The Fool (Bailey)/Chapter 9

N the low green hill which stands out from the great hills into the vale the folk of the manor were met. Over against it the new castle of Watlington glimmered white in the dawn. Robert, the steward of the manor, a big sleek man, came in the pomp of his gold chain and furred gown between two men-at-arms, and with him was William the town reeve, and after him marched the richer folk and the priest Clement.

"What like is this priest, brother?" said Bran in Godric's ear.

"The man is gentle and to all kindly, but no firm friend."

Then Bran stole away from him, and as the great ones ordered their seats on the turf he whispered in the priest's ear in Latin the words of Pilate: "'Why, what evil hath He done? I have found no cause of death in Him,'" and he slid away so swiftly in the throng that the priest could not be sure who spoke. He was much troubled and showed so plain signs of it that the steward asked what ailed him, but he only shook his head and crossed himself.

The steward's eyes following his saw him watching anxiously Godric where he stood among his friends, and could find nothing strange there. But then he saw Bran sitting by them, red and green motley, conspicuous against their gloom.

Bran stared at him, twiddling thumbs. "Now he wonders. Now he is unsure," Bran advised himself. "It is a shrewd one."

But the steward now seemed not to see him and rose in measured dignity and declared that the moot court of the manor of Watlington was met and asked if all were men of the manor.

"Nenny, nenny, brother." Bran shook his head with a jingle of bells.

"Then get you gone, good fool," the steward laughed.

"Why, good steward, is this not England? English am I and a freeman, and Bran is my name. What has your court to do that a freeman may not hear?"

A moment of silence owned that a bewildering blow. "Now God have mercy, this is a fool indeed," says the steward in a hurry. "Whose man are you, sirrah?"

"My mother's, sir steward."

"What brought you here?"

"My mother, in faith."

"Hold your peace in God's name," the steward cried, and turned to the reeve and conferred, and the reeve bade Eudo the forester and Godric the joiner come into court. They stood together, Eudo in Lincoln green, a swart, squat, wide man, and Godric in dingy doublet, tall and fair. The reeve declared the charge, that Godric came to Eudo's cottage and talked with him and the while stole his silver horn which Eudo presently missed and guessing the thief went to Godric's hut and searching there found the horn. To all which Eudo made oath. Then Godric swore that he had never stolen nor handled the horn, and that if Eudo found it in his hut Eudo himself put it there. Whereat the two men turned to call each other liar and the steward had much ado to stay them. "You, Godric," says he at last, "this is a wild tale you tell. Why should this honest man do a villainy and forswear himself to w6rk you wrong? Who shall believe it?"

"Why was I driven out into the woods, steward? Because one sought my house and my land. Why seek my life now? Because"

"This is no answer, fellow," says the steward loudly. "Answer to the charge. By my faith, you have enough to answer."

"Here are men of the manor who will answer for me," Godric said, and one after another his company came forward to be his compurgators, to swear: "By God, the oath of Godric is clean and true."

"Well. But you be all villeins," the steward said, "and Eudo that has sworn against you is a freeman. His oath is good against your oaths."

But among the elders who sat about him there was some murmuring, and the priest plucked at his gown. "Godric and you all stand off," he cried, and bent to answer.

Bran sprang up. "Yea, yea, it is in some sort a court, fellows," he said loud enough for all to hear. "But there is a tale in my head, a tale of goodman Naboth and the lord Ahab which craved Naboth's garden-ground. So this lord Ahab, he sent men to swear goodman Naboth a rogue, and"

"What knave speaks there?" The steward started up. "I mark you, fool."

"Do so, good steward."

"Who put this naughty wantonness on your tongue?"

Bran crossed himself. "Holy writ!" he cried. "God save him, he knows not holy writ," and with uplifted hands of horror he drew away, but always he watched the steward keenly. "Now would he give his shrunken soul to know what is behind me," he smiled, "now he has met fear. Always you stand my friend, big brother Fear."

The steward had much to hear from his court and they no little from him. "Yea, yea, now you sweat," Bran said. "Many voices there be, brother, and in you more than one."

But at last they made out to agree, and the steward wiped his brow and sat in silence awhile staring at the ground, and then he rose and said: "We commit you to God, Eudo and Godric, we commit you to God. The oaths stand equal and we know not. Godric, you are charged and you are not cleared. Now must you go to the judgment of God. How say you?"

"Be God my judge," Godric said, and he turned upon Eudo. "Aye, God shall judge between you and me."

"It is you to stond [sic] the ordeal," Eudo growled.

