Books: Masters of the Guild

L >> L. Lamprey >> Masters of the Guild

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

He showed Gregory the formula. It was not very easy to understand, but it
was impressive. Cockatrice eggs were to be placed carefully in a nest in a
stone walled underground chamber, which must be sealed from the outer air
when all was ready. Snakes and toads brooding thereon would in time hatch
out baby monsters--creatures with cocks' heads and the tails and wings of
dragons. Their look was sure death, but they could be poisoned by a
draught compounded of agrimony, dill and vervain. This must be prepared
beforehand and left in a bason where the cockatrice when hatched would
find and drink of it. When all were dead they were to be brayed in a
mortar with other necessary ingredients. When the stars indicated that the
fortunate hour was at hand, the compound was to be heated in a crucible
over a large brazier, covered with a layer of chaff to absorb the
poisonous gases that arose. That which remained in the crucible would be
pure gold.

"'Tis a fearsome business," said Padraig naively, "for men hate wizards."

"Let them hate, if they fear us as well," muttered Gregory poring over the
mysterious phrases. Visions arose in his mind of a Grand Master whose
power should have no limit, whom Kings must serve and Sultans fear. Nay,
not only should the Holy Temple be recovered, but it should be built anew,
overlaid with gold as in Solomon's day. He called a steward and ordered
him to fit up a cellar, formerly a passage into the vaults of the oldest
part of the building, with all needful utensils. Braziers, crucibles,
retorts and all the usual materials in the way of metals and powders were
there, but of course, no cockatrice eggs.

"He brought these from Andalusia," said Padraig, showing seven small eggs
mottled with crimson and black in a medicine box. Gregory touched one very
gingerly. They were in fact waxen shells filled with volatile liquids, and
Padraig had spent most of the night preparing them. He explained that they
were no larger than frogs' eggs when he first had them,--which was
perfectly true, the wax having been carried in the form of balls.

Sulphurous odors came from the cellar where the eggs were supposed to be
hatching in their nest. An unwary hound sniffing about the door got a
throatful of the stinging smoke and fled yowling. Hydrochloric acid,
vitriol and nitre-glycerine are kittle things to meddle with, and the
place was religiously avoided.

From the too free tongue of a cellarer one night Padraig learned that this
chamber adjoined the treasure-vaults of the Temple, but the communicating
door had been walled up. When the gold should be ready it could be
conveyed into the treasury direct, by reopening this doorway.

One evening Prince John rode up to the gate with a company of Norman men-
at-arms and a few courtiers. It was understood that he had come to
investigate the reputed sorceries. On the same day three strangers came
into the village and tarried at Swart's house on Aschenrugge. He often
lodged travelers for a night, being near the highway. Padraig, spying a
white signal on the giant ash which gave the ridge its name, told the
impatient Preceptor that the hour was at hand.

Among the villagers it was said that the physician and his disciple were
guarded closely night and day, and that the Paduan certainly would be
burned at the stake if he did not succeed in making gold. Country folk had
seen the stake set up and the faggots piled. In case the wizard proved a
false prophet Gregory meant to make the execution as public as possible.

Padraig explained that the final trial must take place inter canis et
lupus--between dog and wolf--in that hour which is neither daylight nor
dark. As dusk fell the knights and esquires of the Temple ranged
themselves in orderly ranks along the walls, at some distance from the
door of the underground chamber. The low archway was now open; the glow of
a brazier showed red against the rear wall. Torches lighted the stone-
paved yard, and beyond the open gate the white faces of peasants crowded,
awe-stricken and expectant. When the physician was brought out by the
guards to a seat near the stake, the sobs of a woman were heard in the
outer darkness. Padraig, following, cast a swift glance through the gate
and saw the dim shapes of horsemen outlined against the sky.

Last of all appeared the Preceptor and Prince John with their immediate
followers, and took their seats midway in the ranks of onlookers, directly
opposite the door, where they could see every stage of the proceedings.
Gregory, furtively scanning the face of the physician, saw therein not a
sign of fear. Padraig advanced into the open space before the cellar, and
bowed to Prince John and the Preceptor. Then from a niche within the door
of the chamber he lifted a large crucible, and a siffle of indrawn breath
was heard in the crowd as he carried it toward the fire. Gathering pitchy
twigs and chaff from a heap of fuel he packed them deftly into the open
top, and set the jar on the brazier, returning then to the side of Tomaso.

