Part 3

‘By thy leave,’ continued the Doctor, ‘I married one Mistress Beatbush. She had some small jointure; I was her third husband, but at first she did not seem to be so vile. However, when her portion was spent, my gorge rose at her, for know, good gentlemen, her face was withered and puckered like a Christmas apple, her voice like the barking of dogs or croaking of frogs, and her foul tongue dropped adders and vipers. Then did I call to mind the admonitions of the Holy Apostle Paul, and beat her often, yea, I even threw her once into the fire, and twice into our pond.’

‘Certes,’ cried the Parson, ‘if thou didst this in measure and for faults duly committed, there thou didst but rightly, as I could prove to thee out of Gratian, did but time and circumstance serve.’

‘I beat her strictly according to the canon,’ said the Doctor. ‘She was one huge fault, an offence both to God and man, and in those days I was a right dutiful son of the Church.’

‘And shall be yet, an I can help it,’ interrupted Sir John.

‘Prithee, do not interrupt, good Sir John,’ quoth the Bailiff, ‘I am right anxious to hear this story.’

‘I will cut it short,’ said the Doctor. ‘One morning as I meditated in my study according to my wont, I heard this wife of mine yelping and barking in a quarrel with a neighbour, whereupon, consumed with sudden wrath, I cried out, ‘The Devil fly away with thee, thou ill-conditioned bitch,’ and, running to my books, straightway cast a spell into the air, so that the Devil immediately leapt into my room through the window.’

‘Wrath, wrath, the beginning of sin,’ exclaimed Sir John.

‘He hath horns and hoofs and a great tail, hath he not?’ asked the Bailiff.

‘Nay,’ replied the Doctor. ‘He was like an ugly black dog with a white patch on his forehead.’

‘Ay, ay, thou’rt right,’ cried the Parson. ‘I have seen him many a time, lurking about our God’s acre, but he slinketh away fast enough when he catcheth sight of me, I warrant you.’

‘Lo,’ resumed the Doctor. ‘This Devil bargained to fly away with my wife, as I had desired, and also to serve me faithfully for twenty years, would I but surrender my soul to him. Unhappy wretch that I am, I took the offer.’

‘Oh, miserable man,’ cried Sir John. ‘That man, born of woman, should be such a fool to wager his immortal soul against twenty short years of pleasure and the evanishment of his wife.’

‘Thou didst not know my wife,’ said the Doctor indignantly.

‘Methinks the terms were not unduly unreasonable,’ quoth the Bailiff. ‘But, please God, Master Doctor, thou didst sign no paper?’

‘Ay, but I did,’ groaned the Doctor. ‘I signed a monstrous long roll of parchment, and the Devil took it away in his pocket, when he left.’

‘Saving thy reverence, Master Doctor, ’tis there thou played foolishly,’ said the Bailiff. ‘I or any man would do business with the Devil on the large terms thou mentionest, for I hold it no sin to spoil the Egyptians, but to sign a paper, to bind thyself to the Devil with a contract, that is horrid impiety indeed, that is rank heresy and witchcraft. But hold, belike the Devil hath not kept his part of the agreement. Hath he indeed served thy pleasure these twenty years as ’twas set down in the deed; otherwise, the one party not fulfilling his obligation, the other party cannot in equity be held liable, and _ipso facto_ the aforesaid deed becometh null and void and of no account?’

‘I cannot grumble; the Devil hath given me twenty good years of pleasure,’ said the Doctor. ‘I am lost, lost, lost.’

Sir John lifted his eyes to Heaven and moaned piteously.

The Bailiff coughed under his hand. ‘I have heard,’ he said, ‘that the Devil is kind to his own. What manner of pleasure was it he solaced thee with? We know full well what Christ can do for us, it behoveth us to know what the Devil can.’

‘Speak, good Doctor,’ said Sir John, ‘and let us hear what the Bailiff desireth, and I will enshrine thy narrative in the little treatise I purpose to endite _de Daemoniis_, for the enlightenment and warning of all Christian men.’

‘Did he give thee gold?’ asked the Bailiff.

‘He did,’ said the Doctor.

‘What didst thou do with it?’

‘I spent it.’

‘Eh, I suppose thou wouldst.’

‘Did he give thee power and glory over all the kingdoms of the earth?’ asked the Parson.

‘He did.’

‘How didst thou use it?’

‘I tweaked the Pope’s nose when he sat in Council with his Cardinals and tripped the Emperor up on his belly, when he would have kissed His Holiness’ toe.’

