Part 13

"Lord!" said he, "how can this have chanced? Where, then, are my hosen?"

"I do not think that you have any, fair fellow," said Travers. "There is no such thief as Barat, from here to Nevers, or so it seems to me. Cunning indeed is the thief who can steal from a thief. But for my part I am not meant for your trade, for I cannot spell even its A B C. A hundred times should I be taken in my simplicity, where you would escape by guile. I will return to my own village where I was married to my wife. Mad must I have been to forsake it to become a thief. I am neither fool nor idler, and know well how to toil in the fields, to winnow and to reap. With the help of God I am yet strong enough to gain my bread, so I go my way, and commend you to God His keeping."

So Travers parted from the company of the two thieves, and travelled by hill and dale till he came at last to his own country. His comely wife, Dame Maria, bore him no grudge for his absence, but welcomed his return with much joy, as was her husband's due. He settled down amongst his friends and acquaintance, and earned his living honestly and well. He prospered greatly, so that he had enough and to spare, both of this and of that. Now, towards Christmas, Travers killed a pig which he had fattened all the year. He hung the bacon from a rafter of his house, but better had he done, and much trouble would he have escaped, had he sold it in the village, as you will see who read this story.

On a day when Travers was cutting fagots within a coppice, Haimet and Barat, seeking what they might find, lighted on his house, and found Dame Maria spinning at her wheel. Then said these rogues whose business it was to cozen the simple--

"Dame, where is your husband?"

"Gentles," answered she, unknowing of these cheats, "he is in the wood, gathering fagots for the fire."

"May God prosper his work," said they devoutly.

So they seated themselves, and looked about the house, high and low, at larder and hearth-stone, in every nook and corner. Presently Barat, raising his head, saw the side of bacon hanging from the rafters. He drew the attention of Haimet to the meat, saying--

"Travers pains himself greatly to hide this bacon in his room. He fears lest we should live a little at his cost, or taste his savoury meat. Yet taste we will, if so we may."

Then they took their leave, and going a short distance, hid themselves behind a hedge, where each set to work upon the sharpening of a stake.

When Travers returned to his home--

"Husband," said his wife, Dame Maria, "two men have sought you who frightened me greatly, for I was alone in the house, and they would not tell me their business. They were mean and shifty to look upon, and there is not a thing in all the room that they have not taken stock of--not the bacon, nor anything else--knife, reaping-hook, nor axe, for their eyes were in every place at once."

"Well I know who they are and what they want of me," said Travers, "for they have seen me often. We have lost our bacon, I promise you, since Barat and Haimet have come to seek it for themselves. It is to no purpose that we have cured it in the smoke, of that I am very sure. In an evil hour I killed my pig, and certainly it were better to have sold it last Saturday when I was able."

"Husband," answered the wife, "if you take the bacon down from the ceiling, perchance these thieves may not find it when they come."

Therefore, because of the importunity of his wife, Travers mounted on a stool and cut the cord, so that the bacon fell upon the floor. But not knowing where to bestow the meat, they let it remain even where it had fallen, having first covered it with the vessel in which they kneaded their bread. Then, sad at heart, they went to bed to take what rest they might.

When the night was come, those who were so desirous of the bacon came to the house, and with their stakes made a hole in the wall near to the threshold, a hole so large that you might have trundled a mill-stone therein. Thereby they entered softly, and groped warily about the house. Now Barat went from stool to table till he came beneath the rafter from whence the bacon hung. He knew by touch that the cord was severed, and he whispered in his brother's ear that he had not found the meat, "But," said the thief, "Travers is a fool if he thinks to conceal it for long."

Then they listened in the darkness of the room to the breathing of those upon the bed.

Travers did not dare to sleep, and finding that his wife was becoming drowsy, roused her, saying--

"Wife, this is no time for sleep. I shall go about the house to see that all is fast."

"Do not leave me," answered his wife.

