H. C. Bailey

“ I could forgive you that——”
“Holy saints, are you to be my judge?”
“Yes, by God's blood, I am your judge, I and every man who hath a right in England. You are the king. And all the land is waste and no man is sure of life and living. Ay, your own son burns the fields black——”
“Be silent!” The king started up.
“I fight my challenge, Stephen.” Henry came nearer and spoke into his face. “King by right and might! You are no king. A king is he who rules men that they thrive. You are the bane of the land. ”

“ Henry raised the sword in salute and Sir Yves lifted his hand. “My lord, you well know that King Stephen is the most gallant knight alive. A challenge hath he never denied nor will ever from any man who hath the right to give him challenge.” ”

“ Whence have you come that you know no better?”
“Out of the land where fools are born, brother. Tell me, then, what ails St. Edmund?”
Then the man told him that Count Eustace, the king's son, claiming money and men of the abbot of Edmundsbury, had ravaged all the lands of the abbey near and far and the land of every man who was reckoned loyal to the monks, so that the country was a desert without corn or beast, and there would be no fair at Edmundsbury, but mourning and ruined folk asking alms of the empty abbey.
“Yea, yea,” Bran nodded. “When wise men go crying, a fool must turn wise. ”

“ A man is a bold man who drives Holy Church to that.”
They went toward the palace then, to hear if it were true and hear more of it. The twisted byways were full of people, chattering the story, and the thing was what Bran had told, and by all men's judgment a great grim deed. The Frenchman moved among them eager and adroit in his talk and each moment more jovial. And in the end, coming near the palace, which a crowd watched as a place where something awful was in doing, unseen they saw King Stephen ride in, a big man and stately, but already old. ”

“ He was on a pony and she astride a mule, and as they rode they jangled. for besides the bells on his hood their steeds were hung with much merry baggage, a little drum, a tambourine and two brass horns. Bran, jester, juggler and minstrel, was on his way to the harvest fair of St. Edmundsbury where the girl would make music while he juggled and danced. A pair well matched to make folk gay: he was a little man and grotesque, bowed down by his big head, arms and legs and hands and feet, and she was shapely, buxom for her youth, and of a soft smiling prettiness. ”

“ Yves d'Eu, very carefully respectful, led him to a big stately room which looked out upon the river. He went all about it in a hurry, prying, like a dog in a strange place, then flung himself into a chair and sat twisting his hands and shuffling in the rushes on the floor. ”

“ He was a very solid fellow, as tall as a man need be, but so thick everywhere that he seemed short, bull-necked, deep of chest and of belly, and massive in the leg. His face was handsome in a bold, fierce kind, but red all over, and his eyes were bloodshot and the redder it look for the other red in his hair. ”

“ Bran looked at him miserably and looked away. “She saw. It is finished. She laughed.”
“So, I had my own desire to that Fleming. Now——”
“Na, na, na. He goes free, Henry. It is the first thing I ask or the last. He goes free. It makes me feel greater.”
Henry looked at his wine and made it run round in the cup. “Well,” he said, “well. He shall have no more of hanging than the fear. Men will call it kingly," and he laughed. “But you I call fool. By the cross, the queerest boon ever a king was asked since Christ.”
“A king?” ”

“ Bran is a simple man. No riddles in him. See, brother, because I will not let you do your will, you send me to the devil. Because the bishops will not let him do his will King Stephen holds them all prisoners. Ergo, brother, ergo, you are as like as brothers, you and my lord king.”
“Is it true, good fellow?”
“That you are his brother? Nay, ask your mother. The tale is true as the sky is blue, but oh my brother, what is it to you?”
THE Frenchman laughed, but his staring gray eyes were grave. “By my faith, a king is a strange king that throws down the glove to Holy Church! ”

“ Bran nodded. “When the poor grudge the poor, hell is upon earth. Take up the moneys, good fellow.”
So the man of the tavern, knowing himself an extortioner, blessed him and warmed to him and asked where he was going. But when Bran spoke of the fair at St. Edmundsbury the taverner threw up his hands.
“St. Edmund's fair! God have mercy, minstrel! ”