THE FOOL ERRANT - World eBook Library - World Public Library

Then I knew that I had been kidnapped by Fra Palamone.
CHAPTER XV. I AM IN BONDAGE
The woolly gag removed, I said, in the dark, "Fra Palamone, so sure as God lives and reigns, you shall pay me for this."
He replied, "My dear lad, I am paid already, and twice paid. It is the certain conviction that I am hereafter to be much blessed
in your society that has forced me to take this liberty. May I now have the pleasure of setting you free? It wounds me in my
tenderest part to know how these cords must bruise you. Your aching wounds—my aching heart. Come, a fair exchange! Be
free, and set me free." A great shadow of him settled down over my eyes, the impending bulk of his huge body; heat and garlic
came in waves about me, his furnace breath.
"Not yet, Fra Palamone," I said firmly. "You will do well to leave me as I am until I know more of your intentions. You used the
word 'freedom' just now: how am I to understand it? I warn you that, so far as I know, the first use I shall make of my freedom
will be to kill you." I meant it at the time, for I was beside myself with rage.
He began to swear gently to himself, walking to and fro before my feet, coupling (as his manner was) the names of his Maker,
Redeemer and Divine Advocate with those of dishonourable animals. Having thus eased himself, as a pump gets rid of foul
water in the pipes before its uses can begin, he began to answer my objections. "If to have the play of young limbs, the
prerogative of two-footed creation, be not liberty," said he, "then there is no liberty in the world. And if to be loosed from sin
and shame, by means however abrupt, be not liberty of the most exalted, spiritual kind, then, young man, you are a bondslave
indeed, to your own ignoble desires."
I said, "I have told you on what terms I will take my liberty. I will die here as I am sooner than make bargains with you."
"I am an old man," he replied, "a-weary of my labours. I will not wrangle—I abhor disputations. I am able to offer you, Don
Francis, a service which is perfect freedom. Will you take it or leave it?" I was silent, and I believe the old villain went to sleep,
as certainly I did. Youth will have its rest, whether there be gall in the mouth or a teat.
When I awoke it was broad day. The sun was up and deepening the pale tints of the sky; a bird in the oak-tree overhead was
singing his orison, and Fra Palamone cooking a pork chop upon a little fire of twigs. Never did I see such delicate art put into
such a piece of work; he had not boasted when he said that he was a cook. Not only did he cook it to the exquisite point of
perfection, but he ate it, bone and all— combining the zest of a cannibal with the epicure's finer relish—and poured near a litre
of wine down his tunnel of a throat, before he deigned to regard whether I lived or was dead. His next act was to recite the
rosary aloud, on his knees, with intense fervour; and his next—after three prostrations in honour of the Trinity—to untie the
cord about his middle and add a knot or two to the multitude already there. With this formidable scourge circling about in his
hand, he came to where I lay helpless.
"Ser Francesco," he said, showing his long tooth and purring his words like a cat, "I find that bonds, imprisonment and hunger
have not quickened your resolution. I admire you for it, but meantime I suffer the rage of the devil. I must assuage my pains at
all costs, and regret that my balm must be your bane. But since you elect to be a prisoner it seems reasonable that you should
taste prison discipline—and I, O Heaven! inflict it." I marked his infernal purpose in his eyes—no need that he should bare his
iron arm!—and determined to endure, even unto death, sooner than give way to him. He came towards me, his arm bare to the
shoulder; I clenched my teeth, shut my eyes and waited, not for long. The cords writhed about me like snakes of fire, biting so
deeply that my very heart seemed torn and raw. The blood surged into my head, beat at my ears and nose, and (as it seemed)
gushed out in a flood, drowning me in wet heat. So, presently, I lost my senses, neither knew nor felt any more. "Blessed art
thou, Death! Aurelia hath surely sent thee!" were my last thoughts as I swooned. Waking once more, I was alone, lying bound
on the edge of a little oak wood. Before me were brown fields and stretches of flickering heat, and far below, in the valley, I
could see Pistoja, pale red and white in the full sun. It was near noon; the sun was directly overhead in a cloudless sky, and his
rays burned me up. My head throbbed desperately, my body felt one free wound; I was sick with hunger, clogged with drouth.
I made sure that I had been left there to die, and waited momently for the summoning angel, commending my simple soul to the
advocacy of the Blessed Virgin and the merits of my patron St. Francis of Assisi. I thought, with a pang, of my mother, who
might be praying for me now; beside her hallowed image even Aurelia's was dim. Then all visions faded out. Out of the midst of
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