sir nigel-第26部分

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more　than　the　price　which　Nigel　had　received。　　In　vain　the
faithful　Aylward　fretted　and　fumed　and　muttered　a　prayer　that　the
day　would　come　when　he　might　feather　a　shaft　in　the　merchant's
portly　paunch。　　The　money　had　to　be　paid。

Thence　Nigel　hurried　to　Wat　the　armorer's　and　there　he　bought　that
very　suit　for　which　he　had　yearned　so　short　a　time　before。　　Then
and　there　he　tried　it　on　in　the　booth；　Wat　and　his　boy　walking
round　him　with　spanner　and　wrench；　fixing　bolts　and　twisting
rivets。

〃How　is　that；　my　fair　sir？〃　cried　the　armorer　as　he　drew　the
bassinet　over　the　head　and　fastened　it　to　the　camail　which
extended　to　the　shoulders。　　〃I　swear　by　Tubal　Cain　that　it　fits
you　as　the　shell　fits　the　crab！　　A　finer　suit　never　came　from
Italy　or　Spain。〃

Nigel　stood　in　front　of　a　burnished　shield　which　served　as　a
mirror；　and　he　turned　this　way　and　that；　preening　himself　like　a
little　shining　bird。　　His　smooth　breastplate；　his　wondrous　joints
with　their　deft　protection　by　the　disks　at　knee　and　elbow　and
shoulder；　the　beautifully　flexible　gauntlets　and　sollerets；　the
shirt　of　mail　and　the　close…fitting　greave…plates　were　all　things
of　joy　and　of　beauty　in　his　eyes。　　He　sprang　about　the　shop　to
show　his　lightness；　and　then　running　out　he　placed　his　hand　on　the
pommel　and　vaulted　into　Pommers'　saddle；　while　Wat　and　his　boy
applauded　in　the　doorway。

Then　springing　off　and　running　into　the　shop　again　he　clanked　down
upon　his　knees　before　the　image　of　the　Virgin　upon　the　smithy
wall。　　There　from　his　heart　he　prayed　that　no　shadow　or　stain
should　come　upon　his　soul　or　his　honor　whilst　these　arms　incased
his　body；　and　that　he　might　be　strengthened　to　use　them　for　noble
and　godly　ends。　　A　strange　turn　this　to　a　religion　of　peace；　and
yet　for　many　a　century　the　sword　and　the　faith　had　upheld　each
other　and　in　a　darkened　world　the　best　ideal　of　the　soldier　had
turned　in　some　dim　groping　fashion　toward　the　light。　〃Benedictus
dominus　deus　meus　qui　docet　manus　meas　ad　Praelium　et　digitos　meos
ad　bellum！〃　　There　spoke　the　soul　of　the　knightly　soldier。

So　the　armor　was　trussed　upon　the　armorer's　mule　and　went　back
with　them　to　Tilford；　where　Nigel　put　it　on　once　more　for　the
pleasure　of　the　Lady　Ermyntrude；　who　clapped　her　skinny　hands　and
shed　tears　of　mingled　pain　and　joy　…　pain　that　she　should　lose
him；　joy　that　he　should　go　so　bravely　to　the　wars。　　As　to　her　own
future；　it　had　been　made　easy　for　her；　since　it　was　arranged　that
a　steward　should　look　to　the　Tilford　estate　whilst　she　had　at　her
disposal　a　suite　of　rooms　in　royal　Windsor；　where　with　other
venerable　dames　of　her　own　age　and　standing　she　could　spend　the
twilight　of　her　days　discussing　long…forgotten　scandals　and
whispering　sad　things　about　the　grandfathers　and　the　grandmothers
of　the　young　courtiers　all　around　them。　　There　Nigel　might　leave
her　with　an　easy　mind　when　he　turned　his　face　to　France。

