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diff --git a/old/53394-0.txt b/old/53394-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 601a115..0000000 --- a/old/53394-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10255 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fortunes of Garin, by Mary Johnston - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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 -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Fortunes of Garin - -Author: Mary Johnston - -Release Date: October 29, 2016 [EBook #53394] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORTUNES OF GARIN *** - - - - -Produced by Giovanni Fini, Charlene Taylor and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: - -—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected. - - - - - By Mary Johnston - - - THE FORTUNES OF GARIN. Illustrated. - - THE WITCH. With frontispiece. - - HAGAR. - - THE LONG ROLL. The first of two books - dealing with the war between the - States. With Illustrations in color - by N. C. WYETH. - - CEASE FIRING. The second of two books - dealing with the war between the - States. With Illustrations in color - by N. C. WYETH. - - LEWIS RAND. With Illustrations in color - by F. C. YOHN. - - AUDREY. With Illustrations in color by - F. C. YOHN. - - PRISONERS OF HOPE. With Frontispiece. - - TO HAVE AND TO HOLD. With 8 Illustrations - by HOWARD PYLE, E. B.THOMPSON, A. W. - BETTS, and EMLEN MCCONNELL. - - - THE GODDESS OF REASON. _A Drama._ - - - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - - - - - THE FORTUNES OF GARIN - - -[Illustration: THE MEETING BY ST. MARTHA’S WELL] - - - - - THE FORTUNES OF - GARIN - - BY - MARY JOHNSTON - -[Illustration: LOGO] - - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - The Riverside Press Cambridge - 1915 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY MARY JOHNSTON - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - _Published October 1915_ - - The Riverside Press - CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS - U . S . A - - - - - CONTENTS - - - I. ROCHE-DE-FRÊNE 1 - - II. THE JONGLEUR AND THE HERD-GIRL 13 - - III. THE NIGHTINGALE 31 - - IV. THE ABBOT 47 - - V. RAIMBAUT THE SIX-FINGERED 61 - - VI. THE GARDEN 73 - - VII. THE UGLY PRINCESS 85 - - VIII. TOURNAMENT 99 - - IX. GARIN SEEKS HIS FORTUNE 115 - - X. GARIN TAKES THE CROSS 127 - - XI. THIBAUT CANTELEU 144 - - XII. MONTMAURE 159 - - XIII. THE VENETIAN 174 - - XIV. OUR LADY IN EGYPT 189 - - XV. SAINT MARTHA’S WELL 204 - - XVI. GARIN AND JAUFRE 219 - - XVII. OUR LADY OF ROCHE-DE-FRÊNE 231 - - XVIII. COUNT JAUFRE 246 - - XIX. THE SIEGE 261 - - XX. THE WHITE TOWER 272 - - XXI. THE ROCK-GATE 282 - - XXII. THE SAFFRON CROSS 295 - - XXIII. CAP-DU-LOUP 309 - - XXIV. THE ABBEY OF THE FOUNTAIN 319 - - XXV. RICHARD LION-HEART 335 - - XXVI. THE FAIR GOAL 346 - - XXVII. SPRING TIME 361 - - - - - THE FORTUNES - - OF GARIN - - - - -CHAPTER I - -ROCHE-DE-FRÊNE - - -WITHOUT blazed autumn sunshine, strong as summer sunshine in northern -lands. Within the cathedral dusk ruled, rich and mysterious. The -sanctuary light burned, a star. The candles were yet smoking, the -incense yet clung, thick and pungent. Vanishing through the sacristy -door went the last flutter of acolyte or chorister. The throng that -worshipped dwindled to a few lingering shapes. The rest disappeared by -the huge portal, marvellously sculptured. It had been a great throng, -for Bishop Ugo had preached. Now the cathedral was almost empty, and -more rich, more mysterious because of that. The saints in their niches -could be seen the better, and the gold dust from the windows came in -unbroken shafts to the pavement. There they splintered and light lay -in fragments. One of these patches made a strange glory for the head -of Boniface of Beaucaire who was doing penance, stretched out on the -pavement like a cross. Lost in the shadows of nave, aisles, and chapels -were other penitents, on their knees, muttering prayers. Hugues from -up the river lay on his face, half in light, half in shadow, before -the shrine of Saint Martial. Hugues’s penance had been heavy, for he -was a captain of Free Lances and had beset and robbed a travelling -monk. But in Hugues’s cavern that night the monk turned preacher and -wrought so mightily that he brought Hugues—who was a simple, emotional -soul—to his knees, and the next day, when they parted, sent him here -for penance. He lay bare to the waist, and his back was bloody from the -scourging he had received before the church doors. - -The church was a marvel. It had been building for long, long while, -and it was not yet finished. It was begun by a grateful population, at -the instigation of the then bishop, in the year 1035. All Christendom -had set the year 1000 for the Second Coming and the Judgement Day, and -as the time approached had waited in deep gloom and with a palsied -will for those august arrivals. When the year passed, with miseries -enough, but with no rolling back of the firmament like a scroll, it -was concluded that what had been meant was the thousandth from the -Crucifixion. 1033 was now set for the Final Event, and the neglect -of each day, the torpor and terror of the mind, continued. But 1033 -passed, marked by nothing more dreadful than famine and common -wretchedness. Christendom woke from that particular trance, sighed -with relief, and began to grow—to grow with vigour and rapidity, with -luxuriance and flourishes. - -In 1035, then, the cathedral had been begun, and to-morrow morning, -here in the last quarter of the twelfth century, the stone masons would -go clinking, clinking up yonder, atop of the first of the two towers. -No man really knew when it would be finished. But for a century nave, -aisles, choir, and chapels had been completed. Under the wonderful roof -three generations of the people of Roche-de-Frêne had bowed themselves -when the bell rang and the Host was elevated. The cathedral had the -hallowing of time. It was an Inheritance as was the Faith that bred -it. The atmosphere of this place was the atmosphere of emotion, and -strong as were the pillars, they were no stronger than was the Habit -which brought the feet this way and bowed the heads; and clinging and -permeating as was the incense, it was no more so than the sentiment -that stretched yonder Boniface of Beaucaire and here Hugues the Free -Lance. Boniface of Beaucaire would cheat again and Hugues the Free -Lance rob and slay, but here they were, no hypocrites, and cleaner in -this moment than they had been. - -There were two pillars, one twisted, one straight, that had been -brought from Palestine by Gaucelm the Crusader, father of Gaucelm the -Fortunate, the present Prince, and set on either side the shrine of Our -Lady of Roche-de-Frêne. A shaft of light from the great window struck -across the two, broke, and made the pavement sunny. - -Just here knelt a youth, in a squire’s dress of green and brown. He -had no penance to perform. He was kneeling because he was in a kneeling -mood. The light showed a well-made, supple figure, with powerful -shoulders. The head and throat were good, the face rather long, with -strong features, the colouring blonde inclining to brown, the eyes grey -with blue glints. They were directed now to the image of the Virgin, -above him in her niche, the other side of the gold light. She stood, -incredibly slender, and taller than human, rose-cheeked, dressed in -azure samite sewn with gems, with a crown, and in her two hands a -crimson heart pierced by an iron arrow. A lamp burned before her, and -there were flowers around. - -The youth knelt with a fixed gaze, asking for inspiration.... The -Virgin of Roche-de-Frêne seemed to move, to dilate, to breathe, to -smile! The young man sank his head, stretched forth his arms. “O Our -Lady, smile on me! O Our Lady, give me to-day a sign!” - -The cathedral grew a place of mystery, of high, transcendent passion. -The lamp appeared to brighten, the heart in the two hands to glow. - -“Is it a sign that I am to serve Her in Holy Church?” thought Garin -de Castel-Noir, “or, may-hap, that I am to serve Her with lance and -shield? Is it a sign, or am I mistaken? If it were a sign, would I ask -if I were mistaken?” He sighed. “O High God, give me a sign!” - -He had to decide no less a thing than his career. Until a little while -ago he had thought that matter settled. He was esquire to a poor lord, -a fierce and a stupid lord, and he had no hope but to remain esquire -for years perhaps to come. But, come soon or come late, one day his -lord would make him knight. That done, and his saint favouring, he -might somehow achieve honour. Three months ago his lot had seemed as -fixed as that of a fir tree growing below his lord Raimbaut’s black -keep. Then into the matter had stepped the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius, -that was kinsman of Garin and of his brother, Foulque the Cripple, who -bided at Castel-Noir. - -With simplicity, the squire explained it to Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne: -“He is our near kinsman, and he knows how poor are Foulque and I, and -he knows, too, Lord Raimbaut, and the little we may expect. And now -he says that if I will give up hope of chivalry and take the tonsure, -he will be my good patron. And if I work well with head and pen and -prove myself able, he will charge himself that I advance and win great -promotion. If I serve him well, so will he serve me well. O Our Lady,” -ended Garin, “he is a great man as you know, and close friend to Bishop -Ugo. Moreover, he and Foulque have made application to my lord Raimbaut -and won him to consent. And Foulque urges me toward Holy Church. But O -Blessed Lady,” cried Garin, and stretched forth his arms, “do I wish to -go? I know not—I know not!” - -The Virgin of Roche-de-Frêne, crowned and dazzling, stood in blue -samite with her heart and arrow, but said no word and gave no sign.... -Raimbaut and his knighthood—the Abbot and Holy Church—and Foulque -with his song, “Choose the Abbot! Work hard and be supple and further -the ends of Holy Church, twining your own ends with that golden cord. -No telling to what height you may rise! Great wealth and power fall to -them who serve her to her profit and liking. You crave learning. On -which road, I put it to you, will you gather most of that?” So Foulque. -And Bishop Ugo had preached, this morn, of the glory and power of Holy -Church and of the crowns laid up for them who served her. - -The squire sighed deeply. He must make decision. The Abbot would not -always keep that look of invitation. He had other young and needy -kinsmen. Worldly considerations enough flitted through Garin’s head, -but they found something there beside themselves. “In deep truth, which -is mine? To endure until I may ride as knight and find or make some -door in a high, thick wall? To take the tonsure—to study, work and -plan—to become, maybe, canon, and after long time, larger things?... -Which is mine? This—or that—or either? O Blessed Lady, I would choose -from within!” - -The tall, jewelled Queen of Heaven looked serenely down upon him. She -had ceased to breathe. The sign seemed not to be coming. He had before -him a long ride, and he must go, with or without the token. He kept -his position yet another minute, then, with a deep sigh, relinquished -the quest. Rising, he stepped backward from the presence of the Virgin -of Roche-de-Frêne, out of the line of the Saracen pillars. As he went, -the climbing shaft of amber light caught his eye and forthwith Jacob’s -ladder came into his head, and he began to send slim angels up and down -it. He had a potent fancy. - -Leaving the church, he passed Boniface of Beaucaire and Hugues the -Free Lance. His step made a ringing on the pavement beside their prone -heads. He felt for them no contempt. They were making, more or less, -an honourable amende. Everybody in their lives had done or would do -penance, and after life came purgatory. He passed them as he might pass -any other quite usual phenomenon, and so quitted the cathedral. - -Outside was Roche-de-Frêne, grey, close-built, massed upon the long -hill-top, sending spurs of houses down the hillsides between olive and -cypress, almond and plane and pine—Roche-de-Frêne, so well-walled, -Roche-de-Frêne beat upon, laved, drowned by the southern sun. - -Crown of its wide-browed craggy hill rose another hill; crown of this, -a grey dream in the fiery day, sprang the castle of its prince, of -that Gaucelm the Fortunate whose father had brought the pillars. The -cathedral had its lesser rise of earth and faced the castle, and beside -the cathedral was the bishop’s palace, and between the church and the -castle, up and down and over the hillsides, spread the town. The sky -was as blue as the robe of the Virgin of Roche-de-Frêne. The southern -horizon showed a gleam of the Mediterranean, and north and west had -purple mountains. In the narrow streets between the high houses, and in -every little opening and chance square the people of Roche-de-Frêne, -men, women and children, talked, laughed, and gestured. It was a feast -day, holiday, merry in the sun. Wine was being drunk, jongleurs were -telling tales and playing the mountebank. - -Garin sought his inn and his horse. He was in Roche-de-Frêne upon -Raimbaut’s business, but that over, he had leave to ride to Castel-Noir -and spend three days with his brother. The merry-making in the town -tempted, but the way was long and he must go. A chain of five girls -crossed his path, brown, laughing, making dancing steps, their robes -kilted high, red and yellow flowers in their hair. “What a beautiful -young man!” said their eyes. “Stay—stay!” Garin wanted to stay—but -he was not without judgement and he went. At the inn he had a spare -dinner, the only kind for which he could pay. A bit of meat, a piece of -bread, a bunch of grapes, a cup of wine—then his horse at the door. - -Half a dozen men-at-arms from the castle passed this way. They stopped. -“That’s a good steed!” - -Garin mounted. “None better,” he said briefly. - -The grizzled chief of the six laid an approving touch upon the silken -flank. “Where did you get him?” - -Garin took the reins. “At home.” - -“Good page, where is that?” - -“I am not page, I am esquire,” said Garin. - -“Good esquire, where is that?” - -“‘That’ is Castel-Noir.” - -“A little black tower in a big black wood? I know the place,” said the -grizzled one. “Your lord is Raimbaut of the Six Fingers.” - -“Just.” - -“Whose lord is the Count of Montmaure, whose lord is our Prince -Gaucelm, whose lord is the King at Paris, whose lord is the Pope in -Rome, whose lord is God on His Throne.—Do you wish to sell your horse?” - -“I do not.” - -“I have taken a fancy to him,” said the man-at-arms. “But there! the -land is at peace. Go your ways—go your ways! Are you for the jousting -in the castle lists?” - -“No. I would see it, but I have not time.” - -“You would see a pretty sight,” quoth the man-at-arms. “There is -Prince Gaucelm’s second princess, to wit Madame Alazais that is the -most beautiful woman in the world, and sitting beside her the prince’s -daughter, our princess Audiart, that is not so beautiful.” - -“They say,” spoke Garin, “that she is not beautiful at all.” - -“That same ‘They say’ is a shifty knave.—Better go, and I will go with -you,” said the man-at-arms, “for truly I have not been lately to the -lists.” - -But Garin adhered to it that he could not. He made Paladin to curvet, -bound and caracole, then with a backward laugh and wave of his hand -went his way—but caused his way to lead him past the castle of -Roche-de-Frêne. - -So riding by, he looked up wistfully to barbican and walls and towers. -The place was vast, a great example of what a castle might be. Enough -folk for a town housed within it. At one point tree tops, peering over -the walls, spoke of an included garden. Above the donjon just stirred -in the autumn air the great blue banner of Gaucelm the Fortunate. -The mighty gates were open, the drawbridge down, the water in the -moat smiled as if it had neither memory nor premonition of dead men -in its arms. People were crossing, gay of dress. The sunny noon, the -holiday time, softened all the hugeness, kept one from seeing what a -frown Roche-de-Frêne might wear. Garin heard trumpets. The esquire of -Raimbaut the Six-fingered, the brother of Foulque the Cripple, the -youth from the small black tower in the black wood, gazed and listened -with parted lips. Raimbaut held from Montmaure, but for Raimbaut’s fief -and other fiefs adjacent, Montmaure who held mainly from the House of -Aquitaine, owed Roche-de-Frêne fealty. Being feudal lord of his lord, -Gaucelm the Fortunate was lord of Foulque the Cripple and Garin the -Squire. The latter wondered if ever he would enter there where the -trumpets were blowing. - -The great pile passed, the town itself passed, he found himself -upon a downward sweeping road and so, by zig-zags, left the hill of -Roche-de-Frêne and coming to the plain rode west by north between shorn -fields and vineyards. The way was fair but lonely, for the country -folk were gone to the town for this day of the patron saint and were -not yet returning. Before him lay woods—for much of the country was -wooded then—and craggy hills, and in the distance purple mountains. -He had some leagues to ride. Now and again he might see, to this hand -or to that, a castle upon a height, below it a huddled brown hamlet. -Late in the afternoon there would lie to his right the Convent of Our -Lady in Egypt. But his road was not one of the great travelled ways. It -traversed a sparsely populated region, and it was going, presently, to -be lonely enough. - -Garin rode with sunken head, trying to settle matters before he should -see Foulque. If Raimbaut had been a liberal, noble, joyous lord! But he -was none such. It was little that page or esquire could learn in his -gloomy castle, and little chance might have knight of his. A gloomy -castle, and a lord of little worth, and a lady old and shrewish.... -Every man must have a lord—or so was Garin’s world arranged. But if -only every man could choose one to his liking— - -The road bent. Rounding a craggy corner, Paladin and he well-nigh trod -upon a sleeping man, propped at the road edge against a grey boulder. -Paladin curvetted aside, Garin swore by his favourite saint, the man -awoke and stretched his arms. He was young,—five or six years older, -perhaps, than Garin. His dress, when it came to hue and cut, showed -extravagant and gay, but the stuffs of which it was composed were far -from costly. Here showed a rent, rather neatly darned, and here a soil -rubbed away as thoroughly as might be. He was dark and thin, with -long, narrow eyes that gave him an Eastern look. Beside him, slung -from his neck by a ribbon, lay a lute, and he smiled with professional -brilliancy. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE JONGLEUR AND THE HERD-GIRL - - -“JONGLEUR,” said Garin, “some miles from this spot there is a feast day -in a fair town. This is the strangest thing that ever I saw, that a -jongleur should be here and not there!” - -“Esquire,” said the other, “I have certain information that the prince -holds to-day a great tourney, and that every knight and baron in forty -miles around has gone to the joust. I know not an odder thing than that -all the knights should be riding in one direction and all the esquires -in another!” - -“Two odd things in one day is good measure,” said Garin. “That is a -fine lute you have.” - -The thin dark person drew the musical instrument in front of him and -began to play, and then to sing in a fair-to-middling voice. - - “In the spring all hidden close, - Lives many a bud will be a rose. - In the spring ’tis crescent morn, - But then, ah then, the man is born! - In the spring ’tis yea or nay; - Then cometh Love makes gold of clay! - Love is the rose and truest gold, - Love is the day and soldan bold, - Love—” - -The jongleur yawned and ceased to sing. “Why,” he asked the air, “why -should I sing Guy of Perpignan’s doggerel and give it immortality when -Guy of Perpignan, turning on his heel, hath turned me off?” - -He drew the ribbon over his head, laid the lute on the grass, and -leaning back, closed his eyes. Garin gazed at the lute for a moment -then, dismounting, picked it up and tried his hand. He sang a hunting -stave, in a better voice by far than was the jongleur’s. None had ever -told him that he had a nightingale in his throat. - -The jongleur opened his eyes. “Good squire, I could teach you to sing -not so badly! But sing of love—sing of love! Hunting is, poetically -speaking, out of court favour.” - -“I sing of that which I know of,” said Garin. - -The other sat up. “Have I found the phœnix? Nay, nay, I trow not! Love -is the theme, and I have not found a man—no, not in cloister—who -could not rhyme and carol and expound it! Love is extremely in -fashion.—Have you a lord?” - -“Aye.” - -“Has not that lord a lady?” - -“Aye, so.” - -“Then love thy lady, and sing of it.” - -“I know,” said Garin, “that love is the fashion.” - -“The height of it,” answered the other. “It has been so now for fifty -years and there seems no declining. It rages.” - -Garin left his horse to crop the sweet grass and came and sat upon the -boulder above the jongleur. “Tell me,” he said, “how it came to be so. -I have a brother, older than me, who scoffs and saith that women did -not use to be of such account.” - -The jongleur took up his lute again. “The troubadour whom, until the -other day, I served, discusses that. He is proud and ungrateful, but -yet for your edification, I will repeat what he says:— - - “As earthly man walks earthly ways, - At times he findeth, God the praise! - Far leagues apart, thousand no less, - Fresh life, fresh light, that will him bless. - It cometh not save he do beckon. - He groweth to it as I reckon. - And when it comes the past seems grey, - And only now the golden day. - Then in its turn the golden day - Fadeth before new gold alway. - And yet he holds the ancient gain, - And carryeth it with him o’er the plain. - And so we fare and so we grow, - Wise men would not have it other so.” - -“That is a good rede,” said Garin. - -“It continueth thus,” answered the jongleur. - - “In time of old came Reason, King,— - Ill fares the bow that lacks that string! - When time was full, to give great light, - Came Jesu’s word and churches’ might. - Then Knighthood rose and Courtesy, - And all we mean by Chivalry. - These had not come, I rede you well, - Save that before them rang a bell, - ‘_Turn you, and look at Eve beside, - Who with you roameth the world wide, - And look no more as hart on hind._’ - Now Love is seen by those were blind. - Full day it is of high Love’s power. - Her sceptre stands; it is her hour. - And well I wis her lovely face - To Time his reign will lend a grace!— - But think ye not is made the ring! - Morn will come a further thing.” - -The jongleur ceased to finger his lute; Garin sat silent on the -boulder. The light, sifting through the trees, chequered his -olive-green, close-fitting dress and his brown mantle. He sat, clasping -his knee, his eyes with the blue glints at once bright and dreamy. - -“I have read,” he said, “that it is a great thing to be a great lover.” - -“So all the troubadours say,” quoth the jongleur. - -He put the ribbon of the lute around his neck, stretched himself and -rose. “Miles still to the town! The day is getting on, and I will bid -you adieu.” - -Garin, too, looked at the sun, whistled to Paladin and left the boulder. - -“My name is Elias,” said the jongleur, “and I was born at Montaudon. If -you make acquaintance with a rich baron who would like to hear a new -tale or song each night for a thousand running, bear me in mind. I play -harp, viol and lute, and so well and timedly that when they hear me, -mourners leave their weeping and fall to dancing. Moreover, I know how -to walk upon my hands and to vault and tumble, and I have a trick with -eggs and another with platters in the air that no man or woman hath -ever seen into. I have also a great store of riddles. In addition, if -need be, I can back a horse and thrust with a spear.” - -“I know no such lord,” said Garin sadly. “I would I were he myself.” - -“Then perhaps you may meet with some famous troubadour. I will serve -none,” said Elias, “who is not in some measure famous. I prefer that he -be knight as well as poet. Be so kind as to round it in such an one’s -ear that you know a famed jongleur. Say to him that if God has not -given him voice wherewith to sing or to relate his chansons, tensos, -and sirventes, I, who sing like rossignol and who learned narration in -Tripoli and Alexandria, will do him at least some justice. But if he -sings like rossignol himself or, God-like, speaks his own compositions, -then say that I am the best accompanist—harp, lute, or viol—between -Spain and Italy. Say that, even though he be armed so cap-à-pie, -there will arise occasions when he is not in voice, or is weary or -out of spirits. Then how well to have such as I beside him! Then tell -him that I have the completest memory, that I learn most quickly and -neither forget nor misplace, and that never do I take a liberty with -my master’s verse. When you have come that far, make a pause; then, -while he ponders, resume. Say that, doubtless, at that moment, a -hundred jongleurs, scattered up and down the land, are chance learning -and wrongly giving forth his mightiest, sweetest poems. Were it not -well—ask him—himself to teach them to one with memory and delivery -beyond reproach, who in turn might teach others? So, from mouth to -mouth, all would go as it should, and he be published correctly. Let -that sink in. Then tell him that I am helpful in lesser ways,—silent -when silence is wanted, always discreet, a good bearer of letters and -messages, quick at extrications, subtle as an Italian. Say that I am -a good servant and honour him who feeds me and never mistake where -the salt stands. Say that I am skilful beyond most, and earnest ever -for the advancement and honour of my master. Lastly, say that I am -agreeable, but not too agreeable, in the eyes of women.” - -“That is necessary?” asked Garin. - -“Absolutely,” answered the jongleur. “Your lover is as jealous as God. -There must not be two Gods in one miracle play.” - -“Does every troubadour,” asked Garin, “love greatly?” - -“He thinks he does,” said Elias. “Do not forget, if you meet a truly -famed one, Elias of Montaudon. You may also say that I have been in -the company of many poets, and that I know the secret soul of Guy of -Perpignan.” - -Both left the boulder and stepped into the road. Garin laid his hand on -Paladin’s neck. - -“My lord is Raimbaut the Six-fingered,” he said. “His wife, my lady, -is half-aged and evil to look upon, and she rails at every one save -Raimbaut, whom she fears.” - -“That is ill-luck,” said the jongleur. “There is, perhaps, some -neighbouring lady—” - -“No. Not one.” - -“To be very courtly,” said the jongleur, “one must be in love with -Love. You need not at all see a woman as she is. It suffices if she is -young and not deformed, and of noble station.” - -“She must always be noble?” - -“It doth not yet descend to shepherdesses,” said the jongleur. “For -them the antique way suffices.” - -Garin mounted his horse and sat still in saddle, his eyes upon a fair -green branch that the sun was transfiguring, making it very lively and -intense in hue. - -“Great love,” he said. “By the soul of my father, I think it is a great -thing! But if there is none set in your eyes to love—” - -“Can you not,” said the jongleur, “like Lord Rudel, love one unseen?” - -Garin sat regarding the green branch. “I do not know.... We love the -unseen when we love Honour.” He sat for a moment in silence, then drew -a sigh and spoke as though to himself. “It is with me as if all things -were between coming and going, and a half-light, and a fulness that -presses and yet knows not its path where it will go. I know not what -I shall do, nor how I shall carry life. Now I feel afire and now I am -sad—” He broke off and looked beyond the green branch; then, before -the other could speak, shook Paladin’s reins and moved down the leafy -way. He glanced over his shoulder at the jongleur. “I will remember -you.” - -“Aye, remember!” returned the jongleur. He faced toward the town, put -one leg before the other, and, going, swept his fingers across the -strings of his lute. He, too, looked over his shoulder and called -across the widening distance. “Choose Love!” he called. - -Garin, turning the corner of the jutty hill, lost sight of him. The -tinkle of the lute came a moment longer, then it, too, vanished. The -wind in the leaves sighed and sighed. “O Our Lady,” prayed Garin, “give -thy guidance to the best man within me!” - -It was now full afternoon, the road growing narrower and worse, until -at last it was a mere track. It ran through a forest large and old, and -it grew quite lonely. The squire passed no one at all, saw only the -great wood and its inmates that were four-footed or feathered. He was -sympathetic to such life, and ordinarily gave it attention and found in -an inward and disinterested pleasure attention’s reward. But to-day his -mind was divided and troubled, and he rode unseeingly. - -“The Abbot and Holy Church,” said part of his mind. “Raimbaut and some -day knighthood,” said another part. “There is earthly power,” said the -first part, “for those who serve Holy Church—serve Her to Her profit -and liking. Earthly power—and in Heaven, prelates still!” Spoke the -second part; “Ripe grapes of power fall, too, to the warrior’s hand. -Only be tall enough, strong enough to pluck them from the stoutest -fortress wall! Knights have become barons, barons counts, counts -kings!—And is not a good knight welcome in Heaven? I trow that he is, -and that the angels vie with one another to do him honour!” - -It seemed to Garin, though it seemed dimly enough, that other voices -were trying to make themselves heard. But the first two were the loud -ones, the distinct ones. They were the fully formed, the sinewy, the -inherited concepts. - -He rode on. He was now near the end of the forest. It began to break -into grassy glades. In a little time it had so thinned that looking -between the tree trunks one saw open country. Paladin raised his head, -pricked his ears. - -“What is it?” asked Garin. “Those yonder are only sheep upon the -hillside.” - -The next moment he heard a woman scream, “Help! Help!” - -He pricked Paladin forward and together they burst into a little open -space, rounded by a thicket and shadowed by oaks. To one of these a -horse was tied. Its dismounted rider, a young man, richly dressed, had -by the arms and had forced to her knees, a peasant girl, herd, as it -seemed, of a few sheep who might be seen upon the hillside beyond the -thicket. - -She cried again, “_A moi! A moi!_” She fought like a young tigress, -twisting her body this way and that, striving to wrench her arms free, -and that failing, bending her face and biting. The man was big-boned -and strong, with red-gold locks, inclining to auburn, and face and eyes -just now red and gleaming. He was young,—a very few years older than -Garin,—but his heel showed a knight’s spur. He bent the girl backward, -struck her a blow that fairly stunned her outcry. - -Garin burst into the ring. “Thou caitiff! Turn and fight!” - -As he spoke he leaped to the ground and drew his dagger—a long and -good one it chanced to be. - -The attacker turned upon him a face of surprise and fury. “Meddler! -Meddler! Begone from here!” Snatching from his belt a small, -silver-mounted horn, he blew it shrilly, for he had followers with him -whom he had sent ahead when he came upon the herd-girl and would stop -for ill passion’s sake. But they had gone too considerable a way, or -the wind blew against the horn, or a hill came between. Whatever it -was, he summoned in vain. - -“O thou coward!” cried Garin. “Turn and fight!” - -The knight stamped upon the ground. “Fight with a page or a squire at -best! My men shall scourge that green coat from your back! Begone with -your life—” - -“Now,” answered Garin, “if you were heir of France, yet are you to me -churl and recreant!” - -Whereupon the other took his hands from the herd-girl, drew his short -sword, and sprang upon him. - -Raimbaut the Six-fingered had faults many and heavy, but those about -him lacked not for instruction in the art of attack and defence. Garin -was skilful to make the difference not so pronounced between that -long dagger of his and the other’s sword, and he was as strong as -his opponent, and his eyes nothing like so clouded with despite and -fury. The knight had far the wider experience, was counted bold and -successful. But to-day he was at a disadvantage; he knew cold rages -in which he fought or tilted well; but this was a hot rage, and his -arm shook and he struck wide. Still the summoned men did not come, and -still the two struggled for mastery. As for the herd-girl—she had -risen to her knees and then to her feet, and now was standing beneath -a young oak, her eyes upon the combat. At first she had made a move to -leave the place, and then had shaken her head and stayed. - -Garin gained, his antagonist fighting now in a blind fury. Presently -the squire gave a stroke so effective that the blood spouted and the -knight, reeling, let fall his weapon. He himself followed, sinking -first upon his knee and then upon his face. - -“Now have I slain you?” demanded Garin, and thrusting the sword aside -with his foot, kneeled to see. - -Whereupon the other turned swiftly and struck upward with his dagger. -The squire, jerking aside, went free of the intended hurt. - -“Now! by the soul of my father!” swore Garin, “this is a noble knight -and must be nobly dealt with!” And so he took the other’s wrists, -forced away the dagger, and wrestling with him, bound his hands with -his belt, then dragged him to the nearest tree, and, cutting the bridle -from his horse, ran the leather beneath his arms and tied him to the -trunk. This done, he took from him the horn, and stooping, glanced at -his wound. “It will not kill you. Live and learn knightliness!” - -The other, bound to the tree, twisted and strove, trying to free -himself. His face was no longer flushed but pale from loss of blood -and huge anger. His eyes burned like coals and he gnashed his teeth. -He had a hawk nose, a sensuous mouth, and across his cheek a long and -curiously shaped scar, traced there by a poignard. Garin, gazing upon -him, saw that he promised to be a mighty man. - -The bound one spoke, his voice shaking with passion. “Who are you and -what is your name? Who is your lord? My father and I will come, level -your house with earth, flay you alive and nail you head downward to a -tree—” - -“If you can, fair sir,” said Garin. Stepping back, he saw upon the -earth the herd-girl’s distaff where she had dropped it when the knight -came against her. The squire picked it up, came back to the captive’s -side and thrust it between his tied hands. “Now,” he said, “let your -men find you with no sword, but with a distaff!” - -But the herd-girl moved at that from beneath the oak. Garin found -her at his side, a slim, dark girl, with torn dress and long, black, -loosened hair. “You are all alike!” she cried. “You would shame him -with my distaff! But I tell you that it is my distaff that you shame!” -With that she came to the bound man, caught the distaff from between -his hands, and with it burst through the thicket and went again among -her sheep. - -There, presently, Garin found her, lying beneath a green bank, her head -buried in her arms. - -“You were right,” said Garin, standing with Paladin beside her, “to -take your distaff away. I am sorry that I did that.—Now what will you -do? He had those with him who will come to seek him.” - -The girl stood up. “I have been a fool,” she said, succinctly. “But -there! we learn by folly.” She looked about her. “Where will I go? -Well, that is the question.” - -“Where do you live?” - -The herd-girl seemed to regard the horizon from west to east and from -east to west. Then she said, “In a hut, two miles yonder. But his men -went that way.” - -“Then you cannot go there now.” - -“No.—Not now.” - -Garin pondered. “It is less than two leagues,” he said, “to the Convent -of Our Lady in Egypt. I could take you there. The good nuns will give -you shelter and send you safe to-morrow to your people.” - -The herd-girl seemed to consider it, then she nodded her head. She said -something, but her voice was half lost in the black torrent of her -loosened hair. The sun’s rays were slant—it was growing late. - -Garin mounted and drew her up behind him. At a little distance the road -forked. - -“They went that way,” she said, pointing. - -“Then it’s as well,” said Garin, “that we go this. Now we had best ride -fast for a time.” - -They rode fast for a good long way; then, as no hoof-sound or cry came -from behind, the squire checked Paladin, and they went slowly enough to -talk. - -“I have hopes,” said Garin, “that he swooned, and when they found him -could tell them naught. Do you know his name?” - -“No. I was asleep in the sun.” - -“What is your name?” - -“Jael.” - -“The nuns will care for you.” - -“I will ask them to let me stay and keep their sheep.” - -They rode on through a fair, smiling country. Garin fell silent and the -herd-girl was not talkative. He could not but ride wondering about that -knight back there, and who he might be and how powerful. He saw that -it was possible that he had provided a hornet’s nest for the ears of -Castel-Noir and Foulque. He drew a sigh, half-frighted and half-proud -of a proved prowess. - -The girl behind him moved slightly. “I had forgot to say it,” she -murmured. “I will say it now. Fair sir, I am humbly grateful—” - -Garin had a great idiosyncrasy. He disliked to be thanked. “I liked -that fighting,” he said. “It was no sacrifice. That is,” he thought, -“it will not be if he never find out my name.” - -Paladin carried them a way farther. Said Garin, remembering chivalry, -“It is man’s part to protect the weaker being, that is woman.” - -“It puzzles so!” said the herd-girl. “I am not very weak. Is it man’s -part, too, to lay hands upon a woman against her will? If man did not -that, then man need not do, at such cost, the other. What credit to put -water on the house you yourself set afire?” - -“Now by Our Lady,” said Garin, “you are a strange herd-girl!” -He twisted in the saddle so that he might look at her. She sat -still,—young, slim and forlorn to the eye, dark as a berry, her feet -bare and her dress so torn that her limbs showed. Her long, black -loosened hair almost hid her face, which seemed thin, with irregular -features. She had her distaff still, the forlorn serf’s daughter, -herself a serf. - -“If we plume ourselves it is a mistake, and foolishness,” said Garin. -“But yet though one man act villainously, another may act well.” - -“Just,” said the herd-girl. “And I thank the one who has acted -well—but not all men. I thank a man, but not mankind.” - -“How old are you?” - -“I am eighteen.” - -“Where got you your thoughts?” - -“There is time and need for thinking,” said the herd-girl, “when you -keep sheep.” - -With that she sighed and fell silent. They were going now by a swift -stream; when, presently, they came to the ford and crossed, they were -upon convent lands. Our Lady in Egypt was a Cistercian convent, ample -and rich, and her grey-clad nuns came from noble houses. There were -humbly born lay sisters. The abbess was the sister of a prince. The -place had wealth, and being of the order of Saint Bernard, then in -its first strength, was like a hive for work. From the ford on, the -road was mended, the fields fat, the hedges trim. The convent had its -serfs, and the huts of these people were not miserable, nor did the -people themselves look hunger-stricken and woe-begone. The hillsides -smiled with vineyards, the sky arched all with an Egyptian blue, the -westering sun, tempering his fierceness, looked benignly on. Presently, -in a vale beside the stream, they saw the great place, set four-square, -a tiny hamlet clinging like an infant to its skirts. Behind, covering -a pleasant slope, were olive groves with tall cypresses mounting like -spires. Grey sisters worked among the grey trees. A bell rang slowly, -with a silver tone. - -“I will take you to the gate,” said Garin. “Then you can knock and the -sister will let you in.” - -“Aye, that will she. And you, fair squire, where will you go? Where is -your home?” - -Now Garin was thinking, “If that knight is a powerful man it is well -that I gave him no inkling of where to find me!” Assuredly he had no -thought nor fear that the herd-girl might betray. And yet he did not -say, “I was born at Castel-Noir,” or “I live now in the castle of -Raimbaut the Six-fingered.” He said, “I dwell by the sea, a long way -from here.” - -“Dusk is at hand,” said the herd-girl. “There, among those houses, is -one set apart for benighted travellers.” - -“How do you know that? Have you been here before?” - -“Aye, once.—If you have far to ride, or the way is not clear before -you, you had best rest to-night in the traveller’s house.” - -But Garin shook his head. “I will go on.” - -With that they came, just before the sun went down, to the wall of the -convent, and the door beneath a round arch where the needy applied for -shelter or relief. The squire checked Paladin. He made a motion to -dismount, but the girl put a brown hand upon his knee. - -“Stay,” she said, “where you are! I will ring the bell and speak to -the portress.” So saying, she slipped to the earth like brown running -water; then turned and spoke to the rescuer. “Fair squire,” she said, -“take again my thanks. If ever I can pay good turn with good turn, be -sure that I will do it!” She moved within the arch, put her hand to the -bell and set it jangling, then again turned her head. “Will you remove -from so close before the door? You will frighten the sister. And the -sun is down and you had best be going. Farewell!” - -Involuntarily Garin backed Paladin further from the round arch. -The horse was eager for his stable, wheeled in that direction, and -chafed at the yet restraining hand. Garin looked as in a dream at the -herd-girl. Even now he could not see her face for that streaming hair. -A grating in the convent door opened and the sister who was portress -looked forth. The herd-girl spoke, but he could not hear what was the -word she said. A key grated, the convent door swung open. “Lord God!” -cried the grey sister. He heard that, and had a glimpse of her standing -with lifted hands. The herd-girl crossed the threshold. Paladin, -insisting upon the road, took for a moment the squire’s full attention. -When he looked back the convent wall was blank; door and grating alike -were closed. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE NIGHTINGALE - - -FOULQUE the Cripple listened with a perturbed brow. “You should have -left him alone! A wretched herd-girl!” - -“If I am to be knight,” said Garin hotly, “I will not read knighthood -so.” - -“Psha!” said Foulque. “They put resistance on! It is a mask when they -seem unwilling. And if it were real, what then?—Saint Pol, what -then?—And you saw naught to tell you who he was?” - -“No.” - -Foulque fretted. “If I had been there, I should have found some colour -or sign! But you go as dreamily as if you were bewitched! You see -naught that’s to the point.” - -“He had a blue robe and a surcoat of crimson, and shoes of brown -cordovan,” said Garin. “His sword had a rich hilt, and his gloves were -embroidered. I noted them where he had thrust them in the bosom of his -robe when I knelt to look at his wound. He was red-gold of hair and -hawk nosed, full-lipped, and with a scar on his cheek. I think that he -is older than I, but not much older.” - -“Well, well!” said Foulque, “he may have been some wanderer from a -distance, with no recourse but his own hand. Moreover, for fame’s -sake, he will not be quick to talk about a younger man, and one of less -degree. If he found out neither your name nor house,—perhaps we’ll -hear no more of it.... Well, what have you to say? I have news for you! -The abbot hath been to Roche-de-Frêne, and on his way home is pleased -to sleep one night at Castel-Noir. A man of his brought notice this -morning. This is Tuesday—Friday he will be here.” Foulque rose and -limped across the hall in some excitement. “Poor and bare, God knows! -is Castel-Noir, but we will do what we can! My bed here he shall have, -and we will put up the hangings from Genoa, and strew the floor with -fair herbs. There’s wine enough, and Pierre shall begin his baking -to-morrow morn! Friday.—He will have, his man said, twenty in his -train. The sub-prior—five or six brothers—the rest stout serfs with -staves.—Friday!—Every man of ours must be set to fishing!” - -When every man was sent to the stream, the company of fishermen covered -no great length of bank. Moreover all could not settle to fishing, -for some must forth to forage for the approaching horse, and to find -venison, fowls, and other matters for the Saturday morn. For poor was -the small black tower in the black wood! Foulque could furnish to his -lord a young brother for esquire, and, if a levy were made, ten men, by -no means prize men, with ten horses, by no means horses for a king’s -stable. Paladin was the only horse of that nature. A poor, small fief -was Castel-Noir—black keep and tower on a crag, set in a dark wood, -with a few fields beyond, and all under shadow of the mountains to the -north. South of it, only, ran the bright stream where fish were to be -caught. - -Thursday sunrise, Garin took a fishing-rod and went down the crag by -the road cut, long since, in the rock, and through the wood to this -stream. In a great leather pouch slung over his shoulder he had, with -other matters, bread and meat. He meant to make a day of it, bringing -home in the evening good fish for Pierre’s larder. When he reached the -stream, he found there old Jean and his two grandsons and they had a -great basket, its bottom already flashing silver and iris. - -“Good-morning, Jean and Pol and Arnaut,” said Garin. - -“Good-morning, master! The Blessed Maries have sent good fishing! They -snap as soon as you touch the water.” - -Farther down the stream he found Sicart. “How great a man, master, is -the abbot? Very great he must be if he eats all the fish we are taking! -It is a miracle!” - -Garin moved down the stream seeking for a place that should seize -his fancy. The eagerness with which he had risen and sallied forth -disappeared. They would have enough for the Abbot and his train—more -than enough. At times he cared for fishing, but not, he found, to-day. -Why then fish, if there was no need? He still carried the rod, but he -continued to walk, making no motion to stop and put it into use. There -was a foot-path by the stream, and it and the gliding water led him on. -He wanted to think, or, more truly, to dream. Back in the black castle -all was topsy-turvy, and Foulque concerned only with family fortunes. - -Now Garin walked, and now he leaned against some tree and gazed at the -flowing water; but on the whole he moved forward with such steadiness -that before the sun was much above the tree-tops the foot-path ceased, -having brought him to a great round stone and an overhanging pine, and -the end, on this side, of the fief of Castel-Noir. Beyond came a strip -of stony and unprofitable land, a debated possession, claimed by two -barons and of no especial use to any man. Garin threw himself down upon -the boundary stone and, chin in hand, regarded the sliding stream. - -It was this stone, perhaps, that brought into mind Tuesday’s boulder -and the jongleur. Rather than the jongleur came the figure of the -jongleur’s lute. Garin’s fingers moved as though they felt beneath -them the strings. A verse was running, running through his head. Only -after a slow, lilting, inward saying of it over twice or thrice did it -come to him, like the opening of a flower, that it was his own, not -another’s. He had made it, lying there. He rose from the stone and -walked forward, still going with the gliding stream. As he walked, the -second verse came to him. He said over the two, said over his first -poem and said it over again, tasting it, savouring it, hearing it now -with music. He was in a dream of dawn.... - -There was no longer a path, but he went on over the stony soil, beneath -old gnarled and stunted trees. The sun rode high and made the water -a flood of diamonds. Garin walked with a light and rapid step. When -a tree came in his way he swerved and rounded it and went on, but he -was hardly conscious that it had been there. The fishing-rod was yet -in his hand, but he did not think of the rod, nor of fishing, nor of -Castel-Noir, nor Foulque, nor the abbot, nor of the decision which the -abbot’s visit would force. He hardly knew of what he was thinking. It -was diffused,—the world was diffused,—drifting and swinging, and in -the mist he touched a new power. - -A hawk shot downwards, plunged beak in water, rose with the taken fish -and soared into the eye of day. Garin started, shook himself, and -looked about him. He had come farther than he meant. He half-turned, -then stood irresolute, then again faced downstream. The day was not -old, and a distaste seized him for going back and listening to Foulque -on what the abbot might or might not do. He wandered on. - -An hour later he came upon another boundary mark. This was a cross cut -in stone, with a rude carving upon the block that formed the base. -Garin sat down to rest, and sitting so, fell to scraping with his -knife the encrusting lichen from this carving. There was a palm tree -and a pyramid, which stamped Egypt in mind. Here was Saint Joseph, and -here was the ass bearing the Mother and Child. Above was Latin, to -the effect that you were upon the lands of the Convent of Our Lady in -Egypt. Garin knew that, and that two miles down the stream the nuns -would be now at the noon office. He wondered if, yesterday or to-day, -they had sent Jael the herd back to her own. But, on the surface, at -least, of consciousness there floated no long thought of that matter. -His mood was one of half-melancholy, half-exaltation, all threaded with -the warm wonder of making verses. - -The nature of the land changed here. For stone and dwarfed growth there -began a richer soil and nobler trees. The latter made, all along the -water’s edge, a narrow grove, with here and there a fairy opening and -lawn of fine grass. Garin, having scraped away the lichen, looked at -the sun, which was now past the meridian, and thought that he would -retrace his steps. - -Before him, out of a covert a little way down the stream, a nightingale -sang suddenly. Garin listened, and it might be his mood of to-day -that made him think that never before had he heard any bird sing so -sweetly. It carolled on, rich and deep, and the young man went toward -it. The ribbon of wood was dark and sweet; the bird sang like a soul -imprisoned. When it silenced itself Garin still stood looking up into -its tree. Presently it flew from that bower and, crossing one of the -elfin lawns, lost itself in the farther trees. Garin went on to this -grove and it sang for him again. When it ceased he did not go back to -the boundary stone. This country pleased him and he thought, “I will go -on and see how Our Lady in Egypt looks from this side.” - -He followed the stream a mile and more. It was slipping now beneath -mighty trees. Their arching boughs made a roof; it was like walking -in cloisters. Between the pillars, inland, could be seen fields and -vineyards and, at last, the convent’s self, with her olive trees behind -her. Garin came now to thickly planted laurels, a grove within a grove. -This he threaded, pushing aside the heavy leaves. The laurels ended -suddenly, standing close and trim, a high green wall. This followed a -curving line and half enclosed a goodly space of turf, a shaven floor -of emerald, laved by the little river and shaded by a plane, a poplar, -and a cedar. The cedar stood close to the laurels and close to Garin, -and beneath the cedar was placed a seat of stone carved like a great -chair. The spot was all chequered with light and shade, the air was -sweet and fine, and the water sang as it passed. A fairer place for -dreaming, for talk or sober merry-making, might not be found. Just now -it was as clean as fairyland of human occupancy. - -Garin stepped from the laurel wall and sat in the stone seat. It -pleased him, this place! A sense of mystery gathered; he began to -dream, dream. All manner of coloured, gleaming thought-motes danced -over the threshold. The minutes passed. - -Voices—women’s voices! Doubly a trespasser that he was, he was not -willing to be found here, reigning it from this seat over the sweep of -lawn, the three trees, and the singing water. He rose, and stepped back -into the wall of laurel; then, being young and not incurious, waited -to see who it was that was coming. Lay sisters, perhaps, going from -vineyard to vineyard, or bringing clothes for the washing to the river -bank which here was rightly shelving. A gleam of grey garments between -the tree-trunks on the other side of the sylvan theatre seemed to prove -him right; and indeed, in a moment, there did emerge three or four of -these same lay sisters—strong, tanned, peasant women, roughly dressed, -fit for outdoor labour. They carried on their heads huge osier baskets, -but when they set these down, what was taken out was not linen or -woollen for washing, but rugs of Eastern weave and cushions of Eastern -make. - -Moreover, with or following the lay sisters came others—young -women—who were certainly not under convent rule. These seized the rugs -and cushions and scattered them here and there, to advantage, over the -grass. They also set out dishes of fruit and Eastern comfits, and one -placed a harp upon a square of gold silk which she spread beneath the -poplar. As they worked they chattered like magpies. They were dressed -well and fancifully but not richly; it was to be made out that they -were waiting-women of those who did dress richly. One cocked her ear, -then raised her hand in a gesture to the others, whereupon all fell -into a demure silence. The lay sisters who had been stolid and still -throughout, now drew off by a path which carried them to the vineyards. -The waiting women cast a look around, then, with nods of satisfaction, -picked up the empty baskets and found for them and for themselves some -pleasant subordinate haven down by the stream, around the corner of the -lawn. - -The little lawn lay prepared, festive and a desert. Now was the moment -when Garin might withdraw and the rustle of the laurel leaves tell no -tale where were no ears to hear. Truly, he thought once and twice of -departing, but then before the third thought which might have passed -into action, he caught, floating out of the opposite wood, delightful -voices, laughter that rippled, and a sheen and flash of colours. What -he forthwith determined to do was to please a little longer eye and -ear and sate curiosity. Then—and it need not be long—he would turn, -and as noiselessly as an innocent green-and-brown serpent, slip away -toward Castel-Noir. Given that he were discovered, plain truth-telling -were not bad. Discovery might bring him rebuke not too scornful, with, -perhaps, some laughter in her eye. - -He laid his fishing-rod down, then knelt beside it upon the brown -earth between the laurel stems. Couched so, he could look past the -stone seat and the cedar trunk, and so observe what pageant might -appear. Had he had a wand in his hand he could have touched with it -this carven chair. - -Out from the shadowy opposite grove came bright ladies, seven or eight. -One was dressed in violet and one in rose, one in green and white, and -one in daffodil, one in a bright medley, one in white sprigged with -gold, and one in the colour of the sky. After the fashion of the time -their hair hung in long braids from beneath fillet, or garland, or -veil of gauze twisted turban-wise or floating loose. Their shoes were -of soft-coloured leather or of silk, their dress close-fitting and -sweeping the grass. The wide and long mantles that were worn by both -sexes were not in evidence here—the day was warm and the convent, -whence alone these fair ones could have come, at no distance. Garin -wondered, and then he bethought himself that some great reigning -countess—perhaps some duchess or princess of Italy or Spain or further -yet afield, perhaps some queen—might be travelling through the land, -going from one court to another and by the way pausing to refresh -herself in the house of Our Lady in Egypt. From Roche-de-Frêne, he -knew, there was no such absence. The man-at-arms at the inn had said -that the princesses Alazais and Audiart were seated with their ladies -to mark the jousts.... He lay and watched. - -Of the bright apparitions two seemed of their full summer and prime, -more stately, more authoritative than the others. The others were in -their spring and early spring. Light or dark, blonde or brunette, all -had beauty. Garin’s eyes darkened and softened, and the corners of -his lips moved upward to see such an array, and the swimming movement -with which they dispersed themselves over the lawn, and to hear their -trained voices. All seemed gay and laughing, and yet there presently -appeared a discontent. The dame in daffodil took up the harp and swept -the strings. - -“Ah!” cried the one in azure, “for a true troubadour!” - -“For even a jongleur!” - -“Ah, what is life without men!” - -“Ah, for the tourney!” - -“Ah, if there were in sight but a monastery!” - -The older two, who had an air of responsibility, rebuked the others. -“Life is made up of to and fro, and sounds and silences! Be content! It -is but one month out of many.” - -“As if months were as plentiful as cherries!” - -“Ah, if I were a princess—” - -“Hush!” warned the daffodil-clad, and began to play upon the harp. - -Garin saw that another two were coming through the grove. One of these -would be the noble lady for whom it was all planned. His imagination -was active to-day with a deep, involuntary pulsing. Foix or Toulouse, -or the greater domains to the north and west, or it might be Aragon, -or it might be Italy? Or she might have come from Sicily, or like -Prince Rudel’s far lady, from a kingdom or duchy carved from Paynim -lands. Some Eastern touch in the scene made him dwell upon that. -No matter whence now she came, she must have lived on a day in the -long, the outspread, the curving and sunny lands of this very south. -The tongue of her ladies proved that. Wedded she might have been to -some great prince and borne away, and now returned for a time and -a pilgrimage to the land of birth.... All this and more was of his -imaging. He lay upon the dark earth and parted the laurel leaves that -he might see more clearly. - -The two were now plain among the trees. One was a blonde of much -beauty, dressed in grey cendal and carrying a book which seemed to -belong to her companion. The latter was a little in advance, and she -came on without speaking, and so stepped from the wood upon the lawn. -The seven already arrived beneath the plane, the poplar, and the cedar -made a formal movement of courtesy, then gathered like a rainbow about -the one of first importance. Plaintiveness and discontent retired from -evidence, court habit came up paramount. You might have thought that -these were dryads or Dian’s nymphs, and no other spot than this wood -their loved home! There came to Garin’s ear a ripple of sweet voices, -but it seemed that their lady for whom had been spread the feast -was either silent or seldom-and low-speaking. She stood beneath the -shimmering, tremulous poplar, a slender shape of fair height. She was -dressed in some fine weave of dark blue with a girdle of samite studded -with gems. The ends of this girdle hung to her silken shoe. Her hair, -black and long, was braided with gems. She seemed young, young as the -youngest there. “Seemed” is used, because Garin saw not her face. She -wore, as did several of the others, a veil of Eastern device, but hers -was long and wide and threaded with gold and silver, and so worn that -it overhung and shielded every feature. - -Attention was called to the placing of the rugs, the cushions, the -harp, the dishes of fruit and comfits. The one for whom they had waited -nodded her head and seemed to approve. She was not garrulous; there -seemed to breathe about her, he knew not what, a tone of difference. -All now moved to the water-edge, and for a time loitered there upon the -green and rushy bank. One raised her voice and sang,— - - “Green are the boughs when lovers meet, - Grey when they part—” - -The bevy turned and came up the sloping lawn to the three trees and -the cushions upon the grass. The shape in dark blue with the Eastern -veil moved beyond them to the cedar and the stone chair. Here she took -her seat, and when the others would have gathered about her waved them -back with a slender, long-fingered hand. One brought to her a basket of -grapes. She chose a purple cluster resting upon a web of vine leaves -but laid it untouched beside her upon the wide seat. There was a space -between her and the dark enshadowing cedar and those others resting -now upon the cushions. She sat quite still, a hand upon each arm of -the chair, the deep blue of her dress flowing about her, the gems of -the girdle ends making a sombre gleaming. The veil hid all her face -from Garin, lying so near. He felt in her something solitary, something -powerful, yet felt that she was young, young—She sat with her gaze -straight before her upon the blue crests that showed afar. She sat as -still as though an enchanter had bid her stay. And between her and the -young man crouching in the laurels streamed no wide ocean of the autumn -air, of the subtle ether. The moments passed, slow, plangent, like the -notes of the harp that was being played.... - -What happened to one or both? Did one only feel it, the one that knew -there were two—or did, in some degree, the other also, and think -it was a day-dream? All that Garin knew, kneeling there, was that -something touched him, entered him. It came across that space, or it -came from some background and space not perceived. It was measureless, -or it seemed to him without measure. It was clothed in marvel; it was -fulness and redoubling, it was more life. It was as loud as thunder, -and as still as the stillest inner whisper. It was so sweet that he -wished to weep, and yet he wished too to leap and spring and exult -aloud, to send his cry of possession to the skies. He felt akin to all -that his senses touched. But as for the form in the stone chair—he sat -with her there, she knelt with him here, they were one body.... With -a swimming feeling, her being seemed to pass from his. He knelt here, -Garin of the Black Castle, squire of Raimbaut the Six-fingered, and she -sat there whose face he had not seen—a great dame, lady doubtless of -some lord of a hundred barons each worthier than Raimbaut. - -Garin gazed across the little space between, and now it was as though -it were half the firmament. She sat like a figure among the stars, -blue-robed, amid the deep blue, and the cloudy world was between them. -She grew like to a goddess—like to the Unattainable Ideal, and he -felt no longer like a king, but like the acolyte that lights the lamp -and kneels as he places it. Now it was the Age for this to happen, -and for one man to act as had acted that knight in the wood toward -Roche-de-Frêne, and for another to do as now did Garin. - -For now he wished no longer to play the spy, and he turned very -carefully and silently in the laurels and crept away. In all his -movements he was lithe and clean, and he made no sound that the -brooding young figure in the stone chair attended to. Presently, -looking back, his eyes saw only the great height of the cedar, its dark -head against the blue heaven. The liquid, dropping notes of the harp -pursued him a little farther, but when he was forth from the laurel -grove they, too, passed upon the air. He was soon at the boundary -cross of Our Lady in Egypt, and then upon the waste and stony land that -set toward the fief of Castel-Noir. Was it only this morning, thought -Garin, that he had come this way? And the nightingale that sang so deep -and full—it was not in the boughs above—it was singing now in his own -heart! - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE ABBOT - - -FRIDAY the mistral blew, and Foulque was always wretched in that wind. -He gloomed now from this narrow window and now from that in the black -castle’s thick walls. The abbot was not expected before the dial showed -twelve, but Foulque looked from here and looked from there, and kept a -man atop of the tower to scan the road beyond the wood. The hall was -ready for the abbot, the arras hung, the floor strewn with leaves and -autumn buds, the great chair placed aright, a rich coverlet spread -upon the state bed. Pierre was ready,—the sauce for the fish, the -fish themselves were ready for the oven. Castel-Noir rested clean and -festive, and every man knew that he was to sink down upon both knees -and ask the abbot’s blessing. - -The wind blew and hurled the leaves on high. The sun shone, the sky -was bright, but the moving air, dry and keen, was as a grindstone upon -which tempers were edged. A shrivelled, lame man must feel it. Under -the hooded mantel a fire was laid, but not kindled. Foulque could not -decide whether the abbot would feel the wind as he felt it, and want -to be welcomed with physical as well as other warmth, or whether, -riding hard, he would be heated and would frown at the sight of the -fire. Foulque would have liked a roaring blaze, out-sounding the wind. -But the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius was of a full body, tall and stout, -a hunter and a hawker. Foulque determined to have a torch from the -kitchen immediately at hand and kindle or not kindle according to the -first glimpse of his kinsman’s face. - -The window embrasures were deep enough to swallow a family. Foulque, a -sensitive, knew without turning his head when Garin, too, stood within -the one that overlooked the road where it emerged from the wood. “He -should be here at any minute,” said Foulque. “Well? Well?” - -“Brother Foulque,” said Garin, “I have determined, an it please you, to -bide with Lord Raimbaut and become a knight.” - -Foulque let his wrath gather to a head. When it was at the withering -point, his gaze having been directed upon Garin for full thirty -seconds, he spoke. “Marry and crave pardon! Who is it hath determined?” - -“I,” said Garin. “I.” - -Foulque moistened his lips. “What has come to you? Raimbaut will let -you go. The Abbot of Saint Pamphilius invites—nay, he will himself -smooth your way to Holy Church’s high places. I, your elder brother, -command—” - -“Your entreaty would do more, brother,” said Garin. “But I can no -other.” - -“‘Can no other!