"For my life," said Hyla.
"Then you and I are in one boat, Hyla, as it is said. I doubted that you had come against me just now. So they are after you? Have you been killing game in the forest or stealing corn?"
"It was game," said Hyla quickly; "big game," he added in an uneasy afterward.
There was silence for a minute. The long, lean man seemed turning over something in his mind.
"So you got to Icomb for sanctuary," he said slowly. "And Geoffroi sent his men after you. It is a long way through the fen to go after one thrall. And also they say Lord Roger Bigot is going to Hilgay with a great host. It is unlike Geoffroi de la Bourne to waste men hunting for a serf at such a time. He is growing old and foolish."
Hyla glanced at him quickly. He knew by the man"s mocking tone that he was disbelieved. Hyla was but a poor liar.
"Then you know Lord Geoffroi?" he said, stumbling woefully over the words.
"I know him," said the man slowly. "I am well acquainted with that lord, though it is eight years since we have met." Suddenly his voice rose, though he seemed to be trying to control it. "G.o.d curse him!" he cried in a hoa.r.s.e scream; "will the devil never go to his own place!"
Hyla started eagerly. The man"s pa.s.sion was so extreme, his curse was so real and full of bitter hatred that an avowal trembled on his lips.
The other gave him the cue for it.
"Come, man," he said briskly, resuming his ordinary voice; "you are keeping something. Tell out straight to one who knows you and Gruach also--does that surprise you? There are no friends of the house of Bourne here. What is it, what hast done?"
"Killed him," said Hyla shortly.
"Splendeur dex!" said the man in a fierce whisper. His face worked, his eyes became prominent, he trembled all over with excitement, like a hunting dog scenting a quarry while in the leash.
Then he burst out into a torrent of questions in French, the foreign words tumbling over each other in his eagerness.
Hyla knew nothing of what he said, for he had no French. Seeing his look of astonishment, the man recovered himself. "I forgot for a moment," he said, "who you were. Now thank G.o.d for this news! So, you have killed him! At last! At last! How and why? Say quickly."
Hyla told him in a few words all the story.
"And who are you, then?" he said, when he had done.
"I call myself Lisole to the few that I meet in the fen. But agone I had another name. Come and see."
He took Hyla by the arm and led him into the cabin. It was a comfortable little shelter. A couch of skins ran down one side, and above it were shelves covered with pots, pans, tools, and fishing gear. A long yew-bow stood in one corner among a few spears. An arbalist lay upon a wooden chest. Light came into the place through a window covered with oiled sheep-skin stretched upon a sliding frame. In one corner was an iron fire-pan for use in winter, and a hollow shaft of wood above it went through the roof in a kind of chimney.
The place was a palace to Hyla"s notions. No serf had such a home. The cabin was crowded with possessions. Unconsciously Hyla began to speak with deference to this owner of so much.
"See here," said the man. At the end of the cabin was a broad shelf painted in red, with a touch of gilding. A thick candle of fat with a small wick, which gave a tiny glimmer of light, was burning in an iron stand. In the wall behind, was a little doorless cupboard, or alcove, in which was a small box of dark wood, heavily bound round with iron bands.
At the back of the alcove a cap of parti-coloured red and yellow was nailed to the wall.
The man who called himself Lisole lifted the box from the alcove carefully, and as he did so the edge touched a bell on the end of the pointed cap. It tinkled musically.
Hyla crossed himself, for the place he saw was a shrine, and the iron-bound coffer held the relic of some saint.
"On this day," said the man, "I will show you what no other eyes than mine have seen for eight long, lonely years. I doubt nothing but that it is G.o.d His guidance that has brought you here to this place. For to you more than all other men this sight is due."
So saying, he fumbled in his coat, and pulled therefrom a key, which hung round his neck upon a cord of twisted gut.
He opened the box and drew several objects from it. One was a great lock of nut-brown hair, full three feet long, as soft and fine as spun silk.
Another was a ring of gold, in which a red stone shone darkly in the candle-light. There were one or two pieces of embroidered work, half the design being uncompleted, and there was a Christ of silver on a cross of dark wood.
"They were Isoult"s," said the man in a hushed voice.
"Isoult la Guerisseur?" said Hyla.
"Isoult, the Healer."
"Then you who are called Lisole----?"
