BADGER CRACKS THE NORMAN'S PATE.
"Those who in quarrels interpose
Must often wipe a bloody nose."
The Mastiffs.
A few miles down the valley from the Norman headquarters at the castle, and following the trend of the river—because there was on its banks to be found a path, or track, very irregular, it is true, but which was made to serve the purposes of pedestrians, and which was little frequented—a Norman runner, or messenger, the bearer of De Montfort's despatch to the Conqueror, was steadily pressing on towards his destination. He had had a sharp walk along a road none of the best, and the springiness was beginning to disappear from his tread. He carried a sword by his side. Over his shoulder there was fastened a wallet containing provisions, and a long bow with a small quiver of arrows. In his right hand he carried a quarterstaff, which he used as a walking-stick. This latter weapon was much affected by the Normans, they having learnt its use from the Saxons, and it was now inseparable from their rough games and amusements, it being singularly adapted to call forth the powers of strength and dexterity of the wielders of it, whilst its vigorous application seldom resulted in anything worse than bruises and ruffled tempers. Ahead of this Norman, and quite unobserved by him, there was patiently lying in wait a remarkable being, who was quietly peering over the top of a knoll which commanded a view of a turning in the road. His dress plainly proclaimed him to be a child of the forest and the chase, his weird and outlandish appearance being simply indescribable. He sprang to his feet with remarkable agility as the form of the Norman runner rounded the corner into view. He fell into the path, and affected to journey as the stranger did, though as yet the Norman had not got a glimpse of him. As he went slowly trudging along, he burst into a merry ditty, trolling it right lustily. The burden of his doggerel ran something like the following:—
"My song is of a palmer bold,
Who footed it o'er the lea.
A monkish buck to him stepp'd up,
'What's the news, my man?' quoth he.
"'Bad news! Why, wine is getting scarce,
And venison, too, I trow.
And this I know the Normans vow;
They are eat and drunk by you.
"'And paunches measuring a cloth-yard's girth,
They tap them with lance or spear;
For good old sack is kept in stock
By such, the Normans swear.'
"'Then take my bottle, thou palmer bold,
My venison pasty too.
I'll fast and pray, and hair-shirt wear,
As a pious monk should do.'"
The strange singer affected to be totally oblivious of the approach of the Norman, for he accompanied his song by a vigorous twirling of his quarterstaff, ever and anon flinging it into the air and catching it again. So he kept trudging along all the while, as merrily as a cricket. He was apparently greatly startled when the Norman accosted him in the following unceremonious fashion:—
"Hilloa, old weazen-face! you appear to be in a wonderfully merry mood this morning. What is't makes you wag your tail at such a rate this morning, eh?"
"I give you good morning, fair sir. My obedience to your honour. Give me a moment; you quite startle me. What was your honour saying to me?"
"What is it makes you so merry, pray?"
"Why, it is better to be merry than sad; and, begging your pardon for being so bold, but I have that about me would make a man merry if he had a foot in the grave."
"Oh, aye, that is it makes you so merry, old bogskipper, is it? I thought you were going sweethearting."
"Marry, no! Did you ever see as old a dog as I am amuse himself by catching his tail. Mark me, I have in my wallet good barley-bread, and a stout collop of venison; and in my case I have a stiff supply of old Flemish wine," said he, tapping a huge leathern bottle he carried. "So I will be merry while it lasts, anyhow."
"I warrant, too, you have had that snout of yours to the neck of that bottle pretty frequently, old fellow, eh?"
"Thou art in error, friend; grossly in error. Such words are a grave reflection upon my character for sobriety. But it is only fair to say that I have smelt at it occasionally as I came along; but I never drink except I'm thirsty, begging your pardon, fair sir—only when I'm thirsty."
"Thirsty, eh? And how oft does that sensation come on? Not a week between, I'll go bond."
"No, I grant you this much. I always seem to have a parched sensation at the pit of my stomach when wine or ale is about; and I have noticed this frequently, good wine seems to go straight to the spot. It is a very soothing medicine if it be applied regularly, and pretty oft, so as to keep my stomach nice and moist."
"Well, I think you might ask a thirsty comrade to have a taste of your wine, anyhow, old sucker. 'Tis a very small favour, that."
"Not so fast, my buck; don't jump your fence afore you come to't! First fee your priest, then have your shriving. How should I know whether thou beest a comrade or no. Dost thou see, to give good wine to a bad fellow were to waste good liquor, and there is no sin in the calendar half so bad as to waste good liquor. Marry, 'twere mortal sin."
"Ho, ho, my master's all! Dost thou know, old fellow, when an ass kicks his heels he inquires for the cudgel. Come, now, what if I lay siege to thy weazen carcase, and carry off thy bottle, and flay thy carcase for thee into the bargain. How then?"
