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diff --git a/8165-0.txt b/8165-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..36c036e --- /dev/null +++ b/8165-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9371 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Geste of Duke Jocelyn, by Jeffery Farnol + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Geste of Duke Jocelyn + +Author: Jeffery Farnol + + +Release Date: May, 2005 [EBook #8165] +This file was first posted on June 24, 2003 +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GESTE OF DUKE JOCELYN *** + + + + +Produced by Ted Garvin and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +THE GESTE OF DUKE JOCELYN + +By Jeffery Farnol + +Illustrations in color by Eric Pape + +(Illustrations not included in this edition) + + +Copyright, 1920, + +By Little, Brown, And Company. + +All rights reserved Published September, 1920 + +Norwood Press + +Set up and electrotyped by J. S. Cushing Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. + + + + My GILLIAN, thou child that budding woman art + For whom to-day and yesterday lie far apart + Already thou, my dear, dost longer dresses wear + And bobbest in most strange, new-fangled ways thy hair; + Thou lookest on the world with eyes grown serious + And rul'st thy father with a sway imperious + Particularly as regards his socks and ties + Insistent that each with the other harmonise. + Instead of simple fairy-tales that pleased of yore + Romantic verse thou read'st and novels by the score + And very oft I've known thee sigh and call them “stuff” + Vowing of love romantic they've not half enough. + Wherefore, like fond and doting parent, I + Will strive this want romantic to supply. + I'll write for thee a book of sighing lover + Crammed with ROMANCE from cover unto cover; + A book the like of which 't were hard to find + Filled with ROMANCE of every sort and kind. + I'll write it as the Gestours wrote of old, + In prose, blank-verse, and rhyme it shall be told. + And GILLIAN-- + Some day perhaps, my dear, when you are grown + A portly dame with children of your own + You'll gather all your troop about your knee + And read to them this Geste I made for thee. + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +“Nobles of Brocelaunde, salute your Duchess Yolande” + +They saw afar the town of Canalise + +“Brave soldier, I do thank thee well!” she sighed + +“Hush, poor Motley!” whispered the maid. + +With mighty bound, bold Robin leaping came + +The long blades whirled and flashed + + + + +PRELUDE + + Long, long ago when castles grim did frown, + When massy wall and gate did 'fend each town; + When mighty lords in armour bright were seen, + And stealthy outlaws lurked amid the green + And oft were hanged for poaching of the deer, + Or, gasping, died upon a hunting spear; + When barons bold did on their rights insist + And hanged or burned all rogues who dared resist; + When humble folk on life had no freehold + And were in open market bought and sold; + When grisly witches (lean and bony hags) + Cast spells most dire yet, meantime, starved in rags; + When kings did lightly a-crusading fare + And left their kingdoms to the devil's care-- + At such a time there lived a noble knight + Who sweet could sing and doughtily could fight, + Whose lance thrust strong, whose long sword bit + full deep + With darting point or mighty two-edged sweep. + A duke was he, rich, powerful--and yet + Fate had on him a heavy burden set, + For, while a youth, as he did hunt the boar, + The savage beast his goodly steed did gore, + And as the young duke thus defenceless lay, + With cruel tusk had reft his looks away, + Had marred his comely features and so mauled him + That, 'hind his back, “The ugly Duke” folk called + him-- + +My daughter GILLIAN interposeth: + +GILL: An ugly hero? + +MYSELF: That is so. + +GILL: An ugly hero, father? O, absurd! Whoever of an “ugly” hero heard? + +MYSELF: I'll own, indeed, I've come across but few-- + +GILL: But a duke--and ugly! Father, this from you? + +MYSELF: My duke is ugly, very, for good reason, As shall appear in due and +proper season! + +GILL: I'm sure no one will want to read him then, For “heroes” all should +be most handsome men. So make him handsome, please, or he won't do. + +MYSELF: By heaven, girl--no, plain heroes are too few! + +GILL: Then ev'ry one will leave him on the shelf! + +MYSELF: Why, then, I'll read the poor fellow myself. + +GILL: I won't! + +MYSELF: Then don't! Though, I might say, since you're set on it, child, My +duke was not so ugly when he smiled-- + +GILL: Then make him smile as often as you can. + +MYSELF: I might do that, 't is none so bad a plan. + +GILL: And the lady--she must be a lady fair. + +MYSELF: My dear, she's beautiful beyond compare. + +GILL: Why, then-- + +MYSELF: My pen! + + So here and now I do begin + The tale of young Duke Jocelyn, + For critics, schools, + And cramping rules, + Heedless and caring not a pin. + + The title here behold + On this fair page enrolled, + In letters big and bold, + As seemeth fit-- + To wit:-- + + + + +FYTTE I + + Upon a day, but when it matters not, + Nor where, but mark! the sun was plaguy hot + Falling athwart a long and dusty road + In which same dust two dusty fellows strode. + One was a tall, broad-shouldered, goodly wight + In garb of motley like a jester dight, + Fool's cap on head with ass's ears a-swing, + While, with each stride, his bells did gaily ring; + But, 'neath his cock's-comb showed a face so marred + With cheek, with brow and lip so strangely scarred + As might scare tender maid or timid child + Unless, by chance, they saw him when he smiled, + For then his eyes, so deeply blue and bright, + Did hold in them such joyous, kindly light, + That sorrow was from heavy hearts beguiled-- + This jester seemed less ugly when he smiled. + + Here, O my Gill, right deftly, in a trice + I've made him smile and made him do it--twice. + That 't was the Duke of course you've guessed at once + Since you, I know, we nothing of a dunce. + But, what should bring a duke in cap and bells? + Read on and mark, while he the reason tells. + + Now, 'spite of dust and heat, his lute he strummed, + And snatches of a merry song he hummed, + The while askance full merrily he eyed + The dusty knave who plodded at his side. + A bony fellow, this, and long of limb, + + His habit poor, his aspect swart and grim; + His belt to bear a long broad-sword did serve, + His eye was bold, his nose did fiercely curve + Down which he snorted oft and (what is worse) + Beneath his breath gave vent to many a curse. + Whereat the Duke, sly laughing, plucked lutestring + And thus, in voice melodious did sing: + + + “Sir Pertinax, why curse ye so? + Since thus in humble guise we go + We merry chances oft may know, + Sir Pertinax of Shene.” + + “And chances woeful, lord, also!” + Quoth Pertinax of Shene. + + “To every fool that passeth by + These foolish bells shall testify + That very fool, forsooth, am I, + Good Pertinax of Shene!” + + “And, lord, methinks they'll tell no lie!” + Growled Pertinax of Shene. + + Then spake the Knight in something of a pet, + “Par Dex, lord Duke--plague take it, how I sweat, + By Cock, messire, ye know I have small lust + Like hind or serf to tramp it i' the dust! + Per De, my lord, a parch-ed pea am I-- + I'm all athirst! Athirst? I am so dry + My very bones do rattle to and fro + And jig about within me as I go! + Why tramp we thus, bereft of state and rank? + Why go ye, lord, like foolish mountebank? + And whither doth our madcap journey trend? + And wherefore? Why? And, prithee, to what end?” + Then quoth the Duke, “See yonder in the green + Doth run a cooling water-brook I ween, + Come, Pertinax, beneath yon shady trees, + And there whiles we do rest outstretched at ease + Thy 'wherefores' and thy 'whys' shall answered be, + And of our doings I will counsel thee.” + + So turned they from the hot and dusty road + Where, 'mid green shade, a rill soft-bubbling flowed, + A brook that leapt and laughed in roguish wise, + Whereat Sir Pertinax with scowling eyes + Did frown upon the rippling water clear, + And sware sad oaths because it was not beer; + Sighful he knelt beside this murmurous rill, + Bent steel-clad head and bravely drank his fill. + Then sitting down, quoth he: “By Og and Gog, + I'll drink no more--nor horse am I nor dog + To gulp down water--pest, I hate the stuff!” + + “Ah!” laughed the Duke, “'tis plain hast had enough, + And since well filled with water thou dost lie + To answer thee thy questions fain am I. + First then--thou art in lowly guise bedight, + For that thou art my trusty, most-loved knight, + Who at my side in many a bloody fray, + With thy good sword hath smit grim Death away--” + “Lord,” quoth the Knight, “what's done is past return, + 'Tis of our future doings I would learn.” + + “Aye,” said the Duke, “list, Pertinax, and know + 'Tis on a pilgrimage of love we go: + Mayhap hast heard the beauty and the fame + Of fair Yolande, that young and peerless dame + + + “For whom so many noble lovers sigh + And with each other in the lists do vie? + Though much I've dreamed of sweet Yolanda's charms + My days have passed in wars and feats of arms, + For, Pertinax, this blemished face I bear, + Should fright, methinks, a lady young and fair. + And so it is that I have deemed it wiser + To hide it when I might 'neath casque and visor--” + + Hereat Sir Pertinax smote hand to knee + And, frowning, shook his head. “Messire,” said he, + “Thou art a man, and young, of noble race, + And, being duke, what matter for thy face? + Rank, wealth, estate--these be the things I trow + Can make the fairest woman tender grow. + Ride unto her in thy rich armour dight, + With archer, man-at-arms, and many a knight + To swell thy train with pomp and majesty, + That she, and all, thy might and rank may see; + So shall all folk thy worthiness acclaim, + And her maid's heart, methinks, shall do the same. + Thy blemished face shall matter not one jot; + To mount thy throne she'll think a happy lot. + So woo her thus--” + + “So will I woo her not!” + Quoth Jocelyn, “For than I'd win her so, + Alone and loveless all my days I'd go. + Ha, Pertinax, 'spite all thy noble parts, + 'Tis sooth ye little know of women's hearts!” + + “Women?” quoth Pertinax, and scratched his jaw, + “'Tis true of dogs and horses I know more, + And dogs do bite, and steeds betimes will balk, + And fairest women, so they say, will talk.” + + + + “And so dost thou, my Pertinax, and yet, + 'Spite all thy talk, my mind on this is set-- + Thus, in all lowliness I'll e'en go to her + And 'neath this foolish motley I will woo her. + And if, despite this face, this humble guise, + I once may read love's message in her eyes, + Then Pertinax--by all the Saints, 'twill be + The hope of all poor lovers after me, + These foolish bells a deathless tale shall ring, + And of Love's triumph evermore shall sing. + + “So, Pertinax, ne'er curse ye so + For that in lowly guise we go, + We many a merry chance may know, + Sir Pertinax of Shene.” + “And chances evil, lord, also!” + Quoth Pertinax of Shene. + + Now on a sudden, from the thorny brake, + E'en as Sir Pertinax thus doleful spake, + Leapt lusty loons and ragged rascals four, + Rusty their mail, yet bright the swords they bore. + + Up sprang Sir Pertinax with gleeful shout, + Plucked forth his blade and fiercely laid about. + “Ha, rogues! Ha, knaves! Most scurvy dogs!” he cried. + While point and edge right lustily he plied + And smote to earth the foremost of the crew, + Then, laughing, pell-mell leapt on other two. + The fourth rogue's thrust, Duke Joc'lyn blithely parried + Right featly with the quarter-staff he carried. + Then 'neath the fellow's guard did nimbly slip + And caught him in a cunning wrestler's grip. + Now did they reel and stagger to and fro, + And on the ling each other strove to throw; + + Arm locked with arm they heaved, they strove and panted, + With mighty shoulders bowed and feet firm-planted. + So on the sward, with golden sunlight dappled, + In silence grim they tussled, fiercely grappled. + Thus then Duke Jocelyn wrestled joyously, + For this tall rogue a lusty man was he, + But, 'spite his tricks and all his cunning play, + He in the Duke had met his match this day, + As, with a sudden heave and mighty swing, + Duke Jocelyn hurled him backwards on the ling, + And there he breathless lay and sore amazed, + While on the Duke with wonderment he gazed: + “A Fool?” he cried. “Nay, certes fool, per De, + Ne'er saw I fool, a fool the like o' thee!” + + But now, e'en as the Duke did breathless stand, + Up strode Sir Pertinax, long sword in hand: + “Messire,” he growled, “my rogues have run away, + So, since you've felled this fellow, him I'll slay.” + + “Not so,” the Duke, short-breathing, made reply, + “Methinks this rogue is too much man to die.” + + “How?” cried the Knight; “not slay a knave--a thief? + Such clemency is strange and past belief! + Mean ye to let the dog all scathless go?” + + “Nay,” said the Duke, square chin on fist, “not so, + For since the rogue is plainly in the wrong + The rogue shall win his freedom with a song, + And since forsooth a rogue ingrain is he, + So shall he sing a song of roguery. + Rise, roguish rogue, get thee thy wind and sing, + Pipe me thy best lest on a tree ye swing!” + + Up to his feet the lusty outlaw sprang, + And thus, in clear melodious voice, he sang: + + “I'll sing a song not over long, + A song of roguery. + For I'm a rogue, and thou'rt a rogue, + And so, in faith, is he. + And we are rogues, and ye are rogues, + All rogues in verity. + + “As die we must and turn to dust, + Since each is Adam's son, + A rogue was he, so rogues are we, + And rascals every one. + + “The Abbot sleek with visage meek, + With candle, book and bell, + Our souls may curse, we're none the worse, + Since he's a rogue as well. + + “My lord aloft doth hang full oft + Poor rogues the like o' me, + But all men know where e'er he go + A greater rogue is he. + + “The king abroad with knight and lord + Doth ride in majesty, + But strip him bare and then and there + A shivering rogue ye'll see, + + “Sirs, if ye will my life to spill, + Then hang me on a tree, + Since rogue am I, a rogue I'll die, + A roguish death for me. + + “But i' the wind the leaves shall find + Small voices for my dole, + + “And when I'm dead sigh o'er my head + Prayers for my poor rogue soul; + For I'm a rogue, and thou 'rt a rogue, + And so in faith is he, + As we are rogues, so ye are rogues, + All rogues in verity.” + + The singing done, the Duke sat lost in thought, + What time Sir Pertinax did stamp and snort: + “Ha, by the Mass! Now, by the Holy Rood! + Ne'er heard I roguish rant so bold and lewd! + He should be whipped, hanged, quartered, flayed alive--” + + “Then,” quoth the Duke, “pay him gold pieces five,” + “How--pay a rogue?” the Knight did fierce retort. + “A ribald's rant--give good, gold pieces for't? + A plague! A pest! The knave should surely die--” + But here he met Duke Joc'lyn's fierce blue eye, + And silent fell and in his poke did dive, + And slowly counted thence gold pieces five, + Though still he muttered fiercely 'neath his breath, + Such baleful words as: “'S blood!” and “'S bones!” and “'S death!” + + Then laughed the Duke and from the greenwood strode; + But scarce was he upon the dusty road, + Than came the rogue who, louting to his knee: + “O Fool! Sir Fool! Most noble Fool!” said he. + “Either no fool, or fool forsooth thou art, + That dareth thus to take an outlaw's part. + Yet, since this day my rogue's life ye did spare, + So now by oak, by ash, by thorn I swear-- + + “And mark, Sir Fool, and to my saying heed-- + Shouldst e'er lack friends to aid thee in thy need + Come by this stream where stands a mighty oak, + Its massy bole deep-cleft by lightning stroke, + Hid in this cleft a hunting-horn ye'll see, + Take then this horn and sound thereon notes three. + So shall ye find the greenwood shall repay + The roguish life ye spared a rogue this day.” + + So spake he; then, uprising from his knees, + Strode blithe away and vanished 'mid the trees. + Whereat Sir Pertinax shook doleful head: + “There go our good gold pieces, lord!” he said. + “Would that yon rogue swung high upon a tree, + And in my poke our gold again might be. + Full much I marvel, lord, and fain would know + Wherefore and why unhanged didst let him go?” + + Then answered the Duke singing on this wise: + + “Good Pertinax, if on a tree + Yon rogue were swinging high + A deader rogue no man could see-- + 'He's but a rogue!' says you to me, + 'But a living rogue!' says I. + + “And since he now alive doth go + More honest he may die, + Yon rogue an honest man may grow, + If we but give him time, I trow, + Says I to you, says I.” + + At this, Sir Pertinax growled in his beard-- + + +My daughter GILLIAN interrupteth: + + GILL: A beard? O father--beard will never do! + No proper knight a beard ever grew.' + No knight could really romantic be + Who wore a beard! So, father, to please me, + No beard; they are, I think, such scrubby things-- + + MYSELF: Yet they are worn, sometimes, by poets and kings. + + GILL: But your knight-- + + MYSELF: Oh, all right, + My Gill, from your disparagement to save him, + I, like a barber, will proceed to shave him. + + Sir Pertinax, then, stroked his smooth-shaved chin, + And thus to curse he softly did begin, + “Par Dex, my lord--” + + +My daughter GILLIAN interposeth: + + + GILL: Your knight, dear father, seems to love to curse. + + MYSELF: He does. A difficult matter, child, in verse-- + + GILL: Of verse I feel a little tired-- + + MYSELF: Why, if you think a change desired, + A change we'll have, for, truth to tell, + This rhyming bothers me as well. + So here awhile we'll sink to prose. + Now, are you ready? Then here goes! + + +“Par Dex, my lord!” growled Sir Pertinax. “A malison on't, says I, saving +thy lordly grace, yet a rogue is a rogue and, being rogue, should die right +roguishly as is the custom and the law. For if, messire, if--per De and by +Our Sweet Lady of Shene Chapel within the Wood, if, I say, in thy new and +sudden-put-on attitude o' folly, thou wilt save alive all rogues soever, +then by Saint Cuthbert his curse, by sweet Saint Benedict his blessed +bones, by--” + +“Hold now, Pertinax,” said the Duke, slipping his lute into leathern bag +and slinging it behind wide shoulders, “list ye, Sir Knight of Shene, and +mark this, to wit: If a rogue in roguery die then rogue is he forsooth; +but, mark this again, if a rogue be spared his life he may perchance and +peradventure forswear, that is, eschew or, vulgarly speaking, turn from his +roguish ways, and die as honest as I, aye, or even--thou!” + +Here Sir Pertinax snorted as they strode on together, yet in a little they +turned aside from the hot and dusty road and journeyed on beneath the trees +that grew thereby. + +“By all the fiends, my lord, and speaking vulgarly in turn, this belly o' +mine lacketh, these my bowels do yearn consumedly unto messes savoury and +cates succulent--” + +Whereat the Duke, smiling merry-eyed, chanted roguishly: + + “A haunch o' venison juicy from the spit now?” + “Aha!” groaned the Knight, “Lord, let us haste--” + “A larded capon to thee might seem fit now?” + “Saints!” sighed the Knight, “but for one little taste.” + “Or, Pertinax, a pasty plump and deep--” + “Ha--pasty, by the Mass!” the Knight did cry. + “Or pickled tongue of neat, Sir Knight, or sheep--” + “Oh, for a horse! For wings wherewith to fly--” + “Or breast of swan--” + +“Stay! nay, my lord, ha' mercy!” groaned Sir Pertinax, wiping moist brow. +“Picture no more toothsome dainties to my soul lest for desire I swoon and +languish by the way. I pray thee, let us haste, sire, so may we reach fair +Canalise ere sunset--yet stay! Hearken, messire, hear ye aught? Sure, afar +the tocsin soundeth?” + + Now hearkening thus, they both became aware + Of distant bells that throbbed upon the air, + A faint, insistent sound that rose and fell, + A clamour vague that ominous did swell. + As thus they stood, well hidden from the road, + Footsteps they heard of feet that briskly strode. + And, through the leaves, a small man they espied, + Who came apace, a great sword by his side. + Large bascinet upon his head he bore, + 'Neath which his face a scowl portentous wore; + While after toiled a stout but reverend friar + Who, scant of breath, profusely did perspire + And, thus perspiring, panted sad complaints + Thus--on the heat, his comrade and the Saints. + + “O Bax, O Bax! Saint Cuthbert aid me now! + O Bax, see how to sweat thou'st made me now! + Thy speed abate! O sweet Saint Dominic! + Why pliest thou thy puny shanks so quick; + O day! O Bax! O hot, sulphurous day, + My flesh betwixt ye melteth fast away. + Come, sit ye, Bax, in shade of yon sweet tree, + And, sitting soft, I'll sagely counsel thee.” + + “Not so, in faith,” the small man, scowling, said, + “What use for counsel since the cause be fled? + And since she's fled--Saints succour us!” he cried; + As 'mid the leaves all suddenly he spied + Sir Pertinax in his unlovely trim, + His rusty mail, his aspect swart and grim-- + “Ha!” gasped the little man, “we are beset!” + And starting back, off fell his bascinet. + Whereat he fiercely did but scowl the more, + + + And strove amain his ponderous sword to draw. + “Hence, dog!” he cried, “lest, with my swashing blow, + I make thee food for carrion kite and crow.” + But in swift hands Sir Pertinax fast caught him + And, bearing him on high, to Joc'lyn brought him, + Who, while the captive small strove vain aloft + Reproved him thus in accents sweet and soft: + + +“Right puissant and potential sir, we do beseech thee check thy ferocity, +quell now thy so great anger and swear not to give our flesh for fowls to +tear, so shalt thou come down to earth and stand again upon thine own two +legs. And thou, most reverend friar, invoke now thy bloody-minded comrade +that he swear to harm us not!” + +The stout friar seated himself hard by beneath a tree, mopped moist brow, +fetched his wind and smiled. + +“Sir Fool,” said he, “I am thy security that thou and thy brawny gossip +need quake and tremble nothing by reason of this Bax, our valiant reeve--he +shall harm ye no whit.” Here, meeting Jocelyn's eye, Sir Pertinax set +down the small Reeve, who having taken up and put on his great bascinet, +scowled, whereupon Duke Jocelyn questioned him full meek: + +“Good master Reeve, of your courtesy pray you tell us why yon bells do ring +so wild alarm.” + + + The small Reeve viewed him with disdainful eye; + Sniffed haughty nose and proudly made reply: + 'Our bells we ring and clamour make, because + We've lost our lady fair of Tissingors. + Our Duchess Benedicta hath this day + From all her worthy guardians stole away. + Thus we for her do inquisition make, + Nor, 'till she's found, may hope our rest to take, + And thus we cause such outcry as we may, + Since we lose not our Duchess ev'ry day. + So then we'd have ye speak us--aye or no, + Saw ye our errant lady this way go? + And, that ye may her know for whom we seek, + Her just description fully I will speak: + Her hair night-black, her eyes the self-same hue, + Her habit brown, unless 't were red or blue, + And if not blue why then mayhap 'tis green, + Since she by turns of all such hues is seen--” + + “Stay, sir,” quoth Jocelyn, “'tis plain to see + No maid but a chameleon is she, + For here we have her brown and green and blue, + And if not brown then rosy is her hue, + And, if not red, why then 'tis very plain + That brown she is or blue or green again. + Now fain, sir, would I ask and question whether + She e'er is seen these colours all together? + + “O fain would I a lady spy, + By countryside or town, + Who may be seen all blue and green, + Unless she's red or brown.” + + But now, while fierce the little man did scowl, + The rosy Friar, sly-smiling 'neath his cowl, + His visage meek, spake thus in dulcet tone: + “Sir Fool, our Reeve is something mixed, I'll own, + Though he by divers colours is bemused, + Learn ye this truth, so shall he stand excused: + Our Duchess Benedicta, be it known, + Hath this day from her several guardians flown. + Ten worthy men her several guardians be, + Of whom the chief and worthiest ye see, + As first--myself, a friar of some report, + Well-known, methinks, in country, town and court. + Who as all men can unto all men speak, + Well read beside in Latin and in Greek, + A humble soul albeit goodly preacher, + One apt to learn and therefore learned teacher, + One who can laugh betimes, betimes can pray, + Who'll colic cure or on the bagpipe play. + Who'll sing--” + + “Stay!” cried the Reeve. “Friar, what o'me?” + “Patience, O Bax, too soon I'll come to thee! + Who'll sing ye then blithe as a bird on bough--” + “Friar!” growled the Reeve, “the time for me is now!” + “So be it, then,” the Friar did gently say, + “I'll speak of thee as truly as I may: + Here then behold our port-reeve, Greg'ry Bax, + Who, save for reason, naught in reason lacks, + Who, though he small and puny seems to shew, + In speech he is Goliath-like, I trow, + Chief Councillor of Tissingors is he, + And of the council second but--to me. + For with the townsfolk first of all come I--” + + REEVE: Since thy fat finger is in every pie-- + “Saving your reverend grace,” Duke Joc'lyn said, + “What of this maid that turneth green and red?” + + REEVE: Fool, then learn this, ere that our lord duke died, + Ten guardians for his child he did provide, + The Friar and I, with men of lesser fame, + Co-guardians are of this right puissant dame. + + JOCELYN: Beseech ye, sir, now tell us an' ye may, + Why hath thy youthful Duchess run away? + +“Fair Fool,” quoth the Friar, fanning himself with a frond of bracken, +“'tis a hot day, a day reminiscent of the ultimate fate of graceless +sinners, and I am like the day and languish for breath, yet, to thy so +pertinent question I will, straightly and in few words, pronounce and +answer thee, as followeth: Our Lady Benedicta hath run away firstly, +brethren, for that being formed woman after Nature's goodly plan she hath +the wherewithal to walk, to leap, to skip or eke to run, as viz.: item and +to wit--legs. Secondly, inquisitorial brethren, she ran for an excellent +good reason--as observe--there was none to let or stay her. And thirdly, +gentle and eager hearers, she did flit or fly, leave, vacate, or depart +our goodly town of Tissingors for that she had--mark me--no mind to stay, +remain or abide therein. And this for the following express, rare and most +curious reason as--mark now--in a word--” + +“Hold--hold, Friar John!” exclaimed the Reeve; “here sit ye here +a-sermonising, venting words a-many what time our vanished Duchess fleeth. +Knew I not the contrary I should say thou didst countenance her flight and +spent thyself in wordy-wind wherewith to aid her!” + +Now here, chancing to meet Duke Jocelyn's shrewd gaze, Friar John slowly +and ponderously winked one round, bright eye. + +Quoth he: + + “Hark to our valiant port-reeve Greg'ry Bax + Who, save for reason, nought of reason lacks!” + “Howbeit,” fumed the Reeve, stamping in the dust, “here sit ye at thy +full-bodied ease, fanning flies and animadverting--” + +“Animadverting!” nodded Friar John. “A good word, Reeve, a fair, sweet +word; in verity a word full-bodied as I, wherefore it liketh me well. So +sit I here animadverting whiles thou kicketh up a dust in fashion foolish +and un-reeve-like.” + +“A plague o' words!” cried the Reeve. “A pest o' wind! Enough--enough, +contain thy prolixities and rodomontade and let me to the point explain--” + +“Aha!” quoth the Friar. “Good sooth, here's a noble word! A word round +i' the mouth, rolling upon the tongue. Ha, Reeve, I give thee joy of +rodomontade!” + +“Thus then,” continued the Reeve, “I will, with use of no verbiage +circumlocutory, explain.” + +“Ho-oho!” cried Friar John, rubbing plump hands ecstatic. “Good Bax, ne'er +have I heard thee to so great advantage--verbiage circumlocutory--and +thou--thou such small man to boot! O most excellent, puny Reeve!” + +Here the little man turned his back upon the Friar and continued hastily +thus: + + “A lord there is, a lord of lofty pride, + Who for our lady oft hath sued and sighed--” + + FRIAR JOHN: Whom she as oft hath scornfully denied! + + THE REEVE: A mighty lord who seeketh her to wife-- + + FRIAR JOHN: Though he, 'tis said, doth lead most evil life! + THE REEVE: To which fair lord our wilful maid we'd wed-- + + FRIAR JOHN: Since this fair lord the council holds in dread! + + THE REEVE: But she, defying us, this very day + Like wicked thief hath stole herself away. + Thus this poor lord such deeps of gloom is in + Vows he'll not wash, nor shave again his chin + Till found is she: He groaneth, sheddeth tears-- + + THE FRIAR: And swears her guardians ten shall lose their ears! + + THE REEVE: Wherefore are we in mighty perturbation, + Amazed, distraught and filled with consternation. + Thus do our bells ring out their wild alarms, + Our civic bands do muster under arms; + Drums shall be drummed the countryside around, + Until our truant Duchess we have found, + And we have wed this most elusive dame + Unto Sir Agramore of Biename. + + THE FRIAR: And yield her thus to woes and bitter shame! + + THE REEVE: So speak me, fellows; as ye came this way + Saw ye aught of this wilful, errant may? + + Answered JOCELYN: “Neither to-day nor any other day.” + +“Why then,” fumed the Reeve, “here have we been at great expense o' breath +and time and all to no purpose. Come, Friar, beseech thee, let us haste to +begone.” + + So Friar John got slowly to his feet + Complaining loud of hurry and of heat, + But paused behind the hasteful Reeve to linger, + And to plump nose he slyly laid plump finger. + +Now stood Sir Pertinax thoughtful, chin on fist, insomuch that Jocelyn, +thrumming his lute, questioned him: + + “Good Pertinax, how now + What pond'rest thou + With furrowed brow? + Thy care, Sir Knight, avow!” + +Saith Pertinax: “I meditate the way wondrous of woman, the frowardness of +creatures feminine. For mark me, sir, here is one hath guardians ten, yet +despite them she is fled away and they ten!” + +“Why truly, Pertinax, they are ten, so is she fled.” + +“Aye, but if they be ten that ward her and she one that would flee, how +shall this one flee these ten?” + +“For that they be ten.” + +“Nay, lord, here be twenty eyes to watch one young maid and twenty legs to +pursue the same, yet doth she evade them one and all, and here's the wonder +on't--she's but one maid.” + +“Nay, there's the reason on't, Pertinax--she is a maid.” + +“The which is great matter for wonder, lord!” + +“Spoke like a very Pertinax, my Pertinax, for here's no wonder at all. For +perceive, the lady is young, her wardens ten grave seniors, worthy wights +--solemn, sober and sedate, Pertinax, wise and wearisome, grave yet +garrulous, and therefore they suffice not.” + +“Aye, prithee and wherefore not?” + +“For their divers worthy attributes and because they be--ten. Now had these +ten been one and this one a very man--_the_ man--here had been no running +away on part of the lady, I 'll warrant me?” + +“Stay, my lord,” said Pertinax, in deep perplexity, “how judge ye so--and +wherefore--why and by what manner o' reasoning?” + +“Ha, Pertinax!” laughed the Duke, “my lovely, loveless numskull!” So +saying, he kicked the good Knight full joyously and so they trudged on +again. + + Till presently, beyond the green of trees, + They saw afar the town of Canalise, + A city fair, couched on a gentle height, + With walls embattled and strong towers bedight. + Now seeing that the sun was getting low, + Our travellers at quicker pace did go. + Thus as in haste near to the gate they came, + Before them limped a bent and hag-like dame, + With long, sharp nose that downward curved as though + It beak-like wished to peck sharp chin below. + Humbly she crept in cloak all torn and rent, + And o'er a staff her tottering limbs were bent. + So came she to the gate, then cried in fear, + And started back from sudden-levelled spear; + For 'neath the gate lounged lusty fellows three + Who seldom spake yet spat right frequently. + + “Kind sirs, good sirs,” the ancient dame did cry, + “In mercy's name I pray ye let me by--” + But, as she spoke, a black-jowled fellow laughed, + And, spitting, tripped her with out-thrust pike-shaft, + + + That down she fell and wailed most piteously, + Whereat the brawny fellows laughed all three. + “Ha, witch!” they cried, as thus she helpless lay, + “Shalt know the fire and roasted be one day!” + Now as the aged creature wailed and wept, + Forth to her side Duke Joc'lyn lightly stepped, + With quarter-staff a-twirl he blithely came. + Quoth he: “Messires, harm not this ancient dame, + Bethink ye how e'en old and weak as she, + Your wives and mothers all must one day be. + So here then lies your mother, and 't were meeter + As ye are sons that as sons ye entreat her. + Come, let her by and, fool-like to requite ye, + With merry jape and quip I will delight ye, + Or with sweet song I 'll charm those ass's ears, + And melt, belike, those bullish hearts to tears--” + + Now the chief warder, big and black of jowl, + Upon the Duke most scurvily did scowl. + “How now,” quoth he, “we want no fool's-heads here--” + “Sooth,” laughed the Duke, “you're fools enow 't is clear, + Yet there be fools and fools, ye must allow, + Gay fools as I and surly fools--as thou.” + + “Ha, look 'ee, Fool, Black Lewin e'en am I, + And, by my head, an ill man to defy. + Now, motley rogue, wilt call me fool?” he roared, + And roaring fierce, clapped hairy fist on sword. + + “Aye, that will I,” Duke Joc'lyn soft replied, + And black-avised, swart, knavish rogue beside.” + + But now, while thus our ducal jester spoke, + Black Lewin sprang and fetched him such a stroke + + + That Jocelyn saw flash before his eyes, + More stars that e'er he'd noticed in the skies. + Whereat Sir Pertinax did gaping stare, + Then ground his teeth and mighty oaths did swear, + And in an instant bared his trusty blade, + But then the Duke his fiery onslaught stayed. + + “Ha!” cried the Knight, “and wilt thou smitten be + By such base knave, such filthy rogue as he?” + + “Nay,” smiled the Duke, “stand back and watch, good brother, + A Rogue and Fool at buffets with each other.” + + And speaking thus, he leapt on Black Lewin, + And smote him twice full hard upon the chin, + Two goodly blows upon that big, black jowl, + Whereat Black Lewin lustily did howl + And falling back, his polished bascinet + With ringing clash the cold, hard flagstones met. + Whereat his fellows, shouting fierce alarms, + Incontinent betook them to their arms; + And thus it seemed a fight there must have been + But that a horseman sudden spurred between-- + A blue-eyed youth with yellow, curling hair, + Of slender shape, of face and feature fair, + A dainty knight was he in very truth, + A blue-eyed, merry, laughter-loving youth. + + “Ha, knaves, what do ye with the Fool?” lisped he, + “Wilt strike a motley, dogs--a Fool? Let be! + Though faith, 't would seem, Sir Fool, thou hast a fist + That surly Lewin to his dole hath kissed. + If it can strum thy lute but half as well, + Then gestours all methinks thou should'st excel-- + + + Ye rogues, pass Folly in, no man shall say + That from our town we folly turned away. + Come, follow, Fool, into the market-square, + And give us earnest of thy foolish ware.” + +Now it was market day, and within the goodly square were people come from +near and far, a notable concourse, country folk and folk of the town, +farmers and merchants, rustic maids, fair ladies, knights and esquires on +horseback or a-foot, but who, hearing the jingle of the Duke's tinkling +bells, seeing his flaunting cock's-comb, with one accord gathered to him +from every quarter: + + For when this long-legged gestour they espied, + They, laughing, hemmed him in on every side, + And, “See, a Fool! A Fool! The Fool must sing,” + And “Fool! A Fool!” upon the air did ring, + Wherefore the Duke betook him to his lute, + And strummed until the chattering crowd was mute. + Then while all folk did hold their peace to hear, + In golden voice he sang, full rich and clear: + + “'A fool! A fool!' ye cry, + A fool forsooth am I. + But tell me, wise ones, if ye can, + Where shall ye find a happy man? + Lived there one since the world began? + Come, answer ye + To me! + + “'What of the king?' says you. + Says I to you--'Go to! + A king despite his crown and throne, + Hath divers troubles all his own. + Such woes, methinks, as are unknown + To such as ye, + Or me!' + + “'Ha, then--the rich!' ye cry, + 'Not so in truth,' says I. + 'The rich man's gold is load of care, + That day and night he needs must bear; + Less care he'd know if poor he were, + As poor as ye, + Or me!' + + “For, sirs, as I do guess + This thing called 'Happiness' + Man leaveth with his youth behind; + So keep ye all a youthful mind, + Thus happiness ye all shall find + If wit have ye, + Like me! + + “O list ye, great and small, + Proud knight, free man and thrall, + True happiness, since life began, + The birthright is of every man; + Seize then your birthright if ye can, + Since men are ye-- + Like me! + + “Thus I forsooth, a Fool, + Do now ye wise ones school; + Since of my folly, full and free, + I wisely thus admonish ye, + Be wise--or eke fools learn to be + In verity-- + Like me!” + +Now when the song was ended some there were who laughed and some looked +grave, some talked amain and some wagged solemn heads, while many a good +coin rang heartily at Duke Jocelyn's feet; smiling, he bade Sir Pertinax +take them up, joying to see the proud Knight stooping thus to pouch the +money like any beggar. But now, when he would fain have gone his way into +the town, the people would by no means suffer it and clamoured amain on +all sides, insistent for more; wherefore, lifting his scarred face to the +sunset sky, Duke Jocelyn sang as here followeth: + + “When man is born he doth begin + With right good will, to daily sin, + And little careth. + But when his grave he thinketh near, + Then grave he groweth in his fear + And sin forsweareth. + + “This life that man doth cherish so, + Is wondrous frail and quick to go, + Nor will it stay. + Yet where's the man that will not give + All that he hath so he might live + Another day. + + “Fain would I know the reason why + All men so fearful are to die + And upward go? + Since Death all woes and ills doth end, + Sure Death, methinks, should be a friend, + Not hated foe. + + “So when Death come, as come he must, + Grieve not that we this sorry dust + Do leave behind. + For when this fleeting life be run, + + + By Death we all of us--each one, + True life shall find.” + + Now while he sang melodious and clear + Amid the throng that closer pressed to hear, + Duke Joc'lyn of a sudden did espy + The “wherefore” of his coming and the “why.” + Yolande herself he, singing, did behold, + Her eyes, red lips, her hair of ruddy gold; + And all her warm and glowing loveliness + Did sudden thus his raptured vision bless; + While she, in gracious ease, her horse did sit + That pawed round hoof and champed upon his bit, + Arching proud neck as if indeed he were + Proud of the lovely burden he did bear. + As Joc'lyn gazed upon her thus, she seemed + A thousand times more fair than he had dreamed. + Now while he sang, she viewed him, gentle-eyed, + And quite forgot the gallant by her side, + A tall, dark-featured, comely lord was he, + With chin full square and eyes of mastery, + Who, when the Duke made of his song an end + Did from his saddle o'er Yolanda bend. + With eyes on her warm beauty he stooped near + To touch white hand and whisper in her ear; + Whereat she laughed and frowned with cheek flushed red + Then, frowning still, she turned her horse's head, + And rode away with dame and squire and knight, + Till lost she was to Joc'lyn's ravished sight. + +“Ha, lord!” quoth Sir Pertinax, as they came within a quiet thoroughfare, +“this lady is grown more fair since last we saw her Queen of Beauty at +Melloc joust, concerning whom Fame, in troth, doth breed a just report for +once. But, messire, didst mark him beside her--with touch o' hand, lord, +whispers i' the ear--didst mark this wolf, this Seneschal, this thrice +accurst Sir Gui?” + +“Aye, forsooth,” answered the Duke, “but thou'rt an hungered, methinks?” + +“To touch her hand, lord--aha! To whisper in her ear, lord--oho! A right +puissant lord, Seneschal of Raddemore, Lord of Thorn and Knight of Ells! A +lord of puissance and power potential.” + +“And thou, my Pertinax, art but a hungry Knight, that trampeth with a +hungry Fool, wherefore let us forthwith--” + +“Aye, but mark me, lord, if this puissant lord with pomp and high estate +doth woo the lady--” + +“So then, my Pertinax, will I woo this lady also.” + +“How, in this thy foolish guise?” + +“Aye, forsooth.” + +“Why, then, thou art like to be whipped for froward Fool and I for ragged +rogue, and this our adventure brought to ill and woeful end--so here now is +folly, lord, indeed!” + +“Aye, forsooth!” smiled the Duke, + + “Whereto these bells give heed. + But come, amend thy speed, + Methinks thy fasting-need + These gloomy vapours breed. + Thy inner man doth plead + Good beef with ale or mead + Wherein, thou Fool decreed, + I am right well agreed + 'T were goodly thing to feed, + Nor will I thee impede, + So follow Folly's lead + And food-wards we'll proceed.” + + + + +FYTTE 2 + + How Pertinax mine host's large ears did wring, + And Jocelyn of these same ears did sing. + + +Now the town was full, and every inn a-throng with company--lords, both +great and small, knights and esquires and their several followings, as +archers, men-at-arms, and the like, all thither come from far and near +to joust at the great tournament soon to be, to honour the birthday of +Benedicta, Duchess of Tissingors, Ambremont, and divers other fair cities, +towns and villages. Thus our travellers sought lodgment in vain, whereat +Sir Pertinax cursed beneath his breath, and Duke Jocelyn hummed, as was +each his wont and custom; and ever the grim Knight's anger grew. + + Until, at last, an humble inn they saw-- + A sorry place, with bush above the door. + This evil place they straightway entered in, + Where riot reigned, the wild, unlovely din + Of archers, men-at-arms, and rogues yet worse, + Who drank and sang, whiles some did fight and curse. + An evil place indeed, a lawless crew, + And landlord, like his inn, looked evil too: + Small was his nose, small were his pig-like eyes, + But ears had he of most prodigious size, + A brawny rogue, thick-jowled and beetle-browed, + Who, spying out our strangers 'mid the crowd, + + Beholding them in humble, mean array, + With gestures fierce did order them away. + “Nay,” quoth Sir Pertinax, “here will we bide, + Here will we eat and drink and sleep beside. + Go, bring us beef, dost hear? And therewith mead, + And, when we've ate, good beds and clean we 'll need.” + “Ho!” cried the host. “Naught unto ye I'll bring + Until yon Fool shall caper first and sing!” + Said Jocelyn: “I'll sing when I have fed!” + “And then,” quoth Pertinax, “we will to bed!” + “And wilt thou so?” the surly host replied; + “No beds for likes o' ye do I provide. + An' ye will sleep, knave, to the stable go, + The straw is good enough for ye, I trow.” + + “Ha!” roared Sir Pertinax. “A stable? Straw? + This to me, thou filthy clapper-claw, + Thou fly-blown cod's-head, thou pestiferous thing!” + And, roaring, on the brawny host did spring; + + By