But Travers, who was a prudent man, rose from his bed to make sure of all his goods. He came to the kneading trough, and raising it a little from the ground, felt the bacon safely beneath. Then taking a great axe in his hand he went out to visit his cow in her byre.

Barat came swiftly to the bed, like the bold and cunning thief he was.

"Marion," said he, "fair sister, I have a certain thing to ask you, but dare not do so, for fear you think me mad."

"That I will never deem you, husband, by St. Paul; but I will counsel you to the best of my power."

"I slept so soundly that I cannot remember where we bestowed the bacon yester night, so bemused am I with dreams."

"God help you, husband, to find more seasonable jests; is it not hid beneath the bin upon the floor?"

"In God's name, sister, you speak truly, and I will go to feel if it is yet there."

Being desirous to keep his word, Barat lifted the trough and drew forth the bacon. Then he rejoined Haimet, who was near by, and the two thieves hastened towards the coppice, making much of each other because of the success of their trick.

Now Travers returned to his bed, first carefully fastening his doors.

"Certes," said his wife, "dazed you must have been to ask me what had become of our bacon."

"God help me," cried Travers, "when did I ask you this question?"

"Why, but now, husband."

"Sister, our bacon has walked off. Never shall we see it more, unless I may steal it from these thieves. But they are the most cunning robbers in all the land."

Travers went out forthwith in quest of the rogues who had carried off his bacon. He took a short cut through a field of wheat, and following the path very swiftly, presently found himself between the tricksters and the wood. Haimet was very near to cover, but Barat went more heavily, seeing that his load was right heavy. So Travers, being anxious to take his own again, quickened his steps, and coming to him said--

"Give it to me, for you are weary, seeing you have carried it so long a road. Sit down now, and take a little rest."

Barat, thinking that he had met with Haimet, gladly placed the bacon on the shoulders of Travers, and went his way. But Travers turned him back to his own house, and hastened towards his home by the nearest path. Now Barat, deeming that Haimet followed after, ran towards the wood until he overtook his brother. When he knew him again he had great fear, because he thought him behind. But when Haimet saw him stagger, he cried out, "Let me bear the bacon for a while. I think it little likely that I shall fall beneath its weight, as you are near to do. Certainly you are overdone."

"God give me health," answered Barat, "for Travers has made a fool of us. It is he who carries his bacon on his own shoulders. But the game is not finished yet, and I have yet a throw to make."

Travers proceeded on his way in quietness and peace, as one who had nought to fear from any man. But Barat, wet with haste, overtook him in the end. He had taken off his shirt and wrapped it about his head like a coif, and as much as he was able bore himself in the semblance of a woman.

"Alas," cried he, "very nearly am I dead by reason of the loss and mischief dealt me by these wicked men. God, what has become of my husband, who has suffered so many things at their hands?"

Thinking that his wife was speaking to him, Travers held forth the bacon.

"Sister," said he, "God is yet above the Devil. You see we have again our own."

Then he, who never thought to lay hands upon the meat, seized upon it greedily.

"Do not wait for me, husband, but get to bed as quickly as you can, for now you may sleep without any fear."

So Travers returned to his own house, and Barat hastened to his brother, bearing the bacon with him.

When Travers found his wife in tears--

"Certes, Mary," said he, "all this has come upon us by reason of our sins. I thought to charge your shoulders with our bacon in the garden, but now I know well that these rogues have bestowed it upon theirs. Heavens, I wonder where he learned to play the part of a woman so bravely in manner and in speech! Hard is the lesson I am set to learn in school, because of a flitch of bacon. But, please God, I will find them this night, yea, though I walk till I have no sole to my shoe, and supplant them yet."

