Gathering of Brother Hilarius | Page 5

III
--THE KING'S SONG-BIRD

Martin the Minstrel sat under a wayside oak singing softly to himself as he tuned his vielle. He was a long lanky fellow with straight black locks flat against his sallow face, and dark eyes that smouldered in hollow cavities. He wore the King's colours, and broke a manchet of white bread with his mid-day repast.
"Heigh-ho!" sighed Martin, and laid the vielle lovingly beside him, "another four leagues to Westminster, and I weary enough of shoe- leather already, and not another penny piece in my pocket 'til I win back to good King Ned. A brave holiday I have had, from Candlemas to Midsummer; free to sing or to be silent, to smile or frown; wide England instead of palace walls; a crust of bread and a jug of cider instead of a king's banquet. Now but another few leagues and the cage again. Money in my pocket, true; but a song here and a song there, such as suit the fancy of the Court gentles, not of Martin the Minstrel. Heigh-ho, heigh-ho! 'tis a poor bird sings at the word of a king, and a poor enough song too, if Edward did but know it.
"Who comes here? Faith, the lad goes a steady pace and carries a light heart from his song; and no ill voice either."
It was Hilarius, and he sang the Alma Redemptoris as he sped along the green grass which bordered the highway.
When Martin hailed him he turned aside gladly, and his face lit up at the sight of the vielle.
"Whence dost thou come, lad?" said Martin, eyeing him with interest.
"Many days' journey from the Monastery of Prior Stephen," answered Hilarius.
"But thou art no monk!"
"Nay, a novice scarcely; but the Prior hath bidden me go forth to see the world. It is wondrous fair," he added sincerely.
"He who speaks thus is cloister-bred," said Martin, and as Hilarius made sign of assent, "'tis writ on thy face as well. Thy Prior gave thee letters to the Abbat of St Peter's, I doubt not; thy face is set for Westminster."
"Ay, for Westminster, but my letters are for that good knight, Sir John Maltravers. I should have made an end of my journeying ere now but that two days ago I met strange company. They took my purse and hat and shoes, and kept me with them all night until the late dawn. Then they gave me my goods again, and bade me God- speed.'
"But kept thy purse?" Martin laughed.
"Nay, it is here, and naught is missing. It was all passing strange, and I feared them, for they looked evil men; yet they did me no wrong, and set me on my way gently enough, giving me provision, which I lacked."
"Pick-purses and cut-throats afraid of God's judgments for once," muttered Martin; then aloud, "Well, young sir, we shall do well if we win Westminster before night-fall; shall we journey together since our way is the same?"
Hilarius assented gladly; and as they went, Martin told him of Court and King, and the wondrous doings when the Princess Isabel was wed. He listened open-eyed to tales of joust and revel and sport; and heard eagerly all the minstrel could tell of Sir John Maltravers himself, a man of great and good reputation, and no mean musician; "and," added Martin, "three fair daughters he hath, the eldest Eleanor, fairest of them all, of whom men say she would fain be a nun. Thou art a pretty lad, I wager one or other will claim thee for page."
"I will strive to serve well," said Hilarius soberly, "but I have never spoken but to one maid 'til yesterday, when a woman gave me good-morrow."
Martin looked at his companion queerly.
"And thou art for Westminster! Nay, but by all the Saints this Prior of thine is a strange master!"
"It is but for a time," said Hilarius, "then I shall go back to the Monastery again. But first I would learn to be a real limner; I have some small skill with the brush," he added simply.
Martin stared.
"Back to the cloister? Nay, lad, best turn about and get back now, not wait till thou hast had a taste of Court life. Joust and banquet and revel, revel, banquet, and joust, much merry-making and little reason, much love and few marryings: a gay round, but not such as makes a monk."
Hilarius smiled.
"Nay, that life will not be for me. I am to serve my lord, write for him, methinks. But tell me, good Martin, dost thou love the Court? It seems a fine thing to be the King's Minstrel."
"Nay, lad, nay," said the other hastily, "give me the open country and the greenwood, and leave to sing or be silent. Still, the King is a good master, and lets me roam as I list if I