his large ears Sir Pertinax did take him, + And to and fro, and up and down, did shake him; + He shook him quick and slow, from side to side, + While loud for aid the shaken landlord cried. + Whereat the vicious crowd, in sudden wrath, + Shouted and cursed and plucked their daggers forth. + But, ere to harm our bold Knight they were able, + Duke Joc'lyn lightly sprang on massy table; + Cock's-comb a-flaunt and silver bells a-ring, + He laughing stood and gaily plucked lute-string, + And cut an antic with such merry grace + That angry shouts to laughter loud gave place. + + Thereafter he sang as followeth: + + “Bold bawcocks, brave, bibulous, babbling boys, + Tall tosspots, come, temper this tumult and noise; + So shall I sing sweetly such songs as shall sure + Constrain carking care and contumacy cure. + Thus, therefore--” + +But here the surly landlord raised much clamour and outcry, whiles he +touched and caressed his great ears with rare gentleness. + +“Oho, my yeres!” roared he. “My yeres do be in woeful estate. Oho, what o' +yon fierce-fingered rogue, good fellows, what o' yon knave--'a did twist my +yeres plaguily and wring 'em roguishly, 'a did! Shall 'a not be beaten and +drubbed out into the kennel, ha? What o' poor Nykins' yeres, says I--my +yeres, oho!” + +“Thine ears, unsavoury scullion,” laughed Jocelyn; “thine ears, forsooth? +Hark ye, of thy so great, so fair, so fine ears I'll incontinent make a +song. List ye, one and all, so shall all here now hear my song of ears!” + Forthwith Duke Jocelyn struck his lute and sang: + + “Thine ears, in sooth, are long ears, + Stout ears, in truth, and strong ears, + Full ears, I trow, and fair ears, + Round ears also and rare ears. + So here's an ear that all eyes here + Shall see no beauty in, 'tis clear. + For these o' thine be such ears, + Large, loose, and over-much ears, + Ears that do make fingers itch, + Ears to twist and ears to twitch. + + + If thine ears had gone unseen, + Pulled forsooth they had not been; + Yet, since pulled indeed they were, + Thine ears plain the blame must bear. + So of thine ears no more complain, + Lest that thine ears be pulled again. + So hide thine ears as best ye may, + Of which same ears, to end, I say + Thine ears indeed be like my song, + Of none account, yet over long!” + +Now hereupon was huge laughter and merriment, insomuch that the +thick-jowled landlord betook himself otherwhere, and all men thronged upon +our jester, vociferous for more. + +“Aye, but, bold tosspots,” laughed Jocelyn, “how now, sit ye without wine +in very truth?” + +“Not so, good Fool,” they cried. “Here be wine a-plenty for us and for +thee!” + +“Go to, tall topers,” quoth the Duke, “ye are witless, in faith, for there +is no man here but is without wine, as in song will I shew--mark now: + + “'Tis plain that ye are wine without, + Since wine's within ye, topers stout. + Without your wine, ye whineful show, + Thus wine-full, wine without ye go. + Being then without your wine, 'tis true, + Wine-less, ye still are wine-full too. + But, mark! As thus ye wine-full sit, + Since wine's within, out goeth wit. + Thus, truth to tell, tall topers stout, + Both wine and wit ye go without!” + +By such tricks of rhyme, jugglery of words, and the like, Duke Jocelyn won +this fierce company to great good humour and delight; insomuch that divers +of these roysterers pressed wine upon him and money galore. But, the hour +growing late, he contrived at last to steal away with Sir Pertinax, which +last, having fed copiously, now yawned consumedly, eager for bed. Howbeit, +despite the Knight's fierce threats, they found no bed was to be had in +all the inn, and so, perforce, betook them at last to the stable. + + There, while our Knight cursed softly, though full deep, + Soon in the straw our Duke fell fast asleep. + + My daughter GILLIAN propoundeth: + + GILL: O, father, dear, I greatly fear + You 'll never be a poet! + MYSELF: Don't be too hard upon the bard, + I know it, girl, I know it! + These last two lines, I quite agree, + Might easily much better be. + Though, on the whole, I think my verse, + When all is said, might be much worse. + GILL: Worse, father? Yes, perhaps you're right, + Upon the whole--perhaps, it might. + MYSELF: But hark now, miss! Attend to this! + Poetic flights I do not fly; + When I begin, like poor Lobkyn, + I merely rhyme and versify. + Since my shortcomings I avow, + The story now, you must allow, + Trips lightly and in happy vein? + GILL: O, yes, father, though it is rather + Like some parts of your “Beltane.” + MYSELF: How, child! Dare you accuse your sire + Of plagiary--that sin most dire? + And if I do, small blame there lies; + It is myself I plagiarise. + + GILL: Why, yes, of course! And, as you know. + I always loved your “Beltane” so. + + MYSELF: But don't you like the “geste” I'm writing? + + GILL: Of course! It's getting most exciting, + In spite of all the rhymes and stuff-- + + MYSELF: Stuff? + Enough! + My daughter, you're so sweetly frank. + Henceforth my verses shall be blank. + No other rhyme I'll rhyme for you + Till you politely beg me to. + Now then, your blank-verse doom you know, + Hey, presto, and away we go! + + + + +FYTTE 3 + + Tell'th how Duke Jocelyn of love did sing, + And haughty knight in lily-pool did fling. + + + Upon a morn, when dewy flowers fresh-waked + Filled the glad air with perfume languorous, + And piping birds a pretty tumult made, + Thrilling the day with blended ecstasy; + When dew in grass did light a thousand fires, + And gemmed the green in flashing bravery-- + Forth of her bower the fair Yolanda came, + Fresh as the morn and, like the morning, young, + Who, as she breathed the soft and fragrant air, + Felt her white flesh a-thrill with joyous life, + And heart that leapt responsive to the joy. + Vivid with life she trod the flowery ways, + Dreaming awhile of love and love and love; + Unknowing all of eyes that watched unseen, + Viewing her body's gracious loveliness: + Her scarlet mouth, her deep and dreamful eyes, + The glowing splendour of her sun-kissed hair, + Which in thick braids o'er rounded bosom fell + Past slender waist by jewelled girdle bound. + + So stood Duke Jocelyn amid the leaves, + And marked how, as she walked, her silken gown + Did cling her round in soft embrace, as though + Itself had sense and wit enough to love her. + Entranced he stood, bound by her beauty's spell, + Whereby it seemed he did in her behold + The beauty of all fair and beauteous things. + + + Now leaned she o'er a pool where lilies pale + Oped their shy beauties to the gladsome day, + Yet in their beauty none of them so fair + As that fair face the swooning waters held. + And as, glad-eyed, she viewed her loveliness, + She fell to singing, soft and low and sweet, + Clear and full-throated as a piping merle, + And this the manner of her singing was: + + “What is love? Ah, who shall say? + Flower to languish in a day, + Bird on wing that will away. + Love, I do defy thee! + + “What is love? A toy so vain + 'T is but found to lose again, + Painful sweet and sweetest pain; + Ah, love, come not nigh me. + + “But, love, an thou com'st to me, + Wert thou as I'd have thee be, + Welcome sweet I'd make for thee, + And weary of thee never. + + “If with thy heart thou could'st endure, + If thou wert strong and thou wert sure, + A master now, and now a wooer, + Thy slave I'd be for ever.” + + Thus sang she sweet beside the lily-pool, + Unknowing any might her singing hear, + When rose another voice, so rich, so full + As thrilled her into rapt and pleasing wonder; + And as she hearkened to these deep-sung words, + She flushed anon and dimpled to a smile: + + “What is love? 'Tis this, I say, + Flower that springeth in a day, + Bird of joy to sing alway, + Deep in the heart of me. + + “What is love? A joyous pain + That I ne'er may lose again, + Since for ever I am fain + To think and dream of thee.” + + Now hasted she to part the leafy screen, + And one in motley habit thus beheld. + But when 'neath flaunting cock's-comb she did mark + His blemished face, she backward from him drew + And caught her breath, and yet upon him gazed + 'Neath wrinkled brow, the while Duke Jocelyn + Read the expected horror in her eyes: + Wherefore he bowed his head upon his breast + And plucked at belt with sudden, nervous hand + As, cold and proud and high, she questioned him: + “What thing art thou that 'neath thy hood doth show + A visage that might shame the gladsome day?” + + Whereto he answered, low and humble-wise: + “A Fool! The very fool of fools am I-- + A Fool that fain would pluck the sun from heaven.” + + “Begone!” she sighed. “Thy look doth make me cold, + E'en as I stand thus i' the kindly sun. + Yet, an thou 'rt poor as thy mean habit speaks thee, + Take first this dole for tender Jesu's sake.” + + Then answered Jocelyn on lowly knee: + “For thy sweet bounty I do thank thee well, + But, in good sooth, so great a fool am I, + 'Stead of thy gold I rather would possess + + Yon happy flower that in thy bosom bloometh. + Give me but this and richer fool am I + Than any knight-like fool that coucheth lance-- + Greater I than any lord soever, + Aye--e'en Duke Jocelyn of Brocelaunde.” + + Smiled now Yolande with rosy lip up-curving, + While in soft cheek a roguish dimple played. + Quoth she: “Duke Jocelyn, I've heard it said, + Is great and rich, a mighty man-at-arms, + And thou but sorry Fool in mean array, + Yet”--from white fingers she let fall the flower-- + “Be thou, Fool, greater than this mighty Duke! + And now, since mighty Fool and rich I've made thee, + In quittance I would win of thee a song.” + + Now sat Yolande, white chin on dimpled fist, + Viewing him o'er with cruel, maiden-eyes, + So swift to heed each outward mark and blemish + (Since maids be apt to sly disparagement, + And scorn of all that seems un-beautiful) + While he did lean him by the marble rim, + His wistful gaze down-bent upon the pool, + Feeling her look and knowing while she looked: + What time he touched his lute with fingers skilled, + And so fell singing, wonder-low and sweet: + + “Though foul and harsh of face am I, + Lady fair--O lady! + Fair thoughts within my heart may lie, + As flowers that bloom unseen to die, + Lady fair--O lady! + + “Though this my hateful face may fright thee, + Lady fair--O list! + My folly mayhap shall delight thee, + A song of fools I will recite thee, + Lady fair--O list!” + + Herewith he sighed amain, but smiled anon, + And fell anon to blither, louder note: + + “Sing hey, Folly--Folly ho, + And here's a song of Folly, + All 'neath the sun, + Will gladly run + Away from Melancholy. + + “And Fool, forsooth, a Fool am I, + Well learned in foolish lore: + For I can sing ye, laugh or sigh: + Can any man do more? + Hey, Folly--Folly, ho! + 'Gainst sadness bar the door. + + “A Fool am I, yet by fair leave, + Poor Fools have hearts to feel. + Poor Fools, like other fools, may grieve + If they their woes conceal. + Hither, Folly--Folly, ho! + All Fools to Folly kneel. + + “What though a Fool be melancholy, + Sick, sick at heart--heigho! + Pain must he hide 'neath laughing Folly, + What Fool should heed his woe! + Hither, Folly--Folly, ho! + Fool must unpitied go. + + “E'en though a Fool should fondly woo, + E'en though his love be high, + Poor Folly's fool must wear the rue, + Proud love doth pass him by. + Heigho, Folly--Folly, ho! + Poor Fool may love--and die. + + “Though Wisdom should in motley go, + And fools the wise man ape; + Who is there that shall Wisdom know + Beneath a 'scalloped cape? + Heigho, Folly--Folly, ho! + Life is but sorry jape. + + “So, hey, Folly--Folly, ho! + And here's a song o' Folly, + All 'neath the sun + Do gladly run + Away from Melancholy.” + + The singing done, she viewed him kinder-eyed, + Till eyes met eyes--when she did pout and frown, + And chid him that his song was something sad, + And vowed so strange a Fool was never seen. + Then did she question him in idle wise + As, who he was and whence he came and why? + Whereto the Duke-- + + +My daughter GILLIAN interposeth: + + GILL: + + Dear father, if you're in the vein, + I'd like a little rhyme again; + For blank verse is so hard to read, + And yours is very blank indeed! + + MYSELF: + + Girl, when blank verse I write for thee, + I write it blank as blank can be. + Stay, I'll declare (no poet franker) + No blank verse, Gill, was ever blanker. + But: + Since, with your sex's sweet inconstancy, + Rhymes now you wish, rhymes now I'll + rhyme for thee: + As thus, my dear-- + Give ear: + +Whereto the Duke did instant make reply: + + “Sweet lady, since you question me, + Full blithely I will answer thee; + And, since you fain would merry be, + I'll sing and rhyme it merrily: + + “Since Mirth's my trade and follies fond, + Methinks a fair name were Joconde; + And for thy sake + I travail make + Through briar and brake, + O'er fen and lake, + The Southward March beyond. + + “For I an embassage do bear, + Now unto thee, Yolande the fair, + Which embassy, + Now unto thee, + Right soothfully, + And truthfully, + Most full, most free, + Explicit I 'll declare. + + “Thus: videlicit and to wit, + Sith now thou art to wedlock fit-- + Both day and night + In dark, in light + A worthy knight, + A lord of might, + In his own right, + Duke Joc'lyn hight + To thine his heart would knit. + + “But, since the Duke may not come to thee, + I, in his stead, will humbly sue thee; + His love each day + I will portray + As best I may; + I'll sue, I'll pray, + I'll sing, I'll play, + Now grave, now gay, + And in this way, + I for the Duke will woo thee.” + + Now, fair Yolanda gazed with wide-oped eyes, + And checked sweet breath for wonder and surprise; + Then laughed full blithe and yet, anon, did frown, + And with slim fingers plucked at purfled gown: + + “And is it thou--a sorry Fool,” she cried. + “Art sent to win this mighty Duke a bride?” + + “E'en so!” quoth he. “Whereof I token bring; + Behold, fair maid, Duke Joc'lyn's signet ring.” + “Heaven's love!” she cried. “And can it truly be + The Duke doth send a mountebank like thee, + A Fool that hath nor likelihood nor grace + From worn-out shoon unto thy blemished face-- + A face so scarred--so hateful that meseems + At night 't will haunt and fright me with ill dreams; + A slave so base--” + + “E'en so!” Duke Joc'lyn sighed, + And his marred visage 'neath his hood did hide. + “But, though my motley hath thy pride distressed, + I am the Fool Duke Joc'lyn loveth best. + And--ah, my lady, thou shalt never see + In all this world a Fool the like of me!” + + Thus spake the Duke, and then awhile stood mute, + And idly struck sweet chords upon his lute, + Watching Yolande's fair, frowning face the while, + With eyes that held a roguish, wistful smile. + She, meeting now these eyes of laughing blue, + Felt her cheeks burn, and sudden angry grew. + + So up she rose in proud and stately fashion, + And stamped slim foot at him in sudden passion; + And vowed that of Duke Joc'lyn she cared naught; + That if he'd woo, by him she must be sought; + Vowed if he wooed his wooing should be vain, + And, as he came, he back should go again. + “For, since the Duke,” she cried, “dare send to me + A sorry wight, a very Fool like thee, + By thy Fool's mouth I bid thee to him say, + He ne'er shall win me, woo he as he may; + Say that I know him not--” + + “Yet,” spake Duke Joc'lyn soft, + “E'er this, methinks, thou'st seen my lord full oft. + When at the joust thou wert fair Beauty's queen + Duke Joc'lyn by thy hand oft crowned hath been.” + “True, Fool,” she answered, 'twixt a smile and frown, + “I've seen him oft, but with his vizor down. + And verily he is a doughty knight, + But wherefore doth he hide his face from sight?” + + “His face?” quoth Joc'lyn with a gloomy look, + “His face, alack!” And here his head he shook; + “His face, ah me!” And here Duke Joc'lyn sighed, + “His face--” “What of his face?” Yolanda cried. + “A mercy's name, speak--speak and do not fail.” + “Lady,” sighed Joc'lyn, “thereby hangs a tale, + The which, though strange it sound, is verity, + That here and now I will relate to thee-- + 'T is ditty dire of dismal doating dames, + A lay of love-lorn, loveless languishment, + And ardent, amorous, anxious anguishment, + Full-fed forsooth of fierce and fiery flames; + So hark, + And mark: + In Brocelaunde not long ago, + Was born Duke Jocelyn. I trow + Not all the world a babe could show, + A babe so near divine: + For, truth to tell, + He waxed so well, + So fair o' face, + So gay o' grace, + That people all, + Both great and small, + Where'er he went, + In wonderment + Would stare and stare + To see how fair + A lad was Jocelyn. + + And when to man's estate he came, + Alack, fair lady, 't was the same! + And many a lovely, love-lorn dame + Would pitiful pant and pine. + These doleful dames + Felt forceful flames, + The old, the grey, + The young and gay, + Both dark and fair + Would rend their hair, + And sigh and weep + And seldom sleep; + And dames long wed + From spouses fled + For love of Jocelyn. + + Therefore the Duke an oath did take + By one, by two, by three, + That for these love-lorn ladies' sake + No maid his face should see. + And thus it is, where'er he rideth + His love-begetting face he hideth.” + + Now laughed Yolande, her scorn forgotten quite, + “Alas!” she cried. “Poor Duke! O woeful plight! + And yet, O Fool, good Fool, full fain am I, + This ducal, love-begetting face to spy--” + Quoth Joc'lyn: “Then, my lady, prithee, look!” + And from his bosom he a picture took. + + “Since this poor face of mine doth so affright thee + Here's one of paint that mayhap shall delight thee. + Take it, Yolande, for thee the craftsmen wrought it, + For thee I from Duke Jocelyn have brought it. + If day and night thou 'lt wear it, fair Yolande,” + And speaking thus, he gave it to her hand. + Its golden frame full many a jewel bore, + But 't was the face, the face alone she saw. + And viewing it, Yolanda did behold + A manly face, yet of a god-like mould. + Breathless she sate, nor moved she for a space, + Held by the beauty of this painted face; + 'Neath drooping lash she viewed it o'er and o'er, + And ever as she gazed new charms she saw. + Then, gazing yet, “Who--what is this?” she sighed. + “Paint, lady, paint!” Duke Joc'lyn straight replied, + “The painted visage of my lord it shows-- + Item: one mouth, two eyes and eke a nose--” + “Nay, Fool,” she murmured, “here's a face, meseems, + I oft have seen ere now within my dreams; + These dove-soft eyes in dreams have looked on me!” + + Quoth Joc'lyn: “Yet these eyes can nothing see!” + + “These tender lips in accents sweet I've heard!” + + Quoth Joc'lyn: “Yet--they ne'er have spoke a word! + But here's a face at last doth please thee well + Yet hath no power to speak, see, sigh or smell, + Since tongueless, sightless, breathless 't is--thus I + A sorry Fool its needs must e'en supply. + And whiles thou doatest on yon painted head + My tongue I'll lend to woo thee in its stead. + I'll woo with wit + As seemeth fit, + Whiles there thou sit + And gaze on it. + Whiles it ye see + Its voice I'll be + And plead with thee, + So hark to me: + Yolande, I love thee in true loving way; + That is, I'll learn to love thee more each day, + Until so great my growing love shall grow, + This puny world in time 't will overflow. + To-day I love, and yet my love is such + That I to-morrow shall have twice as much. + Thus lovingly to love thee I will learn + Till thou shalt learn Love's lesson in thy turn, + And find therein how sweet this world can be + When as I love, thou, love, shall so love me.” + + “Hush, hush!” she sighed, and to her ruddy lip + She sudden pressed one rosy finger-tip. + And then, O happy picture! Swift from sight + She hid it in her fragrant bosom white. + “O Fool,” she cried, “get thee behind yon tree, + And thou a very Fool indeed shall see, + A knightly fool who sighs and groans in verse + And oft-times woos in song, the which is worse.” + For now they heard a voice that sung most harsh, + That shrilled and croaked like piping frog in marsh, + A voice that near and ever nearer drew + Until the lordly singer strode in view. + A noble singer he, both tall and slender, + + With locks be-curled and clad in pompous splendour; + His mantle of rich velvet loose did flow, + As if his gorgeous habit he would show; + A jewelled bonnet on his curls he bore, + With nodding feather bravely decked before; + He was a lover very _point de vice_, + And all about him, save his voice, was nice. + Thus loudly sang, with lungs both sound and strong + This worthy knight, Sir Palamon of Tong. + + “O must I groan + And make my moan + And live alone alway? + Yea, I must sigh + And droop and die, + If she reply, nay, nay! + + “I groan for thee, + I moan for thee, + Alone for thee I pine. + All's ill for me + Until for me + She will for me be mine.” + +But now, beholding Yolande amid her flowers, herself as sweet and fresh as +they, he made an end of his singing and betook him, straightway, to amorous +looks and deep-fetched sighs together with many supple bendings of +the back, elegant posturings and motitions of slim legs, fannings and +flauntings of be-feathered cap, and the like gallantries; and thereafter +fell to his wooing on this fashion: + +“Lady, O lady of lovely ladies most loved! Fair lady of hearts, sweet dame +of tenderness, tender me thine ears, suffer one, hath sighed and suffered +for sake of thee, to sightful sue. Lovely thou art and therefore to be +loved, and day and night thou and Love the sum of my excogitations art, +wherefore I, with loving art, am hither come to woo thee, since, lady, I +do love thee.” + +“Alack, Sir Palamon!” she sighed, “and is it so?” + +“Alack!” he answered, “so it is. Yest're'en I did proclaim thee fairer than +all fair ladies; to-day thou art yet fairer, thus this day thou art fairer +than thyself; the which, though a paradox, is yet wittily true and truly +witty, methinks. But as for me--for me, alas for me! I am forsooth the very +slave of love, fettered fast by Dan Cupid, a slave grievous and woeful, +yet, being thy slave, joying in my slavery and happy in my grievous woe. +Thus it is I groan and moan, lady; I pine, repine and pine again most +consumedly. I sleep little and eat less, I am, in fine and in all ways, +'haviours, manners, customs, feints and fashions soever, thy lover +manifest, confessed, subject, abject, in season and out of season, yearly, +monthly, daily, hourly, and by the minute. Moreover--” + +“Beseech thee!” she cried, “Oh, beseech thee, take thy breath.” + +“Gramercy, 'tis done, lady, 'tis done, and now forthwith resolved am I to +sing thee--” + +“Nay, I pray you, sir, sing no more, but resolve me this mystery. What is +love?” + +“Love, lady? Verily that will I in truth!” And herewith Sir Palamon fell +to an attitude of thought with eyes ecstatic, with knitted brows and sage +nodding of the head. “Love, my lady--ha! Love, lady is--hum! Love, then, +perceive me, is of its nature elemental, being of the elements, as 'twere, +composed and composite, as water, air and fire. For, remark me, there is no +love but begetteth first water, which is tears; air, which is sighings and +groanings; and fire, which is heart-burnings and the like. Thus is love a +passion elemental. But yet, and heed me, lady, love is also metaphysical, +being a motition of the soul and e'en the spirit, and being of the spirit +'tis ghostly, and being ghostly 'tis--ha! Who comes hither to shatter the +placid mirror of my thoughts?” + +So saying, the noble knight of Tong turned to behold one who strode towards +them in haste, a tall man this whose black brows scowled fierce upon the +day, and who spurned the tender flowers with foot ungentle as he came. + + A tall, broad-shouldered, haughty lord was he, + With chin full square and eyes of mastery, + At sight of whom, Yolanda's laughter failed, + And in her cheek the rosy colour paled. + + Quoth he: “Sir Palamon, now of thy grace, + And of thy courteous friendship yield me place, + To this fair lady I a word would say. + Thus do I for thy courteous-absence pray, + I am thy friend, Sir Knight, as thou dost know, + But--” + + “My lord,” quoth Sir Palamon, “I go-- + Friendship methinks is a most holy bond, + A bond I hold all binding bonds beyond, + And thou 'rt a friend right potent, my lord Gui, + So to thy will I willingly comply. + Thus, since thy friendship I hold passing dear, + Thou need but ask--and lo! I am not here.” + Thus having said, low bowed this courtly knight, + Then turned about and hasted out of sight. + +“And now, my lady,” quoth Sir Gui, frowning upon her loveliness, “and now +having discharged yon gaudy wind-bag, what of this letter I did receive +but now--behold it!” and speaking, he snatched a crumpled missive from his +bosom. “Behold it, I say!” + +“Indeed, my lord, I do,” she answered, proud and disdainful; “it is, +methinks, my answer to thy loathèd suit--” + + “Loathèd!” he cried, and caught her slender wrist, + And held it so, crushed in his cruel fist; + But proud she faced him, shapely head raised high. + “Most loathèd, my lord!” she, scornful, made reply. + “For rather than I'd wed myself with thee, + The wife of poorest, humblest slave I'd be, + Or sorriest fool that tramps the dusty way--” + “Ha! Dare thou scorn me so?” Sir Gui did say, + “Then I by force--by force will sudden take thee, + And slave of love, my very slave I 'll make thee--” + + Out from the leaves Duke Joc'lyn thrust his head, + “O fie! Thou naughty, knavish knight!” he said. + “O tush! O tush! O tush again--go to! + 'T is windy, whining, wanton way to woo. + What tushful talk is this of 'force' and 'slaves', + Thou naughty, knavish, knightly knave of knaves? + Unhand the maid--loose thy offensive paw!” + Round sprang Sir Gui, and, all astonished, saw + A long-legged jester who behind him stood + With head out-thrust, grim-smiling 'neath his hood. + + “Plague take thee, Fool! Out o' my sight!” growled he, + “Or cropped thine ugly nose and ears shall be. + Begone, base rogue! Haste, dog, and get thee hence, + Thy folly pleadeth this thy Fool's offence-- + + Yet go, or of thy motley shalt be stripped, + And from the town I 'll have thee shrewdly whipped, + For Lord of Ells and Raddemore am I, + Though folk, I've heard, do call me 'Red Sir Gui,' + Since blood is red and--I am Gui the Red.” + “Red Gui?” quoth Joc'lyn. “Art thou Gui the dread-- + Red Gui--in faith? Of him Dame Rumour saith, + His ways be vile but viler still--his breath. + Now though a life vile lived is thing most ill, + Yet some do think a vile breath viler still.” + + Swift, swift as lightning from a summer sky, + Out flashed the vengeful dagger of Sir Gui, + And darting with a deadly stroke and fierce, + Did Joc'lyn's motley habit rend and pierce, + Whereat with fearful cry up sprang Yolande, + But this strange jester did grim-smiling stand. + Quoth he: “Messire, a fool in very truth, + The fool of foolish fools he'd be, in sooth, + Who'd play a quip or so, my lord, with thee + Unless in triple armour dight were he; + And so it is this jester doth not fail + With such as thou to jest in shirt of mail. + Now since my heart thy foolish point hath missed + Thy dagger--thus I answer--with my fist!” + Then swift he leapt and, even as he spoke, + He fetched the knight so fierce and fell a stroke + That, reeling, on the greensward sank Sir Gui, + And stared, wide-eyed, unseeing, at the sky. + Right firmly then upon his knightly breast + Duke Joc'lyn's worn and dusty shoe did rest, + And while Yolande stood white and dumb with fear, + Thus sang the Duke full blithely and full clear: + + “Dirt thou art since thou art dust, + And shalt to dust return; + Meanwhile Folly as he lust + Now thy base dust doth spurn. + + “Yea, lord, though thy rank be high, + One day, since e'en lords must die, + Under all men's feet thou'lt lie.” + + Now, fierce, Sir Gui did curse the Fool amain, + And, cursing, strove his dagger to regain. + But Joc'lyn stooped, in mighty arms he swung him, + And down into the lily-pool he flung him. + + With splash resounding fell the noble knight, + Then gurgling rose in damp and sorry plight, + Whiles Joc'lyn, leaning o'er the marble rim, + With lifted finger thus admonished him: + + “Red Gui, + Dread Gui, + Lest a dead Gui, + Gui, I make of thee, + Understand, Gui, + Fair Yolande, Gui, + Humbly wooed must be. + + “So, Gui, + Know, Gui, + Ere thou go, Gui, + Gui they call the Red; + And thou'lt woo, Gui, + Humbly sue, Gui, + Lest Love strike thee dead. + + “Now while thou flound'rest in yon pool, + Learn thou this wisdom of a Fool; + Cold water oft can passion cool + And fiery ardours slake; + Thus, sir, since water quencheth fire, + So let it soothe away thine ire. + Then--go seek thee garments drier + Lest a rheum thou take.” + + Sir Gui did gasp, and gasping, strove to curse, + Whereat he, gasping, did but gasp the worse, + Till, finding he could gasp, but nothing say, + He shook clenched fist and, gasping, strode away. + Then Joc'lyn turned and thus beheld Yolande, + Who trembling all and pale of cheek did stand. + + “O Fool!” she sighed. “Poor Fool, what hast + thou done?” + + Quoth he: “Yolande, to woo thee I've begun, + I better might have wooed, it is most true, + If other wooers had not wooed thee too.” + + “Nay, Fool!” she whispered. “O beware--beware! + Death--death for thee is in the very air. + From Canalise, in haste, I bid thee fly, + For 'vengeful lord and cruel is Sir Gui. + Take now this gold to aid thee on thy way, + And for thy life upon my knees I'll pray, + And with the holy angels intercede + To comfort thee and aid thee in thy need. + And so--farewell! “Thus, speaking, turned Yolande. + But Joc'lyn stayed her there with gentle hand, + Whereat she viewed him o'er in mute surprise, + To see the radiant gladness of his eyes. + + Quoth he: “Yolande, since thou wilt pray for me, + Of thy sweet prayers fain would I worthy be. + This I do know--let Death come when he may, + The love I bear thee shall live on alway. + + Nor will I strive to leave grim Death behind me, + Since when Death wills methinks he sure will find me; + As in the world Death roameth everywhere, + Who flees him here perchance shall meet him there. + Here, then, I'll bide--let what so will betide me, + Thy prayers like holy angels, watch beside me. + So all day long and in thy pretty sleeping + 'Till next we meet the Saints have thee in keeping.” + + + My daughter GILLIAN animadverteth: + + GILL: The last part seems to me much better. + I like Yolande, I hope he'll get her. + + MYSELF: Patience, my dear, he's hardly met her. + + GILL: I think it would be rather nice + To make him kiss her once or twice. + + MYSELF: I'll make him kiss her well, my dear, + When he begins--but not just here. + I'll later see what I can do + In this matter to please you. + + GILL: And then I hope, that by and by + He kills that frightful beast, Sir Gui. + + MYSELF: Yes, I suppose, we ought to slay him, + For all his wickedness to pay him. + + GILL: And Pertinax, I think--don't you? + Should have a lady fair to woo. + To see him in love would be perfectly clipping. + It's a corking idea, and quite awfully ripping-- + + MYSELF: If you use such vile slang, miss, I vow I will not-- + + GILL: O, Pax, father! I'm sorry; I almost forgot. + + MYSELF: Very well, if my warning you'll bear well + in mind, + A fair damsel for Pertinax I 'll try to find. + + GILL: Then make her, father, make her quick, + I always knew you were a brick. + + + + +FYTTE 4 + + How Pertinax plied angle to his sport + And, catching him no fish, fish-like was caught. + + * * * * * + + By sleepy stream where bending willows swayed, + And, from the sun, a greeny twilight made, + Sir Pertinax, broad back against a tree, + Lolled at his ease and yawned right lustily. + In brawny fist he grasped a rod or angle, + With hook wherefrom sad worm did, writhing, dangle. + Full well he loved the piscatorial sport, + Though he as yet no single fish had caught. + Hard by, in easy reach upon the sward, + Lay rusty bascinet and good broadsword. + Thus patiently the good Knight sat and fished, + Yet in his heart most heartily he wished + That he, instead of fishing, snug had been + Seated within his goodly tower of Shene. + And thinking thus, he needs must cast his eye + On rusty mail, on battered shoon, and sigh, + And murmur fitful curses and lament + That in such base, unknightly garb he went-- + A lord of might whose broad shield bravely bore + Of proud and noble quarterings a score. + “And 't was forsooth for foolish ducal whim + That he must plod abroad in such vile trim!” + Revolving thus, his anger sudden woke, + And, scowling, to the unseen fish he spoke: + + “A Duke! A Fool! A fool-duke, by my head! + Who, clad like Fool, like Fool will fain be wed, + + For ass and dolt and fool of fools is he + Who'll live in bondage to some talk-full she. + Yet, if he'll wed, why i' the foul fiend's name, + Must he in motley seek the haughty dame?” + + But now, while he did on this problem dwell, + Two unexpected happenings befell: + A fish to nibble on the worm began, + And to him through the green a fair maid ran. + Fast, fast amid the tangled brake she fled, + Her cheeks all pale, her dark eyes wide with dread; + But Pertinax her beauty nothing heeded, + Since both his eyes to watch his fish were needed; + But started round with sudden, peevish snort + As in slim hands his brawny fist she caught; + “Ha, maid!” he cried, “Why must thou come this way + To spoil my sport and fright mine fish away?” + “O man--O man, if man thou art,” she gasped, + “Save me!” And here his hand she closer grasped, + But even now, as thus she breathless spake, + Forth of the wood three lusty fellows brake; + Goodly their dress and bright the mail they wore, + While on their breasts a falcon-badge they bore. + “Oho!” cried one. “Yon dirty knave she's met!” + Sir Pertinax here donned his bascinet. + “But one poor rogue shan't let us!” t' other roared. + Sir Pertinax here reached and drew his sword. + “Then,” cried the third, “let's at him now all three!” + Quoth Pertinax: “Maid, get thee 'hind yon tree, + For now, methinks, hast found me better sport + Than if, forsooth, yon plaguy fish I'd caught.” + So saying, up he rose and, eyes a-dance + He 'gainst the three did joyously advance, + With sword that flashed full bright, but brighter yet + The eyes beneath his rusty bascinet; + + While aspect bold and carriage proud and high, + Did plainly give his mean array the lie. + Thus, as he gaily strode to meet the three, + In look and gesture all proud knight was he; + Beholding which, the maid forgot her dread, + And, 'stead of pale, her cheek glowed softly red. + + Now at the three Sir Pertinax did spring, + And clashing steel on steel did loudly ring, + Yet Pertinax was one and they were three, + And once was, swearing, smitten to his knee, + Whereat the maid hid face in sudden fear, + And, kneeling so, fierce cries and shouts did hear, + The sounds of combat dire, and deadly riot + Lost all at once and hushed to sudden quiet, + And glancing up she saw to her amaze + Three rogues who fleetly ran three several ways, + Three beaten rogues who fled with one accord, + While Pertinax, despondent, sheathed his sword. + “Par Dex!” he growled, “'Tis shame that they should run + Ere that to fight the rogues had scarce begun!” + So back he came, his rod and line he took, + And gloomed to find no worm upon his hook. + But now the maiden viewed him gentle-eyed; + “Brave soldier, I do thank thee well!” she sighed, + “Thou, like true knight, hast fought for me today--” + “And the fish,” sighed he, “have stole my worm away, + Which is great pity, since my worms be few!” + And here the Knight's despond but deeper grew. + “Yon rogues,” he sighed, “no stomach had for fight, + Yet scared the fish that had a mind to bite!” + “But thou hast saved me, noble man!” said she. + “So must I use another worm!” sighed he. + + And straightway with his fishing he proceeded + While sat the maid beside him all unheeded; + Whereat she frowned and, scornful, thus did speak + With angry colour flaming in her cheek: + “What man art thou that canst but fight and fish? + Hast thou no higher thought, no better wish?” + “Certes,” quoth he, “I would I had indeed + A goodly pot of foaming ale or mead.” + “O base, most base!” the maid did scornful cry, + And viewed him o'er with proud, disdainful eye. + “That I should owe my life to man like thee! + That one so base could fight and master three! + Who art thou, man, and what? Speak me thy name, + Whither ye go and why, and whence ye came, + Thy rank, thy state, thy worth to me impart, + If soldier, serf, or outlawed man thou art; + And why 'neath ragged habit thou dost wear + A chain of gold such as but knights do bear, + Why thou canst front three armed rogues unafraid, + Yet fear methinks to look upon a maid?” + + But to these questions Pertinax sat dumb-- + That is, he rubbed his chin and murmured, “Hum!” + Whereat she, frowning, set determined chin + And thus again to question did begin: + +SHE: What manner of man art thou? + +HE: A man. + +SHE: A soldier? + +HE: Thou sayest. + +SHE: Art in service? + +HE: Truly. + +SHE: Whom serve ye? + +HE: A greater than I. + +SHE: Art thou wed? + +HE: The Saints forfend! + +SHE: Then art a poor soldier and solitary. + +HE: I might be richer. + +SHE: What dost thou fishing here? + +HE: I fish. + +SHE: And why didst fight three men for me--a maid unknown? + +HE: For lack of better employ. + +SHE: Rude soldier--whence comest thou? + +HE: Fair maiden, from beyond. + +SHE: Gross Knight, whither goest thou? + +HE: Dainty damosel, back again. + +SHE: Dost lack aught? + +HE: Quiet! + +SHE: How, would'st have me hold my peace, ill fellow? + +HE: 'T would be a marvel. + +SHE: Wherefore? + +HE: Thou'rt a woman. + +SHE: And thou a man, ill-tongued, ill-beseen, ill-mannered, unlovely, +and I like thee not! + +HE: And what is worse, the fish bite not. + +Now here, and very suddenly, she fell a-weeping, to the Knight's no small +discomfiture, though she wept in fashion wondrous apt and pretty; wherefore +Sir Pertinax glanced at her once, looked twice and, looking, scratched his +ear, rubbed his chin and finally questioned her in turn: + +HE: Distressful damosel, wherefore this dole? SHE: For that I am weary, +woeful and solitary. And thou--thou'rt harsh of look, rough of tongue, +ungentle of--HE: Misfortunate maiden, thy loneliness is soon amended, get +thee to thy friends--thy gossips, thy-- + +SHE: I have none. And thou'rt fierce and ungentle of face. + +Here she wept the more piteously and Sir Pertinax, viewing her distress, +forgot his hook and worm, wherefore a fish nibbled it slyly, while the +Knight questioned her further: + +HE: Woeful virgin, whence comest thou? + +SHE: From afar. And thou art ofeatures grim and-- + +HE: And whither would'st journey? + +SHE: No where! And thou art-- + +HE: Nay, here is thing impossible, since being here thou art somewhere and +that within three bowshots of the goodly town of Canalise wherein thou +shalt doubtless come by comfort and succour. + +SHE: Never! Never! Here will I weep and moan and perish. And thou-- + +HE: And wherefore moan and perish? + +SHE: For that I am so minded, being a maid forlorn and desolate, a poor +wanderer destitute of kith, of kin, of hope, of love, and all that maketh +life sweet. And thou art sour-faced and-- + +HE: Grievous maid, is, among thy many wants, a lack of money? + +SHE: That also. And thou art cold of eye, fierce of mouth, hooked of nose, +flinty of heart, stony of soul, and I a perishing maid. + +At this Sir Pertinax blinked and caught his breath; thereafter he laid down +his rod, whereupon the fish incontinent filched his worm all unnoticed +while the Knight opened the wallet at his girdle and took thence certain +monies. + +HE: Dolorous damsel, behold six good, gold pieces! Take them and go, get +thee to eat--eat much, so shall thy dolour wax less, eat beef--since beef +is a rare lightener of sorrow, by beef shall thy woes be comforted. + +SHE: Alas! I love not beef. + +Now here Sir Pertinax was dumb a space for wonder at her saying, while she +stole a glance at him betwixt slender fingers. + +HE (_after some while_): Maid, I tell thee beef, fairly cooked and aptly +seasoned, is of itself a virtue whereby the body is strengthened and +nourished, whereby cometh content, and with content kindliness, and with +kindliness charity, and therewith all other virtues small and eke great; +therefore eat beef, maiden, for the good of thy soul. + +“How?” said she, viewing him bright-eyed 'twixt her fingers again. “Dost +think by beef one may attain to paradise?” + +HE: Peradventure. + +SHE: Then no beef, for I would not live a saint yet awhile. + +HE: Nathless, take thou these monies and go buy what thou wilt. + +So saying, Sir Pertinax set the coins beside her shapely foot and took up +his neglected rod. + +SHE: And is this gold truly mine? + +HE: Verily. + +SHE: Then I pray thee keep it for me lest I lose it by the way and so--let +us begone. + +Here Sir Pertinax started. + +“Begone?” quoth he. “Begone--in truth? Thou and I in faith? Go whither?” + +SHE: Any whither. + +HE: Alone? Thou and I? + +“Nay, not alone,” she sighed; “let us go together.” + +Sir Pertinax dropped his fishing-rod and watched it idly float away down +the stream: + +“Together, maiden?” said he at last. + +“Truly!” she sighed. “For thou art lonely even as I am lonely, and thou +art, methinks, one a lonely maid may trust.” + +“Ha--trust!” quoth he. “And wherefore would'st trust me, maiden?” + +SHE: For two reasons--thou art of age mature and something ill-favoured. + +Now, at this Sir Pertinax grew angered, grew thoughtful, grew sad and, +beholding his image mirrored in the waters, sighed for his grim, unlovely +look and, in his heart, cursed his vile garb anew. At last he spoke: + +HE: Truly thou may'st trust me, maiden. + +SHE: And wherefore sighest thou, sad soldier? + +HE: Verily for thy two reasons. Though, for mine age, I am not forty +turned. + +Saying which, he sighed again, and stared gloomily into the murmurous +waters. But presently, chancing to look aside, he beheld a head low down +amid the underwood, a head huge and hairy with small, fierce eyes that +watched him right bodefully, and a great mouth that grinned evilly; and now +as he stared, amazed by this monstrous head, it nodded grimly, speaking +thus: + + “Lob, Lobkyn he + Commandeth thee + To let her be + And set her free, + Thou scurvy, cutpurse, outlaw knave, + Lest hanged thou be + Upon a tree + For roguery + And villainy, + Thou knavish, misbegotten slave; + For proud is she + Of high degree, + As unto ye + Explicitly--” + +“Ha!” quoth Sir Pertinax, rising and drawing sword. “Now, be thou imp of +Satan, fiend accursed, or goblin fell, come forth, and I with steel will +try thee, Thing!” + +Out from the leaves forthwith crawled a dwarf bowed of leg, mighty of +shoulder, humped of back, and with arms very long and thick and hairy. In +one great fist he grasped a ponderous club shod with iron spikes, and now, +resting his hands on this and his chin on his hands, he scowled at the +Knight, yet grinned also. + +“Ho!” he cried, rolling big head in threatening fashion: + +“Vile dog, thy rogue's sconce cracked shall be, Thy base-born bones +be-thwacked shall be. I'll deal thee many a dour ding For that thou darest +name me--Thing!” + +“Now, as I live!” said Sir Pertinax, scowling also. “Here will I, and with +great joyance, cleave me thine impish mazzard and split thee to thy beastly +chine. And for thy ill rhyming: + + “I with this