The Gathering of Brother Hilarius [4]
Rood, and then at St Mary Maudlin's altar he did penance for his dead mother's sin.
A week later he left the Monastery as a bird leaves its nest, nay, is pushed out by the far-seeing parent bird, full of vague terrors of the great world without. He had a purse for his immediate needs; a letter to a great knight, Sir John Maltravers, who would be his patron; and another to the Prior's good friend, the Abbat of St Alban's. The Convent bade him a sad farewell, for they loved this gentle lad who had been with them from a little child; and Brother Richard strained his filmy eyes to look his last at the young face he would never see again.
The Prior gave him the Communion; and later walked beside him to the gates. Then as Hilarius knelt he blessed him; and the boy, overmastered by nameless fear, sprang up and prayed that he might stay and learn some other way, however hard. The Prior shook his head.
"Nay, my son, so it must be; else how shall I answer to the Master for this most precious lamb of my flock? Come back to us - an thou can'st - let no fear deter thee; only take heed, when thine eyes are opened and the great gifts of hunger and love are vouchsafed thee, to keep still the faithful heart of a little child."
Then he bade him go; and Hilarius, for the pull of his heart- strings, must needs run hot-foot down the broad forest road and along the highway, without daring to look back, and so out into the wide, wide world.
CHAPTER III - THE KING'S SONG-BIRD
MARTIN THE MINSTREL sat under a wayside oak singing softly to himself as he tuned his vielle. He was a long lanky fellow with straight black locks flat against his sallow face, and dark eyes that smouldered in hollow cavities. He wore the King's colours, and broke a manchet of white bread with his mid-day repast.
"Heigh-ho!" sighed Martin, and laid the vielle lovingly beside him, "another four leagues to Westminster, and I weary enough of shoe- leather already, and not another penny piece in my pocket 'til I win back to good King Ned. A brave holiday I have had, from Candlemas to Midsummer; free to sing or to be silent, to smile or frown; wide England instead of palace walls; a crust of bread and a jug of cider instead of a king's banquet. Now but another few leagues and the cage again. Money in my pocket, true; but a song here and a song there, such as suit the fancy of the Court gentles, not of Martin the Minstrel. Heigh-ho, heigh-ho! 'tis a poor bird sings at the word of a king, and a poor enough song too, if Edward did but know it.
"Who comes here? Faith, the lad goes a steady pace and carries a light heart from his song; and no ill voice either."
It was Hilarius, and he sang the Alma Redemptoris as he sped along the green grass which bordered the highway.
When Martin hailed him he turned aside gladly, and his face lit up at the sight of the vielle.
"Whence dost thou come, lad?" said Martin, eyeing him with interest.
"Many days' journey from the Monastery of Prior Stephen," answered Hilarius.
"But thou art no monk!"
"Nay, a novice scarcely; but the Prior hath bidden me go forth to see the world. It is wondrous fair," he added sincerely.
"He who speaks thus is cloister-bred," said Martin, and as Hilarius made sign of assent, "'tis writ on thy face as well. Thy Prior gave thee letters to the Abbat of St Peter's, I doubt not; thy face is set for Westminster."
"Ay, for Westminster, but my letters are for that good knight, Sir John Maltravers. I should have made an end of my journeying ere now but that two days ago I met strange company. They took my purse and hat and shoes, and kept me with them all night until the late dawn. Then they gave me my goods again, and bade me God- speed.'
"But kept thy purse?" Martin laughed.
"Nay, it is here, and naught is missing. It was all passing strange, and I feared them, for they looked evil men; yet they did me no wrong, and set me on my way gently enough, giving me provision, which I lacked."
"Pick-purses and cut-throats afraid of God's judgments for once,"
A week later he left the Monastery as a bird leaves its nest, nay, is pushed out by the far-seeing parent bird, full of vague terrors of the great world without. He had a purse for his immediate needs; a letter to a great knight, Sir John Maltravers, who would be his patron; and another to the Prior's good friend, the Abbat of St Alban's. The Convent bade him a sad farewell, for they loved this gentle lad who had been with them from a little child; and Brother Richard strained his filmy eyes to look his last at the young face he would never see again.
The Prior gave him the Communion; and later walked beside him to the gates. Then as Hilarius knelt he blessed him; and the boy, overmastered by nameless fear, sprang up and prayed that he might stay and learn some other way, however hard. The Prior shook his head.
"Nay, my son, so it must be; else how shall I answer to the Master for this most precious lamb of my flock? Come back to us - an thou can'st - let no fear deter thee; only take heed, when thine eyes are opened and the great gifts of hunger and love are vouchsafed thee, to keep still the faithful heart of a little child."
Then he bade him go; and Hilarius, for the pull of his heart- strings, must needs run hot-foot down the broad forest road and along the highway, without daring to look back, and so out into the wide, wide world.
CHAPTER III - THE KING'S SONG-BIRD
MARTIN THE MINSTREL sat under a wayside oak singing softly to himself as he tuned his vielle. He was a long lanky fellow with straight black locks flat against his sallow face, and dark eyes that smouldered in hollow cavities. He wore the King's colours, and broke a manchet of white bread with his mid-day repast.
"Heigh-ho!" sighed Martin, and laid the vielle lovingly beside him, "another four leagues to Westminster, and I weary enough of shoe- leather already, and not another penny piece in my pocket 'til I win back to good King Ned. A brave holiday I have had, from Candlemas to Midsummer; free to sing or to be silent, to smile or frown; wide England instead of palace walls; a crust of bread and a jug of cider instead of a king's banquet. Now but another few leagues and the cage again. Money in my pocket, true; but a song here and a song there, such as suit the fancy of the Court gentles, not of Martin the Minstrel. Heigh-ho, heigh-ho! 'tis a poor bird sings at the word of a king, and a poor enough song too, if Edward did but know it.
"Who comes here? Faith, the lad goes a steady pace and carries a light heart from his song; and no ill voice either."
It was Hilarius, and he sang the Alma Redemptoris as he sped along the green grass which bordered the highway.
When Martin hailed him he turned aside gladly, and his face lit up at the sight of the vielle.
"Whence dost thou come, lad?" said Martin, eyeing him with interest.
"Many days' journey from the Monastery of Prior Stephen," answered Hilarius.
"But thou art no monk!"
"Nay, a novice scarcely; but the Prior hath bidden me go forth to see the world. It is wondrous fair," he added sincerely.
"He who speaks thus is cloister-bred," said Martin, and as Hilarius made sign of assent, "'tis writ on thy face as well. Thy Prior gave thee letters to the Abbat of St Peter's, I doubt not; thy face is set for Westminster."
"Ay, for Westminster, but my letters are for that good knight, Sir John Maltravers. I should have made an end of my journeying ere now but that two days ago I met strange company. They took my purse and hat and shoes, and kept me with them all night until the late dawn. Then they gave me my goods again, and bade me God- speed.'
"But kept thy purse?" Martin laughed.
"Nay, it is here, and naught is missing. It was all passing strange, and I feared them, for they looked evil men; yet they did me no wrong, and set me on my way gently enough, giving me provision, which I lacked."
"Pick-purses and cut-throats afraid of God's judgments for once,"