Hodd Page 20

  Brother Thomas looked upon the golden boy with such loving fondness, that tears started to my eyes: would I had never left the monastery, scarce seven months before! ‘What ails thy daughter?’ he then asked, turned in the saddle and frowning at me. And as we rode forward gently, with the thick forest at our shoulder, the only sounds being the creak of our saddles and the press of our hoofs in the marl (for the way was badly drained on that stretch, and much injured, with brambles tearing at the fetlocks of our mounts), Litul John said: ‘Not only hath she the ague, holy brother, but we were robbed last week of thirty marks by a filthy felon, by the name of Robert Hode, on this very road. And my dear daughter hath since been sore afraid of travelling, though I hear the villain hath been taken, that some men call The Robbing Hodde.’

  Brother Thomas sighed and said, ‘So likewise were we [robbed] in the autumn rains, on Boenysdale Moor, and he stole of me a hundred pounds! And true it is that the villain hath been ta’en, and now languishes in Notinghm gaol, with many foul oaths – and be The Robbing Hodd no more, but only The Empte Hotte.295 And I know this because it was I, brother Thomas of the holy house of St Edmund’s, who caused this happy event.’ ‘What, holy brother, did ye arrest him?’ exclaimed Litull John, as if astonied. ‘Aye,’ said my former master, ‘I fell upon him with my own hand, chastising that Hob the Robbour.296 That is to say, I laid it upon him, and Almighty God made my palm as heavy as lead on his shoulder, so that he dropped to his knees in the church and was took like a lamb.’297

  Litull John was amazed, as I was, by this lie, but thanked my old master heartily; adding that Robert Hodd had many men with him in felony, who would be knowing of such a famous deed, and keen to avenge their leader for the great hurt done to him. And it was indeed a great risk to journey with this brave monk, he continued: ‘But now I know that the Lord Himself is at our side – no doubt because you are a true man of God, His holy servant, having walked an undefiled path from your mother’s womb, unspotted by the lewd temptation of the lesser creatures, those simpering Eves; and will do so till the day of your death. Therefore there is naught to be feared from felons or murtherers or roberdesmen!’298 And here he turned to me as if feigning reassurance for his beloved daughter, albeit lesser than a man. ‘Mayhap my dear daughter will follow such a chaste path, that if ever a unicorn appear from this forest, it will lay its head in her lap, and catching it I might make my fortune.’299

  Ne’er had I heard Litull John – as slow to learn as he was strong in body – so eloquent and crafty, for he was the spit of a swollen, grasping merchant: and now I think it clear as day, that such types of heretics (all God’s enemies as much as the heathen or infidel) are so lusted after by the Devil, that he rides them as he will, even as he rode Adam and Eve with his serpent’s wiles, until they fell beneath the load and took us all with them.

  Brother Thomas darted looks about him of great nervousness, for he had but little succour from the Almighty, and cared not an oyster for chastity, being most fond of the contents of the bath-house! And there being none other on the grassy way as far as the eye could see, save for one lean and famished-looking tinker trudging beneath his load towards us, with his tame dog likewise all boniness (too weary even to bark or snap at our hooves as we passed by), then in my old master’s eyes there must have appeared a whole swarm of robbers and murtherers emerging from the thicket: for he was ignorant, alas, of the true proximity of the felons, whose well-whetted swords were yet sheathed (mine hid beneath my womanly gown). He asked us, then, to accompany him, pulling forward his great hood and disguising his fear by saying what a pleasure it was to ride in such company, all the while casting glances at Litul John, as if to comfort himself with the false merchant’s great size and breadth of chest.

  I rode forward with them as if in a dream, let me tell you; all the while seeing the hideous falsity of the monk, that echoed Hod’s great hatred of all brethren in Christ, that he called (as he did all those of true faith, along with the heathen or infidel) the ‘unbelieving’. For it smarted like a rod, that my old master had not mentioned my harp and my horse, stolen at the same time [as his hundred pounds], nor talked of my vanishing many months before, nor of my reappearance that morning unto Henry in the church, as if I was of no more importance than a flea. Hideous pride, that launches us first of all upon our downward journey!

