"Nay, Baddlesmere, hold your fingers from your string-case, or I
may chance to give your drawing hand a two months' rest," said
Aylward. "Swords, if you will, comrades, but no man strings his
bow till I have loosed mine."
Yet the angry hearts of both Abbot and sacrist rose higher with a
fresh obstacle.
"This is an ill day for your father, Franklin Aylward, who holds
the tenancy of Crooksbury," said the sacrist. "He will rue it
that ever he begot a son who will lose him his acres and his
steading."
"My father is a bold yeoman, and would rue it evermore that ever
his son should stand by while foul work was afoot," said Aylward
stoutly. "Fall on, comrades! We are waiting."
Encouraged by promises of reward if they should fall in the
service of the Abbey, and by threats of penalties if they should
hold back, the four archers were about to close, when a singular
interruption gave an entirely new turn to the proceedings.
At the door of the chapter-house, while these fiery doings had
been afoot, there had assembled a mixed crowd of lay brothers,
servants and varlets who had watched the development of the drama
with the interest and delight with which men hail a sudden break
in a dull routine. Suddenly there was an agitation at the back of
this group, then a swirl in the center, and finally the front rank
was violently thrust aside, and through the gap there emerged a
strange and whimsical figure, who from the instant of his
appearance dominated both chapter-house and Abbey, monks, prelates
and archers, as if he were their owner and their master.
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