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L. Lamprey >> Masters of the Guild
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14 Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
MASTERS OF THE GUILD
By
L. LAMPREY
Author of "In the Days of the Guild"
Illustrated by
Florence Choate and Elizabeth Curtis
New York
1920
CONTENTS
To Dorothy
I
PEIROL OF THE PIGEONS
Bellerophon
II
A TOURNAMENT IN THE CLOUDS
The Jesters
III
THE PUPPET PLAYERS
The Abbot's Lesson
IV
PADRAIG OF THE SCRIPTORIUM
Cap O' Rushes
V
THE TAPESTRY CHAMBER
The Castle
VI
THE FAIRIES' WELL
Lullaby of the Pict Mother
VII
THE WOLVES OF OSSORY
St. Hugh and the Birds
VIII
THE ROAD OF THE WILD SWAN
The Lances
IX
THE SWORD OF DAMASCUS
Awakening
X
FOOL'S GOLD
To Josian from Prison
XI
ARCHIATER'S DAUGHTER
New Altars
XII
COLD HARBOR
Galley Song
XIII
THE WISDOM OF THE GALLEYS
Harbor Song
XIV
SOLOMON'S SEAL
The Leprechaun
XV
BLACK MAGIC IN THE TEMPLE
The Ebbing Tide
XVI
THE END OF A PILGRIMAGE
The Crusaders
NOTES
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"The boy gave a low call and a soft rush of wings was heard" Frontispiece
"'You have your choice--to remain here quietly, alive, or to
remain permanently, dead'"
"'How now, Master Stephen! What foolery is this?'"
"It was the first time Padraig had seen anyone write"
"'Every inch of this linen will be covered with embroidery'" (in colors)
"''Tis the brat of a scatter-brained woman'"
"Directly in front sounded the unmistakable snarl of a wolf"
"An immense boar stumbled out and charged at Eleanor's horse"
"'Belike he got it where he's been--in the Holy Land'" (in colors)
"'I know all about your search for treasure'"
"'He called me his mouse and if I kept still I had cheese for my dinner'"
"Nothing would do but that they all should go immediately to
see what had come to light"
"Andrea was at work upon the carving of the doorway"
"A siffle of indrawn breath was heard in the crowd as he carried it to the
fire" (in colors)
"There was shouting and laughter in the courtyard"
DEDICATION
TO DOROTHY
O little girl who used to be,
Come down the Old World road with me,
And watch the galleons leaping home
Deep-laden, through the rainbow foam,
And the far-glimmering lances reel
Where clashes battle-axe on steel,
When the long shouts of triumph ring
Around the banner of the King!
To elfin harps those minstrels rime
Who live in Once-upon-a-Time!
In that far land of Used-to-Be,
Strange folk were known to you and me,--
Mowgh and Puck, and all their kin,
Launcelot, and Huckleberry Finn,
Wise Talleyrand, brave Ivanhoe,
Juliet, and Lear, and Prospero,
Alleyne and his White Company,
And trooping folk of Faerie!
People of every race and clime
Are found in Once-upon-a-Time!
And in those days that used to be
The gypsy wind that raced the sea
Came singing of enchanted lands,
Of sapphire waves on golden sands,
Of wind-borne fleets that race the swallow,
Of Squirrel-fairy in her hollow,
Of brooklets full of scattered stars,
And odorous herbs by pasture-bars
Where to the cow-bells' tinkling chime
Come dreams of Once-upon-a-Time!
O little girl who used to be,
The days are long in Faerie,--
Their garnered sunshine's wealth of gold
No royal treasure-vault may hold.
And now, as if our earth possessed
Alchemy's fabled Alkahest,
Our harbors blaze with jewelled light,
Our air-ships wing their circling flight,
And we ourselves are in the rime
That sings of Once-upon-a-Time!
I
PEIROL OF THE PIGEONS
It was a great day in Count Thibaut's castle. Every one knew that, down to
the newest smallest scullery-maid. The Count had come home from England
with Lady Philippa, his daughter, and there would be feasting and song and
laughter for days and days and days.
Ranulph the troubadour, who had arrived in their company, was glad of a
quiet hour in the garden before supper was served. He knew that he would
have to sing that evening, and he wished to go over the melodies he had in
mind, for he might on the spur of the moment compose new words to them. In
fact a song in honor of his hostess was already in his thoughts. The very
birds of the air seemed to welcome her. The warm southern winds were full
of their warbling--beccafico, loriot, merle, citronelle, woodlark,
nightingale,--every tree, copse and tuft of grass held a tiny minstrel.
