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diff --git a/old/14573-h.zip b/old/14573-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e361db --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14573-h.zip diff --git a/old/14573-h/14573-h.htm b/old/14573-h/14573-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ac62348 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14573-h/14573-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1617 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Truce of God, by Mary Roberts Rinehart</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + + img {border: none;} + + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .center {text-align: center;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + hr.full { width: 100%; } + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red} + pre {font-size: 8pt;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Truce of God, by Mary Roberts Rinehart, +Illustrated by Harold Sichel</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Truce of God</p> +<p>Author: Mary Roberts Rinehart</p> +<p>Release Date: January 3, 2005 [eBook #14573]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRUCE OF GOD***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Melissa Er-Raqabi,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (https://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<div class="center"> +<a href='images/image01.jpg'> +<img src='images/image01.jpg' width="50%" +alt='"Softly," he said ... "No harsh words."' +title='"Softly," he said ... "No harsh words."' /> +</a> +</div> + +<h1>The Truce of God</h1> + +<h2>By Mary Roberts Rinehart</h2> + +<h3>Decorations by Harold Sichel</h3> + + +<div class="center"> +<img src='images/image02.png' +alt='' /> +</div> + +<h6>New York<br /> +George H. Doran Company +</h6> + + + +<h4>1920</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p class="center"> + <a href="#The_Truce_of_God"><b>I</b></a><br /> + <a href="#Illustration_Chapter_Two"><b>II</b></a><br /> + <a href="#Illustration_Chapter_Three"><b>III</b></a><br /> + </p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='center'> +<a name="The_Truce_of_God" id="The_Truce_of_God" /> +<img src='images/image03.png' alt='Chapter One' title='Chapter One' /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7" />I</h2> + + +<p>Now the day of the birth of our Lord dawned that year grey and dreary, +and a Saturday. But, despite the weather, in the town at the foot of the +hill there was rejoicing, as befitted so great a festival. The day +before a fat steer had been driven to the public square and there +dressed and trussed for the roasting. The light of morning fall<a name="Page_8" id="Page_8" />ing on +his carcass revealed around it great heaps of fruits and vegetables. For +the year had been prosperous.</p> + +<p>But the young overlord sulked in his castle at the cliff top, and bit +his nails. From Thursday evening of each week to the morning of Monday, +Mother Church had decreed peace, a Truce of God. Three full days out of +each week his men-at-arms polished their weapons and grew fat. Three +full days out of each week his grudge against his cousin, Philip of the +Black Beard, must feed on itself.</p> + +<p>His dark mood irritated the Bishop of Tours, who had come to <a name="Page_9" id="Page_9" />speak of +certain scandalous things which had come to his ears. Charles heard him +through.</p> + +<p>"She took refuge with him," he said violently, when the Bishop had +finished. "She knew what hate there was between us, yet she took refuge +with him."</p> + +<p>"The question is," said the Bishop mildly, "why she should have been +driven to refuge. A gentle lady, a faithful wife—"</p> + +<p>"Deus!" The young <i>seigneur</i> clapped a fist on the table. "You know well +the reason. A barren woman!"</p> + +<p>"She had borne you a daughter."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10" />But Charles was far gone in rage and out of hand. The Bishop took his +offended ears to bed, and left him to sit alone by the dying fire, with +bitterness for company.</p> + +<p>Came into the courtyard at midnight the Christmas singers from the town; +the blacksmith rolling a great bass, the crockery-seller who sang +falsetto, and a fool of the village who had slept overnight in a manger +on the holy eve a year before and had brought from it, not wit, but a +voice from Heaven. A miracle of miracles.</p> + +<p>The men-at-arms in the courtyard stood back to give them space. They +sang with eyes upturned, <a name="Page_11" id="Page_11" />with full-throated vigour, albeit a bit +warily, with an anxious glance now and then toward those windows beyond +which the young lord sulked by the fire.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"The Light of Light Divine,<br /></span> +<span>True Brightness undefiled.<br /></span> +<span>He bears for us the shame of sin,<br /></span> +<span>A holy, spotless Child."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>They sang to the frosty air.</p> + +<p>When neither money nor burning fagot was flung from the window they +watched, they took their departure, relieved if unrewarded.</p> + +<p>In former years the lady of the Castle had thrown them alms. But times +had changed. Now the gen<a name="Page_12" id="Page_12" />tle lady was gone, and the <i>seigneur</i> sulked in +the hall.</p> + +<p>With the dawn Charles the Fair took himself to bed. And to him, +pattering barefoot along stone floors, came Clotilde, the child of his +disappointment.</p> + +<p>"Are you asleep?"</p> + +<p>One arm under his head, he looked at her without answer.</p> + +<p>"It is the anniversary of the birth of our Lord," she ventured. "Today +He is born. I thought—" She put out a small, very cold hand. But he +turned his head away.</p> + +<p>"Back to your bed," he said <a name="Page_13" id="Page_13" />shortly. "Where is your nurse, to permit +this?"</p> + +<p>The child's face fell. Something she had expected, some miracle, +perhaps, a softening of the lord her father, so that she might ask of +him a Christmas boon.</p> + +<p>The Bishop had said that Christmas miracles were often wrought, and she +herself knew that this was true. Had not the Fool secured his voice, so +that he who had been but lightly held became the village troubadour, and +slept warm and full at night?</p> + +<p>She had gone to the Bishop with this the night before.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_14" id="Page_14" />If I should lie in a manger all night," she said, standing with her +feet well apart and looking up at him, "would I become a boy?"</p> + +<p>The Bishop tugged at his beard. "A boy, little maid! Would you give up +your blue eyes and your soft skin to be a roystering lad?"</p> + +<p>"My father wishes for a son," she had replied and the cloud that was +over the Castle shadowed the Bishop's eyes.</p> + +<p>"It would not be well," he replied, "to tamper with the works of the +Almighty. Pray rather for this miracle, that your father's heart be +turned toward you and <a name="Page_15" id="Page_15" />toward the lady, your mother."</p> + +<p>So during much of the night she had asked this boon steadfastly. But +clearly she had not been heard.</p> + +<p>"Back to your bed!" said her father, and turned his face away.</p> + +<p>So she went as far as the leather curtain which hung in the doorway and +there she turned.</p> + +<p>"Why do they sing?" she had asked the Bishop, of the blacksmith and the +others, and he had replied into his beard, "To soften the hard of +heart."</p> + +<p>So she turned in the doorway and sang in her reedy little voice, much +thinned by the cold, sang to soften her young father's heart.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16" /> +<span>"The Light of Light Divine,<br /></span> +<span>True Brightness undefined.<br /></span> +<span>He bears for us the shame of sin,<br /></span> +<span>A holy, spotless Child."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But the song failed. Perhaps it was the wrong hour, or perhaps it was +because she had not slept in the manger and brought forth the gift of +voice.</p> + +<p>"Blood of the martyrs!" shouted her father, and raised himself on his +elbow. "Are you mad? Get back to your bed. I shall have a word with +someone for this."</p> + +<p>Whether it had softened him or not it had stirred him, so she made her +plea.</p> + +<p>"It is His birthday. I want to see my mother."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17" />Then she ducked under the curtain and ran as fast as she could back to +where she belonged. Terror winged her feet. She had spoken a forbidden +word.</p> + +<p>All sleep was gone from Charles the Fair. He lay on his elbow in his bed +and thought of things that he wished to forget: of the wife he had put +away because in eight years she had borne him no son; of his great lands +that would go to his cousin, Philip of the Black Beard, whom he hated; +of girls in the plain who wooed him with soft eyes and whom he passed +by; of a Jew who lay in a dungeon beneath the Castle because of usury +and other things.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18" />After a time he slept again, but lightly, for the sun came in through +the deep, unshaded window and fell on his face and on the rushes that +covered the floor. And in his sleep the grimness was gone, and the +pride. And his mouth, which was sad, contended with the firmness of his +chin.</p> + +<p>Clotilde went back to her bed and tucked her feet under her to warm +them. In the next room her nurse lay on a bed asleep, with her mouth +open; outside in the stone corridor a page slept on a skin, with a +corner over him against the draught.</p> + +<p>She thought things over while <a name="Page_19" id="Page_19" />she warmed her feet. It was clear that +singing did not soften all hearts. Perhaps she did not sing very well. +But the Bishop had said that after one had done a good act one might +pray with hope. She decided to do a good act and then to pray to see her +mother; she would pray also to become a boy so that her father might +care for her. But the Bishop considered it a little late for such a +prayer.</p> + +<p>She made terms with the Almighty, sitting on her bed.</p> + +<p>"I shall do a good act," she said, "on this the birthday of Thy Son, and +after that I shall ask for the thing Thou knowest of."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20" />After much thinking, she decided to free the Jew. And being, after all, +her father's own child, she acted at once.</p> + +<p>It was a matter of many cold stone steps and much fumbling with bars. +But Guillem the gaoler had crept up to the hall and lay sleeping by the +fire, with a dozen dogs about him. It was the time of the Truce of God, +and vigilance was relaxed. Also Guillem was in love with a girl of the +village and there was talk that the <i>seigneur</i>, in his loneliness, had +seen that she was beautiful. So Guillem slept to forget, and the Jew +<a name="Page_21" id="Page_21" />lay awake because of rats and anxiety.</p> + +<p>The Jew rose from the floor when Clotilde threw the grating open, and +blinked at her with weary and gentle eyes.</p> + +<p>"It is the birthday of our Lord," said Clotilde, "and I am doing a good +deed so that I may see my mother again. But go quickly." Then she +remembered something the Bishop had said to her, and eyed him +thoughtfully as he stared at her.</p> + +<p>"But you do not love our Lord!"</p> + +<p>The Jew put out his foot quietly so that she could not close the +grat<a name="Page_22" id="Page_22" />ing again. But he smiled into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Your Lord was a Jew," he said.</p> + +<p>This reassured her. It seemed to double the quality of mercy. She threw +the door wide and the usurer went out cautiously, as if suspecting a +trap. But patches of sunlight, barred with black, showed the way clear. +He should have gone at once, but he waited to give her the blessing of +his people. Even then, having started, he went back to her. She looked +so small in that fearsome place.</p> + +<p>"If there is something you wish, <a name="Page_23" id="Page_23" />little maid, and I can secure it for +you—"</p> + +<p>"I wish but two things," she said. "I wish to be a boy, only I fear it +is too late for that. The Bishop thinks so. And I wish to see my +mother."</p> + +<p>And these being beyond his gift, and not contained in the pack he had +fastened to his shoulders, he only shook his head and took his cautious +way toward freedom.