  Then, as the others talked, Henri turned to me and said that his harp was very fine, yet if he played near hens, the poultry ran away in terror, for the strings are of fox-gut, this being sweeter and more insinuating than sheep or wolf. And thus he prattled, received by me in silence. Then he stared at my face, and said, ‘Why, my lady, your face is sudden striped.’

  True it was, that the air being warm for May, and my turmoil of humours bringing sweat to my skin, the white paint of lye had begun to run so that this could e’en be seen through the fine material. For what is a lady’s veil, but something that doth not hide temptation, but increases it by cunning concealment, that shows more than it covers, and pricks the eye of lust yet further? And the light cloth (blown by the breeze) stuck to my cheeks, and was already tainted by the ashes.

  I could not answer, but turned to the side and coughed, all the while seizing a fold of my gown with the hand that held the reins, that I might lift [my gown] swiftly when the moment came [to reach for my sword]: and I prayed that moment might come now, though so dreadful did I think it that my bowels turned. Then I heard Henry say, in a loud voice as high as a piglet’s: ‘Master, I hope we are not riding with a leper, that hides her condition behind a veil and a thick coat of lye, as many do.’ And brother Thomas ceased prattling to Litl John and turned to us in his saddle, asking further what his ‘angel’ meant. ‘I am sure she is blemished,’ piped Henri, pointing at me, ‘for I perceive pustules unbecoming to a fair damsel. If it be leprosy, master, we are riding too close and must leave them in all haste.’

  Brother Thomas looked agape upon me, and my actions only encouraged this hideous speculation, for in my distress I hid the revealing veil behind my hand, yet shaking my head as if in furious denial. Litel John said, scarce concealing his anger, ‘I counsel thee not to spoil thy virtue with such horrible insults, little page, or by your master’s permission I will fain answer it in bold stripes upon thy buttocks. What sayest thou? That my fair daughter is unclean?’

  Yet no stronger action could he take, for a group of serfs were approaching, as many as a dozen, wearily plodding in tattered shoes of felt; and they were holding hoes and forks and other tools of the field and were blear with their slavish [servilibus]300 toil. They stood aside to let us pass, ogling me and muttering filthy words, and loudly letting off wind like young boys; then they whistled afterwards in their simpleton’s arrogance, ending in a distant peal of laughter of the type that Satan’s kingdom resounds with over the agonised cries.

  And thus also, more and more, do swarms of young boys (even on their way to school) jangle and jape at their superiors, and on their egress do whoop and halloo as if there is no order nor custom left in the world, nor the sting of birch, nor pricks and prods, nor the cracking of juvenile heads upon each other, as in my time there always was.301 And Henrie would have been among them, if he had not been shut up as an oblate, for he was very forward in his speech; ne’er gabbling and jangling and japing like other boys who run about out of doors in play and game, yet of equal impudence.

  Brother Thomas was sore aggrieved, and rebuked his angel-page, that high voice saying, ‘Thou must curb thy tongue, and seek pardon of the fair maiden. This is e’en worse than swearing, my boy!’ To which Henry turned to me and said, with a cunning gleam, ‘A woman is certainly cleaner than a man, for she be made of Adam’s rib, which was flesh and bone, whereas man is made from clay. Wash a clod of clay and the water will be very foul; wash a rib and the water will certainly be foul, but less so. Shame upon me to think otherwise.’

  And even Litell John gave a roar of laughter at his wit, which relieved the monk, who chuckled mightily
; all of which served only to irk me further: for I saw how precocious the imp was, and yet how all his brilliance was borrowed, like lustrous silks too large for his small frame.

  Again we re-entered the new-leaved forest, that shielded the sunlight as a cloth might over a players’ stage, and taking a false path known to Litel John, went far out of sight of the serfs, or of any other wayfarer; and though the track did creep about more than a true one, my old master was too busy casting glances at Litul John (and at me behind) to notice. He simpered foolishly after Henerie’s false apology: while the boy’s eyes were sharp with victory, and not suspicion. Meanwhile, I tried to conjure the angelic forms that had hovered about myself and Hodd on the desolate wastes near Bakwel: but none came, of course, and instead it seemed there was a cackling of hobgoblins from one side, and the dim coughing of wolves from the other.