"Was once Lerailleur, whose jesting died eight years ago. It was buried in Her grave."
"G.o.d and Our Lady give her peace," said Hyla, crossing himself. "See you this scar on my arm? A shaft went through it in the big wood. Henry Montdefeu was hunting with Lord Geoffroi. I was beating in the undergrowth, and a chance shaft came my way. La Guerisseur bound it up with a mess of hot crushed leaves and a linen strip. In a week I was whole. That was near ten years ago."
"You knew me not?"
"Nor ever should have known hadst not told me. Your hair it is as white as snow, your face has fallen in and full of lines, aye, and your voice is not the voice that sang in the hall in those days."
"Ah, now I am Lisole. But thank G.o.d for this day. I can wait the end quiet now. So you have killed him! Know you that I also tried? I was not bold as you have been. I tried with poison, and then fled away by night.
I took the poppy seeds--_les pavois_--and brewed them, and put the juice in his drink. But I heard of him not long after as well and strong, so I knew it was not to be. I never knew how I failed."
"I can tell you that," said Hyla, "it was common talk. Lord Geoffroi went to his chamber in Outfangthef Tower drunken after dinner in the hall. Dom Anselm led him there, and the priest was sober that night, or "twould have been Geoffroi"s last. On the table was his night-draught of morat in which you had put the poison. Geoffroi drank a long pull, and then fell on the bed and lay sleeping heavy among the straw. Dom Anselm, being thirsty, did go to take a pull at the morat, but had scarce put lip to it when the taste or smell told him what it was. Hast been a chirurgeon, they do say, and knoweth simples as I the fen-lands. So he ran for oil and salt, and poureth them into Geoffroi until he vomited the poison. But for two days after that he was deadly sick and could hold no food. I mind well they searched the forest lands for you and eke the fen, but found not."
"Aye, I fled too swiftly and too far for such as they. It takes wit to be a fool, and they being not fools but men-at-arms had no cunning such as mine. I built this house of mine with wood from Icomb, and have lived upon the waters this many a year."
"Ever alone and without speech of men?"
"Not so. Sometimes I get me to Ma.s.s at Icomb, and I am well with the monks. And sometimes they bring a sick brother to this place to touch this hair and cross, and be cured. For know, Hyla, that my wife, a healer in her life, still heals by favour of Saint Mary, being gone from this sad world and with Lord Christ in heaven. The Fathers would have me bring these relics to Icomb there to be enshrined, and I to profess myself a monk. Often have they sent messengers to persuade me. But I would not go while He was living, for I could not live G.o.d"s life hating him so. But now perchance I shall go. It will bear thinking of."
They knelt down before the lock of hair and the crucifix and prayed silently.
It was a strange meeting. This man Lerailleur had been buffoon to Geoffroi, and had come with him from Normandy. His wife, Isoult, was a sweet simple dame, so fragrant and so pure that all the world loved her.
She was a strangely successful nurse and doctor, and knew much of herbs.
In those simple times her cures were thought miraculous, and she was venerated. The jester, a grave and melancholy man when not professionally employed, thought her a saint, and loved her dearly. Now one winter night, Lord Geoffroi being, as was his wont, very drunk, set out from his feasting in the hall to seek sleep in his bed-chamber.
Isoult had been watching by the side of a woman--wife to one of the men-at-arms--who was brought to bed in child-birth. She crossed the courtyard to her own apartment, in front of Geoffroi de la Bourne. He, being mad with drink, thought he saw some phantom, and drew his dagger.
With a shout he rushed upon the lady, and soon she lay bleeding her sweet life away upon the frosty ground.
They buried her with great pomp and few dry eyes, and Geoffroi paid for many Ma.s.ses, while Lerailleur bided his time. The rest we have heard.
Hyla and Lisole sat gravely together on the deck of the boat. The relics were put away in their shrine.
Neither said much for several hours, the thoughts of both were grave and sad, and yet not wholly without comfort.
They seemed to see G.o.d"s hand in all this. There was something fearful and yet sweet in their hearts. So Sintram felt when he had ridden through the weird valley and heard Rolf singing psalms.
The "midsummer hum"--in Norfolk they call the monotone of summer insect life by that name--lulled and soothed them. There was peace in that deep and secret hiding-place.