</p> + +<p>Having tried song and a good deed, Clotilde went back again to her room, +stepping over the page, who had curled himself up in a ball, like a +puppy, and still slept. She crossed her hands on her breast <a name="Page_24" id="Page_24" />and raised +her eyes as she had been taught.</p> + +<p>"Now, O Lord," she said, "I have tried song and I have tried a good +deed. I wish to see my mother."</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was merely coincidence that the level rays of the morning sun +just then fell on the crucifix that hung on the wall, and that although +during all the year it seemed to be but of wood and with closed eyes, +now it flashed as with life and the eyes were open.</p> + +<p>"He was one of Your people," she said to the crucifix, "and by now he is +down the hill."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='center'> +<a name="Illustration_Chapter_Two" id="Illustration_Chapter_Two" /> +<img src='images/image04.png' alt='Chapter Two' title='Chapter Two' /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25" />II</h2> + + +<p>Now it was the custom on the morning of the Holy day for the <i>seigneur</i> +to ride his finest stallion to the top of the hill, where led a steep +road down into the town. There he dismounted, surrounded by his people, +guests and soldiers, smaller visiting nobility, the household of the +Castle. And, the stage being set as it were, and the village waiting +below, it was his pleasure to give <a name="Page_28" id="Page_28" />his charger a great cut with the +whip and send him galloping, unridden, down the hill. The horse was his +who caught it.</p> + +<p>Below waited the villagers, divided between terror and cupidity. Above +waited the Castle folk. It was an amusing game for those who stood +safely along the parapet and watched, one that convulsed them with +merriment. Also, it improved the quality of those horses that grazed in +the plain below.</p> + +<p>This year it was a great grey that carried Charles out to the road that +clung to the face of the cliff. Behind him on a donkey, reminder of the +humble beast that had borne <a name="Page_29" id="Page_29" />the Christ into Jerusalem, rode the Bishop. +Saddled and bridled was the grey, with a fierce head and great +shoulders, a strong beast for strong days.</p> + +<p>The men-at-arms were drawn up in a double line, weapons at rest. From +the place below rose a thin grey smoke where the fire kindled for the +steer. But the crowd had deserted and now stood, eyes upraised to the +Castle, and to the cliff road where waited boys and men ready for their +desperate emprise, clad in such protection of leather as they could +afford against the stallion's hoofs.</p> + +<p>Two people only remained by <a name="Page_30" id="Page_30" />the steer, an aged man, almost blind, who +tended the fire, and the girl Joan, whom Guillem slept to forget.</p> + +<p>"The <i>seigneur</i> has ridden out of the gates, father," she said. The +colour mounted to her dark cheeks. She was tall and slender, unlike the +peasant girls of the town, almost noble in her bearing; a rare flower +that Charles, in his rage and disappointment, would pick for himself.</p> + +<p>"And were you not undutiful," he mumbled, "you would be with him now, +and looking down on this rabble."</p> + +<p>She did not reply at once. Her <a name="Page_31" id="Page_31" />eyes were fixed on the frowning castle, +on the grim double line of men-at-arms, at the massive horse and its +massive rider.</p> + +<p>"I, too, should be up there," whined the old man. "Today, instead of +delivering Christmas dues, I should be receiving them. But you—!" He +swung on her malevolently, "You must turn great ox-eyes toward Guillem, +whose most courageous work is to levy tribute of a dungeon!"</p> + +<p>She flushed.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid, father. He is a hard man."</p> + +<p>"He is gentle with women."</p> + +<p>"Gentle!" Her eyes were still <a name="Page_32" id="Page_32" />upraised. "He knows not the word. When he +looks at me there is no liking in his eyes. I am—frightened."</p> + +<p>The overlord sat his great horse and surveyed the plain below. As far as +he could see, and as far again in every direction, was his domain, +paying him tithe of fat cattle and heaping granaries. As far as he could +see and as far again was the domain that, lacking a man-child, would go +to Philip, his cousin.</p> + +<p>The Bishop, who rode his donkey without a saddle, slipped off and stood +beside the little beast on the road. His finger absently traced the dark +cross on its back.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_33" id="Page_33" />Idiots!" snarled the overlord out of his distemper, as he looked down +into the faces of his faithful ones below. "Fools and sons of fools! Thy +beast would suit them better, Bishop, than mine."</p> + +<p>Then he flung himself insolently out of the saddle. There was little of +Christmas in his heart, God knows; only hate and disappointment and +thwarted pride.</p> + +<p>"A great day, my lord," said the Bishop. "Peace over the land. The end +of a plentiful year—"</p> + +<p>"Bah!"</p> + +<p>"The end of a plentiful year," repeated the Bishop tranquilly, "this day +of His birth, a day for <a name="Page_34" id="Page_34" />thanksgiving and for—good-will."</p> + +<p>"Bah!" said the overlord again, and struck the grey a heavy blow. So +massive was the beast, so terrific the pace at which it charged down the +hill that the villagers scattered. He watched them with his lip curling.</p> + +<p>"See," he said, "brave men and true! Watch, father, how they rally to +the charge!" And when the creature was caught, and a swaying figure +clung to the bridle:</p> + +<p>"By the cross, the Fool has him! A fine heritage for my cousin Philip, a +village with its bravest man a simpleton!"</p> + +<p>The Fool held on swinging. His <a name="Page_35" id="Page_35" />arms were very strong, and as is the way +with fools and those that drown, many things went through his mind. The +horse was his. He would go adventuring along the winter roads, +adventuring and singing. The townspeople gathered about him with +sheepish praise. From a dolt he had become a hero. Many have taken the +same step in the same space of moments, the line being but a line and +easy to cross.</p> + +<p>The <i>dénouement</i> suited the grim mood of the overlord. It pleased him to +see the smug villagers stand by while the Fool mounted his steed. Side +by side from the para<a name="Page_36" id="Page_36" />pet he and the Bishop looked down into the town.</p> + +<p>"The birthday of our Lord, Bishop," he said, "with fools on blooded +horses and the courage of the townspeople in their stomachs."</p> + +<p>"The birthday of our Lord," said the Bishop tranquilly, "with a lad +mounted who has heretofore trudged afoot, and with the hungry fed in the +market place."</p> + +<p>Now it had been in the mind of the Bishop that the day would soften +Charles' grim humour and that he might speak to him as man to man. But +Charles was not softened.</p> + +<p>So the Bishop gathered up his <a name="Page_37" id="Page_37" />courage. His hand was still on the cross +on the donkey's back.</p> + +<p>"You are young, my son, and have been grievously disappointed. I, who am +old, have seen many things, and this I have learned. Two things there +are that, next to the love of God, must be greatest in a man's life—not +war nor slothful peace, nor pride, nor yet a will that would bend all +things to its end."</p> + +<p>The overlord scowled. He had found the girl Joan in the Market Square, +and his eyes were on her.</p> + +<p>"One," said the Bishop, "is the love of a woman. The other is—a child."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38" />The donkey stood meekly, with hanging head.</p> + +<p>"A woman," repeated the Bishop. "You grow rough up here on your +hillside. Only a few months since the lady your wife went away, and +already order has forsaken you. The child, your daughter, runs like a +wild thing, without control. Our Holy Church deplores these things."</p> + +<p>"Will Holy Church grant me another wife?"</p> + +<p>"Holy Church," replied the Bishop gravely, "would have you take back, my +lord, the wife whom your hardness drove away."</p> + +<p>The <i>seigneur's</i> gaze turned to <a name="Page_39" id="Page_39" />the east, where lay the Castle of +Philip, his cousin. Then he dropped brooding eyes to the Square below, +where the girl Joan assisted her father by the fire, and moved like a +mother of kings.</p> + +<p>"You wish a woman for the castle, father," he said. "Then a woman we +shall have. Holy Church may not give me another wife, but I shall take +one. And I shall have a son."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The child Clotilde had watched it all from a window. Because she was +very high the thing she saw most plainly was the cross on the donkey's +back. Far out over <a name="Page_40" id="Page_40" />the plain was a moving figure which might or might +not have been the Jew. She chose to think it was.</p> + +<p>"One of Your people," she said toward the crucifix. "I have done the +good deed."</p> + +<p>She was a little frightened, for all her high head.</p> + +<p>Other Christmases she and the lady her mother had sat hand in hand, and +listened to the roystering.</p> + +<p>"They are drunk," Clotilde would say.</p> + +<p>But her mother would stroke her hand and reply:</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_41" id="Page_41" />They but rejoice that our Lord is born."</p> + +<p>So the child Clotilde stood at her window and gazed to where the plain +stretched as far as she could see and as far again. And there was her +mother. She would go to her and bring her back, or perhaps failing that, +she might be allowed to stay.</p> + +<p>Here no one would miss her. The odour of cooking food filled the great +house, loud laughter, the clatter of mug on board. Her old nurse was +below, decorating a boar's head with berries and a crown.</p> + +<p>Because it was the Truce of<a name="Page_42" id="Page_42" /> God and a festival, the gates stood open. +She reached the foot of the hill safely. Stragglers going up and down +the steep way regarded her without suspicion. So she went through the +Square past the roasting steer, and by a twisting street into the open +country.</p> + +<p>When she stopped to rest it was to look back with wistful eyes toward +the frowning castle on the cliff. For a divided allegiance was hers. +Passionately as she loved her mother, her indomitable spirit was her +father's heritage, his fierceness was her courage, and she loved him as +the small may love the great.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43" />The Fool found her at the edge of the river. She had forgotten that +there was a river. He was on his great horse, and he rode up by the +child and looked down at her.</p> + +<p>"It was I who captured him," he boasted. "The others ran, but I caught +him, so." He dismounted to illustrate.</p> + +<p>"It is not because you were brave that you captured him."</p> + +<p>"Then why?" He stood with his feet wide apart, looking down at her.</p> + +<p>"It is because you have slept in a manger on a Holy Eve."</p> + +<p>"Aye," he responded, "but that <a name="Page_44" id="Page_44" />was a matter of courage, too. There were +many strange noises. Also, in the middle of the night came Our Lady +herself and said to me: 'Hereafter thou shalt sing with the voice of an +angel.'"</p> + +<p>"I should like to see Our Lady," said the child wistfully.</p> + +<p>"Also," pursued the Fool, "She gave me power over great beasts. See! He +fears me, while he loves me."</p> + +<p>And indeed there seemed some curious kinship between the horse and the +lad, perhaps because the barrier of keen human mind was not between +them.</p> + +<p>"Think you," said the little <a name="Page_45" id="Page_45" />maid, "if I slept where you did She would +appear to me? I would not ask much, only to be made a lad like you, and, +perhaps, to sing."</p> + +<p>"But I am a simpleton. Instead of wit I have but a voice and now—a +horse."</p> + +<p>"A lad like you," she persisted, "so that my father would love me and my +mother might come back again?"</p> + +<p>"Better stay as you are," said the Fool. "Also, there will be no Holy +Eve again for a long time. It comes but once a year. Also it is hard +times for men who must either fight or work in the <a name="Page_46" id="Page_46" />fields. I—" He +struck his chest. "I shall do neither. And I shall cut no more wood. I +go adventuring."