thy enough!" quoth david micheldene. "i would have you to

know, clerk, that i am a free english burgher, and that i dare

say my mind to our father the pope himself, let alone such a

lacquey's lacquey as you!"

"base-born and foul-mouthed knave!" cried the sompnour. "you

prate of holy things, to which your hog's mind can never rise.

keep silence, lest i call a curse upon you!"

"silence yourself!" roared the other. "foul bird!" we found thee

by the gallows like a carrion-crow. a fine life thou hast of it

with thy silks and thy baubles, cozening the last few shillings

from the pouches of dying men. a fig for thy curse! bide here,

if you will take my rede, for we will make england too hot for

such as you, when master wicliff has the ordering of it. thou

vile thief!" it is you, and such as you, who bring an evil name

upon the many churchmen who lead a pure and a holy life. thou

outside the door of heaven! art more like to be inside the door

of hell."

at this crowning insult the sompnour, with a face ashen with

rage, raised up a quivering hand and began pouring latin

imprecations upon the angry alderman. the latter, however, was

not a man to be quelled by words, for he caught up his ell-

measure sword-sheath and belabored the cursing clerk with it. the

latter, unable to escape from the shower of blows, set spurs to

his mule and rode for his life, with his enemy thundering behind

him. at sight of his master's sudden departure, the varlet

watkin set off after him, with the pack-mule beside him, so that

the four clattered away down the road together, until they swept

round a curve and their babble was but a drone in the distance.

sir nigel and alleyne gazed in astonishment at one another, while

ford burst out a-laughing.

"pardieu!" said the knight, "this david micheldene must be one of

those lollards about whom father christopher of the priory had so

much to say. yet he seemed to be no bad man from what i have

seen of him."

"i have heard that wicliff hath many followers in norwich,"

answered alleyne.

"by st. paul! i have no great love for them," quoth sir nigel.

"i am a man who am slow to change; and, if you take away from me

the faith that i have been taught, it would be long ere i could

learn one to set in its place. it is but a chip here and a chip

there, yet it may bring the tree down in time. yet, on the other

hand, i cannot but think it shame that a man should turn god's

mercy on and off, as a cellarman doth wine with a spigot."

"nor is it," said alleyne, "part of the teachings of that mother

church of which he had so much to say. there was sooth in what

the alderman said of it."

"then, by st. paul! they may settle it betwixt them," quoth sir

nigel. "for me, i serve god, the king and my lady; and so long

as i can keep the path of honor i am well content. my creed

shall ever be that of chandos:

" 'fais ce que dois--adviegne que peut, c'est

commande au chevalier.' "

chapter xxviii.

how the comrades came over the marches of france

after passing cahors, the party branched away from the main road,

and leaving the river to the north of them, followed a smaller

track which wound over a vast and desolate plain. this path led

them amid marshes and woods, until it brought them out into a

glade with a broad stream swirling swiftly down the centre of it.

through this the horses splashed their way, and on the farther

shore sir nigel announced to them that they were now within the

borders of the land of france. for some miles they still

followed the same lonely track, which led them through a dense

wood, and then widening out, curved down to an open rolling

country, such as they had traversed between aiguillon and

cahors.

if it were grim and desolate upon the english border, however,

what can describe the hideous barrenness of this ten times

harried tract of france? the whole face of the country was

scarred and disfigured, mottled over with the black blotches of

burned farm-steadings, and the gray, gaunt gable-ends of what had

been chateaux. broken fences, crumbling walls, vineyards

littered with stones, the shattered arches of bridges--look where

you might, the signs of ruin and rapine met the eye. here and

there only, on the farthest sky-line, the gnarled turrets of a

castle, or the graceful pinnacles of church or of monastery

showed where the forces of the sword or of the spirit had

preserved some small islet of security in this universal flood of

misery. moodily and in silence the little party rode along the

narrow and irregular track, their hearts weighed down by this

far-stretching land of despair. it was indeed a stricken and a

blighted country, and a man might have ridden from auvergne in

the north to the marches of foix, nor ever seen a smiling village

or a thriving homeste