"Godric the joiner goes to the ordeal by iron," the steward announced, and sat down heavily and the priest and the reeve with others to help went to make ready.

Now what men believed of the ordeal was that by it God showed the truth in a dark case, that water would not drown nor fire burn a man of a clean heart. The manner of the ordeal by iron was that a pound's weight of iron was heated red and placed on the hand of him who must carry it three paces. Then his hand was bound up and the bandage sealed, and in the morning the priest broke the seal and looked at the flesh. If there was no burn the man was proved innocent; if there was a blister as large as a walnut, God had declared him guilty. This all simple men faithfully believed, and subtle men like Robert the steward found it a useful faith.

So the reeve and his men brought a brazier and swung it till the charcoal was glowing white, and the priest brought from his church the sacred iron and said a prayer over it and laid it in the heat. And the while Godric washed his hands in a bucket of spring water and his friends wished him a good deliverance Bran was scrabbling with his knife in the chalk of the hill.

The priest came and took Godric's right hand upon his and felt it and looked at it. "This hand is the man's bare flesh," he said aloud. "God deliver you, my son."

Bran nodded his head. "Amen, amen, my father," he said, and in Latin: "'I am innocent of the blood of this just person. See you to it.'"

The priest flinched and looked all about him and at Bran, but Bran was playing with the chalk, making strange signs on the turf, and the priest went back to his place hanging his head.

Then they made a space in the midst, and Godric's friends drew apart, giving him words of cheer, and last of all went Bran and as he went he grasped Godric's hand. "Neither wonder nor look, brother," he whispered. "God's earth for man's need," and he left upon the hand a paste of chalk mud.

But Godric stood there alone looking at his hand.

"Come, sirrah, come," the steward cried. "You have offered yourself to the ordeal. You shall not deny it now."

Godric strode forward where the priest stood by the brazier and thrust his hand into the priest's face, but the priest would not look at him, the priest was trembling so that his robes shook and the tongs clattered on the brazier. He lifted the red pound of iron. "Swift, oh, my son, swift," he said, and it shook as he held it poised. "The open hand, and swift, oh, swift for your soul." He slid it on to the palm. "Once, twice, thrice," he cried as the steam rose from the hand and Godric strode out three steps and let the iron fall.

"The dog never gave tongue," said the reeve to the steward.

"Peace, peace. They are a stanch breed," the steward muttered, but he plucked at his chin.

Already the priest was binding up the hand. He set his seal on the bandage. "I pray for you, my son," he said. "And you too pray."

The steward stood up. "Fail not on the morrow, Godric," he cried. "Or at your peril fail."

"Who fails, I fail not," Godric said, and scowled at Eudo.

Then they went their several ways, and as he went Robert the steward, always a provident man, bade two fellows watch the fool and see with whom he went and whither. But the fool was gone already and none had seen him go. So the steward, seeking safety still, wrote a letter to Sir Gilbert in Risborough saying that the matter was tangled, for Godric had come boldly into court and the court had been hard to drive and strange folk watched it, so that he could do no more than put Godric to the ordeal, whereof he hoped a good issue.

The while Bran sat in Watlington Church, and when the priest came into vespers, out of the half light Bran plucked at his gown. The priest cried out.

"Fie, fie, what should a priest fear but God?" said Bran.

"In the name of God, what is it that you are?" The priest shrank from him.

"The man that I am, he goes for naught, but that I work with strength is wrought and that I seek by the wise is sought. Twice I have spoken and you have heard, now I bring you another word," and he fell to chanting Latin out of the Magnificat: "'He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek.' Sir priest! Here be six silver pennies. These for your prayers for Godric, a true man. And when his hour comes see to it that you find him clean."

"All saints grant it!" said the priest.

"Be sure they will, father. Be very sure." Bran's hand gripped his shoulder a moment; Bran peered close into his face and flitted out and away.

He was in the woods of the high hills as the moon rose, wandering down a glade and sometimes capering in a queer dance, and as he went he sang, music that had no words to it or words of no language that men still spoke, soft eerie music. After a while there rose up among the silvered boles of the beechwood, as though he came out of the ground, a man still shorter than Bran and slighter, a very dwarf but shapely, like a boy with a man's bearded head. He was clothed in a deer-skin and about his head was a wreath of yew. He breathed deep through his nostrils. "You are not of our folk," he said, speaking English like a foreigner, "you who sing the song."

Bran sat down cross-legged where fungus grew, and plucked one and squeezed the juice into his mouth and sucked it.