goodly steel will halve thee + And into clammy goblets carve thee. + So stand, Thing, to thy club betake thee, + And soon, Thing, I will no-thing make thee.” + +But, as they closed on each other with eager and deadly intent, the maid +stepped lightly betwixt. + +“Stay, soldier--hold!” she commanded. “Here is none but Lobkyn Lollo--poor, +brave Lob, nor will I suffer him to harm thee.” + +“How, maiden?” snorted the good Knight fiercely. “Harm me, say'st thou--yon +puny Thing?” + +“Truly, soldier!” said she, roguish-eyed. “For though thou art very +ungentle, harsh of tongue, of visage grim and manners rude--I would not +have Lob harm thee--yet!” + + Now hereupon our bold Sir Pertinax + With indignation red of face did wax. + The needful word his tongue was vainly seeking, + Since what he felt was quite beyond the speaking. + Though quick his hand to ward or give a blow, + His tongue all times unready was and slow, + Therefore he speechless looked upon the maid, + Who viewed him 'neath her lashes' dusky shade, + Whence Eros launched a sudden beamy dart + That 'spite chain-mail did reach and pierce his heart. + And in that instant Pertinax grew wise, + And trembled 'neath this forest-maiden's eyes; + And trembling, knew full well, seek where he might, + No eyes might hold for him such magic light, + No lips might hold for him such sweet allure, + No other hand might his distresses cure, + No other voice might so console and cheer, + No foot, light-treading, be so sweet to hear + As the eyes, lips, hand, voice, foot of her who stood + Before him now, cheek flushing 'neath her hood. + All this Sir Pertinax had in his thought, + And, wishing much to say to her, said nought, + By reason that his tongue was something slow, + And of smooth phrases he did little know. + But yet 't is likely, though he nothing said, + She, maid-like, what he spake not, guessed or read + In his flushed brow, his sudden-gentle eyes, + Since in such things all maids are wondrous wise. + + Now suddenly the brawny Dwarf did cry: + “Beware, my old great-grand-dam creepeth nigh!” + Thus speaking, 'mid the bushes pointed he, + Where crook'd old woman crouched beneath a tree + Whence, bowed upon a staff, she towards them came, + An ancient, wrinkled, ragged, hag-like dame + With long, sharp nose that downward curved as though + It fain would, beak-like, peck sharp chin below. + Mutt'ring she came and mowing she drew near, + And straightway seized the Dwarf by hairy ear: + Fast by the ear this ancient dame did tweak him, + And cuffed his head and, cuffing, thus did speak him: + + “Ha, dolt! Bad elf, and wilt thou slay, indeed, + This goodly man did aid me in my need? + For this was one that fought within the gate + And from Black Lewin saved thy grannam's pate! + Down, down, fool-lad, upon thy knees, I say, + And full forgiveness of this soldier pray.” + + But Sir Pertinax, perceiving how the old dame + did thus tweak and wring at the Dwarf's great, + hairy ear even until his eyes watered, interceded, + saying: + + “Good, ancient soul, humble not the sturdy, unlovely, + mis-shapen, rascally imp for such small + matter.” + + “Nay, but,” croaked the old woman, tightening + claw-like fingers, “kind master, he would doubtless + have slain thee.” At this, Sir Pertinax scowled, + and would have sworn great oath but, meeting the + maid's bright eyes, checked himself, though with + much ado: + + “Art so sure,” he questioned, “so sure man of + my inches may be slain by thing so small?” + + At this the maid laughed, and the old woman, + sighing, loosed the ear she clutched: + + “Shew thy strength, Lob,” she commanded and, + drawing the maiden out of ear-shot, sat down beside + her on the sward and fell to eager, whispered talk. + Meantime the Dwarf, having cherished his ear, + sulkily though tenderly, seized hold upon his great + club with both hairy hands: + + And whirling it aloft, with sudden might + A fair, young tree in sunder he did smite, + That 'neath the blow it swayed and crashing fell. + Quoth Pertinax: “Good Thing, 't is very well. + Par Dex, and by the Holy Rood,” quoth he, + “'T is just as well that I was not yon tree!” + And whirling his long sword as thus he spoke, + Shore through another at a single stroke. + “Here's tree for tree, stout manling!” he did say. + “What other trick canst show to me, I pray?” + Then Lobkyn stooped the broken stump to seize, + Bowed brawny back and with a wondrous ease + + Up by the roots the rugged bole he tore + And tossed it far as it had been a straw. + Sad grew our knight this mighty feat perceiving, + Since well he knew't was past his own achieving. + +But anon he smiled and clapped the mighty Dwarf on shoulder, saying: + +“Greeting to thee, lusty Lob, for by Our Holy Lady of Shene Chapel within +the Wood, ne'er saw I thine equal, since thou, being man so small, may do +what man o' my goodly inches may nowise perform. Thou should'st make a +right doughty man-at-arms!” + +Hereupon the Dwarf cut a caper but sighed thereafter: quoth he: + + “Aha, good master, and Oho, + As man-at-arms fain would I go; + Aye, verily, I would be so, + But that my grannam sayeth 'No!' + + “And, sir, my grand-dam I obey + Since she's a potent witch, they say; + Can cast ye spells by night or day + And charmeth warts and such away. + + “Love philtres too she can supply + For fools that fond and foolish sigh, + That wert thou foul as hog in sty + Fair women must unto thee fly. + + “Then deadly potions she can make, + Will turn a man to wriggling snake, + Or slimy worm, or duck, or drake, + Or loathly frog that croaks in lake. + + “And she can curse beyond compare, + Can curse ye here, or curse ye there; + She'll curse ye clad or curse ye bare, + In fine, can curse ye anywhere. + + “And she can summon, so 't is said, + From fire and water, spirits dread, + Strong charms she hath can wake the dead + And set the living in their stead. + + “So thus it is, whate'er she say, + My grand-dam, master, I obey.” + +“Now by my head,” quoth Sir Pertinax, “an thy grand-dam hath a potency in +spells and such black arts--the which is an ill thing--thou hast a powerful +gift of versification the which, methinks, is worse. How cometh this +distemper o' the tongue, Lobkyn?” + + “O master,” spake the sighful Dwarf forlorn, + “Like many such diseases, 't is inborn. + For even as a baby, I + Did pule in rhyme and versify; + And the stronger that I grew, + My rhyming habit strengthened too, + Until my sad sire in despair + Put me beneath the Church's care. + The holy fathers, 't is confessed, + With belt and sandal did their best, + But, though they often whipped me sore, + I, weeping, did but rhyme the more, + Till, finding all their efforts vain, + They sadly sent me home again.” + +“A parlous case, methinks!” said Sir Pertinax, staring at the Dwarf's +rueful visage. “Learned ye aught of the holy fathers?” + + “Aye, sir, they taught me truth to tell, + To cipher and to read right well; + They taught me Latin, sir, and Greek, + Though even then in rhyme I'd speak.” + +“And thou canst read and write!” exclaimed Sir Pertinax. “So can not I!” + +Cried LOB: + + “What matter that? Heaven save the mark, + Far better be a soldier than a clerk, + Far rather had I be a fighter + Than learned reader or a writer, + Since they who'd read must mope in schools, + And they that write be mostly fools. + So 'stead of pen give me a sword, + And set me where the battle's toward, + Where blood--” + +But the ancient dame who had risen and approached silently, now very +suddenly took Lobkyn by the ear again. + +“Talk not of blood and battles, naughty one!” she cried. “Think not to +leave thy old grannam lone and lorn and helpless--nor this our fair maid. +Shame on thee, Lob, O shame!” saying the which she cuffed him again and +soundly. + + “Master,” he sighed, “thou seest I may not go, + Since that my grand-dam will not have it so.” + +“Good mother, wise mother,” said the maid, viewing Sir Pertinax smilingly +askance, “why doth poor soldier go bedight in fine linen 'neath rusty +hauberk? Why doth poor soldier wear knightly chain about his neck and swear +by knightly oath? Good mother, wise mother, rede me this.” + +The old woman viewed Pertinax with her bright, quick eyes, but, ere she +could answer, he sheathed sword, drew ragged mantle about him, and made to +go, but, turning to the maid, bent steel-clad head. + +“Most fair damosel,” said he gently, “evening cometh on, and now, since +thou art no longer forlorn, I will away.” + +“Nay, first, I pray thee, what is thy name?” + +“Pertinax, madam.” + +“So then doth Melissa thank Pertinax. And now--out alas! Will Pertinax +leave Melissa, having but found her?” + +Sir Pertinax looked up, looked down, fidgeted with his cloak, and knew not +how to answer; wherefore she sighed again, though with eyes full merry +'neath drooping lashes and reached out to him her slender hand. “Aye me, +and shall we meet no more, poor soldier?” she questioned softly. + +“This I know not,” he answered. + +“For thy brave rescue I do give thee my humble thanks, poor soldier.” + +“Thy rescue, child?” cried the old woman. “Alack and wert thou seen? Thy +rescue, say'st thou?” + +“Indeed, good mother, from Sir Agramore's rough foresters. But for thee, +thou needy soldier, my gratitude is thine henceforth. Had I aught else to +give thee, that were thine also. Is there aught I may? Speak.” + +Now Sir Pertinax could not but heed all the rich, warm beauty of her--these +eyes so sombrely sweet, her delicate nose, the temptation of her vivid +lips--and so spake hot with impulse: + +“Aye, truly, sweet maid, truly I would have of thee a--” Her eyes grew +bright with laughter, a dimple played wanton in her cheek, and Sir +Pertinax was all suddenly abashed, faint-hearted and unsure; thus, looking +down, he chanced to espy a strange jewel that hung tremulous upon her +moving bosom: a crowned heart within a heart of crystal. + +“Well, thou staid and sorry soldier, what would'st have of me?” she +questioned. + +“Verily,” he muttered, “I would have of thee yon trinket from thy bosom.” + Now at his words she started, caught her breath and stared at him +wide-eyed; but, seeing his abashment, laughed and loosed off the jewel with +quick, small fingers. + +“Be it so!” said she. But hereupon the old woman reached out sudden hand. + +“Child!” she croaked, “Art mad? Mind ye not the prophecy? Beware the +prophecy--beware! + + 'He that taketh Crystal Heart, + Taketh all and every part!' + +Beware, I say, Oh, beware!” + +“Nay, good mother, have I not promised? And for this crystal it hath +brought me nought but unease hitherto. Take it, soldier, and for the sake +of this poor maid that giveth, break it not, dishonour it not, and give it +to none but can define for thee the secret thereof--and so, poor, brave, +fearful soldier--fare thee well!” + +Saying which this fair maiden turned, and clasping the Witch's bony arm +about her slender loveliness, passed away into the denser wood with Lobkyn +Lollo marching grimly behind, his mighty club across his shoulder. + +Long stood Sir Pertinax, staring down at the strange jewel in his hand yet +seeing it not, for, lost in his dreams, he beheld again two eyes, +dusky-lashed and softly bright, a slender hand, a shapelyfoot, while in +his ears was again the soft murmur of a maid's voice, a trill of girlish +laughter. So lost in meditation was he that becoming aware of a shadow +athwart the level sunset-glory, he started, glanced up and into the face +of a horseman who had ridden up unheard upon the velvet ling; and this +man was tall and armed at points like a knight; the vizor of his plumed +casque was lifted, and Sir Pertinax saw a ruddy face, keen-eyed, +hawk-nosed, thin-lipped. + +“Fellow,” questioned the haughty knight, “what hold ye there?” + +“Fellow,” quoth Sir Pertinax, haughty and gruff also, “'t is no matter to +thee!” And speaking, he buttoned the jewel into the wallet at his belt. + +“Fool!” exclaimed the Knight, staring in amaze, “wilt dare name me +'fellow'? Tell me, didst see three foresters hereabout?” + +“Poltroon, I did.” + +“Knave, wilt defy me?” + +“Rogue, I do!” + +“Slave, what did these foresters?” + +“Villain, they ran away!” + +“Ha, varlet! and wherefore?” + +“Caitiff, I drubbed them shrewdly.” + +“Dared ye withstand them, dog?” + +“Minion, I did.” + +“Saw ye not the badge they bore?” demanded the fierce stranger-knight. + +“'T was the like of that upon thy shield!” nodded Sir Pertinax grimly. + +“Know ye who and what I am, dunghill rogue?” + +“No, dog's-breakfast--nor care!” growled Sir Pertinax, whereat the +stranger-knight grew sudden red and clenched mailed fist. + +“Know then, thou kennel-scourer, that I am Sir + +Agramore of Biename, Lord of Swanscote and Hoccom, Lord Seneschal of +Tissingors and the March.” + +“Ha!” quoth Sir Pertinax, scowling. “So do I know thee for a very rogue +ingrain and villain manifest.” + +“How!” roared Sir Agramore. “This to my face, thou vile creeper of ditches, +thou unsavoury tavern-haunter--this in my teeth!” + +“Heartily, heartily!” nodded Sir Pertinax. “And may it choke thee for the +knavish carcass thou art.” + +At this, and very suddenly, the Knight loosed mace from saddle-bow, and +therewith smote Sir Pertinax on rusty bascinet, and tumbled him backward +among the bracken. Which done, Sir Agramore laughed full loud and, spurring +his charger, galloped furiously away. And after some while Sir Pertinax +arose, albeit unsteadily, but finding his legs weak, sat him down again; +thereafter with fumbling hands he did off dinted bascinet and viewed it +thoughtfully, felt his head tenderly and, crawling to the stream, bathed it +solicitously; then, being greatly heartened, he arose and drawing sword, +set it upright in the ling and, kneeling, clasped his hands and spake as +follows: + +“Here and now, upon my good cross-hilt I swear I will with joy and +zeal unremitting, seek me out one Sir Agramore of Biename. Then will I +incontinent with any, all, or whatsoever weapon he chooseth fall upon him +and, for this felon stroke, for his ungentle dealing with the maid, I will +forthwith gore, rend, tear, pierce, batter, bruise and otherwise use the +body of the said Sir Agramore until, growing aweary of its vile tenement, +his viler soul shall flee hence to consume evermore with such unholy knaves +as he. And this is the oath of me, Sir Pertinax, + +“Knight of Shene, Lord of Westover, Framling, Bracton and Deepdene, to the +which oath may the Saints bend gracious ear, in especial Our Holy Lady of +Shene Chapel within the Wood--Amen!” + +Having registered the which most solemn oath, Sir Pertinax arose, sheathed +his sword, and strode blithely towards the fair and prosperous town of +Canalise. But, being come within the gate, he was aware of much riot and +confusion in the square and streets beyond, and hasting forward, beheld a +wild concourse, a pushing, jostling throng of people making great clamour +and outcry, above which hubbub ever and anon rose such shouts, as: +“Murderer! Thief! Away with him! Death to him!” + +By dint of sharp elbow and brawny shoulder our good knight forced himself a +way until--surrounded by men-at-arms, his limbs fast bound, his motley torn +and bloody, his battered fool's-cap all awry--he beheld Duke Jocelyn haled +and dragged along by fierce hands. For a moment Sir Pertinax stood dumb +with horror and amaze, then, roaring, clapped hand to sword. Now, hearing +this fierce and well-known battle shout, Duke Jocelyn turned and, beholding +the Knight, shook bloody head in warning and slowly closed one bright, blue +eye; and so, while Sir Pertinax stood rigid and dumb, was dragged away and +lost in the fierce, jostling throng. + + My daughter GILLIAN propoundeth: + + GILL: Father, when you began this Geste, I thought + It was a poem of a sort. + + MYSELF: A sort, Miss Pert! A sort, indeed? + + GILL: Of course--the sort folks love to read. + But in the last part we have heard + Of poetry there's scarce a word. + + MYSELF: My dear, if you the early Geste-books read, + You'll find that, oft as not, indeed, + The wearied Gestours, when by rhyming stumped, + Into plain prose quite often jumped. + + GILL: But, father, dear, the last part seems to me + All prose--as prosy as can be-- + + MYSELF: Ha, prosy, miss! How, do you then suggest + Our Geste for you lacks interest? + + GILL: Not for a moment, father, though + Sir Pertinax was much too slow. + When fair Melissa “laughing stood,” + He should have kissed--you know he + should--Because, of course, she wished him to. + + MYSELF: Hum! Girl, I wonder if that's true? + + GILL: O father, yes! Of course I'm right, + And you're as slow as your slow knight. + Were you as slow when you were young? + + MYSELF: Hush, madam! Hold that saucy tongue. + You may be sure, in my young days, + I was most dutiful always. + Grown up, I was, it seems to me, + No slower than I ought to be. + And now, miss, since you pine for verse, + Rhyme with my prose I'll intersperse; + And, like a doting father, I + To hold your interest will try. + + + + +FYTTE 5 + + + Which of Duke Joc'lyn's woeful plight doth tell, + And all that chanced him pent in dungeon cell. + + * * * * * + + In gloomy dungeon, scant of air and light, + Duke Joc'lyn lay in sad and woeful plight; + His hands and feet with massy fetters bound, + That clashed, whene'er he moved, with dismal sound; + His back against the clammy wall did rest, + His heavy head was bowed upon his breast, + But, 'neath drawn brows, he watched with wary eye + Three ragged 'wights who, shackled, lay hard by, + Three brawny rogues who, scowling, fiercely eyed him, + And with lewd gibes and mocking gestures plied him. + But Joc'lyn, huddled thus against the wall, + Seemed verily to heed them none at all, + Wherefore a red-haired rogue who thought he slept + With full intent upon him furtive crept. + But, ere he knew, right suddenly he felt + Duke Joc'lyn's battered shoe beneath his belt; + And falling back with sudden strangled cry, + Flat on his back awhile did breathless lie, + Whereat to rage his comrades did begin, + And clashed their fetters with such doleful din + That from a corner dim a fourth man sprang, + And laughed and laughed, until their prison rang. + “Well kicked, Sir Fool! Forsooth, well done!” laughed he, + “Ne'er saw I, Fool, a fool the like o' thee!” + + Now beholding this tall fellow, Jocelyn knew him + for that same forest-rogue had wrestled with him + in the green, and sung for his life the “Song of + Roguery.” Wherefore he smiled on the fellow and + the fellow on him: + + Quoth JOCELYN: I grieve to see + A man like thee + In such a woeful plight-- + + Quoth the ROGUE: A Fool in fetters, + Like his betters, + Is yet a rarer sight. + +“Ha i' the clout, good fellow, for Folly in fetters is Folly in need, and +Folly in need is Folly indeed! But, leaving folly awhile, who art thou and +what thy name?” + + Saith the ROGUE: Robin I'm named, Sir Fool, + Rob by the few, + Which few are right, methinks, for + so I do. + +“Then, Rob, if dost rob thou'rt a robber, and being robber thou'rt +perchance in bonds for robbing, Robin?” + +“Aye, Fool, I, Rob, do rob and have robbed greater robbers that I might +by robbery live to rob like robbers again, as thou, by thy foolish folly, +fooleries make, befooling fools lesser than thou, that thou, Fool, by such +fool-like fooleries may live to fool like fools again!” + + Quoth JOCELYN: Thou robber Rob, + By Hob and Gob, + Though robber-rogue, I swear + That 't is great pity + Rogue so pretty + Must dance upon thin air. + + Quoth ROBIN: Since I must die + On gallows high + And wriggle in a noose, + I'll none repine + Nor weep nor whine, + For where would be the use? + Yet sad am I + That I must die + With rogues so base and small, + Sly coney-catchers, + Poor girdle-snatchers, + That do in kennel crawl. + +“And yet,” said Jocelyn, “thou thyself art rogue and thief confessed. How +then art better than these thy fellows?” + +“By degree, Sir Fool. Even as thou'rt Fool o' folly uncommon, so am I no +ordinary rogue, being rogue o' rare parts with power of rogues i' the wild +wood, while these be but puny rogues of no parts soever.” + +“No rogues are we!” the three did loudly cry, + +“But sad, poor souls, that perishing do lie!” + + “In me,” quoth one, “behold a man of worth, + By trade a dyer and yclepen Gurth; + In all this world no man, howe'er he try, + Could live a life so innocent as I!” + + The second spake: “I am the ploughman Rick, + That ne'er harmed man or woman, maid or chick! + But here in direful dungeon doomed be I, + Yet cannot tell the wherefore nor the why.” + + Then spake Red-head, albeit gasping still: + “An honest tanner I, my name is Will; + 'T was me thou kickedst, Fool, in such ill manner, + Of crimes unjust accused--and I, a tanner!” + Here Joc'lyn smiled. “Most saintly rogues,” said he; + “The Saints, methinks, were rogues compared with ye, + And one must needs in prison come who'd find + The noblest, worthiest, best of all mankind. + Poor, ill-used knaves, to lie in dungeon pent, + Rogues sin-less quite, and eke so innocent, + What though your looks another tale do tell, + Since I'm your fellow, fellows let us dwell, + For if ye're rogues that thus in bonds do lie, + So I'm a rogue since here in bonds am I, + Thus I, a rogue, do hail ye each a brother, + Like brethren, then, we 'll comfort one another.” + +Thus spake Jocelyn, whereafter these “saintly rogues” all three grew +mightily peevish and, withal, gloomy, while Robin laughed and laughed at +them, nodding head and wagging finger. + +“Prithee, good Motley,” he questioned, “what should bring so rare a Fool +to lie in dungeon fettered and gyved along of innocent rogues and roguish +robber?” + + Whereto Duke Jocelyn answered on this wise: + “Hast heard, belike, of Gui the Red?” + (Here went there up a howl) + “A mighty lord of whom't is said, + That few do love and many dread.” + (Here went there up a growl) + + “This potent lord I chanced to view, + Behaving as no lord should do, + And thereupon, this lord I threw + In pretty, plashing pool! + + “Whereon this dreadful lord did get + Exceeding wroth and very wet; + Wherefore in dungeon here I'm set, + For fierce and froward Fool.” + + Here went there up a shout of glee. + Cried Robin: “O sweet Fool, + I would I had been there to see + This haughty lord of high degree + In pretty, plashing pool.” + + Here shout of glee became a roar, + That made the dungeon ring; + They laughed, they rolled upon the floor, + Till suddenly the massy door + On creaking hinge did swing; + And to them the head jailer now appeared, + A sombre man who sighed through tangled beard. + +“How now, rogue-lads,” said he, “grow ye merry in sooth by reason o' this +Fool! Aye me, all men do grow merry save only I, Ranulph, Chief Torturer, +Ranulph o' the Keys, o' the Gibbet, o' the City Axe--poor Ranulph the +Headsman. Good lack! I've cut off the head o' many a man merrier than I-- +aye, that have I, and more's the pity! And now, ye that are to die so soon +can wax joyous along o' this motley Fool! Why, 't is a manifest good Fool, +and rare singer o' songs, 't is said, though malapert, with no respect for +his betters and over-quick at dagger-play. So 't is a Fool must die and +sing no more, and there's the pity on't for I do love a song, I--being a +companionable soul and jovial withal, aye, a very bawcock of a boy, I. +To-morrow Red Gui doth hale ye to his Castle o' the Rock, there to die all +five for his good pleasure, as is very fitting and proper, so be merry +whiles ye may. Meantime, behold here another rogue, a youngling imp. So is +five become six, and six may laugh louder than five, methinks, so laugh +your best.” + +Then Ranulph o' the Keys sighed, closed the great door and went his way, +leaving the new captive to their mercies. Fair he was and slender, and of +a timid seeming, for now he crouched against the wall, his face hid 'neath +the hood of ragged mantle; wherefore the “saintly” three incontinent +scowled upon him, roared at him and made a horrid clashing with their +fetters: + +“Ha, blood and bones!” cried Rick the Ploughman. “What murderous babe art +thou to go unshackled in presence o' thy betters?” + +“Aye, forsooth,” growled Will the Tanner, “who 'rt thou to come hither +distressing the last hours o' we poor, perishing mortals? Discourse, lest I +bite the heart o' thee!” + +“Pronounce, imp!” roared Gurth the Dyer, “lest I tear thy liver!” + +“Sit ye, here beside me, youth,” said Jocelyn, “and presently thou shalt +know these tearers of livers and biters of hearts for lambs of innocence +and doves of gentleness--by their own confessions. For, remark now, gentle +boy, all we are prisoners and therefore guiltless of every offence--indeed, +where is the prisoner, but who, according to himself, is not more sinned +against than sinner, and where the convicted rogue but, with his tongue, +shall disprove all men's testimony? So here sit three guileless men, +spotless of soul and beyond all thought innocent of every sin soever. +Yonder is Rob, a robber, and here sit I, a Fool.” + +“Ha!” cried Rick. “Yet murderous Fool art thou and apt to dagger-play! +Belike hast slain a man this day in way o' folly--ha?” + +“Two!” answered Jocelyn, nodding. “These two had been more but that my +dagger brake.” + +Here was silence awhile what time Jocelyn hummed the line of a song and his +companions eyed him with looks askance. + +“Why then, good Folly,” said Rick at last, “'t is for a little spilling o' +blood art here, a little, pretty business o' murder--ha?” + +“'T is so they name it,” answered Jocelyn. + +“Bones o' me!” growled Will, “I do begin to love this Fool.” + +“And didst pronounce thyself our brother, Fool?” questioned Gurth. + +“Aye, verily!” + +“Then brethren let us be henceforth, and comrades to boot!” cried Rick. +“Jolly Clerks o' Saint Nicholas to share and share alike--ha? So then 't is +accorded. And now what o' yon lily-livered imp? 'T is a sickly youth and +I love him not. But he hath a cloak, look'ee--a cloak forsooth and poor +Rick's a-cold! Ho, lad--throw me thy cloak!” + +“Beshrew me!” roared Gurth. “But he beareth belt and wallet! Ha, boy, give +thy wallet and girdle--bestow!” + +“And by sweet Saint Nick,” growled Will, “the dainty youngling disporteth +himself to mine eyes in a gold finger-ring! Aha, boy! Give now thy trinket +unto an honest tanner.” + +Hereupon and with one accord up started the three, fierce-eyed; but +Jocelyn, laughing, rose up also. + +“Back, corpses!” quoth he, swinging the heavy fetters to and fro between +shackled wrists. “Stand, good Masters Dry-bones; of what avail cloak, or +wallet, or ring to ye that are dead men? Now, since corpses ye are +insomuch as concerneth this world, be ye reasonable and kindly corpses. +Sit ye then, Masters Dust-and-Ashes, and I will incontinent sing ye, chant +or intone ye a little song of organs and graves and the gallows-tree +whereon we must dance anon; as, hearken: + + “Sing a song of corpses three + That ere long shall dancing be, + On the merry gallows-tree-- + High and low, + To and fro, + Leaping, skipping, + Turning, tripping, + Wriggling, whirling, + Twisting, twirling: + Sing hey for the gallows-tree.” + +“Stint--stint thy beastly song now!” cried Will, pale of cheek. But Jocelyn +sang the louder: + + “Sing a song of dying groans, + Sing a song of cries and moans, + Sing a song of dead men's bones, + That shall rest, + All unblest, + To rot and rot, + Remembered not, + For dogs to gnaw + And battle for, + Sing hey for the dead rogue's bones.” + +“Abate--ha--abate thy fiendish rant!” cried Rick, glancing fearfully over +shoulder. + +“Aye, Fool--beseech thee! Fair flesh may not abide it!” cried Gurth, +shivering, while Robin grinned no more and the fearful youth leaned +wide-eyed to behold the singer, this strange, scarred face beneath its +battered cock's-comb, these joyous eyes, these smiling lips as Jocelyn +continued: + + “Now ends my song with ghosts forlorn, + Three gibbering ghosts that mope and mourn, + Then shrieking, flee at breath of dawn, + Where creatures fell + In torment dwell, + Blind things and foul, + That creep and howl, + That rend and bite + And claw and fight. + Where fires red-hot + Consume them not, + And they in anguish + Writhe and languish + And groan in pain + For night again. + Sing hey for pale ghosts forlorn.” + +Now when the song was ended, the three looked dismally on one another and, +bethinking them of their cruel end, they groaned and sighed lamentably: + +My daughter GILLIAN interposeth: + + GILL: Father, I like that song, it's fine; + But let me ask about this line: + “Blind things and foul, + That creep and howl.” + Now tell me, please, if you don't mind, + Why were the little horrors blind? + + MYSELF: The beastly things, as I surmise, + Had scratched out one another's eyes. + + GILL: + I suppose this place where creatures fell + In torments dwell is meant for-- + + MYSELF: + Well, + I think, my Gill, the place you've guessed, + So let me get on with our Geste. + +... they groaned and sighed lamentably-- + +My daughter GILLIAN interjecteth: + + GILL: Father--now don't get in a huff-- + But don't you think they've groaned enough? + + MYSELF: My Gillian--no! Leave well alone; + This is the place for them to groan. + + Lamentably they did together moan, + And uttered each full many a hollow groan. + + My daughter GILLIAN interposeth: + + GILL: But, father, groans are so distressing, + And groans in verse are most depressing-- + + MYSELF: + Then peace, child, and in common prose + I'll let the poor rogues vent their woes: + +... they groaned and they sighed lamentably-- + + My daughter GILLIAN interrupteth: + + GILL: What, father, are they groaning still? + + MYSELF: + Of course they are, and so they will, + And so shall I; so, girl, take heed, + And cease their groaning to impede. + Is it agreed? + + GILL: Oh, yes, indeed! + + MYSELF: Then with our Geste I will proceed. + +... they groaned and sighed lamentably. + +“Alack!” cried Gurth, “I had not greatly minded till now, but this +vile-tongued Fool hath stirred Fear to wakefulness within me. Here's me, +scarce thirty turned, hale and hearty, yet must die woefully and with a +maid as do love me grievously!” + +“And me!” groaned Rick. “No more than twenty and five, I--a very lad--and +with two maids as do languish for me fain and fond!” + +“Ha, and what o' me?” mourned dismal, redheaded Will. “A lusty, proper +fellow I be and wi' maids a score as do sigh continual. And me to die--O +woe! And I a tanner!” + +“Content ye, brothers!” said Jocelyn. “Look now, here's Gurth hath lived +but thirty years, and now must die--good: so shall he die weighted with +less of sin than had he lived thirty more. Be ye comforted in this, +distressful rogues, the shorter our life the less we sin, the which is a +fair, good thing. As for these shackles, though our bodies be 'prisoned our +souls go free, thus, while we languish here, our souls astride a sunbeam +may mount aloft, 'bove all pains and tribulations soever. Thus if we must +dance together in noose, our souls, I say, escaping these fleshy bonds, +shall wing away to freedom everlasting. Bethink ye of this, grievous +knaves, and take heart. Regarding the which same truths I will, for thy +greater comforting, incontinent make ye a song--hearken! + + “Let Folly sing a song to cheer + All poor rogues that languish here, + Doomed in dismal dungeon drear, + Doomed in dungeon dim. + + “Though flesh full soon beneath the sod + Doth perish and decay, + Though cherished body is but clod, + Yet in his soul man is a God, + To do and live alway. + So hence with gloom and banish fear, + Come Mirth and Jollity, + Since, though we pine in dungeon drear, + Though these, our bodies, languish here, + We in our minds go free.” + +Thus cheerily sang Jocelyn until, chancing to see how the youth leaned +forward great-eyed, watching as he sung, he broke off to question him +blithely: + +“How now, good youth, hast a leaning to Folly e'en though Folly go +fettered, and thyself in dungeon?” + +“Fool,” answered the youth, soft-voiced, “me-thinks 't is strange Folly can +sing thus in chains! Hast thou no fear of death?” + +“Why truly I love it no more than my fellow-fools. But I, being fool +uncommon, am wise enough to know that Death, howsoe'er he come, may come +but once--and there's a comfortable thought!” + +So saying, Jocelyn seated himself beside the youth and watched him +keen-eyed. + +“And thou canst sing of Freedom, Fool, to the jangle of thy fetters?” + +“Truly, youth, 't is but my baser part lieth shackled, thus while body +pineth here, soul walketh i' the kindly sun--aye, e'en now as I do gaze on +thee, I, in my thought, do stand in a fair garden--beside a lily-pool, +where she I love cometh shy-footed to meet me, tall and gracious and sweet, +as her flowers. A dream, belike, yet in this dream she looketh on me with +eyes of love and love is on her lips and in her heart--so is my dream very +precious.” + +At this, the youth shrank beneath his cloak while in an adjacent corner the +three rolled dice with Robin and quarrelled hoarse and loud. + +“Youth,” said Jocelyn, “I pray thee, tell me thy name.” + +Without lifting head the youth answered: + +“Hugo!” + +“Look up, Hugo!” But Hugo bowed his head the lower. + +“Hast wondrous hair, Hugo--red gold 'neath thy hood!” + +Here came a slim, white hand to order the rebellious tress but, finding +none, trembled and hid itself. Then very suddenly Jocelyn leaned near and +caught this hand, clasping it fast yet with fingers very gentle, and spake +quick and eager: + +“Hugo--alas, Hugo! What bringeth thee in this evil place? Art in danger? +Speak, speak!” + +“Nay, here is no harm for me, Joconde. And I am hither come for sake of a +poor Fool that is braver than the bravest--one did jeopardise his foolish +life for sake of a maid, wherefore I, Hugo, do give him life. Take now this +wallet, within is good store of gold and better--a potent charm to close +all watchful eyes. Hist, Joconde, and mark me well! Ranulph o' the Axe is +a mighty drinker--to-night, drawn by fame of thy wit, he cometh with his +fellows. This money shall buy them wine, in the wine cast this powder so +shall they sleep and thou go free.” + +“Aye!” said Jocelyn, “and then?” + +“There will meet thee a dwarf shall free thee of thy fetters, and by secret +ways set thee without the city--then, tarry not, but flee for thy life--” + +“Now by the Holy Rood!” quoth Jocelyn softly, “never in all this world was +there prisoner so happy as this poor Fool! But, Hugo, an I win free by +reason of a brave and noble lady, so long as she bide in Canalise, so long +must I--” + + My daughter GILLIAN interposeth: + + GILL: O, father, now I understand-- + Of course, this Hugo is Yolande! + + MYSELF: Exactly, miss, the fact is clear; + But how on earth did she get here? + I don't want her here-- + + GILL: Why not? + + MYSELF: Because, being here, she spoils my plot, + Which would drive any author frantic-- + + GILL: I think it's fine, and most romantic. + Besides, you know, you wrote her there-- + + MYSELF: She came--before I was aware-- + + GILL: She couldn't, father, for just think, + You've made her all of pen and ink. + So you, of course, can make her do + Exactly as you want her to. + + MYSELF: Dear innocent! You little know + The trials poor authors undergo. + How heroines, when they break loose, + Are apt to play the very deuce, + Dragging their authors to and fro, + And where he wills--they will not go. + + GILL: Well, since she's here, please let her be, + She wants to set Duke Joc'lyn free. + + MYSELF: Enough--enough, my plans are made, + I'll set him free without her aid, + And in a manner, I apprise you, + As will, I fancy, quite surprise you. + Besides, a dungeon no fit place is + For a dainty lady's graces. + So, since she's in, 't is very plain + I now must get her out again. +“To bide in Canalise, 't is folly!” cried Hugo. “O, 't were a madness fond!” + +“Aye,” sighed Jocelyn, “some do call love a madness--thus mad am I, +forsooth!” + +“Hush!” whispered Hugo, as from without came the tramp of heavy feet. +“Fare-thee-well and--ah, be not mad, Joconde!” + +The door creaked open, and six soldiers entered bringing a prisoner, +chained and fettered, and therewith fast bound and gagged, whom they set +ungently upon the stone floor; then straightway seizing upon Robin, they +haled him to his feet. + +“Come, rogue,” said one, “thou art to hang at cockcrow!” + +“Is't so, good fellows?” quoth Robin, + + “Then cock be curst + That croweth first! + +As for thee, good Motley, peradventure when, by hangman's noose, our souls +enfranchised go, they shall company together, thine and mine! Till then +--farewell, Folly!” + +So Robin was led forth of the dungeon and the heavy door crashed shut; but +when Jocelyn looked for Hugo--lo! he was gone also. + +Evening was come and the light began to fail, therefore Jocelyn crouched +beneath the narrow loophole and taking from his bosom the wallet, found +therein good store of money together with the charm or philtre: and bowing +his head above this little wallet, he fell to profound meditation. + +But presently, roused by hoarse laughter, he glanced up to find the three +plaguing the helpless prisoner with sundry kicks and buffets; so Jocelyn +crossed the dungeon, and putting the tormentors aside, stood amazed to +behold in this latest captive none other than Sir Pertinax. Straightway he +loosed off the gag, whereupon the good knight incontinent swore a gasping +oath and prayed his limbs might be loosed also; the which done, he +forthwith sprang up, and falling on the astonished three, he beat and +clouted them with fist and manacles, and drave them to and fro about the +dungeon. + +“Ha, dogs! Wilt spurn me with they vile feet, buffet me with thy beastly +hands, forsooth!” roared he and kicked and cuffed them so that they, +thinking him mad, cried aloud in fear until Sir Pertinax, growing a-weary, +seated himself against the wall, and folding his arms, scowled indignant +upon Jocelyn who greeted him merrily: + +“Hail and greeting to thee, my Pertinax; thy gloomy visage is a joy!” + +Sir Pertinax snorted, but spake not; wherefore the Duke questioned him full +blithe: “What fair, good wind hath blown thee dungeon-wards, sweet soul?” + +“Ha!” quoth the knight. “Fetters, see'st thou, a dungeon, and these foul +knaves for company--the which cometh of thy fool's folly, messire! So +prithee ha' done with it!” + +“Stay, gentle gossip, thou'rt foolish, methinks; thou frettest 'gainst +fate, thou kickest unwisely 'gainst the pricks, thou ragest pitifully +'gainst circumstance--in fine, thou'rt a very Pertinax, my Pertinax!” + +“Aye troth, that am I and no dog to lie thus chained in noisome pit, par +Dex! So let us out, messire, and that incontinent!” + +“Why here is a bright thought, sweet lad, let us out forthwith--but how?” + +“Summon the town-reeve, messire, the burgesses, the council, declare thy +rank, so shall we go free--none shall dare hold thus a prince of thy +exalted state and potent might! Declare thyself, lord.” + +“This were simple matter, Pertinax, but shall they believe us other than we +seem, think ye?” + +Quoth Pertinax: “We can try!” + +“Verily,” said Jocelyn, “this very moment!” So saying, he turned to the +three who sat in a corner muttering together. + +“Good brothers, gentle rogues,” said he, “behold and regard well this +sturdy cut-throat fellow that sitteth beside me, big of body, unseemly of +habit, fierce and unlovely of look--one to yield the wall unto, see ye! And +yet--now heed me well, this fellow, ragged and unkempt, this ill-looking +haunter of bye-ways, this furtive snatcher of purses (hold thy peace, +Pertinax!). I say this unsavoury-seeming clapper-claw is yet neither one +nor other, but a goodly knight, famous in battle, joust and tourney, a +potent lord of noble heritage, known to the world as Sir Pertinax of Shene +Castle and divers rich manors and demesnes. Furthermore, I that do seem a +sorry jesting-fellow, I that in antic habit go, that cut ye capers with +ass's ears a-dangle and languish here your fellow in bonds, am yet no +antic, no poor, motley Fool, but a duke and lord of many fair towns +and rich cities beyond Morfeville and the Southward March. How say ye, +brothers?” + +“That thou'rt a fool!” quoth Rick. + +“True!” nodded Jocelyn. + +“Most true!” sighed Sir Pertinax. + +“And a liar!” growled Gurth. + +“And a murderous rogue!” cried Will, “and shall hang, along of us--as I'm a +tanner!” + +“Alack, Sir Knight,” smiled Jocelyn, “of what avail rank or fame or both +'gainst a motley habit and a ragged mantle. Thus, Pertinax, thou art +no more than what thou seemest, to wit--a poor, fierce rogue, and I, a +beggarly stroller.” + +“And like to have our necks stretched, lord, by reason of a fond and +foolish whim!” + +“Unless, Pertinax, having naught to depend on but our native wit we, by our +wit, win free. Other poor rogues in like case have broke prison ere now, +and 'tis pity and shame in us if thou, a knight so potent and high-born, +and I, a prince, may not do the like.” + +“Messire, unlearned am I in the breaking o' prisons so when my time cometh +to die in a noose I can but die as knight should--though I had rather 't +were in honest fight.” + +“Spoken like the very fool of a knight!” quoth Jocelyn. “So now will I +show thee how by the wit of a brave and noble lady we may yet 'scape the +hangman. Hearken in thine ear!” + +But, when Jocelyn had told him all and shown money and sleeping-charm, Sir +Pertinax grew thoughtful, sighing deep and oft, yet speaking not, wherefore +the Duke questioned him. + +“Good gossip, gasp not!” quoth he. “How think'st thou of prison-breaking +now--expound!” + + “Why, sir, I think when all do charmed and spellbound + snore, + Then will we shrewdly choke them that they wake + no more!” + +“Nay, Pertinax, here shall be no need of choking, forsooth!” Sir Pertinax +bowed chin on fist and sighed again. + +“Pertinax, prithee puff not! Yet, an puff ye will, pronounce me then the +why and wherefore of thy puffing.” + +“Lord, here is neither gasp nor puff, here is honest sighing. I can sigh as +well as another.” + +“Since when hast learned this so tender art, my Pertinax?” + +“And I do sigh by reason of memory.” + +“As what, Pertinax?” + +“Eyes, lord--her eyes so darkly bright and, as I do think--black!” + +“Nay, blue, Pertinax--blue as heaven!” + +“Black, messire, black as--as black!” + +“Blue, boy, blue!” + +“Lord, they are black!” + +“Speak'st thou of Yolande?” + +“Messire, of one I speak, but whom, I know not. She came to me i' the +greenwood as I sat a-fishing. Her hair long and black--ay, black and +curled, her eyes dark, and for beauty ne'er saw I her like.” + +“And yet hast seen my Lady Yolande oft!” + +“Her voice, messire, her voice soft and sweet as the murmur of waters, and +very full of allure.” + +“Why, how now!” cried Jocelyn. “Art thou--thou, my Pertinax, become +at last one of Cupid's humble following? All joy to thee, my lovely +lover--here in truth is added bond betwixt us! For since thou dost love a +maid, even as I do love a maid, so being lovers twain needs must we love +each other the better therefore.” + +“Nay, out alack, my lord!” sighed Sir Pertinax. “For though I do love her, +she, by reason o' my ill-favoured looks, the which, woe's me, I may not +alter, loveth not me, as I do judge.” + +“How judge ye this?” + +“Lord, she giveth me hard names. She, all in a breath, hath pictured me +thus: 'Hooked of nose, fierce-eyed, of aspect grim--ungentle, unlovely, +harsh o' tongue, dour o' visage, hard o' heart, flinty o' soul and of +manners rude.'” + +“Good! But was this all, my Pertinax?” + +“Nay, lord, and with a wannion--there was more to like purpose.” + +“Excellent, my lovely knight--let hope sing in thee. For look now, if she +named thee hooked of nose, fierce-eyed and of aspect grim--she speaketh +very truth, for so thou art, my Pertinax. Now truth is a fair virtue in man +or maid, so is she both virtuous and fair! Nay, puff not, sighful Pertinax, +but for thy comforting mark this--she hath viewed and heeded thy outward +man narrowly--so shall she not forget thee soon; she with woman's eye hath +marked the great heart of thee through sorry habit and rusty mail, and +found therein the love thy harsh tongue might not utter; and thus, +methinks, she hath thee in mind--aye, even now, mayhap. Lastly, good, +lovely blunderbore--mark this! 