When the great gate opened to a fanfare of trumpets, from the castle walls
there came the murmur of innumerable doves. A castle had its dove-cote as
it had its poultry-yard or rabbit-warren, but the birds were not always so
fearless or so many.
The song was nearly finished when the singer became aware that some one
else was in the garden. A small boy, with serious dark eyes and a white
pigeon in his arms, stood close by. Ranulph smiled a persuasive smile
which few children could resist.
"And who are you, my lad?"
"Peirol, the gooseherd's boy," the youngster replied composedly. "You're
none of the family, are you?"
"Only a jongleur. You have a great many pigeons here."
"That's why I came in when I heard you playing. Does she--Lady Philippa--
like pigeons?"
"I think she does. In fact I know she does. Why?"
"Grandfather said she would not care how many pigeons were killed to make
pies. Nobody really loves them much, but me. They're fond of me too."
The boy gave a low call and a soft rush of wings was heard in every
direction. Pigeons flew from tree-top, tower, parapet and gable, alighting
on his head and arms until he looked like a little pigeon-tree in full
bloom.
"Some of them are voyageurs," he said, strewing salted pease for the
strutting, cooing, softly crowding birds. "I'm training them every day.
Some day I shall know more about pigeons than any one else in the world."
Ranulph had some ado not to smile; the speaker was so small and the tone
so assured. "Perhaps you will," he said. "Are they as tame with others as
they are with you?" "Some others," answered Peirol gravely. "People who
are patient and know how to keep still. They like you."
A slaty-blue pigeon was already pecking at Ranulph's pointed scarlet shoe
for a grain lodged there. The troubadour bent down, held out his hand, and
the bird walked into it. He had played with birds often enough in his
vagabond early years to know their feelings. But now a wave of merry
voices broke upon the garden paths.
"Peirol," he said, "I will see you again. I have a little plan for you and
the pigeons which will, I think, give pleasure to Lady Philippa."
One of the entertainments arranged to take place was a feast out of doors,
in a woodland glade especially suited to it. Ranulph's inspiration had to
do with this.
Among the guests the only stranger was Sir Gualtier (or Walter) Giffard,
younger son of a Norman family. One of his ancestors had gone to England
with Duke William a hundred years before, but the family had not been on
good terms with later kings and its fortunes had somewhat fallen. Every
one, however, spoke with respect of this knight and his elder brother, Sir
Stephen, and they had been of service to Count Thibaut during his stay in
England. This Giffard had never been so far south before, and he seemed to
feel that he had got into some sort of enchanted realm. He was more
soldier than courtier, but his eyes said a great deal. The luxurious
abundance of a Provencal castle, the smooth ease of the serving, the wit
and gaiety of the people, all were new to him. He had attended state
banquets, but they were as unlike the entertainment here provided as was
the stern simplicity of his boyhood home in Normandy, or the rough-and-
tumble camp life of recent years.
The out-of-door dinner was not a hap-hazard picnic, but neither was it in
the least stiff or formal. The servants went by a short cut across the
meadow to prepare the tables, while knights and ladies followed the more
leisurely path along the river bank. It was a walk through fairyland. The
very waters were in a holiday mood. The current strayed from one side to
the other, leaving clear still pools and enticing little backwaters, and
singing past the elfin islets and huge overshadowing trees, like a gleeful
spirit.
Lady Philippa had never looked more lovely. As the party was not to be
seen on a public road, veils and wimples were discarded, and her bright
brown hair, braided in two long braids, was crowned only by a circlet of
gold set with pearls and emeralds. The trailing robes worn at formal
dinners would also be out of place, and she wore a bliaut or outer robe of
her favorite rose-colored silk, a wide border of gold embroidery giving it
weight enough to make it hang in graceful lines. The sleeves were loose
and long, the ends almost touching the hem of the gown. Under this was a
violet silk robe of heavier material with bands of ermine at the neck and
on the small close sleeves. Under this again the embroidered edges of a
fine white linen robe could be seen at throat and wrists. The girdle was
of braided violet silk, the ends weighted with amethyst and emerald
ornaments. A white mantle of silk and wool, trimmed with fur of the black
squirrel, and fastened under the chin with a gold button, and an
embroidered alms-purse, completed the costume. The other ladies of the
party were attired as carefully, and the dress of the men was as rich and
brilliant as that of the women. They passed through the wavering light and
shadow of the woodlands like a covey of bright-plumaged birds.
