sir nigel-第6部分

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What　was　this　defiling　bar　of　iron　which　was　locked　hard　against
its　mouth？　　What　were　these　straps　which　galled　the　tossing　neck；
this　band　which　spanned　its　chest？　　In　those　instants　of　stillness
ere　the　mantle　had　been　plucked　away　Nigel　had　lain　forward；　had
slipped　the　snaffle　between　the　champing　teeth；　and　had　deftly
secured　it。

Blind；　frantic　fury　surged　in　the　yellow　horse's　heart　once　more
at　this　new　degradation；　this　badge　of　serfdom　and　infamy。　　His
spirit　rose　high　and　menacing　at　the　touch。　　He　loathed　this
place；　these　people；　all　and　everything　which　threatened　his
freedom。　　He　would　have　done　with　them　forever；　he　would　see　them
no　more。　　Let　him　away　to　the　uttermost　parts　of　the　earth；　to　the
great　plains　where　freedom　is。　　Anywhere　over　the　far　horizon
where　he　could　get　away　from　the　defiling　bit　and　the　insufferable
mastery　of　man。

He　turned　with　a　rush；　and　one　magnificent　deer…like　bound　carried
him　over　the　four…foot　gate。　　Nigel's　hat　had　flown　off；　and　his
yellow　curls　streamed　behind　him　as　he　rose　and　fell　in　the　leap。
They　were　in　the　water…meadow　now；　and　the　rippling　stream　twenty
feet　wide　gleamed　in　front　of　them　running　down　to　the　main
current　of　the　Wey。　　The　yellow　horse　gathered　his　haunches　under
him　and　flew　over　like　an　arrow。　　He　took　off　from　behind　a
boulder　and　cleared　a　furze…bush　on　the　farther　side。　　Two　stones
still　mark　the　leap　from　hoof…mark　to　hoof…mark；　and　they　are
eleven　good　paces　apart。　　Under　the　hanging　branch　of　the　great
oak…tree　on　the　farther　side　（that　Quercus　Tilfordiensis　ordiensis
is　still　shown　as　the　bound　of　the　Abby's　immediate　precincts）　the
great　horse　passed。　　He　had　hoped　to　sweep　off　his　rider；　but
Nigel　sank　low　on　the　heaving　back　with　his　face　buried　in　the
flying　mane。　　The　rough　bough　rasped　him　rudely；　but　never　shook
his　spirit　nor　his　grip。　　Rearing；　plunging　and　struggling；
Pommers　broke　through　the　sapling　grove　and　was　out　on　the　broad
stretch　of　Hankley　Down。

And　now　came　such　a　ride　as　still　lingers　in　the　gossip　of　the
lowly　country　folk　and　forms　the　rude　jingle　of　that　old　Surrey
ballad；　now　nearly　forgotten；　save　for　the　refrain：

　　　　　　　　　　　The　Doe　that　sped　on　Hinde　Head；
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　The　Kestril　on　the　winde；
　　　　　　　　　　　And　Nigel　on　the　Yellow　Horse
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Can　leave　the　world　behinde。

Before　them　lay　a　rolling　ocean　of　dark　heather；　knee…deep；
swelling　in　billow　on　billow　up　to　the　clear…cut　hill　before　them。
Above　stretched　one　unbroken　arch　of　peaceful　blue；　with　a　sun
which　was　sinking　down　toward　the　Hampshire　hills。　　Through　the
deep　heather；　down　the　gullies；　over　the　watercourses；　up　the
broken　slopes；　Pommers　flew；　his　great　heart　bursting　with　rage；
and　every　fiber　quivering　at　the　indignities　which　he　had　endured。

