The House of Walderne. A. D. Crake
"'Martin,' 'Hubert,' of what? have you no 'de,' no second names?"
"We are not permitted to bear them."
"Doubtless for good reason. And now, what shall prevent me from hanging such nobodies, and burying you both beneath this oak, without anybody being the wiser?"
"The fact that you are a gentleman," said Hubert boldly.
The earl seemed struck by the answer.
"Boy," said he, "thou bast answered well, and second name or not, thou hast the right blood in thee; nor is the other lad wanting in courage. But you must both answer for this. Tomorrow I visit Kenilworth, and will see your lord.
"Release them, my men.
"Fare ye well till tomorrow.
"My poor Bruno!"
And the lads hastened home.
They told no one of their adventure, save Father Edmund, who not only did not chide them, but promised to plead for them if complaint were made to Earl Simon.
And very shortly, even the next day, the Earl of Warwick with an attendant squire rode up the approach to the barbican gate, and was admitted. The boys had not long to wait in suspense: they were soon summoned from their tasks into the presence of their dread yet kind lord, and his visitor.
As they were ushered along the passage of that mighty castle, both felt a sinking of heart, Hubert more than Martin, for the latter had far more moral courage than his lithesome companion.
"Martin, we are in bad case."
"I am not afraid."
"Do own you were wrong."
"I cannot, for I do not think I was."
"Say so at all events. What is the harm?"
"My tongue was given me to express my thoughts, not to conceal them."
"Then you will be beaten."
"And bear it; it was all my doing."
At that moment the heavy doors swung open, and they stood in the presence of the two mightiest earls of the Midlands. They stood as two culprits, Hubert very sheepish, with his head cast down, Martin with a comical mixture of resignation and apprehension.
"How is this?" said the Earl Simon. "I hear that you two killed the good deerhound of my brother of Warwick."
"It was I, my lord, not Hubert."
"They were both together," whispered the Earl of Warwick. "I saw not who did the deed."
"We may believe Martin."
"So thou dost take all the blame upon thyself, Martin."
"All the blame, if blame there was, my lord."
"If blame there was! Surely thou art mad, boy! and thy back will verify the force of Solomon's proverb, a rod for the fool's back, unless thou change thy tone and ask pardon of my good brother."
"My Lord of Warwick, I am very sorry that I was forced to kill your good hound, and hope you will forgive me."
"Forced to kill!"
"If I had not, he would have killed the poor doe and her fawn together, and I could not have seen that, if I had to hang for it, as the noble earl threatened I should."
"Tell me the whole story," said the Earl of Leicester.
"Pardon me, my good brother, I want to hear how he defends himself."
And Martin began:
"We were in the woods, when we heard a great rustling, and saw a doe crossing the path, very frightened, but for all that she kept stopping and looking back, and we saw a little fawn by her side, who couldn't keep up; then we heard the hound baying behind, and the poor mother trembled and started, but wouldn't leave her little one, but bleated piteously to the wee thing to make haste. I never saw an animal in such distress before, and I could not bear it, so I stood in the track to stop the dog, and he rushed upon my spear. I was very sorry for the good hound, but I was more sorry for the doe and her fawn."
"And thou wouldst do the same thing again, I suppose?" said the Earl of Leicester.
"I couldn't help it."
"And what didst thou do, Hubert?"
"I tried to stop him, but I couldn't."
"Thou didst not feel the same pity, then, for the deer?"
"No, my lord, because I thought dogs were made to hunt deer, and deer to be hunted."
"Thou art quite right, my lad," said he of Warwick, "and the other lad is a simpleton--I was going to say a chicken-hearted simpleton, but he was brave enough when his own neck seemed in danger, nor does he fear much for his back now--
"What dost thou say, boy?"
"My lord, if I have offended you, I refuse not to pay with my back."
"Get ready for the scourge, then," said the earl his lord, half smiling, and evidently trying his courage, "unless thou wilt say thou art sorry for thy deed."
"I am ready, my lord. I would say anything I could say without lying, rather than offend thee, but what am I to do? Let me bear what I have to bear."
"Nay," said the earl, "it may not be. My brother of Warwick, canst thou not forgive him? I will send thee two good hounds in the place of poor Bruno. Dost thou not see the lad has sat in the school of Saint Francis, who pitied and loved everything, great and small, as Adam de Maresco, my good friend at Oxford, tells me, and so all God's creatures loved him, and came at his call--the birds, nay, the fishes?"
"Dost thou believe all this, my boy?" said he of Warwick.
"Yes, it is all true, is it not? It is in the Flores Sancti Francisci."
The earl smiled.
"Come, my boy, I forgive thee.
"My good brother of Leicester, the lad is made for a Franciscan; don't spoil a good friar by making him a warrior."
"And Franciscan he shall be.
"Say, my boy, wouldst thou like to go to Oxford and study under my worthy friend, Adam de Maresco?"
Martin's eyes sparkled with delight.
"Oh yes, my lord.
"Thank you, my Lord of Warwick."
"Thy punishment shall then be exile from the castle; thou may'st cease from the sports of the tilt yard, which thou hast never loved, and Father Edmund shall take thee seriously in hand."
"Oh, thanks, my lord, O felix dies."
"See how he takes to Latin, like a duck to the water.
"Hubert, thou must go with him."
Hubert's countenance fell.
"Oh no, no, my lord, I want to be a soldier like my father; please don't send me away.
"Oh, Martin, what a fool thou art!"
"Fool! fie! for shame! thou forgettest in whose company thou art. Each to his own liking; thou to make food for the sword, Martin perhaps to suffer martyrdom on a gridiron, like Saint Lawrence, amongst the heathen."
"He is the stuff they make martyrs from," muttered he of Warwick.
"No, Hubert, you may stay and work out your own destiny, and Martin shall go to Oxford."
"Oh, Martin, I am so sorry."
But Martin was rapturous with joy.
And so, more soberly, was another person joyful--even the chaplain, for he saw the making of a valiant friar of Saint Francis in Martin. That wondrous saint, Francis of Assisi {10}, whose mission it was to restore to the depraved Christianity