'Tis better to win a maid's anger than she +should heed thee none at all. Let love carol i' thy heart and be ye worthy, +so, when ye shall meet again, 'tis like enough, despite thy hooked nose, +she shall find thine eyes gentle, thy unloveliness lovely, thy harsh tongue +wondrous tender and thy flinty soul the soul of a man.” + +“Why, faith, lord,” quoth Pertinax, his grim lips softening to a smile, +“despite her words, she spake in voice full sweet, and her eyes--ah, +messire, her eyes were wondrous kind--gentle eyes--aye, her eyes were--” + +“Eyes, my Pertinax--black eyes!” + +“And gentle! By which same token, lord, she did give to me this token--this +most strange trinket.” + +But all at once, was the creak of hinges, and the ponderous door opening, +Ranulph o' the Axe appeared, followed by divers of the warders bearing +torches. + +“Oho!” sighed Ranulph, doleful of visage. “Aha, good bawcocks, here come +I, and these my fellows, for love o' thee, good Fool, thy quips, thy +quirks, thy songs and antics capersome. For troth I'm a merry dog, I--a +wanton wag, a bully boy and jovial, though woeful o' look!” + +“Wherefore woeful!” + +“For that I am not joyous, good Motley. Look 'ee--here's me born with a +rare, merry heart, but sad and sober of head! Here's a heart bubbling with +kindliness and soft and tender as sucking lamb, wedded to head and face +full o' gloom! Here's laughter within me and woe without me, so am I ever +at odds with myself--and there's my sorrow. Regarding the which same I will +now chaunt ye song I made on myself; 'twas meant for merry song and blithe, +but of itself turned mournful song anon as ye shall hear.” + +So saying, Ranulph o' the Axe threw back grim head and sang gruff, albeit +plaintive, thus: + + “O! merry I am and right merry I'll be, + Ho-ho for block, gibbet and rack--oho! + To hang or behead ye there's none like to me, + For I'm headsman, tormentor, and hangman, all three, + And never for work do I lack--oho! + + “I live but to torture since torment's my trade, + But my torment well meant is, I trow; + If I hang or behead ye, it can't be gainsaid, + Though my head for the head of a headsman was made, + Still I'm all loving-kindness below. + + “But if ever I strive merry story to tell, + Full of japeful and humorsome graces, + 'T is as though I were tolling a funeral bell + As if dismally, dolefully tolling a knell, + So solemn and sad grow all faces. + + “I hang, burn and torture the best that I may, + Ho pincers and thumbscrews and rack--oho! + And all heads I cut off in a headsmanlike way; + So I'll hang, burn and torment 'till cometh the day + That my kind heart within me shall crack--oho! + Well-a-wey! Well-a-wey! + Woe is me for the day + That my poor heart inside me shall crack! Oho! + +“So there's my song! 'T is dull song and, striving to be merry song, is sad +song, yet might be worse song, for I have heard a worse song, ere now--but +'t is poor song. So come, Fool, do thou sing us merry song to cheer us +'gainst my sad song.” + +“Why truly, Sir Headsman,” said Jocelyn, “here be songs a-many, yet if thou +'rt for songs, songs will we sing thee, each and every of us. But first, +behold here is money shall buy us wine in plenty that we may grow merry +withal in very sooth.” + +“Oho!” cried Ranulph. “Spoken like a noble Motley, a fair, sweet Fool! Go +thou, Bertram, obey this lord-like Fool--bring wine, good wine and much, +and haste thee, for night draweth on and at cock-crow I must away.” + +“Aye,” nodded Jocelyn, “in the matter of one--Robin?” + +“Verily, Fool. A cheery soul is Robin, though an outlaw, and well beloved +in Canalise. So is he to hang at cock-crow lest folk make disturbance.” + +“Where lieth he now?” + +“Where but in the watch-house beside the gallows 'neath Black Lewin's +charge. But come, good Motley, sing--a pretty song, a merry ditty, ha!” + +So forthwith Jocelyn took his lute and sang: + + “With dainty ditty + Quaint and pretty + I will fit ye, + So heed and mark me well, + And who we be + That here ye see + Now unto ye + Explicit I will tell: + + “Then here first behold one Gurth, a worthy, dying + Dyer, + Since he by dyeing liveth, so to dye is his desire: + For being thus a very Dyer, he liveth but to dye, + And dyeing daily he doth all his daily wants + supply. + Full often hath he dyed ere now to earn his + daily bread, + Thus, dyeing not, this worthy Dyer must soon, + alas! be dead. + + “Here's Rick--a saintly ploughman, he + Hath guided plough so well, + That here, with rogues the like of me, + He pines in dungeon cell. + + “Here's Red-haired Will--O fie! + That Will should fettered lie + In such base, cruel manner! + For though his hair be red, + Brave Will, when all is said, + Is--hark 'ee--Will's a tanner!” + +“Enough, Fool!” cried Will. “An thou must sing, sing of thyself, for +thyself, to thyself, and I will sing of myself an' need be!” + +Laughed JOCELYN: + + Why then, brave Will, + Come, sing thy fill. + +Whereupon Will cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and rumbling a +note or so to fix the key, burst into songful roar: + + “A tanner I, a lusty man, + A tanner men call Will, + And being tanner true, I tan, + Would I were tanning still; + Ho derry, derry down, + Hey derry down, + Would I were tanning still.” + +“Aye, verily!” growled Sir Pertinax. “And choked in thy vile tan-pit, for +scurvier song was never heard, par Dex!” + +“Why 'tis heard, forsooth,” said Jocelyn, “and might be heard a mile hence! +Chant on, brave Will.” + +The Tanner, nothing loth, wiped his mouth, clenched his fists and standing +square and rigid, continued: + + “How gaily I a-tanning went, + No tanner blithe as I, + No tanner e'er so innocent, + Though here in chains I lie. + Ho derry down, + Hey derry down, + In grievous chains I lie. + + “No more, alack, poor Will will tan, + Since Will will, all unwilling, + Though tanner he and proper man, + A gloomy grave be filling. + Hey derry down, + Ho derry down, + A gloomy grave be filling.” + +“Now out upon thee, Tanner!” sighed Ranulph. “Here's sad song, a song o' +graves, and therefore most unlovely, a song I--Saints and Angels!” he +gasped: + + And pointed where Sir Pertinax did stand, + The Heart of Crystal shining in his hand. + “The Heart-in-Heart! The Crystal Heart!” cried he, + And crying thus, sank down on bended knee, + While jailers all and scurvy knaves, pell-mell, + Betook them to their marrow-bones as well; + Whereat Sir Pertinax oped wond'ring eyes, + And questioned him 'twixt anger and surprise. + Then answered Ranulph, “Sir, though chained ye go, + Yet to thee we do all obedience owe + By reason of that sacred amulet, + That crystal heart in heart of crystal set: + + 'For he that holdeth Crystal Heart + Holdeth all and every part, + And by night or eke by day + The Heart-in-Heart all must obey!”' + + “Obey?” quoth Pertinax. “Ha! Let us see + If in thy vaunt there aught of virtue be: + For by this Heart of Crystal that I bear, + I charge ye loose the chains the Fool doth wear, + Then off with these accursèd gyves of mine, + Or--” + + Ranulph to the warders gave a sign, + And they to work did go with such good speed, + That Joc'lyn soon with Pertinax stood freed, + “Now by my halidome!” quoth Pertinax, + “This talisman methinks no magic lacks, + So knaves, I bid ye--by this magic Heart, + Draw bolt and bar that hence we may depart--” + But now the scurvy knaves made dismal cry. + “Good sir!” they wailed, “Ah, leave us not to die!” + “Aye, by Heav'n's light!” fierce quoth Sir Pertinax, + “Ye're better dead by gibbet or by axe, + Since naught but scurvy, coward rogues are ye, + And so be hanged--be hanged to ye, all three!” + + “Knight!” Joc'lyn sighed, “'neath Heaven's light + somewhere + Doth live a dark-eyed maid with black-curled hair-- + Her voice is soft and full of sweet allure, + And thou, perchance, one day may humbly woo her; + So these poor rogues now woo their lives of thee, + Show mercy then and mercy find of she.” + + At this Sir Pertinax rubbed chin and frowned, + Red grew his cheek, his fierce eyes sought the ground, + Then, even as he thus pinched chin and scowled, + “Loose, then, the dismal knaves!” at last he + growled. + But now grim Ranulph tangled beard tore + And wrung his hands and sighed and groaned and + swore + With loud complaints and woeful lamentations, + With muttered oaths and murmured objurgations, + With curses dire and impious imprecations. + +“Beshrew me, masters all!” quoth he. “Now here's ill prank to play a poor +hangman, may I ne'er quaff good liquor more, let me languish o' the +quartern ague and die o' the doleful dumps if I ever saw the like o' this! +For look 'ee now, if I set these three rogues free, how may I hang 'em as +hang 'em I must, since I by hanging live to hang again, and if I don't +hang 'em whom shall I hang since hang I must, I being hangman? Bethink ye +o' this, sirs, and show a little pity to a poor hangman.” + +“Why then, mark ye this, hangman,” said Jocelyn, “since on hanging doth thy +hangman's reputation hang, then hang thou must; therefore, an ye lack rogue +to hang, go hang thyself, so, hanging, shall thy hanging be done with and +thou having lived a hangman, hangman die, thus, hangman hanging hangman, +hangman hanging shall be hangman still, and being still, thus hanging, +shall hang no more.” + +“Aye, verily!” quoth Sir Pertinax, “there it is in a nutshell--hangman, be +hanged to thee! So off with their fetters, Master Gallows, by Crystal Heart +I charge thee!” + +Hereupon the scurvy knaves were freed, to their great joy, and following +the bold knight, made haste to quit their gloomy dungeon. Reaching the +guardroom above, Sir Pertinax called lustily for sword and bascinet, and +thereafter chose divers likely weapons for his companions who, with axe and +pike and guisarme on shoulder, followed him out into the free air. + +Now it was night and very dark, but Gurth, who was a man of the town, +brought them by dim and lonely alleys and crooked ways until at last they +halted within a certain dark and narrow street. + +“Whither now?” questioned Sir Pertinax. + +“Verily,” said Jocelyn, “where but to the gatehouse--” + +“Not so,” muttered Gurth, “'tis overly well guarded--” + +“Aye,” growled Will, “which is true, as I'm a tanner!” + +“Howbeit,” said Jocelyn, “I'm for the gatehouse!” + +“And wherefore?” demanded Sir Pertinax. + +“In cause of one Rob, a robber.” + +“Aye, but,” said Gurth, “he is to hang at crow-o'-cock and 'tis nigh +cock-crow now.” + +“The more need for haste,” said Jocelyn. + + But, even now, as they together spoke, + A sullen tramp the sleeping echoes woke, + Behind them in the gloom dim forms they saw, + While others grimly barred the way before; + And so, by reason that they could not fly, + They grasped their weapons and prepared to die. + Then in the darkness of that narrow street, + Broad axe and pike and flashing sword did meet. + Duke Jocelyn full many a thrust drave home, + Till whirling pike-staff smote him on cock's-comb, + And staggering back to an adjacent wall, + In deep-sunk doorway groaning he did fall. + +My daughter GILLIAN remonstrateth: + + GILL: Now, father, please don't let him die-- + + MYSELF: No, no, indeed, my Gill, not I, + My heroes take a lot of killing-- + + GILL: Then go on quick, it's very thrilling! + I hope he vanquishes his foes, + And let him do it, please, in prose. + +“O woe!” said a quavering voice. “Alack, and well-a-wey--” + +My daughter GILLIAN demurreth: + + GILL: No, father--that's not right at all. + You'd got to where you'd made him fall. + + MYSELF: Well, then, Duke Joc'lyn, from his swoon awaking, + Found that his head confoundedly was aching; + Found he was bruised all down from top to toe-- + + GILL: A bruise, father, and he a duke? No, no! + Besides, you make + A frightful mistake-- + A hero's head should never ache; + And, father, now, whoever knew + A hero beaten black and blue? + And then a bruise, it seems to me, + Is unromantic as can be. + He can't be bruised, + And shan't be bruised, + For, if you bruise him, + And ill-use him, + I'll refuse him-- + No reader, I am sure, would choose + A hero any one can bruise. + So, father, if you want him read, + Don't bruise him, please-- + + MYSELF: Enough is said! + +At this, Jocelyn sat up and wondered to find himself in a small chamber +dim-lit by a smoking cresset. On one side of him leaned an ancient woman, +a very hag-like dame + + With long, sharp nose that downward curved as though + It fain would, beak-like, peck sharp chin below; + +and upon his other side a young damsel of a wondrous dark beauty. + +“Lady,” said he, “where am I?” + +“Hush, poor Motley!” whispered the maid. “Thou didst fall 'gainst the door +yonder. But speak low, they that seek thy life may yet be nigh.” + +“Nay, then,” quoth Jocelyn, reaching for his sword, “I must out and aid my +comrades.” + +“Alack!” sighed the old woman. “Thy comrades do without lie all slain save +one that groaneth--hearken!” + +“O, woe!” mourned a quavering voice beyond the door. “O, woe, sore hurted I +be, and like to die--and I a tanner!” + +Very heedfully, Jocelyn unbarred the door, and peering into the narrow +street, found it deserted and empty save for certain outstretched forms +that stirred not; looking down on these dim shapes he knew one for Rick the +Ploughman, whose ploughing days were sped and, huddled in a corner hard by, +he found Will the Tanner, who groaned fitfully; but of Sir Pertinax and +Gurth he saw nothing. So Jocelyn made shift to bear the Tanner within the +house, and here Will, finding his hurts of small account, sat up, and while +the wise old woman bandaged his wound, answered Jocelyn's eager questions, +and told how Sir Pertinax and Gurth the Dyer had broken through their +assailants and made good their escape. + +Now, when the old woman had thus cherished their hurts, Jocelyn would +fain have given her money, but she mumbled and mowed and cracked her +finger-joints and shook grey head. + +“Not so, good Fool!” she croaked, “for I do know thee for that same gentle +Motley did save me from Black Lewin--a murrain seize him! So now will I +save thee--behold!” So saying she set bony hand to wall; and lo! in the +wall yawned a square opening narrow and dark, whence issued a cold wind. +“Begone, thou brave merryman!” quoth she. “Yonder safety lieth; this +darksome way shall carry thee out beneath the city wall!” + +“Gramercy, thou kindly Witch!” said Jocelyn. “Yet first must I to the +watch-house beside the gate for one Robin that lieth 'prisoned there.” + +“How, Fool, dost mean Robin-a-Green that is to hang?” + +“In truth!” + +“But Rob o' the Green is outlawed, banned o' Church, a very rogue!” + +“But a man, wherefore I would save him alive.” + +“Nay, Fool, o' thy folly be wise and seek ye safety instead. Would'st peril +thy body for a thief?” + +“Verily, dame, even as I did for a Witch.” + +Now, here the old woman scowled and mumbled and cracked her finger-bones +angrily. But the beauteous young maid viewed Jocelyn with bright, approving +eyes: + +“But, Fool,” cried she, “O wondrous Fool, wilt adventure thyself in cause +so desperate?” + +“Blithely, fair lady!” + +“But, alas! the guards be many and thou but one--” + +“Nay!” cried a voice: + + “For thou may'st see + That two are we!” + +And forth of the dark opening in the wall strode Lobkyn Lollo the Dwarf, +his great, spiked club on brawny shoulder. Jocelyn viewed the monstrous +little man in awed wonder; but beholding his mighty girth and determined +aspect, wonder changed to kindliness; quoth he: + +“Fair greeting, comrade! If thou'rt for a little bickering and disputation +with that goodly club o' thine, come thy ways for methinks I do smell the +dawn.” + +“Aha, thou naughty little one!” cried the Witch, shaking bony fist. “Art +for fighting for rogue's life along of a Fool, then?” + +Quoth LOBKYN: + + Aye, grannam, though ye slap me, still, + Fight and aid this Fool I will-- + +“And talking o' Will,” quoth Will, “what o' me, for though I'm a tanner I'm +a man, aye, verily, as I'm a tanner.” + +“And methinks a better man than tanner!” said Jocelyn. “So here we stand +three goodly wights and well armed. Let's away--” + +“Nay, then, wild Madcap,” croaked the Witch, “an my Lobkyn go I go, and, +though I be old and feeble, shalt find my craft more potent than sword or +club--wait!” + +Here the old woman, opening a dingy cupboard, took thence a small crock +over which she muttered spells and incantations with look and gesture so +evil that Lobkyn eyed her askance, Will the Tanner cowered and whispered +fragments of prayers, and even Jocelyn crossed himself. + +“Come!” croaked the Witch. “Now do I go to save rogue from gallows for sake +of thee, tall Fool. Come ye, come and do as I bid ye in all things--come!” + + + + +FYTTE 6 + + Tells how for Robin a good fight was fought + And our old Witch a spell mysterious wrought. + + * * * * * + + Phoebus, the young and gladsome god of day, + His fiery steeds had yoked to flaming car + (By which, my Gill, you may surmise + The sun was just about to rise) + And that be-feathered, crook-billed harbinger, + The rosy-wattled herald of the dawn, + Red comb aflaunt, bold-eyed and spurred for strife, + Brave Chanticleer, his strident summons raised + (By which fine phrase I'd have you know, + The cock had just begun to crow) + And gentle Zephyr, child of Boreas, + Stole soft the hush of dewy leaves, + And passing kissed the flowers to wakefulness. + Thus, laden with their sweetness, Zephyr came + O'er hill and dale, o'er battlement and wall, + Into the sleeping town of Canalise, + Through open lattice and through prison-bars, + To kiss the cheek of sleeping Innocence + And fevered brows of prisoners forlorn, + Who, stirring 'neath sweet Zephyr's soft caress, + Dreamed themselves young, with all their sins unwrought. + So, gentle Zephyr, messenger of dawn, + Fresh as the day-spring, of earth redolent, + Through narrow loophole into dungeon stole, + Where Robin the bold outlaw fettered lay, + Who, sighing, woke to feel her fragrant kiss, + + + And, breathing in this perfume-laden air, + He seemed to smell those thousand woodland scents + He oft had known, yet, knowing, never heeded: + Of lofty bracken, golden in the sun, + Of dewy violets shy that bloomed dim-seen + Beside some merry-laughing, woodland brook + Which, bubbling, with soft music filled the air; + The fragrant reek of smouldering camp-fire + Aglow beside some dark, sequestered pool + Whose placid waters a dim mirror made + To hold the glister of some lonely star; + He seemed to see again in sunny glade + The silky coats of yellow-dappled deer, + With branching antlers gallantly upborne; + To hear the twang of bow, the whizz of shaft, + And cheery sound of distant-winded horn. + Of this and more than this, bold Robin thought, + And, in his dungeon's gloomy solitude, + He groaned full deep and, since no eye could see, + Shed bitter tears. + + + My daughter GILLIAN supplicateth: + + GILL: Poor Robin! Father, promise me + To save him from the gallows-tree. + He's much too nice a man to kill; + So save him, father; say you will! + + MYSELF: But think of poor Ranulph with no one to hang! + + GILL: Ranulph's song was top-hole, but-- + + MYSELF: You know I hate slang-- + + GILL: Yes, father--but then I hate Ranulph much more, + With his nasty great beard that in tangles he wore. + So, father, if you must have some one to slay, + Instead of poor Robin, hang Ranulph-- + + MYSELF: Why, pray? + + GILL: In nice books the nasty folks only should die; + Those are the kind of books nice people buy. + I like a book that makes me glad, + And loathe a book that makes me sad; + So, as this Geste is made for me, + Make it as happy as can be. + + MYSELF: And is it, so far, as you'd wish? + + GILL: Well, father, though it's rather swish, + I think it needs a deal more love-- + + MYSELF: Swish? How--what's this? Great heavens + above! + Will you, pray, miss, explain to me + How any story “swish” may be? + And why, my daughter, you must choose + A frightful word like “swish” to use? + What hideous language are you talking? + + GILL: Sorrow, father! “Swish” means “corking.” + I think our Geste is “out of sight,” + Except that, to please me, you might + Put in more love-- + + MYSELF: Now, how can Joc'lyn go love-making + When his head is sore and aching? + Besides, this is no place to woo; + He'll love-make when I want him to. + + GILL: But, father, think--in all this time, + In all this blank-verse, prose and rhyme, + The fair Yolande he's never kissed, + And you've done nothing to assist; + And, as I'm sure they're both inclined, + I think your treatment most unkind. + + MYSELF: This Geste I'll write in my own way, + That is, sweet Prattler, if I may; + When I'm ready for them to kiss, + Then kiss they shall; I promise this. + Now I'll to Rob return, if you, + My Gillian, will permit me to! + + Thus in his prison pent, poor woeful Rob, + Since none might see or hear, scorned not to sob, + And mightily, in stricken heart, did grieve + That he so soon so fair a world must leave. + And all because the morning wind had brought + Earth's dewy fragrance with sweet mem'ries fraught. + So Robin wept nor sought his grief to stay, + Yearning amain for joys of yesterday; + Till, hearing nigh the warder's heavy tread, + He sobbed no more but strove to sing instead. + + “A bow for me, a bow for me, + All underneath the greenwood tree, + Where slaves are men, and men are free; + Give me a bow! + + “Give me a bow, a bow of yew, + Good hempen cord and arrows true, + When foes be thick and friends be few, + Give me a bow!” + +Thus cheerily sang Robin the while he dried his bitter tears, as the +door of his prison was flung wide and Black Lewin strode in and with him +men-at-arms bearing torches. + +“What ho, rogue Robin!” cried he. “The cock hath crowed. Ha! Will ye sing, +knave, will ye sing, in faith?” + +“In faith, that will I!” laughed Robin. + +“Here come we to bring ye to the gallows, Robin--how say ye?” + +“The more reason for singing since my singing must soon be done!” So, with +pikemen before him and behind, bold Robin marched forth to die, yet sang +full blithely as he went: + + “So lay my bones 'neath good yew-tree, + Thus Rob and yew soon one shall be, + Where all true men may find o' we + A trusty bow!” + +“Ha' done!” growled Black Lewin, shivering in the chilly air of dawn. +“Quit--quit thy singing, rogue, or by the foul fiend I--” + +“Who dareth name the fiend?” croaked an awful voice, whereat Black Lewin +halted, gaped and stood a-tremble, while beneath steel cap and bascinet +all men's hair stirred and rose with horror; for before them was a ghastly +shape, a shape that crouched in the gloom with dreadful face aflame with +smouldering green fire. + +“Woe!” cried the voice. “Woe unto thee, Lewin the Black, that calleth on +fiend o' the pit!” + +And now came a fiery hand that, hovering in the air, pointed lambent finger +at gaping Lewin and at each of the shivering pike-men in turn. + +“Woe--sorrow and woe to one and all, ye men of blood, plague and pest, pain +o' flesh, and grief of soul seize ye, be accursed and so--begone! Hence +ho--away! + + “Rommani hi! Avaunt, I say, + Prendraxon! + Thus direst curse on ye I lay + Shall make flesh shrink and bone decay, + To rot and rot by night and day + Till flesh and bone do fall away, + Mud unto mud and clay to clay. + A spell I cast, + Shall all men blast. + Hark ye, + Mark ye, + Rommani hi--prendraxon!” + +Down fell pike and guisarme from nerveless fingers and, gasping with fear, +Black Lewin and his fellows turned and fled nor stayed for one look +behind; only Robin stood there (since he might not run away by reason of +his bonds) babbling prayers between chattering teeth and with all his +fingers crossed. + +“Oho, Fool, aha!” cried the voice. “Thus have I, a poor, feeble old woman, +wrought better than all thy valiance or Lobkyn's strength. So, by potency +of my spells and magic are we quits, thou and I. Bring, then, thy rogue +outlaw and haste ye!” + +So saying the old Witch muffled her awful, fiery face in ragged mantle and +turned away; and in that moment Robin was aware of three forms about him in +the grey dawn-light, felt his bonds loosed off by quick, strong hands and +drew a great, joyous breath. + +“How, Fool, thou brave and noble Motley,” quoth he, “is it thou again? And +I to live?” + +“Aye, marry, Robin! But come apace, the day breaketh and the city is +astir--hark to yon shouts! Follow!” + +So with the Tanner on one side and Lobkyn on the other, Robin ran, hard on +Jocelyn's heels; and ever the dawn brightened until up came the sun chasing +away sullen shadow and filling street and alley with his glory. + +But now, and just as they reached that narrow street where safety lay, +they heard a shout, a scream, a rush of feet and roar of fierce voices and +beheld, amid a surge of armed men, the old woman struggling in the cruel +grip of Black Lewin who (like many others I wot of, my Gill) was brave +enough by daylight. Vainly the old creature strove, screaming for mercy as +Black Lewin whirled aloft his sword; but his blade clashed upon another as +Jocelyn sprang, and for a while the air rang with the sound of fierce- +smiting steel until, throwing up his arms, Black Lewin fell and lay there. +But, roaring vengeance, the soldiery closed about Jocelyn who, beset by +blows on every side, sank in turn, yet, even as he fell, two short though +mighty legs bestrode his prostrate form and Lobkyn Lollo, whirling huge +club, smote down the foremost assailant and, ever as he smote, he +versified and chanted--thus: + + “I'm Lollo hight, + Brave Lobkyn Lollo, I, + I'm Lollo hight, + 'Tis my delight + By day or night + In honest fight + With main and might + Good blows to smite, + And where they light + 'Tis sorry plight + For that poor wight, + Brave Lobkyn Lollo, I. + + “Bows, swords and staves, + Come, lusty knaves, + And fit for graves + Brave Lobkyn soon will make ye; + So fight, say I, + Nor turn and fly, + Or, when ye die, + Then may old Horny take ye.” + +Fierce raged the conflict, but in that narrow street they made good play +against their many assailants, the valiant Dwarf's mighty club, backed by +the Tanner's darting pike and Robin's flashing sword, which he had +snatched from a loosened grasp. But Jocelyn lay prone upon his face, +between Lobkyn's firm-planted feet, and stirred not. So club whirled, +sword flashed and pike darted while, high above the tumult, rose Lobkyn's +fierce chant: + + “Hot blood I quaff, + At death I laugh, + Brave Lobkyn Lollo, I. + Come all that may, + And all I'll slay, + And teach ye how to die.” + +“Lob--Lobkyn!” screamed the Witch. “Thou that drinkest nought but +milk--talk not of blood, thou naughty poppet. Back now--stand back, I do +command thee!” + +Lobkyn smote a man to earth and, sighing regretful, stepped aside. + + “Back!” screamed the Witch. “Stand back, I say, all three, + And leave this wicked rabblement to me. + Now shall they learn the terror of my curse, + Black magic shall they feel--and something worse!” + + Then uttered she a sudden, hideous cry, + And, leaping, whirled her bony hands on high, + And lo! a choking dust-cloud filled the air; + That wreathed in whirling eddies here and there. + + “Perendewix!” she cried. “Oh Radzywin-- + Thraxa! Behold, my witchcraft doth begin!” + Back shrank their foes, back reeled they one and all, + They choked, they gasped, they let their weapons fall; + And some did groan, and some did fiercely sneeze, + And some fell prone, some writhed upon their knees; + Some strove to wipe the tears from blinded eyes, + But one and all gave voice to awful cries. + +“Come!” cried the Witch, “to the door--the door. Lobkyn, bear ye the brave +Fool--and tenderly! Haste, naughty bantling, haste--I hear the tread of +more soldiers!” + +So Lobkyn stooped and, lifting Jocelyn's inanimate form, tucked it beneath +one arm, and with Robin and Will the Tanner, followed the old Witch into +the house. + +My daughter GILLIAN commandeth: + + GILL: Go on, father, do; why will you keep stopping? + I think the old Witch is just perfectly topping. + And what frightful words she uses for curses! + + MYSELF: Very frightful, indeed, though your slang still much worse is, + With your “topping,” “top-holing,” your “swishing” and “clipping,” + + GILL: Well, I merely intended to say it was ripping; + But, if you object to my praises-- + + MYSELF: I only object to your phrases, + For there's no author but will own + He “liveth not by bread alone.” + As for myself, if what I write + Doth please--then praise with all your might. + + GILL: Well, then, the Witch is splendid, though + I'm very curious to know + Just how her face all fiery grew, + And what the stuff was that she threw-- + The stuff that made the soldiers sneeze + And brought them choking to their knees + It sounds as though it might be snuff. + + MYSELF: My dear, they'd not found out such stuff. + But grisly witches long ago + Did many strange devices know. + Indeed, my Gill, they knew much more + Than wise folk gave them credit for. + + GILL: Well, what was it? You haven't said. + + MYSELF: I'll get on with our Geste instead. + + + + +FYTTE 7 + + That telleth to the patient reader nought, + Save how the Duke was to the wild-wood brought. + + * * * * * + + With sleepy eyes Duke Jocelyn watched afar, + In deep, blue void a solitary star, + That, like some bright and wakeful eye, did seem + To watch him where he lay 'twixt sleep and dream. + And, as he viewed it winking high above, + He needs must think of Yolande and his love, + And how, while he this twinkling star did view, + She, wakeful lying, might behold it too, + Whereas she lay a spotless maid and fair, + Clothed in the red-gold glory of her hair; + And, thinking thus, needs must he fondly sigh, + Then frowned to hear a lusty snore hard by-- + +--and looking whence came this sound, the Duke sat up and his wonder grew; +for by light of a fire that glowed in a blackened fissure of rock he beheld +himself couched on a bed of bracken within a roomy cave. Beside the fire +leaned a mighty, iron-shod club, and beyond this, curled up like a dog, +snored Lobkyn Lollo, the Dwarf. Hereupon Jocelyn reached out and shook Lob +to wakefulness, who grunted sleepily, rubbed his eyes drowsily and yawned +mightily: + + Quoth JOCELYN: Good Dwarf, where am I? + + Answered LOBKYN: + Safe, Fool, safe art thou, I trow, + Where none but Lob and friends do know. + + JOCELYN: But how am I hither? + + LOBKYN: Why, truly thou art hither, Fool, + Because thou art not thither, Fool! + In these two arms, thy life to save, + I bore thee to this goodly cave. + + JOCELYN: How may one of thy inches bear man of mine so far? + + LOBKYN: Why, Fool, though I of inches lack, + I'm mighty strong, both arm and back, + Thou that art longer man than me, + Yet I am stronger man than thee, + Though, lusty Fool, big fool you be, + I'd bear thee, Fool, if thou wert three. + And mark, Fool, if my grammar seemeth weak, + Pray license it since I in verse must speak. + + JOCELYN: And pray why must thou speak in verse? + + LOBKYN: Nature hath on me laid this curse, + And, though to speak plain prose I yearn, + My prose to verse doth ever turn. + Therefore I grieve, as well I might, + Because of my poetic plight-- + Though bards and rhymers all I scorn, + Alack! I was a rhymer born. + + JOCELYN: Alack! poor Dwarf, as thou must versify, + By way of courtesy, then, so will I. + + LOBKYN: How, Fool, then canst thou rhyme? + + JOCELYN: Aye, Dwarf, at any time! + In dark, in light, + By day, by night, + Standing, sitting, + As be fitting, + Verses witty, + Quaint or pretty, + Incontinent I'll find. + Verses glad, Dwarf, + Verses sad, Dwarf, + Every sort, Lob, + Long or short, Lob + Or verses ill, + Yet verses still + Which might be worse, + I can rehearse + When I'm for verse inclined. + So, Lob, first speak me what became + Of our old Witch, that potent dame. + + LOBKYN: Why, Fool, in faith she wrought so well + With direful curse and blasting spell + That every howling soldier-knave, + Every rogue and base-born slave + That by chance I did not slay, + From my grand-dam ran away. + + JOCELYN: A noble Witch! Now, Lobkyn, tell + What hap'd when in the fight I fell, + And how alive I chance to be. + + LOBKYN: Fool, I was there to succour thee. + I smote those pike-men hip and thigh, + That they did mangled pike-men lie; + Their arms, their legs, their skulls I broke, + Two, three, and four at every stroke. + I drave them here, I smote them there, + I smote, I slew, I none did spare, + I laughed, I sang, I-- + +“Ha, Lob!” growled a sleepy voice. “Now, as I'm a tanner, here's a-many +I's! By Saint Crispin, meseemeth thou'rt all I's--for as thou fought I +fought, or thought I fought, forsooth!” + + LOBKYN: True, Will, did'st fight in goodly manner, + Though fightedst, Will, like any tanner; + But I did fight, or I'm forsworn, + Like one unto the manner born. + I fought, forsooth, with such good will, + 'Tis marvel I'm not fighting still. + And so I should be, by my fay, + An I had any left to slay; + But since I slew them all-- + +“Hold there!” cried the Tanner. “I slew one or two, Lob, and Robin +likewise. Thou'rt a lusty fighter, but what o' me and Robin--ha, what o' +we?” + + LOBKYN: In faith, ye're proper men and tall, + And I'm squat man, my stature small, + Nath'less, though small and squat I be, + I am the best man of the three. + +“Why, as to that,” quoth the Tanner, “'tis but you says so! As to me I +think what I will, and I do think--” + +But here Lobkyn started up and seized the great club; quoth he: + + “Hark and mark, + Heard ye nought there i' the dark?” + +“Not I!” answered Will. + +“Methought I heard an owl hoot,” said Jocelyn. + +“Aye,” nodded Lobkyn: + + “Aye, Fool, and yet this owl I 'll swear, + Hath ne'er a feather anywhere. + This owl hath ne'er a wing to fly, + But goes afoot like thou and I. + Now mark, + And hark!” + +Hereupon the Dwarf laid finger to lip and uttered an owl-cry so dismal, +so tremulous and withal so true to nature that it was wonder to hear. +Instantly, from the dimness beyond the cavern-mouth, the cry was repeated, +and presently was heard a panting and 'plaining, a snuffling and a +shuffling, and into the light of the fire hobbled the old Witch. Beholding +Jocelyn sitting cross-legged on his couch of fern, she paused and, leaning +on her crooked stick, viewed him with her wise, old eyes. + +“Aha, Motley!” she croaked. “Oho, thou flaunting jackanapes, didst peril +thy foolish flesh for me that am poor and old and feeble, and cursed by +all for witchcraft! So have I with my potions ministered to thee in thy +sickness, and behold thou'rt alive, hale and strong again. Give me thy +hand! Aha, here's cool, unfevered blood! Show me thy tongue. Oho! Aha! A +little sup o' my black decoction--roots gathered at full o' moon--a little +sup and shall be thyself by to-morrow's dawn. But--as for thee, thou +good-for-naught, thou wicked elf--aha! would'st dare leave thy poor old +grannam weak and 'fenceless? Give me thy rogue-ear!” Obediently, the mighty +Dwarf arose and sighfully suffered the old woman to grasp him by the ear +and to tweak and wring and twist it as she would. + +“What dost thou here i' the wild-wood, thou imp, thou poppet o' plagues, +thou naughty wap-de-staldees?” + +To which Lobkyn, writhing and watering at the eyes, answered thus: + + “Stay, prithee grannam, loose thy hold! + I would but be an outlaw bold, + An outlaw fierce that men shall fear-- + Beseech thee, grand-dam, loose mine ear!” + +“An outlaw, naughty one!” screeched the Witch, tweaking ear the harder. +“Dare ye tell me so, elf?” + + LOBKIN: Aye, grand-dam--cuff me an ye will, + Nath'less an outlaw I'll be still, + And many a wicked rogue I'll kill-- + O grand-dam, loose mine ear! + And day and night I'll slay until + All rogues my name do fear. + + For grand-dam, I'm a fighter--O, + Beseech thee, let my ear go! + And bones shall crack and blood shall flow, + If any dare resist me. + And all the world my name shall know, + Pray by the ear don't twist me! + + All men before my club shall fly, + All on their knees shall “mercy” cry, + Or mangled in their gore shall lie-- + Ah, grand-dam, pray don't clout me! + Don't beat me, grannam dear, but try + To do awhile without me-- + +“Without thee, thou piece o' naughtiness?” screamed the old woman. “Now +will I lay my stick about thee--hold still, Rogue!” + +Saying which, she proceeded to belabour the poor Dwarf with her knotted +stick, clutching him fast by his ear the while. Thus she be-thwacked him +soundly until he roared for mercy. + +“Why, how now--how now?” cried a merry voice, and Robin strode into the +firelight. “Gentle Witch, sweet dame,” quoth he, “what do ye with poor +Lob?” + +“Thwack him shrewdly!” + +“Which is, Witch, that which none but witch the like o' thee might do, for +lustier fighter and mightier dwarf never was. Thus, but for thy witch-like +witcheries, the which, Witch, witch do prove thee, but for this and the +power and potency of thy spells, now might he crack out thy life 'twixt +finger and thumb--” + +“Ha, forest-rogue, 'tis a bad brat, a very naughty elf would run off into +the wild to be rogue like thee--an outlaw, forsooth!” + +“Forsooth, Witch,” laughed Robin, “outlaw is he in very truth, in sooth and +by my troth! Outlaw is Lob, banned by Church and Council of Ten, and so +proclaimed i' the market square of Canalise this very morn by sound o' +trumpet and--” + +“How? How?” cried the old woman, wringing her trembling hands. “My Lobkyn +outlawed? My babe, my lovely brat, my pretty bantling, woe and alas! My +dear ugly one an outlaw?” + +“Aye, marry is he, Witch, outlaw proclaimed, acclaimed, announced, +pronounced and denounced; as such described, ascribed and proscribed by +Master Gregory Bax, the port-reeve, for the late slaying and maiming of +divers of the city guard. So outlaw is Lobkyn, his life henceforth forfeit +even as mine.” + +“My Lobkyn an hairy outlaw i' the wild-wood! Out alas! And what of his poor +old grannam? What o' me--?” + +“Content thee, sweet hag, since thou'rt outlawed along with him and, as +witch, doomed to die unpleasantly by fire and flame and faggot, if thou'rt +caught.” + +“Alack! Wala-wa! Woe 's me!” groaned the Witch, cracking her finger-bones. +“And all this by reason o' the Fool yonder.” + +“Why, the Fool is dubbed outlaw likewise, Witch,” quoth Robin. “Outlaw is +he along o' thee and Tanner Will.” + +“And all by reason that this Fool must needs peril our lives for sake of +rogue-outlaw, of forest-robber, of knavish woodland-lurker--” + +“Hight Robin!” laughed Robin, leaning on his long bow-stave. “Now, this +brave Fool having saved Robin his life, Witch, the which, Witch, was good +thing for Robin, our Fool next saved thee, Witch, which was nought to +Robin, in the which, Witch, Robin did not joy; for thou, old Witch, being +witch, art therefore full o' witcheries which be apt to be-devil a man and +fright his reason, for the which reason, being reasonable man, I reason, +for this reason, that, so reasoning, I love thee not. But thou art old, +Witch, which is good reason to reasonably reason thou art wise, Witch, +and, being wise, I on this wise would seek counsel of thy wisdom, Witch. +Imprimis, then--” + +“Hold!” commanded the Witch; “here's a whirl o' windy wind! Hast more of +such-like, forester?” + +“Some little, Witch, which I will now, Witch--” + +“Nay, then, Robin-a-Green, suffer me to rest my old bones whiles thy mill +clacks.” Hereupon the old Witch seated herself beside the fire, with bony +knees up-drawn to bony chin. “Speak, outlaw Robin,” she croaked, blinking +her red eyes, “and speak ye plain.” + +“Why, then, wise Witch, look 'ee: since we be outlaws each and every, with +all men's hands against us, with none to succour, and death watchful for +us, 'tis plain, and very plain, we, for our harbourage and defence, must in +the wild-wood bide--” + +“Ho!” cried Lobkyn: + + “It soundeth good, + The brave wild-wood, + Where flowers do spring + And birds do sing. + To slay the deer + And make good cheer, + With mead and beer, + The livelong year, + And--” + +“Roar not, toad!” cried the Witch. “Say on--Rogue-Robin!” + +“Why, mark me, good Witch, here's where buskin chafeth! Not long since I +ruled i' the wild-wood, a very king, with ten-score lusty outlaw-rogues +to do my will. To-day is there never an one, and for this reasonable +reason--to wit, I am hanged, and, being hanged, am dead, and, being dead, +am not, and thus Robin is nobody; and yet again, perceive me, Witch, being +Robin, I am therefore somebody; thus is nobody somebody, and yet somebody +that nobody will believe anybody. The which, Witch, is a parlous case, +methinks, for here am I, somebody, nobody and Robin altogether and at the +same time; therefore, Witch, o' thy witchful wisdom--who am I, what and +which, Witch?” + +Here the Witch blinked and mowed, and cracked her finger-bones one after +another. Quoth she: + +“For thy first, thou'rt thyself; for the second, a rogue; and for the +third, a wind-bag. I would thy second might tie up thy first in thy third.” + +“So should Robin choke Robin with Robin. But hark 'ee again, good, patient +dame. It seemeth that Ranulph the executioner betaketh him at cock-crow to +hang poor me; but, finding me not, made great outcry, insomuch that the +city guard, such as mighty Lob and Will had left alive, sought counsel +together; and taking one of their slain fellows, Ranulph hanged him in my +stead, and there he hangeth now, above the city gate, his face so marred +that he might be me or any other.” + +“Ha, Robin--well?” + +“This day, at sunset, came I unto the trysting-oak, and by blast of horn +summoned me my outlaw company. They came apace and in great wonderment, +for, seeing me, they fell to great awe and dread, thinking me dead, since +many had seen my body a-dangle on the gallows; wherefore, seeing me +manifestly alive, they took me for ghoulish ghost 'stead o' good flesh and +blood, and fled from me amain. So, by reason of my dead body, that is no +body o' mine, yet that nobody will believe is no body o' mine, they believe +that this my body is yet no body, but a phantom; the which is out of +reason; yet thus unreasonably do the rogues reason by reason of the body +that hangeth in place of my body above the city gate. Wherefore I reason +there is yet reason in their unreason, seeing this body was somebody, yet +no body o' mine, but which nobody among them can swear to. Which, Witch, +is a matter which none but wise witch may counsel me in. How say'st thou, +Witch?” + +But for a while the old Witch scowled on the fire, bony chin on bony knees, +and dreamily cracked her finger-joints. + +“Oho!” she cried suddenly. “Aha--a