The Tale of a Villein

Bran the Jester Plays a Hidden but Telling Part in the Tortuous Processes of Medieval Graft

HERE was a new king in England and a new queen, and since no man could think of one to set against him, no man denied him.

This also was strange and new, a change of kings without a fight. Through the weary country Henry II and his Eleanor made a progress and the barons gave them homage and feasts. So they came to the castle of Sir Gilbert du Marais in Risborough under the hills.

Sir Gilbert was lavish. He had sweet herbs on his floor and Flemish tapestries on his walls, and good yew-colored cloth upon his chairs, and footstools covered in fur, and his beds were made with sheets of silk and sendal and there was even a table-cloth at his dinner. His dinners were furnished with cranes and peacocks and swans, with spiced and seasoned meats in great plenty, with white powder and large sweetmeats and mulberry wine and piment and clary and clove wine. Musicians and mummers he had in abundance. He provided a merry, pretty niece, Adela, to divert the king. He was himself assiduously gallant to the queen. He had an air, he had still a presence, he had never lacked wit. Sir Gilbert succeeded with his king and queen.

But Bran the king's fool was not merry in Risborough and on a day when the dinner in its length surpassed all the other dinners, King Henry (of whom his enemies said that he would sin every other sin but gluttony, and his friends that he would do anything for them but eat) King Henry, I say, remarked this fool spurning a dish of field fares as he sat apart sewing. "Why, brother, what woman's work is that?" quoth the king. "It is my shroud, Henry."

"God save you, fool, why a shroud?"

"Because I am old, brother, old, and the spirit is gone out of me. Here is a new king and a new queen, yea, and a new castle and a new lord in it. But the new is what the old was and the spring as the winter and there is no more hope. Hush you, brother, I stitch me my shroud."

The king bit his finger and fidgeted, but in a moment pretty Adela at his elbow engaged him, and when the mummers came Bran slunk out and no one saw him go.

It was in his nature to seek the hills and along the ridge he rode looking out through the beechwoods over the wide blue green of the vale and singing to himself, sometimes in English, a babbling child's song, more often the Latin of the Magnificat. A ludicrous creature indeed, in his piebald clothes, his jingling cock's comb, his ass's ears, chanting "for He that is mighty hath magnified me and holy is His name." He was aware of it, he ended in giggling laughter. "An old song, brother. Yea, yea, and an old fool. And the world is old and hearts are cold and only the wicked dare be bold. God have mercy, brother, so it has been all your days. And the new is but the old, and new Sir Gilbert is but old Sir Thief. Yea, yea, and new King Henry is but the barons' king of old. And the weak must go hide in the old, old hills." So he rode on droning and in a while when the sun was waning level with the ridge and the shadows in the wood darkened he came suddenly upon smoke and a little township of huts.

Children scurried away from his horse like rabbits. Women rose from the ground to stare at him and cried out. Through the smoke which rose from great mounds men came to meet him sooty and glistening with sweat. "God save all in this place," said Bran.

They looked at him under gathered brows, women and men. "Who are you that come here?" a man asked.

"A child of this earth, brother."

They thought it over; then solemnly, "That is a lie you have said."

"Nenny, nenny. A man of these hills, I. Child of the chalk."

The man strode forward, "I say you are a vain liar. "'Nenny, nenny,'" he mimicked Bran. "That is a Frenchman's bleat."

"Yea, wise man. And I will talk to you in French of the North and French of the South, in vile Flemish and godly Latin. Yet English is my tongue and my blood and my bones are English."

"Who then? And what do you make on our hills?"

"I am one Bran, a fool by nature and grace, brother. And I am here on the chalk hills to dwell a while with what is mine."

"Go your ways. Here is naught that is yours."

Bran came down from his horse. "Yea, brother, yea," he grinned and shuffled in the beech mast, "all this is mine and the white chalk under that made my bones. Why are you unkind to me, brother?"

"You are a Frenchman and some French lord's hound."

"A hound, I! Hear him!" he barked grotesquely. "God mend your wits, brother. Do I look a hound?" and he showed off his ungainliness and grimaced and some of them began to grin. "Holy thorn, who are you that you call me French?"

"We be good Saxon folk and we want no Norman dogs to spy on us."