—can no other!’ Does the fool see himself Alexander -or Roland or Arthur?” Foulque laughed. “Raimbaut the Six-fingered’s -squire!” - -Garin was patient. “All the same he can give me knighthood.” - -His brother laughed again and struck his hands together. “Knighthood! -Knighthood! Oh, your advantage from his buffet on your shoulder! -Raimbaut!” He held by the wall and stamped with the foot that was -not lamed. “Fight—fight—fight! then eat an ox and drink a cask and -go sleep! Ride abroad whenever you hear of a tourney that’s not too -difficult to enter. Tilt—tilt—tilt! and if you are not killed or -dragged to the barrier, win maybe prizes enough to keep body and soul -together until you hear of another joust! Between times, eat, drink, -and sleep and have not a thought in your head! Sprawl in the sun by the -keep, or yawn in the hall, or perhaps hunt a boar until there’s more -fighting! When there is, be dragged from the wall or smothered in the -moat or killed in the breach when the castle’s taken! Oh aye! Your lord -may take his foe’s castle and you be drunk for a day with victory and -smothering and hanging and slaying on your part! Yet forecast the day -when you’ll drink the cup you’re giving others! Look at the dice in -your hand and know that if you throw six, yet will you throw ace!” - -“I may not be always bound to Raimbaut.” - -“He is not old, and hath the strength of a bull! And what of the young -Raimbaut? Son grows like sire—” - -“Even so,” said Garin desperately, “things happen.” - -Foulque’s anger and scorn flowed on. “Oh, I grant you! Have I forgotten -large wars that may arise—fighting behind your lord for Prince or -King or Emperor? I have not. Cities and great castles instead of -small—thousands to kill and be killed instead of hundreds—the same -thing but more of it! Still a poor knight—still in the train of -Raimbaut the Six-fingered! The young Raimbaut hath six fingers also, -hath he not?—Oh, you may go crusading, too, and see strange lands -and kill the infidel who dares have his country spread around the -Holy Sepulchre! Go!—and die of thirst or be slain with a scimitar, -or have your eyes taken out and no new ones put in! Or, if you can, -slay and slay and slay the infidel! What have you got? Tired arm and -bloody hands and leave to go eat, drink, and sleep! A crusade! Your -crusade enriches one, beggars fifty! Returns one, keeps the bones of a -hundred—” - -“I do not think of taking the cross,” said Garin. - -His brother laughed again with a bitter mirth. “Well, what’s left? -Let’s see! If you can get Raimbaut’s consent, you might become an -errant knight and go vagabonding through the land! ‘Fair sir, may -I fight thee—all for the glory of valour and for thy horse and -trappings?’—‘Fair dame, having no business of mine own, may I take -thine upon me? Tell me thy grievance, and I will not enquire if it be -founded or no. Nor when, pursuing chivalry, I have redressed it, will -I refuse rich gifts.’—Bah!” cried Foulque. “I had rather eat, drink, -fight, and sleep with Raimbaut!” - -“Aye,” said Garin; then painfully, “You are picturing the common run of -things. There have been and there are and there will be true and famous -knights—aye, and learned, who make good poesy and honour fair ladies, -and are courteous and noble and welcome in every castle hall! I mean -not to be of the baser sort. And those knights I speak of had, some of -them, as meagre a setting forth as mine—” - -“In _romans_!” answered Foulque. “You are a fool, Garin! Take the other -road—take the other road!” - -“I’ve made my choice.” - -“Raimbaut the Six-fingered against the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius, who -is close friend to Bishop Ugo, who is ear and hand to the Pope—” - -“I choose.” - -“Now,” cried Foulque, choking, “by the soul of our father, little lacks -but I call Sicart and Jean and have you down into the dungeon! You are -too untamed—you are too untamed!” - -“In your dungeon,” said Garin, “I would think, ‘How like is this to -abbey cell and cloister!’” - -A silence fell. Only mistral whistled and eddied around the black -tower. Then said Foulque tensely: “What has come to you? Two nights ago -I saw you ready to put your hands in those of Holy Church—” He broke -off, facing the man from the tower top, framed now in the great door. - -“Horsemen, my masters!” cried the watchman; “horsemen at the two pines!” - -Foulque flung up his arms. “He is coming! Mayhap he will work upon -you—seeing that a brother cannot! Let me by—” - -Garin stood at the window watching the abbot and the twenty with -him—ecclesiastical great noble and his cowled following—stout lay -brothers and abbey serfs well clad and fed—the abbot’s palfrey, sleek -mules and horses—all mounting with a jingle of bits and creaking -of leather, but with a suave lack of boisterous laughter, whoop, -and shout, the grey zig-zag cut in the crag upon which was perched -Castel-Noir. When they were immediately below the loophole window, he -turned and, leaving the hall, went to the castle gate and stood beside -Foulque. - -When Abbot Arnaut and his palfrey reached them he sprang, squire-like, -to the stirrup, gave his shoulder to the abbot’s gloved hand. When the -great man was dismounted, he knelt with his brother for the lifted -fingers and blessing. The abbot was marshalled across the court to -the hall, followed by those two from Saint Pamphilius whom his nod -indicated. Jean and Sicart disposed of the following. Foulque’s anxious -drill bore fruits; everything went as if oiled. - -Mistral still blew, high, cold and keen. “Have you a fire, kinsman?” -cried Abbot Arnaut. “I am as cold as a merman in the sea!” - -Foulque made haste. The torch was at hand—in a moment there sprang a -blaze—the hangings from Genoa were all firelit and the great beams of -the roof. - -“Hungry!” cried the abbot. “I am as hungry as Tantalus in hell! I -remember when once I came here, a boy, good fishing—” - -The fish were good, Pierre’s sauce was good. All received commendation. -The abbot was portly and tall, with a massy head, with a countenance -so genial, a voice so bland, an eye so approving, that all appeared -nature and no art. His lips seemed made for golden syllables, he had an -unctuous and a mellow tongue. It was much to hear him speak Latin and -much to hear him discourse in the vernacular. The _langue d’oc_ came -richly from his mouth. He was a mighty abbot, a gracious power, timber -from which were made papal legates. - -Foulque sat with him at the raised end of the table, the monks of his -company being ranged a foot lower. But Garin, as was squire-like, -waited upon the great guest and his brother. The abbot, the keen edge -of hunger abated, showed himself gracious and golden, friendly, almost -familiar. He spoke of the past, and of the father of his hosts. He -asked questions that showed that he knew Castel-Noir, dark wood and -craggy hills, mountains to the north, stream to the south. It even -seemed that he remembered old foresters and bowmen. He knew the -neighbouring fiefs, the disputed ground, the Convent of Our Lady in -Egypt. He was warm and pleasant with his kinsmen; he said that he had -loved their father and that their mother had been a fair, wise lady. -He remarked that poverty was a sore that might be salved; and when he -had drunk a great cup of spiced wine,—having, for his health’s sake, -a perpetual dispensation in that wise,—he said that he was of mind -that a man should serve and be served by his own blood. “Kin may prove -faithless, but unkin beats them to the post!” - -Dinner was eaten, wine drunken, hands washed. The abbot and Foulque -rose, the monks of Saint Pamphilius rose, the table was cleared, the -boards and trestles taken from the hall. - -Abbot Arnaut, standing by the fire, looked at the great bed. “By the -rood!” he said, “to face mistral clean from Roche-de-Frêne to this rock -is a wearisome thing! I will repose myself, kinsman, for one hour.” - -All withdrew save the lay brother whom he retained for chamberlain. -Foulque offered Garin’s service, who stood with ready hands. But the -abbot was used to Brother Anselm, said as much, and with a sleepy and -mellow voice dismissed the two brothers. “Return in an hour when I -shall be refreshed. Then will we talk of that of which I wrote.” - -The two left the hall. Without, Foulque must discover from Jean and -Sicart if all went well and the abbot’s train was in good humour. -“I’ve known a discontented horse-boy make a prince as discontented!” -But they who followed the abbot were laughing in the small, bare court, -and the bare ward room. Even mistral did not seem to trouble them. - -South of the tower, in the angle between it and the wall, lay the -tiniest of grass-plots, upbearing one tall cypress. Foulque, his mantle -close around him, beckoned hither Garin. Here was a stone seat in the -sun, and the black tower between one and that wind from the mountains. -Foulque sat and argued, Garin stood with his back against the cypress. -The hour dropped away, and Foulque saw nothing gained. He shook with -wrath and concern for slipping fortunes. “Since yesterday! This has -happened since yesterday! You took your rod and went down to the river -to fish. What siren sang to you from what pool?” - -Garin lifted his head. “No siren. Something wakened within me, and now -I will be neither monk nor priest. I am sorry to grieve you, Foulque.” - -But Foulque nursed his wrath. “The hour has passed,” he said. “So we -go back to the abbot and spurn a rich offer!” He rose and with a bleak -face left the grass-plot. - -Garin followed, but not immediately. He stood, beneath the cypress tree -and tried to see his life. He could not do so; he could only tell that -his heart was parted between sorrow and joy, and that a nightingale -sang and sang. He could tell that he wished to live beautifully, to do -noble deeds, to win honour, to serve, if need be to die for, a goddess -whose face was veiled. His life whirled; at once he felt generous, -wealthy, and great, and poor, humble, and despairing. He seemed to see -through drifting mists a Great Meaning; then the cloud thickened and he -was only Garin, Raimbaut’s squire—then again images and music, then -aching sadness. He stood with parted lips, beneath the cypress, and he -looked south. At last he sighed and covered his eyes with his hand, -then turned and went back to the hall. - -The abbot was awake, had left the great bed and come to the great -chair. Seated at ease in the light of the renewed fire, he was goldenly -discoursing to Foulque who sat on a stool, of Roche-de-Frêne and its -prince and his court, and of Bishop Ugo. “Ah, the great chances in -the fair lap of Mother Church! Ugo is ambitious. There it is that we -differ. I am not ambitious—no, no! I am an easy soul, and but take -things as they come my way!” He turned in his chair and looked at Garin -standing behind his brother. “Ha!” he said, “and this is the squire who -would become canon?” - -Foulque groaned. “Most Reverend Father, the boy is mad! I think that he -is bewitched. I pray that of your goodness, wisdom and eloquence you -bring him to a right mind—” - -The Abbot of Saint Pamphilius smiled, assured as the sun. “What is it? -Does he think that already he has Fortune for mistress?” - -“He will choose knighthood,” said Foulque. “He has no doubt of winning -it.” - -The abbot lifted his brows. He looked with dignity into the fire, then -back at Foulque and at Garin the squire. “It pains me,” he said, “the -folly of mankind! Are you born prince, count or baron, then in reason, -you must run the course where you are set. Though indeed, time out of -mind, have been found castellans, vavasours, barons, dukes, and princes -who have laid aside hauberk, shield, and banner, and blithely come with -all their wealth into the peaceful hive of Holy Church—so rightly -could they weigh great value against low! But such as you, young -man—but such as you—poor liegemen of poor lords! What would you have? -Verily, the folly is deep! By no means all who would have knighthood -gain it, and if it is gained, what then? Another poor knight in a world -where they are as thick and undistinguishable as locusts!—Ha, what do -you say?” - -Garin’s lips had moved, but now he flushed red. - -“Speak out!” commanded the abbot, blandly imperious. “What was it that -you said?” - -Garin lowered his eyes. “I said that there were many churchmen in the -world, as thick and undistinguishable—” - -Foulque drew a dismayed breath. But the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius -laughed. He sat well back in his chair and looked at the squire with -freshened interest. “Granted, Bold Wit! The point is this. Did you -show me here the signet ring, not—God defend us!—of Raimbaut the -Six-fingered, but of Raimbaut’s lord and yours, Savaric of Montmaure, -then would I say, ‘So you have your patron! Good fortune, fair kinsman, -who are half-way up the ladder!’” He looked at the squire and laughed. -“You have it not by you, I think?” Garin shook his head. “Well then,” -said the abbot, “choose Holy Church. For here, I think,”—he spoke very -goldenly,—“you may show a patron. A feeble one, my son—of course, a -feeble one—” - -Garin came from behind Foulque, kneeled before the abbot, and thanked -him for great kindness and condescension. “But, Reverend Father, with -all gratefulness and humbleness, yet I will not the tonsure—” - -The abbot with a gesture kept him kneeling. “There is some reason here -that you hide. You are young, you are young! I guess that your reason -goes by name of woman—” - -Garin knelt silent, but Foulque uttered an exclamation. “No, Reverend -Father, no! What has changed him I know not, but it has happened here -at Castel-Noir, since yesterday! There is no woman here, in hut or -tower, that could tempt him—” - -But the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius continued to gaze upon Garin, and -to tap gently with his fingers upon the arm of the great chair. “I -hold not,” he said softly, “with those who would condone concubinage, -and who see no harm in a too fair cousin, niece, or servant in -priests’ dwellings. It is all sin—it is all sin—and Holy Church -must reprobate—yea, must chastise. But flesh is weak, my son, flesh -is weak! Somewhat may be compounded—somewhat overlooked—somewhat -pardoned! Especially, if not solely, in the case of those whose service -is great. As for courtly love—” The abbot smiled. “When you come to -courtly love,” he said, “there are many lordly churchmen have praised -fair ladies!—Do I resolve your scruples, my son?” - -But Garin’s look showed no shaken determination. The abbot leaned -back in his chair. “The time grows tender,” he said. “Womanish and -tender! Your father would have known how to bring you to reason. Your -grandfather would have disposed of you like any Roman of old. But now -any sir squire is let to say, ‘I will’—or ‘I will not!’—Think not -that I wish him about me who is sullen and intractable! Nor that I -lack other kinsmen who are pleaders for that kindness I would have -shown Castel-Noir! There is young Enric, Bernart’s son—and there are -others.—Rise and begone to Raimbaut the Six-fingered’s keep!” - -Garin stood up. Foulque made to speak, but the abbot waved the matter -down. - -“All is said. It is a trifle, and we will disturb ourselves no further. -God knows, ungrateful young men are no rarity! Doubtless he hath, -after all, Montmaure’s signet—What is it now?” - -Into the hall, from the court without, had come a sound of trampling -hoofs and of voices—one voice sullen and heavy. Garin started -violently, Foulque sprang to his feet. The great door was flung open, -admitting a burst of wind that shook the hangings, and behind it, -Sicart open-mouthed and breathless. - -“Master, master! here is Lord Raimbaut!” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -RAIMBAUT THE SIX-FINGERED - - -A LORD might of course visit one who held from him, often did so. But -it was not Raimbaut’s use to ride to Castel-Noir. And Garin, parting -from him less than a week ago, had heard no word of his coming. - -But here he was, pushing Sicart aside, striding into the hall, a -low-browed, thick-skulled giant, savage with his foes, dull and -grudging with his friends—Raimbaut the Six-fingered! Foulque hastened -to do him reverence, make him welcome; Garin, stepping to his side, -took from him his wide, rust-hued mantle and furred cap. - -“Well met, my Lord Raimbaut!” said the abbot in his golden tones. - -Raimbaut gloomed upon him. “Ha, Lord Abbot! Are you here for this -springald, my esquire? Well, I have said that you might have him.” - -“Nay,” said the abbot mellowly, “I think that I want him not.” - -“—have him,” pursued Raimbaut. “And likewise his quarrel with Savaric -of Montmaure.” - -He spoke with a deep, growling voice, as of an angered mastiff, and as -he spoke turned like one upon Garin. “Why, by every fiend in hell, did -you fight a Tuesday, with his son?” - -Garin stared. He heard Foulque’s distressed exclamation, saw the abbot -purse his lips, but beyond all that he had a vision of a forest glade -and heard a clash of steel. He drew breath. “Was he that knight in -crimson? Was that Jaufre de Montmaure?” - -Raimbaut doubled his fist and advanced it. Before this Garin had come -to earth beneath his lord’s buffet. He awaited it now, standing as -squarely as he might. He was aware that Raimbaut had for him a kind -of thwart liking—a liking that made, in Raimbaut’s mind, no reason -why he should not strike when angry. It was not the expected blow that -set Garin’s mind whirling. But Jaufre de Montmaure! To his knowledge -he had never, until that Tuesday, seen that same Jaufre. But he knew -of him, oh, knew of him! Montmaure was a great count, overlord of -towns and many castles. In Garin’s world Savaric of Montmaure was only -less than Gaucelm of Roche-de-Frêne—Gaucelm the Fortunate from whom -Savaric held certain fiefs. Immediately, Montmaure loomed larger than -Roche-de-Frêne, for Raimbaut the Six-fingered owed direct fealty to -Montmaure and in war must furnish a hundred men-at-arms. - -Garin knew of the young count, Sir Jaufre. He knew that Jaufre had -been long time in Italy, at the court where his mother was born, but -that now he was looked for home again. He knew that he had fought -boldly in sieges of cities, and in tournaments was acclaimed brave and -fortunate. Perhaps Garin had dreamed of his own chance coming to him -by way of Montmaure—perhaps he had dreamed of somehow recommending -himself to this same Jaufre. That gibe of the abbot’s about the signet -ring had struck from the squire an answering thought, “Some day I -may—” Now came the reversal, now Garin felt a faintness, an icy fall. -He was young and in a thousand ways, unfree. For a day and a night his -conscious being had strained high. Now there came a dull subsidence, a -slipping toward the abyss. “Jaufre de Montmaure!” - -Raimbaut did not deliver the meditated blow—too angered and concerned -was Raimbaut to dispense slight tokens. He let his hand drop, but -ground beneath his heavy foot the rushes on the floor. “I would I -had had you chained in the pit below the dungeon before I let you go -to Roche-de-Frêne!” He turned on Foulque who stood, grey-faced and -dry-lipped. “Knew you what this fool did?” - -Foulque struck his hands together. “He told me that eve. He did -not know and I did not know—He thought it might be some wandering -knight—Ah, my Lord Raimbaut, as we owe you service, so do you owe us -protection!” - -Raimbaut strode up and down, heavy and black as his own ancient donjon. -“Comes to me yestereve, as formal as you please, a herald from -Montmaure! ‘Hark and hear,’ says he, puffing out his cheeks, ‘to what -befell our young lord, Sir Jaufre, riding through the forest called -La Belle, and for some matter or other sending a good way ahead those -that rode with him. Came a squire out of the wood, drunken and, as it -were, mad, and with him, plain to be seen, a stark fiend! Then did the -two fall upon Sir Jaufre from behind and forced him to fight, and by -necromancy overthrew and wounded him, and, ignobly and villainously, -bound him to a tree. Which, when they had done, they vanished. And -straightway his men found him and brought him home. And now that fiend -may perchance not be found, but assuredly the man may be discovered! -When he is, for his foul pride, treason, and wizardry, the Count of -Montmaure will flay him alive and nail him head downward to a tree.’” - -Mistral sent into the hall a withering blast. The smoke from the fire -blew out and went here and there in wreaths. It set the abbot coughing. -Raimbaut the Six-fingered continued his striding up and down. “Then he -puffs his cheeks out and says on, and wits me to know that Savaric of -Montmaure calls on every man that owes him fealty to discover—an he is -known to them—that churl and misdoer. And thereupon,” ended Raimbaut -on a note of thunder, “to my face he describes Garin my esquire!” - -Garin stood silent, but Foulque panted hard. “Ah, thou unhappy! Ah, -the end of Castel-Noir! Ah, my Lord Raimbaut, have we not been faithful -liegemen?” He caught his brother by the arm. “Kneel, Garin—and I will -kneel—” - -But Garin did not kneel. He stood young, straight, pale with -indignation. “Brother and Reverend Father and my Lord Raimbaut,” he -cried, “never in my life had I to do with a fiend! Nor was I drunken -nor without sense! Nor did I come upon him from behind! Does he say -that, then am I more glad than I was that I brought him fairly to the -earth and, because of his own treachery, tied him to a tree and bound -his hands with his stirrup leather—” - -Raimbaut, in his striding up and down being close to his squire, turned -upon him at this and delivered the buffet. It brought Garin, hand and -knee, upon the rushes, but he rose with lightness. Raimbaut, striding -on by, came to the abbot, who, having ended coughing, sat, double chin -on hand and foot in furred slipper, tapping the floor. He stopped -short, feudal lord beside as massive ecclesiastic. “The Church says it -is her part to counsel! Out then with good counsel!” - -The abbot looked at him aslant, then spoke with a golden voice. “Did -you tell the count’s herald that it was your esquire?” - -“Not I! I said that it had a sound of Aimeric of the Forest’s men.” -Aimeric of the Forest was a lord with whom Raimbaut was wont to wage -private war. - -The abbot murmured “Ah!” then, “Did any in your castle betray him?” - -“No,” said Raimbaut. “Only Guilhelm, and Hugonet heard surely and -knew for certain. Six-fingered we may be and rude, but we wait a bit -before we give our esquires to other men’s deaths!” Again he covered -with his stride the space before the wide hearth. He was as huge as a -boar and as grim, but a certain black tenseness and danger seemed to -go out of the air of the hall. Turning, he again faced the abbot. “So -I think, now the best wit that I can find is to say ‘Aye’ twice where -I have already said it once, and speed this same Garin the fighter -into Church’s fold! Let him as best he may convoy himself to the Abbey -of Saint Pamphilius. There he may be turned at once into Brother -Such-an-one. So he will be as safe and hid as if he were in Heaven and -Our Lady drooped her mantle over him. By degrees Montmaure may forget, -or he may flay the wrong man—” - -The abbot covered his mouth with his hand and looked into the blaze -that mistral drove this way and that. Foulque came close, with a -haggard, wrinkling face; but Garin, having risen from Raimbaut’s -buffet, made no other motion. - -The abbot dropped his hand and spoke. “Do you not know that last year -the Count of Montmaure became Advocate and Protector of the Abbey of -Saint Pamphilius? As little as Lord Raimbaut do I will openly to offend -Count Savaric.” - -“‘Openly,’” cried Foulque. “Ah, Reverend Father, it would not be -‘openly’—” - -But Abbot Arnaut shook his head. “I know your ‘secret help,’” he said -goldenly. “It is that which most in this world getteth simple and -noble, lay and cleric, into trouble!” He spread his hands. “Moreover, -our Squire-who-fights-knights hath just declined the tonsure.” - -“Hath he so?” exclaimed Raimbaut. “He is the more to my liking!—So the -abbot will let Count Savaric take him?” - -The abbot put his fingers together. “I will do nothing,” he said, “that -will imperil the least interest of Holy Mother Church. I will never act -to the endangering of one small ornament upon her robe.” - -Raimbaut made a sound like the grunt of a boar. Foulque covered his -face with his hands. - -“But,” pursued the abbot, “kin is kin, and in the little, narrow lane -that is left me I will do what I can!” He spoke to Raimbaut. “Has Count -Savaric bands out in search of him?” - -“Aye. They will look here as elsewhere.” - -Garin stood forth. Above his eye was a darkening mark, sign of -Raimbaut’s buffet. It was there, but it did not depreciate something -else which was likewise there and which, for the moment, made of his -whole body a symbol, enduing it to an extent with visible bloom, -apparent power. For many hours there had been an inward glowing. But -heretofore to-day, what with Foulque and Abbot Arnaut and disputes, -anxieties, and preoccupation, it had been somewhat pushed away, stifled -under. Now it burst forth, to be seen and felt by others, though not -understood. Anger and outrage at that knight’s false accusation helped -it forth. And—though Garin himself did not understand this—that glade -in the forest toward Roche-de-Frêne, and that lawn of the poplar, the -plane, and the cedar by the Convent of Our Lady in Egypt, that Tuesday -and that Thursday, came somehow into contact, embraced, reinforced each -the other. Aware, or unaware, in his conscious or in his unconscious -experience, there was present a deep and harmonious vibration, an -expansion and intensification of being. Something of this came outward -and crossed space, to the others’ apprehension. They felt bloom and -they felt beauty, and they stared at him strangely, as though he were -palely demigod. - -He spoke. “Brother Foulque and Lord Raimbaut and Reverend Father, let -me cut this knot! I must leave Castel-Noir and leave my Lord Raimbaut’s -castle, and I must take my leave without delay. That is plain. Plain, -too, that I must not go in this green and brown that I wore when I -fought him! Sicart can find me serf’s clothing. When it is night, I -will quit Castel-Noir, and I will lie in the fir wood, near the little -shrine, five miles west of here. In the morning you, Reverend Father, -pass with your train. The help that Foulque and I ask is that you will -let me join the Abbey people. They have scarcely seen me—Sicart shall -cut my hair and darken my face—they will not know me. But do you, of -your charity, bid one of the brothers take me up behind him. Let me -overtravel in safe company sufficient leagues to put me out of instant -clutch of Count Savaric and that noble knight, Sir Jaufre! I will leave -you short of the Abbey of Saint Pamphilius.” - -“And where then, Garin, where then?” cried Foulque. - -“I will go,” said Garin, “toward Toulouse and Foix and Spain. Give me, -Foulque, what money you can. I will go in churl’s guise until I am -out and away from Montmaure’s reach. Then in some town I will get me -a fit squire’s dress. If you can give me enough to buy a horse—very -good will that be!” He lifted and stretched his arms—a gesture that -ordinarily he would not have used in the presence of elder brother, -lord, or churchman. “Ah!” cried Garin, “then will I truly begin -life—how, I know not now, but I will begin it! Moreover, I will live -it, in some fashion, well!” - -The three elder men still stared at him. Mature years, advantageous -place, bulked large indeed in their day. A young Daniel might be very -wise, but was he not _young_? A squire might propose the solution of a -riddle, but it were unmannerly for the squire to take credit; a mouse -might gnaw the lion’s net, but the mouse remained mouse, and the lion -lion. The Abbot of Saint Pamphilius, and Raimbaut the Six-fingered, -and Foulque the elder brother looked doubtfully at Garin. But the air -of bloom and light and power held long enough. They devised no better -plan, and, for the time at least, their minds subdued themselves and -put away anger and ceased to consider rebuke. - -Raimbaut spoke. “I give you leave. I have not been a bad lord to you.” - -His squire looked at him with shining eyes. “No, lord, you have not. I -thank you for much. And some day if I may I will return good for good, -and pay the service that I owe!” - -Foulque the Cripple limped from the hearth to a chest by the wall, -unlocked it with a key hanging from his belt, and took out a bag of -soft leather—a small bag and a lank. He turned with it. “You shall -have wherewith to fit you out. Escape harm now, little brother! But -when the wind has ceased to blow, come back—” - -The abbot seemed to awake from a dream, and, awakening, became golden -and expansive even beyond his wont. “You hear him say himself that he -has no vocation.... Nay, if he begins so early by overthrowing knights -he may be called, who knoweth? to become a column and pattern of -chivalry! I will bring him safe out of the immediate clutch of danger.” - -An hour, and Raimbaut departed, and none outside the hall of -Castel-Noir knew aught but that, hunting a stag, he had come riding -that way. The sun set, and the abbot and his following had supper and -Garin served his brother and Abbot Arnaut. Afterwards, it was said -about the place that the company—having a long way to make—would -ride away before dawn. So, after a few hours sleep, all did arise by -torchlight and ate a hasty breakfast, and the horses and mules and the -abbot’s palfrey stamped in the courtyard. Mistral was dead and the air -cool, still, and dark. The swung torches confused shadow and substance. -In the trampling and neighing and barking of dogs, clamour and shifting -of shapes, it went unnoticed that only Foulque was there to bid -farewell to the abbot and kinsman. - -In the early night, under the one cypress between the tower and the -wall, Foulque and Garin had said farewell. The light was gone from -about Garin; he seemed but a youth, poor and stricken, fleeing before -a very actual danger. The two brothers embraced. They shed tears, for -in their time men wept when they felt like doing so. They commended -each other to God and Our Lady and all the saints, and they parted, not -knowing if ever they would see each other again. - -The abbot and his company wound down the zig-zag road and turned face -toward the distant Abbey of Saint Pamphilius. Riding westward they came -into the fir wood. The sun was at the hill-tops, when they overtook a -limping pedestrian,—a youth in a coarse and worn dress, with shoes of -poor leather and leggings of bark bound with thongs, and with a caped -hood that obscured his features. Questioned, he said that his father -sowed grain and reaped it for Castel-Noir, but that he had an uncle -who was a dyer and lived beyond Albi. His uncle was an old man and had -somewhat to leave and his father had got permission for him to go on a -visit—and he had hurt his foot. With that he looked wistfully at the -horse of the lay brother who had summoned him to the abbot. - -“Saint Gilles!” exclaimed the abbot, and he spoke loud and goldenly. -“It were a long way to hop to Albi! Not a day but I strive to plant one -kindly deed—Take him up, my son, behind thee!” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE GARDEN - - -THE Abbot of Saint Pamphilius and Garin the squire rode westward—that -is to say they rode away from the busy town of Roche-de-Frêne; the -cathedral, where, atop the mounting tower, trowel clinked against -stone; the bishop’s palace, where, that morning Ugo wrote a letter to -Pope Alexander; and the vast castle with Gaucelm the Fortunate’s banner -above it. - -Roche-de-Frêne dyed with scarlet second only to that of Montpellier. -It wove fine stuffs, its saddlers were known for their work, it made -good weapons. Rome had left it a ruined amphitheatre—not so large -as that at Arles, but large enough to house a trade. Here was the -quarter of the moulders of candles. A fair wine was made in the country -roundabout, brought to Roche-de-Frêne and sold, and thence sold again. -It was a mart likewise for great, creamy-flanked cattle. They came in -droves over the bridge that crossed the river and were sold and bought -without the walls, in the long, poplar-streaked field where was held -the yearly fair. - -It was not a free town—not yet. Time was when its people had been -serfs wholly, chattels and thralls completely of the lords who built -the great castle. Less than a hundred years ago that was still largely -true. Then had entered small beginnings, fragmentary privileges, -rights of trade, commutations, market grants. These had increased; -every decade saw a little freedom filched. Lords must have wealth, and -the craftsmen and traders made it; money-rent entered in place of old -obediences. Silver paid off body-service. Skill increased, and the -number of wares made, and commerce in them. Wealth increased. The town -grew bolder and consciously strove for small liberties. Roche-de-Frêne -was different now indeed from the old times when it had been wholly -servile. It was growing with the strong twelfth century. All manner of -ideas entered its head. - -Gaucelm the Fortunate’s father had been Gaucelm the Crusader, Gaucelm -of the Star. Certain of the ideas of the burghers of Roche-de-Frêne -had been approved by this prince. Others found themselves stingingly -rebuked. One of Roche-de-Frêne’s concepts of its own good might -flourish in court favour, a second just exist like grass under a -stone, wan and sere, a third encounter all the forces of extirpation. -In the main Gaucelm of the Star bore hardly against the struggle for -liberty. But at the last he took the cross, and needing moneys so -that he might go to Jerusalem with great array, granted “privileges.” -After three years he returned from Palestine and granted no more. He -died and Gaucelm the Fortunate reigned. For five years he fought the -ideas of Roche-de-Frêne. Then he changed, almost in a night-time, and -granted almost more than was asked. His barons and knights stared and -wondered; Gaucelm was no weakling. Roche-de-Frêne sat down to digest -and assimilate what it had gained. The town was no more radical than it -thought reasonable. The meal was sufficient for the time being. There -began a string of quiet years. - -The bishop’s palace stood a long building, with wings at right -angles. Before it spread a flagged place, and in the middle of this a -fountain jetted, the water streaming from dolphins’ jaws. In old times -the bishops of Roche-de-Frêne had been mightier than its ravening, -war-shredded lords. Then had arisen the great line that built the -castle and subdued the fiefs and turned from baron to prince and -outweighed the bishops. The fountain, shifting its spray as the wind -blew, had seen a-many matters, a-many ambitions rise and fall and rise -again. - -The fountain streamed and the spray shifted this autumn, while the -trees turned to gold and bronze and the grapes were gathered, and -through the country-side bare feet of peasants trod the wine-press, and -over the bridge in droves lowed the cream-hued cattle. It rose and fell -time before and time after that feast-day on which the squire Garin had -knelt in the cathedral dusk between the Palestine pillars, before Our -Lady of Roche-de-Frêne in blue samite and a gemmy crown. It streamed -and sparkled on a sunny morning when Bishop Ugo, bound for the castle, -behind him a secretary and other goodly following, checked his white -mule beside the basin and blessed the lounging folk who sank upon their -knees. - -The process consumed no great while. Ugo was presently riding up the -town’s chief street, a thoroughfare that marked the ridge pole of the -hill of Roche-de-Frêne. People were abroad, and as he passed they did -him reverence. He was a great churchman, who could hurt or help them, -soul and body, here and hereafter! But at a quieter corner, before a -pile of old, dark buildings, he came upon, and that so closely that his -mantle almost brushed them, a man and two women, poorly dressed, who -stood without movement or appeal for blessing. Had they been viewed -at a distance, noted merely for three stony units in a bending crowd, -the bishop had been too superb to notice, but here they were under his -nose, unreverent, stocks before his eyes, their own eyes gazing as -though he were not! - -Ugo checked his mule, spoke sharply. “Why, shameless ones, do you not -bend to Holy Church, her councillors and seneschals?” - -The man spoke. “We bend to God.” - -“To God within,” said one of the women. “Not to ill within—not to -luxury, pomp, and tyranny!” - -“Woe!” cried the other woman, the younger. “Woe when the hearth no -longer warms, but destroys!” - -“_Bougres_,” spoke the secretary at his master’s ear. “Paulicians, -Catharists, _Bons hommes_, Perfecti, Manichees.” - -“That is to say, heretics,” said Ugo. “They grow hideously bold, having -Satan for saviour and surety! Take order for these. Lodge complaint -against them. See them laid fast in prison.” - -The younger woman looked at him earnestly. “Ah, ah!” she said. “Thou -poor prisoner! Let me whisper thee—there is a way out of thy dark -hold! If only the door is not too high and wide and fully open for -thine eyes to see it!” - -“They are not of Roche-de-Frêne,” spoke the secretary. “I warrant them -from Toulouse or Albi!” - -“I, and more than I, have eyes upon Count Raymond of Toulouse,” said -the bishop. “Two or three of you take these wretches to the right -officer. And do thou, Nicholas, appear against them to-morrow.” - -He touched his mule with his riding switch and rode on, a dark-browed -man, with a thin cheek and thin, close-shutting lips. He was a martial -bishop; he had fought in Sicily and at Damascus and Edessa, and at -Constantinople. - -The street ran steeply upward, closing where, in the autumn day, there -spread and towered the castle. Ugo, approaching moat and drawbridge, -put with a customary action his hand over his lips and so regarded -outer and inner walls, the southward-facing barbican and the towers -that flanked it,—Lion Tower and Red Tower. Men-at-arms in number -lounged within the gate, straightening when the warder cried the -bishop’s train. Ugo took his hand from his lips and crossed the -hollow-sounding bridge. He rode beneath the portcullis and through the -deep, reverberating, vaulted passage opening on either hand into Lion -Tower and Red Tower, and so came to the court of dismounting, where -esquires and pages started into activity. From here he was marshalled, -the secretary and a couple of canons behind him, to the Court of -Honour, where met him other silken pages. - -They bowed before him. “Lord Bishop, our great ones are gathered in the -garden, harkening to troubadours.” - -One of higher authority came and took the word from them. “My lord, -I will lead you to where these rossignols are singing! They sing in -honour of ladies, and of the court’s guest, the duke from Italy who -would marry our princess!” - -They moved through a noble, great hall, bare of all folk but -doorkeepers. - -“Will the match be made?” asked Ugo. - -“We do not know,” answered his conductor. “Our Lady Alazais favours it. -But we do not know the mind of Prince Gaucelm.” - -Ugo walked in silence. His own mind was granting with anger the truth -of that. Presently he spoke in a measured voice. “If it be made, it -will be a fair alliance. Undoubtedly a good marriage! For say that to -our sorrow Prince Gaucelm hath never a son of his own, then it may come -that his daughter’s son rule that duchy and this land.” - -“Dame Alazais,” said the other in a tone of discreetness, “hath been -six years a wife. The last pilgrimage brought naught, but the next may -serve.” - -“Pray Our Lady it may!” answered Ugo with lip-devoutness, “and so -Gaucelm the Fortunate become more fortunate yet.—The Princess Audiart -hath been from home.” - -“Aye, at Our Lady in Egypt’s. But she is returned, the prince having -sent for her. Hark! Raimon de Saint-Rémy is singing.” - -There was to be heard, indeed, a fine, manly voice coming from where, -through an arched exit, they now had a glimpse of foliage and sky. It -sang loudly and boldly, a chanson of the best, a pæan to woman’s lips -and throat and breast, a proud, determined declaration of slavery, a -long, melodious cry for mistress mercy. - -The bishop stood still to listen. “Ha!” he said, “many a song like that -does my Lady Alazais hear!” - -“Just,” answered his companion. “When they look on her they begin to -sing.” - -Moving forward they stood within the door that gave upon the garden. -It lay before them, a velvet sward enclosed by walls, with a high -watch-tower pricked against the eastern heavens. - -“It is a great pity,” said Ugo guardedly, “that the young princess -stands so very far from her stepdame’s loveliness!” - -“Aye, the court holds it a pity.” - -“The prince hath an extraordinary affection toward her.” - -“As great as if she were a son! She hath wit to please him,—though,” -said he who acted usher, “she doth not please every one.” - -They passed a screen of fruit trees and came upon a vision first of -formal paths with grass, flowers, and aromatic herbs between, then of -a wide raised space, stage or dais, of the smoothest turf that ever -was. It had a backing of fruit trees, and behind these of grey wall and -parapet, and it was attained by shallow steps of stone. On these, and -on low seats and cushions and on banks of turf, sat or half-reclined -men and women, for the most part youthful or in the prime of life. -Others stood; others, men and women, away from the raised part, -strolled through the garden that here was formal and here maintained -a studied rusticity. The men wore neither armour nor weapons, save, -maybe, a dagger. Men and women were very richly dressed, for even where -was perpetual state, this was an occasion. - -In a greater space than a confined castle garden they would not have -seemed so many; as it was there appeared a throng. In reality there -might be a hundred souls. The castle was as populous as an ant-heap, -but here was only the garland of the castle. The duke who was seeking -a mate had with him the very spice-pink of his own court. He and they -were of the garden. The festival that was made for him had drawn -neighbouring barons and knights, vassals of Gaucelm. There was no time -when such a court failed to entertain travellers of note, wandering -knights, envoys of sorts, lords going in state to Italy on the one -hand, to France or Spain or England on the other. Of such birds of -passage several were in the garden. And there were troubadours of more -than local fame, poets so great that they travelled with their own -servants and jongleurs. When the bishop came with two canons in his -train there were churchmen. And, moving or seated, glowed bright dames -and damosels. - -But in the centre sat Alazais, and she seemed, indeed, of Venus’s -meinie. She was a fair beauty, with deep-red, perfect lips, and a curve -of cheek and throat to make men tremble. Her long brown eyes, set well -apart, had a trick of always looking from between half-shut lids. Her -limbs spoke the same languor, and yet she had strength, strength, it -seemed, of a pard or a great serpent. She was not pard and she was not -serpent; she was not evil. She was—Alazais, and they all sang to her. -Even though they did not name her name; even though they used other -names. - -There were four chairs of state, though not set arow. Only two were -occupied—that in which sat ivory-and-gold Alazais, and that in which -sat the duke who had come to view Prince Gaucelm’s daughter. The duke -sat over against Alazais, with a strip of green grass between. He was -not beautiful: he had a shrunk form and a narrow, weazened face. But he -stared at the beauty before him, and a slight shiver went through him -with a fine prickling. “Madonna!” he thought. “If the other were his -wife, and this his daughter!” - -Ugo came to the green level. Alazais rose to greet him and the -duke followed her. He had informed himself in the politics of -Roche-de-Frêne: he knew that though now there was peace between prince -and bishop, it had not always been so and might not be so again. The -duke was no great statesman, but to every one, at the moment, he was -as smooth as an innate, cross-grained imperiousness would let him -be. A fair seat was found for my lord bishop, the two canons and the -secretary standing behind him. - -“Ah, my lord,” said Alazais, “you are good to grace our idle time! Our -poets have sung and will sing again, and then myself and all these -ladies are pledged to judge of a great matter. Sir Gilles de Valence, -what is the matter?” - -The troubadour addressed bent the knee. “Princess, the history of -Madame Dido, and if she were not the supremest servant of Love who -would not survive, not the death but the leave-taking of her knight, -Messire Æneas, but made a pyre and burned herself thereon! And of -her example, as lover, to fair ladies, and if they should not, -emulating her,—in a manner of figure and not, most fair, with actual -flames!—withdraw themselves, as it were, from being and existence -throughout the time that flows between the leave-taking and coming -again of their knights. And of Messire Æneas, and if Love truly had him -in bonds.” - -“Truly, a fair matter!” said Ugo, with hidden scorn. “Here are the -prince and the Princess Audiart!” - -Dais and garden broke off their talk, turned with a flash of colour and -a bending movement toward the lord of the land. - -Gaucelm the Fortunate came upon the scene with an easy quietness. He -was a large man, wearing a _bliaut_ of dark silk, richly belted, and -around his hair, that was a silvering brown, a fillet or circlet of -gold. There breathed about him something easy, humorous, wise. He -did not talk much, but what he said was to the purpose. Now he had a -profound and brooding look, and now his eye twinkled. In small things -he gave way; where he saw it his part to be firm he was firm enough. -Though he listened to many, the many did not for ever see their way -taken. He may have been religious, but he exhibited little or nothing -of his time’s religiosity. He had a stilly way of liking the present -minute and putting much into it. He did not laugh too easily, but yet -he seemed to find amusement in odd corners where none else looked for -it. He was not fond of state, but relaxed it when he could, yet kept -dignity. He came now into the castle garden with but a few attending, -and beside him, step for step, moved the young princess, his daughter -Audiart. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE UGLY PRINCESS - - -SHE had a way of dressing, for preference, in dark hues, reds like wine -or the deeper parts of rubies, blues like the ripened bunches between -the vineyard leaves, browns like a Martinmas wood. To-day she wore the -latter hue. Around her head was a golden fillet, but no other tire. -She wore to-day no Eastern veil, nor did her long, dark hair, securely -braided, give shadow to her face. Her shape was good, a slender shape, -endued with nervous strength. But her face showed plain, dark, and -thin, intelligent, but with features irregular beyond the ordinary. -The Court of Roche-de-Frêne, beneath its breath, called her the Ugly -Princess. She sat now beside her step-mother, Alazais, and made a foil -for that lovely dame. - -In the past two generations there had come a change in the world. True -it was that to appearance it affected only a small ring—only the top -strata, the capstones of the feudal system; only the world of lords and -knights and poets and “ladies.” As the jongleur had told Garin, it was -not supposed to descend to shepherdesses. Even in the other world by no -means was it always present. Sometimes the lack of it was as shocking -as might be. Sometimes it was there only in very small part, only in -unimportant issues. Sometimes it was mere affectation. Sometimes it was -used as a mask, and behind it went on ill realities. But it had itself -come into the world as a reality. It knew motion and growth, and it -manifested itself, though in degrees. There was much alloy, but at its -purest and best it was a golden thing, a flower of light. It called -itself chivalric love. - -Here and there it was pure and in action, but in between and all -around was imitation, a little gold drawn out into much filagree. The -filagree was the fashion; it drew being from the real, but the depth -of its being was slight. But it was the fashion, no doubt of that. -As the jongleur had said, it raged. Where it was received, in court -and castle, hall and bower, sensuality grew sensuousness with sparks -of something higher. But the framework of feudal society imposed all -manner of restrictions. The elaborate gradation of rank, the perpetual -recurrence of “lord” and “vassal,” the swords about women, marriage -that was bargaining for wealth and power—all blocked the torrent’s -natural course. Thrown back upon itself, the feeling inbred artifices -and illusions, extravagances, sometimes monstrosities. It became the -mock-heroic, the pseudo-passionate. It cultivated a bright-hued fungus -garden of sentimentality. It rose from earth, not by its own wings -but by some Icarian apparatus that the first fire scorched away. It -picked up the bright dropped feathers of the true bird of Paradise, -but though it made a mantle of them, its own hue showed beneath. It -did not understand what it was that it admired, but it made a cult of -the admiration.... And yet all the while there was something real, and -Extravagance and Mistake were dimly its seekers. Life was richer and -longer of stride than it had used to be. A host of perceptions had -at last melted into a concept of mutual love such as had not before -been in the earth. Those that the crown fell upon might be silent -or not, but no one else was silent. It was the Discovery—the age’s -Indies—and polite conversation came round to it as the needle to the -pole. Nay, _conversazioni_ were planned to discuss this and this alone. -Troubadours sang in contests songs of love—and once more songs of -love. Now and again they might dispute other matters in a _tenso_, lash -the time’s recognized vices in a _sirvente_. But these were asides. -Their true business was to sing of love and lovers and the service of -love. Some sang with a springtime freshness, force, and simplicity. -Some took all that was strained, far-fetched, and hectic in the time’s -regard of the Discovery and made of it a heady drink. - -To-day this garden sat or stood to consider Love—that is, to consider -love of an individual of one sex for an individual of the other. Here -were knights who, when they fought, tied their lady’s sleeve or girdle -about arm or helm. Here were troubadours of note, each of whom flung -far and wide through the land the praise of some especial fair. And -here were women who were thus praised and sung. - -The age greatly lauded virginity in the abstract. But—saving the -saints in heaven and abbesses on earth—precedence in fact was given by -the world of chivalry to the married woman. Public opinion required of -wedded great dames—perhaps in most cases received—essential regard -for their lords’ honour. This granted, for love they were let turn -elsewhere. Theirs chiefly, though not solely, were the knights, the -troubadours, the incense, the poesy. Marriage came so early, marriage -was so plainly the rule, that the unwed in evidence—the throngs of -nuns making another story—were almost always young girls indeed, buds -of flowers, somewhat ill at ease with the opened roses. But largely -they were of the rose kind, and, in the bloomy ring of wedded dames, -sighed to in _canzons_, “fair friends” of knight and poet, but saw -themselves a little further on. Those in the garden were not of the -very youngest, and they were used to courts and not ill at ease. They -were rosebuds very sweet, and they took their share of lauds. From them -all the ugly princess differed subtly. - -It was not merely that she differed when faces were compared. What -others might think could not of course appear, but the duke, who had -considered an alliance with Roche-de-Frêne, thought her deficient in -every power to please. It was right enough that, in the presence of her -father and step-dame, before the perhaps oppressive loom of her own -possible good fortune, she should keep silence. But she should look -fair and complying, not be such an one that the world might say, “Our -Duke chose a poor little land, under a gloomy sky!” And when she did -speak she should speak with sense and _à propos_. As it was, she spoke -folly. - -For instance. There had been introduced a jongleur, a -Babylonish-looking fellow, who had narrated at length and with -action the history of Dido. He had ended amid acclaim and had been -given largesse. Following the lesser art and performer had come the -major—burst into song the troubadours. They parted between them the -passion of the Carthaginian Queen. One took the May of it, one the -July, one the Winter. They soared to Olympus and pleaded it before -the Court of Love; they came down to Europe and placed it in the eye -of brave knights and sweet ladies. The duke was moved. He began to -lean toward Alazais; then, policy and the beauty of a virtuous action -prevailing, he bent instead toward the only one there who could link -together his dukedom and Roche-de-Frêne. “Fair, sweet princess, what -think you of this great lover, Queen Dido?” - -Then had the changeling shown oddness and folly. She lifted eyes that -were _vair_ or changeable, and neither shy nor warm, and spoke in a -voice as dry as a Candlemas reed. “I hold,” she said, “that in that -matter of the bull’s hide, she was wise.” - -She said no more and her eyes fell again upon her long, brown hands. -They were as brown as a berry; they looked as though she had been -roving like an Egyptian. The duke had a strong movement of distaste. -She appeared to him as Babylonish as the jongleur. - -The court seemed used to her. Naturally, it failed in no observance. -She had her ladies, and a page stood at her call. The troubadours when -they sang bent to her as they bent to the other chairs of state. Lord -and knight made due obeisance. That marvellous Alazais spoke to her -ever and anon, and she answered. But her words were few and short; the -duke saw that she had not the gift of discourse. He saw no gift that -she had. Certainly, she was not trying to please a great duke. It was -not that she showed any discourtesy—that were impossible. But there -was no right sense of his presence. She sat, young and without beauty, -unsmiling, her eyes now upon the watch-tower drawn against the blue, -and now upon the face of the singer. They said that Prince Gaucelm -doated upon her. He was her father—let him doat! - - “What shall a knight do for his lady? - He shall love her, love her, pardie!” - -sang Gilles de Valence, reprobation of Messire Æneas being now in hand. - - “All his nights and all his days - He shall study but her praise. - Her word against all words he weigheth, - Saith she ‘Stay,’ in joy he stayeth. - Saith she ‘Go,’ all meek he goeth. - A heart in chains is all he knoweth, - From other wit release he showeth! - Wit may plead, but Love is nigher, - Jove may call, but Love calls higher! - What shall a knight do for his lady? - He shall love her, love her, pardie! - All his nights and all his days, - He shall study but her praise!” - -Applause arose. Raimon de Saint-Rémy took his lute. But the duke noted -how stiff and silent sat the ugly princess. - -The entertainment of that forenoon over, they went to dinner—a -considerable concourse, so considerable that when all were seated the -great hall appeared to blossom like the garden. At the table of state -sat the prince and Alazais and the Princess Audiart, the duke, Bishop -Ugo, and three or four others whom Gaucelm would honour. Musicians -played in a gallery. Waiting men in long procession brought the -viands—venison and peacocks, pasties of all kinds, mutton, spitted -small birds, wheaten bread—a multitude of matters. Afterwards came -cakes and tarts, with many fruits. Always there was wine served in -rich cups. The oddity to a later taste would have been the excess of -seasoning,—the pepper, saffron, ginger, cloves, the heat and pungency -of the solid meats,—and then the honey dropped in wine. At the -prince’s table a knight carved, at the others the noblest esquires. The -apparel of the tables was rich; there were gold and silver vessels of -many sorts, dishes, bowls, fine knives and spoons,—but, high and low, -no fork. - -The hall was very large, and so the talk of many people, subdued in -tone as, of late years, good manners had learnt to demand, created no -more than a pleasant deep humming. For the most part the talk ran upon -love, arms, and policy, the latest, most resounding public events, and -the achievements and abilities, personal adventures and misadventures, -of various members of the company. At the raised table it was high -politics and what was occurring in the world of rulers, for that was -what the duke liked to talk about and the prince bent the conversation -to suit his guest. Bishop Ugo liked it, too. Ugo’s mind ran at times -from realm to realm, but there was a main land in which he was most -at home. In that he passioned, schemed, and strove for Holy Church’s -temporal no less than spiritual ascendancy. The Hohenstauffen and Pope -Alexander—Guelph and Ghibelline—Church and Empire—the new, young -French King Philip, suzerain of Roche-de-Frêne—Henry the Second of -England and his sons, specifically his son Richard, not so far from -here, in Aquitaine—so ran the talk. The visiting duke spoke much, in -the tone of peer to them of whom he spoke. Ugo listened close-lipped; -now and then he entered eloquently, and always in the Papal service. -The prince said little. It was not easy to discover where he stood. The -barons at the table took judicious part. The dazzling Alazais displayed -a flattering interest, and the duke, noting that, gave his destrier -further rein, shook a more determined lance. He spoke of that same -Richard, Duke of Aquitaine, a man much talked of by his time, and he -related instances that showed that Richard’s strength and weakness. -He bore hard upon a fantastic generosity which, appealed to, could at -times make Richard change and forsake his dearest plans. - -The Princess Audiart sipped her wine. She heard the duke as in a -dream. Atop of all the voices in the hall her mind was off in a forest -glade.... She looked across at the prince her father. She had not told -him of that adventure—of how she had desperately tired of Our Lady -in Egypt and of her aunt the Abbess and of most of her own women, and -would spend one day a-shepherdessing, and had done so. She was going to -tell him—even though she reckoned on some anger. She had for Gaucelm a -depth of devotion.... A forest glade, and an evil knight and a squire -in brown and green—and now what were they talking of? - -That afternoon half the court rode out a-hawking. The prince did not -go; he was heavy now for the saddle. But the duke rode, and the two -princesses. The day was good, the sport was fair; the great thing, -air and exercise, all obtained without thinking of it. There was much -mirthful sound, laughter, men’s voices and women’s voices. Alazais -dazzled; so fair was she on her white palfrey that had its mane tied -with little silver bells. The duke rode constantly by her side. The -Princess Audiart had for escort Stephen the Marshal, a goodly baron -and knight. The duke was well and correct where he was, Alazais -being Gaucelm’s princess, and his hostess. Manners demanded toward -the younger princess a decorum of restraint and distance. Only this -restraint should have been managed with an exquisite semblance of -repressed ardour, with a fineness of “Truly a fair and precious link -between Houses!” This it was that was missing, and noted as missing by -every knight and lady that went a-hawking. - -The return to the castle was made in the sunset-glow. Supper followed, -and after supper a short interval of repose. Then all met again in the -cleared hall and the musicians began to play. Gaucelm in red samite sat -upon the dais, and by him the duke in purple. Alazais, in white, with a -jewelled zone and a mantle hued like flame, looked Venus come to earth. -Beside her sat the ugly princess in dark blue over a silver robe. - -Before them, on the floor of the hall, knights and ladies trod an -intricate measure. Great candles burned, viols and harps, the jongleurs -played their best, varlets stationed by the walls scattered Eastern -perfumes. The duke, with a word to the prince his host, rose and -bending to Alazais offered his hand. All watched this couple—the -measure over, all acclaimed. The duke led Alazais again to the dais, -then did what others must expect of him and he of himself. “Fair, -sweet lady,” he said to Gaucelm’s daughter. “Will you grace me with -this measure?” - -The ugly princess gave him her finger-tips. He led her upon the floor -and they danced. As the measure, formal and stately, dictated, now -they took attitudes before each other, now they came together, palms -and fingers touching, now again parted. They were watched with strong -interest by the length and breadth of the hall, by both the Court of -Roche-de-Frêne and the duke’s following. A marriage such as this—say, -what men began to doubt, that it came to pass—by no means concerned -only the two who married. Thousands of folk were concerned, their -children and their children’s children. - -Gaucelm the Fortunate watched from his dais and his great chair, where -he sat with bent elbow and his chin resting upon his hand. Sitting so, -he opened his other hand and looked again at a small piece of cotton -paper that had been slipped within it. Upon the paper appeared, in -the up-and-down, architectural writing of the period, these words: -“Messire, my father; do not, of your good pity, make me wed this lord! -I will be unhappy. You will be unhappy. He will be unhappy. I do think -that our lands and his lands will be unhappy. Messire my father, I do -not wish to wed.” Prince Gaucelm closed his hand and watched again. - -The duke was dancing stiffly, with a bad grace masked as well as he -could mask anything that he truly felt. He wished to be prudent, and -certainly it were not prudent to give to Roche-de-Frêne either open or -secret offence. Not yet, even, had he determined.