In the level open space where the feast was spread the servants had placed
trestles, over which long boards were fitted. Benches covered with silken
cushions served as seats. The cloth was of linen dyed scarlet in the rare
Montpellier dye, and over it was spread another of white linen,
embroidered in open-work squares. At each end of the table was a large
silver dish, one containing a meat-pie, the other a pie made of the meat
of various fowls with savory seasoning. On silver plates were slices of
cold chicken and meat. Glass trays contained salad, lettuces, radishes and
olives. The salt, pepper and spices were in silver and gold dishes of
fanciful shapes. Here and there were crystal vases of freshly gathered
roses and violets. On the corners of the table were trenchers of white
bread--wastel, cocket, manchet, of fine wheaten flour,--and brown bread of
barley, millet and rye. For dessert there were the spicy apples of
Auvergne, Spanish oranges, raisins, figs, little sweet cakes, wine white
and red, and nuts in a great carved brass dish of the finest Saracen work,
with carved wood nut-crackers. Ewers and basins of decorated brass, for
washing the hands after the meal, were ready. Eastern carpets and
cushions, placed upon a bank under the trees, would afford a place where
the company, after dining, might linger for hours, enjoying the gay give-
and-take of conversation, the songs of artists who knew their art, and the
constant musical undertone of winds, birds and waters. The surprise which
Ranulph had planned was designed for the moment when the guests began to
dally with nuts and wine, reluctant to leave the table. Some one called
upon the troubadour to sing. He had counted upon this. Rising, he bowed to
the Count and his daughter, and began:
"In the month of Arcady
Green the summer meadows be,--
When the dawn with fingers light
Lifts the curtains of the night,
And from tented crimson skies
Glorious doth the sun arise,--
Who are these who give him greeting,
On swift wings approaching, fleeting,--
Who but birds whose carols bring
Homage to their gracious King!
"Lo! the Queen of Arcady
From the land of Faery
Gladdens our adoring eyes,
Fair and gentle, sweet and wise,
Her companions here on earth
Love and Loyalty and Mirth!
Who, the joyous tidings hearing,
Fly to greet her, now appearing?
Aphrodite's pigeons fleet,--
See, they gather at her feet."
No one had heard a low clear call from the boughs of the tree overhead, or
seen the figure of a small boy in a fantastic tunic of goatskins, slipping
down the tree-trunk near Ranulph. As the company rose from the table the
troubadour moved away a little, still thrumming his refrain, and in that
moment there was a whir of sudden wings and the air was dark with pigeons.
As the birds alighted Lady Philippa was surrounded by the pretty
creatures, and in a graceful little speech Ranulph presented to her Peirol
as a Faun, the Master of the Pigeons, who had brought them to do homage to
their sovereign lady.
It was just the sort of informal pageant to delight the heart of Provence.
No more dainty and captivating interlude had been seen at a festival.
There was a great deal of wonderment about the way in which the scene had
been arranged, but it was really quite simple. According to the usual
fashion the guests were seated on only one side of the table, the other
side being left free for the servants to present the various dishes. The
company faced the river, and the trees that canopied the table were behind
them. Nothing, therefore, hindered Peirol from luring his pigeons to a
point within hearing of his voice, and concealing himself in the thick
leafage until Ranulph gave the signal for them to be brought upon the
stage. Most of the afternoon was spent in watching and discussing Peirol
and the pigeons.
"A pigeon has certain advantages," observed Gualtier Giffard, as he and
the troubadour, sitting a little way from the others, watched the carriers
rise and circle in the air. "He need only rise high enough to see his
goal,--and fly there." "Pity but a man might do the same," said Ranulph
lightly. The eyes of the two young men met for an instant in unspoken
understanding. Under some conditions they might have felt themselves
rivals. But neither the penniless younger son of a Norman house, nor a
landless troubadour of Avignon, had much hope of meeting Count Thibaut's
views for his only daughter.
"It would be rather absurd," Ranulph went on, stroking the feathers of the
little dun pigeon Rien-du-Tout, "for a bird to outdo a man. Perhaps some
day we shall even sail the air as now we sail the seas. Picture to
yourself a winged galleon with yourself at the helm--about to discover a
world beyond the sunset. It is all in having faith, I tell you. Unbelief
is the dragon of the ancient fables."
The Norman smiled rather sadly. "Meanwhile," he said, "having no flying
ships and no new crusades to prove our mettle, we spend ourselves on such
errands as we have, or beat the air vainly--like the pigeons. Were it not
that a man owes loyalty to his house and to his King I would enlist under
the piebald banner of the Templars. But my brother and I have set
ourselves to win back the place that our fathers lost, and until that is
done I have no errand with dragons."
Ranulph nodded, thoughtfully. "The King would be glad of more such
service," he said. "Good fortune be with you!"
