So, alternately beating and
beaten, they made their dolorous way through the beautiful woods
and under the amber arches of the fading beech-trees, where the
calm strength and majesty of Nature might serve to rebuke the
foolish energies and misspent strivings of mankind.
Such a spectacle was new to Hordle John or to Alleyne Edricson;
but the archer treated it lightly, as a common matter enough.
"These are the Beating Friars, otherwise called the Flagellants,"
quoth he. "I marvel that ye should have come upon none of them
before, for across the water they are as common as gallybaggers.
I have heard that there are no English among them, but that they
are from France, Italy and Bohemia. En avant, camarades! that we
may have speech with them."
As they came up to them, Alleyne could hear the doleful dirge
which the beater was chanting, bringing down his heavy whip at
the end of each line, while the groans of the sufferer formed a
sort of dismal chorus. It was in old French, and ran somewhat in
this way:
Or avant, entre nous tous freres
Battons nos charognes bien fort
En remembrant la grant misere
De Dieu et sa piteuse mort
Qui fut pris en la gent amere
Et vendus et trais a tort
Et bastu sa chair, vierge et dere
Au nom de ce battons plus fort.
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