—He yet might, and he -might not.—But he was an arrogant man and a vain, and to his own mind -it was important that the world should not think he was fooled. Lasting -love between lord and lady, duke and duchess, mattered, forsooth, -little enough! It was not in the bond. When it came to beauty, he had -seen great queens without beauty of face or form. But the duke, though -he had it not himself, demanded that beauty in any woman immediately -about him, and with it complaisance, bent head, and burning of incense. -And he wished men to envy him, in some sort, all his goods, including -the woman whom he would make duchess. That was where Gaucelm was -fortunate. What living man, thought the duke, but would like to take -from him golden Alazais? - -He danced as starkly as though he were in hauberk and helmet, and -his hand might have been mailed, so stiffly did it touch Audiart’s -hand. Who would envy him this Egyptian? He never noted if she danced -well or ill, if she had some grace of body or no; he looked for no -expression in her face that he might admire. She was outlandish—ugly. -There was—as would have become such a changeling—no awe of him, no -tremulous fear lest she should not please. He had an injured, hot -heart within him. Report had been too careless, bringing him only news -that here was a marriageable princess. He blamed his councillors, -determined to withdraw his favour from one who had been called his -bosom friend, but who had advocated this match. He blamed Gaucelm, who, -to his elaborate letter, had answered only with an invitation to visit -Roche-de-Frêne. He should have said: “Fair lord, you do my daughter too -much honour, who, you must know—” But chiefly the duke blamed that -princess herself. - -The measure was over. The duke and the princess returned to the dais. -The jongleurs played loudly. The candles burned, the flung perfumes -floated through the hall. The music hid the whispers. Gaucelm the -Fortunate sat with a slight smile, his chin upon his hand. For an -interlude there was brought upon the floor the jongleur who had made -part of the forenoon’s entertainment. Elias of Montaudon he called -himself, and he was skilful beyond the ordinary with balls of coloured -glass and Eastern platters and daggers. - -The ugly princess wished the taste of that dance taken from her lips. -She watched the jongleur, and because he was all in brown and yellow -like an autumn leaf and was as light as one and as quick as a woodland -creature, he brought the country to her mind and made her see forests -and streams. Her mother had been a mountain lady, and she herself would -have liked to rove the earth. She sat still, her gaze straight before -her, seeing the coloured balls, but beyond them imagined lands and -wanderings. - -The duke spoke across to the prince her father, and the words came -clean and clear to her hearing, and to that of Stephen the Marshal and -others standing near. “I have had letters, sir,” said the duke, “which -make me to think that I am required at home.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -TOURNAMENT - - -THE next morning they heard mass in the castle chapel. The hour was -early, the world all drenched with autumn dews. The prince and the -duke and Alazais the Fair and Audiart, and behind them many knights -and ladies, kneeled on the stone flooring between the sparks of the -altar-lamps and the pink morning light. The chanted Latin rose and -fell, the bell rang, all bent. In came a lance of sunlight and the -vagrant morning breeze. Mass over, all flowed into the paved court. For -to-day there was arranged in the duke’s honour, a splendid tourney. -Many a good knight would joust—the duke also, it was said. Two hours, -and the trumpets would sound. The court was glad when the great folk -turned away with their immediate people, and the rest of the world -could begin to prepare. - -Prince Gaucelm did not tilt. When he was young he had proved himself -_preux chevalier_. Now he was not so young, and his body weighed heavy, -and all his striving was to be _prud’homme_. When he came to his -chamber in the great donjon he dismissed from it all save a chamberlain -and a page, and the latter he sent to the princess his daughter with -a message that she might come to him now as she had asked. In as few -minutes as might be she came. - -There was a window looking to the east, over the castle wall and moat -and forth upon the roofs of the town. The prince had here a great chair -and a bench with cushions, and the princess was to sit upon the bench. -Instead she came and stood beside him, and then slipped to her knees -and rested her head against the arm of the chair. “My good father,” she -said, “my wise father, my dear father, do you love me?” - -“You know that I love you,” answered Gaucelm, and put his hand upon her -head. - -“If you do, then it is all safe.” - -Gaucelm slightly laughed. In the sound was both amusement and anger. -“But my guest the duke,” he said, “does not love you.” - -“He loves me most vilely!” said the ugly princess with energy. - -Prince Gaucelm mused. “Shall I show offence or no? I have not decided.” - -“Why show offence?” said the ugly princess. “I am as I am, and he is -as he is. Let him go, with smiles and a stirrup-cup, and a ‘Fair lord, -well met and well parted!’” - -“He is a foolish man.” - -“There are many such—and women. Let him go. I grudge him no happiness, -nor a fair wife.” - -The ugly princess rose from the floor and went and stood by the window. -Doves that Gaucelm cherished flew from their cote in the court below -across and across the opening. One came and sat upon the sill and -preened its feathers. - -“This question of fairness has many aspects,” said Gaucelm the -Fortunate. “The cover in which you are clad is not so bad!—Well, let -us take it that this great baron is gone.” - -“I will make an offering to Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne! But I will -thank you, too,—and most, I think.” - -“It rests,” said Gaucelm, “that you must marry.” - -“Ah, must I so surely?” - -Prince Gaucelm regarded her ponderingly, with bent brows. “What is -there else for women? You will not be a nun?” - -“Not I!” - -“Fief by fief,” said Gaucelm, “Roche-de-Frêne was built, now by -conquest and now by alliance. If I have no son, you are my heir. There -is a bell that rings in all men’s ears. _Make for your heir betimes a -prudent marriage, adding land to land, gold to gold!_” - -“Does it ring so joyously in your ears? It does not ring joyously in -mine. No, nor with a goodly, solemn sound!” - -“It is the world’s way,” said the prince. “I do not know if it is the -right way.” - -The Princess Audiart watched the dove, iris against the morning sky, -then turned, full face, to her father. “I am not fair,” she said. “Men -who want just that will never want me. It seems to me also that I am -not loving. At times, when I listen to what they say, I want to laugh. -I can see great love. But it seems to me that what they see is not -great love.... Well, but we marry without love! Well, it seems to me -that that is very irksome!—Well, but you may have a knight to love, so -that it be courtly love and your lord’s honour goes unhurt! Well, it -seems to me that that is children’s love.—I wish not to marry, but to -stay here and learn and learn and learn, and with you rule and serve -Roche-de-Frêne!” - -In the distance a horn was winded. The mounting sun struck strongly -upon the roofs of Roche-de-Frêne. The dove spread its wings and flew -down to its cote. Voices and a sound of trampling hoofs came from the -court, and a nearer trumpet blew. - -“Time and the mind have wings,” said Prince Gaucelm, “and it is not -well to look too far into the future!” He rose from his chair. “Load -not the camel and the day too heavily! Let us go now and watch the -knights joust.” - -The tournament was held without the walls, in a long meadow sunk like -a floor between verdant slopes of earth. At either end were pavilions, -pitched for those who jousted. Midway of the lists appeared a wreathed -platform, silken-canopied, built for the great. Right and left of this -space of honour was found place for men-at-arms and castle retainers, -and likewise for the magistrates of the town and the more important -burghers. But on the other side of the lists there were slopes of -turf with out-cropping stones and an occasional well-placed tree, and -here the town poured out its workers, men and women. The crowd was -cheerful. There surged a loud, beating sea of talk. Up and down and -across sprang glitter and light, with sharp notes of colour. Squires -and men-at-arms, heralds and pages gave their quota. Nor did there -lack priest and pilgrim,—and that though the Church thundered against -tournaments,—Jew, free-lance and travelling merchant, jongleur and -stroller. All was gay beneath a bright blue sky, and esquires held the -knights’ horses before the painted pavilions. - -The trumpets blew, and out of the castle gates and down the road cut in -the living rock came the great folk. When they reached the meadow and -the gallery built for them, and when presently all were seated, it was -like a long bank of flowers, coloured glories. At each end of the lists -waited twenty knights in mail with painted surcoats. Between, over the -green meadow, rode and staidly consulted the marshals. Horses neighed, -metal jingled, the folk laughed, talked, gesticulated, now and then -disputed. Jongleurs picked at stringed instruments, trumpeters made a -gay shower of notes. Towers and battlements closed the scene, and the -walled town spread upon the hill-top. - -The prince did not tilt, but the duke had granted that during the day -he would splinter one lance. His pavilion was therefore pitched, his -shield hung before it, and two esquires walked up and down with a great -black stallion. Now, with Stephen the Marshal and with his own knights, -he left the gallery of honour and went to arm himself. Edging the lists -ran a pathway, wide enough for two horsemen abreast. A railing divided -it from the throng. As the duke and his party passed along this road, -the crowd, suddenly learning or conjecturing that here was the lord -in whose honour was planned the tournament, craned, many-headed, that -way. It was very important to know if this lord were going to wed the -princess! There were townsmen who had caught the word and called her -the ugly princess. As yet they did not know much about her, though they -saw her ride through the streets with her father, and that she looked -at the people not with haughtiness but attentively. Of Alazais they -were proud. Merchants of Roche-de-Frêne, when they travelled far away -and there insinuated the praises of home, bragged of the beauty of -their lord’s wife. Her name was known in Eastern bazaars.—But if there -was to be a marriage it was important, and important to know the looks -of the bridegroom. - -Some crowding took place, some pressing against the wooden barrier. -At one point a plane tree, old and gnarled, stretched a bough above -the pathway. It made a superb tower of observation and as such had -been seized upon. The duke, walking with the marshal, and approaching -this tree, became aware of folk aloft, thick as fruit upon the bough, -half-hidden by the bronzing leaves, and more vocal than elsewhere. -Certain judgements floated down. - -Holiday and festival encouraged licence of speech. The time enforced a -reality of obedience from rank to rank, but that provided for, cared -not to prevent mere wagging of tongues. The ruling castes never thought -it out, but had they done so they might have said that it was not amiss -that the people should somewhere indemnify themselves. Let them laugh, -exercise their wit, so that it grew not too caustic—be merry-hearted, -bold, and familiar! Who held the land held them, but it was pleasanter -for the lord himself when the land knew jollity. Add that the courts -of the south were more democratic than those of the north, and that -Gaucelm was a democratic prince. - -The duke was of another temper,—a martinet and a stickler for respect -on the part of the vulgar. He caught the comment and flushed. “An -unmannerly people!” he said to Stephen the Marshal. - -That baron darted an experienced glance. “They are the younger, -mechanical sort. Take no heed of them, fair lord.” - -The remark caught had not been ill-natured, was more jocose than -turbulent, might pass where any freedom of speech was accorded. But -suddenly came clearly from the bough of the plane tree a genuinely -seditious utterance. Given forth in a round, naturally sonorous voice, -it carried further than the speaker intended. “_One day a burgher will -be as good as a duke!_” - -The great folk were almost beneath that wide-spreading bough. They -looked sharply up—the duke, Stephen the Marshal, all the knights. The -voice said on, like an oracle aloft among the leaves: “The man in my -skin isn’t any less than the man in his skin. I say that one day—” - -A branch that had served to steady the oracle suddenly broke, snapping -short. Amid ejaculations, oracle and branch came together to earth. -Down they tumbled, on the inner side of the barrier, upon the grassy -path before the duke and Stephen the Marshal. - -Laughter arose with, on the knights’ side, some angry exclamation. The -fallen man got hastily to his feet. “The branch was rotten—” He put a -hand to either side his head, seemed to settle it upon his shoulders -and recover his wits. “Give me pardon, good lords, for tumbling there -like a pippin—” He was a young man, square-shouldered and sturdy, with -crisply curling black hair, a determined mouth, and black, bold, and -merry eyes. - -Stephen the Marshal spoke sternly. “That bough brought you to earth, -Thibaut Canteleu, but, an you rein it not, your tongue will bring you -into earth!” - -The offender turned his cap in his hand. “I spoke not to be heard by -great lords,” he said. “I know not that I said harm. I said that, -change my lord duke and me, and I might make a fair duke, and he a -fair master-saddler and worker in Cordovan! I think that he might, and -I will tell you that it taketh skill—” - -The duke saw fit to laugh, though after an irritated and peevish -fashion. “Roche-de-Frêne,” he said, “breeds fair princesses and -townsmen with limber tongues!—Well, my Lord Stephen, let us not tarry -here!” - -Lords and knights passed on toward the pavilions. Thibaut Canteleu, -pressed aside, stood close to the barrier until they were gone, then -put his hands upon the rail and swung himself up and over. The folk, -men and women, received him with laughter, and some admiration, and he -laughed at himself. Being a holiday, that was the best thing to do. - -A jongleur, a dark Moorish-looking fellow in yellow and brown, accosted -him. “Thou poor mad-house citizen! Burgher and knight, lion and lamb, -priest and heretic, pope and paynim, villein and lord, jongleur and -troubadour, Jean and Jeanne, let us all go to heaven together!” - -“We might,” answered Thibaut Canteleu sturdily. “That is a fine lute of -thine! Play us a tune while we wait.” - -“Not I!” said the jongleur coolly. “It would demean me. Last night I -gave a turn of my art in the hall up yonder, before the prince and all -his court.—Who is this coming now, with a green-and-silver banner and -fifty men behind him?” - -The meadow was pitched by the high road running from the north, and -now from this road there turned toward the lists, the holiday crowd, -and the wreathed gallery, a troop of half a hundred mounted men, at -their head one who seemed of importance. Not only the rustling people -on the green banks, but the lists now making final preparation, and the -silken-canopied gallery took cognizance of the approach. The troop came -nearer. A tall man rode in front upon a bay mare. Behind him an esquire -held aloft a spear with a small green-and-silver banner attached. A -poursuivant, gorgeously clad, detached himself from the mass and cried -out: “Montmaure!” - -“Ha!” exclaimed Gaucelm the Fortunate. “Here is Count Savaric!” He -spoke to the seneschal. “Take five or six of the best and go meet him. -Bring him here with due honour.” - -“Perhaps,” said Alazais, “he will joust. He is a mighty man of his arms -and bears down good knights.” - -The unlooked-for guests were now riding close at hand, coming upon the -edge of the meadow, full before the platform of state. So important was -this arrival, that for the moment it halted interest in the tourney. -All turned to watch the troop with the green-and-silver banner. - -Montmaure was less powerful than Roche-de-Frêne, but not greatly less. -Roche-de-Frêne held from the French King Philip. Montmaure did homage -for his lands to Richard, Duke of Aquitaine. But there was a certain -fief, a small barony,—to wit, the one that included Castel-Noir and -Raimbaut the Six-fingered’s keep,—for which Montmaure had put his -hands between the hands of Gaucelm of Roche-de-Frêne. To the extent of -three castles with their villages Gaucelm was his liege lord. Now, as -he came beneath the platform and immediately opposite that prince, he -gave ceremonious recognition of the fact. Turning in his saddle, he -drew his sword an inch from its sheath, holding the pommel toward the -prince, then let it slip home again. Gaucelm the Fortunate made a sign -of acceptance. The superb cavalcade passed on and in another moment was -met by the welcoming seneschal. - -It seemed that Montmaure would not joust, though several of his knights -wished no better hour’s play. It was explained that he was travelling -to Montferrat, proceeding on a visit to the marquis his kinsman. -Last night he had slept with such a baron. To-day, servitors and -sumpter-mules had gone on, but the count with his immediate following -would halt at Roche-de-Frêne to enquire after the health and well-being -of Prince Gaucelm. - -With ceremony Montmaure was marshalled to the gallery, and, mounting -the steps, came between the wreathed posts to the seats of state. -The prince with Alazais rose to greet him. In Gaucelm of the Star’s -time there had been trouble between Montmaure and Roche-de-Frêne. -Some harrying had taken place, the blood of a number of knights and -men-at-arms been shed, a few hundred peasants slain. But this present -Gaucelm was a man of peace, and had effected peace with Montmaure. -But Roche-de-Frêne was sceptical of its lasting forever. Who knew -Montmaure, knew an ambitious, grasping, warring lord—and a cruel and -unscrupulous. - -He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, long-armed, with red-gold hair and -beard. When all courtesies of speech had been exchanged, when he had -saluted in courtly fashion the most beautiful Alazais and the Princess -Audiart, he took the chair of worth that was placed for him, and made -enquiry for the duke. He had heard last night that he was a visitor at -Roche-de-Frêne. Told that he would joust, and his pavilion pointed out. -Montmaure gazed at it for half a minute, then, just turning his head, -transferred his glance to the Princess Audiart. It was but an instant -that he looked, then came square again to the regard of the lists. He -turned a great emerald ring that he wore. - -“Fair lord,” said Alazais, “your son, Count Jaufre, is not with you?” - -Montmaure bent his red-gold head toward her. “Peerless lady, my son, in -hunting, came upon a young wolf who tore his side. He cannot ride yet -with ease. I have left him at Montmaure. There he studies chivalry, and -makes, I doubt not, chansons for princesses.” - -“Travellers from Italy,” said Alazais, “have told us that he is an -accomplished knight.” - -“It becomes not his father to boast of him,” said Montmaure. “I will -say though that Italy is the poorer since his return home and his own -land is the richer. I would that he were tilting to-day in the light, -princesses, of your four fair eyes!” - -Again he looked at the Princess Audiart, and at the duke’s pavilion, -and turned his emerald ring. - -The jousting began. Trumpets blew—two knights advanced against each -other with levelled spears—round and round the green arena the eager -folk craned necks. They had shows not a few in their lives, but this -was a show that never palled. Cockfights were good—baiting of bears -was good—a bull-fight passed the first two—but the tourney was -the prime spectacle by just as much as knights in armour outvalued -beasts of wood and field. The knights met with an iron clamour, each -breaking his lance against the other’s shield. Another two were -encountering—one of these was unhorsed. Others rode forth, coming from -either end of the lists.... - -Encounter followed encounter as knight after knight took part. Now -there were single combats and now mêlées. The dust rose in clouds, the -trumpets brayed, the sun climbed high. Knights were unhorsed; a number -had hurts, two or three had been dragged senseless to the barrier. -Stephen the Marshal was the champion; all who came against him broke at -last like waves against a rock. - -It was high noon and the duke had not yet jousted. The crowd was -excited and began to murmur. It did not wish to be cheated—the greater -he that jousted, the greater the show! Moreover it wished to be able -to tell the points of him who might be going to wed Roche-de-Frêne. A -statement had spread that the duke was a bold knight in a tourney—that -he had an enchanted lance, a thread from Saint Martha’s wimple being -tied around its head—that his black stallion had been brought from -the land over the sea, and had been sired by a demon steed. The crowd -wanted to see him joust against Stephen the Marshal. His honour would -not allow him to strike a lesser shield. But then the prince would -not wish Stephen to unhorse his guest. But perhaps Lord Stephen could -not—the duke might be the bolder knight. But was the duke going to -tilt? - -He was going to tilt. He came forth from his orange silk pavilion, in -a hauberk covered with rings of steel, and his esquires helped him to -mount the black stallion. He took and shook his lance; the sun made the -sheath of his sword to flash; they gave him a heart-shaped shield. All -around the lists sprang a rustling, buzzing, and clamour. The gallery -of state rustled, whispered. - -“He is not a large man,” quoth Montmaure. - -“I have heard that he jousts well,” Prince Gaucelm answered. - -“My Lord Stephen the Marshal outmatches him.” - -“The marshal is a passing good knight. But he is wearied.” - -“Ha!” thought Montmaure, “you are so courteous that you mean the duke -to win the wreath. Crown your daughter Queen of Love and Beauty? God’s -teeth! I suppose he must do it if he wants Roche-de-Frêne—” - -The black stallion and his rider crossed to the marshal’s pavilion. The -duke touched the shield with his lance, then backed the stallion to his -own end of the meadow. Stephen the Marshal mounted his big grey and -took a lance from his esquire. The field was left clear for the two. - -They met midway, in dust-cloud and clangour. Whether the marshal was -tired, or whether he was as courteous as his lord, or whether the duke -was truly great in the tourney, may be left to choice. Each lance -splintered, but Stephen the Marshal, as his horse came back upon its -haunches, lost his seat, recovered it only by clutching at the mane and -swinging himself into the saddle. Every herald at once found voice—up -hurried the marshals—silver trumpets told to the four quarters, name -and titles of the victor. - -Around and around rose applause, though indeed no immoderate storm of -sound. Stephen the Marshal was a valiant man. But there was enough to -let one say that nothing lacked. The duke turned his horse from side to -side, just bowed his head in its pointed helmet. Then, as the custom -was, a wreath of silken flowers and leaves was placed upon the point -of his spear. He made the stallion to curvet and caracole, and then to -pace slowly around the lists. A body of jongleurs began to play with -enthusiasm as passionate a love-air as they knew. All Roche-de-Frêne, -town and castle—all the barons and ladies from afar—all the knights -who jousted—all watched to see the duke lay the wreath at the feet of -the young princess—watched to see if he would lay it there. If he did -it might be said to announce that here, if he might, he would wed. - -The duke rode around the lists; then before the wide platform of state -and the centre of that platform, before the chairs set arow upon a rich -Eastern rug and canopied with silk, he checked the black stallion, and, -lowering his lance, let the wreath slip from it and rest at the feet -of certainly the most beautiful woman there, Gaucelm’s princess, the -dazzling Alazais. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -GARIN SEEKS HIS FORTUNE - - -ONE day, from sunrise to sunset, Garin kept company with the train of -the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius. As the day dropped toward eve the road -touched a stream that, reflecting the western sky, blushed like a piece -of coral. It was the monks’ home stream. The ford passed, their abbey -would ere long rise before them. Some were tired of travel and had been -homesick for garden and refectory, cell and chapel—homesick as a dog -for its master, a child for its mother, a plant for its sunshine. Some -were not tired of travel and were not homesick. So there were both -glad and sorry in the fellowship that, midway of the ford, checked -the fat abbey mules and horses to let them drink. The beasts stooped -their necks to the pink water; monks and lay brothers and abbey knaves -looked at the opposite slope. When they reached its crest they would -see before them Saint Pamphilius, grey and rich. The abbot’s mule -drank first as was proper, raised its head first, and with a breath of -satisfaction splashed forward. The two monks immediately attendant upon -the Reverend Father must pull up their horses’ heads before they had -half drunken and follow their superior. - -The abbot, mounting the gently shelving bank, looked at his sons in -God, yet dotting the small bright river. He just checked his mule. -“That limping youth is no longer in our company.” - -The monk nearest him spoke. “Reverend Father, as we came through the -wood a mile back, he gave Brother Anselm thanks, then slipped from -behind him. Brother Bartholomew called to him, but he went away among -the trees.” - -“Ah!” said the abbot; “in which direction?” - -“Reverend Father, southwardly.” - -Abbot Arnaut sat silent a moment, then shook the reins and his mule -climbed on toward the hill-top. “Ah,” he said to himself, and he said -it piously. “He is young, and when you are young perils do not imperil! -When you are young, you are an eel to slip through—I have done what I -could! Doubtless he will escape.” - -That night there rose a great round moon. It lighted Garin through the -wood until he was ready to sleep,—it showed him where he could find -the thickest bed and covering of leaves,—and when he waked in the -night he saw it like a shield overhead. All day, riding behind Brother -Anselm, the monks about him, black as crows, he had felt dull and -dead. Waking now in the night, forest around him and moon above, sheer -unfamiliarity and wonder at his plight made him shiver and start like -a lost child. All that he had lost passed before him. Foulque passed, -transfigured in his eyes, he was so lonely and sick for home. Raimbaut -the Six-fingered passed, transfigured. The rude hall in Raimbaut’s -keep, the smoky fire and the lounging men—they were desirable to -him; he felt a cold pang when it crossed him that he would never win -back. He strove to plunge, head to heel, into the rich depths of the -feeling before this feeling, to recall the glow out of which he had -spoken at Castel-Noir, to go back to the nightingale’s singing. It was -there, that feeling; he knew that it had been born and was living. But -to-night half a chill and empty world was between him and it. There -in the forest, beneath the round moon, he had a bewildered brain and -an aching heart. Then at last he crossed the half-world to some faint -sweetness, and so slept. - -With the dawn he was afoot. He had a piece of bread in his pouch, and -as he walked he ate this, and a streamlet gave him drink. The wood -thinned. In the first brightness of the day he came upon a road of so -fair a width and goodness that he saw it must be a highway and beaded -with towns. Apparently it ran northeast and southwest, though so broken -was the country that at short range it rounded almost any corner you -might choose. Where he was going he did not know, but he took the trend -that led him south by west. Dimly he thought of making his way into -Spain. Barcelona—there was a great town—and King Alfonso of Aragon -was known for a gallant king, rich, liberal and courtly. Garin looked -down at his serf’s tunic and torn shoon—but then he felt within his -breast. Foulque’s purse was there. - -When he waked, it had been first to bewilderment and then to mere -relief in warmth and sunlight. Now as he walked courage returned, -the new energy and glow. Early as it was, the road had its travel -which increased with the strengthening day. It was a country rich in -beauty. He had never been so far from home. The people upon the road -were like people he had seen before. Yet there existed small, regional -differences, and his eye was quick at noting these. They pleased him; -imagination played. The morning was fair without and within. - -A driver of mules—twenty with twenty loads of sawn wood and sacks of -salt and other matters—caught up with him. Garin and he walked side -by side and the former learned whence the road came and where it went. -As for the world hereabouts, it belonged to Count Raymond of Toulouse. -Garin, walking, began to sing. - -“You sing well, brother,” said the muleteer. “If you dwelt with animals -as I do, your voice would crack! They do not understand me when I sing. -They think that I mean that they may stand still and admire.—Ha! May -God forget and the devil remember you there! Get up!” - -They travelled with pauses, jerks, and starts, so at last Garin said, -“Farewell, brother!” and swung on alone. Half an hour later he, in -turn, came up with a pedlar, a great pack wrapt in cloth on his back, -sitting resting by the wayside. “Who’ll buy?” called the pedlar. -“Here’s your fine pennyworths!” - -Garin stopped beside him and considered the pack. Travelling merchants -of a different grade, going with laden horses from fair to fair, might -have with them, cut, fashioned and sewed, a dress that would do for an -esquire. But not a poor pack-aback like this. He shook his head. - -“No money?” asked the pedlar. “Thumb of Lazarus! how this sickness -spreads!” - -Other wayfarers came in sight. “Who’ll buy?” called the pedlar. “Here’s -your fine pennyworths!” - -Garin left him chaffering with a rich villein, and went his own way -along the sunny road. - -Toward noon, rounding a hill, he came upon a little village. He bought -from the nearest house bread and cheese and a cup of goat’s milk, and -sat down under a mulberry tree to eat and drink. As he made an end of -the feast, two girls came and stood in the house door. They studied his -appearance, and it seemed to find favour. He smiled back at them. - -“Where do you live?” asked one. - -“In the moon.” - -“Ha!” said the girl. “It was as round as an egg last night. You must -have dropped out. And where are you going?” - -“To the sun.” - -“Hè! You will be sunburned. Whose man are you?” - -“Lord Love’s.” - -The girls laughed for joy in him. “Hè! We see his collar around your -neck! What does he make you do?” - -“He makes me to serve a lady.” - -“‘Ladies!’ We do not like ‘ladies’! They are as proud as they were made -of sugar!” - -“In the court of Lord Love,” said Garin, “every woman mounts into a -lady.” - -One of the girls laughed more silently than the other. “Oh, the -pleasant fool!” she said. “You go on a long pilgrimage when you go to -Compostella. But to that court would be the longest I have ever heard -tell of!” - -The other dug her bare foot into the ground. “If you are in no hurry, -the house can give you work to do, and for it supper and lodging.” - -“I have to reach the sun. And who would do that,” said Garin, “must be -travelling.” - -He stood up, left the mulberry tree, and because they were young and -not unfair, and there was to be seen in it no harm or displeasure, he -kissed them both. They laughed and pushed him away, then, their hands -on his shoulders, each kissed back. - -Leaving them and the hamlet behind, he came again into fair country -where the blue sky touched the hill-tops. Morning had slipped into -afternoon. Not far away would be a town he had heard of. He meant to -get there a different dress. It was necessary to do that. Wandering -so, in this serf’s wear, he might at any hour be taken up, called to -account, made to name his master. “Lord Love” would not answer far. Say -that, without fathomless trouble, he got the dress, what was going to -follow upon the getting? He did not know. - -Ahead of him walked a thin figure wrapped in a black mantle and wearing -a wide hat somewhat like a palmer’s. Garin lessened the distance -between them. The black-clad one was talking, or more correctly, -chanting to himself as he walked, and that with such abstraction from -the surrounding world that he did not hear the other moving close -behind him. Garin listened before speaking. - -“In Ethiopia is found basilisk, cockatrice, and phœnix; in certain -parts of Greece the centaur, and in the surrounding seas mermaiden. -The dolphin is of all beasts the tenderest-hearted. Elephants worship -the sun.... Pliny tells us that there are eleven kinds of lightning. -Clap your hands when it lightens.... The elements are four—earth, air, -fire and water. To each of these pertaineth a spirit—gnome, sylph, -salamander, ondine. By long and great study a scholar at last may -perceive sylph or salamander. Such an one rises to strange wisdom.... -The earth is not a plain as we were taught. Impossible for our human -mind to conceive how it may be round, and yet the most learned hold -that it is so. Holy Church denieth, _in toto_, the Antipodes, and -one must walk warily. Yet, if it is fancied a square, there are -difficulties. Aristotle—” - -Garin came even with him. “God save you, sir!” - -The black mantle started violently, returned the salutation, but looked -around him nervously. Then, seeing in a neighbouring field half a dozen -peasants, men and women, he recovered his equanimity. Moreover, when -he looked at him closely, the youth had not the face of a robber. He -addressed Garin in a slightly sing-song voice. “Do you know this road? -How far is it to the town?” - -“I do not know the road. It is not much further, I think.” - -The man in the black mantle was a thin, pale, ascetic-looking person. -He had a hungry look, or what, at first, Garin thought was such. The -esquire had seen hungry men, peasants starved and wolfish, prisoners -with a like aspect, fasting penitents. But it was the man’s eyes, Garin -decided, that gave him the look, and it was not one of hunger for -bread. They were large and clear, and they seemed to seek something -afar. - -Their owner at first looked askance and with a somewhat peevish pride -at the peasant keeping beside him. Garin had forgotten his garb and the -station it assigned him. But the feeling, such as it was, seemed to -drift out of the black-clad’s mind. “I grow weary,” he said, “and shall -be glad to beg a night’s shelter.” - -“Have you travelled far?” - -“From Bologna.” - -“Bologna! That is in Italy.” - -“Yes. The University there. I am going to Paris. It may be that I shall -go to Oxford.” - -“Ah,” said Garin, with respect. “I understand now why you were talking -to yourself. You are a student.” - -“That am I. One day I may be Magister or Doctor.” He walked with a -lifted gaze. “I serve toward that—and toward the gaining of Knowledge.” - -Garin was silent; then he said with some wistfulness, “I, too, would -have learning and knowledge.” - -The other walked with a rapt gaze. “It is the true goddess,” he said, -“it is the Great Love.” - -But Garin dissented from that with a shake of the head and a short -laugh of rapture. - -The student turned his large eyes upon him. “You love a woman.—What is -her name?” - -“I do not know,” said Garin. “Nor the features of her face, nor where -she lives.” Suddenly as he moved, he made a name. “The Fair Goal,” he -said, “I have named her now.” - -The interest of the man in black had been but momentary. “Study is a -harsh mistress,” he said; “fair, but terrible! It would irk any pitying -saint to see how we students fare! Hunger and cold and nakedness. -Books, without warmth or cheer or light where we can con them. And we -often want books and nowhere can procure them. We live in booths or in -corners of other men’s dwellings, and none care to give us livelihood -while we master knowledge. There were several thousand of us in -Bologna, and in Paris there are more, and at Oxford they say there are -many thousands. I have seen us go blind, and I have seen us die of -hunger, and I have seen us unwitted—” - -“But you go on,” said Garin. - -“It is the only life,” answered the black mantle. - -They walked in silence. After a few moments a thought seemed to occur -to the journeyer from Bologna. He looked more closely at his companion. -“By your dress you are out of the fields. But your tongue speaks -castle-wise.” - -Garin had his vanity of revealment. “My tongue is my own, but this -dress is not,” he said; then, repenting his rashness, “Do not betray -me! I am fleeing from trouble.” - -“No, I will not,” answered the student with simplicity. “I know -trouble, and he is hard to escape. You are, perchance, a young knight?” - -“I was my lord’s esquire. But it is my meaning to become a knight.—I -would make poems, too.” - -“Ah!” said the student, “a troubadour.” - -Garin made no answer, but the word sank in. He had a singing heart -to-day. You could be knight and troubadour both. He wished now to write -a beautiful song for the Fair Goal. - -They came in sight of the town. It was fairly large, massed, like most -towns, about a castle. As in all towns, you saw churches and churches -rising above the huddled houses. - -“I will find,” said the student, “some house of monks. I will give -them all the news I know, and they will give me food and a pallet. Best -come with me.” - -But Garin would not try the monastery. - -The afternoon was waning. They entered the town not more than an hour -before the gates would shut, and parted in the shadow of the wall. When -Garin had gone twenty paces, he looked back. The student was standing -where he had left him, in a brown study, but now he spoke across the -uneven, unpaved way. “Choose knowledge!” he said. - -Garin, going on through a narrow, dark, and tortuous lane, found -in his mind the jongleur to whom he had talked on the road from -Roche-de-Frêne. “Choose love!” had said the jongleur. Garin laughed. “I -choose what I must!” The dark way seemed to blossom with roses; jewels -and perfumes were in his hands. - -He found, after an hour of wandering and enquiry, lodging in a high, -old, ruinous house above a black alley. Here he got a Spartan supper, -and went to bed, tired but hopeful. Morning seemed to come at once. He -rose in a high, clear dawn, ate what they gave him, sallied forth, and -in the first sunshine came to a shop where was standing a Jew merchant -in a high cap. Garin bought shirt, hose and breeches, tunic and mantle, -shoes and cap. The Jew looked questions out of his small, twinkling -black eyes, but asked none with his tongue. - -Back to his lodging went Garin, his purchases under his arm, shifted -from serf’s garb into these, and stood forth in russet and blue—a -squire again to the eye, though not the squire of any knight or lord of -wealth. He counted over the moneys yet in his purse, and then, having -paid to a half-blind old woman the price of his lodging, went forth -again, and at a place for weapons bought a dagger with sheath and belt. -Near the weapon shop was a church porch. Garin wished to think things -out a little, so he went across to this and took his seat upon the -steps in the sunshine, his back to a pillar. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -GARIN TAKES THE CROSS - - -THE bells of a neighbouring religious house were ringing with a mellow -sound. People passed this way and that before the church porch. The -doors were opened, and one and another entered the building. Garin paid -them no attention; he sat sunk in thought. What now? What next? - -He was twenty years old—strong, of a sound body, not without education -in matters that the time thought needful. He could do what another -esquire of gentle blood could do. Moreover, he felt in himself further -powers. He was not crassly confident; he turned toward those bright -shoots and buds an inner regard half shy and wistful. He was capable -of longing and melancholy.... Danger from Savaric of Montmaure and -his son Jaufre he held to be fairly passed. Accident might renew it, -to-day, to-morrow, or ten years hence, but accident only took its -chance with other chances. He was out of Savaric’s grasp, being out -of his territory and into that of Toulouse, with intention to wander -yet farther afield. Extradition and detectives had their rough-hewn -equivalents in Garin’s day. But he was assured that there was no -spy upon his track, and he did not brood over the possibility of a -summons to Toulouse to deliver him or be warred against. He had his -share of common sense. He was an offender too obscure and slight -for such weightiness of persecution. Did they find him, they would -wring his neck, but they would not dislocate their usual life to -find him. He thought that, with common precaution, he was at present -safe enough from Montmaure. He could not go back to Raimbaut or to -Castel-Noir—perhaps not for many years ... though if he became -a famous knight he might ride back, his esquires behind him, and -challenge that false knight, Jaufre de Montmaure! To become that -knight—that was his problem, or rather, one great problem. He must -change his name, he must seek a lord, he must win back, first, to -squirehood. On the road yesterday, one had asked him his name. He had -replied with the first thing that came into his head. “Garin Rogier,” -he had said. He thought now that this would still answer. For his -country, he proposed to say that he was of Limousin. - -It might take years to become a knight. His own merit would have to do -with that, but Fortune, also, would have to do with it. He knew not -if Fortune would be kind to him, or the reverse. He sat bent forward, -his hands clasped between his knees, his eyes upon the sunshine-gilded -stones. Find knighthood—And how should he find his lady? - -He took into his hand a corner of his mantle. The stuff was simple, -far from costly, but the colour was that blue, deep but not harsh, -dark but silvery too, which had been worn by that form in the stone -chair beneath the cedar tree, by the Convent of Our Lady in Egypt. He -had bought it because it was of that hue. Now the sunshine at his feet -seemed of the very tissue of that day. He sat in a dream, his mind -now a floating mist of colour and fragrance, now an aching vision of -a woman’s form whose face he could not see. He drew and coloured the -face, now this way and now that, but never to his satisfaction.... -Would ever he meet her face to face? He knew not. Where did she live? -He knew not. East, west, north, south—beyond the mountains or across -the sea? He knew not. It would be in some court. There were many -courts. His strong fancy was that she had come from far away. He knew -not if in this world he would again enter her presence. - -An exaltation came upon Garin. And if he did not, still could he uphold -to the stars that dreamy passion! Still could he serve, worship, -sing! The Fair Goal—the Fair Goal! Music seemed to possess him and a -loveliness of words, and of rich and lofty images. The Fair Goal—the -Fair Goal! Garin stretched forth his arms. “O Love, my wingèd Lord! Let -me never swerve from the love of that lady!” - -From the church behind him came a drift of music and chanting. A woman, -mounting the steps, caught his words and paused to look at him. She -was between youth and age, with a pale, ecstatic face. “Now all the -violets bloom,” she said, “and the leaves shiver on the trees as the -flowers come up between them! But earthly spring, fair brother, is but -a fourth part of Time, and in Eternity a grain, a wind-blown petal! -Choose thou Religion and find her the true love!” - -She passed into the church. Garin, rising from the steps, looked about -him. While he sat there the space around had become peopled. Many folk -were entering the doors. As he looked, there turned a corner eight or -ten men walking in procession, behind and about them a throng. All -mounted the steps, pressing toward the entrance. The most had pale -faces of enthusiasm. Of the crowd some were weeping, some uttering -exclamations of praise and ecstasy. Garin touched a bystander on the -sleeve. “What takes place?” - -“Do you not see the crosses?” - -“I could not for the crowd,” said Garin. “I can now. They are going to -the land over sea?” - -“Three ships with their companies sail from the nearest port. All the -churches are singing mass and sewing crosses on those who will take -them.” - -“But there is no great and general going preached to-day,” said Garin. -“There has not been since Saint Bernard’s time.” - -“They say it will soon be preached again,” answered his informant. -“Holy church must find a way to set off heresy that is creeping -in!—These are ships sailing with help for King Baldwin of Jerusalem. -The Pope has granted a great Indulgence, and many from these parts are -going that they may wipe out their sins.” - -The informant moved toward the doors. Garin thought of entering and -hearing mass and seeing the crosses sewed on. But then he thought that -it would be wiser to keep his road. He waited until most of the people -had gone into the church, then found his way to the westward-giving -town gate and passed out into the country. In Foulque’s purse he had -still enough to purchase—not another Paladin, as he recognized with -a sigh, but yet some horse not wholly unworthy. But this town, he had -been told, had no good horse-market. Such and such a place, some miles -away, was better. So he walked in his russet and blue and suited so the -russet, sunshiny country and the profound blue arch of the sky. - -Upon a lonely stretch of the road he came to a wayside cross, with a -gaunt figure carved upon it. A gaunt figure, too, sat beside the cross, -but rose as he approached and tinkled a small bell that it carried. As -he lifted his mantle and went by with averted face so that he might -not breathe the air that flowed between, it croaked out a demand for -alms. It came so foully across Garin’s dream that he shook his head -and hurried by. But when an eighth of a mile was between him and the -leper he stood still, his eyes upon the ground. At last, drawing out -Foulque’s purse, he took from it a coin and going back dropped it into -the leper’s cup. “In Love’s name!” he said. - -The leper widened his lips. “What is Love’s name?” he asked. “If I had -its name, I might make it do something!” - -Garin left him by the wayside cross, a terrible, unhelped person. He -darkened his mood for him, or the stress and strain and elevation of -the past week, flagging, left him suddenly in some dead backwater or -black pool of being. He walked on, putting the miles behind him, but -with no springing step and with a blank gaze. Light and colour seemed -to withdraw from the day and the landscape. The cross-taking in the -town behind him and the leper by the roadside conjoined with many -another fact, attitude, and tendency of his world. It could show itself -a gusty world of passion and energy, and also a world of asceticisms, -humilities and glooms, of winter days struggling with spring days, of -an inward fall toward lessening and annihilation. Here was an hour -impetuous and crescive, and here was its successor passive, resigned -and fading, and one man or woman might experience both. Garin had been -aloft; now he walked in a vale indeed, and could have laid himself upon -its ashy soil and wept. - -Out of that mood he passed into one less drear. But he was still sad, -and the whole huge world came into correspondence. Lepers and outcast -persons, prisoners, and slaves, the poor and hopeless, the lovers -parted, the condemned for sin—Garin plodded on, his eyes upon the -earth. - -A sound of distant bells aroused him. He lifted his head and looked -to see whence it came. At the base of an olive-planted hill appeared -a monastery, not large, but a simple-seeming, antique place. It had a -church, small too, with a bell-tower. The country hereabouts was rich -with woods and streams and purple crags, in the distance a curtain -of great mountains. Before him, two miles or so away, Garin saw a -castle crowning a cliff rising from a narrow valley. It, neither, was -large—though larger than Raimbaut’s castle.... The bells were ringing -sweetly, the light bathed the little vale and washed the crag and the -castle walls. Garin’s sadness fell, in part, from him. What stayed only -gave depth and charm to all that in that moment met his senses. In him -phantasy turned quickly, acted quickly. “I like all this,” it said in -effect. “And I tell myself that in the baron who dwells in that castle -I shall find a lord who will knight me!” - -He resolved to go to the castle. He walked quickly now, with a -determined, light step. A spur of the road led off to the church where -the bells were yet ringing. Between the town he had quitted and this -spot he had met few people upon the way. Nor were there any here, where -the two roads joined. It lay a wide, clean, sunny space. But as he -continued upon the highway the emptiness of the world began to change. -Folk appeared, singly or in groups, and all were going toward the -ringing bells. Passing an old man, he asked, “What is the mass for?” -and was answered, “They are going over sea.” - -A young man, an artisan with a bag of tools in his hand, approached. -Garin stopped him. “What lord lives in yonder castle?” - -“Sir Eudes de Panemonde,” said the artisan. “He has taken the cross and -is going to the land over sea.” - -Garin stood still, staring at him, then drew his breath, and with a -jerk of the head went on by. “The land over sea!” said Garin. “The land -over sea!” - -There was a calvary built by the roadside. Men and women knelt before -it, then rising, hurried on toward the church. Close by, on a great -stone, sat a cowled monk, stationed there, it would seem, to give -information or counsel. Garin, coming up, gave and received salutation. - -“Are you for the cross, fair son?” demanded the monk. “You would give -a lusty blow to the infidel! Take it, and win pardon for even the sins -you dream of!” - -“Why, brother,” asked Garin, “does Sir Eudes de Panemonde go?” - -“Long years ago,” answered the monk, “when he was a young man, Sir -Eudes committed a great sin. He has done penance, as this monastery -knows, that receives his gifts! But now he would further cleanse his -soul.” - -“He is not then young nor of middle-age?” - -“He is threescore,” said the monk. - -Another claimed his attention. Garin moved away, kept on upon the -road. None now was going his way, all were coming from the direction -of the castle. There must be a little bourg beyond, hidden by some -arm of earth, purple-sleeved. He thought that he saw in the distance, -descending a hill, a procession. Under a lime tree by the road sat an -old cripple decently clad, and with a grandson and granddaughter to -care for him. Garin again stayed his steps. “What manner of knight, -father, is Sir Eudes de Panemonde?” - -The light being strong, the cripple looked from under his hand at the -questioner. “Such a knight,” he said, in an old man-at-arms voice, “as -a blue-and-tawny young sir-on-foot might be happy to hold stirrup for!” - -“I mean,” said Garin, “is he noble of heart?” - -But the old man was straining his eyes castle-ward. The grandson spoke. -“He is a good lord—Sir Eudes! Sir Aimar may be a better yet.” - -The procession was seen more plainly. “They are coming, grandfather!” -cried the girl. “Sir Eudes and Sir Aimar will be in front, and the men -they take with them. Then the people from the castle and Panemonde -following—” - -“Yea, yea!” said the old cripple. “I have seen before to-day folk go -over seas to save the Holy Sepulchre and spare themselves hell pains! -They mean to come back—they mean to come back. But a-many never come, -and we hear no tales of what they did.” - -The grandson took the word. “Jean the Smith says that from the castle -Sir Eudes walks barefoot and in his shirt to the church. That’s -because of his old sin! Then, when all that go have heard mass and -have communed, he will dress and arm himself within the monastery, all -needful things having been sent there, and his horse as well. Then all -that go will journey on to the port.” - -Garin spoke to the girl. “Who is Sir Aimar?” - -“He is Sir Eudes’s son.” She turned upon him a lighted face. “He is a -brave and beautiful knight!” - -“Is he going to the land over sea?” - -“Yes.” - -A hundred and more people were coming toward the lime tree, the calvary -beyond it, the church and monastery beyond the calvary. Dust rose from -the road and that and the distance obscured detail. There seemed to be -horsemen, but many on foot. All the people strung along the road now -turned their heads that way. There ran a murmur of voices. But Garin -stood in silence beneath the lime tree, from which were falling pale -yellow leaves. He stood in a waking dream. Instead of Languedoc he saw -Palestine—a Palestine of the imagination. He had listened to palmers’ -tales, to descriptions given by preaching monks. Once a knight-templar -had stayed two days with Raimbaut the Six-fingered, and the castle had -hearkened, open-mouthed. So Garin had material. He saw a strange, fair -land, and the Christian kingdoms and counties planted there; saw them -as they were not or rarely were, or only might be; saw them dipped in -glamour, saw them as a poet would, as that Prince Rudel did who took -ship and went to find the Lady of Tripoli—and went to find the Lady of -Tripoli.... - -The procession from the castle and the village beyond coming nearer, -its component parts might clearly be discerned. In front walked two -figures, and now it could be seen that they were both in white. - -“Ah, ah!” cried the girl beside the old man; and there were tears in -her voice. “Sir Aimar that did not do the sin, goes like Sir Eudes—” - -The cripple would be lifted to his feet and held so. Grandson and -daughter put hands beneath his arms and raised him. “So—so!” he said -querulously. “And why shouldn’t the son go like a penitent if the -father does? That’s only respect! But the young don’t respect us any -longer—” - -The procession came close. There rode twenty horsemen, of whom three -or four wore knights’ spurs, and the others were mounted men-at-arms -and esquires. All wore, stitched upon the mantle, or the sleeve, or -the breast of the tunic, crosses of white cloth. Behind these men came -others, mounted, but without crosses or the appearance of travellers. -They seemed neighbours to the lord of Panemonde, men of feudal rank, -kinsmen and allies. Several might hold their land from him. There -might be present his bailiff and also the knight or baron who had -promised to care for Panemonde as though it were his own fief. In the -rear of the train came the foot-people, castle retainers and servants, -villagers, peasants, men, women and children, following their lord from -Panemonde through the first stage of his travel over sea. Throughout -the moving assemblage now there was solemn silence and now bursts of -pious ejaculation, utterances of enthusiasm, adjurations to God, the -Virgin and the Saints. Or, more poignant yet, there were raised chants -of pilgrimage. When this was done the people along the roadside joined -their voices. Moreover there were men and women who wept, and there -were those who fell into ecstasy. Of all things in the world, in this -age, emotion was the nearest at hand. - -Garin felt the infecting wave. At the head of the train, dismounted, -barefoot, wearing each a white garment that reached half-way between -knee and ankle, bare-headed, moving a few paces before their own -mounted knights, appeared the lords of Panemonde, father and son. Sir -Eudes was white-headed, white-bearded, finely-featured, tall and lean. -His son, Sir Aimar, seemed not older—or but little older—than Garin’s -self, and what the girl had said appeared the truth. - -The two came close to the lime tree. Garin, dropping his mantle, -stepped into the road and fell upon both knees, suppliant-wise. “Lord -of Panemonde,” he cried, “let me go with you to the land over the sea!” - -Sir Eudes and his son stood still, and behind them the riders checked -their horses. - -“What is your name, youth?” asked the first, “And whence do you come?” - -“Garin Rogier,” answered Garin, “and from Limousin. I was a younger -brother, and have set out to seek my fortune. Of your grace, Lord of -Panemonde, place me among your men!” - -Sir Eudes regarded him shrewdly. “I make my guess that you are a -runaway from trouble.” - -“If I am,” said Garin, “it is no trouble that will touch your honour -if you take me! I fought, with good reason, one that was more powerful -than I.” - -The other made to shake his head and go on by. But Garin spread out his -arms that he might not pass and still cried, “Take me with you, Lord of -Panemonde! I have vowed to go with you across the sea, and so to serve -you that you will make me a knight!” - -The two gazed at him, and those behind them gazed. He kneeled, so -resolved, so energized, so seeing the fate he had chosen, that as at -Castel-Noir, so now, the glow within came in some fashion through the -material man. From his blue-grey eyes light seemed to dart, his hair, -between gold and brown, became a fine web holding light, his flesh -seemed to bloom. His field of force, expanding, touched them. “In the -name of the Mother of God!” cried Garin; but what the man within meant -was, “Because I will it, O Lord of Panemonde!” - -The people on foot, too far in the rear to see more than that there was -a momentary halting of the train, began a louder singing. - - “_Jerusalem! - Shall the paynim hold thee, - Jerusalem? - And shame our Lord Jesus, - Jerusalem? - And shame our blessed Lady, his meek Mother, - Jerusalem? - So that they say, ‘Why come not the men - To slay Mahound and cleanse our holy places? - Where are the knights, the sergeants and the footmen?’ - Jerusalem! - Who takes the cross and wendeth over seas, - Jerusalem! - Will save his soul thereby, raze out his sins, - Jerusalem!_” - -Sir Eudes de Panemonde stared at the kneeling figure. But the young -knight beside him who had stood in silence, his eyes upon the -suppliant, now spoke. “Let him go with us, father! Give him to me for -esquire.—There is that that draws between us.” - -The father, who had a great affection for his son, looked from him to -Garin and back again. “He is a youth well-looking and strong,” he said. -“Perhaps he may do thee good service!” - -The chant, renewed, and taken up from the roadside, came to his ear. He -crossed himself. - -“Nor may I deny to our Lord Jesus one servant who will strike down the -infidel! Nor to the youth himself the chance to win forgiveness of -sins!” He spoke to Garin. “Stand up, Garin Rogier! Have you a horse?” - -Garin rose to his feet. “No, lord. But I have money sufficient to buy -one.” - -Sir Aimar spoke again. “Pierre Avalon will sell him one when we come to -the monastery.” - -The father nodded. “Have you confessed and received absolution?” - -“One week ago, lord. But when we come to the church I will find a -priest. And when I am shriven I will take the cross.” - -“Then,” said Sir Eudes, “it is agreed, Garin Rogier. You are my man and -my son’s man. As for becoming knight, let us first see what blows you -deal and what measure you keep! Now delay us no longer.” - -He put himself into motion, and his son walked beside him. The mounted -men followed, their horses stepping slowly. Then came the stream afoot, -and Garin joined himself to this. - - “_Who takes the cross and wendeth over seas, - Jerusalem! - Will save his soul thereby, raze out his sins, - Jerusalem!_” - -Here was the calvary again, and the monk sitting beside it—here was -the church, jutting out from the monastery—and people about it, and -priests and monks—and a loud and deep chanting—and a mounting sea -of emotion. Many broke into cries, some, phrensied, fell to the earth, -crying that they had a vision. - - “_To slay Mahound, and cleanse our sacred places!_” - -The mass was sung, the sacrament given those who were going to the land -over sea. Garin found his priest and was shriven, then knelt with the -esquires and men-at-arms and with them took the Body. Upon his breast -was sewn a white cross. He had, with all who went, the indulgence. He -was delivered from all the sins that through his life, until that day, -he had committed. - -The mass was sung. A splinter of St. Andrew’s cross—the church’s -great possession—was venerated. The two de Panemondes, rising from -their knees, passed from the church to the monastery, and here, in the -prior’s room, their kinsmen and peers about them, they were clothed as -knights again. Without, in a grey square, shaded by old trees, Garin -purchased a horse from Pierre Avalon. - -Sir Eudes and his son came forth in hauberk and helm. The knights for -the ships and the land over the sea mounted, their followers mounted. -Farewells were said. Those who were going drew into ranks. A priest -blessed them. The people wept and cried out blessings. The monks raised -a Latin chant. The sky was sapphire, a light wind carried to and fro -the autumn leaves. Sir Eudes de Panemonde and his son touched their -horses with their gilded spurs. The knights followed, the esquires -and men-at-arms. Behind them the voices, at first swelling louder, -sank as lengthened the road between. They pressed on, and now they -lost that sound and lost the church, the monastery, and the castle of -Panemonde.... Now the leper by the roadside was passed, still sitting -beneath the cross, tinkling his bell. In the distance was seen the town -that Garin had left that morning. The company did not enter it, but -turned aside into a road that ran to the southward and then east and -then south again. So at last, to-morrow at sunset, they would come to -the port and to the ships that would bring them to Syria. - -Garin rode in a dream. He thought of Raimbaut and of Foulque, of -Castel-Noir and Roche-de-Frêne, but most he thought of the Fair Goal, -and tried to see her, in her court he knew not where. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THIBAUT CANTELEU - - -“WHO would risk never, risks ever,” said the Princess Audiart, and -moving her rook, checked the marshal’s king. - -Her cousin Guida, a blonde of much beauty, sitting watching the game, -made a sound of demurral. The marshal’s hand hovered over a piece. - -“Do not play courtly, Lord Stephen,” said the princess. “Play fairly!” - -Whereupon Stephen pushed forward a different piece and, releasing his -own king, put hers in jeopardy. - -“Now what will you do, Audiart?” cried Guida. “You were too daring!” - -“That is as may be,” answered the princess, and studied the board. - -In the great fireplace of the hall beechwood blazed and helped the -many candles to give light. It was Lenten tide and cold enough to make -the huge fire a need and a pleasure. In the summer the floor had been -strewn with buds and leaves, but now there lay upon it eastern cloths -with bear-skins brought from the North. There were seats of various -kinds,—settles or benches, divan-like arrangements of cushions. -Knights and ladies occupied these, or stood, or moved about at will. So -spacious was the hall that these and other folk of the court—pages, -jongleurs, a jester with cap-and-bells, dogs, a parrot on a swinging -perch, two chaplains in a corner, various clerkly and scholarly persons -such as never lacked in Gaucelm’s court, two or three magnificently -dressed people in the train of a Venetian, half merchant, half noble, -and rich as a soldan, whom Gaucelm at the moment entertained—gave -no feeling of a throng. The raised or princely part of the hall, in -itself a goodly space, had quiet enough for rational converse, even for -sitting withdrawn into one’s self, studying with eyes upon the fire -matters beyond the beechwood flame. - -Gaucelm the Fortunate, seated in his great, richly carved chair, talked -with the Venetian. Some paces away, but yet upon the dais, Alazais held -court. Between, the Princess Audiart played chess with Stephen the -Marshal. The castle and town and princedom of Roche-de-Frêne and all -that they held were seven years and some months older than upon that -autumn day when the squire Garin had knelt in the cathedral, and ridden -through the forest, and fought for a shepherdess. - -The years had not made Alazais less beauteous. She sat in a low chair, -robed in buttercup yellow richly embroidered and edged with fur. She -held a silver ball pierced and filled with Arabian perfumes. The -Venetian had given it to her, and now she raised it to her nostrils, -and now she played with it with an indolent, slow, graceful movement of -her white hands. About her were knights and ladies, and in front, upon -a great silken cushion placed upon the floor, sat a slender, brilliant -girl with a voice of beauty and flexibility and a genius for poetic -narration. The court took toll of such a talent, was taking toll now. -The damosel, in a low and thrilling voice and with appropriate gesture, -told a lay of Arthur’s knights. Those around listened; firelight and -candle-light made play; at the lower end of the hall a jongleur, trying -his viol, came in at the pauses with this or that sweet strain. - -At the other end of the broad, raised space Prince Gaucelm and the -Venetian left talk of Venice trade, of Cyprus and Genoa, and came to -status and event this side the Alps. - -“Duke Richard of Aquitaine plays the rebel to his father the King -of England and quarrels with his cousin the King of France and wars -against his neighbour the Count of Toulouse. Count Savaric of Montmaure -and his son Count Jaufre—” - -The Princess Audiart won the game of chess, won fairly. “You couch a -good lance and build a good house, Lord Stephen,” she said. “Yesterday, -it was I who was vanquished!” - -Guida had moved away, joining the group about the girl on the silk -cushion. Stephen the Marshal took one of the ivory chessmen in his hand -and turned it from side to side. “Montmaure!” he said. “Montmaure grows -more puffed with pride than mortal man should be!” - -The princess nodded. “Yes. My lord count sees himself as the great fish -for whom the ocean was built.” - -The marshal put down the chess-piece and took up another. “Have you -ever seen Jaufre de Montmaure?” - -“No.” - -“I saw him at Périgueux. He is tall and red-gold like his father, but -darker in hue. He has a hawk nose, and there is a strange dagger-scar -across his cheek.—What is it, my Lady Audiart?” - -The princess was sitting with parted lips and with eyes that -looked far away. She shivered a little, shrugging her shoulders. -“Nothing! A fancy. I remembered something. But a-many men have dagger -scars.—Jaufre de Montmaure! No, I think that I never saw him. Nor do I -wish to see him. Let him stay with Aquitaine and be his favourite!” - -“I know not how long that will last. Now they are ruthless and reckless -together, and they say that any day you can see Richard’s arm around -his neck. But Duke Richard,” said the marshal, “is much the nobler man.” - -The princess laughed. “You give faint praise! Jesu! If what they say of -Count Jaufre be true—” - -There fell a silence. Stephen the Marshal turned and turned the -chess-piece. “The prince will send me presently with representations to -King Philip at Paris.” - -“I know. It seems wise to do that.” - -“I will do my best,” said Stephen the Marshal; and sat silent again. -Then, “I will find at Paris festivals and tourneys, no doubt, and -for Roche-de-Frêne’s honour and my own, I must play my part in those -matters also.” He put down the chess-piece, and brought his hands -together. “Queens and princesses may accept, in courtly wise, heart -and _devoir_ of true knights! My Lady Audiart! I plead again for some -favour of yours that I may wear. For, as God lives, I will wear no -other lady’s!” - -The Princess Audiart looked at him kindly, a little mockingly, a little -mournfully. “Stephen—Stephen! will you be a better or a braver man, or -a fitter envoy to King Philip, with my glove in your helmet? No, you -will not!” - -“I should be a happier man,” said Stephen the Marshal. - -“Then almost I wish that I might give it to you! But I cannot—I -cannot!” said the princess. “I love earth, fire, air and water, the -stars in heaven, the people of the earth, and the thoughts in the mind, -but I love no man after the fashion that men desire!—Turn elsewhere, -Lord Stephen!” - -But Stephen the Marshal shook an obstinate head. “Saint Mark, my -witness, I shall wear no other’s favour!” - -Prince Gaucelm rose, the Venetian with him, and crossed to Alazais’s -side. The girl of the silken cushion had ended her story. The jongleurs -distant in the hall began to play viol, lute and harp. “Let us go -hearken,” said the princess; and, quitting the chess-table, went to sit -beside her step-dame. She had affection for Alazais, and Alazais for -Audiart. Stephen the Marshal followed. All drew together to listen to -sung poesy. - -A favourite jongleur had come forward, harp in hand. He was a dark, -wiry, eastern-appearing man, fantastically dressed in brown dashed and -streaked with orange. When he had played a dreamy, rich, and murmuring -air, he began to sing. He sang well, a fair song and one that was new -to a court that was gracious and hospitable to songs. - -“Ah, that goes,” said the Princess Audiart, “like the sea in June!” - -“It is like a chanson of Bernart de Ventadorn’s,” said Alazais, “and -yet it is not like him either. Who made it, Elias?” - -“It may have a sound of the sea,” answered Elias, “for it came over the -sea. I got it from a palmer. He had learned it at Acre, and he said -that, words and music, the troubadour, Garin de l’Isle d’Or, made it -there.” - -“Oh, we have heard of him! Knights coming back have told us—But never -did we hear his singing before! Again, Elias!” - -Elias sang. “It is sweet.—_The Fair Goal!_” - - * * * * * - -A day or two later, in this hall, the Princess Audiart sat beside her -father upon the dais, the occasion a hearing given to the town of -Roche-de-Frêne. There was another than Roche-de-Frêne to be received -and hearkened to, namely an envoy, arrived the evening before, from -Savaric, Count of Montmaure. But the town came first, at the hour that -had been set. - -The hall presented a different scene from that of the other night. Here -now were ranged the prince’s officers of state, the bailiff-in-chief, -executives of kinds. At the doors were ushers and likewise men-at-arms. -Men of feudal rank stood starkly, right and left of the dais. Others -of the castle population, men and women, who found an interest in this -happening, watched from the sides of the hall or from the musicians’ -gallery. Below the dais sat two clerks with pens, ink, sandbox, and -parchment. Before it, in the middle portion of the hall, were massed -fifty of the citizens of Roche-de-Frêne. - -The Princess Audiart sat in a deep chair, her arms upon its arms. She -was dressed in the colour of wine, and the long plain folds of her robe -and mantle rested the eye. Her throat was bare, around it a thin chain -of gold and a pear-shaped ruby. The thick braids of her hair came over -her gown to her knee. Between the dark waves, below a circlet of gold, -showed her intent and brooding face. - -Castle and town were used to seeing her there, beside her father. -Years ago—when castle and town undertook to remember back—it -had seemed strange, but now use and wont had done their work. She -was not fair—they remembered when they had called her “the ugly -princess”—but she was wise. It was usual enough among the great of the -earth for fathers to associate with them sons. Here was a prince-father -who associated with him his daughter. By degrees Roche-de-Frêne had -ceased to wonder. Now, for a long time, the fact had been accepted. -Strangeness gone, it seemed, for this one spot on the huge earth, -rational. - -The town had digested that great meal of liberties obtained years -ago, that and smaller loaves since given. It was hungry again; hungry -now for no slight stop-gaps, but for another full and great meal. -For many months it had given the castle oblique indications that it -was hungry. Time was when Gaucelm, a prince not unbeloved, riding -through Roche-de-Frêne, met almost wholly broad smiles and faces of -welcome. That throughout a year had been changing. Roche-de-Frêne, -at first unconsciously reflecting growing desires, but then more and -more deliberately, now wore a face of hunger. Roche-de-Frêne saw -its interest, and that another meal was to its interest. But it did -not wholly expect its lord at once to see that, nor to identify his -interest with their interest. It might, it believed, have to fight -its lord somewhat as other towns fought theirs. Not with weapons of -steel,—it would not win there,—but with persistent and mounting -clamour and disaffection, and, most effectively, with making trouble as -to tolls, rents, taxes, lord’s rights, and supplies. - -The deputation included men from every guild. Here were chief dyers in -scarlet, weavers of fine cloth, makers of weapons, workers in leather, -moulders of candles, and here were traders and merchants, dealers in -wine and handlers of cattle. Men of substance had been chosen, master -workmen and also master agitators. - -The prince, addressing himself to a man of venerable aspect, a merchant -whose name was known in far places, asked if he were spokesman. There -ran a murmur through the deputation. It pressed forward a little, it -took on an anxious face. - -The merchant advanced a step and addressed the dais. “Fair, good lord -and my Lady Audiart, as you both know, I am a judge of merchant’s law, -but have no gift of tongue. I know a cause when it is good, but God has -not made me eloquent to set it forth to another man—craving pardon, my -liege lord and my Lady Audiart! So I will not speak, may it please you -both. But here is Thibaut Canteleu, the master of the saddlers—” - -“I had expected,” said Prince Gaucelm, “to hear from Thibaut -Canteleu.—Stand forth, Thibaut!” - -The merchant stepped back. The throng worked like a cluster of bees, -then parted, and out of it came a man of thirty, square-shouldered and -sturdy, with crisply curling black hair, and black, bold, and merry -eyes. It was evident that he was his fellows’ chosen and favourite, -their predestined leader. The fifty slanted their bodies toward him, -grew suddenly encouraged and bold, hung upon what he should say. -Thibaut Canteleu was magnetic, like a fire for warmth, an instiller of -courage. He made a gesture of reverence toward the dais. - -The prince smiled slightly. “Well, Thibaut Canteleu?” - -“Sire and my Lady Audiart,” spoke Thibaut, “few words suffice when -here is right and yon is wisdom! Sire, these many years, back to the -beginning, have we and our fathers and grandfathers before us, given -to our lords duteous service. When the town was a poor village, when -there were but a few huts—when the old castle stood—in the old days -before the memory of man, we gave it! And this castle and the old -castle—and you, lord, and the old lords—have given us succour and -protection, holding your shield above us! Beau sire, we do not forget -that, nor that you are our lord.” As he spoke he kneeled down on both -knees, joined his hands palm to palm, and made a gesture of placing -them between other hands. “Sire and my Lady Audiart, many castles have -you and not a few towns and all are your sworn men. Shall this town -that grew up by your greatest castle and took name from it, be less -your man than another? Jesu forbid! Services, dues, rents and tolls, -fair-toll and market-toll, are yours, and when you summon us we drop -all and come, and if there is war we hold the town for you while there -is breath in us! Yea, and if there should chance to be needed in this -moment moneys for building, for gathering, clothing, and weaponing -men-at-arms, for castle-wants, for pilgrimages or sending knights to -the land over the sea, for founding of abbeys and buying of books and -holy relics, or for any other great and especial matter, we stand -ready, lord, to raise as swiftly as may be, that supply.” - -He came to a period in his speech, still kneeling. “That is good -hearing, Thibaut Canteleu!” said Gaucelm the Fortunate. He spoke with -equanimity, with his large scope of humour. He was as big as a mountain -range, and as became mountains he seemed to be able to see in various -directions. “Now,” he said, “let us hear, Thibaut, what your lords must -do!” - -“Fair, good lord—” - -“We are yet to guard Roche-de-Frêne from wolf-neighbour and -fox-neighbour, Count Dragon and King Lion? Have you heard tell of the -siege in your grandfather’s time? But well I wot that the town has no -enemies, that none is jealous of its trade, that no wolf thinks, ‘Now -if I had its market—or if I had it with its market!’ and no dragon -ponders, ‘What if I put forth a claw and drag these weavers and dyers -and saddlers where they may weave and dye and work in leather for me? -When I have them in my den they may whistle not for new, but for old -freedoms!’—We are yet to keep Roche-de-Frêne in as fair safety as we -may?” - -“Lord, lord,” said Thibaut, “are we not of one another? If you are -strong to keep us safe, are we not strong to make you wealth?” - -“My father gave you freedoms, and often have I heard him say that he -repented his giving! Then I ruled, and for a time held to that later -mind of his. Then about many matters I formed my own mind, and in -larger measure than he had given, I granted freedom. For a fair space -of time you rested content. Then you began to ask again. And again, now -this grant and now that, I have given!” - -He ceased to speak, sitting dressed in bronze samite, with a knight’s -belt of finest work, and on his head a circlet of gold. - -Thibaut Canteleu still kneeled. Now he raised his black eyes. “Lord, -why did you give?” - -“Because it seemed to me right,” said Prince Gaucelm. - -Thibaut spread his hands. The corners of the Princess Audiart’s lips -twitched. She glanced aside at Gaucelm the Fortunate, and a very sweet -and loving look came like a beam of light into her face. She said under -her breath, “Ah, Jesu! Judgement in this matter has been given!” turned -her head and retook the intent and brooding look. Her eyes, that had -marked width between them, received impression from the length and -breadth of the hall. She gathered each slight movement and change in -the deputation of citizens; and as for Thibaut Canteleu, she saw that -Thibaut, also, grasped that judgement had been given. - -Prince Gaucelm sat without movement of body or change of look. His size -did not give him a seeming of heaviness, nor the words that he had -spoken take power from his aspect. He did not seem conscious of their -effect upon others. He sat in silence, then shook himself and returned -to the matter in hand. “Tell us now, Thibaut Canteleu, what it is that -the town desires.” - -“Lord,” said Canteleu, “we wish and desire to elect our own -magistrates. And our disputes and offences—saving always, lord, those -that are truly treasonable or that err against Holy Church—we wish and -desire to bring into our own courts and before judges of our choosing.” - -A sharp sound ran through the hall—that portion of it that was -not burgher. Truly Roche-de-Frêne was making a demand immense, -portentous—The red was in the faces of the prince’s bailiffs and -in those of other officials. But Gaucelm the Fortunate maintained -a quietness. He looked at Thibaut Canteleu as though he saw the -generations behind him and the generations ahead. He spoke. - -“That is what you now wish and ask?” - -“Lord, that is what we wish and ask.” - -“And if I agree not?” - -“We are your merchants and artisans, lord! What can we do? But are love -and ready service naught? Fair good lord, and my Lady Audiart, we hold -that we ask a just—yea, as God lives, a righteous thing! Moreover, we -think, lord, that we plead, not to such as the Count of Montmaure, but -to Roche-de-Frêne!” - -Behind him spread a deep, corroboratory murmur, a swaying of bodies -and nodding of heads. The winter sunshine, streaming in through long, -narrow windows, made luminous the positive colours, the greens, blues, -reds of apparel, the faces swarthy, rosy or pale, the workman hands and -the caps held in them, the smoother merchant hands and the better caps -held in them. It lighted Thibaut Canteleu, still kneeling, in a blue -tunic and grey hose, a blue cap upon the pavement beside him. - -The prince spoke. “Get you to your feet, Thibaut, and depart, all of -you! A week from to-day, at this hour, come again, and you shall be -answered.” - -Thibaut Canteleu took up his cap and rose from his knees. He made a -deep reverence to the dais, then stepped backward. All the deputation -moved backward, kept their faces toward the prince until they reached -the doors out of which they passed, between the men-at-arms. The blur -of red and blue and green, of faces pale or sanguine or swarthy, -filtered away, disappeared. The hall became again all castle—a place -of lord and lady, knight, esquire, man-at-arms, and page, a section of -the world of chivalry. All around occurred a slight shifting of place, -a flitting of whispers. The prince stirred, turned slightly in his -great chair, and spoke in an undertone to his daughter. She answered in -as low a voice, sitting quite still, her long, slender hands resting -upon the arms of her chair. - -Gaucelm nodded, then spoke to the seneschal standing to the right of -the dais. “Now will we hear Montmaure’s envoy.” - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -MONTMAURE - - -THERE came into the hall, ushered by the seneschal and walking with -Stephen the Marshal to whom had been confided his entertainment, a -knight banneret, very good-looking, very sumptuously attired, with an -air of confidence verging on audacity. Behind and attending him were -two other knights, lesser men; behind these, three esquires. All were -dressed with a richness; all, indefinably, stood in a debatable strip -between friend and foe. - -The envoy came before the dais. On yesterday welcome had been given -him, and to-day set to hear the desires of Count Savaric of Montmaure. -Now, Gaucelm being, by virtue of three castles, his lord’s lord, the -envoy just bent the knee, then straightened himself and stood prepared -to give that forth which the count had preferred to send by word of -mouth rather than by written letter. There occurred, however, some -delay. A wider audience than had gathered to the town’s hearing would -come to hear what Savaric of Montmaure had to say. Lord and lady, -knight and squire, were entering, and now came Alazais, clad in white -bordered with ermine. Her lord made her welcome; the Princess Audiart, -rising, stood until she was seated. Her ladies, fair and gaily -dressed, made about her a coloured cloud. Two that were Audiart’s came -and stood behind that princess. - -At last, quiet falling, the prince once more gave to Montmaure’s envoy -words of welcome, then, “We should have been glad,” he said, “to have -greeted in friendly wise Count Savaric himself! His son, too, who is -said to be a puissant knight.” - -“So please you, they may come some day to Roche-de-Frêne, the one and -the other,” answered the envoy. “But now my master, the great count, -is busy at home where he makes a muster of lords who are his men. At -Autafort, with Duke Richard, is the young count, Sir Jaufre, red-gold, -shining and mighty, like a star of high fortune!” - -“The ‘great count,’” said Gaucelm, with suavity, “is well employed. And -you grow a poet, Sir Guiraut of the Vale, when you speak of the young -count.” - -“Sir,” said Guiraut of the Vale, “he is poet himself and theme of -poets! He is the emerald of knights, the rose of chivalry! That lady -counts herself fortunate for whom he rides in tournament. His lance -unhorses the best knights, and behind him, in his quarrels, are the -many spears of Montmaure—I will be highly bold and say the spears, for -number like the trees in the forest, of Duke Richard of Aquitaine!” - -Gaucelm smiled. “Duke Richard,” he said, “hath just now, I think, need -of his spears before Toulouse.” - -Guiraut of the Vale waved his hand. “Count Raymond will come to terms, -and the Duke’s spears be released. But all this, sir, is not the matter -of my message! Truly, when I think of Count Jaufre I forget myself in -praises!” - -“_Guiraut, Guiraut!_” thought the Princess Audiart. “_You forget not -one word of what you have been taught to say!_” - -Gaucelm the Fortunate spoke with serenity. “A servant so devoted is as -a sack of gold in the count’s treasury!—Now your message, sir envoy, -and the matter upon which you were sent?” - -Guiraut of the Vale breathed deep, lifted his chest beneath bliaut and -robe of costly stuffs, made his shoulders squarer, included now in the -scope of his look alike Gaucelm and his daughter. - -“Prince of Roche-de-Frêne,” he said, “it is to my point—though the -Blessed Virgin is my witness I am not so commissioned!—to cause you -and this priceless lady, the princess your daughter, to see Sir Jaufre -de Montmaure as the glass of the world shows him, the brightest coal -upon the hearth of chivalry! The world hears of the wisdom of the -Princess Audiart—well wot I that did she see and greet him, she would -value this knight aright! As for him, like his sword to his side, he -would wear there this wisdom! Fair prince, my master, the great count, -would see Montmaure and Roche-de-Frêne one in wedlock. Count Savaric of -Montmaure offers his son, Count Jaufre, for bridegroom to the Princess -Audiart!” - -The great hall rustled loudly. Only the dais seemed quiet, or only -the two figures immediately fronting Sir Guiraut of the Vale. Out of -the throng seemed to come a whisper, electric and flowing, “Here is -a suitor that would hang Roche-de-Frêne at his belt!” It lifted and -deepened, the whispering and muttering. It took the tone of distant -thunder. - -Gaucelm the Fortunate raised his hand for quiet. When it was attained -he spoke courteously to Guiraut of the Vale. “Count Savaric echoes my -soul when he would have peace and friendliness and not enmity between -Roche-de-Frêne and Montmaure. Certes, that may be brought about, -or this way or that way! For the way that he advances, it must be -considered, and that with gravity and courteousness. But, such is the -plenitude of life, the same city may be reached by many roads.” - -“Beseeching your pardon,” said Guiraut of the Vale, “that is true of -many cities, but not, according to the count my master, of this one!” - -The hall rustled again. The lord of Roche-de-Frêne sat quietly in his -great chair, but he bent upon Montmaure’s envoy a look profound and -brooding. At last he spoke. “We are not to be threated, Sir Guiraut of -the Vale, into a road whatsoever! Nor is this city, that is only to be -reached so, of such importance, perhaps, to Roche-de-Frêne as imagineth -the ‘great count.’” Wherewith he ceased to deal with Guiraut and spoke -aside to his daughter. - -The Princess Audiart rose from her chair. She stood in long, flowing -red shading from the cherry of her under-robe through the deepened -crimson of the bliaut to the almost black of her mantle. At the base of -her bare throat glowed on its chain of gold the pear-shaped ruby. - -“To-day, Sir Guiraut of the Vale,” she said, “we receive the count -your master’s fair proffer of his son for my bridegroom. For my part, -I thank the count for his courtesy and good-will and fair words to -me-ward. The prince my father consenting, one week from to-day, here in -the hall, you shall have answer to bear back. Until then, the prince -my father, and the princess my fair and good step-dame, and myself, -who must feel the honour your master does me, and all the knights and -ladies of this court give you fair welcome! An we may, we will make the -days until then pass pleasantly for a knight of whose valiancy this -castle is not ignorant.” - -She spoke without pride or feeling in her voice, simply, in the tone -of princely courtesy. A stranger could not have told if she liked that -proffer or no. Guiraut of the Vale made obeisance. Prince Gaucelm rose, -putting an end to the audience. - -Two hours later he came to the chamber of the ugly princess. It was -a room set in a tower, large, with narrow windows commanding three -directions. A curtained archway showed a smaller, withdrawing room. -Rugs lay upon the oaken floor and the walls were hidden by hangings -worked with the wanderings of Ulysses. The bed had silken curtains and -a rich coverlet. Jutting from the hearth came a great cushioned settle. -There were chairs, carven chests for wardrobe, a silver image of the -Virgin, nearby a row of books. Present in the room when the prince came -were the Lady Guida and the girl who had told in hall the story of -Arthur’s knights. These, upon his entrance, took embroidery-frame and -book, and disappeared into the smaller room. - -Prince Gaucelm sat in the corner of the settle by the hearth. The -Princess Audiart now stood before him, and now walked with slow steps -to one or another window and back again. The prince watched her. - -“Audiart, Audiart!” he said at last; “I doubt me that the hey-day and -summer of peace has passed for Roche-de-Frêne!” - -“Winter is the time between summers.” - -“Have it so.... It was wise to delay this knight the week out.” - -“Ah, where is Wisdom? Even the hem of her mantle turns out to be a -stray light-beam in shadow. But it seemed wiser. So one may think a -little.” - -“Now, by God Almighty!” said Gaucelm, “it needs not much thinking!” - -“No. But still one may take time and speak Montmaure fair, while we -study what will come and how we meet and defeat it.... Let us deal -first with Thibaut Canteleu and Roche-de-Frêne.” - -Gaucelm the Fortunate, leaning forward, warmed his hands at the fire -which was burning with a singing sound. “Aye, my burghers—Child, all -over the green earth they cease to be mine or another’s burghers!” - -“They grow to be their own men. Yes.” - -“Gaucelm of the Star thought that idea the strangest, most -abhorrent!—and his father before him—and so backward into time. It -outraged them, angering the very core of the heart within them! Late -and soon they would have fought the town!” - -“Or late or soon they would have lost.—Does it in truth anger us -that Thibaut Canteleu and the others should wish to choose their -magistrates?” - -“No. Montmaure angers me, but not Thibaut.” - -“Then let us act toward the town from our own thought and mind, and not -from that of our fathers.” - -She paced the floor. “I sorrow for Bishop Ugo’s disappointment. It will -be a sword thrust if we and the town embrace!” - -“Aye. Ugo desires that quarrel for us.... Well, then we say to Thibaut -Canteleu, ‘Burgher, grow your own man!’” - -“I counsel it,” said Audiart. “It is right.” - -“And wise?” - -She turned from the window. “Pardieu! If war is upon us Montmaure’s -self might say that it were wise!” - -The prince pondered it. “Yes—Put, then, Thibaut Canteleu and the town -to one side. Now Montmaure—Montmaure—Montmaure!” - -The princess came to the settle and sat down, leaning her elbow upon -a small table drawn before it. Upon the table lay writing materials, -together with a number of small counters and figures of wood. There -was also a drawing, a rude map as it were, of the territory of -Roche-de-Frêne, bordered by the names of contiguous great fiefs. She -drew this between them, and the two, father and daughter, studied it -as they talked. With her left hand she moved the little pieces of wood -to and fro. Upon each was painted a name—names of castles, towns, -villages, abbeys that held from Gaucelm. One piece had the name of that -fief for which Montmaure had been wont to give homage. - -Gaucelm looked at the long space upon the drawing marked “Aquitaine.” -“Guiraut of the Vale is a braggart. I know not if he bragged beyond -reason of Richard’s great help.” - -“It is like enough that he did. But Richard Lion-Heart has often backed -another’s quarrel. Pity he looks not to see if it be stained or clean!” - -“Toulouse still holds him.... Stephen the Marshal must go quickly to -King Philip at Paris.” - -“Yes. Before Guiraut of the Vale’s week is gone by—or right upon that -departure? Right upon it, I think.” - -“Yes. No need to show Guiraut what you expect.” He touched the wooden -pieces with his finger, running over the names of his barons. “Letters -must be written and heralds sent. Madonna Alazais and Guida. Raimon -Seneschal and Aimeric the Gay, had best plan shining and dazzling -entertainment for Guiraut and his following.... I know well that the -‘great count’ is making his muster.” - -“He makes no secret of it.... _But one road to peace for -Roche-de-Frêne._” - -“That is not a road,” said Prince Gaucelm, “or it is a road of -dishonour. Savaric of Montmaure and his son have in them a demon. Waste -no words upon a way that we are not going!” - -He took a quill from the table, dipped it into ink, and began to -write upon a bit of paper, making a computation of strength. He put -down many lords whose suzerain he was, and beneath each name its -quota of knights, sergeants, and footmen, the walled towns besides -Roche-de-Frêne that called him lord, the villages, the castles, manors, -and religious houses, Roche-de-Frêne itself, and this great castle that -had never been taken. He added allies to the list, and the sum of gold -and silver he thought he could command, and with part of it purchase -free companies. He paused, then added help—an uncertain quantity—from -his suzerain, King Philip. “It is a fair setting-forth,” said Gaucelm -the Fortunate. “Once, and that not so long ago, Montmaure would not in -his most secret dream have dared—. But he has made favour and wily -bargains, and snapping up this fief and that, played the great carp in -the pool! And now drifts by this fancy of Aquitaine for Count Jaufre, -and he seizes it.” - -“Aye, it is Richard that gives sunshine to his war!” - -Gaucelm rose from the settle. “I love not war, though we live in a -warring world. Little by little, child, it may change.” - -The day passed, the evening of courtly revel, of paces woven around -Guiraut of the Vale. The Princess Audiart was again in her chamber, her -women dismissed, the candles extinguished, the winter stars looking in -at window, fresh logs upon the hearth casting tongues of light. These -struck in places the pictured hangings. Here Ulysses dallied with -Calypso and here he met Circe. Here Nausicaa threw the ball, and here -Penelope wove the web and unravelled it, and here Minerva paced with -shield and spear. The figures were as rude as the hues were bright, -but a fresh and keen imagination brought them into human roundness and -proportion. - -Audiart lay in her bed, and they surrounded her as they had done since -early girlhood when at her entreaty this chamber in the White Tower had -been given her. She was glad now to be alone with the familiar figures -and with the fitful firelight and the stars that, when the hearth-blaze -sank, she could see through the nearest window. She was read in the -science of her time; those points of light, white or bluish or golden, -had for her an interest of the mind and of the spirit. Now, through -the window, there gleamed in upon her one of the astrologers’ “royal” -stars. She by no means believed all that the astrologers said. She -was sceptic toward much that was preached, doubted the usefulness of -much that was done, and yet could act though she doubted. When doubt, -growing, became a sense of probability, then—swerve her as it might -from her former course—she would act, as forthright as might be, in -the interest of that sense. - -The star shone in the western window—red Aldebaran. “You look like -war, Aldebaran, Aldebaran!” thought the princess. “Come, tell me if -Gaucelm, the good man, will win over Savaric, the wicked man—You tell -naught—you tell naught!” - -She turned on her side and spread her arms and buried her face between -them, and lay so for some minutes. Then she rose from the bed, and -taking from a chair beside it a long and warm robe of fine wool, -slipped her arms into its great hanging sleeves, girded it around -her and crossed to the southward-giving window. She looked forth and -down upon wall and moat, and beyond upon the roofs of Roche-de-Frêne. -A warder pacing the walk below, passed with a gleam of steel from -her sight. A convent bell rang midnight. There was no moon, but the -night burned with stars. One shot above the town, leaving a swiftly -fading line of light. She saw all the roofs that lay this way and -knew them. Castle and town, river and bridge, and the country beyond, -felt not seen to-night—they were home, bathed, suffused, coloured by -the profound, the inmost self, part of the self, dissolving into it. -She stood before the window, a hand upon either wall, and her heart -yearned over Roche-de-Frêne. Again a star shot, below her the warder -passed again. Suddenly she thought of Jaufre de Montmaure, and much -disliked the thought. She spoke to the stars. “Ah,” she said, “it is -much misery at times to be a woman!” - -A week from that day, in the castle hall, crowded from end to -end,—Bishop Ugo here to-day with churchmen behind him, ranks of -knights, Gaucelm’s great banner spread behind the dais, and against it -his shield blazoned with the orbs and wheat-sheafs of Roche-de-Frêne -and the motto _I build_; everywhere a richness of spectacle, an -evidenced power, a high vitality, a tension as of the bow string -before the skilled arrow flies,—Thibaut Canteleu received the answer -for the town, and Guiraut of the Vale the answer for Count Savaric of -Montmaure. Behind Thibaut was the deputation that had attended before, -the same blues and greens and reds, bright as stained glass, the same -faces swarthy, or lacking blood, or pink and white of hue. Thibaut -knelt in his blue tunic and grey hosen, his cap beside him on the -pavement. - -Henceforth the town of Roche-de-Frêne should choose its own -officers—mayor, council and others. Likewise it should give judgement -through judges of its election upon its own offenders—always excepting -those cases that came truly before its lord’s bailiff-court. Prince -Gaucelm gave decision gravely, without haughtiness, or warning against -abuse of kindness, or claim upon increased loyalty, and without -many words. Roche-de-Frêne took it, first, in a silence complete and -striking, then with a long breath and fervent exclamation. - -Thibaut Canteleu lifted his cap and stood up. He faced the dais -squarely. “My lord the prince and my Lady Audiart, give you thanks! As -you deal justly, so may this town deal justly! As you fight for us so -may we fight for you! As you give us loving-kindness, so may we give -you loving-kindness! As you measure to us, so may we measure to you! -May you live long, lord, and be prince of us and of our children! And -you, my Lady Audiart, may you stay with us, here in Roche-de-Frêne!” - -Whereby it might be guessed that Thibaut and Roche-de-Frêne knew well -enough of Guiraut of the Vale’s errand. Probably they did. The time was -electric, and Montmaure had been seen for some time, looming upon the -horizon. Roche-de-Frêne, nor no town striving for liberties, cared for -Montmaure. He was of those who would strangle in its cradle the infant -named Middle Class. - -Gaucelm thanked the burghers of Roche-de-Frêne, and the Princess -Audiart said, “I thank you, Thibaut Canteleu, and all these with you.” - -The fifty were marshalled aside. They did not leave the hall; it -behooved them to stay and hear the answer to Montmaure. - -All the gleaming and coloured particles slightly changed place, the -bowstring tension grew higher. Here was now Guiraut of the Vale, the -accompanying knights behind him, standing to hear what answer he should -take to the Count of Montmaure. The answer given him to take was brief, -clothed in courtesy, and without a hint in its voice or eye of the -possibility of untoward consequences. Roche-de-Frêne thanked Montmaure -for the honour meant, but the Princess Audiart was resolved not to wed. - -Guiraut of the Vale, magnificent in dress and air, heard, and towered -a moment in silence, then flung out his hands, took a tone, harsh and -imperious. “You give me, Prince of Roche-de-Frêne, an ill answer with -which to return to the great count, my master! You set a bale-fire and -a threat upon the one road of peace between your land and Montmaure! -And for that my master was foretold by a sorceress that so would you -answer him, I am here not unprovided with an answer to your answer!” -With that he made a stride forward and flung down a glove upon the -dais, at Gaucelm’s feet. “Gaucelm the Fortunate, Montmaure will war -upon you until he and his son shall sit where now you and your daughter -are seated! Montmaure will war upon you until men know you as Gaucelm -the Unhappy! Montmaure will war upon you until the Princess Audiart -shall kneel for mercy to Count Jaufre—” - -The hall shouted with anger. The ranks of knights slanted toward the -envoy. Gaucelm’s voice at last brought quiet. “The man is a herald and -sacred!—My lord Stephen the Marshal, take up the Count of Montmaure’s -glove!” - -So began the war between Roche-de-Frêne and Montmaure. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE VENETIAN - - -THAT year Saladin was victor in Syria and the Kingdom of Jerusalem -fell. Many a baron, knight, and footman was slain that year in the land -over the sea! Those who could escape left that place of burning heat -and Paynim victory. Another crusade they might go, but here and now was -downfall! A part survived and reached their homes, and a part perished -at sea, or in shipwreck on strange shores. - -Sir Eudes de Panemonde, an old man now and bent, came home to his -castle and fief. With him came his son, Sir Aimar, a beautiful and -brave knight, all bronzed with the sun, with fame on his shield and -crest. With them came a third knight, bronzed too by the sun, with -fame on his shield and crest. He had been Garin de Castel-Noir, and -then Garin Rogier, and now, for five years, Sir Garin of the Golden -Island,—Garin de l’lsle d’Or,—known in the land over the sea for -exploits of an extreme, an imaginative daring, and also for the songs -he made and sang in Frank and English fortress halls. He was knight and -famed knight, and three emirs’ ransoms stood between him and the chill -of poverty. Two esquires served him. He had horses,—better could not -be bought in Syria! He had brought off in safety men-at-arms in his -pay. He was known for wearing over his mail a surcoat of deep blue, and -on the breast embroidered a bird with outstretched wings. He was all -bronzed and rightly lean of face and frame, strongly-knit, adventurous, -courteous, could be gay and could be melancholy, showed not his entire -depth, but let the inner fountain, darkly pure, still send up jets and -hues of being. He and Sir Aimar were brothers-in-arms, were Damon and -Pythias. He was, also, true poet. Many a song had he made since that -first song, made where he lay upon a boundary stone, by the stream that -flowed past Castel-Noir and on to Our Lady in Egypt. And always he sang -of one whom he named the Fair Goal. That name was known in Crusaders’ -cities, in tents that were pitched upon desert sands. He himself was -known and welcomed. Comrade-Frank or Englishman or German cried with -pleasure, “Here comes the singer!”—or “the lover!” as might be. - -In the castle of Panemonde there was welcome and feasting. The strong -kinsman had not proved weak in fidelity, but had held afar from the -fief eagle and kite, while at home the Lady of Panemonde, a small, -fair, determined woman, had administered with great ability castle, -village, and the fields that fed both. Here were Crusaders who, unlike -enough to many, had not come home impoverished, or to lands ravaged and -debt-ridden. And Sir Eudes’s old sin was now wiped out of the memory of -God, and he could sit in the sun and wait death with a peaceful mind. -And Sir Aimar was so beautiful and strong a knight that his suzerain, -the Count of Toulouse, would be sure to give him opportunity by which -he might win fame for Panemonde beyond that which he had brought from -across the sea. Garin de l’Isle d’Or, too, looked for service that -should win him land and castle. - -Toulouse! No sooner had their ship come to port than they learned that -Aquitaine warred against Toulouse, Duke Richard claiming the latter -through his mother, Duchess Eleanor. But hardly had they taken the road -to Panemonde before they heard the news that Richard and Count Raymond -had made in some sort peace, due, perhaps, to hold, and perhaps due -not to hold. Coming to Panemonde they found that the lady there had -furnished Count Raymond the spears that the fief owed, and that, the -fighting over, some of these had returned. Some would never return. - -They feasted and rejoiced at Panemonde, giving and hearing news. -Kindred and friends came about the restored from over the sea. There -were feasts in the hall, exercises in the tilting yard, hunting and -singing. They carried in procession to the monastery church a vial -of water from the Jordan, a hands-breadth of silk from the bliaut of -Joseph of Arimathea. They gave holiday to the serfs and remitted a tax. -The early summer days went highly and well. - -Sir Aimar had a sister, Aigletta, a fair, rose-cheeked, dark-eyed -lady. She was fain to hear stories of Saladin from her brother, and -she liked to listen to the lute and the deep, rich and sweet voice -of Garin of the Golden Island. He sang when she asked it, seated in -hall or in garden, or perhaps resting by the little stream without the -castle wall, where you looked across the bridge of one arch to the -eastward-stretching highway. Oftenest Garin sang other men’s songs, but -when she asked it, he sang his own. Aigletta listened with a pensive -look. Her brother found her alone one day in the garden, a white rose -by her knee, her smooth cheek resting upon her hand. He sat beside her. - -“Sister, ladies more than two or three have wished that Sir Garin would -sing not so much for them as of them! And still he sings only of the -Fair Goal.” - -“Who is she?” asked Aigletta. - -“Who knows? He knows not himself. But she is as a hedge of white roses -to keep him from other loves. So I would not have you, sister, scorch -the finger-tip of your heart!” - -“I? Not I!” said Aigletta. “I dip my finger-tips in cool, running -water!—But, truly, to sing for years of a lady whom he knows not by -sight—!” - -“A poet can do even that,” said Aimar. “And it is not true that he hath -never seen her. He saw her once, where she rested at an abbey, though I -am not sure that he saw her face. But now for years he hath made her -famous—loving her, or loving the love of her.” - -“By my faith!” said Aigletta. “Truly a poet finds roses where others -feel snow!—Well, I am no thief to take away a lady’s knight! And, -perhaps, as you say, fair brother, I could not do it.” - -“I think that you could not, fair sister. His Fair Goal has become to -him as air and light, streaming through the house of being.” - -They had not been long at Panemonde when they had news that eastward of -Toulouse the Count of Montmaure made bitter war against Roche-de-Frêne, -and that Aquitaine greatly helped Montmaure, while King Philip, -distracted by quarrels nearer home, sent to the aid of Roche-de-Frêne -but a single company of spears. Now, traditionally, Toulouse was -friendly to Roche-de-Frêne, but Toulouse was weary of war, and had made -pact with Duke Richard. Moreover Toulouse had present trouble with a -spreading heresy and Holy Church’s disfavour. Panemonde heard that -Montmaure made very grim war. - -For Sir Garin and Sir Aimar the future pushed its head above the -present’s rich repose. When war swung his iron bell knights must -hearken—not the old knight, ready now for rest from war, for -contemplation of a Heaven where that bell lay broken—but the young -men, the inheritors of wrath. Aimar wished to ride to Toulouse, to -Count Raymond. Garin of the Golden Island would not show restlessness -in the house of his benefactor, but those who were awake saw him pacing -at dawn the castle wall, or leaning against the battlement, watching -the rose in the east. - -Once he had assured Sir Eudes and his son that he was of Limousin. But -ere he received knighthood he had told plainly his birthplace and home, -name, and fealty, and that anger of Montmaure against him. In the land -beyond the sea much of the past had drifted toward remoteness, many -degrees of experience coming between it and him. But now, early and -late, he began to think of Castel-Noir and of Foulque—Foulque who had -heard naught of him since that night in which they had parted, beneath -the old cypress. The cypress itself rose before him, and the thought -of Sicart and Jean. Paladin might be living. Tower and crag and wood, -the stream that slipped through the wood—he wished to see them. Not -only Castel-Noir—even Raimbaut’s half-ruinous hold—even Raimbaut -the Six-fingered himself. Garin half laughed at the thought of the -giant. And he wished to follow down that stream again—to see again the -boundary stone of Our Lady of Egypt—to find again that little lawn -with the cedar, plane, and poplar—to touch again that carved seat, so -near the laurels.... - -He rose from his bed and, while the morning star was still shining, -went down the stair and crossing the court mounted the castle wall. -Here he rested arms against the stone and gazed at the east where was -now a little colour. - -Montmaure warred against Roche-de-Frêne. Raimbaut held from Montmaure, -but Montmaure, for that fief, was vassal to Roche-de-Frêne. They said -that the war was bitter and far-flung. Garin knew not if Raimbaut, -carrying with him Castel-Noir, clave to Montmaure, or to the overlord -that was Roche-de-Frêne. There sprang within him wish and belief -that it was to Roche-de-Frêne. Montmaure! His lips moved, his brow -darkened. In imagination he wrestled again with Jaufre de Montmaure. -Then, athwart that mood, came again, and stronger than before, a great -longing to follow once more that southward-slipping stream, and to hear -the nightingale in the covert, and to come again through the laurels to -the lawn, the cedar, and the chair of stone. The east was like a rose. -“I will tarry no longer!” said Garin. - -Five days later he and Aimar rode away toward Toulouse. Behind them, -well mounted, rode their esquires, bearing lance and shield; behind -these, threescore mounted men. The two knights kneeled for Sir Eudes’s -blessing, they kissed the cheek of the Lady of Panemonde and of the -dark-eyed Aigletta; they went away like a piece of the summer, and all -the castle out to see them go. Here was the bridge, here the road, -here a lime tree that Garin remembered, but in an autumn dress. Now it -was green and palest gold, fragrant, murmurous with bees. Farther, -and here was the calvary, and the way that branched to church and -monastery. Wherever there were people, they stopped in their tracks -upon the road, or in the fields dropped their work and stood to see the -knights go by, with the goodly men behind them. The sky was dazzling -blue, the world drenched with light and heat. - -They meant to lodge that night in the town to which Garin had come with -the scholar, and where first he had seen the cross taken. Reaching it -before sunset, they looked up at its castle. But said Garin, “Let us -find some hostel! It is not in my mind to-night to be questioned of the -Holy Land, made to talk and sing.” - -Aimar agreed; could tell, too, that anciently there was here a famous -inn. Passing through the town gate, they came into streets where -the folk abroad and at door and window turned at the sound of the -clattering hoofs, gazed at the well-appointed troop, and made free -comment. All the place was bathed in a red light. - -“There are many heretics in this town,” said Aimar. “Catharists or -_bons hommes_—men of Albi, as they are now called. The strange thing -is that they seem very gentle, good people! I remember one who came -to Panemonde the year before we took the cross. He sat beneath the -great oak and talked to any who would listen as sweetly as if Our Lady -had sent him down from Heaven! I wondered—Some of the people took up -stones to stone him, but I would not let him be hurt, and he went -away. I wondered—” - -Garin’s squire, Rainier, had been sent ahead to the inn, and now -rode back to meet them. “Sirs, a Venetian merchant-lord and his -people possess the house! But I have caught one fair chamber from the -Italian’s clutch and the hostess promises good supper and soon. For the -men, the next street hath the Olive Tree and the Sheaf and Sickle.” - -They came to the great inn, a low, capacious building with a courtyard, -and in a corner of this a spacious arbour overrun by a grape-vine. It -was sunset. The knights and their squires dismounted, and a sumpter -mule with its load was brought from the rear. Men came from the inn -stable and took away the horses. Orders as to the morning start having -been given, the troop from Panemonde trotted off, down an unpaved lane, -to the lesser hostels. The hostess appeared, a woman of great size with -a face as genial as the sun. She poured forth words as to preëmpted -quarters, regrets, admirations, welcomes, hints that they were as well -off here as at the castle where the lord was healing him of a grisly -wound, and the lady had yesterday been brought to bed of a woman-child. -Then she herself marshalled the knights, the squire Rainier following, -to a chamber reasonably large and clean. Maids brought basins and ewers -of water. Rainier busied himself with squire’s duties. He, too, looked -to knighthood, somewhere in the future. The bright evening light came -through the window. Below, under the grape-arbour, serving-men placed -boards on trestles, and furnished forth a table. - -The inn followed a good fashion, and on these warm and long days -spread supper in the largest, most open hall that might be. When they -descended to the court it was to find the Venetian great merchant -already at table, sitting with two others above the salt. He was a -lordly person, dressed in prune-coloured cendal, breathing potencies of -travel and trade. In his air were Venice and her doges, the equal sea -and the flavour of gold. - -He greeted the two knights courteously, and they returned his greeting. -They took their places, the squire below them. Supper went well, with -the hum of life around the arbour, and the sky’s warm tint showing -between twisted branches of the vine. When hunger was satisfied, they -talked. They who spent years in the East came back to Europe with -certain Saracenic touches of conduct and manner that to such as the -Venetian told at least part of their history. He began at once to speak -of cities beyond the sea—of Jaffa, Tripoli, Edessa, Aleppo, Damascus. -In turn Garin and Aimar questioned him of Venice, paved with the sea. - -When they had eaten, they washed and dried their hands. Serving-men -took away the dishes, the boards and trestles. The arbour was left, -a cool and pleasant place, with a table whereon was set wine of the -country, with the summer stars brightening overhead, and a vagrant -wind lifting the vine leaves. They tarried under the arbour, drinking -the red wine and talking now of matters nearer at hand than was Venice -or Damascus. Around was the hum of the town, of the long, warm evening -settling into night. Out from the inn door came voices of the inn -people. The hostess was rating some idle man or maid. “May Aquitaine -take you—!” - -The Venetian, it seemed, was on his way to Barcelona, had travelled -yesterday from the city of Toulouse. He had left Venice the past -winter, and in the interest of that sea-queen and her trade had been -in many towns and a guest of many courts. Of late, war, blazing forth, -had disarranged his plans, preoccupied his hosts. He was in a most ill -humour with this warring. - -“Fair sirs, I look not that you should believe me, but one day it will -be found that war is the name of the general foe! For what, say I, is -the mind given to you?” He drank his wine. “Now the Count of Montmaure -wars against the Prince of Roche-de-Frêne! In Montmaure trade is broken -on the wheel. In Roche-de-Frêne she is burned at the stake.” He tapped -the wine-cup with his fingers. “Trade is the true ship—War is the -pirate!” - -Garin spoke. “I have hours in which I should believe that you were -right. Love, too, and the finer thought are broken on the wheel! But it -is the way of the world, and we are knights who go to war.” - -“My lord of Montmaure fights,” said the chant, “like a fiend! Or so -the Count of Toulouse told me. The country of Roche-de-Frêne is harried -and wasted. Now he goes about to besiege the town and the castle.” - -“We have been home no great while,” said Aimar, “and our castle is in a -corner of the land and away from hearing how the wind blows elsewhere.” - -The Venetian sipped his wine, then set down the cup. “I spent a week, -before this war broke forth, in the castle of Roche-de-Frêne. I found -the prince a wise man, with for wife the most beauteous lady my eyes -have gazed upon!” - -“Aye!” said Garin. “Alazais the Fair, men called her.” - -“Just. Alazais the Fair.—While I was in the castle came the Count -of Montmaure’s demand for the prince’s daughter for wife to his son. -Certes, I think,” said the merchant, “that he knew she would be refused -him! Cause of war, or mask-reason for a meant war—now they war.” - -“We heard something of all this,” said Aimar. - -Garin spoke again. He was back in mind at Castel-Noir. “That is the -Princess Audiart. I remember their saying that she was ugly and unlike -others—like a changeling. They were praying for a son to Prince -Gaucelm.” - -“She is not a changeling,” answered the Venetian. “She is a very wise -lady, though she is not fair as is her step-dame. I saw her sit beside -the Prince in council and the people love her. Now, they say, she is -as brave as a lion. Pardieu! If I were knight, or knight-errant—” - -“Are they hard pressed?” Garin spoke, his hands before him on the table. - -“So ’tis said. Montmaure has gathered a host and Richard of Aquitaine -gives to Count Jaufre another as great. At Toulouse there was much talk -of the matter.” - -The Venetian emptied his glass, looked up at the stars, and, the day’s -travel having been wearying, thought of his bed. Presently he rose, his -people with him, said a courteous good night and quitted the arbour. - -The two knights waited a little longer, sitting in silence. Then they, -too, left the arbour, and, Rainier attending, went to the chamber that -had been given. Here sleep came soon. But in the first light of morning -Sir Aimar, waking, saw Garin standing, half-clothed, at the window. - -“Aimar,” said Garin, “you must to Toulouse, for Count Raymond is your -suzerain and Sir Eudes hath your promise that you follow no adventure -until you have received lord’s leave. But for me that makes too long -delay. I will ride on to Roche-de-Frêne.” - -Sir Aimar sat upon the side of the bed. “I thought last eve that I saw -the knight-errant look forth from your eye! Will you rescue this ugly -princess?” - -“Ugly or fair, she is a lady in distress—and Jaufre de Montmaure does -her wrong.... Her father is my liege lord. I have had a vision too, -of my brother Foulque, hard bestead. I cannot tarry to go about by -Toulouse.” - -Aimar agreed to that. “My father hath my promise.—But I will follow -you as soon as I may. Pardieu! If what the Venetian said be true, every -knight will be welcome!” - -“I think that it was true.—Ha!” said Garin to himself, “I see again -the autumn wood, and Jaufre de Montmaure who beats to her knees that -herd-girl!” - -The two knights, Garin and Aimar, left the town together, in the -brightness of the morning. But a mile or two beyond the walls their -ways parted. Their followers were divided between them—each had now -two esquires and more than a score of men-at-arms. Each small troop -came in line behind its leader. Then the two knights, dismounting, -embraced. Each commended the other to the care of the Mother of God. -They made a rendezvous; they would meet again, brothers-in-arms, as -soon as might be. They remounted—each troop cried farewell to the -other—Sir Aimar and those with him turned aside into the way to -Toulouse. - -Sir Garin waited without movement until a great screen of poplars came -between him and his brother knight. Then he spoke to his courser, -and with his men behind him, began to pursue the road to the country -of his birth. As he travelled he saw in fancy, coming toward him on -this road, Garin de Castel-Noir clad in a serf’s dress, fleeing from -Montmaure, in his heart and brain hopes and fears, a welling-up of -poesy, and the image of his lady whom he named the Fair Goal. Garin of -the Golden Island, older by nigh eight years of time and a world of -experience, rich, massy, and intricate, smiled on that other Garin and -saw how far he had to travel—but without finding as yet the Fair Goal! - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -OUR LADY IN EGYPT - - -THE air quivered above all surfaces; light and heat spoke with -intensity. But those who had been long years in Syria were used to a -greater intensity. They travelled now, not minding heat and glare. They -rode through a little village that Garin remembered, and at the farther -end passed a house with mulberry trees. Children played in their shade. -“Ha!” said Garin of the Golden Island. “Time’s wheel goes round, and -the fountain casts new spray!” - -Rainier the squire knew this country-side. A certain castle was placed -conveniently for dinner-time, and to this they drew from the high road. -Where you did not war, there obtained, in the world of chivalry, a -boundless hospitality. The lord who held this castle made all welcome. -A great bell rang; here was dinner in the hall. - -From the castle tower one saw afar, beyond the boundaries of Toulouse. -The baron could give information. Duke Richard had spared Jaufre de -Montmaure two thousand spears and ten thousand men-at-arms, archers, -and crossbowmen. Montmaure, himself, had a great force. Roche-de-Frêne -fought strongly, but the land suffered. Stories were told of the ways -of Montmaure. Garin made enquiry as to the Abbey of Saint Pamphilius, -not far to the northward. “Saint Pamphilius? Safe as though it held -by God the Father’s beard! Years ago it chose Montmaure for advocate. -Aye! Abbot Arnaut lives.” But the lord of the castle could not tell of -Raimbaut the Six-fingered, if he held with Montmaure, or, passing him, -clave to Roche-de-Frêne. - -The castle would have had them bide the night, and the Crusader -discourse of the Holy Land. But Garin must on. His imagination was -seized; what lay before him drew him imperiously, like a loadstone. -He bade the lord and lady of the castle farewell, mounted his horse, -Noureddin, and with his men behind him took the road. The earth lay -drowned in light, the air seemed hardly a strip of gauze between it -and the sun. They must ride somewhat slowly through the afternoon. At -last the heat and dazzle of the day declined. Straight before them -lay the Abbey of Saint Pamphilius, and that were good harbourage for -the night, but not for any who meant to enter battle upon the side of -Roche-de-Frêne! The night would be dry, warm and bright. The men had -food with them, in leathern pouches. Forest lay to the right of the -road. - -Garin spoke to his squires: “It is to my fancy to sleep in this wood -to-night. Once I did sleep here, but without esquires and men-at-arms -and war-horse.” - -It chanced that the moon was almost full. Garin watched it mount -between the branches of the trees, and the past rose with it to suffuse -the present. He could recall the moods of that night, but they seemed -to him now frail and boyish.... Dawn broke; his men rose from where -they lay like brown acorns. Nearby, the stream that ran through the -wood widened into a pool. Knight, squires, and men-at-arms laid aside -clothing, plunged into the cool element, had joy of it. Afterwards, -they breakfasted sparely. When the sun lighted the hill-tops they were -again upon the road. - -The road now trended eastward. They came to a chapel that was a ruin. -Beside it, scooped from the hillside and shaded by an oak, appeared a -hermit’s cell. At first they thought that it was empty, but at length a -grey figure, lean and trembling as a reed, peeped forth. - -“Who broke down the chapel, father?” asked Garin. - -The hermit stared at him. “Fair son and sir knight, are you from the -Toulouse side?” - -“We have ridden two days from the westward. This is the boundary?” - -The hermit looked with lack-lustre eyes, then wagged his head up -and down. “Aye, fair knight and son! The lords of Toulouse and -Roche-de-Frêne built the chapel, each bearing half the cost. But a band -belonging to the Lord of Montmaure came this way. Its captain said that -he pulled down only Roche-de-Frêne’s half—but all fell! The Holy -Father at Rome ought to hear of it!” - -“Are Montmaure’s men still at hand?” - -The hermit shook his head. “They harrowed the country and went. I saw -flames all one night and heard the cries of the damned!” - -Garin and those behind him rode on. Immediately the way that once had -been good became bad. A bridge had spanned a swift stream, but the -bridge was destroyed. A mill had stood near, but the mill was burned. -There seemed no folk. They rode by trampled and blackened fields where -no harvest sickles would come this year. The poppies looked like blood. -Here, in a dip in the land, was what had been a village, and upon a low -hill a heap of stones that had been castle or armed manor-house. There -were yet fearful odours. They rode by a tree on which were hanged ten -men, and a place where women and children, all crouched together, had -been slain. Here were more blackened fields, splashed with poppies. The -sun, now riding high, sent into every corner a searching light. - -Garin and his men, leaving the ruin, rode through a great forest. They -rode cautiously, keeping a lookout, neither singing nor laughing nor -talking loudly. But the forest slept on either hand, and there was -nothing heard but the hoofs of their horses, the song of birds, and the -whirr of insects. - -This forest had been known to Garin the squire. He was going now -toward Raimbaut’s keep. Around were the wide-branching trees, the -birds flew before them, the startled hare ran, the deer plunged aside -into the deeper brakes, but they met with no human life. Travelling -so, they came to a broken country, wooded hills, grey falls of -cliff, streams that brawled over stony beds. Garin looked from side -to side, recognizing ancient landmarks. But when they rode out from -the dwindling wood upon fields that should have shone and shimmered, -yellowing to the harvest—these fields, too, were black with ruin. Here -was a meadow that Garin knew. But no cattle stood within it, seeking -the shade of the trees, and nowhere, field or meadow or narrow road, -were there people. All lay silent, without motion, under the giant -strength of the sun. - -The road passed under the brow of a hill, turned, and he saw where had -been the grim old keep and tower and wall where he had served Raimbaut -the Six-fingered. In its shadow had clustered peasants’ huts. All was -destroyed; he saw not a living man, not a beast, not a dog. “How like,” -said Garin of the Golden Island, “are Paynimry and Christendom!” - -He checked his men, and alone rode to the ruins. Dismounting, he let -Noureddin crop the parched grass while he himself entered through a -breach in the wall, the gateway being blocked by fallen masonry. All -was desolate under the sun. The well had been filled with stones. -Climbing a mass of débris, crushed wall and fallen beam and rafter, he -attained the interior of the keep. Here had been sword and fire; here -now were the charred bones, here the writing that said how had fought -Raimbaut the Six-fingered! - -Garin came out of the keep and crossed the court, and, stepping through -the ragged and monstrous opening in the wall, called to his men. Three -hours they worked, making a grave and laying within it every charred -body they found, and making one grave for the forms of a giant and of a -woman who had fallen beside him. - -“I knew this castle,” said Sir Garin. “This was its lord, and he could -fight bravely! Nor did he fail at times of kindness done. This was its -lady, and she was like him.” - -At last they rode away from Raimbaut’s castle. First, came other -fields that this storm had struck, then a curving arm, thick and dark, -of forest. But, on the further edge of this flowed a stream where -the bridge was not broken, and nearby was the hut of one who burned -charcoal, and the man and woman and their children were within and -living. They fell upon their knees and put up their hands for mercy. - -“We are not Montmaure!” said Garin. “Jean Charcoal-burner, have you -heard if they have done the like to Castel-Noir?” - -The charcoal-burner, of elf locks and blackened skin, stared at the -knight, and now thought that he knew him, and now that he knew him -not. But he had comfort to give as to Castel-Noir. He had been there -within three days, and it stood. It was so small a tower and out of the -way—Montmaure’s band had ignored it, or were gone for the time to set -claws in other prey. “Sir Foulque?