  As we passed by some brushwood bound in faggots, Litul John asked cunningly if St Edmund’s Abbey held the forest on Bornsdale Moor, and my former master said, ‘Ay, we hold much land thereabouts on that wild heath, even the wood where that cut-throat felon and blasphemous heretic lurks, that I dragged to gaol with the Lord God’s aid.’ He then laughed merrily, so that his face seemed to divide like an apple; and he added, ‘Having much glass to make for the new chancel, we must cut this wood down and burn it all to the last branch; which will be a great service to the world, for much wickedness lurks therein.’

  Then Litull John’s falsely swollen, reddened face did of a sudden redden even more, and he grasped the bridle of my former master, who all but toppled as his mount was stopped. Then likewise did I hold the golden boy’s horse by the straps. In so doing, alas, my veil caught on a high bramble and twisted from its place, and Henry was much astonished to see me revealed – the white lye so spotted or streaked, or fallen away from the skin, that I must have resembled a harlot.

  Yet though he pointed (if scarce able to stammer out my name), I was again paralysed like a rabbit, and could do no more than hold fast the bridle of his horse. Litul John, meanwhile, was occupied in pulling on the gullet of [brother Thomas’s] great hood, so that the poor fat monk I once loved, and who saved me from a miserable death on the wayside, fell from his saddle with a cry – just as formerly into the mire of autumn, so now into the green of maytime.

  Immediately I woke as from a trance, and struck the angel boy a wild blow with my arm to silence him; he did not topple, for he was too light and clung to his horse’s girth. Such an error, suitable to a milksop, might cost a man his life, but not when the other is [a lad of ] nine or ten. Instead, he gave out a moan, and looked at me in terror – yet with such loathing mingled in, it was as if the hatred of Christ Himself was shining upon me as a sapphire might quencheth venom, flashing upon it from the finger of the King of Kings as He lifts his righteous sword.

  The angelic face before me heated my choler as a burning stone doth heat water, and I drew my own sharp sword most lustily. Meanwhile, Litel John had sprung from his saddle and stood over my old master, who knelt upon the track and clasped his head, that bled from the fall. ‘Why dost thou treat me so sore, merchant?’ the wounded man cried; ‘art thou a felon, in truth?’ And Litul John said, ‘Nay, no felon but the loyal captain to one who is no heretic, wretched monk, but a free spirit and master of creation, greater than God, a true believer as thee be unbelieving; and who dwells in the wood that thou wouldst have cut, and whom thou took yesterday in Notyngham, as you did boast of just now.’

  Comprehending then of whom Litl John spoke, my poor old master went white as ash, and raised his arms and cried out in his shrill voice, ‘Quick, sound thy sweet voice, my boy, I beseech thee!’

  ’Twas just so that very first time we were robbed on the road, for life is a wheel that returns and returns: and so without reflection my mind stirred itself as if I should sing. Strange how time itself then changed from quicksilver to clay, for it seems to me now that [what was but] a fraction was truly daylong, so oft and slowly doth it rise before me in every horrid detail! My former master’s gaze was not upon me, but upon the usurper, as I did straightway realise. The boy’s mouth opened and out of it came not the song, but the revelation of who I truly was, in the form of my name – in such a harsh manner, that it was no less forceful than a clattering jay’s alarum in the woods. Then, pointing his finger at me, he called me a traitor [proditorem]. My girlish disguise of lye had been rubbed away entire by now, and the sweaty veil so ripped by the thorn, that I was returned to mine own self.

  My only thought was to stop up the hole from which such a dangerous witness poured forth: for suspicion ran among the outlaw band like poison, and accusations grew fat and thick upon it, and the punishment was instant death, or (e’en worse) a slow dying in the Dark Pit. Yet was I paralysed in my confusion, for in truth all of this was [happening] in a few breaths.