‘There thou didst rightly,’ said the Parson. ‘For I am a true son of Holy Church and Peter is Peter, but this Pope is a fool and a rascal, and I care not who hears me say it.’

‘Did the Devil give thee wenches?’ asked the Bailiff.

‘Many and many a one,’ said the Doctor with a sigh. ‘I am fain, yet right sad to think of them again; they were good wenches all, and I heartily loved them, but nothing lasts long in this world. He carried me on a rich Turkey carpet to the peerless palace of Ghengis Khan, which is built all of precious stones and embowered in fair gardens and orchards. Ah, many hundred happy days and nights have I spent there, and the Khan’s lovely wife and her beautiful maidens conceived a great affection for me. Even now one of my sons is a mighty emperor in the East.’

‘This Devil seemeth a very honest gentleman,’ said the Bailiff.

‘Then,’ continued the Doctor, ‘seeing, as Solomon saith, there is no satisfaction under the sun, I grew a little aweary even of this Paradise, so I bade the Devil purvey me more pleasure elsewhere. So he took me up on his back and carried me to Prester John’s land, where he made me to alight in the Empress’s bosom in the form of a rose-petal. I have three daughters who wear their golden crowns yet in that court.’

‘Meseemeth you have many children,’ said the Bailiff.

‘A few, a few.’

‘Belike you had something to do with Mistress Catesby’s wench?’ asked the Parson.

‘Ay, ay.’

‘And with Kate Carrywell?’ said the Bailiff.

‘Ay, ay.’

‘And with Gilly Hedgerow?’ said the Parson.

‘Ay, ay.’

‘And with Tib Rushring?’ asked the Bailiff.

‘Ay, ay.’

‘And with Sim’s wife of the Wry Mouth?’ asked the Parson.

‘Ay, ay.’

‘As for my wife,’ said the Bailiff in a rage, ‘I defy you or any man to speak ill of her.’

‘Ay, ay,’ said the Doctor, ‘thy wife is as virtuous as any woman in Christendom, I’ll be bound.’

‘’Tis well thou sayest so,’ said the Bailiff.

‘Come, Master Bailiff,’ said the Doctor, ‘bear no malice against a man for a little worldly pleasure, which departeth more swiftly than snow at Easter or the shaft from the bow. We are all sinners, all of us. My bolt is shot, my shaft is sped, and this time to-morrow night must I deliver up my soul to the Fiend and his everlasting torments.’

‘What?’ cried the Parson. ‘Is thy term up? Must the Devil have his own so soon?’

‘He must, by the Blessed Virgin,’ groaned the Doctor, smiting his forehead and wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. ‘To-morrow at midnight, I am the foul Fiend’s, unless, thou good man of religion, thou canst save me.’

‘Thou shouldst not have been so ready with other folk’s wenches,’ said the Bailiff resentfully.

The Doctor fell on his knees before Sir John and raised his hands in supplication.

‘Holy Father,’ he cried, ‘save me, save me, save me! Reverend priest, blessed clerk, devise some sacred sleight to save a miserable, wretched, damned soul.’

Round tears fell from Sir John’s eyes and tumbled over his cassock.

‘My poor son,’ he quavered in a voice broken by sobs, ‘thou shalt have a good two quart or more of holy water.’

‘An ocean of holy water would not save me,’ groaned the Doctor. ‘The Fiend would dry it all up with one blast from his foul, hot mouth.’

‘My son, my son; what shall I say? I will give thee the Blessed Host to hold between thy teeth all night.’

‘Holy Father, this is a full terrible and mighty Fiend. He would bear me away in spite of the Host and but beat me the more fiercely therefore in Hell-flames.’

‘I have heard,’ said the Parson, ‘that the Devil may not come into a holy and sanctified place.’

The Doctor leapt to his feet, clasped the Parson around the neck and kissed him on both cheeks.

‘Oh wise and sagacious Father,’ he cried. ‘Thou hast saved me, thou hast saved me.’

‘That I have,’ said the Parson, ‘but, but----’

‘Thou hast said it,’ cried the Doctor, ‘thou hast said it. Good Sir John, of thy charity and for our dear Lord’s sake, Who died on tree, suffer me to bestow myself the morrow night in the church of the blessed Saint Osbert.’

The Parson rose to his feet and put his hands on his plump hips.

‘’Tis done,’ he said. ‘’Tis done. In that sanctified and holy place will I bestow thee safe from the filthy claws of Satan, until the time of peril be passed, and I have exorcised the fiend from thy precious soul.’