And Bran laughed: "I tell you a tale that was told to me, an old tale, brother, a new tale. The sheep, he hated the wolf, which came a stranger to eat him. Then said the grass to the sheep: 'Nay, brother I was here before you, but you eat me.' But the good chalk said 'I was here when the world was made, when the Lord God set the land apart from the sea, but goody grass eats of me. Who is the sheep, brother? Good Saxon folk. And your Norman lords be the wolves. But I, I am the very chalk of the hills. The Norman came from over the sea, from over the sea the Saxon came, King Brut brought Britons from over the sea, my folk were here when the Britons came. little folk, old folk, folk of the white chalk hill. We were here at the birth of things, we shall watch their death."

They drew nearer him and one of the women said, "He is a fairyman."

"He is a liar," the man laughed.

"I love you, brother," Bran said. "You are English stuff. Nay, but I tell you true. My mother was of the little folk. Have you any left, brother? Or have you harried them all, you Saxon and Norman men?"

"He is a fairyman," the woman said. "Good friend, the hills are empty. There are no more little people. When the sad years came they fled away."

"Yea, yea. So it was said of old. So it shall be said anew. But always the little people come again. Even as I. I am of them by my mother, and my father no man knows but God. My mother, she was speared by a huntsman of old Hugo d'Oilly's, Ivo his name, and they took me, a child, to make them sport."

They looked at each other. "It rings true, friend," the man said. "Such a man Ivo there was and an evil man. And he is dead unshriven."

"That well I know," Bran said. "Now know you me, brother. But God have mercy, I know not you."

"We be folk out of Watlington."

Bran looked from one to the other. Even for country folk they were rudely clad, barefoot, bareheaded, in tunics and kirtles of coarsest cloth and that old and ragged: the signs of hard living were branded on body and face.

"Men say there be fish which fly," said Bran, "but who heard ever of townsmen living wild in the hills?"

"You are a stranger who have not heard it, fellow," the man said. "No man holds his home in our England."

"No horse has a tail, said mine when I docked him. Tell the tale of your tail, brother."

"We be villeins of Watlington, and so were our folk before us, holding our housen our own for dues and service to our lord. But King Stephen gave the manor to Sir Gilbert du Marais. Then Sir Gilbert built him a castle in Watlington, where castle had never been, and to build it he pulled down our housen and we have no home nor living."

"The foxes ve holes and the birds of the air have nests. Yet I have none, brother."

"Like outlaws we live and like outlaws we die."

"Godric!" the woman said and touched his hand.

"So it is. Are you one of us, brother?" the man's eyes were grave and hard.

"I am the world's fool, brother," Bran said.

"By St. Dunstan, if you abide with us you are fool indeed. You are welcome to the nothing we have." He turned on his heel and called sharply to the other men and took them back to their charcoal burning. And Bran unsaddled and tethered his horse where in an open glade there was grazing and came back to the huts, and everything he did the women watched as it were a miracle. He sat himself down cross-legged and began to cut out of an elder twig a whistle that he could play upon. And as he cut he thought. But the woman who had called him a fairy came so close that he must needs look up at her: "Yea, yea. I have no fear to handle iron. And I will eat your salt and your baked bread," he laughed. "I am no fairy, I. Good faith, I have dwelt too long with men."

"I—thought no ill," the woman said. She was a comely creature, something worn by hard living, but tall and finely made and of a gentle face.

Bran looked up into her blue eyes: "How are you called, maid?"

She blushed and he knew that a maid she was and not without thought of whom she should wed: "I am Godiva," she said.

Then he surprised her again: "These men of yours, are they all craftsmen?"

"Surely, yes, one and all."

"And who is their leader?"

Again she blushed: "It is Godric. He is a joiner, the best joiner in all our hundred."

"The Lord loves a good craftsman. But God have mercy, the world is wide. Why not go seek fortune? Why lurk here?"

"We love our own land," she said proudly, "we wait for our rights again."

Bran blew a horrid discord upon his whistle, "English!" he said "Oh English every way!" and he sprang up and marched off playing weird music.

Now of all things in the world Bran loved a good craftsman and what roused his passions (I conceive) in this matter was not the bare wrong and cruelty, but that craftsmen should be cast out of their shops and their skill lie waste while they tolled at rude work, burning charcoal for meager livelihood. He was not loving Sir Gilbert du Marais before. But this it was which determined him to hate. An odd thing to choose, yet every man has his own abominations and this was Bran's. And he applied his mind to Sir Gilbert. A castle in Risborough, a new castle in Watlington—"Yea, yea, the wicked flourish like a green bay tree. And now he will be lord of all the hills. It is well planned of Gilbert. And that hold at Watlington is shrewdly set against the king's castle at Wallingford. Yea, yea, Gilbert is wise in his generation," and stranger and stranger the music grew.