"Easy there, my hearty!" said the stranger, twirling lustily his staff. "I trow I would flatten thy crown with my staff ere thou take my bottle; though 'twere pity truly to flatten thee any more above thy shoulders, for, gramercy! I take it thou would be welcome where flats are wanted."
"I perceive thou art a stout rogue enough when driven to a push, and saucy into the bargain. But I can stop thy brag, my cock-a-loup, pretty handy, I doubt not."
"That may be, or that may not be, which signifies nothing. But just let me point out to thee, by way of caution, that my staff is harder than thy pate, anyhow. So, in a friendly sort of way, I would advise thee to take no unnecessary risks."
"Risks, eh? Ha, ha, ha! And from such a swag-belly as thou art! There are not many risks, I flatter me."
"Very well, then; since thou wilt not be advised, take thy staff for a friendly bout," said the Saxon, unstrapping his wallet and leathern bottle, and laying them on the ground. "If I crack thy pate, thou shalt have half my wine; and marry, if thou crack mine thou shalt have the whole, for I love a bout with the staff almost as well as I like Flemish wine."
Now the Norman prided himself upon his prowess with the staff. He was also a span taller than the Saxon. The uncouth garments of the latter, also, made him appear as though much beyond the time of youth, and so disguised his stout limbs that the Norman could scarcely conceal his contempt for such an opponent. So he readily accepted the challenge, and at once the pair were toe to toe, and dealing blow or parry with right good will. The Saxon did not appear to very great advantage at the commencement of the fray. Frequently he received slight blows here and there, at which the Norman was visibly elated, and he led the attack with much vigour, and equal recklessness. The Saxon seemed to shrink from the onset, but there was a sly humour lurking about his wicked grey eye which was very ominous. Eventually taking a mild blow, without parrying, from his foe, the Saxon put a giant's strength into his arm, and like a thunderbolt his staff came down with a crash upon the Norman's skull, cutting open his head, and knocking him senseless on the ground.
"Poor fellow!" said Badger, for it was he. "You don't know how sorry I feel to have to give you a crack like this; but less would hardly do the business."
He quickly undid the Norman's doublet, and took from an inside pocket the sealed message from De Montfort. Then he deposited a similar one in its place. Next, he went down to the river and steeped a cloth in the water, then gently bathed the Norman's head, and staunched the bleeding, also carefully drawing the hair over it to hide the wound as much as possible. He next poured down his throat some of the Flemish wine he carried. The Norman slowly opened his eyes, and stared about him with a dazed, unmeaning look.
"All right, my gallant fellow," said Badger. "Here you are. Have another taste of my bottle."
The Norman took a good long pull, which seemed to revive him considerably. By degrees the whole scene came back to his stunned senses, and mechanically he put up his hand to his head, and felt the wound.
"You hound!" said he. "You've cracked my skull!"
"Not a bit of it, my hearty! Your skull is not so easy to crack. The skin is peeled a little, that is all, and a day or two will put it right again."
"I trow not, nor a week or two either. You villain! You meant to brain me, I do believe!"
"Not a bit of it, comrade. Why, if I meant you harm, what so easy whilst you have been lying here? The fact is, you beat me black and blue. My limbs will be sore for many a day after this. It was the first time I had touched you; and you were so eager to knock me out of it that you left your head unguarded. Why, man, you had the best of it up to the last stroke."
By touching up the Norman's vanity by such artful speeches, and by pouring good wine down his throat, the pair were speedily on good terms, and they parted the best of friends, Badger chuckling to his heart's content as he struck off on a short cut for the hills.
In the meantime, Oswald waited anxiously at an appointed place for the coming of Badger, profoundly hoping that his mission would be successful. He knew that, excepting some untoward accident had happened, Badger would hang on to the heels of his man until, by either fair or foul means, he secured the despatches. But he himself had prepared for drastic means, if stratagem had failed. For failure to intercept the message would probably mean disaster to the little Saxon colony on the hill. His mind, however, was greatly relieved as he beheld Badger in the distance with beaming countenance, hurrying towards him.
"Well, I'm glad to see you, Badger. How has the business gone? No miscarriage, I hope?"
Badger made no reply, but, quickly hauling out the parchment from his bosom, he handed it to Oswald.
"I trust this will make better answer than I can muster, my lord."
Oswald took the parchment, and quickly tore it open, and ran his eyes over its contents.
"All right, Badger. How came you by it? Does the messenger know that you have relieved him of his message?"
"He has not the slightest idea. He trudged off, after carefully ascertaining, as he thought, that his packet was safe."
"You are the slyest rogue in the world, Badger, I do declare. Come, let us hear the news, how you came by this paper?"
So, as the pair journeyed on together, Badger, in high glee, told how he had circumvented the Norman, and sent him on his journey with a cracked skull into the bargain, all of which Oswald highly relished.