Travers took the path leading to the wood, and entering in the coppice, saw the red blaze of a fire which these two thieves had litten. He heard their voices lifted in dispute, so he concealed himself behind an oak, and listened to their words. At the end Barat and Haimet agreed that it were better to eat the bacon forthwith, lest a new cast of the dice should go against them. Whilst they went to seek dry cones and brushwood for the fire, Travers crept privily to the oak beneath which it was burning. But the wood was damp and green, so that more smoke and smother came from that fire than flame. Then Travers climbed into the tree, and by the aid of bough and branch came at last to the place where he would be. The two thieves returned presently with cones and brambles. These they threw upon the fire in handfuls, saying that very soon it would grill their bacon, and Travers hearkened to their speech. He had stripped himself to his shirt, and hung from a limb of the oak by his arm. Now, in a while, Haimet lifted his eyes to the tree, and saw above him the hanged man, tall, grotesque and horrible to see, naked in his very shirt.

"Barat," whispered he, "our father is spying upon us. Behold him hanging from this branch in a very hideous fashion. Surely it is he come back to us, is it not?"

"God help me," cried Barat, "it seems to me that he is about to fall."

Then because of their fear the two thieves fled from that place, without leisure to eat, or to bear away, the bacon they had stolen.

When Travers marked their flight he tarried no longer in the oak, but taking his bacon, returned straightway to his house, with none to give him nay. His wife praised him to his face, saying--

"Husband, you are welcome home, for you have proven your worth. Never did there live a braver man than you."

"Sister," said he, "take wood from the cellar, and make a fire. Certainly we must eat our bacon, if we would call it our own."

Dame Maria lighted a fire with fagots upon the hearth; she put water in the cauldron, and hung it on the hook above the fire. Travers for his part carefully cut the bacon for which he had suffered so great trouble, and put it in the pot till all was full. When this was done--

"Fair sister," said he, "watch by the fire, if you can keep awake. I have not slept this night, and will rest a little on the bed. But I will not take off my clothes, because I still am troubled of these thieves."

"Husband," answered she, "ill luck go with them. Sleep soundly and in peace, for there is none to do you wrong."

So Dame Maria kept vigil whilst Travers slept, for very greatly had he need of rest.

During this time Barat lamented in the wood, for well he knew, when he found the bacon gone, that Travers had played this trick upon them.

"Certes," said he, "we have lost the meat because of our fearful hearts, and it belongs to Travers by right of courage. A good breakfast he will make, for he deems that none can take it from him. He will look upon us as dirt, if we leave it in his hands. Let us go to his house and mark where he has bestowed it."

The two thieves hastened to the door of Travers' house. Barat set his eye to a crevice therein, and saw a sight which gave him little joy, for the pot was boiling upon the fire.

"Haimet," said he, "the bacon is cooking, and much I grieve that there is none for us."

"Let it boil in peace till it is fit for eating," answered Haimet. "I shall not give Travers quittance in this matter till he has paid me wages for my toil."

Haimet sought a long stake which he cut from a hazel tree, and sharpened it with his knife. Then he climbed upon the roof of the house, and uncovered a little space above the spot where the cauldron boiled upon the fire. Through this opening he could see the wife of Travers sound asleep, for she was weary of her vigil, and nodded over the hearth. Haimet lowered the rod, which he had sharpened like a dart, and struck it in the pot so adroitly that he drew forth a portion of the bacon from out the cauldron. This he raised cunningly to the roof, and had great joy of his fishing. Then awoke Travers from his sleep, and saw this thing, and marked the thief, who was both malicious and strong.

"Gossip, upon my roof," said he, "it is not reasonable of you to strip the covering from over my head. In this manner we shall never come to an end. Climb down; let us give and take. Let each of us have his share of the bacon."

So Haimet descended from the roof, and the bacon was taken from the cauldron. Dame Maria divided the meat into three portions, for the thieves had no care to let Travers part the lots. The two brothers took two portions, and Travers one; but his was not the best, for all that he had nourished the pig.

For this reason was the proverb made, oh, gentles, that "Bad is the company of thieves."