The minutes passed but slowly. The nerves of all the spectators were
strung to the snapping-point. Gregory finally began to explain to Prince
John, who looked half curious and half skeptical,--

"This crucible, your Grace, is now throwing off the vapors generated by
fervent heat. When these have been absorbed by the chaff above, the gold
will be found beneath. The possibilities of this priceless formula are not
as yet altogether known. We do not know what may come to light. You may be
astounded--"

The chaff in the crucible caught fire from a wisp that thrust up into it
from the brazier, flared up of a sudden and lighted every corner of the
old cellar. It revealed the craning neck and slack jaw of Gregory, the
covetous glittering eyes and incredulous smile of Prince John, the scared
faces of the huddling peasants. Then there was a crash that shook the
earth. Battlements rocked, pavements cracked, blocks of stone leaped into
the air like a fountain of masonry. When fire encounters high explosives
in a tunnel the results are remarkable. Torches dropped or were blown out,
and stumbling, cursing men ran right and left--anywhere to escape the
pelting stones. Padraig, holding to his master's arm, guided him out of
the gate and toward the sound of trampling hoofs upon a little hillock.
There they found Edrupt, Guy and Alan struggling with their frantic
horses. Swart came up with two more horses, and soon the party was beyond
all danger of pursuit.

When the stunned and bewildered Templars recovered their breath, they saw
nothing of the alchemist or of his disciple. It was felt to be just and
right if they had been carried off bodily by the foul fiend. No one else
was missing, though broken heads and bruises were everywhere. Only when
dawn paled the heavens did the boldest of John's mercenaries venture back
to the place of terror.

There was a great hole in the rear wall of the cellar, and among the ruins
lay shining heaps of gold--not bezants or zecchins, but wedges and bars of
a strange reddish hue. They touched it warily; it was not red-hot. They
filled their pouches, and others came and did likewise. The hard-riding
veterans had had no opportunity to plunder for more than a year, and John
had little money for himself and none for them. When Gregory came on the
scene, white and shaking with rage, and somewhat damaged about the face
from flying stones, it was too late to hide his ingots. Gold of Spain or
of Beelzebub, it was all one to John Sansterre. What little the troopers
had left went into the gaping leather bags of their master, while Gregory
looked on, grinding his teeth.

It was not in the nature of Prince John to believe much in miracles, but
it suited him to accept this one, whole. With a jesting compliment upon
the success of the formula and an intimation that he would like more such
entertainment, John departed next day well pleased with his perquisition.

All this came duly to the ears of Swart the drover, and was told by him
when he came by Edrupt's house a few days later.

"How did it happen so suitably, Padraig of my heart?" asked Tomaso, his
deep eyes twinkling.

Padraig chuckled in pure delight. "I guessed that if our Apples of Sodom
were properly ripe they'd blow a hole in the treasury wall. Those Norman
thieves are not the men to balk at a little brimstone, and I figured that
Master Gregory would be too busy to think of us for awhile. He took that
formula for himself. Much good may he get of it. In place o' the copper
and sulphur and nitre and the like I set down our cipher--snakes and toads
and scorpions, Maltese cocks, unicorn's blood and so on. The cellarer said
there was a lot o' foreign gold locked up in there, and that must ha' been
what was heaved out. I warrant there'll be no more Black Magic in Temple
Assheton."

THE EBBING TIDE

The sun has gone from the heights of heaven,
The knights a-tilting no longer ride,
The sails are vanished, the beaches empty--
There is nothing left but the ebbing tide.

At dawn we sounded our heady challenge,
At noon our blood beat high i' the sun,
At eve we rode where the wolf-pack follow--
The night is falling, our course is run.

But the tide runs out through the gates of sunset,
And the living fires of Atlantis glow
Between the clouds and the long sea-level,
Beyond the waters we used to know.

Hy-Brasail gleams with its towers of beryl,
Tourmaline, hyacinth, topaz and pearl,
Free to the King if he have but the pass-word,
Free to the veriest low-born churl.

For Earth levels all who have known her and loved her,
And the soul fares forth where the great stars guide
On the viewless path of the calling waters--
Out to Hy-Brasail upon the tide!