—aye, Sir Foulque lived.” - -Garin came to Castel-Noir in the red flush of evening. The fir wood -lay quiet and dark, haunted by memory. The stream was as ever it was. -Looking up, he saw the lonely, small castle, the round tower—saw, -too, a scurrying to it, from the surrounding huts, of men, women and -children. They went like partridges, up the steep, grey road, across -the narrow moat, and in at the gate. The drawbridge mounted, creaking -and groaning. - -“Ah,” said Garin with a sob in his throat, “Foulque thinks that we are -foes!” - -He left his men among the firs, and rode on Noureddin up the path known -so well—so well! He rode without spear and shield, and unhelmed. -Watchers from loophole or battlement might see only a bronzed horseman, -wearing a blue surcoat, worked upon the breast with a bird with -outstretched wings. When he came to the edge of the moat, beneath the -wall, he checked Noureddin, sat motionless for a minute, then raised -his voice. “Castel-Noir!” - -A man looked over the wall. “Who and whence, and, Mother of God! whose -voice are you calling with?” - -“Sicart!” called Garin, “remember eight years, come Martinmas, and the -serf’s dress you found me! Put the bridge down and let me in!” - -Foulque met him in the gateway. - -“Brother Foulque—” - -“Garin, Garin—” - -Fir wood, crag, and black castle travelled from the sun, faced the -unlighted deeps. But an inner sun shone and warmed. The squires, -the troop, had welcome and welcome again. Nothing there was that -Sicart and Jean and Pol and Arnaut and all the others would not -do for them! Comforts and treasures were scant, but the whole was -theirs. The saints seemed benignant, so smoothly and fragrantly did -matters go! Pierre found savoury food for all. And there was forage -for the horses. And the courtyard on a summer night, with straw -spread down, was good sleeping. But before there was sleeping, came -tale-telling—a great ring gathered, with the round moon looking down, -and Castel-Noir men and boys and women and girls from the huts below, -listening—listening—gaping and exultant! Sir Garin of the Golden -Island—and how he had taken the cross—and what he had done in the -land over the sea, and the tale-tellers with him! - -Fairyland had somehow come to Castel-Noir—a warm Paradise of pride in -the native-born, relish for brave deeds, forward felt glow from perhaps -vastly better days! Through all ran a filtering of Eastern wonder. -There was, too, simple veneration for the slayers of paynims, for -beings who had travelled in the especial country of God! The pride in -Garin was strong. They had thought him dead, though some had insisted -that, maybe, one day he would come back, a knight. These now basked in -their own wisdom. But even they had not dreamed the whole fairy tale -out! Sir Garin of the Golden Island—and how he got that name—and -how he fought and how he sang and how lords and kings were fain of -his company—and his brother-in-arms, Sir Aimar—and the three emirs’ -ransoms! The people of Castel-Noir forgot Montmaure and danger, and -were blissful that night beneath the round and golden moon. - -Garin and Foulque bided within the hall, talked there, Garin pacing -up and down while Foulque the Cripple gloated on him from his chair. -They had torchlight, but the moonlight, too, streamed in. Garin charted -for his brother the unknown sea of the years he had been away. Foulque -followed him to Panemonde, to the port, to Syria—and then all the -events and fortune there! - -“Ha, ha!” laughed Foulque. “Ha ha! ha ha! Who knows anything in this -world? Oh, dire misfortune that it seemed to have fought with Jaufre -de Montmaure! And here he has given you knighthood and fame and -ransom-wealth! Ha, ha, ha! Let me laugh! Yesterday I was weeping.” - -“If you push things in that direction,” said Garin, “before it was -Jaufre it was that herd-girl with the torn dress and streaming hair! -There is a path from all things to all things else.” - -He stopped before a window embrasure and looked out upon the -moon-flooded court and the ring of his men and the Castel-Noir men. -When he turned back to Foulque they took up the years as they had gone -for the black castle. They had gone without great events until had -befallen this war. That being the case, the two were presently at the -huge happenings in the princedom of Roche-de-Frêne. Foulque knew of the -fate of Raimbaut the Six-fingered. Jean the Charcoal-burner had brought -the news. Since that, Castel-Noir had stood somewhat shiveringly upon -its rock, the probabilities being that its own hour was near. - -And yet Foulque, and Garin with him, agreed that since the band that -had entered this fief and beat down Raimbaut and his castle was now -gone without finding Castel-Noir, it might not think to return upon its -tracks, leaving richer prey for sparrow or hare. Foulque considered -that the ravagers had been Free Companions, mercenaries bought by -Montmaure from far away, not knowing nook and corner of the country -they devastated. Montmaure, angered, had made his threat when Raimbaut, -renouncing the immediate allegiance, held for Roche-de-Frêne. He had -kept it, sending fire and death. But Castel-Noir might stay hidden in -its fir wood. Foulque, a born sceptic, here showed one contrary streak. -He was credulous now of all evil from Jaufre de Montmaure being turned -aside from aught that pertained to Garin. “Certes, not after procuring -you knighthood and gold!” - -Garin learned of the war at large. In the spring Prince Gaucelm had -gathered a great host. Under Stephen the Marshal it had met and beaten -as great a number, Count Savaric at the head. Savaric had been wounded, -thrust back, him and his host, into his own land. Then had come with a -greater host Jaufre de Montmaure, like an evil wind. His father, too, -recovering, rushed again from Montmaure. Prince Gaucelm and all his -knights and a host of men withstood them. Everywhere there was ringing -of shields and flying of arrows. Where Montmaure came, came blight. -A walled town had been taken and sacked; another, they said, was -endangered. Rumour ran that Roche-de-Frêne itself must stand a siege. -Montmaure was gathering a huge number of spears and countless footmen, -and had an Italian who was making for him great engines. But naught -this side waking to find to-night a dream could now weaken Foulque’s -optimism! “Roche-de-Frêne’s no ripe plum to be picked and eaten! Pick -thunderbolts from an oak that will outlive Montmaure!” - -Foulque was reconciled, when the talk came that way, to Garin’s early -departure from Castel-Noir. Neither dreamed but that he, knight and -able to help, must of course go. It was his _devoir_. But he might -bide a few days. It would presently be seen if the place were indeed -moderately safe, left a small, overlooked backwater. Foulque’s thin -face worked with laughter. “Ha, Jaufre!—and what was it that he said -touching flaying alive and razing your house? Jaufre makes me sport!” -His thought drove aside from the pleasant spice of Jaufre’s men -preserving just Castel-Noir. “And now he would wed the princess!” - -Garin, in his pacing, crossed a shaft of moonlight. “What manner of -lady is the Princess Audiart?” - -“Not fair, but wise, they say. I know not,” said Foulque, “if women can -be wise.” - -“Ah, yes, they may!” - -“I agree,” said Foulque, “that there is wisdom somewhere in not helping -into the world sons of Jaufre, grandsons of Savaric!—It is said that -the townspeople love the princess.” - -Garin crossed again the shaft of light. “No harm has come to Our Lady -in Egypt?” - -“No harm that I have heard of. Count Savaric is known for a good son -of the Church! He will not harm the bishop’s lands either. I hear -report—I have heard that the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius saith—that -if Montmaure conquers, Bishop Ugo will not be less but greater in -Roche-de-Frêne.—But what,” said Foulque, “do I know in truth to tell -you? A cripple, chained to this rock in a fir wood! Little of aught -do I know—save that there is wickedness on earth!” He tried to be -sardonic, but could not. “Eh!” said Foulque. “Three emirs? And at what -did they hold their lives?” - -At last Castel-Noir slept, the fair moon looking down. The next day, -still there held fairyland. When another day came, Garin took Paladin -that had waited for him all these years, and, followed by Rainier, -rode to Our Lady in Egypt. He wished to see the Abbess and ask of her -a question. Eight years ago, come Martinmas, what lady had rested, a -guest, with Our Lady in Egypt? - -The summer woods were passing sweet—fresh and sweet under whatever -strength of sun to those who had come from Syrian towns and Syrian -suns. Garin rode with an open heart, smelled sweet odour, heard every -song and movement, praised the green wood and the blue sky. At last -they saw the olives and the vineyards of Our Lady in Egypt—at last -the massy building. And now Paladin stopped before a portal that Garin -remembered.... All these years, Jaufre de Montmaure had been in the -back of his head, but hardly, it may be said, the herd-girl who first -had struggled with Jaufre. Memory might have brought her oftener to -view, but memory, when it came to women, had been preoccupied with the -Fair Goal—with the lady who wore the blue, fine stuff, the gem-wrought -girdle, the eastern veil! But now, sudden and vivid as life, came back -the herd-girl who had ridden behind him upon this horse, who, at the -convent door under the round arch, had looked back at him through dark -and streaming hair. The portress opened to her and she entered—rushed -back the very tone and sense of blankness and of wonder with which he -had regarded the closed door! “Saint Agatha! how that tastes upon my -tongue!” said Garin. - -He sat staring at the convent portal. Around was midday heat and -stillness. Drowned in that past day, he gave no heed to a sound of -approaching horsemen. But now Rainier came to his side. “Sir, there are -armed men coming! Best knock and gain entrance—” - -But Garin turned to see who came. A small party rode into sight beneath -the convent trees—not more than a dozen horsemen. One bore, depending -from a lance, a pensil of blue—the blue of Roche-de-Frêne. It hung -unstirring in the windless noon. In the air of the riders there was -something, one knew not what, of dejection or of portent. They came -neither fast nor slow, the hoofs of the horses making a sullen sound. - -Garin looked. At times there blew to him, through appearances, a -wind from behind appearances. It gave no definite word, but he heard -the rustling of the sibyl’s leaves. He drew Paladin a little to one -side and awaited the riders. From the convent chapel rose a sound of -chanting—the nuns at their office. - -The cluster of horsemen arrived in the space before the convent door. -The one who rode in front, a knight with grizzled hair and a stern, -lean face, directed an enquiry to the mounted men here before him. - -Garin answered. “I am of Castel-Noir—ridden here to-day because there -is that which I would ask of the Abbess Angela.” - -The grizzled knight shook his head. He spoke to one of those behind -him. “Strike upon the door, Raynold!” then, turning in his saddle, -addressed himself to the stranger knight in the blue surcoat. “Fair -sir, my lady Abbess, methinks, will not wish to deal to-day with any -matters that may be set aside.” - -“I see that you bring heavy tidings,” said Garin. “I fight for -Roche-de-Frêne. What are they?” - -“Well may you say that they are heavy! Our lord, Prince Gaucelm, is -slain.” - -“The prince is slain!” - -“There has been a great battle, ten leagues from here.... My master!” -cried the grizzled knight with sombre passion. “The best prince this -land has known—Gaucelm the Good!” - -Garin knew that the head of Our Lady in Egypt was a sister of the dead -prince. No longer was it a day in which, after years and at last, he -might ask his question. As it had waited, so must it wait still. He and -Rainier rode back to Castel-Noir. The next day, with his troop behind -him, he left Foulque, the black tower, and the fir wood, and the next -he joined the host of Stephen the Marshal where it lay confronting -Montmaure. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -SAINT MARTHA’S WELL - - -THE Princess Audiart crossed the river that made a crescent south -and east of the town,—her errand, to see how went the defences on -that side. Two stout towers reared themselves there, commanding the -river-bank, guarding the bridge-head. Beyond the towers workmen in -great numbers deepened a fosse, heaped ramparts, strengthened walls, -and in the earth over which Montmaure must advance planted sharpened -stakes and all gins and snares that the inventive mind might devise. To -hold this bridge was of an importance!—South and east stretched the -yet unharried lands and the roads by which must come in food for the -town, the roads by which it might keep in touch with the world without, -the roads by which might travel succour! - -The day was a blaze of light, a dry and parching heat. The river ran -with a glitter of diamonds. The stone of the many-arched bridge threw -back light. The hill of Roche-de-Frêne, the strong walls, the town -within them, the towered, huge church, the castle lifted higher yet, -swam in radiance. They lost precision of outline, they seemed lot and -part of the daystar’s self. - -With the princess there rode three or four of her captains. Clearing -the river they must turn their horses aside, out of the way of a -multitudinous, approaching traffic that presently, embouching upon the -bridge, covered it from parapet to parapet. Noise abounded. A herd -of cattle came first, destined, these, for the slope of field and -meadow between the stream and the town walls. Wagons followed—many -wagons—heaped with provision and drawn by oxen. They held grain in -quantity, fodder, cured meat, jars of oil, dried fruit, pease and -beans, whatever might be gathered near and far through the land. They -came, a long line of them, creaking slow, at the head of the oxen -sometimes a man walking, oftener a lad or a woman. They kept the -princess and those with her in the glare of the sun. A knight spoke -impatiently. “They creep!” - -“They creep because they are heavily laden,” said the princess. “Let us -thank our Lady Fortune that they creep!” - -The wagons gave way to a flock of sheep, bleating and jostling each the -other. Followed swine with their herd, goats, asses bearing panniers -from which fowls looked unhappily forth, carts with bags of meal, -a wide miscellany of matters most useful to a town that Montmaure -proposed to besiege—with Aquitaine behind him! The princess noted all. -The stream flowed by her orders, and her mind appraised the store that -was adding itself this morning to the store already gathered in town -and castle. She turned her horse a little and gazed afar over the -green and tawny country. - -Out of the sheen of the day came from another direction a straggling -crowd. Nearer at hand it resolved itself into a peasant horde—a -few men neither strong nor weak, but more very aged men, or sick or -crippled, many women from young to old, many children. They also had -carts, four or five, heaped with strange bits of clothing and household -gear. Lying upon these were helpless folk—an old, palsied man, a woman -and her day-old babe. They came on with a kind of deep, plaintive -murmur, like a wood in a winter blast. - -“Ah, Jesu!” said the princess. “More driven folk!” - -As they came near she pushed her horse toward them, bent from her -saddle, questioned them. They had come from a region where Montmaure -was harrying—they had a tale to tell of an attack in the night and a -burned village. Unlike many others, these had had time to flee. When -they found themselves upon the road, they had said that they would go -to Roche-de-Frêne and tell the princess, the prince being dead. - -“Aye, aye!” said the princess. “Poor folk—poor orphans!” - -She gave them cheering words, then sat as in a dream and watched them -faring on across the bridge and up the climbing road to the town gate. - -There spoke to her one of her captains, a grey, redoubtable fighter. -“My lady, you are not wise to let them enter! In the old siege your -great-grandfather let not in one useless mouth!” - -“Aye!” said the princess. “When I was little I heard stories from my -nurse of that siege. A great number died without the walls. Men, women, -and children died, kneeling and stretching their arms to the shut -gates!—That was my great-grandfather. But I will not have my harried -folk wailing, kneeling to deaf stone!—Now let us ride to see these -barriers.” - -The day was at the crest of light and heat when with her following -she recrossed the bridge, rode up the slope of summer hill, and in at -the gate of the town called the river-gate. Everywhere was a movement -of people, a buzzing sound of work. The walls of Roche-de-Frêne were -strong—but nothing is so strong that it cannot be strengthened! -Likewise there were many devices, modern to the age or of an advanced -efficiency. The princess had sent for a master-engineer, drawing him -with rich gifts to Roche-de-Frêne. The town hummed like a giant hive, -forewarned of the strong invader. Prince Gaucelm lay in the crypt under -the cathedral. At night the horizon, north and west, burned red to show -the steps of Montmaure. Over there, too, was Stephen the Marshal with a -host—though with never so great a host as had Montmaure whom Aquitaine -aided. In the high white light and dry heat Roche-de-Frêne, town and -castle, toiled busily. The castle looked to the town, the town looked -to the castle. In the town, by the walls, were gathered master-workman -and apprentice, not labouring to-day at dyeing and weaving and -saddlery, at building higher the church-tower; labouring to-day at -thickest shield-making; studying to keep out sack and fire, death and -pillage, rape and ruin, studying to keep out Montmaure. - -Thibaut Canteleu was mayor, chosen by the town last spring. He made the -round of the walls with the princess. “By all showing,” said Thibaut, -“the walls are greater and stronger than in the old siege.” - -“Not alone the walls,” the princess answered. - -“You are right there, my Lady Audiart! We are more folk and stronger. -We begin this time,” said Thibaut, “well-nourished, and, after a manner -of speaking, free. Also, which is a very big thing, liked and liking.” - -“I would, Thibaut Canteleu, that my father were here!” - -“Well, and my lady,” said Canteleu, “I think that he is. My father, -rest his soul! was a good and a bold man, and, by the rood, I think -that he is here—only younger and something added!” - -The princess stayed an hour and more by the walls, moving from point -to point with the captains and directors of the work. At one place a -company of men and women were seated, resting, eating bread, salad, and -cheese, drinking a little red wine. She asked for a bit of bread and -ate and drank with them. - -A child clung to its mother’s skirt, hiding its face. “It’s the -princess—it’s the princess—and I have not on my lace cap, mother!” - -Audiart smiled down on her. “I like you just as well without!” She -talked with the workers, then nodded her head and rode on. - -“Aye,” said Canteleu beside her. “This is such a tempered town as -Julius Cæsar or King Alexander might have been blithe to have about -them!” - -The princess studied him, walking by the bridle of her white Arabian. -“What would you do, Thibaut Canteleu, if I gave you Montmaure for lord?” - -Thibaut looked at Roche-de-Frêne spread around them, and then looked at -the sky, and then met, frank and full, the princess’s eyes with his own -black ones. - -“What could we do, my Lady Audiart? Begin again, perchance, where we -began in your great-grandfather’s time. Give us warning ere it happen! -So all who love freedom may hang themselves, saving Count Jaufre the -trouble!” - -“It will not happen,” said Audiart. She, too, looked at Roche-de-Frêne, -and looked at the sky. When she had made the round of the walls, she -rode through the street where the armourers and weapon-makers worked -at their trade more busily than in the days of peace, and to the -quarter where the fletchers worked, and to the storehouses where was -being heaped the incoming grain and other victual. Everywhere reigned -activity. Roche-de-Frêne contained not alone its own citizens, -together with the castle retainers, the poor knights, the squires, the -people of vague feudal standing and their followers whom ordinarily it -lodged, but in at the gates now, day by day, rode or walked fighting -men. There mustered to the town and the crowning great pile of the -castle lords and knights, esquires and mounted men and footmen. Men who -owed service came, and in lesser numbers free lances came. And all the -great vassals that entered had kneeled in the castle hall, before the -Princess Audiart, and putting their hands between hers, had taken her -for their liege lady. Where had reigned Gaucelm reigned Audiart. - -Each day, before she recrossed the castle moat and went in at the great -gate between Red Tower and Lion Tower, she would go for a little time -to the cathedral. She rode there now, knights about her. The white -Arabian stopped where he was wont to stop. Dismounting, she passed the -tremendous, sculptured portal and entered the place. - -Within abode a solemn and echoing dimness pointed with light. There -were a score of shadowy, kneeling folk, and the lights of the shrines -burned. The pillars stood like reeds in a giant elder world. Thin -ladders of gold light came down between them. Obeying the princess’s -gesture, the two or three with her stayed their steps. She went alone -to the chapel of Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne. Here, between the Saracen -pillars, before the tall, jewelled Queen of Heaven, before the lamps -fed with perfumed oil, lay a great slab of black stone. The Princess -Audiart knelt beside it, bowed herself until her forehead felt the -coldness.... - -She bent no long while over Gaucelm the Fortunate, lying still in the -crypt below. Sorrow must serve, not rule, in Roche-de-Frêne! Before she -rose from her knees and went, she lifted her eyes to the image in blue -samite, with the pierced heart and the starry crown. But her own heart -and mind spoke to something somewhat larger, more nearly the whole.... -She quitted the cathedral, and mounting her Arabian, turned with her -following toward the castle heaped against the sapphire sky. - -Riding that way, she rode by the bishop’s palace, and in the flagged -place, beside the dolphin fountain, she met Bishop Ugo. He checked -his mule by the spraying water, those with him attending at a little -distance. - -“Well met, my Lord Bishop!” said Audiart. “I have wished to take -counsel with you as to these stones. Here are five hundred fit for -casting upon Montmaure.” - -Ugo regarded the fair space between fountain and palace. “Then have -them taken up, princess, and borne to the walls.” He left the subject. -“Has there come any messenger from the host to-day?” - -“No. None.” - -“If there is battle,” said Ugo, “I pray the Blessed Mother of God that -the right may win!” - -He spoke with attempted unction. What was gained was more acid than -balm. - -The princess had a strange, hovering smile. “How may a man be assured -in this world,” she asked, “which of two shields is the right knight’s?” - -Ugo darted a look. “How may a man?—May a woman, then?” - -“As much, and as little, as a man,” answered the Princess Audiart. “My -Lord Bishop, if Count Jaufre strikes down Roche-de-Frêne, will you wed -him and me?” - -Ugo kept a mask-like face. “I am a man of peace, my Lady Audiart! It -becomes such an one to wish that foes were friends, and hands were -joined.” - -With this to think of, the princess rode through the chief street of -Roche-de-Frêne, the castle looming nearer and more huge with each -pace of the Arabian. Here was the deep moat and the bridge sounding -hollowly; here the barbican, Lion Tower and Red Tower. She rode beneath -the portcullis, through the resounding, vaulted passage, and in the -court the noblest knight helped her from her horse. She was dressed in -a dull green stuff, fine and thin, with a blue mantle for need, and -about her dark hair a veil twisted turban-wise. Her ladies came to meet -her, silken pages and chamberlains stepped backward before her. She -asked for Madame Alazais, and learning that she was in the garden, went -that way. - -Cushions had been piled upon a bank of turf in the shadow of a fruit -tree. Here reclined Alazais, beautiful as Eve or Helen, her ladies -about her and Gilles de Valence singing a new-old song. Alazais’s face -was pensive, down-bent, her cheek against her hand—but here in the -shade the day was desirable, with air enough to lift away the heat—and -Gilles’s singing pleased her—and the world and life must be supported! -In her fashion she had felt fondness for the dead prince,—felt -it now and still,—but yonder was death and here was life.... As -for war in the land and impending fearful siege, Alazais held that -matters might yet be compounded. Until this garden wall were battered -in, her imagination would not serve to show her this great castle -death-wounded. At the worst, thought Alazais, Audiart might wed Count -Jaufre. Men were not so hugely different.... - -The reigning princess came and sat beside her step-dame. “It is singing -and beauty just to be here for a moment under this tree!” She shut -her eyes. “To cease from striving and going on! To rest the whole -at one point of achieved sweetness, even if it were not very high -sweetness—just there—for aye! It would tempt a god....” - -The next day she rode westward from the town. Again the day was dry, -with an intense and arrowy light. She rode with a small train some -distance into the tawny land, to a strong castle that, strongly held, -might give Montmaure a check. She rode here to give wise praise, -to speak to those who garrisoned it words of the most courageous -expectation. She ate with her train in hall, rested in the cool of -the thick-walled room for the hour of extremest heat, spoke again -with feeling, wit, and fire to the knights and men-at-arms who must -desperately hold the place; then, with her following, said farewell and -good-speed. She turned back toward Roche-de-Frêne, through the burned, -high summer country. - -The sun was in the western heaven. Tall cypresses by the road cast -shadows of immense length. There lay ahead a grove of pine and oak, a -certain famous cold and bubbling spring, and a meeting with a lesser, -winding road. “I am thirsty,” said the princess. “Let us draw rein at -Saint Martha’s Well.” - -Entering the grove, they found another there before them, athirst and -drinking of the well. A knight in a blue surcoat knelt upon the grass -beside the water and drank. His shield rested against a tree, he had -taken off his helmet and placed it on the grass beside him, a squire -held his horse. As the princess and her train came to the well-side he -rose, stepped back with a gesture of courtesy. He had in his hand a cup -of horn set in silver. - -Several of those with the princess dismounted—one spoke to the -stranger knight. “Fair sir, we have no cup! If you will be frank with -yours—” - -Garin stooped again to the water, rinsed and filled the cup, and -carried it to the side of the white Arabian. The princess took it, -thanked him, and drank. Her eyes noted, over the rim of the cup, the -cross, proclaiming that he had fought in Palestine. Below it, on the -breast of his blue surcoat, was embroidered a bird with outstretched -wings. She drank, returned the cup and thanked the knight. He was -deeply bronzed, taller, wider of shoulder, changed here and changed -there from Garin the Squire. In his face sat powers of thought and -will that had hardly dwelled there so plainly years ago. She was not -aware that she had seen him before. She saw only a goodly knight, and -possessing, as she did, wide knowledge of the chivalry within her -princedom, wondered whence he had come. She had viewed famed knights -from many a land, but she could not recall this traveller with his -embroidered bird. - -She spoke to him with her forthright graciousness. “Fair sir, are you -for Roche-de-Frêne?” - -“Aye,” said Garin. “I come from the host, bearer of a letter to the -princess from my lord Stephen the Marshal. If, lady, you are she—” - -“I am Audiart,” said the princess, and held out her hand for the letter. - -Garin bent his knee, took from his breast the letter wrapped in silk, -and gave it. The princess drew off her glove, broke the seal and -read, sitting the white Arabian by the murmuring spring. Those with -her waited without movement that might disturb. Trees of the grove -whispered in the evening air, splashed gold from the sun lay here and -there like fairy wealth. The marshal wrote of ambushments, attacks, -repulses, conflicts where Roche-de-Frêne had been victorious. But the -two counts were together now, and the odds were great. New men had come -to them from Aquitaine. The host was great of spirit, and he, Stephen -the Marshal, would do his best. But let none be dismayed if there came -some falling back toward the town. So the frank marshal, a good general -and truth-teller. - -The princess read, sat for a moment with her eyes upon the light -falling through the trees, then spoke, giving to her knights the -substance of the letter. “So it runs, sirs! So the wheel turns and -turns, and no mind can tell—But the mind may be courageous, though it -knows not the body’s fortunes.” - -She folded the marshal’s letter, put it within her silken purse, and -drew on her glove. She spoke to Garin. “How do they call you, sir? Are -you man of ours?” - -“I am your man, lady. I am Garin, younger brother of Foulque of -Castel-Noir, and I am likewise called Garin of the Golden Island.” - -“Ride beside us to the town,” said the princess, “and give tidings of -the host.” - -Garin mounted Noureddin. Rainier bore his helmet and shield. The -company left the grove for the open road. The road and all the earth -lay in the gold of evening, and in the distance, lifted against the -clear sapphire of the east, was Roche-de-Frêne. Garin rode beside -the princess and gave the news of the host. She questioned with keen -intelligence, and he answered, it seemed, to her liking. - -When she had gained what she wished, she rode for a time in silence, -then, “I knew not that Foulque of Castel-Noir had a brother.” - -“Years ago,” said Garin, “I took the cross and went to Palestine. This -summer I came home and found the land afire. With two score men I left -Castel-Noir, and with them joined the marshal and the host.” - -“He speaks of you in his letter and gives you high praise. It is Lord -Stephen’s way to praise justly.” - -“I would do my devoir,” said Garin. - -Roche-de-Frêne lay before them. Castle and town and all the country -roundabout were bathed by a light golden and intense. “_Garin de l’Isle -d’Or_,” said the princess. “There is a troubadour named so—and he -sang, too, in the land beyond the sea. Are you he?” - -“Yes.” - -“You sing of one whom you name the _Fair Goal_?” - -“Aye, princess,” said Garin. “She is my lady.” - -“Lives she in this land?” - -“I know not. I have been in her presence but once—and that was long -ago. I think that she lives afar.” - -“Ah,” thought the princess, “behold your poet-lover, straining and -longing toward he knows not what nor whom—save that it is afar!” Aloud -she said, “If we are besieged in Roche-de-Frêne brave songs, as well -as brave deeds, will have room.” - -Turning to the south and then to the east they rode by the river and so -came to the fosse, ramparts, and towers, guardians of the bridge-head, -and then upon the bridge itself. Right and left they saw the gilded -water, in front the hill of Roche-de-Frêne, with, for diadem, the -strong town walled and towered, and high and higher yet, the mighty -castle. The horses’ hoofs made a deep sound, then they were away from -the bridge and climbing the road to the river-gate. A horn was winded, -clear and silver. Now they were riding through the streets, filled -with folk. Garin thought of an autumn day, and looked at the tower of -the cathedral, higher now than then.... The street climbed upward, the -castle loomed, vast as a dream in the violet light. - -“The castle will give you lodging, sir knight,” said the princess. - -Here was the moat, across it Red Tower and Lion Tower. Garin looked -up at the great blue banner, and then along the battlements to where -waved the green of the garden trees. Again there flashed into mind that -autumn day, and that he had wondered if ever he would enter here, a -knight, and serve his suzerain. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -GARIN AND JAUFRE - - -WITH a great host Montmaure encamped before Roche-de-Frêne and overran -the champaign half way around. Of the remainder, one fourth was, so -to speak, debatable ground,—now the field of the blue banner and now -that of the green and silver. The final fourth was stubbornly held by -Stephen the Marshal and the host. This gave to the east and included -the curve of the river, the bridge and its towers, and the road by -which still travelled, from unharried lands, food for the beleaguered -town. - -Montmaure’s tents covered the plain. Off into the deep summer woods -fringed the myriad of camp-followers, sutlers, women, thieves, outlawed -persons. But the fighting mass showed from the besieged town like a -magic and menacing carpet spread half around it, creeping and growing -to complete the ring. What was for the time a great army besieged -Roche-de-Frêne. - -The barons, vassals or allies of Montmaure, had each his quarter where -he planted his standard, and whence he led in assault the men who -called him lord. The Free Companies pitched among vineyards or where -had been vineyards. The spears from Aquitaine and a huge number of -bowmen covered thickly old wheat-fields, pastures, and orchards. Near -as might safely be to the walls of Roche-de-Frêne,—so near that the -din of the town might be heard, that the alarum bell, when it rang, -rocked loud in their ears,—were raised, in the fore-front of tents as -numerous as autumn sheaves, the pavilions of Count Savaric and of his -son, Count Jaufre. It was August weather, hot and thunderous. - -Jaufre de Montmaure came to the door of his pavilion and looked at the -hill, the town and castle of Roche-de-Frêne. Behind the three were -storm clouds, over them storm light. The banner of the Princess Audiart -flew high. Against the grey, heaped vapour it showed like an opening -into blue sky. - -Each day and every day assaults were made. One was now in progress, -directed against the bridge-head, very visible from Jaufre’s tent. -Aimeric the Bastard led it, and Aimeric was a fierce warrior, followed -by men whose only trade was fighting. The atmosphere was still, hushed, -grey, and sultry, dulling the noise that was made. The mass of the -force was not concerned. - -Jaufre stood, tall and red-gold, hawk-nosed, and with a scar across -his cheek. He was without armour and lightly clothed, to meet the -still heat. Upon the ground without the tent had been spread skins of -wild beasts. He spoke over his shoulder, then, moving to these skins, -threw himself down upon them. Unconquered town and castle, the present -attack upon the bridge, the slow coming of the storm, the blue, -undaunted banner could best be noted just from here. A squire brought a -flagon of wine from the tent and set it beside him. - -Out of a pavilion fifty yards away came Count Savaric, and crossed -the space to his son. With an inner tardiness Jaufre rose from the -skins and stood. “I have sent word to Gaultier Cap-du-Loup to take his -Company to Aimeric’s help,” said Count Savaric. He took a seat that -they brought him. - -Count Jaufre lay down again upon the skins. There held the grey -breathlessness and light of the slow-travelling storm. - -Count Savaric watched the dust-cloud that hid the bridge-head, -obscuring the strong tower and the supporting works that Roche-de-Frêne -had built and, with the aid of its encamped host, yet held against all -assault. - -But Jaufre regarded moodily the walled town and the castle. He spoke. -“This tent has stood here a month to-day, and we have buried many -knights.” - -“Just,” answered Count Savaric. “Barons and knights and a host of the -common people. A great jewel is a costly thing!” - -“I miss my comrade, Hugues le Gai. And Richard will not lightly take -the loss of Guy of Perpignan.” - -“Duke Richard knows how jewels cost.” - -Jaufre waved a sinewy hand toward Roche-de-Frêne. The half-light and -the storm in the air edged his mood. “Well, they will pay!” he said. -He lay silent for a minute, then spoke again, but more to himself than -to Count Savaric. “Until lately I took that woman yonder—” he jerked -a thumb toward the high, distant, blue banner,—”for the mere earth I -must take in hand to get the diamond of Roche-de-Frêne! So I had the -diamond, the bride that came with it was no great matter. She had no -beauty, they said. But, Eye of God! there were other women on earth! -They are plentiful. Take this one that went with the diamond, get sons -upon her, and let her be silent.... Now, I care less for the diamond, I -think, than to humble the Princess Audiart!” - -Count Savaric, leaning forward, regarded the bridge-end. “Gaultier -Cap-du-Loup is there.... Ha, they send men to meet him! That may -develop—” - -The castle loomed against the grey curtain of cloud. The minutiæ of -the place appeared to enlarge, intensify. Each detail grew individual, -stubborn, a fortress in itself. The whole mocked like the heaped -clouds. “Ha, my Lady Audiart!” said Jaufre, “who will not have me for -lord—who takes a sword in her hand and fights me—” - -He sat up upon the skins, poured himself a cup of wine, and drank. - -His father, looking still at the bridge-tower, rose with suddenness -to his feet. “The lord of Chalus and his men are going in! There must -be yonder half Stephen the Marshal’s force! The plain stirs. Ha! best -arm—” - -Jaufre rose now also. There was a gleam in his eye. “Breath of God!” he -said. “I feel to-day like battle!” - -His squires armed him. While they worked the trumpets blew, rousing -every segment of the camp. Trumpets answered from beyond the bridge. In -the town the alarum bell began its deep ringing. The day turned sound -and motion. Count Savaric left his tent, mounted a charger that was -brought, and spurred to the head of a press of knights. The colours of -the plain shifted to the eye; dust hung above the head of the bridge -and all the earth thereabouts; out of it came a heavy sound with -shouting. The area affected increased; it was evident that there might -ensue a considerable, perhaps a general, battle. It was as though a -small stir in the air had unexpectedly spread to whirlwind dimensions. -And all the time the sky hung moveless, with an iron tint. - -They armed Jaufre in chain-mail, put over this a green surcoat worked -with black, attached his spurs, laced his helmet, gave him knightly -belt and two-edged sword, held the stirrup while he mounted the war -horse, gave him shield and spear. He looked a red-gold giant, and he -was a bold fighter, and many a man followed him willingly. He shook his -spear at the castle, and at the banner waving above the huge donjon. -“Ha, Audiart the Wise! Watch now your lord do battle!” - -Around the bridge-head, where Stephen the Marshal had his host, -the battle sprang into being with an unexpectedness. There had been -meant but a heavier than ordinary support to the endangered barriers, -a stronger outward push against Aimeric the Bastard and Gaultier -Cap-du-Loup. But the tension of the atmosphere, the menace and urge, -the storm-light affected alike Roche-de-Frêne and Montmaure. Each side -threw forward more men and more. From the bridge-head the shock and -clamour ate into the plain. The mêlée deepened and spread. Suddenly, -with a trampling and shouting, a lifting of dust to the skies, the -whole garment was rent. There arrived, though none had looked for it -on this day, general battle.... The leaders appeared, barons and famed -knights. Here was the marshal, valiant and cool, bestriding a great -steed, cheering on his people, wielding himself a strong sword. The -battle was over open earth, and among the tents and quarters of the -soldiery, and against and from the cover of the works that guarded the -bridge. Now it shrieked and thundered in the space between the opposing -camps, now among the tents of Roche-de-Frêne and now among those of -Montmaure. Banners dipped and fell and rose again, were advanced -or withdrawn. There were a huge number of banners, bright-hued, -parti-coloured. They showed amid the dust like giant flowers torn from -a giant garden and tossed in air. It became a fell struggle, where -riderless war horses galloped hither and yon, and the footmen fought -hard with pike and sword, and the crossbowmen sent their bolts, and -the archers sent whistling flights of arrows. And still the clouds hung -grey, and the town and castle drawn against them watched breathlessly. - -Aimar de Panemonde had joined his brother-in-arms. A brave and -beautiful knight, he rode in the onset beside Garin of the Golden -Island. The two lowered lances and came against two knights of -Montmaure. The knights were good knights, but the men from Palestine -defeated and unhorsed them. One was hurt to death, the other his people -rescued. Garin and Aimar, sweeping forward, met, by a bit of wall, -mounted men of a Free Company.... The din had grown as frightful as -if the world was crashing down. Always Montmaure might remember that -Montmaure had in field twice as many as Roche-de-Frêne. Garin and Aimar -thrust through the press by the wall, rode with other knights where -the fight was fiercest. Garin wished to encounter Jaufre de Montmaure; -he searched for the green and silver banner. But there was a wild -toss of colours, shifting and indeterminate. Moreover the day, dark -before, darkened yet further; it was not possible to see clearly to any -distance. - -And then, suddenly, a knight was before him, on a great bay horse -caparisoned with green picked out with black, the knight himself in -a green surcoat. The helmet masked the face, all save the eyes. Each -combatant shook a spear and drove against the other, but a wave of -battle surging by made the course not true. The green knight’s spear -struck the edge of Garin’s shield. But the latter’s lance, encountering -the other’s casque, burst the fastening, unhelmed him. Red-gold hair -showed, hawk nose, scar across the cheek. - -“Ha!” cried Garin. “I know you! Do you, perchance, know me?” - -But the battle drove them apart. Here in the press was no longer a -knight in green. Garin, looking around, saw only dim struggling forms, -knights and footmen. Aimar had been with him, but the waves had borne -Aimar, too, to a distance. He lost Rainier also, and his men. Here was -the grey, resounding plain beneath the livid sky, and the battle, that, -as a whole, went against Roche-de-Frêne. His horse sank under him, cut -down by Cap-du-Loup’s men. Garin drew his sword, fought afoot. He saw -a tossed banner, heard a long trumpet-call, hewed his way where the -press was thickest. A riderless horse coming by him, trampling the -dead and the hurt that lay thickly, he caught it by the bridle and -brought it in time to Stephen the Marshal full in the midst of that -seething war. “Gramercy!” cried Stephen, and swung himself into saddle. -Roche-de-Frêne rallied, swept toward Montmaure’s coloured tents. -Overhead the thunder was rolling. - -Garin, his back to a heap of stones, fought as he had fought in the -land over the sea. A bay horse came his way again. Jaufre de Montmaure, -unhelmed, towered above him, sword in hand. Garin’s casque was without -visor; his features showed, and in the pallid light his blue surcoat -with the bird upon the breast. “Will you leave your horse?” quoth -Garin. “It were better chivalry so.” - -“I meet you the second time to-day. Moreover we encountered a fortnight -ago, in the fight by the river. Beside that,” said Jaufre, “there is -something that comes back to me—but I cannot seize it! Before I slay -you, tell me your name.” - -“Garin of the Golden Island.” - -Jaufre made a pause. “You are the troubadour?” - -“Just.” - -“So that Richard knows not that I cut you down!” said Jaufre, and -struck with his sword. - -But not for nothing had Garin trained in the East. The blade that -should have bitten deep met an upward glancing blade. The stroke was -turned aside. Jaufre made a second and fiercer essay—the sword left -his hand, came leaping and clattering upon the heap of stones. “Eye of -God!” swore Jaufre and hurled himself from his war horse. - -“Take your sword!” said Garin. “And yet once, where I was concerned, -you lied, making oath that I struck you from behind and unawares—” - -“Who are you with your paynim play? Who are you that I seem to know?” - -“I was not knight, but squire—when I tied your hands with your horse’s -reins!” - -A deeper red came to Montmaure’s face, the veins stood out upon his -brow, his frame trembled. “Now I remember—! Flame of Hell! You are -that insolent whom I sought—” - -“I flew from your grasp, and I wintered well in Palestine.—And still -you injure women!” - -Jaufre lunged with the recovered sword. “I will kill you now—” - -“That is as may be,” said Garin, and began again the paynim play. - -But he was not destined to have to-day Jaufre’s death upon him, nor to -spill his own life. With shouting and din, through the blackening air, -Count Savaric swept this way, a thousand with him. The mêlée became -wild, confused and dream-like. Jaufre sprang backward from the sword, -like a serpent’s darting tongue, of Garin of the Golden Island. The -Lord of Chalus pushed a black steed between and with a mace struck -Garin down. He sank beside the heap of stones, and for a time lost -knowledge of the clanging fight. It went this way and it went that. But -the host of Roche-de-Frêne had great odds against it, and faster and -faster it lost.... - -Garin came back to consciousness. Storm-light and failing day, sound -as of world ruin, odour of blood, oppression of many bodies in narrow -space, faintness of heat—Garin looked upward and saw through a cleft -in the battle Roche-de-Frêne upon its hill-top, and the castle grey -against the grey heaven, a looming grey dream. He sank again into the -sea and night, but when he lifted again, lifted clear. He opened his -eyes and found Aimar beside him, and Rainier. - -Aimar bent to him. “What, Garin, Garin! All saints be praised! I -thought you dead—” - -“I live,” said Garin. “But the day is going against us.” - -He spoke dreamily, and rose to his feet. Before and above him he still -saw the grey castle. It lightened, and in a wide picture showed the -broken host and the faces of fleeing men. One came by with outspread -arms. “Lord Stephen is down—sore hurt or dead! Lord Stephen is down—” - -Thunder crashed. Beneath its long reverberations sounded a wailing -of trumpets. This died, and there arose a savage shouting, noise of -Montmaure’s triumph. It lightened and thundered again. Other and many -trumpets sounded, not at hand but somewhat distantly, not mournfully, -but with voices high and resolved and jubilant. Garin thought that they -came from the castle, then that they were blowing in the streets of the -town, then that they sounded without the walls, from the downward slope -of the great road. Rose came into the grey of the world, salt into its -flatness. - -“Blessed Mother of God!” cried Aimar. “See yonder, rescue streaming -from the gates—” - -Forth from Roche-de-Frêne poured the castle garrison, poured the -burghers. They came, each man armed as he would run, at the alarum -bell, to the walls. Knight and sergeant rode; the many hasted afoot. -All the old warriors and the young warriors, whose post of duty had -been within the place, sprang forth, and followed them the host of -the townsmen, at their head Thibaut Canteleu. But at the head of -all, chivalry, foot-soldiers and townsmen, rode the Princess of -Roche-de-Frêne. Down came the torrent, in the light of the storm, down -the hill of Roche-de-Frêne, over the bridge, then widened itself and -came impetuous, with a kind of singing will, freshness, and power upon -the plain, to the battle that the one side had thought won and the -other lost. - -All lethargy passed from Garin’s senses. He beheld the rallying of the -host, beheld Stephen the Marshal, sore wounded but not to death, lifted -and borne to the great tower, beheld the princess, wearing mail like -a man, a helmet upon her head, in her hand a sword. She rode a grey -destrier, and where her banner came, came courage, hope, and victory. -The battle turned. Montmaure was thrust back upon his tents. When the -tempest broke, with a great rain and whistling wind, with lightning -that blinded and pealing thunder, when the twilight came down and the -battle rested, it was Montmaure that had lost the day. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -OUR LADY OF ROCHE-DE-FRÊNE - - -STEPHEN the Marshal lay in a fair chamber in the castle of -Roche-de-Frêne, very grievously hurt and fevered with his hurt. A -physician attended him, and his squires watched, and an old skilled -woman, old nurse of the Princess Audiart, sat beside his bed. Sometimes -Alazais, with the Lady Guida, came to the room, stood and murmured -pitiful words. Through the windows, deep set in the thick wall, -entered, through the long day, other sound, not pitiful. At times it -came as well in the long night. Montmaure might assault three, four -times during the day and, for that he would wear out the defenders, -strike again at midnight or ere the cock crew. - -Montmaure had so many fighting men that half might rest through the -day or sleep at night while their fellows wore down Roche-de-Frêne. -Count Jaufre had ridden westward and northward,—after the day of the -wounding of Stephen,—and coming to Autafort where was Duke Richard, -had procured, after a night of talk and song, dawn mass, and a -headlong, sunrise gallop between the hills, the gift of other thousands -of men wherewith to pay the cost of the jewel. Normans, Angevins, men -of Poitou and Gascony, Englishmen, soldiers of fortune, and Free -Companions—they followed Jaufre de Montmaure to Roche-de-Frêne and -swelled the siege. They were promised great booty, plenary license when -the town was sacked, a full meal for the lusts of the flesh. - -The host defending Roche-de-Frêne grew smaller, the host grew small and -worn. Vigilance that must never cease to be vigilant, attack by day and -by night, many slain and many hurt, death and wounding and, at last, -disease—and yet the host held the bridge-head and the bridge, made no -idle threat against Montmaure, but struck quick and deep. It did what -was possible to the heroic that yet was human.... There came a day when -the entire force of Montmaure thrown, shock upon shock, against the -barriers, burst a way in. The strong towers, guardians of the bridge, -could no longer stand. The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne must draw a -shattered host across the river, up the hill of Roche-de-Frêne, and in -at the gates to the shelter of the strong-walled town. - -It was done; foot by foot the bridge was surrendered, foot by foot -the host brought off. From hillside and wall the archers and the -crossbowmen sent their bolts singing through the air, keeping back -Montmaure.... Company by company, division by division, the gates were -passed; when the host was within, they closed with a heavy sound. Gate -and gate-towers and curtains of walls high and thick—the armed town, -the huge, surmounting castle, looked four-square defiance to the -Counts of Montmaure. Now set in the second stage of this siege. - -Montmaure held the roads to and from Roche-de-Frêne. Montmaure lay -as close as he might lie and escape crossbow bolts and stones flung -by those engines caused to be constructed by men of skill in the -princess’s pay. From the walls, look which way you might, you saw the -coils of Montmaure. He lay glittering, a puissant dragon, impatient -to draw his folds nearer, impatient to tighten them around town -and castle, strangle, and crush! To hasten that final hour he made -daily assay with tooth and claw. Sound of fierce assault and fierce -repulse filled great part of time. The periods between of repose, of -exhaustion, of waiting had—though men and women went about and spoke -and even laughed—the feeling of the silence of the desert, a blank -stillness. - -The spirit of the town was good—it were faint praise, calling it that! -Gaucelm the Fortunate, Audiart the Wise, and their motto and practice, -I BUILD, had lifted this princedom and this town, or had given room for -proper strength to lift from within. Now Thibaut Canteleu supported -the princess in all ways, and the town followed Thibaut. Audiart the -Wise and Roche-de-Frêne fought with a single will. And Bishop Ugo made -attestation that he wished wholly the welfare of all. He preached in -the cathedral; he passed through the town with a train of churchmen and -blessed the citizens as they hurried to the walls; he mounted to the -castle and gave his counsel there. The princess listened, then went -her way. - -Lords, knights, and squires, the chivalry of Roche-de-Frêne, was hers. -They liked a woman to be lion-hearted, and they forgot the old name -that had been given her. Perhaps it was no longer applicable, perhaps -it had never, in any high degree, been applicable. Perhaps there had -been some question of fashion, and a beauty not answered to by the eyes -of many beholders, a thing of spirit, mind, and rarity. Her vassals, -great and less great, gave her devout service; they trusted her, warp -and woof. She had a genius and a fire that she breathed into them and -that aided to heroic deeds. - -Garin of the Golden Island did high things in the siege of -Roche-de-Frêne. Where almost all were brave, where each day deeds -resounded, he grew to have a name here for exquisiteness of daring -as he had had it in the land beyond the sea.... He found himself, -in one of those periods of stillness between assaults, alone by the -watch-tower above the castle garden. He had left Aimar at the barbican, -Rainier he had sent upon some errand. It was nearing sunset, and the -trees in the garden had an autumn tint. The year wheeled downward. - -Garin, mounting the watch-tower, found upon the summit a mantled -figure, leaning against the battlement overlooking the wide prospect. A -moment, and he saw that it was the princess and would have withdrawn. -But Audiart called him back. In the garden below waited a page and an -attendant of whom the princess was fond—the dark-eyed girl who told -stories well. But for the rest there held a solitude. She had come -from the White Tower to taste this quiet and to look afar, to bathe -her senses in this stillness after clamour, and to feel overhead the -enemyless expanse. - -“You are welcome, Sir Garin of the Golden Island!” she said, and turned -toward him. “I watched you lead the sally yesterday. No brave poet ever -made men more one with him than you did then—” - -Garin came to her side, bent and kissed her mantle edge where her arm -brought it against the battlement. “Princess of Roche-de-Frêne!” he -said, “watching you, in this war, all men turn brave and poets.” - -He had spoken as he felt. But, “No!” said the Princess Audiart. “No man -turns what he is not.” She looked again at the wide prospect. “My heart -aches,” she said, “because of all the misery! At times I would that I -knew—” - -She rested her brow upon her hands. The sun touched the mountains, -jagged and sharp, shaped long ago by central fires. The castle and -town of Roche-de-Frêne were bathed in a golden light. The princess -uncovered her eyes. “Well! we travel as we may, or as the inner will -doth will.—How long do you think that this castle will go untaken by -Montmaure?” - -“I think that it will go forever untaken by Montmaure.” - -“He is strong—he has old strength.... But I came to the garden and the -watch-tower not to think of that and of how the battle goes.... Look at -the violet stealing up from the plain.” - -“In the morning comes the sun once more! I believe in light.” - -“Yea! so do I.” She looked from the cloud-shapes of the western sky to -the clear fields of the east and the deeps overhead. Her gaze stayed -there a moment, then dropped, a slow sailing bird, to the garden trees -below the tower, the late flowers, and the sunburned turf. “The autumn -air.... I like that—have always liked it.... In the hurly-burly of -this siege, you think yet of the Fair Goal?” - -“Yes, lady.” - -“Listen to the convent-bells! That is the Convent of Saint Blandina.... -Pierol, down there, has a lute. I am tired. I would rest for an hour -and forget blood and crying voices. I would think of fairer things. -I would forget Montmaure. Let us go down under the trees, and I will -listen to your singing of your Fair Goal.” - -They descended the tower-stair and came into the garden. Here was a -tall cypress and a seat beneath it for the princess, and a lower one -for the singer. Pierol gave the lute, then with the dark-eyed girl drew -back into the shade of myrtles. Garin touched the strings, but when he -sang it was of love itself. - -The Princess Audiart listened, wrapped in her mantle. When the song was -ended, “That is of love itself, and beautiful it was!