body that nobody's is, yet body that +everybody knoweth for body o' thine--aha! So must nobody know that nobody's +body is not thy body. Dost see my meaning, Robin-a-Green?” + +“No whit, Witch! Thou growest involved, thy talk diffuse, abstruse and +altogether beyond one so obtuse as simple Rob--” + +“Then hark 'ee again, Addlepate! Everybodymust believe nobody's body thy +body, so by dead body will I make thy live body of so great account to +everybody that nobody henceforth shall doubt dead body made live body, by +my witchcraft, and thou be feared, therefore, of everybody. Dost follow me +now, numskull?” + +“Aye, truly, mother! And truly 'tis a rare subtlety, a notable wile, and +thou a right cunning witch and wise. But how wilt achieve this wonder?” + +“Since dead thou art, I to life will bring thee. Oho, I will summon thee +through fire and flame; aha, I will make thee more dreaded than heretofore; +thy fame shall fill the wild-wood and beyond. Know'st thou the Haunted +Wood, hard by Thraxby Waste?” + +Now here Robin's merry smile languished, and he rubbed nose with dubious +finger. + +“Aye, I do,” quoth he sombrely; “an ill place and--demon-rid, they say--” + +“Come ye there to-morrow at midnight.” + +“Alone?” says Robin, starting. + +“Alone!” + +“Nay, good Witch, most gentle, potent dame, I--though phantom accounted, I +love not phantoms, and Thraxby Waste--” + +“Come ye there--at midnight!” + +“Why, then, good Witch, an come I must, suffer that I bring the valiant +Fool and mighty Lob--prithee, now!” + +At this the old Witch scowled and mumbled and crackled her finger-bones +louder than ever. + +“Oho!” cried she at last, “thou great child, afraid-o'-the-dark, bring +these an ye will--but none other!” + +“Good mother, I thank thee!” + +“Tchak!” cried the Witch, and, struggling to her feet, hobbled to Jocelyn +and laid bony finger on wrist and brow, nodded, mumbled, and so, bent on +her staff, hobbled away; but, reaching the cave-mouth, she paused, and +smote stick to earth fiercely. + +“To-morrow!” she croaked. “Midnight! Re--member!” + + + + +FYTTE 8 + + Tells how the Witch, with incantations dire, + In life to life brought Robin through the fire. + + * * * * * + + The wind was cold--indeed 'twas plaguy chill-- + That furtive crept and crept, like something ill + Stealing with dreadful purpose in the dark, + With scarce a sound its stealthy course to mark; + While pallid moon did seem to swoon, as though + It ghastly things beheld on earth below; + And Robin gripped the good sword by his side, + And Joc'lyn looked about him watchful-eyed; + While Lobkyn Lollo felt and looked the bolder + By reason of the club across his shoulder. + + “Here,” whispered Robin, peering through the gloom, + “Is dismal place, I've heard, of death and doom. + Here do be ghosts and goblins, so 'tis said, + Demons, phantoms, spectres of the dead--” + “Aye, verily,” quoth Lob, “and what is worse, + 'Tis here my grand-dam oft doth come to curse, + And haunteth it with spiteful toads and bats, + With serpents fell, with ewts and clawful cats. + Here doth she revel hold o' moony nights, + With grave-rank ghouls and moaning spectral sprites; + And ... Saints! what's that? + A hook-winged bat? + Not so; perchance, within its hairy body fell + Is man or maid transformed by magic spell. + O, brothers, heedful be, and careful tread + Lest magic gin should catch and strike us dead! + O would my grannam might go with us here. + Since, being witch, she doth no witchcraft fear.” + + So came the three at last to Haunted Wood, + Where mighty trees in gloomy grandeur stood, + Their wide-flung boughs so closely interweaving + Scarce space between for ghostly moonbeams leaving; + But, snake-like, round each other closely twined, + In shuddering wind did mournful voices find, + And, groaning, writhed together to and fro + Like souls that did the fiery torment know. + Thus, in the wood, 'twas dark and cold and dank, + And breathed an air of things long dead and rank; + While shapes, dim-seen, did creep and flit and fly + With sudden squeak, and bodeful, wailing cry. + + At last they reached a clearing in the wood, + Where, all at once, as 'mid the leaves they stood, + From Lobkyn's lips, loud, tremulous, and high, + There rose and swelled the owlet's shuddering cry. + Scarce on the air this dismal sound had died, + When they the Witch's hobbling form espied. + Beholding Robin, by the arm she caught him, + And to a place of rocks in haste she brought him; + And here, where bosky thickets burgeoned round, + She pointed to a chasm in the ground. + + “Go down!” she hissed. “Go down, thou thing of clay, + Thou that art dead--into thy grave I say. + Since thou 'rt hanged, a dead man shalt thou be + Till from thy grave my spells shall summon thee--” + “My grave?” gasped Robin, blenching from her frown. + “Aye, Rogue!” she croaked. “Behold thy grave! Go down!” + So shiv'ring Robin, in most woeful plight, + Crept into gloom and vanished from their sight. + “O, Robin, Robin!” the old Witch softly cried, + “Alack, I'm here!” faint voice, below, replied. + “Thou dead,” croaked she, “thou ghostly shade forlorn, + From charnel-vault sound now thy spectral horn, + Sound now thy rallying-note, then silent be + Till from thy mouldering tomb I summon thee!” + + Now, on the stillness rose the ghostly sound + Of Robin's hunting horn that through the ground + Rang thin and high, unearthly-shrill and clear, + That thrilled the shivering woodland far and near, + And shuddering to silence, left behind + A whisper as of leaves in stealthy wind. + A rustling 'mid the underbrush they heard + Where, in the gloom about them, dim things stirred-- + Vague, stealing shapes that softly nearer drew, + Till from the tree-gloom crept a ragged crew, + Wild men and fierce, a threatening, grimly herd, + Who stood like shadows, speaking not a word; + And the pale moon in fitful flashes played + On sword and headpiece, pike and broad axe-blade. + While the old hag, o'er witch-fire crouching low, + Puffed at the charcoal till it was aglow; + Then hobbling round and round her crackling fire, + She thus began her incantations dire: + + “Come ye long-dead, + Ye spirits dread, + + + Ye things of quaking fear, + Ye poor, lost souls, + Ye ghosts, ye ghouls, + Haxwiggin bids ye here! + By one by two, by two by three, + Spirits of Night, I summon ye, + By three by four, by four by five, + Come ye now dead that were alive, + Come now I bid ye + From grave-clods rid ye, + Come! + From South and North, + I bid ye forth, + From East, from West, + At my behest-- + Come! + Come great, come small, + Come one, come all, + Heed ye my call, + List to my call, I say, + From pitchy gloom + Of mouldered tomb + Here find ye room + For sport and holiday. + Come grisly ghosts and goblins pale, + Come spirits black and grey, + Ye shrouded spectres--Hail, O Hail! + Ho! 'tis your holiday. + Come wriggling snakes + From thorny brakes, + Hail! + Come grimly things + With horny wings, + That flit, that fly, + That croak, that cry, + Hail! + + “Come ghouls, come demons one and all, + Here revel whiles ye may; + Ye noisome things that creep and crawl, + Come, sport and round me play. + Ho, claw and wing and hoof and horn, + Here revel till the clammy dawn. + + “Peeping, creeping, + Flying, crying, + Fighting, biting, + Groaning, moaning, + Ailing, wailing, + Spirits fell, + Come to my spell, + Ho! 'tis your holiday! + So, are ye there, + High up in air, + The moonbeams riding + 'Mid shadows hiding? + + “Now gather round, ye spectral crew, + This night have we brave work to do-- + Bold Robin o' the Green, 'tis said, + On gallows hangeth cold and dead + Beneath the sky + On gibbet high, + They in a noose did swing him. + Go, goblins, go, + And ere they know, + Unto me hither bring him.” + + Here paused the Witch to mend her glowing fire, + While each man to his neighbour shuffled nigher, + As witch-flame leapt and ever brighter grew, + Till, to their horror, sudden it burned blue; + Whereat each silent, fearful beholder + Felt in the gloom to touch his fellow's shoulder, + Yet, in that moment, knew an added dread + To see the fire from blue turn ghastly red; + Then, as the Witch did o'er it crooning lean, + Behold! it changed again to baleful green. + Whereat the Witch flung bony arms on high, + As though with claw-like hands she 'd rend the sky; + And while the lurid flames leapt ever higher, + She thus invoked the Spirit of the Fire. + + “As fire doth change, yet, changed, unchanged doth burn, + By fiery spell shall dead to life return! + + “Ho, goblins yonder--'neath the moon, + Have ye brought me the dead so soon? + Ha! is it Bxibin that ye bring, + That pale, that stiff, that clammy thing? + Now work we spell with might and main, + Shall make it live and breathe again. + + “Now in and out, + And round about, + Ye wriggling rout, + With hoof and claw and wing; + Now high, now low, + Now fast, now slow, + Now to and fro + Tread we a magic ring. + + “Thus, while the frighted moon doth peep, + We 'll wake this cold, dead thing from sleep, + Till Robin back to life shall leap. + And when he from the fire shall spring, + Ye outlaws hail him for your King. + + “For on that wight + Who, day or night, + Shall Robin disobey + With purpose fell + I'll cast a spell + Shall wither him away. + + “Ho, Robin! Ope thy death-cold eyes, + Ho, Robin! From thy grave arise, + Ho, Robin! Robin, ho! + Robin that doth bide so near me, + Robin, Robin, wake and hear me, + Ho, Robin! Robin, ho! + + “Back to life I summon thee, + Through the fire thy path must be, + Through the fire that shall not harm thee, + Through flame that back to life shall charm thee, + Shall warm thy body all a-cold, + And make grim Death loose clammy hold. + Ho, Robin-a-Green, + Ho, Robin-a-Green, + Leap back to life by all men seen!” + + Through curling smoke-wreaths and through writhing flame, + With mighty bound, bold Robin leaping came, + And by the Witch did in the fire-light stand, + Sword by his side and bugle-horn in hand, + And laughed full blithe as he was wont to do, + And, joyous, hailed his wild and ragged crew: + +“What lads, are ye there forsooth? Is't Myles I see with lusty Watt and +John and Hal o' the Quarterstaff? God den t' ye, friends, and merry hunting +to one and all, for by oak and ash and thorn here stand I to live with +thee, aye, good lads, and to die with ye here in the good greenwood--” + +But now and all at once from that grim and silent company a mighty shout +went up: + +“'Tis Robin--'tis Robin, 'tis bold Robin-a-Green! 'Tis our Robin himself +come back to us!” + +And fearful no longer, they hasted to him and clasped him in brawny arms, +hugging him mightily and making great rejoicing over him. + + + + +FYTTE 9 + + That tells almost as fully as it should, + The joys of living in the good greenwood. + +* * * * * + +Deep-hidden in the trackless wild the outlaws had made them a haven of +refuge, a camp remote and well sequestered. Here were mossy, fern-clad +rocks that soared aloft, and here green lawns where ran a blithesome brook; +it was indeed a very pleasant place shut in by mighty trees. Within this +leafy boskage stood huts of wattle, cunningly wrought; beneath the steep +were many caves carpeted with dried fern and fragrant mosses, while +everywhere, above and around, the trees spread mighty boughs, through which +the sun darted golden beams be-dappling the sward, and in whose leafy +mysteries the birds made joyous carolling. + +And here beneath bending willows arched over this merry brook, one +sun-bright morning riotous with song of birds, sat Jocelyn with Robin +a-sprawl beside him. + +“O brother,” says Robin, “O brother, 't is a fair place the greenwood, a +fair, sweet place to live--aye, or to die in methinks, this good greenwood, +whereof I have made a song--hark 'ee!” + + “Oho, it is a right good thing + When trees do bud and flowers do spring + All in the wood, the fair, green wood, + To hear the birds so blithely sing, + Adown, adown, hey derry down, + All in the good, green wood. + + “Who cometh here leaves grief behind, + Here broken man hath welcome kind, + All in the wood, the fair, green wood. + The hopeless here new hope may find, + Adown, adown, hey derry down, + All in the kind, green wood. + + “Ho, friend, 'tis pleasant life we lead, + No laws have we, no laws we need + Here i' the good, green wood. + For every man's a man indeed, + Adown, adown, hey derry down, + Here i' the good, green wood. + + “All travellers that come this way + Must something in fair tribute pay + Unto the wood, the fair, green wood. + Or here in bonds is like to stay, + Adown, adown, hey derry down, + Lost in the good, green wood. + + “Full many a lord, in boastful pride, + This tribute, scornful, hath denied + Unto the wood, the fair, green wood. + And thereupon hath sudden died, + Adown, adown, hey derry down, + All in the fair, green wood. + + “And when our time shall come to die + Methinks we here may softly lie + Deep in the fair, green wood. + With birds to sing us lullaby, + Adown, adown, hey derry down, + All in the good, green wood.” + +“So there it is, brother--and life and death in a nutshell, as 'twere. Now, +wherefore wilt not join us and turn outlaw, good Fool?” + +“For that I am a fool belike, Robin. Howbeit, I'm better Fool than outlaw.” + +“Say, rather, greater fool, Fool, for foresters' life is better than life +o' folly, and payeth better to boot, what with booty--ha! Moreover, I do +love thee, since, Fool, though fool, art wise in counsel and valiant beyond +thought--so 'tis I would not lose thee. Stay, therefore, and live my +comrade and brother, equal with me in all things. How say'st thou?” + +“Why, Robin, I say this: True friendship is a goodly thing and a rare in +this world, and, therefore, to be treasured; 'tis thing no man may buy or +seek, since itself is seeker and cometh of itself; 'tis a prop--a staff +in stony ways, a shield 'gainst foes, a light i' the dark. So do I love +friendship, Robin, and thou'rt my friend, yet must leave thee, though +friendship shall abide.” + +Quoth ROBIN: How abide an we be parted? + +“In heart and mind and memory, Robin. Moreover, though I go, yet will I +return anon, an life be mine.” + +“And wherefore go ye, brother?” + +“First to seek my comrade.” + +“Thy comrade--ha! I mind him, a fierce great fellow with hawk's beak and a +fighting eye. And whither trend ye?” + +“To Canalise.” + +“Art crazed, brother? 'Tis there death waiteth thee!” + +“Yet must I go, Robin, since there my heart waiteth me.” + +“A maid, brother?” + +“A maid, Robin.” + +“Heigho! So wilt thou go, come joy, come pain, come life or death, since a +maid is made to make man saint or devil, some days glad and some days sad, +but ever and always a fool. And thou art Fool by profession, and, being +lover professed and confessed, art doubly a fool; and since, good Folly, +love's but folly and thou, a Fool, art deep in folly, so is thy state most +melancholy.” + +“And dost think love so great folly, Robin?” said a soft voice, and, +looking round, they beheld the lovely, dark-tressed Melissa, who viewed +them bright-eyed and pouted red mouth, frowning a little. + +“Aye, verily, lady,” laughed Robin, as she sank on the grass beside them. +“Forsooth, 'tis a madness fond. For see, now, a man being in love is out of +all else.” + +“As how, Sir Outlaw?” + +“Marry, on this wise--when man's in love he mopeth apart and is ill +company, so is he out o' friends; he hangeth humble head abashed, so is he +out o' countenance; he uttereth frequent, windy, sighful suspirations, +so is he out o' breath; he lavisheth lucre on his love, so is he out o' +pocket; he forsweareth food, despiseth drink, scorneth sleep, so is he +out o' health--in fine, he is out of all things, so is he out of himself; +therefore he is mad, and so may go hang himself!” + +MELISSA: And hast thou loved, Robin? + +ROBIN: Ever and always, and none but Robin! + +MELISSA: And none more worthy, Robin? + +ROBIN: And none more, as I am worthy Robin. + +MELISSA: Lovest thou not Love, Robin? + +ROBIN: Love, love not I. + +MELISSA: Then Love canst thou know not. + +ROBIN: Then if I love Love for Love's sake, must Love then love me, +therefore? + +MELISSA: If thy love for Love be true love, so shall Love love thee true. + +ROBIN: Then if Love should love me for my sake, then would I love Love for +Love's sake; but since Love ne'er hath sought me for my sake, ne'er will I +seek Love for Love's sake for my sake, since Love, though plaguy sweet, is +a sweet plague, I judge and, so judging, will by my judgment stand. + +MELISBA: And how think you, Sir Fool? + +JOCELYN: I think if Love find Robin and Robin, so found of Love, shall +learn to love Love for Love's sake, Love shall teach Robin how, hi loving +Love--Love, if a plague, doth but plague him lovingly to his better +judgment of Love, till, being on this wise, wise--he shall judge of Love +lovingly, loving Love at last for Love's own lovely sake, rather than for +his own selfish self. For as there is the passion of love, the which is a +love selfish, so there is the true Spirit of Love, the which forgetteth +self in Love's self, thus, self-forgotten, Love is crowned by Love's true +self. + +MELISSA: How think ye of this, Robin? + +ROBIN: By Cupid, we are so deep in love that we are like to drown of love +and we be not wary. Here hath my lovely jowlopped-crested brother so beset +poor Robin with Love and self and Robin, that Robin kens not which is Love, +Love's self or himself. + +MELISSA: And yet I do think 'tis very plain! Yet an thou canst express this +plainer, prithee do, Sir Fool. + +“Blithely, sweet lady, here will I frame my meaning in a rhyme, thus: + + “Who loveth Love himself above, + With Love base self transcending + Love, Love shall teach how Love may reach + The Love that hath no ending. + + + “'Tis thus Love-true, Love shall renew, + Love's love thus waning never, + So love each morn of Love new-born, + Love shall live loving ever.” + +ROBIN: Aye, verily, there's Love and yet such a love as no man may find +methinks, brother. + +JOCELYN: Never, Robin, until it find him. For true love, like friendship, +cometh unsought, like all other good things. + +ROBIN: 'Las! then needs must I be no good thing since I am sought e'en now +of old Mopsa the Witch yonder! + +And he pointed where the old creature hobbled towards them bent on her +crooked staff. Up rose Robin and, hasting to meet her, louted full low, +since she was held in great respect of all men by reason of her potent +spells. Chuckling evilly, she drew down Robin's tall head to whisper in his +ear, whereupon he laughed, clapped hand to brawny thigh, and taking old +Mopsa's feeble arm, hastened away with her. But Melissa, reclining 'neath +the willow-shade, gazed down into the murmurous waters of the brook with +eyes of dream whiles Jocelyn struck soft, sweet chords upon his lute. And +presently she turned to view him thoughtfully--his strange, marred face; +his eyes so quick and keen 'neath battered cock's-comb; his high, proud +bearing despite his frayed and motley habit; and ever her wonder grew +until, at last, she must needs question him: + +“Fools, Sir Fool, have I seen a-many, both in the motley and out, but thou +art rare among all fools, I do think.” + +JOCELYN: Gramercy, lady! Truly fool am I of all fools singular. + +MELISSA: Thou'rt he I heard, upon a day, sing strange, sweet songs, within +the marketplace of Canalise! + +JOCELYN: The same, lady. + +MELISSA: That soused my lord Gui head over ears in a lily-pool? + +JOCELYN: Verily, lady. + +MELISSA: O! Would one might do as much for Sir Agramore of Biename! + +JOCELYN: One doubtless will, lady. + +MELISSA: Thyself? + +JOCELYN: Nay--one that loveth the disputatious bickering of sharp steel +better than I--one had rather fight than eat, and rather fight three men +than one-- + +“Three men?” cried Melissa, starting. + +“Aye, lady--and six men than three!” + +“There was such an one, Fool, in truth a very brave man, did fight three of +my Lord Agramore's foresters on my behalf. Dost know of such an one, Fool?” + +“Methinks he is my comrade, Lady.” + +“Thy comrade--in truth? Then, pray you, speak me what seeming hath he.” + +“Ill, lady.” + +“How so, Fool?” + +“A great, fierce rogue is he, unlovely of look, bleak of eye, harsh of +tongue, hooked of nose, flinty of soul, stony of heart, of aspect grim and +manners rude!” + +“Then, verily, thy comrade have I never seen!” quoth Melissa, flushing and +with head up-flung. “He that saved me is nothing the like of this.” + +“And yet,” said Jocelyn slyly, “'tis thus he hath been named ere now!” + +“Nay, Fool, indeed he that saved me was tall and seemly man, very fierce +and strong in fight, but to me wondrous gentle--in truth, something +timorous, and, 'spite rusty mail, spake and looked like a noble knight.” + +“Then forsooth, lady, thy champion is no comrade of mine, for he is but a +poor rogue, ill-beseen, ill-kempt, ill-spoken, ill-mannered and altogether +ill, save only that he is my friend--” + +“And thou speakest ill of thy ill friend, the which is ill in thee--ill +Fool!” and the fair Melissa rose. + +“And pray, lady, didst learn thy preserver's name?” + +“Indeed, for I asked him.” + +“And it was--?” + +“Pertinax!” she sighed. + +“Pertinax!” said Jocelyn, both in the same moment; the dark-browed Melissa +sat down again. + +“So thy comrade and--he are one, Fool?” + +“Indeed, lady. Yet here we have him, on the one hand, a man noble and +seemly, and, on the other, a poor rogue, hook-nosed, ill-beseen, ill--” + +“'Tis thou hast miscalled him, Fool!” said she, frowning. + +“Not I, lady.” + +“Who, then?” + +“A maid--” + +“Ah!” said Melissa, frowning blacker than ever. “A maid, Fool? What maid?” + +“A wandering gipsy o' the wood, lady--a dark-eyed damsel with long, black +curling hair and 'voice of sweet allure'--'tis so he named her--” + +“This was belike some wicked witch!” said Melissa, clenching white fist. + +“Aye, belike it was, lady, for she bestowed on him a strange jewel, a heart +in heart of crystal, that wrought for us in Canalise marvels great as our +wondrous Witch herself.” + +Now here the lovely Melissa's frown vanished, and her red lips curved to +sudden smile. + +“Belike this was no witch after all!” said she gently. + +“Howbeit, lady,” quoth Jocelyn slyly, “my poor comrade is surely bewitched +by her none the less. She hath wrought on him spell so potent that he +groweth mopish and talketh of her eyes, her hair, her sweet and gentle +voice, her little foot, forsooth.” + +“And doth he so, indeed?” said Melissa softly, and, twiddling one of +her own pretty feet, she smiled at it. “Doth he sigh o'er much?” she +questioned. + +“Consumedly! By the minute!” + +“Poor soldier!” she murmured. + +“Aye, poor rogue!” said Jocelyn; whereupon she frowned again, and turned +her back upon him. + +“And he is thy comrade.” + +“Even so--poor knave!” + +“And destitute--even as thou?” + +“Aye, a sorry clapper-claw--even as I, lady.” + +“Then, pray thee, why doth he wear gold chain about his neck?” + +“Chain, lady--?” + +“Such as only knights do wear!” + +“Belike he stole it, lady--” + +“Aye--belike he did!” said she, rising; then she sighed and laughed, and so +turned and left him. + +And in a while Jocelyn rose also, and went on beside the brook; but as he +walked deep in thought, there met him Robin, he full of mirth and laughter. + +“Oho, brother, good brother!” cried he joyfully, clapping hand on Jocelyn's +broad shoulder, “come away, now, and see what the good wind hath blown +hither--come thy ways and see!” + +So came they where rose a great tree of huge girth, whose gnarled branches +spread far and wide, a veryforest of leaves, beneath whose shade were many +of the outlaws grouped about one who crouched miserably on his knees, his +arms fast bound and a halter about his neck; and, as obedient to Robin's +words the fierce company fell back, Jocelyn saw this torn and pallid +captive was none other than Ranulph the Hangman. + +“Woe's me, my masters!” quoth he 'twixt chattering teeth. “'Tis pity poor +Ranulph must die before his time, for ne'er shall be found hangman, +headsman or torturer the like o' Ranulph--so dainty i' the nice adjustment +o' noose! So clean and delicate wi' the axe! So tender and thoughtful wi' +pincers, thumbscrew, rack or red-hot iron! A hangman so kindly o' soul, so +merry o' heart, alack, so free, so gay, so merry--forsooth a very wanton, +waggish, jovial bawcock-lad--” + +“Why, then, good, merry wag,” laughed Robin, “now shalt thou cut us an +antic aloft in air, shalt caper and dance in noose to our joyance! Up with +him, bully lads, and gently, that he may dance the longer!” + +But as Ranulph was dragged, shivering, to his feet, Jocelyn stepped +forward. + +“Stay!” he cried. “Look, now, here's hangman did but hang since hang he +must; must he hang therefore?” + +ROBIN: Aye, marry, since hanging shall his hanging end! + +JOCELYN: But if to hang his duty is, must he for duty hang? Moreover, if ye +hang this hangman, unhanged hangmen shall hang still, and since ye may not +all hangmen hang, wherefore should this hangman hang? + +ROBIN: Brother, an this hangman hang, fewer hangmen shall there be to hang, +forsooth. + +JOCELYN: Not so, Robin, for hangman dead begetteth hangman new; this +hangman hanged, hangman in his place shall hang men after him. Shall this +hangman hang for hanging as in duty bound, whiles other hangmen, unhanged, +hang still? Here, methinks, is small wisdom, little reason, and less of +justice, Robin. + +ROBIN: Beshrew me, brother--but here's so much of hanging hanging on +hanging plaguy hangman that hang me if I get the hang on't-- + +JOCELYN: Plainly, Robin--wilt hang a man for doing his duty? + +ROBIN: Plainly, brother--no. But-- + +JOCELYN: Then canst not hang this hangman, since hanging his duty is-- + +ROBIN: Yet 'tis base, vile duty-- + +JOCELYN: Yet duty it is--wherefore, an there be any justice in the good +greenwood, this hangman unhanged must go. + +Now here Robin scowled, and his brawny fellows scowled likewise, and began +to mutter and murmur against Jocelyn, who, leaning back to tree, strummed +his lute and sang: + + “O, Life is sweet, but Life is fleet, + O'er quick to go, alack! + And once 'tis spilt, try as thou wilt, + Thou canst not call it back! + +“So bethink thee, bold Robin, and, as thou 'rt king o' the wild-wood, be +thou just king and merciful--” + +“Now out upon thee, brother!” cried Robin, forgetting to scowl. “Out on +thee with thy honied phrases, thy quipsome lilting rhymes! Here go I to do +a thing I ha' no lust to do--and all by reason o' thee! Off--off wi' the +halter, lads--loose the hangman-claws of him! Hereafter, since he can pay +no ransom, he shall be our serf; to have a hangman fetch and carry shall +be rare, methinks!” + +Quoth JOCELYN: How much should hangman's flesh be worth i' the greenwood, +Robin? + +“Why, brother, 'tis poor, sad and dismal knave; five gold pieces shall buy +him, aye--halter and all, and 'tis fair, good halter, look you!” + +“Why, then,” said Jocelyn, opening his wallet, “behold the monies, so do I +buy him of thee--” + +“Now, by Saint Nick!” cried Robin, amazed. “Nay, brother, an thou'lt buy so +sorry a thing, give thy money to the merry lads; I'll none on't. And now,” + said he, the money duly paid, “what wilt do wi' thy hangman?” + +“Sir Fool,” cried Ranulph, falling on his knees at Jocelyn's feet, “fain +would I serve thee--e'en to the peril o' the life thou hast saved. Bid me +labour for thee and in labour shall be my joy, bid me fight for thee and I +will fight whiles life is in me; bid me follow thee and I will follow even +unto--” + +“Nay, hangman,” said Jocelyn, “I bid thee rise and sing for us, and so be +gone wheresoever thou wilt.” + +Then Ranulph arose and glancing round upon the fierce company, from the +noose at his feet to Jocelyn's scarred face, he drew a great breath; quoth +he: + +“Sir Fool, since 'tis thy will fain would I give thee song blithe and +joyful since joy is in my heart, but alack, though my songs begin in merry +vein they do grow mournful anon; howbeit, for thy joy now will I sing my +cheeriest;” whereupon Ranulph brake into song thus: + + “I am forsooth a merry soul, + Hey deny down, ho ho! + I love a merry song to troll, + I love to quaff a cheery bowl, + And yet thinks I, alas! + Such things too soon do pass, + And proudest flesh is grass. + Alack-a-day and woe, + Alack it should be so! + + “A goodly lover I might be, + Merrily, ho ho! + But pretty maids in terror flee, + When this my hangman's head they see. + But woe it is, thinks I, + All fair, sweet dames must die, + And pale, sad corpses lie. + Alack-a-day and woe, + Alack it should be so! + + “Fairest beauty is but dust, + Shining armour soon will rust, + All good things soon perish must, + Look around, thinks I, and see + All that, one day, dead must be, + King and slave and you and me. + Alack-a-day and woe, + Alack it must be so!” + +“Out!” cried Robin. “Here forsooth is dolorous doleful dirge--out on thee +for sad and sorry snuffler!” + +“Aye, verily,” sighed Ranulph, “'tis my curse. I begin with laugh and end +in groan. I did mean this for merry song, yet it turned of itself sad song +despite poor I, and there's the pity on't--” + +“Enough!” growled Robin, “away with him. Brand, do you hoodwink him in his +'kerchief and give him safe conduct to beyond the ford, and so set Master +Hangman Grimglum-grief on his road--” + +“Sir Fool,” cried Ranulph, “God den t'ye and gramercy. Should it be e'er +thy fate to die o' the gallows, may I have thy despatching--I will contrive +it so sweetly shalt know nought of it--oho! 'twould be my joy.” + +“Off!” cried Robin. “Off, thou pestiferous fungus lest I tread on +thee--hence, away!” + +So the outlaws blindfolded Ranulph and led him off at speed. + +“Away,” quoth Jocelyn, nodding, “so now in faith must I, Robin--” + +“What, is't indeed farewell, brother?” + +“Aye, Robin.” + +“Why, then, what may I give thee in way o' love and friendship?” + +“Thy hand.” + +“Behold it, brother! And what beside? Here is purse o' good pieces--ha?” + +“Nay, Robin, prithee keep them for those whose need is greater.” + +“Can I nought bestow--dost lack for nothing, brother?” + +“What thou, methinks, may not supply--” + +“And that?” + +“Horse and armour!” Now at this, Robin laughed and clapped hand to thigh; +quoth he: + +“Come with Robin, brother!” So he brought Jocelyn into a cave beneath the +steep and, lighting a torch from fire that burned there, led him on through +other caves and winding passages rough-hewn in the rock, and so at last to +a vasty cavern. + +And here was great store of merchandise of every sort,--velvets, silks, +and rich carpets from the Orient; vases of gold and silver, and coffers +strong-clamped with many iron bands. And here also, hanging against the +rocky walls, were many and divers suits of armour with helms and shields +set up in gallant array; beholding all of which Jocelyn paused to eye merry +Robin askance; quoth he soberly: + +“Sir Rogue, how came ye by all this goodly furniture?” + +“By purest chance, brolher,” laughed Robin, “for hark 'ee-- + + “Chance is a wind to outlaws kind, + And many fair things blows us, + It--merchants, priors, lords, knights and squires, + And like good things bestows us--” + +“Aye,” said Jocelyn, “but what of all those knights and squires whose +armour hangeth here?” + +“Here or there, brother, they come and they go. Ha, yonder soundeth +Ralfwyn's horn--three blasts which do signify some right fair windfall. +Come, let us see what this jolly wind hath blown us this time!” So +saying, Robin laughed and led the way out into the sunny green. And here, +surrounded by a ring of merry forest rogues, they beheld a knight right +gallantly mounted and equipped, his armour blazing in the sun, his gaudy +bannerole a-flutter from long lance, his shield gaudy and brave with new +paint; beholding which, Robin chuckled gleefully; quoth he: + +“Oho! On a field vert three falcons gules, proper, charged with heart +ensanguined--aha, here's good booty, methinks!” + +Now, as this splendid knight rode nearer, contemptuous of his brawny +captors, Robin stared to see that on his helmet he wore a wreath of +flowers, while lance and sword, mace and battle-axe were wreathed in +blooming roses. + +“Ho, Jenkyn, Cuthbert!” cried Robin, “what Sir Daintiness have ye here?” + But ere his grinning captors could make reply, the knight himself spake +thus: + + “Behold a very gentle knight, + Sir Palamon of Tong, + A gentle knight in sorry plight, + That loveth love and hateth fight, + A knight than fight had rather write, + And strophes to fair dames indite, + Or sing a sighful song. + + “By divers braggarts I'm abused, + 'Tis so as I've heard tell, + Because, since I'm to fight unused, + I many a fight have bold refused, + And, thereby, saved my bones unbruised, + Which pleaseth me right well. + + “No joy have I in steed that prances, + True gentle man am I + To tread to lutes slow, stately dances. + 'Stead of your brutish swords and lances, + I love love's lureful looks and glances, + When hand to hand, unseen, advances, + And eye caresseth eye.” + +“And how a plague, Sir Gentleness,” questioned Robin, “may eye caress eye?” + +“E'en as lips voiceless may wooing speak, Sir Roguery, and tongue unwagging +tell tales o' love, Sir Ferocity.” + +ROBIN: Then had I the trick o' voiceless speech, now would I, with silly +tongue, tell thee thou art our prisoner to ransom, Sir Silken Softness. + +SIR PALAMON: And I joy therefore, Sir Forest Fiend. + +ROBIN: And wherefore therefore? + +SIR PALAMON: For that therefore I need not to the joust, to that +bone-shattering sport of boastful, brutal braggadocios, but here, lapped +soft in the gentle green, woo the fair Yolande-- + +JOCELYN: How, knight, the fair lady Yolande, say'st thou? + +SIR PALAMON: Even she. + +JOCELYN: But here she is not and thou art, how then may one that is, woo +one is not? + +SIR PALAMON: Gross mountebank, by thought--I woo in thought, breathe my +thought upon the balmy air and air beareth it to her feet. + +ROBIN: And she treadeth on't, so there's an end o' thy love! But pray you, +Sir Downy Daintiness, how come ye that are so gentle so ungently dight? +Discourse, Sir Dove! + +SIR PALAMON: In two words then, thou lewd lurcher o' the thickets; I ride +thus in steely panoply--the which doth irk me sore--by reason of the tongue +of my mother (good soul!) the which doth irk me more. For she (worthy +lady!) full-fed o' fatuous fantasies and fables fond, fuddled i' faith +o' faddling fictions as--gestes of jongleurs, tales told by tramping +troubadours, ballades of babbling braggarts, romances of roysterous +rhymers, she (good gossip!) as I say, having hearkened to and perused the +works of such-like pelting, paltry prosers and poets wherein sweep of sword +and lunge o' lance is accompted of worthier repute than the penning of +dainty distich and pretty poesies pleasingly passionate. She, I say--my +mother (God rest her!), e'en she with tongue most harsh, most bitter and +most unwearying, hath enforced me, her son (whom Venus bless!)--e'en I that +am soul most transcendental--I that am a very wing-ed Mercury--me, I say +she hath, by torrential tongueful tumult (gentle lady!), constrained to don +the habit of a base, brawling, beefy and most material Mars! Wherefore at +my mother's behest (gracious dame!) I ride nothing joyful to be bruised and +battered by any base, brutal braggart that hath the mind to try a tilt with +me. Moreover-- + +ROBIN: Hold! Take breath, gentle sir, for thine own sweet sake draw thy +wind. + +SIR PALAMON: 'Tis done, fellow, 'tis done! And now in three words will +I-- + +ROBIN: Cry ye mercy, sir, thy two words do yet halloo “Buzz-buzz” in mine +ears. + +SIR PALAMON: Faith, robber-rogue, since I a tongue possess-- + +ROBIN: Therein thou art very son o' thy mother (whom St. Anthony cherish!). + +SIR PALAMON: With this rare difference, outlaw--for whereas her tongue +(honoured relict!) is tipped with gall, wormwood, henbane, hemlock, +bitter-aloes and verjuice, and stingeth like the adder, the asp, the toad, +the newt, the wasp, and snaky-haired head of Medusa, mine-- + +ROBIN: Buzzeth, buzz, O buzz! + +SIR PALAMON: Mine, thou paltry knave, I say mine-- + +ROBIN: Buzz--ha--buzz! + +JOCELYN: I pray you, Sir Knight, doth the Red Gui tilt at to-morrow's +joust? + +SIR PALAMON: Base mime, he doth! My Lord Gui of Ells, Lord Seneschal of +Raddemore, is myfriend, a very mirror of knightly prowess, the sure might +of whose lance none may abide. He is, in very truth, the doughtiest +champion in all this fair country, matchless at any and every weapon, +a-horse or a-foot, in sooth a very Ajax, Achilles, Hector, Roland and +Oliver together and at once, one and indivisible, aye--by Cupid a very +paladin! + +“'Tis so I've heard,” said Jocelyn thoughtfully. + +SIR PALAMON: Two knights only there are might cope with him, and one Sir +Agramore and one Jocelyn of the Helm, Duke of Brocelaunde. The fame of +which last rumour hath so puffed up that thrice my Lord Gui hath sent his +cartel of defiance, but the said Duke, intent on paltry battles beyond his +marches, hath thrice refused, and wisely--so 'tis said. + +“Aye me, messire,” quoth Jocelyn, strumming his lute, “and so bloweth the +wind. Yet mayhap these twain shall meet one day.” + +ROBIN: And heaven send me there to see! Now as to thee, Sir Softly Sweet, +fair Lord of Tong, thy goodly horse and armour are mine henceforth, +first because thy need of them is nothing, secondly because thou art my +prisoner-- + +SIR PALAMON: And thirdly, Sir Riotous Roughness, I do freely on thee bestow +them, hide and hair, bolt and rivet. + +ROBIN: Now as to thy ransom, Sir Mildly-Meek, at what price dost rate thy +value, spiritual and corporeal? + +SIR PALAMON: Fellow, though youthful, well-favoured and poet esteemed, I am +yet marvellous modest! 