Joust and
banquet and revel, revel, banquet, and joust, much merry-making and
little reason, much love and few marryings: a gay round, but not
such as makes a monk."
Hilarius smiled.
"Nay, that life will not be for me. I am to serve my lord, write
for him, methinks. But tell me, good Martin, dost thou love the
Court? It seems a fine thing to be the King's Minstrel."
"Nay, lad, nay," said the other hastily, "give me the open country
and the greenwood, and leave to sing or be silent. Still, the King
is a good master, and lets me roam as I list if I will but come
back; 'tis ill-faring in winter, so back I go to pipe in my cage
and follow the Court until next Lady-day lets the sun in on us
again."
He struck his vielle lightly, and the two fell into a slower pace
as the minstrel sang. Hilarius' eyes filled with tears, for he was
still heart-sore, and Martin's voice rose and fell like the wind in
the tossing tree-tops which had beckoned him over the Monastery
wall. The song itself was sad--of a lover torn from his mistress
and borne away captive to alien service.
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