But　there　was　one　more　visit　to　be　paid　and　one　more　farewell　to
be　spoken　ere　Nigel　could　leave　the　moorlands　where　he　had　dwelled
so　long。　　That　evening　he　donned　his　brightest　tunic；　dark　purple
velvet　of　Genoa；　with　trimming　of　miniver；　his　hat　with　the
snow…white　feather　curling　round　the　front；　and　his　belt　of
embossed　silver　round　his　loins。　　Mounted　on　lordly　Pommers；　with
his　hawk　upon　wrist　and　his　sword　by　his　side；　never　did　fairer
young　gallant　or　one　more　modest　in　mind　set　forth　upon　such　an
errand。　　It　was　but　the　old　Knight　of　Duplin　to　whom　he　would　say
farewell；　but　the　Knight　of　Duplin　had　two　daughters；　Edith　and
Mary；　and　Edith　was　the　fairest　maid　in　all　the　heather…country。

Sir　John　Buttesthorn；　the　Knight　of　Duplin；　was　so　called　because
he　had　been　present　at　that　strange　battle；　some　eighteen　years
before；　when　the　full　power　of　Scotland　had　been　for　a　moment
beaten　to　the　ground　by　a　handful　of　adventurers　and　mercenaries；
marching　under　the　banner　of　no　nation；　but　fighting　in　their　own
private　quarrel。　　Their　exploit　fills　no　pages　of　history；　for　it
is　to　the　interest　of　no　nation　to　record　it；　and　yet　the　rumor
and　fame　of　the　great　fight　bulked　large　in　those　times；　for　it
was　on　that　day　when　the　flower　of　Scotland　was　left　dead　upon　the
field；　that　the　world　first　understood　that　a　new　force　had　arisen
in　war；　and　that　the　English　archer；　with　his　robust　courage　and
his　skill　with　the　weapon　which　he　had　wielded　from　his　boyhood；
was　a　power　with　which　even　the　mailed　chivalry　of　Europe　had
seriously　to　reckon。

Sir　John　after　his　return　from　Scotland　had　become　the　King's　own
head　huntsman；　famous　through　all　England　for　his　knowledge　of
venery；　until　at　last；　getting　overheavy　for　his　horses；　he　had
settled　in　modest　comfort　into　the　old　house　of　Cosford　upon　the
eastern　slope　of　the　Hindhead　hill。　　Here；　as　his　face　grew　redder
and　his　beard　more　white；　he　spent　the　evening　of　his　days；　amid
hawks　and　hounds；　a　flagon　of　spiced　wine　ever　at　his　elbow；　and
his　swollen　foot　perched　upon　a　stool　before　him。　　There　it　was
that　many　an　old　comrade　broke　his　journey　as　he　passed　down　the
rude　road　which　led　from　London　to　Portsmouth；　and　thither　also
came　the　young　gallants　of　the　country　to　hear　the　stout　knight's
tales　of　old　wars；　or　to　learn；　from　him　that　lore　of　the　forest
and　the　chase　which　none　could　teach　so　well　as　he。

But　sooth　to　say；　whatever　the　old　knight　might　think；　it　was　not
merely　his　old　tales　and　older　wine　which　drew　the　young　men　to
Cosford；　but　rather　the　fair　face　of　his　younger　daughter；　or　the
strong　soul　and　wise　counsel　of　the　elder。　　Never　had　two　more
different　branches　sprung　from　the　same　trunk。　　Both　were　tall　and
of　a　queenly　graceful　figure。　　But　there　all　resemblance　began　and
ended。

Edith　was　yellow　as　the　ripe　corn；　blue…eyed；　winning；
mischievous；　with　a　chattering　tongue；　a　merry　laugh；　and　a　smile
which　a　dozen　of　young　gallants；　Nigel　of　Tilford　at　their　head；
could　share　equally　amongst　them。　　Like　a　young　kitten　she　played
with　all　things　that　she　found　in　life；　and。　　some　there　were　who
thought　that　already　the　claws　could　be　felt　amid　the　patting　of
her　velvet　touch。