—Now sing of -your own love.” - -Garin obeyed. When it was done, “That is loveliness!” said the -Princess. “This very moment that fair lady has you, doubtless, in her -thought.” - -“She whom I sing, lady, and call the Fair Goal, has never seen me. She -knows not that such a man lives.” - -“What!” exclaimed the princess and turned upon him. “You have seen her -once, and she has not seen you at all! You know not her true name nor -her home, and she knows not that you are in life! Now, by my faith—” - -She broke off, sitting staring at him with a strangely vivid face. “I -have heard troubadours sing of such loves,” she said slowly, “but I -have not believed them. Such loves seemed neither real, nor greatly -desirable to be made real. It was to me like other pretences.... But -you, Sir Garin of the Golden Island, I hold to be honest—” - -Garin laid the lute upon the earth beside him. He looked at the trees -of the garden, and he seemed to see again a nightingale that flew -from shade to shade and sang with a sweetness that ravished. “If I -know my own heart,” he said, “it loves with reality!” And as he spoke -came the first confusion, strangeness, and doubt, the first sense of -something new, or added. It was faint—so underneath that only the -palest dawn-light of it came over the horizon of the mind—so far -and speechless that Garin knew not what it was, only divined that -something was there. Whatever recognition occurred was of something not -unpleasing, something that, were it nearer, might be known for wealth. -Yet there was an admixture of pain and doubt of himself. He fell -silent, faint lines between his brows. - -The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne likewise sat without speaking. A colour -was in her cheek and her eyes had strange depths. There was softness in -them, but also force and will. She looked a being with courage to name -her ends to herself and power to reach them. - -The dusk was coming, the small winged creatures that harboured in the -castle garden were at their vesper chirping. The page Pierol and the -dark-eyed girl whispered among the myrtles. - -The princess rose. “I am not so tired nor so melancholy now! I thank -you for your singing, Sir Garin.” - -“I would, my princess,” answered Garin, “that, like the singers of old, -I might build walls where they are broken! I would that, with armèd -hand, I might bring you victory!” - -“One paladin alone no longer does that,” said Audiart. “If we win, we -all have part—you and Sir Aimar and Lord Stephen, for whom I grieve, -and all the valiant chivalry and those who fight afoot. And Thibaut -Canteleu and every brave townsman. And the women who are so brave, -ready and constant. And the children who hush their crying. All have -part—all! Account must be taken, too, of my father’s jester, who, the -other day, penned a cartel to Montmaure. He tied it to an arrow and -shot it from the point of highest danger. And it was a scullion who -threw down the ladder from the northern wall. All share. The value is -in each!” - -“And you, my Lady Audiart, have you no part?” - -“I take account of myself as well. Yes, I, too, have part.” - -She turned her face toward the myrtles. “Come, Pierol—Maeut!” then -spoke again to Garin of the Golden Island. “It seems to me sad that -the Fair Goal, whoever she be, wherever she bides, should know naught -of you! Did you perish to-morrow in Roche-de-Frêne, her tears would -not flow. If she were laughing, her laughter would not break. No sense -of loss where is no sense of possession! This siege never threats her -happiness—so little do you know of each other!” Her voice had a faint -note of scorn, with something else that could not be read. - -“That is true,” said Garin, and was once more conscious of that appeal -beyond the horizon, under seas. He felt that there had been some birth, -and that it was a thing not unsweet or passionless. It seemed other -than aught that had come before into his life. And yet, immediately, -he saw again and loved again the inaccessible, veiled figure, the -traveller from far away,—it had fixed itself in his mind that she was -a traveller from far away,—the lady who had been the guest of Our Lady -in Egypt! He loved, he thought, more strongly, if that might be, than -before. And again came the note of pain and bewilderment. “It is true, -my princess! And still I think that in some hidden way—hidden to her -and to me—she knows and answers!” He took the lute from the grass -and drew from it a deep and thrilling strain. “So,” he said, “is the -thought of her among my heart-strings.” - -The princess drew her mantle about her. “Let us go,” she said. -“To-night I hold council. There is a thing that must be decided, -whether to do it or not to do it.” - -They left the garden, Maeut and Pierol following. - -Garin was not among the barons and the knights in the great hall when -the council was held. He might have been so, but he chose absence. -The castle was so vast—there were so many buildings within the ring -of its wall—that it lodged a host. He, with Aimar, their squires and -men-at-arms, had quarters toward the northern face. Here he came, there -being a half moon, and all the giant place in black and silver. But he -did not enter his lodging or call to Aimar or to Rainier. He went on to -where a wooden stair was built against the wall. Here stood a sentinel -to whom he gave the word, then, passing, climbed the stair. At the top -was space where twenty might stand, and a catapult be worked. Here, -too, a soldier kept guard. Garin gave him good-evening, and the man -recognized him. - -“Sir Garin of the Black Castle, I was behind you in the sally -yesterday! Thumb of Saint Lazarus! yonder was enough to make dead blood -leap!” - -Garin gave him answer, then crossed to the battlements, and leaning -his folded arms upon the stone, looked forth into the night. This -angle of the castle turned from the crowded town. The wall was built -on sheer rock, and below the rock was the moat; beyond the moat rose -scattered houses, and then the ultimate strong wall enclosing all, town -and castle alike. And below, on the plain, was Montmaure, islanding -Roche-de-Frêne. - -The autumn air struck cool. Montmaure had camp-fires flaring here and -flaring there, making red-gold blurs in the night. Garin, watching -these, came, full-force, upon an awareness of fresh misliking for -Montmaure—for Jaufre de Montmaure; misliking so strong that it came -close to hatred. He had misliked him before, calling him private no -less than public foe. But that feeling had been tame to this. - -The inner atmosphere thickened and darkened. Could he have forged -material lightning, Jaufre might then have perished. He stood staring -at the red flare upon the horizon. His lips moved. “Jaufre, Jaufre! -would you have the princess?” - -The autumn wind blew against him. Overhead, the moon came out from -clouds and blanched the platform where he stood and the long line of -the wall. He turned, and looking to the huge castle, saw the rays -silver the White Tower. He knew that this was where the princess lived. -Hate went out of Garin’s heart and out of his eyes. “What is this,” he -cried, but not aloud, “what is this that has come to me?” - -He stayed a long while on the platform, that was now in light and -now in shadow, for the sky had fleets of clouds. But at last he said -good-night to the pacing sentinel, and, descending the stair, went to -his lodging. Here, before the door, watched one of his own men. “Has -Sir Aimar returned, Jean the Talkative?” - -“No, lord,” said Jean from Castel-Noir. “He sent to find you, but no -one knew where—It seems that all the lords and famous knights have -been called into hall. Moreover, there are townsmen in the great court, -and the mayor is inside with the lords. The bishop came up the hill at -supper-time with a long train. There was a monk here, an hour agone, -who said that there had been a miracle down there in the cathedral. -One Father Eustace, who is very holy, was kneeling before Our Lady of -Roche-de-Frêne, and he put up his hands to her, like a child to his -mother, and he said ‘Blessed, Divine Lady, when will Roche-de-Frêne -have peace and happiness?’ Then, lord, what favour was granted to the -holy man! Our Lady’s lips opened smilingly, and words came out of them -in a sweet and gracious voice, to this effect: ‘When those two wed.’ -Holy Eustace fell in a swoon, so wonderful was the thing, and when he -came to went to my lord the bishop. Whereupon—” - -But, “Talk less, Jean—talk less!” said Sir Garin, and went by, -leaving Jean staring. Within the house, stretched upon the floor of -the great lower room, lay his men asleep. They needed sleep; all in -Roche-de-Frêne knew the strain of watching overtime, of fighting by day -and by night. Two only whispered in a corner, by a guttering candle. -These springing up as Garin entered proved to be Rainier and the -younger squire of Aimar, the elder being with his master. “Stay till I -call you,” said Garin to Rainier, and passing between the slumbering -forms, ascended the stair to the chamber above. Here, before a small -window was drawn a bench. He sat down, and looked forth at the moon -passing from cloud to cloud. - -Eight years ago he, like Father Eustace, had knelt before Our Lady of -Roche-de-Frêne and asked for a sign.... Of his age, inevitably, in a -long range of concerns, Garin had not formerly questioned miracles. -They occurred all the time, sworn to by Holy Church. But now, and -passionately enough, he doubted that Father Eustace lied. - -Here, sometime later, Aimar found him. “Why did you not come to the -hall? Saint Michael! It had been worth your while!” - -“I know not why I did not come.... I have been on the walls—I think -that I have been struck by the moon.... What was done in hall?” - -Aimar stood beside him. “This princess—I have not seen another like -her in the world!” - -“She came from fairyland and the wise saints’ land and the bravest -future land.—What was done?” - -“Have you heard of the miracle of Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne?” - -“I have heard of it. I do not believe it.” - -“Speak low!” said Aimar. “Bishop Ugo related it with eloquent lips.” - -“Bishop Ugo is Montmaure’s man.” - -“Speak lower yet!... Perchance he thinks that Montmaure is his man.” - -“Perchance he does. Let them be each other’s. What was answered?” - -“The princess rose and spoke. She said that there were so many twos in -the world that we must remain in doubt as to what two the Blessed Image -meant.” - -“Ha!” cried Garin, and laughed out. - -“So,” said Aimar, “did we all—barons, knights, and no less a soul than -Thibaut Canteleu. But the bishop looked darkly.” - -“No doubt Father Eustace will presently be vouchsafed an -explanation!—Light wed darkness, and Heaven approve!—Ha! what then, -is Heaven?” - -“But then Ugo became smooth and fine, and wove a sweet garland of words -for the wise princess. And so, for this time, that passed.—Came that -which the council had been called to judge of. Heralds from Montmaure, -appearing this morning before the river-gate, asking for parley, were -blindfolded and brought to her in hall.” - -Garin turned. “What said Jaufre de Montmaure?” - -“What is wrong with you, Garin of the Golden Island? Heaven forfend -your sickening with the fever!—Montmaure offers a truce from sunrise -to sunrise, offers, moreover, to pitch pavilions two bow shots from -the walls. Then, saith the two of him,—or rather saith Jaufre with -a supporter signed by Count Savaric,—then let this be done! Let the -Princess of Roche-de-Frêne, followed by fifty knights, and Count Jaufre -de Montmaure, followed by fifty, meet with courtesy and festival before -these pavilions—the end, the coming face to face, the touching hands, -the speaking together of two who never yet have had that fortune. So, -perchance, a different music might arise!” - -“How might that be? Her soul does not accord with his.” Garin left the -window, paced the room, came back to the flooding moonlight. “What said -the princess?” - -“She gave to all in hall the words of the heralds and asked for -counsel. Then this baron spoke and that knight and also Thibaut -Canteleu, and they spoke like valiant folk, one advising this course -and one that. And Bishop Ugo spoke. Then the princess stood up, thanked -all and gave decision.” - -“She will take her knights, and with courtesy and festival she will -meet and touch hands and speak with Jaufre, there by his pavilions?” - -“Just,” said Aimar.... “Do you know, Garin, that when you make poems of -the Fair Goal, you make men see a lady not unlike the princess of this -land?” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -COUNT JAUFRE - - -THE day was soft and bright, neither hot nor cold, and at the -mid-morning. Half-way between the walls of Roche-de-Frêne and the host -of Montmaure, in a space clear of any cover that might be used for -ambushes, rose a blue pavilion, a green and silver pavilion, and one -between that carried these colours blended. Before the blue pavilion -hung a banner with a blue field and the arms of Roche-de-Frêne, before -the green and silver Montmaure’s banner; before the third pavilion -the two ensigns were fixed side by side. Those who had pitched the -pavilions and made lavish preparation were servants of Montmaure. -Montmaure was the host this day. Led blindfold into Roche-de-Frêne, -through the streets and in at the castle gate, had gone four great -barons, hostages for the green and silver’s faith. - -A trumpet sounded from the town. A trumpet answered for Montmaure. -The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne rode through the gates upon her white -Arabian. Behind her came two ladies, Guida and Maeut, and after these -rode fifty knights. All wound down the hillside that was pitted and -scarred and strewn with many a battle token. To meet them, started from -the tented plain fifty knights of Montmaure, and at their head Count -Jaufre. Count Savaric, it was known, suffered yet at times with the -wound he had got in the spring from Stephen the Marshal. It seemed that -it was so in the week of this meeting. He was laid in his tent in the -hands of his leech. But by cry of herald he had made known that his -son’s voice and presence were his own. The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne -would meet in Count Jaufre no less a figure than the reigning count. -Thus Jaufre rode alone at the head of the fifty knights. - -He rode a great steed caparisoned as for a royal tourney. He himself -wore mail beneath a surcoat of the richest samite, but he had -embroidered gloves, not battle gauntlets, and in place of helmet a cap -sewn with gems and carrying an eagle feather. The one train came down -the hill, the other crossed the level, overburned, and trodden earth. -The two met with fanfare of trumpets and caracoling of steeds and -chivalrous parade, close at hand the coloured pavilions, overhead the -sapphire sky, around the breath of autumn. - -Jaufre sprang from his courser, hastened to the Arabian and would aid -the princess to dismount. He swept his cap from his head. Red-gold -locks and hawk nose, and on the right cheek a long scar, curiously -shaped.... The Princess Audiart sat very still upon her white Arabian. -Then she smiled, dismounted, and gave Jaufre de Montmaure her gloved -hand. - -Jaufre was adept, when he so chose, in _courtoisie_. He had learned -the value and the practice of it in Italy, and learned, in his -fellowship with Richard Lion-Heart, to temper it with the cool snow -of exaltation and poetry—or to seem to temper it. Richard truly did -so. To-day this one acre of earth was a court, and he was prepared to -behave to the ruler of Roche-de-Frêne as to a fair woman who chanced -to be high-born. All the past fighting should be treated with disdain -as a lovers’ quarrel! Count Jaufre had chosen a rôle, and practised -it in his mind, with a smile upon his lips. He did not forget, nor -did he wish the princess to forget, how much stronger was the host of -Montmaure, and that the siege must end in humbling for Roche-de-Frêne -and victory for Montmaure. Male strength—male strength was his! He -was prepared to show his consciousness of that. He had had lovers’ -quarrels before—he could not remember how many. He remembered with -complacence that—usually—the other side had come to its knees. If -the other side had given him much trouble, made him angry, he then -repaid it. That was what was going to happen here. But, to-day, joy and -courtesies and the _gai science_! Show this Audiart the Wise the lord -she thought she could refuse! So he met the princess, curled, pressed, -and panoplied with courtliness. He out-poetized the poets, beggared the -goddesses of attributes. He strewed painted flowers before the Princess -of Roche-de-Frêne, then, his count’s cap again upon his head, led her -over the battle-cleansed space to the three pavilions. - -Her ladies followed her. The hundred knights, dismounting, fraternized. -The air was sweet; over high-built town and castle, sweep of martial -plain, cloud-like blue mountains, sprang a serenest roof of heaven. -The knights gave mutual enmity a day’s holiday, and, having done a -good deed, gained thereupon a line in stature. Many of them knew one -another, name and appearance and fame. They had encountered in tourney, -in hall and bower, and in battle. Fortune had at times ranged them -on the same side. A fair number wore the sign of the crusader. Under -either banner were famous knights. The time craved fame and worshipped -it. War, love, song, and—the counter-pole—asceticism were your -trodden roads to fame. Now and then one reached it by a path just -perceptible in the wilderness; but more fell in striving to make such -a path. There were famous knights among the hundred, and by this time -none more famed than Garin of Castel-Noir, Garin of the Golden Island. -Sir Aimar de Panemonde was as brave, but Garin was troubadour no less -than knight, and about what he did, in either way, dwelt a haunting -magic. - -Montmaure led the princess to the blue pavilion. It was hers, with her -ladies, to refresh herself therein. He himself crossed to the green and -silver, drank wine, and looked forth upon the mingling of knights. “Let -us see,” ran his thought, “the jade’s choice!” He saw valiant men, -known afar, or come in this siege to their kind’s admiration. “Ha!” he -said to Guiraut of the Vale who stood beside him. “She knows how to -cull her garden!”. - -“She has more mind, lord, than a woman should have!” - -He thought to please Count Jaufre, what he said differing not at all -from what he had heard his lord say. But Jaufre frowned. Reckoning -the princess his own, it was not for a vassal to speak slightingly! -A shifting of the knights took place. It brought into view one whom -Montmaure had not earlier seen. “Eye of God! will she bring that devil -with her?” - -Guiraut followed the pointing finger. “That is the crusader and -troubadour, Garin de Castel-Noir.” - -“Devil and double-devil!” burst forth Jaufre. “When I take -Roche-de-Frêne, woe to you, devil! I hope you be not slain before that -day!” - -The blood was in his face, his eyes narrowed to a slit, his red-gold -locks seemed to quiver. Another movement of knights in the giant -cluster, and Garin was hid from his sight. He turned and drank again, -with an effort composed his countenance and, a signal being given, left -his pavilion. At the same moment the princess quitted the blue; they -came together to the great pavilion of the blended colours and the two -banners. Here, beneath a canopy, were chairs, with a rich carpet for -the feet. Jaufre had provided music, which played,—not loudly, nor so -as to trouble their parley. - -The princess had a robe of brown samite, with a mantle of the same; but -over the robe, in place of silken bliaut, she wore fine chain-mail, and -in a knight’s belt of worked leather, a rich dagger. Her braided hair -was fastened close, with silver pins, beneath a light morion. She sat -down, looked at Jaufre opposite. “In this war, my lord, we have not met -so near before.” - -“Never have we met, princess, so near before!” He bent toward her, -warm, red-gold, and mighty. This meeting was for condescension, grace, -spring touches in autumn! He found her face not so bad, better much -than long-ago rumour had painted. His memory carried pictures of her -in this siege—upon her war horse before the bridge was taken, or in -sallies from the gates, in a night-time surprise, by the flare of -torches, or upon the walls, above the storming parties. But he had seen -her somewhat distantly, never so close as this. That was the inward -reason why he had urged this meeting: he wished to see her close. He -felt the stirring of a thwart desire. He wished to embrace—since that -was what she refused—and to crush. He could admire the courage in -her—he had courage himself, though little did he know of magnanimity. -“We should have met,” he said, “before we went to war!” - -Audiart regarded him with a stilly look. “Perhaps, my lord, we should -have warred where’er we met.—It has been eight years since you came -from Italy.” - -“Eight years.—Eye of God! they have been full years!” - -“Yes. Each has been an ocean. I remember, it was near this season.” - -Jaufre’s brows bore a marking of surprise. “Tell me why you hold that -year in memory—” - -The princess sat with a faint smile upon her face, her eyes upon -the world beyond the canopy. The latter stretched but overhead; -the hillside, the town, the tented plain were visible, and in the -foreground the company of knights where they were gathered beneath -olive and almond trees. - -“That year, my lord count, I first saw your father, the ‘great count.’ -The prince my father made a tourney in honour of a guest who, like -you, my lord, sought a bride. And by chance there came riding by -Roche-de-Frêne—that you must know, my lord, gave always frank welcome -to neighbours—Count Savaric of Montmaure. My father gave him good -welcome, and also my step-dame, Madame Alazais, and myself, and he -sat with us and watched the knights joust.... There is where you come -in, my lord! One asked why you were not with Count Savaric, for it -was known that you had lately come back to Montmaure from Italy.” She -turned her eyes upon him and smiled again. “I remember almost Count -Savaric’s words! ‘My son,’ he said, ‘would go a-hunting! Giving chase -to a doe, he outstripped his men. Then burst from a thicket a young -wolf which attacked him and tore his side. He cannot yet sit his -horse. I have left him at Montmaure where he studies chivalry, and -makes, I doubt not, chansons for princesses.’” - -The blood flooded Montmaure’s brow and cheek. He stared, not at the -Princess of Roche-de-Frêne, but forth upon the train of knights. “Eye -of God!” he breathed. “That wolf—! Eye of God!” - -“My lord count,” said the princess, “did you afterwards hunt down and -kill the wolf? I never heard—and I have always wished to hear.” - -“No! He ran free! Heart of Mahound—!” - -Light played over the princess’s face, but Jaufre, choking down the -thought of the wolf, did not note it. He opened his lips to speak -further of that eight-years-past autumn, thus brought up by chance, and -of the wolf; then thought better of it. As for Audiart, she thought, -“Vengeful so toward a poor squire who but once, and long ago, crossed -his evil will! Then what might Roche-de-Frêne hope for?” - -Jaufre, regaining command of himself, signalled for wine. A page -brought rich flagons upon a rich salver. Jaufre filled a cup, touched -it with his lips, offered it to the princess. He was growing cool -again, assured as before. There was flattery, in her recalling the -moment of his return from Italy, in her remembering, across the years, -each word that had been spoken of him! - -She took the cup—he noted how long and finely shaped were the fingers -that closed upon it—and drank, then, smiling, set it down. “That is a -generous wine, my lord—a wine for good neighbours!” - -“It is not a wine of Montmaure but of Roche-de-Frêne,” said Jaufre. -“Save indeed that, as I have taken the fields that grew the grapes -and the town that sold the wine, it may be said, princess, to be of -Montmaure!” - -Audiart the Wise sat silent a moment, her eyes upon her foe. She was -there because the need of Roche-de-Frêne sucked at her heart. But she -knew—she knew—that it would not avail! Yet she spoke, low, deep and -thrillingly. “My lord, my lord, why should we fight? Truth my witness, -if ever I wished Montmaure harm, I’ll now unwish it! Do you so, my -lord, toward Roche-de-Frêne! This sunny, autumn day—if we were at -peace, how sweet it were! This land garlanded, and Montmaure—and men -and women faring upward—and anger, hate, and greed denied—and common -good grown dearer, nearer! Ah, my Lord Count Jaufre, lift this siege, -and win a knightlier, lordlier name than warring gives—” - -Jaufre broke in. “Are marriage bells ringing in your pleading, my -princess? If they ring not, all that is said says naught!” - -She looked at him with a steadfast face. “Marriage bells?... Give me -all that is in your mind, my lord.” - -Jaufre drank again. “Marriage bells ringing over our heads where we -stand in the Church of Saint Eustace in Montmaure.” - -“_In Montmaure...._ Did you and I wed, my lord, I must come to you in -Montmaure?” - -“So! I will give you escort—a thousand spears.” - -“And Roche-de-Frêne?—and Roche-de-Frêne—” - -“As I may conceive,” said Jaufre, “dealing with my own.” - -The princess sat very still. Only her eyes moved, and they looked from -Count Jaufre to the walled town and back again. Montmaure had pushed -back his seat. He sat propping his chin with his hand, his hot gaze -upon her. “Roche-de-Frêne,” she said at last,—”Roche-de-Frêne would -have no guaranty?” - -“Eye of God!” answered Jaufre. “I will not utterly destroy what comes -to me in wedlock! What interest would that serve? It shall feel -scourges, but I shall not tumble each stone from its fellow! Take that -assurance, princess!” - -She sat silent. “After all,” said her thought, “you have only what you -knew you would get!” Within she knew grim laughter, even a certain -relief. Would she sacrifice or would she not, no good would come from -Montmaure to Roche-de-Frêne! Then, fight on, and since thus it was, -fight with an undivided will! Resistance rose as from sleep, refreshed. -She smiled. “I am glad that I came, my Lord of Montmaure,” she said, -and spoke in a pure, limpid, uncoloured voice. “Else, hearing from -another your will, I might not have believed—” - -“Eye of God! Madame, so it is!” said Jaufre, and in mind heard the -bells of the Church of Saint Eustace, and the shouting in Montmaure. - -The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne stood up in her brown samite, and sheath -of chain-mail and morion that reflected the sunbeams. “Having now your -mind, my lord count, I will return to Roche-de-Frêne!” - -She signed to her train that was watching. The squires brought before -the pavilion her white Arabian and the palfreys of Guida and Maeut. The -movement spread to the knights beneath the trees.... Jaufre, rising -also, inwardly turned over the matter of how soon she had willed to -depart, to bring short this splendidly-prepared-for visit. That she -would be gone from him and any further entertainment displeased, but -was salved by the thought that she was in flight to conceal her lowered -and broken pride. He was conscious that he had not maintained his -intention of suavity, _courtoisie_. When Richard was not there, he did -not well keep down the pure savage. That talk of hers of the “wolf” -had poured oil on the red embers of a score unpaid. That the wolf was -there in presence—that he, Jaufre, did not wish to tell as much to -the world and Audiart the Wise, letting them see what score had gone -unpaid—increased the heat. It burned within Jaufre with a smouldering -that threatened flame. On the other hand, the person of this princess -pleased him more than he had looked for. And it was delightsome to -him, the taste of having made her taste him, his power, purpose, and -mode of dealing! He felt that longer stay would accomplish no more; he -was not without a dash of the artist. He, too, signed for his great -bay—for his knights to prepare to follow him from these gay pavilions. -To-morrow morn this truce would shut—unless, ere that, she sent a -herald with her plain surrender! - -She was speaking, in the same crystal, uncoloured voice. “Are you so -sure, my lord, that you win? Do you always win? What were we talking -of at first? A doe that escaped from under your hand, and a wolf that -laid you low in a forest glade and went his way in safety?—My Lord of -Montmaure, I defy you! and sooner than wed with you I with this dagger -will marry Death!” She touched it where it hung at her belt, moved to -her Arabian, and sprang to the saddle. - -Her following, though but a few had heard what passed between her -and Montmaure, saw that there was white wrath, and that the meeting -was shortened beyond expectation. Montmaure’s knights marked him no -less—that suddenly his mood was black. All of either banner got to -horse. - -The veins of Jaufre’s brow were swollen. The company of knights forming -about the Princess of Roche-de-Frêne, the “wolf” came suddenly into his -field of vision.... The “singing knight” placed in her chosen band by -Roche-de-Frêne’s princess—the “wolf” protected by her and favoured! -Till that instant he had not thought of them together—but now with -lightning swiftness his fury forged a red link between them. He did -not reason—certainly he gave her no place in the forest, eight years -agone—but he desired, he lusted to slay the one before the eyes of the -other! He thrust out a clenched hand, he spoke with a thickened voice. -Whatever in him had note of a saving quality was passed by the stride -of its opposite. - -“Ha, my Princess Audiart, that men call the Wise! I will tell you that -your wisdom will not save you—nor Roche-de-Frêne—nor yonder knight, -my foe, that I hold in loathing and will yet break upon a wheel!” He -laughed, sitting his great bay horse, and with a gesture shook forth -vengeance. “To-morrow morn, look to yourselves!” - -“My Lord of Montmaure, we shall!” The princess gave command, the -train from Roche-de-Frêne drew away from the pavilions, the knights -of Montmaure and Count Jaufre. “Farewell, my lord!” cried Audiart the -Wise, “and for hospitality and frank speech much thanks! I love not -war, but, if you will have it so, I will war!” - -The trumpets sounded. They who watched from the walls saw the two -trains draw apart and their own come in order up the winding road that -climbed to the town. Their own reached the gates and entered.... In the -market-place, the bell having drawn the people together, the princess -spoke to them, her voice, clear, firm, and with hint of depth beyond -depth, reaching the outermost fringing sort. She spoke at no great -length but to the purpose, then asked their mind and waited to hear it. - -Raimon, Lord of Les Arbres, a great baron, the greatest vassal of -Roche-de-Frêne there present, spoke from the train of fifty, speaking -for those lords and knights and for all chivalry in Roche-de-Frêne. -“My Lady Audiart, we are your men! Hold your courage and we shall hold -ours! There is not here lord nor belted knight nor esquire who wishes -for suzerain the Counts of Montmaure! We will keep Roche-de-Frêne until -we know victory or perish!” - -The captain of the crossbowmen, a giant of a man, spoke with a booming -voice. “The sergeants, the bowmen, the workers of the machines and the -foot-soldiers sing Amen! The princess is a good princess and a noble -and a wise, and no man here fails of his pay! Montmaure is a niggard -and a hard lord. We are yours to the end, my Lady Audiart!” - -Thibaut Canteleu spoke for the town. “Since the world will have it that -we must have lords, give us your like for lord, my Lady Audiart! We -know what a taken and sacked town is when Montmaure takes and sacks it! -But open our gates to him at his call, and what better would we get? -Long slavery and slow pain, and our children to begin again at the foot -of the stair! So we propose to hold this town, how hard it is to hold -soever!” - -A clerk, standing upon the steps that led to a house door, sent his -voice across the crowded place. “I will speak though I be excommunicate -for it! We hear of the miracle of Father Eustace, and one tells us -that God and His Mother would have our princess marry Montmaure! I do -not believe that Father Eustace knows the will of God!” - -From the throng came a deep, answering note, a multitudinous humming -doubt if Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne had been truly understood. The -people looked at the cathedral tower, and they looked at the castle and -around at their town, their houses, shops, market, and guild-halls, at -the blue sky above and at their princess. The note sustained itself, -broadened and deepened, became like the sound of the sea, and said -forthright that whatever had been meant by Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne, -it was not alliance with Montmaure! - -The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne and her train of knights rode through -the town and mounted to the castle. Some change in the order of those -about her brought Garin for a moment beside the white Arabian. The -princess turned her head, spoke to him. “Count Jaufre holds you in some -especial hatred. Why is that?” - -“I crossed him in his will one day, long ago. He would have done an -evil thing, and I, chancing by, came between him and his prey. He it -was who caused me to flee the land.—But not alone for that day is -there enmity between us!” - -“Ah!” said the princess. “Long is his rosary of ill deeds! Into my mind -to-day comes one that was long ago, and on a day like this. It comes so -clear—!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE SIEGE - - -MONTMAURE had wooden towers drawn even with the walls of -Roche-de-Frêne. From the tower-heads they strove to throw bridges -across, grapple them to the battlements, send over them—a continuing -stream—the starkest fighters, beat down the wall’s defenders, send -the stream leaping down into the town itself. Elsewhere, under cover -of huge shielding structures, Montmaure mined, burrowing in the earth -beneath the opposed defences, striving to bring stone and mortar down -in ruin, make a breach whereby to enter. Montmaure had Greek fire, -and engines of power to cast the flaming stuff into the town. He had -great catapults which sent stones with something of the force of -cannon-balls, and battering rams which shook the city gates. He had -archers and crossbowmen who from high-built platforms sent their shafts -in a level flight against the men of Roche-de-Frêne upon the walls. -He had a huge host to throw against the town—men of Montmaure, men, -a great number, given by Duke Richard. He had enough to fight and to -watch, and to spare from fighting and watching. He ravaged the country -and had food. - -Roche-de-Frêne fought with the wooden towers, threw down the grappling -hooks and the bridges, thrust the stream back, broken and shattered -into spray. It sallied forth against those who mined, beat down and -set afire the shielding structures, drove from the field the sappers -at the walls. It had some store of Greek fire and used it; it had -engines of power and great catapults that sent stones with something -of the force of cannon-balls against those towers and scaffolds of the -foe. Roche-de-Frêne had archers and crossbowmen, none better, who from -walls and gate-towers sent shafts in level flights against the high -platforms, and in slant lines against Montmaure attacking in mass, -against men upon scaling ladders. It had men whose trade was war, -knight and squire, sergeant and footman, lord and Free Companion,—and -men whose trade was not war, but who now turned warrior, burghers -fighting for their liberties, their home and their work. But it had not -the numbers that had Montmaure. It knew double-tides of fighting and -watching. It had deep wells and an immemorially strong-flowing spring. -But food was failing—failing fast! It had heroism of man, woman, and -child. But hunger and watching and battle at last must wear the highest -spirit down, or if not the spirit, the body with which it is clothed. - -It was late, late autumn—Saint Martin’s summer. The days that had -passed since that short truce and meeting with Montmaure had laid -shadows beneath the eyes of the Princess Audiart.... To-day had seen -heavy fighting and slaughter. Now it was night, and Audiart in the -White Tower knelt within the window and looked forth upon the castle -buildings, courts, towers, and walls, and upon the roofs of the town, -and the cathedral tower, and further to where showed red light of -Montmaure’s vast encampment. She had been, through the day, upon the -walls.... Her head sank upon her arms. “Jesu, and Mother Mary, and -whoever is pitiful, I, too, am weary of slaughter! A better way—a -better way—” - -She stayed so for some minutes; then, lifting her head, gazed again -into the night. “Who has the key?” she said. “Duke Richard has the -key.” Presently she stood up, rested hands upon the stone sill, drew a -deep breath. Her lips parted, her glance swept the wide prospect, then -lifted to the stars. “If I have wit enough and courage enough—that -might be—” A colour crept into her face. “Was never a right way seemed -not at first most hazardous and strange—so much more used are we to -the wrong ways!” - -She looked at the clusters of stars, she looked at the town below that -seemed to sigh in its restless and troubled sleep, she looked at the -dimly seen, far mountains behind which sank the stars. The cool autumn -air touched her brow. “Where all is desperate, be more desperate—and -pass!” She stretched out her hand to the night. “I will do it!” - -Morning broke, a sky of rose and pearl over Roche-de-Frêne. The sun -rose, and the rays came into the chamber where was being nursed back to -life and strength Stephen the Marshal. Each day now saw improvement; as -the year ebbed, the vital force in him gained. Gaunt and spectre-pale, -he yet left his bed each day; arm over his squire’s shoulder, walked -slowly to a great chair by the window, sat there wrapped in a furred -robe, and listened to the ocean of sound that now was Roche-de-Frêne. -Sometimes the ocean had only a murmuring voice, and sometimes for long -hours it raged in storm. Stephen prayed for patience and from minute -to minute sent page and squire for news. This morn dawned in quiet; -yesterday, all day there had been storm. The sun gilded the court -beneath and the chapel front, built at angles with the great pile in -which he was lodged. He could hear the chanting of the mass. That -was ended, the sunshine strengthened, somewhere a trumpet was blown. -Stephen prayed again for patience, and despatched his squire Bertran -for authentic tidings. Bertran went, but presently returned, having met -without a page sent by the princess. She would know of Lord Stephen’s -health this morn, and if he felt strength for a visit from her and some -talk of importance. Stephen sent answer that he wished for no greater -cordial. - -Audiart came, with her Maeut, who, with the squires and the old nurse, -waited in a small ante-room. That which the princess had to say wanted -no auditors other than those whom she chose—and for this matter she -would choose but few. Stephen, gaunt and drained of blood, stood to -greet her, would not sit until she had taken the chair they had placed. - -She looked at him very kindly. “Lord Stephen, much would I give to see -the old Stephen here—” - -“Ah, God, madam!” said Stephen, “not here would you see him, but out -there where they fight for Roche-de-Frêne.” - -“Aye, that is true!” - -“I shall soon be there, my Lady Audiart—a log here no longer!” - -“Maître Arnaut tells me that. I talked with him before coming here. He -says that yet a few days, and you might take command.” - -“As I will, princess, if you give it me—But no man lives who can -better your leading!” - -“My leading or another’s, Stephen, our case is desperate. The deer -feels the breath of the hounds.... Now listen to me, and let not -strangeness startle your mind. At the brink of no further going, then -it is that we fare forth and go further!” - -The sun rode higher by an hour before she left Stephen the Marshal. -She left him a flushed, half-greatly-rallied, half-foreboding man, but -one wholly servant of her and of Roche-de-Frêne’s great need,—one, -too, who could follow mind with mind, and accept daring, when daring -promised results, with simplicity. - -From this chamber she went to the castle-hall and found there, awaiting -her, Thibaut Canteleu, for whom she had sent. She took him upon the -dais, her attendants clustering at the lower end of the hall, out of -hearing. - -“Thibaut,” she said, “there is good hope that in a week Lord Stephen -may take again his generalship.” - -“I am glad, my lady,” answered Thibaut, “for Lord Stephen, for ’tis -weary lying ill in time of war. But we have had as good a general!” - -“That is as may be.... Thibaut, do you see victory for Roche-de-Frêne?” - -Thibaut uttered a short groan. “My Lady Audiart, the road is dark—” - -“I think that if we strain to the uttermost we may hold out yet two -months.” - -“Montmaure could never do it, but for Duke Richard’s men!” - -“Just.... Thibaut, Thibaut, now listen to me, and when you have heard, -speak not loudly! If this is done, it must slip through in silence.” - -She spoke on for some moments, her voice low but full of expression, -her eyes upon the mayor. She ended, “And I well believe that you can -and will hold the town until there is seen what comes—” - -Thibaut drew a deep breath. “My Lady Audiart, trust us, we will!” His -black eyes snapped, a laugh passed like a wave across his face that -grew ruddier. “By Peter and Paul! Now and again in life I myself have -come to places where I must see further than my fellows and dig deeper, -or they and I would perish!—This is a bold thing that you propose, my -lady, and may go to the left instead of the right! Aye! without doubt -Faint-Heart would say, ‘You follow marsh-fire and trust weight to a -straw!’” - -“Yes.... In the story of things what seemed a beam has been found to be -a straw, and what seemed a straw a beam. May it be so this time!... Now -what we have talked of rests until Lord Stephen takes command.” - -A week of days and nights went by, filled with a bitter fighting. But -Stephen the Marshal grew stronger, like the old iron soldier and good -general that he was. Arrived an evening when he came into hall, walking -without help, and though gaunt and pale so nearly himself that all -rejoiced. The next day he mounted horse and rode beside the princess -through the town to the eastern gate where was now the fiercest -fighting. The knights, the men-at-arms and citizens cried him welcome. -That night Audiart held full council. When morning came it was heralded -through Roche-de-Frêne that the princess had made Lord Stephen general -again. - -Audiart listened to the trumpets, then with Maeut she went into the -castle garden and found there Alazais and Guida. She sat beside Alazais -beneath a tree whereon hung yet the gold leaves, and taking her -stepdame’s hand, caressed it. “Come siege, go siege!” she said, “you -rest so beauteous—!” - -“Audiart! Audiart! when is anxiousness, misery, and fear going to end? -And now they say that you command that every table alike be given less -of food—” - -The princess stroked the other’s wrist, smiling upon her. “You know -that you do not wish bread taken from another to be laid in your hand!” - -“No, I do not wish that, but—” The tears fell from Alazais’s eyes. -“What have we done that the world should turn so black?” - -“Be of cheer!” said Audiart. “The black may lighten!” She laughed at -her step-dame, and at Guida’s melancholy look. “In these earthy ways -loss has its boundary stone no less than gain! Who knows but that -to-day we turn?—Come close, Guida and Maeut, for I have something -to say to you three, and want no other—no, not a sparrow—to hear -me!” She spoke on, in a low voice, with occasionally an aiding -gesture, Maeut kindling quickly, the other two incredulous, objecting, -resisting, then, at last, catching, too, at the straw.... - -That morning Montmaure did not push to the assault. Viewed from the -walls, it seemed that the two counts made changes in the disposition of -the besieging host. Here battalions were drawing closer, here spreading -fan-wise. - -Invest as closely as Montmaure might, Roche-de-Frêne had gotten out -now a man and now a man, with a cry for aid to the King of France, to -Toulouse and others. One had returned with King Philip’s assurance -that he would aid if he could, but harassed by revolts nearer Paris, -could not. Other messengers had made no return.... - -To-day there seemed a redrawing of the investing lines, a lifting and -pitching afresh of encampments. Roche-de-Frêne, beginning to know -hunger, saw, too, long forage trains come laden to its enemy. Watching, -Roche-de-Frêne thought justly that Montmaure might be meaning to rest -for a time from assaults in which he lost heavily, heavily—to rest -from assaults and lean upon starvation of his foe. Famine, famine was -his ally—famine and Aquitaine! It was the last that made him able to -serve himself with the first. - -Garin, going toward the castle from the town’s eastern gate, heard in -the high street the trumpet and the cadenced notice that Stephen the -Marshal, healed of his wound, again commanded for the princess. The -people cried, “Long live the princess! Long live the marshal!” then, -silent or in talk, turned to the many-headed business of the day. In -front of Garin rose the great mass of the cathedral, wonderful against -the November sky. - -As he came into the place before it, there met him Pierol, the trusted -page of the princess. “Sir Garin de Castel-Noir, I was sent in search -of you! The princess wishes to speak with you—No, not this hour! Two -hours from now, within the White Tower.” - -He was gone. “Go you, also,” said Garin to the squire Rainier. “Or -wait for me here by the door. I will spend in the church one hour of -those two.” - -He went from out the autumn sunshine into the dusk of the huge -interior. An altar-lamp burned, a star, and light in long shafts -fell from the jewel-hued windows. The pillars soared and upheld the -glorious roof, and all beneath was rich, dim and solemn. A few figures -knelt or stood in nave or aisle. Garin moved to where he could see the -columns brought by Gaucelm of the Star from the land beyond the sea -and set before the chapel of Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne. He knelt, -then, crossing himself, rose and took his seat at the base of a great -supporting pillar. He rested his arm upon his knee, his chin upon -his hand, and studied the pavement. He had not passed the columns -and knelt before the Virgin of Roche-de-Frêne, because in his heart -was an impulse of hostility. He did not name it, made haste to force -it into limbo, hastened to bow his head and murmur an _Ave Maria_. -Nevertheless it had made itself felt. This was the gemmed, azure-clad -Queen who wanted marriage between Montmaure and the Princess of -Roche-de-Frêne!... But doubtless it was not she—Father Eustace had -slandered her—a lying monk, Heaven knew, was no such rarity! Garin -came back into her court, but still he did not kneel, and, stretching -his arms to her, beg her favour and some sign thereof, as he had done -eight years ago. He was a graver man now, a deeper poet. - -An inner strife racked him, sitting there at the base of the -pillar, emotion divided against itself, a mind bewildered between -irreconcilables, a spirit abashed before its own inconstancy. One -moment it was abashed, the very next it cried, “_But I am constant!_” -Then came mere aching effort to bring old order out of this pulsing -chaos, and then, that slipping, an unreasoning, blind and deaf, -poignant and rich, half bliss, half pain—emotions so fused that there -was no separating them, no questioning or revolt. He sat there as in a -world harmonized—then, little by little, reformed itself the discord, -the question, the passionate self-reproval for disloyalty and the -bewildering answering cry from some mist-wreathed, distance-sunken -shore, “_I am not disloyal!_” and then the query of the mind, “_How can -that be?_” Garin buried his face in his hands, sat moveless so in the -cathedral dusk. Within, there was vision, though not yet was it deep -enough. He was seeing the years through which he had sung to the Fair -Goal. - -The time went by. He dropped his hands, rose, and after a genuflection -left the great church. Without, Rainier joined him. Together they -climbed the steepening street, crossed the castle moat, and entering -between Lion and Red Towers, went to the building that lodged De -Panemonde and Castel-Noir. Thence, presently, fresh of person and -attire, he came alone, and alone crossed courts and went through rooms -and echoing passage-ways and by the castle garden until he came to the -White Tower. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -THE WHITE TOWER - - -UPON the wide steps that led to the door he found Pierol, who, turning, -went before him through a hall or general room to a flight of stone -steps winding upward. From this he was brought into a small room where -were ladies and pages. Pierol, motioning to him to wait, vanished -through an opposite door, then in a moment reappeared. Garin, answering -his sign, went forward and, passing beneath the lintel, found himself -in the princess’s chamber. - -She sat beside a table placed for the better light before the southern -window. She had been writing; as she looked up, the light behind her -made a kind of aureole for her head and long throat and slender, -energetic form. “Give you good day, Sir Garin de Castel-Noir!” She -nodded to Pierol and the girl Maeut, who left the room. Near her stood -a middle-aged, thin, scholarly-appearing man in a plain dress—her -secretary, Master Bernard. She spoke to him, giving directions. He -answered, gathered up papers from the table, and bowing low, followed -Pierol and Maeut. The princess sat on for a few moments in silence, her -forehead resting upon her hand. To Garin, standing between table and -door, the whole fair, large room, the figured hangings, the beamed -ceiling, the deep-set windows, the floor where were strewn autumn buds -and shoots from the garden, seemed a rich casket filled with a playing -light. The light had a source. Garin felt a madness, a desire to sink -wholly into the light, a wish to unclasp once and forever the hold of -the past, accompanied by a dizzying sense that in no wise might it be -done. The inner man put steadying hands upon himself, forced himself to -look into the eye of the day and of duty. - -The princess let fall her hand, turned slightly in her chair, and faced -him. Her look was still and intent; behind it stood a strong will, -an intelligence of wide scope. There might seem, besides, a glow, -a tension, an urging as of something that would bloom but was held -back, postponed, dominated. She spoke and her voice had a golden and -throbbing quality. “I have sent for you, Sir Knight, because I wish to -ask of some one great service, and it has seemed to me that you would -answer to my asking”— - -Garin came nearer to her. “I answer, my lady.” - -“You will be, and that for long days, in great peril. Peril will -begin this very eve. I do not wish now to tell you the nature of your -adventure—or to tell you more than that it is honourable.” - -“Tell me what you will, and no more than that.” - -“Then listen, and keep each step in mind—and first of all, that the -matter is secret.” - -“First, it is secret.” - -“At dusk a jongleur will come to your lodging, bringing with him a -dress like his own, his lute and other matters. Clothe yourself like -him, cut your hair closer, somewhat darken your face. Let him aid you; -he is faithful. Wear a dagger, but no other arms nor armour. You will -go, too, afoot. Knightly courage you will need, but keen wit must do -for hauberk and destrier, sword and lance. When you are dressed you are -henceforth, for I know not how many days or weeks, the jongleur Elias -of Montaudon.” - -“Thus far, I have it in mind.—_Elias of Montaudon._” - -“You know the postern called the rock-gate, on the northern face, -between Black Tower and Eagle Tower?” - -“Yes.” - -“When the bells are ringing complin you will go there alone. You will -wait, saying naught to any who may come or go. If you are challenged -you will say that you are there upon the princess’s errand, and you -will give the word of the night. It is _Two Falcons_.” - -“At complin. _Two Falcons._” - -“You will wait until there comes to you one mantled. That one will give -you a purse, and will say to you, ‘Saint Martin’s summer.’ You will -answer ‘Dreams may come true.’” - -“‘_Saint Martin’s summer._’—‘_Dreams may come true._’” - -“The purse you will take and keep—keep hidden. It will be for need. -That mantled one you are to follow, and, without question, obey.—Now -tell over each direction.” - -Garin told, memory making no slip. He ended, “I am to follow that one -who, giving me a purse, says _Saint Martin’s summer_. He commands and I -obey—” - -“As you would myself,” said the princess. - -She turned in her chair, looked beyond him out of the window upon -tower and roof and wall and the November sky of a southern land. “I -hold you true knight, true poet, true man,” she said. “Else never -should I give you this charge! Keep that likewise in memory, Sir -Garin de Castel-Noir, Sir Garin de l’Isle d’Or!—And now you will go. -Tell Sir Aimar de Panemonde that you have been set a task and given -an errand full of danger, but that, living, he may see you again by -Christmas-tide. Tell no one else anything.” - -“Going on such an errand and so long,” said Garin, “and one from which -there may be no returning, I would kiss your hands, my liege—” - -She gave her hand to him. He knelt and kissed the slender, long, -embrowned fingers. As they rested, that moment, upon his own hand, -there came into his mind some association. It came and was gone like -distant lightning, and he could not then give it name or habitation. -He rose and stepped backward to the door. “God be with you, my Lady -Audiart—” - -“And with you,” the princess answered gravely. - -Outside the White Tower he paused a moment and looked about him, his -eyes saying farewell to a place that in actuality he might not see -again. It was the same with the garden through which he presently -passed. Now it was sunshine, but he thought of it in dusk, the eve when -he had been there with the princess. Later in the day he found Aimar, -and told him as much as he had been told to tell and no more. The two -brothers-in-arms spent an hour together, then they embraced and Aimar -went to the men of both, defending the city wall. When the sun hung low -in the west, Garin sent there also his squire Rainier. The sun sank and -he stood at his window watching. - -Around the corner came a man in brown and yellow like autumn leaves. -Slung from his neck by a red ribbon he had a lute, and under his arm a -bundle wrapped in cloth. He reached the entrance below, spoke to the -porter and vanished within. Garin, turning from the window, answered -presently to a knock at the door. “Enter!” There came in, the room -being yet lit by the glow from the western sky, the brown and yellow -man. He proved to be a slender, swarthy person, with long, narrow eyes -and a Moorish look. “I speak,” he asked, “to the right noble knight -and famed troubadour Sir Garin of the Black Castle—also called of the -Golden Island?” - -“I am Sir Garin. I know you for the jongleur, Elias of Montaudon.” - -“That poor same, fair sir!—Moreover I have here that which will make -in the castle of Roche-de-Frêne two of me!” He laid the bundle on a -bench, and slipping the ribbon from his neck placed there the lute as -well. “When I think that from so famous a troubadour I am set to make a -poor jongleur, I know not how to take my task! But princesses are to be -obeyed, and truly I would do much for this one! And for your comfort, -lord,—only for that and never for vain-glory,—I would have you to wit -that Elias of Montaudon hath a kind of fame of his own!” As he spoke he -untied the bundle. “It is an honour that you should deign to wear me, -so to speak, in whatever world you are repairing to—and Saint Orpheus -my witness, I know not where that world may be! So, noble sir, here is, -at your pleasure, a holiday suit—only a little worn—and a name no -more frayed than is reasonably to be expected!” - -“Gramercy for both,” answered Garin. “How have you fared between the -days of Guy of Perpignan and now?” - -He took the lute from the bench, swept the strings, and sang, though -not loudly:— - - “In the spring all hidden close, - Lives many a bud will be a rose! - In the spring ’tis crescent morn, - But then, ah then, the man is born! - In the spring ’tis yea or nay, - Then cometh Love makes gold of clay! - Love is the rose and truest gold, - Love is the day and soldan bold—” - -He owned a golden voice. The notes throbbed through the room. The last -died and he laughed. “That song of Guy of Perpignan!—I heard it first -from you.” - -The jongleur stood staring. “I have been in many a castle hall and -bower, at an infinity of tournaments, and two or three times where -baron and knight were warring in earnest. Up and down and to and fro -in the world I practice my art, riding when I can and walking when I -must! But when I had the honour of striking viol, lute or harp before -you, sir, I do not recall. Being so famous a knight and poet, I should -remember—. And then men say that you have been long years in the land -over the sea!” - -“It was before I went to the land over the sea.—But come! the sky is -fading, it is growing dusk. Light the candles there, and begin to turn -me into your other self!” - -The candles lighted, the jongleur shook out the clothing he had -brought. “Earth-brown and leaf-green,” he said, “with a hooded mantle -half the one and half the other.—Now, noble sir, I can play the squire -as well as the squire himself!” - -He took from Garin the garments which the latter put off, gave him -piece by piece those that were to transform. The two, jongleur and -knight and troubadour, were much of a height. Garin was the more -strongly built, but the garb of the time had amplitude of line and fold -and Elias of Montaudon’s holiday dress fitted him well enough. “Of -deliberation and answering to command,” said the jongleur, “it has been -slightly rent and patched here and discoloured there. If the Blessed -Virgin herself asked me why, I could not tell her! I have also a phial -of a brown stain which, lightly used, makes for a darker complexion -than the sun has painted you with.... Sir Garin of the Golden Island, -in hall and bower and wherever chivalry gathers, I have sung songs of -your making. But when and where have I sung _to_ you? I have curiosity, -without which life would be a dull dream! Give largesse, sir, in the -coin of a wiser world—that is to say, give knowledge!” - -Garin smiled. “I was esquire then, and you sat by a boulder in the -forest, not so many miles from Roche-de-Frêne and discoursed of -jongleur merits and of an ingrate master, to wit, Guy of Perpignan! -Also you sang certain lines of his, and spoke sapiently of Lord Love. -That, too, was an autumn day, and when I was a squire I wore brown and -green.” - -The jongleur lifted both hands and beat a measure upon his brow. “Ha! -and by Saint Arion and his dolphin you did! A proper squire, singing -a hunting stave—Ha!” cried Elias of Montaudon, “I have heard sing a -master-poet before he was poet! - - “‘In the spring ’tis crescent morn, - But then, ah then, the man is born!’ - -though, certainly, it was autumn!... I remember as clear as crystal! I -was asleep, and you waked me, coming up on a great horse—” - -“Just so. I left the saddle and let Paladin graze, and we talked.” - -“Clearer than Saint Martha’s well!... The talk was of love, and that -you had not yet a lady—By all the saints!” said Elias, “how soon must -that have been remedied!” - -Garin laughed, but there was rue in his laughter. He suddenly grew -grave, the rock-gate before his mind’s eye. “Come! let us have this -stain. Shorten, too, my hair.” He took up Elias’s lute and tried its -strings. “Play the jongleur—play the jongleur. Every man has in his -_garde-robe_ every dress! The king can play the beggar, and the beggar -play the king. Be quick, courageous, and certain in the change—so is -the trumpet answered!” He put the lute’s ribbon over his head. “It -falls night. Hasten, Elias of Montaudon, and while you work tell me -your own life these six years! If I make another of you, I will make it -like!” - -The man in brown and yellow worked.... At last there stood in the -lighted room, not a knight and crusader and troubadour, but a jongleur -with a brown face, with a somewhat tarnished brown and green attire, -with a lute slung by a red ribbon, on his head a cap with a black -cock’s feather, at his belt a dagger and sheath of the best Italian -make. Dagger and sheath the knight had supplied. It was now full -night, and not so long before, from every house of the religious in -Roche-de-Frêne, complin would ring. The jongleur in brown and yellow -took his leave. He had his fee, he said; likewise a command as to a -bridled tongue. The jongleur in brown and green saw him go, then put -out the candles, pushed a bench to the window, and sitting down waited -for the signal next in order.... At last the bells spoke. - -Garin, rising, left the room and descended the stair. The passage below -was in darkness, at the exit but one smoky torch. He drew the wide -mantle closely about him, pulling the hood over head and face. His step -said to the man at the door, “Sir Garin.” He passed, an unquestioned -inmate, not clearly seen in the light blown by the autumn wind. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -THE ROCK-GATE - - -AT the northern point of the Mount of Roche-de-Frêne, castle wall and -wall of the town made as it were one height, so close did each approach -the other. Huge rock upon rock, Roche-de-Frêne lifted here from the -plain. This was the impregnable face, sheer rock and double wall, at -the bottom a fosse, and, grim at the top, against cloud or clear sky, -Black Tower and Eagle Tower. In the high and thick curtain of stone -between was pierced the postern called the rock-gate. Here Garin came, -on a night not cold and powdered with stars. - -The gate had its turret, and within the shadow of the wall a long bench -of stone. Ordinarily, day or night, there might be here a watch of -twenty men. To-night he saw that this was not the case. There was a -sentinel pacing to and fro before the turret. This man stopped him. - -“The princess’s errand,” said Garin. - -“The word?” - -“_Two Falcons._” - -“Just.” The speaker paced on. - -Garin, going on to the gate, pondered voice and air. They seemed to -him not those of any customary sentinel, but of a knight of renown, -a foster-brother of the princess. By the turret were other shadowy -figures—three or four. These also kept silence, or, if they spoke -among themselves, spoke briefly and too low for their words to be -distinguished. - -Garin, Elias of Montaudon’s mantle close about him, sat down upon -the bench in the angle made by wall and turret. He thought that the -shadowy figures took note of him, but they did not speak to him nor -he to them. They and he were silent. There fell the sentinel’s step, -and sounds now vague, now distinct, from Black Tower and Eagle Tower, -both of which were garrisoned. For the rest came the usual murmur of -the armed and watchful night. Garin lifted his eyes to the starry -sky. At first his faculties drank simply the splendour of the night, -the blended personalities of scene and hour; then some slight thing -brought Palestine into mind. There came before the inner vision the -eve of his knighthood, when he had watched his armour in the chapel -of a great castle, crusader-built. That was such a night as this. -There had been an open window, and through the hours, as he knelt or -stood, he had seen the stars climb upward. The emotion of that night -rekindled. It came from the past like a slender youth and walked -beside the stronger-thewed and older man. Garin watched the stars, -then with a long, sighing breath, let his gaze fall to the sky-line, -vast, irregular, imposing, and to the mass of buildings that the earth -upheld. Here was deep shadow, here a pale, starlight illumination. Here -light rayed out from narrow windows, or a carried torch or lanthorn -displayed some facet of the whole. - -He turned toward the White Tower. He could see it dimly between two -nearer buildings.... He rose from the bench. Figures were approaching, -two or three. They also were mantled, face and form. Two stopped a few -steps away, the third came on. He advanced to meet it. He could only -tell that it was slender, somewhat less tall than himself. The mantle -enveloped, the cowl-like hood enveloped. A hand held out a purse which -he took. It felt heavy; he put it within the breast of his robe. - -“_Saint Martin’s summer_,” said a voice. - -He answered. “_Dreams may come true._” His heart beat violently, his -senses swam. The stars overhead seemed to grow larger, to become -vast, throbbing, living jewels. It appeared that the world slightly -trembled.... - -The mantled form turned head, motioned to those who had stopped short. -These came up, then after a word all moved to the rock-gate. To right -and left of this now stood the men who had waited by the turret. The -night had grown still. Montmaure, busy with changes of position, let -night and day go by without attack. Roche-de-Frêne kept watch and ward, -but likewise, as far as might be, sank to needed sleep. The investing -host, the great dragon that lay upon the plain, seemed, too, to sleep. -The castle up against the stars slept or held its breath. The small -rock-gate opened. Garin and that one who had given him the purse and -changed with him the countersign passed through. After them came the -two who had accompanied that one. Garin now saw that the taller of -these was Stephen the Marshal. The gate closed behind them. - -They stood upon a shelf of rock. Below them they saw the stars mirrored -in the castle moat. One of the accompanying men now passed in front -and led the way. They were in a downward-sloping, tunnel-like passage. -It wound and doubled upon itself; for a time they descended, then -trod a level, then felt that they were upon a climbing path. At last -came again descent. At intervals they had seen through the crevices -overhead the stars of heaven; now the passage ended with the stars at -their feet, dim light points in the still water of the moat, stretching -immediately before them, closing their path. A boat, oared by one man, -lay upon it. The four from the castle towering overhead stepped into -this; it was pushed from the sheer rock. In a moment there showed -no sign of the road by which they had come. The boat went some way, -then turned its prow to the opposing bank. It rose above them dark -and sheer. No lasting stairway was here, but as the boat touched the -masonry, a hand came over the coping above, and there dropped one end -of a ladder of rope. The man who had led the way through the tunnel -caught it and fastened it to a stanchion at the water’s edge. - -“Go first,” said Stephen the Marshal to Garin. - -The latter obeyed, went lightly up the ladder, and upon the moat’s -rugged bank found himself among two or three men, kneeling, peering -down upon the boat and its occupants. That one who had said “Saint -Martin’s summer” came next, light and lithe as a boy. Last of the four -mounted the one who had fastened the ladder and gone ahead in the -tunnel. Garin thought him that engineer whom the princess highly paid -and highly trusted. - -They were now between the moat and the wall of the town, rising, upon -this northern face, in the very shadow of the castle rock. About them -were roofs of houses. They went down a staircase of stone and came into -a lane-like space. Before them sprang, huge and high, the burghers’ -wall, with, on this side, no apparent gate, but a blankness of stone. -On the parapet above, a sentinel went by, larger than life against the -sky that was paling before the approach of the moon. Some sound perhaps -had been made, at the moat or upon the stair between the houses; for -now a guard with halberds, a dozen or more, came athwart their road -with a peremptory challenge to halt. - -A word was given, the guard fell back. The four from the castle, -followed by those who had met them at the moat, went on, walking in -the shadow of the wall that seemed unbroken, a blank, unpierced solid. -They had moved away from the most precipitous point of the hill of -Roche-de-Frêne, but now they were bearing back. High above them, -almost directly overhead, hung that part of the castle wall where was -set the rock-gate. - -They came to a huge buttress springing inward from the city wall, -almost spanning the way between it and the moat. Here, in the angle -was what they sought. From somewhere sprang a dim light and showed -a low and narrow opening, a gate more obscure even and masked than -that by which they had left the castle. Here, too, awaited men; a -word was given and the gate opened. A portcullis lifted, they passed -under, passed outward. There was a sense of a gulf of air, and then of -Montmaure’s watch-lights, staring up from the plain. As without the -gate in the castle wall, so here, they stood upon a ledge of rock, -masked by a portion of the cliff and by a growth of bush and vine. -Behind them was Roche-de-Frêne, castle and town; before them the -rock fell sheer for many feet to a base of earth so steep as to be -nearly precipitous. This in turn sank by degrees to a broken strip, -earth and boulder, and to a wood of small pines which merged with the -once-cultivated plain. - -The dragon that lay about Roche-de-Frêne watched less closely here to -the north. He could not get at Roche-de-Frêne from this side: he knew -that no torrent of armed men could descend upon him here. His eyes -could not read the two small, ambushed doors, out of which, truly, no -torrent could come! Perhaps he was aware that the besieged might, some -night-time, let down the cliff spy or messenger striving to make a way -north to that distant and deaf King of France. If so, that daring one -might not at all easily pass the watch that the dragon kept. Gaultier -Cap-du-Loup and his Free Companions encamped in this northern quarter. - -Those who stood without the wall of Roche-de-Frêne looked from their -narrow footing forth and down upon the fields of night and the -flickering tokens of the dragon their foe. The men who had handled the -rope-ladder at the moat now knelt at the edge of this shelf, made fast -a like stair but a longer, weighted the free end with a stone, and -swung it over the cliff side. It fell: the whole straightened itself, -hung a passable road to the foot of the rock. That attained, there -would rest the rough and broken hillside that fell to the wood, the -wood that fell to the plain where the dragon had dominion. The night -was still, the waning moon pushing up from the east. - -That one who alone had used the phrase “Saint Martin’s summer” spoke -to Garin: “Go you first,” and then to Stephen the Marshal: “Now we say -farewell, Lord Stephen!” - -Garin, at the cliff edge, heard behind him the marshal’s low and -fervent commendations to the Mother of God and every Saint. He himself -set his feet upon the rope-stair, went down the rock-side, touched -the stony earth at the base, stood aside. That other, that strange -companion of this night, came lightly after—not hurriedly, with a -light deliberateness—and stood beside him on the moon-silvered hill. -The moon showed a woman, slender and lithe, with a peasant’s bodice -and ragged, shortened kirtle and great mantle of frieze. At her word -he loosened the weighting stone, drew at the rope three times. Those -at the top of the rock receiving the signal, the ladder was drawn -slowly up, vanished. Above the two soared the clean rock, and loftier -yet, the bare, the inaccessible wall of Roche-de-Frêne. Black Tower -and Eagle Tower seemed among the stars. There was a gulf between them -and those small, hidden, defended entrances. The strained gaze could -see naught but some low, out-cropping bushes and a trailing vine. Up -there the men who had brought them to that side of the gulf might yet -be gazing outward, listening with bated breath for any token that that -dragon was awake and aware; but they could not tell if it were so. Up -there was the friendly world, down here the hostile. Up there might be -troubadour-knight and princess, down here stood jongleur and peasant. - -They stood yet a moment at the foot of the crag, then she who was -dressed as a worker among the vines or a herd to drive and watch -the flocks turned in silence and began to descend the moonlit -boulder-strewn declivity. She was light of foot, quick and dexterous -of movement. Garin, who was now Elias of Montaudon, moved beside her. -They came down the steep hill, bare and blanched by the moon. The -dragon had no outpost here; did he plant one, the archers upon the -town wall might sweep it away. But the shafts would not reach to the -wood—there perhaps they might hear the dragon’s breathing. They went -without speech, and with no noise that could be helped of foot against -stone.... Here was a slight fringe of pine and oak. They stood still, -listened—all was silent. They looked back and saw Roche-de-Frêne and -the castle of Roche-de-Frêne bathed by the grey night. - -“Cap-du-Loup and his men hold in this quarter,” said the woman in a -low voice. “We had a spy forth who got back to us three days since. -Cap-du-Loup’s tents and booths are thrown and scattered, stony -ground and seams in the earth between the handfuls. He does not keep -stern watch, not looking for anything of moment to descend this way. -Hereabouts is the ravine of the brook of Saint Laurent, and half a mile -up it a medley of camp-followers, men and women.” - -She had not ceased to move as she spoke. They were now in the midst of -a spare growth of trees, under foot a turf burned by the sun and ground -to dust by the tread, through half a year, of a host of folk. Some -distance ahead the night was copper-hued; over there were camp-fires. -They were now, also, in the zone of a faint confused sound. They -moved aside from the direction of the strongest light, the deepest, -intermittent humming, and came, presently, to the brook of Saint -Laurent. It flowed through a shallow ravine with rough, scarped banks. -Down it, too, came faint light and sound, proceeding from the camp of -followers. - -“Our aim,” said she in peasant dress, “is to be found at dawn among -that throng, indistinguishable from it, and so to pass to its outermost -edge and away.” - -They were standing above the murmuring stream. Overhead the wind was in -the pine-tops. There were elfin voices, too, of the creatures of the -grass and bush and bark. All life, and life in his own veins, seemed to -Garin to be alert, awake as never before, quivering and streaming and -mounting like flame. - -“I am Elias of Montaudon,” he said. “I understand that, and how to -play the jongleur, and that if peril comes and stands like a giant and -questions us, I am no jongleur of Roche-de-Frêne nor allied there—” - -“Say that you are of Limousin.” - -“I have not dropped from the sky into the camp of Cap-du-Loup, but -have been singing and playing, telling japes and tales, merry or sad, -vaulting and wrestling elsewhere in the host—” - -“With the men of Aquitaine. Say that in Poitou Duke Richard himself -praised you.” - -“And should they question me of you?” - -“I also am of Limousin. There I watched sheep, but now I am your _mie_ -and a traveller with you.” - -“By what name am I to call you?” - -“I am Jael the herd. You will call me Jael.” - -They were moving this while up the stream. Did any come upon them -now, it would hardly be held that they had flown from the battlements -of Roche-de-Frêne. The ground was rough, the trees, crowding together, -shut out the light from the moon, while the fires at the end of vistas -grew ruddier. The muttering and humming also of the host in the night -increased. - -Jael the herd stood still. “It will not suit us to stumble in the dark -upon some wild band! Here is Saint Laurent’s garden of safety. Let us -rest on the pine-needles until cock-crow.” - -They lay down, the jongleur wrapped in his mantle, the herd-girl in -hers. “We must gather sleep wherever it grows,” said the latter. “I -will sleep and you will watch until the moon rounds the top of that -great pine. Wake me then, and look, Elias, that you do it!” - -She pillowed her head upon the scrip or wallet which she carried -slung over her shoulder, and lay motionless. The jongleur watched.... -The barred moon mounted higher, the night wheeled, eastern lands -were knowing light. Garin, resting against a pine trunk, lute and -wallet beside him on the earth, kept his gaze from the sleeper, -bestowed it instead upon the silver, gliding boat of the moon, or -upon the not-distant, murky glare of unfriendly fires. But gaze -here or gaze there, space and time sang to one presence! Wonder -must exist as to this night and the morrow and what journey was -this. Mind could not but lift the lanthorn, weigh likelihoods, pace -around and around the subject. That quest drew him, but it was not -all, nor most that drew.... _Jael the herd! Jael the herd!_ Here -came impossibilities—dreams, phantasies, rain of gold and silver, -impossibilities! He remembered clearly now a herd-girl, and that when -he had asked her name she had answered “Jael.” Many shepherdesses -trod the earth, and a many might be named Jael! Moreover sheer, -clear impossibility must conquer, subdue and dispose of all this -mad thinking. She who lay asleep was like that herd-girl—he saw it -now—shape, colouring, voice—That and the name she had happened to -choose—that and the torn, shepherdess garb—to that was owed this -dizzy dreaming, this jewelled sleet of fancy, high tide of imagination, -flooding every inland.... Things could not be different, yet the -same—beings could not be separate, yet one—or in some strange, rich -world, could that be so? But here was mere impossibility! Garin strove -to still the wider and wider vibrations. _The Fair Goal—The Fair -Goal!..._ The moon rounded the top of the pine tree. - -He crossed to the sleeper’s side, knelt, and spoke low. “My liege—” -She stirred, opened her eyes. “My liege, the moon begins to go down the -sky.” - -With her hand pressed against the pine-needles she rose to a sitting -posture. “I slept—and, by my faith, I wanted sleep! Now it is your -turn. Do not again call me liege or lady or princess or Audiart. The -wind might carry it to Cap-du-Loup. Say always to me, ‘Jael.’ And now -lie down and sleep. I will wake you when the east is grey.” - -Garin slept. The Princess Audiart rested against a tree, and -now watched the moon, and now the fires kindled by her foe and -Roche-de-Frêne’s, and now she watched the sleeping man. The attire -which she wore, the name she had chosen for the simple reason that once -before she had chanced to take it up and use it, brought brightly into -mind a long-ago forest glade and a happening there. But she did not -link that autumn day with the man lying wrapped in Elias of Montaudon’s -cloak, though she did link it with Jaufre de Montmaure who had kindled -those fires in the night. It came, a vivid picture, and then it slept -again. There was, of need, a preoccupation with this present enterprise -and its chaplet, necklace, girdle, and anklets of danger, no less -than with its bud of promise which she meant, if possible, to make -bloom. Her own great need and the need of Roche-de-Frêne formed the -looming presence, high, wide, and deep as the night, but, playing and -interblending with it, high, wide, and deep as the day, was another -sense.... She gazed upon Garin of the Golden Island lying wrapped in -the jongleur’s cloak, and the loss of him was in the looming night, and -the gain in the bud of promise and the feeling of the sun. To-night, -her estate seemed forlorn enough, but within she was a powerful -princess who did not blink her own desires though she was wise to curb -and rein and drive them rightly. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -THE SAFFRON CROSS - - -MOON and stars began to pale. The camp-followers up the stream had -poultry with them, for from that direction a cock crew and was -answered. The herd-girl waked the jongleur. “I have black bread in my -scrip,” she said. “Look if you have not the same.” - -He found a portion of a loaf; they sat by the brook Saint Laurent and -he cut the bread with his dagger and they ate and drank of the water. - -Light strengthened, it became grey-pearl under the pines. “Chill! -chill!” said the herd-girl. “Often I think of how it would be to lie -out under the sky, winter, spring, summer and now! So many thousands -do.—Now, we will be going.” - -They moved along the bank of the stream. “We go north,” said Garin’s -mind. “Will she go to the King at Paris?” But he waited without -question until she was ready to say. Jongleur and herd-girl, they -walked through the grey and dewy world. The trees now stood further -apart, they were coming to open ground. To their right the east showed -stripes of carnation. The cocks crew again; the mutter and murmur of -the night suddenly took height and depth, became inarticulate clamour -of the day and an encamped, huge host. The light strengthened. Between -the stems of trees they saw, at no great distance, huts and booths of -autumn branches. They stood still for a little in the flush of the -brightening dawn—divers regarding the sea into which they were to -plunge, the sea whose every wave was inimical. They looked, then, each -turning a little, their eyes met. It was but for a moment; immediately -they went forward. - -Elias of Montaudon was all dusk and green of garb, and dusk of brow -and cheek. But his dagger hung in a gilt sheath and his lute by a red -ribbon, and his eyes were grey with glints of blue. Jael the herd, -too, was hued like a Martinmas leaf, and her hair hung over her bosom -and to her knee, in long, dusk braids. The jongleur had a vision of -dark hair loosened and spread in elf-lock and wave, half hiding a face -more girlish than this face, but as this face might have been, eight -years agone. Impossibilities—dreams, phantasies, magic somewhere, -impossibilities! - -They were now almost clear of the broken ground and the remnant of -wood. They looked back and saw Roche-de-Frêne lifted against the solemn -sky; stood still and for a minute or more gazed, and as though the -walls were glass, viewed the tense life within. - -“Did you ever see Richard of Aquitaine?” asked the herd-girl. - -“No,” answered the jongleur, and felt a momentary wonder, then the dawn -of a conjecture. - -The herd-girl turned again to their wandering and he followed her, -then walked beside her.... Leaving the last group of trees, they came -with suddenness upon a little pebbly shore of the stream and upon half -a dozen women, kneeling and beginning the washing of clothes. Several -ragged children sat by a fire of sticks and made an outcry when the two -came from the wood. The women looked up. “Hè! a jongleur!” cried one. -“Come trill me a love-lay while I wash my sergeant’s one shirt!” - -Elias and Jael came near, sat by the fire of sticks, and felt the -warmth pleasant. The first drew his hand across the strings of his lute -and sang:— - - “Sweet May, come! the lovers’ sweet season. - In May Love seems the height of reason! - Try your love when the year grows older, - The birds depart and the earth is colder.—” - -He stopped. “Saint Michael! the mist is yet in my throat. Your fire, -gossips, is the sweet, crackling singer—” - -One of the women sat back upon her heels, and, hands on hips, regarded -the two. “From what camp are you? You are not of our camp?” - -“No. We have been over yonder—near to the young count.” - -“If Cap-du-Loup saw you he would have your lute broken and you sent to -wait on fighting men! Cap-du-Loup loatheth jongleurs and monks! Your -_douce_ there he might take—but no, I think that he would not. She is -not fair, and she has the look of one with claws—” - -“I have claws, sister,” said Jael. “But I know how to keep them -sheathed.” She yawned. “This good fire makes you sleepy. Pretty -children, let me rest my head upon that log for a bit! Play to us, -Elias, if you cannot sing.” - -She put her head down, closed her eyes, lying in the firelight. The -jongleur played and he played strange quaint airs that made the -washerwomen laugh, nod their heads, and pat with their hands. After -this he played quieter strains, a dreamy and monotonous music, humming -to it a thought of the East. They listened, then turned to their -rubbing and beating of clothes, working as in a dream, to a soothed and -unquestioning mood. - -Jael sat up, warmed her hands at the fire, looked to the west. On -the other side of the brook of Saint Laurent a trampling sound arose -and grew. The mist yielded a grey vision of horsemen approaching in -number. They loomed, there ran before them noise—harsh voices, ribald -laughter. The washerwomen sprang to their feet, gathered hastily into -their arms the scattered garments, seized by the hands the children. - -“Jacques le Noir and his men! Get out of their way! Jesu! What a world -where your own side tramples and abuses—” - -They turned up the stream, quarrelling as they went. With them and the -children went the jongleur and the herd-girl, all faring along the -bank together, in the mist that was now being torn by golden arrows. -One of the women, with a load of wet, half-washed clothing, let fall -a part of the burden. The herd-girl, stooping, gathered it up. “I’ll -help you here, sister!” A child struck its foot against a stone, fell, -and began to cry. The jongleur lifted him to his shoulder. Behind them -they heard Jacques le Noir splash with his horsemen into the stream. -The washerwomen and the two from Roche-de-Frêne went on like one family -or like old acquaintances, and so came into the thickly peopled camp of -the followers of Cap-du-Loup and his fighting men. - -The sun was now risen. The pied and various world in which they found -themselves had breakfasted or was breakfasting. Noise prevailed, -self-wrought into some kind of harmony. Here were women, soldiers’ and -others’ wives, and frank harlots, and here were children, seraphic, -impish, and all between. Here harboured men of sorts, men who cared -for horses, were smiths, menders of harness and armour, fitters of -lance-heads to lances, fletchers of arrows. Here were barber-surgeons, -cooks, and servitors of servitors. Sutlers and merchants of small wares -showed both men and women, as did also the amusement-mongers. There -abounded folk of nondescript and uncertain trades, or of no trades -at all, mere followers and feeders, a true rabble. And there were -gamesters and cunning thieves. - -Elias of Montaudon and Jael the herd came into this throng in the -company of the women who had washed by the brook of Saint Laurent. The -air was yet hung with mist-wreaths; they entered with these about them, -and none took especial notice. - -The washerwomen did not stray from the brook. Down they flung their -half-washed, wet, and dripping loads, and complained loudly to any who -would listen of Jacques le Noir and his demon band. Some listened, -some did not; the most had recitals of their own. Voices sprang like -grass-blades, were confounded.... With the others Jael threw upon the -ground her load, Elias set down the child he had carried. Then in the -confusion they went away, leaving without staying word or hand the -group that had brought them thus far. They followed the brook Saint -Laurent and they passed many folk, buried in their own concerns. To -an eye not observant beyond a certain point, the two would seem a -loitering couple of the camp, vacant and idly straying, being set at -the moment to no task. None greeted them as acquaintances—but there -seemed here no eye to note that fact. Units and groups shifted like -the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. Continually the tube was shaken -and there came up new arrangements. The two went on, and none saw in -them wandering bodies from outer and hostile space, pursuing a course -athwart the field of the kaleidoscope.... The mist was gone, the sun -poured light; looking back, they saw Roche-de-Frêne, indeed, but always -farther, farther from them. - -They approached the edge of the camp-followers’ demesne. It frayed out -among trees and gullies and heaps of refuse. Presently came a strip of -bare earth, recently burned over, licked clean by the flame, and desert -of human works or being. Beyond, flung widely, grey reefs across their -way, were soldiers’ tents. Jael the herd’s lips moved. “Come down, for -a minute, into this hollow where none will see.” - -Descending a miniature slope, they stood in a narrow space between -walls of parched earth. The camp behind them, the camp before -them, sank abruptly from view, though the sound of each remained. -Roche-de-Frêne sank from view; they were roofed by the blue sky. A -lizard ran from stone to stone; a wind, circling the place, lifted into -air dead leaves and particles of earth. The herd-girl, seating herself, -opened the scrip that she carried. The jongleur watched her take from -it something at which he started. It was a piece of saffron-coloured -cloth, cut in the shape of a cross. The upright measured near two feet, -it and the arms had a palm’s breadth. The next thing that she did was -to find a needle and thread; then she took her frieze mantle, and after -an instant of looking into the pure, deep heavens, began to fasten upon -the mantle the saffron cross. - -Garin held his breath. Holy Church had many penances for erring souls, -and the most were acquiesced in with the least possible inner pain, -and some were dreaded, and a few were direfully dreaded, shudderingly -looked upon. The most were burdensome but matter-of-fact; some gave -the weak flesh sharp pain, but did not necessarily humble one in the -eyes of the world and the neighbours. A certain number had for label, -_Humiliation_, and they were dreaded. A few were more sinister than -these, frightening the imagination. One or two brought a dark terror, -dark and cold. These did not partake of the nature of prostrations, -or of prayers in multiplied repetition, or of flagellations, or -pilgrimages, or amercement of goods. Flagellation was of temporary -account; pilgrimages a way to see the world as well as to wipe out -sin; loss in money and land a serious thing, God knew! but though -bitter, without ignominy. None of these came under the same sky with -excommunication, which was not penance, but doom and living death! But -to wear a cross like this came under the same sky. - -It carried no physical pain with it, nor imprisonment within material -walls. Of itself, it did not dip into the purse, or shear away house -and land. Of itself, it did not say, “Leave your home, penitent, and -wander to many a shrine, know many calvaries!” Incidentally it might -have come after—most often it did come after—these lesser things. It -was rarely bound, like the mark of Cain, upon the young in offending. -It came somewhat rarely upon any but the poor. So long as there was -any wealth there might be compounding for something less than the -millstone.... It was not likely to be imposed for any less time than -a long, long while. Perhaps it was worn for years, perhaps they died -wearing it. It weighed hardly anything materially, but it weighed life -down. The people regarded it with superstitious horror. It said, “Lo, -shadow and substance of sin that may hardly be pardoned! Lo, here the -Obdurate, the Ancient and Resigned to the Prince of the Power of the -Air—preserved that ye may see—set aside in the midst of you that ye -may know! Not to be touched, not to be dealt with in pleasant, human -ways—any more than a leper!” - -Garin looked. His face had paled beneath the stain applied by the -true Elias. “Ah!” he said, “what people of the future comes, my Lady -Audiart, from such as you!” - -The other stood up, her sewing finished. She drew the cloak over her -shoulders, and her right arm and side showed the saffron cross. Her -dark eyes met Garin’s. “Now you are my brother. We are twin, and Saint -Peter himself would not have you utterly forsake me! Let us go.” - -They came out from the crack in the earth and proceeded to cross the -burned strip. All in all, they had now penetrated some distance in the -dragon’s field. When they looked over their shoulder, Roche-de-Frêne -yet showed with grandeur in the morning light, against the south-east -quarter of a fleckless sky. But it showed as somewhat distant.... Garin -understood now that they were to cross the dragon’s field, to leave -it behind them, to escape as quickly as might be from its poisonous -breath, from the reach of its talons. He saw also that, danger-grown -as was their path of travel, it was the least so that should have been -taken from the beleaguered place. The dragon lay here, too, but not, -perhaps, the brain nor eyes of him. - -The day shone bright and cool. Directly ahead a large campfire yet -smoked and smouldered, and right and left of it and beyond grew the -somewhat tattered tents of Cap-du-Loup’s force. In the assault, on the -way to the assault, Cap-du-Loup drove his men like a storm. At other -times he let them live as they would. - -There were Free Companions, a score or so, around the fire. These -caught sight of the two upon the burned and blackened strip between -them and the followers’ camp. There was passage to and fro, as the gods -of license knew! Many figures of the world strayed almost at will, -found lanes enough through the loose warp of the time’s armies. A woman -and a jongleur might find a groove, so easy, so worn—There were, -however, toll-gates. - -Men who had been lying on the ground sat up. “Come across! Come -across!” called one. Another rose to his feet and went to touch first, -so claim first. A third sprang up, ran after, but a young giant, -starting fourth, outstripped him, gained on the first. The men had been -idle after a night’s sleep. Breakfast of goat’s flesh and bread was -digested, the slight enough camp tasks disposed of, after which came -idleness and yawning. Cap-du-Loup meant to join Aimeric the Bastard in -a night attack upon Roche-de-Frêne’s western gate, and until then the -storm slept. The Free Companions were ready for movement, enterprise, -deviltry. They rose from the ashy fire, and finding pleasure in -stretching of the limbs, raced after their fellows. The distance was -a pygmy one; immediately they were at their goal—the giant just the -first. - -He put his hands upon the woman. “Come, my _mie_—come, my jewel!” The -one who had started first began to clamour that he was first; there -arose a noise as from any brute pack. The giant, dragged at by his -fellows, half turned, turning with him her he grasped. The saffron -cross came into view. - -The Free Companion’s hands dropped. He, and every man as he saw it, -gave back. The recoil left black earth between them and Jael and -Elias. Quarrelling and laughter alike sank. Here was neither wooing -nor taking, but a hand stole down, picked up a stone and threw it. It -struck her, then she spoke. “Leave to the cross them who wear it, brave -soldiers!” - -The giant came from a hamlet that tilled Abbey fields, and he was wise -beyond his fellows in what the Church said. Moreover he was by nature -unresistant to Authority. It was not he who had thrown the stone, and -now he struck down the arm of one who gathered a second missile. “Abbot -Arnaut told us we mustn’t ever do that! If you do, God the Father’ll -lengthen your score—burn you a year longer in Purgatory!” - -“It’s the serpent of sin.—Naught’s doing but stoning!” - -“You can’t strike man or woman when they’ve touched sanctuary! Yellow -cross’s a kind of sanctuary—” - -The giant found some upon his side. “That’s true! Father Andrew -preached a sermon about it, Saint John Baptist’s day!—You don’t break -into a house marked for plague. Holy Church says, ‘This cross’s my -seal. I punish, and don’t you be trying to better it!’” - -“That’s true! Holy Church says, ‘Have no communion, for good or for -ill! Here is something fearful and not like it was mortal!’” - -The black earth widened about Jael and Elias. “What is the man doing -with her?” cried the first runner. - -Another yet more reckless lifted voice. “Is a jongleur to be a heathen -and we can’t? Is he to give the dare to a Free Companion?” - -Despite the giant and those backing him, the pack came nearer, -narrowing the black mark. Garin spoke. He was accustomed to lead and -command men, fusing their will with his. Use gave him power here -also, though they that he faced knew not what it was. And he had -other powers over men and himself. He spoke. “Good soldiers! I am her -brother, twin with her, and I had a vision that I was not utterly -to forsake her. The priest said that I was to mind it.” He brought -his lute forward, and as he spoke he drew from the strings notes of -wistfulness and beauty. “So we started many months ago, on a pilgrimage -from Pont-de-Lys in Limousin (for we are of Limousin) to Our Lady of -Roche-de-Frêne. And after that we fared on a long way to the north, -to the famous shrine of Saint Thomas in Burgundy.” He was playing -very sweetly, notes of unearthly tenderness and melancholy. “There -the vision came again and told me to return the way we had come to -Limousin, and then, without rest, to go on pilgrimage to Saint James, -the brother of the Lord, at Compostella.” - -He changed and deepened the strain until it had solemnity, became music -played in churches. “She speaks not often to me, nor I to her. She -touches me not, and I touch not her. But the vision said, ‘Go with her -to Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne, and then to the shrine of Saint Thomas’; -and then it said, ‘Turn and go with her to Compostella.’ The priest -said, ‘Obey that which spoke to you, and It will see that you are not -hindered.’” His lips shut. He had spoken in a voice that he knew how to -use so as to bring the heart into acquiescence, and his fingers still -spoke on, upon the strings of the lute. - -The half-ring parted. It felt horror of the saffron cross, but, -strange to itself, it also now felt pity and an impulse to help. Its -ill passion fell cold and dead. Sufficiently swift and deep and for -sufficiently long time came the change. Whether there was responsible -some saint, or suggestion, or these beings’ proper motion, here was -what answered for miracle. The giant was the spokesman. - -“The way is clear so far as we are named! Go on, poor soul, and brother -jongleur, and maybe there’s a star somewhere to shine for you!—Nay, -I’ll go before and see that no man of Cap-du-Loup breaks sanctuary—no, -nor harms you, jongleur!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -CAP-DU-LOUP - - -THE giant was a Saint Christopher to Jael and Elias. He was great of -height and bulk, feared for his strength and liked because of a broad -simplicity and good-nature, apparent when he was not angry or hot in -the midst of allowed slaughter and rapine. For the saffron cross and -the jongleur he proved, this day, the right convoy. - -Cap-du-Loup had two hundred knights and a thousand fighting men. -The knights’ encampment they did not approach; it lay to the west, -neighbouring the Lord of Chalus’s quarter. But they went by, they went -between, the tents and booths of the thousand men. - -These shouted to them, these stopped them, these ran from farther -tents. “Game! Game!” Cap-du-Loup’s men cried. “Leveret! leveret! -leveret!”—then saw the cross that the woman wore. It was a weapon -to halt snatching hands, a spell to wither the lust in men’s eyes. -And when the heat turned to cold, and where, as twice again happened, -another zeal sprang up and there threatened stoning, came in the -giant’s voice and arm, making room for the jongleur’s voice and hand -upon the strings.... Thrice-guarded, the two from Roche-de-Frêne -threaded the camp of Cap-du-Loup. It was noon now, and autumn sunshine -thick about them. In broad day they passed the folds of the dragon, -and then by a ruined house, cold and vacant as clay, they met with -suddenness Cap-du-Loup. - -The giant was afraid. “Little Mother of God, take care of us!” he said -and caught his breath. - -Cap-du-Loup was neither tall nor stout of build; he was rusty-red and -small, but he could fright the giant, hold him knock-kneed. “What are -you doing, Jean le Géant, wandering with hellfroth such as these?” - -Jean le Géant answered like a child, telling all the why and wherefore. - -“Begone where you kennel!” said Cap-du-Loup, when he had made an end. -“You two, who came from Burgundy, what talk is made there of this war?” - -He sat on a stone in the noon light, behind him a black and broken -wall, and questioned the jongleur. He had looked once at the figure -wrapped in frieze whereon was sewed a saffron cross. The woman -seemed young, but the mantle was hooded, and that and the black hair -astream about her face—She appeared dark as a Saracen and without -beauty, and the cross did put a ring about her and a pale, cold light -... Cap-du-Loup, who came from Burgundy,—though that had never -interfered with the sale of his services to any high-bidding foe of -Burgundy,—turned to the jongleur. “What talk is there?” - -“Lord, as you know, the barons there have wars of their own! But I -played upon a time in a hall where afterwards I listened to the talk of -knights. It seemed to me that they inclined to Roche-de-Frêne. But what -do I know?” - -“Did any speak of me?” - -“Lord, one was talking with a great merchant of Italy who was present. -He said, ‘There is a bold captain of Burgundy, Gaultier Cap-du-Loup, -with Montmaure. He had been wiser, methinks, to have taken his sword to -Roche-de-Frêne! If Aquitaine drops off—’” - -“Wait there!” cried Cap-du-Loup. “What colour did they give for -Aquitaine ceasing from us?” - -“None, lord, that I heard. I heard no more,” said Elias, “for I went -out in the night to give my sister bread.” - -“Jean the foolish giant has said that you went first from Limousin to -Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne. When were you in Roche-de-Frêne?” - -“Lord, at Pentecost, before the siege began.” - -“What did you think, jongleur, of that town and castle?” - -Cap-du-Loup looked at what he spoke of, lifted before them, shimmering -in the light. Montmaure was attacking at the eastern gate. A noise as -of dull thunder rolled over the plain. - -“Lord,” said the jongleur, “there are fellows of my art, who, to -please, would say ‘a poor town and a trembling castle!’ But I think -that you are not such an one, but a man who greets with valiancy bare -truth! To my apprehension, lord, it seemed a great town and a strong -castle.” - -“It is God’s truth!” said Cap-du-Loup, who for two months had received -no pay for himself nor for his men. “At Pentecost the old prince yet -lived. Saw you Audiart?” - -“Lord, it was said that she was at mass one day when we stood without -the church. When ladies and knights came forth some one cried, -‘Audiart!’ and I saw her, as it were among clouds.” - -“They say that she pays well and steadily.—Holy Virgin!” said -Cap-du-Loup, “I would that Count Jaufre, who is to be her lord and -husband, would take ensample!” - -He spoke in a barking tone, and grew redder and fiercer. His small eyes -without lashes looked at Elias of Montaudon as though he had suddenly -remembered to call one to break the lute of the _fainéant_ and cudgel -him deep into the camp to wait on men who fought! But perhaps the -jongleur’s remembering the words “bold captain of Burgundy,” or his -knowing character and that Cap-du-Loup was not afraid of false or true, -saved lute and shoulders. Perhaps it was something else, wolves being -softened long ago by Orpheus. Or the giant’s stammered explanation -before, frightened, he went away, may have worked, or the pale, cold -light about the woman have touched, to Cap-du-Loup’s perception, her -brother also. Perhaps it was something of all of these. However that -may be, Cap-du-Loup stared at Roche-de-Frêne against the sky, and, not -for the first time of late, thought to himself that, all things being -equal and Montmaure less strong by certain divisions than was the case, -then a man would be a fool to come into his service rather than into -that of the banner yonder! Then he somewhat lost himself, listening to -Count Jaufre’s battering the town’s eastern gate. - -Jael and Elias, standing in the shadow of the ruined house, listened, -too, and with the eye of the mind saw the attack and the defenders.... - -Cap-du-Loup rose from his stone, spoke to the jongleur. “If I have -passed you, all shall pass you. If they stop you, tell them to come -speak with Cap-du-Loup!” With that, and with a wolf-like suddenness, -both fierce and stealthy, he was gone. - -Jael and Elias, in the shadow of the black wall, saw him one moment, -then a cairn-like heap of stones came between.... It was after the noon -hour; though it was late autumn the southern land blazed light. Into -their ears came the rhythmic dash and recoil of the distant conflict, -came, too, the nearer buzz and hum, the sharp, discrete noises of the -encampment whose edge they had gained. They saw that they were upon its -edge, and that before them lay a road less crowded. This they took. At -first men were about them, but these had seen them with Cap-du-Loup and -disturbed them not. A trumpet blew and a drum was beat, and the Free -Companions hurried to the sound. The two quickened their steps; they -took advantage; before the diversion of vision and attention was ended, -they were clear of the camp of Gaultier Cap-du-Loup. - -Right and left lay the host of Montmaure, but ahead was rough, sharp, -and broken ground, where horsemen might not manage their horses and -disliked by men without steeds. Here was a bend of the brook Saint -Laurent, and ground stony and sterile or ashen and burned over. The -dragon possessed the wide plain; he drew water from the stream where -he wished it, but for the rest left unoccupied this northward-drawn -rough splinter of the world.... The two saw an outpost, a sentinel -camp, but it was intent upon the crescendo of battle-sound pouring from -Roche-de-Frêne, and upon what might be the meaning of Cap-du-Loup’s -calling trumpets. Jael and Elias slipped by, in the dry sunshine, -beneath the brow of a hill, like a brace of tinted, wind-blown leaves. - -After this they came into a solitude. It had not been always so, for -here the rough ground fell away, Saint Laurent bent his stream like -a sickle, and once had been bright fields and graceful vineyards. -Here had stood many small houses of peasants who had tilled their -fields, tended their vineyards, brought the produce and sold it to -Roche-de-Frêne, trudging through life, often in the shadow and often in -the sun. Now death only lived and abode and, black-winged, visited the -fields. All things were cut down, charred, and withered. The people -were gone, and where had been houses stood ruins. - -The herd-girl sighed as she walked. Once the jongleur saw her weeping. - -It lasted a long way, this black swath beneath the sun. It led them out -of the dragon’s immediate field, away from his mailed and glittering -coils. The dragon lay well behind them, his eyes upon Roche-de-Frêne. -Roche-de-Frêne itself, now, was distant. - -But the venom of the dragon had been spread wherever his length had -passed. Not alone here, by the brook Saint Laurent, but all around now, -as far as the eye could see, stretched blackening and desolation. All -was overcovered with the writing of war. The princess of the land had -ceased to weep. She viewed ruin with the face of a sibyl. - -In the mid-afternoon they came upon knights resting by a great stone, -in a ring of trees with russet leaves. These hailed the jongleur and -the woman with him—when they saw what manner of penitent was the -latter they crossed themselves and let her stay without the ring, -seated among stones some distance from it. But they and their squires -listened to Garin’s singing. - -He sang for them a many songs, for when one was done they clamoured -for another. Then they gave him largesse, and would have constrained -him to turn and go with them to the host of Montmaure, where would -be employment enough, since Count Jaufre nor no one else had many -jongleurs of such voice and skill! Though they knew it not, voice -and skill served him again when he turned them from constraining to -agreement to let him go his way, on pilgrimage with her who sat among -the stones. They made him sing again, and then, as all rested, they -asked questions as to the host through which he had come. He knew, from -this dropped word and that, that they were knights of Aquitaine, riding -to join that same Jaufre. - -With their squires they numbered but twelve in all. Food and wine were -taken from the lading of a sumpter mule and placed upon the ground. -They gave the jongleur a generous portion, consented to his bearing to -the penitent of the cross, the Unfortunate his sister, portion of his -portion. Returned, he asked of one of the squires with whom he ate, -where was Duke Richard? He was at Excideuil. - -“They say,” said the jongleur, “that he and Count Jaufre laugh and sigh -in the same moment.” - -“It was once so,” answered the squire and drank wine. - -“Is’t not so now?” - -The other put down the wine cup. “Did you make poesy, jongleur, as well -as you sing it, I could give you subjects! Songs of Absence, now. Songs -of a subtile vapour called Difference, that while you turn your head -becomes thick and hard!—Perhaps they think that they yet laugh and -sigh in the same moment.” - -“One must be near a man to see the colour of his soul.” - -“Aye, so!—The knight I serve—him with the grey in his beard—is of -Richard’s household.” - -“I have sung in this court and sung in that,” said Elias of Montaudon, -“but chances it so that never I saw Duke Richard!” - -“He paints leopards on his shield—they call him Lion-Heart—he is good -at loving, good at hating—he means to do well and highly—but the -passions of men are legion.” - -“I stake all,” said the jongleur, “on his being a nobler knight than is -Count Jaufre!” - -“My gold with yours, brother,” answered the squire, and poured more -wine. - -“And he is at Excideuil?” - -“At Excideuil. He builds a great castle there, but his heart builds at -going overseas and saving again the Holy Sepulchre!” - -There was a silence. “He can then,” said Elias of Montaudon, “be sought -through the imagination.” - -“I know not wholly what you mean by that,” said the squire. “But when -he was made knight and watched his armour, he watched, with other -matters, some sort of generosity.” - -The sun poured slanting rays, making the world ruddy. The knights, -having rested and refreshed themselves, would get to horse, press on so -as to reach the host before curfew. The ring beneath the tinted trees -broke. The squires hastened, brought the horses from the deeper wood. -All mounted, turned toward the south and Montmaure. - -“Farewell, Master Jongleur, Golden-Voice!” cried the eldest knight. -“Come one day to the castles of Aquitaine!” Another flung him silver -further than had yet been given.—They were gone. Almost instantly -they must round a hill—the sight of them failed, the earth between -smothered the sound of their horses’ going, and of their own voices. -Ere the sun dipped the solitude was again solitude. - -Garin joined the princess where she sat among the stones. She sat with -her chin in her hands, watching the great orb and all the scape of -clouds. “Did they tell you where Richard is to be found?” - -“He is to be found at Excideuil. I spoke with a seeing man, and this is -what he said.” - -He repeated what had been said. - -“So!” said the princess. “Let us be going.” - -They walked until the red dusk had given way to brown dusk and darkness -was close at hand. She spoke only once, and then she said, “You also -are a seeing man, Elias the Jongleur!” - -A ruined wayside shrine appeared before them, topping a hill, clear -against the pale, cold, remote purples and greens of the west. -Their path mounted to it; they found all about it quiet and lonely. -They talked until the sky was filled with stars, then they wrapped -themselves in their mantles and slept, stretched upon the yet warm -earth. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -THE ABBEY OF THE FOUNTAIN - - -MORNING broke. They rose and travelled on. This day they passed -definitely from the dragon’s present reach, though yet they were -in lands of Roche-de-Frêne, done into ruin by him, poisoned by his -breath. Adventures they had, perils and escapes. These were approached, -endured, passed. At night they came to a hermit’s cell where was no -hermit, but on a stone hearth wood ready for firing. They closed the -door, struck flint and steel, had presently a flame that reddened the -low and narrow walls and gave the two, tired and cold, much comfort. -The hermit’s cupboard was found, and in it dried fruit and pease and a -pan or two for cooking. Without the cell was water, a bubbling spring -among moss and fern. - -The night was dark and windy. None came to strike upon the hermit’s -door, no human voice broke in upon them. The wind shook the forest -behind the cell and scoured the valley in front. It whistled around -their narrow refuge, it brought at intervals a dash of rain against -door and wall. But the two within were warmed and fed, and they found -an ocean-music in the night. It rocked them in their dreams, it soothed -like a lullaby. The princess dreamed of her father, and that they were -reading together in a book; then that changed, and it was her old, -old nurse, who told her tales of elves and fays. Garin dreamed of the -desert and then of the sea. Dawn came. They rekindled their fire and -had spare breakfast, then fared forth through a high and stormy world. - -Night came, day came, nights and days, beads of light and its doings, -beads of dimness and rest. They kept no list of the dangers they -entered and left, of the incidents and episodes of peril. They were -many, but the two went through like a singing shaft, like a shuttle -driven by the hand of Genius. Now they were forth from the invaded -princedom, now they were gone from fiefs of other suzerains. Where they -had faced north, now they walked with the westering sun. - -When that happened, Jael the herd wore no longer the saffron cross. It -had served the purpose, carrying her through Montmaure’s host, that -else might not have let a woman pass.... The two had slept upon leaves -in an angle of a stone wall, on the edge of a coppice. The wall ran by -fields unharmed by war; they were out from the shadow. A dawn came up -and unfolded like a rose of glory. The coppice seemed to sleep, the air -was so still. The night had been dry, and for the season, warm. Cocks -crew in the distance, birds that stayed out the year cheeped in the -trees. - -The herd-girl took her frieze mantle, and, sitting upon a stone, -broke the threads that bound to it the Church’s stigma and seal. The -jongleur watched her from where he leaned against the wall. When it was -free from the mantle, she took the shaped piece of saffron-dyed cloth -and moving from the stone kneeled beside their fire of sticks and gave -it to the flame. She watched it consume, then stood up. “It served me,” -she said. “I know not if it ever served any upon whom it was truly -chained. As I read the story, He who was nailed to the cross had a -spirit strong and merciful. It is the spirits who are strong that are -merciful.” - -The rose in the east grew in glory. Colour came into the land, into -the coppice, and to the small vines and ferns in their niches and -shrines between the stones. Garin of the Golden Island stood in green -and brown, beside him the red-ribboned lute. “As the first day from -Roche-de-Frêne, so now again,” said Audiart, “you are the jongleur, -Elias of Montaudon. I am your _mie_, Jael the herd.” - -“Your will is mine, Jael the herd,” said Garin. - -He bent and extinguished the fire of sticks. The two went on together, -the sun behind them.... Once Vulcan had had a stithy in this country. -Masses of dark rock were everywhere, old, cooled lava, dark hills, -mountains and peaks. Chestnut and oak ran up the mountain-sides, the -valleys lay sunken, there was a silver net of streams. Hamlets hid -beneath hills, village and middling town climbed their sides, castles -crowned the heights, in vales by the rivers sat the monasteries. The -region was divided between smiling and frowning. Its allegiance was -owed to a lord of storms, who, in his nature, showed now and then a -broad golden beam. At present no wild beast from without entered the -region to ravage; there it smiled secure. But Duke Richard drained -it of money and men; its own kept it poor. He drained all his vast -duchy and fiefs of his duchy, as his brothers drained their lands and -his father drained England. They were driving storms and waters that -whirled and drew; one only was the stagnant kind that sat and brewed -poison. This region was a corner of the great duke’s wide lands, but -the duke helped himself from its purse, and the larger number of its -men were gone to his wars. - -But for all that, the jongleur and the herd-girl met a many people and -saw towns that to them from Roche-de-Frêne seemed at ease, relaxed, and -light of heart. Baron and knight and squire and man were gone to the -wars, but baron and knight and squire and man, for this reason, for -that reason, remained. Castle drawbridges rested down, portcullises -rusted unlowered. The roads, bad though they were, had peaceful -traffic; the fields had been harvested, and the harvest had not gone to -feed another world. The folk that remained were not the fiercer sort, -and they longed for amusement. It rested not cold, and folk were out of -doors. The country-side, mountain and hill and valley, hung softened, -stilled, wrapped in a haze of purple-grey. - -Jongleur’s art, human voice at its richest, sweetest, most -expressive—such was wanted wherever now they went. They had jongleur’s -freedom in a singing time. Travelling on, they made pause when they -were called upon. The jongleur sang the heart out of the breast, the -water into the eyes, high thoughts and resolves into the upper rooms of -the nature. The dark-eyed, still girl, his companion and _mie_, sat on -doorstep, or amid the sere growth of the wayside, or stood in castle -hall or court, or in the market-place of towns, and listened with the -rest to the singing voice and the song that it uttered. The few about -them, or the many about them, sighed with delight, gave pay as they -were able, and always would have had the jongleur stay, sing on the -morrow, and the morrow’s morrow. But jongleurs had license to wander, -and no restlessness of theirs surprised. Day by day the two were able, -after short delays, to take the road again. - -They came to Excideuil. - -“Is the duke here?” - -“No. He was here, but he has gone to Angoulême.” - -Elias of Montaudon brought that news to Jael the herd. She listened -with a steady face. “Very well! In ways, that suits me better. There -are those at Angoulême whom I know.” - -The jongleur sang in the market-place of Excideuil. “Ah, ah!” cried -many, “you should have been here when our duke was here! He had a day -when there sang six troubadours, and the prize was a cup of gold! And -yet no troubadour sang so well as you sing, jongleur!” - -A week later, crown of a hill before them, they saw Angoulême. The -morning light had shown frost over the fields, but now the sun melted -that silver film and the day was a sapphire. Wall and battlement, -churches, castle, brilliant and spear-like, stood out from the blue -dome: beneath spread a clear valley and clear streams. Other heights -had lesser castles, and the valley had houses of the poor. Travel upon -the road thickened, grew more various, spiced with every class and -occupation. The day carried sound easily, and there was more sound -to carry. Contacts became frequent, and these were now with people -affected, in greater or less degree, by the sojourn in Angoulême of -Duke Richard. The air knew his presence; where he came was tension, -energy held in a circumference. From the two that entered Angoulême -spread another circle. Garin felt power and will in her whom he walked -beside, felt attention. The force within him rose to meet hers and they -made one. - -The town grew larger before them, walls and towers against the sky. - -“Ask some one,” said Audiart, “where is the Abbey of the Fountain?” - -He asked. - -“The Abbey of the Fountain?” answered the man whom he addressed. “It -lies the other side of the hill. Go through the town and out at the -west gate, and you will see it below you, among trees.” - -They climbed the hill and entered Angoulême, thronged with life. To the -two who kept the picture of Roche-de-Frêne, wrapped in clouds of storm -and disaster, Angoulême might appear clad like a peacock, untroubled -as a holiday child. Yet was there here—and they divined that, -too—grumbling and soreness, just anger against Richard the proud, -coupled with half-bitter admiration. Here was wide conflict of opinion -and mood. Life pulsed strongly in Angoulême. - -Jongleur and herd-girl threaded the town, where were many jongleurs, -and many women with them lacking church’s link. They regarded the -castle, and the Leopard banner above it. “Richard, Richard!” said the -herd-girl, “I hope that a manner of things are true that I have heard -of you!” - -They came to the west gate and left the town by it. Immediately, when -they were without the walls, they saw in the vale beneath groves of now -leafless trees and, surrounded by these, the Abbey of the Fountain. -Jael the herd stood still, gazing upon it. “I had a friend—one whom -I liked well, and who liked me. Now she is abbess here—the Abbess -Madeleine! Let us go down to the Abbey of the Fountain, and see what we -shall see.” - -They went down to the vale. Great trees stretched their arms above -them. A stream ran diamonds and made music as it went. Now there came -to Garin the deep sense of having done this thing before—of having -gone with the Princess Audiart to a great house of nuns—though surely -she was not then the Princess Audiart.... He ceased to struggle; -earthly impossibilities seemed to dissolve in a deeper knowledge. He -laid down bewilderment and the beating to and fro of thought; in a -larger world thus and so must be true. - -Passing through a gate in a wall, they were on Abbey land, nor was it -long before they were at the Abbey portal. Beggars and piteous folk -were there before them, and a nun giving bread to these through the -square in the door. Garin and Audiart stood aside, waiting their turn. -She gazed upon him, he upon her. - -“Came you ever to a place like this,” she breathed, “in green and brown -before?” - -“I think that it is so, Jael the herd.” - -“A squire in brown and green?” - -He nodded, “Yes.” - -Jael the herd put her hand over her eyes. “Truth my light! but our life -is deep!” - -The mendicants left the portal. The slide closed, making the door solid. - -“Wait here,” said the herd-girl. “I will go knock. Wait here until you -are called.” - -She knocked, and the panel slid back. He heard her speaking to the -sister and the latter answering. Then she spoke again, and, after a -moment of hesitation, the door was opened. She entered; it closed -after her. He sat down on a stone bench beside the portal and watched -the lacework of branches, great and small, over the blue. A cripple -with a basket of fruit sat beside him and began to talk of jongleurs -he had heard, and then of the times, which he said were hard. With -his lameness, something in him brought Foulque to Garin’s mind. “Oh, -ay!” said the cripple, “kings and dukes make work, but dull work that -you die by and not live by! The court will buy my grapes, but—” He -shrugged, then whistled and stretched in the sun. - -“How stands Duke Richard in your eye?” - -The cripple offered him a bunch of grapes. “Know you aught that could -not be better, or that could not be worse?” - -“Well answered!” said Garin. “I have interest in knowing how high at -times can leap the better.” - -“Higher than the court fool thinks,” said the cripple. He sat a little -longer, then took his crutch and his basket of fruit and hobbled away -toward the town. - -Garin waited, musing. An hour passed, two hours, then the panel in the -door slid back. A voice spoke, “Jongleur, you are to enter.” - -The door opened. He passed through, when it closed behind him. The -sister slipped before, grey and soundless as a moth, and led him over -stone flooring and between stone walls, out of the widened space by -the Abbey door, through a corridor that echoed to his footfall, subdue -his footfall as he might. This ended before a door set in an arch. -The grey figure knocked; a woman’s voice within answered in Latin. The -sister pushed the door open, stood aside, and he entered. - -This, he knew at once, was the abbess’s room, then saw the Abbess -Madeleine herself, and, sitting beside her, that one whose companion he -had been for days and weeks. The herd-girl’s worn dress was still upon -her, but she sat there, he saw, as the Princess of Roche-de-Frêne, as -the friend, long-missed, of the pale Abbess. He made his reverence to -the two. - -The Abbess Madeleine spoke in a voice of a silvery tone, mellowing here -and there into gold and kindness. “Sir Knight, you are welcome! I have -heard a wondrous story, and God gave you a noble part to play.—Now -will speak your liege, the princess.” - -“Sir Garin de Castel-Noir,” said Audiart, “in Angoulême lodges a great -lord and valiant knight, Count of Beauvoisin, a kinsman of the most -Reverend Mother. She has written to him, to my great aiding. Take the -letter, find him out, and give it to him, your hand into his. He will -place you in his train, clothe you as knight again. Only rest still of -Limousin, and, for all but this lord, choose a name not your own.” She -mused a little, her eyes upon the letter, folded and sealed, that she -held. “But I must know it—the name. Call yourself, then, the Knight of -the Wood.” She held out the letter. He touched his knee to the stone -floor and took it. “Go now,” she said, “and the Saints have a true man -in their keeping!” - -The Abbess Madeleine, slender, pure-faced, of an age with the princess, -extended her hand, gave the blessing of Mother Church. He rose, put -the letter in the breast of his tunic, stepped backward from the two, -and so left the room. Without was the grey sister who again went, -moth-like, before him, leading him through the corridor to the Abbey -door. She opened this—he passed out into the sunshine. - -Back in Angoulême, the first man appealed to sent him to the court -quarter of the town, the second gave him precise directions whereby -he might know when he came to it the house that lodged the Count -of Beauvoisin, here in Angoulême with Duke Richard. By a tangle of -narrow streets Garin came to houses tall enough to darken these ways, -in the shadow themselves of the huge castle. He found the greatest -house, where was a porter at the door, and lounging about it a medley -of the appendage sort. Jongleur’s art and his own suasive power got -him entrance to a small court where gathered gayer, more important -retainers. He sang for these, and heads looked out of windows. A page -appeared with a summons to the hall. Following the youngster, Garin -found himself among knights, well-nigh a score, awaiting in hall -the count’s pleasure. Here, moreover, was a troubadour of fame not -inconsiderable, knight as well, but not singer of his own verses. He -had with him two jongleurs for that, and these now looked somewhat -greenly at Garin. - -A knight spoke. “Jongleur, sing here as well as you sang below, and -gain will come to you!” Garin sang. “Ha!” cried the knights, “they sing -that way in Paradise!” - -The troubadour advanced to the front of the group and bade him sing -again. He obeyed. “Gold hair of Our Lady!” swore the troubadour. “How -comes it that you are not jongleur to a poet?” - -“I had a master,” answered Garin, “but he foreswore song and, chaining -himself to a rock, became an eremite. Good sirs, if the Count might -hear me—” - -“He will be here anon from the castle. He shall hear you, jongleur, -and so shall our Lord, Duke Richard! Springtime in Heaven!” quoth the -troubadour. “I would take you into my employ, but though I can pay -linnets, I cannot pay nightingales!—Do you know any song of Robert de -Mercœur?” - -He asked for his own. Garin, seeing that he did so, smiled and swept -the strings of the lute. “Aye, I know more than one!” He sang, and did -sweet words justice. The knights, each after his own fashion, gave -applause, and Robert de Mercœur sighed with pleasure. The song was -short. Garin lifted his voice in another, made by the same troubadour. -“Ah!” sighed Robert, “I would buy you and feed you from my hand!” -He sat for a moment with closed eyes, tasting the bliss of right -interpretation. Then, “Know you Garin of the Golden Isle’s, _If e’er, -Fair Goal, I turn my eyes from thee_?” - -Garin sang it. “Rose tree of the Soul!” said Robert de Mercœur; “there -is the poet I would have fellowship with!” - -The leaves of the great door opened, and there came into hall the Count -of Beauvoisin, with him two or three famed knights. All who had been -seated, or lounging half reclined, stood up; the silence of deference -fell at once. Garin saw that the count was not old and that he had a -look of the Abbess Madeleine. He said that he was weary from riding, -and coming to his accustomed great chair, sat down and stretched -himself with a sigh. His eyes fell upon the troubadour with whom he had -acquaintance. “Ha, Robert! rest us with music.” - -“Lord count,” said Robert, “we have here a jongleur with the angel of -sound in his throat and the angel of intelligence in his head! Set him -to singing.