When Bran came back to the huts, he found pots steaming over the fire. He flung down a brace of hares. "The fool pays his shot, brother."

"God help you, fool," Godric tossed them swiftly out of sight. "If Eudo saw you, you are sped."

"And who is friend Eudo?"

"Gilbert's forester. And such a one as Ivo was that killed your mother."

"Yea, yea," says Bran mildly, "and in their death they shall not be divided. Be easy, brother, no man sees Bran when Bran would not be seen. And here is what friend Eudo may see and say naught." He had made his cloak into a bag. He put it down and showed a heap of truffles. They caused more consternation. "How in God's name?" quoth Godric.

"Where the beeches grow, there grow truffles," Bran shrugged.

So they made a savory meal and when they began to be genial, "What is this Eudo, brother, that you love him so?" Bran said. "Hath he harried you?" He produced a silence. Godric consigned Eudo to the devil and Godiva drew near and touched him. The others looked at each other and from one another to Godric and were glum. "Fie, fie, never fear the man," Bran said.

Then Godric swore. "I fear him not, fellow," he roared. And again there was silence.

Across the firelight Bran darted his glances hither and thither. Each man was communing with himself. Only Godiva looked into Godric's face as she pressed against him. He held his head high, staring into the darkness of the woods. It was a heavy face and sullen, not a clever man's face, but of a frank courage that redeemed it.

"Godric! You will not go!" the woman said.

"I do not fear him."

"Nay, but fear for us."

"It is that. It is hard. I do fear for you," said Godric and turned away from her.

Then one of the bent brooding men lifted up his head and said: "What strikes one strikes all," and there was rumbling and muttering.

"Sooth, sooth," Bran nodded. "But who strikes here?"

Godric turned on him and said fiercely: "Eudo, fool."

"Friend Eudo, who is the forester of friend Gilbert?" Bran thrust out his leg and stirred Godric's bulk. "Tell on, brother."

The tale was this: A while before Eudo had bidden Godric to his cottage to talk with him of their leaving the woods, desiring as he said to make their peace with his master, of which talk nothing came, Godric swearing that in the woods they would stay till they had their rights again and Eudo shaking a dark head over him. Then came word that Eudo charged Godric with stealing a silver horn of his, the rich gift of his lord Gilbert and in due and lawful order Godric was summoned to answer the charge before the moot court.

"If I go I am sped," said Godric, "for he will make the court of Gilbert's people. If I go not we are all sped, for he will make me outlaw and hunt me and all that harbor me."

"When is your moot court to be, brother?"

"In the dawn."

"And by to-morrow's night you may be outlaw and nailed to a tree. It is well planned of Gilbert. I see one way, brother. Gird and go. The land is wide and craftsmen need never lack meat."

"By the cross, I will not go," Godric thundered. "I will stand for my right."

"Aye, aye, stand," the others answered him.

"Your rights be more than your life?" Bran laughed. "Oh English, English! Then I see another way, brother: meet your court. As bad as men are they will not do that in council which one man will plot alone. When they gather, shame comes with them. Go to court with all your folk and have all told and sworn. I think he does not love the light, our Gilbert. He is too wise."

Godric stared at him. "I thought you false," he growled. "You have said what a true man should say. To the court I will go." He trust out his big hard hand and took Bran's.

"Godric, Godric," the woman clutched at him. "This is a fool's word. It is to go to your death. There is another way, Godric Here we rest safe. Hide here in the hills."

"You are no friend to me," Godric said and she cried.

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," said he at last, "this is a wild tale you tell. Why should this honest man do a villainy and forswear himself to work 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 will answer for me," Godric said, and one after another his comply came forward to be his, 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."

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, brother Fear."

The steward had much to fear 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 a while, 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 stand 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.

OW 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 bandages sealed and in the morning the priest broke the seat 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 in 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 fall."

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

Then they went their several ways and as he went Rob, 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 in to 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 eery 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 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.

ITH 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.

Now the ordeal of combat was this. It was fought with consecrated weapons, wooden weapons, like a battle-ax 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. 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 hustled 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, you do 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 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 in 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 courtiers' 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.

HEN 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 bowshot 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 the lances passed through the gate and halted in their troops in the courtyard. Last rode the king, and Gilbert came to him, bare-headed, smiling delicately.

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

"Oh my lord, you honor me to come to this poor hold." "Not for your honor 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 who 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 hail 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' quards 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 good things and the rich He hath sent empty away.'"