</p> + +<p>Clotilde rose and drew her grey cloak around her.</p> + +<p>"I am adventuring, too," she said. "Only I have no voice and no horse. +May I go with you?"</p> + +<p>The boy was doubtful. He had that innate love and tenderness that is +given to his kind instead of other things. But a child!</p> + +<p>"I will take you," he said at last, rather heavily. "But where, little +lady?"</p> + +<p>"To my mother at the castle of Black Philip." And when his <a name="Page_47" id="Page_47" />face +fell—for Philip was not named The Black only for his beard—</p> + +<p>"She loves singing. I will ask you to sing before her."</p> + +<p>That decided him. He took her before him on the grey horse and they set +off, two valiant adventurers, a troubadour and a lady, without food or +sufficient clothing, but with high courage and a song.</p> + +<p>And because it was the Truce of God the children went unharmed, +encountering no greater adventure than hunger and cold and aching +muscles. Robbers sulked in their fastnesses, and <a name="Page_48" id="Page_48" />their horses pawed the +ground. Murder, rapine and pillage slept that Christmas day, under the +shelter of the cross.</p> + +<p>The Fool, who ached for adventure, rather resented the peace.</p> + +<p>"Wait until Monday," he said from behind her on the horse. "I shall show +you great things."</p> + +<p>But the little maid was cold by that time and beginning to be +frightened. "Monday you may fight," she said. "Now I wish you would +sing."</p> + +<p>So he sang until his voice cracked in his throat. Because it was +Christmas, and because it was freshest in his heart, he sang most<a name="Page_49" id="Page_49" />ly +what he and the blacksmith and the crockery-seller had sung in the +castle yard:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"The Light of Light Divine,<br /></span> +<span>True Brightness undefiled,<br /></span> +<span>He bears for us the shame of sin,<br /></span> +<span>A holy, spotless Child."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>They lay that night in a ruined barn with a roof of earth and stones. +Clotilde eyed the manger wistfully, but the Holy Eve was past, and the +day of miracles would not come for a year.</p> + +<p>Toward morning, however, she roused the boy with a touch.</p> + +<p>"She may have forgotten me," she said. "She has been gone since the +spring. She may not love me now."</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_50" id="Page_50" />She will love you. It is the way of a mother to keep on loving."</p> + +<p>"I am still a girl."</p> + +<p>"You are still her child."</p> + +<p>But seeing that she trembled, he put his ragged cloak about her and +talked to comfort her, although his muscles ached for sleep.</p> + +<p>He told her a fable of the countryside, of that Abbot who, having duly +served his God, died and appeared at the heavenly gates for admission. +"A slave of the Lord," he replied, when asked his name. But he was +refused. So he went away and laboured seven years <a name="Page_51" id="Page_51" />again at good deeds +and returned. "A servant of the Lord," he called himself, and again he +was refused. Yet another seven years he laboured and came in all +humility to the gate. "A child of the Lord," said the Abbot, who had +gained both wisdom and humility. And the gates opened.</p> + + +<div class="center"> +<img src='images/image05.png' +alt='' /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='center'> +<a name="Illustration_Chapter_Three" id="Illustration_Chapter_Three" /> +<img src='images/image06.png' alt='Chapter Three' title='Chapter Three' /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54" />III</h2> + + +<p>All that day came peasants up the hill with their Christmas dues, of one +fowl out of eight, of barley and wheat. The courtyard had assumed the +appearance of a great warehouse. Those that were prosperous came +a-riding, hissing geese and chickens and grain in bags across the +saddle. The poorer trudged afoot.</p> + +<p>Among the latter came the girl<a name="Page_56" id="Page_56" /> Joan of the Market Square. She brought +no grain, but fowls only, and of these but two. She took the steep +ascent like a thoroughbred, muscles working clean under glowing skin, +her deep bosom rising evenly, treading like a queen among that clutter +of peasants.</p> + +<p>And when she was brought into the great hall her head went yet higher. +It pleased the young <i>seigneur</i> to be gracious. But he eyed her much as +he had eyed the great horse that morning before he cut it with the whip. +She was but a means to an end. Such love and tenderness as were in him +had <a name="Page_57" id="Page_57" />gone out to the gentle wife he had put away from him, and had +died—of Clotilde.</p> + +<p>So Charles appraised her and found her, although but a means, very +beautiful. Only the Bishop turned away his head.</p> + +<p>"Joan," said Charles, "do you know why I have sent for you?"</p> + +<p>The girl looked down. But, although she quivered, it was not with +fright.</p> + +<p>"I do, sire."</p> + +<p>Something of a sardonic smile played around the <i>seigneur's</i> mouth. The +butterfly came too quietly to the net.</p> + +<p>"We are but gloomy folk here, <a name="Page_58" id="Page_58" />rough soldiers and few women. It has been +in my mind—" Here he saw the Bishop's averted head, and scowled. What +had been in his mind he forgot. He said: "I would have you come +willingly, or not at all."</p> + +<p>At that she lifted her head and looked at him. "You know I will come," +she said. "I can do nothing else, but I do not come willingly, my lord. +You are asking too much."</p> + +<p>The Bishop turned his head hopefully.</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"You are a hard man, my lord."</p> + +<p>If she meant to anger him, she <a name="Page_59" id="Page_59" />failed. They were not soft days. A man +hid such tenderness as he had under grimness, and prayed in the churches +for phlegm.</p> + +<p>"I am a fighting man. I have no gentle ways." Then a belated memory came +to him. "I give no tenderness and ask none. But such kindness as you +have, lavish on the child Clotilde. She is much alone."</p> + +<p>With the mention of Clotilde's name came a vision: instead of this +splendid peasant wench he seemed to see the graceful and drooping figure +of the woman he had put away because she had not borne him a son. He +closed his <a name="Page_60" id="Page_60" />eyes, and the girl, taking it for dismissal, went away.</p> + +<p>When he opened them there were only the fire and the dogs about it, and +the Bishop, who was preparing to depart.</p> + +<p>"I shall not stay, my lord," said the Bishop. "The thing is desecration. +No good can come from such a bond. It is Christmas and the Truce of God, +and yet you do this evil thing."</p> + +<p>So the Bishop went, muffled in a cloak, and mantled with displeasure. +And with him, now that Clotilde had fled, went all that was good and +open to the sun, <a name="Page_61" id="Page_61" />from the grey castle of Charles the Fair.</p> + +<p>At evening Joan came again, still afoot, but now clad in her best. She +came alone, and the men at the gates, instructed, let her in. She gazed +around the courtyard with its burden of grain that had been crushed out +of her people below, with its loitering soldiers and cackling fowls, and +she shivered as the gates closed behind her.</p> + +<p>She was a good girl, as the times went, and she knew well that she had +been brought up the hill as the stallion that morning had been driven +down. She remem<a name="Page_62" id="Page_62" />bered the cut of the whip, and in the twilight of the +courtyard she stretched out her arms toward the little town below, where +the old man, her father, lived in semi-darkness, and where on that +Christmas evening the women were gathered in the churches to pray.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Having no seasonable merriment in himself, Charles surrounded himself +that night with cheer. A band of wandering minstrels had arrived to +sing, the great fire blazed, the dogs around it gnawed the bones of the +Christmas feast. But when the troubadours would have sung of the +Nativity, he bade <a name="Page_63" id="Page_63" />them in a great voice to have done. So they sang of +war, and, remembering his cousin Philip, his eyes blazed.</p> + +<p>When Joan came he motioned her to a seat beside him, not on his right, +but on his left, and there he let her sit without speech. But his mind +was working busily. He would have a son and the King would legitimise +him. Then let Philip go hang. These lands of his as far as the eye could +reach and as far again would never go to him.</p> + +<p>The minstrels sang of war, and of his own great deeds, but there was no +one of them with so beau<a name="Page_64" id="Page_64" />tiful a voice as that of the Fool, who could +sing only of peace. And the Fool was missing.</p> + +<p>However, their songs soothed his hurt pride. This was he; these things +he had done. If the Bishop had not turned sour and gone, he would have +heard what they sang. He might have understood, too, the craving of a +man's warrior soul for a warrior son, for one to hold what he had +gathered at such cost. Back always to this burning hope of his!</p> + +<p>Joan sat on his left hand, and went hot and cold, hot with shame and +cold with fear.</p> + +<p>So now, his own glory as a war<a name="Page_65" id="Page_65" />rior commencing to pall on him, Charles +would have more tribute, this time as lord of peace. He would celebrate +this day of days, and at the same time throw a sop to Providence.</p> + +<p>He would release the Jew.</p> + +<p>The troubadours sang louder; fresh liquor was passed about. Charles +waited for the Jew to be brought.</p> + +<p>He remembered Clotilde then. She should see him do this noble thing. +Since her mother had gone she had shrunk from him. Now let her see how +magnanimous he could be. He, the <i>seigneur</i>, who held life and death in +his hands, <a name="Page_66" id="Page_66" />would this day give, not death, but life.</p> + +<p>Being not displeased with himself, he turned at last toward Joan and put +a hand over hers.</p> + +<p>"You see," he said, "I am not so hard a man. By this Christian act shall +I celebrate your arrival."</p> + +<p>But the Jew did not come. The singers learned the truth, and sang with +watchful eyes. The <i>seigneur's</i> anger was known to be mighty, and to +strike close at hand.</p> + +<p>Guillem, the gaoler, had been waiting for the summons.</p> + +<p>News had come to him late in the afternoon that had made him indifferent +to his fate. The girl<a name="Page_67" id="Page_67" /> Joan, whom he loved, had come up the hill at the +overlord's summons. So, instead of raising an alarm, Guillem had waited +sullenly. Death, which yesterday he would have blenched to behold, now +beckoned him. When he was brought in, he stood with folded arms and +asked no mercy.</p> + +<p>"He is gone, my lord," said Guillem, and waited. He did not glance at +the girl.</p> + +<p>"Gone?" said Charles. Then he laughed, such laughter as turned the girl +cold.</p> + +<p>"Gone, earth-clod? How now? Perhaps you, too, wished to give <a name="Page_68" id="Page_68" />a hostage +to fortune, to forestall me in mercy?"</p> + +<p>He turned to the girl beside him.</p> + +<p>"You see," he said, "to what lengths this spirit of the Holy Day extends +itself. Our friend here—" Then he saw her face and knew the truth.</p> + +<p>The smile set a little on his lips.</p> + +<p>"Why, then," he said to the gaoler, "such mercy should have its reward." +He turned to Joan. "What say you? Shall I station him at your door, +sweet lady, as a guard of honour?"</p> + +<p>Things went merrily after that, for Guillem drew a knife and <a name="Page_69" id="Page_69" />made, not +for the <i>seigneur</i>, but for Joan. The troubadours feared to stop singing +without a signal, so they sang through white lips. The dogs gnawed at +their bones and the <i>seigneur</i> sat and smiled, showing his teeth.</p> + +<p>Guillem, finally unhanded, stood with folded arms and waited for death.</p> + +<p>"It is the time of the Truce of God," said the <i>seigneur</i> softly, and, +knowing that death would be a boon, sent him off unhurt.