The White Company / Белый отряд. Книга для чтения на английском языке. Артур Конан ДойлЧитать онлайн книгу.
and seizing the white rogue by the edge of his jerkin. “This is one of them. I know him by that devil’s touch upon his brow. Where are your cords, Peterkin? So! Bind him hand and foot. His last hour has come. And you, young man, who may you be?”
“I am a clerk, sir, travelling from Beaulieu.”
“A clerk!” cried the other. “Art from Oxenford or from Cambridge? Hast thou a letter from the chancellor of thy college, giving thee a permit to beg? Let me see thy letter.”
He had a stern square face, with bushy side-whiskers and a very questioning eye.
“I am from Beaulieu Abbey, and I have no need to beg,” said Alleyne, who was all of a tremble now that the ruffle was over.
“The better for thee,” the other answered. “Dost know who I am?”
“No, sir, I do not.”
“I am the law!” – nodding his head solemnly. “I am the law of England and the mouthpiece of his most gracious and royal majesty, Edward the Third[34].”
Alleyne louted low to the king’s representative.
“Truly you came in good time, honoured sir,” said he. “A moment later and they would have slain me.”
“But there should be another one,” cried the man in the purple coat. “There should be a black man. A shipman with St. Anthony’s fire, and a black man who had served him as cook – those are the pair that we are in chase of.”
“The black man fled over to that side,” said Alleyne pointing towards the barrow.
“He could not have gone far, sir bailiff,” cried one of the archers, unslinging his bow. “He is in hiding somewhere for he knew well, black paynim as he is, that our horses’ four legs could outstrip his two.”
“Then we shall have him,” said the other. “It shall never be said whilst I am Bailiff of Southampton, that any waster, riever, drawlatch or murtherer came scathless away from me and my posse. Leave that rogue lying. Now stretch out in line, my merry ones, with arrow on string, and I shall show you such sport as only the king can give. You on the left, Howett, and Thomas of Redbridge upon the right. So! Beat high and low among the heather, and a pot of wine to the lucky marksman.”
As it chanced, however, the searchers had not far to seek. The negro had burrowed down into his hiding-place upon the barrow, where he might have lain snug enough, had it not been for the red gear upon his head. As he raised himself to look over the bracken at his enemies, the staring colour caught the eye of the bailiff, who broke into a long screeching whoop and spurred forward sword in hand. Seeing himself discovered, the man rushed out from his hiding-place, and bounded at the top of his speed down the line of archers, keeping a good hundred paces to the front of them. The two who were on either side of Alleyne bent their bows as calmly as though they were shooting at the popinjay at a village fair.
“Seven yards windage, Hal,” said one, whose hair was streaked with grey.
“Five,” replied the other, letting loose his string. Alleyne gave a gulp in his throat, for the yellow streak seemed to pass through the man; but be still ran forward.
“Seven, you jack-fool,” growled the first speaker, and his bow twanged like a harpstring. The black man sprang high up into the air, and shot out both his arms and his legs, coming down all asprawl among the heather. “Right under the blade bone!” quoth the archer, sauntering forward for his arrow.
“The old hound is the best when all is said,” quoth the Bailiff of Southampton, as they made back for the roadway. “That means a quart of the best malmsey in Southampton this very night, Matthew Atwood. Art sure that he is dead?”
“Dead as Pontius Pilate, worshipful sir.”
“It is well. Now, as to the other knave. There are trees and to spare over yonder, but we have scarce leisure to make for them. Draw thy sword, Thomas of Redbridge, and hew me his head from his shoulders.”
“A boon, gracious sir, a boon!” cried the condemned man.
“What then?” asked the bailiff.
“I will confess to my crime. It was indeed I and the black cook, both from the ship La Rose de Gloire, of Southampton, who did set upon the Flanders merchant and rob him of his spicery and his mercery, for which, as we well know, you hold a warrant against us.”
“There is little merit in this confession,” quoth the bailiff sternly. “Thou hast done evil within my bailiwick, and must die.”
“But, sir,” urged Alleyne, who was white to the lips at these bloody doings, “he hath not yet come to trial.”
“Young clerk,” said the bailiff, “you speak of that of which you know nothing. It is true that he hath not come to trial, but the trial hath come to him. He hath fled the law and is beyond its pale[35]. Touch not that which is no concern of thine. But what is this boon, rogue, which you would crave?”
“I have in my shoe, most worshipful sir, a strip of wood which belonged once to the bark wherein the blessed Paul was dashed up against the island of Melita. I bought it for two rose nobles from a shipman who came from the Levant. The boon I crave is that you will place it in my hands and let me die still grasping it. In this manner, not only shall my own eternal salvation be secured, but thine also, for I shall never cease to intercede for thee.”
At the command of the bailiff they plucked off the fellow’s shoe, and there sure enough at the side of the instep, wrapped in a piece of fine sendal, lay a long dark splinter of wood. The archers doffed caps at the sight of it, and the bailiff crossed himself devoutly as he handed it to the robber.
“If it should chance,” he said, “that through the surpassing merits of the blessed Paul your sin-stained soul should gain a way into paradise, I trust that you will not forget that intercession which you have promised. Bear in mind, too, that it is Herward the Bailiff for whom you pray, and not Herward the Sheriff, who is my uncle’s son. Now, Thomas, I pray you despatch, for we have a long ride before us and sun has already set.”
Alleyne gazed upon the scene – the portly velvet-clad official, the knot of hard-faced archers with their hands to the bridles of their horses, the thief with his arms trussed back and his doublet turned down upon his shoulders. By the side of the track the old dame was standing, fastening her red wimple once more round her head. Even as he looked one of the archers drew his sword with a sharp whirr of steel and stepped up to the lost man. The clerk hurried away in horror; but, ere he had gone many paces, he heard a sudden, sullen thump, with a choking, whistling sound at the end of it. A minute later the bailiff and four of his men rode past him on their journey back to Southampton, the other two having been chosen as grave-diggers. As they passed, Alleyne saw that one of the men was wiping his sword-blade upon the mane of his horse. A deadly sickness came over him at the sight, and sitting down by the wayside he burst out a-weeping, with his nerves all in a jangle. It was a terrible world, thought he, and it was hard to know which were the more to be dreaded, the knaves or the men of the law.
Chapter V
How a Strange Company Gathered at the “Pied Merlin”
The night had already fallen, and the moon was shining between the rifts of ragged drifting clouds, before Alleyne Edricson, footsore and weary from the unwonted exercise, found himself in front of the forest inn which stood upon the outskirts of Lyndhurst. The building was long and low, standing back a little from the road, with two flambeaux[36] blazing on either side of the door as a welcome to the traveller. From one window there thrust forth a long pole with a bunch of greenery tied to the end of it – a sign that liquor was to be sold within. As Alleyne walked up to it he perceived that it was rudely fashioned out of beams of wood, with twinkling lights all over where the glow from within shone through the chinks. The roof was poor and thatched; but in strange contrast to it there ran all along under the eaves a line of wooden shields, most gorgeously painted with chevron, bend, saltire, and every heraldic device. By the door
Edward the Third – английский король с 1327 г. из династии Плантагенетов, начал Столетнюю войну с Францией
is beyond its pale – (