The Doctor prostrated himself at the Parson’s feet and wept his gratitude.

‘A thousand, thousand thanks, holy Father. And the better to make certain, do thou also give unto me the key of the Church, that I may lock fast the great door against the Devil and his angels.’

‘Thou shalt have it, my son, and in the morning shall Master Bailiff and I come to greet thee and sing _Jubilate_ with thee.’

‘’Tis a goodly device and a holy,’ said the Bailiff, ‘but I would that there were some substitution in the contract, that thou hadst been able to sub-enfief, to sub-let thy part in the deed to some persona or body corporate, which hath neither a body to be smitten nor a soul to be damned. Would that there were some substitution of the liability set forth in the deed!’

The Doctor sat on the hearth, nursed his knees, and pondered.

‘Thou art also, good Master Bailiff,’ he said at last, ‘a vir doctissimus, a man truly sagacious and learned in all points of the law. Verily thou art right, and I do begin to see clearly how we shall outwit this cunning and cruel fiend.’

‘Yes, verily, I am right,’ said the Bailiff eagerly.

‘Lo, then,’ said the Doctor, ‘I will substitute an image, a simulacrum for the corporal body mentioned in the deed. To-morrow my man Martin and I shall cunningly fashion a man of straw, and dress him in seemly wise in my clothes, and when it is dark Martin shall carry him hither and lay him in yonder corner with his face to the wall.’

‘Excellent, excellent,’ cried Sir John. ‘But why bring him here?’

‘The more to puzzle the fiend,’ said the Doctor. ‘And the further to perplex him I will leave word with mine hostess that I am gone to see Sir John.’

‘Yea, and the Devil shall carry away the man of straw in thy stead?’ said the Bailiff. ‘An he do, methinks he is a great fool after all.’

‘Nay, he is cunning enough,’ said the Doctor, ‘but hasty, terribly hasty, and I warrant he shall never find his mistake till he be inside Hell-gates with his load of straw.’

“’Tis a good jest and will work,’ cried the Parson, ‘or call me no scholar.’

‘When the Devil shall hear I am gone to Sir John’s,’ continued the Doctor, ‘he will fly hither at great pace, and for the protection of my soul, and of the Holy Church and of thy dwelling-house, I do most heartily beseech you, worthy gentlemen, that ye will therefore watch here to-morrow night by my man of straw, and assist me with thy continual prayers, stirring no jot nor ceasing from your holy occupation, no matter what strange and belike unearthly noises ye do hear from the Church.’

The Bailiff’s jaw dropped, and the Parson stirred uneasily.

‘Methinks,’ said Sir John, ‘the Devil is but a simple soul after all, and would be deceived without our prayers.’

‘Worthy, worthy gentlemen,’ said the Doctor, ‘as ye love God, grant me my boon. If your prayers be lacking, there is no telling what the Devil may do in this, thine house, Master Parson.’

‘I should not like the house destroyed,’ said Sir John.

‘If ye only pray,’ said the Doctor, ‘it can suffer no harm, nor ye yourselves in your bodies or souls, for I have heard the Devil himself say, times out of mind, that there is nothing he feareth more than a good man’s prayers.’

The Bailiff shook his head. The Parson took a deep draught of warm ale, heaved a deep sigh, and gazed into the fire.

‘Master Doctor,’ he said at length, ‘I have always tried to do my duty as it behoveth a Christian man and a priest, nor am I conscious of any mortal sin upon my conscience. It shall never be said that I, Sir John, Master of Arts in the University of Oxford and priest of this parish, was ever afeard of a devil. I will pray by thy man of straw, and mine honest Churchwarden shall pray with me.’

The Bailiff started and drew back suddenly, ‘Nay, nay,’ he cried.

‘May the Holy Virgin bless thee,’ cried the Doctor. ‘I warrant thee the Devil cannot harm such men as be of clean life.’

‘Art afeard, Master Bailiff?’ asked Sir John.

‘Nay, nay, not afeard,’ said the Bailiff, ‘but I would to God I were a man of better life.’

‘Nay, thou art a godly layman,’ said Sir John. ‘Wilt thou leave the Shepherd to fight the Devil alone?’

‘I have been Churchwarden these ten years,’ said the Bailiff. ‘Thou knowest, Sir John, I have done what I might for Holy Church. But to meet the Devil face to face----’

‘Thou shalt not be weary in well-doing,’ cried the Parson. ‘Do thou but pray with me to-morrow night and I warrant thee it shall win thee many indulgences.’