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The village, which had eaten full, slept early that night. Down the hill +at nine o'clock came half a <a name="Page_70" id="Page_70" />dozen men-at-arms on horseback and +clattered through the streets. Word went about quickly. Great oaken +doors were unbarred to the news:</p> + +<p>"The child Clotilde is gone!" they cried through the streets. "Up and +arm. The child Clotilde is gone."</p> + +<p>Joan, deserted, sat alone in the great hall. For the <i>seigneur</i> was off, +riding like a madman. Flying through the Market Square, he took the +remains of the great fire at a leap. He had but one thought. The Jew had +stolen the child; therefore, to find the Jew.</p> + +<p>In the blackest of the night he <a name="Page_71" id="Page_71" />found him, sitting by the road, bent +over his staff. The eyes he raised to Charles were haggard and weary. +Charles reined his horse back on his haunches, his men-at-arms behind +him.</p> + +<p>"What have you done with the child?"</p> + +<p>"The child?"</p> + +<p>"Out with it," cried Charles and flung himself from his horse. If the +Jew were haggard, Charles was more so, hard bitten of terror, pallid to +the lips.</p> + +<p>"I have seen no child. That is—" He hastened to correct himself, seeing +Charles' face in the light of a torch. "I was re<a name="Page_72" id="Page_72" />leased by a child, a +girl. I have not seen her since."</p> + +<p>He spoke with the simplicity of truth. In the light of the torches +Charles' face went white.</p> + +<p>"She released you?" he repeated slowly. "What did she say?"</p> + +<p>"She said: 'It is the birthday of our Lord,'" repeated the Jew, slowly, +out of his weary brain. "'And I am doing a good deed.'"</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" The Jew hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Also she said: 'But you do not love our Lord.'"</p> + +<p>Charles swore under his breath. "And you?"</p> + +<p>"I said but little. I—"</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_73" id="Page_73" />What did you say?"</p> + +<p>"I said that her Lord was also a Jew." He was fearful of giving offence, +so he hastened to add: "It was by way of comforting the child. Only +that, my lord."</p> + +<p>"She said nothing else?" The <i>seigneur's</i> voice was dangerously calm.</p> + +<p>The Jew faltered. He knew the gossip of the town.</p> + +<p>"She said—she said she wished two things, my lord. To become a boy +and—to see her mother."</p> + +<p>Then Charles lifted his face to where the stars were growing dim before +the uprising of the dawn, and where, as far away as the eye <a name="Page_74" id="Page_74" />could reach +and as far again, lay the castle of his cousin Philip of the Black +Beard. And the rage was gone out of his eyes. For suddenly he knew that, +on that feast of mother and child, Clotilde had gone to her mother, as +unerringly as an arrow to its mark.</p> + +<p>And with the rage died all the passion and pride. In the eyes that had +gazed at Joan over the parapet, and that now turned to the east, there +was reflected the dawning of a new day.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The castle of Philip the Black lay in a plain. For as much as a mile in +every direction the forest <a name="Page_75" id="Page_75" />had been sacrificed against the loving +advances of his cousin Charles. Also about the castle was a moat in +which swam noisy geese and much litter.</p> + +<p>When, shortly after dawn, the sentry at the drawbridge saw a great horse +with a double burden crossing the open space he was but faintly +interested. A belated peasant with his Christmas dues, perhaps. But +when, on the lifting of the morning haze, he saw that the horse bore two +children and one a girl, he called another man to look.</p> + +<p>"Troubadours, by the sound," said the newcomer. For the Fool <a name="Page_76" id="Page_76" />was +singing to cheer his lack of breakfast. "Coming empty of belly, as come +all troubadours."</p> + +<p>But the sentry was dubious. Minstrels were a slothful lot, averse to the +chill of early morning.</p> + +<p>And when the pair came nearer and drew up beyond the moat, the soldiers +were still at a loss. The Fool's wandering eyes and tender mouth bespoke +him no troubadour, and the child rode with head high like a princess.</p> + +<p>"I have come to see my mother," Clotilde called, and demanded admission, +clearly.</p> + +<p>Here were no warriors, but a<a name="Page_77" id="Page_77" /> Fool and a child. So they let down the +bridge and admitted the pair. But they raised the bridge at once again +against the loving advances of Philip's cousin Charles.</p> + +<p>But once in the courtyard Clotilde's courage began to fail her. Would +her mother want her? Prayer had been unavailing and she was still a +girl. And, at first, it seemed as though her fears had been justified, +although they took her into the castle kindly enough, and offered her +food which she could not eat and plied her with questions which she +could not answer.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_78" id="Page_78" />I want my mother," was the only thing they could get out of her. Her +little body was taut as a bowstring, her lips tight. They offered her +excuses; the lady mother slept; now she was rising and must be clothed. +And then at last they told her, because of the hunted look in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"She is ill," they said. "Wait but a little and you shall see her."</p> + +<p>Deadly despair had Clotilde in its grasp with that announcement. These +strange folk were gentle enough with her, but never before had her +mother refused her the haven of her out-held arms. Besides, they lied. +Their eyes were <a name="Page_79" id="Page_79" />shifty. She could see in their faces that they kept +something from her.</p> + +<p>Philip, having confessed himself overnight, by candle-light, was at mass +when the pair arrived. Three days one must rot of peace, and those three +days, to be not entirely lost, he prayed for success against Charles, or +for another thing that lay close to his heart. But not for both +together, since that was not possible.</p> + +<p>He knelt stiffly in his cold chapel and made his supplications, but he +was not too engrossed to hear the drawbridge chains and to pick up his +ears to the clatter of the grey horse.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80" />So, having been communicated, he made short shift of what remained to +be done, and got to his feet.</p> + +<p>The Abbot, whose offices were finished, had also heard the drawbridge +chains and let him go.</p> + +<p>When Philip saw Clotilde he frowned and then smiled. He had sons, but no +daughter, and he would have set her on his shoulder. But she drew away +haughtily.</p> + +<p>So Philip sat in a chair and watched her with a curious smile playing +about his lips. Surely it were enough to make him smile, that he should +play host to the wife <a name="Page_81" id="Page_81" />and daughter of his cousin Charles.</p> + +<p>Because of that, and of the thing that he had prayed for, and with a +twinkle in his eyes, Black Philip alternately watched the child, and +from a window the plain which was prepared against his cousin. And, as +he had expected, at ten o'clock in the morning came Charles and six +men-at-arms, riding like demons, and jerked up their horses at the edge +of the moat.</p> + +<p>Philip, still with the smile under his black beard, went out to greet +them.</p> + +<p>"Well met, cousin," he called; "you ride fast and early."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82" />Charles eyed him with feverish eyes.</p> + +<p>"Truce of God," he said, sulkily, from across the moat. And then: "We +seek a runaway, the child Clotilde."</p> + +<p>"I shall make inquiry," said Philip, veiling the twinkle under his heavy +brow. "In such a season many come and go."</p> + +<p>But in his eyes Charles read the truth, and breathed with freer breath.</p> + +<p>They lowered the drawbridge again with a great creaking of windlass and +chain, and Charles with his head up rode across. But his men-at-arms +stood their horses <a name="Page_83" id="Page_83" />squarely on the bridge so that it could not be +raised, and Philip smiled into his beard.</p> + +<p>Charles dismounted stiffly. He had been a night in the saddle and his +horse staggered with fatigue. In Philip's courtyard, as in his own, were +piled high the Christmas tithes.</p> + +<p>"A good year," said Philip agreeably, and indicated the dues. "Peaceful +times, eh, cousin?"</p> + +<p>But Charles only turned to see that his men kept the drawbridge open, +and followed him into the house. Once inside, however, he turned on +Philip fiercely.</p> + +<p>"I am not here of my own de<a name="Page_84" id="Page_84" />sire. It appears that both my wife and child +find sanctuary with you."</p> + +<p>"Tut," said Philip, good-naturedly, "it is the Christmas season, man, +and a Sunday. We will not quarrel as to the why of your coming."</p> + +<p>"Where is she?"</p> + +<p>"Your wife or Clotilde?"</p> + +<p>Now all through the early morning Charles had longed for one as for the +other. But there was nothing of that in his voice.</p> + +<p>"Clotilde," he said.</p> + +<p>"I shall make inquiry if she has arrived," mumbled Philip into his +beard, and went away.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85" />So it came about that Charles was alone when he saw the child and +caught her up in his hungry arms. As for Clotilde, her fear died at once +in his embrace. When Philip returned he found them thus and coughed +discreetly. So Charles released the child and put her on her feet.</p> + +<p>"I have," said Philip, "another member of your family under my roof as +to whom you have made no inquiry."</p> + +<p>"I have secured that for which I came," said Charles haughtily.</p> + +<p>But his eyes were on Philip and a question was in them. Philip, however, +was not minded to play<a name="Page_86" id="Page_86" /> Charles' game, but his own, and that not too +fast.</p> + +<p>"In that event, cousin," he replied, "let the little maid eat and then +take her away. And since it is a Sunday and the Truce of God, we can +drink to the Christmas season. Even quarrelling dogs have intervals of +peace."</p> + +<p>So perforce, because the question was still in his heart if not in his +eyes, Charles drank with his cousin and enemy Philip. But with his hand +in that small hand of Clotilde's which was so like her mother's.</p> + +<p>Philip's expansiveness extended itself to the men-at-arms who still <a name="Page_87" id="Page_87" />sat +woodenly on the drawbridge. He sent them hot liquor, for the day was +cold, and at such intervals as Charles' questioning eyes were turned +away, he rubbed his hands together furtively, as a man with a secret.</p> + +<p>"A prosperous year," said Philip.</p> + +<p>Charles grunted.</p> + +<p>"We shall have snow before night," said Philip.</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said Charles and glanced toward the sky, but made no move to +go.</p> + +<p>"The child is growing."</p> + +<p>To this Charles made no reply whatever and Philip bleated on.<a name="Page_88" id="Page_88" /> "Her +mother's body," he said, "but your eyes and hair, cousin."</p> + +<p>Charles could stand no more. He pushed the child away and rose to his +feet. Philip, to give him no tithe of advantage, rose too.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Charles squarely, "where is my wife? Is she hiding from me?"</p> + +<p>Then Philip's face must grow very grave and his mouth set in sad lines.</p> + +<p>"She is ill, Charles. I would have told you sooner, but you lacked +interest."</p> + +<p>Charles swallowed to steady his voice.</p> + +<p>"<a name="Page_89" id="Page_89" />How—ill?"</p> + +<p>"A short and violent illness," said Philip. "All of last night the women +have been with her, and this morning—" He glanced toward the window. "I +was right, as you see, cousin. It is snowing."</p> + +<p>Charles clutched him by the arm and jerked him about. "What about this +morning?" he roared.</p> + +<p>"Snow on Christmas," mused Philip, "prophesies another prosperous year." +Then having run his quarry to earth, he showed mercy.</p> + +<p>"Would you like to see her?"</p> + +<p><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90" />Charles swallowed again, this time his pride.</p> + +<p>"I doubt if she cares to see me."</p> + +<p>"Probably not," said Philip. "Still a few words—she is a true woman, +and kindly. Also it is a magnanimous season. But you must tread softly +and speak fair. This is no time for a high hand."