Robert Annys: Poor Priest. A Tale of the Great Uprising

by Annie Nathan Meyer

To do fitting honor to his bride, de Leaufort had long since made preparations on a vast scale for a great banquet, sparing no pains to make it the finest and rarest that had ever been held in those parts. It was well to do honor to his French bride, and also it was doubly well to give some notion to the King of his great resources, for there were times when even Kings had to be duly impressed with the power of their Barons; and it was well also for the insolent peasants, who were creating disturbances here and there, to be a bit overawed by a great show of wealth and state.

For some weeks in advance he had caused messages to be carried all over the land offering liberal pay to all the minstrels who would come to the Castle with their instruments, so that when all were finally gathered together there were over two hundred minstrels, with their harps, their psalteries, their rotes and rebecs, their gitternes, cymbals, and tabors.

The land was scoured for all possible delicacies; messengers were sent in hot haste to the coast to secure fresh fish and fetch it back on fast horses so that it would arrive untainted by the rays of the hot sun. Great pasties were made and filled with partridges and quails, with skylarks and thrushes; and there were jellies that quivered mountain-high in every possible hue; while stags, huge loins of beef, swans, peacocks, and capons were delivered at the door of the kitchen in an unending stream.

The Countess made herself exceedingly unpopular by insisting for some days after her arrival on partaking of her meals in private,—she with the Baron and her own party and the Legate and only one or two others in the private chamber, the solar of the Castle. She insisted upon it that the most refined of the aristocracy were doing away with the eating of dinners in the great Hall, which she considered extremely vulgar. To this whim of his bride de Leaufort gave way very reluctantly, for well he knew the storm that would be raised about his ears at this departure from the established custom, which had been good enough for his uncle and his uncle's father and grandfather, and as far back as the line extended. For the dinner in the great Hall was one of the chief institutions about which centred the social life of feudal days. Here the highest nobility and the plain folk might meet under one roof as the members of one great family. The most ill-mannered clout, who could not eat his meat without dripping the gravy all over his chin and down upon his breast, could learn daintiness and skill from the gentles who could deftly use their fingers without a single drop falling where it should not. Those into whose lives beauty and grace entered all too seldom could feast their eyes upon the most beautiful ladies in the land, their ears upon the most beautiful music of the day, and their grosser senses upon the best of wine and food,—all at the expense of their lord, whose hospitality was never questioned. Surely, if it came about that the quality withdrew themselves into chambers shut off from the rest of the house, all the music and song and merriment would leave the great Hall, and if it were no longer used for feasts and merrymaking, who knew how long before the goodly habit of spreading rushes on the floor for the night might also be given up, and the lonely traveller be forced to seek quarters in some foul and filthy inn, where the fleas would see to it that he rose on the morrow more eagerly than he lay himself down at night.

So at least for this banquet, the Baron was determined to have his own way and cling to the good old customs, save that he set the time much later than the usual noon hour, that the feast could last well on into the night,—an unwonted dissipation that would make the occasion all the more memorable.

Two hours before sunset the blare of the trumpets summoned the guests, who gathered together in the great Court and then entered the Hall two by two, and made their way along the rows of tables set the length of the Hall. At these tables stood a crowd of lesser guests and retainers who watched the guests of honor proceed to the upper end of the room, and mount the steps which led to the carpeted dais upon which stood the splendid high table of carved oak, now covered completely with a cloth of fringed and embroidered white silk strewn with aromatic herbs.

First came the Baron Edmond de Leaufort, his under short coat of white, elaborately embroidered in gold, with a long mantle of royal blue velvet reaching to his toes, and falling over his shoulders into a great train, which, if measured, would have come to three yards in length and more than a dozen yards in width. The hood and the entire length and breadth of the mantle were edged with gold, upon which were embroidered flowers of blue with leaves of green. The wide, loose sleeves, lined in a silk of delicate rose color, hung down from the elbows in a long point which just escaped the ground. The hosen, which fit so snugly about his calves as to necessitate a sewing on at each wearing, were of different colors, one of brilliant scarlet, and the other of white, while the long pointed shoes were of scarlet. His hair, curled low over his neck and ears, rested on a stiff ruff of fine white lace studded with pearls, while over his breast hung a long golden chain of finest workmanship, almost touching the links of yet another chain of like sort which was worn as a girdle low about his waist. The Countess by his side was gowned in a kirtle of scarlet cendal, laced close to the body, over which fell in graceful folds a mantle of rich green velvet, edged with an intricate pattern outlined in seed pearls. The sleeves of the kirtle were as tight as the hosen of the Baron, and necessitated on each robing the same manœuvres with thread and needle. About her hair (which had been freshly washed in wine to give it the fashionable gloss) was wound a gorget of finest white linen striped with wires of gold, which, after being turned two or three times about the neck and fastened by a great quantity of pins, had been raised on each side of the face until it resembled two great horns—a fashion which certainly gave a threatening aspect to the fair and elegant ladies of the day.

All the guests of both sexes were arrayed in their most sumptuous robes to do honor to the feast; yet perhaps in the breast of some of them was a certain chagrin that it was not the cold season, so that they might have displayed their rare and costly ermines, the pride and joy of the aristocracy. Notwithstanding the absence of furs, which perhaps were the costliest of all articles of apparel, there yet was enough gold spent on the backs of the nobles assembled there to have clothed in russet cloth the whole of England.

On the procession moved with stately grace to the accompaniment of the instruments above in the oriole, the great folk smiling and chatting among themselves, while the others looked on in silence. One there was, a wild-eyed man, tall and lank, in a priest's cassock, who looked on while the procession passed him, in silence it is true, yet his face speaking a language more eloquent than that of the tongue, with a look of contempt and hate and bitter scorn. Notwithstanding this, it was not very long before this same fellow seemed to have utterly forgot his indignation in his satisfaction over the dainty food that was placed before him.