—Sing, jongleur, again, that which you have just sung.” - -Garin touched his lute. As he did so he came near to the count. He -stood and sang the song of Garin of the Golden Island. “Ah, ah!” -said the Count of Beauvoisin. “The Saints fed you with honey in your -cradle!” A coin gleamed between his outstretched fingers. Garin came -very near to receive it. “Lord,” he whispered as he bent, “much hangs -upon my speaking to you alone.” - -A jongleur upon an embassy was never an unheard-of phenomenon. The -Count moved so as to let the light fall upon this present jongleur’s -face. The eyes of the two men met, the one in an enquiring, the other -in a beseeching and compelling gaze. The count leaned back in his -chair, the jongleur, when he had bowed low, moved to his original -station. “He sings well indeed!” said the Count. “Give him place among -his fellows, and when there is listening-space I will hear him again.” - -Ere long he rose and was attended from the hall. The knights, too, left -the place, each bent upon his own concerns. Only the troubadour Robert -de Mercœur remained, and he came and, seating himself on the same bench -with Garin, asked if he would be taught a just-composed _alba_ or -morning song, and upon the other’s word of assent forthwith repeated -the first stanza. Garin said it over after him. “Ha, jongleur!” quoth -Robert, “you are worthy to be a troubadour! Not all can give values -value! The second goes thus—” - -But before the _alba_ was wholly learned came a page, summoning the -jongleur. Garin, following the boy, came into the count’s chamber. Here -was that lord, none with him but a chamberlain whom he sent away. “Now, -jongleur,” said the count, “what errand and by whom despatched?” - -Garin drew the letter from his tunic and gave it, his hand into the -other’s hand. The count looked at the writing. “What is here?” he -said. “Does the Abbess Madeleine choose a jongleur for a messenger?” -He broke the seal, read the first few lines, glanced at the body of -the letter, then with a startled look, followed by a knit brow, laid -it upon the table beside him but kept his hand over it. He stood in -a brown study. Garin, watching him, divined that mind and heart and -memory were busied elsewhere than in just this house in Angoulême. -At last he moved, turned his head and spoke to the page. “Ammonet!” -Ammonet came from the door. “Take this jongleur to some chamber where -he may rest. Have food and wine sent to him there.” He spoke to Garin, -“Go! but I shall send for you here again!” - -The day descended to evening, the evening to night. Darkness had -prevailed for a length of time when Ammonet returned to the small, bare -room where Garin rested, stretched upon a bench. “Come, jongleur!” said -the page. “My lord is ready for bed and would, methinks, be sung to -sleep.” - -Rising, he followed, and came again to the Count’s chamber, where -now was firelight and candle-light, and the Count of Beauvoisin in a -furred robe, pacing the room from side to side. “Wait without,” he -said to Ammonet, and the two men were alone together. The count paced -the floor, Garin stood by the hooded fireplace. He had seen in the -afternoon that he and this lord might understand each other. - -The count spoke. “No marvel that we liked your singing! What if there -had been in hall knight and crusader who had heard you beyond the sea?” - -“Chance, risk, and brambles grow in every land.” - -“_Garin of the Golden Island._—I know not who, in Angoulême, may know -that you fight with Roche-de-Frêne. Duke Richard, who knows somewhat of -all troubadours, knows it.” - -“I do not mean to cry it aloud.—Few in this country know my face, and -my name stays hidden.—May we speak, my lord count, of another presence -in Angoulême?” - -The other ceased his pacing, flung himself down on a seat before the -fire, and leaned forward with clasped hands and bent head. He sat thus -for an appreciable time, then with a deep breath straightened himself. -“When she was the Lady Madeleine the Abbess Madeleine ruled a great -realm in my life. God knoweth, in much she is still my helm!... Sit you -down and let us talk.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -RICHARD LION-HEART - - -THE sun came up and lighted Angoulême, town and castle, hill and -valley. Light and warmth increased. The town began to murmur like a -hive, clack like a mill, clang and sound as though armourers were -working. Angoulême had breakfast and turned with vigour the wheel of -the day. The Count of Beauvoisin rode with a small following to the -Abbey of the Fountain, to see his kinswoman the Abbess Madeleine. Duke -Richard Lion-Heart did what he did, and felt what he felt, and believed -what he believed, with intensity. He was as religious as an acquiescent -thunderbolt in Jehovah’s hand. Where-ever he came, a kind of jewelled -sunshine played about the branches, in that place, of the Vine the -Church. It might shine with fitfulness, but the fitfulness was less -than the shining. His vassals knew his quality; when they were with him -or where his eye oversaw their conduct, the ritual of a religious life -received sharpened attention. - -The Abbey of the Fountain was a noble House of Nuns, known afar for its -piety, scholarship, and good works. Richard, coming to Angoulême, had -sent a gift and asked for the prayers of the Abbess Madeleine, whom -the region held for nigh a saint. Offering and request had been borne -by the Count of Beauvoisin, who was the Abbess’s kinsman. It was not -strange in the eyes of any that he should ride again to the Abbey of -the Fountain, this time, perhaps, with his own soul’s good in mind. - -With him rode the knight who had come to the count’s house in Angoulême -in the guise of a jongleur. That was not strange, either—if the knight -were acquaintance or friend, and if some wolfish danger had forced -him to become a fugitive from his own proper setting, or if romance -and whim were responsible, or if he had taken a vow. Yesterday he had -been a jongleur with a very golden voice. To-day he appeared a belted -knight, dressed by the count, given a horse and a place in his train. -He was called the “Knight of the Wood.” Probably it was not his true -name. Chivalry knew these transformations, and upheld them as an -integer in its own sum of rights. The knight would have a reason, be -it as solid as the ground, or be it formed of rose-hued mist, solid -only to his own imagination! For the rest, he seemed a noble knight. -The count showed him favour, but not enough to awaken criticism, making -others fear displacement. - -All rode through the streets of Angoulême, in the bright keen day. -Robert of Mercœur was neighbour of the Knight of the Wood, and looked -aslant at him with an intuitive eye. They passed out by the west gate -and wound down to the valley floor. It was no distance from the town -to the Abbey of the Fountain; the latter’s great leafless trees were -presently about them. The count with a word drew Garin to ride at his -bridle-hand. The two or three following fell a little back. Beauvoisin -spoke. “Richard says that he will be a week in Angoulême. But he knows -not when his mood may change, and in all save three or four things he -follows his mood.” - -The Knight of the Wood looked east and south. “I will answer for there -being a vision of many in extremity, and a wild heartbeat to win and -begone!” - -“‘Win.’—I know not, nor can you know as to that.” - -“The schools would say ‘True, lord count!’ But there is learning beyond -learning.” - -They rode in silence, each pursuing his own thought. Beauvoisin rode -with lifted head, gazing before him down the vista of trees, to where -the grey wall closed it. Presently he spoke, but spoke as though he did -not know that he was speaking. “We were within the prohibited degrees -of kin.” - -The great trees stood widely apart, gave way to the grassy space before -the Abbey. - -The Count of Beauvoisin, his cap in his hand, was granted admittance -at the Abbey portal; might, in the abbess’s room, grey nuns attending -her, speak with the veiled abbess. But they who were with him waited -without, quietly, as the place demanded, in the grassy space. The -Knight of the Wood waited. - -The minutes passed. When an hour had gone by, Beauvoisin came from the -grey building. He mounted his horse, looked steadfastly at the place, -then, with the air of a man in a dream, turned toward Angoulême. The -knights followed him, riding between huge boles of trees that towered. -Robert of Mercœur was again at Garin’s side. - -“Do you mark that look of exaltation? One man has one heaven and -another, another—or that is the case while they are men. Count Rainier -has seen his heaven—felt the waving of its hands over his head!” - -In Angoulême, in its widest street, they saw approaching a cavalcade -from the castle, a brilliant troop, glittering steel, shimmering -fine apparel, pushing with gaiety through the town upon some short -journey, half errand of state, half of pleasure. At its head rode -one who had the noblest steed, the richest dress. He was a man very -fair, long-armed, sinewy, of medium height. There was great vigour of -bearing, warmth from within out, an apparent quality that drew, save -when from another quarter of the nature came, scudding, wrath and -tempest. The mien of command was not lacking, nor, to a given point, -of self-command. He drew rein to speak to the Count of Beauvoisin; -who with his following had given room, backing their horses into the -opening of a narrower street. - -“Ha, Beauvoisin, we sent for you but found you not!—Come to supper, -man, with me to-night!” His roving blue eye found out Robert of -Mercœur. “Do you come with him, Robert—and we will talk of how the -world will seem when all are poets!” - -“Beausire,” said the count, “at your will! Now I turn beggar and beg -for you for guest in my house to-morrow.” - -“I will come—I will come!” said Richard. - -He nodded to Beauvoisin, put his horse into motion, clattered down the -ill-paved street. His train followed, lords and knights speaking to the -count as they passed. When all were gone in noise and colour, those who -had ridden to the Abbey of the Fountain reëntered the wider street and -so came to the house whence they had started. Dismounting in the court -where Garin had sung, they went, one to this business or pleasure, -one to that. But the count, entering, mounted a great echoing flight -of stairs to his chamber, and here, obeying his signal, came also the -Knight of the Wood. Beauvoisin dismissed all attendants, and the two -were alone. - -“I have seen your princess,” said Beauvoisin. “She is a gallant lady, -though not fair.” - -“Ah, what is ‘fair’? The time tells the eyes that such and such is -beauty. Then comes another time with its reversal! But all the time, if -the soul is ‘fair’? The princess is ‘fair’ to me.” - -Beauvoisin looked at him steadily. “I see,” he said “that we have a -like fate—God He knoweth all, and what the great cup of life holds, -holds, holds!... Well, that princess has courage and is wise! I had -heard as much of her, and I see that it is so. In her first womanhood -the Abbess Madeleine was a long while at the court of Roche-de-Frêne. -Your princess is her friend.” He paced the room, then, coming to the -fire, bent over the flame. - -“I see, my lord count,” said Garin, “devotion and generousness!” - -Beauvoisin was silent, warming himself at the flame. Garin of the -Golden Island, standing at the window, looked toward Roche-de-Frêne. -His mind’s eye saw assault and repulse and again assault, the push -against walls and gates, the men upon the walls, at the gates, the -engines of war, the reeking fury of fight. The keener ear heard the -war-cries, the clangour and the shouting, and underneath, the groan. He -saw the banner that attacked, and above the castle, above Red Tower and -Lion Tower, the banner that defended. He turned toward the room again. - -The count spoke, “_Jaufre de Montmaure!_ I have no love for Count -Jaufre, nor friendship with him. I was of those who, an they could, -would have kept Richard from this huge support he has given. My party -would still see it withdrawn.—But Richard treads a road of his own.... -Were Jaufre Richard, your princess, being here, would be in the lion’s -den! But just her coming—the first outbursting of his anger over—will -put her person safe with Richard.” - -“That has been felt—knowing by old rumour certain qualities in him.” - -“It was truly felt. But as to the gain for which all was -risked!—Jaufre has been to him an evil companion, but a companion. -But,” said the Count of Beauvoisin, “even at my proper danger, I will -get for her who, by Saint Michael! with courage has come here, the -meeting she asks!” - - * * * * * - -The castle of Angoulême was not so huge and strong a place as the -castle of Roche-de-Frêne, but still was it great and strong enough. The -high of rank among its usual population remained within its walls, but -the lesser sort were crowded out and flowed into the town, so making -room for Duke Richard’s great train. Martialness was the tone where he -went, with traceable threads of song, threads of religiousness. Colours -had violence, and yet with suddenness and for short whiles might -soften to tenderness. There was brazen clangour, rattle as of armour, -dominance of trumpets, yet flute notes might come in the interstices, -and lute and harp had their recognized times. And all and whatever was -in presence showed with him intense and glowing. Idea clothed itself -promptly in emotion, emotion ran hotfoot into action, but none of the -three were film-like, momentary. Impetuous, they owned a solidity. He -could do, he had done, many an evil thing, but there was room for a -sense of realms that were not evil. - -It was afternoon, and the red sun reddened the castle hall. There -had been planned some manner of indoor festivity, pageantry. The -world of chivalry, men and women, gathered in Angoulême about Richard -Lion-Heart, was there to see and be seen. But after the first half-hour -Richard rose and went away. His immediate court was used to that, too. -His mood had countered the agreed-upon mood for the hour: naught was to -do but to watch him depart. Music that was playing played more loudly; -a miracle-story in pantomime was urged to more passionate action; as -best might be, the chasm was covered. “It is the Duke’s way—applaud -the entertainers or the thing will drag!” - -The duke went away to a great room in another part of the castle. With -him he drew two or three of his intimates; in the room itself attended -the Count of Beauvoisin and several knights of fame and worthiness. -Among these stood that newcomer to Angoulême, the Knight of the -Wood. The room was richly furnished, lit by the red light of the sun -streaming through three deep windows. A door in the opposite wall gave -into a smaller room. - -Richard, entering, flung himself into the chair set for him in the -middle of a great square of cloth worked with gold. His brow was dark; -when he spoke, his voice had the ominous, lion note. - -“My lord of Beauvoisin!” - -Beauvoisin came near. “Lord, all is arranged—” - -The duke made a violent movement of impatience, of anger beginning to -work. - -“This is a madness that leads to naught! Does this princess think I am -so fickle—?” - -His blue eye, roving the room, came to the group of knights at the far -end. “Yonder knight—is he Garin of the Golden Island?” - -“Yes, lord.” - -Duke Richard gazed at Garin of the Golden Island. “By the rood, he -looks a man!” He turned to his anger again. “But now this woman—this -Princess of Roche-de-Frêne—” His impatient foot wrinkled the silken -carpet. “She may count it for happiness if I do not hold her here -while I send messengers to Count Jaufre, ‘Lo, I have caged your bride -for you!’” He nursed his anger. Beauvoisin saw with apprehension how -he fanned it. “What woman comprehends man’s loyalty to man? I said to -Montmaure I would aid him—” - -“My lord, the princess is here—within yonder room.” - -“Ha!” cried Richard; and that in his nature that gave back, touch -for touch, Jaufre de Montmaure, came through the doors his anger had -opened. “Let her then come to me here as would the smallest petitioner! -God’s blood! Montmaure has her land. I hold her not as reigning -princess and my peer!” - -Beauvoisin stepped to the door of the lesser room, opened it, and -having spoken to one within, stood aside. Duke Richard turned in his -seat, looked at the red sun out of window. He showed a tension: the -movement of his foot upon the floor-cloth might have stood for the -lion’s pacing to and fro, lashing himself to fury. At a sign from -Beauvoisin the knights had drawn farther into the shadow at the end of -the room. Garin watched from this dusk. - -The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne came with simplicity and quietness -from the lesser room. She was not dressed now as a herd-girl, but as -a princess. There followed her two grey nuns who, taking their stand -by the door, remained there with lowered eyes and fingers upon their -rosaries. The princess came to the edge of the gold-wrought square. “My -lord duke,” she said; and when Garin heard her voice he knew that power -was in her. - -When Richard turned from the window she kneeled and that without -outward or inner cavilling. - -“Ha, madame!” said Richard. “Blood of God! did you think to gain aught -by coming here?” - -She answered him; then, after a moment’s silence which he did not -break, began again to speak. The tones of her voice, now sustained, now -changing, came to those afar in the room, but not all the words she -said. Without words, they gave to those by the wall a tingling of the -nerves, a feeling of wave on wave of force—not hostile, uniting with -something in themselves, giving to that something volume and momentum, -wealth.... There were slight movements, then stillness answering the -still, intense burning, the burning white, of her passion, will, and -power. - -She rested from speech. Richard left his chair, came to her and giving -her his hand, aided her to rise. He sent his voice down the room to -Beauvoisin. “My lord count, bring yonder chair for the princess.” He -had moved and spoken as one not in a dream, but among visions. When the -chair was brought and placed upon the golden cloth and she had seated -herself in it, he retook his own. “Jaufre de Montmaure,” he said, “was -my friend, and he wanted you for bride—” - -She began again to speak, and the immortal power and desire of her -nature, burning deep and high and rapidly, coloured and shook the room. -“Lord, lord,” she said. “The right of it—” Sentence by sentence, wave -on wave, the right of it made way, seeing that deep within Duke Richard -there was one of its own household who must answer. - -That meeting lasted an hour. The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne, rising -from her chair, stretched out her hands to Richard Lion-Heart. “I would -rest all now, my lord duke. The sun is sinking, but for all that we yet -will live by its light. In the morning it comes again.” - -“I will ride to-morrow to the Abbey of the Fountain. We will speak -further together. I have promised naught.” - -“No. But give room and maintenance to-night, my Lord Richard, to all -that I have said that is verity. Let all that is not verity go by -you—go by you!” - -Beauvoisin and his men gave her and the nuns with her escort back -to the Abbey of the Fountain. Going, she put upon her head and drew -forward so that it shadowed her face, a long veil of eastern make, -threaded with gold and silver. Her robe was blue, a strange, soft, deep -colour. - -The next morning, Duke Richard rode to the Abbey. He went again the day -after, and this day the sheaf was made. The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne -and Jaufre de Montmaure appealed each to a man in Duke Richard, a -higher man and a lower man. In these winter days, but sun-lighted, the -higher man won. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -THE FAIR GOAL - - -MESSENGERS, heralds, bearing decisive and peremptory speech, went -from Richard, Count of Poitou and Duke of Aquitaine, to the Counts -of Montmaure. Others were despatched to the leaders of the host of -Aquitaine before Roche-de-Frêne. Duke Richard was at peace with -Roche-de-Frêne; let that host therefore direct no blow against its -lord’s ally! Instead, let it forthwith detach itself from Montmaure, -withdraw at once from the princedom of Roche-de-Frêne, and, returned -within its own boundaries, go each man to his own home. _On your faith -and obedience._ So the heralds to the leaders of the aid from Aquitaine. - -To the Counts of Montmaure the heralds, declaring themselves true -heart, mouth, and speech of Duke Richard, delivered peremptory summons -to desist from this war. An they did not, it would be held to them for -revolt from Richard their suzerain.... The heralds with their train -rode fast and rode far. - -The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne awaited in Angoulême the earliest fruit -of this faring. She waited at first at the Abbey of the Fountain, but -presently in the town as Duke Richard’s guest. A great house was given -her, with all comfort and service. Ladies came to wait upon her; she -had seneschal, chamberlain and page. If she would go abroad she had -palfreys with their grooms; in her hall waited knights to attend her. -Angoulême and its castle and the court about Duke Richard buzzed of -her presence in this place, of what adventure had been hers to reach -it, and of the attitude now of Richard Lion-Heart. They did not know -detail of her adventure, but they knew that it had taken courage. They -knew that Richard had in him power to turn squarely. They did not know -all the whys and wherefores, depths and reasons of the right angle -that made in Angoulême a whirling cloud of speculation, but as a fact -they accepted it and proceeded with their own adaptation. The party -that, for reasons personal to itself, had backed Montmaure, wagering -in effect upon the permanency of his influence with Richard, took -its discomforture as enforced surgery and found it wisdom’s part to -profess healing. The party that had been hostile to Montmaure found -a clearing day and walked with satisfaction in the sun. Those—not -many—who had stood between the two, found usual cautious pleasure in -changing scenery and event. The most in Angoulême could give nine days -to wonder. The Princess Audiart stayed with them no greatly longer time. - -Duke Richard came to her house in state. In state she returned the -visit, was met by him at the castle gate. He would give a joust in her -honour, and afterward a contest of troubadours. She sat beside him on -the dais, and watched all with a gentle face, a still and inscrutable -look. Beauvoisin was of those who tourneyed, and among the knights whom -he brought into the lists rode Garin of the Black Castle, who did most -well and was given great observance. The next day, when there was song, -Richard called for Garin of the Golden Island, naming him famed knight, -famed poet, famed bird of song, bird that sang from itself. Garin came -before the dais, took from a jongleur his lute. - -“Sir Garin of the Golden Island,” said Richard, “sing _Within its heart -the nightingale_—” - -He sang—a golden song sung greatly. - -“Ah!” sighed Richard Lion-Heart, and bade him sing _When in my dreams -thou risest like a star_. “Ah God!” said Richard. “Some are kings one -way, and some another! Sing now and lastly to-day, _Fair Goal_.” - -Garin sang. All Angoulême that might gather in the great hall, in the -galleries, in the court and passages without, listened with parted -lips. Richard listened, and in some sort he may have felt what the -singer felt of goals beyond goals, of glories beyond the loveliness -and glories of symbols, of immortal union behind, beneath, above the -sweetness of an earthly fact. - -One was present who did feel what the singer felt, and that was the -princess who sat as still as if she were carven there.... Garin of the -Golden Island won the golden falcon that was the duke’s prize. - -A week went by. A second began to drift into the past, winter day by -winter day. Messengers now rode into Angoulême and through the castle -gates, and were brought to Duke Richard. They came from the lords of -Aquitaine encamped before Roche-de-Frêne, and they bore tidings of -obedience. The host helped no longer in this war. When the messengers -departed it was in act of lifting from all its encampments; even now -it would be withdrawing from the lands of Roche-de-Frêne. Richard sent -this word in state to the princess in Angoulême. - -A day later there spurred at dusk into Angoulême a cloaked and hooded -lord, behind him three or four, knights or squires. The following -morn the first won through to Richard’s presence. The two were alone -together a considerable time. Those who waited without the room heard -rise and fall of voices.... At last came the lion’s note in Richard’s -voice, but it changed and fell away. He was speaking now with an icy -reasonableness. That passed to a very still, pointed utterance with -silences between.... The other made passionate answer. Richard’s speech -took a sternness and energy which in him marked the lion sublimated. -Then a bell was struck; the attendants, when they opened the door, had -a glimpse of a red-gold head and a working face, hook-nosed, with a -scar upon its cheek. - -Montmaure left Angoulême; he rode in savagery and bitterness, his spur -reddening the side of his horse, the men with him labouring after. -He rode, whether by day or by eve, in a hot night of his own. Red -sparks flashed through it, and each showed something he did not wish -to see. Now it was Richard whom he doubted if ever he could regain, -and now it was Richard’s aid withdrawing—withdrawn—from the plain -by Roche-de-Frêne. Cap-du-Loup—Cap-du-Loup would follow Aquitaine, -might even now gustily have whirled away! Jaufre’s spirit whispered -of other allies who might follow. The glare showed him the force of -Montmaure that was left, spread thinly before Roche-de-Frêne. It showed -Roche-de-Frêne, as last he had seen it, over his shoulder, when he rode -with fury and passion to work in Angoulême a counter-miracle,—as he -would see it now again,—Roche-de-Frêne grim and dauntless, huge giant -seated on a giant rock. Jaufre, whelmed in his night-time, shook with -its immensity of tempest. The storm brought forth lights of its own. -They showed him Montmaure—Montmaure also in motion—cowering forth, -unwinning, from this war. They showed him Audiart the princess. When he -came to Angoulême he had learned there who had wrought the miracle.... -An inner light that was not red or born of storm trembled suddenly, far -above the great fens and marshes and hot, wild currents. _That quality -in her that had wrought the miracle_—It was but a point, a gleam, but -Jaufre had seen white light. The storm closed in upon him, but he had -looked into a higher order, knew now that it was there. His huge, lower -being writhed, felt the space above it. - -Hours passed, days passed. He came through country which he had -charred, back to Montmaure’s tents. The dragon lay shrunken; it could -no longer wholly enfold Roche-de-Frêne. Jaufre found his father’s red -pavilion, entered. - -Count Savaric started up. “Ha! you rode fast! Speak out! Is it good or -bad?” - -“Bad,” said Jaufre, and faintly, faintly knew that it was good. - -The days went by in Angoulême and there came again the heralds who had -been sent to Montmaure. They brought Count Savaric’s and Count Jaufre’s -submission to the will of their suzerain—since no other could be done -and sunshine be kept to grow in! They brought news of the lifting of -the siege of Roche-de-Frêne. On the morrow came one who had been in -Roche-de-Frêne. He had to tell of joy that overflowed. - -The Princess Audiart left the court of Richard Lion-Heart for her own -land and capital town. She went with a great escort which Richard -would give her. The danger now from the dragon that had ravaged -her country lay only in the scattered drops of venom that might be -encountered,—wild bands, Free Companies, wandering about, ripe for -mischief, not yet sunk back into their first lairs. She and Duke -Richard made pact of amity between his house and hers, and she went -from Angoulême on a grey day, beneath a cloud-roof that promised snow. -At the Abbey of the Fountain she dismounted, entered to say farewell to -the Abbess Madeleine and to kneel for Church’s blessing. She had ladies -now in her train. These entered with her, and two knights, the Count of -Beauvoisin and Sir Garin of the Black Castle. Forth and upon the road, -Beauvoisin rode at her right. He had the duke’s signet, lord’s power to -bear her safely through every territory that owed allegiance to Richard. - -The snow fell, but the air was not cold. They rode through the -afternoon wrapped in a veil of large white flakes. In the twilight they -reached a fair-sized town where great and rich preparation had been -made for them. The next day also the snow fell, and they fared forward -through a white country. Then the snow ceased, the clouds faded and a -great heaven of blue vaulted the world. The sun shone and melted the -snow, there came a breath as of the early spring. - -In the middle of the day they pitched the princess’s pavilion in the -lee of a hill or in some purple wood. They built a fire for her and -her ladies and, a distance away, a campfire. Dinner was cooked and -served; rest was taken, then camp was broken and they rode on again. -Time and route were spaced so that at eve they entered town or village -or castle gate. Beauvoisin had sent horsemen ahead—when the princess -and her company entered, they found room and cheer with varying pomp -of welcome. The night passed, in the morning stately adieux were made; -they travelled on. - -Riding east and south, they came now into and crossed fiefs that held -from Montmaure who held from Aquitaine. Beauvoisin kept hawk-watch -and all knights rode with a warrior mien. Care was taken where the -camp should be made. Among those sent ahead to town or castle were -poursuivants who made formal proclamation of Duke Richard’s mind.—But -though they saw many who had been among the invaders of Roche-de-Frêne, -and though the country wore a scowling and forbidding aspect,—where -it did not wear an aspect relieved and complaisant,—they made transit -without open or secret hindrance. They came nearer, nearer to borders -of Roche-de-Frêne. In clear and gentle weather the princess entered -that fief which had been held by Raimbaut the Six-fingered. - -This was a ravaged region indeed, and there was no town here for -sleeping in and no great castle that stood. When the sun was low in the -western sky they set the princess’s pavilion, and one for her ladies, -at the edge of a wood. A murmuring stream went by; there were two great -pine trees and the fire that was lighted made bronze pillars of their -trunks. Something in them brought into Audiart’s mind the Palestine -pillars before the shrine of Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne. - -The sun was a golden ball, close to the horizon. Wrapped in her -mantle, she sat on a stone by the fire and watched it. Her ladies, -perceiving that she wished to be alone, kept within the pavilions. -Beauvoisin and his knights sat or reclined about their fire farther -down the stream. Farther yet a third great fire blazed for the squires -and men-at-arms. Upon a jutting mound a knight and a squire sat their -horses, motionless as statues, watching that naught of ill came near -the pavilions. - -One upon the bank of the stream drew farther from the knights’ fire and -nearer to that of the princess, then stood where she might see him. She -turned her head as if she felt him there. - -“Come to the fire, Sir Garin,” she said. - -Garin came. “My Lady Audiart, may I speak? I have a favour to beg.” - -She nodded her head. “What do you wish, Sir Garin?” - -Garin stood before her, and the light played over and about him. “We -are on land that Raimbaut the Six-fingered held, whose squire I was. -Not many leagues from this wood is Castel-Noir, where I was born and -where my brother, if it be that he yet lives, abides. I would see him -again, and I would rest with him for a time and help him bring our fief -back to well-being and well-doing.—What I ask, my Lady Audiart, is -that in the morning I may turn aside to Castel-Noir and rest there.” - -The princess sat very still upon the stone. The golden sun had slipped -to half an orb; wood and hill stretched dark, the voice of the stream -changed key. Audiart seemed to ponder that request. Her hand shaded -her face. At last, “We have word that ere we reach the Convent of Our -Lady in Egypt there will meet us a great company of our own lords -and knights. So, with them and with our friends here, we are to make -glittering entry into Roche-de-Frêne.... I do not prize the glitter, -but so is the custom, and so will it be done. Now if I have wrought -much for Roche-de-Frêne, I know not, but I am glad. But if I have done -aught, you have done it, too, for I think that I could not have reached -Duke Richard without you. That is known now by others, and will be more -fully known.... Will you not ride still to Roche-de-Frêne and take your -share of what sober triumph is preparing?” - -“Do you bid me do so, my Lady Audiart?” - -“I do not bid you. I will for you to do according to your own will.” - -“Then I will not go now to Roche-de-Frêne, but I will go to -Castel-Noir.” - -The princess sat with her elbow on her knee and her chin on her hand. -She sat very still, her eyes upon the winter glow behind the winter -woods. “As you will, Garin of the Golden Island,” she said at last. -Her voice had in it light and shadow. She sat still and Garin stood as -still, by the fire. All around them was its light and the light in the -sky that made a bright dusk. - -He spoke. “_The Convent of Our Lady in Egypt._ Martinmas, eight -years ago, I was in Roche-de-Frêne. I heard Bishop Ugo preach and I -knelt in the church before Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne. Then I went -to the inn for my horse. There, passers-by asked me if I was for the -feast-day jousts and revels in the castle lists. I said No, I could not -stay. Then they said that there sat to judge the contest the Princess -Alazais, and beside her, the Princess Audiart. I had no reason to think -them mistaken. Were they right, or were they wrong? Were you there in -Roche-de-Frêne?” - -“Martinmas, eight years ago?—No, I was not in Roche-de-Frêne, though I -came back to the castle very soon. I was at Our Lady in Egypt.” - -“Ah God!” said Garin with strong emotion. “How beautiful are Thy -circles that Thou drawest!” - -She looked at him with parted lips. “Now, I will ask a question! I -wearied, that autumn, of nuns’ ways and waiting ladies’ ways and my own -ways. One day I said, ‘I will go be a shepherdess and taste the true -earth!’” A smile hovered. “Faith! the experiment was short!—Now, my -question.—Being a shepherdess, I was like to taste shepherdess’s fare -in this so knightly world. Then came by a true knight, though his dress -and estate were those of a squire.—My question:—I asked him, that -day, ‘Where is your home?’ He answered, that squire, and I thought that -he told the truth,—‘I dwell by the sea, a long way from here.’—Sir -Garin de Castel-Noir, that was squire to Raimbaut the Six-fingered, -neither dwelling nor serving by the sea but among hills, and not far -away but near at hand, tell me now and tell me truly—” - -“Jael the herd, I am punished! I thought to myself, ‘I am in danger -from that false knight who will certainly seek me.’” - -“Ah, I see!” said the princess; and she laughed at him in scorn. - -“It is an ill thing,” said Garin, “to mistrust and to lie! I make no -plea, my Lady Audiart, save that I do not always so.” - -“Certes, no! I believe you there.... Let it go by.... That shepherdess -could not, after all, be to you for trustworthiness like your Fair -Goal—” - -She ceased abruptly upon the name. The colour glowed in the west, the -colour played and leaped in the faggot fire, the colour quivered in -their own faces. Light that was not outer light brightened in their -eyes. Their frames trembled, their tissues seemed to themselves and to -each other to grow fine and luminous. There had been a shock, and all -the world was different. - -Garin spoke. “On a Tuesday you were Jael the herd. On a Thursday, in -the middle of the day, you came with your ladies to a lawn by the -stream that flows by Our Lady in Egypt—the lawn of the plane, the -poplar and the cedar, the stone chair beneath the cedar, and the -tall thick laurels rounding all.” He was knight and poet and singer -now—Garin of the Golden Island—knight and poet and singer and -another besides. “A nightingale had sung me into covert there. I -followed it down the stream, from grove to grove, and it sung me into -covert there. The laurels were about me. I rested so close to the -cedar—so close to the stone chair! One played a harp—you moved with -your ladies to the water’s edge—you came up the lawn again to the -three trees. You were robed in blue, my princess; your veil was long -and threaded with silver and gold, and it hid your face. I never saw -your face that day—nor for long years afterward! You sat in the stone -chair—” - -“Stop!” said the Princess Audiart. She sat perfectly still in the -rich dusk. Air and countenance had a strange hush, a moment of -expressionless waiting. Then uprushed the dawn. He saw the memory -awaken, the wings of knowledge outstretch. “Ah, my God!” she whispered. -“As I sat there, the strangest breath came over me—sense of a presence -near as myself—” The rose in her face became carnation, she sprang to -her feet, turned aside. The fire came between her and Garin; she paced -up and down in the shadowy space between the tree-trunks that were like -the Saracen pillars. - -Moments passed, then she returned and stood beside the stone. - -Garin bent his knee. “My Lady Audiart, you, and only you, in woman -form, became to me her whom for years I have sung, naming her the _Fair -Goal_.... I left that covert soon, going away without sound. I only -saw you veiled, but all is as I have said.... But now, before I go to -Castel-Noir, there is more that I would tell to you.” - -“Speak at your will,” said the princess. - -“Do you remember one evening in the castle garden—first upon the -watch-tower, and then in the garden, and you were weary of war and all -its thoughts, and bade me take Pierol’s lute and sing? I sang, and you -said, ‘Sing of the Fair Goal.’ I sang—and there and then came that -sense of doubleness and yet one.... It came—it made for me confusion -and marvel, pain, delight. It plunged me into a mist, where for a time -I wandered. After that it strengthened—strengthened—strengthened!... -At first, I fought it in my mind, for I thought it disloyalty. I -fought, but before this day I had ceased to fight, or to think it -disloyalty. Before we came to Angoulême—and afterwards.... I knew -not how it might be—God knoweth I knew not how it might be—but my -lady whom I worshipped afar, and my princess and my liege were one! I -knew that, though still I thought I saw impossibilities—They did not -matter, there was something higher that dissolved impossibilities.... I -saw again the Fair Goal, and my heart sang louder, and all my heart was -hers as it had been, only more deeply so—more deeply so! And still it -is so—still it is the same—only with the power, I think, of growing -forever!” He rose, came close to her, kneeled again and put the edge of -her mantle to his lips. “And now, Princess of Roche-de-Frêne, I take -my leave and go to Castel-Noir. I am knight of yours. If ever I may -serve you, do you but call my name! Adieu—adieu—adieu!” - -She regarded him with a great depth and beauty of look. “Adieu, now, -Sir Garin of the Black Castle—Sir Garin of the Golden Island! Do -you know how much there is to do in Roche-de-Frêne—and how, for a -long time, perhaps, one must think only of the people and the land -that stood this war, and of all that must be builded again?... Adieu -now—adieu now! Do not go from lands of Roche-de-Frêne without my -leave.” - -The dark was come, the bright stars burned above the trees. There was -a movement from the knights’ fire—Beauvoisin coming to the princess’s -pavilions to enquire if all was well before the camp lay down to sleep. - -Garin felt her clasped hands against his brow, felt her cheek close, -close to his. “Go now,” she breathed. “Go now, my truest friend! What -comes after winter?—Why, spring comes after winter!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -SPRING TIME - - -IN the winter dawn Garin rose, saddled his horse, and, mounting, rode -from that place. He travelled through burned and wasted country, and he -saw many a piteous sight. But folk that were left were building anew, -and the sky was bright and the sunshine good. He went by the ruins of -Raimbaut’s keep, and at last he came to Castel-Noir. - -Foulque lived and the black tower stood. News of salvation had run like -wildfire. Garin found Foulque out-of-doors, old and meagre men and -young lads with him. The dozen huts that sheltered by the black castle, -sheltered still. The fields that it claimed had gone undevastated. -“Garin’s luck!” said Foulque; whereupon old Jean crossed himself -for fear that Sir Foulque had crossed the luck.—But the young and -middle-aged men who had gone to war for Roche-de-Frêne had not yet -returned. Some would not return. The women of the huts looked haunted, -and though the children played, they did not do so freely. But the war -had ended, and some would come back, and Christmas-tide was at hand and -the sun shone on the brown fields. - -Foulque saw Garin coming. He put his hand above his eyes. “_Peste!_” he -said. “I always had good sight—what’s the matter now? Look, boy, for -my eyes blur!” - -They all looked, then they cried, “Sir Garin!” and the younger rushed -down to the road. - -That day and night passed. The folk of Castel-Noir had liking for Sir -Foulque, and that despite some shrewdness of dealing and a bitter wit. -But they were becoming aware that they loved Sir Garin. He stood and -told them of how this man had done and how that, of two brave deeds -of Sicart’s, and how Jean the Talkative talked but did well. He told -them who, to his knowledge, had quitted this life; and he spoke not -like a lord but like a friend to those who upon that telling broke into -mourning. He could not tell them how life and death stood now among -Castel-Noir men, for he had been away from Roche-de-Frêne. Castel-Noir -came to understand that he had been upon some service for the princess, -and that that explained why there was with him neither squire nor man. -To Foulque that evening in the hall, by the fire, he told in part the -story of what the princess had wrought for Roche-de-Frêne. - -Foulque drew deeper breath. The colour came into his withered cheek, he -twisted in his chair. “I heard rumours when Aquitaine lifted and went -away, and Montmaure slunk back—but my habit is to wait for something -more than rumours!... That is a brave lady—a brave adventure! By the -mass! When I was young that would have stirred me!” - -Garin laughed at him. “It stirs you now, Foulque!” - -Foulque would not grant that. But even while he denied, he looked less -crippled and shrivelled. “You did your _devoir_ also.... _Audiart the -Wise_—Well, she may be so!” - -“She is so,” said Garin. - -He slept that night, stirred in the early morning, rose, and, dressing, -called to Sicart’s son in the courtyard to bring his horse. Old Pierre -gave him wheaten bread and a bowl of milk. Foulque, wrapped in his -furred mantle, came from the hall and talked with him while he ate and -drank. The sun at the hill-tops, he rode down the narrow way from the -black tower and was lost to sight in the fir wood. He rode until he -reached a certain craggy height of earth from which might be viewed the -road by which the Princess of Roche-de-Frêne must approach Our Lady -in Egypt. The height was shaggy with tree and bush, it overhung the -way, commanding long stretches to either hand. Dismounting, he tied -his horse in a small, thick wood at the back of the hill, then climbed -afoot to the rough and broken miniature plateau atop. Even as he came -to this he saw upon the western stretch of the road two horsemen, and -presently made out that they were men of Beauvoisin’s sent ahead. They -passed beneath him, cantered on, faces set for Our Lady in Egypt. - -Garin found a couch of rock, a hollow, sandstrewn cleft where, lying at -length, small bushes hid him from all observation. Here he stretched -himself, pillowed his head upon his arms, and waited to see the -princess pass. Time went by, and the morning air brought him sound from -the other hand. He parted the bushes and looking east saw approaching -a great and gallant troop—lords and knights of Roche-de-Frêne, coming -to greet their princess close within the boundaries of her own land.... -They came on with banners—a goodly column and a joyful. Close at hand, -he began to single out forms and faces that he knew, and first he saw -Stephen the Marshal riding at the head, and then Raimon of Les Arbres, -and beside this lord, Aimar de Panemonde. Garin’s heart rejoiced that -Aimar lived. He looked fondly upon his brother-in-arms, riding beneath -the craggy hill. Many another that he knew he saw. Others he missed, -and feared that they did not live or that they lay hurt, for else they -would have been here. - -The great troop, for all it rode with a singing heart, with exultation -and laughter and triumph, had a war-worn look. The men and the horses -were gaunt. The men’s eyes seemed yet to be looking on battle sights. -Their gestures were angular, energetic and final, their speech short, -not flowing. The colour of bronze, the hardness of iron, the edge of -steel were yet in presence. It was to be seen that they had known -hunger and weariness and desperation, and had withstood with courage. -The man stretched upon the rock-edge above the passing numbers felt his -communion with them. They were his brothers.... - -Not only these. As they rode by he saw in vision all the lands of -Roche-de-Frêne and those who peopled them, men and women and children. -And the town of Roche-de-Frêne and its citizens, men and women and -children, and all who had defended it. And all the hills and vales of -life.... He saw the slain and the hurt and the impoverished and the -hearts that bled with loss—the waste fields and the broken walls. He -saw work to be done—long work. And when that work was done and there -were only scars that did not throb, yet was there work—building and -building, though it could not be weighed. He saw as he knew that she -saw—and the land became deep and dear to him, and the people became -father and mother and child, brother and sister and friend.... “It is a -baptism,” said Garin, and covered his eyes with his hands. - -The great company went by, lessened in apparent bulk, lessened still -upon the westward running road. Its trumpeters sounded their trumpets. -Out of the distance came to Garin’s ear an answering fanfare, delicate -and far like fairy trumpets. Rising ground and purple wood hid the -meeting between the Princess of Roche-de-Frêne and her barons and -valiant knights. - -The sun climbed toward the summit. The troubadour lay in the high cleft -of the rock, felt the beams, breathed the clear, pure air, hearkened -to the sough of the breeze in sere grass and bush. All earth and air -were his, and the golden home of warmth and light, the great middle orb -whose touch he felt. He waited for sound or sight that should tell him -that the princess and her doubled train were coming. It was not long -to wait. In the night a light rain had fallen—there was no dust, and -the road was softened beneath the horses’ hoofs. The great company -appeared now, like a vision, brightened and heightened to the outer eye -by strength of the inner. Beauty and might, and sadness and joy, all -lights and all shadows, gained a firmer recognition. - -Garin, concentrated, watched the company come toward him. Again there -echoed the eve of his knighthood, when through the darkness he had kept -vigil. But he kept vigil now a more awakened being, with a wider reach -and a richer knowledge. - -The train came toward him, and now he heard the sound of it, the tread -of horses, metallic noises, the human voice, all subdued to a deep -murmur as of an incoming sea. This increased until single notes were -distinguishable. The form grew larger, then he could see component -forms. Music was being made, he saw the great blue banners.... And -still he knew that all was a mightier and a brighter thing than -yesterday he had known.... Now he saw the Princess of Roche-de-Frêne -riding between Beauvoisin and Stephen the Marshal. - -She passed the rock whereon he lay, and he saw a great and high and -bright soul.... It passed—all passed. He felt the darkness, but then -the starlight. - -He stayed yet an hour there in the cleft, with the brown grass about -him and overhead the sky like sapphire. Then, descending the crag, he -sought his horse in the wood and, mounting, turned his face toward -Castel-Noir. - -That evening in the black tower Foulque would discuss family fortunes, -and how Castel-Noir might be first recovered, then enlarged. Garin -listened, spoke when the elder brother paused for him to speak. It -seemed that he wished somehow to better the condition of tenants and -serfs, to find and teach better methods of living. Foulque jerked aside -from that. “We are good masters. Ask any one without this hall!” - -“Good masters?... We may be. But—” - -Foulque struck at the fire with his crutch. “You are a poet—I am a -practical man. Let us leave dreaming!... Raimbaut’s castle will be -rebuilt by the next of kin.” - -“Dreaming?... What is dreaming?” - -Foulque left his chair, and limped to and fro before the huge -fireplace. Garin from the settle corner watched him. The light played -over both and reddened the ancient hall. “Garin,” said Foulque. -“knightly fame is good and fame of a poet is good, and emirs’ ransoms -are good—God knows they are good! But when will you wed and so build -our house?” - -“Ah!” said Garin, “did you ever think, Foulque, of how long may be -time?” - -Foulque waved his hand. “You should not play with it! You should think -of the future! They say that you love one whom you call the Fair Goal—” - -But Garin, rising, moved to a deep window, and looking out, breathed -the night. “There is the great star in the arm of the cypress!... I -used to see that, when I lay in those hot towns of Paynimry.” Nor would -he speak again of that manner of building Castel-Noir. - -The morrow came and went and the morrow and that morrow’s morrow. -December paced by and gave the torch of time to January. January, a -cold and dark month, gave the torch to February, a brief and windy one, -March had it then, and he had ideas in his head of birds and flowers. -April came and the world was green. - -The ravaging of the dragon was becoming in Roche-de-Frêne an old -thought. Throughout the winter the Princess of Roche-de-Frêne and -the able people of her lands laboured to redeem well-being and the -conditions of growth. Plan and better plan, faint success and greater -success; and now when the spring was coming, good ground beneath -the feet! The land began to smile. The town of Roche-de-Frêne, the -cathedral and the castle felt the warmth. Bishop Ugo preached the -Easter sermon, and he preached a mighty and an eloquent one. You felt -lilies and roses come up through it. - -Ugo had said at Christmas-tide that he had never doubted the triumph of -the right. Questioned at Candlemas, though very gently, by one of the -hyperbold, he had answered gravely that Father Eustace, in confession, -had acknowledged that he was not certain as to whether Our Blessed -Lady of Roche-de-Frêne had indeed spoken to him. Pride had been in -his heart, and the demon himself might have taken dazzling form and -spoken! Father Eustace for penance had been sent, barefoot and dumb, -to a remote monastery where in his cell he might gain true vision. -Easter-tide, Bishop Ugo flowered praise of Roche-de-Frêne’s princess. -That great lady took it with her enigmatical smile. - -In the castle-garden Alazais watched the crocus bloom, the hyacinth and -the daffodil. Gilles de Valence sang to her, and sometimes Raimon de -Saint-Rémy, or, when no troubadour was there, Elias of Montaudon was -brought upon the greensward to sing other men’s verses. Knights came -and went. Her ladies made a bright half-ring about her, and she and -they and the knights and poets discussed the world under the star of -Love. - -Sometimes Audiart came into the garden, but not often. There was much -that yet was to be done.... She was oftener in the town than in the -castle, often away from both, riding far and near in her domain, to -other towns and villages and towers. But as the spring increased and -the green leaves came upon the trees, order was regained. The sap -of life returned to the veins that had been drained, time and place -knew again hope and power. The princess looked upon a birthland that -had lifted from a pit, and now was sandalled and ready for further -journeying. She came oftener now to the garden, and at night, from her -chamber in the White Tower, she watched the stars. - -In the town whose roofs lay below her, the craftsmen were back at -their crafts. Again they were dyeing scarlet and weaving fine webs and -working in leather and wax and metal and stone. Merchant and trader -renewed their life. Roche-de-Frêne once more hummed as a hive that -produced, not destroyed. It produced values dense and small, but so -it learned of values beyond these. Presently the old talk of liberty -would spring up, not feared by this princess. When, in late April, she -held high court and a great council, Thibaut Canteleu—Master Mayor, -clear-eyed and merry—sat, with two of the town’s magistrates, in the -council chamber. - -On the eve of that council Stephen the Marshal spent an hour with the -princess. She made him sit beside her in the White Tower; she spoke to -him at length, in a low voice telling a story. Stephen listened with -his eyes held by hers, then, when she kept silence, bowed his face upon -his hands and sat so for a time. At last he raised his head. “Mine is a -plain mind, my Lady Audiart,—only a faithful one! There are many good -words, and ‘friend’ is a right good word, a high knight among them, -and ‘friendship’ is a noble fief. I take ‘friend’ and ‘friendship’ for -my wearing and my estate, my Lady Audiart—aye, and I will wear them -knightly, not cravenly, with a melancholy heart! Friend to you and -friend to him, and Saint Michael my witness! loyal servant to you both.” - -“Stephen, my friend,” answered the princess, “you say true that great -liking is a great knight, and lasting friendship is a mighty realm! It -plants its own happiness in its own fields.” - -She rose, and standing with him at the window, spoke of old things, old -long memories that they had in common, spoke of her father, Gaucelm the -Fortunate. - -The next day she held council, sitting on the dais robed in blue, a -gold circlet upon her head, facing her barons and knights-banneret, -churchmen who held lands from her, and leaders of the townsmen. That -which she had to lay before them was the matter of her marriage.... - -At Castel-Noir the dark fir trees wore emeralds. The stream had its -loud spring music. Nor Foulque nor Garin had been idle through the -winter. Back to the black tower and the hamlet had come their men who -had fought at Roche-de-Frêne—Foulque’s men and the men who had come -with Garin from the land over the sea. Houses had to be built for -these—more fields ploughed and planted. Stables had to be made larger. -The road was bad that led from the black tower to the nearest highway; -it was remade. When spring came Castel-Noir was in better estate than -ever before. Garin spoke of what manner of priest they should bring -in—and of some clerk who might be given a house and who could teach. - -Raimbaut the Six-fingered had for his fief been man of Montmaure, but -for it Montmaure had been man of Roche-de-Frêne. Now, again, was it -only Roche-de-Frêne’s. Montmaure might look blackly across from his -own borders, but that was all.... It seemed that, escheating to the -ruling house, the barony was not yet given, for service paid and to be -paid, to some lord who should rebuild the castle and bring up the lands -that now were waste.... Foulque had hours of speculation as to that. -In the hall, of evenings, he looked out of the corners of his eyes at -Garin, reading or dreaming by the fire. Who had done greater service, -fought better, than Garin? If the princess were truly wise—if she were -grateful— - - * * * * * - -Foulque spoke once on this matter to Garin, but received so absolute -a check that his tongue declined to bring it forward again. None the -less, his brain kept revolving the notion. To add to Castel-Noir the -whole containing fief, from knight alone to become baron, to keep -the black tower but to build besides a fair, strong castle—Who at -Roche-de-Frêne, or away from Roche-de-Frêne, had served more fully than -had Garin? Foulque thought with a consuming impatience of how little he -seemed to care for wealth and honours. - -On the heel of such an hour as this with Foulque, came Aimar de -Panemonde. He came with the sheen and beauty of the spring. Foulque saw -him from the tower window as he left the fir wood and began to mount -the winding road. Behind him were four or five others. All rode noble -horses, all were richly clad. It came into Foulque’s head—from where -he knew not—that here was an envoy with his company. The little troop -seemed to him rich and significant, despatched with knowledge, directed -to an end. At once Foulque connected that with Garin—and why again he -knew not, save that, and despite his sluggishness in the matter of the -fief, fairy things did happen to Garin. - -Garin of the Golden Island met his brother-in-arms without the castle -gate. Aimar threw himself from his horse. Foulque in the tower above -watched the two embrace, then limped down the stair to meet the -guest and order the household.... And soon it seemed that Sir Aimar -de Panemonde might indeed be considered an envoy! The Princess of -Roche-de-Frêne would have Sir Garin de Castel-Noir return to her -court—commanded his presence on the day of Saint Mark. - -There were three days to spare. Aimar, having discharged his mission, -spent them happily, as did those who had ridden with him. Foulque -made talk of the court and the town until—and that was not long—he -found that, for some reason that he could not discern, Aimar did not -talk readily of these. Ever Foulque wished guests of Castel-Noir to be -happy, was courteously minded toward them. This one especially, seeing -how great a friend to Garin he had been and was. So Foulque followed -the lead of the younger men, and in the hall, after supper, had his -reward in stories of the land over the sea—a thousand adventures not -before drawn from Garin. Aimar’s followers and as many Castel-Noir men -as could crowd into hall, came, too, to listen. - -Three days went by. On the morning of the fourth farewells were made. -Garin and Aimar passed out of the gate with their following and down -the winding road. With Garin was Rainier the squire, and two or -three besides. Foulque and all who might watched them go, took the -backward-turning wave of the knights’ hands, marked them until they -vanished in the fir wood. Foulque went back to hall and began to -day-dream of Garin and that fief had that been Raimbaut’s. - -The two knights with their following rode through the spring weather. -Very sweet it was, earth and sky more fair than might be told.... And -so, in the early afternoon, they came in sight of Roche-de-Frêne. - -It was holiday and festival. The people upon the road seemed -light-hearted. The scarred plain had been helped, and now spring flung -over it a mantle of green. When they came to the hill of Roche-de-Frêne -the people had thickened about them; when they entered by the western -gate the town seemed joyous. The folk were abroad and there was to be -made out laughter and singing. As they rode through the streets they -met again and yet again, and at last continually, recognition. It -had a nature that might please the knightliest knight! The marvel of -the cathedral rose before them, and the gold of the sunshine and the -sweetness of the air took from it a shading of awfulness but gave in -return benignancy. They mounted the high street, and now the mighty -shape of the castle increased. Sunlight wrapped it, too, and above -was the stair of the sky. Black Tower and Eagle Tower, Red Tower -and Lion Tower and White Tower—and Garin saw the tree-tops of the -garden.... They crossed the moat, entered between Red Tower and Lion -Tower. Trumpets were being sounded. Here, too, seemed festival. They -dismounted in the outer court—men of rank came about them with the -fairest welcome—they were marshalled soon to a rich lodging. Nones -were ringing, the spring afternoon slipping away. - -An hour passed, another was half run. Garin of the Golden Island, alone -save for Rainier in the room that had been given him, heard the knock -at the door. “Let him in,” he said to the squire, and Pierol entered. -The page gave his message. “Sir Garin de Castel-Noir, the princess -rests in the garden. She would speak with you there.” Garin took his -mantle and followed. - -In the castle garden the fruit trees were abloom. Their clear shadows -lay on the sward while the shadows of the taller trees struck against -the enclosing walls. Below the watch-tower there was a sheet of -daffodils. The many birds of the garden were singing, and the bees -yet hummed in the fruit trees. But there was no gay throng other than -these, or other winged things, or the selves of the flowers. - -It was quiet in the garden, and at first view it seemed a solitude. -Then, as he came toward the heart of it, he saw the princess, seated -beneath the great tree about which the garden was built. In the droop -and sweep of its boughs had been placed a seat of marble finely -wrought. Here she sat, robed in blue, and wearing, held in place by a -circlet of gold, a veil threaded with gold and silver. But to-day it -did not hide her face. - -As he came near, “Greeting, friend!” she said, and her voice was -thrilling music. - -Garin would have bent his knee. But, “No!” she said, “do not do that! -That is not to be done again between you and me.” She rose from the -marble seat. She stood in flowing robes, on her head the gold circlet -of sovereignty, and she looked a mighty princess, knowing her own mind, -guiding her own action, freeing her own spirit, unlocking always new -treasures of power and love! She came close to him, stood equal with -him. Their eyes met, and if the princess sat in hers, the prince sat -in his. “Do you know why I have brought you here?” she said: “I have -brought you here, Garin of the Golden Island, to ask you if you will -marry me?” - -... In midsummer, on the Eve of Saint John, they were wed in the -cathedral, with great music, pomp, and joy. Afterwards they knelt -before the shrine of Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne, and there were people -who said that it was then that the Blessed Image’s lips moved and -there issued the words “Peace and Happiness.” Going, the two passed -the pillars raised by Gaucelm of the Star, and coming to the tomb of -Gaucelm the Fortunate laid flowers there.... But when their own long -reign closed, their land held them in memory as Audiart and Garin the -Wise. - - - THE END - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fortunes of Garin, by Mary Johnston - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORTUNES OF GARIN *** - -***** This file should be named 53394-0.txt or 53394-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/3/9/53394/ - -Produced by Giovanni Fini, Charlene Taylor and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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