"They call me Norman Leslie de Pitcullo,"I answered."And yours?""My name,"he said,"is Noiroufle"--and I thought that never had Iseen a man so well fitted with a name;--"in religion,Brother Thomas,a poor brother of the Order of the mad St.Francis of Assisi.""Then,Brother Thomas,how do you mean to cross this water which lies between you and the exercise of your holy calling?Do you swim?""Like a stone cannon-ball,and,for all that I can find,the cursed water has no bottom.Cross!"he snarled."Let me see you swim."I was glad enough to be quit of him so soon,but I noticed that,as I stripped and packed my clothes to carry in a bundle on my head,the holy man set his foot in the stirrup of his weapon,and was winding up his arbalest with a windlass,a bolt in his mouth,watching at the same time a heron that rose from a marsh on the further side of the stream.On this bird,I deemed,he meant to try his skill with the arbalest.
"Adieu,Brother Thomas,"I said,as I took the water;and in a few strokes I was across and running up and down on the bank to get myself dry."Back!"came his grating voice--"back!and without your clothes,you wine-sack of Scotland,or I shoot!"and his arbalest was levelled on me.
I have often asked myself since what I should have done,and what was the part of a brave man.Perchance I might have dived,and swum down-stream under water,but then I had bestowed my bundle of clothes some little way off,and Brother Thomas commanded it from his side of the stream.He would have waited there in ambush till Icame shivering back for hose and doublet,and I should be in no better case than I was now.Meanwhile his weapon was levelled at me,and I could see the bolt-point set straight for my breast,and glittering in a pale blink of the sun.The bravest course is ever the best.I should have thrown myself on the earth,no doubt,and so crawled to cover,taking my chance of death rather than the shame of obeying under threat and force.But I was young,and had never looked death in the face,so,being afraid and astonished,I made what seemed the best of an ill business,and,though my face reddens yet at the thought of it,I leaped in and swam back like a dog to heel.
"Behold me,"I said,****** as brave a countenance as I might in face of necessity.
"Well done,Norman Leslie de Pitcullo,"he snarled,baring his yellow teeth."This is the obedience which the young owe to the Church.Now,ferry me over;you are my boat.""You will drown,man,"I said."Not while you swim."Then,unbuckling his frock,he packed it as he had seen me do,bade me put it on my head,and so stepped out into the water,holding forth his arm to put about my neck.I was for teaching him how to lay it on my shoulder,and was bidding him keep still as a plank of wood,but he snarled -"I have sailed on a boat of flesh before to-day."To do him justice,he kept still as a log of wood,and so,yielding partly to the stream,I landed him somewhat further down than the place where my own clothes were lying.To them he walked,and very quietly picking up my whinger and my raiment that he gathered under his arm,he concealed himself in a thick bush,albeit it was leafless,where no man could have been aware of him.This amazed me not a little,for modesty did not seem any part of his nature.
"Now,"says he,"fetch over my arbalest.Lying where I am you have no advantage to shoot me,as,nom de Dieu!I would have shot you had you not obeyed.And hark ye,by the way,unwind the arbalest before you cross;it is ever well to be on the safe side.And be sure you wet not the string."He pushed his face through the bush,and held in his mouth my naked whinger,that shone between his shining eyes.
Now again I say it,I have thought over this matter many a time,and have even laughed aloud and bitterly,when I was alone,at the figure of me shivering there,on a cold February day,and at my helpless estate.For a naked man is no match for a man with a whinger,and he was sitting on my clothes.So this friar,unworthy as he was of his holy calling,had me at an avail on every side,nor do I yet see what I could do but obey him,as I did.And when Ilanded from this fifth voyage,he laughed and gave me his blessing,and,what I needed more,some fiery spirits from a water-gourd,in which Father Thomas carried no water.
"Well done,my son,"he said,"and now we are comrades.My life was not over safe on yonder side,seeing that the "manants"hate me,and respect not my hood,and two are better company than one,where we are going."This encounter was the beginning of many evils,and often now the picture shines upon my eyes,and I see the grey water,and hear the cold wind whistle in the dry reeds of the river-bank whereon we sat.
The man was my master,Heaven help me!as surely as Sathanas was his.And though,at last,I slipped his clutches,as you shall hear (more readily than,I trow,he will scape his lord in the end,for he still lives),yet it was an ill day that we met--an ill day for me and for France.Howbeit we jogged on,he merrily enough singing a sculdudery song,I something surly,under a grey February sky,with a keen wind searching out the threadbare places in our raiment.
