Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 115 — page 3: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

4 te } i . However, as tranquilly as if he had lived there all his life, the brilli to the gate of Coucy Castle, which he found open, with the drawbridge down. So far tie promise of a welcome seemed good, and the mail-clad minstrel rode on, only check- ing his horse at the edge of the bridge when confronted by the figure of the squire of Gaston de Coucy, Denis Morbec by name, This man, always short and broad, had grown fat during the incumbency of his lord as Master of Couey, and now strutted forward with all the important airs of the chief of the castle him- self, demanding: ‘“Who are you, and what do you want?” The stranger paused a few moments to look at the figure before him with a grayely inquir- ing aspect, ere he rejoined: “Thou art Denis Morbec. I come from the Emir Abou Sheer, to claim the price of the work sworn to in the valley of the Brook Ke- dron.” For a moment the purple face of Denis lost a »ortion of its color, but then he recovered and lurted out: ‘* What mean’st thou, dog of a Turk?” “Tam no Turk,” interrupted the other, stern- ly, “but as good a Christian as any here. Where is thy master?” ‘‘ Away hunting,” was the reluctant answer, forced by surprise, as Denis stared at this singu- larly appareled stranger. ‘* Then see that our beasts are attended to, while we await his coming,” said the stranger, preparing himself to dismount. ‘‘I am George ot Antioch, a Syrian Christian minstrel, who has crossed the seas on purpose to meet the Mas- ter of Coucy, face to face,’ He had taken his right foot, out of the stirrup, when Denis raised his hand warningly, ‘“You get no shelter here,” he cried, ‘‘ My master hates minstrels and all their belongings. Away with you!” “come not as a minstrel, but as an envoy,” was the quietreply, to which Denis rejoined: ‘* Minstrel or envoy, it is all one. You cannot enter here,” As he spoke, the surly squire set a whistle to ant stranger rode up The Severed Head. inioned and his feet tied together under the elly of the horse on which he sat. As the cavalcade ‘approached, one might see that his face was deadly pale, and streaked with blood from a sword-cut on the head. | George of Antioch gazed a little while at the hunting train with their prisoner, then looked up at the sky, where the ragged gray edge of the great black cloud was already nearly over the castle. Then he suddenly seemed to make up his mind, for he cantered away to meet De Coucy. As he went, Denis noticed that he car- ried on the right side of his saddle a short heavy mace with a head fashioned like a star, a mass of spikes, and that the page bore a simi- lar weapon, * The two were not then so defense- less as they had at first seemed. George of Antioch drew up his horse in front of the Lord of Coucy and courteously addressed him. *‘[ wish your lordship all health and happi- ness. I am George of Antioch, a Syrian Chris- tian minstrel, bearing letters from the noble Godfrey, King of Jerusalem, and craving the | ] his lips and blew a long blast, which brought a _ dozen men-at-arms running up. ‘*Get thee gone, George of Antioch,” he con- iinied, ‘or we'll try how a quarrel* from an arblast fits thy case.’ The strange minstrel pointed to the north, | where a heavy bank of clouds had gathered, and where the growling of thunder was now al- most incessant, as he remonstrated: “ Dost thou not know that a great storm is approaching? I had heard that the Castle of Coucy was famed for its hospitality.” ‘Hospitality is tor fools,” was the polite re- sponse. ‘‘ When my master is away, I show none.” ‘* Where then is thy master?” asked George of Antioch; and hardly had the question left his lips, when the clear, mellow notes of a horn echoed through the woods in the vicinity of Coucy Castle. Denis uttered a short, scornful laugh as he re- torted: ‘* Yonder he comes now. An he find thee here, twill not be the first minstrel, let alone a Turk, that he has had hung up over the castle gate. Begone, while thou art safe,” George of Antioch looked at the surly squire in apparent amazement. ‘‘Hang a minstrel!” he ejaculated, ‘‘ Here, in the land where minstrels are honored! Man, thon l iest. Even the Master of Coucy dare not O it.’ Again Denis laughed an evil, ugly laugh, watching keenly meanwhile the brown sandy road which led into the forest from whence the horn had sounded. Already he could discern the occasional sparkle of spear-beads, that told of the caming of his master’s cavalcade, and he seemed not unwilling to detain the minstrel till it arrived. ‘* The Master of Couey has power of life and death on his own lands, as thou wouldst know, wert thou not a heathen stranger,” he snarled. ‘‘Have thine own way and ask for noeaMeliby, if thou darest when thou seest the lord. They call him the minstrel-killer.” The face of the Syrian minstre) grew dark and stern as he listened to the insolent squire, and he half-turned his horse away from the castle to watch the approaching cavalcade, which just then swept into sight. There were some thirty or forty persons in ‘he train, which was led by the tall, heavy figure of Master Gaston. They were all dressed in the colors of Couey, and bore hunting spears and short swords. Gaston, in the years of opulence end ease that he had enjoyed since the treachery of Jeru- salem, had become somewhat corpulent, and rode rather slowly in advance. Behind him came two men, leading between them a third clad in the coarse garments of a peasant, who was evidently a prisoner; for his arms were *It is hardly necessary, but may b* useful, to re- mind our readers that the short, square-headed bolts sent from the arblast, or cross-bow, were called “ quarrels." ; hospitality of your castle for the night.” Gaston de Coucy seemed to have grown as surly and insolent as his squire, for he turned on the other a gaze of scornful inquiry, measur- ing him from head to foot, ere he answered: ‘I hate minstrels. They are strolling vaga- bonds, too lazy to work, too cowardly to fight. Sleep in the woods, as many a better man bas done before thee. Come on, men.” He touched his big Norman horse with the spur. and rode on to the castle, leaving the yrian minstrel] alone. George of Antioch remained a moment as if thunderstruck, and then his eyes fell on the ghastly face of the pinioned prisoner. The sight seemed to have a strange effect on him, for he started back in his saddle, ejaculat- ing: ae Jacques Marcel!” “Ay, Jacques Marcel, as bad a poaching rogue as any in the land,” growled one of the man’s guardians, ‘‘We caught him with a ‘hare in the snare, and he swings for it.” Again George of Antioch started and a mo- ment later he dashed up beside De Coucy, whom he hurriedly addressed: ** My lord, my lord, if you will not grant me hospitality for the love of the gentle craft of music, at least grant me one boon for the sake of honor, of knighthood, ay, of the Holy Cross itself, Grant me the life of this poor man, the foster-brother of Guy de Coucy, from whom thou drawest thine inheritance. Should a man die for a hare?” Gaston de Couey was so much amazed at the oresumption of the request that he actually al- owed the Syrian to finish his speech. Then his face flushed a deep crimson with fury as he roared out: ** Dog of a minstrel, he dies if he were fifty brothers of Guy. Not a word, or by the bones of St. Denis thou swingest beside him. Away!” Then George of Antioch suddenly straighten- ed up in bis saddle, his eyes flasbed fire, and he in his turn shouted, in clear, clarion tones: ‘Ay, is it so? Then hear me, Gaston de Coucy. I come from the Emir Bou Sheer! The money, the thousand marks for which thou soldst thy cousin, is not paid, Give it me, or, by Our Blessed Lady, I swear to carry thy case to Paris before the king, thy liege lord, Dost hear?” He spoke so loudly that all the men around heard bim plainly, and before he had said a dozen words Gaston turned deadly pale and his jaw dropped, while the men stared in amaze- ment and whispered each other, Then the Master of Coucy seemed to recover himself, as the squire had done before him, and his color returned. He saw that the other RY sessed a dangerous secret, at the same time that he recognized his own power to bury that secret forever, He was a feudal lord on his own lands, with all the power of life and death which pertained to the office—an absolute despot. George of Antioch watched him keenly and seemed to divine the thoughts crossing his mind, for he suddenly drew this cimeter, sharp as a razor, crying: “Be it so, then. Here’s fora rescue.” As he spoke he dealt the horse of Gaston a blow on the crown that half-divided the head from the body, when down went the poor ani- mal, stone-dead, rolling on its rider. As the Syrian had anticipated the blow pro- Guced immediate confusion in the ranks, the very audacity of the assault aiding to confound Gaston’s followers. Shouting out some words in Arabic to his age, the active warrior-minstrel wheeled bis orse and made a blow at one of the prisoner’s guardians. The man, who had not yet drawn, was so amazed that he could only throw up his arm with an instinctive motion, the exp limb be- ing instantly lopped off near the elbow, as by a razor. The page, a slender, fair-faced boy, proved himself no mean adversary at the same mo- ment, dealing the other guardian a tap with his spiked mace on the side of the head. a a me eee eee 3 ——_—— ee ee ——s The prisoner, ghastly as he had been, was not so weak but that he retained