BELLEROPHON
Hail, Poet--and farewell! Our day is past,
Yet may we hear new songs before we die,
The chanteys of the mightiest and the last,--
The squadrons of the sky.
We knew the rhythm of myriad marching feet,
Gray tossing seas that rocked the wind-whipped sail,
The drumming hoofs of horses, and the beat
Of stern hearts clad in mail.
But you--earth-fettered we shall watch your wings
Topping the mountains, battling winds,--to dare
Challenge the lammergeyer where she swings
Down the long lanes of air.
And when you take the skylark for your guide,
And soar straight up to sun-drenched shores of Time,
Immortal singers there shall, eager-eyed,
Await your new-born rhyme.
Their songs are charm-songs, a divine caress,
Or torrents that no power of man could tame,
Or time-hushed gardens of grave loveliness,
But yours,--a leaping flame!
Hail, Poet! Yours the Dream Interpreted,
Earth's haunting fairy-tale since life began,--
The Dragon of Unfaith, his magic dead,
Slain by the Flying Man!
II
A TOURNAMENT IN THE CLOUDS
Alazais de Montfaucon was to be married, and had chosen her dearest friend
Philippa to be maid of honor. None of her friends except Philippa had seen
the bridegroom; he was an English knight, Hugh l'Estrange. He had lands on
the Welsh marches, and the charming Alazais was to be carried off by him,
to live among savages. This, at least, was the impression of Beatriz
d'Acunha and Catalina d'Anduze, who were also to be bridesmaids. Philippa,
having lived in England, looked at the matter less dolefully. Still, when
all was said, it was an immense change for Alazais, and she herself
declared that if any one but Hugh had proposed it she would not think of
such a thing.
"We must provide you with a flock of these voyageur pigeons," said Savaric
de Marsan. "Then, when you are shut up in your stronghold with the Welsh
on one side and Saxon outlaws on the other, you can appeal to your friends
for help."
Alazais laughed her pretty rippling laugh.
"The fortress is not yet built," she said with a toss of her golden head.
"We are not going to live among the heathen."
"You men!" pouted Beatriz. "You are always thinking of battles and sieges,
wars and jousting. Perhaps you would like a tournament of pigeons!"
"Why not?" queried Savaric undisturbed. "It would be highly amusing."
"I lay my wager on Blanchette here," said Peire d'Acunha. "She is as
graceful as a lady. She shows her breeding."
"Endurance, my friend, is what counts in a carrier," said Bertrand
d'Aiguerra. "Pere Azuli yonder will forget the miles behind him--as you
forget your debts."
"You are both wrong," said Savaric. "It is spirit that wins. Little Sieur
Rien-du-Tout, the pigeon without a pedigree, will make fools of all of
you."
The pigeon-tournament was actually planned, with much laughter and light-
hearted nonsense. It was to take place at Montfaucon during the week of
the wedding. Each knight should adorn his bird with his lady's colors, and
the little feathered messengers were to carry love-letters written in
verse. Afterward, the pigeons were all to be presented to Lady Alazais for
her dovecote in the barbarous land to which she was exiled.
Pigeons were very much the fashion for a time. Dainty demoiselles preened
and paced on the short sweet turf, petting and feeding the birds, and
looking rather like pigeons themselves. But no one became really intimate
with the carriers except Ranulph the troubadour, Lady Philippa, and Sir
Gualtier Giffard, who loved them for her sake.
The guests at the castle were all going to the wedding except Ranulph and
the Norman knight. Ranulph expected to accompany King Henry to England,
and Gualtier Giffard had to take a report from Count Thibaut to friends in
Normandy, touching certain matters of state.
Then the Count was invited to a hastily arranged banquet in a town some
leagues away, where various important persons were to be guests, among
them Henry Plantagenet himself. The way to Montfaucon lying in the same
direction, it was decided that Alazais and her bridesmaids should return
to her home under escort of the Count and his friends. When the banquet
was over and the conference between Henry and his vassals in Guienne was
concluded, the wedding guests would assemble at Montfaucon.
Gossip about the banquet and the conference flew like tennis-balls among
the guests. It was said that one of the matters discussed would be the
claim of the deposed King of Leinster, Dermot MacMurragh, who was even now
at the heels of the English King, trying to interest him in a possible
Norman invasion of Ireland.
"I have seen this Dermot," said de Marsan, "and a choice group of cut-
throats he had collected about him. Garin de Biterres was one of them, by
the way."
"He was always over-fond of laying wagers," yawned d'Acunha. "He is
probably betting his head on this Irish wild-goose chase."
