‘They were a race,’ answered the boy; and added, with a twinkle: ‘other than that one who, tasting their broth, declared he no longer wondered over their indifference to death, seeing that this was all they had to live for. Good Master Angell, too, was wont to say that Heaven blesses a simple appetite.’
Phineas struck his nose with his forefinger three several times.
‘These Churchmen,’ said he—‘they will dogmatise. What mandate had he from Heaven to speak for it? I could say that Heaven loves to encourage good eating; and could give you book for it too.’
‘Give it,’ said Brion.
‘Hast heard of St Patrick,’ answered Phineas—‘the apostle of the Kerns? Well, God quit him for that—he was a good and holy man, for all he had his moments of weakness. One came to him on a fast day, when the sight of two fat pork chops on a platter was too much for his resolution. But he had no sooner helped himself thereto than, his conscience smiting him, with a prayer to Heaven for forgiveness he cast them from him into a pail of water standing by, whereon they were instantly converted, by God’s grace, into a brace of lusty trout. Nothing less, look you—no red herrings from Heaven. And what, I would ask you, of Cana its feast? Was it your black broth Christ changed the water into? Go to, for your plainness and frugality—and with your mouth full of my veal pasty!’
Brion laughed: ‘If it had been that to tempt St Patrick!’
He was popular with them all, as said: but with none so much as Clerivault, who regarded him as his especial trust and intimate, and was jealous of any fancied encroachment by another on his preserves. He taught the boy the use of arms, and practised him in sword play, against the time when he should have a ‘rapier and a baselard with a sheath of red’ of his own to hang at his side. That was a reminiscence not unreferred to, you may be sure. Brion, as he grew in confidence with this comrade, would open his sedate young heart to him, and ever a little and a little less shyly; until once he ventured on a direct question:—
‘I have often wondered and wanted to ask you, Clerivault. You remember that day, so long ago, when we first met?’
‘Ay,’ answered the other curtly, and with a watchful manner, as if he foresaw what was coming and prepared himself with his guard.
‘You would know of me, would you not,’ said Brion, ‘where Master Angell lived?’