FullReads

“Tibbald thanked the Viscount and repaired to his room, whence, an hour or two later, the chamberlain summoned him with news that my lord was ready and desired his company. The night was dark yet, and down through Ambialet he was led to the self-same ferry-stage from which he had first put forth, my lord taking heed to approach it by another stairway. At the foot lay moored the Viscount’s state barge, into which they stepped and cast off downstream.

“So once more Master Tibbald voyaged around the great loop of the river, and, arriving yet once again at Ambialet–which he deemed by this time to be some leagues behind him–was met at the lower stage by a company of halberdiers, who escorted him, with his protector, to the great lighted Hall, wherein sat a dozen grave men around a great oaken table, all deep in business.

“They rose together and made obeisance as the Viscount walked to his throne at the head of the table; and said he, seating himself–

“‘Messieurs, I regret to break in upon your consultations, but an outrage has been committed in my town of Ambialet, demanding full and instant punishment. This merchant came with six hogsheads of excellent Rhone wine, which the citizens, after afflicting him with stripes, spilt at large upon the market-place. What fine shall we decree?’

“Then said the eldest prud’homme:–‘The answer, saving your lordship’s grace, is simple. By our laws the payment must equal the market price of the wine. As for the stripes–‘

“‘We need not consider them,’ the Viscount interposed. ‘Master Tibbald here will be satisfied with the fine, and engages–that being paid–to leave Ambialet by the way he came. Now, the wine, you say’–here he turned to Tibbald–‘was worth four livres the hogshead?’

“But here our merchant, perceiving his case to go so fairly, allowed the devil of avarice to tempt him.

“‘I said four livres to you, monseigneur, but the honest market price I could not set at less than five and a half.’

“‘Six times five and a half makes thirty-three. Very good, then, Master Tibbald: if you will pay the Council that sum, its secretary shall make you out a note of quittance.’

“‘But, my lord,’ stammered poor Tibbald; ‘my lord, I do not understand!’

“‘It is very simple,’ said the Viscount. ‘Our law requires that any man bringing alien wine into the Viscounty shall suffer its confiscation, and pay a fine equal to its market price.’

“The merchant flung himself upon his knees.

“‘My lord, my lord!’ he pleaded, ‘I am a poor man. I have not the money. I brought nothing save this wine to Ambialet.’

“‘The day is breaking,’ said the Viscount. ‘Take him to the window.’

“So to the window they led him.–And I leave you, my children, to guess if he rubbed his eyes as they looked out upon the market-place of Ambialet, and upon his own mules standing ready-caparisoned before the door of the Council-house, and, beyond them, upon the tall Maypole, and the King of Youth, with his officers, fitting their ribbons upon it in the morning sunlight.

“‘But here is witchcraft!’ cried he, spreading out both hands and groping with them, like a man in a fit. ‘Two good leagues at the least have I travelled downstream from Ambialet–‘

“His speech failed.

“‘And still art face to face with thy wickedness,’ the Viscount concluded for him. ‘Pay us speedily, Master Tibbald, lest Our Lady work more miracles upon thee.’

“‘My lord, I have not the money!’ wept Master Tibbald.

“‘Thou hast good silks and merchandise, and six good mules. We will commute thy fine for these, and even give one mule into the bargain, but upon conditions.’

“‘Nothing I gainsay, so that Our Lady lift this spell from me.’

“‘The agreement was to quit Ambialet in the way thou camest. Now, ’tis apparent thy coming here has been by two ways–by road and by water. Take thy choice of return–shall it be by water?’

“‘What! From a town that lieth three leagues downstream from itself! Nay, monseigneur, let it be by road, that at least I may keep my few wits remaining!’

“‘By road, then, it shall be, and on muleback. But the way thou camest was with a greedy face set towards Ambialet, and so will we send thee back.’

“As the Viscount promised so they did, my children; strapping Master Tibbald with his face to the mule’s rump, and with a merry crowd speeding him from the frontier.”

Brother Marc Antoine lay back against his apple-tree, laughing. Maman Vacher and the baker, seeing that the tale was done, continued to regard Pere Philibert each with a foolish grin.

Pere Philibert took snuff slowly.

“My children,” said he, tapping his box, “in this tale (which, by the way, is historical) there surely lurks a lesson for you both. You, Pierre Champollion, may read in it that he who, with an eye to his private profit, only runs counter to ancient custom in such a town as our Ambialet, may chance to knock his head upon stones. And you, Maman Vacher–What was the price of that chanticleer of yours?”

“Indeed, reverend father, I could not have asked less than six francs. A prize-winner, if you remember.”

“You valued it at twelve in your threats and outcries, and that after you had stewed his carcass down for a soup! . . . Tut, tut, my children! You have your lesson–take it and go in amity.”