The Gathering of Brother Hilarius [16]
piously.
"'Tis the fault of the rich," said a voice, and Hilarius saw, to his surprise, that there was a second friar in the room; a tall, bullet-headed man, with a heavy, obstinate jaw ornamented with a scanty fringe of black hair.
"The rich grow fat, and the poor starve," he went on, "'tis hunger makes a man kill his brother for a mouthful of mouldy bacon."
"Nay," said the miller, "there was no need to kill, Father. A man could have taken the meat from two lone women and left them their lives."
"Why take from folk as poor as themselves?" said mine host. "Let them rob the rich an they must rob."
"Ay," said the friar, "rob the rich, say you, take their own, say I. God did not make this world that one man should be over full and another go empty; nor is it religion that the monks' should live on the fat o' the land and grind the faces of the poor. How many manors, think you, has the Abbat of St Edmund's, and how many on his land lack bread?"
Hilarius listened, scarlet with indignation, a flood of wrathful defence pent at his lips, for the blind friar laid a restraining hand on his sleeve.
Mine host scratched his head doubtfully. The teaching was seditious, and made a man liable to stocks and pillory; but it tickled the ears of the common folk and 'twas ill to quarrel with the Mendicants. Help came to him in his perplexity: a loud knocking on the barred door made the guests within start.
"'Tis eight o' the clock," said the miller, affrighted, for he had a heavy purse on him.
"Let them knock and cool their hot heads," said the seditious friar composedly.
The rest nodded approval.
Then a man's voice threatened without.
"What ho! unbar the door. Is this a night to keep a man without? Open, open, or, by the Mass, thou shalt smart for it."
Mine host shook his head fearfully, and his fat cheeks trembled; he moved slowly and unwillingly to the door and took down the stout wooden bar. As it swung back the door flew open, and a man burst in, at sight of whom mine host turned yet paler.
"Food and drink," said the new-comer sharply, flinging himself on a bench by the fire.
Hilarius thought he had never seen so strange a fellow. His hair was close cropped; ay, and his ears also. His eyes were very small and near together; his nose a shapeless lump; his lip drawn up showed two rat-like teeth. Silence fell on the company, and the chapman who had been searching amongst his goods for something wherewith to pay his hospitality, was hastily putting them back, when the man, looking up, caught sight of a bundle of oaten pipes among the miscellaneous wares. He plucked one to him, and in a moment the air was full of tender liquid notes - a thrush's roundelay. Then a blackbird called and his mate answered; a cuckoo cried the spring-song; a linnet mourned with lifting cadence; a nightingale poured forth her deathless love.
Mine host came in with a dish piled high and a stoop of mead; the man threw the pipe from him with a rough oath and fell to ravenously on the victuals. He held his head low and ate brutishly amid dead silence; then he looked up and cursed at them for their sorry mood.
"What! Hugh pipes and never a word of thanks nor a jest? Damn you all for dull dogs!"
The blind friar rose and fixed his withered eyes on the man's dreadful face.
"Piping Hugh of Mildenhall," he said, and at his voice the man leapt to his feet and thrust his arm out as if for protection. "Piping Hugh of Mildenhall," said the Friar again, "I have a message for thee from the Lord God. I cried thee damned in my own name once, when thou did'st take my little sister to shame and death; now I cry thee thrice damned in the name of the Lord, for the cup of thine iniquity is full and thy hands red with blood. Man hath branded thee; now God will set His mark on thee and all men shall see it. The Plague will come and come swiftly, but it shall not touch thee; many shall die in their sins; thou shalt live on with thine. A brute thou art, and with brutes thou shalt herd; thou shalt howl as a ravening
"'Tis the fault of the rich," said a voice, and Hilarius saw, to his surprise, that there was a second friar in the room; a tall, bullet-headed man, with a heavy, obstinate jaw ornamented with a scanty fringe of black hair.
"The rich grow fat, and the poor starve," he went on, "'tis hunger makes a man kill his brother for a mouthful of mouldy bacon."
"Nay," said the miller, "there was no need to kill, Father. A man could have taken the meat from two lone women and left them their lives."
"Why take from folk as poor as themselves?" said mine host. "Let them rob the rich an they must rob."
"Ay," said the friar, "rob the rich, say you, take their own, say I. God did not make this world that one man should be over full and another go empty; nor is it religion that the monks' should live on the fat o' the land and grind the faces of the poor. How many manors, think you, has the Abbat of St Edmund's, and how many on his land lack bread?"
Hilarius listened, scarlet with indignation, a flood of wrathful defence pent at his lips, for the blind friar laid a restraining hand on his sleeve.
Mine host scratched his head doubtfully. The teaching was seditious, and made a man liable to stocks and pillory; but it tickled the ears of the common folk and 'twas ill to quarrel with the Mendicants. Help came to him in his perplexity: a loud knocking on the barred door made the guests within start.
"'Tis eight o' the clock," said the miller, affrighted, for he had a heavy purse on him.
"Let them knock and cool their hot heads," said the seditious friar composedly.
The rest nodded approval.
Then a man's voice threatened without.
"What ho! unbar the door. Is this a night to keep a man without? Open, open, or, by the Mass, thou shalt smart for it."
Mine host shook his head fearfully, and his fat cheeks trembled; he moved slowly and unwillingly to the door and took down the stout wooden bar. As it swung back the door flew open, and a man burst in, at sight of whom mine host turned yet paler.
"Food and drink," said the new-comer sharply, flinging himself on a bench by the fire.
Hilarius thought he had never seen so strange a fellow. His hair was close cropped; ay, and his ears also. His eyes were very small and near together; his nose a shapeless lump; his lip drawn up showed two rat-like teeth. Silence fell on the company, and the chapman who had been searching amongst his goods for something wherewith to pay his hospitality, was hastily putting them back, when the man, looking up, caught sight of a bundle of oaten pipes among the miscellaneous wares. He plucked one to him, and in a moment the air was full of tender liquid notes - a thrush's roundelay. Then a blackbird called and his mate answered; a cuckoo cried the spring-song; a linnet mourned with lifting cadence; a nightingale poured forth her deathless love.
Mine host came in with a dish piled high and a stoop of mead; the man threw the pipe from him with a rough oath and fell to ravenously on the victuals. He held his head low and ate brutishly amid dead silence; then he looked up and cursed at them for their sorry mood.
"What! Hugh pipes and never a word of thanks nor a jest? Damn you all for dull dogs!"
The blind friar rose and fixed his withered eyes on the man's dreadful face.
"Piping Hugh of Mildenhall," he said, and at his voice the man leapt to his feet and thrust his arm out as if for protection. "Piping Hugh of Mildenhall," said the Friar again, "I have a message for thee from the Lord God. I cried thee damned in my own name once, when thou did'st take my little sister to shame and death; now I cry thee thrice damned in the name of the Lord, for the cup of thine iniquity is full and thy hands red with blood. Man hath branded thee; now God will set His mark on thee and all men shall see it. The Plague will come and come swiftly, but it shall not touch thee; many shall die in their sins; thou shalt live on with thine. A brute thou art, and with brutes thou shalt herd; thou shalt howl as a ravening