XVI

THE END OF A PILGRIMAGE

Eleanor and Roger sat together in their own especial loop-hole window.
When that window was new and they were little, the great stone hall with
its massive arches was unfamiliar and lonely to them, and they liked to
sit apart in this nook that seemed made for them. Four steps led up to it,
a stone seat was within it, and it was at a comfortable distance from the
warmth of the fire. Sitting there, they could look out upon the changeful
beautiful landscape, or down upon the doings in the hall.

Now all the land was blanketed with heavy snow. The tree-trunks were
charcoal-black under the stars; lights twinkled in the huts at the foot of
the hill; the frozen river made no sound beneath the castle wall. Cattle
and sheep were snug and safe in the byres, guarded by the wise watch-dogs.
Very far away in the woods an owl hooted.

It was the beginning of Yule, in that breathing-time before the holiday
begins, when one gets the fine aroma of its pleasure. The festivities this
year would be greater than ever before, for a new banquet-hall was to be
opened with the Christmas feast. This hall was the realized dream of
years. Thus far the only place for entertainments had been the hall of the
keep, which was also the living-room of the household. The new hall was a
separate one-story building, not unlike a barn in shape, spacious enough
for thirty or forty guests with their retainers and servants. Its red
tiled roof, raised upon seasoned beams two or three feet thick, made an
imposing show. The doorway took in almost half of one end and was lofty
enough for a standard-bearer to come in without dipping his banner. There
was a fireplace near the middle of one side, with a hooded stone arch to
draw the smoke upward and outward. Opposite was a musicians' gallery of
paneled oak, supported by corbels of stone placed about eight feet above
the floor. A dais was built at the other end of the building from the
entrance, for the master's table, and from this a smaller door opened into
a stone passageway leading to the castle, while near it another door,
leading to the kitchens, was placed. The stone walls were wainscoted about
halfway up, and plastered above, the plaster being first painted a golden
brown and then decorated with a pattern of stiff small flowers and leaves
in green, red, bright blue and a little gilding. The floor was of stone
blocks laid in a pattern of black and gray, and two steps led from the
dais to the lower part of the hall. At intervals along the upper part of
the walls were cressets of wrought iron in which to set torches, and above
the dais were silver sconces for large wax candles. At intervals also were
hooks of ornamental iron-work, from which to hang tapestries by their
metal rings.

Eleanor had spent the greater part of the afternoon helping her mother get
out the sets of tapestries reserved for holiday occasions, among them some
which had been kept for this very hall. Not all were the work of the lady
herself. Some were woven and embroidered by her maids under her direction,
others were gifts from friends, and the superb piece which hung above the
dais and represented the marriage of Ulysses and Penelope had been woven
in Saumur and was the gift of the King. The chairs of state with their
ebony or ivory footstools were placed, the candles in the sconces, the
rushes and sweet herbs had been strewn upon the floor. Even the holiday
meats and pastries were cooked or made ready for cooking. Until after
Twelfth Night the only work done would be the necessary duties of each
day.

There was shouting and laughter in the courtyard. In came most of the boys
and young men of the place, bearing the great Yule log into the hall.
Collet the maid, who had just come in with her mistress, bearing the Yule
candle, was sent to get the charred remnant of last year's log. Both log
and candle would burn through the twelve holidays without being quite
consumed, and the bit that was left would be saved to light next year's
fires. These familiar homely ceremonies were not for the stately untouched
newness of the banquet-room.

Supper was but just over, and the roasted crab-apples were spluttering in
the bowls of brown ale, when the mummers came, capering in their very best
fashion and habited in antic robes whose pattern--if not the costume
itself--had come down from past generations. These actors were village
clowns who had seen such pageants in their boyhood, and they played their
rude drama as they had seen it then, with perhaps a new song or two and a
few speeches to tickle the ears of the new audience. All the household and
many of the villagers crowded in after them to look and laugh and make
remarks more or less humorous about the performance. The lord of the
castle and his family disposed themselves to give their countenance to the
merrymaking, and Sir Walter ordered the steward to see that the players
had a good supper. He himself would distribute some money among them when
the time came. Then they would go on to give the play wherever else they
could hope for an audience.