'Tis true I am knight of lineage lofty, of patrimony +proud, of manors many-- + +ROBIN: Even as of thy words, Sir Emptiness. + +SIR PALAMON: 'Tis also true, thou ignorant atomy, I, like Demosthenes, am +blessed with a wonder o' words and glory o' sweet phrase, and yet, and +here's the enduring wonder--I am still but man, though man blessed with so +much profundity, fecundity, and redundity of thought and expression, and +therefore a facile scribe or speaker, able to create, relate, formulate or +postulate any truth, axiomatic, sophistry subtle, or, in other words, I +can narrate-- + +ROBIN: Verily Sir Windbag thou dost, to narrate, thyself with wind +inflate, and, being thus thyself inflate of air, thou dost thyself deflate +of airy sounds which be words o' wind, and windy words is emptiness--thus +by thy inflatings and deflatings cometh nought but wind bred o' wind, and +nought is nothing, so nought is thy relation or narration; whereof make +now a cessation, so will I, in due form, formulate, postulate and +deliberate. Thus, with my good rogues' approbation and acclamation, I will +of thy just valuation make tabulation, and give demonstration in relation +to thy liberation from this thy situation, as namely, viz. and to-wit: +First thou art a poet; in this is thy marketable value to us nought, for +poets do go empty of aught but thought of sort when wrought, unbought; +thus go they short which doth import they're empty, purse and belly. +Second, upon thy testimony thou'rt a man. Go to! Here we be out again, for +on the score of manliness thou art not. Yet thou art flesh and blood-- +good! for here we deal in such. Not that we yearn for thy flesh and blood, +but, being thine, they are to thee dear, perchance, and thou would'st fain +keep them alive a little longer; wherefore thou shalt for thy loved flesh +and blood pay--purchasing the same of us. And, as flesh varies, so do our +prices vary; we do sell a man his own flesh and blood at certain rateable +values. Thus unto a hangman we did of late sell a hangman, in fair good +halter, and he a hangman brawny, for no more than five gold pieces, the +which was cheap, methinks, considering the goodly halter, and he a lusty, +manly rogue to boot. Now as for thee, thou'rt soft and of a manlihood +indifferent, so would I rate thee at one gold piece. + +SIR PALAMON: Ignorant grub! Am I less than base hangman--I, a knight-- + +ROBIN: True, Sir Knight, thou'rt a knight for no reason but that thou +art knight born and thus, by nought but being born, hath won to thyself +nobility, riches and honours such as no man may win either by courage, +skill, or learning, since highborn fool and noble rogue do rank high 'bove +such. So _thou_ art knight, Sir Knight, and for thy knighthood, thy lineage +lofty, thy manors many, mulcted thou shalt be in noble fashion. For thy +manhood I assess thee at one gold piece, but, since thou'rt son o' thy dam +(whom the Saints pity!) we do fine thee five thousand gold pieces--thy body +ours until the purchase made. Away with him, lads; cherish him kindly, +unarm him gently, and set him a-grinding corn till his ransom be +paid--away! + +Now here was mighty roar of laughter and acclaim from all who heard, +only Sir Palamon scowled, and, for once mute and tongue-tied, was led +incontinent away to his labours. + +“And now, brother,” quoth Robin, turning where Jocelyn stood smiling and +merry-eyed, “what o' this armour dost seek, and wherefore?” + +“Art a lovely robber, Robin,” said he; “a very various rogue, yet no rogue +born, methinks!” + +“I was not always outlaw, brother--howbeit, what would a Fool with horse +and knightly arms?” + +Now Jocelyn, bending close, whispered somewhatin Robin's ear, whereon he +clapped hand to thigh, and laughed and laughed until the air rang again. + +“Oho, a jape--a jape indeed!” he roared. “O lovely brother, to see proud +knight unhorsed by prancing motley Fool! Hey, how my heart doth jump for +gladness! An thou wilt a-tilting ride, I will squire thee--a Fool of a +knight tended by Rogue of a squire. O, rare--aha! oho! Come thy ways, sweet +brother, and let us set about this joyous jape forthwith!” + +And thus it was that, as evening fell, there rode, through bowery bracken +and grassy glade, two horsemen full blithe and merry, and the setting sun +flashed back in glory from their glittering armour. + + + + +FYTTE 10 + + How Red Gui sore smitten was in fight + By motley Fool in borrowed armour dight. + + * * * * * + + Now shrill tucket and clarion, trumpet and horn + With their cheery summons saluted the morn, + Where the sun, in his splendour but newly put on, + Still more splendid made pennon and brave gonfalon + That with banners and pennoncelles fluttered and flew + High o'er tent and pavilion of every hue. + For the lists were placed here, for the tournament set, + Where already a bustling concourse was met; + Here were poor folk and rich folk, lord, lady and squire, + Clad in leather, in cloth and in silken attire; + Here folk pushed and folk jostled, as people still do + When the sitters be many, the seats scant and few; + Here was babble of voices and merry uproar, + For while some folk laughed loud, some lost tempers and swore. + Until on a sudden this tumult and riot + Was hushed to a murmur that sank into quiet + As forth into the lists, stern of air, grave of face, + Five fine heralds, with tabard and trumpet, did pace + With their Lion-at-arms, or Chief Herald, before; + And a look most portentous this Chief Herald wore, + And, though portly his shape and a little too round, + Sure a haughtier Chief Herald could nowhere be found. + So aloof was his look and so grave his demeanour, + Humble folk grew abashed, and mean folk felt the meaner; + When once more the loud clarions had all echoes woke + This Chief Herald in voice deep and sonorous spoke: + + “Good people all, + Both great and small, + Oyez! + Ye noble dames of high degree + Your pretty ears now lend to me, + And much I will declare to ye. + Oyez! Oyez! + Ye dainty lords of might and fame, + Ye potent gentles, do the same, + Ye puissant peers of noble name, + Now unto ye I do proclaim: + Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” + + Here pealed the trumpets, ringing loud and clear, + That deafened folk who chanced to stand too near. + In special one--a bent and hag-like dame, + Who bent o'er crooked staff as she were lame; + Her long, sharp nose--but no, her nose none saw, + Since it was hidden 'neath the hood she wore + But from this hood she watched with glittering eye + Four lusty men-at-arms who lolled hard by, + Who, 'bove their armour, bore on back and breast + A bloody hand--Lord Gui's well-hated crest, + And who, unwitting of the hooded hag, + On sundry matters let their lewd tongues wag: + +THE FIRST SOLDIER: Why, she scorned him, 'tis well beknown! + +THE SECOND SOLDIER: Aye, and it doth not do to scorn the Red Gui, look 'ee! + +THE THIBD SOLDIER: She'll lie snug in his arms yet, her pride humbled, her +proud spirit broke, I'll warrant me! + +THE FOURTH SOLDIER: She rideth hence in her litter, d'ye see; and with but +scant few light-armed knaves attendant. + +THE FIRST SOLDIER: Aye, and our signal my lord's hunting-horn thrice +winded-- + + Thus did they talk, with laughter loud and deep, + While nearer yet the hooded hag did creep; + But:-- + Now blew the brazen clarions might and main, + Which done, the portly Herald spake again: + + “Good people, all ye lords and ladies fair, + Oyez! + Now unto ye forthwith I do declare + The charms of two fair dames beyond compare. + Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! + The first, our Duchess--Benedicta hight, + That late from Tissingors, her town, took flight, + To-day, returning here, doth bless our sight, + And view the prowess of each valiant knight; + Each champ-i-on, in shining armour dight, + With blunted weapons gallantly shall fight. + And, watched by eyes of ladies beamy-bright, + Inspired and strengthened by this sweet eye-light, + Shall quit themselves with very main and might; + The second:--in her beauty Beauty's peer, + Yolande the Fair, unto our Duchess dear, + For whose sweet charms hath splintered many a spear, + Throned with our lovely Duchess, sitteth here + With her bright charms all gallant hearts to cheer. + Now, ye brave knights, that nought but Cupid fear, + To these sweet dames give eye, to me give ear! + Oyez! + 'Tis now declared--” + +My daughter GILLIAN expostulateth: + + GILL: O, father, now + You must allow + That your herald is rather a bore. + He talks such a lot, + And it seems frightful rot-- + + MYSELF: I hate slang, miss! I told you before! + If my herald says much, + Yet he only says such + As by heralds was said in those days; + Though their trumpets they blew, + It is none the less true + That they blew them in other folks' praise. + If my herald verbose is + And gives us large doses + Of high-sounding rodomontade, + You'll find they spoke so + In the long, long ago, + So blame not--O, blame not the bard. + But while we are prating + Our herald stands waiting + In a perfectly terrible fume, + So, my dear, here and now, + The poor chap we'll allow + His long-winded speech to resume: + + “'Tis here declared by order of the Ten, + Fair Benedicta's guardians--worthy men! + Thus they decree--ye lovers all rejoice! + She shall by their command, this day make choice + Of him--O, him! O blest, thrice blessed he + Who must anon her lord and husband be. + 'Tis so pronounced by her grave guardians ten, + By them made law--and they right reverend men! + And this the law--our lady, be it said, + This day shall choose the husband she must wed; + And he who wins our Duchess for his own + Crowned by her love shall mount to ducal throne, + So let each knight, by valiant prowess, prove + Himself most worthy to our lady's love. + Now make I here an end, and ending, pray + Ye quit you all like val'rous knights this day.” + +Thus spake the Chief Herald and so paced solemnly down the lists while the +long clarions filled the air with gallant music. But the lovely Benedicta, +throned beneath silken canopy, knit her black brows and clenched slender +hands and stamped dainty foot, yet laughed thereafter, whereupon Yolande, +leaning to kiss her flushed cheek, questioned her, wondering: + +“How say'st thou to this, my loved Benedicta?” + +Quoth the DUCHESS: + + “I say, my sweeting, 'tis quite plain + That I must run away again! + +Howbeit I care not one rush for their laws! Marry forsooth--a fig! Let them +make laws an they will, these reverend, right troublesome grey-beards of +mine, they shall never wed me but to such a man as Love shall choose me, +and loving him--him only will I wed, be he great or lowly, rich or poor, +worthy or unworthy, so I do love him, as is the sweet and wondrous way of +love.” + +“Ah, Benedicta! what is love?” + + +“A joy that cometh but of itself, all unsought! This wisdom had I of a Fool +i' the forest. Go learn you of this same Fool and sigh not, dear wench.” + +“Nay, but,” sighed Yolande, lovely cheeks a-flush, “what of Sir +Agramore--hath he not sworn to wed thee?” + +“I do fear Sir Agramore no longer, Yolande, since I have found me one may +cope with him perchance--even as did a Fool with my Lord Gui of Ells upon a +tune. Art sighing again, sweet maid?” + +“Nay, indeed--and wherefore should I sigh?” + +“At mention of a Fool, belike.” + +“Ah, no, no, 'twere shame in me, Benedicta! A Fool forsooth!” + +“Yet Fool of all fools singular, Yolande. And for all his motley a very +man, methinks, and of a proud, high bearing.” + +Here Yolande's soft cheek grew rosy again: + +“Yet is he but motley Fool--and his face--marred hatefully--” + +“Hast seen him smile, Yolande, for then--how, dost sigh again, my sweet?” + +“Nay, indeed; but talk we of other matters--thy so sudden flight--tell me +all that chanced thee, dearest Benedicta.” + +“Why first--in thine ear, Yolande--my jewel is not--see!” + +“How--how, alas! O most sweet lady--hast lost it? Thy royal amulet?” + +“Bestowed it, Yolande.” + +“Benedicta! On whom?” + +“A poor soldier. One that saved me i' the forest from many of Sir +Agramore's verderers--a man very tall and strong and brave, but dight in +ragged cloak and rusty mail--” + +“Ragged? A thief--” + +“Mayhap!” + +“An outlaw--” + +“Mayhap!” + +“A wolf's-head--a wild man and fierce.” + +“True he is very wild and very fierce, but very, very gentle--” + +“And didst give to such thy jewel? O Benedicta! The Heart-in-heart?” + +“Freely--gladly! He begged it of me very humbly and all unknowing what it +signified--” + +“O my loved Benedicta, alas!” + +“O my sweet Yolande, joy!” + +“But if he should claim thee, and he so poor and wild and ragged--” + +“If he should, Yolande, if he should-- + + 'He that taketh Heart-in-heart, + Taketh all and every part.' + +O, if he should, Yolande, then I--must fulfil the prophecy. Nay, dear my +friend, stare not so great and sadly-eyed, he knoweth not the virtue of the +jewel nor have I seen him these many days.” + +“And must thou sigh therefore, Benedicta?” + +But now the trumpets blew a fanfare, and forth rode divers gallant knights, +who, spurring rearing steeds, charged amain to gore, to smite and batter +each other with right good will while the concourse shouted, caps waved and +scarves and ribands fluttered. + + But here, methinks, it booteth not to tell + Of every fierce encounter that befell; + How knight 'gainst knight drove fierce with pointless spear + And met with shock that echoed far and near; + Or how, though they with blunted swords did smite, + Sore battered was full many a luckless wight. + But as the day advanced and sun rose high + Full often rose the shout: “A Gui--A Gui!” + For many a proud (though bruised and breathless) lord, + Red Gui's tough lance smote reeling on the sward; + And ever as these plaudits shook the air, + Through vizored casque at Yolande he would stare. + +And beholding all the beauty of her he smiled evilly and muttered to +himself, glancing from her to certain lusty men-at-arms who, lolling +'gainst the barriers, bore at back and breast his badge of the bloody hand. + +But the fair Yolande heeded him none at all, sitting with eyes a-dream +and sighing ever and anon; insomuch that the Duchess, watching her slyly, +sighed amain also and presently spake: + +“Indeed, and O verily, Yolande, meseemeth we do sigh and for ever sigh, +thou and I, like two poor, love-sick maids. How think'st thou?” + +“Nay, O Benedicta, hearken! See, who rideth yonder?” + + Now even as thus fair Yolanda spoke, + A horn's shrill note on all men's hearing broke, + And all eyes turned where rode a gallant knight, + In burnished armour sumptuously bedight. + His scarlet plumes 'bove gleaming helm a-dance, + His bannerole a-flutter from long lance, + His gaudy shield with new-popped blazon glowed: + Three stooping falcons that on field vert showed; + But close-shut vizor hid from all his face + As thus he rode at easy, ambling pace. + +“Now as I live!” cried Benedicta. “By his device yon should be that foolish +knight Sir Palamon of Tong!” + +“Aye, truly!” sighed Yolande. “Though he wear no motley hither rideth +indeed a very fool. And look, Benedicta--look! O, sure never rode knight in +like array--see how the very populace groweth dumb in its amaze!” + + For now the crowd in wonderment grew mute, + To see this knight before him bare a lute, + While blooming roses his great helmet crowned, + They wreathed his sword, his mighty lance around. + Thus decked rode he in rosy pageantry, + And up the lists he ambled leisurely; + Till, all at once, from the astonied crowd + There brake a hum that swelled to laughter loud; + But on he rode, nor seemed to reck or heed, + Till 'neath the balcony he checked his steed. + Then, handing lance unto his tall esquire, + He sudden struck sweet chord upon his lyre, + And thus, serene, his lute he plucked until + The laughter died and all stood hushed and still; + Then, hollow in his helm, a clear voice rang, + As, through his lowered vizor, thus he sang: + + “A gentle knight behold in me, + (Unless my blazon lie!) + For on my shield behold and see, + Upon field vert, gules falcons three, + Surcharged with heart ensanguiney, + To prove to one and all of ye, + A love-lorn knight am I.” + +But now cometh (and almost in haste) the haughty and right dignified Chief +Herald with pursuivants attendant, which latter having trumpeted amain, +the Herald challenged thus: + + “Messire, by the device upon thy shield, + We know my Lord of Tong is in the field; + But pray thee now declare, pronounce, expound, + Why thus ye ride with foolish roses crowned?” + +Whereto the Knight maketh answer forthwith: + + “If foolish be these flowers I bear, + Then fool am I, I trow. + Yet, in my folly, fool doth swear, + These flowers to fool an emblem rare + Of one, to fool, more sweet, more fair, + E'en she that is beyond compare, + A flower perchance for fool to wear, + Who shall his foolish love declare + Till she, mayhap, fool's life may share, + Nor shall this fool of love despair, + Till foolish hie shall go. + + “For life were empty, life were vain, + If true love come not nigh, + Though honours, fortune, all I gain, + Yet poorer I than poor remain, + If true-love from me fly; + So here I pray, + If that thou may, + Ah--never pass me by!” + + +Here the Chief Herald frowned, puffing his cheeks, and waved his ebony +staff authoritatively. + +Quoth he: “Enough, Sir Knight! Here is no place for love! For inasmuch as +we--” + +THE KNIGHT: Gentle Herald, I being here, here is Love, since I am lover, +therefore love-full, thus where I go goeth Love-- + +The Herald: Apprehend me, Sir Knight! For whereas love hath no part in-- + +The Knight: Noble Herald, Love hath every part within me and without, thus +I, from Love apart, have no part, and my love no part apart from my every +part; wherefore, for my part, and on my part, ne'er will I with Love part +for thy part and this to thee do I impart-- + +“Sweet Saints aid us!” The Chief Herald clasped his massy brow and gazed +with eye distraught. “Sir Knight--messire--my very good and noble Lord of +Tong--I grope! Here is that which hath a seeming ... thy so many parts +portend somewhat ... and yet ... I excogitate ... yet grope I still ... +impart, part ... thy part and its part ... so many parts ... and roses ... +and songs o' love ... a lute! O, thundering Mars, I ... Sound, trumpets!” + +But the Duchess up-starting, silenced Herald and trumpeters with imperious +hand. + +“Sir Knight of Tong,” said she, “'tis told thou'rt of nimble tongue and a +maker of songs, so we bid thee sing if thy song be of Love--for Love is +a thing little known and seldom understood these days. Here be very many +noble knights wondrous learned in the smiting of buffets, but little else; +here be noble dames very apt at the play of eyes, the twining of fingers, +the languishment of sighs, that, seeking True-love, find but its shadow; +and here also grey beards that have forgot the very name of Love. So we bid +thee sing us of Love--True-love, what it is. Our ears attend thee!” + +“Gracious lady,” answered the Knight, “gladly do I obey. But Love is +mighty and I lowly, and may speak of Love but from mine own humility. And +though much might be said of Love since Love's empire is the universe and +Love immortal, yet will I strive to portray this mighty thing that is +True-love in few, poor words.” + +Then, plucking sweet melody from his lute, the Knight sang as here +followeth: + + “What is Love? 'Tis this, I say, + Flower that springeth in a day + Ne'er to die or fade away + Since True-love dieth never. + + “Though youth, alas! too soon shall wane, + Though friend prove false and effort vain, + True-love all changeless doth remain + The same to-day and ever.” + +Now while the clarions rang out proclaiming Sir Palamon's defiance, +Benedicta looked on Yolande and Yolande on Benedicta: + +“O, wonderful!” cried the Duchess. “My Lord of Tong hath found him manhood +and therewith a wisdom beyond most and singeth such love as methought only +angels knew and maids might vision in their dreams. Ah, Yolande--that +such a love could be ... e'en though he went ragged and poor in all but +love....” + +“Benedicta,” sighed Yolande, hands clasped on swelling bosom, “O Benedicta, +here is no foolish Lord of Tong ... and yet ... O, I am mad!” + +“Why, then, 'tis sweet madness! So, my Yolande, let us be mad awhile +together ... thou--a Fool ... and I--a beggar-rogue!” + +“Nay--alas, dear Benedicta! This were shame--” + +“And forsooth is it shame doth swell thy heart, Yolande, light the glamour +in thine eyes and set thee a-tremble--e'en as I? Nay indeed, thou'rt +a-thrill with Folly ... and I, with Roguery. Loved Folly! Sweet Roguery! O +Yolande, let us fly from empty state, from this mockery of life and +learn the sweet joys of ... of beggary, and, crowned with poverty, clasp +life--” + + MYSELF, myself interrupting: + By the way, my dear, you'll understand, + Though this is very fine, + Still, her Grace's counsel to Yolande + Must not be in your line! + Not that I'd have you wed for wealth, + Or many a beggar-man by stealth, + But I would have you, if you can-- + + GILL: Marry some strong, stern, silent man, + Named Mark, and with hair slightly gray by the ears! + Now he's just the sort who would bore me to tears. + If I for a husband feel ever inclined, + I shall choose quite an ordin'ry husband--the kind + With plenty of money and nothing to do, + With a nice, comfy house, and a motor or two-- + + MYSELF: That's all very fine, miss, but what would you do + If he, by some ill-chance, quite penniless grew? + + GILL: Oh, why then--why, of course, + I should get a divorce-- + + MYSELF: A divorce? Gracious heaven! For goodness' sake-- + + GILL: 'Twould be the most dignified action to take! + + + MYSELF: Pray, what in the world of such things do you know? + + GILL: Well, father, like you--each day older I grow. + But, instead of discussing poor me, + I think you would much nicer be + To get on with our Geste. + + MYSELF: I obey your behest! + +Said Yolande to the duchess, said she: + +“Nay, my Benedicta, these be only dreams, but life is real and dreams a +very emptiness!” + +“And is 't so, forsooth?” exclaimed the Duchess. “Then am I nought but a +duchess and lonely, thou a maid fearful of her own heart, and yon singer of +love only a very futile knight, Sir Palamon of Tong, nothing esteemed by +thee for wit or valour and little by his peers--see how his challengers do +throng. How think you?” But the lady Yolande sat very still and silent, +only she stared, great-eyed, where danced the scarlet plume. + +And indeed many and divers were the knights who, beholding the blazon of +Tong, sent the bearer their defiance, eager to cope with him; and each +and every challenge Sir Palamon accepted by mouth of his tall esquire who +(vizor closed, even as his lord's) spake the Chief Herald in loud, merry +voice, thus: + +“Sir Herald, whereas and forinasmuch as this, my Lord of Tong himself, +himself declaring fool, is so himself-like as to meet in combat each and +every of his challengers--themselves ten, my lord that is fool, himself +himself so declaring, now declareth by me that am no fool but only humble +esquire--messire, I say, doth his esquire require that I, the said +esquire, should on his part impart as followeth, namely and to wit: That +these ten gentle knights, the said challengers, shall forthwith of +themselves choose of themselves, themselves among themselves thereto +agreeing, which of themselves, among themselves of themselves so chosen, +shall first in combat adventure himself against my Lord of Tong himself. +And moreover, should Fortune my lord bless with victory, the nine +remaining shall among themselves choose, themselves agreeing, which of +themselves shall next, thus chosen of themselves, themselves represent in +single combat with this very noble, fool-like Lord of Tong, my master. +Furthermore, whereas and notwithstanding--” + +“Hold, sir!” cried the Chief Herald, fingering harassed brow. “Pray thee +'bate--O, abate thy speechful fervour. Here forsooth and of truth is +notable saying--O, most infallibly--and yet perchance something discursive +and mayhap a little involved.” + +“Nay, Sir Herald,” quoth the esquire, “if involved 'twill be resolved if +revolved, thus: Here be ten lords would fight one, and one--that is my lord +who is but one--ten fight one by one. But that ten, fighting one, may as +one fight, let it be agreed that of these ten one be chosen one to fight, +so shall one fight one and every one be satisfied--every one of these ten +fighting one, one by one. Thus shall ten be one, and one ten fight one by +one till one be discomfited. Shall we accord the matter simply, thus?” + +“Sir,” quoth the Chief Herald, gasping a little, “Amen!” + +“O!” cried the Duchess, clapping her hands, “O Yolande, hark to this rare +esquire! Surely, I have heard yon cunning tongue ere this?” + +But Yolande gazed ever where Sir Palamon, having taken his station, set +himself in array. For now, the ten knights having chosen one to represent +them, forth rode their champion resplendent in shining mail and green +surcoat with heralds before to proclaim his name and rank. + +“Yolande,” quoth the Duchess softly, “pray--pray this Lord of Tong may +tilt as bravely as he doth sing, for Sir Thomas of Thornydyke is a notable +jouster.” + +The trumpets blew a fanfare and, levelling their pointless lances, both +knights gave spur, their great horses reared, broke into a gallop and +thundered towards each other. + + But hard midway upon the green surcoat, + Sir Palamon's stout lance so truly smote, + That, 'neath the shock, the bold Sir Thomas reeled + And, losing stirrups, saddle, lance and shield, + Down, down upon the ling outstretched he fell + And, losing all, lost breath and speech as well. + Thus, silent all, the bold Sir Thomas lay, + Though much, and many things, he yearned to say, + Which things his squires and pages might surmise + From the expression of his fish-like eyes + E'en as they bore him from that doleful place; + While, near and far, from all the populace, + Rose shout on shout that echoed loud and long: + “Sir Palamon! Sir Palamon of Tong!” + So came these ten good knights, but, one by one, + They fell before this bold Sir Palamon, + Whose lance unerring smote now helm, now shield, + That many an one lay rolling on the field. + But each and all themselves did vanquished yield; + And loud and louder did the plaudits grow, + That one knight should so many overthrow. + Even Sir Gui, within his silken tent + Scowled black in ever-growing wonderment. + +But the Knight of Tong, his gaudy shield a little battered, his fine +surcoat frayed and torn, leaped from his wearied steed and forthwith +mounted one held by his tall esquire, a mighty charger that tossed proud +head and champed his bit, pawing impatient hoof. + +“Aha!” quoth the esquire, pointing to ten fair steeds held by ten fair +pages. “Oho, good brother, most puissant Knight of Tong, here is good and +rich booty--let us begone!” + +“Nay,” answered the Knight, tossing aside his blunt tilting-spear, “here is +an end to sportful dalliance--reach me my lance!” + +“Ha, is't now the Red Gui's turn, brother? The Saints aid thee, in especial +two, that, being women, are yet no saints yet awhile--see how they watch +thee, sweet, gentle dames! Their prayers go with thee, methinks, brother, +and mine also, for the Red Gui is forsooth a valiant rogue!” + +And now, mounted on the great black war-horse, the Knight of Tong rode up +the lists: + + His scarlet plume 'bove shining helm a-dance, + His bannerole a-flutter from long lance, + Till he was come where, plain for all to spy, + Was hung the shield and blazon of Sir Gui, + With bends and bars in all their painted glory, + Surcharged with hand ensanguined--gules or gory. + +Full upon this bloody hand smote the sharp point of Sir Palamon's lance; +whereupon the watching crowd surged and swayed and hummed expectant, since +here was to be no play with blunted weapons but a deadly encounter. + +Up started Sir Gui and strode forth of his tent, grim-smiling and +confident. Quoth he: + +“Ha, my Lord of Tong, thou'rt grown presumptuous and over-venturesome, +methinks. But since life thou dost hold so cheap prepare ye for death +forthright!” + +So spake the Lord of Ells and, beckoning to his esquires, did on his great +tilting-helm and rode into the lists, whereon was mighty roar of welcome, +for, though much hated, he was esteemed mighty at arms, and the accepted +champion of the Duchy. So while the people thundered their acclaim the two +knights galloped to their stations and, reining about, faced each other +from either end of the lists, + + And halted thus, their deadly spears they couched, + With helms stooped low, behind their shields they crouched; + Now rang the clarions; goading spurs struck deep, + The mighty chargers reared with furious leap + And, like two whirlwinds, met in full career, + To backward reel 'neath shock of splintering spear: + But, all unshaken, every eye might see + The bloody hand, the scarred gules falcons three. + Thrice thus they met, but at the fourth essay, + Rose sudden shout of wonder and dismay, + For, smitten sore through riven shield, Sir Gui + Thudded to earth there motionless to lie. + +Thus Sir Gui, Lord of Ells and Seneschal of Raddemore, wounded and utterly +discomfited, was borne raging to his pavilion while the air rang with the +blare of trumpet and clarion in honour of the victor. Thereafter, since no +other knight thought it prudent to challenge him, Sir Palamon of Tong was +declared champion of the tournament, and was summoned by the Chief +Herald to receive the victor's crown. But even as he rode towards the +silk-curtained balcony, a distant trumpet shrilled defiance, and into the +lists galloped a solitary knight. + + Well-armed was he in proud and war-like trim, + Of stature tall and wondrous long of limb; + 'Neath red surcoat black was the mail he wore; + His glitt'ring shield a rampant leopard bore, + Beholding which the crowd cried in acclaim, + “Ho for Sir Agramore of Biename!” + +But from rosy-red to pale, from pale to rosy-red flushed the Duchess +Benedicta, and clenching white teeth, she frowned upon Sir Agramore's +fierce and warlike figure. Quoth she: + +“Oh, sure there is no man so vile or so unworthy in all Christendom as this +vile Lord of Biename!” + +“Unless,” said Yolande, frowning also, “unless it be my Lord Gui of Ells!” + +“True, my Yolanda! Now, as thou dost hate Sir Gui so hate I Sir Agramore, +therefore pray we sweet maid, petition we the good Saints our valiant +singer shall serve my hated Sir Agramore as he did thy hated Sir Gui--may +he be bruised, may he be battered, may--” + +“Oho, 'tis done, my sweeting! A-hee--a-hi, 'tis done!” croaked a voice, and +starting about, the Duchess beheld a bent and hag-like creature, + + With long, sharp nose that showed beneath her hood, + A nose that curved as every witch's should, + And glittering eye, before whose baleful light, + The fair Yolande shrank back in sudden fright. + +“Nay, my Yolande,” cried the Duchess, “hast forgot old Mopsa, my +foster-mother, that, being a wise-woman, fools decry as witch, and my +ten grave and learned guardians have banished therefor? Hast forgot my +loved and faithful Mopsa that is truly the dearest, gentlest, wisest +witch that e'er witched rogue or fool? But O Mopsa, wise +mother--would'st thou might plague and bewitch in very truth yon base +caitiff knight, Sir Agramore of Biename!” + +“'Tis done, loved daughter, 'tis done!” chuckled the Witch. + + “He groaneth, + He moaneth, + He aileth, + He waileth, + Lying sighing, + Nigh to dying, + Oho, + I know + 'Tis so. + With bones right sore, + Both 'hind and fore, + Sir Agramore + Doth ache all o'er. + +“He aileth sore yet waileth more--oho! I know, I have seen--in the chalk, +in the ink, in the smoke--I looked and saw + + “Sir Agramore, + By bold outlaw, + Bethwacked most sore + As told before--” + +“Nay, but, good Mopsa, how may this be? Sir Agramore rideth armed yonder, +plain to my sight.” + +“Child, I have told thee sooth,” croaked the Witch. “Have patience, watch +and be silent, and shalt grow wise as old Mopsa--mayhap--in time. + + “For, 'tis written in the chalk, + Sore is he and may not walk. + O, sing heart merrily! + I have seen within the smoke + Bones bethwacked by lusty stroke, + Within the ink I looked and saw, + Swathed in clouts, Sir Agramore; + Dread of him for thee is o'er, + By reason of a bold outlaw. + Sing, heart, and joyful be!” + +“Go to, Mopsa, thou'rt mad!” quoth the Duchess. “For yonder is this hated +lord very strong and hale, and in well-being whiles thou dost rave! Truly +thou'rt run mad, methinks!” + +But the old Witch only mumbled and mowed, and cracked her finger-bones as +is the custom of witches. + +Meantime, Sir Agramore, checking his fiery charger and brandishing heavy +lance fiercely aloft, roared loud defiance: + +“What ho! Ye knights, lords, esquires, and lovers of lusty blows, hither +come I with intent, sincere and hearty, to bicker with, fight, combat and +withstand all that will--each and every, a-horse or a-foot, with sword, +battleaxe or lance. Now all ye that love good blows--have at ye!” + +Here ensued great clamour and a mighty blowing of trumpets that waxed yet +louder when it was proclaimed that Sir Palamon, as champion of the day, had +accepted Sir Agramore's haughty challenge. + +And now all was hushed as these two doughty knights faced each other and, +as the trumpets brayed, charged furiously to meet with thunderous shock of +breaking lances and reeling horses that, rearing backwards, fell crashing +upon the torn and trampled grass. But their riders, leaping clear of +lashing hooves, drew their swords and, wasting no breath in words, beset +each other forthwith, smiting with right good will. + +Sir Agramore's leopard shield was riven in twain by a single stroke, Sir +Palamon's scarlet plume was shorn away, but they fought only the fiercer +as, all untiring, the long blades whirled and flashed until their armour +rang, sparks flew, and the populace rocked and swayed and roared for very +joy. Once Sir Agramore was beaten to his knees, but rising, grasped his +sword in two hands and smote a mighty swashing blow, a direful stroke that +burst the lacing of Sir Palamon's great helm and sent it rolling on the +sward. But, beholding thus his adversary's face, Sir Agramore, crying in +sudden amaze, sprang back; for men all might see a visage framed in long, +black-curled hair, grey-eyed, but a face so direly scarred that none, +having seen it but once, might well forget. + +“Par Dex!” panted Sir Agramore, lifting his vizor. + +“Pertinax!” gasped Duke Jocelyn. “O Pertinax--thou loved and lovely +smiter--ne'er have I been so sore battered ere now!” + +Hereupon all folk stared in hugeous wonderment to behold these two +champions drop their swords and leap to clasp and hug each other in mighty +arms, to pat each other's mailed shoulders and grasp each other's mailed +hands. Quoth Sir Pertinax: + +“Lord, how came ye in this guise?” + +“My Pertinax, whence stole ye that goodly armour?” + +“Lord, oath made I to requite one Sir Agramore of Biename for certain felon +blow. Him sought I latterly therefore, and this day met him journeying +hither, and so, after some disputation, I left him lying by the way, nor +shall he need armour awhile, methinks--wherefore I took it and rode hither +seeking what might befall--” + +But here, Sir Gui, all heedless of his wound, started up from his couch, +raising great outcry: + +“Ha--roguery, roguery! Ho, there, seize me yon knave that beareth the +cognizance of Tong. Ha--treason, treason!” At this, others took up the cry +and divers among the throng, beholding Duke Jocelyn's scarred features, +made loud tumults: “The Fool! The Fool! 'Tis the Singing Motley! 'Tis the +rogue-Fool that broke prison--seize him! Seize him!” And many, together +with the soldiery, came running. + +“Lord,” quoth Sir Pertinax, catching up his sword, “here now is like to be +a notable, sweet affray!” But even as these twain turned to meet their many +assailants was thunder of hoofs, a loud, merry voice reached them, and they +saw Robin hard by who held two trampling chargers. + +“Mount, brothers--mount!” he cried. “Mount, then spur we for the barriers!” + So they sprang to saddle and, spurring the rearing horses, galloped for +the barriers, all three, nor was there any who dare stay them or abide the +sweep of those long swords. Thus, leaping the barriers, they galloped away +and left behind roaring tumult and dire confusion. + +And amid all this, hid by the silken curtains of her balcony, the Duchess +Benedicta uttered a joyous cry and, clasping Yolande in her arms, kissed +her rapturously. + +“Yolande!” she cried, “O dear my friend, thou didst see--even as did I--a +sorry fool and a poor rogue-soldier at hand-strokes with each other--O wise +Fool! O knightly Rogue! Come, let us fly, Yolande, let us to the wild-wood +and, lost therein, love, True-love, methinks, shall find us. Nay--ask me +nothing, only hear this. Be thou to thine own heart true, be thou brave and +Shame shall fly thee since True-love out-faceth Shame! How say'st thou, +Mopsa, thou wise witch-mother?” + +“Ah, sweet children!” croaked the Witch, touching each with claw-like hand +yet hand wondrous gentle. “True-love shall indeed find ye, hide where ye +will. For True-love, though blind, they say, hath eyes to see all that is +good and sweet and true. A poor man-at-arms in rusty mail may yet be true +man and a fool, for all his motley, wise. To love such seemeth great folly, +yet to the old, love is but folly. Nath'less, being old I do love ye, and +being wise I charge ye: + + “Follow Folly and be wise, + In such folly wisdom lies; + Love's blind, they say, but Love hath eyes, + So follow Folly--follow!” + +My daughter GILLIAN animadverteth: + + GILL: “Stop! Your tournament, father, seems too long drawn out, + With quite too much combating and knocking about. + + MYSELF: I hope you're wrong, my dear, although + Who knows? Perhaps, it may be so. + + GILL: And such scrappy bits of love-making you write; + You seem to prefer much describing a fight. + All authors should write what their readers like best; + But authors are selfish, yes--even the best + And you are an author! + + MYSELF: Alack, that is true, + And, among other things, I'm the author of you. + + GILL: Then, being my author, it's plain as can be + That you are to blame if I'm naughty--not me. + But, father, our Geste, though quite corking in places, + Has too many fights and too little embraces. + You've made all our lovers so frightfully slow, + You ought to have married them pages ago. + The books that are nicest are always the sort + That, when you have read them, seem always too short! + If you make all your readers impatient like me, + They'll buy none of your books--and then where shall we be? + All people like reading of love when they can, + So write them a lot, father, that is the plan. + Go on to the love, then, for every one's sake, + And end with a wedding-- + + MYSELF: Your counsel I 'll take. + I can woo them and wed them in less than no time, + I can do it in prose, in blank verse, or in rhyme; + But since, my dear, you are for speed, + To end our Geste I will proceed. + In many ways it may be done, + As I have told you--here is one: + +A short two years have elapsed and we find our hero Jocelyn tenderly +playing with a golden-haired prattler, his beloved son and heir, while his +beautiful spouse Yolande busied with her needle, smiles through happy +tears. + + GILL: O, hush, father! Of course, that is simply absurd! + Such terrible piffle-- + + MYSELF: I object to that word! + + GILL: Well, then, please try a little verse. + + MYSELF: With pleasure: + + “My own at last!” Duke Joc'lyn fondly cried, + And kissed Yolande, his blooming, blushing bride. + “My own!” he sighed. “My own--my very own!” + “Thine, love!” she murmured. “Thine and thine alone, + Thy very own for days and months and years--” + + GILL: O, stop! I think that's even worse! + + MYSELF: Beyond measure. + + Then here's a style may be admired + Since brevity is so desired: + + So he married her and she married him, + and everybody married each other + and lived happy ever after. + + Or again, and thus, my daughter, + Versified it may be shorter: + + So all was marriage, joy and laughter, + And each lived happy ever after. + + Or: + If for High Romance you sigh, + Here's Romance that's over high: + + Shy summer swooned to autumn's sun-burned arms, + Swoon, summer, swoon! + While roses bloomed and blushing sighed their pain, + Blush, roses, blush! + + Filling the world with perfume languorous, + Sighing forth their souls in fragrant amorousness; + And fair Yolande, amid these bloomful languors, + Blushing as they, as languorous, as sweet, + Sighed in the arms that passioned her around: + O Jocelyn, O lord of my delight, + See how-- + + GILL: Stop, father, stop, I beg of you. + Such awful stuff will never do, + I suppose you must finish it in your own way-- + + MYSELF: I suppose that I shall, child, that is--if I may. + + GILL: But father, wait--I must insist + Whatever else you do + It's time that somebody was kissed + It doesn't matter who-- + I mean either Yolande the Fair + Or else the Duchess--I don't care. + + MYSELF: In these next two Fyttes both shall kiss + And be well kissed, I promise this. + Two Fyttes of kisses I will make + One after t' other, for your sake. + Two Fyttes of love I will invent + And make them both quite different, + Which is a trying matter rather + And difficult for any father-- + But then, as well you know, my Gillian, + You have a father in a million; + And Oh, methinks 'tis very plain + You ne'er shall meet his like again. + + + + +FYTTE 11 + +How Pertinax fell out with Robin and with Friar, Yet, in that very hour, +came by his heart's desire. + +The sinking sun had set the West aflame, When our three riders to the +wild-wood came, Where a small wind 'mid sun-kissed branches played, And +deep'ning shadows a soft twilight made; Where, save for leafy stirrings, +all was still, Lulled by the murmur of a bubbling rill That flowed +o'ershadowed by a mighty oak, Its massy bole deep-cleft by lightning +stroke. Here Robin checked his steed. “Good friends,” quoth he, + + My daughter Gillian suggesteth: + + Gill: That's rather good, + But, still, I should + In prose prefer the rest; + For if this fytte + Has love in it, + Prose is for love the best. + All ord'nary lovers, as every one knows, + Make love to each other much better in prose. + If, at last, our Sir Pertinax means to propose, + Why then--just to please me, + Father, prose let it be. + + Myself: Very well, I agree! + + Then said Robin, quoth he: +“Good friends, here are we safe!” And, checking his steed within this +pleasant shade, he dismounted. + +“Safe, quotha?” said Sir Pertinax, scowling back over shoulder. “Not so! +Surely we are close pursued--hark! Yonder be horsemen riding at speed--ha, +we are beset!” + +“Content you, sir!” answered Robin. “Think you I would leave behind good +booty? Yonder come ten noble coursers laden with ten goodly armours the +same won a-jousting to-day by this right wondrous Fool, my good gossip--” + +“Thy gossip, forsooth!” snorted Sir Pertinax. “But tell me, presumptuous +fellow, how shall these ten steeds come a-galloping hither!” + +“Marry, on this wise, Sir Simple Innocence--these steeds do gallop for +sufficient reason, namely--they are to gallop bidden being ridden, +bestridden and chidden by whip and spur applied by certain trusty men o' my +company, which men go habited, decked, dressed, clad, guised and disguised +as smug, sleek citizens, Sir Innocent Simplicity--” + +“Par Dex!” exclaimed Sir Pertinax, scowling. “And who 'rt thou, sirrah, +with men at thy beck and call?” + +“Behold!” said Robin, unhelming. “Behold the king of all masterless rogues, +and thy fellow gallow's-bird, Sir High Mightiness!” + +“Ha, is 't thou?” cried Sir Pertinax. “Now a plague on thy kingdom and thee +for an unhanged, thieving rogue--” + +“E'en as thyself,” nodded Robin, “thou that flaunted thy unlovely carcass +in stolen armour.” + +“Ha!” roared Sir Pertinax, clapping hand on sword. “A pest--a murrain! This +to me, thou dog's-meat? Malediction! Now will I crack thy numbskull for a +pestilent malapert--” + +“Nay, Sir Grim-and-gory,” laughed Robin, “rather will I now use thee as +thou would'st ha' served me on a day but for this generous and kindly Fool, +my good comrade!” And speaking, Robin sprang nimbly to the great oak tree +and thrusting long arm within the jagged fissure that gaped therein drew +forth a hunting-horn and winded it loud and shrill. And presently was a +stir, a rustle amid the surrounding brushwood and all about them were +outlaws, wild men and fierce of aspect, and each and every grasped long-bow +with arrow on string and every arrow was aimed at scowling Sir Pertinax. + +“Per Dex!” quoth he, “and is this death, then?” + +“Verily!” nodded Robin, “an I do speak the word.” + +“So be it--speak!” growled Sir Pertinax. “Come, Death--I fear thee not!” + And out flashed his long sword; but even then it was twisted from his +grasp and Lobkyn Lollo, tossing the great blade aloft and, catching it +very neatly, laughed and spake: + + “Five times, five times ten + Are we, all lusty men. + An hundred twice and fifty deaths are we, + So, an Rob speak, dead thou 'lt as often be.” + +“Nay, hold a while, sweet lads!” laughed Robin, “the surly rogue shall sing +for his life and our good pleasaunce.” + +“Sing?” roared Sir Pertinax. “I sing! I? Ha, dare ye bid me so, base dog? +Sing, forsooth? By Og and Gog! By the Seven Champions and all the fiends, +rather will I die!” And here, being defenceless, Sir Pertinax clenched +mighty fists and swore until he lacked for breath. + +Then spake Jocelyn, gentle-voiced. + +“Sing, Pertinax,” quoth he. + +“Ha--never! Not for all the--” + +“I do command thee, Pertinax. As Robin once sang for his life, now must +thou sing for thine. Song for song, 't is but just! Sing, Pertinax!” + +“Nay,” groaned the proud knight, “I had rather drink water and chew grass +like a rabbit. Moreover I ha' no gift o' song--” + +“Do thy best!” quoth Robin. + +“I'm harsh o' voice--knave!” + +“Then croak--rogue!” quoth Robin. + +“No song have I--vermin!” + +“Make one--carrion! But sing thou shalt though thy song be no better than +hog-song which is grunt. Howbeit sing thou must!” + +Hereupon Sir Pertinax gnashed his teeth and glaring balefully on Robin +lifted hoarse voice and burst forth into fierce song: + + “Thou base outlaw, + Vile clapper-claw, + Since I must sing a stave, + Then, here and now, + I do avow + Thou art a scurvy knave! + Thy hang-dog air + Doth plain declare + Thou 'rt very scurvy knave. + + “Rogues breed apace + In each vile place, + But this I will avow, + Where e'er rogues be + No man may see + A viler rogue than thou, + + Since it were vain + To meet again + A rogue more vile than thou. + + “As rogue thou art, + In every part, + Then--” + +“Hold there--hold!” cried Robin, stopping his ears. “Thy voice is unlovely +as thy look and thy song as ill as thy voice, so do we forgive thee the +rest. Ha' done thy bellowing and begone--” + +“Ha--not so!” quoth Sir Pertinax. “For troth I do sing better than +methought possible, and my rhyming is none so ill! So will I rhyme thy +every knavish part and sing song till song and rhyme be ended. Have at thee +again, base fellow! + + Since rogue thou art + In every part--part-- + +Ha, plague on't, hast put me out, rogue! I was about to hang thy every +roguish part in rhyme, but my rhymes halt by reason o' thee, rogue.” + +“Forsooth!” laughed Robin. “Thus stickest thou, for thy part, at my every +part, the which is well since I am man of parts. Thus then rhyme thou +rhymes upon thyself therefore; thus, thyself rhyming rhymes of thee, thou +shalt thyself, rhyming of thyself, thyself pleasure thereby, thou thus +rhyming of thee, and thee, thou. Thus thy thee and thou shall be well +accorded. How think'st thou?” + +But Sir Pertinax, astride his charger that cropped joyously at sweet, +cool grass, sat chin on fist, lost in the throes of composition, nothing +heeding, even when came the ten steeds with the ten suits of armour. + +Now these ten horses bare eleven riders, tall, lusty fellows all, save one +shrouded in hood and cloak and whom Jocelyn viewed with quick, keen eyes. +And thus he presently whispered Robin who, laughing slyly, made signal to +his followers, whereupon, by ones and twos they stole silently away until +there none remained save only Sir Pertinax who, wrestling with his muse, +stared aloft under knitted brows, all unknowing, and presently brake out +singing on this wise: + + “All men may see + A man in me, + A man who feareth no man, + Thus, fearless, I + No danger fly--” + +“Except it be a woman!” sang a soft, sweet voice hard by, in pretty +mockery. Hereat Sir Pertinax started so violently that his mail clashed and +he stared about him eager-eyed but, finding himself quite alone, sighed and +fell to reverie. + +“A woman?” said he aloud. “'Except it be a woman--'” + +THE VOICE: Aye--a woman, O