‘Many, didst thou say, Sir John, many? Thou persuadest me overmuch, but of my conscience, I----’

‘Marry then, it is agreed,’ cried the Parson. ‘Do thou, Master Doctor, lock thyself in the Church and give thyself up to continual prayer before the sanctuary, and the good Bailiff and I shall cease not importuning the Saints for thee, here by thy man of straw.’

‘I wish thou hadst taken thy Devil to another town,’ quoth the Bailiff to the Doctor, ‘or thou hadst considered all this before gadding about to wenches on Turkey carpets. Well, well, I would, by Our Lady, I were a man of better life.’

III

It was very dark in the priest’s little room. Right patiently had the Bailiff done his best to keep the fire in a blaze, blowing till his cheeks had well-nigh burst and his beard had singed itself on the hot coals, but, despite his efforts, it had sunk down into a mass of glowing, weakly flickering embers. The oil-lamp gave out an uncertain light, no moon or solitary star shone through the narrow window. The silence was complete, save for the occasional stirring of a mouse, the crackling of the embers, and the soughing of the wind round the house. In one corner, with the faint light of the lamp cast carefully upon it, lay the man of straw, habited in the scarlet cloak and hood of the Doctor.

Sir John and the Bailiff were on their knees with their backs to the wall and their hands upraised to Heaven. The Bailiff ever and anon, as often as he heard a little noise, glanced fearfully round about. Sir John prayed on in a low and tremulous tone.

‘Prithee, cease not,’ whispered the Bailiff anxiously, as the Parson cleared his throat, ‘cease not.’

‘For the love of Heaven, sprinkle the holy water,’ returned the priest. ‘More, more, all round, all round.’

‘Curse them again, good Father, curse them again,’ muttered the Bailiff, sprinkling holy water with a subdued vigour from a large bucket, which stood by his side.

‘By the authority of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost,’ recommenced the priest, ‘and of Our Lady, Saint Mary, God’s Mother of Heaven, and all other Virgins, and of Saint Michael and all other Angels, and of Saint Peter and all other Apostles, of Saint Nicholas and all other Confessors, and of all other Saints of Heaven----Blessed Mary, didst thou not hear that?’

‘Yea, ah, nay; ’twas but the wind. Curse them again; to it heartily, Sir John,’ replied the Bailiff, ‘Mother of God, how thick and fast do I remember my old sins, this night.’

The priest continued his exorcism.

‘We accurse and ban and depart from this holy place, and damn into the everlasting pains of hell all devils, fiends, warlocks, witches, fairies, and goblins, whatsoever and of what degree, whether of the air above or of the earth beneath or of the waters under the earth. We accurse--Oh Mary, ’tis he----’

‘Help, help! O Mary, aid us,’ cried the Bailiff.

The wind dropped suddenly and there was silence again. Sir John supported his trembling body on the quaking body of the Bailiff, and quavered forth once more:

‘We accurse thee within and without, going or staying, in wood, in water, or in field. Accurse them, Father and Son and Holy Ghost; accurse them Angels and Archangels and all the Nine Orders of Heaven; accurse them, Patriarchs, Prophets and Apostles and all God’s disciples and all Holy Innocents, Martyrs, Confessors and Virgins, Monks, Canons, Hermits, Priests and Clerks.’

By this time Priest and Bailiff clung together in mortal terror. Their teeth chattered, their knees turned to water under them, their bones were loosened, a clammy sweat bathed them both, their hair stood on end.

‘Curse, Sir John, curse, for God’s sake, or we are lost,’ gasped the Bailiff.

‘_Fiat, fiat, Domine_,’ groaned the Parson.

The next moment the door was flung suddenly open, a thunderbolt from the darkness hurtled across the room and upset the oil-lamp, a nauseous smell of burning filled the air, smoke and flames leapt up to the ceiling from the straw figure in the corner. Ten thousand devils seemed to belabour the Priest and the Bailiff, countless stout blows were showered on their bodies, countless buffets were bestowed on pate and back and midriff until they roared and shrieked again. Then suddenly the blows ceased and they were left in darkness and silence once more.

‘Ugh,’ groaned the Bailiff as he came to himself, ‘I am a mass of bruises. Never will I speak evil of the Devil again; he hath broken my back, I think.’

‘Oh Mary,’ moaned the Priest, ‘I ache all over; ’twas a heavy-handed Devil, or a legion of them at least.’