</p> + +<p>Charles, perforce, must promise mildness. He made the concession with +poor grace, but he made it. And in Philip's eyes grew a new admiration +for this hulking cousin and enemy, who ate his pride for a woman. At the +entrance to an upper room where <a name="Page_91" id="Page_91" />hung a leather curtain, he stood aside.</p> + +<p>"Softly," he said through his beard. "No harsh words. Send the child in +first."</p> + +<p>So Philip went ponderously away and left Charles to cool his heels and +wait. As he stood there sheepishly he remembered many things with shame. +Joan, and the violence of the last months, and the Bishop's averted +head. For now he knew one thing, and knew it well. The lady of his heart +lay in that quiet room beyond; and the devils that had fought in him +were dead of a Christmas peace.</p> + +<p>Little cries came to him, Clo<a name="Page_92" id="Page_92" />tilde's soft weeping, and another voice +that thrilled him, filled with the wooing note that is in a mother's +voice when she speaks to her child. But it was a feeble voice, and its +weakness struck terror to his soul. What was this thing for which he had +cast her away, now that he might lose her? His world shook under his +feet. His cousin and enemy was, willy-nilly, become his friend. His +world, which he had thought was his own domain, as far from his castle +as the eye could reach and as far again, was in an upper room of +Philip's house, and dying, perhaps.</p> + +<p>But she was not dying. They <a name="Page_93" id="Page_93" />admitted him in time to save his pride, for +he was close to distraction. And, being admitted, he saw only the woman +he had put away.</p> + +<p>He went straight to his wife's bed and dropped on his knees beside it. +Not for his life could he have spoken then. Inarticulate things were in +his mind, remorse and the loneliness of the last months, and the shame +of the girl Joan.</p> + +<p>He caught her hand to him and covered it with kisses.</p> + +<p>"I have tried to live without you," he said, "and death itself were +better."</p> + +<p><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94" />When she did not reply, but lay back, white to the lips, he rose and +looked down at her.</p> + +<p>"I can see," he said, "that my touch is bitterness. I have merited +nothing better. So I shall go again, but this time, if it will comfort +you, I shall give you the child Clotilde—not that I love her the less, +but that you deserve her the more."</p> + +<p>Then she opened her eyes, and what he saw there brought him back to his +knees with a cry.</p> + +<p>"I want only your love, my lord, to make me happy," she said. "And now, +see how the birthday of our Lord has brought us peace."<a name="Page_95" id="Page_95" /> She drew down +the covering a trifle, close to his bent head, and showed the warm curve +of her arm. "Unto us also is born a son, Charles."</p> + +<p>"I have wanted a son," said Charles the Fair, "but more than a son have +I wanted you, heart of my heart."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Outside in the courtyard the Fool had drawn a circle about him.</p> + +<p>"I am adventuring," he said. "Yesterday I caught this horse when the +others ran from him. Then I saved a lady and brought her to her +destination. This being <a name="Page_96" id="Page_96" />the Christmas season and a Sunday, I shall rest +here for a day." He threw out his chest magnificently. "But tomorrow I +continue on my way."</p> + +<p>"Can you fight?" They baited him.</p> + +<p>"I can sing," he replied. And he threw back his head with its wandering +eyes and tender mouth and sang:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"The Light of Light Divine,<br /></span> +<span>True Brightness undefiled.<br /></span> +<span>He bears for us the shame of sin,<br /></span> +<span>A holy, spotless Child."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRUCE OF GOD***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 14573-h.txt or 14573-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/5/7/14573">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/5/7/14573</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Truce of God + +Author: Mary Roberts Rinehart + +Release Date: January 3, 2005 [eBook #14573] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRUCE OF GOD*** + + +E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Melissa Er-Raqabi, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + + +THE TRUCE OF GOD + +by + +MARY ROBERTS RINEHART + +Decorations by Harold Sichel + +New York +George H. Doran Company + +1920 + + + + + + + +[Illustration: "Softly," he said ... "No harsh words."] + + + +[Illustration] + + + +[Illustration: Chapter One] + + + + +The Truce of God + +I + + +Now the day of the birth of our Lord dawned that year grey and dreary, +and a Saturday. But, despite the weather, in the town at the foot of the +hill there was rejoicing, as befitted so great a festival. The day +before a fat steer had been driven to the public square and there +dressed and trussed for the roasting. The light of morning falling on +his carcass revealed around it great heaps of fruits and vegetables. For +the year had been prosperous. + +But the young overlord sulked in his castle at the cliff top, and bit +his nails. From Thursday evening of each week to the morning of Monday, +Mother Church had decreed peace, a Truce of God. Three full days out of +each week his men-at-arms polished their weapons and grew fat. Three +full days out of each week his grudge against his cousin, Philip of the +Black Beard, must feed on itself. + +His dark mood irritated the Bishop of Tours, who had come to speak of +certain scandalous things which had come to his ears. Charles heard him +through. + +"She took refuge with him," he said violently, when the Bishop had +finished. "She knew what hate there was between us, yet she took refuge +with him." + +"The question is," said the Bishop mildly, "why she should have been +driven to refuge. A gentle lady, a faithful wife--" + +"Deus!" The young _seigneur_ clapped a fist on the table. "You know well +the reason. A barren woman!" + +"She had borne you a daughter." + +But Charles was far gone in rage and out of hand. The Bishop took his +offended ears to bed, and left him to sit alone by the dying fire, with +bitterness for company. + +Came into the courtyard at midnight the Christmas singers from the town; +the blacksmith rolling a great bass, the crockery-seller who sang +falsetto, and a fool of the village who had slept overnight in a manger +on the holy eve a year before and had brought from it, not wit, but a +voice from Heaven. A miracle of miracles. + +The men-at-arms in the courtyard stood back to give them space. They +sang with eyes upturned, with full-throated vigour, albeit a bit +warily, with an anxious glance now and then toward those windows beyond +which the young lord sulked by the fire. + + "The Light of Light Divine, + True Brightness undefiled. + He bears for us the shame of sin, + A holy, spotless Child." + +They sang to the frosty air. + +When neither money nor burning fagot was flung from the window they +watched, they took their departure, relieved if unrewarded. + +In former years the lady of the Castle had thrown them alms. But times +had changed. Now the gentle lady was gone, and the _seigneur_ sulked in +the hall. + +With the dawn Charles the Fair took himself to bed. And to him, +pattering barefoot along stone floors, came Clotilde, the child of his +disappointment. + +"Are you asleep?" + +One arm under his head, he looked at her without answer. + +"It is the anniversary of the birth of our Lord," she ventured. "Today +He is born. I thought--" She put out a small, very cold hand. But he +turned his head away. + +"Back to your bed," he said shortly. "Where is your nurse, to permit +this?" + +The child's face fell. Something she had expected, some miracle, +perhaps, a softening of the lord her father, so that she might ask of +him a Christmas boon. + +The Bishop had said that Christmas miracles were often wrought, and she +herself knew that this was true. Had not the Fool secured his voice, so +that he who had been but lightly held became the village troubadour, and +slept warm and full at night? + +She had gone to the Bishop with this the night before. + +"If I should lie in a manger all night," she said, standing with her +feet well apart and looking up at him, "would I become a boy?" + +The Bishop tugged at his beard. "A boy, little maid! Would you give up +your blue eyes and your soft skin to be a roystering lad?" + +"My father wishes for a son," she had replied and the cloud that was +over the Castle shadowed the Bishop's eyes. + +"It would not be well," he replied, "to tamper with the works of the +Almighty. Pray rather for this miracle, that your father's heart be +turned toward you and toward the lady, your mother." + +So during much of the night she had asked this boon steadfastly. But +clearly she had not been heard. + +"Back to your bed!" said her father, and turned his face away. + +So she went as far as the leather curtain which hung in the doorway and +there she turned. + +"Why do they sing?" she had asked the Bishop, of the blacksmith and the +others, and he had replied into his beard, "To soften the hard of +heart." + +So she turned in the doorway and sang in her reedy little voice, much +thinned by the cold, sang to soften her young father's heart. + + "The Light of Light Divine, + True Brightness undefined. + He bears for us the shame of sin, + A holy, spotless Child." + +But the song failed. Perhaps it was the wrong hour, or perhaps it was +because she had not slept in the manger and brought forth the gift of +voice. + +"Blood of the martyrs!" shouted her father, and raised himself on his +elbow. "Are you mad? Get back to your bed. I shall have a word with +someone for this." + +Whether it had softened him or not it had stirred him, so she made her +plea. + +"It is His birthday. I want to see my mother." + +Then she ducked under the curtain and ran as fast as she could back to +where she belonged. Terror winged her feet. She had spoken a forbidden +word. + +All sleep was gone from Charles the Fair. He lay on his elbow in his bed +and thought of things that he wished to forget: of the wife he had put +away because in eight years she had borne him no son; of his great lands +that would go to his cousin, Philip of the Black Beard, whom he hated; +of girls in the plain who wooed him with soft eyes and whom he passed +by; of a Jew who lay in a dungeon beneath the Castle because of usury +and other things. + +After a time he slept again, but lightly, for the sun came in through +the deep, unshaded window and fell on his face and on the rushes that +covered the floor. And in his sleep the grimness was gone, and the +pride. And his mouth, which was sad, contended with the firmness of his +chin. + +Clotilde went back to her bed and tucked her feet under her to warm +them. In the next room her nurse lay on a bed asleep, with her mouth +open; outside in the stone corridor a page slept on a skin, with a +corner over him against the draught. + +She thought things over while she warmed her feet. It was clear that +singing did not soften all hearts. Perhaps she did not sing very well. +But the Bishop had said that after one had done a good act one might +pray with hope. She decided to do a good act and then to pray to see her +mother; she would pray also to become a boy so that her father might +care for her. But the Bishop considered it a little late for such a +prayer. + +She made terms with the Almighty, sitting on her bed. + +"I shall do a good act," she said, "on this the birthday of Thy Son, and +after that I shall ask for the thing Thou knowest of." + +After much thinking, she decided to free the Jew. And being, after all, +her father's own child, she acted at once. + +It was a matter of many cold stone steps and much fumbling with bars. +But Guillem the gaoler had crept up to the hall and lay sleeping by the +fire, with a dozen dogs about him. It was the time of the Truce of God, +and vigilance was relaxed. Also Guillem was in love with a girl of the +village and there was talk that the _seigneur_, in his loneliness, had +seen that she was beautiful. So Guillem slept to forget, and the Jew +lay awake because of rats and anxiety. + +The Jew rose from the floor when Clotilde threw the grating open, and +blinked at her with weary and gentle eyes. + +"It is the birthday of our Lord," said Clotilde, "and I am doing a good +deed so that I may see my mother again. But go quickly." Then she +remembered something the Bishop had said to her, and eyed him +thoughtfully as he stared at her. + +"But you do not love our Lord!" + +The Jew put out his foot quietly so that she could not close the +grating again. But he smiled into her eyes. + +"Your Lord was a Jew," he said. + +This reassured her. It seemed to double the quality of mercy. She threw +the door wide and the usurer went out cautiously, as if suspecting a +trap. But patches of sunlight, barred with black, showed the way clear. +He should have gone at once, but he waited to give her the blessing of +his people. Even then, having started, he went back to her. She looked +so small in that fearsome place. + +"If there is something you wish, little maid, and I can secure it for +you--" + +"I wish but two things," she said. "I wish to be a boy, only I fear it +is too late for that. The Bishop thinks so. And I wish to see my +mother." + +And these being beyond his gift, and not contained in the pack he had +fastened to his shoulders, he only shook his head and took his cautious +way toward freedom. + +Having tried song and a good deed, Clotilde went back again to her room, +stepping over the page, who had curled himself up in a ball, like a +puppy, and still slept. She crossed her hands on her breast and raised +her eyes as she had been taught. + +"Now, O Lord," she said, "I have tried song and I have tried a good +deed. I wish to see my mother." + +Perhaps it was merely coincidence that the level rays of the morning sun +just then fell on the crucifix that hung on the wall, and that although +during all the year it seemed to be but of wood and with closed eyes, +now it flashed as with life and the eyes were open. + +"He was one of Your people," she said to the crucifix, "and by now he is +down the hill." + + + + +[Illustration: Chapter Two] + + + + +II + + +Now it was the custom on the morning of the Holy day for the _seigneur_ +to ride his finest stallion to the top of the hill, where led a steep +road down into the town. There he dismounted, surrounded by his people, +guests and soldiers, smaller visiting nobility, the household of the +Castle. And, the stage being set as it were, and the village waiting +below, it was his pleasure to give his charger a great cut with the +whip and send him galloping, unridden, down the hill. The horse was his +who caught it. + +Below waited the villagers, divided between terror and cupidity. Above +waited the Castle folk. It was an amusing game for those who stood +safely along the parapet and watched, one that convulsed them with +merriment. Also, it improved the quality of those horses that grazed in +the plain below. + +This year it was a great grey that carried Charles out to the road that +clung to the face of the cliff. Behind him on a donkey, reminder of the +humble beast that had borne the Christ into Jerusalem, rode the Bishop. +Saddled and bridled was the grey, with a fierce head and great +shoulders, a strong beast for strong days. + +The men-at-arms were drawn up in a double line, weapons at rest. From +the place below rose a thin grey smoke where the fire kindled for the +steer. But the crowd had deserted and now stood, eyes upraised to the +Castle, and to the cliff road where waited boys and men ready for their +desperate emprise, clad in such protection of leather as they could +afford against the stallion's hoofs. + +Two people only remained by the steer, an aged man, almost blind, who +tended the fire, and the girl Joan, whom Guillem slept to forget. + +"The _seigneur_ has ridden out of the gates, father," she said. The +colour mounted to her dark cheeks. She was tall and slender, unlike the +peasant girls of the town, almost noble in her bearing; a rare flower +that Charles, in his rage and disappointment, would pick for himself. + +"And were you not undutiful," he mumbled, "you would be with him now, +and looking down on this rabble." + +She did not reply at once. Her eyes were fixed on the frowning castle, +on the grim double line of men-at-arms, at the massive horse and its +massive rider. + +"I, too, should be up there," whined the old man. "Today, instead of +delivering Christmas dues, I should be receiving them. But you--!" He +swung on her malevolently, "You must turn great ox-eyes toward Guillem, +whose most courageous work is to levy tribute of a dungeon!" + +She flushed. + +"I am afraid, father. He is a hard man." + +"He is gentle with women." + +"Gentle!" Her eyes were still upraised. "He knows not the word. When he +looks at me there is no liking in his eyes. I am--frightened." + +The overlord sat his great horse and surveyed the plain below. As far as +he could see, and as far again in every direction, was his domain, +paying him tithe of fat cattle and heaping granaries. As far as he could +see and as far again was the domain that, lacking a man-child, would go +to Philip, his cousin. + +The Bishop, who rode his donkey without a saddle, slipped off and stood +beside the little beast on the road. His finger absently traced the dark +cross on its back. + +"Idiots!" snarled the overlord out of his distemper, as he looked down +into the faces of his faithful ones below. "Fools and sons of fools! Thy +beast would suit them better, Bishop, than mine." + +Then he flung himself insolently out of the saddle. There was little of +Christmas in his heart, God knows; only hate and disappointment and +thwarted pride. + +"A great day, my lord," said the Bishop. "Peace over the land. The end +of a plentiful year--" + +"Bah!" + +"The end of a plentiful year," repeated the Bishop tranquilly, "this day +of His birth, a day for thanksgiving and for--good-will." + +"Bah!" said the overlord again, and struck the grey a heavy blow. So +massive was the beast, so terrific the pace at which it charged down the +hill that the villagers scattered. He watched them with his lip curling. + +"See," he said, "brave men and true! Watch, father, how they rally to +the charge!" And when the creature was caught, and a swaying figure +clung to the bridle: + +"By the cross, the Fool has him! A fine heritage for my cousin Philip, a +village with its bravest man a simpleton!" + +The Fool held on swinging. His arms were very strong, and as is the way +with fools and those that drown, many things went through his mind. The +horse was his. He would go adventuring along the winter roads, +adventuring and singing. The townspeople gathered about him with +sheepish praise. From a dolt he had become a hero. Many have taken the +same step in the same space of moments, the line being but a line and +easy to cross. + +The _denouement_ suited the grim mood of the overlord. It pleased him to +see the smug villagers stand by while the Fool mounted his steed. Side +by side from the parapet he and the Bishop looked down into the town. + +"The birthday of our Lord, Bishop," he said, "with fools on blooded +horses and the courage of the townspeople in their stomachs." + +"The birthday of our Lord," said the Bishop tranquilly, "with a lad +mounted who has heretofore trudged afoot, and with the hungry fed in the +market place." + +Now it had been in the mind of the Bishop that the day would soften +Charles' grim humour and that he might speak to him as man to man. But +Charles was not softened. + +So the Bishop gathered up his courage. His hand was still on the cross +on the donkey's back. + +"You are young, my son, and have been grievously disappointed. I, who am +old, have seen many things, and this I have learned. Two things there +are that, next to the love of God, must be greatest in a man's life--not +war nor slothful peace, nor pride, nor yet a will that would bend all +things to its end." + +The overlord scowled. He had found the girl Joan in the Market Square, +and his eyes were on her. + +"One," said the Bishop, "is the love of a woman. The other is--a child." + +The donkey stood meekly, with hanging head. + +"A woman," repeated the Bishop. "You grow rough up here on your +hillside. Only a few months since the lady your wife went away, and +already order has forsaken you. The child, your daughter, runs like a +wild thing, without control. Our Holy Church deplores these things." + +"Will Holy Church grant me another wife?" + +"Holy Church," replied the Bishop gravely, "would have you take back, my +lord, the wife whom your hardness drove away." + +The _seigneur's_ gaze turned to the east, where lay the Castle of +Philip, his cousin. Then he dropped brooding eyes to the Square below, +where the girl Joan assisted her father by the fire, and moved like a +mother of kings. + +"You wish a woman for the castle, father," he said. "Then a woman we +shall have. Holy Church may not give me another wife, but I shall take +one. And I shall have a son." + + * * * * * + +The child Clotilde had watched it all from a window. Because she was +very high the thing she saw most plainly was the cross on the donkey's +back. Far out over the plain was a moving figure which might or might +not have been the Jew. She chose to think it was. + +"One of Your people," she said toward the crucifix. "I have done the +good deed." + +She was a little frightened, for all her high head. + +Other Christmases she and the lady her mother had sat hand in hand, and +listened to the roystering. + +"They are drunk," Clotilde would say. + +But her mother would stroke her hand and reply: + +"They but rejoice that our Lord is born." + +So the child Clotilde stood at her window and gazed to where the plain +stretched as far as she could see and as far again. And there was her +mother. She would go to her and bring her back, or perhaps failing that, +she might be allowed to stay. + +Here no one would miss her. The odour of cooking food filled the great +house, loud laughter, the clatter of mug on board. Her old nurse was +below, decorating a boar's head with berries and a crown. + +Because it was the Truce of God and a festival, the gates stood open. +She reached the foot of the hill safely. Stragglers going up and down +the steep way regarded her without suspicion. So she went through the +Square past the roasting steer, and by a twisting street into the open +country. + +When she stopped to rest it was to look back with wistful eyes toward +the frowning castle on the cliff. For a divided allegiance was hers. +Passionately as she loved her mother, her indomitable spirit was her +father's heritage, his fierceness was her courage, and she loved him as +the small may love the great. + +The Fool found her at the edge of the river. She had forgotten that +there was a river. He was on his great horse, and he rode up by the +child and looked down at her. + +"It was I who captured him," he boasted. "The others ran, but I caught +him, so." He dismounted to illustrate. + +"It is not because you were brave that you captured him." + +"Then why?" He stood with his feet wide apart, looking down at her. + +"It is because you have slept in a manger on a Holy Eve." + +"Aye," he responded, "but that was a matter of courage, too. There were +many strange noises. Also, in the middle of the night came Our Lady +herself and said to me: 'Hereafter thou shalt sing with the voice of an +angel.'" + +"I should like to see Our Lady," said the child wistfully. + +"Also," pursued the Fool, "She gave me power over great beasts. See! He +fears me, while he loves me." + +And indeed there seemed some curious kinship between the horse and the +lad, perhaps because the barrier of keen human mind was not between +them. + +"Think you," said the little maid, "if I slept where you did She would +appear to me? I would not ask much, only to be made a lad like you, and, +perhaps, to sing." + +"But I am a simpleton. Instead of wit I have but a voice and now--a +horse." + +"A lad like you," she persisted, "so that my father would love me and my +mother might come back again?" + +"Better stay as you are," said the Fool. "Also, there will be no Holy +Eve again for a long time. It comes but once a year. Also it is hard +times for men who must either fight or work in the fields. I--" He +struck his chest. "I shall do neither. And I shall cut no more wood. I +go adventuring." + +Clotilde rose and drew her grey cloak around her. + +"I am adventuring, too," she said. "Only I have no voice and no horse. +May I go with you?" + +The boy was doubtful. He had that innate love and tenderness that is +given to his kind instead of other things. But a child! + +"I will take you," he said at last, rather heavily. "But