at him gloomily.
"Best get back to the cloister and Prior Stephen, lad."
"Nay, good Martin, that may not be; but I have still a letter for the Abbat of St Alban's, and would hasten thither if Sir John would set me free. Methinks I am a slow scholar," went on poor Hilarius ruefully, "for I have not yet gone hungry - and as for love, methinks there are few folk to love in this wicked city."
Martin laughed and then grew grave again.
"Maybe he comes who will teach thee both, and yet I would fain find thee a kinder master. Well, well, lad, get thee to St Alban's an it be possible; thou art best in a cloister, methinks, for all thy wise