‘I wish, by Our Lady,’ quoth the Bailiff savagely, ‘the Devil would exercise a little discretion and know his own from others. _We_ haven’t sold our souls to him, _we_ haven’t spent his gold and had his pretty wenches. Methinks thou chosest a mighty inapt prayer, Sir John, that we caught such a shrewd beating.’

‘It might have been worse but for our prayers,’ replied the Parson.

‘It could not have been much worse,’ said the Bailiff. ‘This meaneth a leech and bed for a week for me; Devil-watching is no fit pastime for a man of my years. Who next selleth himself to the Devil will get no help of me, I promise thee.’

‘Canst creep to the fire and light the lamp?’ moaned Sir John. ‘The cursed Devils have beaten me so I cannot move a limb.’

The Bailiff crawled to the fire and re-lit the smouldering lamp and piled light wood on the fire.

Satan had not been deceived, and had not carried off the man of straw. Nevertheless he had grievously and spitefully used him by fire.

‘Lo, the power of the Fiend,’ said Sir John, displaying the effigy’s entrails all blackened and charred. ‘Yet doubt not the Doctor hath safely defied him in the inviolable sanctity of the blessed Saint Osbert.’

The Bailiff grunted and tenderly handled his posterior. ‘Then would God I had been in his place and he in mine,’ he said.

‘If thou wilt reach to yonder shelf,’ said the Parson, ‘thou wilt find a pot of ointment. Let us anoint each other’s bruises and rest, as we may till morning, when we will go greet the Doctor, whose soul we have this night most indubitably saved.’

IV

How vainly they, who fall into the Devil’s snare, may hope to give him the slip at last, was made plain and evident to all men’s sight the next morning, when the Parson and the Bailiff crept through the priest’s garden to the Church to see how it had fared with the Doctor.

They found the great door locked, whereat Sir John was at first mightily pleased, saying that the Gates of Hell should not prevail against the Sanctuary of the Most High. Then he called repeatedly, through the key-hole, telling the Doctor that all was well and that he should open to them. But the Doctor opened not, whether absorbed in prayer or overcome by fasting they knew not, so they were fain to send for the smith, and he, after two hours’ labour forced open the door with much difficulty and effort.

Then they searched the Church and, finding no trace of the Doctor, they were forced to conclude that the Devil had carried him off after all, even from the altar itself, whereat Sir John’s jaw drooped lamentably. Moreover, they discovered that the foul Fiend had spirited away with him also the fair silver pyx, which Sir Geoffrey had given to the Church for ever, and which indeed no man hath seen since, nor the eight pennies which were in the parish chest, nor the rich vestments used by Sir John on Holy Days, nor the three pounds of best wax candles, which the Churchwardens had purchased against Candlemas.

Lo, how wondrous is God’s providence, for at that very time when the Devil carried off Doctor Montalto, he carried off also his man Martin, so that these two and their goods vanished altogether into thin air and could never be heard of afterwards. Whereat Mistress Dogtooth was much vexed, inasmuch as they had not paid her reckoning. But the village folk laughed when she complained thereof, and said the Doctor would pay her reckoning hereafter.

The Crusader

Two miles out of town, reckoning from our Lord’s mill on the greater stream, lies Garstang Hill, and sharply over against it is Hart Hill. Both these lie to the north-west, and they are very steep and very difficult to climb. Moreover, they are covered with dense wood, much bogland lying in the low-lying places, and it is said that many wolves lurk there, whence in winter-time they have been known to come down to the sheep-cotes in the village. Therefore, folk go there but little, unless it be to gather wood (for the land is waste and common), and even for this they go seldom, unless good fuel cannot be got nearer town. But on the low-lying slopes the swineherds sometimes drive their herds in autumn, when the acorns lie thick under the oaks. Between Hart Hill and Garstang lies a long narrow valley, and the ground of that valley is very fertile. Here Thomas the Freeman dwelt once, although none dwell there now. Thomas’s father, and his father, and his father’s father, had lived there as long as man could tell, and they held first from King Alfred, the wise king, whose words are, even now, common in men’s mouths. They paid to Earl Ranulf yearly at the Manor House the value of twenty sheep besides a trained hawk, and they took Ranulf to be their Lord.

It is barely twenty years since Thomas the Freeman held there a good hide of good land, on which he drove a great plough, beside having fair meadow-land down by the brook. And in harvest-time he has paid ten men a penny a day to gather in corn, and given them meat and drink as well. But now the place lies all waste and desolate, and the whinberry and blackberry grow thereon, and trees have taken root there, so that the waste has almost won it back to itself.