craven soldier! + +SIR PERTINAX: Why here is strange echo methinks and speaketh--with her +voice! + +THE VOICE: 'O voice so soft and full of sweet allure!' + +SIR PERTINAX: O voice beloved that might my dolour cure! + +THE VOICE: O craven soldier! O most timid wooer! SIR PERTINAX: Craven am I, +yet lover--'t is most sure. + +THE VOICE: But thou 'rt a man--at least meseemeth so. + +SIR PERTINAX: And, being man, myself unworthy know, + Yet must I love and my belovèd seek + And, finding her, no words of love dare speak. + For this my love beyond all words doth reach, + And I'm slow-tongued and lack the trick of speech. + Nor hope have I that she should stoop to bless, + A man so full of all unworthiness. + So am I dumb-- + +THE VOICE: And yet dost speak indeed, + Such words, methinks, as any maid might heed. + +“Ha, think ye so in verity, sweet voice!” cried Sir Pertinax, and springing +lightly to earth, strode forward on eager feet. And lo! from behind a +certain tree stepped one who, letting fall shrouding cloak and hood, stood +there a maid, dark-haired and darkly bright of eye, very shapely and fair +to see in her simple tire. And beholding her thus, the tender curve of +scarlet lips, the flutter of slender hands, the languorous bewitchment of +her eyes, Sir Pertinax halted. + +My daughter GILLIAN interpolateth: + + GILL: + + What, again? Father, that will never do. + Don't make him halt again, I beg of you. + Sir Pertinax has halted much too long, + To make him do it here would be quite + wrong! + + MYSELF: + + My child, I wish you would not interrupt + My halting muse in manner so abrupt-- + + GILL: + + But here 's a chance at last to let them kiss, + And now you make him halt! + + MYSELF: Exactly, miss! + +Sir Pertinax halted and bowed his head abashed. + +My daughter GILLIAN persisteth: + + GILL: + + Well, father, while he halts, then tell me, + pray, + Just what you mean by that line where you + say, + 'The languorous bewitchment of her eyes'? + + MYSELF: + + My child, no child should authors catechise, + Especially, poor fellow, if, like me, + Father and author both at once is he. + Wise authors all such questions strictly ban, + And never answer--even if they can. + If of our good knight's wooing you would + hear, + Keep stilly tongue and hearken well, my + dear. + +Sir Pertinax halted and bowed his head, abashed by her beauty. + +“Melissa!” he whispered, “O Melissa!” and so stood mute. + +“O Pertinax!” she sighed. “Art dumb at sight of me? O Pertinax, and +wherefore?” + +“All have I forgot save only thy loveliness, Melissa!” + +“Methinks such--forgetfulness becometh thee well. Say on!” + +“Ah, Melissa, I--do love thee.” + +“Why this I knew when thou didst sit a-fishing!” + +“But, indeed, then I dreamed not of loving thee or any maid.” + +“Because thou art but a man.” + +“Verily, and being man, now came I seeking thee for Love's sweet sake yet, +finding thee, know not how to speak thee. Alas, I do fear I am but sorry +wooer!” + +“Alas, Pertinax, I do fear thou art! Yet thou shalt learn, perchance. +How--art dumb again, canst speak me no more?” + +“Nought--save only this, thou art beyond all maids fair, Melissa!” + +“Why, I do think thou'lt make a wooer some day mayhap, by study diligent. +'T will take long time and yet--I would not have thee learn too soon! And +hast thought of me? A little?” + +“I have borne thee ever within my heart.” + +“And wherefore wilt love maid so lowly?” + +“For that thou art thyself and thyself--Melissa. And O, I love thy voice!” + +“My voice? And what more?” + +“Thine eyes. Thy little, pretty feet. Thy scarlet mouth. Thy gentle, small +hands. Thy hair. All of thee!” + +“O,” she murmured a little breathlessly, “if thou dost so love me--woo +me--a little!” + +“Alas!” he sighed, “I know not how.” + +“Hast ne'er wooed maid ere this, big soldier?” + +“Never!” + +“Thou poor Pertinax! How empty--how drear thy life. For this do I pity thee +with pity kin to love--” + +“Love?” he whispered. “Ah, Melissa, couldst e'en learn to love one so +unlovely, so rude, so rough and unmannered as I?” + +“Never!” she sighed, “O, never--unless thou teach me?” + +“Would indeed I might, Melissa. Ah, teach me how I may teach thee to love +one so unworthy as Pertinax!” + +Now hearkening to his harsh voice grown soft and tremulous, beholding the +truth in his honest eyes, Melissa smiled, wondrous tender, and reaching out +took hold upon his two hands. + +“Kneel!” she commanded. “Kneel here upon the grass as I do kneel. Now, lay +by thy cumbrous helmet. Now fold thy great, strong hands. Now bow thy tall, +grim head and say in sweet, soft accents low and reverent: 'Melissa, I do +love thee heart and soul, thee only do I love and thee only will I love now +and for ever. So aid me, Love, amen!'” Then, closing his eyes, Sir Pertinax +bowed reverent head, and, humbly folding his hands, spake as she bade him. +Thereafter opening his eyes, he saw her watching him through gathering +tears, and leaning near, he reached out eager arms, yet touched her not. +Quoth he: “O maid beloved, what is thy sorrow?” + +“'Tis joy--joy, and thou--thou art so strong and fierce yet so gentle and +simple of heart! O, may I prove worthy thy love--” + +“Worthy? Of my love?” he stammered. “But O Melissa, I am but he thou didst +name harsh of tongue.” + +“Aye, I did!” she sobbed. + +“Hard of heart, flinty of soul, rude, unmannered and unlovely.” + +“Aye--I did and--loved thee the while!” she whispered. “So now do I pray +that I prove worthy.” + +“Worthy? Thou? O my sweet maid--thou that art kin to the holy angels, thou +so high and far removed 'bove me that I do tremble and--fear to touch +thee--“. + +“Nay, fear me not, Pertinax,” she sighed, “for though indeed I am all this, +yet maid am I also and by times--very human. So Pertinax, thou great, +fearless man-at-arms, lay by thy so great fears a while--I do beseech +thee.” Then Sir Pertinax, beholding the tender passion of her eyes, forgot +his fear in glad wonderment and, reaching out hands that trembled for all +their strength, drew her to his close embracement. + +And thus, kneeling together upon the sun-dappled sward, they forgot all +things in this joyous world save only their love and the glory of it. And +when they had kissed each other-- + + * * * * * + + My daughter GILLIAN remonstrateth: + + GILL: But, wait, they haven't yet, you know! + + MYSELF: Indeed, they have, I've just said so. + + GILL: Then, father, please to tell me this: + How can a person say a kiss? + And so, since kisses can't be said, + Please make them do it now instead. + +Thus, cradled in his strong arms, she questioned him tenderly: + +“Dost mind how, upon a day, my Pertinax, didst ask of me the amulet I bore +within my bosom?” + +“Aye,” he answered, “and sure 'tis charm of potent magic whose spell +brought us out of the dungeon at Canalise--the which is great matter for +wonder! But 'tis for thy dear sake I do cherish it--” + +“Bear you it yet?” + +“Here upon my heart.” + +“And if I should ask it of thee again--wouldst render it back to me?” + +“Never!” quoth he. “Never, until with it I give thee myself also!” + +But presently she stirred in his embrace for upon the air was an +approaching clamour, voices, laughter and the ring of mail. + +“Come away!” whispered Melissa, upspringing to her feet. “Come, let thou +and Love and I hide until these disturbers be gone and the sweet world hold +but us three again.” + +Now, as they stood, hand in hand, deep hidden 'mid the green, they beheld +six merry woodland rogues who led an ambling ass whereon rode a friar +portly and perspiring albeit he had a jovial eye. And as he rode he spake +his captors thus in voice full-toned and deep: + +“Have a care, gentle rogues and brethren, hurry not this ambulant animal +unduly, poor, much-enduring beast. Behold the pensive pendulation of these +auriculars so forlornly a-dangle! Here is ass that doth out-patience all +asses, both four and two-legged. Here is meek ass of leisured soul loving +not haste--a very pensive perambulator. So hurry not the ass, my brothers, +for these several and distinct reasons or arguments. Firstly, dearly +beloved, because I love haste no more than the ass; secondly, brethren, 't +is property of Holy Church which is above all argument; and, thirdly, 't +is bestridden by one Friar John, my very self, and I am forsooth weighty +argument. Fourthly, beloved, 'tis an ass that--ha! O sweet vision for eyes +human or divine! Do I see thee in very truth, thou damsel of disobedience, +dear dame of discord, sweet, witching, wilful lady--is it thou in very +truth, most loved daughter, or wraith conjured of thy magic and my +perfervid imaginations--speak!” + +“'T is I myself, Reverend Father!” laughed Melissa. “O my dear, good Friar +John, methinks the kind Saints have brought thee to my need.” + +“Saints, quotha!” exclaimed the Friar, rolling merry eye towards his +several captors. “Call ye these--Saints? Long have I sought thee, thou +naughty maid, and to-day in my quest these brawny 'saints' beset me with +bow and quarterstaff and me constrained hither--but my blessing on them +since they have brought me to thee. And now, sweet child and daughter, +whiles the news yet runneth hot-foot or, like bird unseen, wingeth from lip +to lip, I thy ghostly father have rare good news for thee--” + +“Nay, Friar John, I will guess thy tidings: Sir Agramore of Biename lieth +sorry and sore of a cudgelling.” + +“How!” cried the Friar. “Thou dost know--so soon?” + +“Verily, Reverend Father, nor have I or my worthy guardians aught to fear +of him hereafter. And now have I right wondrous news for thee, news that +none may guess. List, dear Friar John, thou the wisest and best loved of +all my guardians ten; to-day ye are absolved henceforth all care of your +wilful ward since to-day she passeth from the guardianship of ye ten to the +keeping of one. Come forth, Pertinax, thou only one beloved of me for no +reason but that thou art thou and I am I--as is ever the sweet, mad way of +True-love--come forth, my dear-loved, poor soldier!” Out from the trees +strode Pertinax but, beholding his face, Friar John scowled and, viewing +his rich surcoat and goodly armour, fell to perspiring wonder and amaze. + +“Now by the sweet Saint Amphibalus!” quoth he. “Surely these be the arms of +Sir Agramore, dread Lord of Biename?” + +“Most true, dear Friar John,” answered Melissa, “and by this same token Sir +Agramore lieth sore bruised e'en now.” + +“Aha!” quoth the Friar, mopping moist brow. “'T is well--'t is very well, +so shall these two ears of mine, with eighteen others of lesser account, +scathless go and all by reason of this good, tall fellow. Howbeit, I do +know this same fellow for fellow of none account, and no fit mate for thee, +noble daughter, love or no. A fierce, brawling, tatterdemalion this, that +erstwhile tramped in company with long-legged ribald--a froward jesting +fellow. Wherefore this fellow, though fellow serviceable, no fellow is for +thee and for these sufficing reasons. Firstly--” + +“Ha--enough!” quoth Sir Pertinax, chin out-thrust. “'Fellow' me no more, +Friar--” + +“Firstly,” continued Friar John, “because this out-at-elbows fellow is a +rogue.” + +“'Rogue,' in thy teeth, Churchman!” growled Sir Pertinax. + +“Secondly,” continued Friar John, nothing abashed, “because this +rogue-fellow is a runagate roysterer, a nameless knave, a highway-haunter, +a filching flick-o'-the-gibbet and a--” + +“Friar,” snorted Sir Pertinax, “thou 'rt but a very fat man scant o' +breath, moreover thou 'rt a friar, so needs must I leave thee alive to make +pestilent the air yet a little until thou chokest of an epithet. Meantime +perform now one gracious act in thy so graceless life and wed me with this +forest maiden.” + +“Forest maiden, forsooth!” cried Friar John. “O Saints! O Martyrs! Forest +maid, quotha! And wed her--and unto thee, presumptuous malapert! Ho, +begone, thy base blood and nameless rank forbid--” + +“Hold there, shaveling!” quoth Sir Pertinax, scowling. “Now mark me this! +Though I, being very man, do know myself all unworthy maid so sweet and +peerless, yet, and she stoop to wed me, then will I make her lady proud and +dame of divers goodly manors and castles, of village and hamlet, pit and +gallows, sac and soc, with powers the high, the middle and the low and +with ten-score lances in her train. For though in humble guise I went, no +nameless rogue am I, but Knight of Shene, Lord of Westover, Framling, +Bracton and Deepdene--” + +“How!” cried Melissa, pouting rosy lip and frowning a little. “O Pertinax, +art indeed a great lord?” + +“Why, sooth--forsooth and indeed,” he stammered, “I do fear I am.” + +“Then thou 'rt no poor, distressful, ragged, outlaw-soldier?” + +“Alack--no!” he groaned, regardful of her frown. + +“Then basely hast thou tricked me--O cruel!” + +“Nay, Melissa--hear me!” he cried, and, forgetful of friar and gaping +outlaws, he clasped her fast 'prisoned 'gainst his heart. “Thee do I love, +dear maid, 'bove rank, or fame, or riches, or aught this world may offer. +So, an thou wouldst have me ragged and destitute and outlaw, all this will +I be for thy sweet sake since life were nought without thee, O maid I do so +love--how say'st thou?” + +“I say to thee, Pertinax, that thy so great love hath loosed thy tongue at +last, Love hath touched thy lips with eloquence beyond all artifice since +now, methinks, it is thy very soul doth speak me. And who shall resist such +wooing? Surely not I that do--love thee beyond telling. So take me, my +lord, thy right hand in mine, the talisman in thy left--so! Now, my +Pertinax, speak thy heart's wish.” + +“Friar,” quoth Sir Pertinax, holding aloft the Crystal Heart, “as her love +is mine and mine hers, wed and unite us in our love--by the magic of this +jewel I do command thee!” + +Here, beholding the talisman, Friar John gasped and stared round-eyed and +incredulous. + +“By Holy Rood!” he whispered, “'t is indeed the Crystal Heart!” + +“And O!” sighed Melissa, “O Friar John, thou dost mind the saying: + + “'He that taketh Crystal Heart, + Taketh all and every part!'” + +“Aye, truly--truly!” nodded the Friar. + + “'And by night, or eke by day, + The Crystal Heart all must obey!'” + +So saying he got him down from the ass and, for all his corpulence, louted +full low. + +“Sir Knight of Shene,” quoth he, “by reason of this jewel potential thou +dost bear, now must I perforce obey thy behest and wed thee unto this +our gracious lady Benedicta, Duchess of Ambremont, Canalise, Tissingors, +Fordyngstoke and divers other towns, villages and--” + +“Duchess--a duchess?” exclaimed Sir Pertinax. “Duchess say'st thou--this, +the Duchess Benedicta! O Melissa--thou--thou--a duchess!” + +“Sooth and forsooth,” sighed she in pretty mockery, “I do fear I am!” + +“Then thou 'rt no humble maid, distressful and forlorn, Melissa?” + +“Yea, Pertinax--all this am I indeed unless thou love me, and loving me, +wed me, and wedding me love me the better therefor, and loving me ever the +better, thou may'st learn a little some day how a woman may love a man.” + +“Par Dex!” mumbled Sir Pertinax, kissing her rosy finger-tips, “be thou +duchess or witch-maid o' the wood, I do love thee heart and soul, body and +mind, now and for ever, Melissa.” + +Then Friar John, beholding the radiant joy of their faces, reached forth +his hands in blessing. + +“Kneel ye, my children!” he sighed. “For here methinks is true-love such +as brighteneth this world all too seldom. So here, within the forest, the +which is surely God's cathedral, this your love shall be sanctified unto +you and the world be the better therefor! Kneel ye, my children!” + +And thus, kneeling upon the flower-sprent turf hand in hand and with heads +reverently bowed, they were wed, while the six outlaws stared in silent awe +and the meek ass cropped the grass busily. + +“O Pertinax,” sighed the Duchess as they rose, “so greatly happy am I that +I will others shall be happy likewise; let us make this indeed a day of +gladness. I pray thee sound the bugle that hangeth within the great oak, +yonder.” + +So Sir Pertinax took the horn and sounded thereon a mighty blast, loud and +long and joyous. And presently came the outlaws, thronging in from all +directions, until the sunny glade was full of their wild company, while +in the green beyond pike-head twinkled and sword-blades glittered; and +foremost was Robin with Lobkyn Lollo beside him. + +“Robin,” said the Duchess, beckoning him near with white, imperious +finger, “Robin a' Green, thou whose tongue is quick and ready as thy hand, +hast ever been gentle to the weak and helpless as I do know, in especial +to two women that sought thy protection of late.” + +“Why, verily, lady, I mind them well,” nodded Robin, “and one was a maid +passing fair and one an ancient dame exceeding wise. To aid such is ever a +man's joy--or should be.” + +“Knew ye who and what this maid was, Robin?” + +“Aye, lady, I knew her then as now for that proud and noble lady the +Duchess Benedicta.” + +“And yet, Robin, knowing this and having me in thy power didst suffer me to +go without let or hindrance or single penny of ransom?” + +“My lady Duchess,” answered Robin, glancing round upon his wild company, +“we be outlaws, 't is true, and rogues--mayhap, yet are we men and thou a +lady passing fair, wherefore--though I knew thee for the Duchess Benedicta, +thou wert safe with us since we war not with women and harm no maids be +they of high or low degree!” + +“Spoke like a very knight!” exclaimed the Duchess. “How think'st thou, my +lord?” + +“Par Dex!” quoth Sir Pertinax. “Aye, by Our Lady of Shene Chapel within the +Wood I swear it--thou 'rt a man, Robin! So now do I sue pardon of thee for +my song o' rogues since no rogue art thou. And thou didst aid and shield +her--this my wife that is the very eyes of me! So, by my troth, my good +friend art thou henceforth, Rob o' the Green!” + +“Nay, my lord,” answered Robin slyly, “for I am but Robin, and outlaw, and +thou art the Duke!” + +“Forsooth--and so I am!” exclaimed Sir Pertinax. “Ha--yet am I still a man, +and therefore--” + +“Wait, my lord!” said Benedicta. “Robin, give me thy sword!” So she took +the weapon and motioning Robin to his knees, set the blade across his +shoulder. “Robin a' Green,” said she, “since thou art knightly of word and +deed, knight shalt thou be in very truth. Sir Robin a' Forest I make thee +and warden over this our forest country. Rise up, Sir Robert.” Then up +sprang Robin, bright-eyed and flushed of cheek. + +“Dear my lady,” cried he, “since knight hast made me, thy knight will I be +henceforth in life or in death--” But here his voice was lost in the +joyous acclamations of his followers who shouted amain until the Duchess +quelled them with lifted hand. + +“Ye men of the wild-wood,” said she, looking round upon them gentle-eyed, +“all ye that be homeless and desolate, lying without the law, this day joy +hath found me, for this is my wedding-morn. And as I am happy I would see +ye happy also. Therefore upon this glad day do we make proclamation, my +Lord Duke and I--this day we lift from you each and every, the ban of +outlawry--free men are ye to go and come as ye list--free men one and all +and good citizens henceforth I pray!” Now here was silence awhile, then a +hoarse murmur, swelling to a jubilant shout until the sunny woodland rang +with the joy of it, near and far. + +“And now, Sir Robert,” laughed the Duchess, “pray you where is this noble +Fool, this gentle Motley, this most rare singer of songs and breaker of +lances? Bid him to us.” + +“Ha--the Fool!” exclaimed Sir Pertinax, starting. + +“My lady,” answered Robin, “true, he was here, but when I sought him, a +while since, there was Sir Palamon's armour he had worn, but himself gone +--” + +“Gone--gone say'st thou?” cried Sir Pertinax, glancing about. “Then needs +must I go seek him--” + +“And wherefore, my lord?” cried the Duchess. + +“'T is my--my duty, Melissa!” stammered Sir Pertinax. “He is my--my friend +and--sworn brother-in-arms!” + +“And am I not thy wife, Pertinax?” + +“Aye, most dearly loved, and I, thy husband--and yet--needs must I seek +this Fool, Melissa.” + +“O Pertinax--wilt leave me?” + +“Leave thee?” groaned Sir Pertinax. “Aye--for a while! Leave thee? +Aye--though it break my heart needs must I! He, my--brother-in-arms. My +duty calleth--” + +“And what of thy duty to me?” + +Now as Sir Pertinax wrung his hands in an agony of indecision, rose a +whisper of sweet sound, the murmur of softly-plucked lute-strings, and into +the glade, cock's-comb aflaunt and ass's ears a-dangle Duke Jocelyn strode +and sang as he came a song he had made on a time, a familiar air: + + “Good Pertinax, why griev'st thou so? + Free of all duty thou dost go, + Save that which thou to Love dost owe, + My noble Pertinax.” + +“And love from heaven hath stooped thus low To me!” quoth Pertinax. + +But here came Robin with certain of his men leading a snow-white palfrey +richly caparisoned. + +“Right noble lady,” said he, “behold here a goodly, fair jennet to thy +gracious acceptance.” + +“And indeed--'t is rare, pretty beast!” exclaimed Benedicta. “But Robin, +Robin, O Sir Robert, whence had you this?” + +“Lady, upon a time I was an outlaw and lived as outlaws may, taking such +things as Fate bestowed, and, lady: + + “Fate is a wind + To outlaws kind: + +But now since we be free-men all, I and my fellows, fain would we march +hence in thy train to thy honour and our joyance. Wilt grant us this boon, +lady?” + +“Freely, for 'tis rare good thought, Robin! Surely never rode duke and +duchess so attended. How the townsfolk shall throng and stare to see our +wild following, and my worthy guardians gape and pluck their beards for +very amaze! How think you, good Friar John?” + +“Why, verily, daughter, I, that am chiefest of thy wardens ten, do think it +wise measure; as for thy other guardians let them pluck and gape until they +choke. + + “In especial Greg'ry Bax, + Who both beard and wisdom lacks. + +I say 'tis wise, good measure, for these that were outlaws be sturdy +fellows with many friends in town and village, so shall this thy day of +union be for them re-union, and they joy with thee.” + +Now being mounted the Duchess rode where stood Jocelyn, and looked down on +him merry-eyed. + +“Sir Fool,” said she, “who thou art I know not, but I have hunted in +Brocelaunde ere now, and I have eyes. And as thou 'rt friend to my dear +lord, friend art thou of mine, so do we give thee joyous welcome to our +duchy. And, being thy friend, I pray thou may'st find that wonder of +wonders the which hideth but to be found, and once found, shall make wise +Fool wiser.” + +“Sweet friend and lady,” answered Jocelyn, “surely man so unlovely as I may +not know this wonder for his very own until it first seek him. Is 't not +so? Let now thy woman's heart counsel me.” + +“How, Sir Wise Folly, have I not heard thee preach boldness in love ere +now?” + +“Aye--for others!” sighed Jocelyn. “But for myself--I fear--behold this +motley! This scarred face!” + +“Why as to thy motley it becometh thee well--” + +“Aye, but my face? O, 't is a hideous face!” + +“O Fool!” sighed Benedicta, “know'st thou not that True-love's eyes possess +a magic whereby all loved things become fair and beauteous. So take +courage, noble Motley, and may thy desires be crowned--even as our own.” + +“Gramercy, thou sweet and gentle lady. Happiness companion thee alway and +Love sing ever within thee. Now for ye twain is love's springtime, a season +of sweet promise, may each promise find fulfilment and so farewell.” + +“Why then, Sir Fool, an thou wilt tarry here in the good greenwood a +while, may Love guide thee. Now here is my counsel: Follow where thy heart +commandeth and--fear not! And now, Sir Robert a' Forest, form thy company, +and since this is a day of gladness let them sing as they march.” + +“In sooth, dear my lady, that will we!” cried Robin. “There is song o' +spring and gladness I made that hath oft been our solace, and moreover it +beginneth and endeth with jolly chorus well beknown to all. Ho, pikes +to van and rear! Bows to the flanks--fall in! Now trusty friends o' the +greenwood, free-men all, henceforth--now march we back to hearth and home +and love, so sing ye--sing!” + +Hereupon from the ragged, close-ordered ranks burst a shout that swelled +to rolling chorus; and these the words: + + The Men: Sing high, sing low, sing merrily--hey! + And cheerily let us sing, + While youth is youth then youth is gay + And youth shall have his fling. + + Robin: The merry merle on leafy spray, + The lark on fluttering wing + Do pipe a joyous roundelay, + To greet the blithesome spring. + + Hence, hence cold Age, black Care--away! + Cold Age black Care doth bring; + When back is bowed and head is grey, + Black Care doth clasp and cling. + + Black Care doth rosy Pleasure stay, + Age ageth everything; + 'T is farewell sport and holiday, + On flowery mead and ling. + + If Death must come, then come he may, + And wed with death-cold ring, + Yet ere our youth and strength decay, + Blithe Joy shall be our king. + The Men: Sing high, sing low, sing merrily--hey! + And cheerily we will sing. + +So they marched blithely away, a right joyous company, flashing back the +sunset glory from bright headpiece and sword-blade, while Jocelyn stood +watching wistful-eyed until they were lost amid the green, until all sounds +of their going grew to a hush mingling with the whisper of leaves and +murmurous gurgle of the brook; and ever the shadows deepened about him, a +purple solitude of misty trees and tangled thickets, depth on depth, fading +to a glimmering mystery. + +Suddenly amid these glooming shadows a shadow moved, and forth into the +darkling glade, mighty club on mighty shoulder, stepped Lobkyn Lollo the +Dwarf, and his eyes were pensive and he sighed gustily. + +“Alack!” quoth he: + + “So here's an end of outlawry, + And all along o' lady, + Yet still an outlaw I will be + Shut in o' shaws so shady. + And yet it is great shame, I trow, + That our good friends should freemen go + And leave us lonely to our woe, + And all along o' lady. + + “And plague upon this love, I say, + For stealing thus thy friend away, + And since fast caught and wed is he + Thy friend henceforth is lost to thee, + And thou, poor Fool, dost mope and sigh, + And so a plague on love! say I.” + +“Nay, good Lobkyn, what know you of love?” Answered LOBKYN: + + “Marry, enough o' love know I + To steal away if love be nigh. + + “For love's an ill as light as air, + Yet heavy as a stone; + O, love is joy and love is care, + A song and eke a groan. + + “Love is a sickness, I surmise, + Taketh a man first by the eyes, + And stealing thence into his heart, + There gripeth him with bitter smart. + Alas, poor soul, + What bitter dole, + Doth plague his every part! + + “From heart to liver next it goes, + And fills him full o' windy woes, + And, being full o' gusty pain, + He groaneth oft, and sighs amain, + Poor soul is he + In verity, + And for his freedom sighs in vain.” + + “Miscall not love, Lobkyn, for sure True-love is + every man's birthright.” + +Quoth LOBKYN: + + “Why then, methinks there's many a wight + That cheated is of his birthright, + As, item first, here's Lobkyn Lollo + To prove thine argument quite hollow. + Dare I at maid to cast mine eye, + She mocketh me, and off doth fly, + + + And all because I'm humped o' back, + And something to my stature lack. + Thus, though I'm stronger man than three, + No maid may love the likes o' me. + Next, there's thyself--a Fool, I swear, + At fight or song beyond compare. + But--thou 'rt unlovely o' thy look, + And this no maid will ever brook. + So thou and I, for weal or woe, + To our lives' end unloved must go. + But think ye that I grieve or sigh? + Not so! A plague on love, say I!” + +Now here Jocelyn sighed amain and, sitting beneath a tree, fell to sad and +wistful thinking. + + “Aye, verily,” he repeated, “I am 'unlovely of my + look.'” + + Quoth Lobkyn heartily: + + “In very sooth, + Fool, that's the truth!” + + “Alas!” sighed Jocelyn, “'And this no maid + will ever brook!'” + + Answered Lobkyn: + + “And there dost speak, wise Fool, again, + A truth right manifest and plain, + Since fairest maids have bat-like eyes, + And see no more than outward lies. + And seeing thus, they nothing see + Of worthiness in you or me. + And so, since love doth pass us by, + The plague o' plagues on love, say I!” + +“Nath'less,” cried the Duke, leaping to his feet. “I will put Love to the +test--aye, this very hour!” + + Lobkyn: Wilt go, good Motley? Pray thee where? + + Jocelyn: To one beyond all ladies fair. + + Lobkyn: Then dost thou need a friend about thee + To cheer and comfort when she flout thee. + So, an thou wilt a-wooing wend, + I'll follow thee like trusty friend. + In love or fight thou shalt not lack + A sturdy arm to 'fend thy back. + I'll follow thee in light or dark, + Through good or ill--Saints shield us! + Hark! + +And Lobkyn started about, club poised for swift action, for, out-stealing +from the shadows crept strange and dismal sound, a thin wail that sank to +awful groaning rumble, and so died away. + +“O!” whispered Lobkyn: + + “Pray, Fool, pray with all thy might, + Here's goblin foul or woodland sprite + Come for to steal our souls away, + So on thy knees quick, Fool, and pray!” + +But, as these dismal sounds brake forth again, Jocelyn stole forward, +quarter-staff gripped in ready hand; thus, coming nigh the great oak, he +espied a dim, huddled form thereby and, creeping nearer, stared in wonder +to behold Mopsa, the old witch, striving might and main to wind the great +hunting-horn. + +“What, good Witch!” quoth he, “here methinks is that beyond all thy spells +to achieve.” + +“O Fool,” she panted, “kind Fool, sound me this horn, for I'm old and scant +o' breath. Wind it shrill and loud, good Motley, the rallying-note, for +there is ill work afoot this night. Sound me shrewd blast, therefore.” + +“Nay, 't were labour in vain, Witch; there be no outlaws hereabout, free +men are they henceforth and gone, each and every.” + +“Out alas--alas!” cried the old woman, wringing her hands. “Then woe is me +for the fair lady Yolande.” + +“Ha! What of her, good Witch? Threateneth danger? Speak!” + +“Aye, Fool, danger most dire! My Lord Gui yet liveth, and this night divers +of his men shall bear her away where he lieth raging for her in his black +castle of Ells--” + +“Now by heaven's light!” swore Jocelyn, his eyes fierce and keen, “this +night shall Fool be crowned of Love or sleep with kindly Death.” + +“Stay, Fool, thy foes be a many! Wilt cope with them alone?” + +“Nay!” cried a voice: + + “Not so, grandam + For here I am!” + +and Lobkyn stepped forward. + +“Aha, my pretty poppet! Loved duck, my downy chick--what wouldst?” + + “Fight, grandam, + Smite, grandam, + Sweet, blood-begetting blows. + Where Fool goeth + Well Fool knoweth + Lobkyn likewise goes.” + +“Why, then, my bantling--loved babe, fight thy fiercest, for these be +wicked men and 't will be an evil fray. And she is sweet and good, so, +Lobkyn, be thy strongest--” + +Saith Lobkyn: + + “Aye that will I, + Or may I die. + By this good kiss + I vow thee this. + + “And here is signal, Fool, shall shew + Each where the other chance to go. + + “Croak like a frog, + Bark like a dog, + Grunt like a hog, + I'll know thee. + + “Hoot like an owl, + Like grey wolf howl, + Or like bear growl, + 'T will shew thee--” + +“Then come, trusty Lob, and my thanks to thee!” cried Jocelyn, catching up +his quarter-staff. “But haste ye, for I would be hence ere the moon get +high. Come!” + +So Duke Jocelyn strode away with Lobkyn Lollo at his heels; now as they +went, the moon began to rise. + + + + +FYTTE 12 + +Which being the last Fytte of our Geste I hope may please my daughter best. + + “O, Wind of Night, soft-creeping, + Sweet charge I give to thee, + Steal where my love lies sleeping + And bear her dreams of me; + And in her dream, + Love, let me seem + All she would have me be. + + “Kind sleep! By thee we may attain + To joys long hoped and sought in vain, + By thee we all may find again + Our lost divinity. + + “So, Night-wind, softly creeping, + This charge I give to thee, + Go where my love lies sleeping + And bear her dreams of me.” + +Hearkening to this singing Yolande shivered, yet not with cold, and casting +a cloak about her loveliness came and leaned forth into the warm, still +glamour of the night, and saw where stood Jocelyn tall and shapely in the +moonlight, but with hateful cock's-comb a-flaunt and ass's ears grotesquely +a-dangle; wherefore she sighed and frowned upon him, saying nothing. + +“Yolande?” he questioned. “O my lady, and wilt frown upon my singing?” + +Answered she, leaning dimpled chin upon white fist and frowning yet: + +“Nay, not--not thy--singing.” + +“Is 't then this cap o' Folly--my ass's ears, Yolande? Then away with them! +So shalt jester become very man as thou art very maid!” Forthwith he thrust +back his cock's-comb and so stood gazing up at her wide-eyed. + +But she, beholding thus his scarred face, shivered again, shrinking a +little, whereupon Jocelyn bowed his head, hiding his features in his long, +black-curling hair. + +“Alas, my lady!” he said, “doth my ill face offend thee? This would I put +off also for thy sake an it might be, but since this I may not do, close +thou thine eyes a while and hear me speak. For now do I tell thee, Yolande, +that I--e'en I that am poor jester--am yet a man loving thee with man's +love. I that am one with face thus hatefully scarred do seek thee in thy +beauty to my love--” + +“Presumptuous Fool, how darest thou speak me thus?” she whispered. + +“For that great love dareth greatly, Yolande.” + +“And what of thy lord? How of Duke Jocelyn, thy master?” + +“He is but man, lady, even as I. Moreover for thee he existeth not since +thou hast ne'er beheld him--to thy knowing.” + +“Nay, then--what of this?” she questioned, drawing the jewelled picture +from her bosom. + +“'T is but what it is, lady, a poor thing of paint!” + +“But sheweth face of noble beauty, Fool!” + +“Aye, nobly painted, Yolande! A thing of daubed colours, seeing naught of +thy beauty, speaking thee no word of love, whiles here stand I, a sorry +Fool of beauty none, yet therewithal a man to woo thee to my love--” + +“Thy love? Ah, wilt so betray thy lord's trust?” + +“Blithely, Yolande! For thee I would betray my very self.” + +“And thyself art Fool faithless to thy lord, a rhyming jester, a sorry +thing for scorn or laughter--and yet--thy shameful habit shames thee not, +and thy foolish songs hold naught of idle folly! And thou--thou art the +same I saw 'mid gloom of dungeon sing brave song in thy chains! Thou art he +that overthrew so many in the lists! O Joconde, my world is upside down by +reason of thee.” + +“And thou, Yolande, didst stoop to me within my dungeon! And thou didst +pray for me, Yolande, and now--now within this sweet night thou dost lean +down to me through the glory of thy hair--to me in my very lowliness! And +so it is I love thee, Yolande, love thee as none shall ever love thee, for +man am I with heart to worship thee, tongue to woo thee, eyes to behold thy +beauties, and arms to clasp thee. So am I richer than yon painted duke that +needs must woo thee with my lips. And could I but win thee to love--ah, +Yolande, could I, despite these foolish trappings, this blemished face, see +Love look on me from thine eyes, O--then--” + +“How--then--Joconde?” + +“Then should Fool, by love exalted, change to man indeed and I--mount up to +heaven--thus!” So saying, Jocelyn began to climb by gnarled ivy and carven +buttress. And ever as he mounted she watched him through the silken curtain +of her hair, wide of eye and with hands tight-clasped. + +“Ah, Joconde!” she whispered, “'t is madness--madness! Ah, Joconde!” But +swift he came and swung himself upon the balcony beside her and reached out +his arms in mute supplication, viewing her wistfully but with scarred face +transfigured by smile ineffably tender, and when he spoke his voice was +hushed and reverent. + +“I am here, Yolande, because methought to read within thy look the wonder +of all wonders. But, O my lady, because I am but what I am, fain would I +hear thee speak it also.” + +“Joconde,” said she in breathless voice, “wouldst shame me--?” + +“Shame?” he cried. “Shame? Can there be aught of shame in true love? Or is +it that my ass's ears do shame thee, my cock's-comb and garments pied shame +the worship of this foolish heart, and I, a Fool, worshipping thee, shame +thee by such worship? Then--on, cock's-comb! Ring out, silly bells! Fool's +love doth end in folly! Off love--on folly--a Fool can but love and die.” + +“Stay, Joconde; ah, how may I tell thee--? Why dost thou start and fumble +with thy dagger?” + +“Heard you aught, lady?” + +“I heard an owl hoot in the shadows yonder, no more.” + +“True, lady, but now shall this owl croak like a frog--hearken! Aha--and +now shall frog bark like dog--” + +“And what meaneth this?” + +“That thou, proud lady, must this night choose betwixt knightly rogue and +motley Fool--here be two evils with yet a difference--” + +“Here is strange, wild talk, Fool!” + +“Here shall be wild doings anon, lady, methinks. Hush thee and listen!” + +A jangle of bridle-chains, a sound of voices loud and rough, and a tread of +heavy feet that, breaking rudely upon the gentle-brooding night, drove the +colour from Yolande's soft cheek and hushed her voice to broken whisper: + +“Heaven shield us, what now, Joconde?” + +“Wolves, lady, wolves that come to raven--see yonder!” Even as he spake +they espied armed men who, bold and assured by reason of the solitude, +moved in the garden below; and on back and breast of each was the sign of +the Bloody Hand. + +“My Lord Gui's followers! Alas, Joconde, these mean thee ill--here is death +for thee!” Now as she spake, Jocelyn thrilled to the touch of her hand upon +his arm, a hand that trembled and stole to clasp his. “Alas, Joconde, they +have tracked thee hither to slay thee--” + +“And were this so, wouldst fly with me, Yolande? Wouldst trust thy beauties +to a Fool's keeping?” + +“Nay, nay, this were madness, Joconde; rather will I hide thee--aye, where +none shall dare seek thee--come!” + +“Yolande,” he questioned, “Yolande, wilt trust thyself to Love and me?” + But seeing how she shrank away, his eager arms fell and he bowed his head. +“Nay, I am answered,” quoth he, “even while thine eyes look love, thy body +abhorreth Fool's embrace--I am answered. Nay, 't is enough, trouble not for +words--ha, methinks it is too late, the wolves be hard upon us--hark ye to +their baying!” + +And now was sudden uproar, a raving clamour of fierce shouts, and a +thundering of blows upon the great door below. + +“Yolande--ha, Yolande, yield thee! Open! Open!” + +“Ah--mercy of God! Is it me they seek?” she whispered. + +“Thee, Yolande! To bear thee to their lord's embraces--” + +“Rather will I die!” she cried, and snatched the dagger from his girdle. + +“Not so!” quoth he, wresting the weapon from her grasp. “Rather shalt thou +live a while--for thou art mine--mine to-night, Yolande--come!” And +he clasped her in fierce arms. “Nay, strive not lest I kiss thee to +submission, for thou art mine, though it be for one brief hour and death +the next!” So, as she struggled for the dagger, he kissed her on mouth and +eyes and hair until she lay all unresisting in his embrace; while ever and +anon above the thunder of blows the night clamoured with the fierce shout: + +“Open--open! Yolande, ha, Yolande!” + +“There is death--and worse!” she panted. “Loose me!” + +“Stay,” he laughed, “here thou 'rt in thy rightful place at last--upon my +heart, Yolande. Now whither shall I bear thee? Where lieth safety?” + +“Loose me!” she commanded. + +“Never! Hark, there yields the good door at last!” + +“Then here will we die!” + +“So be it, Yolande! A sweet death thus, heart to heart and lip to lip!” + +“O Fool--I hate thee!” + +“Howbeit, Yolande--I love thee!” + +“Yolande! Ha--Yolande!” + +The cry was louder now and so near that she shivered and, hiding her face, +spake below her breath: + +“The turret-stair--behind the arras of my bed!” + +Swiftly, lightly he bore her down the winding stair and by divers +passage-ways until, thrusting open a narrow door, he found himself within +the garden and, keeping ever amid the darkest shadows, hasted on to the +postern hard by the lily-pool. + +And now Yolande felt herself swung to lofty saddle, heard Jocelyn's warning +shout drowned in a roar of voices and loud-trampling hoofs as the great +horse reared, heard a fierce laugh and, looking up, saw the face above her +grim and keen-eyed beneath its foolish cock's-comb as his vicious steel +flashed to right and left, and ever as he smote he mocked and laughed: + +“Ha--well smitten, Lob! Oho, here Folly rides with pointed jest keen and +two-edged--make way, knaves--make way for Folly--” + +The snorting charger, wheeled by strong hand, broke free, whereon rose an +uproar of shouts and cries that sank to a meaningless babble swept backward +on the rush of wind. Away, away they sped, through moonlight and shadow, +with fast-beating hoofs that rang on paved walk, that thudded on soft +grass, that trampled the tender flowers; and Yolande, swaying to the mighty +arm that clasped her, saw the fierce, scarred face bent above her with eyes +that gleamed under scowling brows and mouth grim-smiling; and shivering, +she looked no more. + +On they sped with loosened rein, o'er grassy mead, through ferny hollows, +o'erleaping chattering rill that babbled to the moon, 'mid swaying reeds +and whispering sedge, past crouching bush and stately tree, and so at last +they reached the woods. By shadowy brake and thicket, through pools of +radiant moonlight, through leafy, whispering glooms they held their way, +across broad glade and clearing, on and on until all noise of pursuit was +lost and nought was to hear save the sounds of their going. + +Thus rode they, and with never a word betwixt them, deep and deeper into +the wild until the moon was down and darkness shut them in; wherefore +Jocelyn drew rein and sat a while to listen. He heard the good steed, +deep-breathing, snuff at dewy grass; a stir and rustle all about him; the +drowsy call of a bird afar; the soft ripple of water hard by and, over all, +the deep hush of the wild-wood. Then upon this hush stole a whisper: + +“O, 'tis very dark!” + +He: Dark, Lady? Why so 'tis, and yet 'tis natural, for 'tis night, +wherefore 'tis the bright god Phoebus is otherwhere, and Dian, sly-sweet +goddess, hath stole her light from heaven, wherefore 'tis 'tis dark, lady. + +She: Where are we? + +He: The sweet Saints know that, lady--not I! + +She (_scornfully_): Verily, thou art no saint-- + +He: Not yet, lady, not yet--witness these ass's ears. + +She: True, thou 'rt very Fool! + +He: In very truth, lady, and thou art lost with this same Fool, so art thou +in very woeful case. As for me, a lost fool is no matter, wherefore Fool +for himself grieveth no whit. But for thee--alas! Thou art a proud lady of +high degree, very nice of thy dainty person, soft and delicate of body, so +shall the greensward prove for thee uneasy couch, I judge, and thou sleep +ill-- + +She: Sleep? No thought have I of sleep! Ride on, therefore. Why tarry we +here? + +He: Lady, for three sufficing reasons--our foes pursue not, I'm a-weary, +and 'tis very dark-- + +She: No matter! Ride on, I do command thee. + +He: Aye, but whither? + +She: I care not so thou leave this place; 'tis an evil place! + +He: Why, 'tis good place, very well secluded and with stream hard by that +bubbleth. So here will we bide till dawn. Suffer me to aid thee down. + +She: Touch me not! Never think I fear thee though I am alone. + +He: Alone? Nay, thou 'rt with me, that is--I am with thee and thou art with +a Fool. So is Fool care-full Fool since Fool hath care of thee. Suffer me +now to aid thee down since here will we wait the day. Come, my arm about +thee so, thy hand in mine-- + +She (_angrily_): O Fool most base--most vile-- + +He: Nay, hush thee, hush! and listen to yon blithesome, bubblesome, +babbling brook how it sigheth 'mid the willows, whispereth under reedy bank +and laugheth, rogue-like, in the shallows! Listen how it wooeth thee: + + Though, lady, hard thy couch must be, + If thou should'st wakeful lie, + Here, from the dark, I'll sing to thee + A drowsy lullaby. + O lady fair--forget thy pride + Whiles thou within the greenwood bide. + +And now suffer me to aid thee down. + +She: Why wilt thou stay me in this evil place? + +He (_patiently_): The wild is ill travelling in the dark, lady; there be +quagmires and perilous ways--wherefore here must we bide till dawn. Suffer +me to-- + +SHE (_breathlessly and shrinking from his touch_): But I fear not +quagmires--there be greater perils--more shameful and--and--'tis so dark, +so dark! 