And　still；　do　what　he　would；　the　man　clung　fast　to　his　heaving
sides　and　to　his　flying　mane；　silent；　motionless；　inexorable；
letting　him　do　what　he　would；　but　fixed　as　Fate　upon　his　purpose。
Over　Hankley　Down；　through　Thursley　Marsh；　with　the　reeds　up　to
his　mud…splashed　withers；　onward　up　the　long　slope　of　the　Headland
of　the　Hinds；　down　by　the　Nutcombe　Gorge；　slipping；　blundering；
bounding；　but　never　slackening　his　fearful　speed；　on　went　the
great　yellow　horse。　　The　villagers　of　Shottermill　heard　the　wild
clatter　of　hoofs；　but　ere　they　could　swing　the　ox…hide　curtains　of
their　cottage　doors　horse　and　rider　were　lost　amid　the　high
bracken　of　the　Haslemere　Valley。　　On　he　went；　and　on；　tossing　the
miles　behind　his　flying　hoofs。　　No　marsh…land　could　clog　him；　no
hill　could　hold　him　back。　　Up　the　slope　of　Linchmere　and　the　long
ascent　of　Fernhurst　he　thundered　as　on　the　level；　and　it　was　not
until　he　had　flown　down　the　incline　of　Henley　Hill；　and　the　gray
castle　tower　of　Midhurst　rose　over　the　coppice　in　front；　that　at
last　the　eager　outstretched　neck　sank　a　little　on　the　breast；　and
the　breath　came　quick　and　fast。　　Look　where　he　would　in　woodland
and　on　down；　his　straining　eyes　could　catch　no　sign　of　those
plains　of　freedom　which　he　sought。

And　yet　another　outrage！　　It　was　bad　that　this　creature　should
still　cling　so　tight　upon　his　back；　but　now　he　would　even　go　to
the　intolerable　length　of　checking　him　and　guiding　him　on　the　way
that　he　would　have　him　go。　　There　was　a　sharp　pluck　at　his　mouth；
and　his　head　was　turned　north　once　more。　　As　well　go　that　way　as
another；　but　the　man　was　mad　indeed　if　he　thought　that　such　a
horse　as　Pommers　was　at　the　end　of　his　spirit　or　his　strength。　　He
would　soon　show　him　that　he　was　unconquered；　if　it　strained　his
sinews　or　broke　his　heart　to　do　so。　　Back　then　he　flew　up　the
long；　long　ascent。　　Would　he　ever　get　to　the　end　of　it？　　Yet　he
would　not　own　that　he　could　go　no　farther　while　the　man　still　kept
his　grip。　　He　was　white　with　foam　and　caked　with　mud。　　His　eyes
were　gorged　with　blood；　his　mouth　open　and　gasping；　his　nostrils
expanded；　his　coat　stark　and　reeking。　　On　he　flew　down　the　long
Sunday　Hill　until　he　reached　the　deep　Kingsley　Marsh　at　the
bottom。　　No；　it　was　too　much！　　Flesh　and　blood　could　go　no
farther。　　As　he　struggled　out　from　the　reedy　slime　with　the　heavy
black　mud　still　clinging　to　his　fetlocks；　he　at　last　eased　down
with　sobbing　breath　and　slowed　the　tumultuous　gallop　to　a　canter。

Oh；　crowning　infamy！　　Was　there　no　limit　to　these　degradations？
He　was　no　longer　even　to　choose　his　own　pace。　　Since　he　had　chosen
to　gallop　so　far　at　his　own　will　he　must　now　gallop　farther　still
at　the　will　of　another。　　A　spur　struck　home　on　either　flank。　　A
stinging　whip…lash　fell　across　his　shoulder。　　He　bounded　his　own
height　in　the　air　at　the　pain　and　the　shame　of　it。　　Then；
forgetting　his　weary　limbs；　forgetting　his　panting；　reeking　sides；

forgetting　everything　save　this　intolerable　insult　and　the　burning
spirit　within；　he　plunged　off　once　more　upon　his　furious　gallop。
He　was　out　on　the　heather　slopes　again　and　heading　for　Weydown
Common。　　On　he　flew　and　on。　　But　again　his　brain　failed　him　and
again　his　limbs　trembled　beneath　him；　and　yet　again　he　strove　to
ease　his　pace；　only　to　be　driven　onward　by　the　cruel　spur　and　the
falling　lash。　　He　was　blind　and　giddy　with　fatigue。

He　saw　no　longer　where　he　placed　his　feet；　he　cared　no　longer
whither　he　went；　but　his　one　mad　longing　was　to　get　away　from　this
dreadful　thing；　this　torture　which　clung　to　him　and　would　not　let
him　go。　　Through　Thursley　village　he　passed；　his　eyes　straining　in
his　agony；　his　heart　bursting　within　him；　and　he　had　won　his　way
to　the　crest　of　Thursley　Down；　still　stung　forward　by　stab　and
blow；　when　his　spirit　weakened；　his　giant　strength　ebbed　out　of
him；　and　with　one　deep　sob　of　agony　the　yellow　horse　sank　among
the　heather。　　So　sudden　was　the　fall　that　Nigel　flew　forward　over
his　shoulder；　and　beast　and　man　lay　prostrate　and　gasping　while
the　last　red　rim　of　the　sun　sank　behind　Butser　and　the　first　stars
gleamed　in　a　violet　sky。