where, little +lady?" + +"To my mother at the castle of Black Philip." And when his face +fell--for Philip was not named The Black only for his beard-- + +"She loves singing. I will ask you to sing before her." + +That decided him. He took her before him on the grey horse and they set +off, two valiant adventurers, a troubadour and a lady, without food or +sufficient clothing, but with high courage and a song. + +And because it was the Truce of God the children went unharmed, +encountering no greater adventure than hunger and cold and aching +muscles. Robbers sulked in their fastnesses, and their horses pawed the +ground. Murder, rapine and pillage slept that Christmas day, under the +shelter of the cross. + +The Fool, who ached for adventure, rather resented the peace. + +"Wait until Monday," he said from behind her on the horse. "I shall show +you great things." + +But the little maid was cold by that time and beginning to be +frightened. "Monday you may fight," she said. "Now I wish you would +sing." + +So he sang until his voice cracked in his throat. Because it was +Christmas, and because it was freshest in his heart, he sang mostly +what he and the blacksmith and the crockery-seller had sung in the +castle yard: + + "The Light of Light Divine, + True Brightness undefiled, + He bears for us the shame of sin, + A holy, spotless Child." + +They lay that night in a ruined barn with a roof of earth and stones. +Clotilde eyed the manger wistfully, but the Holy Eve was past, and the +day of miracles would not come for a year. + +Toward morning, however, she roused the boy with a touch. + +"She may have forgotten me," she said. "She has been gone since the +spring. She may not love me now." + +"She will love you. It is the way of a mother to keep on loving." + +"I am still a girl." + +"You are still her child." + +But seeing that she trembled, he put his ragged cloak about her and +talked to comfort her, although his muscles ached for sleep. + +He told her a fable of the countryside, of that Abbot who, having duly +served his God, died and appeared at the heavenly gates for admission. +"A slave of the Lord," he replied, when asked his name. But he was +refused. So he went away and laboured seven years again at good deeds +and returned. "A servant of the Lord," he called himself, and again he +was refused. Yet another seven years he laboured and came in all +humility to the gate. "A child of the Lord," said the Abbot, who had +gained both wisdom and humility. And the gates opened. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration: Chapter Three] + + + + +III + + +All that day came peasants up the hill with their Christmas dues, of one +fowl out of eight, of barley and wheat. The courtyard had assumed the +appearance of a great warehouse. Those that were prosperous came +a-riding, hissing geese and chickens and grain in bags across the +saddle. The poorer trudged afoot. + +Among the latter came the girl Joan of the Market Square. She brought +no grain, but fowls only, and of these but two. She took the steep +ascent like a thoroughbred, muscles working clean under glowing skin, +her deep bosom rising evenly, treading like a queen among that clutter +of peasants. + +And when she was brought into the great hall her head went yet higher. +It pleased the young _seigneur_ to be gracious. But he eyed her much as +he had eyed the great horse that morning before he cut it with the whip. +She was but a means to an end. Such love and tenderness as were in him +had gone out to the gentle wife he had put away from him, and had +died--of Clotilde. + +So Charles appraised her and found her, although but a means, very +beautiful. Only the Bishop turned away his head. + +"Joan," said Charles, "do you know why I have sent for you?" + +The girl looked down. But, although she quivered, it was not with +fright. + +"I do, sire." + +Something of a sardonic smile played around the _seigneur's_ mouth. The +butterfly came too quietly to the net. + +"We are but gloomy folk here, rough soldiers and few women. It has been +in my mind--" Here he saw the Bishop's averted head, and scowled. What +had been in his mind he forgot. He said: "I would have you come +willingly, or not at all." + +At that she lifted her head and looked at him. "You know I will come," +she said. "I can do nothing else, but I do not come willingly, my lord. +You are asking too much." + +The Bishop turned his head hopefully. + +"Why?" + +"You are a hard man, my lord." + +If she meant to anger him, she failed. They were not soft days. A man +hid such tenderness as he had under grimness, and prayed in the churches +for phlegm. + +"I am a fighting man. I have no gentle ways." Then a belated memory came +to him. "I give no tenderness and ask none. But such kindness as you +have, lavish on the child Clotilde. She is much alone." + +With the mention of Clotilde's name came a vision: instead of this +splendid peasant wench he seemed to see the graceful and drooping figure +of the woman he had put away because she had not borne him a son. He +closed his eyes, and the girl, taking it for dismissal, went away. + +When he opened them there were only the fire and the dogs about it, and +the Bishop, who was preparing to depart. + +"I shall not stay, my lord," said the Bishop. "The thing is desecration. +No good can come from such a bond. It is Christmas and the Truce of God, +and yet you do this evil thing." + +So the Bishop went, muffled in a cloak, and mantled with displeasure. +And with him, now that Clotilde had fled, went all that was good and +open to the sun, from the grey castle of Charles the Fair. + +At evening Joan came again, still afoot, but now clad in her best. She +came alone, and the men at the gates, instructed, let her in. She gazed +around the courtyard with its burden of grain that had been crushed out +of her people below, with its loitering soldiers and cackling fowls, and +she shivered as the gates closed behind her. + +She was a good girl, as the times went, and she knew well that she had +been brought up the hill as the stallion that morning had been driven +down. She remembered the cut of the whip, and in the twilight of the +courtyard she stretched out her arms toward the little town below, where +the old man, her father, lived in semi-darkness, and where on that +Christmas evening the women were gathered in the churches to pray. + + * * * * * + +Having no seasonable merriment in himself, Charles surrounded himself +that night with cheer. A band of wandering minstrels had arrived to +sing, the great fire blazed, the dogs around it gnawed the bones of the +Christmas feast. But when the troubadours would have sung of the +Nativity, he bade them in a great voice to have done. So they sang of +war, and, remembering his cousin Philip, his eyes blazed. + +When Joan came he motioned her to a seat beside him, not on his right, +but on his left, and there he let her sit without speech. But his mind +was working busily. He would have a son and the King would legitimise +him. Then let Philip go hang. These lands of his as far as the eye could +reach and as far again would never go to him. + +The minstrels sang of war, and of his own great deeds, but there was no +one of them with so beautiful a voice as that of the Fool, who could +sing only of peace. And the Fool was missing. + +However, their songs soothed his hurt pride. This was he; these things +he had done. If the Bishop had not turned sour and gone, he would have +heard what they sang. He might have understood, too, the craving of a +man's warrior soul for a warrior son, for one to hold what he had +gathered at such cost. Back always to this burning hope of his! + +Joan sat on his left hand, and went hot and cold, hot with shame and +cold with fear. + +So now, his own glory as a warrior commencing to pall on him, Charles +would have more tribute, this time as lord of peace. He would celebrate +this day of days, and at the same time throw a sop to Providence. + +He would release the Jew. + +The troubadours sang louder; fresh liquor was passed about. Charles +waited for the Jew to be brought. + +He remembered Clotilde then. She should see him do this noble thing. +Since her mother had gone she had shrunk from him. Now let her see how +magnanimous he could be. He, the _seigneur_, who held life and death in +his hands, would this day give, not death, but life. + +Being not displeased with himself, he turned at last toward Joan and put +a hand over hers. + +"You see," he said, "I am not so hard a man. By this Christian act shall +I celebrate your arrival." + +But the Jew did not come. The singers learned the truth, and sang with +watchful eyes. The _seigneur's_ anger was known to be mighty, and to +strike close at hand. + +Guillem, the gaoler, had been waiting for the summons. + +News had come to him late in the afternoon that had made him indifferent +to his fate. The girl Joan, whom he loved, had come up the hill at the +overlord's summons. So, instead of raising an alarm, Guillem had waited +sullenly. Death, which yesterday he would have blenched to behold, now +beckoned him. When he was brought in, he stood with folded arms and +asked no mercy. + +"He is gone, my lord," said Guillem, and waited. He did not glance at +the girl. + +"Gone?" said Charles. Then he laughed, such laughter as turned the girl +cold. + +"Gone, earth-clod? How now? Perhaps you, too, wished to give a hostage +to fortune, to forestall me in mercy?" + +He turned to the girl beside him. + +"You see," he said, "to what lengths this spirit of the Holy Day extends +itself. Our friend here--" Then he saw her face and knew the truth. + +The smile set a little on his lips. + +"Why, then," he said to the gaoler, "such mercy should have its reward." +He turned to Joan. "What say you? Shall I station him at your door, +sweet lady, as a guard of honour?" + +Things went merrily after that, for Guillem drew a knife and made, not +for the _seigneur_, but for Joan. The troubadours feared to stop singing +without a signal, so they sang through white lips. The dogs gnawed at +their bones and the _seigneur_ sat and smiled, showing his teeth. + +Guillem, finally unhanded, stood with folded arms and waited for death. + +"It is the time of the Truce of God," said the _seigneur_ softly, and, +knowing that death would be a boon, sent him off unhurt. + + * * * * * + +The village, which had eaten full, slept early that night. Down the hill +at nine o'clock came half a dozen men-at-arms on horseback and +clattered through the streets. Word went about quickly. Great oaken +doors were unbarred to the news: + +"The child Clotilde is gone!" they cried through the streets. "Up and +arm. The child Clotilde is gone." + +Joan, deserted, sat alone in the great hall. For the _seigneur_ was off, +riding like a madman. Flying through the Market Square, he took the +remains of the great fire at a leap. He had but one thought. The Jew had +stolen the child; therefore, to find the Jew. + +In the blackest of the night he found him, sitting by the road, bent +over his staff. The eyes he raised to Charles were haggard and weary. +Charles reined his horse back on his haunches, his men-at-arms behind +him. + +"What have you done with the child?" + +"The child?" + +"Out with it," cried Charles and flung himself from his horse. If the +Jew were haggard, Charles was more so, hard bitten of terror, pallid to +the lips. + +"I have seen no child. That is--" He hastened to correct himself, seeing +Charles' face in the light of a torch. "I was released by a child, a +girl. I have not seen her since." + +He spoke with the simplicity of truth. In the light of the torches +Charles' face went white. + +"She released you?" he repeated slowly. "What did she say?" + +"She said: 'It is the birthday of our Lord,'" repeated the Jew, slowly, +out of his weary brain. "'And I am doing a good deed.'" + +"Is that all?" The Jew hesitated. + +"Also she said: 'But you do not love our Lord.'" + +Charles swore under his breath. "And you?" + +"I said but little. I--" + +"What did you say?" + +"I said that her Lord was also a Jew." He was fearful of giving offence, +so he hastened to add: "It was by way of comforting the child. Only +that, my lord." + +"She said nothing else?" The _seigneur's_ voice was dangerously calm. + +The Jew faltered. He knew the gossip of the town. + +"She said--she said she wished two things, my lord. To become a boy +and--to see her mother." + +Then Charles lifted his face to where the stars were growing dim before +the uprising