"You are free of the woods."

"Yea, yea, I was free born. And still there are little people, brother?"

"The little people are always and always."

"Good life, brother."

"And to you, brother. Come, we have ewe's milk and mare's milk a-plenty."

"Na, na. I ask help. Away under the hill of the white cross there abides one, a King of the house-folk, a red man and round, with eyes that swell, and he hunts all the day."

"He is seen."

"There be those could lead that King's horse a long hunt far away from his company."

The little man laughed. "It could be, brother."

"And when he was far and alone, this might be given." He held out a scrap of parchment folded and sealed. But the little man stepped aside. "Na, na, it is no magic but good magic. It is a kindly charm, a merciful charm, for the life of a good man."

The little man came very close and touched Bran and nuzzled against him. "Yea," he said, smelling, "yea," and took the parchment and tied it in his deer-skin.

When Godric woke in the morning, in the dark, he saw the fire still burning bright, and coming out of his hut in wonder he stumbled over the body of Bran who lay sleeping in the warmth. Bran waked with a grunt alert: "God save my ribs, brother. Is your hand as sound as your foot?"

"I thought you had left me," Godric said. "I was well pleased. I do not like your tricks."

"Mislike me and need me, that is for you. Brother, God speed you, mine is to do. Have you slept, brother?"

Godric glowered at him. "It is true I have slept. And it is true the hand has no hurt in it. But it was a trick that you played."

"Oh, Englishman," Bran laughed.

With the dawn they came again to the hill of the moot court and when all were met Godric was called out into the midst and the priest came to break the bandage. The dried chalk came away with it. He looked at the hand, he felt it. He turned to Robert the steward: "This hand is whole," he said. "This man has borne the ordeal and there is no spot on him."

"Name of God! Fellow, hold up your hand," the reeve cried, and in the morning light Godric held it high.

Heads drew together and there was a murmur of talk, but the steward plucked at his chin. Then he whispered to the reeve and the reeve stole away to Eudo.

"I stand here for judgment," Godric cried.

The steward bade him be silent, and solemnly conferred with his court. And then Eudo strode forward. "I challenge Godric the villein to combat," he shouted.

He brought silence then. He was a man proven false by the ordeal. He should have been silent and shamed. He had no right left.

"Who speaks?" said the steward gravely. "It is Eudo that speaks. What is your claim, Eudo?"

"This Godric stands to it that I am false and a thief. I will make good upon his body. That is my claim," and he flung down his forester's leather glove.

"Stand, man, stand," Bran hissed, as Godric started forward. But Godric picked up the glove.

"He takes your challenge, Eudo. You are answered," the steward smiled. "By the saints, a bold fellow and sure. Nay, then, we may not deny him. You go to the ordeal of combat."

Then Bran laughed. "God have mercy, is this a court? Is this England? By the thorn, you have strange customs in this manor."

"We suffer no fools, fellow. Who sent you to brawl here?"

"If that you knew, what were to do?" quoth Bran.

But the steward had other trouble. For the priest was loth to bring the weapons of combat, saying it was not law nor right that a man should stand two ordeals in one cause.

"He has taken up the glove, father. We may not deny him. It were unjust to both." So the steward strove with him and overbore him.

Now, the ordeal of combat was this. It was fought with consecrated weapons—wooden weapons like a battle-axe tipped with horn, such weapons as men used in the old time before the working of metals was known. A man could scarce be killed, not easily wounded, but he might be beaten to the ground or wearied out with bruises, and the man who fell, the man who gave up the fight, was adjudged craven and infamous.

So with their wooden weapons the two fell on and fought fiercely and fast, and Godric had something the advantage, for though the forester was strong and stubborn, Godric had a longer reach than he. And the forester still sought to fight close, and Godric kept him off, and the blows fell about his dark head, and bruised and dripping sweat he flagged, but still held on till desperate he plucked out his knife in his left hand and hurling himself in, though the wood rang upon his head, he stabbed Godric in the neck and fell upon him. He struggled to his feet and reeled but stood.

The steward started up in a hurry. "Hold, hold. We judge him vanquished. Eudo is proven true man and Godric is craven."

But Bran flung himself upon the forester and wrenched up the hand which was fumbling to put away the knife and held it with the bloody knife in it aloft in the sun. "The steel! He has used the steel. He is false and dastard."

That shattered the court. Men cried out: "The steel! The steel!" and broke from their places all talking together.

Bran fell down on his knees by Godric and began to bind about his neck the bandage which had held his hand, and to him came the priest.