The drama was supposed to be founded on the life of Saint George, but no
one could say with truth that it was very much like the legend. First came
a herald tooting on a cow-horn, to proclaim the entrance of the champion,
who was Clement the carpenter mounted on a hobby-horse and armed with
wooden sword and painted buckler. There was much giggling and whispering
among the maids, directed at the demure black-eyed Madelon, of the still-
room. This may have been a reason why Saint George stumbled so desperately
over his rather long speech. His challenge was at last finished, and then
was heard a discordant clashing of tambourines and horse-bells, supposed
to indicate Saracen music. In cantered a turbaned Turk on another hobby,--
black this time--and in another long speech very smoothly delivered defied
the saint to mortal combat. There was more tittering, for Tom the
blacksmith was also an admirer of that minx Madelon. The fight was a very
lively one, and Saint George had some trouble in holding his own.

When the Saracen lay gasping for breath (very naturally, the victor having
placed his foot upon his breast) the saint somewhat awkwardly expressed
sorrow for his deed and sighed for a doctor. There was a burst of laughter
and applause as Ralph the bowyer, the comedian of the company, came
limping in, got up in the character of an old quack who had physicked half
the spectators. He bled and bandaged and salved and dosed the fallen
warrior, keeping up a running fire of remarks the while, until the wounded
man arose and went prancing off as good as new. There was no dragon, but
Giles the miller appeared as Beelzebub to avenge the defeat of the paynim,
and was routed in fine style. At the end a company of waits sang carols
while the performers got their breath and repaired damages. The cream of
the comedy, to the friends of the wicked Madelon, lay in the fact that she
had the day before given her promise to Ralph, binding him to say naught
to his rivals until the mumming was safely over.

While the players were drinking the health of their lord in his own good
brew, the horn sounded at the gate, and the old porter, who had been
watching the mummery, elbowed his way out with some grumbling to see who
could be there. In a few minutes a tall man entered the hall, wearing the
garb of a Palmer or pilgrim from the Holy Land--a long cloak with a cape
and a hood that shadowed the face, a staff, a scrip and sandals. At sight
of him a surprised hush fell upon the company. The common folk drew apart
to let him pass, not quite sure but this was a new figure in the play. But
Sir Walter Giffard rose to his feet after one swift glance at the
newcomer, and as the latter threw back his cowl, the host quickly advanced
to embrace him, crying, "Stephen! We feared that you were dead!"

Lady Philippa came forward also, with shining eyes and parted lips,
beckoning to the children to join in the welcome of the stranger. Eleanor
scarcely remembered this uncle of hers, whom she had not seen since
leaving Normandy. His eyes were so sad that she felt very sorry for him,
but his smile was so kind that no one could help loving him. He reminded
her of Saint Christopher, who had always been a favorite of hers because
he kept away bad dreams.

Stephen Giffard had been ransomed by John de Matha, the Provencal monk who
had given himself to the work of rescuing and befriending prisoners.
Hearing from his rescuers that Lady Adelicia, his wife, had gone with rich
gifts to the Holy Land in the hope that her prayers might bring him home,
he took ship to Jaffa and there learned that she had died in Jerusalem.
Now he had settled his affairs and come in the guise of a pilgrim to spend
the Christmas season with his kinfolk in England.

The two brothers sat and talked by the smoldering fire until late that
night, speaking of divers things. It was no wish of Sir Stephen's that his
unexpected coming should interrupt or change the holiday plans. Indeed,
many of the guests were his friends as well as his brother's. Eleanor
wondered a little next day, why this recovered kinsman made in one way so
little difference in the life of the household, and yet made so deep an
impression. He was not himself merry, and still he seemed to enter into
the joy of others and make it more satisfying. She tried to express this
thought to her mother. The lady smiled, and sighed.

"He is a very good man," she said. "He was always good, and although he
has had great troubles they have not made him hard or bitter--which is not
a common thing. We must do all that we can for him while he is here, for
that will not be long. He is going back among the paynim."

"But why, mother?" asked Eleanor, bewildered.

Lady Philippa shook her head. "I think because he is almost--or quite--a
saint. Perhaps he will tell you by-and-by."

It seemed passing strange that Sir Stephen should wish to return to the
Moslems after suffering as he had suffered among them, but there was no
time for further discussion then.