of the dawn, and where, as far away as the eye could reach +and as far again, lay the castle of his cousin Philip of the Black +Beard. And the rage was gone out of his eyes. For suddenly he knew that, +on that feast of mother and child, Clotilde had gone to her mother, as +unerringly as an arrow to its mark. + +And with the rage died all the passion and pride. In the eyes that had +gazed at Joan over the parapet, and that now turned to the east, there +was reflected the dawning of a new day. + + * * * * * + +The castle of Philip the Black lay in a plain. For as much as a mile in +every direction the forest had been sacrificed against the loving +advances of his cousin Charles. Also about the castle was a moat in +which swam noisy geese and much litter. + +When, shortly after dawn, the sentry at the drawbridge saw a great horse +with a double burden crossing the open space he was but faintly +interested. A belated peasant with his Christmas dues, perhaps. But +when, on the lifting of the morning haze, he saw that the horse bore two +children and one a girl, he called another man to look. + +"Troubadours, by the sound," said the newcomer. For the Fool was +singing to cheer his lack of breakfast. "Coming empty of belly, as come +all troubadours." + +But the sentry was dubious. Minstrels were a slothful lot, averse to the +chill of early morning. + +And when the pair came nearer and drew up beyond the moat, the soldiers +were still at a loss. The Fool's wandering eyes and tender mouth bespoke +him no troubadour, and the child rode with head high like a princess. + +"I have come to see my mother," Clotilde called, and demanded admission, +clearly. + +Here were no warriors, but a Fool and a child. So they let down the +bridge and admitted the pair. But they raised the bridge at once again +against the loving advances of Philip's cousin Charles. + +But once in the courtyard Clotilde's courage began to fail her. Would +her mother want her? Prayer had been unavailing and she was still a +girl. And, at first, it seemed as though her fears had been justified, +although they took her into the castle kindly enough, and offered her +food which she could not eat and plied her with questions which she +could not answer. + +"I want my mother," was the only thing they could get out of her. Her +little body was taut as a bowstring, her lips tight. They offered her +excuses; the lady mother slept; now she was rising and must be clothed. +And then at last they told her, because of the hunted look in her eyes. + +"She is ill," they said. "Wait but a little and you shall see her." + +Deadly despair had Clotilde in its grasp with that announcement. These +strange folk were gentle enough with her, but never before had her +mother refused her the haven of her out-held arms. Besides, they lied. +Their eyes were shifty. She could see in their faces that they kept +something from her. + +Philip, having confessed himself overnight, by candle-light, was at mass +when the pair arrived. Three days one must rot of peace, and those three +days, to be not entirely lost, he prayed for success against Charles, or +for another thing that lay close to his heart. But not for both +together, since that was not possible. + +He knelt stiffly in his cold chapel and made his supplications, but he +was not too engrossed to hear the drawbridge chains and to pick up his +ears to the clatter of the grey horse. + +So, having been communicated, he made short shift of what remained to +be done, and got to his feet. + +The Abbot, whose offices were finished, had also heard the drawbridge +chains and let him go. + +When Philip saw Clotilde he frowned and then smiled. He had sons, but no +daughter, and he would have set her on his shoulder. But she drew away +haughtily. + +So Philip sat in a chair and watched her with a curious smile playing +about his lips. Surely it were enough to make him smile, that he should +play host to the wife and daughter of his cousin Charles. + +Because of that, and of the thing that he had prayed for, and with a +twinkle in his eyes, Black Philip alternately watched the child, and +from a window the plain which was prepared against his cousin. And, as +he had expected, at ten o'clock in the morning came Charles and six +men-at-arms, riding like demons, and jerked up their horses at the edge +of the moat. + +Philip, still with the smile under his black beard, went out to greet +them. + +"Well met, cousin," he called; "you ride fast and early." + +Charles eyed him with feverish eyes. + +"Truce of God," he said, sulkily, from across the moat. And then: "We +seek a runaway, the child Clotilde." + +"I shall make inquiry," said Philip, veiling the twinkle under his heavy +brow. "In such a season many come and go." + +But in his eyes Charles read the truth, and breathed with freer breath. + +They lowered the drawbridge again with a great creaking of windlass and +chain, and Charles with his head up rode across. But his men-at-arms +stood their horses squarely on the bridge so that it could not be +raised, and Philip smiled into his beard. + +Charles dismounted stiffly. He had been a night in the saddle and his +horse staggered with fatigue. In Philip's courtyard, as in his own, were +piled high the Christmas tithes. + +"A good year," said Philip agreeably, and indicated the dues. "Peaceful +times, eh, cousin?" + +But Charles only turned to see that his men kept the drawbridge open, +and followed him into the house. Once inside, however, he turned on +Philip fiercely. + +"I am not here of my own desire. It appears that both my wife and child +find sanctuary with you." + +"Tut," said Philip, good-naturedly, "it is the Christmas season, man, +and a Sunday. We will not quarrel as to the why of your coming." + +"Where is she?" + +"Your wife or Clotilde?" + +Now all through the early morning Charles had longed for one as for the +other. But there was nothing of that in his voice. + +"Clotilde," he said. + +"I shall make inquiry if she has arrived," mumbled Philip into his +beard, and went away. + +So it came about that Charles was alone when he saw the child and +caught her up in his hungry arms. As for Clotilde, her fear died at once +in his embrace. When Philip returned he found them thus and coughed +discreetly. So Charles released the child and put her on her feet. + +"I have," said Philip, "another member of your family under my roof as +to whom you have made no inquiry." + +"I have secured that for which I came," said Charles haughtily. + +But his eyes were on Philip and a question was in them. Philip, however, +was not minded to play Charles' game, but his own, and that not too +fast. + +"In that event, cousin," he replied, "let the little maid eat and then +take her away. And since it is a Sunday and the Truce of God, we can +drink to the Christmas season. Even quarrelling dogs have intervals of +peace." + +So perforce, because the question was still in his heart if not in his +eyes, Charles drank with his cousin and enemy Philip. But with his hand +in that small hand of Clotilde's which was so like her mother's. + +Philip's expansiveness extended itself to the men-at-arms who still sat +woodenly on the drawbridge. He sent them hot liquor, for the day was +cold, and at such intervals as Charles' questioning eyes were turned +away, he rubbed his hands together furtively, as a man with a secret. + +"A prosperous year," said Philip. + +Charles grunted. + +"We shall have snow before night," said Philip. + +"Humph!" said Charles and glanced toward the sky, but made no move to +go. + +"The child is growing." + +To this Charles made no reply whatever and Philip bleated on. "Her +mother's body," he said, "but your eyes and hair, cousin." + +Charles could stand no more. He pushed the child away and rose to his +feet. Philip, to give him no tithe of advantage, rose too. + +"Now," said Charles squarely, "where is my wife? Is she hiding from me?" + +Then Philip's face must grow very grave and his mouth set in sad lines. + +"She is ill, Charles. I would have told you sooner, but you lacked +interest." + +Charles swallowed to steady his voice. + +"How--ill?" + +"A short and violent illness," said Philip. "All of last night the women +have been with her, and this morning--" He glanced toward the window. "I +was right, as you see, cousin. It is snowing." + +Charles clutched him by the arm and jerked him about. "What about this +morning?" he roared. + +"Snow on Christmas," mused Philip, "prophesies another prosperous year." +Then having run his quarry to earth, he showed mercy. + +"Would you like to see her?" + +Charles swallowed again, this time his pride. + +"I doubt if she cares to see me." + +"Probably not," said Philip. "Still a few words--she is a true woman, +and kindly. Also it is a magnanimous season. But you must tread softly +and speak fair. This is no time for a high hand." + +Charles, perforce, must promise mildness. He made the concession with +poor grace, but he made it. And in Philip's eyes grew a new admiration +for this hulking cousin and enemy, who ate his pride for a woman. At the +entrance to an upper room where hung a leather curtain, he stood aside. + +"Softly," he said through his beard. "No harsh words. Send the child in +first." + +So Philip went ponderously away and left Charles to cool his heels and +wait. As he stood there sheepishly he remembered many things with shame. +Joan, and the violence of the last months, and the Bishop's averted +head. For now he knew one thing, and knew it well. The lady of his heart +lay in that quiet room beyond; and the devils that had fought in him +were dead of a Christmas peace. + +Little cries came to him, Clotilde's soft weeping, and another voice +that thrilled him, filled with the wooing note that is in a mother's +voice when she speaks to her child. But it was a feeble voice, and its +weakness struck terror to his soul. What was this thing for which he had +cast her away, now that he might lose her? His world shook under his +feet. His cousin and enemy was, willy-nilly, become his friend. His +world, which he had thought was his own domain, as far from his castle +as the eye could reach and as far again, was in an upper room of +Philip's house, and dying, perhaps. + +But she was not dying. They admitted him in time to save his pride, for +he was close to distraction. And, being admitted, he saw only the woman +he had put away. + +He went straight to his wife's bed and dropped on his knees beside it. +Not for his life could he have spoken then. Inarticulate things were in +his mind, remorse and the loneliness of the last months, and the shame +of the girl Joan. + +He caught her hand to him and covered it with kisses. + +"I have tried to live without you," he said, "and death itself were +better." + +When she did not reply, but lay back, white to the lips, he rose and +looked down at her. + +"I can see," he said, "that my touch is bitterness. I have merited +nothing better. So I shall go again, but this time, if it will comfort +you, I shall give you the child Clotilde--not that I love her the less, +but that you deserve her the more." + +Then she opened her eyes, and what he saw there brought him back to his +knees with a cry. + +"I want only your love, my lord, to make me happy," she said. "And now, +see how the birthday of our Lord has brought us peace." She drew down +the covering a trifle, close to his bent head, and showed the warm curve +of her arm. "Unto us also is born a son, Charles." + +"I have wanted a son," said Charles the Fair, "but more than a son have +I wanted you, heart of my heart." + + * * * * * + +Outside in the courtyard the Fool had drawn a circle about him. + +"I am adventuring," he said. "Yesterday I caught this horse when the +others ran from him. Then I saved a lady and brought her to her +destination. This being the Christmas season and a Sunday, I shall rest +here for a day." He threw out his chest magnificently. "But tomorrow I +continue on my way." + +"Can you fight?" They baited him. + +"I can sing," he replied. And he threw back his head with its wandering +eyes and tender mouth and sang: + + "The Light of Light Divine, + True Brightness undefiled. + He bears for us the shame of sin, + A holy, spotless Child." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRUCE OF GOD*** + + +******* This file should be named 14573.txt or 14573.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/5/7/14573 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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