  Then it was that brother Thomas, looking upon me with open mouth, did also receive my true self on the white page behind his eyes, as though it had been writ there. Omnia autem aperta et nuda sunt eius oculis.302

  Alas, reader, thus will we be called for at the Last of Days, each and every one of us, one by one over the rolls of thunder and the wailing of the wind! That great wide mouth released my name upon the air in a single stark stroke that ended on a hiss, as of a red-hot brand plunged into the [blacksmith’s] trough.303 Seeing the holy man then struggle to his feet, and lunge towards me as though I were a knight to be unseated, or mayhap his salvation, groaning and crying out as if I were his own lost soul, Litel Johnn without thought brought down with both hands that sharp and weighty sword upon the plump neck beneath the cloth, that all of it was cleaved through quite, flesh and weave together.

  Stilled on an instant was the monk’s piteous revelation, and there shot up such gouts of blood from the shattered veins of the trunk as it toppled like a hewn tree to the ground, that it steamed upon the dappled flanks of Henrie’s pony, and made the animal half crazy (not being a war-horse trained to it), thus throwing the golden boy onto the grass of the way.

  Being not harmed, but merely shaken, he scrambled to his feet and stood there staring down at the cloven corpse, as if stunned with a cudgel, his mouth wide open as though he might swallow the sense of what he could not comprehend by his eyes. And in this he was as a mirror to myself, for it was indeed a very strange thing to see my former master beheaded. ‘It appears,’ laughed Litel John in his cruellest manner, gazing fiercely upon mine own face, ‘ye have never before seen a man lose his head, let alone one known to thee!’

  And in truth, such is the violence of our times, few of the common folk have not witnessed such a sight, whether crowded about a scaffold, or at the end of a hue and cry,304 or anigh some skirmish between puffed-up nobles and their retainers; and though I had been present at many a robbery, the victims had only been pierced or cut about. By God’s grace we have all passed many a gibbet or spike on bridge or at crossways with its ghastly lesson, but this is usually a dried-up thing, as if made from wax, and e’en the longest and fullest locks be crusted and lank, and the stink soon blown away, or superseded by the fouler odours of the town. The criminals305 put thus are seldom known to us, and scarce resemble human beings, in their boniness. But to see a familiar face stiffen of a sudden, and pale, with mouth open as though to utter words above the place where the neck unnaturally ends, is surely the most terrible sight of all: for the victim guards a semblance of life in his open eyes, e’en more so than if a man be pierced through lungs and liver, or hewn at the heart, though I know not why.306

  And when that face be known to you … [hiatus in the MS] … [or] a golden boy’s, resembling an angel’s perfect prettiness, is it not worse still? And if the hands that swung the blade be thine own, what then?

  ‘Nay, Johne, I knew him not,’ I insisted, thus sinking deeper downward towards the pit of slime. Little Henre raised his face, that bore a most ghastly expression in its sorrow, and cried up to me, ‘Thou liest!’ ‘Thou liest!’

  So help
me God, he was the very waxen image of all that appalls us most, for there is nothing more terrible than knowing one’s own guilt in the face of an accuser, who is so struck with fear and horror that he be as a spectre or a corpse. And in his madness he shrieked and tore his hair, saying I was a most heinous traitor, a Judas, a most foul beast that hath returned to its sty; for our master had ever named me urchin, that he found in the filthy ditch – and said that I was ever naught but a servant corores!307 I commanded him to cease this blabber, stiffening above him in my saddle and hefting my sword in both hands; for I could not bear these words, so shrilly ringing out and pressing into the ears of Litel Johnn like wasps into a fruit.

  Yet he did not cease, but began to strike my horse and my leg with his small fists, and sobbing between his hateful cries, called me a demon that had lain in the gutter for my poor dear master to find, beguiling him with its voice.

  ‘Nay, if thou wouldst not be pierced, keep thy peace!’ cried I, though to no avail, for he went on regardless: ‘Yet my holy master did always say to me how thou wert a sparrow to my nightingale!’ His face became blotched and blinded with tears that poured like wine from the spigots of his eyes, and yet his hysterical shrieks continued to trumpet forth most [clearly?] …308 ‘And now,’ [continued Henry] ‘my dear master’s unconfessed, unanointed and unaneled soul be deaf to all but the moans of Purgatory, far from the chorus of the angels, thanks to thy heinous treachery! Thou horrible clump of clay! Thou ass-brained demon! Thou daf, thou boor, thou liar! Thou pagan pick-purse! Thou slothful son of a serf!’309