THE FRIENDSHIP OF AMIS AND AMILE

In the days of Pepin, King of the Franks, a boy was born in the Castle of Bericain to a father of Allemaigne, of noble descent and of great holiness. His father and mother, who had no other child, vowed to God and to St. Peter and St. Paul that if God vouchsafed him breath he should be carried to Rome for his baptism. At the same hour a vision was seen of the Count of Alverne--whose wife was near her day--in which he saw the Apostle of Rome, who baptized many children in his palace, and confirmed them with the anointing of holy oil. When the Count awoke from his sleep he inquired of the wise men of those parts what this thing might mean. Then a certain wise old man, having heard his words, by the counsel of God made answer, and said--

"Rejoice greatly, Count, for a son shall now be born to thee great in courage and in virtue, and thou shalt carry him to Rome, so that he may be baptized by the Apostle."

So the Count rejoiced in his heart, and he and his people praised the counsel of that ancient man.

The child was born, and cherished dearly, and when he was of the age of two years his father prepared to carry him to Rome, according to his purpose. On his way he came to the city of Lucca, and there fell in with a certain nobleman of Allemaigne who was on pilgrimage to Rome, that there he might baptize his son. Each greeted the other, and inquired of his name and business; and when they knew they were in the like case, and bound on the same errand, they took each other as companion with a kind heart, and voyaged together to Rome. The two children, also, loved so dearly, that one would not eat save the other ate with him; so that they fed from the same dish, and lay in the one bed. In such manner as this the fathers carried the boys before the Apostle at Rome, and said to him--

"Holy Father, whom we believe and know to be seated in the chair of St. Peter the Apostle, we, the Count of Alverne, and the Chatelain of Castle Bericain, humbly pray your Holiness that you would deign to baptize the sons they have carried here from a distant land, and to accept this humble offering from their hands."

Then the Pope made answer--

"It is very meet to come with such a gift before me, but of such I have no need. Give it, therefore, to the poor, who cry for alms. Right willingly will I baptize the children, and may the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost ever fold them close in the love of the Holy Trinity."

So at that one time the Apostle baptized the two children in St. Saviour's Church, and he gave to the son of the Count of Alverne the name of Amile, and to the son of the Chatelain of Castle Bericain gave he the name of Amis. Many a knight of Rome held them at the font, and answered in their name as god-parents, according to the will of God. Then, when the Sacrament of Baptism was at an end, the Apostle commanded to be brought two wooden cups, fair with gold and set with costly stones, of one workmanship, size and fashion, and these he handed to the children, saying--

"Take this gift in witness that I have baptized you in St. Saviour's Church."

So the knights received the cups with great joy, and rendered him grace for his gift, and parting from thence repaired each to his own home in all comfort and solace.

To the child of the Knight of Bericain God also gave a gift, the gift of such wise understanding that men might almost believe that he was another Solomon.

When Amis was of the age of thirty years a fever seized upon his father, and he began to admonish his son in words such as these--

"Fair, dear son, my end is near at hand, but thou shalt tarry for a season, and be thine own lord. Firstly, fair son, observe the commandments of God, and be of the chivalry of Jesus Christ. Keep faith with thy overlords, and turn not thy back on thy companions and thy friends. Defend the widow and the orphan; be pitiful to the captive and to all in need; think every day upon that day which shall be thy last. Forsake not the society and friendship of the son of the Count of Alverne, for the Apostle of Rome baptized you together on one day, and graced you with one gift. Are you not alike in all things--in beauty, in comeliness, and in strength, so that whosoever sees you, thinks you to be sons of one mother?"

Having spoken these words, he was houselled of the priest, and died in our Lord; and his son gave him fitting burial, and paid him all such service as is meetly required for the dead.

After the death of his father divers evil persons wrought Amis much mischief, because of the envy they felt towards him; but nevertheless he bore them no ill will, and patiently suffered all the wrong and malice that they did. Let me tell you, then, without more words, that such was his case that he and his servants were cast forth from the heritage of his fathers, and driven from the gate of his own keep. But when he had called to mind the words of his father, he said to those who journeyed with him in the way--

"The wicked have spoiled me wrongfully of my inheritance, yet have I good hope that the Lord is on my side. Come now, let us seek the Court of Count Amile, my comrade and my friend. Peradventure he will give us of his goods and lands; but if not, then will we gather to Hildegarde, the Queen, wife of King Charles of France, the stay and support of the disinherited."

