“Hold, hold,” said the jongleur, “not so fast, my lad—”
“Nay,” cried Geoffrey, “but how dare they when the king forbids?” and, dragging the jongleur up by the hand, he added: “Come with me now and we will seek the wicked Count Hugo, and tell him the news! Come!”
“Nay, nay,” the jongleur replied, “not I!”
“Why, is it not true?” demanded Geoffrey.
“True as gospel,” said the jongleur, “but thou art but a child; dost thou fancy two noble lords, bent on the sword play, would for one moment be stayed by the word of a poor strolling jongleur? Nay, I should but receive a drubbing for my pains if I sought to inform that cruel Hugo. I prefer, thank you, to keep my bones whole; especially as I could do no good. Moreover, let them spit each other, if they so desire! I do not care, youngster, how many duels they fight!”
But when he looked down and saw the grief in Geoffrey’s eyes, he softened, and added: “But since thou seemest to care so much, little one, I would risk the drubbing, by my faith, I would! if ’twere to any purpose. But I am older than thou, and somewhat a man of the world,” here the jongleur straightened himself up; “and I swear to thee, ’twould work naught but mischief were I to seek out yonder count and strive to prevent his encounter to-morrow. He would simply be angered, and would not believe me, or would pretend not to, because he does not wish to be stopped till he hath killed this Count Boni you tell me of, and got his lands. Naught but the king’s heralds themselves could hinder that affair.” And then, as he meditated, he added: “’Tis a monstrous pity, though! When didst thou say they fight, little one? In the morning? A monstrous pity! For the heralds will no doubt arrive in Dives to-morrow afternoon; they were to come hither on leaving Rouen. Thou knowest they must proclaim the edict through all the cities of the realm!”
Six hundred years ago printing and newspapers and the telegraph were unknown; and so when a war was to be undertaken, or peace settled upon, or a new law made, the king sent his heralds about through all his dominions, and they made proclamation to the people, with a great flourish of trumpets and much quaint ceremony.
But here Pippo became engaged in a squabble with a fat peacock, and the jongleur rising, separated them, and then strolled off toward the inn kitchen; for he had journeyed far, and the savory smells wafted out into the courtyard suddenly reminded him that he was very hungry.
Geoffrey, thus left alone, fell to thinking, and he thought and thought as never before in all his life. So the heralds were on their way to Dives, if what the jongleur told was true, and he believed it was; and the jongleur had said, moreover, that these heralds could stop even the wicked Hugo from carrying out his designs. Geoffrey felt that this was true also, for he knew that not even noblemen dared openly defy the king. And then he reasoned, perhaps more wisely than he knew, that Hugo stirred up and fought these “judicial duels” merely to increase his property and not to satisfy his personal honor; and that if nothing were to be gained, Hugo would surely not fight. The king had forbidden his subjects to acquire property that way; the great thing, therefore, was to prevent the encounter in the morning, so that the heralds might have time to come to Dives and make their proclamation, which would certainly put an end to the whole affair. But how, how could he, Geoffrey, do this?
At last, however, an idea occurred to him that made his eyes brighten and his cheeks flush. If he could only get hold of that bewitched Saracen sword of Count Hugo’s, and hide it, why, probably, as the count was known superstitiously to prefer it to any other weapon, he might be delayed hunting for it till the heralds came.