'Tis hateful place. Ride we till it be day-- + +He (_mockingly_): Perils, lady? Why certes there be perils--and perils. +Perils that creep and crawl, perils that go on four legs and perils +two-legged--e'en as I. But I, though two-legged, am but very fool of +fools and nothing perilous in blazing day or blackest night. So stint +thy fears, lady, for here bide we till dawn! + +Herewith he caught her in sudden arms and lifted her to the ground; then, +dismounting, he set about watering and cherishing the wearied steed and +tethered him beside a dun stream that rippled beneath shadowy willows; and +so doing, fell a-singing on this wise: + + “'Fair lady, thou 'rt lost!' quoth he, + Sing derry, derry down. + 'And O, 'tis dark--'tis dark!' quoth she, + 'And in the dark dire perils be,' + O, derry, derry down! + + “Quoth he: 'Fair lady, stint thy fear,' + Sing derry, derry down. + 'I, being Fool, will sit me here, + And, till the kindly sun appear, + Sing derry, derry down. + + “'I'll make for thee, like foolish wight, + Hey, derry, derry down, + A song that shall out-last dark night, + And put thy foolish fears to flight + With derry, derry down. + + “'For 'tis great shame thou shouldst fear so, + Hey, derry, derry down, + A peril that two-legged doth go, + Since he's but humble Fool, I trow, + With derry, derry down.'” + +Thus sang he, a dim figure beside dim stream and, having secured the horse, +sat him down thereby and took forth his lute. + +But Yolande, though he could not see, clenched white fists and, though he +could not hear, stamped slim foot at him. + +“Joconde,” quoth she, betwixt clenched teeth, “Joconde, I--scorn thee!” + +“Alack!” he sighed. “Alack, and my lute hath taken sore scath of a +sword-thrust!” + +“Thou'rt hateful--hateful!” she cried. “Aye--hateful as thy hateful song, +so do I contemn thee henceforth!” + +“Say'st thou so, lady, forsooth?” sighed he, busied with his lute. “Now +were I other than Fool, here should I judge was hope of winning thy love. +But being only Fool I, with aid of woe-begone lute, will sing thee merry +song to cheer thee of thy perilous fears--” + +“Enough, ill Fool, I'll hear thee not!” + +“So be it, dear lady! Then will we sit an list to the song of yon stream, +for streams and rivers, like the everlasting hills, are passing wise with +length of days--” + +“And thou'rt a very Fool!” she cried angrily. “A fond Fool presumptuous in +thy folly!” + +“As how presumptuous, proud lady?” he questioned humbly. + +“In that thou dreamest I--stoop to fear thee!” + +“Aye, verily!” sighed he. “Alas, thou poor, solitary, foolish, fearful +maid, thou art sick with fear of me! So take now my dagger! Thus Fool +offenceless shall lie defenceless at thy mercy and, so lying, sleep until +joyous day shall banish thy so virginal fears!” Which saying, he tossed off +belt and dagger and setting them beside her, rolled his weather-worn cloak +about him, stretched himself beneath the dim willows and straightway +fell a-snoring. And after some while she questioned him in voice low and +troubled: + +“O Joconde, art truly sleeping?” + +“Fair lady,” he answered, “let these my so loud snores answer thee.” + +Up sprang Yolande and, coming beside him in the gloom, cast back his +girdle, speaking quick and passionate: + +“Take back thy dagger lest I be tempted to smite it to the cruel, mocking +heart of thee!” Then turned she stately back and left him, but, being hid +from view, cast herself down full length upon the sward, her pride and +stateliness forgotten quite. Now Jocelyn, propped on uneasy elbow, peered +amid the gloom for sight of her and hearkened eagerly for sound of her; but +finding this vain, arose and, creeping stealthily, presently espied her +where she lay, face hidden in the dewy grass. Thus stood he chin in hand +disquieted and anxious-eyed and wist not what to do. + +“Lady?” he questioned at last; but she stirred not nor spoke. “Yolande!” + he murmured, drawing nearer; but still she moved not, though his quick ear +caught a sound faint though very pitiful. “Ah, dost thou weep?” he cried. +Yolande sobbed again, whereupon down fell he beside her on his knees, “Dear +lady, why grievest thou?” + +“O Joconde,” she sighed, “I am indeed solitary--and fearful! And thou--thou +dost mock me!” + +“Forgive me,” he pleaded humbly, “and, since thou'rt solitary, here am I. +And, for thy fears, nought is here shall harm thee, here may'st thou sleep +secure--” + +“Stay, Joconde, the forest is haunted of wolves and--worse, 'tis said!” + +“Then will I watch beside thee till the day. And now will I go cut bracken +for thy bed.” + +“Then will I aid thee.” So she arose forthwith and, amid the fragrant +gloom, they laboured together side by side; and oft in the gloom her hand +touched his, and oft upon his cheek and brow and lip was the silken touch +of her wind-blown hair. Then beneath arching willows they made a bed, +high-piled of springy bracken and sweet grasses, whereon she sank nestling, +forthwith. + +“O, 'tis sweet couch!” she sighed. + +“Yet thou'lt be cold mayhap ere dawn,” quoth he, “suffer me to set my cloak +about thee.” + +“But how of thyself, Joconde?” + +“I am a Fool well seasoned of wind and rain, heat and cold, lady, and 'tis +night of summer.” So he covered her with his travel-stained cloak and, +sitting beneath a tree, fell to his watch. And oft she stirred amid the +fern, deep-sighing, and he, broad back against the tree, sighed oftener +yet. + +“Art there, Joconde?” she questioned softly. + +“Here, lady.” + +“'Tis very dark,” sighed she, “and yet, methinks, 'tis sweet to lie thus +in the greenwood so hushed and still and the stars to watch like eyes of +angels.” + +“Why, 'tis night of summer, lady, a night soft and languorous and fragrant +of sleeping flowers. But how of grim winter, how of rain and wind and +lashing tempest--how think you?” + +“That summer would come again, Joconde.” + +“Truly here is brave thought, lady.” + +“Hark, how still is the night, Joconde, and yet full of soft stir, a +sighing amid the leaves! 'Tis like the trees whispering one another. O, +'tis sweet night!” + +“Soon to pass away, alas!” he sighed, whereupon she, stirring upon her +ferny couch, sighed also; thereafter fell they silent awhile hearkening to +the leafy stirrings all about them in the dark, and the slumberous murmur +of the stream that, ever and anon, brake into faint gurglings like a voice +that laughed, soft but roguish. + +SHE: I pray thee talk to me. + +HE: Whereof, lady? + +SHE: Thyself. + +HE: I am a Fool-- + +SHE: And why sit so mumchance? + +HE: I think. + +SHE: Of what? + +HE: Folly. + +SHE: And why dost sigh so deep and oft? + +HE: I grieve for thee. + +SHE: For me! And wherefore? + +HE: Being lost with a Fool thou'rt desolate, sad and woeful. + +SHE: Am I, Joconde? And how dost know all this? + +HE: 'Tis so I do think, lady. + +SHE: Then are thy thoughts folly indeed. If thou must sigh, sigh for +thyself. + +HE: Why so I do, lady, and therewith grieve for myself and thyself, myself +being Fool and thyself a dame of high degree, thus, betwixt whiles, I do +fear thee also. + +SHE: Thou fear! Thou fear me forsooth! And wherefore fear a helpless maid? + +HE: There is the reason--she is helpless! + +SHE: Ah, there doth Fool speak like chivalrous knight. + +HE: Or very fool--a fool that fain would win fair Dian from high heaven. +Alas, poor Fool, that, being fool, must needs look and sigh and sigh and +look and leave her to the winning of some young Endymion! + +SHE (_dreamily_): Endymion was but lowly shepherd, yet was he loved! + +HE: Endymion was fair youth comely of feature, lady. Now had he worn ass's +ears 'bove visage scarred--how then? On Ida's mount he had been sighing +forlorn and lonely yet, methinks. For maids' hearts are ever governed by +their eyes-- + +SHE: Art so wise in maids' hearts, Joconde? + +HE: Wise am I in this: No man may ever know the heart of a woman--and woman +herself but seldom. + +Now here was silence again wherein Yolande, smiling, viewed him a dim shape +in the gloom, and he leaned back to watch a star that twinkled through the +leafy canopy above. + +SHE: Thou art Duke Jocelyn's Fool at court? + +HE: I am Duke Jocelyn's fool here and there and everywhere, lady. + +SHE: Yet have I heard Duke Jocelyn was a mighty man-at-arms and, though +youthful, sober-minded, full of cares of state and kept no Fool at court. + +HE: Lady, his court is filled o' fools as is the way of other courts and +amongst these many fools first cometh the Duke himself-- + +SHE: How, and darest thou call this mighty Duke a fool? + +HE: Often, lady! + +SHE: And what like is he? + +HE: Very like a man, being endowed of arms, legs, eyes, ears--of each two, +no more and no less, as is the vulgar custom. + +SHE: But is he not of beauty high and noble, of god-like perfection far +beyond poor, common flesh and blood? 'Tis so the painter has limned his +face, 'tis so I dream him to my fancy. + +HE: Lady, I am but a Fool, let the picture answer thee. + +SHE: And he, this mighty Duke of god-like beauty doth woo me to his +wife-- + +HE (_bitterly_): With my tongue. + +SHE: Why came he not in his own glorious person? + +HE: Lady, though a Duke, he hath his moments of wisdom and argueth thus: +“I, though a Duke, am yet a man. Thus, should I as Duke woo her, she may +wed the Duke, loving not the man--” + +SHE: And so he sent a Fool as his ambassador! And so do I scorn this +god-like Duke-- + +HE: Ha! Scorn him! My lady--O Yolande, what of me? + +She: Thou, false to him and faithless to thy trust, didst woo me for +thyself which was ill in thee. But thou didst throw the terrible Red Gui +into my lily-pool which was brave in thee. Thou didst endure chains and a +prison undaunted which was noble in thee. Thou didst this night at peril of +thy life save me from shame, but thou didst bear me urgently here into the +wild, and in the wild here lie I beside thee, lost, yet warm and sleepy and +safe beneath thy cloak--and so--'tis very well-- + +HE: Safe, Yolande? Hath thy heart told thee this at last? But thou didst +fear me-- + +SHE: Because to-night thou didst clasp me in cruel arms and spake me words +of love passionate and fierce and--and-- + +HE: Kissed thee, Yolande! + +SHE: Many times--O cruel! And bore me hither and lost me in these dark +solitudes! Here was good cause for any maid to fear thee methinks. + +Yet thou didst basely mock my fears with thy hateful song of “Derry down.” + +HE: Because thy fears, being unjust, hurt me, for ah, Yolande, my love for +thee is deep and true, and True-love is ever gentle and very humble. + +SHE: Thus do I fear thee no more, Joconde! + +HE: Because I am but lowly--a Fool beneath thy proud disdain? + +SHE: Nay, Joconde. Because thou art indeed a very man. So now shall I sleep +secure since nought of evil may come nigh me whiles I lie in thy care. + +Thus spake she softly 'mid the gloom, and turning upon her rustling couch +sighed and presently fell to slumber. + +Now, sitting thus beside her as she slept, Jocelyn heard the stream ripple +in the shadows like one that laughed soft but very joyously and, as he +gazed up at the solitary star with eyes enraptured, this elfin laughter +found its echo in his heart. + + * * * * * + +A bird chirped drowsily from mazy thicket where sullen shadow thinned, +little by little, until behind leaf and twig was a glimmer of light that +waxed ever brighter. And presently amid this growing brightness was soft +stir and twitter, sleepy chirpings changed to notes of wistful sweetness, a +plaintive calling that was answered from afar. + +Thus the birds awaking sounded pretty warnings summoning each to each for +that the day-spring was at hand, while ever the brightness changed to +radiance and radiance to an orient glory and up flamed the sun in majesty +and it was day. And now, from brake and thicket, from dewy mysteries +of green boskage burst forth the sweet, glad chorus of bird-song, full +throated, passionate of joy. + +And Jocelyn, sitting broad back against a tree, felt his soul uplifted +thereby what time his eyes missed nothing of the beauties about him: the +rugged boles of mighty trees bedappled with sunny splendour, the +glittering dew that gemmed leaf and twig and fronded bracken, and the +shapely loveliness of her who slumbered couched beneath his worn cloak, +the gentle rise and fall of rounded bosom and the tress of hair that a +fugitive sunbeam kissed to ruddy gold. Thus sat Jocelyn regardful, +gladness in the heart of him, and a song of gladness bubbling to his lips. + +Suddenly he saw her lashes quiver, her rosy lips parted to a smile and, +stirring in her slumber, she sighed and stretched shapely arms; so waked +she to a glory of sun and, starting to an elbow, gazed round, great-eyed, +until espying him, she smiled again. + +“Good morrow, Joconde! Ne'er have I slept sweeter. But thou hast +out-watched dark night and art a-weary, so shalt sleep awhile--” + +“Nay,” he answered, “a plunge in the stream yonder and I shall be blithe +for the road--an we find one. And I do fear me thou'rt hungry, Yolande, and +I have nought to give thee--” + +“And what of thyself, man? Verily, I read hunger in thy look and weariness +also, so, an thou may'st not eat, sleep thou shalt awhile here--in my +place.” + +“Nay, Yolande, indeed--” + +“Yea, but thou must indeed whiles I watch over thee. 'Tis a sweet bed--come +thy ways.” + +“And what wilt thou do?” he questioned. + +“Much!” she answered, viewing her rumpled, gown with rueful eyes. “As thou +sayest, there is the pool yonder! So come, get thee to bed and--sleep! +Come, let me cover thee with thy cloak and gainsay me not; sleep thou must +and shalt.” + +So Duke Jocelyn stretched himself obediently upon the bed of fern and +suffered her to cover him with the cloak; but as she stooped above him +thus, he lifted the hem of her dress to reverent lips. + +“My lady!” he murmured. “My dear lady!” + +“Now close me thine eyes, wearied child!” she commanded. And, like a child, +in this also he obeyed her, albeit unwillingly by reason of her radiant +beauty, but hearing her beside him, was content, and thus presently fell to +happy sleeping. + +When he awoke the sun was high and he lay awhile basking in this grateful +radiance and joying in the pervading quiet; but little by little, growing +uneasy by reason of this stillness, he started up to glance about him and +knew sudden dread--for the little glade was empty--Yolande had vanished; +moreover the horse was gone also. + +Cold with an awful fear he got him to his feet and looked hither and yon, +but nowhere found any sign of violence or struggle. But like one distraught +he turned to seek her, her name upon his lips, then, checking voice and +movement, stood rigid, smitten by hateful doubt. For now it seemed to him +that her gentle looks and words had been but sweet deceits to blind him to +her purpose and now, so soon as she had lulled him to sleep, she had stolen +away, leaving him for the poor, piteous fool he was. And now his despair +was 'whelmed in sudden anger, and anger, little by little, changed to +grief. She was fled away and he a sorry fool and very desolate. + +Full of these bitter thoughts he cast himself upon his face and, lying as +in a pit of gloom, knew a great bitterness. + +Slowly, slowly, borne upon the gentle wind came a fragrance strange and +unexpected, a savour delectable of cooking meat that made him know himself +a man vastly hungry despite his grievous woe. But, lying within the black +gulf of bitterness, he stirred not until, of a sudden, he heard a voice, +rich and full and very sweet, upraised in joyous singing; and these the +words: + + “Rise, O laggard! See the sun, + To climb in glory hath begun: + The flowers have oped their pretty eyes, + The happy lark doth songful rise, + And merry birds in flowery brake, + Full-throated, joyous clamours make; + And I, indeed, that love it not, + Do sit alone and keel the pot, + Whiles thus I sing thee to entreat, + O sleepy laggard--come and eat!” + +“Forsooth and art sleeping yet, Joconde?” the voice questioned. Duke +Jocelyn lifted woeful head and saw her standing tall and shapely amid +the leaves, fresh and sweet as the morn itself, with laughter within her +dream-soft eyes and laughter on her vivid lips and the sun bright in the +braided tresses of her hair wherein she had set wild flowers like jewels. + +“Yolande!” he murmured, coming to his knees “Yolande--how glorious thou +art!” + +“Nay,” she laughed, yet flushing to the worship of his eyes, “and my habit +woefully torn of wicked bramble-thorns, and my hair ill-braided and all +uncombed and--” + +“Ah, Yolande, I thought thee fled and I left to loneliness, and my pain was +very sore.” + +“Then am I avenged thy mockery, Joconde, and thy song of 'Derry down.' +'Twas for this I stole away! But now, if thou 'rt hungry man, come this +ways.” And she reached him her hand. So she brought him to a little dell +where burned a fire of sticks beneath a pot whence stole right savoury +odour. + +“O most wonderful!” quoth he. “Whence came these goodly viands?” + +“Where but from the wallet behind thy horse's saddle, Joconde?” Then down +sat they forthwith side by side and ate heartily and were very blithe +together; and oft-times their looks would meet and they would fall silent +awhile. At last, the meal ended, Jocelyn, turning from Yolande's beauty to +the beauty of the world around, spake soft-voiced: + +“Yolande, were mine a selfish love, here, lost within these green +solitudes, would I keep thee for mine own--to serve and worship thee unto +my life's end. But, since I count thy happiness above my dearest desires, +now will I go saddle the horse and bear thee hence.” + +“Whither, Joconde, whither wilt thou bear me?” + +“Back to the world,” said he ruefully, “thy world of prideful luxury, to +thy kindred.” + +“But I have no kindred, alas!” sighed she, stooping to caress a +daisy-flower that grew adjacent. + +“Why, then, thy friends--” + +“My friends be very few, Joconde, and Benedicta hath her husband.” + +“Yolande,” said he, leaning nearer, “whither should I bear thee?” + +“Nay,” saith she, patting the daisy with gentle finger-tip, “go thou and +saddle thy horse, mayhap I shall know this anon. Go thou and saddle the +horse.” So Jocelyn arose and having saddled and bridled the horse, back he +cometh to find Yolande on her knees beside the stream, and she, hearing +his step, bowed her head, hiding her face from him; now on the sward +beside her lay the picture shattered beyond repair. + +“How,” said Jocelyn, “hast broken the Duke's picture, lady!” + +“Thou seest!” she answered. + +“And must thou weep therefore?” said he a little bitterly. “Oh, be +comforted; 't was but a toy--soon will I get thee another.” + +“An thou bring me another, Joconde, that will I break also.” + +“Ha--thou didst break it--wilfully, then?” + +“With this stone, Joconde.” + +“Wherefore, O wherefore?” he questioned eagerly. + +“For that it was but painted toy, even as thou sayest!” she answered. +“Moreover, I--love not Duke Jocelyn.” + +“And't was for this thou didst break the picture?” + +“Nay, 'twas because these painted features may never compare with the face +of him I love.” + +“And whom--whom dost thou love?” quoth he, in voice low and unsteady. +Speaking not, she pointed with slender finger down into the placid, stream. +Wondering, he bent to look and thus from the stilly water his mirrored +image looked back at him; now as he stooped so stooped she, and in this +watery mirror their glances met. + +“Yolande?” he whispered. “O my lady, shall a Fool's fond dream come true, +or am I mad indeed? Thou in thy beauty and I--” + +“Thou, Joconde,” said she, fronting him with head proudly uplift, “to my +thought thou art man greater, nobler than any proud lord or mighty duke +soever. And thou hast loved and wooed as never man wooed, methinks. And +thou art so brave and strong and so very gentle and--thus it is--I do love +thee.” + +“But my--my motley habit, my--” + +“Thy cap of Folly, Joconde, these garments pied thou hast dignified by thy +very manhood, so are they dearer to me than lordly tire or knightly armour. +And thy jingling bells--ah, Joconde, the jingle of thy bells hath waked +within my heart that which shall never die--long time my heart hath cried +for thee, and I, to my shame, heeded not the cry, wherefore here and now, +thus upon my knees, I do most humbly confess my love.” + +“Thy love, Yolande--for me? Then dost truly love me? Oh, here is marvel +beyond my understanding and belief.” + +“Why, Joconde, ah, why?” + +“See!” he cried, flinging back his head. “Look now upon this blemished +face--here where the cruel sun may shew thee all my ugliness, every +scar--behold! How may one so beautiful as thou learn love for one so lowly +and with face thus hatefully marred? I have watched thee shrink from me ere +now! I mind how, beside the lily-pool within thy garden, thou didst view me +with eyes of horror! I do mind thy very words--the first that e'er I heard +thee utter: + +'What thing art thou that 'neath thy hood doth show A visage that might +shame the gladsome day?' + +Yolande, Yolande, this poor blemished face is nothing changed since then; +such as I was, such I am!” + +“Alas, Joconde!” she cried, reaching out her hands in passionate appeal. +“My words were base, cruel--and hurt me now more, ah, much more, than e'er +they wounded thee. For I do love thee with love as deep, as true as is +thine own! Wilt not believe me?” + +“Oh, that I might indeed!” he groaned. “But--thou'rt alone, far from thy +home and friends, thy wonted pride and state forgotten all--mayhap thou +dost pity me or mayhap 'tis thy gratitude in guise of love doth speak me +thus? But as thou art still thine own lovely self, so am I that same poor, +motley Fool whose hateful face--” + +“Joconde,” she cried, “hush thee--Oh, hush thee! Thy words are whips to +lash me!” and catching his hand she kissed it and cherished it 'gainst +tear-wet cheek. “Ah, Joconde,” she sighed, “so wise and yet so foolish, +know'st thou not thy dear, scarred face is the face of him I love, for love +hath touched my eyes and I do see thee at last as thou truly art, a man +great of soul, tender and strong-hearted. So art thou a man, the only man, +my man. Oh, that I might but prove my love for thee, prove it to thee and +before all men, no matter how, so I might but banish thy cruel doubts for +ever. But now, for thy dear, scarred face--” + +Her soft, round arms were about his neck; and drawing him to her lips she +kissed him, his scarred brow and cheek, his eyes, his lips grown dumb with +wondering joy. Thus, lip to lip and with arms entwined, knelt they beside +that slow-moving stream that whispered softly beneath the bank and gurgled +roguish laughter in the shallows. + +A dog barked faintly in the distance, a frog croaked hoarsely from the +neighbouring sedge, but lost in the wonder of their love, they heeded only +the beating of their hearts. + +“A-billing and a-cooing! A-cooing and a-billing, as I'm a tanner true!” + exclaimed a hoarse voice. Up started Jocelyn, fierce-eyed and with hand on +dagger-hilt, to behold a man with shock of red hair, a man squat and burly +who, leaning on bow-stave, peered at them across the stream. + +“And is it Will the Tanner?” quoth Jocelyn, loosing his dagger. + +“None else, friend Motley.” + +“Why then, God keep thee! And now go about thy business.” + +“Marry, Fool, I am about my business, the which is to find thee. By Saint +Nick, there's mighty hue and cry for thee up and down within the greenwood, +aye--marry is there, as I'm a tanner tried and true. So needs must thou +along wi' me.” + +“With thee, Tanner? And wherefore?” + +“Why, I know not wherefore, Fool, but must along. Here's me and Lob and +the potent hag that is Mopsa the Witch, lain a-watching and a-watching ye +a-billing--nay, scowl not, friend Fool, on tanner trusty, tried and +true. For hark now, here's great stir, clamour and to-do within this +forest-country for thee, Fool, the which is strange, seeing thou art but a +motley fool. Howbeit there be many great lords and knights from beyond the +Southern March a-seeking of thee, Fool.” + +“Ha!” quoth Jocelyn, frowning. “Envoys from Brocelaunde!” + +“Alas, Joconde, and seeking thee!” saith Yolande in troubled voice. + +“Moreover,” continued Will, “here's our Duke Pertinax and his lady Duchess +yearning for thee, here's Robin that is Sir Robert a-clamouring for thee +and all his goodly foresters, as myself, a-seeking thee.” + +“But't is I found thee, Sir Long-legged Fool, I--I!” croaked a voice, and +old Mopsa the Witch peered at them from a bush hard by. + +“Verily, thou hast found us!” quoth Jocelyn ruefully. “And what now?” + +“Oho!” cried the Witch, cracking her finger-bones. “Now go I hot-foot to +weave spells and enchantments, aha--oho! Spells that shall prove the false +from the true, the gold from the dross. Thou, Sir Fool, art doubting lover, +so art thou blind lover! I will resolve thee thy doubts, open thy eyes and +show thee great joy or bitter sorrow--oho! Thou, proud lady, hast stooped +to love a motley mountebank--nay, flash not thy bright eyes nor toss +haughty head at an old woman--but here is solitude with none to mock +thy lowly choice or cry thee shame to love a motley Fool, aha! And thou +would'st fain prove thy love True-love, says thou? Why, so thou +shalt--beyond all doubting now and for ever, aha--oho! Truest of true or +falsest of false. Beware. Farewell, and remember: + + “Follow Folly and be wise, + In such folly wisdom lies, + Love's blind, they say; but Love hath eyes, + So follow Folly, follow. + +Hither-ho, Lob-Lobkyn! Lend thine old granddam thine arm. Come, my pretty +bantling, sweet poppet--come and--away!” o spake old Mopsa the Witch, and +vanished into the green with Lobkyn, who turned to flourish his club in +cheery salutation ere he plunged into the underbrush. Then Jocelyn smiled +down on Yolande to find her pale and trembling, so would he have clasped +her to his heart, but a hand grasped him and, turning, he beheld the Tanner +at his elbow. + +“Friend Fool,” quoth he, “needs must I take thee to Robin that Sir Robert +is, e'en as he did command, so come now thy ways with trusty tanner tried.” + +“Off, Red-head!” saith Jocelyn, frowning a little. “Away now, lest this my +dagger bite thee.” Back leapt Will into the stream whence he had come, and +there standing, clapped bugle to lip and winded it lustily, whereupon came +divers fellows running, bow in hand, who beset Jocelyn on every side. + +“Now yield thee to Tanner, friend,” quoth Will, knee-deep in the stream, +“for no mind have I to hurt thee. So away with thy dagger like gentle, +kindly Fool, and away with thee to Sir Robin.” + +Now hereupon, as Jocelyn frowned upon them, Yolande, standing a-tiptoe, +kissed his scarred cheek and clasped his dagger-hand in soft fingers. + +“Come,” she pleaded, “they be a-many, so yield me thy dagger and let us go +with them, beloved!” At the whispered word Jocelyn loosed the dagger +and, clasping her instead, kissed her full-lipped. Then turned he to his +captors. + +“I'm with thee, Will, thou--tanner!” quoth he. “And now bring hither the +horse for my lady's going.” + +“Nay,” answered Will, scratching red head, “Rob--Sir Robert spake nothing +of horse for thee, or lady.” + +“Nor will I ride, Joconde,” she murmured happily, “rather will I trudge +beside thee, my hand in thine--thus!” + +So, hand in hand, they went close-guarded by their captors yet heeding them +not at all, having eyes but for each other. And oft her cheek flushed rosy +beneath his look, and oft he thrilled to the warm, close pressure of her +fingers; and thus tramped they happy in their captivity. + +The sun rose high and higher, but since for them their captors were not, +neither was fatigue; and, if the way was rough there was Jocelyn's ready +hand, while for him swamps and brooks were a joy since he might bear her +in his arms. Thus tramped they by shady dingle and sunny glade, through +marshy hollows and over laughing rills, until the men began to mutter +their discontent, in especial a swart, hairy wight, and Will, glancing up +at the sun, spake: + +“Two hours, lads, judge I.” + +“Nigher three, Tanner, nigher three!” growled the chief mutterer. + +“Why so much the better, Rafe, though two was the word. Howbeit we be come +far enow, I judge, and 'tis hot I judge, so hey for Robin--and a draught o' +perry!” + +“Art thou weary, my Yolande?” + +“Nay, is not thy dear arm about me!” + +“And--thou dost love me indeed?” + +“Indeed, Joconde! Mine is a love that ever groweth--” + +A horn's shrill challenge; a sound of voices, and below them opened a +great, green hollow, shady with trees beneath whose shade were huts of +wattle cunningly wrought, a brook that flowed sparkling, and beyond caves +hollowed in the steepy bank. + +“How now, Tanner Will,” questioned Jocelyn, “hast brought us to the +outlaw's refuge?” + +“Not so, good friend-Fool, not outlaws, foresters we of Duke Pertinax, +and yonder, look 'ee, cometh Rob--Sir Robert to greet ye!” And the Tanner +pointed where one came running, a man long of leg, long of arm and very +bright of eye, a goodly man clad in hood and jerkin of neat's leather as +aforetime, only now his bugle swung from baldrick of gold and silver and in +his hood was brooched a long scarlet feather. + +“What brother!” cried he joyously. “By saint Nicholas, 'tis sweet to see +thee again, thou lovely Fool!” And he clasped Jocelyn in brotherly embrace, +which done, he stood off and shook doleful head. “Alas, brother!” quoth he. +“Alas! my prisoner art thou this day, wherefor I grieve, and wherefor I +know not save that it is by my lady Benedicta's strict command and her I +must obey.” And now, turning to Yolande, he bared his head, louting full +low. “Lady,” quoth he, “by thy rare and so great beauty I do know thee for +Yolande the Fair, so do we of the wild give thee humble greeting. Here +may'st thou rest awhile ere we bring thee to Canalise.” + +“But, messire,” answered Yolande, clasping Jocelyn's hand, “no mind have I +to go to Canalise.” + +“Then alack for me, fair lady, for needs must I carry thee there within the +hour along of my motley brother. Meanwhile here within yon bower thou +shalt find cushions to thy repose, and all things to thy comfort and +refreshment.” + +“O Sir Robert! O for a comb!” she sighed. + +“Expectant it waiteth thee, lady, together with water cool, sweet-perfumed +essences, unguents and other nice, lady-like toys. Moreover, there be +mirrors two of Venice and in pretty coffer--” But Yolande had vanished. + +Hereupon Robin led the way into a cool, arras-hung cave where was table set +out with divers comfortable things both eatable and drinkable. + +Quoth Jocelyn, hunger and thirst appeased: “And now good Robin, what do +these envoys from Brocelaunde? Why am I thy prisoner and wherefore must I +to Canalise?” + +“Ha!” saith Robin, cocking merry eye, “and thy name is Joconde, the which +is an excellent name, brother, and suiteth thee well, and yet--hum! +Howbeit, friend, remember Robin loved thee for the Fool he found thee, +that same Fool foolish enow to spare a rogue his life. Dost mind my Song +o' Rogues? A good song, methinks, tripping merrily o' the tongue: + + “'I'll sing a song + Not over long, + A song o' roguery, + For I'm a rogue, + And thou'rt a rogue, + And so, in faith is he.' + +I mind thy fierce, hawk-nosed gossip in rusty jack and ragged cloak, his +curses! Troth brother, 'tis a world of change methinks, this same fierce, +cursing, hook-nose rogue a noble knight and to-day my lord Duke! I, that +was poor outlaw, knight-at-arms and lord warden, and thou--a motley Fool +still--and my prisoner. How say'st thou, brother?” + +“Why I say, Robin, that my three questions wait thy answers!” + +“Verily, brother, and for this reason. I am a knight and noble, and so +being have learned me policy, and my policy is, when unable to give answer +direct to question direct, to question myself direct thus directing +question to questions other or to talk of matters of interest universal, so +do I of thyself and myself speak. And talking of myself I have on myself, +of myself, of myself made a song, and these the words, hark 'ee: + + “Now Rob that was Robin Sir Robert is hight + Though Rob oft did rob when outlaw, + Since outlaw now in law is dubbed a good knight, + Robin's robbing is done, Rob robbeth no more. + +Fair words brother, I think, and yet a little sad. 'But,' says you in vasty +amaze, 'my very noble and right potent Sir Robert,' says you, 'if thou +art indeed noble knight, wherefore go ye devoid of mail, surcoat, cyclas, +crested helm, banderol, lance, shield and the like pomps and gauds?' +'Brother,' says I, 'habit is habit and habit sticketh habitual, and my +habit is to go habited as suiteth my habit, suiting habit o' body to habit +o' mind.' Thus I, though Sir Robert, am Robin still, and go in soft leather +'stead of chafing steel, and my rogues, loving Robin, love Sir Robert the +better therefor, as sayeth my song in fashion apt and pertinent: + + “Since habit is habit, my habit hath been + To wear habit habitually comely-- + +Ha, there soundeth the mustering note, so must we away and I sing no +further, which is well, for 'comely' is an ill word to rhyme with. Howbeit +here must I, beginning my song o' Robin, of beginning must Rob make an end, +for duty calleth Sir Robert, so must Robin away.” + +Hereupon he clapped horn to lip at which shrill summons came archers and +pikemen ranked very orderly about a fair horse-litter. But Yolande coming +radiant from the bower and espying the litter, shook her head. Quoth she: + +“An thou go afoot, Joconde, so will I.” + +The sun was low when they came before the walls of Canalise, and passing +beneath grim portcullis and through frowning gateway, with ring and tramp, +crossed the wide market square a-throng with jostling townsfolk, who +laughed and pointed, cheered and hooted, staring amain at Jocelyn in his +threadbare motley; but Yolande, fronting all eyes with proud head aloft, +drew nearer and held his hand in firmer clasp. + +Thus they came at last to the great courtyard before the palace, bright +with the glitter of steel, where men-at-arms stood mustered. Here Robin +halted his company, whereon rose the silvery note of a clarion, and forth +paced the dignified Chief Herald, who spake him full-toned and sonorous: + +“In the name of our potent Duke Pertinax and his gracious lady Benedicta, I +greet thee well, Sir Robert-a-Forest. Now whom bring ye here? Pronounce!” + +“Dan Merriment, Sir Gravity,” answered Robin, “a Fool valiant and wise, a +maker of songs, of quips and quiddities many and jocund, Joconde hight. Sir +Wisdom, Folly behold, himself here _in propriâ personâ_.” + +The Chief Herald gestured haughtily with his wand whereupon forth stepped a +file of soldiers and surrounded Jocelyn. + +“Ah, Joconde! What meaneth this?” said Yolande, in troubled voice. + +“Indeed, my lady, I know not!” he answered. “But let not thy brave heart +fail thee.” + +“Ah, Joconde, I fear for thee--whither would they lead thee? Nay, sweet +heaven, they shall not take thee from me!” + +“Fear not, beloved, though they part us awhile.” + +“Away with the Motley!” thundered the Chief Herald, flourishing his wand. + +“Yolande--O my beloved, fear not--” But even as he spake, the pikemen +closed in, and Jocelyn was hustled away; so stood she trembling, hands +clasped and eyes wide and fearful, until tall motley figure and flaunting +cock's-comb were lost to her sight and the jingle of his bells had died +away; then, finding herself alone and all men's eyes upon her, she lifted +bowed head and stood white-cheeked and proudly patient, waiting for what +might betide. + +And presently was distant stir that, growing nearer, swelled to the ring +and clash of armour and the trampling of many hoofs; and presently through +the great gateway rode many knights sumptuously caparisoned, their shields +brave with gilded 'scutcheons, pennon and bannerole a-flutter above nodding +plumes, and over all the Red Raven banner of Brocelaunde. So rode they +two-and-two until the great courtyard blazed with flashing steel and +broidered surcoats. And now a trumpet blared, and forth before this +glorious array a pursuivant rode and halted to behold Pertinax, who stepped +forth of the great banqueting-hall leading his fair Duchess by the hand, +and behind them courtiers and ladies attendant. + +Once again the trumpets rang, and lifting his hand, the pursuivant spake: + +“My Lord Duke Pertinax, most gracious Duchess, Jocelyn the high and mighty +Lord Duke of Brocelaunde greeteth you in all love and amity, and hither +rideth to claim a fair lady to wife. Behold our Lord Duke Jocelyn!” + +Loud and long the trumpets blew as into the courtyard rode a single +horseman; tall was he and bedight in plain black armour and white surcoat +whereon the Red Raven glowed; but his face was hid in vizored helm. So +rode he through his glorious array of knights, checking his fiery steed to +gentle gait with practised hand, while thus spake the pursuivant: + +“Behold here Jocelyn, Duke of Brocelaunde, to claim this day in marriage +the Lady Yolande according to her word.” + +“Stay, my lords!” cried a sweet, clear voice, and forth before them all +stood Yolande herself, pale-cheeked but stately of bearing and very bright +of eye. + +“Be it known to all here that I, Yolande, have given neither pledge nor +troth unto Duke Jocelyn--” + +Now here was silence sudden and profound that none dared break saving only +the haughty Chief Herald. + +“How lady, how,” quoth he, “no pledge, no troth, quotha--” + +“Neither one nor other, messire, nor shall there ever be--” + +“Here is madness, lady, madness--” + +“Here is truth, messire, truth; I may not pledge my troth with Duke Jocelyn +since I have this day pledged myself unto Duke Jocelyn's jester--” + +“Jester, lady, jester? Venus aid us--Cupid shield us! A jester, a Fool, a +motley mountebank, a--” + +“Aye!” cried Yolande. “All this is he, my lords. Very humble and lowly--yet +do I love him! Oh, 'tis joy--'tis joy to thus confess my love--his cap and +bells and motley livery are fairer to me than velvet mantle or knightly +armour; he is but humble jester, a Fool for men's scorn or laughter, yet is +he a man, so do I love him and so am I his--unto the end. My lords, I have +no more to say save this--give me my jester--this man I love--and suffer us +to go forth hand in hand together, even as we came.” + +The Duchess Benedicta uttered a soft, glad cry, and seizing her husband's +arm, shook it for very joy. But now, as Yolande fronted them all, pale and +proudly defiant, was the ring of a mailed foot, and turning, she shrank +trembling to see Duke Jocelyn hasting toward her, his black armour +glinting, his embroidered surcoat fluttering, his long arms outstretched +to her; thus quick-striding he came but, even as she put out shaking hands +to stay him, he fell upon his knee before her. + +“Most brave and noble lady--beloved Yolande,” he cried, and lifted his +vizor. Now beholding the scarred face of him, the tender, smiling lips, the +adoration in his grey eyes, she trembled amain and, swaying to him, rested +her hands on his mailed shoulders. + +“Joconde,” she whispered, “ah, Joconde--what dream is this?” + +“Nay, beloved, the dream is ended and findeth me here at thy feet. The +dream is past and we do wake at last, for thy motley Fool, thy Duke and +lover am I, yet lover most of all. And thou who in thy divine mercy stooped +to love the Fool, by that same love shalt thou lift Duke Jocelyn up to thee +and heaven at last. And Oh, methinks the memory of thy so great and noble +love shall be a memory fragrant everlastingly.” + +So speaking, Duke Jocelyn rose, and with her hand fast in his, looked from +her loveliness round about him, blithe of eye. + +“My lords,” cried he, “behold my well-beloved, brave-hearted lady. Nobles +of Brocelaunde, salute your Duchess Yolande.” + +Hereupon was shout on shout of joyous acclaim, lost all at once in the +sweet, glad clamour of bells pealing near and far; so, hand in hand, while +the air thrilled with this merry riot, they crossed the wide courtyard, and +she flushed 'neath the worship of his look and he thrilled to the close, +warm pressure of her fingers--thus walked they betwixt the ranks of +men-at-arms and glittering chivalry, yet saw them not. + +But now Yolande was aware of Benedicta's arms about her and Benedicta's +voice in her ear. + +“Dear my Yolande, so True-love hath found thee at last since thou wert +brave indeed and worthy. Come now and let me deck thee to thy bridal.” + +“Lord Duke,” quoth Pertinax, “here methinks was notable, worthy wooing.” + +“Aha!” quoth Mopsa the Witch, crackling her knuckle-bones. “Here, my +children, is wooing that some fool shall strive to tell tale of some day, +mayhap; but such love is beyond words and not to be told. Thus by cunning +contrivement hath Mopsa the old Witch proved the true from the false, the +gold from the dross; thou, my lady, hast proved thy love indeed, and thou, +Lord Duke, may nevermore doubt such love. And now away and wed each other +to love's fulfilment--hark where the bells do summon ye.” + +And thus, as evening fell, they were wed within the great Minster of +Canalise, and thereafter came they to the banqueting-hall with retinue of +knights and nobles. Last of all strode Robin with his foresters, and as +they marched he sang a song he had learned of Jocelyn, and these the words: + + “What is love? 'Tis this, I say, + Flower that springeth in a day, + Ne'er to die or fade away, + Since True-love dieth never. + + “Though youth alas! too soon shall wane, + Though friend prove false and effort vain, + True-love all changeless shall remain + The same to-day and ever.” + + + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Geste of Duke Jocelyn, by Jeffery Farnol + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GESTE OF DUKE JOCELYN *** + +***** This file should be named 8165-0.txt or 8165-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/1/6/8165/ + +Produced by Ted Garvin and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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