Later in the day, when Sir Walter was talking with his steward and Lady
Philippa was giving final directions to maids and cooks and dapifers,
Eleanor and Roger found Sir Stephen seated alone by the flickering,
purring Yule-log. Before they quite knew it they were telling him of all
their favorite occupations and plays. He seemed as much interested as if
they had been his own children.

"This Yule," he said musingly after a little, "might be in another world
from the last. And once I spent the day in Bethlehem of Judea."

It sounded almost as if he had said he had been to heaven. They had never
seen any one who had actually been in Bethlehem.

"There was a company of us," he went on, "some twenty in all, who landed
after a rough voyage, very sea-weary and thankful to the saints. Glad were
we to find the Knights Templars ready to guard us through the desert.
Since our people have built churches and shrines in the Holy Land, and
pilgrims who visit these places bring with them gold and gems for the
decking thereof, there be many bands of robbers who infest the desert in
the hope of plunder. Often finding no spoil, they maltreat or murder their
victims. For this cause were the Templars and the Hospitallers
established. The Templars may have grown proud and arrogant as some say,
but I must give them this credit, that their black and white banner is
mightily respected by the heathen.

"Having come safely through the wilderness, we entered Bethlehem as it
chanced upon Christmas Eve, and the town was full of pilgrims and
travelers, so that we had to find shelter where we could. The inns there
are builded in a very old fashion. I think they have not changed since the
time of our Lord. A large open space is walled in with mud or brick or
stone, and hath a well in the middle. Around the inside of the walls are
shelters for horses and pack animals, and sometimes--not always--there is
a house where rooms are let to those who can pay. The one at our inn was
already crowded, so that we had to make shift with fresh straw in the
stalls with our beasts. They gave us flat unleavened cakes of bread, dried
dates, and something like frumenty, with kebobs of mutton roasted, and
water to drink. When we had supped we sat about on our baggage and watched
the people still coming in,

"You have never seen a camel? No? They be marvelous beasts. They stand
taller than the tallest charger, and travel like the wind on four feet. I
saw three humps like mountains against the sky, coming in at the gate, and
the beasts kneeled down at the word of command and were unloaded. Their
masters came from the East, somewhere beyond Arabia, and were wise in the
lore of the stars. How know I that? Wait and I will tell.

"Shepherds came also with their sheep, softly bleating and huddling in
their cramped quarters. Last of all came a poor man and his wife with a
very small babe, and they and their donkey took the last bit of space in
our corner.

"I tell you it is surprising what men will do for a tiny child and its
tender mother. There was a grumpy old Flanders merchant in our company,
who thought only of his own comfort, but now he sent his servant to take a
mantle to the mother because she looked like his daughter at home, who had
named her boy for him. And there was a peevish clerk who had paid for the
last bowl of pottage they had, who gave it to the little family and supped
on bread.

"Weary as we were, and much as our bones ached, we found solace in looking
at the child as it slept and thinking of the children we had known at
home. I think," the knight added with a half smile, "that if it had
wakened and cried out, the spell might have broken. But it was a sweet
small thing, and it slumbered as if it had been cradled in down.

"Through the still air we heard the bells calling the monks to prayer. And
then the baby woke, and looked about with wondering innocent eyes, and
stretched out its little hands and laughed. I would you could have seen
that grave company then. Every man of them sought a share in that sweet
sudden laughter. The merchant dangled his gold chain, the clerk made
clownish gestures, the merchant put a golden zecchin into the tiny fingers
for a toy. And when it slept again we slept also, or watched the stars and
thought of that star which long ago stood over Bethlehem.

"There was a learned doctor in our company who understood Eastern
languages and could converse in Arabic with the wise men from the East.
They told him that in their country there is a tradition that their
astrologers, reading the heavens as is their wont, saw Saturn, Jupiter and
Mercury foregather in the House of the Fishes that rules Judea, and knew
by this that at such a time and in such a place a prophet should be born.
Therefore came they to visit the child with rich gifts, and gained from
the parents a promise that when he was of an age to learn, he should be
brought to their country to learn of their wisdom, even as Moses was
skilled in all the wisdom of the Egyptians. I know not whether there can
be any truth in the legend, but that is their belief. And yet they are not
Christians, but heathen."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14