The steward was calling hither and thither, commanding, cajoling, trying to make order, but Godric's folk gathered threatening about Eudo, and the reeve and his men ran to back him, and all the court was in turmoil.

The priest rose and came into the midst holding up his hands. "It is a true word," he said, and they hushed to hear him. "He has been stricken with steel. Eudo the forester has used steel," and he turned on Eudo and in a quavering voice cursed him with the curse of the Church.

"Name of God, priest, you are mad," the steward cried. "We have judged."

"Here is no judgment nor right, but a great wickedness," the priest said, and there were loud voices for him.

"We will examine the thing, we will examine it," the steward said. "We will hold them both in ward till we have the truth of it."

"Yea, yea, till Godric is done to death," Bran said.

The steward shot a glance at him and from him to the reeve.

The priest threw his robe over Godric. "Hold Eudo, you hold a man accursed. Godric you do not hold. He is in sanctuary."

"Sanctuary!" the steward cried. "You are no sanctuary, priest. This is against all law and good custom. What, do you brave my lord's justice?"

"This man committed himself to God, and a false, foul blow was stricken. God's man he is, and I claim him in the name of God. All Christian men stand for the right."

The steward looked at the surge of the crowd. "You claim him. You shall answer for him," he said, and drew off with dignity, and men took Godric up to bear him to the priest's house. But as he was following some fellows laid hands on Bran and bustled him off in the midst of them.

He made no struggle nor cried out. He praised their haste and laughed. They bore him to the reeve, and the reeve cursed him for a brawler and urged them on, and still he laughed. They carried him to the new castle at Watlington, and he was presently brought before the steward.

"I have you by the heels now, rogue," the steward said. "Now save your skin if you can."

"Of your skin and my skin, mine I would be in," Bran laughed.

"Folly will not serve you now, fool. Who sent you to brave me in my court?"

"If it was not my mother, I know of none other."

"What, fellow, do you boast yourself a masterless man?"

"Nay, good man, my fellow, every man has his master, on the earth, or above the earth, or under the earth. Choose you while time is."

"Who is your lord, then?"

"When he does his will, you shall have your fill." Bran crossed himself. "God have mercy upon your soul." So for some while the steward wrought with him and could make no more of him, and rage compounding with fear flung him into a cell of little ease, and wrote an anxious letter to Sir Gilbert, telling of the perverse way the thing had gone and protesting it was all the fault of this cunning fool whom he held prisoner and who would speak nothing but dark words, and confessing fears of the people, fears the priest was suborned, fears that the fool worked for some enemy of his lord. Which letter came to Sir Gilbert in Risborough in the midst of dancing, and for all that his buxom niece was dancing for the King, the King's eye fell on him and marked his face, and the King leaned forward to watch him.

He thrust the letter into his bosom and his face was at work. The King plucked at Queen Eleanor's gown. "There is one who reads riddles," he whispered.

She looked. "He is a stricken man," she said.

"That is the riddle," the King said, and he called out: "What, Gilbert, ill news?"

Gilbert started. "Pardon, sir. Aye, ill news it is. My foster brother who is dear to me lies sick to death."

"That touches the heart. Where lies he?"

"Sir, in Watlington."

"No further? " The King smiled. "Nay, man, take horse and go."

"Oh sir, if you give me leave, I will be with you again in a day." Gilbert knelt and kissed his hand.

He was hardly gone before the King led the Queen away. "His brother lies in Watlington. Aye and in Risborough Gilbert lies," he chuckled to himself. "I will see these brethren betimes."

For that morning, when they roused a stag in the woods towards Hampden, the King's mare ran a line of her own, and at first the King was well content, for he heard the hounds clear before him though he never saw them, and thought the rest of the hunt were left or away on a false scent. But when he had ridden far and never had a sight of hounds though always and still he heard them, he tried to turn the mare. She put her head up and bolted and he could not hold her, a queer uncanny thing, for it was not in her temper, and she had been going hard and long and was failing. And then on a sudden she checked and stood a beaten horse, heaving and trembling. "God's body, my wench, are you bewitched?" the King said, and gentled her and again tried to turn her. But turn she would not. She trembled the more and whinnied, and the King was aware that there was no sound in the woods but her whinnying and panting.

A tiny man in a deer-skin rose out of a hollow. The mare whinnied again and thrust her wet head into his bosom and he put his hand on her nostrils and she stood still. "King?" he said and laughed. And the King crossed himself. "King?" he said again.

"I am the King."