The　young　Squire　was　the　first　to　recover；　and　kneeling　by　the
panting；　overwrought　horse　he　passed　his　hand　gently　over　the
tangled　mane　and　down　the　foam…flecked　face。　　The　red　eye　rolled
up　at　him；　but　it　was　wonder　not　hatred；　a　prayer　and　not　a
threat；　which　he　could　read　in　it。　　As　he　stroked　the　reeking
muzzle；　the　horse　whinnied　gently　and　thrust　his　nose　into　the
hollow　of　his　hand。　　It　was　enough。　　It　was　the　end　of　the
contest；　the　acceptance　of　new　conditions　by　a　chivalrous　foe　from
a　chivalrous　victor。

〃You　are　my　horse；　Pommers；〃　Nigel　whispered；　and　he　laid　his
cheek　against　the　craning　head。　　〃I　know　you；　Pommers；　and　you
know　me；　and　with　the　help　of　Saint　Paul　we　shall　teach　some　other
folk　to　know　us　both。　　Now　let　us　walk　together　as　far　as　this
moorland　pond；　for　indeed　I　wot　not　whether　it　is　you　or　I　who
need　the　water　most。〃

And　so　it　was　that　some　belated　monks　of　Waverley　passing　homeward
from　the　outer　farms　saw　a　strange　sight　which　they　carried　on
with　them　so　that　it　reached　that　very　night　the　ears　both　of
sacrist　and　of　Abbot。　　For；　as　they　passed　through　Tilford　they
had　seen　horse　and　man　walking　side　by　side　and　head　by　head　up
the　manor…house　lane。　　And　when　they　had　raised　their　lanterns　on
the　pair　it　was　none　other　than　the　young　Squire　himself　who　was
leading　home；　as　a　shepherd　leads　a　lamb；　the　fearsome　yellow
horse　of　Crooksbury。




IV。　　HOW　THE　SUMMONER　CAME　TO　THE　MANOR　HOUSE　OF　TILFORD


By　the　date　of　this　chronicle　the　ascetic　sternness　of　the　old
Norman　castles　had　been　humanized　and　refined　so　that　the　new
dwellings　of　the　nobility；　if　less　imposing　in　appearance；　were
much　more　comfortable　as　places　of　residence。　　A　gentle　race　had
built　their　houses　rather　for　peace　than　for　war。　　He　who　compares
the　savage　bareness　of　Pevensey　or　Guildford　with　the　piled
grandeur　of　Bodmin　or　Windsor　cannot　fail　to　understand　the　change
in　manners　which　they　represent。

The　earlier　castles　had　a　set　purpose；　for　they　were　built　that
the　invaders　might　hold　down　the　country；　but　when　the　Conquest
was　once　firmly　established　a　castle　had　lost　its　meaning　save　as
a　refuge　from　justice　or　as　a　center　for　civil　strife。　　On　the
marches　of　Wales　and　of　Scotland　the　castle　might　continue　to　be　a
bulwark　to　the　kingdom；　and　there　still　grew　and　flourished；　but
in　all　other　places　they　were　rather　a　menace　to　the　King's
majesty；　and　as　such　were　discouraged　and　destroyed。　　By　the　reign
of　the　third　Edward　the　greater　part　of　the　old　fighting　castles
had　been　converted　into　dwelling…houses　or　had　been　ruined　in　the
civil　wars；　and　left　where　their　grim　gray　bones　are　still
littered　upon　the　brows　of　our　hills。　　The　new　buildings　were
either　great　country…houses；　capable　of　defense；　but　mainly
residential；　or　they　were　manor…houses　with　no　military
significance　at　all。

Such　was　the　Tilford　Manor…house　where　the　last　survivors　of　the
old　and　magnificent　house　of　Loring　still　struggled　hard　to　keep　a
footing　and　to　hold　off　the　monks　and　the　lawyers　from　the　few
acres　which　were　left　to　them。　　The　mansion　was　a　two…storied　one；
framed　in　heavy　beams　of　wood；　the　interstices　filled　with　rude
blocks　of　stone。　　An　outside　staircase　led　up　to　several
sleeping…rooms　above。