"I will burn a candle," said Bertrand d'Aiguerra, "to any god of luck who
will send that caitiff where he gets himself killed. If he were not one of
us he would not be such a nuisance. His mercenaries will be the ruin of
us. The people were touchy enough before, but now they begin to think we
are all birds of the same black feather."
"He is only half Auvergnais," objected Savaric. "The other half is
Sicilian, I believe. A man cannot be half a gentleman, can he? I will
admit that Biterres desires to live like a gentleman,--according to his
own ideas of one. He has not been the same man since he was taken by the
Moors. He was never honest, but that seemed to warp his nature as well as
his body. He learned things that it does no man any good to know."
"Let us hope that Saint Patrick will dispose of him for the good of his
Irish," remarked Enrique de Montfaucon. "They say that the Plantagenet
will do no more than give letters patent to any Norman adventurer who
takes up Dermot's cause. I think he has his hands full with his own sons."
Ranulph listened to this conversation with interest. The ill-famed leader
of mercenaries had aspired to the hand of Lady Philippa while she was yet
a child--and had been brusquely dismissed by her father. He lived now by
hiring himself and his troops to any ruler who had a war on hand and would
pay his price. In peaceful intervals they lived as they could.
The Count was talking to Gualtier Giffard about the Irish venture.
"If the Normans rule Ireland," he observed, "your fortunes may improve. A
grant of land there might be worth your while."
The young knight met the Count's searching glance fearlessly. "I would not
take it," he answered. "Dermot lost his realm by his own fault. There is
no honor in serving him."
"Ah," said the Count with a quizzical lift of the eyebrow, "in that case
you are very right."
Ranulph often acted as an unofficial unrecognized envoy in state matters,
and it did not surprise him when he received a message from King Henry to
the effect that he was to meet the monarch at Montfaucon after the
conference. Peirol, who knew every mile of the country, was to take the
pigeons thither for the tournament and be Ranulph's guide. It was
altogether a very pleasant prospect for perfect summer weather.
By brisk riding the troubadour and his little companion reached Montfaucon
late in the afternoon of the day following the departure of the Count's
guests. The porter, a surly looking fellow, hesitated about admitting
them, and before opening the wicket gate consulted some one within. The
castle seemed to be in a somewhat disorderly state. Soldiers were playing
dice by the gateway, and horses were stamping and feeding in the outer
bailey. Peirol was evidently taken for the troubadour's servant, and an
unkempt lad ushered them into a small room with a barred window, in one of
the older towers. Ranulph was not wont to think of his own dignity, but
this lack of courtesy did a little surprise him. Almost at once the youth
poked his head in, without knocking, to say that the lord of the castle
would see him in the great hall.
More mystified than before, Ranulph obeyed the summons, for it amounted to
that. In the master's chair sat a man of about thirty, dark-skinned, with
dense black hair and eyes, one leg somewhat malformed, the knee being
bowed and the foot turned slightly inward. He looked the troubadour over
with a sarcastic smile. Ranulph was still in riding-dress, and might have
been mistaken for a joglar or wandering minstrel, calling himself by the
more dignified title of troubadour or trouvere.
"I think," began the knight in a harsh drawl, "that one can often do no
better than to tell the truth, is it not so? I am the lord of this castle-
-for the present. Of course I could not refuse you admittance, or you
might go off and spread inconvenient rumors. I must ask you therefore to
accept our hospitality unquestioning, like a courteous guest. We cannot
allow you to depart until we ourselves are gone. You have your choice--to
remain here quietly, alive, or to remain permanently, dead.
"Naturally you will not communicate with any ladies whom you may see, but
if you can afford them some entertainment you shall be paid. They have had
but a dull time thus far, I fear, and I would not have them think us
barbarians, soldiers of fortune though we are. When I am through with this
castle I shall leave it as I found it, except for the temporary detention
of the inmates in various rooms, where I suppose they will stay until some
one finds them. If anybody is found dead it will be his own fault. Now,
which horn of the dilemma is your choice--troubadour?"
During this extraordinary speech Ranulph had done some rapid thinking.
From the man's appearance he believed him to be Garin de Biterres. The
castle had evidently been taken by surprise after the Count's party had
escorted the maidens thither and ridden away. Perhaps the marauders had
been lurking somewhere about awaiting the opportunity. They must know that
they could not hold it after the friends of the rightful lord knew what
had been done, and their leader was too cool-headed a man to have
attempted so bold a raid without some important reason. The abduction of
four young girls, two of whom at least were heiresses, might seem such a
reason to such a man. Evidently he did not suspect Ranulph's character as
a man of some reputation and the confidential messenger of the King of
England. This was a piece of luck. The chance of his being useful to the
captives was all the better.
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