"Have." He held out Bran's parchment. The King crossed himself again and took it. And the little man laughed and was lost in the beechmast.

"In the name of God and the Mother of God!" the King muttered, and gingerly unfolded the parchment. And then he laughed that short sudden laugh of his, for he knew the hand. Bran had written in Latin: "Henry, my brother, if you love your fool come seek a sad sorry fool in Watlington where Sir Gilbert hath built him a great new castle to chain King and King's men." It was a meek and weary mare that carried King Henry back to Risborough, and the ride was long for the man who bit at his hands and muttered as he rode. But when he came to Risborough he had a merry brow for Sir Gilbert's courtier anxieties and the Queen's jests on the King who lost the hunt. He had not been in Risborough half an hour before one of his knights was gone to Wallingford with an order that the Angevin men-at-arms in the royal castle there should move instantly on Watlington. Then he gave himself, like a jolly dupe still, to the pleasures of Gilbert's providing.

When Gilbert came to Watlington in the night and heard all that the steward had to tell he was an angry man. It was plain to him that the steward had mishandled the affair vilely, and that he set the blame on Bran and made a mystery of him only to cover his own folly. So he cursed the steward roundly for disturbing him and went to bed. But in the morning early the steward stood by his bedside. "Sir, will you speak with the fellow?"

"The devil burn you; did you wake me for that? The fellow is but a wandering, brawling fool."

"Will you look from the window, my lord?"

Sir Gilbert looked out and saw a company of men-at-arms halted a bow shot from the castle. "Whose are these spears, in God's name?"

"My lord, I think this brawling fool could tell us if he would."

"Send out, man, and see. And for the fool, have him up and I will make short with him."

But Bran was hardly dragged from his hungry cell before those Angevin spears were moving up the castle mound, and their trumpets sounded at the gate and bade open it in the King's name, and Sir Gilbert looked down from his walls and saw the King.

File after file of the lances passed through the gate and halted in their troops in the courtyard. Last rode the King, and Gilbert came to him, bareheaded, smiling, delicately.

"What, Gilbert!" the King said. "And how lies your brother this morning?"

"Oh, my lord, you honour me to come to this poor hold."

"Not for your honour but mine am I come. God's body, man, this place is a great strong castle. It is not in my mind that a castle stands here."

Gilbert began to talk. It was built for the safety of his lands and his people which had been much harried and"

"Where is my fool, Gilbert? Who harries him?" The King swung down from his horse. "Enough of lies, I will have the truth of your work here, if I hew it out of your heart. Go in, sirrah, go in. Louis and Thibaut, follow me."

So into the hall they went, and there, very much at his ease, sitting in the great chair plaiting rushes, while Gilbert's men huddled aloof, was Bran. "Welcome, brother," he said. "Are you too prisoner? Oh, he is a wise fellow, this Gilbert; but greedy, God warn us, greedy."

"Who holds you prisoner?" the King cried, and turned on Gilbert.

"Nay, my lord, nay. It is a folly of my steward's. I"

"Nay, my lord, nay. It is a wise steward and a wise Gilbert. Listen, lord. One builds him a castle on poor men's housen and land. And the other harries these same poor men," and he told the tale of the two moot courts and the two ordeals and Godric's wound.

"God's body, here is no law nor justice nor right," the King cried.

"Nenny, nenny, naught but wise men's wisdom, brother." "My lord, my lord," Gilbert cried, "this is but a matter of some villeins' quarrels and"

"Villeins! By the rood, I will have no man lack justice, villein or lord, in my England."

"Ah, my lord, that is a true King's word. But in this matter the fool knows not what he says. He mistakes, he is a dreamer"

The King stamped his foot. "These stones, are they in his dreams? This castle stands here with no right nor law. You lie to me, Gilbert, and like a fool you lie. I will take order with you. Lay hands on him, Thibaut. God's body, no lord shall build him a castle against me and my people but I will pluck it down to bury him."

"My lord, my lord, I have held my lands these ten years, and"

"What you hold of right of king or villein you shall hold. For the rest you pay a dear reckoning, Gilbert. Have him away."

"So the little man found him a King, brother," Bran laughed. "Yea, yea, the little people have found a king at last," and he touched the King's hand and turned away.

"Whither now, man?"

"To church, brother."

"God have mercy, when did my fool turn pious?"

"In the new world, brother."

And to Godric, where he lay in the priest's house by the church, he came singing the Magnificat. "'He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek. He hath filled the hungry with the good things; and the rich He hath sent empty away.'"