So those of his company made answer that they would follow where he led, and would serve him as his men. They rode, therefore, to the court of the Count, but might not find him, for reason that he had passed to Bericain to comfort Amis, his companion, because of the death of his father. When Amile might not find Amis, he departed from the castle, greatly vexed, and resolved within himself that he would not solace himself in his own fief until he had met with Amis, his friend. Therefore he rode on this quest through France and Allemaigne, seeking news of him from all his kindred, but finding none.

Now Amis, together with his company, for his part sought diligently for Amile his friend, until it chanced that on a day a certain lord gave him harbourage, and at his bidding Amis told him of this adventure. Then said the nobleman--

"Dwell ye with me, sir knights, and I will give my daughter to your lord, because of the wisdom men report of him, and you, for your own part, shall be made rich in silver, in gold and in lands."

They rejoiced greatly at his word, and the wedding feast was celebrated with marvellous joy. But when they had tarried in that place for one year and six months, Amis called together his ten companions and spake to them.

"We are recreant, inasmuch as we have forgotten all this while to seek for Amile."

So he left two men-at-arms, together with his precious cup, and set forth towards Paris.

Now for the space of nearly two years Amile had sought for Amis without pause or rest. Drawing near to Paris he lighted upon a pilgrim and asked of him if perchance he knew aught of Amis, whom evil men had hunted from his lands. The palmer said "Nay," wherefore Amile divested himself of his cloak, and gave it to the pilgrim, saying--

"Pray thou to our Lord and His saints for me that they give me grace to meet Amis, my friend."

So he saluted the pilgrim, and went his way to Paris, seeking in every place for news of Amis his friend, and finding none. But the pilgrim, passing swiftly upon his road, came upon Amis about the hour of vespers, and they saluted each the other. Then Amis inquired of the palmer whether he had seen or heard, in any land or realm, aught of Amile, the son of the Count of Alverne.

"What manner of man art thou," answered the palmer all astonied, "that thou makest mock of a pilgrim? Thou seemest to me that very Amile who but this morn sought of me if I had seen Amis, his friend. I know not for what reason thou hast changed thine apparel, thy company, thy horses and thy arms, nor why thou askest of me the same question thou didst require at nine hours of the morn when thou gavest me this cloak."

"Be not angry with me," said Amis, "for I am not the man you deem; but I am Amis who searches for his friend Amile."

So he gave him money from his pouch, and prayed him that he would require of our Lord that He might grant him grace to find Amile.

"Hasten quickly to Paris," said the pilgrim, "and there shalt thou find him whom so fondly thou seekest."

So Amis hastened instantly to the city.

It chanced upon the morrow that Amile departed from Paris, and took his ease within a daisied meadow near by the pleasant waters of the Seine. Whilst he ate there with his knights there came that way Amis with his men-at-arms. So Amile and his company armed themselves forthwith, and rode forth before them at adventure. Then Amis said to his companions--

"Behold these French knights who seek to do us a mischief. Stand stoutly together, and so shall we defend our lives. If we but escape this peril soon shall we be within the walls of Paris, and sweetly shall we be entreated at the palace of the King."

Then drew the two companies together with loosened rein, with lance in rest, and with brandished sword, in such fashion that it seemed as if none might escape alive from the fury of that onset. But God, the all powerful, Who knoweth all, and bringeth to a good end the travail of the just, suffered not that spears should meet in that encounter. So when they were near at hand Amis cried aloud--

"Who are you, knights, that are so eager to slay Amis the Banished and his companions?"

When Amile heard these words he knew well the voice of Amis, his comrade, so he answered him--

"Oh thou, Amis, most dear, sweet as rest to my labour, know me for Amile, son of the Count of Alverne, who have not given over my quest for thee these two whole years."