Mary　was　dark　as　night；　grave…featured；　plain…visaged；　with　steady
brown　eyes　looking　bravely　at　the　world　from　under　a　strong　black
arch　of　brows。　　None　could　call　her　beautiful；　and　when　her　fair
sister　cast　her　arm　round　her　and　placed　her　cheek　against　hers；
as　was　her　habit　when　company　was　there；　the　fairness　of　the　one
and　the　plainness　of　the　other　leaped　visibly　to　the　eyes　of　all；
each　the　clearer　for　that　hard　contrast。　　And　yet；　here　and　there；
there　was　one　who；　looking　at　her　strange；　strong　face；　and　at　the
passing　gleams　far　down　in　her　dark　eyes；　felt　that　this　silent
woman　with　her　proud　bearing　and　her　queenly　grace　had　in　her
something　of　strength；　of　reserve　and　of　mystery　which　was　more　to
them　than　all　the　dainty　glitter　of　her　sister。

Such　were　the　ladies　of　Cosford　toward　whom　Nigel　Loring　rode　that
night　with　doublet　of　Genoan　velvet　and　the　new　white　feather　in
his　cap。

He　had　ridden　over　Thursley　Ridge　past　that　old　stone　where　in
days　gone　by　at　the　place　of　Thor　the　wild　Saxons　worshiped　their
war…god。　　Nigel　looked　at　it　with　a　wary　eye　and　spurred　Pommers
onward　as　he　passed　it；　for　still　it　was　said　that　wild　fires
danced　round　it　on　the　moonless　nights；　and　they　who　had　ears　for
such　things　could　hear　the　scream　and　sob　of　those　whose　lives　had
been　ripped　from　them　that　the　fiend　might　be　honored。　　Thor's
stone；　Thor's　jumps；　Thor's　punch…bowl　…　the　whole　country…side
was　one　grim　monument　to　the　God　of　Battles；　though　the　pious
monks　had　changed　his　uncouth　name　for　that　of　the　Devil　his
father；　so　that　it　was　the　Devil's　jumps　and　the　Devil's
punch…bowl　of　which　they　spoke。　　Nigel　glanced　back　at　the　old
gray　boulder；　and　he　felt　for　an　instant　a　shudder　pass　through
his　stout　heart。　　Was　it　the　chill　of　the　evening　air；　or　was　it
that　some　inner　voice　had　whispered　to　him　of　the　day　when　he　also
might　lie　bound　on　such　a　rock　and　have　such　a　blood…stained　pagan
crew　howling　around　him。

An　instant　later　the　rock　and　his　vague　fear　and　all　things　else
had　passed　from　his　mind；　for　there；　down　the　yellow　sandy　path；
the　setting　sun　gleaming　on　her　golden　hair；　her　lithe　figure
bending　and　swaying　with　every　heave　of　the　cantering　horse；　was
none　other　than　the　same　fair　Edith；　whose　face　had　come　so　often
betwixt　him　and　his　sleep。　　His　blood　rushed　hot　to　his　face　at
the　sight；　for　fearless　of　all　else；　his　spirit　was　attracted　and
yet　daunted　by　the　delicate　mystery　of　woman。　　To　his　pure　and
knightly　soul　not　Edith　alone；　but　every　woman；　sat　high　and
aloof；　enthroned　and　exalted；　with　a　thousand　mystic　excellencies
and　virtues　which　raised　her　far　above　the　rude　world　of　man。
There　was　joy　in　contact　with　them；　and　yet　there　was　fear；　fear
lest　his　own　unworthiness；　his　untrained　tongue　or　rougher　ways
should　in　some　way　break　rudely　upon　this　delicate　and　tender
thing。　　Such　was　his　thought　as　the　white　horse　cantered　toward
him；　but　a　moment　later　his　vague　doubts　were　set　at　rest　by　the
frank　voice　of　the　young　girl；　who　waved　her　whip　in　merry
gree