his wits. The in- stant he felt his arms released, he worked his heels into the sides of his horse as fast as his bonds would allow him, shouted to the animal, and galloped away full speed. Then down into the midst of the fracas came a torrent of rain, illumined by the blindin lare of the lightning, while the thunder vol- eyed and crashed overhead as if heaven had burst open. The Syrian minstrel and his page heedless of the turmoil, tore away at full s after the escaping prisoner, while the castle train clustered in dire confusion round their fallen lord. There seemed to be no thought of pursuit in that tempest, for the blast of the wind was so tremendous, the fury of the descending torrents of hail and rain so appalling that the first in- stinct of all was to finda shelter somewhere. the nearer the better. Gaston de Coucy, groaning and bruised, was pulled out from under his fallen horse and hur- ried into the castle, where all his train soon found shelter, leaving the minstrel, the 6 and the poacher, out in the woecds in the fury of the tempest. ‘The weather had been hot and sultry for several days preceding the storm, early spring though it was, and the elements seemed to be bent on making up for their pe- riod of repose. The last thing seén of the Syrian stranger, he and the other two were at the edge of the forest, lost in a gray mist of falling rain. | CHAPTER. II. A FRUDAL CASTLE, | For over two hours tke storm raged in full fury, many a noble tree being prostrated by the wind; and then the clouds cleared away from the face of the heavens, driving along in fleet- ing masses of scud, between which the moon, in her second quarter, looked out upon the flooded landscape. The Count of St. Pol had nearly finished his supper, when his seneschal, whom he had sent out to lock at the weather, returned with the intelligence that the storm had broken and that; a winstrel from Palestine, called George of Antioch, was atthe gate, asking hospitality for himself and his servants. The Count of St, Pol was a jolly knight and one who loved mirth and music, therefore he smote bis knee with a mighty oath and ordered te imdb and courteous admission of the min- strel, “Tor Lhave heard no news from the world for a month,” he said; ‘“‘since our gentle friend, Etienne Marot, the. pen gleue hy PAGS to him, wherever he bhe—lett the castle. And as for Carcassou, the jester, Ihave heard all his jokes so often that I fall asleep listening to them,” Therefore when George of Antioch, who had ridden fifteen miles at a gallop, with the storm to drive him on, artived in the hall of St, Pol Castle, he was met by_a reception as courteous and kind as that accorded to him at Coucy. had been surly and inhospitable. The count him- self, a red-faced, hearty warrior, with iron.gray bair and mustache, came to the very dcor of the ball to meet bim and drew him in by main force, protesting that the castle and all within it were at the service of any professor of the gentle art, ‘‘ Wherein,” he admitted, ‘‘ I am buta clumsy HUD A my fingers suiting better the couch- ing hollow of a lance than the neck of a Iute. Yet love I the voice of the sweet jongleur, though mine own be like that of the raven. Enter, sir minstrel, and my people sball relieve thee of these wet garments and care for thy servants, So glad have I not been since Etienne Marot entered the castle, a year since,” ’ The worthy count, bred up in the hospitakle ways of the early feudal chiefs, took no ap- parent notice of the strange costume and beard- ed tace of the stranger, albeit both were very unusval in those days of close shaving, but ecu- fined himself en rey to making his guest com- fortable. An hcur later, George of Antioch, wrapped in one of St. Pol’s own velvet mantles bordered with fur, sat by the huge wood fire at. the head of the hall, on the dais or raised plat- form, beside his host, while bis two servants were being entertained at the table below, | St. Pol had been a Crusader in his time, and nowing from the name of his visitor that he was a Syrian Christian, began toask for news of the Holy Land assoon as the minstrel had supped. aren how left ye the noble Godfrey King of Jerusalem, sir ‘minstrel?’ Held he his owm bravely against the heathen still?” ‘‘The most noble the os of Jerusalem, with Baldwin of Edessa and Bohemond of Antioch, were smiting tho heathen daily,” replied Syrian. ‘‘ The domain of the Christians extends more and more, as new pilgrims settle there. The Crusade hath stricken terror to the Turks, But canst thou tell me, noble sir count, what is the name of the castle about five leagues from: here, on the road to-Marseilles, which 1, passed. as the storm came on?” monly used. \ *Jongleur, the mediwval name fora minstrel, come | CONNIE DOO KS rf) - (a cy an